how lucky we are
(BBC MERLIN) MERLIN/ARTHUR
Rating: R
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Fandom: Merlin
Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, blood
Disclaimer: Yeah, no. I own nothing.
A/N: AND IT'S STILL FOR the Kinkme_merlin prompt: Arthur/Merlin, the seven deadly sins
Sloth
The heat pervades through the kingdom, sending the people to the wells more often than usual. Excess clothing are shed for lighter fabrics and the pace of everyday life becomes slow and strenuous. Merlin becomes even more reluctant with his work, especially when Arthur makes him run repeatedly up and down the stairs so that he's sweating and huffing and dying from the heat. He often stares out the window of Arthur's bedroom, glaring at the bright, bright sky and wishing he could somehow make rainclouds appear (he could, really, and Merlin is so tempted to do it).
Arthur isn't bothered by the heat, even when he's wearing armour and spending the morning training his knights. Perspiration gathers at his temples, pooling at the dip between his collarbones as he parries and lunges and dodges and attacks. Merlin gets tired simply by watching him.
The training grounds has no protection from the full glare of the sun and Merlin sneaks off to Arthur's chambers with feeble excuses to clean it up from top to bottom - feeble because Arthur knows no cleaning is being done. Instead, Merlin lazes on Arthur's bed for the entire morning, half-heartedly trying to do his chores before giving up in the face of the blistering weather. Merlin's boots are tossed on the floor and he happily sinks into the silk, pressing his flushed face to the coolness of it. He has no desire to move, to think, to even breathe. The weather has him in stasis and even in sleep, the oppressive warmth follows him in shades of blinding yellow and searing white.
Arthur knows and Arthur scowls at him but doesn't say a thing. Merlin is eternally grateful - and surprised at the unexpected kindness - so he makes sure that the room is neat enough when Arthur comes by in the afternoon, weary and cranky. There's a tray of food on the table along with a jug of wine that Merlin has kept cool with magic. There's a hot bath waiting for him and Merlin is cringing at the thought. How Arthur can stand it is beyond him.
Arthur takes one look at Merlin's prone form on the bed and sighs long-sufferingly. He removes his vambraces, his mail, his inner clothing as Merlin pushes himself reluctantly off the bed.
"Utterly useless," is what Arthur says with a roll of his eyes. "Come on, then, help me bathe so at least you'll be able to say you did one thing right."
Merlin tries not to groan. "Aren't you the least bit affected by the weather?"
Arthur gives him a look that clearly translates to, I'm the prince and therefore immune to trivial things as weather and says pointedly, "Sometime today, Merlin."
So Merlin forces himself to get up and pad over to where the tub is steaming. Arthur steps inside and settles in the water with the tiniest of sighs. Merlin picks up the washcloth and dips it in the scalding water, or so it feels, and slowly drags it across Arthur's loosening shoulders. It is slow going and quiet and hot, only Arthur's easy breathing and the sun sinking marking the passage of time.
Pride
A Pendragon without his pride is a Pendragon who has nothing. It is one of the earliest lessons that Uther taught his young son, when Arthur cried at the loss of a favoured toy. Ever since then, Arthur has kept his pride close to him as a badge of honour. It is evident in the lift of his strong jaw, or the possessive gleam in his eyes when he watches Camelot flourish. In the training field and in battle, Arthur is unmatched and he feels pride in his ability to protect and destroy at the same time.
Pride, though, is a double-edged sword. It is a deadly lance when Morgana aims a sharp jibe or criticism at him. It is a sickening humiliation when he is duped by a sorcerer or a wily thief. It is the ever-present anguish when his father is never satisfied with whatever he does.
Arthur without his pride is nothing, a defenceless, vulnerable young man who is easily slayed by a cutting glance or word. Arthur has learnt to shield and protect himself from court intrigue, Uther's disappointment, and Morgana's tireless remarks. Sometimes, though, all of them cut too close.
Which is why Merlin is so bloody terrifying in his own way. He is unaffected by Arthur’s rank, treating him with unabashed irreverence and casualness. He is unafraid of him and unafraid to speak out his mind, calling Arthur a ‘prat’ and an ‘ass’ and an ‘arrogant prattish ass’ as easily as he might comment on the weather. It is novel and difficult and strangely liberating.
There is no pride in Merlin. He is unashamed with his clumsiness and ineptitude, takes no selfish pleasure in whatever little skill the idiot might possess.
There is, however, something warm and proud in Merlin’s eyes whenever Arthur wins a tournament or slays an enemy, when Arthur defies his father - unthinkable in the past before Merlin happened - to do the right thing. There’s pride when Arthur marches out to the field and defeats all his talented knights. There is no pride in Merlin for himself but rather for Arthur.
And Arthur - he is learning the difference between having pride and being content with oneself.
That it is a different sort of defensive, hopeless pride that keeps him from staring too long, longingly, at Merlin where his gaze might be unreturned.
Wrath
Merlin tries to be silent, he really does, but his foot snaps a twig and the deer prances away at the sound. Arthur turns to him with a ready glare, scowl deepening at the helpless shrug that Merlin gives him.
"That is the fourth game that you've chased away, Merlin," Arthur states with deliberate slowness. "One might be led to think you're doing it on purpose."
