Fic: Histories (Gwaine/Merlin)
Title: Histories
Pairing: Gwaine/Merlin
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,178
Warnings/Spoilers: Spoilers for all of season 3. Also, FLUFF.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: "Arthur practically buzzes with anticipation as Merlin slowly looks at the simple black book in his hands."
Another addition to my Hourglass 'verse, and I would even go so far as to call it a lighthearted interlude. You don't have to read the others for this one to make sense, but it does make it a little sweeter. You can find them here: Time Enough, Eyes on the Ocean.
Histories
by canarypaper
Merlin has always been fascinated by dust in the air. How it floats and moves, creates shapes, patterns, glitters softly and carelessly. When he sees it in late afternoon light, like he does today, it always makes him pause to admire.
It is timeless, universal. Whenever he is, it follows.
He sits at his desk, transfixed, as his book lies forgotten on the writing desk before him. The birds in the back garden warble cheerfully, his tea heats steadily on the stove, and there are piles of books for him to read. Good ones, some he has not even read before.
The windchime hanging from the eave echoes softly and Merlin begins to feel himself grow sleepy, ready for a short nap.
A sudden flurry of activity at the front door abruptly shakes him from his stupor.
He hears Arthur trample into the tiny house, kicking off his trainers and dropping his school bag gracelessly to the floor. He has, undoubtedly, managed to track in all forms of dirt and mud from the long path leading to Merlin's home.
It makes the man smile. He remembers adolescent carelessness. He's glad Arthur has the opportunity to relive it.
"Merlin!" Arthur shouts, jogging toward the older man. He hops over papers, books, and boxes of assorted knick-knacks before coming to stand next to Merlin's desk. "Merlin, you've got to look at this!"
Merlin closes his book, marking the page, and turns in his chair to face the boy. Arthur is still golden haired with those soulful blue eyes that Merlin trusts so inherently.
"And what has you so worked up this afternoon, sire?" he asks, laughing.
Arthur pushes a small book into his hands and says, "Have you ever read this? Our teacher told us about it in class today and I thought that it might have something to do with... you know..." Arthur makes a vague gesture of having a crown placed on his head.
"Ah, yes," Merlin says, smirking a little. Arthur's memories are returning slowly and steadily, but the boy is still disconcerted by the idea of it.
Arthur practically buzzes with anticipation as Merlin slowly looks at the simple black book in his hands. The cover is blank, so he turns it to look at the spine. The title is emblazoned in shining metallic lettering there.
Merlin's throat constricts and he closes his eyes.
"This is a good story," he says, not looking at the boy in front of him. He hands the book back to Arthur who looks at him, an odd expression crossing his face.
"So you've read it?" he questions, paging through the book.
"Yes, many times."
"... does it have anything to do with Before?" Arthur asks, uncertainly.
Merlin opens his eyes then, smiling sadly. "Most definitely. In fact, it's one of the best tales from Before. It's about honor, and courage, and everything that a knight should strive to be."
Arthur looks at the book in his hand, nodding solemnly. "I'll read it very carefully."
The dust begins to settle around them and Merlin observes Arthur as he sets himself on the very old couch in the study. Golden sunlight pours through the windows, giving the future king an ethereal glow.
As Merlin tends to his tea, pouring himself a cup while making a snack for Arthur, the boy calls from the other room, "You know, my teacher said that they don't actually know who wrote this story. I mean, they have an idea, but only a rough one." A pause. "You know who wrote it, don't you?"
Merlin looks into the swirling steam of his tea and considers it for a moment. How free it is, how changeable. He takes a deep breath and walks into the study, leaning in the doorway watching his king.
"Yes, I do."
Arthur is so young, Merlin thinks. He won't remember everything that happened for years to come. He will only tell him a little. Just enough.
"Who was it?"
"It was me."
Arthur grins. "That's wicked."
The old wizard chuckles. "It's a true story, you know." Then he winces. "Well, mostly. Some things have been... changed over the years, but the heart of the story is the same." He taps his chin thoughtfully. "I wrote it to remember someone who was... very dear to me."
The young boy looks at Merlin for a moment, brow furrowed, then opens the book almost reverently. "May I read some of it out loud?"
Merlin smiles. "That would be wonderful."
Arthur's grin lights up his entire face and Merlin laughs, placing the tea tray full of snacks on the short table in front of the boy. Arthur devours his food voraciously before reading the title of the story.
