Fic: this is what going mad feels like, (arthur/merlin), 1/1
Title: This Is What Going Mad Feels Like
Fandom: Merlin (TV Show)
Character/Pairing: Arthur Pendragon/Merlin
Rating: R
Genre: Drama
Summary: “So you know.” He thinks he sees the dragon nod. “Today keeps repeating itself.”
Length: 6,660 words
Status: Complete
This Is What Going Mad Feels Like
It must be a dream, Arthur thinks. Because this can’t be happening.
Itcan’tbehappening.itcan’tbehappening.itcan’tbehappening.
But it is happening. Merlin does have magic and he did just save Arthur’s life. And he definitely did just use magic to do it, right in front of Arthur’s father.
And then Uther is shouting, practically screaming and the Knights still have their swords drawn, dripping blood onto the grass and they turn them, pointing them at Merlin.
Arthur closes his fingers into a fist and the metal of his sword digs into his skin and it hurts. It hurts.
Uther orders them to charge, to kill him. Kill Merlin.
And even though Arthur runs, even though he has his own sword up and cutting, slicing blindly at these men, his men, it isn’t enough.
Use your magic. Use your fucking magic. But Merlin doesn’t and eventually Arthur’s pined to the ground, muscles straining against the hands of people Arthur taught to fight, taught to win.
He meets Merlin’s eyes, at the end. Looks into the red rimmed but still blue eyes and reads the goodbye. Merlin smiles, his dopey, wonky smile.
“No--”
There’s the sickening slide of metal through flesh, Merlin’s gurgled scream and Arthur’s cry and only when Merlin’s on the floor do they let him go.
Arthur scrambles on his knees to Merlin’s side, lifts Merlin’s head onto his lap, strips the gloves from his hands and presses them to the gaping wound through Merlin’s chest.
He knows it’s useless, futile because there’s just too much blood and the sword went all the way through. But, oh God.
“Merlin.” MerlinMerlinMerlin.
Merlin says nothing. And that, more than the blood, more than the satisfaction on his father’s face when Arthur looks up, tells him that Merlin is gone. The knowledge leaves Arthur cold.
“Burn the sorcerer .” Uther says and Arthur lets them take Merlin’s body from him. There’s no reason to stop them; they can’t hurt Merlin now. He stands slowly, muscles stiff and walks away.
He can’t bear to look at his father, but the King catches his wrist as he passes.
Arthur wrenches it from his grip and continues to where his horse is tethered. He refuses to look at Merlin’s horse, standing waiting beside Arthur’s.
A leisurely ride, that was all it was meant to be. Not this. It should never have come to this.
Back at the castle Arthur makes himself walk to Gaius’s rooms. He will not let his father have this.
Gaius ages in a matter of moments. Arthur drags a chair with one hand and pushes the old man into it with the other. He tries to apologise, tries to somehow make it better, but Gaius raises a hand and Arthur falls silent.
“Excuse me, Sire.” Gaius says after a few moments have passed. He rises and makes his way unsteadily to Merlin’s room. The sight makes Arthur’s heart pound.
“Gaius.” He says, standing. The physician pauses, but doesn’t turn. Arthur suspects it is so he can hide the tears that must be falling down his face. “My father will search there. Let me take the book.”
In other circumstances, at another time, Gaius would tense, Arthur is sure, to learn that Arthur knows so much that his manservant has tried to hide. But now he simply continues to Merlin’s room and disappears behind the door.
The book returns alone, floating erratically towards Arthur’s outstretched hand. This is another thing that he will not speak of, will not acknowledge and he turns on his heel and makes his way to his room.
He hides the book beneath a pillow on his bed. No matter how Arthur acted today, his father will not think to check there for anything like this. Arthur’s hand trembles as he caresses the soft leather of the cover. He is tired, his body exhausted from the fight with the bandits that eventually drew his father to their side. His stomach clenches and he wants nothing more than to fall into his bed, to forget the world exists. This world where Merlin is dead.
But he has more duties to perform, one more person to tell. As he leaves his rooms, he hears the sound of the King’s return. He hurries through the alleys of the town, desperate to reach Gwen before the news does.
He forces himself to sit down at her table and hold her hand while he tells her what has happened. He gathers her up against him when she crumples with her grief and even as he whispers nothing-words in her ear he can feel something inside him break loose; unsupported and fragile.
This morning Merlin was just his idiot manservant. He stumbled with the breakfast tray and tripped over Arthur’s shoes and then complained as though it wasn’t in fact his job to make sure none of Arthur’s clothes were left laying about. And he had a secret in his blue-gold eyes that Arthur wasn’t supposed to know about. And sometimes when he smiled, he made Arthur’s palms clammy and his heart race.
Arthur leaves Gwen tucked up in her bed and wishes he had the power, the magic to send her into a deep dreamless sleep.
Before he reaches the castle, he borrows parchment and ink and writes a short letter; a note, and finds someone who will take it to Ealdor. One day he will go there himself and face the woman who treated him so kindly and tell her how her only son died. But not today.
The Knights he passes on the way back to his own rooms won’t meet his eyes. They turn in a swish of bright - blood - red and clear a path. Arthur sets his face and keeps on walking.
His rooms are warm, the fire lit and dinner spread out across the table. By his bed, a servant boy fiddles with a candle. Already, they have begun to fill the places Merlin occupied, mere hours since the forest.
The thought makes his anger burn white.
“Get out.” He says and the boy flinches. Arthur knows it isn’t the boys fault but at that moment he doesn’t care. Or perhaps, some distant quiet part of him thinks, he cares well enough to want the boy away before he lets his temper loose. “Out.”
The door bounces off the frame once before settling shut. Arthur closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He counts to ten, to twenty and when that doesn’t work he smiles grimly, eyes still closed and upends the table.
The wood crashes against the flagstones, the metal serving dishes clanging loudly, food thumping to the floor. It isn’t enough, Arthur thinks, lifting a chair up to chest height and flinging it against the wall; it splinters, small pieces of wood flying across the room. He flinches as something cuts his cheek and opens his eyes, reaching for another chair.
This one he smashes against a post of his bed, destroying it and gauging a chunk out of the post at the same time.
He continues on, throwing, kicking and punching his way around his room until finally he just stops.
Blood drips down his fingers, hot and sticky and there isn’t a piece of furniture left that he hasn’t torn apart in his rage. Except the bed.
Stripping himself - and he won’t think about Merlin’s fingers brushing his neck, untying the cords on his trousers - Arthur climbs onto his bed, brushing away the few stray slivers of wood and stone that have fallen on the covers.
He lays exposed on the top, burrows a hand beneath his pillow, leaving a smear of red across the fabric and pulls out the book.
He opens it and is unsurprised when he can understand nothing that is written there.
Beneath the layers of age and magic, the book smells like Merlin and Arthur closes it, pressing it tight to his chest. Turning onto his side he shuffles until the covers are around him. He keeps the book clasped tightly in his arms, protected from sight by the soft blankets.
Curling up, his thighs press up against the book and his nose settles just above it, so that he breathes it in with every breath.
Wake up, he thinks. WakeupWakeupWakeup.
One.
Arthur wakes up with a start, pushing away the memory of warm blood seeping through his fingers. He blinks against the low light of early morning and curses Merlin for forgetting to close his curtains again.
Merlin. He blinks and his mind flashes on the dream, so vivid and real. Merlin using his magic and Uther ordering him to be killed. Arthur opens his eyes wide but still he can see dream-Merlin smiling at him even as the sharp blade pierces through his back.
Arthur shudders. It isn’t the first time he’s dreamed of Merlin’s death. Ever since he began to unravel the mystery of his friend, Arthur has woken from many nightmares where he witnesses Merlin’s last breath. Sometimes, when magic has been the cause of yet another attempt to ruin Camelot, Arthur even dreams that he is the one to sentence Merlin. Those are always the worst.
But this latest one had been so real. Crystal clear. Arthur’s heart pounds in his chest and he pushes himself from the bed.
No matter how stupid it is, he has to see Merlin. Has to prove to his pounding heart that the idiot is still alive and well, probably lazing about in bed when he should be here, catering to his Master’s needs.
Arthur is just pulling on a fresh pair of trousers when his door opens and Merlin arrives, stumbling his way into the room.
He puts the breakfast tray down on the table, smiles at Arthur and promptly trips over one of Arthur’s shoes.
