Fic: Merlin BBC: Dawn and Day verse
I've joined Camelot_Drabble, a weekly challenge community for Merlin BBC. It's a nice way to keep the creative juices flowing, while at the same time the drabbles can be short enough that the challenge never feels like a chore.
My first five entries are in a verse, and since I think I'm done with that verse now, I'll post them here.
Each drabble is between 100 and 1000 words long.
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur (with background Lancelot/Gwen)
Warning: Minor character-death.
Overall rating: PG-13
Summary: Begins with the loss of a loved-one, then the magical reveal and Arthur's progression from rage to acceptance, before finally it gets all gay at the end.
DAWN AND DAY VERSE
Prompt #09: Tears
Title: Threshold
Summary: Only one sort of peace lasts forever.
Merlin bounces up the steps up to Gaius’ door. The path under his feet is so familiar that he forgets each step the moment he has taken it, and the handle of the door has come to fit under his palm like it was moulded there once upon a time, though it belongs to a far older hand. Outside, the sun has faded behind the clouded grey sky of evening, and Merlin is late for dinner, having been kept busy all day by his King. The creak of the door as it swings open is the same as it has been all these years, but in times of peace and prosperity, especially enduring ones, one forgets how important, how dear, the creak of a door, or the press of an old hand can be.
“Gaius?”
For a moment the room looks empty, as empty as it ever is with its cluttered shelves and scattered books; all the signs of a busy, distracted life making up for the actual presence of the bent back and shuffling feet that must sometimes be elsewhere.
A small pot hangs over the hearth, banked fire keeping the pot and its contents warm, and Merlin is drawn there by hungry curiosity. He lifts a full ladle from the pot to breathe in the aroma of stew with mushrooms and spices, smiling as he puts it back. Has Gaius eaten yet? Merlin looks around the tables for a telltale used bowl and spoon, or half a loaf of bread not yet put away. Instead, his eyes alight on the bed in the corner, cradling the modest form of his teacher.
How odd of him to be in bed so early. Merlin approaches quietly. Gaius is lying on his back, one hand on his stomach and the other by his side. He’s wearing his blue robes and even his shoes. Merlin kneels down next to the low bed and places a hand on Gaius’ shoulder, shaking him gently.
“Gaius?”
In this lofty room, cluttered shelves and scattered books continue to give the impression of an active, distracted life, but with a muted, somber air. The bottles on the shelves, the mortar and pestle, and the fire in the hearth, only whisper what they remember of old hands that didn’t use to tremble so, and shrewd eyes that have struggled increasingly to stay focused on small writing by candlelight.
Merlin backs away until he hits the wall, his vision blurring until the colourful, cluttered room is also gone. He sinks down until he finds the floor, and for a very long while he is unaware of time, rocked by convulsions of shocked grief, hollow with loss, unable to see or breathe.
The room whispers, and every whisper is a memory that stings like a needle.
Far away, the King has waited long enough for Merlin, whom he needs always, and so he sends a girl to look for him. She finds Merlin and she finds Gaius, but Merlin does not see her, so she runs back to the King.
For Merlin, the world does not move again until the King is pulling him out from behind his veil of tears.
“Merlin.”
The King is bright and steady. His presence muffles the whispering of the room.
“I’m alone,” Merlin says, voice choked, fingers digging bruises into his King’s arms. “I’m all alone.”
There is sorrow in his King’s blue eyes and in the slope of his lips, lips that form wondering, soothing words that rain down on Merlin’s upturned face, but Merlin cannot hear him. He weeps to be once more alone under the burden of destiny, the weight of secret power and tremendous guilt. He weeps to have lost the press of an old hand on his shoulder.
He is unaware that through his tears, his eyes blaze gold, like the old heart that has faded away into the fallen night.
Prompt #10: Tangled
Title: In ruin
Summary: Arthur's mind shuts as his eyes are opened.
Arthur is ashamed of the way his rage overwhelms his grief, and were it not for how the two emotions bleed into each other, his shame might have made him control himself. He shoves Merlin to the cold flagstones, hurling abuse at him even though he knows exactly what Merlin must be feeling right now, having just lost a man he loved like a father.
“Sorcerer! Liar! Traitor!”
In the winter-night darkness, Merlin is pale and fey, and before Arthur’s inner eye, Morgana’s sharp, white features impose themselves over Merlin’s. The world tilts as the claw around his heart squeezes tight.
Merlin is gasping, sprawled uselessly on the ground and twisting as if in pain, tears flowing relentlessly down his cheeks.
