Dragon Fire
Title: Dragon Fire
Author: warsandtrek
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: R
Word Count: ~4500
Summary: A Merlin/Hunger Games crossover.
Warnings: Mentions of self-harm, violence, character death (minor), sexual content
Author's Note: This has been sitting on my computer for ages. I finally decided to post it.
Arthur
Arthur hates reapings, perhaps more than anything else. Except watching his mentees die. Time after time, always so heart achingly brutal. But at reapings, he sees the fresh terror in the faces of those picked and everyone around them. He sees mothers crying, children screaming or worst of all devoid of all emotion. Already accepting their imminent deaths. Thankfully he has drink to numb himself to it all. Effie, the woman charged with his District, doesn’t appreciate it as much. Especially when he vomits on her ridiculously pink shoes on the way up to the stage.
The girls are first as usual. A medium sized girl with curly black hair and unusually dark skin named Guinevere Smith is picked. Her eyes are shiny with unshed tears by the time she gets to the stage, her lower lip trembling. Arthur wonders how soon this one will die. It won’t take long he figures. In the crowd he sees a distraught looking large man with the same skin as the girl, probably her brother.
“And now for the boys….” Effie shouts gaily after the girl mounts the stage, seemingly oblivious to the silent misery of the crowd. She looks at the name on the slip of paper she picks from the bowl of names. “Mordred Emrys!”
Arthur fights the urge to wince when a tiny boy with blue eyes and ruffled black hair slowly steps forth before being seized by Peacekeepers. This boy, Arthur doesn’t let himself think of their names because he might get attached, can’t be more than twelve. He looks younger but twelve is the minimum age to be picked for the Games. The twelve year olds are the hardest to see reaped and always the first to die. Especially little scraps like this boy. The boy knows too, his eyes are dead and his face stoic.
But then, just as Arthur is resigned to watching these kids die quick, cruel deaths something unprecedented happens. A hysterical boy with the same milky skin, mop of dark hair, and brilliant blue eyes runs forth.
“I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!” this new, older boy shouts. He is obviously related to the younger boy, probably a brother. The little boy starts screaming and crying and fighting to reach his brother, restrained only by a tall dark haired boy with toned olive skin. Arthur hears the boy screeching, “Lance, let me go! Merlin!”
The new boy steps up to the stage now. Effie is smiling as she asks his name. He tells her he’s Merlin Emrys and that was indeed his younger brother.
As the boy is led away Arthur watches him intently. No one has ever volunteered to be tribute in District 12. Interesting…
***
Merlin
Merlin’s first two visitors are unsurprising. His mother, Hunith, seems shocked but is still crying silently. Mordred is a complete mess. It cuts straight to Merlin’s heart to see his normally stoic, strong twelve year old brother in such a state.
“You will win. You have to. And I know you will,” Mordred tells Merlin in a shaky voice while Merlin holds him tight. “For me.”
“I will. I’ll try so hard for you. And you’ll be fine. You’ll be strong like always and it will all work out. Lance will help too,” Merlin mumbles into Mordred’s hair, refusing to cry or show weakness in front of his family. He takes off his neckerchief, the ratty old blue one he always wears, and ties it around Mordred’s neck. “That’s for you now.”
“Okay,” Mordered finally says and pulls away from Merlin, touching the kerchief briefly. They both know their time to visit is running short.
Merlin turns to his mother next. She offers him a hug but he dodges it and stares her dead in the eye. “You must keep it together. No leaving this time, not like what happened when dad died. Do you understand? Lance will help, but you have to be strong no matter what,” he whispers harshly.
His mother looks like she might try to defend herself but ends up just nodding before she takes Mordered by the hand and leads him out when the Peacekeepers arrive to escort them.
When Lance walks in Merlin fails in holding back his emotions any longer and throws himself into his best friend’s arms, burying his face into his friend’s well-muscled chest. Lance envelops him in a hug, ever Merlin’s silent strength.
“You have a chance you know. You can find your own food and you are the strongest magic user I’ve ever seen,” Lance finally tells him, pulling back to look at Merlin. His handsome face is confident and strong.
“Lance, there’s twenty four of us and only one wins. I’d say the odds aren’t in my favor,” Merlin sighs. “Besides, there might not be a wand or trees or any familiar terrain. I might not be allowed to use magic.”
Magic users in the districts were rare and strictly controlled. They were tested, registered, and injected annually with a serum that muted their powers so they could only be used with the help of a magic focusing device, typically a wand. Self-made wands were illegal as well as extremely hard to make. But Merlin had one made long ago by his now dead father. It was gorgeous. Eleven inches with druid ruins along the handle, it was made of holly with a dragon heartstring core. Or so his father had told him though the last dragon had been killed off by President Uther Snow long ago. He kept it hidden in the woods.
Of course, only Lance knew Merlin’s magic seemed so strong that sometimes he could use small amounts despite the serum. Such a secret was like their trips to the woods and their hunting, it would mean death if it got out.
“Show them what you can do. They’ll make sure there’s a wand,” Lance assures him. The doors open, signaling the end of their visit.
“Take care of them Lance! Make sure they don’t starve!” Merlin shouts as his friend is led out, the brief glimmer of hope brought on by Lance’s words fading quickly now that he is alone.
***
Arthur
Despite his ‘courage’, more like stupidity in Arthur’s mind, Arthur thinks the new boy will lose. Just not as quickly as the girl or some of the other tributes picked this year. That is until the boy throws a knife at him at dinner one night, barely missing his head and sticking in the wall behind him.
