Fic: The Truth is From Your Lips (Clearly Unseen)
Title: The Truth is From Your Lips (Clearly Unseen)
Author: writing2death
Word Count: ~1200
Pairings: Merlin/Arthur (pre-slash), Arthur/Gwen, implied Lancelot/Gwen
Rating: G
Warnings/Spoilers: Heavy spoilers for all of series one and two.
Notes: Written for the prompt: Imagine you're invisible. What could you see while invisible that you would never witness otherwise? Over at your_scribbles . Title comes from the lovely wren_hightower .
Summary: “It’s a little disconcerting - one moment Arthur’s almost positive he’d like nothing better than to strangle Merlin because he’s being an idiot and the next he gets ridiculous urges to ruffle his hair” In which Arthur wishes he knows things.
The Truth is From Your Lips
Clearly Unseen
I.
Arthur isn’t anything special; he knows that. He thinks maybe he’s mostly a blank canvas, that no matter how hard he may try to hide some aspects of himself, he never quite succeeds. If you just look, if you pay attention, you can see right through him.
Guinevere sees through him, criticizing gently but still in a way that stings. He’s not used to that, not sure he’ll ever be used to that. It almost feels like being rejected because he’s fairly sure he has feelings for her. It almost feels like he’s not good enough. That’s a ridiculous thought for a Crown Prince, he’s sure, but one he’s never been quite able to shake. Not after it feels like he’s fallen headfirst. Arthur’s not sure she sees that. If she does, she must think it’s for his insecurities are for his benefit. They probably are.
He can never tell what she’s going to do next, what she’s going to say to him when she opens her mouth and has that look on her face. She used to backtrack, apologise for speaking out of turn, tripping over her words. She doesn’t do that quite so much anymore.
Her confidence has grown over the last few months, he thinks, watching her from his window. She’s pumping water into a bucket, a shawl over her shoulders because it’s turned into a damp spring. Servants stop to talk to her right and left, smiles on their faces, all knowing that Gwen is the sweetest person anyone could ever meet.
But she’s a servant and he’s the prince. He told her it could never be. It doesn’t stop him from listening to her. It didn’t stop him from rescuing her.
He wishes she would tell him something she’s never told to anyone else. He wants her to let him in - something that’s less superficial than telling him to stop being selfish, than correcting his behaviour. Just because it was tolerated from a prince doesn’t make it right. He tries to imagine it, to imagine having a life with her. Behind closed doors.
He can’t see it.
And then Lancelot’s there and it doesn’t seem to matter half as much anymore.
(Merlin comes in a moment later carrying a basket of laundry, his default grin on his face. Arthur’s thoughts are broken right away and Merlin says something insolent. Again.)
II.
If Arthur could choose something, to know something about someone, anything, it would be Morgana.
Morgana’s always been difficult to read, strong-willed and hard-headed, more stubborn than any woman should be. His relationship with her has always been two steps forward and one step back, a lot like thinking your winning just to turn around to find out you’ve lost. Again. It was frustrating, the back and forth. When he was younger, he thought that he loved her because nothing but love could’ve been so maddening. They’d always argued, Morgana one step ahead of him in maturity and unwilling to wait for him to catch up. Eventually, he came to the conclusion they were better off as siblings because she was more like his sister than anything.
She was predictable, up to a certain point. Which just made everything all the more trying because, while he could safely guess what she’d do next, he’d never really know why she was doing it. He told himself, she’s argumentative, when she argued with his father. He said, she doesn’t think it’s right, when he found the Druid boy Mordred in her care. But there was more to it, he knew, something she wasn’t telling anyone.
There was something that changed before Morgause took her. Arthur isn’t sure what it was that caused it. She wasn’t around as much and he remembers thinking she looked like a cornered rabbit at times, afraid of something that wasn’t there.
Sitting at the table with his father is quieter without her arguments and her barbed, sharp comments.
