Fic: Sharing Secrets
Title: Sharing Secrets
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Rating: PG
Words: 937
Disclaimer: These boys are not mine.
Summary: Merlin’s got a secret he doesn't want anymore.
A/N: Originally for the Merlin Fandom Music and Lyrics Comment Fest. For this prompt.
It was a summer afternoon when Merlin decided to tell Arthur. Arthur was on patrol, like he usually was these days, and Merlin was tidying his chambers. The windows were thrown open, a cool breeze blowing through them, and Merlin found that he couldn't concentrate on cleaning because his mind was wandering. Arthur would be coming in soon, all golden and sweaty and tired, and Merlin already knew how their conversation was going to go, because it went the same way every time, with Arthur mentioning sorcery and Merlin shying away from it.
It would be Arthur and him, as always, and Merlin felt that there was nothing that he could say that wouldn’t be a lie, and he was sick of it. It wasn’t just that he saved Arthur time and time again without thanks; without recognition - it was something more than that. It was as though he was hiding some deep part of himself from Arthur, tucking it away from the prince every time he avoided mentioning his magic. He was sick of secrets. He’d had enough for a lifetime.
So this time, when Arthur came back into his chambers after a day of patrols, Merlin decided that he wouldn’t dodge around the truth. He wouldn’t thrust it out into the open straight away - if Arthur walked in tired, or angry, or sick of the world and of Uther and of all the ways of the court, Merlin wouldn’t press him into accepting something more. He was ready to share himself with the prince, but he would wait until Arthur was ready, too.
But if Arthur mentioned sorcery, or if he ran across some warlock or witch or some magical creature in the forest and told Merlin about it, Merlin wouldn’t hide away from that. He’d tell Arthur. And maybe it wouldn’t come out like he’d always imagined it would, and maybe it wouldn’t be perfect, and maybe Merlin would stumble over the words and end up kneeling at Arthur’s feet because he felt safer spilling that part of himself when he was there, with Arthur tall and golden and strong above him.
But he would tell Arthur, because Merlin knew that his secrets weren’t just his anymore. They’d stopped being his the second he let Arthur push him against the wall after the feast and press his lips against Merlin’s, and they’d stopped being his the second he kissed Arthur back.
And maybe Arthur wouldn’t accept it straight away. Merlin knew he’d pushed deep into Arthur’s heart in those months after he first came to Camelot. He knew that Arthur hadn’t let anyone come that close before, and this knowledge would hurt. It always hurt. It had hurt Will, and it had hurt Gaius, even if the old man tried not to show it.
But he was prepared for this. Arthur woke beside him every morning, their limbs tangled together, their bodies too warm in the summer air. Arthur had held him as they slipped into sleep last night, with his mouth pressed against Merlin’s neck and his elbow prodding at Merlin’s side. You’re so clingy, Merlin, he’d said, but Merlin had just clung harder, because he knew that Arthur liked it that way.
They’d stopped being two separate people somewhere along the line, and now Merlin couldn’t think of himself without stumbling across Arthur. The man was pressed into his brain like a stain, and Merlin knew that no matter what happened, he wasn’t ever going to come out.
But Merlin’s magic was wedged between them still, and Merlin knew that Arthur had noticed that there was something keeping Merlin distant, even if he didn’t know what it was. What is it, Merlin? he’d asked countless times, frustrated at not knowing, and Merlin hadn’t known how to tell him. He hadn’t known what Arthur wanted to hear.
But he knew now - Arthur would want to know his secret. He would want to know the truth. And Merlin was going to tell the prince everything before the summer ended; before the days got too short and the nights too cold. Arthur was his, now, and he could trust the prince with this.
So Merlin sat down at Arthur’s table and waited, watching the sunlight shifting on the stones of the chamber floor. He waved his hand at the candles when the sun went down and watched as flames burst to life at their tips. He wondered if he’d ever be able to do that when Arthur was in the room. Merlin hoped that someday, when they were older and wiser, when Arthur was king and Merlin knew all the parts of his destiny, that he might.
It was night when Arthur walked into the chambers, and Merlin stood up from the chair he’d been sitting in. He stepped forward to start removing his armour, as always, and Arthur started talking about all of the things that he did, as always. Merlin would ask a question every so often, his voice loud in the quiet of the room, and Arthur would look at him, exasperated, and call him an idiot. But he’d answer Merlin’s questions anyway, because he wanted Merlin to know.
And when Arthur’s armour was on the table, and after he’d bathed and changed and eaten, Merlin would curl up around him in the middle of the bed. And then they’d lose themselves in each other completely, because Merlin knew that it was alright to do so now. He would tell Arthur. He would give his secret away, because it was the one thing he couldn’t live with anymore.