“You are our mentor. You won the Games once, hell you won the Quarter Quell with twice the tributes! So sober up and help us,” the boy shouts at him. Arthur swears he sees the kid’s blue eyes flash gold, which is impossible because of the serum keeping his magic dormant. Arthur was surprised when he found out he had a magic user tribute. Normally only the Careers, the tributes from the wealthy districts like 1 and 2, have magic users. But his powers are probably weak, barely enough to move things a short distance. Arthur doesn't have much hope.
Until now when he sees the fighting spirit, the will to survive in this one. Now he sees a chance.
“Here’s what you do. Stay alive,” Arthur finally sighs, yanking the knife from the wall behind him and throwing it back at Merlin. Instead of flinching like the girl does, Merlin catches the knife by the handle. Again, Arthur thinks he sees a flash of gold and the knife slow in midair. He resists the urge to take a swig of wine to drown his flutter of hope.
“Come on. Help us,” Merlin snaps, stabbing the knife down into the table.
Arthur stares into those deep blue eyes for a while before nodding once. “Fine. But you do exactly as I say,” he finally answers. Merlin doesn’t smile, just nods, stands, and goes to his temporary room. The girl has already scurried off.
Watching his retreat, Arthur realizes he has begun to think of this boy by his name. Merlin.
Fuck.
***
Merlin
Arthur trains him when he can. Hard. And Merlin listens and obeys, albeit with plenty of snark. Because he wants to win, he wants to keep his promise to Mordred. But he also finds he wants to impress his gorgeous mentor. Wants to earn those rare half smiles, like after the interview when Arthur saw how charismatic and charming Merlin can be. Arthur tells him to play this up; he needs sponsors if he is to have a fighting chance.
When he is training with the other tributes though Merlin downplays his strength. He avoids the magic station, the edible plants station, the agility course. He practices with a knife, with fire starting (without magic), and with weights.
And every night he sneaks his way to Arthur’s room. At this time they don’t talk about the Games. This is their break. At first Arthur is cold and distant but he is soon warming up. When not drunk Merlin finds his mentor charming, kind, noble. So different from the arrogant boy who went into the arena eight years ago. Merlin finds they are becoming very close very quickly. Sometimes Merlin forgets this is the twenty two year-old man who won the 50th Hunger Games at age 16, the same age as Merlin is now.
One night, while Arthur is sprawled on the bed like normal and Merlin is lying on his stomach, looking up at where Arthur has his upper body propped up, Arthur makes a sudden noise and reaches into his pocket.
Merlin is up instantly, alarmed. “No, no, nothing bad. I just remembered I acquired this a little while ago back in 12. Your flaming outfits, the whole ‘Boy on Fire’ thing, made me think it might be a good token for you to bring into the arena,” Arthur explains. He pulls a golden pin from his pocket and presses it into Merlin’s hand.
Merlin stares at Arthur as their hands touch and linger together before he finally looks down and turns the pin over in his hand. He smiles when he sees it is a dragon with spread wings breathing out curling flames. A sword is clutched in one talon and a magic staff in the other. It looks expensive enough to buy a year’s worth of food back home. Merlin still isn’t used to the luxurious standards of the Capitol.
“Now go to bed Merlin. You have a big day tomorrow,” Arthur says before Merlin has a chance to say anything. He rolls over on his side and turns out the lights, leaving Merlin to slink back to his room in the dark, stroking the pin and eventually falling asleep with it in his hand.
The next day is the day the tributes go before the Gamemakers and receive their 1-12 score. Merlin is second to last because he is the male tribute from 12. He has Arthur’s gift from last night pinned on his collar, hidden by the one of the kerchiefs he had requested. He had been presented with ten of them, all in splendid colors made of fine fabrics. Merlin had only looked at them and longed for his own. Now he wore the least lavish one, the red one that sometimes caught the light and flickered orange.
Arthur is standing there when he is called to go in the scoring room. Gwen is lost in thought, paying no mind to them. So Merlin, high on adrenaline, kisses Arthur swiftly on the lips when his mentor pulls him in for hug. Then he darts into the other room.
When Merlin walks in the Gamemakers are in their box, deep in drink and no longer paying attention. Merlin ignores this as he scans the room. He finally locates the table with a few wands and staffs on them. He immediately walks over and selects one made of mahogany. It is very streamline, clearly professionally made and extremely different from Merlin’s wand back home. The core is something synthetic.
As he picks up the wand Merlin feels his magic rush like a waterfall to connect with it, eager to escape. Merlin fights back a grin; there is nothing that feels quite as good as using magic. His magic saturates the wand, getting familiar. As Merlin stands there he notices some of the Gamemakers watching him. He turns to a row of human shaped targets and brandishes the unfamiliar wand. Muttering a spell under his breath and moving his arm, Merlin makes fire shoot from the tip. But Merlin is unfamiliar with the wand and the pitiful stream of fire fizzles long before the target. Merlin has now lost the attention of the Gamemakers entirely.
His magic rears up angrily in response. He says his spell louder this time and sends a deadly sharp spear of ice straight through the heart of a target. Proud of himself, Merlin looks at his audience but it seems they are more intent on the roast pig being brought in than in him. Now Merlin is really angry. These people are sending him to his death and don’t even have the decency to watch him now?
Merlin points his wand at their box and wordlessly makes a fiery dragon erupt from his wand. It starts out the length of his arms but by the time he has ended the flow of flames it is the size of fully grown man and vividly detailed. Still guided by Merlin’s magic the creature lets out a roar as it flies up to the Gamemaker’s box, making many of them scream and scuttle back when it dives through them to spit blue fire on the pig, setting it alight in a blaze of brilliant sapphire flame.
