Fic: Coping
Title: Coping
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur, possible Arthur/Gwen if you're so inclined
Fandom: BBC's Merlin as well as a bit of Arthurian legend
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Merlin belongs to the BBC.
Notes: I'm not sure if this counts 1) if I started writing it and THEN the prompt came to mind, but I did keep it within 89 minutes and tried to make a blatant connection to the prompt at the end. 2) The deadline has technically passed but the new challenge isn't up yet, so please delete if it's in violation of that rule.
Even from the narrow confines of his tomb, Merlin feels the moment when Arthur dies.
It's a catch in his breath the moment Arthur breaths his last and a knot in his stomach that alarms Merlin that something is horribly wrong with his world.
Arthur is dead.
Merlin falls to the ground, as if the air has been knocked out of his lungs. He is numb, as if the realization is just another fact in one of his many books.
Three simple words.
He stares at the ground, murmuring the words and feeling them tumble across his tongue and over his lips as if tasting an exotic dish for the first time, intensely foreign and unknown.
Arthur is dead. Arthurisdead. Dead is Arthur.
His vision starts to blur, even as he is still playing with the words. It is as if his subconscious has understood the meaning behind those words even before the rest of him.
…
When his consciousness catches up, he chokes on those words, gasping for air and fighting the spasms in his throat and chest until he finally gives in and dissolves in shaking sobs.
Arthur is dead.
Then, he remembers.
The boy yelped as he felt the dagger land in the target. Arthur and his cronies laughed. Merlin frowned and made his best mistake.
Something in Merlin melted as he watched the prince gaze upon his people, pained by their suffering and frantically trying to work out a solution.
No amount of self-control could have hidden his intense pleasure when Arthur appeared in the woods on his way to Ealdor.
Arthur was always on target except with Merlin. With his impeccable timing, Merlin turned his face just as Arthur leaned in and his lips burned as they grazed his cheek. At least, that was the explanation he gave for the deep flush on that cheek and its partner and his hasty retreat.
Merlin found Arthur kneeling on the cold, stone ground of the Great Hall, eyes fixed on the body of his father lying on the bier before him. Merlin reached out his fingers, tentatively and unsure as he sought Arthur’s hand. Arthur turned his hand to catch the tips of Merlin’s fingers and curled his pinky around Merlin’s thumb. They sat through the night, entwined.
Merlin waited until Arthur’s breathing became deeper, and he cracked an eye open. He traced his eyes across Arthur’s features in the moonlight with skin still damp with perspiration. He sometimes forgets that it is he and not Arthur who is magical.
No amount of self-control could have stopped Merlin from the destruction in his room the night Arthur married Gwen.
He was dreaming of Arthur when she weaved her spell on him. He ducked and dodged Arthur’s movements, before losing his balance and tumbling. Through the slits of his clunky helmet, he saw Arthur’s chest shake with laughter and the corners of his mouth crease before his helmet was gently tugged off and Arthur descended upon him. Life was simpler as prince and servant.
The moment Merlin realized his magic was ineffective, he leaned against one of the cold walls and conjured a familiar dragon of flames in his hand.
It was never about possession or protection, not loyalty or mere love, or even destiny; it was just completion.
…
He is tracing circles in the ground, muddy with his tears. He wonders if what the Great Dragon would say now of his favorite coin metaphor. Were these circles in the ground those coins now, with Merlin on one side lying above and Arthur-
He had come to terms with the possibility of never seeing Arthur again when he couldn’t find a spell out of his prison, but there had always been a secret hope that if the magic waned just a little, he could find the strength to push and break his way through back to Camelot, back to Arthur.
He is unsure whether he mourns more the loss of Arthur or of hope.
…
Merlin is a lover, advisor, teacher, and wizard. The wizard side of him catches up and he recalls four fateful words: once and future king.
His finger stops. Merlin stays on the ground, just for a few moments longer as he rubs out the muddy circles and starts to make a list of instructions for Arthur when he returns.
