fic: Never Drive Faster Than Your Guardian Angel Can Fly 8/?
Title: Never Drive Faster Than Your Guardian Angel Can Fly 8/?
Author: writteninhaste previously feathergirl89
Rating: Currently PG but this may increase in later chapters
Warnings/Spoilers: Spoilers for Season 1
Summary: Merlin was in heaven, minding his own business, when he was told he was to become the guardian angel of Arthur Pendragon. Written for rane_ab’s Guardian Angel plot bunny.
Notes: Apologies for the time it took to update. RL was fool of Uni and work and then I had no idea where to go or what to do with this story so it stalled unforgiveably. Hopefully now I'm back on track updates will be more regular.
Never Drive Faster Than Your Guardian Angel Can Fly
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Snow lay thick and heavy across the castle and its courtyard. Beyond the walls, people huddled in their homes, fingers clenching with cold and toes long devoid of all feeling. In Arthur’s rooms a fire roared. Flames leapt and danced in the hearth, crackling with fiendish glee as they licked the chimney.
Arthur tipped back the last of the wine in his goblet and dropped it back to the table with a clatter. Merlin turned from his position at the window, startled.
“I want to go riding.” Arthur announced.
Merlin let his mouth fall open in amazement. “You want to go riding? In that?” He gestured at the scene outside the casement. Arthur smiled. Merlin narrowed his eyes. “Just how much have you had to drink anyway?”
“Not enough that I can’t ride.” Arthur answered blithely. Scraping his chair back, he walked towards the door. “Well, come on then Merlin.”
Merlin folded his arms sulkily. “No.”
Arthur smirked, “Merlin, we all know how you can’t stand to be parted with me, so if I want to go, you have to follow.”
“Prat.” Merlin said mutinously, but he let himself be dragged from the warmth of the room all the same.
oOo
“Hurry up, Merlin.” Arthur called. Merlin laughed and angled his wings to fly faster. Arthur pressed his heels to his stallion’s flanks and raced ahead. Arthur’s stallion had snorted at the cold when first led from his stables, but his master’s joviality was contagious and Merlin had whispered pretty nonsense into his ear whilst Arthur had been busy with the saddle. Earlier disagreements forgotten, Prince and angel now played as though they were youngsters being allowed out into their first snowfall.
Snow fluttered down, scattering upon Merlin’s hair only to be whipped away again as the angel streamed through the air currents after his prince. Arthur’s nose and cheeks were pink with the cold but he was smiling and looking at Merlin as though his guardian had done something surprising and oddly welcomed. Merlin dove beside Arthur’s saddle, scooping up a handful of snow and attempting to shove it down the back of Arthur’s tunic. The blonde hastily swung sideways in the saddle, clinging to the horse with only his knees as Merlin’s snowball dropped ineffectually onto the stallion’s rump. The horse snorted loudly at the indignity and Arthur righted himself, laughing at the disgruntled expression on Merlin’s face.
Pulling the horse to a stop, Arthur leapt nimbly from the saddle, spreading his arms in a clear invitation for Merlin to fight him equally. Huffing, Merlin landed on the snow, shifting a bit as the cold made itself known against his bare feet. He circled Arthur warily, not bothering to sink into a fighter’s crouch to match the prince’s stance. Suddenly, Arthur straightened, eyes widening at a sight over Merlin’s shoulder. The angel spun, hands raising in defence against an opponent…who was not there. Puzzled, Merlin dropped his hands back to his side and turned back to face the prince, right at the moment Arthur’s weight barrelled into him, knocking them both to the ground.
"Oof." Merlin’s breath left him in a rush as Arthur’s heat pressed against his chest. Arthur laughed, face alight and open, eyes shining with sheer, unadulterated joy and Merlin’s breath caught in his throat. Tentatively, he reached one hand up and brushed a lock of hair from Arthur’s face. The prince froze, hands braced either side of Merlin’s head and face only inches away. He watched the angel with something akin to fear in his eyes. Merlin felt bile begin tp spill up his throat, disgusted with himself, he lowered his hand again and turned his head away. A moment later Arthur had levered himself off Merlin and remounted.
“We’ll go a little further,” he called, nudging his stallion towards the tree line, “then turn back before dark.”
Merlin stayed sprawled upon the snow, cursing himself, until his connection to Arthur yanked him to his feet and on his way.
oOo
The sky was beginning to darken in the east, and the temperature had already sunk a further two degrees. Merlin shivered and bundled his wings tight about his frame, trusting Arthur's reflexes to keep him on the horse should Merlin start to fall. He’d point blank refused to walk or fly when Arthur entered the deeper woods and so the prince had grudgingly allowed Merlin to perch before the saddle horn, legs resting just inside Arthur’s. Ahead of them, Merlin could see a clearing, a small ring of trees almost entirely lost to shadow. As they drew nearer, the young angel felt a thread of power sing across the wind. There was something ancient in that clearing, something…unkind.