"Not at all, sire," Merlin says with cheerful innocence, keeping his eyes big and round. "Unless this person has no trust in his capable manservant, who is supposedly sabotaging his master's attempt to hunt and yet still forced to come along every single time."
Arthur snorts at this and roughly hands Merlin his crossbow. "Don't be an idiot."
"It's true!" Merlin carefully removes the arrow and throws the blond a dirty look. "And be careful with this thing; you might accidentally shoot me in the head."
"Surely there isn't anything there left to damage."
Merlin huffs, straightening the bag that he's carrying. "Very clever, sire. Why don't you test your wit on some poor creature and see if it kills them better than an arrow would."
It happens too fast to follow. Arthur’s glare intensifies as he opens his mouth to retaliate and the next thing both of them knows, an arrow has lodged itself into his Arthur’s back in the tiny space between his armour.
Arthur lurches forward in shock, eyes widening, and the pain quickly follows as it twists his features. Merlin drops everything as Arthur falls to his knees, blood seeping from the wound and dipping down his mail when it doesn’t get soaked by his shirt.
“Arthur, Arthur - ” Merlin gasps fearfully, trembling hands braced on Arthur’s shoulders to keep him steady. “Oh god, Arthur.”
More arrows pierce the once peaceful air around them and Arthur lunges at Merlin, pushing him to the ground and covering him with his body. He gasps when the arrow sinks deeper at the action and Merlin moans, looking scared and angry and helpless.
“Get off me, get off,” Merlin says desperately, wanting to move away and yet afraid to jostle the wounded man above him. “Arthur, please, let me - ”
“Don’t move,” Arthur grits out harshly, breathing erratic and eyes becoming unfocused. “Merlin, you have to - ”
Another arrow hits Arthur on the arm and this time Merlin moans as if it is him who is impaled and bleeding. Arthur tries to hold in his cry of pain but it escapes softly. Merlin feels something hard and cold and determined snap inside of him as he feels Arthur bleeding over him. Merlin’s pupils are blown with fear, sparking with gold and a growing fury that someone, anyone, dares to hurt his prince.
Merlin’s hands manage to get loose and hold onto Arthur’s arms, a gentle touch at odds with the growing fierceness on his face.
“I’m sorry, Arthur,” he whispers achingly. Arthur fights to stay awake and stares at Merlin in confusion.
“What - ”
There is no mistaking the way Merlin’s eyes flash gold and all the arrows around them go still, hanging frozen in midair. Recognition flares in Arthur’s pained eyes and Merlin looks away, breath caught in his chest. After that, it is easy to move out from under Arthur who lets him go without a fight.
Merlin stands and brushes two arrows by his head. “Come out, you fucking cowards,” he calls in a choked, angry voice because anger he can deal with - so much anger that Arthur is hurt and injured, that he is forced to reveal himself in this way - instead of facing the prince’s condemnation.
Another arrow shoots out from behind a cluster of trees and Merlin glares at it and it swerves harmlessly into the woods. Merlin lets the fury wash over him, heightened by his fear, and waves a hand towards the trees. The leaves rustle and the earth groans as they are wrenched up and held aloft. Two masked men are suddenly revealed, crossbows in their hands and swords on their hips. Merlin feels his lip curl in rage.
Arthur keeps on watching as Merlin deals his retribution.
-
Arthur’s wounds are surprisingly mild and shallow when Gaius inspects them, betraying Merlin when he shoots the boy an inscrutable glance. Merlin stands in one corner, fists and tunic bloodied, staring at the floor.
“You’re in no danger, sire,” Gaius proclaims when he finishes dressing the wounds. “It’s a miracle that your injuries aren’t more serious after you described them for me. A bit of bruising around the cuts, perhaps an infection, but nothing to worry about.”
Arthur nods stiffly. “Thank you, Gaius.”
“This will help with the pain,” Gaius informs as he picks up a clear vial and then a small jar. “This will help it heal and prevent infection. Twice a day, sire, at morning and at night until the salve runs out, without fail.”
Arthur stands up and shrugs on a fresh shirt carefully. The sudden silence is tense and there’s a wary look in the physician’s eyes.
“If you won’t be needing anything else, I’ll be going,” says Gaius. “Merlin, I need you to - ”
“No,” Arthur cuts off in a calm tone. “Merlin and I have a few things to discuss. That is all, Gaius.”
The lift of Gaius’ eyebrow is sceptical but he gives a courteous bow and leaves, shooting a worried look at Merlin before the door shuts close after him. Arthur sits on the edge of his bed, laces of his shirt hanging loosely on his chest, and he pins Merlin with unreadable eyes.
Merlin keeps his gaze on the floor, fists clenching and unclenching. "If there's anything you need, sire - "
"You've been lying to me," comes Arthur's low voice, too low that Merlin has to strain in order to hear the anger. "For more than a year, Merlin, you've made me out to be a fool."
