Frozen stars verse - Into the silence/Endure
Author: Judin
Title: Endure
Rating: PG (Series rating: R)
Pairing/s: Arthur/Merlin
Character/s: Merlin, Gwen, (Arthur, Leena and Enid).
Summary: Merlin's thoughts run free while his body stands bound.
Warnings: Angst, issues of rape.
Word Count: 1731
Prompt: #39 Silver
Author's Notes: This chapter was written kind of fast, so please let me know if there are any mistakes.
You can find the rest of this series on AO3, or here at Camelot Drabble.
OBS! This is not the chapter that follows "They will fall like leaves"! Chapter 10 is "Into the silence" (at AO3), which was written over the holidays. Below you find chapter 11.
“What does the mistletoe mean?”
“War, Emrys. War is coming. Do you know of Arthur’s bane?”
“Yes. How do I stop it?”
“That is still hidden in the future. Beware, Emrys, for the time is close at hand.”
“The time for what?”
“The time of your reign.”
As Leena had walked away with the druids, Merlin had felt regret that he had not met her and Enid in a happier time. They had spoken little on their journey, sunk in their own dark thoughts, and so he had barely gotten to know them. The women’s thanks had been heartfelt, though, and when Leena had smiled at him over her shoulder, he had felt that she would come to good. If the world held together long enough for her to heal.
Only an hour ago, Merlin had bent his head to the wood and wondered for one dizzy moment if this was what the executioner’s block would feel like, and then the top half of the stocks had come down and trapped him, and the lock had clicked into place. Now he clings to thoughts of Leena with her quiet, stubborn strength, and memories of Enid singing her daughter to sleep at night. Once these memories have been wrung dry, he considers Iseldir’s words about the coming of Arthur’s bane. Merlin is not the least calmed by the apparent proximity of his own “reign”. He doesn’t want to reign, he wants to serve Arthur. That was his destiny, whatever dragons and druids might say, and now … now the future is a yawning chasm, impenetrable even to the prophetic eye.
It burns Merlin to be here, bent in the stocks like some misbehaved child or petty thief. The problem is not that his punishment is undeserved; he has gone to the stocks for his destiny before, but because for the past few years, Arthur has always reprimanded him in private, and Merlin has treasured it as a mark of respect. He resents this public display of his lord’s displeasure in him, even though the people in the square are mercifully few today. The absence of children wielding vegetables surprises him, though. He thought for sure they’d be here by now.
The wood is unforgiving against his wrists, his neck and back are already aching, and the cold has sunk through the many layers of his clothes, making him shake uncontrollably. It feels like months since the last time he was well-rested, though he knows he felt fine before leaving Camelot a week ago. His thoughts float away from him, his mind sluggish.
Think of Leena, think of the mistletoe and the vision in the water, think of happier times, think of nothing. Just don’t think of Arthur.
Of course, he can think of nothing else.
Merlin can’t decide when it was he fell in love with Arthur. His feelings run like a stream through the landscape of their relationship, giving life and nourishment to all things around it, and it has no beginning or end. On the other hand, he certainly didn’t love Arthur when they first met, and so he supposes the feeling must have appeared some time later, but the point is, he cannot remember when. His devotion and loyalty, his daily chores, his and Arthur’s arguments and private jokes, their great destiny; all these things come together like a tapestry, and love is the thread that keeps it together. For this reason, Merlin has been able to serve Arthur safely for years without giving himself away. Unlike his magic, his love has been a secret easily kept, because if it shone through, it didn’t matter.
He can, however, easily recall the first time his lust for Arthur made itself known. Arthur had held a joust not long after he was made King, a celebration held mostly so that the invited royalty and nobility could see with their own eyes that Camelot was as strong as ever. It had been a difficult time for Arthur, since Gwen had just recently returned, and the two of them had made the choice not to rekindle their romance. So Merlin had been looking for ways to make his King smile, and on that sunny day, a barrel of water had provided him with the opportunity.
Arthur had been around to all the tents, greeted the competing knights and wished them luck, before promising to personally land them all on their asses. By now, he was hot, sweaty, and complaining about it loudly, to Merlin. In the end, Merlin had fetched a pail, filled it with cold water from the barrel outside the King’s tent, gone back inside, and upended it over Arthur’s head. After a very unmanly shriek, Arthur had caught Merlin and tackled him to the ground, before lifting him up and carrying him to the barrel.
