Merlin FF: Quarter View [Merlin/Arthur/Morgana/Gwen; R; spoilers for 1.12]
Title: Quarter View
Fandom: Merlin BBC
Pairings: Merlin/Arthur/Morgana/Gwen, variations thereof
Rating: R, but mild
Length: 3,400 words
Disclaimer: All belongs to the BBC
Spoilers: Right up to 1.12.
Summary: It is different, now that there are four of them, and not only two.
It is different, now that there are four of them, and not only two. Two may argue, and splinter apart. With four, there are endless tangled variations, winding and unwinding, so none of the four may leave, lest they pull another loose. Sometimes they make pairs. Since Ealdor, they always end up together again eventually.
Gwen has fallen, a little the worse for wine, but mostly simply tired, with her head in Merlin’s lap. It is the simplest division, with Morgana and Arthur in the feasting chamber, laughing and quarrelling. Merlin had been serving wine, but the evening drew late, and Arthur sent him away. Meaning kindness, as Morgana did when she put a hand to Gwen’s shoulder and pointed her homewards.
Instead, they sit outside the chamber, with Gwen’s head in Merlin’s lap. He strokes her dark curls, and she hums at him. Merlin is struck, again, by how much he loves her. She smiles at him, soft and open and safe.
Above them, Arthur coughs. When Merlin looks up, Morgana is smirking at them.
“Sire.”
“My lady”
They stumble over their words, in a desperate attempt to convey that their situation was not how it looked. It wasn’t. Gwen scrambles upwards, tangling herself in her skirts, and Merlin’s arms. Arthur catches her hand, and pulls her up. He asks, “Having fun without us, were you?”
“We were waiting,” Merlin says, when it becomes apparent Gwen will not answer, “for the revelry to end.”
“And you didn’t think to wait somewhere more comfortable?” Morgana asks, eyeing Merlin’s position, slumped against the stone wall. He uncurls, arching his back to ease the ache.
Arthur coughs, and Morgana smiles at him. Arthur says, “You didn’t have a good time this evening? I didn’t make you wear the hat.”
“No, my lord,” Merlin answers, “but I was on my feet for most of the evening, as was Gwen. We are tired, and sore, and not exactly feeling inclined to make nice with the nobility, if you understand my meaning. They certainly didn’t want to make nice with us.”
“Lucky,” Arthur says, before he reaches his other hand to Merlin, “there’s no nobility around here then.”
Merlin lets himself be pulled down the corridor, through a door he has never seen before. It’s one of the guest chambers, and he hopes no one is about to wander in looking for their bed. Especially when Arthur deposits Gwen onto the end of it, and Merlin beside her.
“Sire,” Merlin begins.
Morgana produces a bottle of wine from nowhere, and sits behind Merlin on the bed. She uncaps the bottle, and passes it to Gwen.
Arthur sits down behind Gwen, and Merlin has to turn around to be able to see him. Merlin leans against the post of the bed, and shuts his eyes. Gwen takes a mouthful of wine and, passing Arthur the bottle, rests her head against Merlin’s shoulder. Arthur’s knee brushes Merlin’s when he leans forward, pressing the bottle to Merlin’s lips.
Arthur murmurs, “It was a dull feast anyway.”
Morgana laughs, and slides down the bed to lie on her side. “It really was.” She curls her hand around Gwen’s ankle, and rubs at the bone.
In the lamplight, Arthur is all golden. Merlin looks at him and thinks, there is magic in you somewhere. There must be, because when I look at you, I see the morning sky aflame; I see the stars shifting in their orbs. All ends, and all beginnings. Arthur blinks, and something in his throat twitches when he presses the bottle on Merlin again.
Merlin sups at the wine and whispers, “Thank you, Arthur,” to watch the smile he gets when he says it.
* * * *
It is different, now that there are four of them, and not only two. Two can only crack in half, but four can split in two for any number of reasons.
Arthur, sometimes, tries to draw lines the other way. Male and female, warrior and seamstress. It does him no good, when Morgana is better with a sword than Merlin will ever be, and Merlin works his fingers rough on needles in Arthur’s coat.
Merlin thinks that he is more afraid of either Morgana or Gwen than he will ever be of Arthur again. He knows now that Arthur cares for him, would die for him, would never allow him to come to harm. Gwen and Morgana love him, he knows that too. But there is wicked mischief in their eyes, when they talk so quietly to each other. Arthur had insulted them before, when he questioned Morgana’s use of her little blade.
