(no subject)
A strongly worded letter to Geoffrey of Monmouth.
There comes a point, but not a point, a series of disconnected points that are actually connected in a way that's unknowable, when Merlin no longer thinks in linear time. He disregards such meaningless trivialities as dates and hours and the fiction of forward movement. But this now isn't that time yet, this is before, when Merlin was tethered to the present with an invisible umbilical cord. Now is the liminal period after Uther dies, while Gaius is still alive, and everything that comes after.
Wet stone slides under his fingertips as he moves through the corridor towards the dragon's cave. Each pock mark in the rock pricks against his skin. Merlin can feel the hum of the ancient creatures who gave their fragile bodies in pursuit of the formation of this material that humans see as nothing more than their due. The stone of the earth and the rain of the air is nothing but tools for man. Merlin sees things a bit differently.
He doesn't bother with torches much anymore. Not if he's alone. He could cast ghostly fire or produce a cool spark on his fingertips, but he doesn't unless he's bored. Merlin can feel his way in the dark. Every object--walls, barrels, cats, abandoned dice, coils of rope--he can feel their texture, sense their presence. Merlin has little use for torches or magical light.
The dragon is perched on his rock when Merlin steps out on the precipice. They have a rapport now, a relationship that's less about respect and more about a deep understanding of their disparate views of the world.
"You will come to ruination trying to thwart fate. What do you think you are, boy, besides the fulfillment of prophecy? Your very existence is the thing you rail against."
Merlin has heard this speech time and again. He's made his choice. He will live his life as if his choices are his own. If fate is as it is, this will matter little besides setting his mind at ease.
"What would you bid me do about Morgana?"
The dragon laughs. He's a tortured creature and his caprices occupy him in his captivity. Merlin would release him if Arthur wouldn't immediately saddle his horse and ride half-cocked into the night to slay the beast.
"What would you do about Morgana?" The dragon flutters his wings and settles on his haunches in the smug way he has.
Merlin is of many minds about Morgana. Some of his minds are more carnal than others. The fact that she's dangerous, disenchanted, deadly, and probably many things that don't begin with D, has occurred to him in the last year. Uther sowed a crop that Arthur will reap for most of his own reign.
"Will the witch not be shipped off to some unfortunate man's marriage bed?" The dragon beats his wings and the scent of him, the metallic tang of gold, damp earth, the singular spice that is the dragon's own essence, washes over Merlin.
"You cannot dull my wits with your magics." Even as the words leave his mouth he rolls his own eyes at the stupidity of the statement.
The dragon laughs again. "You are an endless source of great amusement, boy." His great head bobs to come eye level with Merlin. "Your dealings with Morgana are hardly at an end, a fact of which you are only too aware. The time for my counsel has already ceased, you simply cling to outward ritual and habit like your kind are wont." With that the dragon launches up into the nether regions of the cave.
"Thanks for that!" Merlin calls after him. "As always, it's been enlightening!"
*
Morgana watches him from under her eyelashes over supper. No one pretends Merlin is a servant any longer. Not since Uther came to his inevitable end. Not since some time before that. Morgana has long treated Merlin with respect, if not as her equal. No man will be Morgana's equal, not in her own mind, perhaps not in truth.
"You have the reek of the dragon about you." She sips her wine and assesses him. Gaius is at the other end of the table giving Arthur advice he won't heed. Arthur's clearly bored, his eyes roaming around the room and over the faces of the visiting dignitaries from Kerys and Gwynedd. Morgana tingles, like a limb coming back to life after going dead. She prickles against that part of him that extends outside the shell of his body. She would coil around him, hold on and strangle him like mistletoe if he let her. Her intentions aren't malicious, she's just curious, curious and unrestrained since Uther's death. Merlin glances back at Arthur and can't help the hard look he feels pull at his face. How Arthur will unite Albion when he can't curb his foster sister, Merlin cannot fathom.
"What game are you playing tonight?" Merlin watches Morgana's soft smile, the candle light reflecting off the gems in her hair, the affectionate tilt to her head.
"There is only one game I play with you, Emrys." Her bright laughter brings a blush to his cheeks and a smile to his lips.
"Touche, my lady. Now that we have that out of the way, what do you think about Princess Dahut?" He's learned to control himself enough he doesn't look down the table to watch her flirt with Arthur. He doesn't have to. Her reputation proceeds her and Arthur's Arthur.
"Arthur's chum. But you already know that. Why don't we discuss the scrying mirror you stole from me." She doesn't sound angry, and Merlin knows she's not. Morgana treats Merlin like a source of consistent jocularity, like his admonitions are darling and his imprecations are endearing. Arthur thinks she's going mad. Merlin disagrees, he thinks Morgana knows something they do not and she's not divulging that knowledge until she plays out whatever deeper game she's at.