Arthur’s heart gives an odd little thump. Something dark passes across his mind but he shakes it off, grinning down at Merlin’s sprawled form.
“Still haven’t quite grasped the logistics of that old knee-walking bit, have you Merlin?” Merlin glares up at him.
“I suppose it’s too much to expect a hand up, your royal prattishness.”
Just to be contrary, Arthur reaches out and clasps Merlin’s wrist, dragging him to his feet.
Merlin huffs and takes a step back, tripping again but managing at the last moment to keep his balance.
“You know, Merlin, walking isn’t actually that hard a skill to grasp. Even small children manage it.”
Merlin glares at him again and starts to point wildly around the room.
“Well, if you weren’t such a complete slob Sire, then I wouldn’t keep tripping over all of your-- stuff.”
Arthur grins, showing teeth, because he loves this. Loves when Merlin completely forgets who Arthur is.
“And if only I had a servant who had an ounce of usefulness I could right now be enjoying my well deserved breakfast.” They glare at each other and then Merlin’s mouth twitches and they both break into laughter.
***
“I’ll ready the horses.” Merlin says later, when he’s finished straightening Arthur’s collar.
“Why?” Arthur asks, thoughts everywhere but where they probably should be. His skin still tingles where Merlin’s fingers brushed against it accidently.
“The ride.” Merlin says, looking at him blankly. “Yesterday, you said we should go for a ride.” He sounds hesitant and something clicks in Arthur’s memory.
Arthur swallows the last of the mead and sets the cup back on the table, shaking it a little to get Merlin’s attention.
“Haven’t you had enough?” Merlin asks, but he pours more of the amber liquid into Arthur’s cup.
“Merlin, Merlin, Merlin. One thing you will learn;” He says, with the air of someone with something very important to impart. “You can never have enough mead.” He laughs, swaying slightly in his chair and gulps down the drink, sloshing it as he does so. None of it leaves the cup except to go into his mouth. Strange that. Arthur glares drunkenly at Merlin.
“We should go out. Leave the castle.” He says, suddenly, filled with the need to get Merlin away from Camelot and the King before he does something stupid. “A ride.” He tries to click his fingers but they miss each other. He frowns at them before slowly picking up his train of thought. “Tomorrow, we’ll go for a ride, just you and me.”
Merlin looks at him weirdly. “You want to go hunting with me?” And if that were true, even drunk Arthur can kind of see where that would be weird.”
“Of course not.” He says, laughing. “You’re a terrible hunter.”
“Hey!” Merlin protests, even though he must know, he must.
“Just riding. See some of the outlying villages.” There, that sounds like something normal. Not like he’s trying to hide his magic manservant away. He flinches at his own thoughts and looks around quickly, checking that no one has heard him.
“Okay.” Merlin says, drawing the word out. Merlin’s mouth makes a pretty “o” shape--
Arthur shakes his head and forces his mind back to the present. Oh yeah, that’s the last time he drinks for a while.
“Right.” He says. “Of course. It’ll be fun.” He adds, because Merlin looks kind of slumped now that he thinks Arthur forgot. Which he did, but that’s not the point-- well he doesn’t really know what the point is, to be honest. It really was a lot of mead.
Merlin studies him. “Maybe we should stick to the forest.” He says eventually and another shiver travels through Arthur’s body; it feels like dread.
“Sure.” He waves Merlin away distractedly, wondering what it is that’s niggling at the back of his mind. Maybe the dream is affecting him more than he thought. He should probably see Gaius about getting one of the draughts he used to give to Morgana.
***
The day is slow, peaceful and for a moment Arthur forgets that Merlin is anything other than a friend as they talk like there are no social boundaries between them.
And if Arthur spends a little too long studying the curve of Merlin’s ear, well, Merlin is completely oblivious and there’s no one else around to see or care.
They ride back towards the castle at the same steady pace and Arthur keeps his head turned, watching Merlin while he talks, smiling slightly every time Merlin gesticulates too wildly and almost unseats himself. So the arrow that shoots past his ear seems to come from nowhere.
The second it whooshes past, Arthur jumps from his horse, sword drawn. Focused now, he listens to the forest, picks out the sounds of twigs cracking under foot, leaves rustling as they’re pushed aside.
He moves to Merlin’s side and pulls him down from his horse, places him between Arthur’s back and the animal. Merlin’s breath ghosts across his neck, but he’s concentrating too hard to do more than notice; his mind and body settling in to fight.
“I guess we’re hunting after all.” Merlin whispers and Arthur snorts.
The trees part with a strong gust of wind and Arthur knows that if he looked behind him now, Merlin’s eyes would be glowing. His pulse quickens.
As the wind continues to move between the trees, Arthur starts to see their attackers; there aren’t many of them, but even with Arthur’s skill, it won’t be an even fight. Merlin’s fingers close around Arthur’s free hand and he squeezes once before letting go.
Merlin, he thinks as the first man steps into the clearing. Don’t do anything stupid.
***
Merlin’s blood slides slickly between Arthur’s fingers. His head pounds, thump, thump, thump for every beat of his heart.
He knew this would happen. The dream-- he remembers this happening.
He looks down and Merlin’s eyes stare back at him, blue and empty. It has to be a dream, because he’s already lived this, in his dream and Merlin can’t be gone. He can’t.
The Knights reach out and lift Merlin’s body away from him. Arthur turns his eyes up to Uther. His father looks back at him with no regret.
***
Wake up, he thinks, curling up in his bed. Wake up and this time, don’t let him die.
Two.
Arthur wakes up with a start, pushing away the memory--
He sits up suddenly, feeling around wildly beside him for Merlin’s book, heart pounding in his chest. He can’t find it. But he can remember.
Hope follows him as he dresses and while he waits for Merlin to walk through the door, he picks up his shoes and moves them to the wardrobe. Maybe if he changes enough things now, none of what comes later will happen.
He waits, leaning against the wall, breath coming in sharp pants for Merlin to arrive.
It feels like an age before the door finally opens and Merlin, all long limbs and stumbling steps walks through it. Arthur lets out a long slow breath and pushes off from the wall.
He knots his fingers together behind his back to stop them from doing something silly, like reach out to touch Merlin, make sure that he’s real and whole and alive.
Merlin doesn’t see him straight away, frowning around at the room before placing the tray on the table. It’s probably been a long time since he’s seen the room so tidy, Arthur thinks and clears his throat.
Merlin spins around, wobbles and falls to the floor. Arthur blinks and tells himself that this is not a sign, that this is just Merlin being Merlin and tripping over his own two feet.
Even so, he reaches out and helps Merlin to his feet before either of them can say a word.
***
They don’t go riding. Arthur sends Merlin away with the day off and then follows him as he moves around the castle. He tells himself that it’s what he would do for anyone, if he thought they were in danger, but he can still feel Merlin’s blood between his fingers and maybe he just needs to see Merlin’s eyes blinking with life.
***
Merlin goes deep into the bowels of the castle. Arthur follows him, keeping to the shadows and staying far enough behind him not to be noticed. Not that Merlin would notice him anyway; Arthur’s been following him all day and he’s pretty sure that everyone in the castle has noticed except Merlin.
There’s a rush of noise, like giant wings and when a deep voice answers Merlin’s question, Arthur peeks out from where he’s hidden himself and gapes.
There’s a dragon. A bloody great dragon chained up beneath the castle. Who Merlin appears to be on quite friendly terms with, if the comfortable conversation and helping with casting spells is anything to go by.
He watches them for a while, feeling the heavy weight of Merlin’s magic as it fills up the cavern. Resting his head on his drawn up knees, Arthur realises that he has no idea how long has passed since he followed Merlin here. Maybe, being here, Merlin will be okay. Because even though the dragon (a dragon - Arthur still can’t quite wrap his mind around that and thinks that he’s going to have to have a talk with his father soon, when the sting of Merlin’s death-but-not-death has faded) has growled a few times, and even Arthur has felt its frustration, it doesn’t look like it’s about to eat Merlin.
He hears a sound behind him and Arthur’s head whips around, eyes widening in horror when he sees the man standing in the corridor.
“Sorcerer.” The man shouts and even though Arthur jumps up and Merlin turns to look at the sound, the man still reaches Merlin and plunges a knife into his heart.
As Merlin falls from the ledge, Arthur reaches him, hands clasping at nothing.