1. No more dying.
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur, possible Arthur/Gwen if you're so inclined
Fandom: BBC's Merlin as well as a bit of Arthurian legend
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Merlin belongs to the BBC.
Notes: I'm not sure if this counts 1) if I started writing it and THEN the prompt came to mind, but I did keep it within 89 minutes and tried to make a blatant connection to the prompt at the end. 2) The deadline has technically passed but the new challenge isn't up yet, so please delete if it's in violation of that rule.
Even from the narrow confines of his tomb, Merlin feels the moment when Arthur dies.
It's a catch in his breath the moment Arthur breaths his last and a knot in his stomach that alarms Merlin that something is horribly wrong with his world.
Arthur is dead.
Merlin falls to the ground, as if the air has been knocked out of his lungs. He is numb, as if the realization is just another fact in one of his many books.
Three simple words.
He stares at the ground, murmuring the words and feeling them tumble across his tongue and over his lips as if tasting an exotic dish for the first time, intensely foreign and unknown.
Arthur is dead. Arthurisdead. Dead is Arthur.
His vision starts to blur, even as he is still playing with the words. It is as if his subconscious has understood the meaning behind those words even before the rest of him.
…
When his consciousness catches up, he chokes on those words, gasping for air and fighting the spasms in his throat and chest until he finally gives in and dissolves in shaking sobs.
Arthur is dead.
Then, he remembers.
The boy yelped as he felt the dagger land in the target. Arthur and his cronies laughed. Merlin frowned and made his best mistake.
Something in Merlin melted as he watched the prince gaze upon his people, pained by their suffering and frantically trying to work out a solution.
No amount of self-control could have hidden his intense pleasure when Arthur appeared in the woods on his way to Ealdor.
Arthur was always on target except with Merlin. With his impeccable timing, Merlin turned his face just as Arthur leaned in and his lips burned as they grazed his cheek. At least, that was the explanation he gave for the deep flush on that cheek and its partner and his hasty retreat.
Merlin found Arthur kneeling on the cold, stone ground of the Great Hall, eyes fixed on the body of his father lying on the bier before him. Merlin reached out his fingers, tentatively and unsure as he sought Arthur’s hand. Arthur turned his hand to catch the tips of Merlin’s fingers and curled his pinky around Merlin’s thumb. They sat through the night, entwined.
Merlin waited until Arthur’s breathing became deeper, and he cracked an eye open. He traced his eyes across Arthur’s features in the moonlight with skin still damp with perspiration. He sometimes forgets that it is he and not Arthur who is magical.
No amount of self-control could have stopped Merlin from the destruction in his room the night Arthur married Gwen.
He was dreaming of Arthur when she weaved her spell on him. He ducked and dodged Arthur’s movements, before losing his balance and tumbling. Through the slits of his clunky helmet, he saw Arthur’s chest shake with laughter and the corners of his mouth crease before his helmet was gently tugged off and Arthur descended upon him. Life was simpler as prince and servant.
The moment Merlin realized his magic was ineffective, he leaned against one of the cold walls and conjured a familiar dragon of flames in his hand.
It was never about possession or protection, not loyalty or mere love, or even destiny; it was just completion.
…
He is tracing circles in the ground, muddy with his tears. He wonders if what the Great Dragon would say now of his favorite coin metaphor. Were these circles in the ground those coins now, with Merlin on one side lying above and Arthur-
He had come to terms with the possibility of never seeing Arthur again when he couldn’t find a spell out of his prison, but there had always been a secret hope that if the magic waned just a little, he could find the strength to push and break his way through back to Camelot, back to Arthur.
He is unsure whether he mourns more the loss of Arthur or of hope.
…
Merlin is a lover, advisor, teacher, and wizard. The wizard side of him catches up and he recalls four fateful words: once and future king.
His finger stops. Merlin stays on the ground, just for a few moments longer as he rubs out the muddy circles and starts to make a list of instructions for Arthur when he returns.
1. No more dying.