Cycles of Love (Second Cycle: Bleed)
Title: Love's Second Cycle~Bleed
Rating: PG13
Characters (this cycle): Arthur, Merlin, Guinevere, Lancelot / minor others
Spoilers: Season 1&2 / No spoilers for Season Three
Disclaimer: I disclaim. Merlin is the property of the BBC/Shine.
Prompt Credit: camelot_love
First part: here
Love’s 2nd Cycle: Bleed (Part II)
“Love is a friend, a fire, a hell
Where pleasure, pain and repentance dwell.”
~Richard Barnfield
-><-
Love resides in its dwelling of hell
When consumed by jealous fearing fires
When the soul’s truth is forsaken
When the heart bleeds its substance drip by…
Drip.
-><-
He knew they were questioning of his presence during this tumultuous event.
Explanations would have to wait.
It ached to have her so quiet, to have found her as he had. It opened up something stronger in his heart-
For years he had forsaken his own feelings to allow another’s. Something evil this night made that selflessness start to feel less, but even-so, now was all that mattered, as he cut through their stares feverishly.
“She needs care!”
Well that was why he was on his feet now, Arthur thought dryly. Lancelot should have the sense to see.
He didn’t exactly consider him a friend. Arthur honored Lancelot for all his swordsmanship skills for sure. The man would have been an awesome knight if it wasn’t for that little matter of having the wrong kind of blood, a minimal matter actually to the prince.
What happened later took more substance…
They connected, twice, beyond anything the prince could understand or be a part of.
Surely Lancelot wasn’t foe, but he was the division, the separator.
Merlin observed the tense interactions between the men.
She was special enough to cause that kind of conflict.
The servant was just thankful. Lancelot was a surprise indeed, but she was alive because of him.
The prince’s contradicting feelings accumulated the same. She needed help.
For a second Arthur rested his eyes on hers, closed and marred by a smoke mottled face. Past those full cheeks, was an arm with sleeve burned half away.
It didn’t matter who held her. That arm was all that mattered, fixing it, mending her.
“Arthur-
The prince interrupted Lancelot with a firmly raised hand.
“Come on. We’ll get her to Gaius.”
His leg unhappily reminded him that it needed rest, but Arthur paid it and his injured hand no heed.
Leading the path down the hall, past the kitchen’s scene of macabre, he turned to the beginning steps, finding an unwelcome surprise.
It seemed the last bits of shaking had caused even more damage to the already quake affected staircase.
The three of them froze, assessing their issue.
Arthur had his answer almost immediately.
Looking away from it, taking her in for a greedy second, he shivered.
All those gorgeous curls of hair now unkindly littered with gray ash.
How many times had his fingers wandered into those untamed ringlets?
Not enough.
Not the last.
“Merlin.”
He would get it.
The prince prided himself on being no slacker in the physical department, but his muscles and brawn could not help with this, not quickly enough anyway.
Lancelot watched the interaction with curiosity. He couldn’t know…could he?
Merlin nodded his head, prepping before he was even commanded what was needed, what his prince expected. It was rare although. Arthur still was not entirely comfortable with sorcery because of his father’s strong anti feelings about it.
Merlin the servant closed his eyes and became Merlin the Sorcerer now. It was where he felt mightiest, strongest, not bumbling and awkward. It was his gift, handed down from his father.
He had to concentrate hard, yet this bit of incantation he did with inward whispers instead of solid voice. He was learning how to do more with his mind, as too he was better able to control his sorcery now.
As Merlin circled his hand outward, causing a wind all around them that ruffled the prince’s fine colored hair and his own darker shade, Lancelot marveled with widened eyes. He did know.
How? When?
Arthur watched impatiently, even with the sight being awesome. She was too quiet. If only her eyes would open enchantingly like they had after their first shared kiss in her tiny home. If only her precious voice would interrupt Merlin’s borrowing of the elements.
Lancelot watched with wonder as the crumbled stone started to form a grouping of harshly made steps, Merlin’s technique obviously gaining perfections.
Eyes closed, Merlin could feel it happening. It wasn’t perfect. His mind was too troubled this night, but they were forming a way to pass.
