kittysorceress

Title: The Sword and the Pen
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur preslash
Rating: PG-13
Warnings/Spoilers: Non-descript references to moments in series one. Set sometime after 1x13, I imagine.
A/N: After listening to the new Regina Spektor album and watching the entirety of Melin in about three days, I find myself inspired by one particular song and writing my first fanfic in 2 years. *eep*

Summary: After a run-in with another sorcerer trying to kill the Crown Prince, Merlin refuses to sleep but instead plans to spend the night watching over his master. His thoughts have other dreambound plans.

*~*~*

Like always, everything today was too close. Destiny be damned, they had been so close to forced separation, be it either by earthly departure or kingly decree. Arthur had come too close to death, again. Merlin had come too close to telling his secret, again. The root of the danger itself was not defeated, again.

Of course when Merlin insisted that he stay the night in the Prince’s chambers, with a half-hearted excuse that Gaius needed the bedroom for an invalid who could not be left around his young family for fear of infecting them, Arthur shrugged it off in that way of his that left Merlin feeling like the fool he was so often called. It was obvious to the both of them that this was most certainly not the reason, yet he had not been sent away, and that was how he found himself propped up in a chair by the fire, watching over his lord and master.

Merlin dared not sleep. Each short moment Arthur was out of his sight felt like a dangerous eternity. What if he were to fall asleep and whoever had sent that beast was to smother the young Pendragon barely steps from him? No. Better that he sit awake, a heavy tome open upon his lap to disguise the fact that his plan for the evening was to watch the Prince sleep.

Every slow breath that causes the royal chest to rise and fall, which escapes parted lips to cause curtains of blonde to sway, each heartbeat which pulses blood into the flushed and sleeping face of Camelot’s heir, they connect like an invisible rope to Merlin’s own chest and give him a reason for living.

Not that he’d ever admit that to anyone. Especially not Gwen – she’d just “awww” at him. Especially, especially not Arthur – he’d just... Merlin wasn’t sure he wanted to know Arthur’s response, though he had spent many similar nights pondering that riddle. In the courtliest scenario, Arthur laughs him off for being a girl. In the least courtly scenario, there is a distinct lack of clothing. Somewhere in the middle lies embarrassment, argument, dismissal. He wished he knew which was most likely. He wished he could read minds with his magic; know what his friends and enemies alike were thinking without their knowing. Some people can be read without magic, and Merlin is sure that some people can’t be read at all, spell or none. He knows he’ll never quite decipher Arthur, try as he may.

Sometimes, just sometimes, it seemed like they were so very similar but all at once entirely different. Different sides of the same coin. Arthur was to the battle cry, sword and shield, as Merlin was to the incantation, pen and parchment.

What if the sword kills the pen? The thought rose unbidden, causing a shiver down his spine. You’ve seen it happen, strength will overcome reason. Will I be killed? Would he do it? Could he?

Merlin felt himself losing the battle with the slumbering world, slipping out of consciousness and hating that he could not stop it. Exhaustion had caught up and his mind was leaping at the opportunity to run wild.

Images came to him thick and fast, swirls of red and gold fabric, silver armour, blue eyes and golden hair. He doesn’t need this. He finds himself in the throne room... Arthur is King. Arthur is King and is sentencing him to death. He thought it was safe to tell him. He yells, he yells that he had trusted him. He yells that he had waited for him. He yells that he loved him. That he loves him still. I didn’t want to live without you. The steel of the King’s sword through his heart feels all too real and it sends him falling backwards into the next scene.

A cell that feels all too familiar to the mind of his dream. How long has he been kept here? He can hear footsteps on the stairs. Arthur is here to speak with the Sorcerer, stopping short when he sees Merlin. He was not at the arrest, he had no idea, and he rants about his father and the older man’s joy at Arthur’s persistence on the death sentence for the case. He swears to save him, but Merlin knows it is too late. So Arthur swears to give his own life, and all Merlin can reply: I don’t want to live without you. But Arthur does not hear and has left by the time the scene changes again.

The lake. Arthur is drowning. Merlin doesn’t find him. He can hear his voice though.... it calls to him. Softly, Merlin.

Then he stands by and watches a deep sleep Arthur will never wake from.

But now he lives, destiny sees him King. Merlin feels almost calm, but all too soon.

For then comes marriage.

And a dismissal.

I don’t want to live without you.

Merlin.

I don’t want to live without you.

Merlin. Wake up!

But he can’t. A new scene, more vivid than the rest, sees the both of them sat upon the rug before the fire in Arthur’s chamber. A goblet sits between them, and the Prince is saying it’s the only way. If Merlin drinks the poison, it will much less painful than the flames of the stake. It won’t be long before Uther knows. It won’t be long before the latter will be the only option. They embrace, neither wanting to let go... and he drinks it, dying in Arthur’s arms. Dying out of love and not of hate, but it’s still death, no matter the spin put on it.

I don’t want to live without you.

Arthur takes up what is left in the goblet and downs it in one.

“Merlin!”

He jolts awake to find himself on the chill flagstones. Apart from a candle on the table above, the room is entirely dark. The fire seems to have gone out at some point not too long ago, embers still smouldering. He is shivering. He is wrapped in the arms of the Crown Prince.

“Sire! I... er...” Merlin makes a move to extract himself from the half-sitting position Arthur had pulled him into. He was just held more firmly in place.

“You’ve been thrashing about for at least half-an-hour. For heaven’s sake, just stay put a moment!” He sounded almost affectionate. “Are you quite okay, Merlin? You seemed really very distressed. I couldn’t wake you. You just kept pushing me away.”

“I’m very sorry, sire,” that earned him a playful nudge. “It’s only... it... it won’t happen again.”

“Nothing to be sorry about, you idiot. Except that the fire seems to have gone out. You really are a dreadful servant. Maybe I should get another.

“I’ll light you another,” Merlin managed to struggle free of Arthur’s arms, which had loosened their hold and started to fidget with kindling and wood. “Fire, that is. Not manservant. I mean... let me.”

Arthur stood up after him. “Merlin, stop. Merlin.” He grabbed his servant’s hands and turned him so they were facing each other. “You need sleep. You need to warm yourself, but you do not need to bother with the fire. Into bed.” Merlin looked almost frightened. “Go on, I won’t bite. Come now, we’ve shared smaller spaces. Sharing body heat, it’ll be good for that scrawny body of yours, just don’t let anyone know about this. I’d be a laughing stock.”

The Prince pushed the Sorcerer over to the large bed, and made a bit of a show of tucking him in as a parent would a child.

“Comfortable, Merlin?”

A yawn. “Mmm, better than my bed . Better than the floor of my mother’s home.” A small laugh, another yawn.

Arthur lay himself down on top on the covers next to Merlin, pulling a cape over himself. “Sleep. I’m going to expect you awake at dawn to get my breakfast.”

Merlin moaned and pulled the covers over his head, only to emerge shortly afterwards.

“I... didn’t say anything, when I was dreaming? Did I?”

“Don’t be stupid. You were too busy trying to inflict internal bruising on me. Now sleep!"

Merlin didn’t need telling twice. That little sleep he had managed to snatch earlier made him crave more and besides, having Arthur next to him was more comforting than being across the room from him. He barely even noticed Arthur prattling on about appearances, about what the knights would say if they saw the two of them now.

And by the time Arthur tried to address him again, Merlin was long lost to a land of safe and dreamless slumber. He sighed.

“I don’t want to live without you either.” He bit his lip lest he try to kiss his sleeping servant.

*~*~*