“Arthur -” Merlin began, one hand snaking out to grip Arthur’s forearm.
“Relax, Merlin.” Arthur interrupted. When Merlin glanced back the prince’s gaze was focused on the clearing. Only the light grip he kept on Merlin’s waist assured the angel that the prince was still aware of his surrounding's. Sliding his hand from Merlin’s hip, Arthur dismounted, gathering the reigns with one hand. Merlin made to follow suit but a shake of the prince’s head stopped him. He settled back into the saddle unhappily, knuckled white where they gripped the horse's mane.
Arthur led his mount into the clearing, ignoring the way Merlin shifted nervously. The grove was dark, but not impenetrably so. Squinting, Arthur could just make out a mound, a boudler of some description. Merlin obviously saw it at the same time because he was suddenly blocking Arthur’s path, wings spread and hands splayed across his charge’s chest.
“Arthur, I really don’t think you should do this.” Merlin said, words muffled as he gazed over his shoulder into the darkness. As he spoke, a faint blue light began to pulse upon the mound. The glow beat in time to Arthur’s heart and he felt his feet moving forward even as Merlin desperately tried to hold him in place. Without looking at the angel, Arthur brushed Merlin’s hands aside, gaze and body drawn towards the sword now clearly embedded in the moss covered rock. It was beautiful. The blue light sank into the blade, highlighting the ancient runes etched into the steel. The hilt was intricately carved, and Arthur knew that if he wrapped his hand around that cool metal, it would fit perfectly into his palm. Beside him, Merlin was hissing violently in his ear, tugging on his arm; the angel’s fear of the weapon was almost palpable. But all Arthur could see was the beauty of the sword. Ignoring Merlin’s protests, he reached out a hand and wrapped his fingers around the hilt. Light sang in his veins, infusing his blood with an almost feral joy. This was a sword that would deliver him to greatness. No mortal man could defeat him whilst he bore this blade.
He was vaguely aware of Merlin moving away from him, of the angel’s hands falling down and away; of a loss of warmth as his guardian retreated. Something vicious and bitter twisted in Arthur’s belly and with a defiant pull he dragged the sword from its stone prison. The woods seemed to scream in triumph as he did so, a cacophony of vindication drowning all other sounds. Turning, Arthur saw Merlin huddled against the stallion, wings drawn around the both of them like a protective shield.
“Are you done now?” Merlin demanded. “Can we go?”
Arthur strapped his old sword to the saddle bags and sheathed the new one at his waist. Swinging up, he held a hand down for Merlin to clamber up before him.
“I’ll walk.” The angel said shortly, moving to stand at Arthur’s right him. On his left, Arthur felt the sword hum smugly.
oOo
The fire had almost died by the time they returned to Arthur’s chambers. The servants gave a relieved sigh when they saw Arthur, scurrying to build up the fire and fetch food and wine for the prince. Uther shot a scowl in his son’s direction, but refrained from yet another lecture. He could hardly fault his son for a few hours excursion - for all that the sky grew dark early at this time of year.
Settling himself before the fire, Arthur drew his new blade from its sheath. The steel still flickered with an unearthly blue light.
“Merlin look,” Arthur said, rising from his seat to where his guardian sat perched beside the casement. “Have you ever seen such craftsmanship? I defy even Heaven itself to make such a blade.” His voice was light and joking, but Merlin turned on him with a snarl, face thin and taught with rage.
“Have a care what you say, Arthur Pendragon.” Merlin breathed, wings snapping open as the fire cracked like a whip in the hearth. “Heaven would never have been so foolish as to forge that blade. You have no idea what it is you have unleashed.” In a blur of motion he had snatched the sword from Arthur’s hand and rammed it back into his sheath. The faintest smell of burning meat was carried on the wind.
Arthur blinked; he was no longer looking at Merlin. Instead place saw an angel; a creature of power and light. Flames seemed to race across the rims of Merlin’s wings, his eyes bled gold and power seemed to spill from between his lips. For a moment Arthur trembled, awed and frightened, forced to acknowledge what he had been reluctant to see: Merlin was no mortal - it was foolish to treat him as one. On instinct Arthur wrapped his hand around the hilt of his sword. As he did so, he was filled with a wave of resentment. He was the heir to a kingdom - upon his coronation he would rule with all the authority of devine right. Who was Merlin to presume to instruct him.
