Fic: Increments (Merlin/Arthur)
Summary: Ten times Arthur relied on Merlin's magic and one time he didn't.
AN: An experiment in the relation of length to flashfic storytelling.
/five/
Arthur flinches. "So it's true."
/ten/
Merlin stands between him and the spray of bright magic.
/twenty/
The voices are maddeningly beautiful, rising over the sound of breaking waves. He curses Merlin--begs--pulling against invisible restraints.
/thirty/
The camp is damp, miserable.
"Can't you make it stop raining?"
Merlin rolls his eyes. "I'm not a weather witch."
But his eyes flash gold. Around them the raindrops vanish.
/forty/
Merlin's mouth moves but no sound comes out.
Arthur laughs. Merlin looks indignant, starts pointing between them furiously. And, all right, perhaps he had been the one to fail the witch's ridiculous test. But who wants to kiss a hag?
/fifty/
"Merlin, you're taking advice. From a bird."
"So maybe crows aren't the most reliable birds." He sounds a little defensive. "But they're truthful. As long as you ask the right questions."
"You're missing the point. A bird. Any bird."
"Well, do you know the way out?"
There's an uncomfortable silence.
/sixty/
Merlin trips, clumsy with exhaustion. Arthur hauls him up without commentary. He doesn't know how long they've been trapped here.
The trees begin to blur again, shifting, but Merlin holds out his hands. The world settles, by the force of his will.
There's distant laughter. The path now curves in a new direction. All the marks they've left have vanished.
/seventy/
The labyrinth is full of traps. The stone slips with a click. Merlin grabs his hand--everything stops.
"What did you do?"
Merlin shrugs. "Stop time." But his palm is sweaty and he has that sick nervous look, like this will finally be the thing that makes Arthur turn into his father.
Arthur sighs, tugs him around the darts hanging in midair.
Merlin never was any good at trusting him.
/eighty/
"Idiot." Merlin keeps repeating the word over and over. The arrow's poisoned. And Arthur knew it when-- "I'm supposed to protect you."
There's still mud on his hands from where Arthur shoved him down. Gaius said--but there's no place to wash. He doesn't know what to do.
For someone clearly in pain--with a poisoned arrow sticking out of his chest--Arthur looks disgustingly calm. Like he doesn't care about dying. Like he's sure Merlin will fix this.
"Idiot."
/ninety/
The fountains murmur hypnotically, the bower fragrant with twining flowers. The woman is nude, uncaring, skin golden as honey. Arthur lies in her arms like they'd--Merlin's mind skitters away from the word. But he's still in full armor, drugged or sleeping.
Merlin feels like burying his face in his hands. Why do these sorts of things keep happening?
The woman laughs, and in a flicker she's standing too near. "He's beautiful, but you..." Merlin steps back from her touch, her hungry eyes. "Humans grow old. You, Emrys, never will."
/drabble/
He finds Merlin by the window, staring into the night. Merlin still comes by most days, wandering around the rooms, straightening things, but Arthur's taken on regular servants again. A man can save your life only so many times before it becomes ridiculous to order him to polish your boots.
Merlin does look after his armor, says he's in the habit. They both pretend that's why.
Arthur shrugs out of his coat. He isn't exactly drunk, but it's enough, just in case. He leans against the wall, near Merlin, who looks over questioningly.
Arthur isn't a coward. He steps forward.
AN: An experiment in the relation of length to flashfic storytelling.
/five/
Arthur flinches. "So it's true."
/ten/
Merlin stands between him and the spray of bright magic.
/twenty/
The voices are maddeningly beautiful, rising over the sound of breaking waves. He curses Merlin--begs--pulling against invisible restraints.
/thirty/
The camp is damp, miserable.
"Can't you make it stop raining?"
Merlin rolls his eyes. "I'm not a weather witch."
But his eyes flash gold. Around them the raindrops vanish.
/forty/
Merlin's mouth moves but no sound comes out.
Arthur laughs. Merlin looks indignant, starts pointing between them furiously. And, all right, perhaps he had been the one to fail the witch's ridiculous test. But who wants to kiss a hag?
/fifty/
"Merlin, you're taking advice. From a bird."
"So maybe crows aren't the most reliable birds." He sounds a little defensive. "But they're truthful. As long as you ask the right questions."
"You're missing the point. A bird. Any bird."
"Well, do you know the way out?"
There's an uncomfortable silence.
/sixty/
Merlin trips, clumsy with exhaustion. Arthur hauls him up without commentary. He doesn't know how long they've been trapped here.
The trees begin to blur again, shifting, but Merlin holds out his hands. The world settles, by the force of his will.
There's distant laughter. The path now curves in a new direction. All the marks they've left have vanished.
/seventy/
The labyrinth is full of traps. The stone slips with a click. Merlin grabs his hand--everything stops.
"What did you do?"
Merlin shrugs. "Stop time." But his palm is sweaty and he has that sick nervous look, like this will finally be the thing that makes Arthur turn into his father.
Arthur sighs, tugs him around the darts hanging in midair.
Merlin never was any good at trusting him.
/eighty/
"Idiot." Merlin keeps repeating the word over and over. The arrow's poisoned. And Arthur knew it when-- "I'm supposed to protect you."
There's still mud on his hands from where Arthur shoved him down. Gaius said--but there's no place to wash. He doesn't know what to do.
For someone clearly in pain--with a poisoned arrow sticking out of his chest--Arthur looks disgustingly calm. Like he doesn't care about dying. Like he's sure Merlin will fix this.
"Idiot."
/ninety/
The fountains murmur hypnotically, the bower fragrant with twining flowers. The woman is nude, uncaring, skin golden as honey. Arthur lies in her arms like they'd--Merlin's mind skitters away from the word. But he's still in full armor, drugged or sleeping.
Merlin feels like burying his face in his hands. Why do these sorts of things keep happening?
The woman laughs, and in a flicker she's standing too near. "He's beautiful, but you..." Merlin steps back from her touch, her hungry eyes. "Humans grow old. You, Emrys, never will."
/drabble/
He finds Merlin by the window, staring into the night. Merlin still comes by most days, wandering around the rooms, straightening things, but Arthur's taken on regular servants again. A man can save your life only so many times before it becomes ridiculous to order him to polish your boots.
Merlin does look after his armor, says he's in the habit. They both pretend that's why.
Arthur shrugs out of his coat. He isn't exactly drunk, but it's enough, just in case. He leans against the wall, near Merlin, who looks over questioningly.
Arthur isn't a coward. He steps forward.