In seconds it was done. His father taught him that sorcery was evil, ill intended. Arthur sometimes questioned those beliefs though, even more-so recently. They were too tied into emotion, causing his father to lose sense.
Feeling that it was done to enough completion, Merlin opened his eyes with a half wearied sigh. Their way now was clear.
Lancelot stared. Arthur could feel it. Edginess filled the prince’s resulting frown. The sarcasm whipped out.
“Hurry up Lancelot! Like you said, she needs tending to!
Or maybe I’m the one who should hold her if you can’t manage it.”
It was dry, what he said in final. Sure it wasn’t cordial or knightly, and yes Lancelot had reason to look so amazed since he never had been told that Arthur had learned Merlin’s secret, but none of that mattered now.
The sting was there. Merlin watched it affect Lancelot for a mere second before the dark haired man started rushing up the steps with Gwen carefully in his hold, the prince in the lead.
Merlin followed.
At the last step, the most rushed to be formed, and so not all that well sculpted, Arthur slipped. His knee screamed at him enough.
Lancelot lifted his hand past Gwen’s backside to assist, grasping at the man’s arm, having noticed his slight limp before.
Arthur quickly straightened enough on his own, shrugging the help away.
Lancelot started to move past him.
Merlin moved closer to the prince, asking, “Is your leg bothering you more?”
Arthur ignored the question, coming behind a directionless Lancelot. Impatiently the prince pushed past, having been raised in the palace since birth to know its halls intimately.
Heading to the right, he was reminded of a girl confusedly mistaking his room for that of a guest’s. She had dropped his boar’s head on the floor, angering him…later…amusing him.
Swallowing at his anxiety, Arthur let the memory go. He had to find Gaius.
A voice interrupted as he was one room away.
“Arthur!”
The prince halted, tightly grimacing. All obeyed the king, even his son. Behind him Merlin and Lancelot had no choice but to do the same.
The king was tightly frowning, Merlin saw, clothing stained by all the debris and yet he wore his crown and cape. Arthur had none of it on, that he much more closely resembled a commoner, especially with all his injuries.
The king looked past the servant and oddly appearing figure holding the woman, noticing something else vividly. His son’s hand was wrapped, yet not well enough to cease its bleeding against the cloth, and it seemed he even was limping now.
“Arthur, where have you been? One of the guards said you rushed out of here. I hope it wasn’t to go downstairs to the kitchen. I told you that I would send the knights. Some of them have already returned, while others I’ve heard have been hindered by damage to the staircase.
Not a problem anymore, Merlin thought dryly.
“Anyway, you needn’t concern yourself with it.” The king pressed his hand against his son’s gently.
Arthur winced at the dulled pain. Even with Sir Leon’s earlier wrapping, the injury was prevalent, tiny particles of stone yet to be removed from his cut skin.
“Aw…”
Merlin watched with concern, before noticing Lancelot bouncing from foot to foot anxiously. Arthur was hurt, but Gwen’s injuries were worse.
The king quickly lifted his hand away with disgust. “This is intolerable. That servant woman did a horrible job of assisting you. Where is-
Arthur cut through rapidly. The princess he wished he could call his without all this façade needed to be healed.
“She’s gone.”
“Gone?
Well then she will have a night in the dungeons to look forward to!”
Lancelot’s expression was frantic. Merlin was fidgeting heavily. She had yet to open those midnight eyes.
“I told her to go.”
The king stared at his son with bewilderment. “Why?”
Time was flowing too freely.
“Because she had children alone at home, Father. Of course she had to see to their welfare. Now where is Gaius?”
Uther couldn’t understand it. His son’s condition was horrible. He never should have let that servant woman go. Her children could have waited a little longer. Servants were expected to tend to nobility.
His son was a fierce fighter, but too soft about these things.
At least he had made one good mention though. “He is in the adjoining hall that is temporarily being used for the injured.”
As Arthur nodded his head, the king called out. A guard stopped in front of them, ready to do the king’s bidding. “Get Gaius. He must tend to my son…now.”
Lancelot let out an exasperated sigh.
Merlin frowned.