With a snarl, Arthur whipped the blade from the sheath. At the same time, Merlin launched himself to the side, spinning in mid-air and tumbling towards the centre of the room, giving himself more space in which to manoeuvre. Merlin stared at the prince wide-eyed, chest heaving, heart racing at the sight of the blue-edged blade.
“Arthur - I really think you should let go of that sword now.”
Arthur glared mutinously and swung his sword in a swift reverse cut, aiming for the space beneath Merlin’s wings; a warning. The sword sung an ugly tune, vibrating with a power that smelt of heat and brimstone, and stank of Nimueh. Merlin sent out a desperate plea for Gwen, hoping she would fetch any Dominion listening, before focusing his attention back on the prince.
“Arthur, you’re not yourself. You have to stop.” His hands stayed clenched in fists against his sides. He could not use magic against Arthur. Not when -
“Don’t tell me what to do, Merlin.” Arthur said. He jabbed sharply to the left and Merlin dodged, realising too late that Arthur had been feigning. The sword shrieked in victory as it whistled through the air, slicing at the space between the two young men. Merlin could only watch - paralysed - as it cut through the air over both their hearts. There was a sickening crack, similar to that of a bone breaking and Merlin felt the cords connecting him to Arthur snap. The bonds ricocheted wildly, careening back into Merlin’s chest and tying themselves in frantic knots around his heart. Arthur’s face went white. He gasped, a pained, surprised sound, and crumpled, hitting the floor before Merlin even had a chance to break the fall. He lay very still.
Merlin collapsed to his side, fingers scrabbling for a pulse even as he laid his ear against Arthur’s mouth to hear him breathe. Nothing. Merlin felt panic claw its way up his throat, choking off his breathing and numbing any attempt at thought. He beat uselessly at Arthur chest, fists drumming against cooling flesh even as his magic pulsed and retched in agony.
Opalescent tears splashed down Merlin’s face, staining Arthur’s tunic a deeper red. “No,” he whispered, sobs clawing their way from out his throat. “Please God, no.” There was no response. Screaming, Merlin pressed his head against Arthur’s chest. He did not hear the sickly humming of the sword, or see the flash of light that heralded the Dominions’ arrival. He saw only Arthur - his pale, still face, lips curved in a slight Hippocrates smile.
Chapter 9
Author: writteninhaste previously feathergirl89
Rating: Currently PG but this may increase in later chapters
Warnings/Spoilers: Spoilers for Season 1
Summary: Merlin was in heaven, minding his own business, when he was told he was to become the guardian angel of Arthur Pendragon. Written for rane_ab’s Guardian Angel plot bunny.
Notes: Apologies for the time it took to update. RL was fool of Uni and work and then I had no idea where to go or what to do with this story so it stalled unforgiveably. Hopefully now I'm back on track updates will be more regular.
Never Drive Faster Than Your Guardian Angel Can Fly
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Snow lay thick and heavy across the castle and its courtyard. Beyond the walls, people huddled in their homes, fingers clenching with cold and toes long devoid of all feeling. In Arthur’s rooms a fire roared. Flames leapt and danced in the hearth, crackling with fiendish glee as they licked the chimney.
Arthur tipped back the last of the wine in his goblet and dropped it back to the table with a clatter. Merlin turned from his position at the window, startled.
“I want to go riding.” Arthur announced.
Merlin let his mouth fall open in amazement. “You want to go riding? In that?” He gestured at the scene outside the casement. Arthur smiled. Merlin narrowed his eyes. “Just how much have you had to drink anyway?”
“Not enough that I can’t ride.” Arthur answered blithely. Scraping his chair back, he walked towards the door. “Well, come on then Merlin.”
Merlin folded his arms sulkily. “No.”
Arthur smirked, “Merlin, we all know how you can’t stand to be parted with me, so if I want to go, you have to follow.”
“Prat.” Merlin said mutinously, but he let himself be dragged from the warmth of the room all the same.
oOo
“Hurry up, Merlin.” Arthur called. Merlin laughed and angled his wings to fly faster. Arthur pressed his heels to his stallion’s flanks and raced ahead. Arthur’s stallion had snorted at the cold when first led from his stables, but his master’s joviality was contagious and Merlin had whispered pretty nonsense into his ear whilst Arthur had been busy with the saddle. Earlier disagreements forgotten, Prince and angel now played as though they were youngsters being allowed out into their first snowfall.
