Battle Scars (kmm fill)
Title: Battle Scars
Pairing: Merlin/Gwaine
Warnings/Spoliers: tag to 4x05 'His Father's Son'
Prompt/Summary: written for the kinkme_merlin prompt which can be found here. Gwaine/Merlin, Merlin is the only one that knows about Gwaine's connection to Caerleon, and is the only one Gwaine can turn to before/after the battle.
The night was full of revelry and cheer, relief of battles expected but not fought, joy for the lives not wasted and all the while cheers and toasts to their brave and victorious leader.
Arthur, now sat amongst his men where he belonged, laughed heartily beside Leon, a mug of ale in hand as Percival and Elyan tried to compose a lymric describing Arthur’s fine use of his ‘Sword’.
Merlin leaned against a tent pole and surveyed the scene before him, a small smile tugging on his lips. But there was one missing from the celebrations tonight, a notable absence on Merlin’s part.
Merlin melted back into the shadows of the forest, letting his senses guide him through the leaves and brush. It led him down to a quiet brook, the light from the moon glinting up from its surface illuminating the air.
Merlin sat himself down on a fallen log, conveniently located before the rocks of the water.
He stayed silent for a short while, taking in the beauty all around him. He didn’t know how men could live in a land such as this and not realise they witnessed magic every day. The only sounds where the snick of his companions whetstone against his blade, and he was happy to keep it that way for now.
“You’ll be missing the frivolities.” Gwaine spoke finally, not looking up from his sword. Merlin too, kept his gaze forward.
“There will be other victories to celebrate. Tonight I wanted to spend with you.” There was a pause in Gwaine's strokes before they started up again.
Merlin chanced a side-long glance at his partner. Gwaine’s long hair obscured his face where he was facing downwards but Merlin could read the tension in the set of his shoulders. He knew that Gwaine could quite happily sit here alone tonight, surrounded by his renewed grief and return to the group tomorrow as grinning and absurd as he ever was.
But the thought of leaving here, of going back to the celebrations and the laughter, leaving Gwaine to sit alone in pain and silence… Merlin could not abide by that.
Merlin let the silence drag on until the snick of the whetstone took on a harsher pace, a more violent edge.
Merlin let his hand bridge the gap between them, coming to rest on Gwaine’s thigh.
“Don’t take it out on your sword please love. It serves you well.” He stared for a few moments before Gwaine relented in his strokes but didn’t put the blade away.
“It was my father’s sword.” Gwaine stated, still not looking up from the blade.
“I know.” Replied Merlin, because he did. He had heard the story from Gwaine’s own lips on a quiet night amongst his own rumpled sheets. Of how one of his father’s comrades delivered the sword back to his mother, and how she had cried, and how Gwaine had taken it and cleaned it of its blood. It was the only thing he had taken when he left.
“I wish I had been the one to skewer that rat.” Gwaine spat. His hands tightening deadly around the hilt of the sword. Merlin reached out and prised one hand away, cradling it on his own, stroking down the fingers, over the callouses and scars.
“I know.” He replied. Because he did know. He knew that Gwaine could have taken out all of his sadness on the fallen King, used his father’s own sword to cut him down. “But it wouldn’t have changed anything.” Merlin placed a kiss to the knuckles, “All it would have done is bloody your hands.”
Merlin twined their fingers together, smiling pleased when Gwaine didn’t pull away, instead bestowing a small squeeze to their connection.
He looked up at the moon. He could feel the forces of nature all around him, like strings tying together, he could tell Arthur’s destiny was drawing near. “The men celebrate. Not just for today’s victory but for our future. Arthur’s decisions today will bring about a change, a new age of peace for Albion.”
“You’re proud of him.” Gwaine stated. Merlin turned to see Gwaine eyeing him with a fond spark in his eyes. Merlin returned it with a grin.
“Yes. Yes I am.”
Gwaine’s grin was small but it was there. Merlin tugged at Gwaine’s hand, rising himself from their perch. “Come back to camp Gwaine.”
“I’m no mood for a party tonight Merlin. You go, enjoy yourself.”
“Who said anything about a party? Come back to my tent. Let me look after you.” Merlin used his new position to place his free hand under Gwaine’s jaw, drawing his head up so Merlin could see his face.
“You already do.” Gwaine responded, turning his head to place a small kiss to the centre of Merlin's palm. “Trust me you do.”
Merlin, relentlessly stubborn by nature, tugged on their entwined hands until Gwaine rose from his seat. Gwaine allowed him to usher him back to camp, unseen by the knights, into the darkness of his tent. He allowed Merlin to lay him back on the bed roll, slowly peeling off each garment he wore until he was bare, allowed Merlin to slid up his body, placing gentle kisses to each scar he found, sword knicks, battle wounds, bar fights, all leaving their small tokens on his body.
When Merlin finally reached his chest he raised his blue eyes to meet Gwaine's. He placed one last kiss where arguably his largest scar lay, in the centre of his chest, above his heart.