The dragon roars, the sound enough to shake the stone foundations, and its tail swings wildly as it rises up from its rock.
It clips Arthur and throws him into the wall. His head meets the stone with a crack and everything darkens.
Again. He thinks. I’ll get it right this time.
Three.
Arthur wakes up with a start.
He has Merlin clean out the stables. Merlin gets into a fight with someone bent on Camelot’s destruction. Arthur loses him to a falling beam.
Four.
The forth, fifth and sixth time Arthur relives the same day, Merlin still dies and Arthur starts to lose hope. Everything he tries (target practice all day until Merlin’s limbs are numb and slow and he can’t stop himself from tumbling off the castle’s battlements; locking him in his own bedroom but Merlin uses the time to practice magic and Uther finds him while he’s looking for Gaius; leaving Merlin alone all day so Arthur is no influence, except Merlin goes to the forest and he’s no match for the bandits alone even with his magic. The King brings his body home cloaked in a red cape), nothing works.
Seven.
Arthur walks away from the Knights, knowing what they will do with Merlin’s body. Knowing already the way the smoke will rise up high until he can see it from his room in the castle. How it will fill the air with its acrid scent and Arthur will know that all that’s left of Merlin is ashes and a magic book.
He passes Uther, his face turned away. He won’t look at him. Eight times they’ve done this, eight times and not once has Uther shown regret. Not even for the times that Merlin has died without magic playing a part.
“Arthur--” Arthur stops, his whole body stilling.
“When you die.” He says, not knowing where the words are coming from, only that they’re the truth somehow and pulled from somewhere dark inside him. “When you die, I hope I’ll be on the other side of the knife.”
Eight.
“Do you believe in fate?” He asks Merlin. Merlin who is still alive at the moment but won’t be for very much longer.
“F-fate?” Merlin stutters. Arthur sighs and looks at him, brushing away the crumbs that have fallen on Merlin’s top from the bread.
“Yes, Merlin. Fate. And, you know-” He waves his hand idly. “Destiny.”
“Destiny!?” That is definitely a squeal. Arthur looks at him, looks at the fear blowing his pupils wide. Right, he thinks. Obviously there’s more to this than Arthur thought. “Why-why do you ask, Sire?”
Arthur sighs again and looks up at the sky. “Never mind, Merlin.”
Nine.
“Hey!” He yells into the cave. “Hey, Dragon!” He winces as the words echo back to him, but this is important so he keeps on. “As the Crown Prince of Camelot I order you to show yourself.”
Truthfully, he doesn’t actually expect that to work.
“Young Pendragon, I have been expecting you.” The dragon says after it has settled down on the rock, and the cave has stopped echoing the sound of its wings.
Arthur frowns. He isn’t even supposed to know about the dragon, how can it be expecting him? Arthur asks it.
The dragon laughs. “Oh, young Arthur. I, like you, am a child of magic.” He pauses and Arthur thinks that he’s going to think about that later, when he isn’t in the midst of some kind of time spell and trying to save Merlin’s life.
“So you know.” He thinks he sees the dragon nod. “Today keeps repeating itself.”
“You are smarter than some would have me believe.” The dragon says, and since Arthur knows that no one but Merlin has been talking to the dragon he’s pretty certain of who that ‘some’ is.
“How do I stop it?” Arthur asks, because he isn’t sure anymore how much longer he can do this. Can watch Merlin die again and again without breaking completely apart himself.
The dragon tilts its head. “There is something that men seek but rarely find. Something that has the power to free and to imprison. A blessing and a curse. That is what will free us from this spell.” The dragon says. “That will save the young warlock’s life.”
Arthur nods tightly, mind whirring over the riddle. His heart pounds as a possible answer comes to him.
“Love.”
“Perhaps.”
“Truth then.”
The dragon extends its wings, beating them as it rises from the rock. “You will make a strong King some day, young Prince.” Arthur watches him fly away knowing that he has the answers now.
He makes his way up through the dungeons and can already smell the smoke by the time he reaches the Throne Room. His heart wrenches painfully and he diverts his steps to Gaius’s rooms.
Ten.
“I love you.” Arthur says and waits.
Merlin smiles, turning on his horse to look at him. “I didn’t think you hit your head that hard earlier.” Merlin says and for a moment Arthur’s embarrassment - he’s a Prince for God’s sake, shouldn’t he be able to avoid a few low hanging branches even if Merlin proves to be a great distraction? - overrides his need for Merlin to know.
He looks away from Merlin and hears his horse speed up.
The arrow comes from nowhere and exactly where Arthur knows it will.
There’s a thump that Arthur knows is Merlin hitting the floor. His blood pounds in his head and he fights like he’s never fought before. Slashing and cutting until his Father arrives with the Knights and then Arthur drops his sword.
He falls to his knees beside Merlin’s head and looks down into gold-blue eyes. He bites his lip, knowing it’s too late now for Merlin’s magic.
Somehow Arthur manages a small smile, nodding his acceptance of everything that Merlin is, even as he slips his fingers between Merlin’s, resting their joined hands against the damp moss on the ground.
Merlin’s last breaths gurgle out of him, and he has his wonky smile on his face.
“I love you.” Arthur whispers and closes Merlin’s eyes.
Eleven.
“Arthur-what--” Arthur tugs Merlin closer by his hips.
“Shh.” He says, lips tingling where they brush against Merlin’s. “Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll stop.”
Merlin says nothing.
“Good.” Arthur says and presses his lips to Merlin’s jaw. “That’s good.”
“Yeah?” Merlin’s voice is faint and breathy and they’re standing so close together that Arthur can feel Merlin’s heart beating fast and strong next to his own.
“Yeah.” He agrees and closes his teeth over the soft skin at he point where Merlin’s jaw meets his neck. His fingers scrabble with the blue scarf and he lets out a triumphant hum when it finally pulls free. He flings it away from them, uncaring where it lands.
And then hesitant hands reach for him; long cool fingers slip beneath his top.
“Arthur.” Merlin moans and his fingers slid up the trail of hairs across Arthur’s belly. Arthur groans, arching against the touch, feeling the fingertips press harder against his skin.
Oh God, he thinks and then, don’t stop.
“Merlin. Please- Merlin!” He doesn’t even know what it is he's begging for, doesn’t even care that he, Crown Prince of Camelot is begging his manservant for anything. Because Merlin turns his head, and then he kisses Arthur and Arthur can barely care about anything except for Merlin’s lips on his own.
There’s a vague moment of thinking that he should be in control here, should feel guilty about having a position of power of Merlin, but Merlin backs him up against his bedroom wall and it would seem that the rules don’t apply here at all.
Merlin pushes a thigh between Arthur’s legs, his knee pressing up and rubbing. Arthur’s aware of whimpering and he’s only hopeful that it is at least a whimper fit for a Prince because he doubts with the way that Merlin just keeps pressing himself against Arthur, that it’ll be the only whimper he releases this morning.
Merlin’s fingers travel back down his body, eventually dipping beneath the waistband of his trousers and Arthur’s head falls back against the stone with a thump.
Oh God he thinks. And MerlinMerlinMerlin.
***
Later, after they make it to the bed and then later still when Arthur has finished lazily licking at the skin between his fingers, he turns to Merlin and tells him he loves him, certain for once that he has finally gotten it right.
Merlin’s eyes blow wide and Arthur thinks it’s with acceptance and sure, a little bit of disbelief is understandable. But then Merlin sits up in Arthur’s bed, the covers pooling at his waist and the look he shoots at Arthur is so far from acceptance and joy that Arthur feels his heart freeze in his chest.
“Merlin.” He says, and that quiet voice can’t be Arthur’s, surely.
Merlin turns his face away, then his body, perching on the edge of the bed his back straight with tension.
“Arthur, I-there’s something I have to--.” He cuts himself off, the bed shaking with the trembles that overtake him.
“Merlin!” Arthur sits up, honestly worried. He lays a hand against the smooth white skin of Merlin’s back and Merlin flinches away. Arthur’s hand drops back to the bed.
“I-I have to go.” Merlin says, jumping up and scrambling around the room collecting his clothing. Arthur watches him, eyes wide and heart pounding loudly in his ears.
Time seems to jump forward (and after everything that Arthur’s seen lately, he can’t be sure that that’s not exactly what happens) and Merlin is fully dressed and standing at Arthur’s door.
