Summary: A deep breath fills hungry lungs with warm, pollen-laden air and it fills Arthur with hope and joy and an unrestrained exhilaration. Because Arthur needed to escape and Merlin didn't need to ask. Because Merlin is Arthur's reason. And because Merlin loves cherries. Merlin/Arthur and introspection and cherry-stained-lips. Something light we all so desperately need.

For Daily, because we all need something fluffy and in an hours time I'll know why you cried.

Cherry-red

A deep breath fills hungry lungs with warm, pollen-laden air. It brings on its current the smell of grass, leaves, horses and apples. It fills Arthur with hope and joy and an unrestrained exhilaration that he can only now achieve outside the castle walls. His castle. The castle his father left him to rule over; the centre of his kingdom – thousands upon thousands of lives. His responsibility. He doesn't quite know how he is still standing under the weight of that.

All it takes is a glance. An opening of lazy eyes to ensure the location of his often-mysteriously-missing manservant. His friend. His friend, who is forever bemoaning his miserable lot in life despite having almost – not quite – happily lugged everything necessary for their Top Secret Picnic Retreat Afternoon (as it had been dubbed in one of said manservant's fits of childish talkative restlessness) to the 'perfect' tree. In the 'perfect' patch of sunlight. On the 'perfect' grassy incline with their 'perfectly-packed' picnic supplies.

So that Arthur can sip wine in the sun and recline against a tree upon rug-covered grass and remember, for a small, fleeting, much-needed moment that he is human. Not made of stone. Not God. Not responsible for the actions of others and the lives of people he doesn't even know. And Merlin hadn't needed to be asked. Hadn't needed to ask. He had just known.

Arthur sips from his goblet of red wine, watching the way the ruby tones become something otherworldly in the reflective metal bowl balanced on his fingers; glinting and catching buttery yellow light like a lake of warm red stars. He releases a breath from deep in his chest and feels a knot he hadn't noticed there loosen. Rolling his head against the rough bark of the tree he flicks soothed, content eyes to the friend who seems to know his mind better than he himself.

Everything in the golden sunlight has an air of the unearthly; mysterious and arcane. He blames the sunlight, because it isn't his fault he is mesmerised by his dearest friend. His dearest, truest friend who he has long since realised he trusts like no other. His friend, who is dreamily sucking at the deepest wine-coloured cherries Arthur is sure he has ever seen. Plump and vividly flashing blood-red one moment and gleaming black the next; Arthur can see from where he sits the purple stains left on Merlin's pale fingertips before Merlin is able to lick them up.

As if he is looking at some masterful painting of complete mystical fiction or gazing, awestruck, through a glittering window into the very essence of the unreal and magical – worlds he has only ever dreamed of – Arthur feels struck dumb. Silent. Utterly hypnotised.

Merlin certainly looks, in this moment, unlike anything Arthur has ever seen of the mundane, ordinary world he has always been taught to be safe and acceptable. Merlin's blue eyes stare off at something only he can see; old eyes that are a million miles away. Long, pale fingers lift another dark, gleamy cherry and already stained lips part for the sweet fruit. Arthur isn't sure how but he knows the second Merlin tastes the juice, sees it in his clear sky-blue eyes, and he swallows hard at the sight.

He raises the ornate goblet in his hand, tasting the wine that is no doubt bitterer than the sweetness Merlin is experiencing – savouring, slowly – and feels warmth blossoming as he drinks. Sunlight, the wine, or something else entirely; Arthur loves – needs, craves – that warmth. Revels in it. In the freedom it makes him feel and the lightness it brings to his head, his heart. And when Merlin catches his eye, returning momentarily to Earth, and grins – impossibly, luminously, perfectly – Arthur feels and stops thinking. Doesn't question or examine or think. Because it is Merlin. It was always Merlin.

And when he smiles back with half-quirked, wine-stained lips and half-lidded eyes, he knows, by those soft, laughing, blue eyes he's so lost in, that Merlin hears his silent thank you and knows all that it encompasses. Because he is Merlin, with cherry-red, smiling lips and soft, perfect – beautiful – blue eyes. Merlin, with his kind heart and all of Arthur's hopes, fears, ideals, secrets, desires… all of Arthur locked up and safe inside it. Because.

Because he is Arthur's reason.

A deep breath fills Arthur with summer, light, hope, love. His head rolls back on the trunk of the tree he leans against. His eyes close and the sun shines through his eyelids until all he can see is soft, smiling, cherry-red.

Wow, is it just me or did that end almost sinisterly? ^^ didn't mean to do that…

For some reason I was listening to Smile by Avril when I wrote this which is, I think, where the sentence; 'because he was Arthur's reason' came from. 'Cause really, Merlin is the reason Arthur smiles. And the mentions of magic aren't necessarily Merlin's magic so he might know, he might not, up to you ^^

I also wrote this last week and wanted to upload today before seeing the last episode… living in Australia has pros and cons and I'm not really sure if the prolonged period of denial (because they will both obviously live happily ever after!) is the former or the latter, good or bad. Probably not overly healthy :D. I'm also considering a second part to this little fic, especially if I'm in need of monumental amounts of fluff tonight as I suspect.

No doubt all of Aus's Merlin fans will be crying tonight :'(

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