Arthur draws Excalibur, the sword screeching in his ears. “Stand, you wretch! I’ll run you through!” He longs to feel the violent rush of magic over his skin, to be hurled back and have the ground slam into him, releasing his choking emotions in one punched-out breath.
Merlin scrambles up, and Arthur would lounge at him if not for the strong hands that grip him and hold him back. Percival and Leon, on either side of him, damn them both.
Merlin dares to look relieved, and sways dangerously on his feet, there is a blur of red between them and then Gwaine is there, ever the loyal dog, with a shoulder for the wretch to lean on.
There are drums beating in Arthur’s head, hard enough to threaten to split his skull open.
He lets Excalibur fall from numb fingers. She is not Arthur’s, was never his, just another lie, and without her the crown grows heavy on his unworthy head. Too much the fool for his people to rely on. She whines pitifully where she lies.
Merlin faints in Gwaine’s arms, and Arthur lets himself sink to the ground along with them. The taint of Merlin’s magic pours through his mind like a river, flooding the chamber of his memories. It colours everything it touches with that unnatural gold and takes from Arthur the self that he has become over the years, because his self is tangled in Merlin’s, and Merlin’s self has been a lie.
Arthur looks up and sees the darkness between the stars rush down to envelop him.
Prompt #11: Temptation
Title: Out of darkness into light
Summary: Merlin kneels before his king.
Cold, blue light pushes back the darkness. It draws Arthur out of the numbing deep that he has fled to, and he resists feebly as the roaring, hollow feeling of loss inside him makes itself known again. When he opens his eyes, he finds himself in bed. Above him floats an orb filled with wisps of light. He thinks he has seen it before, but he cannot recall where, the memory dancing just out of reach.
The orb floats away towards the door, and Arthur scrambles out of bed to follow it, grabbing his long coat on the way and throwing it over his clothes. He pretends not to see Excalibur on the table, or hear the way it calls out longingly to him.
In the hallway outside, Leon and Elyan lie asleep. As Arthur watches, the orb floats down and briefly touches their foreheads. They awaken immediately and look around in wonder. Arthur helps them stand while the orb sails leisurely down the corridor.
“What happened?” Leon asks.
“Sorcery,” Arthur replies darkly. “Lend me your sword.”
He feels better with a sword in hand. The orb leads them down stairs, towards the throne room. Everywhere, guards lie asleep, but the orb leaves them there, unconcerned.
“Come on, Merlin. What do you want with me?” Arthur mutters to himself.
The question is much bigger than he meant it to be. Merlin is not like other sorcerers; he does not want Arthur’s life, for if he did he could have had it a hundred times by now, which means he is either more ambitious than that, or ... The other alternative is too painfully sweet to contemplate. Magic is a perversion, twisting the fabric of nature and corrupting any heart that lets it in. It cannot be used for good, or by good people. Arthur can almost see his father smiling proudly from the shadows between the pillars.
The doors to the throne room are wide open. The orb floats through. Inside, Merlin stands surrounded by Gwaine, Percival, Lancelot and Guinevere. In Merlin’s hand, another orb glows, smaller than the one that led Arthur here and is now hovering in the ceiling above, lighting up the room in tones of blue. Merlin’s eyes are swirling with gold.
Arthur moves towards the silent tableau on less steady legs, feeling like a hollow shell that a moaning, raging wind is tearing through.
Gwaine is frowning like a thundercloud, Percival is clearly uncomfortable, and Lancelot and Guinevere look pale and worried. Lancelot has his arm around his wife’s shoulders.
“Has he enchanted you all, then?” Arthur asks, ignoring Merlin, who extinguishes the orb in his hand with a whisper, but leaves the bigger orb above to give them light. “Or did no one think to place the sorcerer in the dungeons where he belongs?.”
“The dungeons cannot hold me,” Merlin says quietly. Up close, he looks drawn and tired, the skin around his eyes bruised, but his eyes are determined when they settle, blue now, on Arthur’s.
Arthur’s hand clenches around the hilt of Leon’s sword. “Then you should have run away.”
Merlin smiles without joy. “I tried, but it turns out I am not free to go.” Slowly, painstakingly, he kneels down in front of Arthur, bowing his head.
The gesture is so unexpected that Arthur forgets everything but how much he loves this man, how Merlin continues to astonish him after all these years, in little things and in big things.
“What are you doing?”
Merlin looks up steadily. “I am kneeling before my King.”
