The Borderlines We Drew (Merlin)
SO I WROTE MERLIN FIC.
Basically, I'm attempting to reconcile the events of the show with more traditional Arthurian legend, and so have sort of skimmed over the events of several years. I'll hopefully be able to revisit these scenes in greater detail when I have a better grasp of the characters. (That said, please tell me if Arthur is horrendously out of character here.)
Title: The Borderlines We Drew
Fandom: Merlin
Wordcount: 1,157
Summary: "Merlin," you say, "there is a circular table in my hall."
--
Would you care to explain what that table is doing in here? you would like to demand, and you would have, back when Merlin was just a servant (if he'd ever been just a servant). Back before Uther had died, before the turmoil and the fighting and the return of magic to Albion. Merlin can't be mistaken for a subordinate now, even if the man can't be bothered to figure this out for himself.
He stands off to the side, fiddling with the hem of his shirt, glancing behind him at the table and then back to you, and eventually you give in and rephrase the question in your head.
"Merlin," you say, "there is a circular table in my hall."
"Yes," he replies, too brightly, "yes there is, there is a circular table there."
You walk in, walk the circumference of the table and then stop at the chair the bears your name. "Merlin," you repeat, but then the rest of the sentence eludes you, because Merlin is staring at you with that expression you recognise. I did this for you, he doesn't say, but you know what he means anyway. Anything, he doesn't say. I would do anything.
Someday you will have to tell him that you hold no power over him at all, but until then you will enjoy the things he does unbidden. You did need a place to feed all your knights, after all.
--
Slowly but surely you are collecting your country back around you, gathering Albion and Mercia and the other lands you can reach into one great entity, attempting to bring peace to your people. Merlin is ever at your side with his shows of magic, and never flinches in court, even when visiting nobles or the knights themselves refer to him as the 'kept wizard'. Only a few years ago, magic was punishable by death, and Merlin does not seem to have forgotten this.
And he watches as they come, singly or in groups, to join your court. You don't comment when the table expands, nor when Sir [Insert Name Here] dies and his name is replaced with one suspiciously familiar. But you do try to object when Merlin leaves no seat for himself, even after the seating increases.
"I'm not a knight," Merlin says, as if that is the only qualification for importance. "And I'm not your equal."
No, you're not, you agree. But that is ground you don't want to tread upon just.
--
You marry Guinivere in summer, and only sleep with her the once; she tells you later that she had always expected this to be Morgana's place. But Morgana left when Uther still reigned, and no one has seen her since.
Gwen spends more time with Merlin now - perhaps they help each other grow used to their sudden change in status. Perhaps they truly do love each other, though you cannot really see it. More likely, you think, they simply crave simple friendship, the kind you have been forced to forgo.
You want to join them, for no more purpose than to hear friendly voices, be only Arthur the prat for at least a small time each day. But you are King; you cannot afford such indulgences. And you have no idea how to go about obtaining their permission, anyway - Gwen must defer to Merlin, and Merlin will never understand that he holds the power now.
--
One night you wake and walk out to the wall, and Merlin is already there, leaning against the cold stone and looking older than he has any right to. You want to shove him, bring him back down to your level; you want to pull him to you and kiss him; you want to say something, explain this strange thing that has happened to him, to both of you. But you cannot touch what he has become. He serves you, and you will never truly know why, but you do know that someday he will ask himself that very question.
You think that perhaps you're trying to let yourself down easy by letting go now, even as he strives to please, even as he wordlessly allows you into his realm, though you are brash and blood-tempered and more of a king than you ever might have guessed before. He isn't untouchable. But he should be.
--
When Lancelot returns to Camelot, you welcome him with open arms.
Some people, you know, assume that you have seen the folly of your father's ways, and intend to make an example of Lancelot as you have with Merlin. Others note the smile on Gwen's face and speak of the royal couple who do not share a bed, and you see their questioning glances whenever you are in a room with the two of them. Both assumptions are correct. But neither explains why Lancelot so quickly becomes one of your best-loved knights.
But you remember how much faith Merlin once had and still has in him, and though you only admit it sparingly, you believe in the things and people that Merlin believes in.
Eventually you come to appreciate his presence for Lancelot's own sake; the man wields a sword well and makes good conversation, and even might be a friend. He resents you a little bit for the past, and also for the fact that you have married Gwen, but he also understands why things happened as they did. Lancelot possesses reason and empathy, chivalry. He is almost the perfect knight.
He bows before your throne, sword before him, but you meet Merlin's eyes across the room. Merlin looks uneasy, even from where you stand, and you don't understand why. Lancelot was Merlin's champion first, and Merlin Lancelot's, and unless he really is in love with Gwen, Merlin should have nothing to fear.
--
"Something isn't right," Merlin says, another night out on the tower. You are watching him closely, more closely than you usually can, watching the play of torchlight from the courtyard below light up his face, his hands. You've never been one to appreciate beauty for its own sake, but then, Merlin is hardly just a pretty face.
"What?" you ask, distracted.
But he turns and smiles, apologetic. "I don't know," he says.
You do. You know everything that goes wrong in your castle, in Camelot, in all of Albion and the greater land that some call Logres. You know better than Merlin that something is terribly, terribly wrong, and always has been. And you've given up telling yourself that you'll ever tell him. You're not a perfect king.
You could say now, you ceased to be my servant a long time ago. You could tell him, nothing is binding you to me, but something must be, and because I'm king now things had to change. You could say nothing at all, simply reach out and touch and show.
