50 Sentences: MerlinxArthur
Title: 50 Sentences: MerlinxArthur, part 1
Author: Rissa
Pairing: MerlinxArthur
Rating: PG to PG-13 overall (this time)
Word Count: 4,474
Notes: Written using 1fandom's third theme set for 50 sentences, though they pretty much break every rule requiring them to be a "sentence" in length, save for the period at the end.
A/N: Huge thanks to analineblue for being a great beta and a backboard to bounce my ideas off of ♥ And to jazzy_peaches, newly converted to the love of MerlinxArthur, for just being supremely awesome :D
*Most of these are standalone, except for 09 - 16, which are told in sequence. Enjoy!
01. Walk
It had been bothering him for awhile before he finally voiced the question - “So what exactly is knee-walking anyway?” - and when Arthur proceeded to demonstrate, quite skillfully, what it meant, Merlin could hardly think to do little more than gasp and say, “Oh… I- I think can learn that.”
02. Beauty
Arthur isn’t beautiful, nor is he unpleasant to look at, but hearing the term ‘beauty’ being sighed by female servants in reference to the square jaw, slightly crooked nose, uneven teeth, and lopsided curl of lips makes Merlin want to laugh; Arthur is Arthur: a horrible prat and a demanding ass, who also happens to have broad shoulders, golden hair and clear blue eyes, none of which Merlin is determined to let matter in the slightest.
03. Catch
“Ow!” Merlin cries out for the third time in several minutes, glaring up at the source of laughter floating down to him from the tree boughs overhead, Arthur’s grin partially obscured by the foliage and dappled sunlight coming through the swaying branches; “Come on Merlin, you can’t catch apples with your ears,” Arthur points out, and only because he sees it coming this time does Merlin manage to step out of the way and save himself from being hit by another green fruit, which he has a sneaking feeling had been aimed, deliberately, for his head.
04. Speak
Arthur wakes up three times that night - once because the blanket has slipped off his shoulders and with the fire banked the house is cold, even when being shared by four other people; the second time because Merlin’s foot is in his face, big toe poking unpleasantly at his jaw, so Arthur feels justified in returning the favor until Merlin groans unhappily and flops over, taking his bare feet with him; and the third time because Merlin’s talking in his sleep, mumbling crossly, or in frustration, and Arthur is about to kick him again when what he hears makes him pause: “Arthur… no, don’t… I’ll protect you…” and it’s stupid really (Merlin protecting him?) but for some reason he can’t help smiling in the dark, and when he drifts off again, Merlin’s foot pressed against his shoulder, he doesn’t wake up again for the rest of the night.
05. Lack
The room is dark when Gaius pushes open the door, but the shadows cannot disguise the hunched shape sitting on the bed -- the air feels suffocating and stifling, swirling restlessly as if it were emanating from the despondent boy with his head in his hands -- “I couldn’t…” Merlin says, voice rough, “I killed the beast but I couldn’t, couldn’t protect him… what good am I? I’m supposed to… but I failed him… he’s my destiny and I- I failed…” and when the words dissolve into tears Gaius can only gather him close, feeling the heaving sobs in the thin frame as Merlin stares down at his open hands, as if the answers for his failure might lie there.
06. Mine
Arthur is angry, livid even, and Merlin is too tired after the grueling day he’s had knee deep in stable muck to feel much more than passing annoyance at being suddenly assaulted by so much self-righteous, meaningless claptrap, that when Arthur finally draws in a breath to start anew Merlin simply rolls his eyes and says, “What else was I supposed to do? He’s a knight, I’m a servant, I can’t very well say no; he’d have me put in the stocks and I’m there enough already, thanks to you,” and though Arthur has every right to yell at him for the interruption he simply glares at Merlin for a moment before growling out his next words: “You will never again act under the demands of anyone unless it is on my authority, knight or otherwise; you are at my disposal only, and you would do well to remember that.”
07. Laugh
Merlin isn’t even aware he’s been keenly listening for it until he trips over a crate of spare armor at the edge of the practice field in his haste to turn toward the sound, Arthur’s familiar, deep laughter following him down as the box overturns and the clang of metal brings almost every other activity and conversation on the field to a halt, and somehow the pain of one of the pauldrons digging into his back seems to mock him in time with the litany in his head that’s calling him, ‘idiot idiot idiot.’
08. While
Arthur wakes to the roar of waves breaking on the rocks, pulled from a deep, dreamless sleep by the glow behind his eyelids that’s grown in brightness and irritation with each slow passing minute, and when he blinks open his eyes it is not the azure sky he sees but a long face capped by dark hair looking down at him, the wide smile there filled with so much joy and relief that Arthur has to snort groggily to tamper the elation rising in his own chest (alivealivealive), and only when he turns his head does he realize that it isn’t the rocks he’s laying on, but leather-clad legs cradling his neck between a knee and a thigh; “You are such a girl,” Arthur accuses, voice rough and lips chapped dry from the salty air, and Merlin only laughs, the sound slightly broken and maybe surprised when a hand squeezes his arm: “Well, someone had to watch over you while you were sleeping.”
09. Youth
“With the passing of youth we begin to take our first true steps into adulthood, and it is there that we gain the experiences vital to every man: courage, fortitude, and the wisdom that comes with age - to my son, Prince Arthur, on this day, the anniversary of your birth, I wish that the coming journey be long and enlightening for you, henceforth,” Uther says solemnly, lifting his goblet in Arthur’s direction, who sits flushed with equal parts pride, embarrassment, and wine, and accepts his father’s toast with a gracious nod of his crowned head amidst the applause of a full court eager to begin a full night of revelry, good food, and drinking to the good health of their beloved crown prince.