“Thank you for your time,” Merlin says with an exaggerated smile, bowing and putting down the wand before stalking out of the room.
***
Arthur
Merlin is fidgety. Arthur notices it immediately. He is usually extremely observant, it’s part of how he survived in the arena, but he seems to be particularly keyed into Merlin. They are watching the announcement of the tributes’ scores. The Careers get their normal high scores, ranging from 8 to 10. Others pull anything from a particularly harsh 2 to a surprising 7 or 8 in some cases. And then comes District 12. Merlin is riveted.
Arthur finds himself oddly nervous and itches to gulp down a bottle of something strong. But he promised Merlin. He will stay sober as long as the younger boy stays alive. As soon as Merlin had seen Arthur waiting for him after the scoring the boy told him what he had done. Arthur had laughed and wished he could have been there to see but the displays were kept highly secret. But now Arthur wonders if Merlin’s gutsiness will be punished and his amazing display of power ignored. After all, not many magic users could do such a spell, especially without uttering a word.
“Merlin Emrys, District 12, with a score of 11,” the announcer says and a big 11 flashes beside Merlin’s picture. The highest score of the night.
Arthur can’t hold it in; he grabs Merlin and gives him a solid hug and a kiss on the cheek. He wants to kiss him more but he reins himself in. Not only is it stupid to get attached to a kid who is going to be fighting to the death with 23 others, he is much older than Merlin. He is still puzzling over the kiss the boy gave him and the lust, or even more worrying the love, he feels for him.
“Good job,” the girl says quietly. Even Effie is smiling and congratulating him.
The girl’s score comes next. She pulls a 4. Everyone sits in silence. Effie leaves quickly. Before long the girl goes to her room. Each day Arthur sees the hope and the life dimming in her eyes. He does nothing to console her. They would both know it was all lies.
Merlin is watching her go. He doesn't know, doesn't get that in order to avoid being destroyed he has to distance himself from everything and everyone in the arena.
“You just remember our deal. You try your damnedest to win and I’ll help you all I can. With your charm, cute little face, amazing score, and top notch mentor you’ll get sponsors. Perhaps enough to save your life,” Arthur tells him.
Merlin looks at him with those beautiful blue eyes and Arthur aches. There isn't much but there is the barest hint of innocence and hope and youthfulness in them. Arthur will hate to see the arena crush it to dust. “I’m not cute,” Merlin finally huffs.
Arthur smiles. “No. I suppose you are much more than that,” he whispers. They sit there, thighs touching on the couch. “Oh fuck it. I’m already self-destructive. Might as well go the final mile.” Then he leans forward and presses his lips to Merlin’s slightly chapped, pink ones.
With all the vigor and lack of finesse of a teenage boy Merlin kisses him back. Arthur pushes the smaller figure down into the soft leather couch, feeling for the first time just how much sinewy muscle the boy actually has. Their kiss is tinged with desperation, the knowledge that this could be their first and only time together. Tomorrow Merlin goes into the arena. Tomorrow he might be dead. And Arthur knows deep in his heart seeing that would be the thing that pushes him to drink until his body finally gives out.
It isn’t long before the heated kissing and roaming hands lead to frantic rubbing. Arthur feels Merlin’s erection throbbing next to his. His mind is screaming, wrong wrong wrong wrong. He doesn’t care. He stopped caring about wrong the first time he plunged a knife into a fifteen year old boy’s abdomen and didn’t stop stabbing until the canon boom announced Arthur’s first kill.
“I want you to… to take me. I shouldn’t, I don’t know why, but I think I love you. Like I’ve lived a hundred lives with you but it will never be enough,” Merlin pants when Arthur is palming his erection and licking at his gorgeous swan-like neck.
Arthur freezes and closes his eyes. “Merlin… Sweet, stupid boy. I want to, I want to show you how much I love you and how good I can make you feel but… I can’t. We can’t,” he murmurs into his milky white throat. He doesn’t elaborate. They both know all the reasons.
“Then at least… finish what you’ve started,” Merlin smirks. Arthur looks up into the face of a boy too young to die, too young to have seen the things he has seen. And suddenly he hates the Capitol who makes them do these things like never before. Blind, hot, white rage. But he sees Merlin’s expression and his desire to forget, just for a little. While he still can.
So Arthur yanks down their trousers and underwear swiftly, kissing Merlin even more desperately as he strokes their erections together in one hand until they both come. Then he kisses the dark haired youth once on the forehead, gets up, whispers ‘go to bed, you need rest’, and leaves Merlin sticky with come in the couch.
***
Merlin
The arena is beautiful. The tributes rise up into a grassy meadow, equidistant from each other and the Cornucopia which holds everything they will need to survive and, more importantly, kill. Supplies are spread out from the mouth of the golden horn, growing less valuable as they get closer to the tributes on their metal plates. Around the meadow is a thick forest with tall green trees. Behind the tributes on one side is a gleaming blue lake, on the opposite a field of tall grass. Mountains ring the whole thing so far off they can barely be seen.
60 seconds. Merlin knows he has 60 seconds until the tributes can move from their plates. One minute and he might be dead. After quickly taking in the arena he focuses on the Cornucopia. And he sees it. A wooden magic staff with an iridescent crystal globe at the top. It is in the very mouth of the Cornucopia, jutting out from a pile of the most valuable supplies. Merlin wants to run for it, that staff would mean everything for him. But he remembers Arthur’s advice. Run away from the Cornucopia immediately. The biggest bloodbath always takes place there.