Merlin’s hair has grown long, Arthur realises. It has begun to curl at his nape and around his ears, hanging over his forehead and making his skin whiter, his eyes more startlingly clear. He sits there on his knees, guilty and treasonous and beautiful, and Arthur has never hated him like this, or loved him so much.
“What did you mean you are not free to go?”
Merlin shrugs. “Where would I go? Here is my destiny, and my loved ones. I would live, if I ran, but not be alive.” He licks his lips and takes a breath, determined but uncertain about whatever end he is planning.
“I ...” Merlin glances up, then away, and then up again, making an effort to maintain eye-contact this time. “I am in your hands, Sire. No dungeon can hold me, but you do, and I will not fight it.”
Only the watchful eyes of his knights keep Arthur from swaying on his feet. Bright visions of the future assault his inner eye. There would be love and peace, sunlit days and nights brighter still, and Arthur would never be lonely again.
Then the immeasurably heavy hand of duty finds his shoulder.
The words he speaks next are the hardest he has ever spoken. “The laws of Camelot apply to all its citizens, including its King ... and according to the law, I must execute you for sorcery.”
Guinevere moans, and Gwaine growls, but Merlin smiles, suddenly and genuinely, as if he is pleased with Arthur. “I know. It was my destiny to see you become King, but I wasn’t promised any more than that, and it’s enough for me, Sire, because I have seen you grow to be a great man.”
I cannot survive this, Arthur thinks despairingly.
Merlin looks up at the windows. “We are just in time. Dawn is here.” As if by magic, warm light spills through every window, pouring across the floor and setting the Pendragon banners on fire, but for the first time, Arthur averts his eyes from them.
Then he suddenly remembers where he has seen the orb of light before, and remembers in the same moment that once upon a time there was nothing he and Merlin would not do to keep each other safe. Dawn has come, but it is for Arthur to decide whether it should blaze wild like the pyre, or be seized and forged into gold.
Prompt #12: Tease
Title: Together through the coming storm
Summary: Arthur makes a decision.
Dawn is the time of execution. Arthur places the tip of Leon’s sword against Merlin’s fragile breast. “The law requires that you give a full confession. You may do so now.”
Merlin swallows, for all his bravery he is not eager to die. “I am a sorcerer, Sire. I have used magic-”
“No.”
Merlin looks up, surprised.
“Start from the beginning,” Arthur commands.
Merlin looks at him curiously for a moment, before beginning a halting narrative. “I was born to Hunith of Ealdor and Balinor of Camelot.” Arthur starts, and the significance of the revelation is mirrored in Merlin’s eyes, but Merlin doesn’t stop. “I have used magic since I was a baby.”
Merlin is no story-teller. He rambles, lingers over details and forgets important events. As soon as the action moves to Camelot, Gaius infuses the narrative, the stern and loving guardian, confidante and mentor. Tears come, Merlin wipes at them ineffectually and speaks in stutters. Arthur aches for them both, the old man and the wayward sorcerer he took under his wing. He allows himself no tears however.
Dawn becomes morning, the light climbs higher and higher up on the wall, and Arthur thrills secretly at having bought himself a full new day and another night.
Eventually, Gwaine sits down on the floor, prompting the others to do the same. Arthur remains standing.
Merlin speaks of deeds of bravery and deeds of subterfuge, of secrets he has known and kept, of feats of magic big and small, and Arthur is overwhelmed by the goodness of it all. There are mistakes, even crimes, but in the end, Merlin has never truly abused his gift. Long before the story draws to a close, Arthur knows he could never condemn the boy kneeling before him to the pyre. It is, however, not as simple as just saying “You are forgiven”.
At last, Merlin has no more to tell. Not a soul draws breath as they wait for Arthur’s next move.
“I cannot simply release the ban on magic,” he says quietly. “Camelot would fall into chaos.”
“Then you must make rules.” With the sun shining on his upturned face, Lancelot looks like a Christian saint. It makes Arthur peaceful just to look at him. It gives him faith when he sees Guinevere squeeze her husband’s hand in encouragement.
“A set of laws to govern the use of magic,” Leon echoes, nodding thoughtfully.
“It won’t be easy,” Lancelot continues. “Magic has so many uses, the laws will have to be at once flexible and clear.”
“It will take time,” Gwen says. “There will be trial and error.”
Gwaine looks playfully up at Arthur. “But we have a king who will take us through the storm into a new day.”
“Don’t tease,” Arthur says, without heat.
