Untoward Grace
Author: ILoveThesePeople
Word Count: 736
Rating: T
Genre: Angst/Romance
Characters/Pairings: Arthur/Merlin
Warnings: Descriptive, imagined execution. Running away. Slash. Weird second POV… again.
Summary: When they had sprung out of his back, majestic and breathtaking, you had known it would lead to this. For Camelot could not hold an angel, not while under Uther's rule and death was not an option.
A/N: This is written for the prompt Singer981 gave me: Wings. I still love this one to death, even though wing!fic is usually not my style.
Untoward Grace: Arthur
Merlin's there, not but a breath away, and you can taste him in the air around you; can practically breathe in his very essence from where you sit. But he's not there, not really, and a part of you wonders if you ever knew Merlin- if you ever will. With the smallest of movement you could reach out and touch and the longings there, the need to do something. To mean something to him. Yet you don't because you're not blind like everyone assumes, you can see the conflict and fear that simmers beneath the surface, hiding in the depths of his eyes, and you know it would surely break him further.
So instead you hold your breath, nudge your way backwards just a fraction of an inch, and try to hide the flinch that overtakes you when he relaxes slightly at the added space. He pulls his knees up to his chest slowly, as if afraid to startle the air around him by moving too quickly, and wraps his arms around them. He rests his cheek upon them and looks towards the fire, his wings curling unconsciously around him as they formed an impromptu shield against the world. Their startling white, pristine and glowing against the dark background of forest trees lit only by your fire and the urge the run your fingers over the soft downy feathers has you curling your hands into fists.
Words bubble in your throat- Don't go, never go, don't leave me- and they fight to break free, desperate to find a way, any way, to make him head back towards Camelot with you. But you bite your tongue, ignoring the swell of blood as you bite a smidge too hard as image of what would happen if he did return swarm your head. You hardly need to imagine, having seen it done a million times before. You can see Uther's- Father's?- gloved hand swinging down in a graceful arc, the axe on the stage below falling in time to cut through flesh, muscle, and bone before meeting the wooden board below with a thud. You can see the blood splash across the faded brown of the boards, can see the severed head fall to the ground and begin to roll towards the edge of the stage. Except now you can see Merlin's mop of black hair stained with blood, can see his large blue eyes lifeless and unseeing. The thoughts cause you to wince and your eyes fly open, eager to drink him in as proof that he's here- Breathe, live, please.
A sigh escapes him, so silent you would have missed it had you not been so intent on him. You long for your Merlin back, the one who was all smiles and dimples, joy filled laughter and witty comeback. But then, maybe, your Merlin isn't Merlin at all, not really. Simply a mask slid onto place while inside the city walls of Camelot. The thought hurts, more than it should, yet in that moment as you gaze upon his solemn expression you make an oath to yourself. You swear that one day, when you are king- The king is dead, long live the king!- Merlin will come back and you will show him that you are truly worthy of the trust he was forced to give you. And, as if to solidify this, you bring your right hand up carefully to rest upon his knee, where one of his wings was slipping. He looks startled for a second and you worry that you have made a mistake, but then he rises his own hand, slowly, to rest back on yours. Your heart stutters and you both exchange small, sincere smiles that says nothing and everything at once.
None of this makes it easier when the both of you reach your intended destination- Two kingdoms over, north, Myrillian, magic- the next day and you have to watch as he walks away. The peasants on the streets watch him walk by with a sense of awe, taking in the unfurled wings incredulously. Yet there were no calls for guards or gasps of sorcerer. And, as you ride away back to Camelot, you felt the weight that has been pinned to your chest since the wings had sprouted out of Merlin's back slowly ease at that. That, and the promise of someday.
Word Count: 736
Rating: T
Genre: Angst/Romance
Characters/Pairings: Arthur/Merlin
Warnings: Descriptive, imagined execution. Running away. Slash. Weird second POV… again.
Summary: When they had sprung out of his back, majestic and breathtaking, you had known it would lead to this. For Camelot could not hold an angel, not while under Uther's rule and death was not an option.
A/N: This is written for the prompt Singer981 gave me: Wings. I still love this one to death, even though wing!fic is usually not my style.
Untoward Grace: Arthur
Merlin's there, not but a breath away, and you can taste him in the air around you; can practically breathe in his very essence from where you sit. But he's not there, not really, and a part of you wonders if you ever knew Merlin- if you ever will. With the smallest of movement you could reach out and touch and the longings there, the need to do something. To mean something to him. Yet you don't because you're not blind like everyone assumes, you can see the conflict and fear that simmers beneath the surface, hiding in the depths of his eyes, and you know it would surely break him further.
So instead you hold your breath, nudge your way backwards just a fraction of an inch, and try to hide the flinch that overtakes you when he relaxes slightly at the added space. He pulls his knees up to his chest slowly, as if afraid to startle the air around him by moving too quickly, and wraps his arms around them. He rests his cheek upon them and looks towards the fire, his wings curling unconsciously around him as they formed an impromptu shield against the world. Their startling white, pristine and glowing against the dark background of forest trees lit only by your fire and the urge the run your fingers over the soft downy feathers has you curling your hands into fists.
Words bubble in your throat- Don't go, never go, don't leave me- and they fight to break free, desperate to find a way, any way, to make him head back towards Camelot with you. But you bite your tongue, ignoring the swell of blood as you bite a smidge too hard as image of what would happen if he did return swarm your head. You hardly need to imagine, having seen it done a million times before. You can see Uther's- Father's?- gloved hand swinging down in a graceful arc, the axe on the stage below falling in time to cut through flesh, muscle, and bone before meeting the wooden board below with a thud. You can see the blood splash across the faded brown of the boards, can see the severed head fall to the ground and begin to roll towards the edge of the stage. Except now you can see Merlin's mop of black hair stained with blood, can see his large blue eyes lifeless and unseeing. The thoughts cause you to wince and your eyes fly open, eager to drink him in as proof that he's here- Breathe, live, please.
A sigh escapes him, so silent you would have missed it had you not been so intent on him. You long for your Merlin back, the one who was all smiles and dimples, joy filled laughter and witty comeback. But then, maybe, your Merlin isn't Merlin at all, not really. Simply a mask slid onto place while inside the city walls of Camelot. The thought hurts, more than it should, yet in that moment as you gaze upon his solemn expression you make an oath to yourself. You swear that one day, when you are king- The king is dead, long live the king!- Merlin will come back and you will show him that you are truly worthy of the trust he was forced to give you. And, as if to solidify this, you bring your right hand up carefully to rest upon his knee, where one of his wings was slipping. He looks startled for a second and you worry that you have made a mistake, but then he rises his own hand, slowly, to rest back on yours. Your heart stutters and you both exchange small, sincere smiles that says nothing and everything at once.
None of this makes it easier when the both of you reach your intended destination- Two kingdoms over, north, Myrillian, magic- the next day and you have to watch as he walks away. The peasants on the streets watch him walk by with a sense of awe, taking in the unfurled wings incredulously. Yet there were no calls for guards or gasps of sorcerer. And, as you ride away back to Camelot, you felt the weight that has been pinned to your chest since the wings had sprouted out of Merlin's back slowly ease at that. That, and the promise of someday.