Merlin has only moments to make up his mind. He is tensed to run he doesn’t even know where when a canon goes off, signaling the end of the 60 seconds.
The Hunger Games begin. Chaos breaks out.
Merlin touches the pin on his shirt and runs.
***
Arthur
Normally he avoids watching the Games. It is technically mandatory for everyone to watch but Arthur manages to get away. After all, his tributes normally don’t make it past the first day. Why bother watching something that will only add to the mile long list of things that haunt him?
But this year he watches. He has to, for Merlin’s sake. He is fastidious, invested from the beginning when he heaves a sigh of relief when in the beginning Merlin runs forward far enough only to grab a nearby backpack before darting to the relative safety of the woods.
When he isn’t watching he is rallying sponsors. When he isn’t doing that he is usually slipping into brief periods of sleep from which he usually wakes up screaming after having relived every kill he made but seeing Merlin as his victim each time.
***
Lance
The end of the Games is bloody. The whole ordeal is but not like the end. The Gamemakers like their games to go out with a bang. And it does. And in the end Merlin stands victor with his leg twisted beneath him at a horrendous angle, leaning heavily on his staff as blood gushes from his mouth and the mangled thing that was his tongue until one of the Careers had held him down and sliced up his tongue in an effort to silence the deadly spell weaver.
Too bad for her Merlin could use his magic without his words.
Lance can hardly look at the little television screen in the Emrys house. Mordred is sitting silently, crying in a mix of pure joy and the utmost terror. Hunith is crying too but also laughing as she scoops Mordred up in her arms and they cling to each other desperately.
Lance just stays standing where he is. Merlin is unrecognizable. Not only because of the blood, burns, and dirt that cover his scarily thin body but because of the look in his eyes. The one only Victors have. The Capitol camera equipment is top notch, Lance can hear Merlin wheeze with every breath, multiple too prominent ribs broken beneath the tatters of his shirt.
It hurts Lance to see this final product the Games have made of Merlin. Almost more than it hurt to see him screaming in agony from the burns caused by a forest fire complete with shooting fire balls, almost more than watching him have a seizure after being bit by a Capitol mutated snake, almost more than watching him sob when his only ally, a small thirteen year old girl from 11 named Freya, died in his arms. Almost more painful than all of the terrors his best friend faced in that arena is watching the hovercraft come to collect him in the end while Merlin stands there numbly even as he begins to shake and grow increasingly pale from blood loss and pain.
Then the camera goes blank and they begin showing recaps and highlights. The Capitol has had its entertainment. No one wants to see the horrors that come after.
***
Arthur
They are back in 12. Merlin has his own house with his family in the Victor’s Village right next to Arthur’s but he spends more time at Arthur’s than his own. Arthur is perfectly content with that. At first he’s jealous at how often Merlin still goes into the woods with his friend Lance but then he learns that Lance is deeply in love with a sweet but mentally ill girl named Morgana.
Life is hard, but there are spots of light that keep them going. Arthur still drinks, but less now that he has Merlin to numb the pain. The first night they get back to 12, Arthur spends hours mapping out Merlin’s body, teasing and pleasuring him before they ever so gently make love. Merlin is crying after. Not because of Arthur but for reasons he doesn’t need to vocalize for Arthur to understand.
Slowly, Merlin heals. He’ll never be the noble boy Arthur saw take his brother’s place but he’s still the beautiful boy Arthur loves like he knows deep down, somehow, he has loved for a thousand years. And so they go on living.
Arthur doesn’t find out Merlin’s coping method, all Victors have to find something, until a few weeks after the Games when they are lying naked in bed, a tangle of tan and pale limbs. Arthur is lightly trailing his fingers all over Merlin until he comes to his wrists. He knows all of Merlin’s scars, even the barely there ones on his Capitol repaired tongue, so the perfectly straight ones on his forearms make Arthur turn on the lights and yank Merlin’s arms out from under the blankets.
On each forearm are perfectly cut horizontal scars. Arthur doesn’t need words to know Merlin put these on himself. So he just whispers, “Why?” as he strokes the slightly raised white marks.
“One for each kill. I reopen them sometimes, use salt to keep out infection but make sure they scar. I want to forget the games, but not them… I need to honor them. Somehow. An apology maybe,” Merlin answers, his voice growing shaky towards the end. “Except these. This one is for Gwen and this one is for Freya.” He points to two cuts higher on his forearm. The one for Freya is the thickest, the one Merlin obviously hurt himself the most placing and opens the most often.
Arthur doesn’t criticize or tell him to stop. He just nods in understanding and hugs Merlin tight. They fuck that night, desperate and fast and angry and tinged with tears. But then in the morning they make love, soft and sweet and reveling in just having each other.
Because that is all they can do. Hold on tight and survive.
***
Merlin
Arthur’s proposal comes the night after Lance and Morgana’s marriage. They won’t get ‘officially’ married, like their newlywed friends, by going to the Justice Building because they would probably be carted to the Capitol and then paraded through the districts like marrying Victors usually are. But they can be joined privately, in the custom of District 12. Far more important than any Capitol issued document.
So when Arthur presents Merlin not with a ring but with a pendant like his dragon pin token from a time he dare not dwell on he looks in the older man’s eyes and does not say yes. Arthur knows that will be his answer. Instead he says the one thing he has been holding back for so long.