10. Stay
The celebrations have been going on for the better part of the evening and the wine has only flowed heavier with each passing hour, loosening tongues and inciting laughter and toppling several knights off their benches - under different circumstances Merlin might want to join in the celebrations, but the long hours are wearing and making it harder to fight the urge to yawn and ignore the exhaustion that’s catching up with him after a full day spent in making preparations for this very event, and he’s a minute away from excusing himself from the hall to find his bed when Arthur turns to him suddenly, eyes sharp despite his rosy cheeks and mussed hair from when he’d taken off his circlet earlier, and says, “Merlin. Stay.”
11. Fill
Merlin has settled on glaring sullen daggers at Arthur, having been too upset to do more than splutter a few angry, aborted words in Arthur’s direction when he’d been caught trying to sneak from the hall a few minutes earlier - for his part, Arthur’s feeling magnanimous (and drunk) enough not to make an issue of his servant’s display of insubordination, or at least not right away, as Merlin is the one still holding the jug of wine and Arthur’s cup is about to run dry (he doesn’t fancy having the whole pitcher dumped on his head), and after draining the last of the dregs he turns to squint at his insolent servant, empty cup lifted in silent demand for a refill.
12. Distraction
Merlin shuffles forward with obvious reluctance, glare hardening when he reaches Arthur’s side, gaze boldly defiant in a way no one else has ever dared in his presence let alone gotten away with repeatedly, and this occurs to Arthur as being rather significant, monumental even, so as Merlin tips the jug to pour his wine Arthur clasps the pale, boney wrist with his hand, forcing Merlin to still in surprise or spill wine everywhere, and Arthur wants to tell him ‘stop, you can’t do this’ and ‘why are you always so difficult?’ and ‘I can’t protect you when you do this’ and ‘I don’t know why I put up with you’ but all he does is feel the steady pulse under his fingers and the soft touch of the leather wristband against his palm, and Merlin’s eyes are blue and angry and beautiful and he smells like kitchen spices and a day’s worth of sweat and Arthur can’t remember a single word he’d wanted to say.
13. Fear
The grab is unexpected, Arthur’s clenching grip pressing the leather thong so hard that Merlin can feel the laces digging into his skin, and Merlin’s glares at the inebriated prince and subtle, meaningful tugs against the hand holding him captive seem to have no effect, as Arthur seems content to merely stare in drunken contemplation, brow flushed and pupils wide in the torchlight, wine moistened lips parting and shutting soundlessly as if the words dissolve away before they can gather enough to be spoken - and all it takes is the transition from one moment to the next, the clamor of the party lost somewhere in the background, before Merlin begins to feel more uncomfortable than angry, a trickle of real, genuine alarm chipping through the indignation of being manhandled; and something in his face must change because Arthur looks more aware than Merlin would have pegged him for this far into his cups and it’s like a crackle of something between them: awareness of the contact, touching, breathing, closeness laid bare and knowing, and the sudden fear climbing in Merlin’s throat drives his instinct to pull away as hard as he can from the fingers branding his skin, as if they had the power to strip away everything to the core of his soul if he let them linger long enough.
14. Crash
With Merlin’s luck, his escape from Arthur can only end one way: in disaster - the force with which his thigh hits the table registers as a sharp, sudden point of pain, but the momentum doesn’t end there, because he’s stumbling backwards, not so much to get away but because he can’t help it, and things all go pear shaped as the jug of wine slips from his hand, crashing spectacularly to the floor in a mess of wine and crockery, and Merlin goes down on top of it all, feeling the bite of pain in his hands and wrists and the liquid soaking into his pants and lower back, and Arthur… Arthur’s sitting there with his mouth hanging open, half risen from his chair and with a look on his face of such dumb bewilderment that Merlin wonders if he’s grown a second head to top it off, and only when the crescendo of roaring laughter reaches him across the hall does Merlin let his eyes close and his head fall back to hit the stone floor, content to lie in a puddle of his own undoing.
15. Look
“Merlin,” Arthur says, the one, impatient word enough to make Merlin still in his single-minded effort to flee from Arthur’s bedroom as quickly as possible, collecting last night’s whirlwind of clothing that’s somehow managed to scatter itself all over the floor and into far corners (just one set though) and Merlin carefully balls up the breeches in his arms before turning to face the figure reclining before a spread of half-eaten breakfast, the morning sunlight catching off sleep tousled hair and the column of throat and chest laid bare by the unlaced nightshift, and Merlin’s heart stutters through a few painful beats at the sight, caught for a brief moment between want and shame and a feeling of helplessness so strong in the face of the bitter inevitability of his feelings, twisted and unrequited and condemning him to a lifetime of looking only, looking but knowing that even seeing will never be enough to fill the slowly widening hole in his chest.
16. Begin
Arthur’s eyes are on his face, inscrutable and penetrating, but after a moment they fall to the bundle of clothes in Merlin’s arms, and Merlin knows that he’s looking at the linen bandages on his hands, wraps Gaius already had to change once this morning, caked with dried blood and stuck unpleasantly to the multiple cuts and ointment spread over his palms, and Merlin shifts uncomfortably, feeling the dull throb of his injuries and the lingering embarrassment of the previous night’s disaster with the wine jug - Arthur crooks a finger to beckon him closer, and when Merlin’s within reaching distance Arthur sweeps aside the clothes out of Merlin’s arms and leaves them to tumble to the floor as he takes one of Merlin’s hands in each of his own, mouth tight but fingers surprisingly gentle as they hold Merlin by the wrist and avoid the bloodstains seeping through the bandages; “Gaius has tended to this?” Merlin nods; “Then you will summon another servant to complete your duties, you are ill-fit to tend to me today,” and though it’s not entirely an apology, Merlin can feel the concerned slide of Arthur’s fingers over the hairs at the edge of the wraps and knows that, at the very least, it is a beginning.
