What She Doesn't See (G)
Title: What She Doesn't See
Author: justthismorning
Rating: G
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin pre-slash
Summary: She sees another plan fail and another friend crushed under Uther's hate.
A/N: Prequel(?) That Which We Leave Unspoken 'verse. It takes place (chronologically) before the series. I know, I know. Hiatus. but my brain is leaking out of my ears and this was already written. I'm just popping it up then I'm back to the JavaScript Exile, I swear.
Merlin sees her first. She makes sure of it. Above the bustle and chatter of the courtyard, his eyes flicker in her direction. It is only a second, a mere glance. She waits patiently, a small smirk painting her features, for him to realise, for his magic to penetrate her glamour. When he does, when he freezes midsentence and turns to stare with his mouth hanging open and his eyebrows twisted in horror, she grins openly, crazily. She lets him see her for the briefest of moments before slamming the glamour firmly back in place and melting into the crowds. She almost wants to stay, just to watch the confusion and self-doubt creep around the boy. Instead she seeks out Arthur.
Arthur doesn’t recognize her at first, having only really seen her once, but no doubt the warlock boy has told him who she was by now. The prince is leaning against the wall, a picture of leisure and assurance, talking to an attractive serving girl. From his stance and expressions he seems to be coyly telling her - in coded words loaded with double meanings and innuendos - that he is an excellent bed partner. Nimueh doesn’t rush him. She doesn’t stop the flirtatious smiles that will never lead to anything more substantial. She doesn’t reach into his mind and bring up the image he’s stored to memory. She waits while his eyes idly travel in her direction, once, twice.
There, in the third glance is the puzzled frown of recognition, like he can’t quite figure out who she is. In the fourth glance, that’s more lingering than any glance has a right to be, the cloud melts and his eyes go sharp. His hand is on his sword before the serving girl even turns in her direction, but by that time, Nimueh is already gone again.
From her new vantage point, she watches Arthur dismiss himself with a polite nod. She watches him stride purposefully through the court yard. It’s when Arthur grips Merlin’s elbow and yanks him into a shadowed doorway that the plan begins to come to full fruition.
***
Despite the distractions Nimueh throws at the prince and his manservent, Merlin catches Dànaidh shortly before noon. The aging wizard had taken too long enchanting the damn goblet and now he is stuck between Arthur’s icy glare and Merlin’s web of magic that keeps him pinned.
“How will you explain my capture to your father?” Dànaidh tries. Arthur waves his hand dismissively and makes a reasonable explanation that involved incompetency and too much self-confidence. Merlin’s eyes flash golden as he prods the old wizard with a well-aimed spell. “You’d have me killed?” he says to Merlin. “One of your own kind?”
The net keeping him prisoner wavers but holds fast.
“I am not of your kind,” Merlin finally says.
“Uther would have you killed,” Dànaidh says softly. Again, Merlin flinches.
It’s Arthur that answers, princely and certain of himself. “My father will not find out.”
Nimueh doesn’t stay to watch after that. The executions in Uther’s courts are always carried out without delay. The plan had failed and one more friend losing his life is not something she needs to see. She doesn’t need to see to know they bring Dànaidh in front of the king where his sentence is read: sorcery with the intent to kill. She doesn’t need to hear Dànaidh’s wails and accusations about a sorcerer in this very court go ignored as he’s hauled to the dungeons.
She leaves with the sting of tears in her eyes and the heat of frustration heavy in her bosom. She leaves and doesn’t see the way Merlin trembles at Uther’s fury, at the way Merlin watches long after the warlock is taken to the dungeons. She doesn’t see, either, the way Arthur’s hand rests between Merlin’s shoulder blades or the way Arthur’s thumb rubs small circles on the back of his neck. She doesn’t hear the little whispers that stir the air almost silently.
“You’re not like him Merlin,” the whispers plead. “You had no choice Merlin,” they say. “I’m sorry, Merlin,” they murmur.
She doesn’t hear the answering sob that Merlin never lets leave his throat.