It was then, as Merlin was busy frantically protesting his impending punishment, that a deep breath had filled his mouth and nose with the smell of Arthur. It was hardly the first time, and shouldn’t have been remarkable, and yet it changed everything.
A moment later, Arthur had deposited Merlin, feet first, into the barrel, and Merlin had shrieked in turn, but secretly been glad for the cold bath.
Later, when he had had the time to examine the moment, Merlin had gained a better understanding of his own feelings, which at the time he had known only as a fire in his belly.
His undoing lay in having Arthur’s arms around him, being crushed to that strong chest and feeling their hearts beating as one. It lay in hearing Arthur laugh and knowing he made it happen. It lay in the excitement of being so powerful, and yet helpless against Arthur's will, not because Merlin had to hide his magic, but because he would have submitted anyway.
Unlike his love, Merlin’s lust would not let itself be integrated into his existing relationship with Arthur, and once it had reared its ugly head, it was all he could do to keep it at bay.
But oh, the reality of Ismere had far surpassed his secret fantasies, for all that there had been no sensation but the solidity of their bodies, no skin but Arthur’s cheek against his cheek, no smells in the icy air, only their soft breathing growing urgent as their bodies did what bodies like to do.
Except, in his fantasies, Arthur had wanted it as much as Merlin.
Merlin can’t feel his nose anymore.
That’s when he hears Gwen coming. He knows the tinkling sound of the silver bells at the throat of her fur lined cloak. They sound like the coming of hope, he thinks. “My lady,” he greets her, when she comes into his field of vision.
She mock-frowns at him. “My friends call me Gwen.”
He snorts. “That's prettier than what my friends are calling me right now.”
Gwen tilts her head in confusion and reminds him with the familiar gesture that neither land, money nor politics have truly changed her. “What do you mean?” she asks.
Merlin feels a sudden need to have her touch, on his hands or face, anywhere. He needs to feel her steady affection flowing through him like blood. When her world crumbled, she carried on with remarkable determination. He hopes he can do the same.
He swallows down his need and waves his hand towards the other side of the square. “See Sir Aglovale and Sir Pelliam over there? They've been here as long as I have. At first I thought they were enjoying the spectacle, but now I'm not so sure. Watching to see I don't escape, maybe?”
Gwen smiles fondly and shakes her head. “Do you remember the winter just after Arthur was made Crown Prince, when old Klep Ashwood was put in the stocks for yelling at the soldiers in the courtyard? He was drunken.”
“He'd just lost his wife,” Merlin says slowly, recalling the incident. “They should have put him to bed, not in the stocks.”
“And do you remember how Arthur and Morgana spent all day having a snowball fight in this very square, while Klep served his sentence?”
Merlin nods. He understands her now. “They kept people at bay, just by being here. They made sure Klep was left alone.”
It had been Arthur and Morgana’s private rebellion against Uther’s sentence. A small, but significant gesture.
Gwen smiles. “Exactly.” Still smiling, she begins to undo her cloak.
“Gwen, what are you doing?”
She doesn't reply, going around him and swinging her cloak over his back. It covers him like a warm blanket, and he nearly groans with relief.
“You'll be cold,” he protests, though selfishly hoping that she won't reconsider.
“Not as cold as you,” she counters. “Besides, they’ll be coming to let you out in a moment.”
She is correct, as only a few minutes later, someone shows up with the key. Merlin stands up slowly, groaning in pain. Gwen tugs the cloak closer about his shoulders and rubs his arms briskly, making the little bells ring wildly.
At the corner of his eye, Merlin catches the two knights leaving. Did they really stand there for two hours just to save Merlin from vegetables? He feels warmer at the thought.
“I have spoken to Gwaine and Percival, to Gaius and to Arthur,” Gwen said, her eyes on her hands as she needlessly adjusts the edges of the cloak.
“And now it’s my turn?” Merlin asks. He can tell from her quiet frustration that she has learned nothing.
She looks up at him with the intention of saying yes, he can tell, but she stops herself, and perhaps she sees just how tired he is, because she ends up shaking her head. “We can talk later. You need sleep.”
He smiles thankfully. “Will you walk me home, my lady?”
“Alright.”
He drapes the edge of the cloak over her shoulder, along with his arm, so that they are both warm and walking close. She puts her arm around his waist, somehow keeping him up with that simple touch alone.
All the way to Gaius’ door, Merlin longs to confess everything to Gwen, but he doesn’t, and they part outside the physician’s chambers.
“I’ll see you later,” she says.
“I’ll be in the stocks,” he replies.
