[fic] we could be anything
Title: We Could Be Anything
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Arthur thinks of how things could have been. (In which Merlin is a noble, a knight, a blacksmith, a girl and something like a friend.)
Notes: Written for kinkme_merlin for this prompt: Arthur/Merlin, fantasies.
001 | a noble
Often, Arthur finds himself with a spare moment to breathe and consider the circumstances he finds himself in. As a prince, there is much delegation that is to be made in order to maintain the peace between nations and the safety of its people.
And so Arthur is poised to be whatever his father deems necessary for any such persuasion. Arthur may be a puppet on a string to show the force of Camelot, he may have to be vocal in his democracies and be shown to be a trusty leader, he has on occasion been a dangling carrot for the prospect of marriage. There is no doubt that his role is difficult, and Arthur is fully aware of this, but when he is alone and away from the purposes of his father, Arthur can let his mind wander places he must usually refrain if he is to be focussed.
A clatter of plates draws his attentions to Merlin, bumbling away as usual as he tidies the tray of Arthur's supper. In a way, Merlin acknowledges his failings as a servant; he sometimes looks up at Arthur, a half-grin feigning bashfulness, before turning back toward to whatever half-hearted menial task he is supposed to do.
Clearly, Merlin is not a born servant in that his clumsiness is a tremendous obstacle in the way of him being able to do the job immaculately, though Arthur has become accustomed to a good deal less than perfection. Upon a moment's fleeting thought, Arthur deems that servant is not quite the role that Merlin appears to fit into in life. From his front and mannerisms, Merlin holds himself as though he is Arthur's equal, of a similar standing and Arthur cannot help but imagine Merlin as a noble.
Merlin would obviously belong to a land that is not on Camelot's boarders, there is something entirely foreign about him, his attitude not fitting of Camelot at all really. Like a social butterfly, Merlin appreciates the freedom to flit wherever, he would be known to the royals in the regions for his eccentricities, his openness and blatant sympathies, and eventually Arthur would hear of the prince who roams among the people and calms their frustrations with rationality, a kind and plain speaker. It would also reach his father's ears, and a gracious welcome will be sent across the land to invite Merlin to dine.
There will be a couple of months of silence before Merlin trudges into Camelot, unguarded and looking somewhat dishevelled, a smile on his face regardless of the hardship of trekking vast regions and kingdoms to get there. Due to his appearance, no one would believe him but Arthur would know when he came across him in the lower town because there's something about Merlin that will intrigue Arthur regardless of their incarnations. All things considered, Arthur imagines that he will try to take Merlin under his wing, an attempt at showing the strength and riches of Camelot, before Merlin declares that he is mightily unimpressed. Frustrated, Arthur should find himself scrapping against Merlin, despite knowing techniques that can maim a man within seconds, it will not end in any injuries but Arthur will have a newfound respect for Merlin.
After dining with the court, Merlin will be a fascination, his stories bringing laughter and Arthur won't fail to notice the looks that Merlin shares with Morgana, looks that speak volumes, long fat volumes that look like encyclopaedias, pages of endless words and informative diagrams. Arthur tries not to notice such things, knows that noticing them makes him more likely to trifle in them, but Merlin would do something completely endearing that would make Arthur want to intervene.
Merlin chooses that exact moment to pilfer a bit of bread from Arthur's tray and Arthur decides that Merlin's better off not being a noble. In ways, Merlin does not suit the crown, it would be too heavy upon his head, probably break his neck during the coronation. The thought makes Arthur laugh which then startles Merlin.
"What?"
"Don't speak with your mouth full, Merlin."
002 | a knight
Arthur is not precisely sure when it happened but he has found that Merlin has made some kind of affiliation with armour. Upon further consideration, it must be said that Merlin has probably spent more time with Arthur's armour, polishing it and whatnot, than Arthur has spent in it fighting. In a way, Merlin has an increasing attachment to it and has begun to show reluctance in handing it over and looks of forlorn when Arthur gives it back.