Merlin's eyes snap up at that and meet Arthur's, only the coldness in them has him looking away quickly. "No, I've never! I didn't...I was afraid to tell you, that you might not, that you'd hate me for being this way." Merlin sucks in a deep breath, face suddenly crumbling, one hand dragging blood through his hair. "I was born with it and I've always - I've never used it to hurt you, nor will I, please Arthur - "
Arthur abruptly stands and his stance is tense and ready, the sharp curve of his spine angry. "My father always told me that you can never trust sorcerers and you're." His eyes cuts through Merlin sharper than any sword ever could. "You've shown me that I can't trust you - "
"No, Arthur, I swear you can - "
"Leave," Arthur commands abruptly. "I'll call for you when I need you. Just, leave."
Merlin opens his mouth to argue, to say anything, but Arthur turns his back on him deliberately. Merlin swallows, throat tight with emotion, and curls his fingers to still their trembling. He wants to reach out and touch the rigid line of Arthur's shoulders, to rewind time and make things right. He slumps in defeat and turns around to leave.
Arthur doesn't call for him for the next three days.
Envy
One night, Camelot holds a grand feast for a visiting baron and his daughter. Uther has been subtly hinting at a possible union all night and the daughter is blushing prettily whenever Arthur's gaze travels to her.
Merlin stands next to Gwen, hoping that his face doesn't reveal what he really thinks. It's been two weeks since that fateful hunt and although Arthur has not sacked him, or brought him to the executioner's block (and for all of Arthur's anger, Merlin marvels that this hasn't happened), things are different between them. Arthur is impersonal and cold, resisting Merlin's clumsy attempts at reconciliation with long lists of chores far away from him and the refusal to talk and banter like they used to do. Arthur rarely smiles, often having the look of a man deep in troubling thought, and Merlin aches for the lost days when he was able to smooth away Arthur's frown with teasing and forsaking his own dignity to act like an idiot.
Merlin misses the other man fiercely, so much so that the intensity of it surprises him. Even with Arthur there, not more than a few feet away, it feels as if an entire kingdom has suddenly come between them - what it should have always been like, Merlin supposes, if he hadn't dared to treat Arthur like a friend (or a human being) on that first day.
He misses Arthur's special brand of affection, the fond little smiles and the exasperated name calling. Merlin misses the closeness they used to share even while they pretended it didn't exist. Merlin simply misses Arthur.
People notice the change, of course they do. Once they were nearly inseparable, with the prince willing to risk disobedience and his own life to save Merlin's, now they seem to have become like any other master and servant. Uther is bemused but pleased while Morgana has tried countless ways to trick Arthur and Merlin into revealing the reason for their unexpected falling out, though they've never told her. Gwen is worried, the only one who knows how deeply Merlin is hurting from this separation. She sticks to him like glue, and so does Morgana, and Merlin feels ridiculously grateful for their support (though a treacherous voice asks him if they would still stand next to him if they find out that he's magic).
Merlin watches the way Arthur charms the baron's daughter, as she laughs at his jokes and blushes at his compliments. The torches glint off Arthur's hair and turns it darkly molten, his face burnished, his eyes amused. He smiles at the pretty miss, letting her politely touch his arm when he says something particularly witty, gives her his undivided attention.
And Merlin burns, envying the girl for the favour that Arthur shows her. He wants to rip her away from his side because it used to be him in that position, the one who Arthur paid constant attention to, the one who never left his side. He envies her Arthur's momentary interest, the way his eyes look directly at her, the way he says her name.
Gluttony
Everything is deliciously hazy. Arthur leans against the wall as he walks, stumbles, to his chambers. The night is deep and long and he is utterly drunk. Arthur's body feels uncommonly heavy, delicious and deliciously tired from the amount of wine he's consumed. He wants to stop and sleep and many times he has to rouse himself against the wall, remembering that crown princes aren't supposed to sleep in cold hallways (and be so intoxicated that it's humiliating).
He tries to remember what made him drink so much but everything is a blur, especially his own thoughts.
Just when Arthur thinks that this bit of floor is rather quite comfortable and his eyes are ready to close, thank you very much, a shockingly warm hand descends on his shoulder.
Arthur startles, reaching for a sword that isn't there and missing his hip entirely. He pitches forward and a lean body appears in front of him, stopping his fall. He collapses against a skinny chest, the body stumbling back a little at Arthur's weight, and arms encircle Arthur's waist to keep both of them steady.
Arthur grins into a curve of neck, inhaling a scent that is familiar and maddening because Arthur can't remember to whom it belongs to except that it's well-liked, well-missed, and an entire array of complicated emotions he's too drunk to understand.
The arms holding him are tentative, almost nervous, and Arthur frowns somewhat. His mind is fuzzy but a thought niggles through: these arms, these hands aren't meant to be uncertain around him.
A voice is speaking, pitched low and soothing, mumbling words that make no sense to Arthur's unfocused head. He grins again, slinging a companionable arm around the person's neck. The body against his freezes for a second.
The person slowly walks both of them to Arthur's chambers, which isn't all that far but feels like an entire forest trail. The heat sobers Arthur a little when they enter, the hearth blazing merrily, and a few more steps has Arthur collapsing on his soft, smooth, wonderful bed. He laughs for no reason than the feel of silk against his skin.
A shadow falls over him, starts undressing him from his formal wear slowly, and Arthur gives an unguarded smile. This person is precious to him, with his scent and gentle hands and stupid ears (ears like jug handles, seems like it's - ) and Arthur tells all those complicated emotions to bugger off.
