Gwen hands him the letters a month after Arthur’s death; pages and pages of them, all folded neatly and sealed with a familiar crest.
“I didn’t open them,” she says, composed. “But I think I can guess what they contain.”
“Gwen,” Merlin says. Chokes.
“It’s all right, Merlin.” She smiles at him sadly. “He was my king; I always knew I would have to share him with others. Perhaps especially with you.”
He takes the letters in silence, running his fingers over the fine parchment. There are so many; not just a single, perfunctory in-case-of-death bequest but a veritable mountain of manuscripts, every one of them addressed in Arthur’s familiar hand.
“Why did he write these?” he whispers. Arthur had never mentioned it to him; he’d never said anything.
Gwen puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes, steady and warm. “Why don’t you read them,” she suggests gently, “and let him tell you himself?”
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There was a rattle of chains; someone was releasing his legs. He knew a moment’s hope that he was about to be set free, but it died an instant later as his biceps were caught in an iron grip. “Don’t even think about running, sorcerer,” came a low growl in his ear. “You’re coming with us.”
high
From the other end of the corridor, swift footsteps were approaching, and then Morgana rounded the corner at a run, a torch held high in one hand and her skirts snapping briskly around her ankles.
shine + blue
Behind him, Arthur was back-lit and blinding, his golden hair shining like a corona against the blue of the sky.
Feel free to join in! Find the words I provide in one or several WIPs, and quote a sentence or two that contain them.
Words: king, rain, smile, banner.
Tagging: @julia-with-luv, @aemelia, @diaryofatrekker and @haloud ☺️
When Arthur is born, he cries for three days straight, and nothing that Gaius or the wet nurse can do will soothe him.
“He misses his mother, sire,” says Gaius—the only one who has dared to mention Queen Ygraine since her passing. Uther stares down at the boy in the crib, his own eyes red-rimmed with grief.
“He’ll have to learn to do without her,” he says.
+
Perhaps that’s where it starts. Without his mother, Arthur is passed from nurse to nursemaid as he grows, and from nursemaid to tutors when he gets old enough. His father is always there, distant but commanding, and Arthur seeks out the scraps of his approval like a rat in a maze, scouring the citadel in search of satiety.
He doesn’t cry anymore. There is always someone who has more need of sorrow, just as there is always someone who has more need of bread, and a prince must learn to think of his people before himself. Instead, he makes the best of what he has. A handshake here. A backslap there. On the day he wins his first real tournament, there is an entire banquet hosted in his honour, and Arthur dines out on his father’s applause for months before the cupboard runs bare.
+
Then, Merlin comes to Camelot.
He has the look of a starveling, all long limbs and bones, but compared to Arthur, Merlin has never known a day of hunger in his life. Arthur hates him at first sight; the way the flesh meets at the juncture of his throat and the base of his thumbs, the teeth-bruised, tender meat of him. Hates the way that Merlin can somehow make him want—not his smiles or his wit or his shining eyes but his generosity, the picture of largess where Arthur has only crumbs.
In this way, love takes him like a famine, never a feast: an insatiable hunger. For every night spent devouring Merlin’s mouth, his hips, his thighs, he spends another morning hungry for more, another day dreading the prospect of starvation. Merlin feeds him with clumsy fingers, portioning off what parts he can, but Arthur wants to consume him utterly; to tear into him with teeth and tongue till there is nothing left, and has to be careful not to take too much. Even in repletion, he never seems to have enough.
+
And then: the magic. Merlin, standing over the body of a man who has tried to kill him, one hand outstretched and the gold still fading from his eyes.
“You’re a sorcerer,” Arthur says. The word tastes like ozone and ashes, like the consequences of his own greed. “You lied to me.”
“Not on purpose,” Merlin says, trying to smile. There’s blood on his teeth, his mouth, a dagger in his shoulder that was aimed at Arthur’s heart. “Things got a little…complicated.”
Arthur should banish him—of course he should. He can learn to do without the strange, small kindnesses doled out like sweetmeats; the unlikely seasoning of truth that flavours Merlin's speech. It will be a slow weaning, but a necessary one; a spiritual fasting.
But there is Merlin, looking up at Arthur with dark eyes that reflect the same monstrous appetite, the shame of wanting something that cannot bear to be wanted, and Arthur is tired of the waste of doing without; of tasting only the bitter and never the sweet. What good is denying oneself if it’s being offered to one freely anyway?
“Don’t,” Merlin rasps, naked and hungry as Arthur has ever seen him, “don’t send me away.”
“I won’t,” Arthur promises—his turn to be generous—and it's worth the years of guilt and avarice for the feast he makes of Merlin’s smile.
It was like watching a rocky cliff crumble into the sea.
“All this time,” Arthur said, voice steady, face calm, eyes devastated, “you’ve been lying to me. Manipulating me.”
“I…” He hadn’t thought about it like that; he’d only thought about getting Arthur to make the right decision, the choice he obviously would have made if he knew all the facts. “That’s not—”
“Don’t.”
