Fic: A Creature in its Abstract Cage Asleep (Merlin/Arthur)
AN: Companion/sequel to The Wandering Years.
Summary: Arthur dreams.
A Creature in its Abstract Cage Asleep
Arthur dreams. The lake is vast and tranquil, so clear he can see the sword hidden in its depths. Merlin smiles next to him, the angles of his face subtly changed: hardened, older, his eyes flecked with gold. A faint white scar traces the edge of his jaw like a lingering caress.
The water closes over Arthur's head and he falls back, weightless, suspended.
Merlin touches his face, eyes calm and sure.
"Breathe."
Arthur pulls the cold clear water into his lungs and drowns, the cool metal of the sword brushing against his fingertips, just beyond reach and slipping away.
The hawk is young and still wary. It overshoots his leather gauntlet, corrects with an awkward flap of great wings. The rabbit hangs bloody and limp from its beak.
Merlin smiles at him across the bloodstained field, the Old Magic hot in his eyes. He lifts his hand and the earth swallows men whole.
What pulls wild things back from the edge of the forest?
Arthur's sword finds the joint of a man's armor and sinks in. There is no room on a field of battle to wonder whatever happened to the odd squeamish boy who'd been banished years before.
An ordinary dawn slides through the window of rooms that still don't feel like his own. Dreams linger, mixing with daylight. Merlin sits quietly in a chair watching coals sleep under soft gray ash.
(Arthur knows his father never forgave him, died wishing he had two sons, or none.)
Merlin doesn't often appear before the court and then it's as an old man of the woods, bound in chains and begging to return to the forest. The nobles laugh and try to guess at his riddles.
He touches Merlin's shoulder in passing and when he turns back Merlin is gone.
Arthur dreams. Merlin's hands trail lines of fire over his skin. The ground beneath him is rough, the sky above brilliant with distant, silvery stars.
Merlin's eyes meet his from across the room, the murmur of human voices fading into thin echoes.
Up on the highest walls Merlin explains that the universe is a series of crystal spheres and pauses as though listening to faint haunting music.
Merlin's head drops against his shoulder, desire pulling a gasp from him like a hook caught in his flesh.
Arthur wakes next to his wife, her dark skin lovely in the morning light.
The mists lie heavy and low on the water. He cannot see over the edge of the boat.
Merlin leans down and kisses his forehead. A sword lies coldly against his chest. Merlin pries his fingers loose from the hilt.
"My prince." Though he is not a prince, but a king.
Not a king, for his kingdom has fallen.
"My prince." Merlin repeats and the sword tumbles back into still cool waters.
He feels the lake close over his head, but it becomes a mist that parts to reveal the dim image of a shore, green and welcoming.
Arthur dreams.
A beggar waits on the steps of the courtyard, serenely sitting in the midday sun. His head is gray and when the guards walk by they do not see him.
Arthur passes him once without noticing and a second time in haste. But the third time he pauses. Beggars are beneath his notice, but even this bent old man is his subject.
He flips him a small silver coin in passing.
"Was that you?" Arthur will demand later, and Merlin will only smile.
"It was. And it was not."
Arthur shoves him. "Being cryptic does not make you seem wise."
Arthur dreams. The lake is silvery, the forest behind him silent. Merlin stands calmly beside him, eyes watchful.
A white hand appears, the sword flashing under the noontime sun.
"Take it," Merlin says in a deep, serious voice.
Arthur almost rolls his eyes, and does not say no I was just going to leave it there.
Water closes around his waist like an embrace. On the shore Merlin cranes his neck to read the words inscribed on the blade. Arthur offers it to him, but Merlin shakes his head, turning pale.
"No, don't. I'll take it someday, but not yet."
Mists surround him. The water is a shimmering sky-blue surface above his head. A white hand closes around the silvery hilt. They sink back beneath the lake.
Merlin touches his face gently before pushing the boat off from the forest bank to slip across silent waters.
When he closes his eyes he sees Merlin and the wild unknowable forest recede further and further, a lost shore swallowed by soft gray distance.
The bleeding slows but the wound doesn't heal.
A green rolling land awaits, the years rushing past fleet-footed, suspended like a perpetual sun caught at mid-heaven.