“Let’s run away to District 13.”
***
Author: warsandtrek
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: R
Word Count: ~4500
Summary: A Merlin/Hunger Games crossover.
Warnings: Mentions of self-harm, violence, character death (minor), sexual content
Author's Note: This has been sitting on my computer for ages. I finally decided to post it.
Arthur
Arthur hates reapings, perhaps more than anything else. Except watching his mentees die. Time after time, always so heart achingly brutal. But at reapings, he sees the fresh terror in the faces of those picked and everyone around them. He sees mothers crying, children screaming or worst of all devoid of all emotion. Already accepting their imminent deaths. Thankfully he has drink to numb himself to it all. Effie, the woman charged with his District, doesn’t appreciate it as much. Especially when he vomits on her ridiculously pink shoes on the way up to the stage.
The girls are first as usual. A medium sized girl with curly black hair and unusually dark skin named Guinevere Smith is picked. Her eyes are shiny with unshed tears by the time she gets to the stage, her lower lip trembling. Arthur wonders how soon this one will die. It won’t take long he figures. In the crowd he sees a distraught looking large man with the same skin as the girl, probably her brother.
“And now for the boys….” Effie shouts gaily after the girl mounts the stage, seemingly oblivious to the silent misery of the crowd. She looks at the name on the slip of paper she picks from the bowl of names. “Mordred Emrys!”
Arthur fights the urge to wince when a tiny boy with blue eyes and ruffled black hair slowly steps forth before being seized by Peacekeepers. This boy, Arthur doesn’t let himself think of their names because he might get attached, can’t be more than twelve. He looks younger but twelve is the minimum age to be picked for the Games. The twelve year olds are the hardest to see reaped and always the first to die. Especially little scraps like this boy. The boy knows too, his eyes are dead and his face stoic.
But then, just as Arthur is resigned to watching these kids die quick, cruel deaths something unprecedented happens. A hysterical boy with the same milky skin, mop of dark hair, and brilliant blue eyes runs forth.
“I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!” this new, older boy shouts. He is obviously related to the younger boy, probably a brother. The little boy starts screaming and crying and fighting to reach his brother, restrained only by a tall dark haired boy with toned olive skin. Arthur hears the boy screeching, “Lance, let me go! Merlin!”
The new boy steps up to the stage now. Effie is smiling as she asks his name. He tells her he’s Merlin Emrys and that was indeed his younger brother.
As the boy is led away Arthur watches him intently. No one has ever volunteered to be tribute in District 12. Interesting…
***
Merlin
Merlin’s first two visitors are unsurprising. His mother, Hunith, seems shocked but is still crying silently. Mordred is a complete mess. It cuts straight to Merlin’s heart to see his normally stoic, strong twelve year old brother in such a state.
“You will win. You have to. And I know you will,” Mordred tells Merlin in a shaky voice while Merlin holds him tight. “For me.”
“I will. I’ll try so hard for you. And you’ll be fine. You’ll be strong like always and it will all work out. Lance will help too,” Merlin mumbles into Mordred’s hair, refusing to cry or show weakness in front of his family. He takes off his neckerchief, the ratty old blue one he always wears, and ties it around Mordred’s neck. “That’s for you now.”
“Okay,” Mordered finally says and pulls away from Merlin, touching the kerchief briefly. They both know their time to visit is running short.
Merlin turns to his mother next. She offers him a hug but he dodges it and stares her dead in the eye. “You must keep it together. No leaving this time, not like what happened when dad died. Do you understand? Lance will help, but you have to be strong no matter what,” he whispers harshly.
His mother looks like she might try to defend herself but ends up just nodding before she takes Mordered by the hand and leads him out when the Peacekeepers arrive to escort them.
When Lance walks in Merlin fails in holding back his emotions any longer and throws himself into his best friend’s arms, burying his face into his friend’s well-muscled chest. Lance envelops him in a hug, ever Merlin’s silent strength.
“You have a chance you know. You can find your own food and you are the strongest magic user I’ve ever seen,” Lance finally tells him, pulling back to look at Merlin. His handsome face is confident and strong.
“Lance, there’s twenty four of us and only one wins. I’d say the odds aren’t in my favor,” Merlin sighs. “Besides, there might not be a wand or trees or any familiar terrain. I might not be allowed to use magic.”
Magic users in the districts were rare and strictly controlled. They were tested, registered, and injected annually with a serum that muted their powers so they could only be used with the help of a magic focusing device, typically a wand. Self-made wands were illegal as well as extremely hard to make. But Merlin had one made long ago by his now dead father. It was gorgeous. Eleven inches with druid ruins along the handle, it was made of holly with a dragon heartstring core. Or so his father had told him though the last dragon had been killed off by President Uther Snow long ago. He kept it hidden in the woods.
Of course, only Lance knew Merlin’s magic seemed so strong that sometimes he could use small amounts despite the serum. Such a secret was like their trips to the woods and their hunting, it would mean death if it got out.
“Show them what you can do. They’ll make sure there’s a wand,” Lance assures him. The doors open, signaling the end of their visit.
“Take care of them Lance! Make sure they don’t starve!” Merlin shouts as his friend is led out, the brief glimmer of hope brought on by Lance’s words fading quickly now that he is alone.
***
Arthur
Despite his ‘courage’, more like stupidity in Arthur’s mind, Arthur thinks the new boy will lose. Just not as quickly as the girl or some of the other tributes picked this year. That is until the boy throws a knife at him at dinner one night, barely missing his head and sticking in the wall behind him.
