Title: Red and White
Author: EachPeachPearPlum
Rating: M, but a very mild one, I think.
Warnings: Character death, not particularly graphic adult situations. Modern AU, possibly a reincarnation fic (I'll leave that up to your judgement).
Pairings: Arthur/Merlin, Arthur/Guinevere, Lancelot/Gwen.
Disclaimer: I have two chessboards, but do not own the game itself. Likewise, I have all four series of Merlin, but I'm pretty sure the series itself ain't mine either.
Notes: Yeah, this is a little odd. About all I have to say, really. Woke up from a nap this evening with chess pieces in my brain, and this is what came of it. Review, please, because who doesn't like to feel loved?
Red and White
Merlin has a dull, ordinary life. He went to a dull, ordinary school, then got a degree in a dull, ordinary subject from a dull, ordinary university. He lives at home with his mum, rides the bus twenty three minutes to work every morning and twenty six minutes back in the evening, when it takes a slightly different route. He goes out for drinks with Lancelot, the doorman at his work, and Gwen, the receptionist and Lancelot's girlfriend, on Friday evenings. He spends the weekends helping his mum around the house and doodling pictures of the people he knows dressed as knights, queens, kings, fighting battles that cannot have been real in places he's sure never existed. He lusts after Arthur, his boss, a man too gorgeous and too wealthy and too everything to ever show an interest in him, and Merlin is too plain and too poor and too everything to let him know he wants him to.
Merlin has a dull, ordinary life, but for one thing. He has odd dreams, has always had odd dreams.
Some are stranger than most.
X
He is playing chess. Or watching a game of chess. Or, quite possibly, is part of a game of chess, a tiny man carved from wood and dyed a brilliant shade of Red.
Because, whichever it is, player, observer or piece, he is definitely on the Red side.
White, as is traditional, moves first.
Merlin knows nothing of the tactics of chess. He's not even all that certain he knows the particular moves different pieces are allowed to make, and he's fairly sure it's poor strategy to have the King leading the charge. But there it is, and that is what the Red side is doing.
White moves relentlessly, yet still seems to show something close to caution. Their Queen is always a step ahead, striding forward into skirmishes, coming up against Merlin's Red King over and over. She launches attacks by Bishops and Knights, ruthlessly sacrificing Pawns in her desire to win. Her King stands silent and safe, so still and out of the way that Merlin wonders if it actually exists. It must, he thinks, because the King is the piece they all have to protect; without it, the game is lost. And yet, White seems not to have one, for all that they play on.
A Red victory looks assured, for a time.
The Red King sweeps the board, crushing White left, right and centre, unceasing in his determination to win. There are close moments, certainly, but he, it, does not fail. There are moments when it is more than close, when the King seems ready to fall to its, his, knees and surrender, but he is never alone. There is always a Pawn there, carved slight and scruffy but, for some unknown reason, taller than the King. It isn't the same Pawn, it can't be, because Merlin is pretty sure Pawns can only move forwards and yet this one is always beside the King, whether he is retreating or attacking, standing tall after a victory or clutching a fallen Knight in his arms.
Sometimes the Knights stand with him, it, arrange themselves so that any piece trying to take the Pawn will fall immediately after, and somehow the White Queen never thinks it worth the risk, will sacrifice any and all of her pieces in her attempts to reach the King but the Pawn is only a Pawn, an annoyance and nothing more, his, its, destruction not worth the loss of one of her men.
The King isn't always fighting, though. There are points in the dream where the White Queen fades into the background, taking her minions – not minions, pieces, that has to be what they are – with her, and the Red King celebrates. He gathers his pieces around his Castle, Rook, drinks with his Knights – and Merlin knows there should only be two, but sometimes he looks and thinks he sees more – and dances with his Queen, roughhouses with his ever-faithful Pawn. The Pawn who, ridiculous as it sounds, seems to be keeping a secret. He, it, talks in whispers with an advisor – Bishop, really, because chess sets don't have advisors – or sometimes a Knight – but it doesn't, it can't. They are chess pieces, and cannot talk, only stand as close to one another as their player places them – and then darts back to the King's side, ready to throw himself, itself, between the King and any approaching White pieces.