She walks away, and takes the hopeful silver bells with her.
Title: Endure
Rating: PG (Series rating: R)
Pairing/s: Arthur/Merlin
Character/s: Merlin, Gwen, (Arthur, Leena and Enid).
Summary: Merlin's thoughts run free while his body stands bound.
Warnings: Angst, issues of rape.
Word Count: 1731
Prompt: #39 Silver
Author's Notes: This chapter was written kind of fast, so please let me know if there are any mistakes.
You can find the rest of this series on AO3, or here at Camelot Drabble.
OBS! This is not the chapter that follows "They will fall like leaves"! Chapter 10 is "Into the silence" (at AO3), which was written over the holidays. Below you find chapter 11.
“What does the mistletoe mean?”
“War, Emrys. War is coming. Do you know of Arthur’s bane?”
“Yes. How do I stop it?”
“That is still hidden in the future. Beware, Emrys, for the time is close at hand.”
“The time for what?”
“The time of your reign.”
As Leena had walked away with the druids, Merlin had felt regret that he had not met her and Enid in a happier time. They had spoken little on their journey, sunk in their own dark thoughts, and so he had barely gotten to know them. The women’s thanks had been heartfelt, though, and when Leena had smiled at him over her shoulder, he had felt that she would come to good. If the world held together long enough for her to heal.
Only an hour ago, Merlin had bent his head to the wood and wondered for one dizzy moment if this was what the executioner’s block would feel like, and then the top half of the stocks had come down and trapped him, and the lock had clicked into place. Now he clings to thoughts of Leena with her quiet, stubborn strength, and memories of Enid singing her daughter to sleep at night. Once these memories have been wrung dry, he considers Iseldir’s words about the coming of Arthur’s bane. Merlin is not the least calmed by the apparent proximity of his own “reign”. He doesn’t want to reign, he wants to serve Arthur. That was his destiny, whatever dragons and druids might say, and now … now the future is a yawning chasm, impenetrable even to the prophetic eye.
It burns Merlin to be here, bent in the stocks like some misbehaved child or petty thief. The problem is not that his punishment is undeserved; he has gone to the stocks for his destiny before, but because for the past few years, Arthur has always reprimanded him in private, and Merlin has treasured it as a mark of respect. He resents this public display of his lord’s displeasure in him, even though the people in the square are mercifully few today. The absence of children wielding vegetables surprises him, though. He thought for sure they’d be here by now.
The wood is unforgiving against his wrists, his neck and back are already aching, and the cold has sunk through the many layers of his clothes, making him shake uncontrollably. It feels like months since the last time he was well-rested, though he knows he felt fine before leaving Camelot a week ago. His thoughts float away from him, his mind sluggish.
Think of Leena, think of the mistletoe and the vision in the water, think of happier times, think of nothing. Just don’t think of Arthur.
Of course, he can think of nothing else.
Merlin can’t decide when it was he fell in love with Arthur. His feelings run like a stream through the landscape of their relationship, giving life and nourishment to all things around it, and it has no beginning or end. On the other hand, he certainly didn’t love Arthur when they first met, and so he supposes the feeling must have appeared some time later, but the point is, he cannot remember when. His devotion and loyalty, his daily chores, his and Arthur’s arguments and private jokes, their great destiny; all these things come together like a tapestry, and love is the thread that keeps it together. For this reason, Merlin has been able to serve Arthur safely for years without giving himself away. Unlike his magic, his love has been a secret easily kept, because if it shone through, it didn’t matter.
He can, however, easily recall the first time his lust for Arthur made itself known. Arthur had held a joust not long after he was made King, a celebration held mostly so that the invited royalty and nobility could see with their own eyes that Camelot was as strong as ever. It had been a difficult time for Arthur, since Gwen had just recently returned, and the two of them had made the choice not to rekindle their romance. So Merlin had been looking for ways to make his King smile, and on that sunny day, a barrel of water had provided him with the opportunity.
Arthur had been around to all the tents, greeted the competing knights and wished them luck, before promising to personally land them all on their asses. By now, he was hot, sweaty, and complaining about it loudly, to Merlin. In the end, Merlin had fetched a pail, filled it with cold water from the barrel outside the King’s tent, gone back inside, and upended it over Arthur’s head. After a very unmanly shriek, Arthur had caught Merlin and tackled him to the ground, before lifting him up and carrying him to the barrel.
It was then, as Merlin was busy frantically protesting his impending punishment, that a deep breath had filled his mouth and nose with the smell of Arthur. It was hardly the first time, and shouldn’t have been remarkable, and yet it changed everything.