On lazy days, Sundays usually, Merlin squats on the rug with Arthur's armour, diligently scrubbing off dirt and polishing until it gleams by firelight. Arthur has papers to look over, policies to review, plans to make for his knights' training. Merlin makes thinking noises, reaction noises, little grunts of exertion; he hoiks up the main body of Arthur's armour, looks up to Arthur with eyes that almost seem to be searching for approval for his hard work.
The angle it is held is just right for it look as though Merlin wears the metal from Arthur's perspective and he wonders what it would be like were Merlin one of his knights. It is not such a preposterous idea, he thinks, for Merlin has some qualities that are benefitted of a knight of Camelot. There is no doubting that Merlin is brave, stupidly and frustratingly so, and Arthur cannot say that he does not have the kind of morals all his knights should have. The only thing Merlin lacks is the physique and discipline.
If Merlin were a knight, he would probably be the physically weakest among them. Arthur means it as no sort of insult, just plain truth, he has been training Merlin in the art of sword fighting and it is clear that Merlin is inept. His footwork is nonexistent, his defence weak, his attack not focussed for the fear of actually hurting his opponent.
No. If Merlin were a knight, he would probably the most loved among them. By having such a title, it opens up a vast array of opportunities, the way in which people view knights is something Arthur has not seen for a number of others. Merlin would be the knight that couldn't go through the market without people offering him tokens of food in thanks for his protecting the kingdom, though Merlin, being the kind-hearted sod that he is, would be giving the apples and sweet buns he receives to the children who run around him, hugging his legs, giggling as he played with them. The other knights would refrain from reading anything into it because they are only jealous that it is not they who receive the fruit and baked goods.
If Merlin were a knight, he would probably the one that Arthur worried about the most. There would be something in Merlin's eye once he is clad in armour, not a fear but an uncertainty, just that glimmer of doubt that causes Arthur concern more than anything. With Merlin, his bravery is that of selflessness and sacrifice and it would cause Arthur unease because he cannot wholeheartedly say that Merlin is strong enough for the toughness of war. There would be no hardness in his eyes telling Arthur that he would be strong enough to kill a man without breaking to pieces, torn by the skewed moral of it.
In the end, Arthur imagines that if Merlin were a knight, he would probably be the one by his side, for Arthur would want him near in order to protect him.
003 | a blacksmith
Somewhere in the castle, deep and obscure to find, is a room full of Arthur's childhood things. It is as effective as a safe, and Arthur is sure that not many people are aware of its existence. Rather than a place of direction, it is a place to stumble across and it takes Merlin several tries to find it once he had heard word of it slip through Arthur's lips.
Merlin does not know what he expects to find, probably something that will explain Arthur's temperament, a lack of toys or an abundance of books-just something, proof that Arthur keeps secrets just as much as he does. Walking into it, Merlin feels a wave of nostalgia that isn't his; there are toys, there are books, there are clothes.
Occasionally, there are slight changes in the arrangement, toy soldiers will be positioned from regiments into lines, books will be laid open and switched between shelves, a sign that someone-Arthur, probably-has been here.
Arthur chances upon Merlin about three weeks after he suspects that Merlin knows about the room. When he does, Merlin is holding one of Arthur's first training swords, he does so in a way that is non-combative, purely inspective, bringing the blade across him and balanced flat on his opposite forearm. It seems as though Merlin is searching some fault, a chip, a jagged edge from where Arthur remembers battering it against a tree in a tantrum. Arthur recalls being seven and told that he would not be permitted to go on a hunt with the knights. He had been furious in that blinded way children are and took his anger out on the most beautiful oak. From where he stands, Arthur sees Merlin smile, hike down his sleeve to wipe across the blade as though that will smooth down the edge.
Pale fingers such as Merlin's have often been seen by the blades of swords. Arthur has seen Merlin be meticulous about his swords and initially, Arthur thought it to be a trick used to make him think that Merlin was taking his job seriously while slacking off but soon it was evident that Merlin actually meant it as he began detailing lists of concerns about Arthur's armour and weapons. Commenting on it once left Arthur surprised as Merlin replied with the most sincere of tones.
"I just want to make sure that you'll be safe."
And Arthur can believe that, can believe that Merlin would take no chances, would prefer to personally look over any construction and trial of weapon and shield, making sure that it would be more than suitable for Arthur's needs.
