![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Part II
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~
It hadn’t seemed possible to Merlin, but Arthur (the real Arthur) was getting worse as the days grew long and the temperature continued to climb. He wasn’t ignoring his servant any more. Instead he seemed to focus his black temper squarely on Merlin as if someone had painted a target on his back when he wasn’t looking.
At best, every command was a snarl, at worst an outright shriek of rage. He contradicted himself, first piling a huge list of tasks on Merlin, then turning around and banishing Merlin from his chambers. First it was “Muck the stables,” then “What the hell are you doing down here? You should be polishing my armour!” Then there was the time he ordered, “Scrub the floor, Merlin,” and twenty minutes later, “What the hell are you doing on your knees? Get up for gods’ sake!”
Merlin couldn’t make a single move without Arthur criticizing it. Arthur kept him claustrophobically close until the moment he dismissed him entirely, chasing him from the room with black insults and hurled objects.
There was no talking to him…for anyone. Merlin seemed to be getting the brunt of the prince’s bad mood but everyone was getting the rough side of his tongue lately. And no one could say why for certain. Arthur wasn’t letting anyone close.
Most were content to write it off as stress. Arthur had taken over the day to day running of the kingdom quite suddenly, after all. If they weren’t ascribing his bad behavior to stress, then they assumed he was still reacting to Morgana’s betrayal or his father’s failing health. Gaius assured Merlin it was all of the above and that Arthur’s dark spirits shouldn’t come as a surprise. The rolling of his eyes clearly told Merlin that his mentor felt he was exaggerating Arthur’s behavior, making a big deal over nothing. But, Merlin knew better.
He might not be the recipient of Arthur’s confidences anymore but he certainly knew his prince well enough to know that all was not well. Yes, he knew that stress, worry, and betrayal had all taken a toll on Arthur, but the prince was getting worse as the days passed. He wasn’t coping, and something told Merlin that something less obvious was eating away at Arthur. However, Arthur wasn’t in the mood for sharing, and that didn’t look likely to change anytime soon.
Feeling pushed out, Merlin was only too happy to continue spending his nights in the forest with his conjured Arthur. It wasn’t that he hadn’t given the simulacrum some of Arthur’s snark and attitude. There would have been no pretending it was Arthur without that. But he’d given his creation a softened version of Arthur’s famous temper. His teasing was gentle and affectionate. When he called Merlin “idiot” there was no bite to it; it was a term of endearment in his Arthur’s mouth. When they wrestled, his Arthur didn’t leave him feeling bruised and battered. The marks that were left behind were intimate reminders of pleasurable moments, not stinging reminders of Arthur’s brute strength.
Still, it was only a substitute for what Merlin really wanted...and could never have. He reminded himself of that fact every morning when he returned to the castle. Then Arthur reinforced it throughout the day with pointed insults, shouted abuse, and hard metal cups that bounced off the back of Merlin’s neck.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~
Guilt and shame began to colour Arthur’s every interaction with Merlin. Every time he spied on the lovers, Arthur tarnished his honour and betrayed his friendship with Merlin. It had been hard enough to face Merlin in the daylight after dreaming of him in the night, but it became twice as hard to face him after Arthur spilled his seed on the forest floor while watching Merlin fuck his lover, illicitly concealed from them in the dark.
For a few days, Arthur had managed to feel justified in his surveillance of Merlin with his lover, but it became obvious after a week or so that he was no closer to discovering why Merlin was so enthralled with his lover from the woods. However, justification or no, Arthur couldn’t seem to make himself stop. Every evening, against his best intentions, he found himself creeping through the underbrush to spy on Merlin and his man. Every evening, he returned to the castle shaking with furious jealousy, aching with want and covered in a crawling shame for his sick, voyeuristic observation of the pair.
He compounded that shame by taking his rage and frustration out on Merlin. He could barely bring himself to look on his servant anymore...yet, he couldn’t stop staring. Arthur found himself constantly berating and belittling Merlin for little to no reason. More often than not, he’d simply throw Merlin out of his rooms, or stalk off in a huff, leaving the poor man bewildered by his strange behavior. Then he’d grow anxious when Merlin was out of sight for too long, and he’d end up hunting him down again so he could hustle Merlin back to his chambers.
It had been bad today. Every little thing Merlin did seemed to bring the image of him ecstatically writhing in his lover’s arms to Arthur’s mind. He’d been ready to scream and smash things by noon. By the time Merlin was bent over the table, clearing away the lunch plates, Arthur’d had enough. He snapped and threw Merlin out, telling him not to even think about returning until the following day.
Merlin had stopped to grab his bag from the antechamber before slamming the door shut on his way out. Arthur was on his knees before the wood even stopped vibrating. Image after image assailed his mind’s eye. Merlin pressed up against a tree, riding his lover’s cock, screaming with incoherent ecstasy. Merlin on his back, long legs wrapped around his lover’s waist, whimpering with need as he was filled again and again. Merlin down on his hands and knees, dwarfed by the broad, muscled bulk of the man looming over his back, huge hands gripping his narrow hips as the brute lunged into him, their flesh slapping rhythmically as Merlin keened at the top of his voice. Slender moon-pale legs twined with thick, gold furred thighs against a bed of moss as Merlin rested against his lover, catching his breath, their skin shining with sweat, the gleam of cum smeared across Merlin’s belly. Merlin’s lush mouth stretched around his lover’s thick cock…Arthur clawed at his head trying to get the images out.
It was happening now, he was sure of it. He’d sent Merlin away, and every time he did that, Merlin ran straight into the bulging arms of his thrice-damned, golden, glorious fucking lover. They’d be together now, bathed in the light of the sun this time, like some kind of fucking benediction. No. No! He had to stop it, had to stop them!
Lunging to his feet, Arthur tore out the door in pursuit of his friend, his servant, his Merlin. He had to tell Merlin, had to make him see. He belonged with Arthur, not some overly-muscled pretty boy. Legs pumping, sweat flying from his brow, Arthur blindly plunged down stairs and through doors until he found himself outside the postern gate. Tearing through it, he was halfway down the path to Merlin’s trysting place before sanity began to assert itself again. His feet slowed and he began to think once more.
How on earth was he going to show Merlin they belonged together? Arthur had been nothing but foul to him for months now. If he’d ever had a chance at winning Merlin’s heart, surely he’d destroyed it by now. What on earth could he say to Merlin, right here, right now that would make him understand how much Arthur loved him? How badly Arthur needed him?
Slowing to a snail’s pace, Arthur’s feet dragged on the ground. There wasn’t anything. There were no words that could magically reveal his heart, his intent, his love. He should stop. He should turn around, and go back to the castle right now. He should leave Merlin and his lover in peace. Arthur knew what he should do, but it’s not what he did. Instead, he crept forward and settled into his hiding spot on the edge of Merlin’s clearing and watched the man he loved wait for the man he loved to arrive.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~
Merlin threw himself down in the grass as soon as he arrived in the clearing. Wriggling out of his boots, and rummaging furiously in his bag, he soon had charcoal and parchment in hand. He knew what he needed from Arthur today and it wasn’t an image he had saved in his bag. Right now, he needed an aggressive Arthur, he needed to shout, to claw, to fuck with abandon, dirty and rough. He needed an Arthur he’d never conjured before.
Drawing furiously, he erased the image three times before he had what he needed. Lurching to his feet, he held his hand over the parchment on the ground and growled the words that brought Arthur to life.
Arthur burst from the page, exploding to life so fast Merlin’s eyes couldn’t follow the formation. Blinking rapidly, he was unprepared when Arthur lunged at him, taking him clean off his feet. However, Merlin’s surprise vaporized the instant Arthur’s mouth closed over his. Spoiling for the fight, he bit down on Arthur’s lower lip, and reveled in the angry growl he got in response. Arthur’s hands tore at his tunic, whipping it over his head so fast it caught on one ear, tugging painfully until it came free. Merlin growled and bit down on Arthur’s neck in retaliation.
“Merlin!” His name was a guttural cry in Arthur’s throat.