"You don't need the mirror, Morgana, and you stole it from me first." Merlin's voice does not raise, but Arthur's eyes cut from Princess Dahut to Merlin with raised eyebrows.
"You draw his regard," Morgana sips her wine. "But that is ever so, is it not?"
Morgana can be a total bitch.
"Jealous?" Merlin bites into a piece of dark bread thickly slathered in rich butter and tangy honey.
"Of which of you? Or both?" Morgana's plate is empty. She no longer bothers to pretend to eat with the rest of the household. She subsists on wild flowers and honey comb, cockles plucked from the strand at half past midnight and water drawn from a well blessed by Brighid. Her beauty has grown with her magic, so much so she has become a legend in the countryside--Morgana le Fey, one of the Blessed Ones, Morgaine of the Apples, she who walks the orchards by moonlight.
Merlin sighs and rolls his eyes. "Can I get through one meal in peace?"
Morgana clears her throat and waves her wine cup for a servant to refill. "You don't have to abide my company, there are plenty of seats at this table."
Merlin wonders if there will ever come a time that her faked hurt feelings will not move him. His eyes land on her face and an apology almost tumbles off his tongue, but he feels her magic press against him, slither up the knobs his his spine to twist languidly around his neck. His fingers fly to his throat from reflex and the beauty of her laughter turns heads throughout the room.
"You have won the heart of the most beautiful woman in all of Britannia," Prince Tristan says from kitty-corner across the table from Merlin. Morgana plays along, placing her hand on top of Merlin's and leaning into his space, her soft breast giving against his arm and the scent of apple blossoms dazing Merlin's senses for a heartbeat.
"Merlin could enchant even the most stony heart, my prince," Morgana simpers and Merlin has to resist the urge to send the whole of the feast hurling off the table to smash against the walls of the chamber.
Get off me! Merlin screams in Morgana's mind. She strikes up a conversation with Tristan about the boar hunt he just returned from. Merlin can see Arthur glaring from the other end of the table. Oh, great.
*
Merlin hides from Arthur in the fields beyond the finger of the Great Woods that lie near the city gates. Gaius is collecting bloodwort and angel's hair in the distance. Merlin makes his way to his mentor's side to help with the harvest.
"I despair of leaving this world to you people!" Gaius exclaims. Merlin laughs like he always does at Gaius's tutting.
"Then do no leave it to us!"
"My boy, even if that were an option, I would not choose it." Gaius hesitates to look up at him, and Merlin doesn't blame him. That particular prophecy seems unreal to Merlin, impossible. No one lives forever. There is no eternity for humans except through rebirth and the cycle of lives.
"Don't worry, Gaius, I'm sure I'll fall down a flight of stairs and break my neck sooner or later," Merlin plops down in the fragrant grass with a sigh.
"You shouldn't joke in that manner, Merlin. Know you not whether a malicious fairy or a capricious imp lingers near-by waiting to fulfill your dire musings." Gaius shakes his knife at Merlin.
"Tonight I wouldn't mind so much." He collapses on his back and watches lacy clouds drift across the nearly full moon. The night is bright silver around them, full of the hum of magic, of life.
"Morgana grows restless, I know." Gaius is as indulgent with Morgana as he is with Merlin. Gaius has much paternal love to dispense amongst his collection of orphans.
"I'm not sure I could stop her if she did something dire."
"Because she has bewitched you?" There's laughter in Gaius's voice. He likes the idea of Merlin and Morgana marrying and keeping one another company, their magical knowledge combining and creating a new era of research and advancement. Merlin doesn't have the heart these days to detail his misgivings about Morgana's intentions, doesn't let Gaius down by explaining exactly why Merlin could never pledge himself to one person, let alone that one person.
"She certainly works hard to."
"Oh, Merlin, everything seems so impossible at your age, but I assure you that life works out its own kinks. You have bigger matters to attend than affairs of the heart at any rate."
True enough. Which is why Morgana is such a pain in his ass. The kingdom has insurgents on two fronts and many of Uther's allies are reluctant to trust Arthur because of his youth and his about-face on many of Uther's policies--including the ban on magic.
"Tell me a tale, Gaius." Merlin folds his arms behind his head and ticks off the constellations as Gaius huffs and pretends to be put off.
"Oh, all right, but only if you help me harvest the ivy."
"Of course."
"Once, across the sea in a land of bright flowers and houses shaped like beehives, there was a man of great learning..." Gaius begins.
*
Arthur, predictably, is sitting in front of the fire in Merlin's rooms when Merlin finally hauls himself, damp and bone tired, home for the night. The door clicks shut silently, ensorcelled out of the shudder-inducing creak it has naturally.