17. Second
Gaius would probably string him up by his thumbs if he knew what sort of casual abuses of power Merlin occasionally indulged in (most often driven by curiosity and, at times, pure reflex, rather than any conscious acknowledgement of toeing the line of being discovered and thrown to a quick end at the chopping block), but Merlin would be lying if he said that connecting with the most instinctual elements of his magic wasn’t a pleasure he gladly sought anyway, like a secret game to play with himself, and when he’s alone in Arthur’s chambers throwing bedding around and shaking out the drapes and beating feather down pillows back into shape, it’s difficult not to take a moment to admire the way the mid-afternoon sunlight pours through the tower window, scattering through dust motes and reflecting off Arthur’s collection of antique battle helmets; and all it takes is an indrawn breath, a heartbeat, a sudden feeling of calm washing over him, and then he’s watching the individual particles drift with unnatural sluggishness through the air, following gentle air currents that are now visible to his warlock eyes, one escaped fluff of down climbing and spinning lazily above the sheets, silky fabric caught in a slow, rippling descent back down to the mattress… and it’s so beautiful and peaceful - this brief, slowed second in time - that Merlin’s unable to resist lingering in the moment, drinking in every sensation and tracking every glittering piece of dust with his golden eyes, content to submit to this one, selfish indulgence for as long as he can make the second last.
18. Violet
The signs aren’t terribly obvious at first - a bit of plant stuck between the links of Arthur’s chain mail, a scattering of dried petals on the casement ledge that Merlin sweeps out the window without a second thought, even the tied bunch of lilacs he finds resting innocently on his pillow seems more like Gaius’ way of telling him to keep his room clean than anything out of the ordinary - so it comes as a bit of a shock to find himself looking down at a rather sad looking collection of wildflowers heaped on Arthur’s table one afternoon, ragged stalks still dusted with soil and most, if not all, in varying shades of violet and purple, the guilty party responsible for the mess scowling fiercely and obstinately not looking in his direction; it takes a long moment before Arthur’s face pinches awkwardly and his blue eyes meet Merlin’s, snapping and challenging: “Just hurry up and take them you dolt. Put them in water or throw them out or whatever you do with your accruement of fauna. If I’d known your proclivity for mauve would only lead to a massive headache and a sunburn I would have-” but he doesn’t get any further because Merlin’s fingers are on his lips and his eyes are giving away the laughter he’s trying to hold in, and though he won’t tell Arthur that the flower from Gwen had been entirely accidental and that he doesn’t even like purple all that much, he’s never going to forget the sight of Arthur with dirt under his fingernails and bits of dandelion fuzz stuck in his hair, or the way this gruff, clumsy gesture makes his heart warm more than anything else he’s ever felt in his life.
19. Candy
Merlin would laugh at the sight of Arthur pacing a wide, cautious path around the small circle of beehives if he didn’t think that it might tempt Arthur’s into tripping him into the next mud puddle on their way back to his mother’s cottage (Arthur was boorishly predictable when it came to avenging his pride), so Merlin finished carving out a wedge of the pale honeycomb as quickly as he could, one eye on the writhing mass of bees (calmed for the moment by the pot of smoking burlap at his feet), and the other on Arthur who looked equal parts disgusted and distressed by Merlin’s easy pilfering - when Merlin returned safely with a pail of the broken honeycomb in hand he did laugh as Arthur pointedly steered them away from the clearing and back toward the village, and as they walked Merlin couldn’t help asking, “Have you ever tried honey from the comb?” (thinking of sticky pots in the castle kitchens but the real thing suspiciously absent), but the vaguely horrified look on Arthur’s face was answer enough, and Merlin couldn’t resist using the chance to thrust a small bit of honeycomb between the slack lips of his prince, watching Arthur’s expression change from angry to pleasantly surprised as he chewed thoughtfully on the wax, and if Merlin used those same fingers to sneak his own piece of honeycomb to his mouth, well, that was his secret to keep.
20. Nothing
There had been nothing before - (which isn’t to say that they didn’t exist or have lives wildly independent from each other, mind you) but before this, this pseudo-friendship and master-servant relationship, before the arguments and the funny hats and the idiotic demonstrations of loyalty and the whole I-will-die-for-you-will-die-for-me, they were only two sides that did not know they were even missing a piece of themselves, two parts to a greater whole somehow destined to sum up as more than its components, and before this there may have been laughter, love, tears, and life’s necessary lessons, but they were two boys living and not truly alive - nothing to explain this feeling of wholeness, of pieces fitting together in odd and unexpected ways, of secret smiles that say more than words alone, and of a bone-deep trust that, strangely, needed very little to take hold; not unwelcome or unpleasant, but at times undeniable enough to be a bit unnerving (and possibly preordained) for it to have appeared from nothing at all.
21. Familiar
Before Merlin, Arthur had never seen a servant taken to task with so much stubborn defiance, and if he isn’t complaining or rolling his eyes then he’s speaking to Arthur as if there wasn’t a chasm of rank and birthright between them, calling him names, questioning his orders, sticking his nose into matters that don’t concern him in the slightest -- and if that weren’t enough, Merlin seems to (mistakenly) think that touching Arthur outside the confines of his dressing room is acceptable behavior (friendly pats on the shoulder, whispering jokes while greeting visiting envoys, grooming lint from his coat idly during council meetings) and Arthur wants to scream at him (sometimes he does) because there’s a line being crossed here that servants are suppose to borderline fear and unquestionably respect, and yet Merlin seems oblivious to the existence of the barrier entirely; fearless and stupid and stuck in so many pieces of Arthur’s life that he’s come to grudgingly realize that cutting Merlin loose might be more trouble than it’s worth.