Big hands snapped his trouser laces, and forced the garment down his legs. Impatiently, Merlin kicked free of the tangle of fabric and locked his legs around the smooth skin of Arthur’s waist. He’d deliberately drawn Arthur naked today, not wanting to waste time ridding him of his clothes. In another first, he’d drawn Arthur erect and ready. With a muttered word and a flash of his eyes, Merlin was slick, open and equally ready. He grabbed Arthur and rolled, forcing the larger man over onto his back and coming to rest on top of him, panting and grinning with accomplishment. When Arthur lunged up in an attempt to return them to their former position, Merlin tightened his legs round Arthur’s waist and shoved him back down.
“Ah ah! No you don’t. You stay right where you are.”
“Why you little-“ Merlin muffled Arthur’s protest with his mouth, savagely nipping at the pouty lower lip. When Merlin judged him sufficiently oxygen deprived, Merlin released Arthur’s mouth and reared upright. Lifting his body high, he slammed himself down on Arthur’s hard cock. They cried out in unison at the painful burn. Reveling in the savagery of the act, Merlin forced himself down until Arthur was buried to the root inside him.
“Arthur!” Whipping his head side to side, the name ripped from his vocal cords. “NNnngg! Fuck, Arthur!”
“Yes! I’m here, love. I’ve got you, fuck! I’ve got you!”
“Arthur!”
Practically insensible to anything but the feel of Arthur’s hands on his hips, Arthur’s flesh stretching him open, Merlin was too far gone to register the shocked yelp and resounding crash that came from the thick brush at the edge of the clearing.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~
When he saw Merlin was drawing again, Arthur was careful settling himself into a comfortable position. Merlin was always more alert when drawing than when…well, when otherwise engaged. However, this time, Merlin appeared deaf to the world around him. Fingers flying over the page, he was sketching at a furious pace, smudging lines and scraping the image with his nails, wielding his bread-eraser with abandon.
Arthur watched him with intense curiosity. What was it that Merlin was always drawing? Usually, Arthur didn’t stick around when Merlin drew because his servant was much too alert when not distracted by his lover. He’d hear those little rustling noises from the brush, and he’d come perilously close to discovering Arthur in his hiding place a time or two. Today, it was different, so today, Arthur stayed to watch.
There wasn’t much to discern from the movement of Merlin’s hands but Arthur was content to just watch them work. Merlin had the most beautiful hands, and Arthur rarely got the chance to look his fill, too afraid to be caught staring. Mesmerized, Arthur indulged himself, and felt his pounding heart settle, his breathing slow and his body relax in the peace of this place. He could understand why Merlin came here, even when he wasn’t meeting his illicit lover.
Then Merlin abruptly ceased drawing and leapt to his feet. Arthur tensed, not knowing what to expect. Had Merlin discovered him? His heart began to pound again as he watched in frozen apprehension. No, no, Merlin wasn’t looking his way, he was staring down at the ground, at the parchment drawing laying at his feet. Merlin held his hand out, palm facing down, an angry growling noise emanating from his throat. It took a few seconds for Arthur to realize Merlin was speaking. The strange, foreign words sat ill in Arthur’s ears.
He still didn’t understand what Merlin was doing until the man appeared. Appeared…no, he didn’t just appear, the man exploded from the drawing at Merlin’s feet. The sudden burst of movement was so swift and unexpected that Arthur’s body locked in place, just ceased being for several long moments. His eyes continued to register the scene in front of him, the naked, blond man tackling Merlin to the ground, but Arthur’s thoughts stopped churning, his heart stopped beating and his breath stilled in the strangle-tight confines of his throat.
The couple was wrestling now, tumbling over each other in the grass, the man from the drawing was tugging and tearing at Merlin’s clothes while it seemed Merlin was intent on eating his partner alive if the way he was mouthing at the man was any indication. The “man”…was it even a man Merlin coupled with? And Merlin…he was…he was a sorcerer! A fucking sorcerer!! He’d conjured a living breathing…thing! Out of a bit of charcoal and parchment!
Arthur wasn’t aware of the moment his heart began to beat again, nor was he sensible to the resumption of his body’s breathing activities but he was well aware of the moment they leapt out of control and nearly killed him with their furious rush. Eyes continuing to register the scene before him, he was dimly aware of Merlin impaling himself on his lover’s flesh, but his agonized shout of, “Arthur!” pierced through the swirling chaos of Arthur’s thoughts like a lance. He tried to focus. Merlin shouted his name again, and even as Arthur opened his mouth to respond, the conjured man beat him to it. He gasped out his acknowledgement of Arthur’s name! Then Merlin screamed his name a third time, and Arthur staggered as comprehension hit him. His ankle twisted under him, and he yelped in shock as he went down with a crash.
Stunned, Arthur lay in a tangle of cloth, twigs, leaves, branches, and his own limbs. He knew he should untangle himself, get up, and get away before he was discovered--for surely Merlin had to have heard that racket--but Arthur found himself curiously immobile. He wasn’t sure what to feel let alone what to do. Merlin was a sorcerer. Merlin could conjure men from drawings. Merlin had been conjuring the lover Arthur was so jealous of. Yet, Merlin’s conjured lover was…Arthur. And probably most stunning of all, Merlin loved his conjured lover, which meant…Merlin loved Arthur...didn’t it?
Merlin loved him…but Merlin had lied to him. Merlin had been lying to him for years. He’d been lying about, well, everything! There’d never been any indication he had feelings for Arthur, no wait, he should be concerned about the magic. Yes, that’s what Arthur had to focus on, Merlin had magic, and quite a lot of it from the looks of things. He was a lying, evil, conniving sorcerer...who loved Arthur.
He could still hear the sound of that love echoing around the clearing. Clearly, the furiously coupling men just out of sight had not heard the commotion Arthur had made as he keeled over from shock at the dual revelation he’d been hit with. Their grunts, growls and shouted imprecations were punctuated by the obscene wet sounds of pumping flesh and slapping skin. Arthur didn’t hear his name again but he didn’t have to. The hated golden man fucking the traitorous sorcerer he loved was…him.
A stray thought--Is that really what I look like?--distracted him for a moment before he wrenched his mind back to more important matters. Arthur sat up, shaking his head as if he could knock loose the shock and confusion that so impaired his thinking. His heart sang with elation! His gut churned with betrayal. He could have Merlin! He could never trust Merlin. Arthur felt torn in two. Struggling upright, he kicked free of the brambles tangling his legs. The sound of tearing fabric heralded his freedom, and he lurched out into the clearing to confront the source of all his joy and anguish.
“Merlin!”
Ignored, Arthur stalked closer to the writhing couple and roared, “MERLIN!”
That brought a reaction. Merlin and his magical lover jerked apart with almost comical haste, but there was nothing about the scene Arthur could find amusing. He wanted to confront Merlin, but instead found himself staring at his copy with an unwanted fascination. It couldn’t be real, this thing on the ground, it wasn’t real, wasn’t a man. So…what was it? Was it a spirit? A demon who consented to wear his shape? Then why the imperfections in the copy? Arthur had seen all there was to see of his double and he knew there were differences between them. Wouldn’t a spirit be able to copy him exactly? According to all the warnings he’d been fed his whole life, a demon would copy a man exactly down to the skin, but this man was not an exact match…so what was he if not demonic? He turned his attention to the mage who’d conjured it.
“Merlin…what?”
Unable to form a more coherent question, he stared into Merlin’s horrified face and silently begged for answers.
“Arthur…I, I don’t…I can’t…I’m sorry!”
“You’re sorry. You’re sorry? Sorry for what exactly? Just what the hell are you doing? What is that thing?”
Pointing furiously at his doppleganger, Arthur advanced another step forward. To his surprise, it wasn’t Merlin who answered, it was his double. Only his words were directed at Merlin, not Arthur.
“Merlin, who is this? Who is he to question you?”
“Who am I? I’m Arthur Pendragon, Prince of Camelot, that’s who! Who, or rather what the fuck are you?”
The creature hissed in anger, and launched himself at Arthur. They went down in a snarl of limbs, and somehow Arthur’s copy wound up ascendant.
“Imposter! Lying knave! How dare you try to impersonate me?”