“You are our mentor. You won the Games once, hell you won the Quarter Quell with twice the tributes! So sober up and help us,” the boy shouts at him. Arthur swears he sees the kid’s blue eyes flash gold, which is impossible because of the serum keeping his magic dormant. Arthur was surprised when he found out he had a magic user tribute. Normally only the Careers, the tributes from the wealthy districts like 1 and 2, have magic users. But his powers are probably weak, barely enough to move things a short distance. Arthur doesn't have much hope.
Until now when he sees the fighting spirit, the will to survive in this one. Now he sees a chance.
“Here’s what you do. Stay alive,” Arthur finally sighs, yanking the knife from the wall behind him and throwing it back at Merlin. Instead of flinching like the girl does, Merlin catches the knife by the handle. Again, Arthur thinks he sees a flash of gold and the knife slow in midair. He resists the urge to take a swig of wine to drown his flutter of hope.
“Come on. Help us,” Merlin snaps, stabbing the knife down into the table.
Arthur stares into those deep blue eyes for a while before nodding once. “Fine. But you do exactly as I say,” he finally answers. Merlin doesn’t smile, just nods, stands, and goes to his temporary room. The girl has already scurried off.
Watching his retreat, Arthur realizes he has begun to think of this boy by his name. Merlin.
Fuck.
***
Merlin
Arthur trains him when he can. Hard. And Merlin listens and obeys, albeit with plenty of snark. Because he wants to win, he wants to keep his promise to Mordred. But he also finds he wants to impress his gorgeous mentor. Wants to earn those rare half smiles, like after the interview when Arthur saw how charismatic and charming Merlin can be. Arthur tells him to play this up; he needs sponsors if he is to have a fighting chance.
When he is training with the other tributes though Merlin downplays his strength. He avoids the magic station, the edible plants station, the agility course. He practices with a knife, with fire starting (without magic), and with weights.
And every night he sneaks his way to Arthur’s room. At this time they don’t talk about the Games. This is their break. At first Arthur is cold and distant but he is soon warming up. When not drunk Merlin finds his mentor charming, kind, noble. So different from the arrogant boy who went into the arena eight years ago. Merlin finds they are becoming very close very quickly. Sometimes Merlin forgets this is the twenty two year-old man who won the 50th Hunger Games at age 16, the same age as Merlin is now.
One night, while Arthur is sprawled on the bed like normal and Merlin is lying on his stomach, looking up at where Arthur has his upper body propped up, Arthur makes a sudden noise and reaches into his pocket.
Merlin is up instantly, alarmed. “No, no, nothing bad. I just remembered I acquired this a little while ago back in 12. Your flaming outfits, the whole ‘Boy on Fire’ thing, made me think it might be a good token for you to bring into the arena,” Arthur explains. He pulls a golden pin from his pocket and presses it into Merlin’s hand.
Merlin stares at Arthur as their hands touch and linger together before he finally looks down and turns the pin over in his hand. He smiles when he sees it is a dragon with spread wings breathing out curling flames. A sword is clutched in one talon and a magic staff in the other. It looks expensive enough to buy a year’s worth of food back home. Merlin still isn’t used to the luxurious standards of the Capitol.
“Now go to bed Merlin. You have a big day tomorrow,” Arthur says before Merlin has a chance to say anything. He rolls over on his side and turns out the lights, leaving Merlin to slink back to his room in the dark, stroking the pin and eventually falling asleep with it in his hand.
The next day is the day the tributes go before the Gamemakers and receive their 1-12 score. Merlin is second to last because he is the male tribute from 12. He has Arthur’s gift from last night pinned on his collar, hidden by the one of the kerchiefs he had requested. He had been presented with ten of them, all in splendid colors made of fine fabrics. Merlin had only looked at them and longed for his own. Now he wore the least lavish one, the red one that sometimes caught the light and flickered orange.
Arthur is standing there when he is called to go in the scoring room. Gwen is lost in thought, paying no mind to them. So Merlin, high on adrenaline, kisses Arthur swiftly on the lips when his mentor pulls him in for hug. Then he darts into the other room.
When Merlin walks in the Gamemakers are in their box, deep in drink and no longer paying attention. Merlin ignores this as he scans the room. He finally locates the table with a few wands and staffs on them. He immediately walks over and selects one made of mahogany. It is very streamline, clearly professionally made and extremely different from Merlin’s wand back home. The core is something synthetic.
As he picks up the wand Merlin feels his magic rush like a waterfall to connect with it, eager to escape. Merlin fights back a grin; there is nothing that feels quite as good as using magic. His magic saturates the wand, getting familiar. As Merlin stands there he notices some of the Gamemakers watching him. He turns to a row of human shaped targets and brandishes the unfamiliar wand. Muttering a spell under his breath and moving his arm, Merlin makes fire shoot from the tip. But Merlin is unfamiliar with the wand and the pitiful stream of fire fizzles long before the target. Merlin has now lost the attention of the Gamemakers entirely.
His magic rears up angrily in response. He says his spell louder this time and sends a deadly sharp spear of ice straight through the heart of a target. Proud of himself, Merlin looks at his audience but it seems they are more intent on the roast pig being brought in than in him. Now Merlin is really angry. These people are sending him to his death and don’t even have the decency to watch him now?
Merlin points his wand at their box and wordlessly makes a fiery dragon erupt from his wand. It starts out the length of his arms but by the time he has ended the flow of flames it is the size of fully grown man and vividly detailed. Still guided by Merlin’s magic the creature lets out a roar as it flies up to the Gamemaker’s box, making many of them scream and scuttle back when it dives through them to spit blue fire on the pig, setting it alight in a blaze of brilliant sapphire flame.