The White Queen always comes back again. She needs to win, needs to take their Castle and own the land, the board, and will do whatever is necessary. She lures a Red Bishop to her side, although Merlin knows that isn't possible, knows it even as he watches it happen, watches the Pawn slay – take, it must take it, because chess pieces don't kill each other – the Bishop while the King runs ragged and breathless with his Queen, back to something close to safety, surrounded by his Knights as the Pawn races to catch up with him, keep him safe.
It isn't just that time, though. Other Red pieces turn out to be White: a Rook, inexplicably carved like a dragon – bird, it can't really be a dragon, why would a chess piece look like a dragon? – rather than a tower; a Knight, who flits between one and the other, reluctantly White, a victim even as he is a traitor.
It is the Knight's fault that they lose. Two Knights' faults, actually, the Red-White-Red Knight and a White one, one that has been White from the start, one the Pawn had the chance to destroy – take, Merlin tells himself, it's still take – early in the game, before the White Queen was even in play – when the White Queen was still Red, maybe, but Merlin doesn't even know how that would work when Red quite clearly already has a different Queen – but didn't.
The Red-White-Red Knight – their Knight, and Merlin can tell that it hates itself for what it, he, is doing, chess piece or not – dances with the Queen once, twice, a third time. He lures her away with promises and self-loathing, declarations of undying love and the knowledge that they should not be doing this. He flirts with her in hidden places, takes her away from their King, and she goes willingly, lets herself be taken, loves it and loves him. Each time they promise themselves and each other that it will be the last, that they will stop, that no matter how much they love each other they have to, that they cannot continue betraying their King like this.
The White Queen finds out. The Pawn – himself, Merlin realises, because he is the Pawn as well as a watcher, and it seems silly that he'd thought he could only be one or the other at the start of the dream – doesn't know how, because it, he, is ruthless in seeking out and revealing her spies. Perhaps some tiny part of their Knight still belongs to her, perhaps he came back – came back? Merlin thinks, and tries to remember a time when the Knight was gone, but there have always been at least two on the board. It is fuzzy and peculiar in the way that dreams are, because he thinks he remembers a Pawn, possibly the Merlin-Pawn, crossing the board, reaching the other side, the White side, and swapping itself, himself, for the Knight, but how can that be, because the Merlin-Pawn hasn't left the board either, will not leave the board while the Red King still draws breath – wrong, came back as hers.
But whatever it is, the White Queen knows. She holds the knowledge close, saving it for when she is on her knees before the Red King, weak and seemingly alone. Only then does she reveal it, only at the moment of his victory, and it shakes him. The Red King turns from her, disbelieving, confused, turns and searches the board as she makes her escape, the Merlin-Pawn at his side telling him not to, telling him that she's lying, playing him, spreading untruths to destroy him, even though he knows, somewhere deep in his gut, that she isn't.
They find them, together, Red-White-Red Knight lying with Red Queen, skin bare, their murmured I love you-we must never do this again still hanging in the air between them. Skin? the Merlin-Observer questions, sure that they were wooden not too long ago, just chess pieces, intricately carved with faces and hair and crowns and clothing – or not, in this case – but still just pieces in a game. The Merlin-Pawn doesn't question it, just watches as his King imprisons them, tells them that he cannot believe that they would do this to him, tells them that they will die at dawn.
The King calls him to his chamber that night, and the Merlin-Observer has given up wondering by this point, just watches as the King curls close around the Merlin-Pawn, decorates his skin with kisses and tears, whispers she loves me, she said she loves me, she lied, she loves me, we never did this because she loved me as he moves above and inside him, touches they have both craved and both denied themselves because he is King, had to marry and take a Queen, was too true to break the vows he swore to her, no matter how much he and the Merlin-Pawn wanted.
You are not just a Pawn to me, the Red King tells him afterwards. You are mine, my Pawn, mine and mine alone, he says. Never betray me, he begs, never leave me, never stop loving me, please, Merlin.
Never, Arthur, the Merlin-Pawn promises, not ever.
The Merlin-Pawn lies, at least about the betrayal. He holds his King until he falls asleep, then slips from the room, saying his apologies with a quick brush of his lips to the sleeping Red King's temple.
Leave, he instructs the Queen and her Knight, unlocking the bars that hold them back, keep them apart from one another. Leave, and do not come back.
They obey, muttering their gratitude to the Merlin-Pawn's stern, unsmiling face. I do this because I loved you, he tells them. I do this because you once loved him. I do this because in time he will remember that he loves you still, because he will never forgive himself for this if I do not prevent it. Do not come back.