Gwen walks past him, and pats his hand apologetically as she moves to Morgana’s side. Gwen walks unarmed, as Merlin does. She is there because she chooses, not because of dragon-song in her sleep. Of the four of them, she is the only one who could be happy somewhere else. Merlin respects Arthur’s deference to his position, and Morgana’s feeling of frustrated purpose. But there is something like courage in Gwen’s easy paces by Morgana’s side, when there has been so much that might make her leave. Merlin doesn’t know if he would pick this destiny, were the option given to him.
They walk through the forest, where it is quiet. Gwen whispers close in Morgana’s ear, while they walk ahead of Arthur and Merlin.
There is a crack, only a broken twig, but Arthur holds up his hand. Morgana stills, with her hand on Gwen’s arm. Merlin finds himself shoved to the ground. He lifts his head, moss under his nose, and sees that Morgana has done the same with Gwen.
Arthur hisses, “Morgana,” and pulls out his sword.
Morgana creeps to his side, her own blade in her hand.
When the ambush happens, they are prepared. Arthur and Morgana move back-to-back, twisting and turning with smooth elegance. Merlin notes - inappropriately - how beautiful they are. How destiny has made them twins in a different way from Arthur and Merlin. They would be a king and queen of legend, warrior and wild.
They turn so it is Morgana facing him, and she mouths his name. Merlin tosses his own knife to Gwen, and looks to the trees. He pulls roots and shakes branches, in the spaces when Arthur is looking away.
Arthur laughs, when the last attacker drops, to see the scene. “Merlin,” he says, “protected by women again. You really are a disgrace to all men, you know that.”
“I do sire,” Merlin agrees cheerfully, while Gwen and Morgana giggle. “Now, shall I light the fire, or do you want to try it yourself again? I’m sure the King won’t mind terribly if we set the forest alight.”
Arthur punches Merlin’s shoulder, and drops to the forest floor, waiting for Merlin to tend to him. Gwen smiles, and goes to fetch the abandoned packs. Morgana goes with her and, soon enough, Merlin hears their soothing whispers.
* * * *
It is different, now that there are four of them, and not only two. A secret kept in two holds a quiet devastation, but it is not a personal slight. It is a barrier around the one, but it is against the world, not the other person. A secret kept in four is different. It is different when two know, and two do not.
Arthur and Gwen do not even know there is a secret to be kept. Morgana, Merlin thinks, barely knows it. But there are days, all the same, when the line cuts them in half along those lines. Gwen and Arthur saying careful, steady, can’t. Merlin and Morgana incanting try, dare, rebel.
Morgana turns to Merlin and says, “Tell him!”
“I tried,” he says, not looking at Arthur. “I have been trying.”
“Merlin,” Gwen says, “you know that Arthur can’t just-” And since her father, since even before that, Gwen has softened to Arthur. ‘He tries’, she says. ‘He’s very brave’ she says, and Merlin had known months before that Gwen admires knightly courage. Gwen is a practical woman at heart, and she believes in Arthur’s steel more than Merlin’s unnameable instinct.
Morgana’s cloak whispers when she walks, and Merlin is so used to following these voices that he ends up at her heels. She turns, and says, “Look, Merlin, look.”
“I know.”
“They don’t understand, they can’t. They-”
“-can’t. I know.”
“You do,” she says, like a revelation. Her voice is lilting and beautiful, the way enchantments are supposed to be. Not a fragile-looking girl with honeyed death on her lips. Morgana says, “Merlin,” and he leans to her. She is strong, and woman, with a knife in her hand. She says “you’ll help me.”
When he says yes, she presses him to the wall with a kiss. Her hair is soft under his fingers, and her laughter sparkles golden. She is other - else - and Merlin cannot help that he noticed this about her on the same day he noticed Arthur’s strength and Gwen’s warmth. Her presence sings in his mind, a key he responds to without thinking. There has never been anyone like him before. There has never been anyone who might understand what it is to have this secret, unwilling but still crying out to use it for good. She smells of flowers, sweet and heady.
Afterwards, when her hands are scraped and bloody, and Merlin has newly blooming bruises up his chest, Arthur will ask the question. The same question Gwen asks, as she wipes the scrapes on Morgana’s cheek and neck.
They will give matching answers, watching each other over Gwen and Arthur’s shoulders. It was the right thing. It was the only thing. Certain, in the end, though there had been doubt before. The way Gwen and Arthur are certain, until they let Merlin and Morgana sow doubt in their minds. The end results are the same.
