by GR Griffin
“No-one is to come in until I say so.” The intensity lacing his voice dared anyone to challenge this statement. To his relief nobody did. “We’ll talk later,” he admitted to Will, desperately heading towards the door. “He needs me.”
With that, the druid disappeared into the room, leaving behind a puzzled Will and an apprehensive Gwaine.
♦☼♦
Arthur groggily opened his eyes with reluctance. Not only did he have an excruciating headache, but his body was sore all over, his mind unable to piece together specifics. Was it day or was it night? The darkness of the room blockaded nature, giving no indication. Hazy memories flickered in and out of focus; destructive emotions pulsed through every beat of his oppressed heart. He vaguely remembered the beautiful faerie kingdom Merlin and himself had stumbled upon, its white forests and pale pink blossom. The reason they had been there had not yet become clear. Inhaling the air around, he sat up in the uncomfortable bed – Merlin’s undoubtedly. The druid was perched on a wooden stool beside the bed, head buried in his hands. He had not yet noticed Arthur had roused from sleep, and allowed himself to exhale a laboured sigh. The sigh was extensive and immersed in torment. It was something he would have kept concealed if he had known Arthur was awake. Vision improving the further into consciousness he fell, Arthur studied the red marks around one wrist curiously.
What part of shut-up don’t you understand? This has nothing to do with you so keep your nose out of it. The words flooded back to him. He had done this, and it mortified him. It was enough to demolish the barricade his mind had set up. Igraine, his mother. He had found her. But it hadn’t been a reunion full of joy and happiness. Secrets. Lies. Hypocrite. His father. He had tried to kill his father….Why? What had his mother said that had been so- you were born of Magic Arthur. To create a life, a life must be taken. She is his flesh and blood. I no longer think of myself as your son. He must have let slip the dismal drone from his mouth, for Merlin quickly lifted his paled face in surprise. Leaning towards Arthur, he smiled feebly.
“Hey,” he whispered. “Are you alright?” his soothing eyes caressed Arthur’s face. Arthur could distinguish the supressed hurt and turmoil in them instantly.
Nodding unconvincingly, Arthur inhaled a deep breath to try and shake the dizziness clouding over him. The thoughts in his head were still overwhelming. He had been betrayed, misled by his father for his whole life. The look of complete and utter despair must have spread from his eyes and across his whole face, because Merlin now sat beside Arthur on the bed, his eyes sad.
“I’m so sorry.” He muttered feebly, knowing it wasn’t enough, and that this was completely out of his hands. The events that had come to pass – they were of a magnitude so great Merlin wouldn’t be surprised if Arthur turned into a raging villain and destroyed everything in his path. However, Arthur was behaving in a far more worrying manner: he sat motionless, eyes vacantly staring across the room. Every move of his eyes was aimless, dully drinking in the surroundings only because he had to.
“It’s….” he eventually stuttered, turning to Merlin he locked his eyes ferociously onto his. Each word came out heavy and punctuated with a devastating silence that revealed more than the words themselves. “Merlin. It’s. Not. Fair.” Maintaining the intense gaze, Arthur felt a wave of nausea subsume his system. “How could my father do that to my mother?” averting his eyes, Arthur frowned, not giving in to the slight tremor of his lips. “She…she died unhappy and unloved-”
“-No.” Merlin clasped the man’s hands empathetically, wishing he could do something other than offer words of wisdom.
“Yes.” Arthur insisted, blinking rapidly to avoid the colossal emotional wreckage to sweep him away into the tumultuous aftershock.
“Arthur,” the dark-haired druid sighed. “Can’t you see?” a soft smile dusted his face. “Igraine never died, she’s been with you your whole life, watching you…she didn’t die unhappy, she died with you in her arms, her son-”
“-the son who cost her her life!” Arthur spat darkly, bringing his hands to rake through his blonde hair agitatedly. Calmly, Merlin shook his head, catching Arthur off-guard with the continuation of that smile.
“We both know that’s not the truth, none of this is your fault and she would never want you to blame yourself.” Silence; Arthur pondered on these words dejectedly. Bowing his head he grimaced.
“It doesn’t matter what she wanted me to do, she’s gone…forever now.”
Musing over Arthur’s response, Merlin titled his head curiously to the side.
“No,” he reached into his pocket. “She’ll always be with you.”