He thinks maybe it changed when she was kidnapped by the druids or when Guinevere was kidnapped only weeks after. Or, later, when she disobeyed the king and set Avlarr free from the dungeons. If he could know one thing about Morgana, it would be that. Why she changed - why she became so unhappy.
(Merlin is suddenly at his elbow, refilling his cup without being asked. If they were alone, Arthur might have asked aloud who he was and what, exactly, he’d done with his real manservant, but Arthur’s definitely aware of his father’s presence now. He snaps to attention when he’s asked something about the knights training and Merlin steps back again.)
III.
Merlin is the most exasperating of them all, secretive and witty and annoying all rolled into one big mess. He’ll say, yes, Sire, and his face will laugh at him. He'd said, I’m an open book, and Arthur had said, I don’t believe that for a second, and Merlin had shrugged. There was - is - something about him.
Nothing about Merlin makes sense at all. He’s disobedient and disrespectful and insolent. He’s naïve and annoying and endearing and funny and loyal all at the same time. It’s a little disconcerting because one moment Arthur’s almost positive he’d like nothing better than to strangle him because he’s being an idiot and the next he gets ridiculous urges to ruffle his hair.
“What, you’ve got no insults to throw today?” Merlin asks, his grin in place on his face as he changes Arthur’s sheets.
Arthur sighs dramatically and claps Merlin on the shoulder, “I’m sure you’ve gotten several all ready.”
“Oh, thanks for sparing me, then,” Merlin says sarcastically.
The problem is that Arthur always knows when Merlin’s lying. He might be nothing special but he’s not stupid. And Merlin lies constantly. The problem, he thinks again, is that Arthur never has any idea what Merlin’s lying about. Because he lies when there’s no reason to, when there’s literally nothing to lie about.
Arthur’s imagined a lot of things when it comes to Merlin, considered all the possibilities. At first he thought that Merlin was in love with Guinevere and that his lying had to do with that, and then, after that, he thought maybe Morgana. That had been a little awkward to think about - for some reason the idea of Merlin being in love with someone, actually in love with someone, doesn’t feel like it could be real. And that’s another stupid thought, he knows.
For some reason, he’s unable to screen thoughts from his head, as he should. Especially when they concern Merlin.
“What is wrong with you today?” Merlin asks him later, “You’ve got your serious face on.”
Arthur rolls his eyes, avoids the question (because there’s nothing wrong with being occasionally thoughtful), and reels off a long list of chores Merlin has to do. Merlin’s grin slides right off his face as usual and he huffs as he leaves the room.
Once, Arthur thought that Merlin just liked lying. That thought was pretty quickly dismissed - because if he liked lying then he’d surely be able to get himself out of a day in the stocks. And remembering Merlin laughing while being pelted with vegetables, he can’t tell himself that Merlin would ever gain any pleasure from lying to anyone.
Merlin returns a few minutes later, smiling and grimacing as he tumbles through the door with an armful of armour. He mutters nasty things under his breath as he starts on the polishing. Arthur knows he usually does this in his room and wonders for a second why Merlin’s bothered to bring it all the way to his chambers.
He’s always wondering things about Merlin.
He wonders why Merlin’s upset all the time, lately. He always seems on the verge of tears, worse than Morgana. Arthur thinks maybe that’s why, because of Morgana, but he’d been upset long before that. Since the Crystal of Neahtid, since the Bastet attacks, since the Witchfinder and now, with the dragon gone, it’s even worse.
Sometimes he thinks he’s imagining things, half remembered words from dreams and a sudden fear of drowning that he didn’t have before. Like something just out of reach that he can’t seem to grasp, so obvious that he’s clearly missing it.
The problem is, he thinks again, that even if he could find out Merlin’s secret, be invisible enough for Merlin to let all of his guard down, he’s not sure he would. It would mean more - even though Arthur’s not sure of the difference between the situations - if Merlin told him himself, if he trusted Arthur enough to tell him.