* * * *
It is different, now that there are four of them, and not only two. When two fight, it is only so long before they are forced to either reconcile or end entirely. With four, there are so many different small reconciliations needed. It needs them all to point the same direction again, all at once. Instead, they each pick a separate compass point and start walking.
Gwen blames Merlin blames Arthur blames Morgana. When it is just two of them, Gwen will speak to Merlin, or Morgana to Arthur. When it is just the two of them, there is still enough of a frame to steady the whole. But Merlin will not apologise for this, not to anyone. He was right.
Merlin thinks that Arthur might know that. But he cannot acknowledge it without appearing weak in front of Morgana. And Arthur is (still) proud and (always) in control. He rides out alone.
Merlin is in his room, and there is a sudden terrifying silence. All the background noise in the world vanishes, so there is only the empty echo of his own thoughts: something’s wrong.
He runs.
The silence in his head is not filled until he reaches the main staircase. Morgana takes his hand, and they fall into pace, heading for the courtyard. Gwen is watching the men pull Arthur from his horse, bleeding.
The soldiers lay him on the ground, and someone somewhere is calling for the physician. Gwen drops to her knees by Arthur’s side, and no one pushes her away. No one knows what to do, and there are worse things than her small hands pushing the blood back into his chest.
Morgana fits behind Gwen, reaching her arms around to cover the wound. Merlin sits on the other side, folding his hands over theirs. His whispering is half-magic and half-pleading. Stay stay stay.
Gwen looks up at him, and then leans her head back against Morgana. She spares one hand to stroke through Arthur’s hair, now that Merlin and Morgana are covering the slash. She says, “Do it. Just- whatever it is, do it now. Before they come back.”
“Gwen,” Morgana says.
“He’ll die.”
“No,” Merlin says, “he won’t.” Then: “I need…”
“We’re here.”
* * * *
It is different, now that there are four of them, and not only two. When there are four, no one has to wait alone.
By the time Arthur wakes, any boundaries there might have been between the four of them have disappeared. Gwen lies between Arthur and Morgana on the bed, with her right hand resting at the base of his neck. Merlin had started in a chair by the bed, but crept forward. Now he is sprawled over Arthur’s legs, with his hand flat against Arthur’s heart. Gwen covers this hand with her left; Morgana’s is curled in Merlin’s hair.
Arthur wakens with moans and sighs that disrupt the tableau instantly. Merlin runs full pelt for Gaius, Gwen hastens to fetch water, and Morgana is the one to sit by his side. She says, “Arthur,” and has not progressed much further when Merlin returns.
Arthur says, “There was a-”
And Merlin says, “It’s gone now.”
“You?”
“You, I think. Well, the other knights too, but you first. The child’s mother wants to thank you when you wake.”
“I’m not awake yet.”
Gaius laughs. “Not quite, sire. But soon enough.”
Uther clasps Arthur’s shoulder, and his eyes are suspiciously bright. He still leaves, and Merlin is the one to finish the story. To say, ‘your father was- I’ve never seen him like that.’ To say, ‘he cares’.
They leave Arthur to sleep again, spinning off separately, as if remembering that they had been fighting before this.
Merlin returns in the evening. Arthur has opened his shirt, and is pressing his finger against the slight scar on his chest. He looks at Merlin. “This was worse, before.”
“Scars heal, sire,” Merlin says. He smiles, to show that he means a joke, to show that Arthur is talking nonsense.
“It should be worse than this.”
“Can you not just be thankful that it isn’t?” Gwen walks into the room behind Merlin. He feels Morgana in her wake, less than a minute behind in her covert visitation.
“Not without knowing why,” Arthur says.
Merlin waits. Morgana steps into the bedroom. She says, “Because we needed it to be so.”
“That’s not enough.”
“It will have to be.” Morgana walks to the side of the bed. She takes Arthur’s hand, and kisses it. “You’re here. That’s enough for me.”
“Not for me,” Arthur says, and makes an end, without calling it one. There has never been enough room between them for anyone to push.
* * * *
It is different, now that there are four of them, and not only two. With four, Merlin sees nothing but Arthur’s absence when they make a three.
In Gwen’s small house, in the bed that used to be her father’s, Merlin shivers. Morgana soothes him with a kiss, her hands running up and down his arms. Gwen fits behind Merlin, rubbing against his back when she leans over his shoulder to kiss Morgana. Their hands land on him, and on each other. Beautiful, he thinks, caught between them.
He doesn’t see the door open, but hears it start to close. For a fraction of a second, Merlin catches a glimpse of Arthur’s face in between the two. It is not the last time he will see that expression, but he feels it hard this first time. Betrayal in the blue of Arthur’s eyes like the breaking of rain.