22. Show
“Show me,” Arthur demands, panting for air, voice roughened by the cloying smoke coming from the fires (magic fires) burning unchecked on the battlefield, smoldering the bodies of fallen enemies, and his hands tighten their grip on Merlin’s shoulders, making the slim frame sway under the weight of mail and metal gauntlets and so much anger barely kept in check that Arthur does not trust himself to release the man, sorcerer, because his sword may be the next thing he touches; it rouses Merlin enough for him to meet those blue eyes (angryterrifiedbetrayed) and Merlin doesn’t hesitate, already bleeding freely as he draws on the magic, body exhausted and tongue tasting copper, and for the first time it hurts when the magic pours over his skin, like the sting of sweat on an open wound, and there are tears streaming from his eyes from the pain and the smoke and ash as dark clouds gather overhead, churning and thick, and there’s a clap of thunder to herald the rain before the downpour begins, extinguishing the fires and drenching the land… and Merlin starts back into consciousness, unaware he’d even blacked out, wet and hurting and more tired than he’s ever felt in his entire life, but there is a solid mass against his chest and heavy arms around his back, and he can hear Arthur speaking through the vibrations in his throat where his face is pressed, words that he can barely pick out over the pouring rain, “Merlin, Merlin, stop, that’s enough, for God’s sake let it go, Merlin!” and Merlin obeys without a second thought, slipping back into black oblivion.
23. Day
The sun is warm and unforgiving on Merlin’s head and out here, surrounded by a panorama of farmland and rows of uncultivated wheat, the heat somehow closer to the earth and suffused throughout the fragrant soil and the plants that resemble the golden rays that fall unhindered onto them, the thought of spending the day mucking out stables (vile, smelly, but indoors) had quickly turned more appealing than surveying crop yields for that year’s granary stores - Merlin had removed his neckerchief well more than an hour before, applying it instead to wipe away the sweat pooling on his brow and behind his ears, and with every step he takes behind Arthur (walking tall and proud and completely unaffected by all of the blasted sunlight) he feels the brush of damp cloth under his arms and between his thighs and wants more than anything to find a well and cool shade; but Arthur is in his element, bare hands skimming the tops of bristling wheat stalks and conversing with the farmer who speaks mostly with his hands and in an accent even Merlin’s having a hard time deciphering, inquiring after things Merlin had no idea Arthur even knew the words to describe (and some things even Merlin’s never heard of before), and Arthur’s never looked so at ease in only a tunic and breeches and boots, neck and shoulders exposed to the sun and hair a golden crown that outshines even the most ripened of wheat, and Merlin has to admit that the sunburn he can already feel blistering his skin will probably have been worth it to see Arthur like this, stripped of every adornment and finery and bit of armament, and still as ever, undeniably, the future leader of his people.
24. Ask
Sleep is slow coming to Merlin and his head feels more like a crowded box than the idyllic state of the deeply exhausted, memories circling in snatches and drawing up fragments of conversation from throughout the day, and the hushed whispers he’d overheard between Morgana and Gwen only a half hour earlier echo loudest of all, perhaps their quiet words more than Will’s lambasting or his mother’s firm belief in Arthur’s intentions striking a chord deep down he hadn’t wanted to explore or acknowledge, but now it’s there, asking for attention, for him to admit that maybe he hadn’t been entirely truthful, because as much as he defends Arthur’s sense of justice and his willingness to help others, he knows that this just… isn’t done, not at the risk of war, of angering his father, of throwing Camelot into discord for the sake of one muddy village outside of the kingdom, and certainly not for an incompetent manservant Arthur threatens to sack at least thrice weekly… and Merlin has to temper the urge to ask why, ‘Why did you leave?’ and ‘Why do you go so far?’ because they would be an admission of the things that have so far been better left unsaid - questions that, however innocent, might provide answers to things that Merlin isn’t ready to know, not yet.
25. Think
“Merlin, you idiot! Did you even think… are you even capable of intelligent thought? How could you be so stupid!?” Arthur demands, bellowing with enough volume that Merlin has a feeling even the stone walls won’t prevent it from carrying through the castle, and it’s stupid really because Merlin does think (even Gaius has admitted on occasion that he can be surprisingly clever), it’s just that he has this tendency to be impulsive, especially when it comes to Arthur’s safety, and Merlin thinks that all of Arthur’s manhandling and yelling is rather unwarranted when Merlin’s only gotten a few scrapes from nearly falling off the battlements (that cloaked figure had been frighteningly quick) and it wasn’t like he would have fallen anyway - whether saved by Arthur, who had been right there the whole time anyway, or by his own magic - and on the bright side there’s one less would-be assassin to deal with, a fair price to pay for a few bruises and a bleeding elbow, and really, Merlin thinks that last move might have deserved at least a little bit of praise - getting hold of the assassin’s cloak and using a bit of magic to throw him over the stone wall was a stroke of genius, even if he hadn’t counted on being knocked over himself - and it takes a moment to register that Arthur’s fingers are in his hair, ungloved, probing for lumps or blood or possibly a reason why Merlin hasn’t responded to him, and maybe Merlin did hit his head because he finds himself grinning a tad smugly, watching Arthur’s face change from annoyance to concern to wary suspicion and then fond exasperation as Merlin starts to laugh, elated and clinging to Arthur in relief.