Snow fluttered down, scattering upon Merlin’s hair only to be whipped away again as the angel streamed through the air currents after his prince. Arthur’s nose and cheeks were pink with the cold but he was smiling and looking at Merlin as though his guardian had done something surprising and oddly welcomed. Merlin dove beside Arthur’s saddle, scooping up a handful of snow and attempting to shove it down the back of Arthur’s tunic. The blonde hastily swung sideways in the saddle, clinging to the horse with only his knees as Merlin’s snowball dropped ineffectually onto the stallion’s rump. The horse snorted loudly at the indignity and Arthur righted himself, laughing at the disgruntled expression on Merlin’s face.
Pulling the horse to a stop, Arthur leapt nimbly from the saddle, spreading his arms in a clear invitation for Merlin to fight him equally. Huffing, Merlin landed on the snow, shifting a bit as the cold made itself known against his bare feet. He circled Arthur warily, not bothering to sink into a fighter’s crouch to match the prince’s stance. Suddenly, Arthur straightened, eyes widening at a sight over Merlin’s shoulder. The angel spun, hands raising in defence against an opponent…who was not there. Puzzled, Merlin dropped his hands back to his side and turned back to face the prince, right at the moment Arthur’s weight barrelled into him, knocking them both to the ground.
"Oof." Merlin’s breath left him in a rush as Arthur’s heat pressed against his chest. Arthur laughed, face alight and open, eyes shining with sheer, unadulterated joy and Merlin’s breath caught in his throat. Tentatively, he reached one hand up and brushed a lock of hair from Arthur’s face. The prince froze, hands braced either side of Merlin’s head and face only inches away. He watched the angel with something akin to fear in his eyes. Merlin felt bile begin tp spill up his throat, disgusted with himself, he lowered his hand again and turned his head away. A moment later Arthur had levered himself off Merlin and remounted.
“We’ll go a little further,” he called, nudging his stallion towards the tree line, “then turn back before dark.”
Merlin stayed sprawled upon the snow, cursing himself, until his connection to Arthur yanked him to his feet and on his way.
oOo
The sky was beginning to darken in the east, and the temperature had already sunk a further two degrees. Merlin shivered and bundled his wings tight about his frame, trusting Arthur's reflexes to keep him on the horse should Merlin start to fall. He’d point blank refused to walk or fly when Arthur entered the deeper woods and so the prince had grudgingly allowed Merlin to perch before the saddle horn, legs resting just inside Arthur’s. Ahead of them, Merlin could see a clearing, a small ring of trees almost entirely lost to shadow. As they drew nearer, the young angel felt a thread of power sing across the wind. There was something ancient in that clearing, something…unkind.
“Arthur -” Merlin began, one hand snaking out to grip Arthur’s forearm.
“Relax, Merlin.” Arthur interrupted. When Merlin glanced back the prince’s gaze was focused on the clearing. Only the light grip he kept on Merlin’s waist assured the angel that the prince was still aware of his surrounding's. Sliding his hand from Merlin’s hip, Arthur dismounted, gathering the reigns with one hand. Merlin made to follow suit but a shake of the prince’s head stopped him. He settled back into the saddle unhappily, knuckled white where they gripped the horse's mane.
Arthur led his mount into the clearing, ignoring the way Merlin shifted nervously. The grove was dark, but not impenetrably so. Squinting, Arthur could just make out a mound, a boudler of some description. Merlin obviously saw it at the same time because he was suddenly blocking Arthur’s path, wings spread and hands splayed across his charge’s chest.
“Arthur, I really don’t think you should do this.” Merlin said, words muffled as he gazed over his shoulder into the darkness. As he spoke, a faint blue light began to pulse upon the mound. The glow beat in time to Arthur’s heart and he felt his feet moving forward even as Merlin desperately tried to hold him in place. Without looking at the angel, Arthur brushed Merlin’s hands aside, gaze and body drawn towards the sword now clearly embedded in the moss covered rock. It was beautiful. The blue light sank into the blade, highlighting the ancient runes etched into the steel. The hilt was intricately carved, and Arthur knew that if he wrapped his hand around that cool metal, it would fit perfectly into his palm. Beside him, Merlin was hissing violently in his ear, tugging on his arm; the angel’s fear of the weapon was almost palpable. But all Arthur could see was the beauty of the sword. Ignoring Merlin’s protests, he reached out a hand and wrapped his fingers around the hilt. Light sang in his veins, infusing his blood with an almost feral joy. This was a sword that would deliver him to greatness. No mortal man could defeat him whilst he bore this blade.