Merlin stands. “We should-”
“You’ve forgiven him, then?” Morgana asks.
“It was never my choice.”
Gwen pulls her tunic back over her breasts and shoulder, fumbling with the knots. She frowns. “If the two of you are done, then may we go? He’ll be-“
“-upset.” Merlin says, as Morgana fills in, “angry.”
Gwen gathers her cloak, and finds Morgana’s on the chair. She says, “Waiting.”
* * * *
It is different, now that there are four of them, and not only two. Four is just enough to fill Arthur’s bed. With two, Merlin has too much time to think about it: all the ways this could destroy them both.
Gwen laughs at him when he does that, as she always does when she feels he is being ridiculous. “Where did you go?” she asks, when he is back with her, mouth on the collar bone and the hollow of her throat. “You keep- Merlin.”
Arthur’s mouth is pinched tightly closed, trying to keep quiet when Morgana’s teeth flash white and she moves her hand. “Arthur,” she sings.
“It’s just us,” Merlin says, and pushes Arthur flat on the bed. “Don’t worry so much.”
“I don’t-” Arthur says, and leans up into Merlin, looking for friction and the curve of his mouth. “I just- God, Merlin, please, if you insist. Please.”
“I wasn’t insisting,” Merlin says, and slips obligingly down Arthur’s body. He tries to say, “though it helps,” but is muffled when he opens his mouth to swallow Arthur down.
Arthur’s mouth is on Gwen, and she is making very distracting noises. It puts Merlin off his rhythm, though Arthur doesn’t seem to have breath to complain. And then Morgana reaches. Wraps one hand around Merlin, and slides the other between Arthur’s skin and Merlin’s lips. She bites Merlin’s shoulder, and runs over the edge of pain with her tongue. Her hair falls soft against his shoulder when she steps over him to reach Gwen.
The others have slipped into a ready pattern: Arthur with Merlin and Gwen on each side. Morgana is the one rogue element, slipping from one past the other like quicksilver. She whispers, and Merlin doesn’t know if anyone else can hear it. Her hand tightens in Gwen’s. Merlin wonders if Gwen could hold them all here, or if it must be either Morgana or Arthur she chooses to ground. Merlin can hold no one steady, nor can he be held. He feels himself floating, flying apart.
Arthur grabs his hip, and Merlin can feel his muscles tense. Merlin murmurs broken nonsense words into the crease at Arthur’s thigh, strokes with his fingers, and then goes back with his mouth. He doesn’t choke when Arthur thrusts up, with Merlin’s name caught in his throat. Gwen gasps, and Merlin doesn’t look up to see whose hand is on her, or whose mouth makes Morgana’s fingers clench in the bedclothes. He lies on the bed with his eyes closed, until Arthur’s arm slides under him, and turns him on his side.
Arthur says, “I can hear you thinking, you know.”
“What, really?”
“No, not really,” Arthur scoffs, but runs his fingers through the hair at the nape of Merlin’s neck. “I’m not so sure that I’d want to.”
“This was a good thought, though,” Gwen murmurs, the words almost lost against Morgana’s shoulder.
“It wasn’t Merlin’s,” Arthur says.
“I don’t think it was anyone’s.” Morgana’s fingers trace patterns on Arthur’s skin. “I think it just-“
“Happened?” Merlin asks.
“No,” she says. “Not just happened. It was the only way for this all to end.”
“This isn’t an end,” Arthur says, at the same time as Merlin whispers, “There’s lots of ways for this to end. It’s not- not destined. We chose the better way. If we could just-“
“What?” Morgana asks. Her voice is gentle, flowing into the dark places. Arthur’s hand has stopped its idle petting, waiting for Merlin to answer. Gwen leans over her lady’s shoulder to look at Merlin. He thinks: if we could stay like this. If this could be us forever, exactly so. Here in the heart of the kingdom, safe and wound together with nothing between us. Only each other, and Camelot protected.
He murmurs, “Nothing, Morgana. I’m sorry, nothing.”
Arthur shrugs, and pulls Merlin a little closer. “You can make nothing sound very ominous, Merlin. Sometimes I hear the end of the world in your sighs.”
Merlin thinks to answer, trying to rephrase ‘nothing’ into visions of caves and black water. But Arthur kisses the top of his head, and slips into a dreamless sleep. Merlin ghosts his fingers over the healing scar, running into Gwen’s hand. She looks at him over Morgana, asleep on Arthur’s other shoulder. Merlin says, “Something’s coming. I have no gift with prophecy but something’s coming.”