Author: Rissa
Pairing: MerlinxArthur
Rating: PG to PG-13 overall (this time)
Word Count: 4,474
Notes: Written using 1fandom's third theme set for 50 sentences, though they pretty much break every rule requiring them to be a "sentence" in length, save for the period at the end.
A/N: Huge thanks to analineblue for being a great beta and a backboard to bounce my ideas off of ♥ And to jazzy_peaches, newly converted to the love of MerlinxArthur, for just being supremely awesome :D
*Most of these are standalone, except for 09 - 16, which are told in sequence. Enjoy!
01. Walk
It had been bothering him for awhile before he finally voiced the question - “So what exactly is knee-walking anyway?” - and when Arthur proceeded to demonstrate, quite skillfully, what it meant, Merlin could hardly think to do little more than gasp and say, “Oh… I- I think can learn that.”
02. Beauty
Arthur isn’t beautiful, nor is he unpleasant to look at, but hearing the term ‘beauty’ being sighed by female servants in reference to the square jaw, slightly crooked nose, uneven teeth, and lopsided curl of lips makes Merlin want to laugh; Arthur is Arthur: a horrible prat and a demanding ass, who also happens to have broad shoulders, golden hair and clear blue eyes, none of which Merlin is determined to let matter in the slightest.
03. Catch
“Ow!” Merlin cries out for the third time in several minutes, glaring up at the source of laughter floating down to him from the tree boughs overhead, Arthur’s grin partially obscured by the foliage and dappled sunlight coming through the swaying branches; “Come on Merlin, you can’t catch apples with your ears,” Arthur points out, and only because he sees it coming this time does Merlin manage to step out of the way and save himself from being hit by another green fruit, which he has a sneaking feeling had been aimed, deliberately, for his head.
04. Speak
Arthur wakes up three times that night - once because the blanket has slipped off his shoulders and with the fire banked the house is cold, even when being shared by four other people; the second time because Merlin’s foot is in his face, big toe poking unpleasantly at his jaw, so Arthur feels justified in returning the favor until Merlin groans unhappily and flops over, taking his bare feet with him; and the third time because Merlin’s talking in his sleep, mumbling crossly, or in frustration, and Arthur is about to kick him again when what he hears makes him pause: “Arthur… no, don’t… I’ll protect you…” and it’s stupid really (Merlin protecting him?) but for some reason he can’t help smiling in the dark, and when he drifts off again, Merlin’s foot pressed against his shoulder, he doesn’t wake up again for the rest of the night.
05. Lack
The room is dark when Gaius pushes open the door, but the shadows cannot disguise the hunched shape sitting on the bed -- the air feels suffocating and stifling, swirling restlessly as if it were emanating from the despondent boy with his head in his hands -- “I couldn’t…” Merlin says, voice rough, “I killed the beast but I couldn’t, couldn’t protect him… what good am I? I’m supposed to… but I failed him… he’s my destiny and I- I failed…” and when the words dissolve into tears Gaius can only gather him close, feeling the heaving sobs in the thin frame as Merlin stares down at his open hands, as if the answers for his failure might lie there.
06. Mine
Arthur is angry, livid even, and Merlin is too tired after the grueling day he’s had knee deep in stable muck to feel much more than passing annoyance at being suddenly assaulted by so much self-righteous, meaningless claptrap, that when Arthur finally draws in a breath to start anew Merlin simply rolls his eyes and says, “What else was I supposed to do? He’s a knight, I’m a servant, I can’t very well say no; he’d have me put in the stocks and I’m there enough already, thanks to you,” and though Arthur has every right to yell at him for the interruption he simply glares at Merlin for a moment before growling out his next words: “You will never again act under the demands of anyone unless it is on my authority, knight or otherwise; you are at my disposal only, and you would do well to remember that.”
07. Laugh
Merlin isn’t even aware he’s been keenly listening for it until he trips over a crate of spare armor at the edge of the practice field in his haste to turn toward the sound, Arthur’s familiar, deep laughter following him down as the box overturns and the clang of metal brings almost every other activity and conversation on the field to a halt, and somehow the pain of one of the pauldrons digging into his back seems to mock him in time with the litany in his head that’s calling him, ‘idiot idiot idiot.’
08. While
Arthur wakes to the roar of waves breaking on the rocks, pulled from a deep, dreamless sleep by the glow behind his eyelids that’s grown in brightness and irritation with each slow passing minute, and when he blinks open his eyes it is not the azure sky he sees but a long face capped by dark hair looking down at him, the wide smile there filled with so much joy and relief that Arthur has to snort groggily to tamper the elation rising in his own chest (alivealivealive), and only when he turns his head does he realize that it isn’t the rocks he’s laying on, but leather-clad legs cradling his neck between a knee and a thigh; “You are such a girl,” Arthur accuses, voice rough and lips chapped dry from the salty air, and Merlin only laughs, the sound slightly broken and maybe surprised when a hand squeezes his arm: “Well, someone had to watch over you while you were sleeping.”
09. Youth
“With the passing of youth we begin to take our first true steps into adulthood, and it is there that we gain the experiences vital to every man: courage, fortitude, and the wisdom that comes with age - to my son, Prince Arthur, on this day, the anniversary of your birth, I wish that the coming journey be long and enlightening for you, henceforth,” Uther says solemnly, lifting his goblet in Arthur’s direction, who sits flushed with equal parts pride, embarrassment, and wine, and accepts his father’s toast with a gracious nod of his crowned head amidst the applause of a full court eager to begin a full night of revelry, good food, and drinking to the good health of their beloved crown prince.