Arthur heard the impact of his copy’s fist with his jaw as much as he felt it. Bone crunched and the shock reverberated through his skull, stunning him for a moment. Wriggling his jaw side to side, Arthur focused his gaze on furious blue eyes and gathered himself to attack. However, before he could release his coiling muscles he heard a shout, and his attacker vanished into thin air. Blinking, he sat up and looked around. The clearing was empty save for he and Merlin.
“Arthur! Are you all right?”
Merlin was down on his knees in the grass beside him, gentle fingers running through his hair and over his face. He shoved Merlin away, and awkwardly scooted backwards before rolling to his feet.
“Where is he?”
“Gone. He’s gone.”
“Where? How? What did you do?”
“I..” trailing off, Merlin looked confused for a moment. Then he squared his shoulders, lifted his chin, and looked Arthur in the eye. “I unmade him.”
Arthur knew he was gaping.
“What?”
“I’m the one who makes him, so when I want him to go, I unmake him.”
“What the hell? What does that mean? What the fuck was that? Some kind of demon?”
“No!”
“A sprit then?”
“No! Arthur, he’s not…no, he’s not a spirit.”
“Than what is he?”
Merlin shrugged, looking hapless.
“I don’t know exactly. I just…I just put my magic into the drawing and make him. He’s…I guess you could say he’s just magic…pure magic. I don’t summon a spirit, I just…he just forms from my will, my intent. He’s whatever I want him to be.”
“Your magic.” Arthur could feel his lip curling. “You’re a sorcerer.”
Merlin nodded, but didn’t speak.
“How long?”
Merlin looked down at the trampled grass where he and his magic lover lay only moments before. When he said, “Just a few months,” Arthur knew he was referring to how long he’d been conjuring the simulacrum.
“No. How long have you been a sorcerer?”
Blue eyes jolted up at the question, full lips forming a surprised O.
“Always.”
“Always.”
Merlin nodded.
“What the hell does that mean, always?” Arthur scoffed.
“I’ve always had magic. I was born with it.”
“That’s impossible!”
Shaking his head, Merlin’s mouth turned down, but his eyes hardened with familiar defiance.
“Yes, so I’ve been told. And yet, impossible or no, here I am. I was born with magic, Arthur. I didn’t choose it. There was never a choice for me. I can’t turn it off. I can’t be anything but what I am, Arthur. I am magic.”
Shaking his head in negation, Arthur backed away though Merlin had made no attempt to rise from his knees. It was all too much for Arthur, too much to process. He turned on his heel and stalked away.
He didn’t return to the castle, nor did he make for the city. Instead, he headed deeper into the wood, shunning all contact. Torn apart by the conflicting emotions warring for ascendency, he knew wasn’t fit to be around anyone in that moment.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~
Watching Arthur storm off in a rage had become all too common a sight, Merlin reflected sadly, especially in the last few months. He sighed, rose to his feet and began gathering his scattered belongings. Shoving them all in his bag, he hefted its small weight and looked around the clearing with regret. Would he ever see this place again? Or would the next sunrise see him bound on his knees in the castle’s courtyard neck bared for the kiss of the headsman’s ax?
Common sense told Merlin he should run. He shouldn’t even return to Camelot, should just turn his feet away from the city, and go. Or barring that, he should return to his room, gather his meager belongings and then leg it out of Camelot before Arthur gathered his wits enough to send the guard after him. Every minute he delayed could cost him his life. And yet, when had he ever listened to what common sense had to say?
Arthur hadn’t killed him right off. That gave him some hope that Arthur wouldn’t summarily order his execution upon his return to Camelot. Merlin wouldn’t run. He’d been forced to hide all of his life, but he’d be damned if he’d run now. Arthur would either accept him for what he was, or he’d face the consequences of Arthur’s rejection, whatever they were. He might yet walk away from Camelot, but he’d never run from Arthur.
He went straight to Arthur’s room, rather than his own. With no idea of when Arthur would return, Merlin stopped along the way and fetched a simple meal of bread, cheese and fruit. He snagged a full flagon of wine as well. It was likely they’d both need alcoholic fortification before the night was through.
Once the table was arranged, Merlin carefully laid a fire in the grate. The warm temperature didn’t really warrant a fire but Merlin lit it anyway. Settling down beside the crackling flames, he pulled the preserved drawings of Arthur out of the bag one by one and burned them. When the last one was in his hands, he whispered the words that brought it to life. He laid a kiss on a quiet Arthur’s lips and then dismissed him forever. It took only seconds for the last of the pile of parchment to curl and blacken in the fire. Whatever happened when Arthur returned, Merlin knew he couldn’t keep pretending. He’d have the real Arthur from now on, or he’d have nothing.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~
Darkness had begun to fall by the time Arthur stopped walking. As his feet shuffled to a stop, he looked around to see where his fugue had led him. Snorting without amusement, he recognized the place. He stepped lightly through the thinning trees, and stopped at the base of a steep slope.
A crumbling castle that was once home to the kings of Camelot was perched on the ridge above the forest. He’d not been back since he used the derelict building to house the rag-tag band of refugees that helped him retake Camelot. Climbing the slope, he stepped through the ancient archway into the echoing silence of a ruined hall.
There was a ghost of a smile on his face, thinking of how much had changed in those few months. When last he was here, he’d imagined himself in love. Then only a day later he’d realized where his true feelings had lain, and the bit of his world that had seemed stable fell to pieces along with the rest of it. They’d rescued his father and ousted Morgana from control of the city. Camelot was retaken but nothing would ever be the same again.
Somehow Arthur found himself standing before the round stone table of the ancient kings. He sat down and remembered Merlin seated at his right hand. His right hand…Merlin had always been there, hadn’t he? Since he first entered Arthur’s service, that earnest boy had never once abandoned him, not for anything. He’d drunk poison for Arthur, fought a dragon by his side, and followed him on perilous quests and insane rescue missions.
Merlin had become the voice of his conscience, guiding him to always, always do the right thing, to live his life in a compassionate way, to serve his people as devoutly as he did his honour…could an evil man give such selfless council? Merlin was a sorcerer, bound by the King’s decree to die should anyone discover what he was. Yet Arthur knew that Uther only lived now because Merlin had been the one to stay Arthur’s hand when he’d raised it against his own father.
Were these the actions of a traitor? They certainly weren’t the actions of the self-serving, corrupt man his father would have him believe every sorcerer must be. Had Arthur been in Merlin’s place, could he have saved the life of a man who would see him dead for simply existing? He had his doubts. No…he just couldn’t mindlessly write Merlin off as just another malevolent sorcerer. So what did that make Merlin?
A loyal friend.
That hadn’t changed, magic or no. Merlin had always been, first and foremost, Arthur’s friend. And, given what, or rather who Merlin had been conjuring from his drawings, maybe something more than just a friend. Finally, Arthur allowed himself to take in the many implications of just what Merlin had been doing with his magic. It was a shock to the system to realize that, of all people, Merlin had magic, powerful magic at that, but to think of what he’d been using that magic for…
Arthur couldn’t help the smile that curled his mouth up. Merlin hadn’t tried to take over the kingdom, or assassinate its magic-hating king. He hadn’t made a cushy life for himself in some foreign court where he’d be praised and adored for his power. He hadn’t used his power to influence or control his prince. No. Merlin had stolen away from an increasingly distant master and created a loving alternate Arthur for himself.
Smile fleeing, Arthur squirmed a bit where he sat. The timing of this all couldn’t be a coincidence. Merlin had only begun conjuring his magical lover after Arthur had started pushing him away. He’d acted the arse, and must have made Merlin’s life a living hell. With such a depressing reality, was it really so surprising Merlin created a more pleasing alternative for himself?
Gods, I treated him so badly, it’s no wonder he went running to another man’s arms.
Except, he hadn’t really, Merlin had gone running to Arthur’s arms. And just thinking about that paradox was enough to give Arthur a headache. But…surely that meant there was hope? A small spark leapt in his chest. He’d been watching Merlin for weeks. It had been heartbreakingly clear to him that Merlin loved the man who’d met him in the woods each evening. And that man was Arthur…did it not also follow that Merlin must love him? Could Merlin still love him after the way he’d treated him? Would Merlin love the real Arthur as ardently as he had loved the Arthur he’d created for himself? Could he be content with the flawed reality instead of the perfect fantasy?