Arthur held up a hand, and Merlin fell silent. He could see the storm raging, but he couldn’t feel it yet, not until Arthur opened his mouth and said, “Get out,” and Merlin left, stepping out of the king’s chambers and into the hall and down the stairs and across the courtyard, his feet carrying him to the stables before he had time to think. Arthur didn’t call him back, not even when Merlin was riding out of the gate, trailing his tattered hopes and fears behind him.
Thank you for the tag! I don’t have any current wips to join in the game but I would like to know more about “money where your mouth is” hehe <3
No worries. Thanks for the ask! ♥️
money where your mouth is (aka the untitled arranged marriage AU nobody asked for) is currently about 14k and growing. I keep trying to put it on the backburner as it's the story I got my RVBB prompt from and it feels kind of rude to just. up and write it myself after the fact. but the more stories with this premise I read the more I love it and want to write my own version, so I keep coming back to it anyway 😅
A snippet:
Things between them did not improve after that, though Arthur had to admit he wasn’t really making much of an effort to smooth things over. Prince Merlin was clearly determined to hate everything about his new home, and Arthur wasn’t particularly inclined to try to change his mind. He might have to marry the man to save his people, but that didn’t mean he had to like him.
“I suppose not, if you want to be miserable for the rest of your life,” Morgana said, when he told her as much over dinner one evening. “Honestly, Arthur, would it kill you to have a little compassion? The poor man’s had to travel for over a week to get here; the least you could do is try to be welcoming.”
“I did try to be welcoming,” Arthur said, affronted. “It’s not my fault he's determined to be uncivil.”
“Hm.” Morgana picked delicately at her food. “It’s almost as though he’s been completely uprooted from everything he knows and forced to move to an entirely new kingdom to marry a man who, until a few weeks ago, was his sworn enemy. But I’m sure he’s simply being unreasonable.”
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no-pressure tagging @aemelia, @haloud, @diaryofatrekker, @raveninthedusk and @figachilles :)
“So,” Arthur began, staring down at the wine in his cup as he tilted it back and forth. “Now that you’ve had some time to adjust, I thought perhaps we ought to discuss what your role will be, going forward.”
Merlin couldn’t contain a sigh of relief. “You mean, you’re not just going to lock me away in here and forget that I exist?” he asked, raising one eyebrow, and Arthur snorted.
“Even if I wanted to, that’s no longer my call to make,” he said. “Like it or not, you’re a member of the royal family now, which comes with a certain amount of rights and responsibilities.”
“Like what?” Merlin asked, suddenly wary. He got the feeling that Arthur was taking this far more seriously than was healthy for either of them—especially the responsibilities part. “Is this going to be worse than being your manservant?”
Arthur’s lips twitched. “I should hope not,” he said. “However—speaking of servants…”
“Yes?”
This time it was Arthur who sighed, squaring his shoulders the way he did before something unpleasant. “George will be seeing to your old duties from now on,” he said, lifting his head to meet Merlin’s gaze. “And I’ve arranged for you to have a manservant of your own; he will see to your wardrobe and anything else you might need here in the castle. We have a meeting with the royal tailor in the morning to order you some more appropriate attire, and the cobbler in the afternoon to replace those boots, and—”
“And!?” Merlin couldn’t help the way his voice squeaked. “There can’t be anyone else I have to consult with, surely!"
Ah, thanks for the ask! The Scarlet Dragon is my version of The Scarlet Pimpernel, only Merthur (apparently a lot of these WIPs are fusion AUs of some sort or another sdkfjklsd).
Snippet:
“You look like someone just shot your favourite horse,” Gwaine said, materialising at Merlin’s side and startling him out of his reverie. He leaned companionably into Merlin’s shoulder, nudging him between the ribs with one elbow. “What have I told you about not having fun at one of my parties?”
“That it’s illegal and you’ll have me arrested if I do it again?” Merlin smiled a little, dragging his gaze away from Arthur to take in Gwaine’s raised eyebrows. “I’m sorry, it’s just—you know how he gets.”
“I do. And I don’t know why you still let it bother you. He’s a prat of the highest order—so what? Plenty of other fish in the sea.”
“He’s my husband.”
Gwaine snorted. “Well, that’s your bad luck. Anyway, why let that stop you? Arthur certainly hasn’t.”
Unable to help himself, Merlin glanced across at the prince again, still holding forth in front of a circle of admiring onlookers. He didn’t need Gwaine’s not-so-subtle hint to see the way some of them were looking at him, the sparkle in their eyes betraying an appreciation for more than just their prince’s sense of humour. It was an expression Merlin had seen on his own face more than once, and one which he still had to actively work to conceal, despite all that had passed between them.
“Just because he’s determined to behave like an ass doesn’t mean I have to imitate him,” he muttered, looking down at the floor. He took another sip from his glass to distract himself, feeling the alcohol burn its way down his throat. “I still remember my vows, even if he doesn’t.”