He fists his hands into fabric and pulls down, brushing his nose against the sharp edge of a cheekbone. His head is still pleasantly woozy but this feels right, feels missed.
"Hmmmmmmmmmm," Arthur mumbles, sliding his nose against another nose.
But something is wrong. The person is pulling away. "Arthur, no, you're drunk and you don't know what you're doing, fuck, you probably don't even know who I am and you will hate me even more when you realise - "
Arthur mumbles again, sighs, slurs, "Meeeerlin, I don' hate you."
And with a clarity that cuts through the mist of alcohol, Arthur realises that it's true.
Arthur smiles brilliantly, eyes half-lidded and unfocused, but suddenly he sees Merlin above him, looking anxious and hopeful. "Arthur?"
"Idiot," he says and the drunkenness makes the affection sound even more prominent. "Idiot," he repeats again, clearer, more mocking.
A slow, relieved smile spreads on Merlin's face until it's so wide and radiant that it hurts to look at. "Arthur," he says emphatically, laughs it, and his hands change from unsure to confident, wary to intimate.
"Merlin," he imitates with a little hiccup at the end and pulls the other man closer. "Don't ever lie to me again," he says with sudden lucidity, eyes dark.
Merlin shakes his head so fast it makes Arthur dizzy. "I won't, I swear I won't, I'll never - "
Arthur kisses him quiet (and stupid).
Lust
It sneaks up at him at the most unexpected moments.
Arthur might be naked in front of Merlin, still rosy from his morning bath, and Merlin would admire his beautiful form and feel desire for him but the next moment, Arthur will be sitting on his chair and chewing on pie and he'll wipe off the crumbs and raspberry on his lips and Merlin will feel the most potent kind of lust.
It's the kind that leaves his tongue thick and heavy in his mouth, pupils dilated, heart galloping like the gelds during tourneys, and so hard that it physically hurts. During those times, Arthur will notice (of course he will because Merlin can never keep it a secret) and there will be a subtle straightening of his spine, the same answering fire in his eyes. He will lick his lips with his tongue, let it sweep on his thumb with the crumbs still sticking on the soft pad of skin, and Merlin will feel as if his entire being has been shaken. He'll try to remain calm and fail spectacularly, start panting a little when Arthur starts sucking on his thumb, eyes fixed firmly on Merlin, letting out little peeks of pink tongue on the corners.
Merlin will moan because he absolutely can't keep it in. He will stop what he's doing - making the bed, picking up clothes on the floor, steailing Arthur's own breakfast - and go up to Arthur and boldly take the digit from Arthur's mouth and transfer it to his. He will waste no time in being coy, lewdly tonguing the digit until it is moist and thrusting into his mouth, Arthur now panting with him.
Though the day has barely started and there is training in the next few minutes, Arthur will pull Merlin on his lap, the other man's legs splayed wide so both their hips are flushed together, and Merlin will trail his tongue over Arthur's knuckles and the dips in between. Arthur will clutch Merlin's hair with his other hand, tight and controlling, and tug up until they kiss in a sloppy, fantastic, dirty way.
Merlin will remove the armour he's diligently put on earlier, kissing and touching every inch of golden skin revealed. Arthur will lean and arch into the other's touch, willingly, only for him.
They will fuck, maybe leisurely and maybe furiously, because they can't keep away.
Greed
"Show me," Arthur commands when he has Merlin's head tucked under his chin and his breathing in control. Beyond the closed window, the sky is dark and sparkly with stars. "Merlin, show me."
He feels Merlin go very still in his arms and Arthur waits. He cards his fingers through messy, sweaty hair.
Merlin takes a deep breath. "What do you want to see?"
"Anything. Everything."
A snort of air. "Very specific, sire."
"If you're addled brain can't come up with any ideas, then - "
"No, I." Merlin takes another deep breath; Arthur can feel it where the other man is tucked so closely next to him. Arthur drags him even nearer, wanting to feel every inch of skin possible. "Anything, right?"
Arthur makes an affirmative noise.
There's silence for a moment before Merlin lifts a flat palm.
"It was hard for me to sleep in the dark when I was younger," Merlin begins in a slightly embarrassed tone. "Y'know, those stories about the darkness that mum liked to tell me so I wouldn't sneak out at night. It would take me a long time to fall asleep and then one night," a shrug of bony shoulders that dig into Arthur's ribs but he isn't going to move for anything, "this just happened."
Then a ball of light forms in his palm, light that is warm and seemingly alive, twisting and glowing. Arthur stares for a while, Merlin tense next to him, before Arthur throws his head back and laughs.
"What?" Merlin asks defensively, fingers curling to exterminate the light. "What?"
"You saved me," Arthur wheezes as if he can't believe it but at the same time he does. "In the caves, you saved me."
Merlin is looking up at him, a puzzled line between his eyebrows, and Arthur snorts for one last time.
"Show me something else," he asks this time, infinitely easier. Arthur's fingers are still running through Merlin's hair and he lets his lips graze the top of his head, a kiss if he wants it to be. He wants to know. He wants to know Merlin inside and out, up and down, black and white and so many colours to him. "Show me everything."
