[Fic] Lying in the Dust (PG) Merlin: M/A
Title: Lying in the Dust
Author: faynia
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1145
Summary: He was eleven and slowly beginning to resemble the Arthur Merlin had once known. Bright eyes, soft hair, charming smile; Merlin felt a bit heartsick and silly.
A/N: Much thanks to tacitus_3, puckling and aliashpfanatic for their fantastic beta skills. Any other mistakes found are mine.
Written for mystictwilight who saw a picture on my wall and declared the characters depicted were obviously Merlin and Arthur.
Arthur tackled Merlin from the side, appearing out of nowhere to push him down onto the soft, wet grass. Merlin swallowed a scream as he fell. He grabbed Arthur by the shoulders, twisting until they hit the ground with a muffled thud. Tiny dots flashed before Merlin’s eyes for a few seconds before they were blinked out of existence.
"You're stupid," Arthur declared, tugging on one of Merlin's ears. He laughed as he tumbled off Merlin and popped up onto his feet. "Well, aren't you coming? My father says the, the--um, oh sod it. My father wants us to come in for lunch, mother made us sandwiches. You are staying, right?"
Merlin nodded, moving to stand as Arthur took off with an excited whoop. Every day since Merlin was six, his mother brought him up the hill to play with the young heir to the Pendragon fortune. When he was eight, Arthur taught him how to play Nintendo. When Arthur turned ten, Merlin taught him the spell to write his name in the air with fiery letters.
Merlin didn't understand why the world needed Arthur this time. He'd given it a lot of thought. Really. He'd made lists on lists of all the problems in the world, and not one seemed to warrant the need for Arthur's return. War was awful, but the country had gone through many wars without Arthur. It made no sense. Whatever the reason was, Merlin was grateful and tried to show it. Arthur was his friend here. He had been since they were six when Merlin had heroically shoved Arthur out of the way of a bicyclist. Arthur had been suitably impressed, once he'd stopped yelling. His parents had thought this was wonderful as well, which at the time, Merlin had thought seemed funny but didn’t know why.
Merlin remembered everything the moment he could recall anything of real significance. He had been five when he'd walked up to his mother, levitated two shelves worth of books and calmly said he was going to keep Arthur safe no matter what, even if he hadn't known what that meant. Magic wasn't outlawed any longer. It was just a mind trick, and as Arthur put it, ‘completely wicked’. Merlin tried to think up new spells every day to keep Arthur happy. It wasn't hard. Just that morning he had charmed all the butterflies in the yard to fly up at once and flutter around Arthur's head in a dance.
"Well, aren't you coming, Merlin?" Arthur demanded, hands on his hips, cheeks flushed and still full. He was eleven now, and slowly, slowly beginning to resemble the Arthur Merlin had known the first time. Bright eyes, soft hair, charming smile; Merlin felt a bit heartsick and silly.
He should have known better than to believe they could remain carefree forever.
Igraine's accident happened on the eve of Arthur's twelfth birthday. Merlin was stuck at home with a chest cold and not allowed to attend the party. The loud call of siren’s rushing up the hill past Merlin's house had him shoving at the covers to get to the window. The curtains parted before his feet even hit the carpeted floor and he shuffled, sniffling, to see what the commotion was. He could almost make out the chaos at the front gates of Arthur's home.
His stomach churned in misery. He had to get over there. If something had happened, if Arthur was the one hurt, Merlin doubted he'd be able to forgive himself.
Tears stung his eyes, and in a blink, he found himself tumbling into Arthur's darkened bedroom, knocking his elbow against the ornate desk chair. He cursed, gripping his head as his stomach tried to escape through his mouth. He didn't look up until he heard a choked sob, a very soft choked sob, but it was there and every miserable thought fled Merlin's mind in favour of worried ones. Arthur sat on the edge of his bed, arms wrapped around his mid-section, head bowed. Merlin crawled to Arthur's side, pulling him off the bed into his arms. Arthur's strangled protest quieted with a quick tightening of Merlin's arms.
Minutes stretched where Arthur shivered but didn't cry. Merlin wasn't sure Arthur knew how to properly cry. He ran his fingers through Arthur's blond locks, mumbling nonsense into his ear that he hoped sounded reassuring. Just once, Merlin wished Arthur could keep his mother. When the silence became painful, he whispered, "What happened?"
