#userlightasthesun

He shivers. The ground is frozen beneath his bedroll, and the firewood he managed to collect was too damp to catch with only the flint.

It is dark around them and deathly quiet,. The image of the battle plain flits before his eyes to fill in the empty space – Arthur wounded, on his knees, bleeding, dying–

‘Arthur?’

Merlin’s breath catches in his throat as he waits, but all he hears is a non-committal grunt. He doesn’t have the luxury of waiting for anything more, though.

‘I need to tell you something,’ he begins. ‘The man... the old man in the village...’

Arthur sighs. ‘Just think about something else, Merlin.’

The exasperation in his voice incenses Merlin more than ever before. After the horrors Merlin has seen again and again, the horrors he has been made to see for – for what, exactly? – the fact that Arthur can just lie here and choose not to take anything seriously–

‘No. I need you to listen to me.’ Without giving Arthur the chance to say something dismissive again, Merlin continues in a rush. ‘Before he died, he tried to warn me – he told me that you were in danger and that the danger was close.’

Merlin waits now for Arthur to take his words how he will. He’s surprised by the softened tone of Arthur’s voice when it finally comes, but it’s still firm. Still encouraging Merlin to see reason.

‘He was dying, Merlin. Who knows what he was saying?’

As if it’s Merlin who needs to see reason.

‘I think that he was a druid seer,’ Merlin says tersely.

And then of course, of course, Arthur replies, ‘You expect me to listen to a sorcerer?’

Merlin falls silent.

His head feels numb, empty, full – of words; of feeling; of furious, furious desperation. It doesn’t make sense how he has been holding on this long when everything is against him and he has spent every waking moment struggling against a doom so heavy his very bones have begun to splinter within.

Even those who stretch out a hand always eventually extend it to his throat.

Arthur is going to die, and nothing Merlin can do will stop it from happening because Arthur himself won’t listen to Merlin long enough to – to prevent his own fate. The futility of it finally sinks into Merlin on that desolate hillside. It is winter, and it always has been winter.

His bright-eyed hope since setting foot in Camelot all those years ago no longer seems admirable. Every time he has cheated fate, it has only ever been to string Arthur along on more stolen time.

‘I’ll be quiet, then.’

His voice sounds harsh in his own ears, and it takes Arthur a moment to register the vehemence of Merlin’s words.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Arthur asks heavily, sitting up.

Merlin’s hands are cold. His lips are cold, but still they bite out words he never thought he would say. Not like this.

‘What does it matter? You just said you wouldn’t listen.’

Merlin hears Arthur’s frown more than he sees it.

‘To the sorcerer. I meant you shouldn’t heed him either.’

Merlin is at a loss for words. Anger and misery and always that overwhelming longing to be known – they all churn inside him, and his mouth trembles. Distantly, he feels a hand on his shoulder.

‘Merlin?’ asks Arthur. His voice is cautious, but it still cuts through the night air, and Merlin involuntarily flinches away from him. Arthur repeats his name, this time with more concern.

‘So you shouldn’t listen to me either,’ Merlin says. How could he have ever hoped for this to go well?

‘Why are – what are you talking about?’ Arthur blurts. ‘Why would–?’

Both his hands are on Merlin’s shoulders now, and Merlin knows Arthur is trying to see his features in the dark – trying to read him, understand him for once.

But there’s no light. Merlin helps him.

A fleeting look at where his own palm must be and then there’s a flame, burning piercingly bright, devouring nothing but cold, empty air. It warms Merlin’s stiff fingers. Behind it, he sees Arthur’s expressionless face.

Silence descends on their poor excuse for a camp once more. Belatedly, Arthur draws his hands back from Merlin’s shoulders.

The longer Merlin holds his hand out, with his palm facing upwards and the flame flickering heedlessly, the more his hand begins to shake. Arthur says nothing, does nothing. He doesn’t appear shocked or hurt or angry, but he certainly doesn’t seem inviting.

He simply stares at the fire in Merlin’s palm, and specks of gold illuminate his ashen face.

‘Where did you learn to do that?’ he says at last. His tone is measured – smoothed over – giving nothing away. ‘You didn’t use a spell.’

Merlin wants to scream; he wants to hide beneath his jacket and pretend this is a terrible dream. Most of all, he wants to know what’s happening in Arthur’s mind. But he gets nothing, so he focuses on trying to steady his right hand by supporting it with his left. ‘I didn’t – use a spell, or learn. I’ve always known this. Always been able to do it without thinking.’