Rating: R
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Fandom: Merlin
Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, blood
Disclaimer: Yeah, no. I own nothing.
A/N: AND IT'S STILL FOR the Kinkme_merlin prompt: Arthur/Merlin, the seven deadly sins
Sloth
The heat pervades through the kingdom, sending the people to the wells more often than usual. Excess clothing are shed for lighter fabrics and the pace of everyday life becomes slow and strenuous. Merlin becomes even more reluctant with his work, especially when Arthur makes him run repeatedly up and down the stairs so that he's sweating and huffing and dying from the heat. He often stares out the window of Arthur's bedroom, glaring at the bright, bright sky and wishing he could somehow make rainclouds appear (he could, really, and Merlin is so tempted to do it).
Arthur isn't bothered by the heat, even when he's wearing armour and spending the morning training his knights. Perspiration gathers at his temples, pooling at the dip between his collarbones as he parries and lunges and dodges and attacks. Merlin gets tired simply by watching him.
The training grounds has no protection from the full glare of the sun and Merlin sneaks off to Arthur's chambers with feeble excuses to clean it up from top to bottom - feeble because Arthur knows no cleaning is being done. Instead, Merlin lazes on Arthur's bed for the entire morning, half-heartedly trying to do his chores before giving up in the face of the blistering weather. Merlin's boots are tossed on the floor and he happily sinks into the silk, pressing his flushed face to the coolness of it. He has no desire to move, to think, to even breathe. The weather has him in stasis and even in sleep, the oppressive warmth follows him in shades of blinding yellow and searing white.
Arthur knows and Arthur scowls at him but doesn't say a thing. Merlin is eternally grateful - and surprised at the unexpected kindness - so he makes sure that the room is neat enough when Arthur comes by in the afternoon, weary and cranky. There's a tray of food on the table along with a jug of wine that Merlin has kept cool with magic. There's a hot bath waiting for him and Merlin is cringing at the thought. How Arthur can stand it is beyond him.
Arthur takes one look at Merlin's prone form on the bed and sighs long-sufferingly. He removes his vambraces, his mail, his inner clothing as Merlin pushes himself reluctantly off the bed.
"Utterly useless," is what Arthur says with a roll of his eyes. "Come on, then, help me bathe so at least you'll be able to say you did one thing right."
Merlin tries not to groan. "Aren't you the least bit affected by the weather?"
Arthur gives him a look that clearly translates to, I'm the prince and therefore immune to trivial things as weather and says pointedly, "Sometime today, Merlin."
So Merlin forces himself to get up and pad over to where the tub is steaming. Arthur steps inside and settles in the water with the tiniest of sighs. Merlin picks up the washcloth and dips it in the scalding water, or so it feels, and slowly drags it across Arthur's loosening shoulders. It is slow going and quiet and hot, only Arthur's easy breathing and the sun sinking marking the passage of time.
Pride
A Pendragon without his pride is a Pendragon who has nothing. It is one of the earliest lessons that Uther taught his young son, when Arthur cried at the loss of a favoured toy. Ever since then, Arthur has kept his pride close to him as a badge of honour. It is evident in the lift of his strong jaw, or the possessive gleam in his eyes when he watches Camelot flourish. In the training field and in battle, Arthur is unmatched and he feels pride in his ability to protect and destroy at the same time.
Pride, though, is a double-edged sword. It is a deadly lance when Morgana aims a sharp jibe or criticism at him. It is a sickening humiliation when he is duped by a sorcerer or a wily thief. It is the ever-present anguish when his father is never satisfied with whatever he does.
Arthur without his pride is nothing, a defenceless, vulnerable young man who is easily slayed by a cutting glance or word. Arthur has learnt to shield and protect himself from court intrigue, Uther's disappointment, and Morgana's tireless remarks. Sometimes, though, all of them cut too close.
Which is why Merlin is so bloody terrifying in his own way. He is unaffected by Arthur’s rank, treating him with unabashed irreverence and casualness. He is unafraid of him and unafraid to speak out his mind, calling Arthur a ‘prat’ and an ‘ass’ and an ‘arrogant prattish ass’ as easily as he might comment on the weather. It is novel and difficult and strangely liberating.
There is no pride in Merlin. He is unashamed with his clumsiness and ineptitude, takes no selfish pleasure in whatever little skill the idiot might possess.
There is, however, something warm and proud in Merlin’s eyes whenever Arthur wins a tournament or slays an enemy, when Arthur defies his father - unthinkable in the past before Merlin happened - to do the right thing. There’s pride when Arthur marches out to the field and defeats all his talented knights. There is no pride in Merlin for himself but rather for Arthur.
And Arthur - he is learning the difference between having pride and being content with oneself.
That it is a different sort of defensive, hopeless pride that keeps him from staring too long, longingly, at Merlin where his gaze might be unreturned.
Wrath
Merlin tries to be silent, he really does, but his foot snaps a twig and the deer prances away at the sound. Arthur turns to him with a ready glare, scowl deepening at the helpless shrug that Merlin gives him.
"That is the fourth game that you've chased away, Merlin," Arthur states with deliberate slowness. "One might be led to think you're doing it on purpose."