The only way Merlin could do that would be if he were a blacksmith and he spent his days making swords. They would be the most beautiful swords Arthur would ever have the chance of using, balanced and made for his specifications, weighty but not heavy, glamoured but tough enough for the wage of war. To be sure of its suitability, Merlin would request Arthur's attendance, welcoming him and warning him of the burning furnace, face and fingers smudged dark. Merlin retains his pale complexion regardless of conditions, Arthur has seen as much from hunts where the sun is scorching and yet Merlin is ever pasty, he imagines that even as a blacksmith, that wouldn't change as it is inherent as Merlin's nature.
As a blacksmith, Merlin's words would be rougher than his current country boy demeanour allows after having to deal with knights and people demanding the best of everything, everything down to their horses' shoes.
But Merlin would spend the most time making Arthur a sword, he would forge the metal time and time again, never happy with presenting it until it was perfect and his hands almost burnt.
Merlin's smile would never change, blinding white against the charcoal smears upon his cheek, and for part of his gratitude, Arthur would dust it off his face himself with the calloused pads of his own fingers.
004 | a girl
In situations where the brutish of men may falter, Merlin takes it well within the strides of his spindly legs. There have been many instances where someone has commented on the palette upon his visage, given him token flowers in passing, told him of the wonderful qualities that he has in such a way that would, had Arthur never met Merlin, make Arthur think that Merlin was some dainty frail, fragile of a thing.
Merlin accepts whatever compliments pass his way with the notion that unless they are plain in their intention, everyone around has an honest face. Thus far, it appears to be working for Merlin, his ability to spot dishonest faces effectively has saved their lives many time.
Perhaps there is something to all the allusions, there is a splendour in the way he moves, the fair colour dabbed around his mouth, wonder in his words. Arthur imagines that they could belong to a girl, a girl with the fieriest of spirits, the kind who would have whispers of her virtue following her and wouldn't care, would be equally fascinating as she was annoying.
Arthur is not in the habit of lying to himself, his whole life is based on the realities of his situation so he knows that it is for the best that he doesn't dream of things that weren't. From some of the details he has remembered, though he would prefer to forget, is that he tends to be stupid in love. Stupid in his gestures, in the things he says, in his declarations and thought processes that jump several steps. If Merlin were a girl, Arthur fancies that by now, he would have been captured by her.
It would be easier to admit, all the men Arthur knows love women and all the women love men, he knows no other way. Arthur also knows that princes marry princesses, knows that is what is expected of him but knights talk, talk in whispers of dark, secretive things, of servants and a disregard for class. There is so much fascination, lasciviciousness and indulgence, Arthur wouldn't quite know what to do with the information.
Stewing over it in his rooms, Arthur would itch with the contemplation of it all, imagine what he could do with it, wonder how he really felt about it. Merlin times her entrance in the worst of ways, huffing around with clean bed sheets tugged around her like a cloak, huffing her irritancy so hard that it makes her fringe fly.
"What's wrong?" Arthur would ask, of course he would ask, how could he not when she has such a look upon her that coerces him to ask.
"Nothing," she would reply, and Arthur would believe it if not for the slight tinge in her cheeks. Continuing on with her work, she would throw the sheets upon Arthur's bed, almost swiping him with it but he catches her wrist, small in his grip, halting her for a moment.
Ideas would form in Arthur's mind, things he couldn't put into words but his heart would ache honourably as it drowned in the covetousness that his eyes had been newly opened to. Merlin would meet his eyes, defiant as always but sinking, she'd rest her head upon his chest, defeat in her stance as she pleaded, "Arthur, please."
Arthur realises that he can't think any farther than this because Merlin is currently complaining about the upcoming feast and how tiring it will be for he has a slight nasal congestion and he threatens to sneeze in Arthur's wine pitcher if he is not given the night off; Merlin is far scrappier than any girl.