"Sir Gawain and the Green Knight," he announces, while swallowing a bite of sandwich and turning the page. "After the siege and the assault had ceased at Troy, the city been destroyed and burned to brands and ashes..."
And Merlin closes his eyes, imagining the swirl of dust in a time very far from this, sprawled next to a man with a mischievous grin and a kind heart.
"No one will remember it," Gwaine had said, carding his hand through Merlin's hair. "Hell, I'm not even sure it actually happened."
They lay together in the stables, high in the hayloft, watching the clear morning sun filter in through the rafters. The dust and dirt tickled Merlin's nose and he sneezed.
Rubbing his nose, Merlin rolled his eyes. "Of course it happened, we all saw that green monstrosity of a knight barge into the court."
Gwaine laughed, a deep, throaty laugh that reverberated through his chest and sent shivers through Merlin's body. "Well, yes, they'll remember, but just think about a thousand years from now! Who was that one knight? they'll say. The one who fought the man that looked like a topiary?"
Merlin laughed, clutching his stomach.
"Oh yes! That one! Wasn't his name Gerwin? Galward? Galahad?"
Tears were forming in Merlin's eyes as he rolled to punch Gwaine in the shoulder.
Gwaine reached over and grabbed Merlin by the middle, tickling him mercilessly. "Oh yes! He was the one! Gerwanhalad! That's him!" He rucked Merlin's tunic up and attacked the sensitive skin beneath. Merlin howled and kicked, but to no avail.
They continued on for several minutes before they were both out of breath, covered in hay, and staring thoughtfully into eachother's eyes.
Merlin, tentatively, brought a hand up to run a finger over Gwaine's cheekbone. "I'll remember," he whispered, watching the way the dust swirled around Gwaine's face. "I'll write histories about you."
Gwaine, eyes half lidded, lips parted, gave a breathy laugh and smiled. "I'm glad you'll remember, Merlin."
With that, he leaned down and kissed Merlin for the first time.
"Gawain was known for good and as refined as gold," reads Arthur from the tiny couch. "devoid of every villainy, adorned with virtues."
And when Merlin lets out an undignified snort muttering, "Well, I definitely didn't write that," Arthur refrains from commenting.
Pairing: Gwaine/Merlin
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,178
Warnings/Spoilers: Spoilers for all of season 3. Also, FLUFF.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: "Arthur practically buzzes with anticipation as Merlin slowly looks at the simple black book in his hands."
Another addition to my Hourglass 'verse, and I would even go so far as to call it a lighthearted interlude. You don't have to read the others for this one to make sense, but it does make it a little sweeter. You can find them here: Time Enough, Eyes on the Ocean.
Histories
by canarypaper
Merlin has always been fascinated by dust in the air. How it floats and moves, creates shapes, patterns, glitters softly and carelessly. When he sees it in late afternoon light, like he does today, it always makes him pause to admire.
It is timeless, universal. Whenever he is, it follows.
He sits at his desk, transfixed, as his book lies forgotten on the writing desk before him. The birds in the back garden warble cheerfully, his tea heats steadily on the stove, and there are piles of books for him to read. Good ones, some he has not even read before.
The windchime hanging from the eave echoes softly and Merlin begins to feel himself grow sleepy, ready for a short nap.
A sudden flurry of activity at the front door abruptly shakes him from his stupor.
He hears Arthur trample into the tiny house, kicking off his trainers and dropping his school bag gracelessly to the floor. He has, undoubtedly, managed to track in all forms of dirt and mud from the long path leading to Merlin's home.
It makes the man smile. He remembers adolescent carelessness. He's glad Arthur has the opportunity to relive it.
"Merlin!" Arthur shouts, jogging toward the older man. He hops over papers, books, and boxes of assorted knick-knacks before coming to stand next to Merlin's desk. "Merlin, you've got to look at this!"
Merlin closes his book, marking the page, and turns in his chair to face the boy. Arthur is still golden haired with those soulful blue eyes that Merlin trusts so inherently.
"And what has you so worked up this afternoon, sire?" he asks, laughing.
Arthur pushes a small book into his hands and says, "Have you ever read this? Our teacher told us about it in class today and I thought that it might have something to do with... you know..." Arthur makes a vague gesture of having a crown placed on his head.
"Ah, yes," Merlin says, smirking a little. Arthur's memories are returning slowly and steadily, but the boy is still disconcerted by the idea of it.