There was only one way to find out. Casting a last lingering glance around, Arthur made his way back to the forest and headed for home.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~
Curled up in a chair by the fire, Merlin tried to wait up for the prince’s return. However, he must have drifted off sometime after midnight, because he woke to the soft press of lips against his own. Heavy headed, it took a moment for his eyes to focus on the face hovering only inches from his own. Awareness returned with a snap.
“Arthur!”
“Shh…shh…” Arthur soothed, brushing a lock of unruly black hair out of Merlin’s eyes, “Let me go first, yeah?”
Eyes wide, Merlin nodded.
“I just want to know...why?”
Merlin’s confusion must have shown on his face.
“Why me? You could have made anyone, so why me?”
Taking a deep breath, Merlin let it out with a deep sigh. The time for dissembling was over. It must be patently obvious why he’d conjured Arthur’s likeness to be his lover. Why try to lie about it now?
“Because I love you, you prat,” Merlin huffed. “I love you, and you won’t even look at me anymore.”
Merlin opened his mouth to say more, but Arthur muffled Merlin’s words with his mouth. Finding this a pleasing, if surprising interruption, Merlin returned the kiss with enthusiasm. When Arthur’s hands found their way into Merlin’s hair, he took this as tacit permission to let his own hands roam. He couldn’t help the happy little noise that escaped his throat as his hands settled on the broad expanse of Arthur’s chest. Then, just as he’d decided that deepening the kiss would be a good idea, Arthur pulled back and caught his gaze instead.
“I’m so sorry, Merlin.”
Blinking in shock, it took several seconds for his mind to accept the soft and sincere words coming from Arthur’s lips. When he did though, his heart plummeted. An apology in return for Merlin’s declaration of love. He’d always known Arthur could never return his feelings, but it still hurt to hear it confirmed. He began to muster up some reassurance for his prince, but before he could speak, Arthur continued his apology.
“I’m so very sorry for the way I’ve treated you. I never…I didn’t mean to hurt you, I was just…trying…I was trying to protect myself.”
This admission startled Merlin from his own self-recrimination. “Protect…what were you…from me?”
Nodding, Arthur leaned in and stole another quick kiss.
“I realized I loved you, and well…I didn’t think it possible that you could love me in return.”
Arthur’s crooked smile looked more than a bit rueful.
“You always seemed such an open book. I was sure if you’d felt the same, it would have been there for the world to see.”
Merlin could feel his eyes bugging out. He didn’t think he could have been more pathetically obvious about his feelings if he’d paraded around the palace starkers screaming his love from the top of his lungs. How could Arthur have not seen it?
“Arthur,” Merlin paused, bit his lip and shook his head. “It was there for the world to see. How could you miss it? No one else did.”
The prince shrugged ruefully. “I guess I must be a bit obtuse, because it surely passed me by.”
Arthur’s hand was gentle on Merlin’s cheek, and the meaning of Arthur’s words finally sank in. Arthur loved him! This wasn’t a dream, and it wasn’t one of Merlin’s magically conjured fantasies. This was the real Arthur, really declaring his love for Merlin. Eyes wide, and mouth agape, he probably looked a simpleton but he just couldn’t seem to gather himself as Arthur kept speaking.
“I thought your regard that of a loyal friend. I never dared think that you loved me, not the way I loved you. It was only today…when I saw…when I heard you call out my name…” he trailed off, eyes focused elsewhere.
Merlin couldn’t help the blush that crawled up his neck at the thought of what Arthur had seen and heard that day. How on earth was he to explain that? He cast around for the words to try, but it seemed that Arthur wasn’t finished.
“You’ve no idea how insanely jealous I’ve been, Merlin. I…today…today wasn’t the first time I followed you. It was just the first time I actually saw you use your magic…and the first time I heard you call him my name.”
Mortification crashed over Merlin in a heavy wave. Arthur had seen him before, had been watching Merlin cavort with his doppelganger?
“I didn’t realize before today...I didn’t recognize him…didn’t know it was me.”
Merlin stopped Arthur’s fumbling words with a finger to his lips.
“Wait, what? You watched me, but you didn’t know that was…that I…you didn’t realize that was you? Who did you think it was?”
Arthur shrugged self-consciously.
“You said you’d met up with an old friend. I just thought…I thought you’d rekindled an old flame or something.”
“And you kept watching us?”
If his eyes bugged out any more, Merlin was afraid they’d fall right out. Fascinated, he watched the colour creep up Arthur’s neck and suffuse his face.
“I...Gods, Merlin! I was so ashamed of myself, but I couldn’t stop. I’ve been following you to the woods for weeks. I…I wanted to know…I needed to know what he had that I didn’t. Needed to know how you could love him so much; why you didn’t love me.”
Merlin couldn’t help the giggle that escaped him. He knew he shouldn’t laugh, but, oh the irony! Arthur had been jealous of himself! The outraged expression coming over his prince’s face just made him laugh all the harder.
“It’s not funny, Merlin!”
“Oh, gods! Yes it is! You were jealous of yourself!” Merlin howled, almost rolling off his chair he was laughing so hard. “You were so jealous of you that you were crawling around in the bushes spying on...yourself!”
Arthur was pouting, but Merlin could see his mouth twitching.
“Shut up, Merlin.”
“Oh, Arthur. How the hell did you not know that was you?”
Another shrug. “I don’t know what I look like, do I? I mean…not exactly.”
Merlin had to concede that. Did anyone really have a clear picture of themselves? For all his arrogance, Arthur wasn’t a vain man. He wasn’t the type to stand over a still pond and fall in love with his own reflection.
He reached out and smoothed Arthur’s fringe back before cupping his cheek.
“Well, you do now, don’t you?”
Leaning forward, he pressed a soft kiss to Arthur’s pouting lips.
“You wasted so much time being jealous of a mirage. If you hadn’t been such a prat, that could have been you I was rolling around the woods with.”
,
Arthur groaned, and turned his head away. “Don’t remind me. Gods, I really am sorry Merlin. I was such a fool.”
“If you promise to make it up to me, I might consider forgiving you.”
One golden eyebrow arched at that.
“Yes, well there is another little matter to consider here, isn’t there?”
Merlin bit his lip, knowing where this was probably going. “Another matter?”
Lips pursed, Arthur pitched a high voice and mocked, “I am an open book!”
“Um…”
“Seems you left a few pages out of that book, eh Merlin?”
At a loss, Merlin couldn’t speak for several minutes, but Arthur seemed content to hold his tongue and let Merlin sweat it out for the moment. When he did finally muster the courage to speak, his words were a cautious entreaty for understanding.
“I wanted to tell you, Arthur. I really did…but…I was scared.”
Arthur’s frown was heavy and disappointed. “You were scared of me? You thought I’d hurt you?”
“No…I thought you’d hate me.”
Merlin was kissed nearly senseless for this baring of his soul.
“Merlin, I could never hate you. How could I? You’ve always been there for me. When others broke and ran, you stood firm at my side. I could love you for that alone, but there’s so much more…I, gods, please don’t make me say it. I already sound like a lovestruck girl!”
Unwilling to torture his emotionally constipated prince anymore, Merlin was the one to lean in for a kiss.
“You love me?”
Arthur just nodded.
“That’s all I need to know.”
Forgiveness and understanding was given and received in the press of their lips, the touch of skin on skin, and the tightening of arms around each other. There was more to be said, and in time, they would say it, but for now they let their bodies communicate what they were feeling. It was the most honest conversation they’d ever had.
Waking with the sun in his face, Merlin smiled to see Arthur curled up by his side. His face was more relaxed than Merlin could ever remember seeing it. It lent a new layer of grace to Arthur’s already beautiful features, and Merlin itched to immortalize them. He slipped from the bed and fetched charcoal and parchment from his bag in the antechamber.
As Merlin swept the last few lines on the page, Arthur opened his eyes and smiled at him.
“You’d better not be planning on taking that sketch out into the woods any time soon,” he teased good-naturedly.
Merlin laughed and set the drawing aside, allowing himself to be pulled back down against Arthur’s side and into his embrace. He tucked his head underneath the prince’s chin and sighed contentedly.
“Eh, it’s just a pale imitation. Why settle for a copy when I can have the real thing?”