“I’m sorry.” He says and then disappears behind the closing door.
Arthur stares after him for a moment, maybe two, before the smell of smoke haunts his nose and Arthur’s up and dressing faster than he ever has in his life.
He runs through the castle like they’re under attack and he’s dimly aware of Gwen calling his name as he rushes past her.
He doesn’t stop until he’s at the entrance to the forest and even with the head start he’d been given, Arthur knows that Merlin isn’t too far ahead, because he can hear the destruction he’s wreaking on the poor plant life as he runs.
From me, Arthur thinks and takes off after him.
He reaches the clearing moments after the bandits. He didn’t grab his sword when he left his rooms and he isn’t a match for them weaponless.
He’s come out of the dense wood behind Merlin and so he doesn’t have the insight into the colour of Merlin’s eyes to prepare him.
Merlin throws his arms out wide and an arc of bright white springs out of them. It’s like a ripple in water and it spreads out in a circle around Merlin, a powerful force pushing back everything in its path. There’s no way for Arthur to escape it and he is pushed back and flung out by it along with everyone else.
He hits the ground hard, winded and with his head on the ground realises that the King has arrived on time again and seen everything.
It’s quick and the sunlight that bounces off the sword is bright enough to leave a lasting imprint on Arthur’s eyes.
He crawls to Merlin’s body, his wrist and ribs protesting every time he moves.
Pressing his face into his dead lover’s chest, Arthur screams.
Twelve.
He thinks he might be broken.
Because when the sorcerer - long white hair and bright blue eyes - appears in his rooms, Arthur doesn’t so much as blink.
Merlin is dead again. Arthur didn’t even try this time. He turned his horse back before they entered the clearing and told Merlin he would catch up, part of him hoping Merlin would use his magic if he was on his own, and use it fast enough that Uther wouldn’t see, the other part knowing he did it because he is a coward and he can’t bear to fail again.
“Your time is running out.” The sorcerer says and Arthur thinks this is the funniest thing he has heard in weeks.
“I have nothing but time.” He says and reaches for his cup.
The sorcerer shakes his head and Arthur squints at him, wondering why the man looks sad. Maybe he knows (knew) Merlin too.
“You have one more chance, Arthur.” Arthur frowns at the informal address. “You must not fail.” And then he disappears.
“Tell me how!” Arthur shouts at nothing and throws his cup through the place the man had stood.
Thirteen.
They’re coming up to the clearing again and Merlin is chattering about the same thing he has been nattering on about for fourteen days and since he woke up sober this morning and remembered the strange sorcerer’s words, Arthur has had the feeling deep inside that whatever happens today is going to stick. He’ll be damned (and now he thinks he knows a little of what that feels like) if the last conversation he ever has with Merlin is about bloody holes in his socks.
“I know about your magic.” Arthur says and then blinks, his mouth dropping open. He hadn’t meant to say that.
Merlin freezes, completely and totally freezes and his horse pulls up fast. Arthur guides his own horse up beside him and then stills, looking at Merlin and waiting.
Merlin doesn’t deny it. In fact, Merlin doesn’t do anything at all. And then, finally, he swallows; his throat working hard as though trying to force something large down it.
“Arthur, I--”
“I know.” Arthur says, and reaches out with one gloved hand to clasp Merlin’s wrist. “And it doesn’t matter.”
Merlin turns to look at him. Eyes wide and body trembling and Arthur has a painful flashback.
“It doesn’t matter.” He says again and it comes out harsher than he intended, but it pushes back the fear curling around his stomach.
Merlin opens his mouth but Arthur squeezes Merlin’s wrist and he falls silent.
“I need you to trust me Merlin.” Arthur’s eyes flicker around at the trees before coming back and locking onto Merlin’s. “Soon, seven men are going to burst into that clearing.” He points through the trees in front of them. Merlin’s eyes jerkily follow his arm’s movement.
“They’re going to be heavily armed with bows and swords and I’ll maybe take out three and you’ll knock one unconscious with a falling tree branch.” Merlin flinches and Arthur files that away to think about later. “But there’s still going to be at least three standing and then you’re going to use your magic and my father and the Knights are going to see what you are.”
He pauses, giving Merlin time, studying his eyes to make sure it’s all going in and that Merlin believes him.
“And then you’re going to die.” He says and squeezes Merlin’s wrist again, tighter than ever, before letting go. “And there isn’t anything I’ll be able to do to stop it.”
There’s silence but Arthur still can’t hear the sound of approaching feet, so he knows that it only appears to go on as long as it feels, and then;
“How do you know?” Arthur breathes a sigh of relief and takes Merlin’s wrist in his hand again.
“Because I’ve seen it.” He says, and Merlin eyes flick to the side like he’s remembering something. “Merlin. I’ve lived this day thirteen times already. And every single time you die.” Merlin’s nod probably has less to do with understanding than with shock.
“And the dragon told me that there was only two possible ways to end this and I tried, I really tried but you just kept on dying.” His words come out hurried now. “And then he turned up and he said this was my last chance and you were talking about socks and that’s really not a good thing to have as your last words and--”
Merlin cuts him off with his lips and it’s so familiar that Arthur opens his mouth and traces Merlin’s lips with his tongue before realising that for Merlin, this is the first time they’ve done this.
He pulls back and meets Merlin’s open eyes. There’s a ring of gold around the blue.
Merlin mutters something in a language that Arthur doesn’t understand but would bet his last crown is the same language as Merlin’s magic book, Merlin’s eyes glow a rich gold and then the world around them starts to blur.
“What are you doing?” Arthur asks when Merlin’s eyes return to blue, with only the faintest traces of gold running through them. He realises he’s still close enough to Merlin to feel his breath puff against his cheek.
“I’ve taken us out of time.” Merlin says, like people are often pulled out of time in the middle of a forest when they’re already in the middle of a fourteen day time loop.
His instinct is to ask you can do that? like a little boy, but he cuts the question off before he can give it voice.
He licks his lips and tastes Merlin.
“What about--”
Merlin reaches over and pushes Arthur’s hair off of his forehead. Arthur scowls at him and shakes his head so that the hair falls back into his eyes. He isn’t a girl.
Merlin smiles his wonky dopey smile and Arthur’s breath hitches.
“It’s okay. I’m going to hold us here until it’s safe for us to go back to the castle.”
Arthur shakes his head again, feeling desperate.
“No!” He says. “You’ll still die! There’ll be a fire or one of the suits of armour will fall over and you’ll be pinned with a sword or you’ll trip over your own feet again and crack your head open on the wall--”
“Okay. Okay, Arthur, calm down.” Arthur pants but nods his head, forcing himself into come semblance of control. It has been a long (fourteen days long) day.
“Arthur, I can hold us here for a long time.” Merlin says and Arthur feels the first stirring of hope. “We’ll stay here until the sun rises again.”
“And in the meantime?” Because there is nothing but the two of them and their horses here.
Merlin looks at him, tilting his head to the side like he's studing him.
“You’ve spoken to the dragon?” He sounds faintly accusing.
“I think you’ll find.” Arthur says, tugging at his chainmail. “That the more pertinent question is why you never saw fit to tell me that there was a huge talking dragon in the bowels of my castle.”
Merlin has the decency at least, to blush.
***
Arthur wakes up with a start. For a moment he freezes, his entire body tense and waiting. Pleasepleaseplease.
Behind him, something shifts and then an arm wraps around his waist, dragging his body back and into something soft and warm.
Grass rubs against Arthur’s skin as he moves and he starts to hear things over the pounding of blood in his ears; birds chirp high up above him and somewhere to his left a horse snickers.
Light bursts across his eyes and he clenches them shut.
We did it, he thinks and pulls himself out of Merlin’s loose hold. He sits up beside his friend, lover, servant, sorcerer and pulls his knees up to his chest.
This is only the beginning, he knows, because they might have fixed whatever this was, but Merlin is a sorcerer and Uther has proven eight times over that he will not tolerate that even in Arthur’s defense.
Arthur only hopes it won’t come to this again. Nothing at all like this.
He looks up and sees the white haired sorcerer standing beside an old, twisted oak tree. The man flicks his eyes between Arthur and Merlin before nodding, his long beard catching in a wind that isn’t really there. He disappears silently and Arthur hears a whisper in the air that sounds like well done and my Prince.
Arthur looks at Merlin - young and alive, snoring slightly in his sleep with his ear pressed against Arthur’s thigh - and laughs.
