Chapter Text
Merlin was just putting the last branch he had gathered into the fire, having stoked it earlier. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. A pair of eyes rested on him and didn't seem to avert their gaze. Merlin looked up from the blazing fire and across it at Arthur. His gaze met two twinkling stars. Illuminated by fire personally. Two sharp swords pointed at him, probably being polished with a whetstone at this moment if Merlin wanted to explain the spark-like feeling in his stomach. Arthur looked deep in thought, at least he seemed to fix his eyes, a little beside himself when Merlin considered his lower lip, which was beginning to loosen and form a shallow "O". Revealing Arthur's beautiful teeth. Teeth that weren't quite straight, limb to limb, but made his smile all the warmer. Much more appealing than a pair of teeth that looked god sent. They, too, could light a spark in Merlin's gut when Arthur was happy, when he was laughing at one of Merlin's carefully chosen jokes.
Merlin couldn't avert his gaze either, the fire beneath him warming him as he paused in his standing crouch. He could only drop the wood, sliding straight out of his hand as he held that position. Arthur was like a star he had to watch constantly to know where home was. It was like a spectacle of northern lights that mesmerized you and one couldn't take their eyes off of it. A rare spectacle, something one might only see on one of their journeys, only once in their lifetime.
Arthur's gaze slid down to the falling branch for a moment. And his beautiful lashes with him. They were beautiful to look at when he looked down. And he didn't do that often as king. He always had to be elevated, above things, always strong and alert. He could not avert his eyes, only in rare moments of sadness. Only in moments of safety that also made him feel at home, a family. People with whom he could be himself, with whom he could fall if he wanted to fall. People to whom he revealed everything, his whole being.
And then Arthur's eyes never returned to him, and Merlin knew by heart the sweep of each lash, its color when lit by the fire to a bright rose gold. More beautiful and rarer than a king's interior. Merlin began to notice that it was his hands he was looking down at. And his lips were still loose. He often caught Arthur fixing his eyes on some part of Merlin's body, almost appraising it. Merlin could only imagine what he was thinking. Maybe they were thoughts similar to his when he looked at Arthur. But unlike him, Merlin still felt a small part of his insides squirm when he felt Arthur's eyes on him. His body didn't turn visibly, he could almost stand like a branch in the absence of wind, like a stake if he wanted to. He had learned body control over the last few years. It was not uncommon for him to stand by one of the stone pillars in the throne room for half a candle when Arthur was engaged in political discussions. And never would he let him linger there alone, even if he often contradicted him, often did what he thought was right, against Arthur's blinded opinion. He would never leave Arthur behind, in any of his life situations. His heart didn't want him to go through experiences alone, his heart wanted to support him, to know him safe and secure.
And yet he squirmed. Yet he didn't have the courage himself that Arthur did. Arthur could stand by what made him who he was. Merlin couldn't. Merlin couldn't be himself, even if Arthur was his home. He tried, he really tried to reveal as much of himself as he was allowed to, and there was the catch. No matter how much Merlin would squirm, no matter how much he fought, no matter how brave he was, deep down he wasn't free. If he looked too deeply, he saw himself chained. To one of the pillars of the throne room, to the rules of Camelot, to one side of a coin with Arthur's image on the other side. It wasn't that, against fate, he wouldn't give his life for Arthur as well, still be by his side forever. But if he didn‘t want to do this of his own accord, he still had no choice. They were connected. Maybe his feelings were just fate, would he feel the same without fate?
Merlin bit his lip. On the one hand to feel the pain of reality and on the other hand rather to detach from these thoughts. He didn't like doubts and yet they were his constant companion. Sometimes he wished he wouldn't question things, could just accept things like Arthur, who still didn't understand that no servant in this world would have survived one of their many bandit raids or wars without combat training, without armament and armor. Arthur believed too much in fate, blindly trusting it, that it would always spit out Merlin unharmed and in one piece. And he also trusted too much in himself, too much in his ability to protect Merlin. That spoke for his endless ego and elicited a smile from Merlin. Let the sparks bloom in his belly.
It was precisely this inner doubt, this lack of freedom, all the lies that made him squirm. That made him flinch when Arthur touched him. Even if he loved him. And because he loved him, he could be free. He could set everything free that wasn't tainted with lies. He couldn't elude Arthur, he had tried and how he had tried. He wanted to see Gwen by his side. He wanted her to be his queen. In time he had become so wrapped up in these illusions that he already believed Arthur wanted it himself. That it was his deepest and most heartfelt wish. And Merlin's job was to grant Arthur all of his deepest, most heartfelt desires. He had misread his looks, turning them away from him like a shield could deflect a sword, and misread Arthur's looks at Guinevere. He didn't want to, couldn't, have imagined that their looks were very different from the ones they exchanged when they were alone by the fire. When they were standing in Arthur's room and Arthur put his hand on his shoulder, his fingers playfully inconspicuous yet quite real running up the back of his neck and tickling his hair there. Played with them like they were the most interesting thing Arthur could get his hands on in a long time. As if they were the only thing he wanted to touch. No sword fight, no political speeches, no war, no Gwen was more exciting. Merlin couldn't picture all this and yet the rough outlines were already obvious in black and white. He forbade it and Arthur was a gentleman. Behind all his ego, all his rough facades, all the shenanigans between them was a sensitive, tender, vulnerable core. A core that Arthur must have wanted to protect himself, not allowing him to touch Merlin while Merlin wasn't allowed, assuring him that his intentions were perfidious. That his passion wasn't what the common people could accept, that he was the only one who thought differently, felt differently, contrary to the religion of Camelot.
Arthur couldn’t love a man, Arthur couldn't let a man unite with him, let him into him. He had the higher title, he was older, stronger. And Merlin had enjoyed it. He loved showing Arthur that his passion wasn't off-putting. That rules were only made by humans and rules weren't something unavoidable. That rules weren't always fair and only wanted the best, because people themselves didn't always want the best for those around them. They were often so selfish, driven by their own experiences, so blinded. And Merlin had loved Arthur, contrary to his religion, according to the old religion, which saw freedom and acceptance as principles. And Arthur had trusted him, always trusted his thoughts and feelings.
When Merlin thought back to the sticking point of their love, how it was that Arthur got through to Merlin despite his fear and gentlemanly demeanor, and how Merlin, despite his lies behind all the shields, let Arthur get through to him and hypocritically showed him that he need not fear love, he began noticing again how much they had grown. What a journey they had been through together. And yet they weren't perfect. They were too fixated on each other, and as the druids had prophesied, this would be their downfall. Merlin's lies hadn't gone away and he didn't stop at destroying anything and everyone who stood in Arthur's way. He couldn't shy away from making wrong decisions to keep Arthur safe. And Arthur trusted him blindly. He didn't question him. He let all his thoughts be put on his tongue, planted in his heart. Gone were the days when he didn't listen to Merlin's words. However, with them also went the times when he only considered Merlin's words and pondered them. Their love was like a charm. Their love was also a curse. And there was no escaping fate.