"You and Morgana enjoy your evening?" Arthur says from the chair he always takes on the left side of the hearth. All Merlin can see of him is his hand hanging over the arm of the chair with the wine goblet held by three fingers. The huge ruby ring on his middle finger catches the firelight and casts eerie reflections about the room.
"Can we just dispense with the jealous ranting and baseless accusations? I was with Gaius collecting medicine." Merlin unbuttons his wet surcoat.
"Is your place in my household so safe you think you can speak to me thus?"
Arthur's drunk. He's going to take out all of his anxiety about the war and Morgana and Gwen and his own ability to rule on Merlin. And Merlin will be glad of it as long as Arthur keeps it together when it matters.
"Frankly? Yes. Do you want to put me in stocks like your father did so peasants can hurl refuse at me? Go ahead. I'm sure that Dahut and Tristan will think you a fit ruler when you put your court magician in stocks...for what, exactly? How will you explain that? I displeased you by sitting too close to your foster sister? I did not keep the right sort of respectful tone when you acted like a spoiled child whose favorite toy was taken away? Or will I have to concoct a likely story for this myself?"
Merlin realizes Arthur's laughing not because he hears it through his raised voice but because the air in the room changes texture. The heavy oppression of Arthur's ire dissipates and leaves a crisp autumnal atmosphere that feels like peace in Merlin's lungs. Arthur leans over the arm of the chair and grins at Merlin.
"You're in a mood. Did you fall down a well or set yourself on fire again?" Arthur's hair is mussed where he wore his crown all day, it needs a trim unless he's planning to set a new fashion. He looks more himself than he has since he rode off to Cornwall. The broken bones in his face (that Merlin had to knit with magic) barely show bruising any longer.
"Morgana has me at my wit's end." Merlin flops down in his chair and motions to Arthur to fork over the wine goblet. Arthur acquiesces with a smirk and a lifted brow.
"Ah, that." Arthur slumps back in his seat and sticks his stockinged feet towards the fire. "I have a mind to ship her off to some uppity baron to bribe him into quiescence."
Merlin is long an opponent of this plan. "She's better off where we can keep an eye on her."
"What do you think she's going to do? She's Morgana for god's sake!" Arthur has a way of underestimating people's likelihood to betray him that was fine when Merlin was routinely pulling the wool over Arthur's eyes but has come to be a trait that Merlin would beat out of the King if he could.
"Arthur," Merlin drinks down Arthur's entire cup of wine. He knows it's useless to argue with the man when he's in his cups--or really much at all as Arthur inherited his father's stubborn steak. "Do you understand how powerful she is?"
"Not as powerful as you, and I trust you with my life." Merlin wishes that exclamations like that didn't twist him up the way they do. Every time Arthur makes a grand declaration of love or trust feels like the first time. There's a warmth of regard Arthur conveys that is unlike anything else Merlin has ever felt. Others strive and strain for one fond look from Arthur, but Merlin receives Arthur's casual affection like only a bosom companion can. It's humbling.
"I would that Morgana is as trustworthy as you believe, but her power grows and her caprices increase with that power."
"We shall banish her to France or Ireland and be done with it, then!" Arthur is only so blithe with the banishing when he's happily drunk. Sober he remembers his own affection for Morgana, feels the tether that tugs him towards her. She is his longest and earliest companion; he loves her in a complex way, the same sort of complexity they all feel for one another.
"Casting an asp into a nest of vipers is perhaps not the best course of action. Not Ireland."
Arthur laughs and cracks his neck. He stands and walks to Merlin's bed. There's an ease about this since Uther's demise that Merlin never would have imagined in the days of covert touching and sneaking about. Arthur starts snoring before Merlin even has the volume of Aristotle open on his lap.
Hours later, when Merlin can feel the dawn creeping across the sky on bruised purple fingers, he sets his book in Arthur's chair, shrugs out of his clothes and crawls into the warm bed next to Arthur. The king sleeps with his arms out in anticipation of Merlin joining him, immediately pulls him tight without waking. Merlin closes his eyes and feels the corona around Arthur, the blazing bright truth of him the bleeds around them and out under the crack beneath the ensorcelled door and around the seams of the window out into the castle and the rest of the kingdom. Merlin lays close to the riotous heart of Arthur's spirit and finds a few minutes of peace by shutting his mind down to the future, to the worries of this day and the further worries of all the other days to come. Few people find any truth in this life, and Merlin has found more than a little bit. He knows Arthur will quell his enemies and they will come to prosperity, he knows it because he can taste it in the waves of rightness rolling off Arthur.
Arthur clutches him tighter. "You ruin my dream," Arthur's voice splinters on the words. "Must you think so loud you walk into my dreams?"
Merlin never means to do that. He doesn't know how to control it yet. He gets at least one person a day approach him about a dream they had of him. It's just one of the milestones of his day to day life.
