Ouroboros (1/1)
Time has run away from me again... I'm so busy at the moment with Christmas preparations and work that I haven't been writing what I wanted to write and, even worse, I've got behind on replying to comments (which I really hate to do).
Anyway, this also isn't anything I wanted to write (either updates for my SV WiPs, or the next part in my Merlin series - which is currently going by the unwieldy title of 'The Appropriate-Quotes-From-the-Oxford-Dictionary-of-Quotations-With-All-of-the-Interesting-Words-Taken-Out Series'). This is my first(?) of what I would refer to as my Late-Night-Cheese fics in the Merlin fandom!
It's also my first ever fic of under 1000 words that isn't a drabble; I've been trying to write one for ages but have never managed it before! Yay!
Fandom: Merlin
Title: Ouroboros (1/1)
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: PG-13
Length: approx. 850 words
Disclaimer: Not mine. Everything belongs to the BBC.
Summary: There are many myths concerning Arthur's final resting place. All of them are true.
Arthur sleeps beneath Alderley Edge. Beneath Caerleon, Craig-y-Ddinas, Eidilon Hills, and Richmond Castle. On the Isle of Avalon, he recovers from wounds so grievous they will take an eternity to heal.
He sleeps in all of them and none, for the place he occupies is not a where but a when.
It is immortality achieved through inertia; a single moment curling back on itself, suspended between one measured beat of his heart and the next. A moment that will repeat, unchanging, until it is shattered by force - the chiming of a bell, the blast of a horn, the metallic whisper of a sword being drawn from its scabbard - or when the pain of the land that was once Albion becomes too great a burden to bear.
Until that day - that blessed, cursed day - he sleeps, and he dreams.
***
Merlin's groan was loud enough that it shocked Arthur into opening his eyes, and he paused, lips pressed against the sharp line of Merlin's collarbone, feeling light-headed and a little disoriented.
He had no clear recollection of how he came to find himself there, pinned between the warmth of the sun against his back and the warmth of Merlin's body beneath him. He remembered leaving the castle, desperate to escape the oppressive weight his father's absence, and how Merlin caught up with him at the edge of the forest; annoying, perceptive and reassuring in equal measures as he always was. And then he remembered kissing Merlin, but all the steps in between are blurred; a path he cannot hope to follow again.
Nevertheless, it was less of a shock than he believed it should be, despite being something he had never even thought to expect. Something he had barely even recognised that he wanted.
Merlin's head was tipped back, mouth and eyes wide open as he stared at the sky. His hands moved from Arthur's shoulders to cup the back of his head, his fingers twisting almost painfully in Arthur's hair and urging him to start moving again. Arthur capitulated happily, trailing his tongue up the column of Merlin's straining neck to scrape his teeth along the line of Merlin's jaw. Merlin's next groan splintered into a series of hitching gasps that made his narrow chest vibrate under Arthur's fingertips.
Merlin made a quiet, broken noise that sounded as though it might have been Arthur's name, fractured in the middle, before their lips met again.
Arthur felt as though his future was opening up before him, vast and unfettered, unaware that, instead, his destiny was wrapping around him like a winding-sheet, binding him tighter with every drop of blood his father shed. But for a time, Arthur was free; free to slide his hands beneath Merlin's thin shirt, free to move with him and share every halting breath he took.
But then - too soon, far too soon - Merlin broke the kiss, pressing his palms flat against Arthur's chest and gently pushing him away. Puzzled, and more than a little annoyed, Arthur tried to move back, but Merlin only frowned and shook his head.
"We shouldn't, Arthur," Merlin said as he rolled on to his side. "Not right now. Later, when your father returns; when everything's back to normal again."
Not 'We can't', not 'I don't want this'; it wasn't a refusal, but a caution. The future still held, it would just take a little longer to get there, and Arthur could accept that if he must.
"Later," he agreed, forcing himself to smile.
Merlin's answering smile was broad and joyful; his eyes glinting in a way which suggested that he'd ensure the waiting was more than worth it.
The waiting will never end. Arthur will wake on the morrow to the news of his father's death, to the news that he is King, and what he wants will be overwhelmed by what his kingdom needs.
But those were worries for the morrow, and they could never truly poison that moment when all he saw was the promise in Merlin's eyes, and all he could feel was the warmth and strength of Merlin's fingers as their hands clasped together.
Arthur breathed deeply for a time, preparing himself for their return to the castle. Preparing himself for patience. And Arthur could be patient, no matter what Merlin might believe to the contrary.
He closed his eyes, and let Merlin pull him to his feet.
Arthur's heart contracts, and he sighs out a breath held for far too long. The world shifts.
Merlin's groan was loud enough that it shocked Arthur into opening his eyes, and he paused, lips pressed against the sharp line of Merlin's collarbone, feeling light-headed and a little disoriented…
***
Merlin lies beneath Marlborough. Beneath Drumelzier and Carmarthen.
His sleep is poised on the brink of death: flesh unwarmed by the sluggish tide of his blood, empires rising and falling before he draws his next breath.