Thinking about all of this felt like a lie in Arthur's presence, too. He kept all of that from him and yet he had no other choice. He had spun his web too wide, too deep. It was almost the same as with Morgana. He had been too young and inexperienced then, now he was too caught up in his past to stray off course. And it wasn't as if he never thought about telling Arthur everything. Trust him with all his secrets. But with these thoughts came suffering. With each passing day that he hesitated, the sorrow he would see in Arthur grew. His face. He didn't want to look into his face, not into the mirrors of his soul, not into his heart. He had a plan and it was the only plan that allowed him this fate. Convincing Arthur that magic wasn't a bad thing. That magic was the same as his sword. Only it did not let itself be disarmed. It was part of the body and made up the human being. It was part of the soul and the heart and thus possessed many more dimensions than a sword. A sword was there only to hurt, its sharpness implying nothing else. Whether hurt for good or bad, pain was inevitable. A sword represented power, could inspire fear. Magic, on the other hand, could also be used to heal. Magic could create life. That's what he wanted Arthur to see. That's what Arthur needed to see. That magic was bound, that magic could not be discarded. Kill magic and you kill the human behind it. Cast out magic in general and you cast out a variety of characters, you cast out all dimensions. Good and bad. That wasn't the way, in Merlin's eyes. The way was to learn to understand. The way was to get to know magic and the people who cast this magic. People let themselves talk to, one could communicate with them, whether good or bad. They were living beings, like all the others, like all the swordsmen, and they deserved the same right. They were so much more than just a tool.
And one should only judge those who use magic for evil purposes. But a judgment could not take place before one had become acquainted with their inner workings.
He had already had the opportunity to let Arthur break the law. Arthur had already been open to learning about magic, Arthur was so understanding, so eager, so smart. He trusted Merlin's words, his feelings, and Merlin couldn't. He couldn't give himself freedom because that would have meant Arthur would die. And Arthur's life was worth so much more than just from Merlin's selfishly loving eyes. He didn't want Arthur just for himself, alive and feeling his pulse, seeing him as a freely acting human being and experiencing his decisions, hearing his words, feeling his actions. No, he wanted that for all the other people too. He wanted Arthur to be their king, because that was Camelot's only chance, for Albion. There was never a king like Arthur again. He was the only one able to bring about justice, security, freedom. Arthur meant so much.
The distorted images in his mind gradually disappeared as he felt the heat of the fire beneath him. Only then did he realize how long he had lingered there, how long he had been looking at Arthur while Arthur was already looking back into his eyes. Now, however, his eyes were no longer shrouded in sparks, no more blazing flames or northern lights. A curtain had drawn over the shining stars. His brow furrowed, his hand, which lay loosely on his knee, began to twitch as if he were struggling to reach out to Merlin, or rather to see how things would turn out. Merlin, on the other hand, noticed the change in mood, which was more or less his fault. His face revealed too much of his inner workings. Only recently Arthur had pointed out that he hadn't smiled in days. Merlin wouldn't have noticed, too busy with his thoughts and current events to show Arthur a facade. Did he even want that? Arthur wasn't allowed to know secrets, but did he still want to lie with his mood? He wanted to be as honest with Arthur as he could. But he couldn't tell him the truth and it was worth trying to lighten the situation with a silly comment. He was always very good at that. And he had to admit, it wasn't often that these comments came as camouflage. They were part of his character and he had a lot to find fault with about various situations and often about Arthur as well. Even if it often slipped playfully from his lips, teasing Arthur was an exciting part of their relationship. A part not infrequently with many sparks in his stomach area.
"What are you staring at, isn't that enough firewood for his spoiled majesty?" He tried his hand at a mischievous smile while loving how his words would never have consequences. Arthur had always let him be cheeky and only at the beginning of their acquaintance did it end up being tied to the pillory and having fruit and vegetables thrown at him once or twice.
He was about to move away from the fire, to sit down by it, when Arthur suddenly stood up and grabbed his hand in his upward movement. Rather his wrist, which he carefully pulled towards himself with a slight hesitation. He wanted Merlin to come closer and Merlin was surprised at first. Instead of sitting down, he almost tripped over the firewood and gave a short, surprised sound. He was clumsy and usually unprepared, and Arthur was rude and imprecise, though he so often tried to be more gentle. Not a good combination for the two of them.
"You're too clumsy," Arthur scolded as he watched the firewood roll by that Merlin had accidentally kicked out of the fire with his foot. Not that it was his fault. Because Arthur was the ruffian here. "Your fault," he captioned it curtly, and because he usually couldn't hold back the words his head was producing, the short accusation didn't stop there. "If you weren't always so rude, this wouldn't happen at all. How is it that you can wield a sword precisely during training and in everyday life-" A touch on his lower lip made him stop in surprise. He hadn't even noticed how Arthur's hand had crept up to his face. His fingers cupped his cheek, his thumb pressed gently against his lip. A shallow pressure, a questioning pressure, a pressure that made the seriousness of the situation clear. Merlin tried to look down, at first just wanting to know what was touching him there, then he was rather surprised by how much he lowered his shields to Arthur that he didn't even notice what Arthur was doing. He hardly knew how to protect his body as little as in Arthur's presence.
The rest of his sentence evaporated with just a touch from Arthur, which he let out with a breath. He looked up from his leather-clad hands to his face. And still he saw the sad curtain drawn before his eyes. In front of those beautiful bright blue eyes. Except for their breath, there was silence between them for a moment. And Merlin liked to hear Arthur breathe, to see his clothes rise and fall as he breathed calmly and peacefully.
His thumb brushed his lower lip for a moment before Arthur let go. But he didn't have to touch him to touch him. He might as well hold him with his gaze. And how he could. Arthur had already mastered this ability. Merlin didn't know anything to look at except Arthur himself. He didn't look away either when he heard Arthur fumbling between them. Something fell to the ground, something soft, Merlin thought. He wasn't sure. He was too busy. He wanted too much to be close to Arthur, to press his body against his, to feel his warmth, it was so cold so far north and no one ever gave him warm clothes. He wanted to breathe his breath and see him up close forever.
Then suddenly Arthur's hands came to his cheeks, grasping them firmly and yet trying gently. As gentle as a ruffian could be. His thumbs traced under his eyes and Merlin immediately noticed how rough they were. How often they wielded a sword. And more importantly how warm they were. So warm on this cold evening. In this cold night air. Full of heat. The only contrast was his cold ring, which he wore constantly. The King's Seal. A king. Arthur was a king and he took off his gloves for him, for Merlin, a servant. Merlin could have cried with joy and maybe he did. He wasn't sure anymore. In Arthur's presence he knew nothing and certainly not to control himself. In his presence he was just passion, trapped in a body with which he tried to express it. And he craved Arthur's passion, his body, with which Arthur tried to express it. Merlin often felt like an unfortunate creature who had the most luck on earth. Two opposites united so strongly.