There, Arthur dreams.
Summary: Arthur dreams.
A Creature in its Abstract Cage Asleep
Arthur dreams. The lake is vast and tranquil, so clear he can see the sword hidden in its depths. Merlin smiles next to him, the angles of his face subtly changed: hardened, older, his eyes flecked with gold. A faint white scar traces the edge of his jaw like a lingering caress.
The water closes over Arthur's head and he falls back, weightless, suspended.
Merlin touches his face, eyes calm and sure.
"Breathe."
Arthur pulls the cold clear water into his lungs and drowns, the cool metal of the sword brushing against his fingertips, just beyond reach and slipping away.
The hawk is young and still wary. It overshoots his leather gauntlet, corrects with an awkward flap of great wings. The rabbit hangs bloody and limp from its beak.
Merlin smiles at him across the bloodstained field, the Old Magic hot in his eyes. He lifts his hand and the earth swallows men whole.
What pulls wild things back from the edge of the forest?
Arthur's sword finds the joint of a man's armor and sinks in. There is no room on a field of battle to wonder whatever happened to the odd squeamish boy who'd been banished years before.
An ordinary dawn slides through the window of rooms that still don't feel like his own. Dreams linger, mixing with daylight. Merlin sits quietly in a chair watching coals sleep under soft gray ash.
(Arthur knows his father never forgave him, died wishing he had two sons, or none.)
Merlin doesn't often appear before the court and then it's as an old man of the woods, bound in chains and begging to return to the forest. The nobles laugh and try to guess at his riddles.
He touches Merlin's shoulder in passing and when he turns back Merlin is gone.
Arthur dreams. Merlin's hands trail lines of fire over his skin. The ground beneath him is rough, the sky above brilliant with distant, silvery stars.
Merlin's eyes meet his from across the room, the murmur of human voices fading into thin echoes.
Up on the highest walls Merlin explains that the universe is a series of crystal spheres and pauses as though listening to faint haunting music.
Merlin's head drops against his shoulder, desire pulling a gasp from him like a hook caught in his flesh.
Arthur wakes next to his wife, her dark skin lovely in the morning light.
The mists lie heavy and low on the water. He cannot see over the edge of the boat.
Merlin leans down and kisses his forehead. A sword lies coldly against his chest. Merlin pries his fingers loose from the hilt.
"My prince." Though he is not a prince, but a king.
Not a king, for his kingdom has fallen.
"My prince." Merlin repeats and the sword tumbles back into still cool waters.
He feels the lake close over his head, but it becomes a mist that parts to reveal the dim image of a shore, green and welcoming.
Arthur dreams.
A beggar waits on the steps of the courtyard, serenely sitting in the midday sun. His head is gray and when the guards walk by they do not see him.
Arthur passes him once without noticing and a second time in haste. But the third time he pauses. Beggars are beneath his notice, but even this bent old man is his subject.
He flips him a small silver coin in passing.
"Was that you?" Arthur will demand later, and Merlin will only smile.
"It was. And it was not."
Arthur shoves him. "Being cryptic does not make you seem wise."
Arthur dreams. The lake is silvery, the forest behind him silent. Merlin stands calmly beside him, eyes watchful.
A white hand appears, the sword flashing under the noontime sun.
"Take it," Merlin says in a deep, serious voice.
Arthur almost rolls his eyes, and does not say no I was just going to leave it there.
Water closes around his waist like an embrace. On the shore Merlin cranes his neck to read the words inscribed on the blade. Arthur offers it to him, but Merlin shakes his head, turning pale.
"No, don't. I'll take it someday, but not yet."
Mists surround him. The water is a shimmering sky-blue surface above his head. A white hand closes around the silvery hilt. They sink back beneath the lake.
Merlin touches his face gently before pushing the boat off from the forest bank to slip across silent waters.
When he closes his eyes he sees Merlin and the wild unknowable forest recede further and further, a lost shore swallowed by soft gray distance.
The bleeding slows but the wound doesn't heal.
A green rolling land awaits, the years rushing past fleet-footed, suspended like a perpetual sun caught at mid-heaven.
There, Arthur dreams.