Arthur shook his head strongly.
“No Father. Whatever has happened to me can wait. It is her he needs to tend to.”
Now Uther finally acknowledged the presence of the other.
Two men had followed his son into the stone debris littered room, the bumbling servant of course who at least was loyal, and queerly enough, the man who had been a Knight of Camelot for no longer than a day before it was found out. He was a simple commoner with not an ounce of noble blood, unsuited for knighthood. In his arms too strangely enough was a woman, but taking her in with just a fraction’s glance the king could easily see that she was not much more herself, simply a servant, even if she seemed familiar.
“Lancelot, you have some audacity to come back here without invitation.”
Lancelot frowned. Normally he would fall to his knee at the king’s presence, but he could not do so with her in his arms, and she mattered more than protocol. Hopefully Arthur saw that too. So much time was being wasted! All he could say was a quick word. “Sire.”
Merlin wished he could send a trickle of magic that halted all this delay. To him this was the ridiculous side of royalty.
And to Arthur too.
“Father, there’s no time for that now. We need to get her to Gaius.”
The king quickly dismissed that. Yes it was unfortunate that the woman was injured, but with nobles hurt too, the help would have to wait.
“She’s merely a servant woman, Arthur. Gaius has many others to deal with who matter more.”
The protest was there in his son’s strong blue eyes so the king put up his hand quickly. “I know you don’t like it, but one day when you are king you will understand.”
No.
He would never understand such merciless thinking. He could never be that kind of king, even if it made him weak.
She once told him that he was not that, a feeble prince, but a kind caring one, and that she hoped he’d never change. This was his duty to help her, and his soul’s cry.
It was so frustrating. His father would never see it the same.
Maybe if he approached it another way.
Merlin stood by helplessly, thinking perhaps they should just rush past the king. Damn the consequences. Fisting his hands with impatience, it was moments like this the servant felt the most treasonous. The king had some factor in him that was just so…ugly. He’d watched him sentence so many to death for simply being born with what should be a gift, not a curse.
“She is Guinevere, Father, Morgana’s handmaiden.”
Yes, it had been a couple of years now since Morgana’s disappearance and the rumor that Morgause had somehow kept her alive. The rumor that the king’s ward had no intention of ever returning, that she might even despise the king. It was whispered secrets that may come to fruition, may not, and yet the mention of her name the prince used now for one reason. It stirred his father’s sentimentality.
If he could just get to that fragile side of the man, maybe he could make him soften enough to understand why Guinevere’s injuries had to be attended to with haste.
Or maybe he was just being as delusional as his servant could be.
Regardless, Arthur knew time was passing by too quickly, leading him to defiant thinking.
“You know that Morgana would want her cared for.”
Merlin could tell what the prince was doing, and yet it was a dangerous game. If his father ever found out that Arthur desired a servant girl, the repercussions for Gwen could be tumultuous. That had to be why Arthur seemed to be playing it so coolly, keeping his voice detached, focusing deeper on Morgana.
Uther reacted to the mention of his disappeared ward with a touch of emotion, before he remarked dryly. His son honestly could not care about this woman. It was just his weak side.
He worried about it sometimes actually, how it would affect his son the day he had no choice but to become king. He saw in the future his son perfecting his position to heights that couldn’t even be imagined now, but he feared those first years might be hard ones since Arthur cared so much.
He’d learn his lessons soon enough.
“Well Morgana is no longer here, so no need to mention that. You know what she means to me Arthur. You shouldn’t mention her so lightly. As for this servant woman, if she does not make it, we will simply have to get another.”
Merlin was furious, but the prince’s eyes were blazing. He put his hand on the man’s shoulder, knowing that if Arthur heated up with that sometimes volatile temper of his, too much would have to be explained.
Shaking his head, the servant grew resolute. He couldn’t stop this altercation, but he could interrupt it.
Lancelot shook his head with disbelief. Something was so hard in Arthur’s father, so blind.
As the servant slipped away, another unwelcomed call came.
“Arthur…there you are!”