Arthur's lips twisted into a grimace against Merlin's neck, and for a moment, Merlin feared it was too soon to ask, that he had just destroyed whatever moment they were having, when Arthur tipped his head back and laughed.
"She fell over the railing." The ache in the words slammed hard into Merlin's chest and he shuddered. "I saw it, Merlin. My father tried to catch her. The-"
Unable to breathe, Merlin's fingers bit into Arthur's tightly wound arms and they both fell silent.
Arthur snorted, bitter, too bitter for his age. "The guests were eating cake in the next room. They heard her neck snap."
Merlin flinched. He could have saved her had he been there. He could have done what Uther had failed to do and break her fall. Igraine's beauty awed Merlin each time he saw her, and her kind smile made him feel welcome, and now she was gone because his mother had kept him home for a bloody cold.
A warm hand cupped Merlin around the back of his neck, and he forced himself to look up into clouded blue eyes and leave his own thoughts alone. Arthur fell sideways onto the floor and rolled under his bed, behind the undone sheets and bed skirt, taking Merlin with him. Dusty cobwebs caught in their hair and with a muted look the dust bunnies became tiny rabbits in their place. A half dozen of them sat in a small, protective semi-circle above Arthur's head. Arthur hummed, reaching out a hand toward the nearest one. Merlin watched apprehensively as the docile brown rabbit sniffed the tips of Arthur's fingers before inching closer. It fit within Arthur's palm like it belonged there.
Merlin stared in wonder as the rest of the rabbits congregated around Arthur, trying to nuzzle their way in between him and Merlin to get closer, and with an amused huff, Arthur shoved Merlin back to let one of the struggling creatures through.
"Dust bunnies?" Arthur murmured, eyelids drooping from exhaustion, "Really, Merlin? That's not all that creative."
"Yeah. I know." Merlin smiled hesitantly, and it only widened when Arthur attempted to return the gesture. It was something. He waited until Arthur's hand, curled protectively around the first rabbit, fell open before Merlin let himself breathe again.
Destiny, it seemed, didn't stop with death. Merlin knew what he'd just done didn't technically count as saving Arthur's life, but it felt just as good.
Author: faynia
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1145
Summary: He was eleven and slowly beginning to resemble the Arthur Merlin had once known. Bright eyes, soft hair, charming smile; Merlin felt a bit heartsick and silly.
A/N: Much thanks to tacitus_3, puckling and aliashpfanatic for their fantastic beta skills. Any other mistakes found are mine.
Written for mystictwilight who saw a picture on my wall and declared the characters depicted were obviously Merlin and Arthur.
Arthur tackled Merlin from the side, appearing out of nowhere to push him down onto the soft, wet grass. Merlin swallowed a scream as he fell. He grabbed Arthur by the shoulders, twisting until they hit the ground with a muffled thud. Tiny dots flashed before Merlin’s eyes for a few seconds before they were blinked out of existence.
"You're stupid," Arthur declared, tugging on one of Merlin's ears. He laughed as he tumbled off Merlin and popped up onto his feet. "Well, aren't you coming? My father says the, the--um, oh sod it. My father wants us to come in for lunch, mother made us sandwiches. You are staying, right?"
Merlin nodded, moving to stand as Arthur took off with an excited whoop. Every day since Merlin was six, his mother brought him up the hill to play with the young heir to the Pendragon fortune. When he was eight, Arthur taught him how to play Nintendo. When Arthur turned ten, Merlin taught him the spell to write his name in the air with fiery letters.
Merlin didn't understand why the world needed Arthur this time. He'd given it a lot of thought. Really. He'd made lists on lists of all the problems in the world, and not one seemed to warrant the need for Arthur's return. War was awful, but the country had gone through many wars without Arthur. It made no sense. Whatever the reason was, Merlin was grateful and tried to show it. Arthur was his friend here. He had been since they were six when Merlin had heroically shoved Arthur out of the way of a bicyclist. Arthur had been suitably impressed, once he'd stopped yelling. His parents had thought this was wonderful as well, which at the time, Merlin had thought seemed funny but didn’t know why.
