“There’s heaven for the cruel, but the devil waits for the kind”
Title: “There’s heaven for the cruel, but the devil waits for the kind”
Author: castmeaway
Rating: pg-13/frt
Pairings: Arthur/Merlin, Arthur/Gwen, Gwaine/Merlin, (implied) Lancelot/Gwen
Word count: ~1.6k
Beta: the lovely misswinterhill
Summary: What is the point of remembering a past life, if it’s too late to prevent you from making the same mistake over again?
A/N: Story title comes from the Passenger song “Caravan”. A truly lovely lovely song if you’ve not heard it (or anything by passenger for that matter). Seriously, they can break your heart and put it back together in the space of a single song.
Arthur leans back against the side of the car, his palms pressed flat against the cold metal at his sides. He relishes the cold and lets it ground him into this strange world that’s his, but also somehow not.
Not really.
Words and landscapes blur in his mind’s eye. They superimpose themselves over and over and over each other until he can’t see, can’t function without feeling lost and alone and hurt. Are these wounds that pierce his heart new? He can’t be sure any more.
‘Arthur’ she says, entreating, beautiful in the garb of a queen.
“Arthur” He can’t bring himself to pull his hands away from the anchor of their- no- her car.
‘I’m sorry’.
“I’m sorry.”
A warm hand presses to his cheek, caresses the smoothness of his skin in mocking parody of a love that was destined to break his heart. He can’t bring himself to answer the softly muttered,
“You’ll be alright?”
He watches her walk away. Stays silent. Lets the ache in his throat dam the stream of pain and begging words bubbling like acid in his stomach. Lets the weight of his crown bow his head low. His only submission.
His regret is not for her.
A phone rings in the distance, a shrill kind of sound that pierces the illusion into a shattered mess of now and then.
“You’ll be alright?”
“Arthur?”
She is lovely in her pale blue dress, the final box of her things perched on the once beloved jut of her hips.
When he stays silent and doesn’t meet her gaze, she sighs and rushes to slip the box into the back seat of the car, her hands fumbling for her still ringing phone.
“Hello?” The light gleams off of the dark curls of her hair, the graceful rise of her throat, “I’m just leaving now.” She smiles gently at him. Apologetically. “I love you too.”
“If you ever need anything, Arthur…”she says softly to him as she clicks her phone closed.
“I’m here.”
‘I’ll always be there for you. If you need me’
Even more distantly, the words “You know the answer” whisper through his head.
~~~
He groans low in his throat, the sound muffled further by the press of his face into the tender skin of a well-beloved shoulder. He feels Merlin tremble beneath him, watches in fascination as the length of his neck bows further, surprisingly elegant, to dip between the sharp angles of his shoulder blades.
“God Arthur!” Merlin groans, a stuttered gasp of air that he recognizes from long, well loved, practice. His only answer is to reach down and pull Merlin’s hips more firmly into the cradle of his own. To speed up the sharp stutter of his thrusts into the aching clench of molten heat.
They move like that for a long time. An eternity mere heartbeats in the making.
And when he finally comes in a pained arch, it feels like tumbling off the edge of the world. Only, Merlin is there, a living safety net, to catch him.
They lay together for a long time, wrapped up in each other, desperate not to let go. Desperate not to ruin the haven they have here in the quiet of Arthur’s room. Neither wants to hear the words that hover at the edges of both their minds.
One word really. A name that Arthur is too noble to ignore for long.
“Gwen,” he starts, his arms tightening to prevent Merlin from shifting away, out of his hold. “I love her.”
Merlin goes rigid and nods his head into Arthur’s shoulder. “I know.”
“Merlin I…”
‘I know’
Merlin is all big smiles for him at the wedding, when the time comes, long accepted, longer expected. He is too good a friend not to hug Gwen close, wrap his arms tightly around her and wish her well. And if he never brings himself to meet her eyes, to meet Arthurs, no one says anything. No one notices.
Except for Arthur, who is too noble to acknowledge this.
~~~
“Enough of this nonsense Arthur!” Uther’s voice is loud and grating. “Whatever you have going on with this, this…boy must come to an end. Find yourself a nice girl and get married. Settle down. You are too old for this foolishness, and I will not leave my company to you until you learn to man up. Be responsible!”