Arthur recoiled physically at the words because it actually hurt to hear this lie spoken out loud. Merlin didn’t understand. Igraine could never come back. Her voice would never again haunt his mind pleasantly, ghost around the edges of his skin. Nonetheless, Merlin’s eyes were burnishing brightly with certainty, belief. It was so strong it raised doubts in Arthur’s minds, enough doubt to turn imploringly to the druid, placing his soul in his hands.
“How can you be so sure?”
He searched those crystal blue eyes for a trace of hesitance or deception. There was none. It unnerved Arthur greatly. One of Merlin’s hands hovered over his own, it was clasped tightly shut. Delving deeper in to those eyes Arthur tried to read the man’s mind, what he was doing. Merlin said nothing, gazing back at Arthur desperately. Gasping at the revelation, the blonde slowly turned his shaking hands over, revealing the palms. His watery eyes never left Merlin’s face; Merlin’s eyes never left his. Then the first tear fell down his cheek. He made no movement to wipe his eyes, continuing to look at Merlin intently, urgently. He leant closer towards the druid, lifting his palms a little to brush against the clasped hand.
He felt it drop into his palms from Merlin’s hands, landing securely in his grasp. Arthur laughed softly; it was a happy laugh. For now, it was enough for Merlin to hold onto and tell himself that Arthur Pendragon would be okay. He would recover. Finally, Arthur gazed down into his hands, breaking the eye contact. It meant so much to him, and he couldn’t believe he had carelessly thrown it away in a fit of anger. Tightening his palms around it, fearful the metallic bird on the pendant would spring to life and fly away forever, Arthur shut his eyes. He cherished the moment, the sense of belonging that flushed through his body. It faded instantly, the remnants of it tickling his chest.
“…Are you?” Arthur whispered out of the silence; his voice sounded hardly like his own, gravelly and raspy. Confused by the vague words, Merlin studied those blue eyes, a portal into his broken soul. Swallowing-hard, the blonde man continued. “Are you, alright?”
Veering his eyes elsewhere, Merlin propped that lousy attempt at smile back onto his lips. It didn’t look right on the face. The protruding silence dancing around them failed to console Arthur’s conscience. Grimly, he reached over to the bruised wrist; he had created these ugly marks. Turning back to him, Merlin honourably made excuses for the behaviour. Typical Merlin.
“Arthur it’s nothing. I understand-“
“-No.” Arthur intervened bluntly, dismissing Merlin’s stupid words. This was not nothing. He stroked the wrist gently with his thumb, shame swallowing him whole. “Don’t pretend that this is okay-”
“-My magic can heal it, it’s fine. You were blinded by anger-“
Arthur shook his head dismally, stunned at this reckless streak of selflessness in Merlin. It had gone beyond the point of reason now. Forging explanations for something that was evidently wrong was not brave, or wise. And yet Merlin had been the one to follow him to Camelot Base, to prevent him from committing a terrible deed. To kill his father would have been equivalent to what his father had done to Igraine. Gratitude swathed his body. His guardian angel had redeemed his soul, saved him from a treacherous road.
“-Anger of all things does not excuse the fact I treated you poorly.” Bowing his head he failed to meet the man in the eyes. He was nothing compared to Merl
in. “I…”
He winced at the memory of the things he had said to Merlin, remembering what he had called him.
“I didn’t mean it, about Emrys…“
Merlin chuckled absently as if they were reminiscing over a childhood argument. He had heard all sorts of ridiculous things about Emrys before. Good and bad, hurtful and hilarious. Arthur’s criticism had not been the worst. He shrugged elusively.
“You’re right though. Just because I have a big destiny doesn’t make me special or-“
“-You are special.” Merlin met Arthur’s sincere expression cautiously, inquisitive blue eyes searching the contours of his face for something he hoped was there and also wasn’t. “Emrys or not, you’ll always be special.”
Stupefied by the kind words, and the intensity compressed inside them, Merlin raised his eyebrows. A subtle smile tickled his lips, threatening to crawl over his face and reveal everything. Inexplicably nervous, he peeled his eyes from the blonde, he steered his attention to the ground. Arthur felt a cloud of embarrassment loiter over him, spewing droplets of red across his burning cheeks. Quickly, he tried to salvage the situation.