Merlin remembered everything the moment he could recall anything of real significance. He had been five when he'd walked up to his mother, levitated two shelves worth of books and calmly said he was going to keep Arthur safe no matter what, even if he hadn't known what that meant. Magic wasn't outlawed any longer. It was just a mind trick, and as Arthur put it, ‘completely wicked’. Merlin tried to think up new spells every day to keep Arthur happy. It wasn't hard. Just that morning he had charmed all the butterflies in the yard to fly up at once and flutter around Arthur's head in a dance.
"Well, aren't you coming, Merlin?" Arthur demanded, hands on his hips, cheeks flushed and still full. He was eleven now, and slowly, slowly beginning to resemble the Arthur Merlin had known the first time. Bright eyes, soft hair, charming smile; Merlin felt a bit heartsick and silly.
He should have known better than to believe they could remain carefree forever.
Igraine's accident happened on the eve of Arthur's twelfth birthday. Merlin was stuck at home with a chest cold and not allowed to attend the party. The loud call of siren’s rushing up the hill past Merlin's house had him shoving at the covers to get to the window. The curtains parted before his feet even hit the carpeted floor and he shuffled, sniffling, to see what the commotion was. He could almost make out the chaos at the front gates of Arthur's home.
His stomach churned in misery. He had to get over there. If something had happened, if Arthur was the one hurt, Merlin doubted he'd be able to forgive himself.
Tears stung his eyes, and in a blink, he found himself tumbling into Arthur's darkened bedroom, knocking his elbow against the ornate desk chair. He cursed, gripping his head as his stomach tried to escape through his mouth. He didn't look up until he heard a choked sob, a very soft choked sob, but it was there and every miserable thought fled Merlin's mind in favour of worried ones. Arthur sat on the edge of his bed, arms wrapped around his mid-section, head bowed. Merlin crawled to Arthur's side, pulling him off the bed into his arms. Arthur's strangled protest quieted with a quick tightening of Merlin's arms.
Minutes stretched where Arthur shivered but didn't cry. Merlin wasn't sure Arthur knew how to properly cry. He ran his fingers through Arthur's blond locks, mumbling nonsense into his ear that he hoped sounded reassuring. Just once, Merlin wished Arthur could keep his mother. When the silence became painful, he whispered, "What happened?"
Arthur's lips twisted into a grimace against Merlin's neck, and for a moment, Merlin feared it was too soon to ask, that he had just destroyed whatever moment they were having, when Arthur tipped his head back and laughed.
"She fell over the railing." The ache in the words slammed hard into Merlin's chest and he shuddered. "I saw it, Merlin. My father tried to catch her. The-"
Unable to breathe, Merlin's fingers bit into Arthur's tightly wound arms and they both fell silent.
Arthur snorted, bitter, too bitter for his age. "The guests were eating cake in the next room. They heard her neck snap."
Merlin flinched. He could have saved her had he been there. He could have done what Uther had failed to do and break her fall. Igraine's beauty awed Merlin each time he saw her, and her kind smile made him feel welcome, and now she was gone because his mother had kept him home for a bloody cold.
A warm hand cupped Merlin around the back of his neck, and he forced himself to look up into clouded blue eyes and leave his own thoughts alone. Arthur fell sideways onto the floor and rolled under his bed, behind the undone sheets and bed skirt, taking Merlin with him. Dusty cobwebs caught in their hair and with a muted look the dust bunnies became tiny rabbits in their place. A half dozen of them sat in a small, protective semi-circle above Arthur's head. Arthur hummed, reaching out a hand toward the nearest one. Merlin watched apprehensively as the docile brown rabbit sniffed the tips of Arthur's fingers before inching closer. It fit within Arthur's palm like it belonged there.
Merlin stared in wonder as the rest of the rabbits congregated around Arthur, trying to nuzzle their way in between him and Merlin to get closer, and with an amused huff, Arthur shoved Merlin back to let one of the struggling creatures through.
"Dust bunnies?" Arthur murmured, eyelids drooping from exhaustion, "Really, Merlin? That's not all that creative."
"Yeah. I know." Merlin smiled hesitantly, and it only widened when Arthur attempted to return the gesture. It was something. He waited until Arthur's hand, curled protectively around the first rabbit, fell open before Merlin let himself breathe again.
Destiny, it seemed, didn't stop with death. Merlin knew what he'd just done didn't technically count as saving Arthur's life, but it felt just as good.