005 | a friend
Merlin moves a bishop across the board, a defensive move if Arthur's ever saw one, and Arthur cannot help but wonder how far off the road of liberties he and Merlin have gone if they are comfortably playing the game of kings. It appears that Merlin is pleased with himself, little dimples forming as he eyes all the remaining pieces. Arthur remembers when he used to enjoy chess because everyone he played was inadequate, then he found a joy in teaching Merlin, now it is more about the competition and how Merlin makes the most amusing faces during their games.
"Merlin, stop pulling that face, you're distracting me."
Dismissing the reprimand, Merlin leans forward and seemingly surveys the board, "This is fun, isn't it? Thank you for teaching me how to play."
"I wish I could say that you know how to play properly," Arthur makes a move. "The knight is not a horsey."
"I know that," Merlin says. "I named them after all the horses in the stable."
And that is such a Merlin thing to do, so endearing and foreign to any of the things Arthur has ever seen being done, almost as much as when Merlin is all pouty and petulant. Then Arthur recalls all the things he has ever heard of personal relations of the sordid kind, the kind between men where intimacies were close to the heart and under the sheets, and the only thing Arthur can consider in the moment is to disregard the game and ease the constrict in his chest with the sweet press of Merlin's lips. Arthur has to bite his own to refrain from ravishing Merlin there and then, scrunching his fists so tight he feels the dig of his nails in his palms, knowing that they'll leave crescent shaped marks that will remind him what his honour is for.
It is harder for Arthur to admit this time. To accost a woman, regardless of her acceptance will bear no lasting blemish should it spread, for his status as prince is considered flattering, but what would people think if Merlin were to tell? There is much uncertainty how his proposal would be received by Merlin and Arthur will not pretend that his pride is strong enough in such a respect that it wouldn't be wounded if he was met adversely.
"Arthur? It's your turn."
"I don't want to play anymore," Arthur stands, not quite knowing what he is intending to do once he is out of his chair but suffice to say, he will use his position as prince to explain that he can do anything he wishes.
"It's because I was winning, isn't it?" Merlin begins to pack away the pieces, clunks and clatters as they go back into the wooden box.
Arthur scoffs indignant, "No."
"Okay, then. What do you want to do?"
Arthur has to fight hard to think of something acceptable to say, his forefront thought is how lovely it would be for Merlin to skim his hand against any part of his body, how he would like to have a moment of selfishness that will soothe the restlessness he gets just being in close proximity with Merlin. Lost in his own indecisiveness, Arthur doesn't realise just how close Merlin is until all he can see is the striking blue, the sky around a full stop.
"Are you all right?"
Merlin smells like the faintest cedar wood and for all the exertion he puts into concentrating on what's happening, Arthur feels light-headedness from the whispers of Merlin's breath upon his cheek, some figure of Merlin being a woodchopper with an axe so big that he would struggle to lift above his shoulders slowly creeping into mind.
Arthur clears his throat, fills the awkward silence efficiently, and steps away. He firmly decides on what he is going to say because he cannot stand to have these little thoughts of Merlin, Merlins who are not the Merlin who stands before him, Merlins who are only half as captivating, especially when there's real Merlin there. Arthur reaches for Merlin's arm, grabs it at the crook of his elbow, moving his hand down so their palms brush and fingers haphazardly latch. Merlin does not seem to pull away, his fingers flex instead, tightening and comfortable, gives Arthur that extra push of confidence.
"I think about you all the time," Arthur cannot quite look in Merlin's eyes anymore, he focuses more on their hands, how a finger strokes stars on the back of his palm. "And I want… I want. I want."
For all the fantasising Arthur has been subjected to, he has never quite managed any futher than this point. The range of Merlin's reactions has been limited to recoils of disgust and laughs of ridicule. It probably says something about his mindset that reciprocation never occurs to him but Arthur doesn't have time to think of that in the present for Merlin is quickly pressed against his side, tentative and a little shy if the sudden clamminess between their hands is any indication.
"You can have," is Merlin's shaky reply and Arthur dare not act too fast upon his words in case he is mistaken. The three words are vague, though Arthur's two were also, and Arthur has forgotten to tell Merlin the most important part of all. This should last forever, they should grow old and rule the kingdom fair, and not for one second does Arthur imagine it all without Merlin. He sees the future in those eyes and Arthur captures it to keep with his lips.