“I…what I’m trying to say is that I…” fumbling over his words clumsily, he frowned. “I’m s-…I…”
The subtle smile morphed into an amused grin. Gazing with fondness at the incoherent Arthur, Merlin titled his head.
“Are you trying to apologise?” his voice was tight and drenched in a burst of laughter.
Narrowing his eyes, Arthur shot him a deadpan look. Secretly, he was relieved Merlin had allowed them to melt into their usual way of communication again. His words formed naturally, filling him with joy.
“It’s not funny you idiot-“
Merlin’s grin widened.
“-Erm, it kind of is.”
Averting his focus, Arthur pouted. His eye twinkled with unmistakable mirth; a contorted smile began to smear over his face.
“Fine.” He caught the sapphire eyes humorously. “I won’t apologise.”
Which in reality was his way of apologising. Folding his arms across his chest, Merlin pursed his lips together in feigned annoyance, interpreting the cryptic message.
“Unbelievable!” he exclaimed, the delight in his eyes contradicted his words. “You really are the biggest…pratface I’ve ever met.”
Indulging in the insult, a terrible one at that, Arthur threw his head back and allowed laughter to consume him. The pain in his head seemed to dissipate, the ache in his body was no match for the happiness he felt right now. Happiness bounded over his muscles’ complaints, stitching them up with kind words and assurance. His eyes floated towards Merlin’s. For the first time in a long time he felt home. The whispers of the wind called his name, the rivers and streams ran through his blood, the wise forest sheltered his heart. The sun embedded itself inside him and left a warm glow on his skin. This was where he belonged- Ealdor. It was his home.
Merlin was the beacon. A beacon that sparked hope and vibrancy inside him, pulling him into the light. This notion plummeted him into abrupt silence. Oh god. Morgana was right- he hated it when she was right. Yes, now he could finally see. Merlin made him laugh. But he also made him cry. He made him angry, so angry. And then he made him calm, made him happy. That’s an awful lot of feelings Arthur. He was the light, he was the dark. He was the day, he was the night. He was the blinding sun, he was the hypnotic moon. He was the tide that crashed onto the shore in the East; he was the strong fold of mountains in the South. He was Albion. He was the one strumming his heart’s pace with his delicate fingers. He was everything. A dizzy wave of recognition rushed over him.
“Merlin.” Arthur spoke gently, butterflies swirled in his stomach.
How had he not seen it sooner? It was so painfully obvious.
“Come on now, you need to rest. We wouldn’t want you to miss your own party.” Merlin’s voice was blurred into the background. The druid stood up, unaware of the daze surrounding Arthur.
Those mesmerising eyes then fixated on Arthur, lifting him from the whirling emotions and explosion of thoughts. Moving over to him, Merlin frowned and held a hand to his brow. The touch sent a shiver up his spine. Concern etched its way onto the druid’s face. Arthur had been through a lot in the past few hours. Perhaps a vast ceremony was not the best of ideas. Maybe his father was right after all. Hesitantly, he voiced Balinor’s concerns.
“Or, if you don’t feel up to it I could just tell the clan we need to postpone the ritual fo-“
“-No.” Arthur said briskly, hauling himself out of the bed animatedly. He’d been waiting for this confirmation, a confirmation that he belonged somewhere. He wanted desperately to belong somewhere, anywhere.
“I’m ready.”
Merlin walked to the door. He opened it with a proud smile, and left Arthur dangling on a wavering string that swung back and forth. Swallowing-hard, he felt a shiver pass through his body. He was going to become one of the people, reborn and gifted with a second life that was graced with peace and kindness. That wasn’t what made him nervous. It wasn’t the notion of baring his soul to the people that tore up the tranquillity inside. It was something else.
Arthur Pendragon was in love with Merlin.
Chapter 34
As the twilight seeped gently into of the room, Arthur inhaled a raggedy breath. Nervous didn’t quite cut it – it was the biggest night of his life after all. Tonight was the night, the night of his Eftboren. It had been thee days since William’s return, three days since the event that had caused cataclysmic destruction within his soul…three days since he had come to realise he loved that idiotic druid. It had altered his future forever. This was where he belonged, in Ealdor. He had never been so sure of anything in his life. Ever since his revelation, Arthur had begun to take more notice of things he hadn’t before.