Gwen takes his hand. “But not tonight.”
FIN
Fandom: Merlin BBC
Pairings: Merlin/Arthur/Morgana/Gwen, variations thereof
Rating: R, but mild
Length: 3,400 words
Disclaimer: All belongs to the BBC
Spoilers: Right up to 1.12.
Summary: It is different, now that there are four of them, and not only two.
It is different, now that there are four of them, and not only two. Two may argue, and splinter apart. With four, there are endless tangled variations, winding and unwinding, so none of the four may leave, lest they pull another loose. Sometimes they make pairs. Since Ealdor, they always end up together again eventually.
Gwen has fallen, a little the worse for wine, but mostly simply tired, with her head in Merlin’s lap. It is the simplest division, with Morgana and Arthur in the feasting chamber, laughing and quarrelling. Merlin had been serving wine, but the evening drew late, and Arthur sent him away. Meaning kindness, as Morgana did when she put a hand to Gwen’s shoulder and pointed her homewards.
Instead, they sit outside the chamber, with Gwen’s head in Merlin’s lap. He strokes her dark curls, and she hums at him. Merlin is struck, again, by how much he loves her. She smiles at him, soft and open and safe.
Above them, Arthur coughs. When Merlin looks up, Morgana is smirking at them.
“Sire.”
“My lady”
They stumble over their words, in a desperate attempt to convey that their situation was not how it looked. It wasn’t. Gwen scrambles upwards, tangling herself in her skirts, and Merlin’s arms. Arthur catches her hand, and pulls her up. He asks, “Having fun without us, were you?”
“We were waiting,” Merlin says, when it becomes apparent Gwen will not answer, “for the revelry to end.”
“And you didn’t think to wait somewhere more comfortable?” Morgana asks, eyeing Merlin’s position, slumped against the stone wall. He uncurls, arching his back to ease the ache.
Arthur coughs, and Morgana smiles at him. Arthur says, “You didn’t have a good time this evening? I didn’t make you wear the hat.”
“No, my lord,” Merlin answers, “but I was on my feet for most of the evening, as was Gwen. We are tired, and sore, and not exactly feeling inclined to make nice with the nobility, if you understand my meaning. They certainly didn’t want to make nice with us.”
“Lucky,” Arthur says, before he reaches his other hand to Merlin, “there’s no nobility around here then.”
Merlin lets himself be pulled down the corridor, through a door he has never seen before. It’s one of the guest chambers, and he hopes no one is about to wander in looking for their bed. Especially when Arthur deposits Gwen onto the end of it, and Merlin beside her.
“Sire,” Merlin begins.
Morgana produces a bottle of wine from nowhere, and sits behind Merlin on the bed. She uncaps the bottle, and passes it to Gwen.
Arthur sits down behind Gwen, and Merlin has to turn around to be able to see him. Merlin leans against the post of the bed, and shuts his eyes. Gwen takes a mouthful of wine and, passing Arthur the bottle, rests her head against Merlin’s shoulder. Arthur’s knee brushes Merlin’s when he leans forward, pressing the bottle to Merlin’s lips.
Arthur murmurs, “It was a dull feast anyway.”
Morgana laughs, and slides down the bed to lie on her side. “It really was.” She curls her hand around Gwen’s ankle, and rubs at the bone.
In the lamplight, Arthur is all golden. Merlin looks at him and thinks, there is magic in you somewhere. There must be, because when I look at you, I see the morning sky aflame; I see the stars shifting in their orbs. All ends, and all beginnings. Arthur blinks, and something in his throat twitches when he presses the bottle on Merlin again.
Merlin sups at the wine and whispers, “Thank you, Arthur,” to watch the smile he gets when he says it.
* * * *
It is different, now that there are four of them, and not only two. Two can only crack in half, but four can split in two for any number of reasons.
Arthur, sometimes, tries to draw lines the other way. Male and female, warrior and seamstress. It does him no good, when Morgana is better with a sword than Merlin will ever be, and Merlin works his fingers rough on needles in Arthur’s coat.
Merlin thinks that he is more afraid of either Morgana or Gwen than he will ever be of Arthur again. He knows now that Arthur cares for him, would die for him, would never allow him to come to harm. Gwen and Morgana love him, he knows that too. But there is wicked mischief in their eyes, when they talk so quietly to each other. Arthur had insulted them before, when he questioned Morgana’s use of her little blade.