The prince turned to Lancelot, seeing the frustration in the man’s face. This was why he had not gotten down there in enough time to save her. This was why she had been down below working in a torridly hot room while he had been celebrating with the woman who called on him now, dining on goose and wine. This was why she was never…
His.
He wanted to scream it out who he really loved, and yet how could he? He wanted to rush past his father, grab her away from Lancelot and bellow for the physician, but if he did, not only would he cause trouble for himself, but more importantly, for her. He’d sentence her to the dungeons…
Maybe to death.
And yet she could die now in all this wasted time.
The darting of Lancelot’s eyes was so true. He had to say it, even if his father found out. Arthur knew he had to save the woman he loved, even as the other touched at his hand now.
The touch was not enough, not her touch.
The prince opened his mouth,
“Father-
“I got Gaius!”
Merlin ran back into the room, pulling the old man with him.
Lancelot had been watching the golden haired woman touching at the prince’s hand with affection. He had seen her just a year before, also then seeming kind of…affectionate.
He looked past now though, as thankfully his friend returned with the physician.
Gaius stared at Lancelot for only a second, his practical doctoring mind taking over. He ushered the orders. Yes there were others in the hall, but her shape was bad and…oh blessed it was Gwen. That was enough.
Arthur swallowed with relief.
Thank God Merlin you used your sense.
Noticing his father’s questioning, he gave her a dismissive glance, his Guinevere, and kissed the other woman, the Lady Ysmay. Played the façade. Continued it even as it bled his heart out. Whatever he had to do to keep her safe, keep her alive.
Forgive me.
Only Merlin could see clearly the battle inside the man’s soul. He knew enough of its hints, he had heard his own prince’s words enough, to know that this all killed the man to do. And yet it was the only way.
Lancelot followed Gaius hurriedly as the king was distracted with the Lord Wykeham, who had followed his daughter into the room.
The king was satisfied that his son now seemed less caring. Sure the injured woman was the one Morgana had handpicked, and if the king be acknowledging enough, she was definitely one of Camelot’s finest, but servants could be replaced if need be. Call that harsh, but it was the way a kingdom had to be run, with objectiveness.
The prince kissed her lips, Ysmay’s. They were cold, too cold.
Since finding her he had not even been allowed to touch. Maybe that why his fingers ached so hard.
Ysmay was complaining about his still bleeding hand, calling her own personal handmaiden over to finally mend it fully. Arthur paid little heed, telling her to wait just a moment. Merlin was leaving the room.
He couldn’t before-
“Merlin…”
Arthur whispered.
Merlin faced his master, not needing any further words to understand. “I’ll make sure she’s okay.”
Arthur slowly nodded his head, painfully biting down on his tongue that wanted to unleash the truth, tasting the salty blood from its force.
“Do that. And…come to me with any news.
She must live…
Merlin.”
If a noble prince could beg, he was now, the tremor rising through the words. Merlin felt the emotion hit him hard. It reminded him too much of his last goodbye to Freya. That would not happen here though. Gwen had been rescued and…
She would live.
She had to.
“She will.”
“Arthur…
Dear…”
The prince closed his eyes painfully at the woman’s reminder that she was there, his somewhat intended, his relationship.
Hell was too unkind, forcing this illusion. It didn’t care that it broke the body into pieces.
It hurt too much to pretend.
It ached to not press his lips to her…
Warm ones.
Live Guinevere.
Please.
Merlin turned away, leaving the prince to play the tormenting game.
As the earth tremored unhappily.
Another aftershock.
That made those all around him scream, scramble, run.
As the prince stood as still as a statue.
Cold.
Alone.
Numb.
-><-
Hours later, he stood at his window, facing the now oddly quiet land, darkness shadowing the night, his hand mended fully, his leg still unhappy at his not resting state, but his mind was more wearied than the physical anyway.
“Arthur.”
The prince didn’t even bother to turn around, the voice familiar enough.
“Tell me.”
Merlin shook his head with uncertainty, his eyes wearied. It had been a long day already of planning for the event. Now with the quake and the echoing aftershocks, and of course her injuries, it was even more restless.
“She hasn’t woken. Gaius did all he could, but he said that she’s suffered a lot, took in a lot of smoke, and her burns too of course. We need to wait out the night.”