End.
Fandom: Merlin (TV Show)
Character/Pairing: Arthur Pendragon/Merlin
Rating: R
Genre: Drama
Summary: “So you know.” He thinks he sees the dragon nod. “Today keeps repeating itself.”
Length: 6,660 words
Status: Complete
This Is What Going Mad Feels Like
It must be a dream, Arthur thinks. Because this can’t be happening.
Itcan’tbehappening.itcan’tbehappening.itcan’tbehappening.
But it is happening. Merlin does have magic and he did just save Arthur’s life. And he definitely did just use magic to do it, right in front of Arthur’s father.
And then Uther is shouting, practically screaming and the Knights still have their swords drawn, dripping blood onto the grass and they turn them, pointing them at Merlin.
Arthur closes his fingers into a fist and the metal of his sword digs into his skin and it hurts. It hurts.
Uther orders them to charge, to kill him. Kill Merlin.
And even though Arthur runs, even though he has his own sword up and cutting, slicing blindly at these men, his men, it isn’t enough.
Use your magic. Use your fucking magic. But Merlin doesn’t and eventually Arthur’s pined to the ground, muscles straining against the hands of people Arthur taught to fight, taught to win.
He meets Merlin’s eyes, at the end. Looks into the red rimmed but still blue eyes and reads the goodbye. Merlin smiles, his dopey, wonky smile.
“No--”
There’s the sickening slide of metal through flesh, Merlin’s gurgled scream and Arthur’s cry and only when Merlin’s on the floor do they let him go.
Arthur scrambles on his knees to Merlin’s side, lifts Merlin’s head onto his lap, strips the gloves from his hands and presses them to the gaping wound through Merlin’s chest.
He knows it’s useless, futile because there’s just too much blood and the sword went all the way through. But, oh God.
“Merlin.” MerlinMerlinMerlin.
Merlin says nothing. And that, more than the blood, more than the satisfaction on his father’s face when Arthur looks up, tells him that Merlin is gone. The knowledge leaves Arthur cold.
“Burn the sorcerer .” Uther says and Arthur lets them take Merlin’s body from him. There’s no reason to stop them; they can’t hurt Merlin now. He stands slowly, muscles stiff and walks away.
He can’t bear to look at his father, but the King catches his wrist as he passes.
Arthur wrenches it from his grip and continues to where his horse is tethered. He refuses to look at Merlin’s horse, standing waiting beside Arthur’s.
A leisurely ride, that was all it was meant to be. Not this. It should never have come to this.
Back at the castle Arthur makes himself walk to Gaius’s rooms. He will not let his father have this.
Gaius ages in a matter of moments. Arthur drags a chair with one hand and pushes the old man into it with the other. He tries to apologise, tries to somehow make it better, but Gaius raises a hand and Arthur falls silent.
“Excuse me, Sire.” Gaius says after a few moments have passed. He rises and makes his way unsteadily to Merlin’s room. The sight makes Arthur’s heart pound.
“Gaius.” He says, standing. The physician pauses, but doesn’t turn. Arthur suspects it is so he can hide the tears that must be falling down his face. “My father will search there. Let me take the book.”
In other circumstances, at another time, Gaius would tense, Arthur is sure, to learn that Arthur knows so much that his manservant has tried to hide. But now he simply continues to Merlin’s room and disappears behind the door.
The book returns alone, floating erratically towards Arthur’s outstretched hand. This is another thing that he will not speak of, will not acknowledge and he turns on his heel and makes his way to his room.
He hides the book beneath a pillow on his bed. No matter how Arthur acted today, his father will not think to check there for anything like this. Arthur’s hand trembles as he caresses the soft leather of the cover. He is tired, his body exhausted from the fight with the bandits that eventually drew his father to their side. His stomach clenches and he wants nothing more than to fall into his bed, to forget the world exists. This world where Merlin is dead.
But he has more duties to perform, one more person to tell. As he leaves his rooms, he hears the sound of the King’s return. He hurries through the alleys of the town, desperate to reach Gwen before the news does.
He forces himself to sit down at her table and hold her hand while he tells her what has happened. He gathers her up against him when she crumples with her grief and even as he whispers nothing-words in her ear he can feel something inside him break loose; unsupported and fragile.
This morning Merlin was just his idiot manservant. He stumbled with the breakfast tray and tripped over Arthur’s shoes and then complained as though it wasn’t in fact his job to make sure none of Arthur’s clothes were left laying about. And he had a secret in his blue-gold eyes that Arthur wasn’t supposed to know about. And sometimes when he smiled, he made Arthur’s palms clammy and his heart race.
Arthur leaves Gwen tucked up in her bed and wishes he had the power, the magic to send her into a deep dreamless sleep.
Before he reaches the castle, he borrows parchment and ink and writes a short letter; a note, and finds someone who will take it to Ealdor. One day he will go there himself and face the woman who treated him so kindly and tell her how her only son died. But not today.
The Knights he passes on the way back to his own rooms won’t meet his eyes. They turn in a swish of bright - blood - red and clear a path. Arthur sets his face and keeps on walking.
His rooms are warm, the fire lit and dinner spread out across the table. By his bed, a servant boy fiddles with a candle. Already, they have begun to fill the places Merlin occupied, mere hours since the forest.
The thought makes his anger burn white.
“Get out.” He says and the boy flinches. Arthur knows it isn’t the boys fault but at that moment he doesn’t care. Or perhaps, some distant quiet part of him thinks, he cares well enough to want the boy away before he lets his temper loose. “Out.”
The door bounces off the frame once before settling shut. Arthur closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He counts to ten, to twenty and when that doesn’t work he smiles grimly, eyes still closed and upends the table.
The wood crashes against the flagstones, the metal serving dishes clanging loudly, food thumping to the floor. It isn’t enough, Arthur thinks, lifting a chair up to chest height and flinging it against the wall; it splinters, small pieces of wood flying across the room. He flinches as something cuts his cheek and opens his eyes, reaching for another chair.
This one he smashes against a post of his bed, destroying it and gauging a chunk out of the post at the same time.
He continues on, throwing, kicking and punching his way around his room until finally he just stops.
Blood drips down his fingers, hot and sticky and there isn’t a piece of furniture left that he hasn’t torn apart in his rage. Except the bed.
Stripping himself - and he won’t think about Merlin’s fingers brushing his neck, untying the cords on his trousers - Arthur climbs onto his bed, brushing away the few stray slivers of wood and stone that have fallen on the covers.
He lays exposed on the top, burrows a hand beneath his pillow, leaving a smear of red across the fabric and pulls out the book.
He opens it and is unsurprised when he can understand nothing that is written there.
Beneath the layers of age and magic, the book smells like Merlin and Arthur closes it, pressing it tight to his chest. Turning onto his side he shuffles until the covers are around him. He keeps the book clasped tightly in his arms, protected from sight by the soft blankets.
Curling up, his thighs press up against the book and his nose settles just above it, so that he breathes it in with every breath.
Wake up, he thinks. WakeupWakeupWakeup.
One.
Arthur wakes up with a start, pushing away the memory of warm blood seeping through his fingers. He blinks against the low light of early morning and curses Merlin for forgetting to close his curtains again.
Merlin. He blinks and his mind flashes on the dream, so vivid and real. Merlin using his magic and Uther ordering him to be killed. Arthur opens his eyes wide but still he can see dream-Merlin smiling at him even as the sharp blade pierces through his back.
Arthur shudders. It isn’t the first time he’s dreamed of Merlin’s death. Ever since he began to unravel the mystery of his friend, Arthur has woken from many nightmares where he witnesses Merlin’s last breath. Sometimes, when magic has been the cause of yet another attempt to ruin Camelot, Arthur even dreams that he is the one to sentence Merlin. Those are always the worst.
But this latest one had been so real. Crystal clear. Arthur’s heart pounds in his chest and he pushes himself from the bed.
No matter how stupid it is, he has to see Merlin. Has to prove to his pounding heart that the idiot is still alive and well, probably lazing about in bed when he should be here, catering to his Master’s needs.
Arthur is just pulling on a fresh pair of trousers when his door opens and Merlin arrives, stumbling his way into the room.
He puts the breakfast tray down on the table, smiles at Arthur and promptly trips over one of Arthur’s shoes.