Pairing: Merlin/Gwaine
Warnings/Spoliers: tag to 4x05 'His Father's Son'
Prompt/Summary: written for the kinkme_merlin prompt which can be found here. Gwaine/Merlin, Merlin is the only one that knows about Gwaine's connection to Caerleon, and is the only one Gwaine can turn to before/after the battle.
The night was full of revelry and cheer, relief of battles expected but not fought, joy for the lives not wasted and all the while cheers and toasts to their brave and victorious leader.
Arthur, now sat amongst his men where he belonged, laughed heartily beside Leon, a mug of ale in hand as Percival and Elyan tried to compose a lymric describing Arthur’s fine use of his ‘Sword’.
Merlin leaned against a tent pole and surveyed the scene before him, a small smile tugging on his lips. But there was one missing from the celebrations tonight, a notable absence on Merlin’s part.
Merlin melted back into the shadows of the forest, letting his senses guide him through the leaves and brush. It led him down to a quiet brook, the light from the moon glinting up from its surface illuminating the air.
Merlin sat himself down on a fallen log, conveniently located before the rocks of the water.
He stayed silent for a short while, taking in the beauty all around him. He didn’t know how men could live in a land such as this and not realise they witnessed magic every day. The only sounds where the snick of his companions whetstone against his blade, and he was happy to keep it that way for now.
“You’ll be missing the frivolities.” Gwaine spoke finally, not looking up from his sword. Merlin too, kept his gaze forward.
“There will be other victories to celebrate. Tonight I wanted to spend with you.” There was a pause in Gwaine's strokes before they started up again.
Merlin chanced a side-long glance at his partner. Gwaine’s long hair obscured his face where he was facing downwards but Merlin could read the tension in the set of his shoulders. He knew that Gwaine could quite happily sit here alone tonight, surrounded by his renewed grief and return to the group tomorrow as grinning and absurd as he ever was.
But the thought of leaving here, of going back to the celebrations and the laughter, leaving Gwaine to sit alone in pain and silence… Merlin could not abide by that.
Merlin let the silence drag on until the snick of the whetstone took on a harsher pace, a more violent edge.
Merlin let his hand bridge the gap between them, coming to rest on Gwaine’s thigh.
“Don’t take it out on your sword please love. It serves you well.” He stared for a few moments before Gwaine relented in his strokes but didn’t put the blade away.
“It was my father’s sword.” Gwaine stated, still not looking up from the blade.
“I know.” Replied Merlin, because he did. He had heard the story from Gwaine’s own lips on a quiet night amongst his own rumpled sheets. Of how one of his father’s comrades delivered the sword back to his mother, and how she had cried, and how Gwaine had taken it and cleaned it of its blood. It was the only thing he had taken when he left.
“I wish I had been the one to skewer that rat.” Gwaine spat. His hands tightening deadly around the hilt of the sword. Merlin reached out and prised one hand away, cradling it on his own, stroking down the fingers, over the callouses and scars.
“I know.” He replied. Because he did know. He knew that Gwaine could have taken out all of his sadness on the fallen King, used his father’s own sword to cut him down. “But it wouldn’t have changed anything.” Merlin placed a kiss to the knuckles, “All it would have done is bloody your hands.”
Merlin twined their fingers together, smiling pleased when Gwaine didn’t pull away, instead bestowing a small squeeze to their connection.
He looked up at the moon. He could feel the forces of nature all around him, like strings tying together, he could tell Arthur’s destiny was drawing near. “The men celebrate. Not just for today’s victory but for our future. Arthur’s decisions today will bring about a change, a new age of peace for Albion.”
“You’re proud of him.” Gwaine stated. Merlin turned to see Gwaine eyeing him with a fond spark in his eyes. Merlin returned it with a grin.
“Yes. Yes I am.”
Gwaine’s grin was small but it was there. Merlin tugged at Gwaine’s hand, rising himself from their perch. “Come back to camp Gwaine.”
“I’m no mood for a party tonight Merlin. You go, enjoy yourself.”
“Who said anything about a party? Come back to my tent. Let me look after you.” Merlin used his new position to place his free hand under Gwaine’s jaw, drawing his head up so Merlin could see his face.
“You already do.” Gwaine responded, turning his head to place a small kiss to the centre of Merlin's palm. “Trust me you do.”
Merlin, relentlessly stubborn by nature, tugged on their entwined hands until Gwaine rose from his seat. Gwaine allowed him to usher him back to camp, unseen by the knights, into the darkness of his tent. He allowed Merlin to lay him back on the bed roll, slowly peeling off each garment he wore until he was bare, allowed Merlin to slid up his body, placing gentle kisses to each scar he found, sword knicks, battle wounds, bar fights, all leaving their small tokens on his body.
When Merlin finally reached his chest he raised his blue eyes to meet Gwaine's. He placed one last kiss where arguably his largest scar lay, in the centre of his chest, above his heart.