A slight crease spreads across Arthur’s brow. ‘You’ve always known,’ he repeats in question. His voice sounds hollow to Merlin’s ears.

‘Yes,’ Merlin says faintly. Before him, his breath forms an ice-white cloud.

Arthur’s breath is growing ragged, too. It’s the only indicator that he has been taken by surprise – that the person who has been at his side for years has betrayed him with the truth. There is nothing Merlin can do about that now. But he does realise that Arthur, too, must be cold.

Tentatively, Merlin extends his right hand towards Arthur.

Arthur watches the flame warily, but he doesn’t move away. Merlin is loth to raise his hopes, but he recognises this as better than many other scenarios he has previously imagined. Scenarios that end in the fire being inflicted on him.

‘It’s just fire,’ he murmurs. ‘You can hold your hands over it. Warm up.’

Arthur looks at him incredulously. His eyes are still wide and guarded, and he is determinedly quiet, but he surprises Merlin by removing his gloves and stretching out his fingers above the flame. There is a moment when Arthur seems about to snatch them back, but the hesitation is over quickly, and he keeps his hands firmly above Merlin’s.

Merlin watches, enthralled. This is an uncomfortable truce, if a truce is what this truly is, but he doesn’t have the courage to break it. He doesn’t even have the heart to think about what may well come next: the distrust, the questioning, and, if Arthur recovers from whatever shocked trance he is currently in, worse consequences.

‘And this makes you sure that the old man’s warning was right?’ Arthur asks. He doesn’t look up from the fire. ‘This – ability.’

Merlin almost extinguishes the flame in surprise. Arthur is – he’s actually asking.

‘Yes,’ is all Merlin is capable of saying.

Arthur nods once, keeping his chin tucked into his neck. He is silent for another agonising moment. And then he pulls his hands away.

‘It’s late. I’ll – we’ll sort this in the morning.’

Merlin keenly feels the loss – of Arthur’s implicit trust, of his attention – but he nods, too. The flame dwindles in Merlin’s hand, and he lowers his arm to rest it in his lap.

Arthur makes to lie back down, but he hesitates. His eyes are still fixed on Merlin’s hand.

‘Would you…’ he begins. ‘Could you–?’ he says uncomfortably, gesturing at the pile of dead, wet branches between them.

‘With magic?’ Merlin asks, because he needs to know what Arthur is asking, and he needs Arthurhimself to know what he is asking, too.

‘Yes,’ Arthur says in a low voice.

Merlin tilts the tips of his fingers downwards, and he ushers the small flame along until it reaches the firewood. In seconds, a bright light leaps up, and sparks spray into the night air.

Arthur is finally looking at him when Merlin chances a glance. He doesn’t smile, but he doesn’t scowl, either. He breaks the contact soon after and lies back once more.

Merlin stays sitting. His eyes stray from Arthur to the fire. The visions he saw earlier that day flare into view once more, but he shakes his head to clear it. Arthur said they would discuss it tomorrow; it’s no use thinking about it now.

His heart is still beating uncomfortably fast, and he can’t comprehend what just happened, or why he did it – but it did. And Arthur is asleep next to him, next to a piece of magic he saw being done with his own eyes.

The slightest of smiles pushes against Merlin’s cheeks. He doesn’t know what will happen next, but if Arthur at least knows what awaits him – if Merlin can share these burdens that have been buckling his back and his heart since he can remember – then maybe… maybe Arthur has a chance.

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Tag List (let me know if you want to be removed) : @padme--amygdala @soclonely @mrfandomwars @jgvfhl @thezegendofzelda @milfspectre1 @togrutanduin @jedi-valjean @one-real-imonkey @traygaming @roseofalderaan @keoxus  @tranakin-thighhighwalker @fate-and-destiny @veradragonjedi @sentineljedi @spicysucculentz @arrthurpendragon @purgetrooperfox @amelia-song-pond + @kohtoyah @redminibike1

Tag List (let me know if you want to be removed) : @padme--amygdala @soclonely @mrfandomwars @jgvfhl @thezegendofzelda @milfspectre1 @togrutanduin @jedi-valjean @one-real-imonkey @traygaming @roseofalderaan @keoxus  @tranakin-thighhighwalker @fate-and-destiny @veradragonjedi @sentineljedi @spicysucculentz @arrthurpendragon + @redminibike1