~***~
It hadn’t seemed possible to Merlin, but Arthur (the real Arthur) was getting worse as the days grew long and the temperature continued to climb. He wasn’t ignoring his servant any more. Instead he seemed to focus his black temper squarely on Merlin as if someone had painted a target on his back when he wasn’t looking.
At best, every command was a snarl, at worst an outright shriek of rage. He contradicted himself, first piling a huge list of tasks on Merlin, then turning around and banishing Merlin from his chambers. First it was “Muck the stables,” then “What the hell are you doing down here? You should be polishing my armour!” Then there was the time he ordered, “Scrub the floor, Merlin,” and twenty minutes later, “What the hell are you doing on your knees? Get up for gods’ sake!”
Merlin couldn’t make a single move without Arthur criticizing it. Arthur kept him claustrophobically close until the moment he dismissed him entirely, chasing him from the room with black insults and hurled objects.
There was no talking to him…for anyone. Merlin seemed to be getting the brunt of the prince’s bad mood but everyone was getting the rough side of his tongue lately. And no one could say why for certain. Arthur wasn’t letting anyone close.
Most were content to write it off as stress. Arthur had taken over the day to day running of the kingdom quite suddenly, after all. If they weren’t ascribing his bad behavior to stress, then they assumed he was still reacting to Morgana’s betrayal or his father’s failing health. Gaius assured Merlin it was all of the above and that Arthur’s dark spirits shouldn’t come as a surprise. The rolling of his eyes clearly told Merlin that his mentor felt he was exaggerating Arthur’s behavior, making a big deal over nothing. But, Merlin knew better.
He might not be the recipient of Arthur’s confidences anymore but he certainly knew his prince well enough to know that all was not well. Yes, he knew that stress, worry, and betrayal had all taken a toll on Arthur, but the prince was getting worse as the days passed. He wasn’t coping, and something told Merlin that something less obvious was eating away at Arthur. However, Arthur wasn’t in the mood for sharing, and that didn’t look likely to change anytime soon.
Feeling pushed out, Merlin was only too happy to continue spending his nights in the forest with his conjured Arthur. It wasn’t that he hadn’t given the simulacrum some of Arthur’s snark and attitude. There would have been no pretending it was Arthur without that. But he’d given his creation a softened version of Arthur’s famous temper. His teasing was gentle and affectionate. When he called Merlin “idiot” there was no bite to it; it was a term of endearment in his Arthur’s mouth. When they wrestled, his Arthur didn’t leave him feeling bruised and battered. The marks that were left behind were intimate reminders of pleasurable moments, not stinging reminders of Arthur’s brute strength.
Still, it was only a substitute for what Merlin really wanted...and could never have. He reminded himself of that fact every morning when he returned to the castle. Then Arthur reinforced it throughout the day with pointed insults, shouted abuse, and hard metal cups that bounced off the back of Merlin’s neck.
Guilt and shame began to colour Arthur’s every interaction with Merlin. Every time he spied on the lovers, Arthur tarnished his honour and betrayed his friendship with Merlin. It had been hard enough to face Merlin in the daylight after dreaming of him in the night, but it became twice as hard to face him after Arthur spilled his seed on the forest floor while watching Merlin fuck his lover, illicitly concealed from them in the dark.
For a few days, Arthur had managed to feel justified in his surveillance of Merlin with his lover, but it became obvious after a week or so that he was no closer to discovering why Merlin was so enthralled with his lover from the woods. However, justification or no, Arthur couldn’t seem to make himself stop. Every evening, against his best intentions, he found himself creeping through the underbrush to spy on Merlin and his man. Every evening, he returned to the castle shaking with furious jealousy, aching with want and covered in a crawling shame for his sick, voyeuristic observation of the pair.
He compounded that shame by taking his rage and frustration out on Merlin. He could barely bring himself to look on his servant anymore...yet, he couldn’t stop staring. Arthur found himself constantly berating and belittling Merlin for little to no reason. More often than not, he’d simply throw Merlin out of his rooms, or stalk off in a huff, leaving the poor man bewildered by his strange behavior. Then he’d grow anxious when Merlin was out of sight for too long, and he’d end up hunting him down again so he could hustle Merlin back to his chambers.
It had been bad today. Every little thing Merlin did seemed to bring the image of him ecstatically writhing in his lover’s arms to Arthur’s mind. He’d been ready to scream and smash things by noon. By the time Merlin was bent over the table, clearing away the lunch plates, Arthur’d had enough. He snapped and threw Merlin out, telling him not to even think about returning until the following day.
Merlin had stopped to grab his bag from the antechamber before slamming the door shut on his way out. Arthur was on his knees before the wood even stopped vibrating. Image after image assailed his mind’s eye. Merlin pressed up against a tree, riding his lover’s cock, screaming with incoherent ecstasy. Merlin on his back, long legs wrapped around his lover’s waist, whimpering with need as he was filled again and again. Merlin down on his hands and knees, dwarfed by the broad, muscled bulk of the man looming over his back, huge hands gripping his narrow hips as the brute lunged into him, their flesh slapping rhythmically as Merlin keened at the top of his voice. Slender moon-pale legs twined with thick, gold furred thighs against a bed of moss as Merlin rested against his lover, catching his breath, their skin shining with sweat, the gleam of cum smeared across Merlin’s belly. Merlin’s lush mouth stretched around his lover’s thick cock…Arthur clawed at his head trying to get the images out.
It was happening now, he was sure of it. He’d sent Merlin away, and every time he did that, Merlin ran straight into the bulging arms of his thrice-damned, golden, glorious fucking lover. They’d be together now, bathed in the light of the sun this time, like some kind of fucking benediction. No. No! He had to stop it, had to stop them!
Lunging to his feet, Arthur tore out the door in pursuit of his friend, his servant, his Merlin. He had to tell Merlin, had to make him see. He belonged with Arthur, not some overly-muscled pretty boy. Legs pumping, sweat flying from his brow, Arthur blindly plunged down stairs and through doors until he found himself outside the postern gate. Tearing through it, he was halfway down the path to Merlin’s trysting place before sanity began to assert itself again. His feet slowed and he began to think once more.
How on earth was he going to show Merlin they belonged together? Arthur had been nothing but foul to him for months now. If he’d ever had a chance at winning Merlin’s heart, surely he’d destroyed it by now. What on earth could he say to Merlin, right here, right now that would make him understand how much Arthur loved him? How badly Arthur needed him?
Slowing to a snail’s pace, Arthur’s feet dragged on the ground. There wasn’t anything. There were no words that could magically reveal his heart, his intent, his love. He should stop. He should turn around, and go back to the castle right now. He should leave Merlin and his lover in peace. Arthur knew what he should do, but it’s not what he did. Instead, he crept forward and settled into his hiding spot on the edge of Merlin’s clearing and watched the man he loved wait for the man he loved to arrive.
Merlin threw himself down in the grass as soon as he arrived in the clearing. Wriggling out of his boots, and rummaging furiously in his bag, he soon had charcoal and parchment in hand. He knew what he needed from Arthur today and it wasn’t an image he had saved in his bag. Right now, he needed an aggressive Arthur, he needed to shout, to claw, to fuck with abandon, dirty and rough. He needed an Arthur he’d never conjured before.
Drawing furiously, he erased the image three times before he had what he needed. Lurching to his feet, he held his hand over the parchment on the ground and growled the words that brought Arthur to life.
Arthur burst from the page, exploding to life so fast Merlin’s eyes couldn’t follow the formation. Blinking rapidly, he was unprepared when Arthur lunged at him, taking him clean off his feet. However, Merlin’s surprise vaporized the instant Arthur’s mouth closed over his. Spoiling for the fight, he bit down on Arthur’s lower lip, and reveled in the angry growl he got in response. Arthur’s hands tore at his tunic, whipping it over his head so fast it caught on one ear, tugging painfully until it came free. Merlin growled and bit down on Arthur’s neck in retaliation.
“Merlin!” His name was a guttural cry in Arthur’s throat.