‘My lord,’ Geoffrey’s voice is low and placating, calm command a surprising backbone to the reasonable words flowing from his lips; a sharp contrast to the rambling madness he had accustomed himself to with his father. ‘You must marry. The people need a queen.’ The words ‘An heir,’ are tacit in their absence, but then, he has always been a master at hearing the things left unsaid.
The delight in Gwen’s voice when he asks her out the very next day help to soothe his fears. This is right. He’s sure. And when he takes her home that night after their date, kisses her softly on the mouth as they stand shivering on her doorstep, it’s easy to forget about the vivid blue of Merlin’s eyes.
It’s easy for Arthur forget the sharp lines of Merlin’s spine as he moves languidly against the soft curves of Gwen.
Arthur whispers ‘You will be my queen’ against the warm softness of her breasts.
It’s easy to love her. Has always been achingly easy. Not like the sharp give and take that is his relationship with Merlin. The constant battle for every inch given and taken. He doesn’t have to fight her.
But then, maybe that’s the problem. When the time comes he doesn’t have the strength to fight for her either.
~~~
He doesn’t think he has the right to fight for Merlin.
~~~
His memories have settled, merged into a mass of heartache and loneliness, his life reduced to an ongoing form of tedium. He wonders sometimes, what the point of it all is. The point of living this life now, if he is destined merely to make the same mistakes, only at a price achingly higher. For a cause so terribly less important.
Sometimes he envies his old life. Envies the true importance of who and what he was. At least then he had the power to make a difference.
Envies himself for the friend who never left his side then, but is little more than a flash of memories now. Which ache is worse?
He watches Merlin laugh brightly into Gwaine’s shoulder. Sees the possessive arm the other man loops comfortably around Merlin’s waist, and he forces himself to be happy. To smile at them and ignore the knowing nod that Gwaine casts him.
He doesn’t let himself see the pain, the lingering longing that still haunts, even now, a once beloved gaze.
He made his choice first. He will honor it.
Sometimes he wonders if he’s going crazy. He hasn’t thought of Merlin in, god, in years. Which is not to say that he doesn’t haunt every moment of his dreams. And yet, he feels like he sees Merlin in every face he passes on the street now.
Sometimes it’s just a flash of dark hair vanishing amidst a crowd, the wisp of a laugh, achingly familiar and terribly, painfully, elusive.
He gasps and stops short at the sight that greets him when he opens the door to Merlin’s, once Gaius’, chambers. He forces himself to look away from the image of Merlin’s pale thighs clutching desperately around Gwaine’s strong waist, drawing him in in in to a heat that he himself once knew so well.
‘God! I knocked. I’m…I’m sorry,’ he turns away, pulls the door closed behind him. Doesn’t stop even when he hears Merlin call down the hall after him.
‘Arthur!’
So it’s a shock when one day he actually does see him. He’s older now, his hair streaked with silver. Still painfully thin though and enticingly elegant despite the ever boyish length to his limbs.
It’s snowing in the streets of London and there’s a hushed quiet to the world.
Merlin doesn’t see him, and Arthur doesn’t let himself feel guilty for following him. This. This is his punishment. What is honor to him now?
It’s not a long walk, but the air is crisp and cold and even from his distance he sees Merlin shivering, despite the thick warmth of his black pea coat. It takes all of his strength to fight the urge to go up to him and bundle him close.
Only Merlin finally stops outside of a quiet shop front, brilliant smile lighting up his features when another figure steps out into the cold, moves easily forward and takes him into a warm embrace. They huddle close, arms linked comfortably and when Merlin leans his head onto the other man’s -Gwaine’s he knows (not that it matters) - shoulder, Arthur closes his eyes and turns away.
Merlin doesn’t see him. Doesn’t call after him.
~~~
They move like that for a long time. An eternity mere heartbeats in the making.
And when he finally comes in a pained arch, it feels like tumbling off the edge of the world. Only, Merlin is there, a living safety net, to catch him.
“I love you.” The words taste forbidden on his tongue, but achingly right.
“Arthur…”Merlin starts, his voice catching on a pained hitch, but Arthur doesn’t let him finish. He leans forward, silencing the words at their source.
“I love you.”
He doesn’t say ‘I will fight for you.” He doesn’t need to. Merlin shifts closer to him, curls warmly in his arms, his eyes reflecting the pale golden glow of the room.