The Merlin-Pawn watches them go, watches them until they reach the darkness and safety of the woods, sends a Rook, their Rook, like the White Dragon-Rook but true, loyal to him and to Red, to watch over them, to see them safely from their war-torn chessboard. Then he returns to his King's bed, hides back under blankets and darkness and prays that the Red King will forgive him, will understand eventually.
It is better than that, and at the same time so much worse. The Red King knows that the Merlin-Pawn freed them, and yet he pretends not to. He ignores the Merlin-Pawn's treachery, and Merlin, Observer and Pawn, thinks it is because he must, because if he acknowledges this final, most brutal betrayal, he will break, shatter, give up. He ignores his treachery by day, calls the Merlin-Pawn to his bed night after night, whether at home in their Castle on the chessboard or in a tent on a muddy field on the eve of battle, pours all his rage and hurt and fear of being alone into the Merlin-Pawn, and the Merlin-Pawn takes it, accepts it all, accepts anything his King can give him and everything his King wants to give him.
I love you, Arthur, he says, on that last morning when the sun rises red as blood and the Rook-Dragons, Red and White, swirl above them in battle. I have always loved you.
I know, the Red King answers. I...he swallows, starts again, and the Merlin-Pawn knows it is not the words he fears, not the sentiment, not the possibility of being betrayed yet again, but the fact that they both feel like this is goodbye. I love you too, Merlin.
They fight, side by side, fending off White piece after White piece until they see the Queen, the White Queen. She holds their attention, all their attention, as they work together to drive her back, to keep their men alive and safe and whole. She holds their attention, all their attention, and the Merlin-Pawn misses the White Knight as he sneaks up behind them, pale skin glowing in the red-dawn-light, hair as dark as the Merlin-Pawn's own.
In the end, the White Queen is only a distraction, a diversion, drawing the Merlin-Pawn away from his Red King long enough for the Knight to do his job. He slips in behind their defences as the Merlin-Pawn strikes the White Queen down, and the Merlin-Pawn feels the pain of the dagger easing between his King's ribs like it is his own.
The Red King dies at the same time as the White Queen does. The Merlin-Pawn howls his grief, raging at the sun and stars and world, the cruel, unforgiving world that gave him a destiny he couldn't possibly succeed at. He howls, rages, mourns, as the White Knight gathers the crowns of the fallen and takes them for himself, as the Red King's breathing stops and his blood flows out around him, turning his skin the same colour as the sky on that despicable dawn.
And then the Merlin-Pawn falls, clattering back onto the chessboard; an ordinary, faceless, wooden piece on an ordinary, placeless, wooden chessboard.
The Merlin-Observer blinks once, twice, and wakes.
X
Merlin knows he dreamed, knows that it was long and intricate, knows that it was possibly the most important dream he has ever and will ever have. He just doesn't know what it was.
"Merlin," his mother tuts as he tries to leave the house dishevelled and scruffy, toast crumbs down his shirt, tie tied crooked and shoelaces not tied at all. Merlin neatens himself up quickly, pecks her cheek, and sprints down the road to the bus stop.
"Merlin," Lancelot says, rolling his eyes as he catches him when he trips over his own feet going into the building. Merlin mutters his thanks, squeezes his arm gratefully, and hurries into reception.
"Merlin?" Gwen asks, coming in to his tiny office to hand him the stack of post he forgot to pick up from her desk on his way upstairs. Merlin waves her away with assurances that he is fine, just a little tired.
"Merlin," Arthur drawls, pushing open the door to Merlin's office at lunchtime and frowning. Merlin jolts into alertness, sudden and strange after his foggy-mindedness all morning.
Merlin blinks, once, twice, and feels his lips quirk into a grin. "I think I had a dream about you last night," he blurts out unexpectedly, chess pieces and betrayal and skin on skin spilling back into his mind so strongly he wonders how he hasn't spent all day thinking of it. He sees the deaths, hears the declarations, tastes Arthur's sweat-soaked skin, and knows that he is blushing, face the same brilliant red as the chess pieces.
"Oh?" Arthur asks, a smirk making its way onto his face. "Care to share it?"
"Not here," Merlin says, then, flush with something approaching the courage of his chess piece self, "how about over dinner?"