Big hands snapped his trouser laces, and forced the garment down his legs. Impatiently, Merlin kicked free of the tangle of fabric and locked his legs around the smooth skin of Arthur’s waist. He’d deliberately drawn Arthur naked today, not wanting to waste time ridding him of his clothes. In another first, he’d drawn Arthur erect and ready. With a muttered word and a flash of his eyes, Merlin was slick, open and equally ready. He grabbed Arthur and rolled, forcing the larger man over onto his back and coming to rest on top of him, panting and grinning with accomplishment. When Arthur lunged up in an attempt to return them to their former position, Merlin tightened his legs round Arthur’s waist and shoved him back down.
“Ah ah! No you don’t. You stay right where you are.”
“Why you little-“ Merlin muffled Arthur’s protest with his mouth, savagely nipping at the pouty lower lip. When Merlin judged him sufficiently oxygen deprived, Merlin released Arthur’s mouth and reared upright. Lifting his body high, he slammed himself down on Arthur’s hard cock. They cried out in unison at the painful burn. Reveling in the savagery of the act, Merlin forced himself down until Arthur was buried to the root inside him.
“Arthur!” Whipping his head side to side, the name ripped from his vocal cords. “NNnngg! Fuck, Arthur!”
“Yes! I’m here, love. I’ve got you, fuck! I’ve got you!”
“Arthur!”
Practically insensible to anything but the feel of Arthur’s hands on his hips, Arthur’s flesh stretching him open, Merlin was too far gone to register the shocked yelp and resounding crash that came from the thick brush at the edge of the clearing.
When he saw Merlin was drawing again, Arthur was careful settling himself into a comfortable position. Merlin was always more alert when drawing than when…well, when otherwise engaged. However, this time, Merlin appeared deaf to the world around him. Fingers flying over the page, he was sketching at a furious pace, smudging lines and scraping the image with his nails, wielding his bread-eraser with abandon.
Arthur watched him with intense curiosity. What was it that Merlin was always drawing? Usually, Arthur didn’t stick around when Merlin drew because his servant was much too alert when not distracted by his lover. He’d hear those little rustling noises from the brush, and he’d come perilously close to discovering Arthur in his hiding place a time or two. Today, it was different, so today, Arthur stayed to watch.
There wasn’t much to discern from the movement of Merlin’s hands but Arthur was content to just watch them work. Merlin had the most beautiful hands, and Arthur rarely got the chance to look his fill, too afraid to be caught staring. Mesmerized, Arthur indulged himself, and felt his pounding heart settle, his breathing slow and his body relax in the peace of this place. He could understand why Merlin came here, even when he wasn’t meeting his illicit lover.
Then Merlin abruptly ceased drawing and leapt to his feet. Arthur tensed, not knowing what to expect. Had Merlin discovered him? His heart began to pound again as he watched in frozen apprehension. No, no, Merlin wasn’t looking his way, he was staring down at the ground, at the parchment drawing laying at his feet. Merlin held his hand out, palm facing down, an angry growling noise emanating from his throat. It took a few seconds for Arthur to realize Merlin was speaking. The strange, foreign words sat ill in Arthur’s ears.
He still didn’t understand what Merlin was doing until the man appeared. Appeared…no, he didn’t just appear, the man exploded from the drawing at Merlin’s feet. The sudden burst of movement was so swift and unexpected that Arthur’s body locked in place, just ceased being for several long moments. His eyes continued to register the scene in front of him, the naked, blond man tackling Merlin to the ground, but Arthur’s thoughts stopped churning, his heart stopped beating and his breath stilled in the strangle-tight confines of his throat.
The couple was wrestling now, tumbling over each other in the grass, the man from the drawing was tugging and tearing at Merlin’s clothes while it seemed Merlin was intent on eating his partner alive if the way he was mouthing at the man was any indication. The “man”…was it even a man Merlin coupled with? And Merlin…he was…he was a sorcerer! A fucking sorcerer!! He’d conjured a living breathing…thing! Out of a bit of charcoal and parchment!
Arthur wasn’t aware of the moment his heart began to beat again, nor was he sensible to the resumption of his body’s breathing activities but he was well aware of the moment they leapt out of control and nearly killed him with their furious rush. Eyes continuing to register the scene before him, he was dimly aware of Merlin impaling himself on his lover’s flesh, but his agonized shout of, “Arthur!” pierced through the swirling chaos of Arthur’s thoughts like a lance. He tried to focus. Merlin shouted his name again, and even as Arthur opened his mouth to respond, the conjured man beat him to it. He gasped out his acknowledgement of Arthur’s name! Then Merlin screamed his name a third time, and Arthur staggered as comprehension hit him. His ankle twisted under him, and he yelped in shock as he went down with a crash.
Stunned, Arthur lay in a tangle of cloth, twigs, leaves, branches, and his own limbs. He knew he should untangle himself, get up, and get away before he was discovered--for surely Merlin had to have heard that racket--but Arthur found himself curiously immobile. He wasn’t sure what to feel let alone what to do. Merlin was a sorcerer. Merlin could conjure men from drawings. Merlin had been conjuring the lover Arthur was so jealous of. Yet, Merlin’s conjured lover was…Arthur. And probably most stunning of all, Merlin loved his conjured lover, which meant…Merlin loved Arthur...didn’t it?
Merlin loved him…but Merlin had lied to him. Merlin had been lying to him for years. He’d been lying about, well, everything! There’d never been any indication he had feelings for Arthur, no wait, he should be concerned about the magic. Yes, that’s what Arthur had to focus on, Merlin had magic, and quite a lot of it from the looks of things. He was a lying, evil, conniving sorcerer...who loved Arthur.
He could still hear the sound of that love echoing around the clearing. Clearly, the furiously coupling men just out of sight had not heard the commotion Arthur had made as he keeled over from shock at the dual revelation he’d been hit with. Their grunts, growls and shouted imprecations were punctuated by the obscene wet sounds of pumping flesh and slapping skin. Arthur didn’t hear his name again but he didn’t have to. The hated golden man fucking the traitorous sorcerer he loved was…him.
A stray thought--Is that really what I look like?--distracted him for a moment before he wrenched his mind back to more important matters. Arthur sat up, shaking his head as if he could knock loose the shock and confusion that so impaired his thinking. His heart sang with elation! His gut churned with betrayal. He could have Merlin! He could never trust Merlin. Arthur felt torn in two. Struggling upright, he kicked free of the brambles tangling his legs. The sound of tearing fabric heralded his freedom, and he lurched out into the clearing to confront the source of all his joy and anguish.
“Merlin!”
Ignored, Arthur stalked closer to the writhing couple and roared, “MERLIN!”
That brought a reaction. Merlin and his magical lover jerked apart with almost comical haste, but there was nothing about the scene Arthur could find amusing. He wanted to confront Merlin, but instead found himself staring at his copy with an unwanted fascination. It couldn’t be real, this thing on the ground, it wasn’t real, wasn’t a man. So…what was it? Was it a spirit? A demon who consented to wear his shape? Then why the imperfections in the copy? Arthur had seen all there was to see of his double and he knew there were differences between them. Wouldn’t a spirit be able to copy him exactly? According to all the warnings he’d been fed his whole life, a demon would copy a man exactly down to the skin, but this man was not an exact match…so what was he if not demonic? He turned his attention to the mage who’d conjured it.
“Merlin…what?”
Unable to form a more coherent question, he stared into Merlin’s horrified face and silently begged for answers.
“Arthur…I, I don’t…I can’t…I’m sorry!”
“You’re sorry. You’re sorry? Sorry for what exactly? Just what the hell are you doing? What is that thing?”
Pointing furiously at his doppleganger, Arthur advanced another step forward. To his surprise, it wasn’t Merlin who answered, it was his double. Only his words were directed at Merlin, not Arthur.
“Merlin, who is this? Who is he to question you?”
“Who am I? I’m Arthur Pendragon, Prince of Camelot, that’s who! Who, or rather what the fuck are you?”
The creature hissed in anger, and launched himself at Arthur. They went down in a snarl of limbs, and somehow Arthur’s copy wound up ascendant.
“Imposter! Lying knave! How dare you try to impersonate me?”