(Arthur’s not sure when that will happen, but he’s sure it will. Eventually. And Merlin looks up and smiles.)
Author: writing2death
Word Count: ~1200
Pairings: Merlin/Arthur (pre-slash), Arthur/Gwen, implied Lancelot/Gwen
Rating: G
Warnings/Spoilers: Heavy spoilers for all of series one and two.
Notes: Written for the prompt: Imagine you're invisible. What could you see while invisible that you would never witness otherwise? Over at your_scribbles . Title comes from the lovely wren_hightower .
Summary: “It’s a little disconcerting - one moment Arthur’s almost positive he’d like nothing better than to strangle Merlin because he’s being an idiot and the next he gets ridiculous urges to ruffle his hair” In which Arthur wishes he knows things.
The Truth is From Your Lips
Clearly Unseen
I.
Arthur isn’t anything special; he knows that. He thinks maybe he’s mostly a blank canvas, that no matter how hard he may try to hide some aspects of himself, he never quite succeeds. If you just look, if you pay attention, you can see right through him.
Guinevere sees through him, criticizing gently but still in a way that stings. He’s not used to that, not sure he’ll ever be used to that. It almost feels like being rejected because he’s fairly sure he has feelings for her. It almost feels like he’s not good enough. That’s a ridiculous thought for a Crown Prince, he’s sure, but one he’s never been quite able to shake. Not after it feels like he’s fallen headfirst. Arthur’s not sure she sees that. If she does, she must think it’s for his insecurities are for his benefit. They probably are.
He can never tell what she’s going to do next, what she’s going to say to him when she opens her mouth and has that look on her face. She used to backtrack, apologise for speaking out of turn, tripping over her words. She doesn’t do that quite so much anymore.
Her confidence has grown over the last few months, he thinks, watching her from his window. She’s pumping water into a bucket, a shawl over her shoulders because it’s turned into a damp spring. Servants stop to talk to her right and left, smiles on their faces, all knowing that Gwen is the sweetest person anyone could ever meet.
But she’s a servant and he’s the prince. He told her it could never be. It doesn’t stop him from listening to her. It didn’t stop him from rescuing her.
He wishes she would tell him something she’s never told to anyone else. He wants her to let him in - something that’s less superficial than telling him to stop being selfish, than correcting his behaviour. Just because it was tolerated from a prince doesn’t make it right. He tries to imagine it, to imagine having a life with her. Behind closed doors.
He can’t see it.
And then Lancelot’s there and it doesn’t seem to matter half as much anymore.
(Merlin comes in a moment later carrying a basket of laundry, his default grin on his face. Arthur’s thoughts are broken right away and Merlin says something insolent. Again.)
II.
If Arthur could choose something, to know something about someone, anything, it would be Morgana.
Morgana’s always been difficult to read, strong-willed and hard-headed, more stubborn than any woman should be. His relationship with her has always been two steps forward and one step back, a lot like thinking your winning just to turn around to find out you’ve lost. Again. It was frustrating, the back and forth. When he was younger, he thought that he loved her because nothing but love could’ve been so maddening. They’d always argued, Morgana one step ahead of him in maturity and unwilling to wait for him to catch up. Eventually, he came to the conclusion they were better off as siblings because she was more like his sister than anything.
She was predictable, up to a certain point. Which just made everything all the more trying because, while he could safely guess what she’d do next, he’d never really know why she was doing it. He told himself, she’s argumentative, when she argued with his father. He said, she doesn’t think it’s right, when he found the Druid boy Mordred in her care. But there was more to it, he knew, something she wasn’t telling anyone.
There was something that changed before Morgause took her. Arthur isn’t sure what it was that caused it. She wasn’t around as much and he remembers thinking she looked like a cornered rabbit at times, afraid of something that wasn’t there.
Sitting at the table with his father is quieter without her arguments and her barbed, sharp comments.
