Fic: Simple (Merlin, Merlin+Arthur)
Summary: It doesn't occur to him that he should be afraid. Merlin and Arthur.
Simple
I.
Small stones tumble down. The earth gives a little under his feet. Far below is a deep clear pool, dark blue and full of secret life. Above him the sun rests high in the cloudless sky like a golden ball tossed up by the hand of a careless giant.
No one climbs up this high, not the boys twice Merlin's size who boast loudly all summer long, not even the very best swimmers.
He takes another small step forward. The ground begins to fall away, skittering down the long rough slope.
No one climbs up this high. But Merlin does.
II.
It's cold when they light the bonfires. Merlin waits until no one's watching and creeps close. The fire is bright and golden and so hungry his stomach aches with sympathy.
The bonfire laughs with merry wonder and reaches out a flickering hand. For a moment hot, dry lips brush against the skin of his arm, up his throat, across his chest.
His mother pulls him away, sharp words and gentle touches. The night turns cold again, the fire quiet and sleepy.
In the morning the only marks are faint welts around his wrist like the print of a grasping hand.
III.
Below Camelot's high white walls the stone passage winds deep into the earth, rough-hewn steps and smooth passages alternating strangely. His torch is the only light. There is no sound but his breathing and the steady beat of his heart--and the deep voice that draws him on.
His magic flows like a clear song in his blood.
The trail stops. He flings his own voice into the vast cavern, seeking answers.
The huge golden beast settles close and smiles, the long iron chain rattling against unforgiving stone. Merlin is startled, but it never occurs to him to be afraid.
IV.
It's a clear starry night near the heart of winter. Arthur is sitting before the fire in a great wrought chair.
Merlin feels the warm weight of his gaze as he moves about the room, but whenever he glances up Arthur is staring into the red-gold flames, frowning. So he wanders closer.
Arthur catches his wrist, momentarily too tight, but Merlin doesn't flinch and the touch soon gentles. "Merlin, why have you never feared me?" Arthur's eyes are a rich deep blue.
The truth is at once too complicated and too simple, so Merlin just smiles.
"I've never needed to."
Simple
I.
Small stones tumble down. The earth gives a little under his feet. Far below is a deep clear pool, dark blue and full of secret life. Above him the sun rests high in the cloudless sky like a golden ball tossed up by the hand of a careless giant.
No one climbs up this high, not the boys twice Merlin's size who boast loudly all summer long, not even the very best swimmers.
He takes another small step forward. The ground begins to fall away, skittering down the long rough slope.
No one climbs up this high. But Merlin does.
II.
It's cold when they light the bonfires. Merlin waits until no one's watching and creeps close. The fire is bright and golden and so hungry his stomach aches with sympathy.
The bonfire laughs with merry wonder and reaches out a flickering hand. For a moment hot, dry lips brush against the skin of his arm, up his throat, across his chest.
His mother pulls him away, sharp words and gentle touches. The night turns cold again, the fire quiet and sleepy.
In the morning the only marks are faint welts around his wrist like the print of a grasping hand.
III.
Below Camelot's high white walls the stone passage winds deep into the earth, rough-hewn steps and smooth passages alternating strangely. His torch is the only light. There is no sound but his breathing and the steady beat of his heart--and the deep voice that draws him on.
His magic flows like a clear song in his blood.
The trail stops. He flings his own voice into the vast cavern, seeking answers.
The huge golden beast settles close and smiles, the long iron chain rattling against unforgiving stone. Merlin is startled, but it never occurs to him to be afraid.
IV.
It's a clear starry night near the heart of winter. Arthur is sitting before the fire in a great wrought chair.
Merlin feels the warm weight of his gaze as he moves about the room, but whenever he glances up Arthur is staring into the red-gold flames, frowning. So he wanders closer.
Arthur catches his wrist, momentarily too tight, but Merlin doesn't flinch and the touch soon gentles. "Merlin, why have you never feared me?" Arthur's eyes are a rich deep blue.
The truth is at once too complicated and too simple, so Merlin just smiles.
"I've never needed to."