Author: justthismorning
Rating: G
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin pre-slash
Summary: She sees another plan fail and another friend crushed under Uther's hate.
A/N: Prequel(?) That Which We Leave Unspoken 'verse. It takes place (chronologically) before the series. I know, I know. Hiatus. but my brain is leaking out of my ears and this was already written. I'm just popping it up then I'm back to the JavaScript Exile, I swear.
Merlin sees her first. She makes sure of it. Above the bustle and chatter of the courtyard, his eyes flicker in her direction. It is only a second, a mere glance. She waits patiently, a small smirk painting her features, for him to realise, for his magic to penetrate her glamour. When he does, when he freezes midsentence and turns to stare with his mouth hanging open and his eyebrows twisted in horror, she grins openly, crazily. She lets him see her for the briefest of moments before slamming the glamour firmly back in place and melting into the crowds. She almost wants to stay, just to watch the confusion and self-doubt creep around the boy. Instead she seeks out Arthur.
Arthur doesn’t recognize her at first, having only really seen her once, but no doubt the warlock boy has told him who she was by now. The prince is leaning against the wall, a picture of leisure and assurance, talking to an attractive serving girl. From his stance and expressions he seems to be coyly telling her - in coded words loaded with double meanings and innuendos - that he is an excellent bed partner. Nimueh doesn’t rush him. She doesn’t stop the flirtatious smiles that will never lead to anything more substantial. She doesn’t reach into his mind and bring up the image he’s stored to memory. She waits while his eyes idly travel in her direction, once, twice.
There, in the third glance is the puzzled frown of recognition, like he can’t quite figure out who she is. In the fourth glance, that’s more lingering than any glance has a right to be, the cloud melts and his eyes go sharp. His hand is on his sword before the serving girl even turns in her direction, but by that time, Nimueh is already gone again.
From her new vantage point, she watches Arthur dismiss himself with a polite nod. She watches him stride purposefully through the court yard. It’s when Arthur grips Merlin’s elbow and yanks him into a shadowed doorway that the plan begins to come to full fruition.
***
Despite the distractions Nimueh throws at the prince and his manservent, Merlin catches Dànaidh shortly before noon. The aging wizard had taken too long enchanting the damn goblet and now he is stuck between Arthur’s icy glare and Merlin’s web of magic that keeps him pinned.
“How will you explain my capture to your father?” Dànaidh tries. Arthur waves his hand dismissively and makes a reasonable explanation that involved incompetency and too much self-confidence. Merlin’s eyes flash golden as he prods the old wizard with a well-aimed spell. “You’d have me killed?” he says to Merlin. “One of your own kind?”
The net keeping him prisoner wavers but holds fast.
“I am not of your kind,” Merlin finally says.
“Uther would have you killed,” Dànaidh says softly. Again, Merlin flinches.
It’s Arthur that answers, princely and certain of himself. “My father will not find out.”
Nimueh doesn’t stay to watch after that. The executions in Uther’s courts are always carried out without delay. The plan had failed and one more friend losing his life is not something she needs to see. She doesn’t need to see to know they bring Dànaidh in front of the king where his sentence is read: sorcery with the intent to kill. She doesn’t need to hear Dànaidh’s wails and accusations about a sorcerer in this very court go ignored as he’s hauled to the dungeons.
She leaves with the sting of tears in her eyes and the heat of frustration heavy in her bosom. She leaves and doesn’t see the way Merlin trembles at Uther’s fury, at the way Merlin watches long after the warlock is taken to the dungeons. She doesn’t see, either, the way Arthur’s hand rests between Merlin’s shoulder blades or the way Arthur’s thumb rubs small circles on the back of his neck. She doesn’t hear the little whispers that stir the air almost silently.
“You’re not like him Merlin,” the whispers plead. “You had no choice Merlin,” they say. “I’m sorry, Merlin,” they murmur.
She doesn’t hear the answering sob that Merlin never lets leave his throat.