“Thank you for your time,” Merlin says with an exaggerated smile, bowing and putting down the wand before stalking out of the room.
***
Arthur
Merlin is fidgety. Arthur notices it immediately. He is usually extremely observant, it’s part of how he survived in the arena, but he seems to be particularly keyed into Merlin. They are watching the announcement of the tributes’ scores. The Careers get their normal high scores, ranging from 8 to 10. Others pull anything from a particularly harsh 2 to a surprising 7 or 8 in some cases. And then comes District 12. Merlin is riveted.
Arthur finds himself oddly nervous and itches to gulp down a bottle of something strong. But he promised Merlin. He will stay sober as long as the younger boy stays alive. As soon as Merlin had seen Arthur waiting for him after the scoring the boy told him what he had done. Arthur had laughed and wished he could have been there to see but the displays were kept highly secret. But now Arthur wonders if Merlin’s gutsiness will be punished and his amazing display of power ignored. After all, not many magic users could do such a spell, especially without uttering a word.
“Merlin Emrys, District 12, with a score of 11,” the announcer says and a big 11 flashes beside Merlin’s picture. The highest score of the night.
Arthur can’t hold it in; he grabs Merlin and gives him a solid hug and a kiss on the cheek. He wants to kiss him more but he reins himself in. Not only is it stupid to get attached to a kid who is going to be fighting to the death with 23 others, he is much older than Merlin. He is still puzzling over the kiss the boy gave him and the lust, or even more worrying the love, he feels for him.
“Good job,” the girl says quietly. Even Effie is smiling and congratulating him.
The girl’s score comes next. She pulls a 4. Everyone sits in silence. Effie leaves quickly. Before long the girl goes to her room. Each day Arthur sees the hope and the life dimming in her eyes. He does nothing to console her. They would both know it was all lies.
Merlin is watching her go. He doesn't know, doesn't get that in order to avoid being destroyed he has to distance himself from everything and everyone in the arena.
“You just remember our deal. You try your damnedest to win and I’ll help you all I can. With your charm, cute little face, amazing score, and top notch mentor you’ll get sponsors. Perhaps enough to save your life,” Arthur tells him.
Merlin looks at him with those beautiful blue eyes and Arthur aches. There isn't much but there is the barest hint of innocence and hope and youthfulness in them. Arthur will hate to see the arena crush it to dust. “I’m not cute,” Merlin finally huffs.
Arthur smiles. “No. I suppose you are much more than that,” he whispers. They sit there, thighs touching on the couch. “Oh fuck it. I’m already self-destructive. Might as well go the final mile.” Then he leans forward and presses his lips to Merlin’s slightly chapped, pink ones.
With all the vigor and lack of finesse of a teenage boy Merlin kisses him back. Arthur pushes the smaller figure down into the soft leather couch, feeling for the first time just how much sinewy muscle the boy actually has. Their kiss is tinged with desperation, the knowledge that this could be their first and only time together. Tomorrow Merlin goes into the arena. Tomorrow he might be dead. And Arthur knows deep in his heart seeing that would be the thing that pushes him to drink until his body finally gives out.
It isn’t long before the heated kissing and roaming hands lead to frantic rubbing. Arthur feels Merlin’s erection throbbing next to his. His mind is screaming, wrong wrong wrong wrong. He doesn’t care. He stopped caring about wrong the first time he plunged a knife into a fifteen year old boy’s abdomen and didn’t stop stabbing until the canon boom announced Arthur’s first kill.
“I want you to… to take me. I shouldn’t, I don’t know why, but I think I love you. Like I’ve lived a hundred lives with you but it will never be enough,” Merlin pants when Arthur is palming his erection and licking at his gorgeous swan-like neck.
Arthur freezes and closes his eyes. “Merlin… Sweet, stupid boy. I want to, I want to show you how much I love you and how good I can make you feel but… I can’t. We can’t,” he murmurs into his milky white throat. He doesn’t elaborate. They both know all the reasons.
“Then at least… finish what you’ve started,” Merlin smirks. Arthur looks up into the face of a boy too young to die, too young to have seen the things he has seen. And suddenly he hates the Capitol who makes them do these things like never before. Blind, hot, white rage. But he sees Merlin’s expression and his desire to forget, just for a little. While he still can.
So Arthur yanks down their trousers and underwear swiftly, kissing Merlin even more desperately as he strokes their erections together in one hand until they both come. Then he kisses the dark haired youth once on the forehead, gets up, whispers ‘go to bed, you need rest’, and leaves Merlin sticky with come in the couch.
***
Merlin
The arena is beautiful. The tributes rise up into a grassy meadow, equidistant from each other and the Cornucopia which holds everything they will need to survive and, more importantly, kill. Supplies are spread out from the mouth of the golden horn, growing less valuable as they get closer to the tributes on their metal plates. Around the meadow is a thick forest with tall green trees. Behind the tributes on one side is a gleaming blue lake, on the opposite a field of tall grass. Mountains ring the whole thing so far off they can barely be seen.
60 seconds. Merlin knows he has 60 seconds until the tributes can move from their plates. One minute and he might be dead. After quickly taking in the arena he focuses on the Cornucopia. And he sees it. A wooden magic staff with an iridescent crystal globe at the top. It is in the very mouth of the Cornucopia, jutting out from a pile of the most valuable supplies. Merlin wants to run for it, that staff would mean everything for him. But he remembers Arthur’s advice. Run away from the Cornucopia immediately. The biggest bloodbath always takes place there.