"I'll see you tomorrow," you tell him.
Basically, I'm attempting to reconcile the events of the show with more traditional Arthurian legend, and so have sort of skimmed over the events of several years. I'll hopefully be able to revisit these scenes in greater detail when I have a better grasp of the characters. (That said, please tell me if Arthur is horrendously out of character here.)
Title: The Borderlines We Drew
Fandom: Merlin
Wordcount: 1,157
Summary: "Merlin," you say, "there is a circular table in my hall."
--
Would you care to explain what that table is doing in here? you would like to demand, and you would have, back when Merlin was just a servant (if he'd ever been just a servant). Back before Uther had died, before the turmoil and the fighting and the return of magic to Albion. Merlin can't be mistaken for a subordinate now, even if the man can't be bothered to figure this out for himself.
He stands off to the side, fiddling with the hem of his shirt, glancing behind him at the table and then back to you, and eventually you give in and rephrase the question in your head.
"Merlin," you say, "there is a circular table in my hall."
"Yes," he replies, too brightly, "yes there is, there is a circular table there."
You walk in, walk the circumference of the table and then stop at the chair the bears your name. "Merlin," you repeat, but then the rest of the sentence eludes you, because Merlin is staring at you with that expression you recognise. I did this for you, he doesn't say, but you know what he means anyway. Anything, he doesn't say. I would do anything.
Someday you will have to tell him that you hold no power over him at all, but until then you will enjoy the things he does unbidden. You did need a place to feed all your knights, after all.
--
Slowly but surely you are collecting your country back around you, gathering Albion and Mercia and the other lands you can reach into one great entity, attempting to bring peace to your people. Merlin is ever at your side with his shows of magic, and never flinches in court, even when visiting nobles or the knights themselves refer to him as the 'kept wizard'. Only a few years ago, magic was punishable by death, and Merlin does not seem to have forgotten this.
And he watches as they come, singly or in groups, to join your court. You don't comment when the table expands, nor when Sir [Insert Name Here] dies and his name is replaced with one suspiciously familiar. But you do try to object when Merlin leaves no seat for himself, even after the seating increases.
"I'm not a knight," Merlin says, as if that is the only qualification for importance. "And I'm not your equal."
No, you're not, you agree. But that is ground you don't want to tread upon just.
--
You marry Guinivere in summer, and only sleep with her the once; she tells you later that she had always expected this to be Morgana's place. But Morgana left when Uther still reigned, and no one has seen her since.
Gwen spends more time with Merlin now - perhaps they help each other grow used to their sudden change in status. Perhaps they truly do love each other, though you cannot really see it. More likely, you think, they simply crave simple friendship, the kind you have been forced to forgo.
You want to join them, for no more purpose than to hear friendly voices, be only Arthur the prat for at least a small time each day. But you are King; you cannot afford such indulgences. And you have no idea how to go about obtaining their permission, anyway - Gwen must defer to Merlin, and Merlin will never understand that he holds the power now.
--
One night you wake and walk out to the wall, and Merlin is already there, leaning against the cold stone and looking older than he has any right to. You want to shove him, bring him back down to your level; you want to pull him to you and kiss him; you want to say something, explain this strange thing that has happened to him, to both of you. But you cannot touch what he has become. He serves you, and you will never truly know why, but you do know that someday he will ask himself that very question.
You think that perhaps you're trying to let yourself down easy by letting go now, even as he strives to please, even as he wordlessly allows you into his realm, though you are brash and blood-tempered and more of a king than you ever might have guessed before. He isn't untouchable. But he should be.
--
When Lancelot returns to Camelot, you welcome him with open arms.
Some people, you know, assume that you have seen the folly of your father's ways, and intend to make an example of Lancelot as you have with Merlin. Others note the smile on Gwen's face and speak of the royal couple who do not share a bed, and you see their questioning glances whenever you are in a room with the two of them. Both assumptions are correct. But neither explains why Lancelot so quickly becomes one of your best-loved knights.
But you remember how much faith Merlin once had and still has in him, and though you only admit it sparingly, you believe in the things and people that Merlin believes in.
Eventually you come to appreciate his presence for Lancelot's own sake; the man wields a sword well and makes good conversation, and even might be a friend. He resents you a little bit for the past, and also for the fact that you have married Gwen, but he also understands why things happened as they did. Lancelot possesses reason and empathy, chivalry. He is almost the perfect knight.
He bows before your throne, sword before him, but you meet Merlin's eyes across the room. Merlin looks uneasy, even from where you stand, and you don't understand why. Lancelot was Merlin's champion first, and Merlin Lancelot's, and unless he really is in love with Gwen, Merlin should have nothing to fear.
--
"Something isn't right," Merlin says, another night out on the tower. You are watching him closely, more closely than you usually can, watching the play of torchlight from the courtyard below light up his face, his hands. You've never been one to appreciate beauty for its own sake, but then, Merlin is hardly just a pretty face.
"What?" you ask, distracted.
But he turns and smiles, apologetic. "I don't know," he says.
You do. You know everything that goes wrong in your castle, in Camelot, in all of Albion and the greater land that some call Logres. You know better than Merlin that something is terribly, terribly wrong, and always has been. And you've given up telling yourself that you'll ever tell him. You're not a perfect king.
You could say now, you ceased to be my servant a long time ago. You could tell him, nothing is binding you to me, but something must be, and because I'm king now things had to change. You could say nothing at all, simply reach out and touch and show.
"I'll see you tomorrow," you tell him.