Kink Me! #1
Kink Me! #1 Closed to new prompts
Welcome to Kink Me! Merlin #1!
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“Justice must be served,” he says, implacable.
“Justice?” She can’t believe what she’s hearing.
“Merlin killed three people with his magic. There is no recourse.”
“Think of how many people he saved. A lot more than three people died before he used magic. There was no other way.”
“Do you think I can tell that to the families of the people who were killed?” he insists. “That I can say, ‘well, at least he meant well’? I can’t make exceptions to the law, Guinevere, not if the law is a sound one, not even for the people I - not even for the people I care about. Especially not for the people I care about. If I do, I’ll become the kind of king my father was.” He’s never spoken ill of his father. “I can’t do that. I can’t lose my ability to distance myself from the problem and judge it objectively.”
“If you do this, you’ll become the kind of king your father was,” she says. “Merlin, tell him he’s mad.“
“Guinevere, this is hard for me too, but -,” Arthur starts, and Merlin speaks for the first time.
“No Gwen, Arthur’s right. I shouldn’t have used magic first. You of all people know how dangerous magic can be and how much the people of Camelot are still afraid of it.”
“Merlin, how dare you - “
“No, no, Gwen I’m sorry. But you understand, don’t you?” he beseeches. “Everyone knows how close I am to Arthur, and how close I am to you. If I did a bad thing, then I should suffer for it, and everyone will know that Arthur will do anything to ensure that justice is served.”
“Thank you Merlin,” Arthur says drily, “I really needed your support.”
“Really, Gwen. I don’t mind. I’m happy to.”
“Well, you might not mind, Merlin, but I do, and - “
Arthur lays a hand on her shoulder and says, very quietly, “Gwen. I can’t.”
For all that he is more learned even than Gaius, Merlin doesn’t appear again for three days, and Gwen has to stay with Morgana, who is violently ill. On the third day, Arthur finally goes to visit him, but when he returns, his face is expressionless, and when he addresses the court, when he explains his justice, his voice is entirely even.
“It won’t end here,” says Morgana.
“I can’t,” said Arthur.
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“Morgana,” says Arthur in irritation, “do try to pay attention.” And then, “Merlin.”
“Sorry, sorry,” laughs Merlin, “You know, in France, they do this thing where for every three fields, they only plant two of them: one with normal crops and one with beans and things, and the third they let lie fallow, and then they rotate like that, every year. It takes up a lot of land, but it seems to work. I read it in a book.”
“Oh, well in that case - “
“No, no, the principle behind it is sound. The beans fix something in the soil, that the grain crops deplete. We did it on a bit of a smaller scale in Ealdor. I was a farmer, you know, before I came here.”
“Yes, and I imagine you were as rubbish at it as you are at everything else. No doubt your village threw you out because they could no longer tolerate your incompetence. I wonder why I haven’t followed their noble example.” Arthur considers, “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“What, that I was a farmer? I rather thought you knew.”
“No, idiot. About the crop rotation thing.”
“Oh that. I forgot.”
“You -“ Arthur begins, but Morgana interrupts him. “No, Arthur, it’s really not Merlin’s fault. It’s lovely that you consider each petition so deeply, and the people of Camelot feel comfortable coming to you with their problems, and I have no desire to be your nursemaid, but it’s late. We should go to bed.”
“What, together?” Gwen asks. She eyes the bed dubiously. “it’s quite a big bed, but I really think -“
Perhaps it’s the lateness of the hour, or the tension finally uncoiling in her muscles, or the quantity of wine she’s drunk, but Morgana stares at her for several seconds and bursts into laughter.
“No,” says Arthur flatly. “There will be none of that. I see enough of Morgana as it is, thank you.”
Gwen blushes furiously, but Morgana can’t stop laughing as Merlin laughs, delighted, into Gwen’s hair, as Merlin loops an arm about her waist, as Merlin laughs as Arthur laughs, until Gwen’s laughing too.
Much later, Merlin’s voice comes in the darkness.
“There’s an elbow in my ribs, and I think it’s yours, Arthur.”
“Mmm,” says Morgana, “if you don’t mind terribly, I think Gwen and I will stick to our own bed from now on.”
“Of course I mind!” says Merlin, sitting up indignantly, “I didn’t become the greatest sorcerer in the world for Arthur’s sake, you know. I did it for the attentions of beautiful women, and I’m not going to give them up just because - “
Arthur groans into his pillow, and reaches up and back, covering Merlin’s face with his hand and pulling him back down.
He peers blearily over Merlin’s shoulder at Morgana and says, “You can both have him you know. God knows I don’t want him.” Merlin makes a muffled noise of protest. “Or we can do this without him next time. You and I are the ones who are married here, it seems only right.”