Merlin has only moments to make up his mind. He is tensed to run he doesn’t even know where when a canon goes off, signaling the end of the 60 seconds.
The Hunger Games begin. Chaos breaks out.
Merlin touches the pin on his shirt and runs.
***
Arthur
Normally he avoids watching the Games. It is technically mandatory for everyone to watch but Arthur manages to get away. After all, his tributes normally don’t make it past the first day. Why bother watching something that will only add to the mile long list of things that haunt him?
But this year he watches. He has to, for Merlin’s sake. He is fastidious, invested from the beginning when he heaves a sigh of relief when in the beginning Merlin runs forward far enough only to grab a nearby backpack before darting to the relative safety of the woods.
When he isn’t watching he is rallying sponsors. When he isn’t doing that he is usually slipping into brief periods of sleep from which he usually wakes up screaming after having relived every kill he made but seeing Merlin as his victim each time.
***
Lance
The end of the Games is bloody. The whole ordeal is but not like the end. The Gamemakers like their games to go out with a bang. And it does. And in the end Merlin stands victor with his leg twisted beneath him at a horrendous angle, leaning heavily on his staff as blood gushes from his mouth and the mangled thing that was his tongue until one of the Careers had held him down and sliced up his tongue in an effort to silence the deadly spell weaver.
Too bad for her Merlin could use his magic without his words.
Lance can hardly look at the little television screen in the Emrys house. Mordred is sitting silently, crying in a mix of pure joy and the utmost terror. Hunith is crying too but also laughing as she scoops Mordred up in her arms and they cling to each other desperately.
Lance just stays standing where he is. Merlin is unrecognizable. Not only because of the blood, burns, and dirt that cover his scarily thin body but because of the look in his eyes. The one only Victors have. The Capitol camera equipment is top notch, Lance can hear Merlin wheeze with every breath, multiple too prominent ribs broken beneath the tatters of his shirt.
It hurts Lance to see this final product the Games have made of Merlin. Almost more than it hurt to see him screaming in agony from the burns caused by a forest fire complete with shooting fire balls, almost more than watching him have a seizure after being bit by a Capitol mutated snake, almost more than watching him sob when his only ally, a small thirteen year old girl from 11 named Freya, died in his arms. Almost more painful than all of the terrors his best friend faced in that arena is watching the hovercraft come to collect him in the end while Merlin stands there numbly even as he begins to shake and grow increasingly pale from blood loss and pain.
Then the camera goes blank and they begin showing recaps and highlights. The Capitol has had its entertainment. No one wants to see the horrors that come after.
***
Arthur
They are back in 12. Merlin has his own house with his family in the Victor’s Village right next to Arthur’s but he spends more time at Arthur’s than his own. Arthur is perfectly content with that. At first he’s jealous at how often Merlin still goes into the woods with his friend Lance but then he learns that Lance is deeply in love with a sweet but mentally ill girl named Morgana.
Life is hard, but there are spots of light that keep them going. Arthur still drinks, but less now that he has Merlin to numb the pain. The first night they get back to 12, Arthur spends hours mapping out Merlin’s body, teasing and pleasuring him before they ever so gently make love. Merlin is crying after. Not because of Arthur but for reasons he doesn’t need to vocalize for Arthur to understand.
Slowly, Merlin heals. He’ll never be the noble boy Arthur saw take his brother’s place but he’s still the beautiful boy Arthur loves like he knows deep down, somehow, he has loved for a thousand years. And so they go on living.
Arthur doesn’t find out Merlin’s coping method, all Victors have to find something, until a few weeks after the Games when they are lying naked in bed, a tangle of tan and pale limbs. Arthur is lightly trailing his fingers all over Merlin until he comes to his wrists. He knows all of Merlin’s scars, even the barely there ones on his Capitol repaired tongue, so the perfectly straight ones on his forearms make Arthur turn on the lights and yank Merlin’s arms out from under the blankets.
On each forearm are perfectly cut horizontal scars. Arthur doesn’t need words to know Merlin put these on himself. So he just whispers, “Why?” as he strokes the slightly raised white marks.
“One for each kill. I reopen them sometimes, use salt to keep out infection but make sure they scar. I want to forget the games, but not them… I need to honor them. Somehow. An apology maybe,” Merlin answers, his voice growing shaky towards the end. “Except these. This one is for Gwen and this one is for Freya.” He points to two cuts higher on his forearm. The one for Freya is the thickest, the one Merlin obviously hurt himself the most placing and opens the most often.
Arthur doesn’t criticize or tell him to stop. He just nods in understanding and hugs Merlin tight. They fuck that night, desperate and fast and angry and tinged with tears. But then in the morning they make love, soft and sweet and reveling in just having each other.
Because that is all they can do. Hold on tight and survive.
***
Merlin
Arthur’s proposal comes the night after Lance and Morgana’s marriage. They won’t get ‘officially’ married, like their newlywed friends, by going to the Justice Building because they would probably be carted to the Capitol and then paraded through the districts like marrying Victors usually are. But they can be joined privately, in the custom of District 12. Far more important than any Capitol issued document.
So when Arthur presents Merlin not with a ring but with a pendant like his dragon pin token from a time he dare not dwell on he looks in the older man’s eyes and does not say yes. Arthur knows that will be his answer. Instead he says the one thing he has been holding back for so long.
“Let’s run away to District 13.”
***