Arthur’s heart gives an odd little thump. Something dark passes across his mind but he shakes it off, grinning down at Merlin’s sprawled form.
“Still haven’t quite grasped the logistics of that old knee-walking bit, have you Merlin?” Merlin glares up at him.
“I suppose it’s too much to expect a hand up, your royal prattishness.”
Just to be contrary, Arthur reaches out and clasps Merlin’s wrist, dragging him to his feet.
Merlin huffs and takes a step back, tripping again but managing at the last moment to keep his balance.
“You know, Merlin, walking isn’t actually that hard a skill to grasp. Even small children manage it.”
Merlin glares at him again and starts to point wildly around the room.
“Well, if you weren’t such a complete slob Sire, then I wouldn’t keep tripping over all of your-- stuff.”
Arthur grins, showing teeth, because he loves this. Loves when Merlin completely forgets who Arthur is.
“And if only I had a servant who had an ounce of usefulness I could right now be enjoying my well deserved breakfast.” They glare at each other and then Merlin’s mouth twitches and they both break into laughter.
***
“I’ll ready the horses.” Merlin says later, when he’s finished straightening Arthur’s collar.
“Why?” Arthur asks, thoughts everywhere but where they probably should be. His skin still tingles where Merlin’s fingers brushed against it accidently.
“The ride.” Merlin says, looking at him blankly. “Yesterday, you said we should go for a ride.” He sounds hesitant and something clicks in Arthur’s memory.
Arthur swallows the last of the mead and sets the cup back on the table, shaking it a little to get Merlin’s attention.
“Haven’t you had enough?” Merlin asks, but he pours more of the amber liquid into Arthur’s cup.
“Merlin, Merlin, Merlin. One thing you will learn;” He says, with the air of someone with something very important to impart. “You can never have enough mead.” He laughs, swaying slightly in his chair and gulps down the drink, sloshing it as he does so. None of it leaves the cup except to go into his mouth. Strange that. Arthur glares drunkenly at Merlin.
“We should go out. Leave the castle.” He says, suddenly, filled with the need to get Merlin away from Camelot and the King before he does something stupid. “A ride.” He tries to click his fingers but they miss each other. He frowns at them before slowly picking up his train of thought. “Tomorrow, we’ll go for a ride, just you and me.”
Merlin looks at him weirdly. “You want to go hunting with me?” And if that were true, even drunk Arthur can kind of see where that would be weird.”
“Of course not.” He says, laughing. “You’re a terrible hunter.”
“Hey!” Merlin protests, even though he must know, he must.
“Just riding. See some of the outlying villages.” There, that sounds like something normal. Not like he’s trying to hide his magic manservant away. He flinches at his own thoughts and looks around quickly, checking that no one has heard him.
“Okay.” Merlin says, drawing the word out. Merlin’s mouth makes a pretty “o” shape--
Arthur shakes his head and forces his mind back to the present. Oh yeah, that’s the last time he drinks for a while.
“Right.” He says. “Of course. It’ll be fun.” He adds, because Merlin looks kind of slumped now that he thinks Arthur forgot. Which he did, but that’s not the point-- well he doesn’t really know what the point is, to be honest. It really was a lot of mead.
Merlin studies him. “Maybe we should stick to the forest.” He says eventually and another shiver travels through Arthur’s body; it feels like dread.
“Sure.” He waves Merlin away distractedly, wondering what it is that’s niggling at the back of his mind. Maybe the dream is affecting him more than he thought. He should probably see Gaius about getting one of the draughts he used to give to Morgana.
***
The day is slow, peaceful and for a moment Arthur forgets that Merlin is anything other than a friend as they talk like there are no social boundaries between them.
And if Arthur spends a little too long studying the curve of Merlin’s ear, well, Merlin is completely oblivious and there’s no one else around to see or care.
They ride back towards the castle at the same steady pace and Arthur keeps his head turned, watching Merlin while he talks, smiling slightly every time Merlin gesticulates too wildly and almost unseats himself. So the arrow that shoots past his ear seems to come from nowhere.
The second it whooshes past, Arthur jumps from his horse, sword drawn. Focused now, he listens to the forest, picks out the sounds of twigs cracking under foot, leaves rustling as they’re pushed aside.
He moves to Merlin’s side and pulls him down from his horse, places him between Arthur’s back and the animal. Merlin’s breath ghosts across his neck, but he’s concentrating too hard to do more than notice; his mind and body settling in to fight.
“I guess we’re hunting after all.” Merlin whispers and Arthur snorts.
The trees part with a strong gust of wind and Arthur knows that if he looked behind him now, Merlin’s eyes would be glowing. His pulse quickens.
As the wind continues to move between the trees, Arthur starts to see their attackers; there aren’t many of them, but even with Arthur’s skill, it won’t be an even fight. Merlin’s fingers close around Arthur’s free hand and he squeezes once before letting go.
Merlin, he thinks as the first man steps into the clearing. Don’t do anything stupid.
***
Merlin’s blood slides slickly between Arthur’s fingers. His head pounds, thump, thump, thump for every beat of his heart.
He knew this would happen. The dream-- he remembers this happening.
He looks down and Merlin’s eyes stare back at him, blue and empty. It has to be a dream, because he’s already lived this, in his dream and Merlin can’t be gone. He can’t.
The Knights reach out and lift Merlin’s body away from him. Arthur turns his eyes up to Uther. His father looks back at him with no regret.
***
Wake up, he thinks, curling up in his bed. Wake up and this time, don’t let him die.
Two.
Arthur wakes up with a start, pushing away the memory--
He sits up suddenly, feeling around wildly beside him for Merlin’s book, heart pounding in his chest. He can’t find it. But he can remember.
Hope follows him as he dresses and while he waits for Merlin to walk through the door, he picks up his shoes and moves them to the wardrobe. Maybe if he changes enough things now, none of what comes later will happen.
He waits, leaning against the wall, breath coming in sharp pants for Merlin to arrive.
It feels like an age before the door finally opens and Merlin, all long limbs and stumbling steps walks through it. Arthur lets out a long slow breath and pushes off from the wall.
He knots his fingers together behind his back to stop them from doing something silly, like reach out to touch Merlin, make sure that he’s real and whole and alive.
Merlin doesn’t see him straight away, frowning around at the room before placing the tray on the table. It’s probably been a long time since he’s seen the room so tidy, Arthur thinks and clears his throat.
Merlin spins around, wobbles and falls to the floor. Arthur blinks and tells himself that this is not a sign, that this is just Merlin being Merlin and tripping over his own two feet.
Even so, he reaches out and helps Merlin to his feet before either of them can say a word.
***
They don’t go riding. Arthur sends Merlin away with the day off and then follows him as he moves around the castle. He tells himself that it’s what he would do for anyone, if he thought they were in danger, but he can still feel Merlin’s blood between his fingers and maybe he just needs to see Merlin’s eyes blinking with life.
***
Merlin goes deep into the bowels of the castle. Arthur follows him, keeping to the shadows and staying far enough behind him not to be noticed. Not that Merlin would notice him anyway; Arthur’s been following him all day and he’s pretty sure that everyone in the castle has noticed except Merlin.
There’s a rush of noise, like giant wings and when a deep voice answers Merlin’s question, Arthur peeks out from where he’s hidden himself and gapes.
There’s a dragon. A bloody great dragon chained up beneath the castle. Who Merlin appears to be on quite friendly terms with, if the comfortable conversation and helping with casting spells is anything to go by.
He watches them for a while, feeling the heavy weight of Merlin’s magic as it fills up the cavern. Resting his head on his drawn up knees, Arthur realises that he has no idea how long has passed since he followed Merlin here. Maybe, being here, Merlin will be okay. Because even though the dragon (a dragon - Arthur still can’t quite wrap his mind around that and thinks that he’s going to have to have a talk with his father soon, when the sting of Merlin’s death-but-not-death has faded) has growled a few times, and even Arthur has felt its frustration, it doesn’t look like it’s about to eat Merlin.
He hears a sound behind him and Arthur’s head whips around, eyes widening in horror when he sees the man standing in the corridor.
“Sorcerer.” The man shouts and even though Arthur jumps up and Merlin turns to look at the sound, the man still reaches Merlin and plunges a knife into his heart.
As Merlin falls from the ledge, Arthur reaches him, hands clasping at nothing.
The dragon roars, the sound enough to shake the stone foundations, and its tail swings wildly as it rises up from its rock.
