Wintry Calm (so in love with the wrong world) 13/13
TWO YEARS LATER
The radiator beneath the windowsill was cold against the back of Merlin's thighs as he leant against it and watched the Prince of Camelot, pretending to be asleep in their bed. The room was cool with its whitewashed walls and the smell of the sea, briny and salt licked, drifted through the open window along with the sunlight.
They had moved into this house exactly one year and ten months ago, and Merlin could remember the feeling of Arthur's arm around his waist and the hot, promising kiss against his mouth before they had walked into their new home. It was situated just ten minutes from Camelot Bay because at the time, Merlin had never seen the body of water, or any body of water apart from when Arthur ran him a bath and slipped in behind him, his hand firm against his thin chest...
To be honest, Merlin would have been content to never see the ocean, if it was between that and the feel of Arthur at his back in a shallow tub, but luckily he never had to choose.
Now the breeze from outside buffeted him slightly, and he straightened up, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"I'll never get used to this," he sighed.
At that, the blond in the bed cracked his eyes open as he returned the boy's smile...although he had long since stopped being a boy, really. "Used to what?" Arthur asked him.
"Summer," Merlin spoke with a shrug and turned around to look out through the glass, pressing his hand thoughtfully against it. This was the second summer he had ever spent with Arthur. He remembered the first, when he had stared aghast at the way his skin burned beneath the sun's rays, moaning loudly that he was hurting until Arthur realised what had happened and berated him for at least an hour about the importance of wearing sun cream.
It had all turned out right in the end though, when Merlin had reminded the older man how the sun had once been very rare over the Wall, before he was manhandled onto the bed so Arthur could rub in the after sun all over his body.
Even in the places that Merlin was very sure had been in shadow the whole time. Arthur was considerate like that.
"You once told me that you liked winter because it was the same everywhere." The older man's voice was soft and curious, and Merlin felt something warm blossom in his chest that Arthur had remembered. "Now the Wall is gone, and summer is also the same. So do you like that, too?"
The boy hesitated for a second, thinking about the heat and what it reminded him of-Gwen and Kilgharrah and the beach. "I suppose," he allowed, trying to ignore the way something tightened in his gut as he glanced towards the pile of newspapers, building up in a teetering stack by the bedroom door. And each one held news of the dragon's progress as he travelled. Some days there would be nothing in the papers and nothing on the telly though, because he hadn't been sighted. Then someone would spot him, blocking out the sun or curling up to sleep upon a cloud. He hadn't returned to Merlin, and unfortunately, Morgana had not yet been found.
Morgana, the thought of whom made Merlin shrink into himself, his arms moving to wrap tightly around his chest. Often, Arthur would find him like that and proceed to sink down beside him, whispering that it wasn't his fault even though it was. It was, it was, it was.
The boy wondered whether it would ever stop tearing at his insides-how he had watched her vanish, unable to do anything but bear the knowledge that he had poisoned her. The look on her face as her mouth twisted around Gwen's name; helpless and confused and hurt...
Gwen wasn't as easy to spot in the sky as Kilgharrah, but Merlin knew that she was with him still. She was nestled at his side on the clouds, and when they passed in front of the moon you could sometimes discern her silhouette, not quite lost amongst the great blackness of his.
And in the end, Merlin knew she wouldn't leave the Great Dragon until Morgana was rescued. The weight of the future that entailed hung over them everyday-an inevitable fight between them and Morgause that loomed, the colour of blood, steel and lightening above their heads.
Even now when the dark haired boy tried to mask the grim expression on his face, the blond still saw right through him, noticing with those clear blue eyes the regret his best friend, lover, the person he cared for most, couldn't stop feeling.
"Come here," Arthur murmured fondly, and Merlin obeyed without even really thinking about it, sighing as he slotted against the other with their naked bodies tangling together beneath the light blue duvet. Merlin's fingers ran over the other's stomach, pushing lightly at where the muscles gave way to softer flesh. He had bitten this spot before, tasting the salt on Arthur's skin and licking gleefully around his belly button, making the older man laugh and beg him to stop because it tickled.
