Merlin -- The Keeper
Title: The Keeper
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Rating: G
Word Count: 406
Warnings: aaaaangst
Prompt: "Golden Brown", by the Stranglers; lying on hills and angst
Summary: It's a monarch's obligation.
Author's Note: Giftfic for passthebutter! ♥ I did my best to catch the atmosphere of the song, and I tried to throw a couple color references in for good measure. ;) Hope you enjoy! ♥
THE KEEPER
Arthur squints against the sun. Filtered through his eyelashes, bathed in the light, Merlin’s skin is almost luminescent where the boy lies sprawled by Arthur’s side. Everything is bright today, warm in the sunshine, with the vibrant colors of a dream. The grass is a deep, rich green where slender stalks tickle at Merlin’s ears, arcing past his neck, and this morning’s dull blue neckerchief is vivid cerulean now. A whisper of a breeze makes the grass leaves tremble, and Arthur’s bangs flutter at the edge of his vision, the sun-shot gold of Merlin’s magic-flooded eyes.
Arthur is not a philosopher-he’s a warrior, and a capable one. He’s a strategist, because he has to be, and a realist, because he has no choice. He wishes this could last forever, the golden afternoons, the golden eyes; but he knows full well that the sun will set, and all of this will fall. He knows that some battles are lost before they’re pitched; some citadels can’t be defended; some glories are too fragile to be saved.
He knows that the things he wants, the things he worships, the things he’d die for, are no object. He knows that his sword and Merlin’s softly calloused hands, for all their shared and individual power, can’t repel the world. He knows that love is not enough.
He shifts, the grass prickling gently at the back of his neck, and watches Merlin’s narrow chest rise and sink, sink and rise, doling out the seconds breath by breath.
It’s a monarch’s duty-a monarch’s obligation-to carry the things his subjects don’t know how to hold. His purpose is to know the things they shouldn’t know, to bear their burdens, to be their strength without expecting recompense. He was born to be the keeper of unkind truth.
He will keep this one as long as he can-tucked away in the corner of his heart that the sunbeams never touch, bound there and stifled, where Merlin won’t be able to hear its voice. Someday, it will grow too big and overwhelm its confines, and he will have to let it go.
He will bleed for it, to hold it back a few seconds longer-he will bleed for this moment, for this day, for the others of its kind. He will bleed for this silence until his veins are dry, if it will keep that little smile on Merlin’s face.
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Rating: G
Word Count: 406
Warnings: aaaaangst
Prompt: "Golden Brown", by the Stranglers; lying on hills and angst
Summary: It's a monarch's obligation.
Author's Note: Giftfic for passthebutter! ♥ I did my best to catch the atmosphere of the song, and I tried to throw a couple color references in for good measure. ;) Hope you enjoy! ♥
THE KEEPER
Arthur squints against the sun. Filtered through his eyelashes, bathed in the light, Merlin’s skin is almost luminescent where the boy lies sprawled by Arthur’s side. Everything is bright today, warm in the sunshine, with the vibrant colors of a dream. The grass is a deep, rich green where slender stalks tickle at Merlin’s ears, arcing past his neck, and this morning’s dull blue neckerchief is vivid cerulean now. A whisper of a breeze makes the grass leaves tremble, and Arthur’s bangs flutter at the edge of his vision, the sun-shot gold of Merlin’s magic-flooded eyes.
Arthur is not a philosopher-he’s a warrior, and a capable one. He’s a strategist, because he has to be, and a realist, because he has no choice. He wishes this could last forever, the golden afternoons, the golden eyes; but he knows full well that the sun will set, and all of this will fall. He knows that some battles are lost before they’re pitched; some citadels can’t be defended; some glories are too fragile to be saved.
He knows that the things he wants, the things he worships, the things he’d die for, are no object. He knows that his sword and Merlin’s softly calloused hands, for all their shared and individual power, can’t repel the world. He knows that love is not enough.
He shifts, the grass prickling gently at the back of his neck, and watches Merlin’s narrow chest rise and sink, sink and rise, doling out the seconds breath by breath.
It’s a monarch’s duty-a monarch’s obligation-to carry the things his subjects don’t know how to hold. His purpose is to know the things they shouldn’t know, to bear their burdens, to be their strength without expecting recompense. He was born to be the keeper of unkind truth.
He will keep this one as long as he can-tucked away in the corner of his heart that the sunbeams never touch, bound there and stifled, where Merlin won’t be able to hear its voice. Someday, it will grow too big and overwhelm its confines, and he will have to let it go.
He will bleed for it, to hold it back a few seconds longer-he will bleed for this moment, for this day, for the others of its kind. He will bleed for this silence until his veins are dry, if it will keep that little smile on Merlin’s face.