The prince dully nodded his head, eyes heavily focused on the sky, the courtyard below.
That night that the second dragon had come, a group of children had been in the town square doing a last rehearsal for the upcoming celebration of the New Year to come. They were inside a little makeshift tent set up just for them.
She had rushed past him and the other knights, after the woman teaching them had stepped out of the tent for only a second to succumb to the dragon’s smoldering breath.
The beast just feet away, diving from the sky, kept opening its mouth to let out new blazes of fire.
And she still ran to them.
Making him call out to her with alarm.
Making him wonder how she could be so brave…
And foolish.
“Guinevere?
BLOODY HELL!”
Arthur ran past his knights, who had shields raised to do more battle, noticing the fiery direction she was determinedly heading to.
“GUINEVERE…”
She turned around at that ferocious call, allowing him the time to catch at her arms.
“Are you mad?
This is no place for you to be right now!”
Anxiously she reacted.
“Arthur…Sire…”
Remembering for a second of course that protocol, even as the wind whipped the flames around terrifyingly.
“There are children in the tent!”
He stared at her with alarm. “No, there can’t be.”
She frantically shook her head. “The woman teaching them, no one’s seen sight of her, nor the children. They must still be in there.”
He darted his eyes away from her for a second, hearing an anguished youthful cry.
Oh God, they really were in there, just moments ago practicing excitedly for their show. Now they could burn to death in this fiery trap.
Shaking his head, he saw how his knights couldn’t be of assistance. They were dealing with enough, the dragon diving down on them now.
Maybe though if the beast was distracted long enough…
He could do it by himself?
He’d have to.
“Stay here. I’ll get them.”
“You can’t do it alone! What if something’s happened to their teacher? There are too many children. I’ll go with you.”
Where was Merlin? Oh that was right…probably cowering in fear, while this wild beautiful woman wanted to assist.
Arthur firmly shook his head. “No. It’s too dangerous. You stay here…better yet. Get inside. That’s an order!”
He ran away from her, hearing his father’s cries from the window above, yelling at him to retreat. Arthur paid it no heed as he rushed across the hot spotted courtyard, dashes of firing blazes interrupting his progress.
And heard it.
A second pair of footsteps.
Getting to the tent finally, he whipped around to bellow. “I told you to stay!”
“And you too easily forgot I am not your servant!” More practically, she whispered plainly. “Two of us will get them out faster.”
He shook his head with disbelief, grabbing at her roughened hand, marked by a servant’s duty, and yet still there was a certain softness about it. “I don’t know whether to think you courageous or just foolish.”
“No more foolish than you.”
He smiled wryly at that, before pushing through the tent’s opening, seeing the group of them huddled, and like she worried, no teacher in sight.
He felt it as Guinevere pushed past, familiar with all the children, her smile warm and encouraging, even through all the turmoil. She was brave to the fiery finish, a woman who made him marvel, who was like no other.
“It’s alright. Come now! We must hurry.”
She coaxed so gently, courageously, but Arthur reacted as a roar came. The children cried out with fear.
IT was getting closer, no longer distracted it seemed.
“Come on!”
He called out with less patience. Guinevere had a hold of some of their hands. He ushered the group out of the tent.
Outside again it could be seen coming to sweep down, its heavy wings flapping hard enough to cause a brutal wind, before it opened its mouth, ready to light them all into screeching cinders.
Arthur gasped, eyes widened to the horror, and looking down noticed it now, the ashen remains. It had to be. That was why the children had been alone. HORRID beast. He stepped forward, blocking the view. They were too innocent to see.
Then he warned furiously, lifting his sword for battle, even if it most likely would be useless against the hot flame.
At least if IT pursued him, they would all have the chance to get away.
“RUN! RUN FOR THE PALACE!”
Guinevere turned back to him, her midnight eyes filled with terror.
Arthur shook his head, frantically gesturing her away.
Her lips half parted, but she turned to flee before anything could be said, ran with the children away from it…
Away from him.
All the children raced. Then the horrible happened. One of them slipped. The dragon sneered, turning away from the prince.
A new toy to play with.