Gwen walks past him, and pats his hand apologetically as she moves to Morgana’s side. Gwen walks unarmed, as Merlin does. She is there because she chooses, not because of dragon-song in her sleep. Of the four of them, she is the only one who could be happy somewhere else. Merlin respects Arthur’s deference to his position, and Morgana’s feeling of frustrated purpose. But there is something like courage in Gwen’s easy paces by Morgana’s side, when there has been so much that might make her leave. Merlin doesn’t know if he would pick this destiny, were the option given to him.
They walk through the forest, where it is quiet. Gwen whispers close in Morgana’s ear, while they walk ahead of Arthur and Merlin.
There is a crack, only a broken twig, but Arthur holds up his hand. Morgana stills, with her hand on Gwen’s arm. Merlin finds himself shoved to the ground. He lifts his head, moss under his nose, and sees that Morgana has done the same with Gwen.
Arthur hisses, “Morgana,” and pulls out his sword.
Morgana creeps to his side, her own blade in her hand.
When the ambush happens, they are prepared. Arthur and Morgana move back-to-back, twisting and turning with smooth elegance. Merlin notes - inappropriately - how beautiful they are. How destiny has made them twins in a different way from Arthur and Merlin. They would be a king and queen of legend, warrior and wild.
They turn so it is Morgana facing him, and she mouths his name. Merlin tosses his own knife to Gwen, and looks to the trees. He pulls roots and shakes branches, in the spaces when Arthur is looking away.
Arthur laughs, when the last attacker drops, to see the scene. “Merlin,” he says, “protected by women again. You really are a disgrace to all men, you know that.”
“I do sire,” Merlin agrees cheerfully, while Gwen and Morgana giggle. “Now, shall I light the fire, or do you want to try it yourself again? I’m sure the King won’t mind terribly if we set the forest alight.”
Arthur punches Merlin’s shoulder, and drops to the forest floor, waiting for Merlin to tend to him. Gwen smiles, and goes to fetch the abandoned packs. Morgana goes with her and, soon enough, Merlin hears their soothing whispers.
* * * *
It is different, now that there are four of them, and not only two. A secret kept in two holds a quiet devastation, but it is not a personal slight. It is a barrier around the one, but it is against the world, not the other person. A secret kept in four is different. It is different when two know, and two do not.
Arthur and Gwen do not even know there is a secret to be kept. Morgana, Merlin thinks, barely knows it. But there are days, all the same, when the line cuts them in half along those lines. Gwen and Arthur saying careful, steady, can’t. Merlin and Morgana incanting try, dare, rebel.
Morgana turns to Merlin and says, “Tell him!”
“I tried,” he says, not looking at Arthur. “I have been trying.”
“Merlin,” Gwen says, “you know that Arthur can’t just-” And since her father, since even before that, Gwen has softened to Arthur. ‘He tries’, she says. ‘He’s very brave’ she says, and Merlin had known months before that Gwen admires knightly courage. Gwen is a practical woman at heart, and she believes in Arthur’s steel more than Merlin’s unnameable instinct.
Morgana’s cloak whispers when she walks, and Merlin is so used to following these voices that he ends up at her heels. She turns, and says, “Look, Merlin, look.”
“I know.”
“They don’t understand, they can’t. They-”
“-can’t. I know.”
“You do,” she says, like a revelation. Her voice is lilting and beautiful, the way enchantments are supposed to be. Not a fragile-looking girl with honeyed death on her lips. Morgana says, “Merlin,” and he leans to her. She is strong, and woman, with a knife in her hand. She says “you’ll help me.”
When he says yes, she presses him to the wall with a kiss. Her hair is soft under his fingers, and her laughter sparkles golden. She is other - else - and Merlin cannot help that he noticed this about her on the same day he noticed Arthur’s strength and Gwen’s warmth. Her presence sings in his mind, a key he responds to without thinking. There has never been anyone like him before. There has never been anyone who might understand what it is to have this secret, unwilling but still crying out to use it for good. She smells of flowers, sweet and heady.
Afterwards, when her hands are scraped and bloody, and Merlin has newly blooming bruises up his chest, Arthur will ask the question. The same question Gwen asks, as she wipes the scrapes on Morgana’s cheek and neck.
They will give matching answers, watching each other over Gwen and Arthur’s shoulders. It was the right thing. It was the only thing. Certain, in the end, though there had been doubt before. The way Gwen and Arthur are certain, until they let Merlin and Morgana sow doubt in their minds. The end results are the same.
* * * *
It is different, now that there are four of them, and not only two. When two fight, it is only so long before they are forced to either reconcile or end entirely. With four, there are so many different small reconciliations needed. It needs them all to point the same direction again, all at once. Instead, they each pick a separate compass point and start walking.
