Merlin ficlet/scene
Mmph. Really, really need to make a proper post about LIFE and FANDOM and EVERYTHING sometime or the other, but in the meantime, have a missing scene from turning in revolutions that I couldn't help but write: the conversation between Merlin and Arthur after he realizes Merlin's secret and stalks off into the woods.


this is the fate you've carved on me
Merlin/Arthur pre-slash
1100 words
title once again from Gravity by Vienna Teng


this is the fate you've carved on me

To Merlin’s surprise, Arthur was hacking away fiercely at the thin lower branch of a tree, twigs and leaves flying around him, for no apparent purpose.

“You’ll dull the blade that way,” said Merlin without thinking.

Arthur stilled at the sound, but kept his back to Merlin. “So?” he said with every ounce of princely disdain that Merlin remembered from the early days of working for Arthur, from their first meeting, even. It was jarring to hear that tone now, after he had come to know Arthur, after Merlin’s greatest secret had been laid bare for Arthur to destroy him with – and Arthur had only taken it, carefully, and hidden it away again.

“I’m the one who has to sharpen your sword,” he pointed out.

Now Arthur turned to him, his face unreadable. “Are you?”

Merlin’s stomach dropped. He hadn’t considered, somehow, that there could be a third option between mute hatred or grudging acceptance on Arthur’s part – but there was still, no matter how much Arthur cared, the possibility of willful denial that could involve Merlin being sacked, again. Somehow that made Merlin feel even more helpless because there would be no harsh fire to fight, only an implacable wall that Arthur had been perfecting all his life and that Merlin knew he had no power against.

But he and Arthur had a destiny – even if he no longer had any faith in the dragon, Merlin knew somehow that it was true, knew from a feeling inside him that had refused to wear away even through all the obstacles between them, knew from the easy, undeniable bond they had despite all the differences and circumstances that threatened to separate them. He needed Arthur, and Arthur needed him, and there was no way he could just give in without trying to make Arthur realize that.

He lifted his chin and stared at Arthur, determined. “Yes, I am.”

“Why, exactly?” Arthur wondered, his voice deceivingly light, the sword twirling between his fingers in a way that made Merlin just a little uneasy. “Why do you wash my clothes and sharpen my sword and clean my boots? It can’t be very enjoyable.”

“No, but it’s my duty.”

Arthur snorted. “Duty.”

Not only a loaded word, but the purpose that seemed to define Arthur’s entire existence. And yet – it could all be destroyed by Arthur’s stilted denial of Merlin’s magic, by the implicit lie that would be between him and his father once they returned to Camelot. It wasn’t only Merlin that Arthur doubted now, but himself.

Merlin remembered the days of doubt and the questioning of his magic that had plagued him before coming to Camelot, and then the relapse into uncertainty after his journey to the Isle of the Blessed, when the dragon had briefly shattered his sense of his own destiny with its admission of selfish motives. Merlin had managed to gather those pieces back together to decide that he still had a purpose, that his magic could still be a force of good for Camelot. But it had taken help from Gaius and his mother to rebuild himself, and even the mere fact of Arthur’s existence and health had given him more assurance than Arthur could ever know.

Yes, Merlin knew the questioning, felt it still in his bones. And Arthur would, no doubt, need the same kind of support, to reconcile himself to being created anew.

“I’m not sure I know what duty means anymore,” Arthur said now, the quiver in his tone betraying a rarely seen weakness as he dropped his gaze to his sword and fingered the edge. His jaw had clenched slightly, but he seemed to have let down his guard an inch, or two.

The concession gave Merlin the courage to step forward. “It’s not that different,” Merlin said, his voice soft. “I’m a servant, I have to do as you say, and you – you’re the crown prince. You’re going to be king someday. You still have your responsibility to Camelot, and you still have all the power and wisdom to rule it well – or at least that is still in your future.”

“And I just have to decide what kind of king I want to be, I suppose,” said Arthur, almost to himself.

“Yes.” Merlin moved closer still. “But you’re also allowed to have some help.”

Arthur looked up at that, his eyes searching Merlin’s face, for, what? Solidarity? Reassurance, familiarity? Merlin could offer them all but he didn’t exactly know how to convey that further, and he wasn’t sure Arthur knew how to ask.

But Arthur did, apparently, knew how to ask an essential question just by stating a truth, and he said quietly, “You already do.”

“What?”

“Help me. All the time.”

Merlin drew in a breath, his heart stuttering in his chest, and he could only nod.

For a moment there was a brittle stillness between them, an air of uncertainty and hesitation of a different kind, a brief instant of suspension above a slowly closing rift. Merlin felt something close to lightheaded, standing this close to Arthur, having this impossible conversation, and coming out of it with both of them floating instead of falling. It was in these on-the-brink moments that they usually tried to die for each other or something equally rash and noble, convincing Merlin even more of their joined destiny; except that instead of tearing something down, this moment seemed to have the potential to begin, however recklessly, something new.

Then Arthur’s mouth quirked into the smallest of smiles, bringing them back down to earth, and for an instant Merlin was almost wistful that the moment had been lost.

“It’s one of your most annoying qualities, your desire to help me,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “So I don’t see that you need any special abilities for that.”

“Being irritating is my talent, remember?” Merlin replied, and Arthur couldn’t help but give a snort of laughter.

“I suppose we should check on Morgana and Gwen,” he replied, finally sliding his sword back into his sheath.

Merlin shook his head. “I’m sure they’re fine – they really can take care of themselves.” As Arthur opened his mouth to protest, he added, “When one of them isn’t kidnapped by a band of sorcerers which, you know, could happen to anyone. We should see about dinner.”

Arthur sighed theatrically. “And miss this chance to get back at Morgana for saving me in Ealdor? You’re such a spoilsport, Merlin.”

“Worst manservant ever,” Merlin agreed. “Come on, sire, let’s go. You can make fun of my hunting skills instead.”


*

Um. This is definitely going to have a Merlin/Arthur sequel, also involving more plot. I quiver in fear.

ETA: And here it is! drink their poison too, Merlin/Arthur, R.