Arthur stared. Merciful Heaven. Behind him the tent they had fled, was just beginning to smolder, the dragon leaving its mark.
Guinevere screamed in reaction to the fallen child.
“OH!”
She looked like she was ready to turn back.
He shook his head frantically, waving with his arm.
“KEEP GOING! DON’T STOP!”
She halted though for a second, her expression heavy. He knew why.
Still he commanded her on, begging that she’d use sense and listen.
“GO GUINEVERE…GET THEM INSIDE!”
Her face was ravaged with pain, but she turned away, did as he uttered…
Arthur nodded his head with grim satisfaction as they hurried, leaving him. Good.
Now he had a choice.
He could save himself or…
Oh Heaven’s Mercy.
The child was maybe four years old or less.
If he saved himself, the dragon would win its target.
A babe of Camelot…
DAMN his own life.
Letting the sword fall to the ground…
Arthur sprinted across the cobblestone, ignoring the dragon’s torridly vicious shots of fire that tried to burn his racing feet.
Getting to the child, he kneeled down only long enough to sweep the girl up against his side. Holding her tight, he ran faster than he ever had in his life, half aware that the tickling flames were shooting up his boots.
Setting the frightened child down as he got close enough, he ordered her with as much gentleness as he could, following Guinevere’s lead of before in how he spoke. “Go…run…all the way to the door…right there in front of you.
See?
Go!
Go now!”
The dragon wanted HIM. He could feel it.
The beast had some kind of vengeance against him, maybe because he was his father’s son. Who knew? That was why he set the child down. Then the girl would be safe.
Maybe he would die in a sacrifice for her…like Sir Hadrian did for that other…
Little girl.
Maybe that was his destiny.
So be it.
“ARTHUR!”
He heard the voice, saw the running man.
Maybe his servant wasn’t as cowardly as he thought.
Merlin distracted from the other side, waving a stick to get the dragon’s attention. It turned with a roar.
“Go Arthur!
Save yourself!”
The prince ran, but making a spinning turn that surprised the dragon and Merlin
He grabbed his thin servant.
“Save YOURSELF you brave idiot Merlin…
COME ON!”
It was a stupid thing to do, taunting a dragon with a stick like Merlin just had, but also boldly valiant.
“I’m not forgetting that…
You called me BRAVE!”
“Shut up!
I also called you an idiot!”
It had been just enough time to get them both past, Merlin’s wild distraction, but the dragon was hotly on their trail again, prepping one last flaming sweep.
Arthur pushed his servant down to the ground with desperation, hoping they’d be out of its line of fire, falling forward too.
And felt it as he did. From the doorway a pair of hands pulled before the circling magical beast could turn them into human torches.
More than one pair actually, assisting them both.
One from a set of small, roughened, and yet oddly soft hands.
Hands so familiar…
Warm.
He was brought to lay on his back, safely inside, but something so torridly hot against his boots. A blanket flew above him, hit strongly against the leather, to put out the sparks of fire that had risen against them while he ran across the courtyard.
Soon enough they finished their task, fully extinguishing what could have burned his skin if not attended to so diligently.
His eyes focused above, took in the wildly untamed curls framing her beautiful midnight eyes.
He laughed with disbelief, with gratitude, before uttering dryly.
“It’s the second. You’re foolish.”
She smiled, a tear escaping her eye. “You saved them all Arthur.”
His blue eyes widened at that. “Even the last…the young girl?”
She nodded her head, gesturing beyond to the child who was being held by her mother. “Even her…see? As brave as Sir Hadrian.”
He felt gratitude fill his heart. Any loss in Camelot pierced his soul.
He marveled…she remembered.
He didn’t agree with her assessment though entirely. “No…I didn’t do it alone. WE did.”
Slowly, wearied from all that had happened, he lifted the fallen blanket away from his leg, covered them with its not burnt side, pressed his lips hard against hers.
He stopped her mutterings of protest, whispering in between, in the darkness of the blanket’s covertness “If anything had happened to you…”
Roughly his fingers pressed against her full cheeks.