Arthur heard the impact of his copy’s fist with his jaw as much as he felt it. Bone crunched and the shock reverberated through his skull, stunning him for a moment. Wriggling his jaw side to side, Arthur focused his gaze on furious blue eyes and gathered himself to attack. However, before he could release his coiling muscles he heard a shout, and his attacker vanished into thin air. Blinking, he sat up and looked around. The clearing was empty save for he and Merlin.
“Arthur! Are you all right?”
Merlin was down on his knees in the grass beside him, gentle fingers running through his hair and over his face. He shoved Merlin away, and awkwardly scooted backwards before rolling to his feet.
“Where is he?”
“Gone. He’s gone.”
“Where? How? What did you do?”
“I..” trailing off, Merlin looked confused for a moment. Then he squared his shoulders, lifted his chin, and looked Arthur in the eye. “I unmade him.”
Arthur knew he was gaping.
“What?”
“I’m the one who makes him, so when I want him to go, I unmake him.”
“What the hell? What does that mean? What the fuck was that? Some kind of demon?”
“No!”
“A sprit then?”
“No! Arthur, he’s not…no, he’s not a spirit.”
“Than what is he?”
Merlin shrugged, looking hapless.
“I don’t know exactly. I just…I just put my magic into the drawing and make him. He’s…I guess you could say he’s just magic…pure magic. I don’t summon a spirit, I just…he just forms from my will, my intent. He’s whatever I want him to be.”
“Your magic.” Arthur could feel his lip curling. “You’re a sorcerer.”
Merlin nodded, but didn’t speak.
“How long?”
Merlin looked down at the trampled grass where he and his magic lover lay only moments before. When he said, “Just a few months,” Arthur knew he was referring to how long he’d been conjuring the simulacrum.
“No. How long have you been a sorcerer?”
Blue eyes jolted up at the question, full lips forming a surprised O.
“Always.”
“Always.”
Merlin nodded.
“What the hell does that mean, always?” Arthur scoffed.
“I’ve always had magic. I was born with it.”
“That’s impossible!”
Shaking his head, Merlin’s mouth turned down, but his eyes hardened with familiar defiance.
“Yes, so I’ve been told. And yet, impossible or no, here I am. I was born with magic, Arthur. I didn’t choose it. There was never a choice for me. I can’t turn it off. I can’t be anything but what I am, Arthur. I am magic.”
Shaking his head in negation, Arthur backed away though Merlin had made no attempt to rise from his knees. It was all too much for Arthur, too much to process. He turned on his heel and stalked away.
He didn’t return to the castle, nor did he make for the city. Instead, he headed deeper into the wood, shunning all contact. Torn apart by the conflicting emotions warring for ascendency, he knew wasn’t fit to be around anyone in that moment.
Watching Arthur storm off in a rage had become all too common a sight, Merlin reflected sadly, especially in the last few months. He sighed, rose to his feet and began gathering his scattered belongings. Shoving them all in his bag, he hefted its small weight and looked around the clearing with regret. Would he ever see this place again? Or would the next sunrise see him bound on his knees in the castle’s courtyard neck bared for the kiss of the headsman’s ax?
Common sense told Merlin he should run. He shouldn’t even return to Camelot, should just turn his feet away from the city, and go. Or barring that, he should return to his room, gather his meager belongings and then leg it out of Camelot before Arthur gathered his wits enough to send the guard after him. Every minute he delayed could cost him his life. And yet, when had he ever listened to what common sense had to say?
Arthur hadn’t killed him right off. That gave him some hope that Arthur wouldn’t summarily order his execution upon his return to Camelot. Merlin wouldn’t run. He’d been forced to hide all of his life, but he’d be damned if he’d run now. Arthur would either accept him for what he was, or he’d face the consequences of Arthur’s rejection, whatever they were. He might yet walk away from Camelot, but he’d never run from Arthur.
He went straight to Arthur’s room, rather than his own. With no idea of when Arthur would return, Merlin stopped along the way and fetched a simple meal of bread, cheese and fruit. He snagged a full flagon of wine as well. It was likely they’d both need alcoholic fortification before the night was through.
Once the table was arranged, Merlin carefully laid a fire in the grate. The warm temperature didn’t really warrant a fire but Merlin lit it anyway. Settling down beside the crackling flames, he pulled the preserved drawings of Arthur out of the bag one by one and burned them. When the last one was in his hands, he whispered the words that brought it to life. He laid a kiss on a quiet Arthur’s lips and then dismissed him forever. It took only seconds for the last of the pile of parchment to curl and blacken in the fire. Whatever happened when Arthur returned, Merlin knew he couldn’t keep pretending. He’d have the real Arthur from now on, or he’d have nothing.
Darkness had begun to fall by the time Arthur stopped walking. As his feet shuffled to a stop, he looked around to see where his fugue had led him. Snorting without amusement, he recognized the place. He stepped lightly through the thinning trees, and stopped at the base of a steep slope.
A crumbling castle that was once home to the kings of Camelot was perched on the ridge above the forest. He’d not been back since he used the derelict building to house the rag-tag band of refugees that helped him retake Camelot. Climbing the slope, he stepped through the ancient archway into the echoing silence of a ruined hall.
There was a ghost of a smile on his face, thinking of how much had changed in those few months. When last he was here, he’d imagined himself in love. Then only a day later he’d realized where his true feelings had lain, and the bit of his world that had seemed stable fell to pieces along with the rest of it. They’d rescued his father and ousted Morgana from control of the city. Camelot was retaken but nothing would ever be the same again.
Somehow Arthur found himself standing before the round stone table of the ancient kings. He sat down and remembered Merlin seated at his right hand. His right hand…Merlin had always been there, hadn’t he? Since he first entered Arthur’s service, that earnest boy had never once abandoned him, not for anything. He’d drunk poison for Arthur, fought a dragon by his side, and followed him on perilous quests and insane rescue missions.
Merlin had become the voice of his conscience, guiding him to always, always do the right thing, to live his life in a compassionate way, to serve his people as devoutly as he did his honour…could an evil man give such selfless council? Merlin was a sorcerer, bound by the King’s decree to die should anyone discover what he was. Yet Arthur knew that Uther only lived now because Merlin had been the one to stay Arthur’s hand when he’d raised it against his own father.
Were these the actions of a traitor? They certainly weren’t the actions of the self-serving, corrupt man his father would have him believe every sorcerer must be. Had Arthur been in Merlin’s place, could he have saved the life of a man who would see him dead for simply existing? He had his doubts. No…he just couldn’t mindlessly write Merlin off as just another malevolent sorcerer. So what did that make Merlin?
A loyal friend.
That hadn’t changed, magic or no. Merlin had always been, first and foremost, Arthur’s friend. And, given what, or rather who Merlin had been conjuring from his drawings, maybe something more than just a friend. Finally, Arthur allowed himself to take in the many implications of just what Merlin had been doing with his magic. It was a shock to the system to realize that, of all people, Merlin had magic, powerful magic at that, but to think of what he’d been using that magic for…
Arthur couldn’t help the smile that curled his mouth up. Merlin hadn’t tried to take over the kingdom, or assassinate its magic-hating king. He hadn’t made a cushy life for himself in some foreign court where he’d be praised and adored for his power. He hadn’t used his power to influence or control his prince. No. Merlin had stolen away from an increasingly distant master and created a loving alternate Arthur for himself.
Smile fleeing, Arthur squirmed a bit where he sat. The timing of this all couldn’t be a coincidence. Merlin had only begun conjuring his magical lover after Arthur had started pushing him away. He’d acted the arse, and must have made Merlin’s life a living hell. With such a depressing reality, was it really so surprising Merlin created a more pleasing alternative for himself?
Gods, I treated him so badly, it’s no wonder he went running to another man’s arms.
Except, he hadn’t really, Merlin had gone running to Arthur’s arms. And just thinking about that paradox was enough to give Arthur a headache. But…surely that meant there was hope? A small spark leapt in his chest. He’d been watching Merlin for weeks. It had been heartbreakingly clear to him that Merlin loved the man who’d met him in the woods each evening. And that man was Arthur…did it not also follow that Merlin must love him? Could Merlin still love him after the way he’d treated him? Would Merlin love the real Arthur as ardently as he had loved the Arthur he’d created for himself? Could he be content with the flawed reality instead of the perfect fantasy?