He would tell Arthur, and it would be okay.
End.
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Rating: PG
Words: 937
Disclaimer: These boys are not mine.
Summary: Merlin’s got a secret he doesn't want anymore.
A/N: Originally for the Merlin Fandom Music and Lyrics Comment Fest. For this prompt.
It was a summer afternoon when Merlin decided to tell Arthur. Arthur was on patrol, like he usually was these days, and Merlin was tidying his chambers. The windows were thrown open, a cool breeze blowing through them, and Merlin found that he couldn't concentrate on cleaning because his mind was wandering. Arthur would be coming in soon, all golden and sweaty and tired, and Merlin already knew how their conversation was going to go, because it went the same way every time, with Arthur mentioning sorcery and Merlin shying away from it.
It would be Arthur and him, as always, and Merlin felt that there was nothing that he could say that wouldn’t be a lie, and he was sick of it. It wasn’t just that he saved Arthur time and time again without thanks; without recognition - it was something more than that. It was as though he was hiding some deep part of himself from Arthur, tucking it away from the prince every time he avoided mentioning his magic. He was sick of secrets. He’d had enough for a lifetime.
So this time, when Arthur came back into his chambers after a day of patrols, Merlin decided that he wouldn’t dodge around the truth. He wouldn’t thrust it out into the open straight away - if Arthur walked in tired, or angry, or sick of the world and of Uther and of all the ways of the court, Merlin wouldn’t press him into accepting something more. He was ready to share himself with the prince, but he would wait until Arthur was ready, too.
But if Arthur mentioned sorcery, or if he ran across some warlock or witch or some magical creature in the forest and told Merlin about it, Merlin wouldn’t hide away from that. He’d tell Arthur. And maybe it wouldn’t come out like he’d always imagined it would, and maybe it wouldn’t be perfect, and maybe Merlin would stumble over the words and end up kneeling at Arthur’s feet because he felt safer spilling that part of himself when he was there, with Arthur tall and golden and strong above him.
But he would tell Arthur, because Merlin knew that his secrets weren’t just his anymore. They’d stopped being his the second he let Arthur push him against the wall after the feast and press his lips against Merlin’s, and they’d stopped being his the second he kissed Arthur back.
And maybe Arthur wouldn’t accept it straight away. Merlin knew he’d pushed deep into Arthur’s heart in those months after he first came to Camelot. He knew that Arthur hadn’t let anyone come that close before, and this knowledge would hurt. It always hurt. It had hurt Will, and it had hurt Gaius, even if the old man tried not to show it.
But he was prepared for this. Arthur woke beside him every morning, their limbs tangled together, their bodies too warm in the summer air. Arthur had held him as they slipped into sleep last night, with his mouth pressed against Merlin’s neck and his elbow prodding at Merlin’s side. You’re so clingy, Merlin, he’d said, but Merlin had just clung harder, because he knew that Arthur liked it that way.
They’d stopped being two separate people somewhere along the line, and now Merlin couldn’t think of himself without stumbling across Arthur. The man was pressed into his brain like a stain, and Merlin knew that no matter what happened, he wasn’t ever going to come out.
But Merlin’s magic was wedged between them still, and Merlin knew that Arthur had noticed that there was something keeping Merlin distant, even if he didn’t know what it was. What is it, Merlin? he’d asked countless times, frustrated at not knowing, and Merlin hadn’t known how to tell him. He hadn’t known what Arthur wanted to hear.
But he knew now - Arthur would want to know his secret. He would want to know the truth. And Merlin was going to tell the prince everything before the summer ended; before the days got too short and the nights too cold. Arthur was his, now, and he could trust the prince with this.
So Merlin sat down at Arthur’s table and waited, watching the sunlight shifting on the stones of the chamber floor. He waved his hand at the candles when the sun went down and watched as flames burst to life at their tips. He wondered if he’d ever be able to do that when Arthur was in the room. Merlin hoped that someday, when they were older and wiser, when Arthur was king and Merlin knew all the parts of his destiny, that he might.
It was night when Arthur walked into the chambers, and Merlin stood up from the chair he’d been sitting in. He stepped forward to start removing his armour, as always, and Arthur started talking about all of the things that he did, as always. Merlin would ask a question every so often, his voice loud in the quiet of the room, and Arthur would look at him, exasperated, and call him an idiot. But he’d answer Merlin’s questions anyway, because he wanted Merlin to know.
And when Arthur’s armour was on the table, and after he’d bathed and changed and eaten, Merlin would curl up around him in the middle of the bed. And then they’d lose themselves in each other completely, because Merlin knew that it was alright to do so now. He would tell Arthur. He would give his secret away, because it was the one thing he couldn’t live with anymore.
He would tell Arthur, and it would be okay.
End.