"Why are you crying?," Arthur breathed, his face coming closer, leaning towards Merlin, still stroking the spots under his eyes desperately. He wiped away his tears. He didn't want to see them. He wanted to be able to wipe grief away with a wave of his hand. Yes, Arthur was like that. Stranger's sorrow was his sorrow. Not infrequently he saw himself reflected in Arthur's eyes. Stranger grief despaired him, he wanted to understand it, fathom it, and Merlin wasn't remotely satisfying enough. He was evasive, telling him lies that Arthur doubted but couldn't argue with. Merlin was a bad liar.
Merlin laughed, for just a moment, torn between joy and sadness. He blinked away the tears, letting Arthur catch them. And he didn't even have to lie when he told him, "I'm so lucky to be your servant."
This got Arthur thinking. He still looked concerned, not knowing how to deal with this information. Didn't think that was the reason for Merlin's sadness. Arthur wasn't the best of deductions and probably nowhere near as wise as Merlin, but those words didn't make any sense. You could see that in Arthur. He wanted to believe Merlin, but couldn't quite. His hands slid from Merlin's cheeks down his neck and gripped the back of his neck tightly. He was present, he would hold Merlin and he wanted to make him feel that. "Merlin, you-" for a moment he had to consider himself how absurd the words he was about to say were. He wouldn't say that if they were teasing each other. But that's exactly what it was, all just a show, a facade. Nothing he ever said to Merlin when they were flirting, he really meant. It all had more the character of courtship. He was courting Merlin, not knowing how else to do it. He never knew better. He wanted Merlin and yet he could never have him. They had imposed too many barriers on themselves back then. And too many eyes were still on them. He wanted to tell Merlin he loved him, but he couldn't do it directly. He could only pack it behind this facade. And sometimes, yes sometimes, it wasn't even a facade. It was just their way of flirting with each other. It had taken a long time, but Arthur knew that now. And he knew he could be honest when they were alone, when they needed each other. He could say what he thought out loud.
He stroked the back of Merlin's neck, the ends of his hair there, as he had always done before he could be honest with Merlin. As Merlin knew it, as he was familiar with it. "You are not my servant." At Merlin's mischievous look, he quickly corrected himself. "I meant, of course you are my servant, Merlin. Professionally speaking. In the eyes of others, you are my servant." He swallowed for a moment, as if he had to swallow what he was going to say himself. Speaking the truth wasn't easy. And certainly not for Arthur Pendragon, whose ego was bigger than all of Camelot. But Arthur recovered quickly because other than that his heart was just as big and he was a sincere and honest man. And when he loved, he loved without reserve. "But for me you are only mine, not my servant."
The sparks in Merlin's stomach slowly began to overpower. And with them his desire. Why was Arthur so wonderful, why was he everything Merlin longed for in a human being?
"I didn't know you could turn on your charm."
"I'm serious, Merlin." Don't downplay it with your flirting again. Merlin had already understood. And yet he had to caption it with snide comments, otherwise he thought he would explode. His heart would burst, his stomach would burst.
"I didn't know you could be serious-" And then lips were on his. Hands ran up the back of his neck into his hair, stroked the back of his head and for a moment Merlin grabbed Arthur's elbows, literally holding on there while warm and unbelievably sinfully shaped lips pressed against his. If Merlin thought his stomach was about to burst, then what about his lips. Too many nerve cords to survive a kiss from Arthur Pendragon.
Arthur's lips slid over his, intermittently blowing out warm air between them, frantic air that betrayed his rapidly beating heart, his passion. But it was no different with Merlin. And the only way he could express his passion was to reach up Arthur's arms and put his hands around his neck as well. He pushed against Arthur in turn, it was a struggle, at the same time a loving giving. And whenever Arthur pushed him back, he began to realize what combat training was good for. It was associated with strength, with muscles, with willpower. And Merlin couldn't pretend he was skin and bones himself, though the knights always made fun of it, because Arthur's armor didn't rise by itself when he put it on him. Apart from his magical support here and there. But Arthur was physically much stronger, and as a knight he had to be. As King of Camelot, Merlin would have expected nothing less from Arthur than being able to take his warriors into battle if the worst came to the worst.
A shove from Arthur was a little too hard and Merlin stumbled back, almost over the branch he had earlier kicked out of the fire thanks to the same person. And Arthur's hand slid from Merlin's neck down to his brown service tunic and gripped it tightly, pulling him back against his body. Merlin was about to say something, to make a snide comment on Arthur and his rude behavior when Arthur let go of him for a breath. But as if he had guessed it, he stretched towards him again and sealed his lips. Merlin let out the pent-up air he'd been collecting for his speech through his nose and still wanted to punch Arthur for his behavior. First he roughly pushed him back and then he wasn't even allowed to complain about it? Arthur was a blockhead. His hands ran through his hair again, enjoying Arthur's warmth and soft hair despite the rough handling. They had been sweating and weren't that fresh anymore, but who was Merlin to lie about Arthur not smelling attractive after his exertion. He liked his masculine scent and if it was more intense then that was a rare bonus that he could only enjoy when travelling.
Arthur's hand, which had been clutching his fabric earlier, loosened its grip when he found Merlin close enough and ran beneath the fabric along his ribs to his back. There it performed circular movements that distracted Merlin no less. He constantly noticed his signet ring, how it pressed into his flesh, how present it was and spoke of the fact that the king himself was standing before him. The king who was also a blockhead.
"Here is where the music is playing," Arthur breathed against his lips as Merlin found himself pulling away from them deep in thought. He opened his eyes, which he hadn't even realized were closed, and faced blazing blue. The flames of the fire next to them reflected in his pupils. Or was that his own fire?
"I didn't know you were a bard-" And lips were on his again. Would Arthur ever let him finish a sentence? Such a blockhead. He badly needed new words to insult him. Cabbage head also sounded quite interesting. This made him chuckle and in turn made Arthur push against him harder as if he couldn't resist Merlin's teasing side.
His hand resumed the circling movements on his back and then slid down a bit to be able to lift the blue fabric of Merlin's robes and sneak down. Feeling his fingers on direct skin was too intense for Merlin and he was grateful that they were kissing, otherwise he might have moaned now. Not that anyone would overhear them, not that it bothered the animals here in the forest. Not that he was ashamed of how much Arthur Pendragon himself could capture him and arouse him with just a touch on his back. And he had moaned anyway, albeit muffled against Arthur's lips. And Arthur's reaction to that was wild. Suddenly one of his legs was between his and Merlin couldn't hide his excitement anymore. Deciding to throw everything overboard, he clung to Arthur, pressing every part of his body against him, noting roughly between the ends of his mail and his buckskin pants that Arthur was aroused too, and no less so.