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Arthur thinks of how things could have been. (In which Merlin is a noble, a knight, a blacksmith, a girl and something like a friend.)
Notes: Written for kinkme_merlin for this prompt: Arthur/Merlin, fantasies.
001 | a noble
Often, Arthur finds himself with a spare moment to breathe and consider the circumstances he finds himself in. As a prince, there is much delegation that is to be made in order to maintain the peace between nations and the safety of its people.
And so Arthur is poised to be whatever his father deems necessary for any such persuasion. Arthur may be a puppet on a string to show the force of Camelot, he may have to be vocal in his democracies and be shown to be a trusty leader, he has on occasion been a dangling carrot for the prospect of marriage. There is no doubt that his role is difficult, and Arthur is fully aware of this, but when he is alone and away from the purposes of his father, Arthur can let his mind wander places he must usually refrain if he is to be focussed.
A clatter of plates draws his attentions to Merlin, bumbling away as usual as he tidies the tray of Arthur's supper. In a way, Merlin acknowledges his failings as a servant; he sometimes looks up at Arthur, a half-grin feigning bashfulness, before turning back toward to whatever half-hearted menial task he is supposed to do.
Clearly, Merlin is not a born servant in that his clumsiness is a tremendous obstacle in the way of him being able to do the job immaculately, though Arthur has become accustomed to a good deal less than perfection. Upon a moment's fleeting thought, Arthur deems that servant is not quite the role that Merlin appears to fit into in life. From his front and mannerisms, Merlin holds himself as though he is Arthur's equal, of a similar standing and Arthur cannot help but imagine Merlin as a noble.
Merlin would obviously belong to a land that is not on Camelot's boarders, there is something entirely foreign about him, his attitude not fitting of Camelot at all really. Like a social butterfly, Merlin appreciates the freedom to flit wherever, he would be known to the royals in the regions for his eccentricities, his openness and blatant sympathies, and eventually Arthur would hear of the prince who roams among the people and calms their frustrations with rationality, a kind and plain speaker. It would also reach his father's ears, and a gracious welcome will be sent across the land to invite Merlin to dine.
There will be a couple of months of silence before Merlin trudges into Camelot, unguarded and looking somewhat dishevelled, a smile on his face regardless of the hardship of trekking vast regions and kingdoms to get there. Due to his appearance, no one would believe him but Arthur would know when he came across him in the lower town because there's something about Merlin that will intrigue Arthur regardless of their incarnations. All things considered, Arthur imagines that he will try to take Merlin under his wing, an attempt at showing the strength and riches of Camelot, before Merlin declares that he is mightily unimpressed. Frustrated, Arthur should find himself scrapping against Merlin, despite knowing techniques that can maim a man within seconds, it will not end in any injuries but Arthur will have a newfound respect for Merlin.
After dining with the court, Merlin will be a fascination, his stories bringing laughter and Arthur won't fail to notice the looks that Merlin shares with Morgana, looks that speak volumes, long fat volumes that look like encyclopaedias, pages of endless words and informative diagrams. Arthur tries not to notice such things, knows that noticing them makes him more likely to trifle in them, but Merlin would do something completely endearing that would make Arthur want to intervene.
Merlin chooses that exact moment to pilfer a bit of bread from Arthur's tray and Arthur decides that Merlin's better off not being a noble. In ways, Merlin does not suit the crown, it would be too heavy upon his head, probably break his neck during the coronation. The thought makes Arthur laugh which then startles Merlin.
"What?"
"Don't speak with your mouth full, Merlin."
002 | a knight
Arthur is not precisely sure when it happened but he has found that Merlin has made some kind of affiliation with armour. Upon further consideration, it must be said that Merlin has probably spent more time with Arthur's armour, polishing it and whatnot, than Arthur has spent in it fighting. In a way, Merlin has an increasing attachment to it and has begun to show reluctance in handing it over and looks of forlorn when Arthur gives it back.