It clips Arthur and throws him into the wall. His head meets the stone with a crack and everything darkens.
Again. He thinks. I’ll get it right this time.
Three.
Arthur wakes up with a start.
He has Merlin clean out the stables. Merlin gets into a fight with someone bent on Camelot’s destruction. Arthur loses him to a falling beam.
Four.
The forth, fifth and sixth time Arthur relives the same day, Merlin still dies and Arthur starts to lose hope. Everything he tries (target practice all day until Merlin’s limbs are numb and slow and he can’t stop himself from tumbling off the castle’s battlements; locking him in his own bedroom but Merlin uses the time to practice magic and Uther finds him while he’s looking for Gaius; leaving Merlin alone all day so Arthur is no influence, except Merlin goes to the forest and he’s no match for the bandits alone even with his magic. The King brings his body home cloaked in a red cape), nothing works.
Seven.
Arthur walks away from the Knights, knowing what they will do with Merlin’s body. Knowing already the way the smoke will rise up high until he can see it from his room in the castle. How it will fill the air with its acrid scent and Arthur will know that all that’s left of Merlin is ashes and a magic book.
He passes Uther, his face turned away. He won’t look at him. Eight times they’ve done this, eight times and not once has Uther shown regret. Not even for the times that Merlin has died without magic playing a part.
“Arthur--” Arthur stops, his whole body stilling.
“When you die.” He says, not knowing where the words are coming from, only that they’re the truth somehow and pulled from somewhere dark inside him. “When you die, I hope I’ll be on the other side of the knife.”
Eight.
“Do you believe in fate?” He asks Merlin. Merlin who is still alive at the moment but won’t be for very much longer.
“F-fate?” Merlin stutters. Arthur sighs and looks at him, brushing away the crumbs that have fallen on Merlin’s top from the bread.
“Yes, Merlin. Fate. And, you know-” He waves his hand idly. “Destiny.”
“Destiny!?” That is definitely a squeal. Arthur looks at him, looks at the fear blowing his pupils wide. Right, he thinks. Obviously there’s more to this than Arthur thought. “Why-why do you ask, Sire?”
Arthur sighs again and looks up at the sky. “Never mind, Merlin.”
Nine.
“Hey!” He yells into the cave. “Hey, Dragon!” He winces as the words echo back to him, but this is important so he keeps on. “As the Crown Prince of Camelot I order you to show yourself.”
Truthfully, he doesn’t actually expect that to work.
“Young Pendragon, I have been expecting you.” The dragon says after it has settled down on the rock, and the cave has stopped echoing the sound of its wings.
Arthur frowns. He isn’t even supposed to know about the dragon, how can it be expecting him? Arthur asks it.
The dragon laughs. “Oh, young Arthur. I, like you, am a child of magic.” He pauses and Arthur thinks that he’s going to think about that later, when he isn’t in the midst of some kind of time spell and trying to save Merlin’s life.
“So you know.” He thinks he sees the dragon nod. “Today keeps repeating itself.”
“You are smarter than some would have me believe.” The dragon says, and since Arthur knows that no one but Merlin has been talking to the dragon he’s pretty certain of who that ‘some’ is.
“How do I stop it?” Arthur asks, because he isn’t sure anymore how much longer he can do this. Can watch Merlin die again and again without breaking completely apart himself.
The dragon tilts its head. “There is something that men seek but rarely find. Something that has the power to free and to imprison. A blessing and a curse. That is what will free us from this spell.” The dragon says. “That will save the young warlock’s life.”
Arthur nods tightly, mind whirring over the riddle. His heart pounds as a possible answer comes to him.
“Love.”
“Perhaps.”
“Truth then.”
The dragon extends its wings, beating them as it rises from the rock. “You will make a strong King some day, young Prince.” Arthur watches him fly away knowing that he has the answers now.
He makes his way up through the dungeons and can already smell the smoke by the time he reaches the Throne Room. His heart wrenches painfully and he diverts his steps to Gaius’s rooms.
Ten.
“I love you.” Arthur says and waits.
Merlin smiles, turning on his horse to look at him. “I didn’t think you hit your head that hard earlier.” Merlin says and for a moment Arthur’s embarrassment - he’s a Prince for God’s sake, shouldn’t he be able to avoid a few low hanging branches even if Merlin proves to be a great distraction? - overrides his need for Merlin to know.
He looks away from Merlin and hears his horse speed up.
The arrow comes from nowhere and exactly where Arthur knows it will.
There’s a thump that Arthur knows is Merlin hitting the floor. His blood pounds in his head and he fights like he’s never fought before. Slashing and cutting until his Father arrives with the Knights and then Arthur drops his sword.
He falls to his knees beside Merlin’s head and looks down into gold-blue eyes. He bites his lip, knowing it’s too late now for Merlin’s magic.
Somehow Arthur manages a small smile, nodding his acceptance of everything that Merlin is, even as he slips his fingers between Merlin’s, resting their joined hands against the damp moss on the ground.
Merlin’s last breaths gurgle out of him, and he has his wonky smile on his face.
“I love you.” Arthur whispers and closes Merlin’s eyes.
Eleven.
“Arthur-what--” Arthur tugs Merlin closer by his hips.
“Shh.” He says, lips tingling where they brush against Merlin’s. “Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll stop.”
Merlin says nothing.
“Good.” Arthur says and presses his lips to Merlin’s jaw. “That’s good.”
“Yeah?” Merlin’s voice is faint and breathy and they’re standing so close together that Arthur can feel Merlin’s heart beating fast and strong next to his own.
“Yeah.” He agrees and closes his teeth over the soft skin at he point where Merlin’s jaw meets his neck. His fingers scrabble with the blue scarf and he lets out a triumphant hum when it finally pulls free. He flings it away from them, uncaring where it lands.
And then hesitant hands reach for him; long cool fingers slip beneath his top.
“Arthur.” Merlin moans and his fingers slid up the trail of hairs across Arthur’s belly. Arthur groans, arching against the touch, feeling the fingertips press harder against his skin.
Oh God, he thinks and then, don’t stop.
“Merlin. Please- Merlin!” He doesn’t even know what it is he's begging for, doesn’t even care that he, Crown Prince of Camelot is begging his manservant for anything. Because Merlin turns his head, and then he kisses Arthur and Arthur can barely care about anything except for Merlin’s lips on his own.
There’s a vague moment of thinking that he should be in control here, should feel guilty about having a position of power of Merlin, but Merlin backs him up against his bedroom wall and it would seem that the rules don’t apply here at all.
Merlin pushes a thigh between Arthur’s legs, his knee pressing up and rubbing. Arthur’s aware of whimpering and he’s only hopeful that it is at least a whimper fit for a Prince because he doubts with the way that Merlin just keeps pressing himself against Arthur, that it’ll be the only whimper he releases this morning.
Merlin’s fingers travel back down his body, eventually dipping beneath the waistband of his trousers and Arthur’s head falls back against the stone with a thump.
Oh God he thinks. And MerlinMerlinMerlin.
***
Later, after they make it to the bed and then later still when Arthur has finished lazily licking at the skin between his fingers, he turns to Merlin and tells him he loves him, certain for once that he has finally gotten it right.
Merlin’s eyes blow wide and Arthur thinks it’s with acceptance and sure, a little bit of disbelief is understandable. But then Merlin sits up in Arthur’s bed, the covers pooling at his waist and the look he shoots at Arthur is so far from acceptance and joy that Arthur feels his heart freeze in his chest.
“Merlin.” He says, and that quiet voice can’t be Arthur’s, surely.
Merlin turns his face away, then his body, perching on the edge of the bed his back straight with tension.
“Arthur, I-there’s something I have to--.” He cuts himself off, the bed shaking with the trembles that overtake him.
“Merlin!” Arthur sits up, honestly worried. He lays a hand against the smooth white skin of Merlin’s back and Merlin flinches away. Arthur’s hand drops back to the bed.
“I-I have to go.” Merlin says, jumping up and scrambling around the room collecting his clothing. Arthur watches him, eyes wide and heart pounding loudly in his ears.
Time seems to jump forward (and after everything that Arthur’s seen lately, he can’t be sure that that’s not exactly what happens) and Merlin is fully dressed and standing at Arthur’s door.
“I’m sorry.” He says and then disappears behind the closing door.