"Not at all, sire," Merlin says with cheerful innocence, keeping his eyes big and round. "Unless this person has no trust in his capable manservant, who is supposedly sabotaging his master's attempt to hunt and yet still forced to come along every single time."
Arthur snorts at this and roughly hands Merlin his crossbow. "Don't be an idiot."
"It's true!" Merlin carefully removes the arrow and throws the blond a dirty look. "And be careful with this thing; you might accidentally shoot me in the head."
"Surely there isn't anything there left to damage."
Merlin huffs, straightening the bag that he's carrying. "Very clever, sire. Why don't you test your wit on some poor creature and see if it kills them better than an arrow would."
It happens too fast to follow. Arthur’s glare intensifies as he opens his mouth to retaliate and the next thing both of them knows, an arrow has lodged itself into his Arthur’s back in the tiny space between his armour.
Arthur lurches forward in shock, eyes widening, and the pain quickly follows as it twists his features. Merlin drops everything as Arthur falls to his knees, blood seeping from the wound and dipping down his mail when it doesn’t get soaked by his shirt.
“Arthur, Arthur - ” Merlin gasps fearfully, trembling hands braced on Arthur’s shoulders to keep him steady. “Oh god, Arthur.”
More arrows pierce the once peaceful air around them and Arthur lunges at Merlin, pushing him to the ground and covering him with his body. He gasps when the arrow sinks deeper at the action and Merlin moans, looking scared and angry and helpless.
“Get off me, get off,” Merlin says desperately, wanting to move away and yet afraid to jostle the wounded man above him. “Arthur, please, let me - ”
“Don’t move,” Arthur grits out harshly, breathing erratic and eyes becoming unfocused. “Merlin, you have to - ”
Another arrow hits Arthur on the arm and this time Merlin moans as if it is him who is impaled and bleeding. Arthur tries to hold in his cry of pain but it escapes softly. Merlin feels something hard and cold and determined snap inside of him as he feels Arthur bleeding over him. Merlin’s pupils are blown with fear, sparking with gold and a growing fury that someone, anyone, dares to hurt his prince.
Merlin’s hands manage to get loose and hold onto Arthur’s arms, a gentle touch at odds with the growing fierceness on his face.
“I’m sorry, Arthur,” he whispers achingly. Arthur fights to stay awake and stares at Merlin in confusion.
“What - ”
There is no mistaking the way Merlin’s eyes flash gold and all the arrows around them go still, hanging frozen in midair. Recognition flares in Arthur’s pained eyes and Merlin looks away, breath caught in his chest. After that, it is easy to move out from under Arthur who lets him go without a fight.
Merlin stands and brushes two arrows by his head. “Come out, you fucking cowards,” he calls in a choked, angry voice because anger he can deal with - so much anger that Arthur is hurt and injured, that he is forced to reveal himself in this way - instead of facing the prince’s condemnation.
Another arrow shoots out from behind a cluster of trees and Merlin glares at it and it swerves harmlessly into the woods. Merlin lets the fury wash over him, heightened by his fear, and waves a hand towards the trees. The leaves rustle and the earth groans as they are wrenched up and held aloft. Two masked men are suddenly revealed, crossbows in their hands and swords on their hips. Merlin feels his lip curl in rage.
Arthur keeps on watching as Merlin deals his retribution.
-
Arthur’s wounds are surprisingly mild and shallow when Gaius inspects them, betraying Merlin when he shoots the boy an inscrutable glance. Merlin stands in one corner, fists and tunic bloodied, staring at the floor.
“You’re in no danger, sire,” Gaius proclaims when he finishes dressing the wounds. “It’s a miracle that your injuries aren’t more serious after you described them for me. A bit of bruising around the cuts, perhaps an infection, but nothing to worry about.”
Arthur nods stiffly. “Thank you, Gaius.”
“This will help with the pain,” Gaius informs as he picks up a clear vial and then a small jar. “This will help it heal and prevent infection. Twice a day, sire, at morning and at night until the salve runs out, without fail.”
Arthur stands up and shrugs on a fresh shirt carefully. The sudden silence is tense and there’s a wary look in the physician’s eyes.
“If you won’t be needing anything else, I’ll be going,” says Gaius. “Merlin, I need you to - ”
“No,” Arthur cuts off in a calm tone. “Merlin and I have a few things to discuss. That is all, Gaius.”
The lift of Gaius’ eyebrow is sceptical but he gives a courteous bow and leaves, shooting a worried look at Merlin before the door shuts close after him. Arthur sits on the edge of his bed, laces of his shirt hanging loosely on his chest, and he pins Merlin with unreadable eyes.
Merlin keeps his gaze on the floor, fists clenching and unclenching. "If there's anything you need, sire - "
"You've been lying to me," comes Arthur's low voice, too low that Merlin has to strain in order to hear the anger. "For more than a year, Merlin, you've made me out to be a fool."