On lazy days, Sundays usually, Merlin squats on the rug with Arthur's armour, diligently scrubbing off dirt and polishing until it gleams by firelight. Arthur has papers to look over, policies to review, plans to make for his knights' training. Merlin makes thinking noises, reaction noises, little grunts of exertion; he hoiks up the main body of Arthur's armour, looks up to Arthur with eyes that almost seem to be searching for approval for his hard work.
The angle it is held is just right for it look as though Merlin wears the metal from Arthur's perspective and he wonders what it would be like were Merlin one of his knights. It is not such a preposterous idea, he thinks, for Merlin has some qualities that are benefitted of a knight of Camelot. There is no doubting that Merlin is brave, stupidly and frustratingly so, and Arthur cannot say that he does not have the kind of morals all his knights should have. The only thing Merlin lacks is the physique and discipline.
If Merlin were a knight, he would probably be the physically weakest among them. Arthur means it as no sort of insult, just plain truth, he has been training Merlin in the art of sword fighting and it is clear that Merlin is inept. His footwork is nonexistent, his defence weak, his attack not focussed for the fear of actually hurting his opponent.
No. If Merlin were a knight, he would probably the most loved among them. By having such a title, it opens up a vast array of opportunities, the way in which people view knights is something Arthur has not seen for a number of others. Merlin would be the knight that couldn't go through the market without people offering him tokens of food in thanks for his protecting the kingdom, though Merlin, being the kind-hearted sod that he is, would be giving the apples and sweet buns he receives to the children who run around him, hugging his legs, giggling as he played with them. The other knights would refrain from reading anything into it because they are only jealous that it is not they who receive the fruit and baked goods.
If Merlin were a knight, he would probably the one that Arthur worried about the most. There would be something in Merlin's eye once he is clad in armour, not a fear but an uncertainty, just that glimmer of doubt that causes Arthur concern more than anything. With Merlin, his bravery is that of selflessness and sacrifice and it would cause Arthur unease because he cannot wholeheartedly say that Merlin is strong enough for the toughness of war. There would be no hardness in his eyes telling Arthur that he would be strong enough to kill a man without breaking to pieces, torn by the skewed moral of it.
In the end, Arthur imagines that if Merlin were a knight, he would probably be the one by his side, for Arthur would want him near in order to protect him.
003 | a blacksmith
Somewhere in the castle, deep and obscure to find, is a room full of Arthur's childhood things. It is as effective as a safe, and Arthur is sure that not many people are aware of its existence. Rather than a place of direction, it is a place to stumble across and it takes Merlin several tries to find it once he had heard word of it slip through Arthur's lips.
Merlin does not know what he expects to find, probably something that will explain Arthur's temperament, a lack of toys or an abundance of books-just something, proof that Arthur keeps secrets just as much as he does. Walking into it, Merlin feels a wave of nostalgia that isn't his; there are toys, there are books, there are clothes.
Occasionally, there are slight changes in the arrangement, toy soldiers will be positioned from regiments into lines, books will be laid open and switched between shelves, a sign that someone-Arthur, probably-has been here.
Arthur chances upon Merlin about three weeks after he suspects that Merlin knows about the room. When he does, Merlin is holding one of Arthur's first training swords, he does so in a way that is non-combative, purely inspective, bringing the blade across him and balanced flat on his opposite forearm. It seems as though Merlin is searching some fault, a chip, a jagged edge from where Arthur remembers battering it against a tree in a tantrum. Arthur recalls being seven and told that he would not be permitted to go on a hunt with the knights. He had been furious in that blinded way children are and took his anger out on the most beautiful oak. From where he stands, Arthur sees Merlin smile, hike down his sleeve to wipe across the blade as though that will smooth down the edge.
Pale fingers such as Merlin's have often been seen by the blades of swords. Arthur has seen Merlin be meticulous about his swords and initially, Arthur thought it to be a trick used to make him think that Merlin was taking his job seriously while slacking off but soon it was evident that Merlin actually meant it as he began detailing lists of concerns about Arthur's armour and weapons. Commenting on it once left Arthur surprised as Merlin replied with the most sincere of tones.
"I just want to make sure that you'll be safe."
And Arthur can believe that, can believe that Merlin would take no chances, would prefer to personally look over any construction and trial of weapon and shield, making sure that it would be more than suitable for Arthur's needs.