"My father wants me to go back," Arthur spoke in a soft, sombre voice after a moment.
In that instant, Merlin's hands paused in their exploration of his abdomen, and he looked into the blond's face, propping himself up on his elbow.
In the end all those years ago, Uther had been rescued from beneath the rubble, injured but alive, just before Kilgharrah had set the Estate on fire. On the other hand, Aredian's body had never been found, but no one had even pretended to be concerned at that.
However, it made something hot and angry twist inside Merlin, when he thought about how Freya hadn't made it out, but Uther had...even though the King had been persuaded to change the laws about magic-and by persuaded, he meant the stories Arthur had helped Merlin write and publish in spite of the fact that the man was his own father, revealing the horrors from over the Wall. All in all, they had been, to Merlin's delight, quite scandalous, and the end result was finally for the senior Pendragon to have the Wall brought down, brick by brick.
Merlin had watched, shoulder to shoulder with Arthur, as the last of the debris was cleared away and Camelot was made whole, as it hadn't been in centuries.
"Will you go?" he asked, quietly, pillowing his head on the other man's chest and listening to the beat of his heart. It was a rhythm only Merlin could ever get to accelerate.
He sighed heavily, running a hand fondly up the boy's pale back until it came to rest at his nape with calloused fingers rubbing behind his ears so that Merlin was practically purring. He chuckled then shrugged. "I left the Knights for a reason."
At this, Merlin blushed, feeling the blood rising in his cheekbones-Arthur had declared his reasoning to the whole bloody court, with the younger man plastered to his side like a limpet. The Prince was going to "retire for a few years", in order to spend time with the man he loved and away from all the "fuck ups" that his father had caused.
It had not gone down well with Uther and his advisors, to say the least, but they hadn't been able to stop him for Arthur had, quite literally, swept Merlin off his feet, grinning as the younger man squawked when he carried him from Pendragon Estate-which had been excellently refurbished in a very short amount of time, although it could never quite be the same after so much damage. It had an air of something broken about it now, replacing what had once been grand.
"I know," Merlin finally said, ducking his head and gasping softly as the movement caused the old ache to twinge in his shoulder.
At once, Arthur was manoeuvring him so he was flat on his stomach, and the older man was pressing down over the throbbing in his wiry muscles. There was a salve that Gaius had taught Merlin how to make, and the Prince warmed it between his fingers before applying it to Merlin's skin. It smelt spicy, and Arthur was glad because it didn't really change the boy's natural scent but only added to it.
"Dad's ill," the blond continued quietly, and Merlin didn't miss the way he sounded almost...lost. "They'll want me to take over the throne, when the time comes."
"It's what you're meant for, Arthur," the warlock murmured, reaching back until his hand was touching the inside of the other's elbow and tracing the soft skin there with his index finger.
Arthur finished up and gently tugged Merlin, so that his slim legs were straddling his thighs, narrow hips wiggling in a way that made the Prince laugh.
In that moment, nothing else really mattered. The past was there, ingrained in the straining of sinews in Merlin's arm, and stacked up in black and white ink by the door, but the present had always been overwhelming, whenever it was just the two of them.
They tended to become buried in the here and now, forgetting that there was a future to have eventually because each second had to be experienced, lived, and then lost before they could consider the next. Sometimes it was the only way they could make it through each hour-by thinking of nothing but the wetness of his mouth and the sweetness of his words. The warmth of his encircling arms and the light in his eyes.
Merlin smiled at the feeling of Arthur's hands trailing up his front, pausing over where his heart was encased in delicate flesh, and the fluttering pulse points in his neck.
In the next minute, it might be suggested that they take a walk along the bay, or turn on the TV, or for Merlin to do some trick with his magic. Or they might simply continue to do nothing but linger in each other's arms as they revelled in the fact that now, in this new age of Kings and dragons, they were free to be who they pleased, as long as the waves kept churning and the seasons kept changing.
The End