10. Stay
The celebrations have been going on for the better part of the evening and the wine has only flowed heavier with each passing hour, loosening tongues and inciting laughter and toppling several knights off their benches - under different circumstances Merlin might want to join in the celebrations, but the long hours are wearing and making it harder to fight the urge to yawn and ignore the exhaustion that’s catching up with him after a full day spent in making preparations for this very event, and he’s a minute away from excusing himself from the hall to find his bed when Arthur turns to him suddenly, eyes sharp despite his rosy cheeks and mussed hair from when he’d taken off his circlet earlier, and says, “Merlin. Stay.”
11. Fill
Merlin has settled on glaring sullen daggers at Arthur, having been too upset to do more than splutter a few angry, aborted words in Arthur’s direction when he’d been caught trying to sneak from the hall a few minutes earlier - for his part, Arthur’s feeling magnanimous (and drunk) enough not to make an issue of his servant’s display of insubordination, or at least not right away, as Merlin is the one still holding the jug of wine and Arthur’s cup is about to run dry (he doesn’t fancy having the whole pitcher dumped on his head), and after draining the last of the dregs he turns to squint at his insolent servant, empty cup lifted in silent demand for a refill.
12. Distraction
Merlin shuffles forward with obvious reluctance, glare hardening when he reaches Arthur’s side, gaze boldly defiant in a way no one else has ever dared in his presence let alone gotten away with repeatedly, and this occurs to Arthur as being rather significant, monumental even, so as Merlin tips the jug to pour his wine Arthur clasps the pale, boney wrist with his hand, forcing Merlin to still in surprise or spill wine everywhere, and Arthur wants to tell him ‘stop, you can’t do this’ and ‘why are you always so difficult?’ and ‘I can’t protect you when you do this’ and ‘I don’t know why I put up with you’ but all he does is feel the steady pulse under his fingers and the soft touch of the leather wristband against his palm, and Merlin’s eyes are blue and angry and beautiful and he smells like kitchen spices and a day’s worth of sweat and Arthur can’t remember a single word he’d wanted to say.
13. Fear
The grab is unexpected, Arthur’s clenching grip pressing the leather thong so hard that Merlin can feel the laces digging into his skin, and Merlin’s glares at the inebriated prince and subtle, meaningful tugs against the hand holding him captive seem to have no effect, as Arthur seems content to merely stare in drunken contemplation, brow flushed and pupils wide in the torchlight, wine moistened lips parting and shutting soundlessly as if the words dissolve away before they can gather enough to be spoken - and all it takes is the transition from one moment to the next, the clamor of the party lost somewhere in the background, before Merlin begins to feel more uncomfortable than angry, a trickle of real, genuine alarm chipping through the indignation of being manhandled; and something in his face must change because Arthur looks more aware than Merlin would have pegged him for this far into his cups and it’s like a crackle of something between them: awareness of the contact, touching, breathing, closeness laid bare and knowing, and the sudden fear climbing in Merlin’s throat drives his instinct to pull away as hard as he can from the fingers branding his skin, as if they had the power to strip away everything to the core of his soul if he let them linger long enough.
14. Crash
With Merlin’s luck, his escape from Arthur can only end one way: in disaster - the force with which his thigh hits the table registers as a sharp, sudden point of pain, but the momentum doesn’t end there, because he’s stumbling backwards, not so much to get away but because he can’t help it, and things all go pear shaped as the jug of wine slips from his hand, crashing spectacularly to the floor in a mess of wine and crockery, and Merlin goes down on top of it all, feeling the bite of pain in his hands and wrists and the liquid soaking into his pants and lower back, and Arthur… Arthur’s sitting there with his mouth hanging open, half risen from his chair and with a look on his face of such dumb bewilderment that Merlin wonders if he’s grown a second head to top it off, and only when the crescendo of roaring laughter reaches him across the hall does Merlin let his eyes close and his head fall back to hit the stone floor, content to lie in a puddle of his own undoing.
15. Look
“Merlin,” Arthur says, the one, impatient word enough to make Merlin still in his single-minded effort to flee from Arthur’s bedroom as quickly as possible, collecting last night’s whirlwind of clothing that’s somehow managed to scatter itself all over the floor and into far corners (just one set though) and Merlin carefully balls up the breeches in his arms before turning to face the figure reclining before a spread of half-eaten breakfast, the morning sunlight catching off sleep tousled hair and the column of throat and chest laid bare by the unlaced nightshift, and Merlin’s heart stutters through a few painful beats at the sight, caught for a brief moment between want and shame and a feeling of helplessness so strong in the face of the bitter inevitability of his feelings, twisted and unrequited and condemning him to a lifetime of looking only, looking but knowing that even seeing will never be enough to fill the slowly widening hole in his chest.
16. Begin
Arthur’s eyes are on his face, inscrutable and penetrating, but after a moment they fall to the bundle of clothes in Merlin’s arms, and Merlin knows that he’s looking at the linen bandages on his hands, wraps Gaius already had to change once this morning, caked with dried blood and stuck unpleasantly to the multiple cuts and ointment spread over his palms, and Merlin shifts uncomfortably, feeling the dull throb of his injuries and the lingering embarrassment of the previous night’s disaster with the wine jug - Arthur crooks a finger to beckon him closer, and when Merlin’s within reaching distance Arthur sweeps aside the clothes out of Merlin’s arms and leaves them to tumble to the floor as he takes one of Merlin’s hands in each of his own, mouth tight but fingers surprisingly gentle as they hold Merlin by the wrist and avoid the bloodstains seeping through the bandages; “Gaius has tended to this?” Merlin nods; “Then you will summon another servant to complete your duties, you are ill-fit to tend to me today,” and though it’s not entirely an apology, Merlin can feel the concerned slide of Arthur’s fingers over the hairs at the edge of the wraps and knows that, at the very least, it is a beginning.