The only way Merlin could do that would be if he were a blacksmith and he spent his days making swords. They would be the most beautiful swords Arthur would ever have the chance of using, balanced and made for his specifications, weighty but not heavy, glamoured but tough enough for the wage of war. To be sure of its suitability, Merlin would request Arthur's attendance, welcoming him and warning him of the burning furnace, face and fingers smudged dark. Merlin retains his pale complexion regardless of conditions, Arthur has seen as much from hunts where the sun is scorching and yet Merlin is ever pasty, he imagines that even as a blacksmith, that wouldn't change as it is inherent as Merlin's nature.
As a blacksmith, Merlin's words would be rougher than his current country boy demeanour allows after having to deal with knights and people demanding the best of everything, everything down to their horses' shoes.
But Merlin would spend the most time making Arthur a sword, he would forge the metal time and time again, never happy with presenting it until it was perfect and his hands almost burnt.
Merlin's smile would never change, blinding white against the charcoal smears upon his cheek, and for part of his gratitude, Arthur would dust it off his face himself with the calloused pads of his own fingers.
004 | a girl
In situations where the brutish of men may falter, Merlin takes it well within the strides of his spindly legs. There have been many instances where someone has commented on the palette upon his visage, given him token flowers in passing, told him of the wonderful qualities that he has in such a way that would, had Arthur never met Merlin, make Arthur think that Merlin was some dainty frail, fragile of a thing.
Merlin accepts whatever compliments pass his way with the notion that unless they are plain in their intention, everyone around has an honest face. Thus far, it appears to be working for Merlin, his ability to spot dishonest faces effectively has saved their lives many time.
Perhaps there is something to all the allusions, there is a splendour in the way he moves, the fair colour dabbed around his mouth, wonder in his words. Arthur imagines that they could belong to a girl, a girl with the fieriest of spirits, the kind who would have whispers of her virtue following her and wouldn't care, would be equally fascinating as she was annoying.
Arthur is not in the habit of lying to himself, his whole life is based on the realities of his situation so he knows that it is for the best that he doesn't dream of things that weren't. From some of the details he has remembered, though he would prefer to forget, is that he tends to be stupid in love. Stupid in his gestures, in the things he says, in his declarations and thought processes that jump several steps. If Merlin were a girl, Arthur fancies that by now, he would have been captured by her.
It would be easier to admit, all the men Arthur knows love women and all the women love men, he knows no other way. Arthur also knows that princes marry princesses, knows that is what is expected of him but knights talk, talk in whispers of dark, secretive things, of servants and a disregard for class. There is so much fascination, lasciviciousness and indulgence, Arthur wouldn't quite know what to do with the information.
Stewing over it in his rooms, Arthur would itch with the contemplation of it all, imagine what he could do with it, wonder how he really felt about it. Merlin times her entrance in the worst of ways, huffing around with clean bed sheets tugged around her like a cloak, huffing her irritancy so hard that it makes her fringe fly.
"What's wrong?" Arthur would ask, of course he would ask, how could he not when she has such a look upon her that coerces him to ask.
"Nothing," she would reply, and Arthur would believe it if not for the slight tinge in her cheeks. Continuing on with her work, she would throw the sheets upon Arthur's bed, almost swiping him with it but he catches her wrist, small in his grip, halting her for a moment.
Ideas would form in Arthur's mind, things he couldn't put into words but his heart would ache honourably as it drowned in the covetousness that his eyes had been newly opened to. Merlin would meet his eyes, defiant as always but sinking, she'd rest her head upon his chest, defeat in her stance as she pleaded, "Arthur, please."
Arthur realises that he can't think any farther than this because Merlin is currently complaining about the upcoming feast and how tiring it will be for he has a slight nasal congestion and he threatens to sneeze in Arthur's wine pitcher if he is not given the night off; Merlin is far scrappier than any girl.