He dreams, although he isn't aware of it. His thoughts are as placid as the surface of a lake on a still day, endlessly reflecting the clear blue sky. It is all he sees.
***
Anyway, this also isn't anything I wanted to write (either updates for my SV WiPs, or the next part in my Merlin series - which is currently going by the unwieldy title of 'The Appropriate-Quotes-From-the-Oxford-Dictionary-of-Quotations-With-All-of-the-Interesting-Words-Taken-Out Series'). This is my first(?) of what I would refer to as my Late-Night-Cheese fics in the Merlin fandom!
It's also my first ever fic of under 1000 words that isn't a drabble; I've been trying to write one for ages but have never managed it before! Yay!
Fandom: Merlin
Title: Ouroboros (1/1)
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: PG-13
Length: approx. 850 words
Disclaimer: Not mine. Everything belongs to the BBC.
Summary: There are many myths concerning Arthur's final resting place. All of them are true.
Arthur sleeps beneath Alderley Edge. Beneath Caerleon, Craig-y-Ddinas, Eidilon Hills, and Richmond Castle. On the Isle of Avalon, he recovers from wounds so grievous they will take an eternity to heal.
He sleeps in all of them and none, for the place he occupies is not a where but a when.
It is immortality achieved through inertia; a single moment curling back on itself, suspended between one measured beat of his heart and the next. A moment that will repeat, unchanging, until it is shattered by force - the chiming of a bell, the blast of a horn, the metallic whisper of a sword being drawn from its scabbard - or when the pain of the land that was once Albion becomes too great a burden to bear.
Until that day - that blessed, cursed day - he sleeps, and he dreams.
***
Merlin's groan was loud enough that it shocked Arthur into opening his eyes, and he paused, lips pressed against the sharp line of Merlin's collarbone, feeling light-headed and a little disoriented.
He had no clear recollection of how he came to find himself there, pinned between the warmth of the sun against his back and the warmth of Merlin's body beneath him. He remembered leaving the castle, desperate to escape the oppressive weight his father's absence, and how Merlin caught up with him at the edge of the forest; annoying, perceptive and reassuring in equal measures as he always was. And then he remembered kissing Merlin, but all the steps in between are blurred; a path he cannot hope to follow again.
Nevertheless, it was less of a shock than he believed it should be, despite being something he had never even thought to expect. Something he had barely even recognised that he wanted.
Merlin's head was tipped back, mouth and eyes wide open as he stared at the sky. His hands moved from Arthur's shoulders to cup the back of his head, his fingers twisting almost painfully in Arthur's hair and urging him to start moving again. Arthur capitulated happily, trailing his tongue up the column of Merlin's straining neck to scrape his teeth along the line of Merlin's jaw. Merlin's next groan splintered into a series of hitching gasps that made his narrow chest vibrate under Arthur's fingertips.
Merlin made a quiet, broken noise that sounded as though it might have been Arthur's name, fractured in the middle, before their lips met again.
Arthur felt as though his future was opening up before him, vast and unfettered, unaware that, instead, his destiny was wrapping around him like a winding-sheet, binding him tighter with every drop of blood his father shed. But for a time, Arthur was free; free to slide his hands beneath Merlin's thin shirt, free to move with him and share every halting breath he took.
But then - too soon, far too soon - Merlin broke the kiss, pressing his palms flat against Arthur's chest and gently pushing him away. Puzzled, and more than a little annoyed, Arthur tried to move back, but Merlin only frowned and shook his head.
"We shouldn't, Arthur," Merlin said as he rolled on to his side. "Not right now. Later, when your father returns; when everything's back to normal again."
Not 'We can't', not 'I don't want this'; it wasn't a refusal, but a caution. The future still held, it would just take a little longer to get there, and Arthur could accept that if he must.
"Later," he agreed, forcing himself to smile.
Merlin's answering smile was broad and joyful; his eyes glinting in a way which suggested that he'd ensure the waiting was more than worth it.
The waiting will never end. Arthur will wake on the morrow to the news of his father's death, to the news that he is King, and what he wants will be overwhelmed by what his kingdom needs.
But those were worries for the morrow, and they could never truly poison that moment when all he saw was the promise in Merlin's eyes, and all he could feel was the warmth and strength of Merlin's fingers as their hands clasped together.
Arthur breathed deeply for a time, preparing himself for their return to the castle. Preparing himself for patience. And Arthur could be patient, no matter what Merlin might believe to the contrary.
He closed his eyes, and let Merlin pull him to his feet.
Arthur's heart contracts, and he sighs out a breath held for far too long. The world shifts.
Merlin's groan was loud enough that it shocked Arthur into opening his eyes, and he paused, lips pressed against the sharp line of Merlin's collarbone, feeling light-headed and a little disoriented…
***
Merlin lies beneath Marlborough. Beneath Drumelzier and Carmarthen.
His sleep is poised on the brink of death: flesh unwarmed by the sluggish tide of his blood, empires rising and falling before he draws his next breath.
He dreams, although he isn't aware of it. His thoughts are as placid as the surface of a lake on a still day, endlessly reflecting the clear blue sky. It is all he sees.
***