He was gripping his hair and in any other situation he would have worried about being too rude himself, but Arthur understood. He understood when one was overcome with passion and couldn't hold back. And Merlin couldn't do that. Arthur was too much, Arthur was stronger than the strongest spell. He wanted everything from Arthur, everything to give to Arthur, he wanted to be one with him. Be in him and Arthur beeing in him. As close as they were otherwise hardly allowed. Merlin bit Arthur's lower lip and this time it was he who groaned. More beautiful than the oldest language of the druids, more beautiful than dragons themselves. Merlin seized the moment and ran his tongue between Arthur's lips. His hands, on the other hand, continued to run through his hair, only subconsciously directing his head in all the directions he wanted Arthur to face. And Arthur complied, Arthur enjoyed it, he gave him everything Merlin wanted because Merlin gave him everything he wanted. And when he shoved him, pushed him back against that tree behind them, all he heard from Merlin was a moan of affirmation. And when he tugged at his neckerchief, pulled it off his body, all he got in return was a gliding of his tongue against his. Against all the spots that Merlin had already identified as sensitive. And Arthur couldn't help but be a bunch who got to enjoy and respond with enjoyment. A constant give and take.
And Merlin didn't complain at all when Arthur grabbed his thighs and hoisted him onto his lap. Having his back pressed against the tree, the only support they had, for Arthur wasn't at his whole strength when he was in frenzy. And in frenzy, Merlin could think of nothing but willingly parting his legs for Arthur. He wanted Arthur with him, he wanted Arthur between his legs, he wanted Arthur inside him. He crossed his feet together behind his back, still wearing far too much clothing, and as he rested his arms on Arthur's shoulders, he felt his armor digging into his flesh. This wasn't a fight and they didn't have to be armed. But he didn't want to let him go either, they couldn't separate now, they didn't have time to strip armor and cloth off their bodies.
Merlin didn't exactly smack the bark behind him gently as Arthur let go of his lips and they found their way to his neck. He savored Arthur's taste that lingered when their tongues left each other and couldn't help but lick his own lips and savor Arthur's leftovers. He then bit his lower lip as he felt Arthur's tongue on his neck. Warm and wet and so terribly skillful in making all his sensitive spots happy. Arthur knew his body and the realization made Merlin groan in excitement. His tongue trailed up his neck, all the way up to his chin, then kissed it a few times before kissing his way back up to Merlin's lips. And Merlin wanted it too, wanted to taste Arthur so incredibly strong, to feel his heated lips, to realize how wet they had become from their doings.
He lifted his head back from the bark behind him and lowered himself down to Arthur, letting their lips meet, kissing him, lips and tongue and all he possessed. And Arthur gripped his thighs tighter, couldn't hold on to anything except there, on Merlin, had to hold on to Merlin, couldn't let Merlin fall, not alone. He would fall with him. His hands wandered up to his buttocks, enjoying the grip they had there, enjoying Merlin's body, relying on Merlin's crossed legs to find support on his back. And then he leaned against Merlin, pushing against him, letting their groins meet and could barely think straight as he felt Merlin so incredibly hard and found the fabric of his trousers already damp. He wanted to give it to Merlin, he wanted to make him feel that way, he wanted to give him everything. Merlin deserved the whole world.
And he rode him, rode him like he would never ride a horse. He pushed against him, letting their limbs push against each other hidden under the fabric, rubbing, sliding, it would be enough. it was enough, it was more than enough when they were together and touching. That's all it needed. Most of the time it didn't even need a touch. He'd just come from Merlin's gaze a few times already. From his dark blue eyes, from the heat he threw at him. And it had embarrassed him at first, he wouldn't be able to tell Merlin, how thoughts of him aroused him so much, how his looks finished him off when he couldn't touch himself. In front of his knights.
"Oh God, Arthur," Merlin exhaled wildly and had to let his head fall back against the bark of the tree. Arthur was too good at building up pressure. He was too good at touching too many sensitive parts at once and he smelled so damn good. He smelled too good to keep a clear head. But he hadn't had that for a long time. Arthur's taste on his lips, his excitement between their legs, the hard metal of his armor, his heat, his touch, and then when Arthur's lips pressed against his neck again, his teeth sliding over his skin, it finished Merlin. That made his barrel overflow. The pressure to burst, made him feel like he cast ten powerful spells at once as he came. He writhed against the tree behind him and then wildly again Arthur, clinging to his body, riding the wave, wanting Arthur to come too. And when Arthur had become relatively stiff between them, mumbling Merlin's name stifled like a mantra and Merlin felt the warm liquid between their joined laps, he was sure Arthur was coming too. Arthur came. He had excited Arthur and Arthur came. A few years ago he would have laughed at himself for thoughts like these, scolded him. Never in his life did he think they would find each other, that he could have Arthur, that Arthur wanted him, that he felt the same way. How high was the probability of meeting someone who lived the same sexuality as himself. And now he had Arthur, now they were both trapped in a spell, the king and his servant. It was a story that would certainly not please the nobility, that could not be told to anyone. As were all the other things Merlin wasn't allowed to tell anyone about.
Arthur's rapid breathing slid across his face and Merlin could feel his own heart pounding in his ears. They breathed at each other and Arthur's hands seemed to lose strength, they were exhausted, balanced, their needs met. Carefully and deliberately, Arthur ran his hand under Merlin's thighs, still unable to let go for fear Merlin would fall. He couldn't know that Merlin was secure, that he would always be safe at Arthur's side, no matter what Arthur did. He rested his head on Merlin's shoulder, just above his collarbone and Arthur's sweaty hair tickled his neck, his slowing breath all the other body parts. Merlin loved this man and he could hardly put into words how much. His hands slid over Arthur's shoulders, caressing them as if to massage them, as if to say thank you for his heavy physical act of carrying Merlin in the air the whole time. The tree couldn't have done much for him. Then he leaned down to Arthur, to his head, straight to the place that was always wearing a crown in Camelot. He placed his lips there, kissed his hair, kissed Arthur, thanked him and again felt immense joy that he was the king, that it was him and no one else.
Arthur seemed to notice his act, lifted his head and looked up at Merlin, straight at him. They shared their breath again, looked at each other, into each other's eyes, and Merlin couldn't help but be drawn in by them again. How could someone be so beautiful, how could he have such deep blue eyes, shaped like the stars in the heavens themselves. So luminous and full of life, so guiding and soothing. So beautiful to look at and always showing in which direction home was.
Arthur leaned toward him, placing his lips on Merlins for a moment, letting them feel his warmth, their wet remnants of the passionate kisses they'd shared before. Then he left his lips again quite quickly to be able to look at his face again. Into his eyes and then his focus was suddenly diverted, looking at other parts of his face, letting his lips follow again. Suddenly they were on his cheeks, on his chin, on his forehead and when they began to touch his ears he couldn't help but giggle mischievously. Arthur had taken a liking to them and Merlin couldn't quite figure out why. He had never given much thought to his appearance, but since Arthur was caressing and appreciating all parts of his body, he began to think about them himself, to pay attention to them. His ears were quite big and he wondered why no one had ever told him before. The people surrounding Arthur were too sincere, too nice. And until now, there had probably never been a great moment of time to think about his own appearance. Too many duties, too much work, too much politics and war.
Arthur smiled himself, he could feel it on his skin and once again he let go of him to be able to look at him again. "That wasn't exactly clever of us. I can't be seen in Camelot with this trousers anymore. And certainly not as their king."