005 | a friend
Merlin moves a bishop across the board, a defensive move if Arthur's ever saw one, and Arthur cannot help but wonder how far off the road of liberties he and Merlin have gone if they are comfortably playing the game of kings. It appears that Merlin is pleased with himself, little dimples forming as he eyes all the remaining pieces. Arthur remembers when he used to enjoy chess because everyone he played was inadequate, then he found a joy in teaching Merlin, now it is more about the competition and how Merlin makes the most amusing faces during their games.
"Merlin, stop pulling that face, you're distracting me."
Dismissing the reprimand, Merlin leans forward and seemingly surveys the board, "This is fun, isn't it? Thank you for teaching me how to play."
"I wish I could say that you know how to play properly," Arthur makes a move. "The knight is not a horsey."
"I know that," Merlin says. "I named them after all the horses in the stable."
And that is such a Merlin thing to do, so endearing and foreign to any of the things Arthur has ever seen being done, almost as much as when Merlin is all pouty and petulant. Then Arthur recalls all the things he has ever heard of personal relations of the sordid kind, the kind between men where intimacies were close to the heart and under the sheets, and the only thing Arthur can consider in the moment is to disregard the game and ease the constrict in his chest with the sweet press of Merlin's lips. Arthur has to bite his own to refrain from ravishing Merlin there and then, scrunching his fists so tight he feels the dig of his nails in his palms, knowing that they'll leave crescent shaped marks that will remind him what his honour is for.
It is harder for Arthur to admit this time. To accost a woman, regardless of her acceptance will bear no lasting blemish should it spread, for his status as prince is considered flattering, but what would people think if Merlin were to tell? There is much uncertainty how his proposal would be received by Merlin and Arthur will not pretend that his pride is strong enough in such a respect that it wouldn't be wounded if he was met adversely.
"Arthur? It's your turn."
"I don't want to play anymore," Arthur stands, not quite knowing what he is intending to do once he is out of his chair but suffice to say, he will use his position as prince to explain that he can do anything he wishes.
"It's because I was winning, isn't it?" Merlin begins to pack away the pieces, clunks and clatters as they go back into the wooden box.
Arthur scoffs indignant, "No."
"Okay, then. What do you want to do?"
Arthur has to fight hard to think of something acceptable to say, his forefront thought is how lovely it would be for Merlin to skim his hand against any part of his body, how he would like to have a moment of selfishness that will soothe the restlessness he gets just being in close proximity with Merlin. Lost in his own indecisiveness, Arthur doesn't realise just how close Merlin is until all he can see is the striking blue, the sky around a full stop.
"Are you all right?"
Merlin smells like the faintest cedar wood and for all the exertion he puts into concentrating on what's happening, Arthur feels light-headedness from the whispers of Merlin's breath upon his cheek, some figure of Merlin being a woodchopper with an axe so big that he would struggle to lift above his shoulders slowly creeping into mind.
Arthur clears his throat, fills the awkward silence efficiently, and steps away. He firmly decides on what he is going to say because he cannot stand to have these little thoughts of Merlin, Merlins who are not the Merlin who stands before him, Merlins who are only half as captivating, especially when there's real Merlin there. Arthur reaches for Merlin's arm, grabs it at the crook of his elbow, moving his hand down so their palms brush and fingers haphazardly latch. Merlin does not seem to pull away, his fingers flex instead, tightening and comfortable, gives Arthur that extra push of confidence.
"I think about you all the time," Arthur cannot quite look in Merlin's eyes anymore, he focuses more on their hands, how a finger strokes stars on the back of his palm. "And I want… I want. I want."
For all the fantasising Arthur has been subjected to, he has never quite managed any futher than this point. The range of Merlin's reactions has been limited to recoils of disgust and laughs of ridicule. It probably says something about his mindset that reciprocation never occurs to him but Arthur doesn't have time to think of that in the present for Merlin is quickly pressed against his side, tentative and a little shy if the sudden clamminess between their hands is any indication.
"You can have," is Merlin's shaky reply and Arthur dare not act too fast upon his words in case he is mistaken. The three words are vague, though Arthur's two were also, and Arthur has forgotten to tell Merlin the most important part of all. This should last forever, they should grow old and rule the kingdom fair, and not for one second does Arthur imagine it all without Merlin. He sees the future in those eyes and Arthur captures it to keep with his lips.