He thinks maybe it changed when she was kidnapped by the druids or when Guinevere was kidnapped only weeks after. Or, later, when she disobeyed the king and set Avlarr free from the dungeons. If he could know one thing about Morgana, it would be that. Why she changed - why she became so unhappy.
(Merlin is suddenly at his elbow, refilling his cup without being asked. If they were alone, Arthur might have asked aloud who he was and what, exactly, he’d done with his real manservant, but Arthur’s definitely aware of his father’s presence now. He snaps to attention when he’s asked something about the knights training and Merlin steps back again.)
III.
Merlin is the most exasperating of them all, secretive and witty and annoying all rolled into one big mess. He’ll say, yes, Sire, and his face will laugh at him. He'd said, I’m an open book, and Arthur had said, I don’t believe that for a second, and Merlin had shrugged. There was - is - something about him.
Nothing about Merlin makes sense at all. He’s disobedient and disrespectful and insolent. He’s naïve and annoying and endearing and funny and loyal all at the same time. It’s a little disconcerting because one moment Arthur’s almost positive he’d like nothing better than to strangle him because he’s being an idiot and the next he gets ridiculous urges to ruffle his hair.
“What, you’ve got no insults to throw today?” Merlin asks, his grin in place on his face as he changes Arthur’s sheets.
Arthur sighs dramatically and claps Merlin on the shoulder, “I’m sure you’ve gotten several all ready.”
“Oh, thanks for sparing me, then,” Merlin says sarcastically.
The problem is that Arthur always knows when Merlin’s lying. He might be nothing special but he’s not stupid. And Merlin lies constantly. The problem, he thinks again, is that Arthur never has any idea what Merlin’s lying about. Because he lies when there’s no reason to, when there’s literally nothing to lie about.
Arthur’s imagined a lot of things when it comes to Merlin, considered all the possibilities. At first he thought that Merlin was in love with Guinevere and that his lying had to do with that, and then, after that, he thought maybe Morgana. That had been a little awkward to think about - for some reason the idea of Merlin being in love with someone, actually in love with someone, doesn’t feel like it could be real. And that’s another stupid thought, he knows.
For some reason, he’s unable to screen thoughts from his head, as he should. Especially when they concern Merlin.
“What is wrong with you today?” Merlin asks him later, “You’ve got your serious face on.”
Arthur rolls his eyes, avoids the question (because there’s nothing wrong with being occasionally thoughtful), and reels off a long list of chores Merlin has to do. Merlin’s grin slides right off his face as usual and he huffs as he leaves the room.
Once, Arthur thought that Merlin just liked lying. That thought was pretty quickly dismissed - because if he liked lying then he’d surely be able to get himself out of a day in the stocks. And remembering Merlin laughing while being pelted with vegetables, he can’t tell himself that Merlin would ever gain any pleasure from lying to anyone.
Merlin returns a few minutes later, smiling and grimacing as he tumbles through the door with an armful of armour. He mutters nasty things under his breath as he starts on the polishing. Arthur knows he usually does this in his room and wonders for a second why Merlin’s bothered to bring it all the way to his chambers.
He’s always wondering things about Merlin.
He wonders why Merlin’s upset all the time, lately. He always seems on the verge of tears, worse than Morgana. Arthur thinks maybe that’s why, because of Morgana, but he’d been upset long before that. Since the Crystal of Neahtid, since the Bastet attacks, since the Witchfinder and now, with the dragon gone, it’s even worse.
Sometimes he thinks he’s imagining things, half remembered words from dreams and a sudden fear of drowning that he didn’t have before. Like something just out of reach that he can’t seem to grasp, so obvious that he’s clearly missing it.
The problem is, he thinks again, that even if he could find out Merlin’s secret, be invisible enough for Merlin to let all of his guard down, he’s not sure he would. It would mean more - even though Arthur’s not sure of the difference between the situations - if Merlin told him himself, if he trusted Arthur enough to tell him.
(Arthur’s not sure when that will happen, but he’s sure it will. Eventually. And Merlin looks up and smiles.)