Merlin smiled at him too. "If you're worried about that, you should also be worried about what you eat for breakfast. Surely Camelot doesn't want a king who is too out of shape to wield his sword." And Arthur laughed. He laughed. Warm and full of beautiful, super cute teeth. The whole sky lit up. And then Arthur kissed him again, full of love, full of gentleness, full of admiration that Merlin certainly deserved a lot more of. As much as he did, as hard as he worked. And nobody ever admired him for it.
"You didn't seem to be complaining much about my sword skills just now." And Merlin's heart was pounding. If Arthur was flirting, then really. That Arthur could flirt at all. This never ceased to surprise Merlin. This blockhead couldn't do anything else properly, but he seemed to be good with his words. His mouth was more than gifted.
"I don't know what skills you're talking about,“ he played down. He couldn't let Arthur know how good a lover he was, it would stroke his already oversized ego too much. And besides, he had to flirt back. He couldn't let that sit on him. His bursting heart couldn't take it anymore.
"Watch your mouth Merlin. I can still have you tied to the punishment stake and have things thrown at you. You seem to forget that I'm still your king." It sounded harsh, but Merlin's smirk didn't diminish. It was just a facade, Merlin knew. Arthur wasn't serious. Arthur just wanted to show the prig he was. It was still his way of flirting, of soothing his own bursting heart. Merlin knew that. And because Merlin knew just as well what Arthur represented, what nobility and what gentleness he possessed, he could not help but value him as his king once more. The mischief left his eyes when he spoke more than honestly "I won't forget that."
And Arthur's eyes also lost their playful shine and now looked at him gently, recognizing, thanking, but also amazed at what he had ever done to earn Merlin's loyalty. He had never treated him well, even if his rough treatment was only to hide his feelings for him. His feelings that lured him to touch him, to love him. Arthur let go of one of Merlin's legs, quite surprised that Merlin was still able to cling to him without Arthur's help. Merlin was stronger than one would think at first glance. His hand slid up, straight to Merlin's cheek and caressed it, enjoying the high cheekbones, stroking over them, right over his hair, that was just slightly covering his cheecks, his hair was too short, Arthur liked it too much when Merlin was wearing longer hair. He let his hand wander to the back of his neck, put his fingers on it, now stroked Merlin's ear with his thumb. About the cooling spots that had to withstand this cold night air. And then he remembered. He remembered Merlin's sadness and cursed himself for his passion, for his poor self-control. When he looked into Merlin's eyes, saw his sincere and proud look, the little hint of sadness that they carried with them, he remembered. And the melancholy made his heart heavy, made him breathe out pent-up air.
"You're driving me crazy," he captioned briefly and Merlin would have told him that Arthur certainly wouldn't need him for this if Arthur hadn't already continued speaking "How do you always manage to distract me so much? To steer me away from facts?"
Merlin didn't know what he was talking about. He didn't hope he meant their moment earlier, that he wanted to bring up Merlin's behavior again. But knowing Arthur, that's exactly what it was. Arthur wouldn't let go, not until he was sure everyone could live peacefully and happily ever after. And Arthur knew Merlin wasn't happy, at least not all of Merlin, not the whole Merlin. There was always something that worried him, and Arthur worried that he wasn't telling the truth, that he wasn't being clear about it. Merlin was just a bad liar. "I have practiced this skill for a long time." He meant it as a joke, but the stark truth behind it made it frighteningly realistic. He had really practiced, he had learned to lie to Arthur and had done so for several years.
Arthur's hand left his ear and his fingers slid down his jaw back to his chin. There he dropped his thumb against Merlin's bottom lip again, pressing gently against it as if he could draw all of Merlin's sorrows out, learn all of his secrets, if only his lips were loosened enough. How easy it would be if it worked like this. How hard it was because Merlin himself was the silence. "Without a doubt, I take your word for it", breathed Arthur, more wanting to say something, to say something back, than to continue this thread of conversation. He seemed to be aiming for something completely different and again he was tempted to let himself be distracted by Merlin, again he almost succeeded if he hadn't learned to stay focused over the last years of their relationship, to stay on Merlin's heels. He wanted answers and he wanted nothing more than to know that Merlin was safe. Happy, harmonious, at peace with himself and Arthur. He wanted Merlin to feel safe and secure, he wanted him to be able to confide in everything. Didn't they love each other? Didn't he trust Arthur? And still the conscience gnawed at him that he couldn't be completely sure that Merlin was doing badly. Merlin was such a bad liar, but Merlin was also so gifted in the arts of distraction, turning Arthur's head, taking his thoughts away, making him think things he never would have imagined. Merlin was good at talking a lot. He was good at downplaying moments with flirty words and steering away from given truths, making people think he was fine and there were no problems. But he wasn't good at putting up a facade. His facial expressions gave him away, a look in his eyes gave him away, because he was such a bad liar, such a sincere and honest person. Merlin didn't want to lie, yet seemed to have to, and Arthur couldn't begin to guess why. He was ashamed that it had taken him so many years to realize that. That he hadn't let Merlin out of his sight ever since his arrival in Camelot, that this boy had occupied him so much and yet he hadn't realized it earlier, he had been blind. It was as if a veil of lies had hung over him all his life. Magic was supposed to be bad, and yet a druid had wanted to help him heal his father. Homosexuality couldn't end in love, couldn't be based on equality and yet it felt so liberating and wonderful when he made love with Merlin, when he also let Merlin penetrate him. Arthur began to have doubts. He began to believe his life was a lie. He was beginning to understand.
And as he tapped Merlin's lip deliberately, pondering, brooding over them both, he didn't miss the glow reflected in Merlin's eyes. They always shone brightly, lit by fire every night, whether inside or outside, the flames were always reflected there, but seldom did they take on a brilliance like this. Rarely could Arthur personally see when Merlin stifled grief when tears nevertheless came through. And only rarely did these moments accumulate as in the past short time. Merlin didn't laugh that often anymore and even their time together couldn't change that much. Merlin stopped laughing and Arthur didn't know why. Arthur didn't know anything. A crown sat on his head, people from all over Camelot knelt before him, telling him their wholes lifes and Arthur didn't know why his love wasn't laughing. Rarely has he felt so powerless. The desperation was greater than when he didn't know how to get Camelot out of the war. No illness had ever brought him to his knees so much. When he looked up at Merlin, he saw him standing over him, he always wore a bill, the sun always shone behind him, glaring light fell down on him. Merlin was the most beautiful thing Arthur had ever seen, inside and out. Merlin had the greatest power over him. And Arthur didn't know why he was crying.