There was only one way to find out. Casting a last lingering glance around, Arthur made his way back to the forest and headed for home.
Curled up in a chair by the fire, Merlin tried to wait up for the prince’s return. However, he must have drifted off sometime after midnight, because he woke to the soft press of lips against his own. Heavy headed, it took a moment for his eyes to focus on the face hovering only inches from his own. Awareness returned with a snap.
“Arthur!”
“Shh…shh…” Arthur soothed, brushing a lock of unruly black hair out of Merlin’s eyes, “Let me go first, yeah?”
Eyes wide, Merlin nodded.
“I just want to know...why?”
Merlin’s confusion must have shown on his face.
“Why me? You could have made anyone, so why me?”
Taking a deep breath, Merlin let it out with a deep sigh. The time for dissembling was over. It must be patently obvious why he’d conjured Arthur’s likeness to be his lover. Why try to lie about it now?
“Because I love you, you prat,” Merlin huffed. “I love you, and you won’t even look at me anymore.”
Merlin opened his mouth to say more, but Arthur muffled Merlin’s words with his mouth. Finding this a pleasing, if surprising interruption, Merlin returned the kiss with enthusiasm. When Arthur’s hands found their way into Merlin’s hair, he took this as tacit permission to let his own hands roam. He couldn’t help the happy little noise that escaped his throat as his hands settled on the broad expanse of Arthur’s chest. Then, just as he’d decided that deepening the kiss would be a good idea, Arthur pulled back and caught his gaze instead.
“I’m so sorry, Merlin.”
Blinking in shock, it took several seconds for his mind to accept the soft and sincere words coming from Arthur’s lips. When he did though, his heart plummeted. An apology in return for Merlin’s declaration of love. He’d always known Arthur could never return his feelings, but it still hurt to hear it confirmed. He began to muster up some reassurance for his prince, but before he could speak, Arthur continued his apology.
“I’m so very sorry for the way I’ve treated you. I never…I didn’t mean to hurt you, I was just…trying…I was trying to protect myself.”
This admission startled Merlin from his own self-recrimination. “Protect…what were you…from me?”
Nodding, Arthur leaned in and stole another quick kiss.
“I realized I loved you, and well…I didn’t think it possible that you could love me in return.”
Arthur’s crooked smile looked more than a bit rueful.
“You always seemed such an open book. I was sure if you’d felt the same, it would have been there for the world to see.”
Merlin could feel his eyes bugging out. He didn’t think he could have been more pathetically obvious about his feelings if he’d paraded around the palace starkers screaming his love from the top of his lungs. How could Arthur have not seen it?
“Arthur,” Merlin paused, bit his lip and shook his head. “It was there for the world to see. How could you miss it? No one else did.”
The prince shrugged ruefully. “I guess I must be a bit obtuse, because it surely passed me by.”
Arthur’s hand was gentle on Merlin’s cheek, and the meaning of Arthur’s words finally sank in. Arthur loved him! This wasn’t a dream, and it wasn’t one of Merlin’s magically conjured fantasies. This was the real Arthur, really declaring his love for Merlin. Eyes wide, and mouth agape, he probably looked a simpleton but he just couldn’t seem to gather himself as Arthur kept speaking.
“I thought your regard that of a loyal friend. I never dared think that you loved me, not the way I loved you. It was only today…when I saw…when I heard you call out my name…” he trailed off, eyes focused elsewhere.
Merlin couldn’t help the blush that crawled up his neck at the thought of what Arthur had seen and heard that day. How on earth was he to explain that? He cast around for the words to try, but it seemed that Arthur wasn’t finished.
“You’ve no idea how insanely jealous I’ve been, Merlin. I…today…today wasn’t the first time I followed you. It was just the first time I actually saw you use your magic…and the first time I heard you call him my name.”
Mortification crashed over Merlin in a heavy wave. Arthur had seen him before, had been watching Merlin cavort with his doppelganger?
“I didn’t realize before today...I didn’t recognize him…didn’t know it was me.”
Merlin stopped Arthur’s fumbling words with a finger to his lips.
“Wait, what? You watched me, but you didn’t know that was…that I…you didn’t realize that was you? Who did you think it was?”
Arthur shrugged self-consciously.
“You said you’d met up with an old friend. I just thought…I thought you’d rekindled an old flame or something.”
“And you kept watching us?”
If his eyes bugged out any more, Merlin was afraid they’d fall right out. Fascinated, he watched the colour creep up Arthur’s neck and suffuse his face.
“I...Gods, Merlin! I was so ashamed of myself, but I couldn’t stop. I’ve been following you to the woods for weeks. I…I wanted to know…I needed to know what he had that I didn’t. Needed to know how you could love him so much; why you didn’t love me.”
Merlin couldn’t help the giggle that escaped him. He knew he shouldn’t laugh, but, oh the irony! Arthur had been jealous of himself! The outraged expression coming over his prince’s face just made him laugh all the harder.
“It’s not funny, Merlin!”
“Oh, gods! Yes it is! You were jealous of yourself!” Merlin howled, almost rolling off his chair he was laughing so hard. “You were so jealous of you that you were crawling around in the bushes spying on...yourself!”
Arthur was pouting, but Merlin could see his mouth twitching.
“Shut up, Merlin.”
“Oh, Arthur. How the hell did you not know that was you?”
Another shrug. “I don’t know what I look like, do I? I mean…not exactly.”
Merlin had to concede that. Did anyone really have a clear picture of themselves? For all his arrogance, Arthur wasn’t a vain man. He wasn’t the type to stand over a still pond and fall in love with his own reflection.
He reached out and smoothed Arthur’s fringe back before cupping his cheek.
“Well, you do now, don’t you?”
Leaning forward, he pressed a soft kiss to Arthur’s pouting lips.
“You wasted so much time being jealous of a mirage. If you hadn’t been such a prat, that could have been you I was rolling around the woods with.”
,
Arthur groaned, and turned his head away. “Don’t remind me. Gods, I really am sorry Merlin. I was such a fool.”
“If you promise to make it up to me, I might consider forgiving you.”
One golden eyebrow arched at that.
“Yes, well there is another little matter to consider here, isn’t there?”
Merlin bit his lip, knowing where this was probably going. “Another matter?”
Lips pursed, Arthur pitched a high voice and mocked, “I am an open book!”
“Um…”
“Seems you left a few pages out of that book, eh Merlin?”
At a loss, Merlin couldn’t speak for several minutes, but Arthur seemed content to hold his tongue and let Merlin sweat it out for the moment. When he did finally muster the courage to speak, his words were a cautious entreaty for understanding.
“I wanted to tell you, Arthur. I really did…but…I was scared.”
Arthur’s frown was heavy and disappointed. “You were scared of me? You thought I’d hurt you?”
“No…I thought you’d hate me.”
Merlin was kissed nearly senseless for this baring of his soul.
“Merlin, I could never hate you. How could I? You’ve always been there for me. When others broke and ran, you stood firm at my side. I could love you for that alone, but there’s so much more…I, gods, please don’t make me say it. I already sound like a lovestruck girl!”
Unwilling to torture his emotionally constipated prince anymore, Merlin was the one to lean in for a kiss.
“You love me?”
Arthur just nodded.
“That’s all I need to know.”
Forgiveness and understanding was given and received in the press of their lips, the touch of skin on skin, and the tightening of arms around each other. There was more to be said, and in time, they would say it, but for now they let their bodies communicate what they were feeling. It was the most honest conversation they’d ever had.
Waking with the sun in his face, Merlin smiled to see Arthur curled up by his side. His face was more relaxed than Merlin could ever remember seeing it. It lent a new layer of grace to Arthur’s already beautiful features, and Merlin itched to immortalize them. He slipped from the bed and fetched charcoal and parchment from his bag in the antechamber.
As Merlin swept the last few lines on the page, Arthur opened his eyes and smiled at him.
“You’d better not be planning on taking that sketch out into the woods any time soon,” he teased good-naturedly.
Merlin laughed and set the drawing aside, allowing himself to be pulled back down against Arthur’s side and into his embrace. He tucked his head underneath the prince’s chin and sighed contentedly.
“Eh, it’s just a pale imitation. Why settle for a copy when I can have the real thing?”