Like the way his heart picked up speed when he saw Merlin approach him, or the way he automatically smiled, laughed in his presence. It had scared him. Will of all bloody people had almost sussed him out earlier too. To think they had been mildly civil with each other yesterday! The druid had noticed he’d been staring at Merlin with ‘doting eyes’, like a ‘lovesick puppy’. He had pointedly glowered at Will, telling him to ‘fuck off’ and ‘stop being a prick’. Secretly he was grateful Merlin was out of earshot, only able to deduce from their interaction that they were arguing as per usual about something pointless. Will did have a point though – unnerving Arthur further.
He’d never been…in love before.
It was a new feeling, a nice feeling.
But it was a dangerous feeling.
Merlin had this ability to effortlessly extinguish his perception of time and space, blur everything around him into one mesh of things that didn’t matter and could wait until the end of time because it wasn’t as important as any moment with Merlin. Arthur had found more and more he didn’t even realise it was happening, that he was completely enamoured in Merlin’s presence and neglected everything else around him. He had become to accustomed to the warm feeling, so accepting of it that he began to notice a difference when Merlin wasn’t talking to him or with him. The world literally darkened, the scene literally became dull and lacking in vibrancy, magic.
Right now, however, Arthur’s world was shining brilliantly. Swallowing-hard, he struggled to avoid eye contact with the druid who stood alarmingly close – oblivious and naïve to everything of course. Beside the druid’s feet was a bowl of blue paste; Merlin had explained many weeks ago it was customary for each druid to be covered in this paint, with symbols from the Old Religion increasing the chance of Albion’s acceptance. Weeks ago, Arthur had laughed at the thought of Merlin spreading blue paste over his body. However, now it was a totally different story.
Merlin’s intoxicating fingers spread the thick blue paste over his face lightly. The touch was intimate despite it not intending to be. Arthur surrendered into it, not caring that he had craned forwards. Merlin didn’t seem to notice, to his relief.
The hypnotic druid brushed his fingers delicately down his nose, then across the cheekbones, creating a swirling pattern on each side. The electricity churning underneath the skin was pleasant, captivating Arthur in a blissful world where nothing else mattered. Where Merlin’s fingers went, the tingling sensation followed submissively. When Merlin stopped, an agonising ache spread through him, he almost reached for the hands imploringly. But he realised now was not the time. It was part of the Eftboren. Besides, he hadn’t even figured out if Merlin felt the same. The fire in his gut blazed through his body.
Merlin dipped his fingers into the paste and met Arthur’s eyes slowly. A shudder wrecked through his body. Pathetic, yes, but Arthur found he was no longer able to regulate his reactions to Merlin anymore. Especially when he realised there was a dark obscurity enveloping behind the sapphire eyes, an unfamiliar emotion lingering within. It was one he’d never seen in those spectacular eyes. It fuelled the flames inside, the hunger deepening. Before he could distinguish what it meant, the eyes moved down to study his bare chest. Anxiously, Arthur swallowed-hard under the scrutiny. His heart rocketed. Those eyes examined him, mapping out lost worlds and hidden roads. Arthur quickly let any worry sieve from his mind when those magical fingers painted a line across his collarbone. Merlin moved with deliberate, slow-paced precision that Arthur pretended wasn’t driving him crazy. The fingers slipped lower, pressing to the skin. Closing his eyes, Arthur treasured the acres of warmth dancing along his skin. Time seemed to courteously stop for a few seconds, allowing him to indulge in the calculated movements of those hands. The worst part was the druid appeared ignorant to everything he was doing…or was he?
The fingers retreated, reaching for more of the paste. Merlin smeared it over his chest in jagged lines, avoiding the Merlin-bird necklace. His touch was merciless and torturous. Those wonderful hands continued to caress his skin skilfully, reaching his lower abdomen. Arthur’s muscles became tense. He clenched his body tightly to restrain the swell of ravenous desire emanating inside. This excruciating game continued until Merlin’s touch paused reaching the hem of his trousers. His teasing fingers loitered there for longer than Arthur deemed was fair. The touch faded, and Arthur suddenly remembered he had forgotten to open his fucking eyes, or breathe. He opened his eyes abruptly, wincing at how he practically gasped for air. Merlin leant towards him coyly- or was it knowingly? - No. Then those supple lips touched the shell of his ear and he knew he was done for. It was fragile enough to be mistaken for the whispers of the wind, or an echo of what could have been as they hovered in the dangerous proximity.