17. Second
Gaius would probably string him up by his thumbs if he knew what sort of casual abuses of power Merlin occasionally indulged in (most often driven by curiosity and, at times, pure reflex, rather than any conscious acknowledgement of toeing the line of being discovered and thrown to a quick end at the chopping block), but Merlin would be lying if he said that connecting with the most instinctual elements of his magic wasn’t a pleasure he gladly sought anyway, like a secret game to play with himself, and when he’s alone in Arthur’s chambers throwing bedding around and shaking out the drapes and beating feather down pillows back into shape, it’s difficult not to take a moment to admire the way the mid-afternoon sunlight pours through the tower window, scattering through dust motes and reflecting off Arthur’s collection of antique battle helmets; and all it takes is an indrawn breath, a heartbeat, a sudden feeling of calm washing over him, and then he’s watching the individual particles drift with unnatural sluggishness through the air, following gentle air currents that are now visible to his warlock eyes, one escaped fluff of down climbing and spinning lazily above the sheets, silky fabric caught in a slow, rippling descent back down to the mattress… and it’s so beautiful and peaceful - this brief, slowed second in time - that Merlin’s unable to resist lingering in the moment, drinking in every sensation and tracking every glittering piece of dust with his golden eyes, content to submit to this one, selfish indulgence for as long as he can make the second last.
18. Violet
The signs aren’t terribly obvious at first - a bit of plant stuck between the links of Arthur’s chain mail, a scattering of dried petals on the casement ledge that Merlin sweeps out the window without a second thought, even the tied bunch of lilacs he finds resting innocently on his pillow seems more like Gaius’ way of telling him to keep his room clean than anything out of the ordinary - so it comes as a bit of a shock to find himself looking down at a rather sad looking collection of wildflowers heaped on Arthur’s table one afternoon, ragged stalks still dusted with soil and most, if not all, in varying shades of violet and purple, the guilty party responsible for the mess scowling fiercely and obstinately not looking in his direction; it takes a long moment before Arthur’s face pinches awkwardly and his blue eyes meet Merlin’s, snapping and challenging: “Just hurry up and take them you dolt. Put them in water or throw them out or whatever you do with your accruement of fauna. If I’d known your proclivity for mauve would only lead to a massive headache and a sunburn I would have-” but he doesn’t get any further because Merlin’s fingers are on his lips and his eyes are giving away the laughter he’s trying to hold in, and though he won’t tell Arthur that the flower from Gwen had been entirely accidental and that he doesn’t even like purple all that much, he’s never going to forget the sight of Arthur with dirt under his fingernails and bits of dandelion fuzz stuck in his hair, or the way this gruff, clumsy gesture makes his heart warm more than anything else he’s ever felt in his life.
19. Candy
Merlin would laugh at the sight of Arthur pacing a wide, cautious path around the small circle of beehives if he didn’t think that it might tempt Arthur’s into tripping him into the next mud puddle on their way back to his mother’s cottage (Arthur was boorishly predictable when it came to avenging his pride), so Merlin finished carving out a wedge of the pale honeycomb as quickly as he could, one eye on the writhing mass of bees (calmed for the moment by the pot of smoking burlap at his feet), and the other on Arthur who looked equal parts disgusted and distressed by Merlin’s easy pilfering - when Merlin returned safely with a pail of the broken honeycomb in hand he did laugh as Arthur pointedly steered them away from the clearing and back toward the village, and as they walked Merlin couldn’t help asking, “Have you ever tried honey from the comb?” (thinking of sticky pots in the castle kitchens but the real thing suspiciously absent), but the vaguely horrified look on Arthur’s face was answer enough, and Merlin couldn’t resist using the chance to thrust a small bit of honeycomb between the slack lips of his prince, watching Arthur’s expression change from angry to pleasantly surprised as he chewed thoughtfully on the wax, and if Merlin used those same fingers to sneak his own piece of honeycomb to his mouth, well, that was his secret to keep.
20. Nothing
There had been nothing before - (which isn’t to say that they didn’t exist or have lives wildly independent from each other, mind you) but before this, this pseudo-friendship and master-servant relationship, before the arguments and the funny hats and the idiotic demonstrations of loyalty and the whole I-will-die-for-you-will-die-for-me, they were only two sides that did not know they were even missing a piece of themselves, two parts to a greater whole somehow destined to sum up as more than its components, and before this there may have been laughter, love, tears, and life’s necessary lessons, but they were two boys living and not truly alive - nothing to explain this feeling of wholeness, of pieces fitting together in odd and unexpected ways, of secret smiles that say more than words alone, and of a bone-deep trust that, strangely, needed very little to take hold; not unwelcome or unpleasant, but at times undeniable enough to be a bit unnerving (and possibly preordained) for it to have appeared from nothing at all.
21. Familiar
Before Merlin, Arthur had never seen a servant taken to task with so much stubborn defiance, and if he isn’t complaining or rolling his eyes then he’s speaking to Arthur as if there wasn’t a chasm of rank and birthright between them, calling him names, questioning his orders, sticking his nose into matters that don’t concern him in the slightest -- and if that weren’t enough, Merlin seems to (mistakenly) think that touching Arthur outside the confines of his dressing room is acceptable behavior (friendly pats on the shoulder, whispering jokes while greeting visiting envoys, grooming lint from his coat idly during council meetings) and Arthur wants to scream at him (sometimes he does) because there’s a line being crossed here that servants are suppose to borderline fear and unquestionably respect, and yet Merlin seems oblivious to the existence of the barrier entirely; fearless and stupid and stuck in so many pieces of Arthur’s life that he’s come to grudgingly realize that cutting Merlin loose might be more trouble than it’s worth.