Merlin's eyes snap up at that and meet Arthur's, only the coldness in them has him looking away quickly. "No, I've never! I didn't...I was afraid to tell you, that you might not, that you'd hate me for being this way." Merlin sucks in a deep breath, face suddenly crumbling, one hand dragging blood through his hair. "I was born with it and I've always - I've never used it to hurt you, nor will I, please Arthur - "
Arthur abruptly stands and his stance is tense and ready, the sharp curve of his spine angry. "My father always told me that you can never trust sorcerers and you're." His eyes cuts through Merlin sharper than any sword ever could. "You've shown me that I can't trust you - "
"No, Arthur, I swear you can - "
"Leave," Arthur commands abruptly. "I'll call for you when I need you. Just, leave."
Merlin opens his mouth to argue, to say anything, but Arthur turns his back on him deliberately. Merlin swallows, throat tight with emotion, and curls his fingers to still their trembling. He wants to reach out and touch the rigid line of Arthur's shoulders, to rewind time and make things right. He slumps in defeat and turns around to leave.
Arthur doesn't call for him for the next three days.
Envy
One night, Camelot holds a grand feast for a visiting baron and his daughter. Uther has been subtly hinting at a possible union all night and the daughter is blushing prettily whenever Arthur's gaze travels to her.
Merlin stands next to Gwen, hoping that his face doesn't reveal what he really thinks. It's been two weeks since that fateful hunt and although Arthur has not sacked him, or brought him to the executioner's block (and for all of Arthur's anger, Merlin marvels that this hasn't happened), things are different between them. Arthur is impersonal and cold, resisting Merlin's clumsy attempts at reconciliation with long lists of chores far away from him and the refusal to talk and banter like they used to do. Arthur rarely smiles, often having the look of a man deep in troubling thought, and Merlin aches for the lost days when he was able to smooth away Arthur's frown with teasing and forsaking his own dignity to act like an idiot.
Merlin misses the other man fiercely, so much so that the intensity of it surprises him. Even with Arthur there, not more than a few feet away, it feels as if an entire kingdom has suddenly come between them - what it should have always been like, Merlin supposes, if he hadn't dared to treat Arthur like a friend (or a human being) on that first day.
He misses Arthur's special brand of affection, the fond little smiles and the exasperated name calling. Merlin misses the closeness they used to share even while they pretended it didn't exist. Merlin simply misses Arthur.
People notice the change, of course they do. Once they were nearly inseparable, with the prince willing to risk disobedience and his own life to save Merlin's, now they seem to have become like any other master and servant. Uther is bemused but pleased while Morgana has tried countless ways to trick Arthur and Merlin into revealing the reason for their unexpected falling out, though they've never told her. Gwen is worried, the only one who knows how deeply Merlin is hurting from this separation. She sticks to him like glue, and so does Morgana, and Merlin feels ridiculously grateful for their support (though a treacherous voice asks him if they would still stand next to him if they find out that he's magic).
Merlin watches the way Arthur charms the baron's daughter, as she laughs at his jokes and blushes at his compliments. The torches glint off Arthur's hair and turns it darkly molten, his face burnished, his eyes amused. He smiles at the pretty miss, letting her politely touch his arm when he says something particularly witty, gives her his undivided attention.
And Merlin burns, envying the girl for the favour that Arthur shows her. He wants to rip her away from his side because it used to be him in that position, the one who Arthur paid constant attention to, the one who never left his side. He envies her Arthur's momentary interest, the way his eyes look directly at her, the way he says her name.
Gluttony
Everything is deliciously hazy. Arthur leans against the wall as he walks, stumbles, to his chambers. The night is deep and long and he is utterly drunk. Arthur's body feels uncommonly heavy, delicious and deliciously tired from the amount of wine he's consumed. He wants to stop and sleep and many times he has to rouse himself against the wall, remembering that crown princes aren't supposed to sleep in cold hallways (and be so intoxicated that it's humiliating).
He tries to remember what made him drink so much but everything is a blur, especially his own thoughts.
Just when Arthur thinks that this bit of floor is rather quite comfortable and his eyes are ready to close, thank you very much, a shockingly warm hand descends on his shoulder.
Arthur startles, reaching for a sword that isn't there and missing his hip entirely. He pitches forward and a lean body appears in front of him, stopping his fall. He collapses against a skinny chest, the body stumbling back a little at Arthur's weight, and arms encircle Arthur's waist to keep both of them steady.
Arthur grins into a curve of neck, inhaling a scent that is familiar and maddening because Arthur can't remember to whom it belongs to except that it's well-liked, well-missed, and an entire array of complicated emotions he's too drunk to understand.
The arms holding him are tentative, almost nervous, and Arthur frowns somewhat. His mind is fuzzy but a thought niggles through: these arms, these hands aren't meant to be uncertain around him.
A voice is speaking, pitched low and soothing, mumbling words that make no sense to Arthur's unfocused head. He grins again, slinging a companionable arm around the person's neck. The body against his freezes for a second.
The person slowly walks both of them to Arthur's chambers, which isn't all that far but feels like an entire forest trail. The heat sobers Arthur a little when they enter, the hearth blazing merrily, and a few more steps has Arthur collapsing on his soft, smooth, wonderful bed. He laughs for no reason than the feel of silk against his skin.
A shadow falls over him, starts undressing him from his formal wear slowly, and Arthur gives an unguarded smile. This person is precious to him, with his scent and gentle hands and stupid ears (ears like jug handles, seems like it's - ) and Arthur tells all those complicated emotions to bugger off.