Gwen blames Merlin blames Arthur blames Morgana. When it is just two of them, Gwen will speak to Merlin, or Morgana to Arthur. When it is just the two of them, there is still enough of a frame to steady the whole. But Merlin will not apologise for this, not to anyone. He was right.
Merlin thinks that Arthur might know that. But he cannot acknowledge it without appearing weak in front of Morgana. And Arthur is (still) proud and (always) in control. He rides out alone.
Merlin is in his room, and there is a sudden terrifying silence. All the background noise in the world vanishes, so there is only the empty echo of his own thoughts: something’s wrong.
He runs.
The silence in his head is not filled until he reaches the main staircase. Morgana takes his hand, and they fall into pace, heading for the courtyard. Gwen is watching the men pull Arthur from his horse, bleeding.
The soldiers lay him on the ground, and someone somewhere is calling for the physician. Gwen drops to her knees by Arthur’s side, and no one pushes her away. No one knows what to do, and there are worse things than her small hands pushing the blood back into his chest.
Morgana fits behind Gwen, reaching her arms around to cover the wound. Merlin sits on the other side, folding his hands over theirs. His whispering is half-magic and half-pleading. Stay stay stay.
Gwen looks up at him, and then leans her head back against Morgana. She spares one hand to stroke through Arthur’s hair, now that Merlin and Morgana are covering the slash. She says, “Do it. Just- whatever it is, do it now. Before they come back.”
“Gwen,” Morgana says.
“He’ll die.”
“No,” Merlin says, “he won’t.” Then: “I need…”
“We’re here.”
* * * *
It is different, now that there are four of them, and not only two. When there are four, no one has to wait alone.
By the time Arthur wakes, any boundaries there might have been between the four of them have disappeared. Gwen lies between Arthur and Morgana on the bed, with her right hand resting at the base of his neck. Merlin had started in a chair by the bed, but crept forward. Now he is sprawled over Arthur’s legs, with his hand flat against Arthur’s heart. Gwen covers this hand with her left; Morgana’s is curled in Merlin’s hair.
Arthur wakens with moans and sighs that disrupt the tableau instantly. Merlin runs full pelt for Gaius, Gwen hastens to fetch water, and Morgana is the one to sit by his side. She says, “Arthur,” and has not progressed much further when Merlin returns.
Arthur says, “There was a-”
And Merlin says, “It’s gone now.”
“You?”
“You, I think. Well, the other knights too, but you first. The child’s mother wants to thank you when you wake.”
“I’m not awake yet.”
Gaius laughs. “Not quite, sire. But soon enough.”
Uther clasps Arthur’s shoulder, and his eyes are suspiciously bright. He still leaves, and Merlin is the one to finish the story. To say, ‘your father was- I’ve never seen him like that.’ To say, ‘he cares’.
They leave Arthur to sleep again, spinning off separately, as if remembering that they had been fighting before this.
Merlin returns in the evening. Arthur has opened his shirt, and is pressing his finger against the slight scar on his chest. He looks at Merlin. “This was worse, before.”
“Scars heal, sire,” Merlin says. He smiles, to show that he means a joke, to show that Arthur is talking nonsense.
“It should be worse than this.”
“Can you not just be thankful that it isn’t?” Gwen walks into the room behind Merlin. He feels Morgana in her wake, less than a minute behind in her covert visitation.
“Not without knowing why,” Arthur says.
Merlin waits. Morgana steps into the bedroom. She says, “Because we needed it to be so.”
“That’s not enough.”
“It will have to be.” Morgana walks to the side of the bed. She takes Arthur’s hand, and kisses it. “You’re here. That’s enough for me.”
“Not for me,” Arthur says, and makes an end, without calling it one. There has never been enough room between them for anyone to push.
* * * *
It is different, now that there are four of them, and not only two. With four, Merlin sees nothing but Arthur’s absence when they make a three.
In Gwen’s small house, in the bed that used to be her father’s, Merlin shivers. Morgana soothes him with a kiss, her hands running up and down his arms. Gwen fits behind Merlin, rubbing against his back when she leans over his shoulder to kiss Morgana. Their hands land on him, and on each other. Beautiful, he thinks, caught between them.
He doesn’t see the door open, but hears it start to close. For a fraction of a second, Merlin catches a glimpse of Arthur’s face in between the two. It is not the last time he will see that expression, but he feels it hard this first time. Betrayal in the blue of Arthur’s eyes like the breaking of rain.