A moment later, Arthur had deposited Merlin, feet first, into the barrel, and Merlin had shrieked in turn, but secretly been glad for the cold bath.
Later, when he had had the time to examine the moment, Merlin had gained a better understanding of his own feelings, which at the time he had known only as a fire in his belly.
His undoing lay in having Arthur’s arms around him, being crushed to that strong chest and feeling their hearts beating as one. It lay in hearing Arthur laugh and knowing he made it happen. It lay in the excitement of being so powerful, and yet helpless against Arthur's will, not because Merlin had to hide his magic, but because he would have submitted anyway.
Unlike his love, Merlin’s lust would not let itself be integrated into his existing relationship with Arthur, and once it had reared its ugly head, it was all he could do to keep it at bay.
But oh, the reality of Ismere had far surpassed his secret fantasies, for all that there had been no sensation but the solidity of their bodies, no skin but Arthur’s cheek against his cheek, no smells in the icy air, only their soft breathing growing urgent as their bodies did what bodies like to do.
Except, in his fantasies, Arthur had wanted it as much as Merlin.
Merlin can’t feel his nose anymore.
That’s when he hears Gwen coming. He knows the tinkling sound of the silver bells at the throat of her fur lined cloak. They sound like the coming of hope, he thinks. “My lady,” he greets her, when she comes into his field of vision.
She mock-frowns at him. “My friends call me Gwen.”
He snorts. “That's prettier than what my friends are calling me right now.”
Gwen tilts her head in confusion and reminds him with the familiar gesture that neither land, money nor politics have truly changed her. “What do you mean?” she asks.
Merlin feels a sudden need to have her touch, on his hands or face, anywhere. He needs to feel her steady affection flowing through him like blood. When her world crumbled, she carried on with remarkable determination. He hopes he can do the same.
He swallows down his need and waves his hand towards the other side of the square. “See Sir Aglovale and Sir Pelliam over there? They've been here as long as I have. At first I thought they were enjoying the spectacle, but now I'm not so sure. Watching to see I don't escape, maybe?”
Gwen smiles fondly and shakes her head. “Do you remember the winter just after Arthur was made Crown Prince, when old Klep Ashwood was put in the stocks for yelling at the soldiers in the courtyard? He was drunken.”
“He'd just lost his wife,” Merlin says slowly, recalling the incident. “They should have put him to bed, not in the stocks.”
“And do you remember how Arthur and Morgana spent all day having a snowball fight in this very square, while Klep served his sentence?”
Merlin nods. He understands her now. “They kept people at bay, just by being here. They made sure Klep was left alone.”
It had been Arthur and Morgana’s private rebellion against Uther’s sentence. A small, but significant gesture.
Gwen smiles. “Exactly.” Still smiling, she begins to undo her cloak.
“Gwen, what are you doing?”
She doesn't reply, going around him and swinging her cloak over his back. It covers him like a warm blanket, and he nearly groans with relief.
“You'll be cold,” he protests, though selfishly hoping that she won't reconsider.
“Not as cold as you,” she counters. “Besides, they’ll be coming to let you out in a moment.”
She is correct, as only a few minutes later, someone shows up with the key. Merlin stands up slowly, groaning in pain. Gwen tugs the cloak closer about his shoulders and rubs his arms briskly, making the little bells ring wildly.
At the corner of his eye, Merlin catches the two knights leaving. Did they really stand there for two hours just to save Merlin from vegetables? He feels warmer at the thought.
“I have spoken to Gwaine and Percival, to Gaius and to Arthur,” Gwen said, her eyes on her hands as she needlessly adjusts the edges of the cloak.
“And now it’s my turn?” Merlin asks. He can tell from her quiet frustration that she has learned nothing.
She looks up at him with the intention of saying yes, he can tell, but she stops herself, and perhaps she sees just how tired he is, because she ends up shaking her head. “We can talk later. You need sleep.”
He smiles thankfully. “Will you walk me home, my lady?”
“Alright.”
He drapes the edge of the cloak over her shoulder, along with his arm, so that they are both warm and walking close. She puts her arm around his waist, somehow keeping him up with that simple touch alone.
All the way to Gaius’ door, Merlin longs to confess everything to Gwen, but he doesn’t, and they part outside the physician’s chambers.
“I’ll see you later,” she says.
“I’ll be in the stocks,” he replies.
She walks away, and takes the hopeful silver bells with her.