He fists his hands into fabric and pulls down, brushing his nose against the sharp edge of a cheekbone. His head is still pleasantly woozy but this feels right, feels missed.
"Hmmmmmmmmmm," Arthur mumbles, sliding his nose against another nose.
But something is wrong. The person is pulling away. "Arthur, no, you're drunk and you don't know what you're doing, fuck, you probably don't even know who I am and you will hate me even more when you realise - "
Arthur mumbles again, sighs, slurs, "Meeeerlin, I don' hate you."
And with a clarity that cuts through the mist of alcohol, Arthur realises that it's true.
Arthur smiles brilliantly, eyes half-lidded and unfocused, but suddenly he sees Merlin above him, looking anxious and hopeful. "Arthur?"
"Idiot," he says and the drunkenness makes the affection sound even more prominent. "Idiot," he repeats again, clearer, more mocking.
A slow, relieved smile spreads on Merlin's face until it's so wide and radiant that it hurts to look at. "Arthur," he says emphatically, laughs it, and his hands change from unsure to confident, wary to intimate.
"Merlin," he imitates with a little hiccup at the end and pulls the other man closer. "Don't ever lie to me again," he says with sudden lucidity, eyes dark.
Merlin shakes his head so fast it makes Arthur dizzy. "I won't, I swear I won't, I'll never - "
Arthur kisses him quiet (and stupid).
Lust
It sneaks up at him at the most unexpected moments.
Arthur might be naked in front of Merlin, still rosy from his morning bath, and Merlin would admire his beautiful form and feel desire for him but the next moment, Arthur will be sitting on his chair and chewing on pie and he'll wipe off the crumbs and raspberry on his lips and Merlin will feel the most potent kind of lust.
It's the kind that leaves his tongue thick and heavy in his mouth, pupils dilated, heart galloping like the gelds during tourneys, and so hard that it physically hurts. During those times, Arthur will notice (of course he will because Merlin can never keep it a secret) and there will be a subtle straightening of his spine, the same answering fire in his eyes. He will lick his lips with his tongue, let it sweep on his thumb with the crumbs still sticking on the soft pad of skin, and Merlin will feel as if his entire being has been shaken. He'll try to remain calm and fail spectacularly, start panting a little when Arthur starts sucking on his thumb, eyes fixed firmly on Merlin, letting out little peeks of pink tongue on the corners.
Merlin will moan because he absolutely can't keep it in. He will stop what he's doing - making the bed, picking up clothes on the floor, steailing Arthur's own breakfast - and go up to Arthur and boldly take the digit from Arthur's mouth and transfer it to his. He will waste no time in being coy, lewdly tonguing the digit until it is moist and thrusting into his mouth, Arthur now panting with him.
Though the day has barely started and there is training in the next few minutes, Arthur will pull Merlin on his lap, the other man's legs splayed wide so both their hips are flushed together, and Merlin will trail his tongue over Arthur's knuckles and the dips in between. Arthur will clutch Merlin's hair with his other hand, tight and controlling, and tug up until they kiss in a sloppy, fantastic, dirty way.
Merlin will remove the armour he's diligently put on earlier, kissing and touching every inch of golden skin revealed. Arthur will lean and arch into the other's touch, willingly, only for him.
They will fuck, maybe leisurely and maybe furiously, because they can't keep away.
Greed
"Show me," Arthur commands when he has Merlin's head tucked under his chin and his breathing in control. Beyond the closed window, the sky is dark and sparkly with stars. "Merlin, show me."
He feels Merlin go very still in his arms and Arthur waits. He cards his fingers through messy, sweaty hair.
Merlin takes a deep breath. "What do you want to see?"
"Anything. Everything."
A snort of air. "Very specific, sire."
"If you're addled brain can't come up with any ideas, then - "
"No, I." Merlin takes another deep breath; Arthur can feel it where the other man is tucked so closely next to him. Arthur drags him even nearer, wanting to feel every inch of skin possible. "Anything, right?"
Arthur makes an affirmative noise.
There's silence for a moment before Merlin lifts a flat palm.
"It was hard for me to sleep in the dark when I was younger," Merlin begins in a slightly embarrassed tone. "Y'know, those stories about the darkness that mum liked to tell me so I wouldn't sneak out at night. It would take me a long time to fall asleep and then one night," a shrug of bony shoulders that dig into Arthur's ribs but he isn't going to move for anything, "this just happened."
Then a ball of light forms in his palm, light that is warm and seemingly alive, twisting and glowing. Arthur stares for a while, Merlin tense next to him, before Arthur throws his head back and laughs.
"What?" Merlin asks defensively, fingers curling to exterminate the light. "What?"
"You saved me," Arthur wheezes as if he can't believe it but at the same time he does. "In the caves, you saved me."
Merlin is looking up at him, a puzzled line between his eyebrows, and Arthur snorts for one last time.
"Show me something else," he asks this time, infinitely easier. Arthur's fingers are still running through Merlin's hair and he lets his lips graze the top of his head, a kiss if he wants it to be. He wants to know. He wants to know Merlin inside and out, up and down, black and white and so many colours to him. "Show me everything."