22. Show
“Show me,” Arthur demands, panting for air, voice roughened by the cloying smoke coming from the fires (magic fires) burning unchecked on the battlefield, smoldering the bodies of fallen enemies, and his hands tighten their grip on Merlin’s shoulders, making the slim frame sway under the weight of mail and metal gauntlets and so much anger barely kept in check that Arthur does not trust himself to release the man, sorcerer, because his sword may be the next thing he touches; it rouses Merlin enough for him to meet those blue eyes (angryterrifiedbetrayed) and Merlin doesn’t hesitate, already bleeding freely as he draws on the magic, body exhausted and tongue tasting copper, and for the first time it hurts when the magic pours over his skin, like the sting of sweat on an open wound, and there are tears streaming from his eyes from the pain and the smoke and ash as dark clouds gather overhead, churning and thick, and there’s a clap of thunder to herald the rain before the downpour begins, extinguishing the fires and drenching the land… and Merlin starts back into consciousness, unaware he’d even blacked out, wet and hurting and more tired than he’s ever felt in his entire life, but there is a solid mass against his chest and heavy arms around his back, and he can hear Arthur speaking through the vibrations in his throat where his face is pressed, words that he can barely pick out over the pouring rain, “Merlin, Merlin, stop, that’s enough, for God’s sake let it go, Merlin!” and Merlin obeys without a second thought, slipping back into black oblivion.
23. Day
The sun is warm and unforgiving on Merlin’s head and out here, surrounded by a panorama of farmland and rows of uncultivated wheat, the heat somehow closer to the earth and suffused throughout the fragrant soil and the plants that resemble the golden rays that fall unhindered onto them, the thought of spending the day mucking out stables (vile, smelly, but indoors) had quickly turned more appealing than surveying crop yields for that year’s granary stores - Merlin had removed his neckerchief well more than an hour before, applying it instead to wipe away the sweat pooling on his brow and behind his ears, and with every step he takes behind Arthur (walking tall and proud and completely unaffected by all of the blasted sunlight) he feels the brush of damp cloth under his arms and between his thighs and wants more than anything to find a well and cool shade; but Arthur is in his element, bare hands skimming the tops of bristling wheat stalks and conversing with the farmer who speaks mostly with his hands and in an accent even Merlin’s having a hard time deciphering, inquiring after things Merlin had no idea Arthur even knew the words to describe (and some things even Merlin’s never heard of before), and Arthur’s never looked so at ease in only a tunic and breeches and boots, neck and shoulders exposed to the sun and hair a golden crown that outshines even the most ripened of wheat, and Merlin has to admit that the sunburn he can already feel blistering his skin will probably have been worth it to see Arthur like this, stripped of every adornment and finery and bit of armament, and still as ever, undeniably, the future leader of his people.
24. Ask
Sleep is slow coming to Merlin and his head feels more like a crowded box than the idyllic state of the deeply exhausted, memories circling in snatches and drawing up fragments of conversation from throughout the day, and the hushed whispers he’d overheard between Morgana and Gwen only a half hour earlier echo loudest of all, perhaps their quiet words more than Will’s lambasting or his mother’s firm belief in Arthur’s intentions striking a chord deep down he hadn’t wanted to explore or acknowledge, but now it’s there, asking for attention, for him to admit that maybe he hadn’t been entirely truthful, because as much as he defends Arthur’s sense of justice and his willingness to help others, he knows that this just… isn’t done, not at the risk of war, of angering his father, of throwing Camelot into discord for the sake of one muddy village outside of the kingdom, and certainly not for an incompetent manservant Arthur threatens to sack at least thrice weekly… and Merlin has to temper the urge to ask why, ‘Why did you leave?’ and ‘Why do you go so far?’ because they would be an admission of the things that have so far been better left unsaid - questions that, however innocent, might provide answers to things that Merlin isn’t ready to know, not yet.
25. Think
“Merlin, you idiot! Did you even think… are you even capable of intelligent thought? How could you be so stupid!?” Arthur demands, bellowing with enough volume that Merlin has a feeling even the stone walls won’t prevent it from carrying through the castle, and it’s stupid really because Merlin does think (even Gaius has admitted on occasion that he can be surprisingly clever), it’s just that he has this tendency to be impulsive, especially when it comes to Arthur’s safety, and Merlin thinks that all of Arthur’s manhandling and yelling is rather unwarranted when Merlin’s only gotten a few scrapes from nearly falling off the battlements (that cloaked figure had been frighteningly quick) and it wasn’t like he would have fallen anyway - whether saved by Arthur, who had been right there the whole time anyway, or by his own magic - and on the bright side there’s one less would-be assassin to deal with, a fair price to pay for a few bruises and a bleeding elbow, and really, Merlin thinks that last move might have deserved at least a little bit of praise - getting hold of the assassin’s cloak and using a bit of magic to throw him over the stone wall was a stroke of genius, even if he hadn’t counted on being knocked over himself - and it takes a moment to register that Arthur’s fingers are in his hair, ungloved, probing for lumps or blood or possibly a reason why Merlin hasn’t responded to him, and maybe Merlin did hit his head because he finds himself grinning a tad smugly, watching Arthur’s face change from annoyance to concern to wary suspicion and then fond exasperation as Merlin starts to laugh, elated and clinging to Arthur in relief.