Merlin's hand joined Arthur's and he carefully grasped it, guiding it away from his lips, his cold signet ring away from his skin. He slipped his fingers between Arthur's, intertwined them, and liked to see their bond symbolically. He carefully lifted their hands and laid his lips on Arthur's raw knuckles, on his warm skin, for a moment. He knew what Arthur was thinking. And that realization was even worse when he thought that Arthur couldn't know what Merlin was thinking. He didn't want to see the veil before his eyes, the pain he was causing him. Sometimes he began to doubt what was worse: telling Arthur the truth, telling him that they were part of a prophecy, that Arthur would die if Merlin didn't choose the right path, that he was starting to break down under the responsibility, that he had magic? His magic didn't sound very special and quite believable when compared to their fate. Or was it worse that Arthur was suffering because he was deprived of all this? Which suffering was worse? Merlin didn't know anymore. Merlin could no longer imagine how Arthur would react. He would probably cast him out because he had lied to him all these years. He wouldn't be able to trust Merlin anymore. Would Arthur sympathize with him? Would he change the law just for Merlin alone? What about all the other sorcerers? Just because he trusted Merlin didn't mean he would trust every sorcerer, that he would accept magic in general. If he would break the law just for Merlin, it would be unfair to the other people of Camelot. So he would have to disown Merlin after all. He couldn't tell Arthur the truth until he would see that sorcerers should have the same rights as every other human beeing. Would he reject Merlin's magic personally but still want him near? Would he tell him never to do magic in Camelot and deny him his wish for freedom? Would Arthur show conscientiousness and stick to the rules? Would he have to tie him to a stake and burn him? Merlin didn't know anymore. He didn't want to think about it anymore, about the possibilities, about all the horrific images. The suffering was too great on both sides. And no matter which way he looked, it was and remained the suffering he saw. He didn't want to see it anymore. Sleep was a restorative distraction when not dreaming. Bonding with Arthur was a particular distraction when they were mindlessly driven only by their passion. What a reality would look like in which they could love each other carefree. That would be a pleasant dream for a change.
He pressed their hands to his chest, right over his heart, letting Arthur feel it pounding. And then he thought it fitting not to break Arthur's back, much as he might have deserved punishment for some of his actions, but Arthur needed this life in one piece. Merlin needed Arthur in one piece. He released the tight grip of his legs on Arthur's back, easing their pressure on Arthur. It was probably by reflex as Arthur's hand dug into his flesh, right on his thigh. Maybe he didn't want to let him go, couldn't let him go until he got answers to all his questions. But Arthur was unjustly concerned, for Merlin would not leave him. He would never leave him. And even this evening, right now, he wasn't planning to leave Arthur's side. He needed his closeness as much as Arthur needed his.
"Are you going to carry me all night?," he teased, "They say you're strong and maybe a knight, but I'm not sure I should believe the stories. They also say you're stubborn and a blockhead."
'Who says that?' echoed in Merlin's mind as he could already envision Arthur's usual reaction to that. Not infrequently there were moments when he teasingly insulted Arthur and Arthur even believed his words for a moment. He had doubts about himself and that was more than just adorable to watch. But most of the time, Arthur would pull himself together and keep up his facade, countering that he was making it up and that no one would think of him that way.
But Arthur reacted differently. Arthur didn't counter. Arthur remained remarkably calm. Given their situation, that was understandable. Arthur felt what Merlin felt deep inside and unlike Merlin, who was always keen to enjoy their relationship to the fullest, to give their relationship some semblance of normality, Arthur was the more honest of the two. Arthur didn't need to keep up appearances because Arthur didn't know the seriousness of the situation, he didn't know anything about the secrets between them, couldn't imagine how existential it was for Merlin to work hard to ensure they both enjoy their relationship, that they were able to maintain the positive. Merlin was sure they would break if he didn't try. He was sure that if he couldn't lie to himself, he would break with the burden. If he couldn't constantly try to just focus on the lightheartedness between them. And Merlin was still sure that none of that really made any sense either. They broke nonetheless. Arthur was still concerned and unhappy at the same time. It was a sad vicious circle, it was a circle in which Merlin spun and no longer knew where the way out was, which direction to take, which way seemed brighter. It was dark in every direction. What should he do?
"Arthur, you can let go of me," he breathed, afraid they would stay like this all night if he didn't tell him explicitly. Arthur was proud and when he set his mind to something, he stuck to it. If he felt he had to cling to Merlin lest he slip from his fingers, then he would accept staying, sweaty and powerless in the cold and dark night, with Merlin by a tree until the first rays of the sun. Arthur had stamina and Arthur didn't think he could keep Merlin around. He didn’t think he’d been close enough to Merlin, that he had to be as close as he could because his uncertainty was driving him further and further away from Merlin, making Merlin fall into a sinking hole. Merlin didn't feel close, even though he was touching his heated skin. Merlin was so close to him, Merlin gave him everything and yet he was so far away at the same time. Still, there was that look in his eyes that said he knew more than Arthur, that he thought differently than Arthur, that he withheld so much from him, didn't let him see his true inner life. 'Merlin was happy to be his servant'. That might be true, but that wasn't what made him cry. If that's what he was crying about, then he'd be happy like he said. Then why did he look so unhappy, so torn? That made no sense to Arthur. It rarely made sense to him, in few of their situations where Merlin gave him a reason. Merlin spoke the truth and yet he spoke in riddles, yet he lied. He avoided him, he distracted him, Arthur noticed that. And seldom had he had the opportunity to notice it so clearly and distinctly as during the time when they were allowed to get closer, when they shared body and soul. Arthur wanted to pay attention, for once in his life he wanted it like nothing else. He wanted to notice everything about Merlin, not be the inattentive ignoramus he seemed to have been before, the person who didn't question anything about Merlin, just looked at his facade as if it were a picture-perfect painting. He wanted to look inside Merlin, to fathom him, he wanted it so badly.
His hand loosened around Merlin's thigh. Trust. That would be a start, that was so incredibly important. He trusted Merlin. He had to trust that he wouldn't look away from Arthur, that he had plausible reasons for not confiding in him. He trusted that he would tell him the truth, if he would only always trust in Merlin. He already trusted him, so much. He trusted him so much that Merlin's constant lies felt like daggers in his heart.
Merlin's legs slid down his hips, he came to a halt unsteadily in front of him while Arthur's hand fell anchorlessly back to his side. Limp and clueless and then insatiably touched Merlin's hip, stroked his brown leather, found his back, put it there, spread his fingers, felt his warmth and pressing Merlin with a jerk firmly against his body. He couldn't let him go, God, he couldn't. He didn't want to. He trusted him and yet he couldn't stop tying Merlin to him. His fear was too great, his fear shamed him.
He rested his forehead on Merlin's shoulder again, letting it fall there. Clueless and desperate, so endlessly happy and yet full of worry, so exhausted and worn out. The struggle seemed endless. The mystery was endless. "I would never let you go", he murmured against the thin fabric there. His words weren't really muffled, his words were the utmost sincerity, his words were raw and vulnerable. And Merlin swallowed. He struggled again with the pressure behind his eyes. Arthur was too valuable, he kept making Merlin wonder what he did to deserve him. His trust. His closeness. Arthur would always be with him, just like Merlin would always be by his side. Arthur would support him, catch him if he fell, would he understand him too? Would he understand all the mysteries? Would he still not let him go then?