Arthur practically buzzes with anticipation as Merlin slowly looks at the simple black book in his hands. The cover is blank, so he turns it to look at the spine. The title is emblazoned in shining metallic lettering there.
Merlin's throat constricts and he closes his eyes.
"This is a good story," he says, not looking at the boy in front of him. He hands the book back to Arthur who looks at him, an odd expression crossing his face.
"So you've read it?" he questions, paging through the book.
"Yes, many times."
"... does it have anything to do with Before?" Arthur asks, uncertainly.
Merlin opens his eyes then, smiling sadly. "Most definitely. In fact, it's one of the best tales from Before. It's about honor, and courage, and everything that a knight should strive to be."
Arthur looks at the book in his hand, nodding solemnly. "I'll read it very carefully."
The dust begins to settle around them and Merlin observes Arthur as he sets himself on the very old couch in the study. Golden sunlight pours through the windows, giving the future king an ethereal glow.
As Merlin tends to his tea, pouring himself a cup while making a snack for Arthur, the boy calls from the other room, "You know, my teacher said that they don't actually know who wrote this story. I mean, they have an idea, but only a rough one." A pause. "You know who wrote it, don't you?"
Merlin looks into the swirling steam of his tea and considers it for a moment. How free it is, how changeable. He takes a deep breath and walks into the study, leaning in the doorway watching his king.
"Yes, I do."
Arthur is so young, Merlin thinks. He won't remember everything that happened for years to come. He will only tell him a little. Just enough.
"Who was it?"
"It was me."
Arthur grins. "That's wicked."
The old wizard chuckles. "It's a true story, you know." Then he winces. "Well, mostly. Some things have been... changed over the years, but the heart of the story is the same." He taps his chin thoughtfully. "I wrote it to remember someone who was... very dear to me."
The young boy looks at Merlin for a moment, brow furrowed, then opens the book almost reverently. "May I read some of it out loud?"
Merlin smiles. "That would be wonderful."
Arthur's grin lights up his entire face and Merlin laughs, placing the tea tray full of snacks on the short table in front of the boy. Arthur devours his food voraciously before reading the title of the story.
"Sir Gawain and the Green Knight," he announces, while swallowing a bite of sandwich and turning the page. "After the siege and the assault had ceased at Troy, the city been destroyed and burned to brands and ashes..."
And Merlin closes his eyes, imagining the swirl of dust in a time very far from this, sprawled next to a man with a mischievous grin and a kind heart.
"No one will remember it," Gwaine had said, carding his hand through Merlin's hair. "Hell, I'm not even sure it actually happened."
They lay together in the stables, high in the hayloft, watching the clear morning sun filter in through the rafters. The dust and dirt tickled Merlin's nose and he sneezed.
Rubbing his nose, Merlin rolled his eyes. "Of course it happened, we all saw that green monstrosity of a knight barge into the court."
Gwaine laughed, a deep, throaty laugh that reverberated through his chest and sent shivers through Merlin's body. "Well, yes, they'll remember, but just think about a thousand years from now! Who was that one knight? they'll say. The one who fought the man that looked like a topiary?"
Merlin laughed, clutching his stomach.
"Oh yes! That one! Wasn't his name Gerwin? Galward? Galahad?"
Tears were forming in Merlin's eyes as he rolled to punch Gwaine in the shoulder.
Gwaine reached over and grabbed Merlin by the middle, tickling him mercilessly. "Oh yes! He was the one! Gerwanhalad! That's him!" He rucked Merlin's tunic up and attacked the sensitive skin beneath. Merlin howled and kicked, but to no avail.
They continued on for several minutes before they were both out of breath, covered in hay, and staring thoughtfully into eachother's eyes.
Merlin, tentatively, brought a hand up to run a finger over Gwaine's cheekbone. "I'll remember," he whispered, watching the way the dust swirled around Gwaine's face. "I'll write histories about you."
Gwaine, eyes half lidded, lips parted, gave a breathy laugh and smiled. "I'm glad you'll remember, Merlin."
With that, he leaned down and kissed Merlin for the first time.
"Gawain was known for good and as refined as gold," reads Arthur from the tiny couch. "devoid of every villainy, adorned with virtues."
And when Merlin lets out an undignified snort muttering, "Well, I definitely didn't write that," Arthur refrains from commenting.