“Oh no,” says Gwen, sounding suspiciously bright, “We like him. I mean, we like you too. We like both of you. It just wouldn’t be the same.”
“Oh hello, Gwen,” says Morgana, “I didn’t realize you were awake. No Arthur, this was lovely, but I don’t think the kingdom would react favourably if its king and queen attended court with black eyes.”
Arthur glares. “Merlin gives me black eyes anyway, with all his flailing around.”
Morgana snorts, and Arthur says, “Not that like that, you filthy woman,” at the same time that Merlin mumbles, “Shut up, I do nothing of the sort.”
“Oh well,” says Arthur, “It was worth a try anyway.”
Gwen says, “I think we should do it again. Just not, you know, make it a regular thing.”
“That would be very nice,” replies Arthur equably, and reaches across Merlin to draw Morgana in, to draw Gwen in.
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"It's not your fault," says Merlin.
It's not her fault, there were so many little things. So many tiny, inconsequential things that could have changed this:
If Morgana had thought to tell her, if she had thought to ask. If the magic had been a little less, or Merlin a little more. If Arthur had realized sooner how much he needed her, how much they needed each other. If she had thought to reach out a half-moment sooner, that the hesitation might not have overcome her.
"I'll be leaving too, soon," he says. "It's not - I don't want to leave him, I don't want to leave you. I don't want to, but I've got to. I don't know why, but I know I do. And you - you're going to have to take care of him when I'm gone. He needs you."
"All he needs is someone to argue with him, so he knows he's making the right decision," she says, "I can do that without you telling me, Merlin."
"No, he needs you. You - you'd be a great queen without him, Gwen. You're so strong, and - you'd be a great queen. But he needs you, you need to be there. He's changed. Not for the worse, he's a great king, but he - I don't know. He needs you."
"All right, Merlin," she says, but for him, she keeps her voice as light as possible, tries to smile, "I heard you."
"He likes to see the people he cares about happy." He doesn't say loves, she notices. He won't say, the people he loves.
“He does love you, you know.” His face, which has always betrayed everything, shows nothing but defeat, and the emphasis on you is so slight, she’s almost certain she’s imagined it. “He’s wants you to - . He’s willing to - . What else is love? Would we feel the same way about him if he wasn’t the person he is? If he wasn’t willing to sacrifice everything to be a better king?”
He's silent for a long time, hunched over himself, arms crossed.
"Gwen," he says, forehead to the window frame, "You - just because you love someone, that doesn't mean you can never love anyone else, ever again. You should be happy, you know. You deserve to be happy. She would want that."
She wants to ask if he's been able to take his own advice, she wants to hurt him. But he's her friend, and he cares, and she cares, and they’ve both been left, really, and so instead she says, "I see, Merlin. And when did you become the authority on love?"
"Oh I read books," he laughs, "Lots and lots of books. They teach you things, you know."
"Oh?" she can feel herself beginning to smile, and it feels stretched, unnatural, she'll miss him, "You've hid it well then."
She can hear Arthur calling for Merlin, and a moment later, he opens the door.
"Merlin," he says, "didn't you hear me yelling? Was it too taxing to your scant intelligence for you to respond?" And then afterthought, "Guinevere. Hello, I didn't expect to see you here."
"You can't tell me what to do," says Merlin, his smile huge on his thin face, and Gwen wonders if Arthur knows how false it is.
"Actually, Merlin, I can. I'm the king." He narrows his eyes, and finally turns to Gwen, "You must excuse us, unless - we should appreciate your counsel, if you wish to give it, Guinevere."
"No thank you, Arthur," she responds, treating the request as the honour she knows it to be, "I think I'd like to be alone for a while."
"My love," says Arthur, "I know this is hard for you. Anything I can do - anything at all, anything you want is yours." He's giving her permission, she knows, and she knows she doesn't need it from him. (He’s trying so hard.)
She is a queen. She will comport herself in a manner befitting her station.
She crosses towards the window, and looks out towards the stables, where the air is heavy and saturated and grey, where Lancelot is waiting.
"I think I'll go for a ride," she says.
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Besides, she likes to hear Gwen talk like this, serious and private, mouth on skin.
But now, with the air thick and fragile between them, it becomes easier to focus instead on the steady press of Gwen’s fingers on her hips.
“You know,” she interrupts herself, “I have a hammer of my own.”
“You do?” Gwen replies.
“Yes, I do. Not like that, don't be disgusting. I don't even know what you mean. A real hammer. And I made it myself, when I was ten or eleven. Your father showed me. Don’t you remember?”
“I shall have to consider it my betrothal present,” Gwen says, very serious, “Sorry, what were you saying, before?”
Morgana laughs, and moves forward into her mouth.
“It can wait,” she says.
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