Fic: I Hear the Bells (Merlin)
celli had a comment fic challenge in her journal today, and I participated. This is my first Merlin fic, and maybe the only thing I've written in 2008? So, I wanted to save it here. :)
I Hear the Bells
Merlin, Merlin/Arthur, ~670 words
The bells began to ring at midnight. The whole of Camelot sat up as one in their beds, blinking into the darkness and their new reality.
There are surely many concerns for a new king; his court would no doubt be swirling with advisors, anxious to impart their wisdom, people attempting to influence the decisions he would make or line their pockets. War loomed ever closer from the north, and the military would need a firm hand, decisive leadership during this transition. Innumerable demands on his time would find him come first light. For the moment, however, Arthur walked alone. He moved through the castle with slow, deliberate steps, his face cold as winter. Servants rounded corners and quickly backed away again, their eyes fearful and downcast. Whispers followed him like an echo or a trailing cloak.
The spiraling staircase along the eastern wall was deserted and dark; he carried no flame, but he knew this castle as well as his own limbs. When he reached the top, he sat on the top step, leaning against the wall. As a child, he'd played here, hiding from either Morgana or his father -- for vastly different reasons -- and for a single a moment, Arthur was that boy again. He could almost hear his own laughter ringing from the stone.
So lost was Arthur in this memory that he didn't hear the approaching footfalls, didn't notice the gradual light of the candle. It wasn't until Merlin dropped down on the step beside him that he realized he was no longer alone. He turned his head, angry, planning to order Merlin away, demanding a small measure of solitude before the mantle descended, but the look on Merlin's face stopped the words.
Merlin didn't look like the others in Camelot; he did not look frightened or timid or cunning (not that he ever did). There small, gentle smile on his face, and he looked to Arthur the way he always did: like his friend. Merlin looked away then, but moved closer, until their shoulders just touched. There was a tightening in Arthur's chest, and his eyes sparked with tears. Again, he thought to speak -- though he had no idea what he might have said, nor even if he could trust his voice -- but Merlin stopped him again. He licked his thumb and finger and extinguished the candle. Plunged once more into cool, quiet darkness, Arthur sighed in relief. Merlin was right; this was right.
He could feel Merlin's warmth against his shoulder, and the cold trails the tears left on his face. Without thinking, Arthur reached out, blind in the darkness. One hand found Merlin's chest, the other his hair. He felt Merlin jerk in surprise, but he still allowed himself to be turned. Sliding both hands up to cup Merlin's face, Arthur leaned in carefully, but the kiss still landed slightly askew, to the left of Merlin's lips. Arthur was a man of action, however, and correcting his attack was easily done. He'd meant it to be brief, he told himself, but the two of them fell into the kiss completely. There was nothing gentle to Merlin's mouth now; he returned the kiss with a heat Arthur had rarely seen, and it chased away any hint of cold in him. His hands shifted, his fingers buried in Merlin's hair, and Merlin clutched his shoulders as though he might stop.
When they finally broke apart, the sound of their panted breaths echoed in the darkness. He slowly withdrew his hands from Merlin's hair, dragging them down over his shoulders and trembling chest. Arthur shivered as the cold invaded the space between them. "Merlin," he began, his voice low and raw, sounding harsh to his own ears, but before he could continue, Merlin stood.
"I don't-- I just--," he stammered. He must have stepped back, his voice further away. "Long live the king," he said finally, and then he was gone.
And as the light of dawn began to break beyond the eastern walls of Camelot, the bells began to ring again.
I Hear the Bells
Merlin, Merlin/Arthur, ~670 words
The bells began to ring at midnight. The whole of Camelot sat up as one in their beds, blinking into the darkness and their new reality.
There are surely many concerns for a new king; his court would no doubt be swirling with advisors, anxious to impart their wisdom, people attempting to influence the decisions he would make or line their pockets. War loomed ever closer from the north, and the military would need a firm hand, decisive leadership during this transition. Innumerable demands on his time would find him come first light. For the moment, however, Arthur walked alone. He moved through the castle with slow, deliberate steps, his face cold as winter. Servants rounded corners and quickly backed away again, their eyes fearful and downcast. Whispers followed him like an echo or a trailing cloak.
The spiraling staircase along the eastern wall was deserted and dark; he carried no flame, but he knew this castle as well as his own limbs. When he reached the top, he sat on the top step, leaning against the wall. As a child, he'd played here, hiding from either Morgana or his father -- for vastly different reasons -- and for a single a moment, Arthur was that boy again. He could almost hear his own laughter ringing from the stone.
So lost was Arthur in this memory that he didn't hear the approaching footfalls, didn't notice the gradual light of the candle. It wasn't until Merlin dropped down on the step beside him that he realized he was no longer alone. He turned his head, angry, planning to order Merlin away, demanding a small measure of solitude before the mantle descended, but the look on Merlin's face stopped the words.
Merlin didn't look like the others in Camelot; he did not look frightened or timid or cunning (not that he ever did). There small, gentle smile on his face, and he looked to Arthur the way he always did: like his friend. Merlin looked away then, but moved closer, until their shoulders just touched. There was a tightening in Arthur's chest, and his eyes sparked with tears. Again, he thought to speak -- though he had no idea what he might have said, nor even if he could trust his voice -- but Merlin stopped him again. He licked his thumb and finger and extinguished the candle. Plunged once more into cool, quiet darkness, Arthur sighed in relief. Merlin was right; this was right.
He could feel Merlin's warmth against his shoulder, and the cold trails the tears left on his face. Without thinking, Arthur reached out, blind in the darkness. One hand found Merlin's chest, the other his hair. He felt Merlin jerk in surprise, but he still allowed himself to be turned. Sliding both hands up to cup Merlin's face, Arthur leaned in carefully, but the kiss still landed slightly askew, to the left of Merlin's lips. Arthur was a man of action, however, and correcting his attack was easily done. He'd meant it to be brief, he told himself, but the two of them fell into the kiss completely. There was nothing gentle to Merlin's mouth now; he returned the kiss with a heat Arthur had rarely seen, and it chased away any hint of cold in him. His hands shifted, his fingers buried in Merlin's hair, and Merlin clutched his shoulders as though he might stop.
When they finally broke apart, the sound of their panted breaths echoed in the darkness. He slowly withdrew his hands from Merlin's hair, dragging them down over his shoulders and trembling chest. Arthur shivered as the cold invaded the space between them. "Merlin," he began, his voice low and raw, sounding harsh to his own ears, but before he could continue, Merlin stood.
"I don't-- I just--," he stammered. He must have stepped back, his voice further away. "Long live the king," he said finally, and then he was gone.
And as the light of dawn began to break beyond the eastern walls of Camelot, the bells began to ring again.