My mind is a scary place to be.
Title: Golden.
Pairing(s): Merlin/Arthur.
Warnings: Uhm. It's strange? That's about all I got. It's told from a weird point of view, let's put it that way.
Spoiler(s): No.
Word count: 728.
Rating: G.
Summary: Written for the kimkme_merlin prompt ; Arthur/Merlin. Arthur is slowly losing Merlin to magic, to the world.
I'm not talking about Merlin surrendering to the dark side or anything. The image in my head is of the world, nature, earth, magic calling and enchanting Merlin until most of his attention is turned to the Old Religion, to spells, to talking to trees and etc. Arthur tries everything to keep Merlin in the present.
Author's Notes: The POV is...a ltitle odd. I'm not sure why I ended up writing it this way. If you can guess just who, exactly, is telling the story I shall give you cookies. ( And no, Muffin, you do not get cookies if you get it right because you already know. )
You’ve noticed the change in him for some time, haven’t you? Seen the way he smiles as the sun caresses his face, the way he often goes bare foot into the forest to feel the ground on his skin. You’ve seen the way he touches the trees and murmurs soft words to them, seen the way his eyes flash gold. Sometimes you even believe you can see the magic move from him and into the world around him, a trail of tiny gold particles from his finger tips.
You can sense that you are losing him, that he is slowly drifting away. You know that he is not the same person you met four years ago, not the same person you thought that you knew. He is different, somehow, and now that you know about his magic you can see the subtle changes.
He often comes into your chambers with no shoes on, dirt clinging to the pale skin of his feet and ankles, gold still whispering at the edges of the blue of his eyes. That is the newest one, the gold, still there where anyone can see it, and you shake him and tell him to be more careful and he merely smiles and nods and agrees with you. You worry about him, but you don’t have to. He can take care of himself. He is stronger than you know.
You want him, crave him and his attention like nothing you’ve ever known. And he wants you, too, but there is something else that he wants more. Something that is calling, calling. He must answer it, and you know it. He knows it. You can see it in the way he looks, the way he smiles, the way he touches so gently. Nature, it seems, wants him. He cannot resist the call.
He is yours. He belongs to you - his heart, his love, it is yours. But his soul is not, because his soul is bound to the Old Religion, to magic, to spells, to nature. He has given you everything except the one thing that is not his to give, the part of him that is entwined so intrinsically with the world around him.
You have tried everything to stake your claim, to make it yours. But you cannot, and you are ready to admit defeat. He is not yours any longer - you are losing him, but you don’t know who the battle is against. When you can’t see your enemy, it makes the fight that much harder. You have fought valiantly, but you have lost this battle.
It is midnight when he wakes you.
He is standing over you, smiling, eyes golden and brilliant in the moonlight that slants through the window. He is fully dressed, except for his feet, bare as he prefers it now. He beckons for you to follow, and you do so, slipping a cloak and some boots on before following him out into the night. The stars shine down at you, and the moons beams at you. He tilts his head back, letting it wash over him, taking all the colour out of his face except for his eyes, the gold still there, not bleeding out like it normally does.
It is time.
He takes your hand in his, long, pale, slender fingers sliding between yours, slotting together like they belong there, and maybe they do. You like to think that they do, and you thought he did, too. But he is different now.
He leads you to the forest, his bare feet making no sound, especially not compared to your boots. His fingers trail over trees and plants, and life seems to whisper around you, the very earth seems to be talking. Talking to him.
He releases your hand and you reach out to him. He lets you, and kisses you, a gentle peck, a soft touch. He smiles again, his eyes still that vibrant gold, and then he is gone, vanishing from beneath your fingers.
You watch as he walks away into the mist that clings to everything, never once looking back. The swirls swallow him whole, closing around him and taking him where it is he is meant to be. You will see him again one day, maybe, when he becomes yours again.
But for now he is mine. I have won this battle.