“Gwaine is right,” Merlin says finally. “According to the prophets, you will bring magic back to Camelot, to all of Albion.”
Arthur reaches out a hand for Merlin, and pulls the boy to his feet. “Just me? That’s odd. I seem to remember something about two sides of a coin, or some such nonsense.”
Merlin ducks his head with a grin. “Oh that. You shouldn’t pay too much attention to mad old lizards. What do they know of destiny, yeah?”
Arthur smiles too. It’s tentative and a little painful, but true. “Nothing at all. Now tell me, oh great and powerful sorcerer, would you rather stay in the dungeons or in the stocks while I decide on the new laws to govern the use of magic in my kingdom?”
Prompt #13: Time
Title: Time to settle in
Summary: Merlin looks good in his new clothes.
It takes time to integrate the new laws, but time is something they have plenty of, because once the word spreads that Camelot is protected by the most powerful sorcerer in all of Albion, the neighbouring countries all become remarkably peaceable, the vengeful witches who used to visit twice a week stay at home instead, and even the magical beasts seem to think better of attacking people.
In the streets of Camelot, magic crawls out of the woodwork, squints in the unfamiliar sunlight and stretches its wings tentatively. Camelot’s law enforcement waits with bated breath for the first explosion, the eruption of chaos that must surely come, but days pass, and then weeks, without anything unmanageable or overly horrendous happening. Finally, Arthur begins to realise that all his laws cannot do half as much to govern the people, as can Merlin’s eyes swirling with gold because he’s making the roof of old Hubbard’s house patch itself up.
Arthur orders new clothes to be made for Merlin, clothes that will better suit his new position, and Merlin looks striking in dark blue, though his delighted grin is as ridiculous as ever, and having his thin, pale neck bared makes his ears stick out even more than usual. Slowly, Merlin changes. His back is straighter as he crosses the courtyard, he speaks with greater confidence knowing that his voice and opinion have value now, and he throws himself enthusiastically into his new job, running all over the city to help and teach and awe the citizens of Camelot.
Arthur misses him fiercely. His new manservant is competent to a fault, but does nothing to alleviate the emptiness of Arthur’s chambers. While Merlin becomes who he was supposed to be all along, Arthur feels himself fade away. Excalibur hangs in the armoury, untouched since Arthur realised his acquisition of her was based on a lie: Merlin’s talent, not Arthur’s. The needs of his people keep him focused, but every now and then the hurt digs its claws into his chest and he goes to the armoury to simply look, take in the magnificent sword and ache because he is not fit to wield her. She weeps for his touch, and he turns his back and walks away numb.
The moment when he saw the future stretching out before him full of love and greatness is gone. But he does not regret his decision.
More than a month after the ban on magic was lifted in Camelot, Arthur is disturbed in his chambers. He jumps as the door flies open and hits the wall so hard the hinges almost break.
“YOU CLOTPOLE!”
Arthur would be intimidated, but he’s mostly turned on. Merlin makes for a surprisingly stunning menacing warlock. Arthur doesn’t get up from his chair, because he doesn’t trust his knees to support him.
“Something the matter, Merlin?” he asks as carelessly as he’s currently able.
Merlin stomps over to the table, slamming the door shut behind him with a wave of his hand and not so much as a glance over. It sends shivers down Arthur’s spine.
“You’re getting married?” Merlin asks furiously.
Arthur swallows. It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, made only yesterday. He needs an heir, and will need a queen to give him one. There is no reason not to start looking for her in earnest. And ... and whatever he had thought was in Merlin’s heart the night the man knelt before Arthur has not manifested, so there is nothing to hold out for.
“Yes, Merlin,” he says simply. “I am.”
Merlin’s jaw clenches. He lifts a hand, and suddenly Arthur is pinned to the back of the chair.
Arthur is nervous now. “Merlin? Remember those laws I passed? You know, the ones you are currently violating?”
“Shut up, Sire,” Merlin answers, and comes around the table. He looks darkly down at Arthur for a moment before climbing onto the King’s lap.
Arthur finds himself in sudden dire need of a distraction, lest his body decides to rise to the not-actually-happening occasion. Although, Arthur can’t imagine what else Merlin thinks he’s doing. “You still haven’t told me what your problem is.”
“I said shut up,” Merlin says tightly, takes Arthur’s head in his hands and kisses him.
In a moment, Arthur is free from the spell and can wrap his arms around Merlin’s slender waist to pull him closer.
Merlin gets his way, as Arthur does not speak again for some time, and when he finally does, it’s barely even coherent.