He was vaguely aware of Merlin moving away from him, of the angel’s hands falling down and away; of a loss of warmth as his guardian retreated. Something vicious and bitter twisted in Arthur’s belly and with a defiant pull he dragged the sword from its stone prison. The woods seemed to scream in triumph as he did so, a cacophony of vindication drowning all other sounds. Turning, Arthur saw Merlin huddled against the stallion, wings drawn around the both of them like a protective shield.
“Are you done now?” Merlin demanded. “Can we go?”
Arthur strapped his old sword to the saddle bags and sheathed the new one at his waist. Swinging up, he held a hand down for Merlin to clamber up before him.
“I’ll walk.” The angel said shortly, moving to stand at Arthur’s right him. On his left, Arthur felt the sword hum smugly.
oOo
The fire had almost died by the time they returned to Arthur’s chambers. The servants gave a relieved sigh when they saw Arthur, scurrying to build up the fire and fetch food and wine for the prince. Uther shot a scowl in his son’s direction, but refrained from yet another lecture. He could hardly fault his son for a few hours excursion - for all that the sky grew dark early at this time of year.
Settling himself before the fire, Arthur drew his new blade from its sheath. The steel still flickered with an unearthly blue light.
“Merlin look,” Arthur said, rising from his seat to where his guardian sat perched beside the casement. “Have you ever seen such craftsmanship? I defy even Heaven itself to make such a blade.” His voice was light and joking, but Merlin turned on him with a snarl, face thin and taught with rage.
“Have a care what you say, Arthur Pendragon.” Merlin breathed, wings snapping open as the fire cracked like a whip in the hearth. “Heaven would never have been so foolish as to forge that blade. You have no idea what it is you have unleashed.” In a blur of motion he had snatched the sword from Arthur’s hand and rammed it back into his sheath. The faintest smell of burning meat was carried on the wind.
Arthur blinked; he was no longer looking at Merlin. Instead place saw an angel; a creature of power and light. Flames seemed to race across the rims of Merlin’s wings, his eyes bled gold and power seemed to spill from between his lips. For a moment Arthur trembled, awed and frightened, forced to acknowledge what he had been reluctant to see: Merlin was no mortal - it was foolish to treat him as one. On instinct Arthur wrapped his hand around the hilt of his sword. As he did so, he was filled with a wave of resentment. He was the heir to a kingdom - upon his coronation he would rule with all the authority of devine right. Who was Merlin to presume to instruct him.
With a snarl, Arthur whipped the blade from the sheath. At the same time, Merlin launched himself to the side, spinning in mid-air and tumbling towards the centre of the room, giving himself more space in which to manoeuvre. Merlin stared at the prince wide-eyed, chest heaving, heart racing at the sight of the blue-edged blade.
“Arthur - I really think you should let go of that sword now.”
Arthur glared mutinously and swung his sword in a swift reverse cut, aiming for the space beneath Merlin’s wings; a warning. The sword sung an ugly tune, vibrating with a power that smelt of heat and brimstone, and stank of Nimueh. Merlin sent out a desperate plea for Gwen, hoping she would fetch any Dominion listening, before focusing his attention back on the prince.
“Arthur, you’re not yourself. You have to stop.” His hands stayed clenched in fists against his sides. He could not use magic against Arthur. Not when -
“Don’t tell me what to do, Merlin.” Arthur said. He jabbed sharply to the left and Merlin dodged, realising too late that Arthur had been feigning. The sword shrieked in victory as it whistled through the air, slicing at the space between the two young men. Merlin could only watch - paralysed - as it cut through the air over both their hearts. There was a sickening crack, similar to that of a bone breaking and Merlin felt the cords connecting him to Arthur snap. The bonds ricocheted wildly, careening back into Merlin’s chest and tying themselves in frantic knots around his heart. Arthur’s face went white. He gasped, a pained, surprised sound, and crumpled, hitting the floor before Merlin even had a chance to break the fall. He lay very still.
Merlin collapsed to his side, fingers scrabbling for a pulse even as he laid his ear against Arthur’s mouth to hear him breathe. Nothing. Merlin felt panic claw its way up his throat, choking off his breathing and numbing any attempt at thought. He beat uselessly at Arthur chest, fists drumming against cooling flesh even as his magic pulsed and retched in agony.
Opalescent tears splashed down Merlin’s face, staining Arthur’s tunic a deeper red. “No,” he whispered, sobs clawing their way from out his throat. “Please God, no.” There was no response. Screaming, Merlin pressed his head against Arthur’s chest. He did not hear the sickly humming of the sword, or see the flash of light that heralded the Dominions’ arrival. He saw only Arthur - his pale, still face, lips curved in a slight Hippocrates smile.
Chapter 9