Arthur stares after him for a moment, maybe two, before the smell of smoke haunts his nose and Arthur’s up and dressing faster than he ever has in his life.
He runs through the castle like they’re under attack and he’s dimly aware of Gwen calling his name as he rushes past her.
He doesn’t stop until he’s at the entrance to the forest and even with the head start he’d been given, Arthur knows that Merlin isn’t too far ahead, because he can hear the destruction he’s wreaking on the poor plant life as he runs.
From me, Arthur thinks and takes off after him.
He reaches the clearing moments after the bandits. He didn’t grab his sword when he left his rooms and he isn’t a match for them weaponless.
He’s come out of the dense wood behind Merlin and so he doesn’t have the insight into the colour of Merlin’s eyes to prepare him.
Merlin throws his arms out wide and an arc of bright white springs out of them. It’s like a ripple in water and it spreads out in a circle around Merlin, a powerful force pushing back everything in its path. There’s no way for Arthur to escape it and he is pushed back and flung out by it along with everyone else.
He hits the ground hard, winded and with his head on the ground realises that the King has arrived on time again and seen everything.
It’s quick and the sunlight that bounces off the sword is bright enough to leave a lasting imprint on Arthur’s eyes.
He crawls to Merlin’s body, his wrist and ribs protesting every time he moves.
Pressing his face into his dead lover’s chest, Arthur screams.
Twelve.
He thinks he might be broken.
Because when the sorcerer - long white hair and bright blue eyes - appears in his rooms, Arthur doesn’t so much as blink.
Merlin is dead again. Arthur didn’t even try this time. He turned his horse back before they entered the clearing and told Merlin he would catch up, part of him hoping Merlin would use his magic if he was on his own, and use it fast enough that Uther wouldn’t see, the other part knowing he did it because he is a coward and he can’t bear to fail again.
“Your time is running out.” The sorcerer says and Arthur thinks this is the funniest thing he has heard in weeks.
“I have nothing but time.” He says and reaches for his cup.
The sorcerer shakes his head and Arthur squints at him, wondering why the man looks sad. Maybe he knows (knew) Merlin too.
“You have one more chance, Arthur.” Arthur frowns at the informal address. “You must not fail.” And then he disappears.
“Tell me how!” Arthur shouts at nothing and throws his cup through the place the man had stood.
Thirteen.
They’re coming up to the clearing again and Merlin is chattering about the same thing he has been nattering on about for fourteen days and since he woke up sober this morning and remembered the strange sorcerer’s words, Arthur has had the feeling deep inside that whatever happens today is going to stick. He’ll be damned (and now he thinks he knows a little of what that feels like) if the last conversation he ever has with Merlin is about bloody holes in his socks.
“I know about your magic.” Arthur says and then blinks, his mouth dropping open. He hadn’t meant to say that.
Merlin freezes, completely and totally freezes and his horse pulls up fast. Arthur guides his own horse up beside him and then stills, looking at Merlin and waiting.
Merlin doesn’t deny it. In fact, Merlin doesn’t do anything at all. And then, finally, he swallows; his throat working hard as though trying to force something large down it.
“Arthur, I--”
“I know.” Arthur says, and reaches out with one gloved hand to clasp Merlin’s wrist. “And it doesn’t matter.”
Merlin turns to look at him. Eyes wide and body trembling and Arthur has a painful flashback.
“It doesn’t matter.” He says again and it comes out harsher than he intended, but it pushes back the fear curling around his stomach.
Merlin opens his mouth but Arthur squeezes Merlin’s wrist and he falls silent.
“I need you to trust me Merlin.” Arthur’s eyes flicker around at the trees before coming back and locking onto Merlin’s. “Soon, seven men are going to burst into that clearing.” He points through the trees in front of them. Merlin’s eyes jerkily follow his arm’s movement.
“They’re going to be heavily armed with bows and swords and I’ll maybe take out three and you’ll knock one unconscious with a falling tree branch.” Merlin flinches and Arthur files that away to think about later. “But there’s still going to be at least three standing and then you’re going to use your magic and my father and the Knights are going to see what you are.”
He pauses, giving Merlin time, studying his eyes to make sure it’s all going in and that Merlin believes him.
“And then you’re going to die.” He says and squeezes Merlin’s wrist again, tighter than ever, before letting go. “And there isn’t anything I’ll be able to do to stop it.”
There’s silence but Arthur still can’t hear the sound of approaching feet, so he knows that it only appears to go on as long as it feels, and then;
“How do you know?” Arthur breathes a sigh of relief and takes Merlin’s wrist in his hand again.
“Because I’ve seen it.” He says, and Merlin eyes flick to the side like he’s remembering something. “Merlin. I’ve lived this day thirteen times already. And every single time you die.” Merlin’s nod probably has less to do with understanding than with shock.
“And the dragon told me that there was only two possible ways to end this and I tried, I really tried but you just kept on dying.” His words come out hurried now. “And then he turned up and he said this was my last chance and you were talking about socks and that’s really not a good thing to have as your last words and--”
Merlin cuts him off with his lips and it’s so familiar that Arthur opens his mouth and traces Merlin’s lips with his tongue before realising that for Merlin, this is the first time they’ve done this.
He pulls back and meets Merlin’s open eyes. There’s a ring of gold around the blue.
Merlin mutters something in a language that Arthur doesn’t understand but would bet his last crown is the same language as Merlin’s magic book, Merlin’s eyes glow a rich gold and then the world around them starts to blur.
“What are you doing?” Arthur asks when Merlin’s eyes return to blue, with only the faintest traces of gold running through them. He realises he’s still close enough to Merlin to feel his breath puff against his cheek.
“I’ve taken us out of time.” Merlin says, like people are often pulled out of time in the middle of a forest when they’re already in the middle of a fourteen day time loop.
His instinct is to ask you can do that? like a little boy, but he cuts the question off before he can give it voice.
He licks his lips and tastes Merlin.
“What about--”
Merlin reaches over and pushes Arthur’s hair off of his forehead. Arthur scowls at him and shakes his head so that the hair falls back into his eyes. He isn’t a girl.
Merlin smiles his wonky dopey smile and Arthur’s breath hitches.
“It’s okay. I’m going to hold us here until it’s safe for us to go back to the castle.”
Arthur shakes his head again, feeling desperate.
“No!” He says. “You’ll still die! There’ll be a fire or one of the suits of armour will fall over and you’ll be pinned with a sword or you’ll trip over your own feet again and crack your head open on the wall--”
“Okay. Okay, Arthur, calm down.” Arthur pants but nods his head, forcing himself into come semblance of control. It has been a long (fourteen days long) day.
“Arthur, I can hold us here for a long time.” Merlin says and Arthur feels the first stirring of hope. “We’ll stay here until the sun rises again.”
“And in the meantime?” Because there is nothing but the two of them and their horses here.
Merlin looks at him, tilting his head to the side like he's studing him.
“You’ve spoken to the dragon?” He sounds faintly accusing.
“I think you’ll find.” Arthur says, tugging at his chainmail. “That the more pertinent question is why you never saw fit to tell me that there was a huge talking dragon in the bowels of my castle.”
Merlin has the decency at least, to blush.
***
Arthur wakes up with a start. For a moment he freezes, his entire body tense and waiting. Pleasepleaseplease.
Behind him, something shifts and then an arm wraps around his waist, dragging his body back and into something soft and warm.
Grass rubs against Arthur’s skin as he moves and he starts to hear things over the pounding of blood in his ears; birds chirp high up above him and somewhere to his left a horse snickers.
Light bursts across his eyes and he clenches them shut.
We did it, he thinks and pulls himself out of Merlin’s loose hold. He sits up beside his friend, lover, servant, sorcerer and pulls his knees up to his chest.
This is only the beginning, he knows, because they might have fixed whatever this was, but Merlin is a sorcerer and Uther has proven eight times over that he will not tolerate that even in Arthur’s defense.
Arthur only hopes it won’t come to this again. Nothing at all like this.
He looks up and sees the white haired sorcerer standing beside an old, twisted oak tree. The man flicks his eyes between Arthur and Merlin before nodding, his long beard catching in a wind that isn’t really there. He disappears silently and Arthur hears a whisper in the air that sounds like well done and my Prince.
Arthur looks at Merlin - young and alive, snoring slightly in his sleep with his ear pressed against Arthur’s thigh - and laughs.
End.