"I know," he breathed, squeezing Arthur's hand into his chest. They were connected, in his heart. Arthur buried his nose against his neck, breathing heavily against him, breathing him, warming him. Their bodies were unquestionably one. Bringing solace to their faltering souls. Two souls who wanted nothing more than to be one, hampered by suffering and mysteries. Hampered by fear, even if Merlin didn't want to admit it to himself. Fear was powerful. He raised his hand, absentmindedly stroked Arthur's hair, looked over his head at the heavens. It had lost a star. Merlin now knew what it was like to hold a star.
Arthur exhaled. It took a lot of courage for him to speak more words, to speak about things that they were otherwise silent about, that were too uncertain and too deep. But if Arthur was anything, it was brave. He had the courage to break new ground. Unexplored ways. And he didn't lack the courage to stand by his love. No longer. Not anymore. "You are the greatest mystery I have ever asked myself."
And Merlin now exhaled in turn, the air he exhaled showing as warm vapor in the cold night. It was laughable how sad he was. He could only laugh at how much he agreed with Arthur, how he saw himself in his eyes. Merlin felt terrible. And he let out his breath in a short dry sound of approval. "I know", he murmured again, noticing a tear loosening, brushing his cheek and falling onto Arthur's head. He could have it. Arthur was allowed to collect all his tears. Nobody was ever allowed to see them as much as Arthur.
"I want to understand you, Merlin." His honesty drew another tear from Merlin. His bottom lip trembled. Arthur opened his heart to him. "I want to know what you think." He was glad they weren't looking at each other, he wasn't in control anymore. He couldn't hide his heart anymore. Not that he was ever good at hiding it. "I want to know how you really feel." And then Arthur's head rose, he met his eyes, his hand crept up to his face with a rustle and wiped his tears from his cheeks. He knew he was crying, what was Merlin thinking, trying to hide it. He couldn't hide anything from Arthur. And Arthur's eyes looked sad too, tears illuminating them into even brighter stars. He put his hand on Merlin's cheek. "Do you trust me?" he asked as if asking Merlin about the meaning of his life. So existential. And he had to look him in the eyes while doing it, he had to be sincere, he wanted to feel that they weren't lying. And Merlin didn't have to. There was only one answer to his question, he didn't have to think about his question. "More than that," he breathed. He trusted Arthur more than himself. And then Arthur rested his forehead against his for a moment, gripping him tightly, thanking him, showing him he felt the same. He wanted to share his thoughts, let them be part of him. Arthur distanced himself again, reassured. "Then tell me the truth."
And Merlin swallowed. He swallowed because he wasn't ready. He swallowed because he felt so awful. He swallowed because he wanted to give Arthur everything, because he could experience Arthur in his purest form and yet fear had nested in his heart. Yet he was unfair, plagued by fear and doubt. He trusted Arthur, but he didn't trust himself. He himself was the biggest obstacle in his way, a stone wall. Himself and the images in front of his eyes. Images of Arthur's eyes, of his heart, of his suffering. Images of him piling all his lies, how they decompose in heaps in his dungeon and bury him beneath them. Images of his failure and Arthur's death. Arthur's death. Fear was the greatest power and Merlin didn't know why it was written in books that love triumphed over all. Fear had power over love, fear was born of it and could be a constant companion to protect it.
It was on his lips. 'I have magic, Arthur. I am magic. I can do magic. Our whole life is a lie. I have always protected you with this magic. We are bound by destiny and if we make the wrong decision you will die. Mordred will kill you and killing Mordred is not the solution. You yourself are your downfall and we cannot know what that means.' They were just words. He just had to say it. He shouldn’t think about their consequences. And yet fear won out. Still, it made Merlin a coward. He didn't have the courage Arthur gave him credit for. He had never really been in any danger, never really up to this point. And now potential danger was on his heels and he couldn't. Now he had images in his mind, umpteen possible paths Arthur would choose and Merlin couldn't. He couldn't while he was the only person who could save Arthur. He needed to be near him. He couldn't when he himself was still searching for the only right path that would save Arthur's life. He couldn't because he hadn't yet let Arthur see how beautiful magic was, because it was only ever being abused by sorcerers who wanted revenge on Arthur, wanted his legacy, because no good-natured person was brave enough, to ever use magic against the rule. He couldn't, considering Arthur's face. He couldn't because it seemed hopeless and he broke.
His bottom lip trembled. It opened and closed in an unsteady beat.
"I'm worried about Mordred," he finally said, because it was the first thing that came to mind, because it was the closest thing to the truth, "Your decision was right, but he didn't deserve this fate." And yet it was the only way to save Arthur. If he turned out to be Arthur's enemy, Merlin wouldn't bat an eye to destroy him. Merlin lowered his gaze, looking down at Arthur's armor. He wasn't comfortable looking him in the eye when he was lying.
"Yes," Arthur breathed and Merlin could hardly feel proud that he had been able to offer Arthur a believable lie, "He's so young." He couldn't read Arthur's feelings unless he looked into his face, he didn't know how he felt about Mordred's fate, how he felt about Mordred personally. He spoke his sentence rather monotonously, as if he were distracted by something else, as if he wasn't concentrating on their conversation. And then Arthur's fingers cupped his chin and lifted Merlin's head, encouraging him to look back into his eyes. Arthur looked steadfast, Arthur looked open and he looked determined. "The truth, Merlin."
And then something happened that Merlin couldn't control. Something surprising that eluded his usual control, made his facade crumble. He was a bad liar, but it had never happened to him before that he let a grain of truth escape through a crack in his mountain of lies. It had never happened that Arthur realized what truth hadn't come from deep inside him. He never made a demand that made Merlin's eyes widen with shock at first, which made him wince despite his body control. And it was just a moment, a split second really, and Arthur was paying attention. Arthur's hand seemed to lose its grip on his cheek before pressing against it more firmly, holding it tighter. His brow furrowed gently, his lips parting with Merlin's at the same moment, with the same surprised reaction.
"You're scared."
He couldn't let Arthur keep talking. He couldn't let Arthur know more. He was not allowed to solve riddles, be able to combine fragments. It had to stay that way. Arthur knew, Merlin's mistake was throbbing out of his throat, he now knew something about his inner workings that affected Arthur directly, that he was afraid of Arthur finding out the truth. That was more than enough knowledge, that was knowledge that could already endanger their bond. But he had to catch himself. He was such a bad liar, he wasn't a good actor but he had to catch himself.