Merlin stands. “We should-”
“You’ve forgiven him, then?” Morgana asks.
“It was never my choice.”
Gwen pulls her tunic back over her breasts and shoulder, fumbling with the knots. She frowns. “If the two of you are done, then may we go? He’ll be-“
“-upset.” Merlin says, as Morgana fills in, “angry.”
Gwen gathers her cloak, and finds Morgana’s on the chair. She says, “Waiting.”
* * * *
It is different, now that there are four of them, and not only two. Four is just enough to fill Arthur’s bed. With two, Merlin has too much time to think about it: all the ways this could destroy them both.
Gwen laughs at him when he does that, as she always does when she feels he is being ridiculous. “Where did you go?” she asks, when he is back with her, mouth on the collar bone and the hollow of her throat. “You keep- Merlin.”
Arthur’s mouth is pinched tightly closed, trying to keep quiet when Morgana’s teeth flash white and she moves her hand. “Arthur,” she sings.
“It’s just us,” Merlin says, and pushes Arthur flat on the bed. “Don’t worry so much.”
“I don’t-” Arthur says, and leans up into Merlin, looking for friction and the curve of his mouth. “I just- God, Merlin, please, if you insist. Please.”
“I wasn’t insisting,” Merlin says, and slips obligingly down Arthur’s body. He tries to say, “though it helps,” but is muffled when he opens his mouth to swallow Arthur down.
Arthur’s mouth is on Gwen, and she is making very distracting noises. It puts Merlin off his rhythm, though Arthur doesn’t seem to have breath to complain. And then Morgana reaches. Wraps one hand around Merlin, and slides the other between Arthur’s skin and Merlin’s lips. She bites Merlin’s shoulder, and runs over the edge of pain with her tongue. Her hair falls soft against his shoulder when she steps over him to reach Gwen.
The others have slipped into a ready pattern: Arthur with Merlin and Gwen on each side. Morgana is the one rogue element, slipping from one past the other like quicksilver. She whispers, and Merlin doesn’t know if anyone else can hear it. Her hand tightens in Gwen’s. Merlin wonders if Gwen could hold them all here, or if it must be either Morgana or Arthur she chooses to ground. Merlin can hold no one steady, nor can he be held. He feels himself floating, flying apart.
Arthur grabs his hip, and Merlin can feel his muscles tense. Merlin murmurs broken nonsense words into the crease at Arthur’s thigh, strokes with his fingers, and then goes back with his mouth. He doesn’t choke when Arthur thrusts up, with Merlin’s name caught in his throat. Gwen gasps, and Merlin doesn’t look up to see whose hand is on her, or whose mouth makes Morgana’s fingers clench in the bedclothes. He lies on the bed with his eyes closed, until Arthur’s arm slides under him, and turns him on his side.
Arthur says, “I can hear you thinking, you know.”
“What, really?”
“No, not really,” Arthur scoffs, but runs his fingers through the hair at the nape of Merlin’s neck. “I’m not so sure that I’d want to.”
“This was a good thought, though,” Gwen murmurs, the words almost lost against Morgana’s shoulder.
“It wasn’t Merlin’s,” Arthur says.
“I don’t think it was anyone’s.” Morgana’s fingers trace patterns on Arthur’s skin. “I think it just-“
“Happened?” Merlin asks.
“No,” she says. “Not just happened. It was the only way for this all to end.”
“This isn’t an end,” Arthur says, at the same time as Merlin whispers, “There’s lots of ways for this to end. It’s not- not destined. We chose the better way. If we could just-“
“What?” Morgana asks. Her voice is gentle, flowing into the dark places. Arthur’s hand has stopped its idle petting, waiting for Merlin to answer. Gwen leans over her lady’s shoulder to look at Merlin. He thinks: if we could stay like this. If this could be us forever, exactly so. Here in the heart of the kingdom, safe and wound together with nothing between us. Only each other, and Camelot protected.
He murmurs, “Nothing, Morgana. I’m sorry, nothing.”
Arthur shrugs, and pulls Merlin a little closer. “You can make nothing sound very ominous, Merlin. Sometimes I hear the end of the world in your sighs.”
Merlin thinks to answer, trying to rephrase ‘nothing’ into visions of caves and black water. But Arthur kisses the top of his head, and slips into a dreamless sleep. Merlin ghosts his fingers over the healing scar, running into Gwen’s hand. She looks at him over Morgana, asleep on Arthur’s other shoulder. Merlin says, “Something’s coming. I have no gift with prophecy but something’s coming.”
Gwen takes his hand. “But not tonight.”
FIN