As gently his lips sought more…
It had only lasted a few more seconds before the king’s bellow came, and then he had to lift away the shielding blanket, act like he had never been at her side. Pretend she was little more than just an ordinary servant.
Not the woman he so feverishly desired.
Who he would save in a heartbeat.
Who he…
That was a year ago, before Lancelot returned the second time, before Arthur and Merlin ventured away from Camelot to stop the dragon. Before he learned his servant’s secret.
And learned their connection had only grown stronger.
Lancelot…
“So has he told you why he’s here? Why he’s returned, this particular night of all others?”
Merlin wondered where it seemed the prince’s mind had drifted off to just now, before answering.
“Actually he hasn’t been that far. He’s been living in the nearby kingdom of Pythagora for almost a year now, as attendant to one of the nobles, keeping in good shape the swords and such. It’s not what he aspires to do, but he says at least he gets to work with the arsenal.”
Arthur smiled ironically. Of course he hadn’t totally left, was still close by.
“But why did he return…here…tonight?”
Merlin shook his head, as the prince still didn’t face him.
“Not sure entirely. He gave no answer to that.”
The prince swallowed, his eyes not leaving the star filled skies.
Such a beautiful night on such a violent earth.
“So is he with her now?”
That was the hardest question to ask, the most prickling one, pinching at his skin with no remorse.
“He was when I came to see you. He…”
Merlin stopped. Perhaps with the way things were it was best he not say it all, let this go.
The prince impatiently believed another answer though.
“He…what? Don’t stutter Merlin! Finish what you started.”
It was a fierce snapping order. Merlin knew he couldn’t leave it there, and so why even try?
Maybe he was the sorcerer, but this was the prince. Even knowing his secret, Arthur still treated him sometimes like a bumbling idiot, and he in return called him a royal prat. Now was not time though for their sillier sides. Now what was needed was truth.
“He hasn’t left her side once.”
Pour that oil into the wound. Let it slither in until you scream from the infliction.
Arthur lowered his head, guiltily, angrily.
“I wanted to reach her…wanted to reach her first.”
Merlin responded solemnly. It was moments like this he realized the burden Arthur carried as Crowned Prince of Camelot. It was not just an easily luxurious task, but a weight that bruised his shoulders.
“I know.”
Arthur held tight, fisting his hands against the window with flaming frustration. Sometimes he wished to not be Arthur Pendragon, to not have any last name of significance, to be as ordinary as his servant, to be able to…
Love her.
He lowered his head more, curled his back.
Merlin watched from behind, taking a step forward, noticing how his prince’s eyes were tightly closed.
“Arthur.”
The prince complained with a snarl, only halfheartedly.
“You’re the worst servant ever, Merlin. Always forgetting who I am and how you should be addressing me.”
“Go see her. Let her know you care.”
Arthur swallowed, the lump in his throat too coarse now, too thick that it made him feel he’d choke. His hand throbbed with renewed pain. His knee edged with irritation. His heart…
“She already has someone to let her know that.”
“One more won’t hurt. She needs all our voices. She’s yet to hear yours.”
Merlin stepped in more, stopped at the man’s hunched side, and touched his shoulder.
“Go see her Arthur…ahhh…Sire, better?”
He half joked, smiled with support.
When the dragon in that cave had knocked his master down, and opened its mouth to let it out, Merlin had taken his chance. In one second his destiny would have died if he hadn’t.
Only later he would find out that the knock-out was not as jarring as he thought.
That soon enough his prince had opened his eyes.
And witnessed it.
Witnessed what Merlin really was.
And yet still the prince had said nothing to his father.
Two sides of the same coin.
Merlin was starting to understand that now.
Arthur lifted his head, weakly smiled at the lame joke. “You’re pathetic.”
“That’s mean. You’re tactless…
Sire.”
Arthur laughed dryly, slapped at the younger man’s shoulder, before his expression grew pained again. “It should have been me.”
Merlin shook his head with resolution.
“At least it was someone.”
Seeing the prince nod his head, feeling the hand leave his shoulder, Merlin left the room.
Arthur returned his focus out the window, recalling warm lips…
Under a hastily lifted blanket.
To envelope them in privacy.
->< Continued here
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