"Of me?" Arthur asked in astonishment at the same moment that Merlin looked past him, straight to the bushes opposite them. He squeezed Arthur's shoulder as he tried to simulate an emergency situation as best he could. "Arthur, the bush caught fire." He nodded past Arthur, over to the bush, and at the same time cringed inwardly at his poor acting. His concern couldn't have sounded more artificial. Arthur had noticed it as well, frowning deeper as he let his gaze dart across Merlin's face inquiringly for a brief moment. He couldn't explain himself to Merlin and that was probably what bothered him the most. Then he dared to look behind him for a moment, wanting to trust that Merlin wouldn't play a trick on him at a very inopportune moment. And he actually saw the bush burst into blazing flames. Flames that spread quickly and could be dangerous to both, them and other creatures in the forest. He let go of Merlin, but not before subconsciously pushing him back against the tree, away from danger, away from Arthur, who might possibly throw himself into the knife in front of Merlin in any dangerous situation. Who gladly took on a fight since Merlin couldn't fight. He might not be able to draw his sword against fire, but protecting Merlin was nonetheless his top priority.
And then he stood there like a donkey, staring down at the fire. He cursed himself for not thinking fast enough when it wasn't about a fight. Merlin was the one who could solve all the other problems. Merlin was the combination talent. Merlin could think faster than he could. And it helped a little if he told himself it was because of their burdensome conversation moments before. Arthur couldn't think straight right now.
"How about water?" Merlin offered, as if about to pour him another glass of wine, as if the solution was obvious and Arthur was just taking too long. Yes, Lord, God again, he took a really long time. He was useless.
"That sounds like a plausible idea," he titled the situation, noticing only now that he was still pressing Merlin firmly back against the tree. He let him go. For now. But the situation was not yet clear for him. It wasn't over between them for Arthur. He would approach Merlin again, ask him about it again. What he had seen, Merlin's expression, shocked him. It hurt him. He couldn't explain it, the pieces of the puzzle didn't fit together, not that he had many. He was still staring at the fire and then Merlin's voice came hesitantly beside him.
"I'll go get it then, the water," he drew the focus back to the emergency situation and it was quite noticeable how exaggerated he spoke, how badly acted. It sounded a lot like he couldn't wait to step back, to withdraw from the whole situation. But Arthur didn't have time to think about it further. He acted too, rushing over to the horses to lure them further away from the fire.
"Don't accidentally fall into the bush, just wait here. Just don't do anything until I get back," Merlin called as he hurried off. And with every step he took further away from the fire, he could breathe deeper, more. He hadn't even noticed how constricted his throat had been, how good fresh air felt.
"Shouldn't that be my sentence?," he heard Arthur call back from between the trees before he could no longer see the fire. He'd gained enough distance, he'd bought himself enough time. Now he had to plan. He had to think carefully about how to proceed, what to say to Arthur if he asked about his fear again. And he had to fetch water, yes, that too. He could also just conjure up rain so the fire would be a little more contained and he wouldn't risk roasting Arthur to a heap in the long wait.
Merlin reached the nearby river and breathed a sigh of relief. He stretched out his hands towards the cool water and let it evaporate into clouds with a magic spell. With a bit of magic and wind, they would reach their resting place. He exhaled. It was good to work magic. At times it felt like it was building up, like it was just begging to be cast. There were usually so many spells on Merlin's lips that he had to swallow. If a glass fell off the table he wanted to stop it, if a child dropped his doll in the mud he wanted to clean it, if Gwen couldn't get to the top shelf in the library he wanted to magic all the books down for her. But he couldn't. He had to bite his tongue every time, pressing his lips together. Sometimes he had to show an iron will and be able to stop quickly because there were things he didn't need a magic spell for anymore. They had become a part of him and he heard their ancient language steadily in his subconscious.
He looked down at the river, first dipped his hands in the cool water for a moment, enjoying the cleansing effect, the freshness that water brought with it. Then he looked at his distorted reflection and paused. Less because he could recognize himself there particularly well and rather because it stimulated him to think about himself. What had become of his life? He laughed bitterly. What just became of him and Arthur? The fear nagged at him that Arthur might trust him less. Had he broken his trust now, knowing that Merlin couldn't tell him the truth out of fear? Arthur didn't know what his fear was based on, Arthur didn't know he had magic. Arthur had drawn the most obvious conclusion he could think of: that he was afraid of Arthur himself. It wasn't that. He wasn't afraid of Arthur, he could never be afraid of him. Fear was the farthest word he would use to describe his feelings for him. But Arthur couldn't know that, he couldn't infer anything else without the rest of the information. He couldn't know that he was afraid of his suffering, that he saw himself reflected in Arthur's eyes and was ashamed. Little did he know that he was afraid of their fate and afraid of having to leave Arthur's side, one way or another. He could choose the way, if that was his decision. And Merlin would welcome his fate with open arms. He deserved it for all the shame he brought.
A noise behind him caught his attention, pulled him out of his self-destructive thoughts. It was just a twig that had fallen to the ground and Merlin could have laughed for all the destructive spells he seemed to have just run through in his mind for a harmless twig. He could have laughed if he hadn't felt a stronger sense of astonishment. For a moment he thought he was imagining it. He rubbed his tired eyes. It was still quite dark and he could have looked wrong. But it really was there. A blooming flower meadow in the middle of the dried up and leafy forest. They hadn't seen anything in days but dirt, leaves, and sticks. Maybe a few stones too. A few many. But certainly not a flower meadow that looked like paradise in person.
Merlin rose from his kneeling position and gazed into the distance. The meadow stretched across the entire place. He couldn't see the end of it and he was still certain that this meadow hadn't been here before. This meadow wasn't there when they stopped either. And when a deer scurried past him, he was relatively sure that they hadn‘t seen any animals far and wide. At least not that many in one place.
Fascinated, Merlin looked after the deer, it disappeared behind a raspberry bush. A raspberry bush. Did raspberries even grow here? And where did the rabbits suddenly come from? And then all of a sudden he understood. Then it suddenly made sense. Then his lips loosened of their own accord, parting in surprise and shame at the same time. Then he felt the heat rising in his head and his heartbeat increasing. That was... he couldn't describe it in words. He didn't seem to have exaggerated when he felt like he was casting ten powerful spells at once. Oh god, how embarrassing. He put a hand in front of his mouth. And only one of them had been planned. But not with his... not when he had... not when Arthur...
Merlin looked around. Tried to somehow absorb the whole thing he had created. It was nice, he couldn't deny that. It was beautiful. He could only dream of something like that. There really weren't any places like that. And he wished he could show Arthur that. His eyelids drooped. He felt a stab in his heart. He wished he could tell Arthur that all of this was created by magic, by his magic. Arthur would see it anyway, maybe he'd already noticed. They had been so focused on each other that they didn't even notice nature thriving around them. And now he had another fact to explain. Or he would just play dumb. That had often worked in the past, when Arthur hadn't given him much brains.
And he had to think about how to proceed with their problem situation from a few moments ago. A plan would take some time. He quickly looked up at the sky as he remembered. With a few words he made the clouds break out in a downpour. And then it rained down on the forest floor in rapid and frequent drops. Despite knowing what to expect, rain was always a surprise. Perhaps he should have searched for something to stand underneath first. He ducked under one of the trees, feeling more than ready to hatch a plan. It would not be easy on his soul, but he saw no other way out. The web was spun, his basement was already overcrowded, and Arthur developed an unexpected ability to elicit piece after piece of the puzzle from him.