"Go back to sleep," Merlin squirms and tries to roll on his side with Arthur at his back, but that isn't to be. Arthur's hand comes down to his hip to hold Merlin still and his body slides over Merlin's slick with sleep sweat. Arthur's dreams are more properly called nightmares by sane people. His cheek is prickly with gold stubble and his mouth is curved into a smile when he brushes it over Merlin's throat.
"I did miss you when I was gone," Arthur says with the unguarded wistfulness that overcomes him when he's overwhelmed with his own emotions. Arthur feels too strongly--he's quick to anger, swift to jealousy, strong in love, and easily broken. Merlin fears his own accidental betrayal of Arthur's affection, fears even more someone else's calculated betrayal.
"Arthur..." Merlin twists, but Arthur's intent. His resistance doesn't stem from a lack of desire, Arthur has inflamed Merlin's passion since before he understood what was even happening within himself. Merlin would that Arthur find someone else to love who couldn't so easily ruin him, and the kingdom in turn, by his inconsistent nature. Merlin isn't steadfast enough for Arthur, isn't true enough. In short, Arthur deserves better.
"Oh, hush," Arthur laughs. He trusts Merlin despite Merlin's self-doubt. Wholly. With a totality that frightens Merlin. Arthur's fingers turn Merlin's chin, and enough light sneaks between the drapes on the bed that Merlin can see Arthur blinking slowly, watching him. "You are unique in this world, Merlin."
Merlin's stomach flips and he knows he should say something witty or scolding, but his true self wants this regard, revels in it. What is unique in this world is Arthur's affection.
It's Merlin who seeks the kiss, who rolls Arthur on his back so they can press together and play out their shared need for each other in the stillness of the room Merlin's magicked into a bubble of silence and invisibility. Arthur has a new scar on his palm that feels strange against Merlin's skin. He gets heavier month by month it seems, broader. His mouth is ever the same, though, soft and open to emit gritty gasps.
No one had to teach them how to touch each other. No one told them it was wrong. Arthur's thrusting hips and hand on Merlin's cock are what they are--the overflowing of their need to crawl inside each other's skin, their yearning for completion they have no way to voice.
Merlin is near exhaustion, barely awake as Arthur bites his neck and presses his closed eyes against his cheek. There is no completion in the conclusion of their clutching and kissing, they're both sticky with sweat and semen, but this is just one moment between them, not the completion of anything. There is no completion for Arthur and Merlin and that is a truth that drives Merlin into a sleeplessness that's so loud it wakes Arthur from a wine-induced sleep night after night.
They will never be done with each other, but Merlin can feel the weight of portent on his skin that a day will dawn when love will turn to hate or, at the very least, indifference, and he wishes he was strong enough to not need everything Arthur can give him before that day arrives.
*
Morgana stands under a myrtle tree in the gardens when Merlin emerges from the castle mid-afternoon. She has a wreath of pansies in her hair that matches her gown. Her eyes are the grey of a storm-laden sky. Her smile is her old one, joyful and intelligent. He smiles in return.
"Why such a sour puss?" She swings in next to him and takes his arm. "Let's dance in a fairy ring and chat with the fair folk."
"That doesn't always go so great." He lets her tug him between the trees and towards the crumbling wall that marks the boundary of this part of the gardens.
"Don't be so dramatic! Your hair grew back!" She scampers over the wall and holds out both her arms for him to follow. He does. When he has both feet planted in the rambling orchard that is her natural habitat, she leans in to him, face inches from him. "What's the point of worrying away the halcyon days before everything goes wrong? Enjoy the sun on your face and the king in your bed and my companionship while you can, Emrys."
She's often blunt and uncanny, so he's not shocked or even mildly surprised. "What do you know anyway?" He smirks at her, falling back into their old routine seamlessly.
"Oh, what don't I know?" She grabs his hand. "I know the names of the thirteen will-o-the-wisps and the date of the day of reckoning and how to dance a jig on water." She spins around and music drifts out of the branches of the trees all around them. When she pulls him into a dance, he goes along with her, living in the seconds they have here on the green grass with the buttery sunshine falling between apple boughs onto their faces. Morgana laughs and Merlin can feel spirits around them responding, can feel his own self rejoicing.
"Hey, want to help me free the dragon?"
Morgana laughs harder and dances faster and Merlin the Eternal lets her lead and forgets to remember the future.
*
This Arthur seems even more of an idiot than many others. I think I can see where everything goes wrong already!
Yeah, I don't know either. Clearly I was overcome by the nazi picspam.
I have no idea where they're going w/ Gwen and Morgana on the show. I can speculate on Morgana, but how the FUCK is Gwen gonna marry Arthur? She's a MAID. She must be a sekkrit princess, but we met her dad, so I got nothing!