Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin. I do, however, own this story. Therefore © by drifted-haiku.2010. Distribution of any kind is prohibited without the written consent of moi.
Once upon a time, we fell apart
I could've been the queen and you could've been the King
But no, you let me go
There are things that he can and can't have.
It's a lesson that Arthur will learn down the road; but for now, he's five with hopes in his eyes and wishes on his tongue. His hands are soft and everything he's ever wanted is in the palm of his hands.
One day this Kingdom will be yours.
(too bad no one ever told him the price it'd come at)
. . .
He learns about death when he turns seven. The sky becomes less blue. The leaves become less green and the greys turn into black. On the day of his mother's burial, a part of him dies but he doesn't cry.
Knights don't cry.
They hold it in.
So he holds and he holds until it fills him up and makes him sick, until he wakes up in the middle of the night, sobbing and choking back the tears from it all. No one ever told him that loss could hurt this much.
. . .
She catches his eyes when he turns nine.
With piercing green eyes, dark curls, pale skin and red lips, she's like a painting coming to life. He nudges Merlin and points toward her direction, just to make sure that his eyes aren't playing tricks on him; and it's not because he has never seen a girl before. He's seen girls, women even but none so like her.
Yet when Merlin turns her way, she's disappeared through the crowd. Kicking his legs in disappointment, he brushes aside Merlin's confused expression. He doesn't understand why but she etches in his mind like a tattoo that won't go away.
. . .
Merlin is… Merlin.
At the age of 11, he's grown tired of being watched after like a little kid that needs his mother so he plans his escape and storms beyond the castle walls.
It takes Merlin 30 minutes to find him by the lake, skipping rocks across the pond. He releases a stream of curses, to which Merlin only laughs.
"How," he asks, "how do you always find me?"
Merlin only chuckles and says, "It's my job to protect you, sire."
(It won't be until he's old and grey that he'll understand the weight of those words)
. . .
There's a girl with hazel eyes, brown curls and an infectious smile that he meets when he's thirteen. She's smart, soft spoken, agreeable and makes him feel warm all over. When their eyes meet, her cheeks blush and she looks down with embarrassment. She's not the one from before but she makes his heart skips a beat and forces him to bring a hand to his chest to stop himself from falling.
Guinevere, she introduces with a curtsy and it's hard to describe how he feels because it's different, and weird but altogether, somewhat pleasant.
. . .
The girl with green eyes comes to visit on his fifteenth birthday bearing gift on her hands and a frown on her lips. She no longer walks on air but heavy as if she's chained to the ground. The years have sharpened her features and redden her lips but her eyes don't change. This time around, she's not just a girl. She's lady Morgana, daughter of Gorlois, the Duke of Cornwall, as his father introduces then makes them both shake hands. When his skin touches hers, a spark runs through him.
It's not the same as Guinevere, he knows that much. It's not sweet nor is it pleasant. Rather, it feels like fear in the pit of his stomach, as if touching her somehow condemns him to some sort of fate that he won't be able to untangle himself from.
. . .
Guinevere visits once a week and the three of them play together, well, more like him and Guinevere because Morgana tends to stay by the sidelines, watching the two of them and the horizon from afar.
Once, when they're sitting across from each other and she's lost in her thoughts, she's looks to him more like a stranger than the girl he knows. Her eyes carry too many secrets that her lips don't dare utter, he thinks, as he skims her face, trying to find a key to unlock them all. Then she blinks and warmth returns to her face. "What?" asks Morgana with a familiar grin after noticing him staring, "Is my beauty too radiant for you to look away?"
He shakes his head and replies, "Nothing," as he tries to convince himself that it's only paranoia creeping in.
. . .
Guinevere is perfect for him, he thinks, as he holds her hand and kisses her lips. He thinks that one day he might just fall in love with her, like really fall in love with her because she loves him unconditionally and asks for nothing in returns. She's uncomplicated and he's never conflicted when he's with her. He never has to wonder what she's thinking. He thinks that if there's someone he should be with, it should be her and he'll come to love her as his father love his mother. He thinks but he knows.
Guinevere isn't Morgana and for the life of him, he couldn't understand why when he kisses Gwen, images of green eyes and raven hair come into his mind, plaguing his thoughts.
. . .
He asks Merlin once what love feels like and earns a surprised gasp.
"Well," Merlin says, scratching his chin as he looks upward, "it's hard to explain as it's different for everybody, sire. Some say it's the fire that lights your heart. Others say it's the completeness that you feel with another person. Why do you ask?"
"Nothing," he answers and leaves it at that. He should have known that Merlin would be no help.
. . .
Morgana sneaks into his room the night before his trip to Guinevere's Kingdom in a loose nightgown that leaves little to the imagination. At nineteenth, it's more than he can take so he gulps as he watches her approaches and tries to distract himself from inappropriately staring.
When she takes a seat on his bed, she looks down while nervously wrestle her fingers in her lap. "I had a dream… nightmare actually, that something might happen to you if you leave," she whispers quietly; and she sounds so small, so different than the Morgana he knew that he stops packing and turns around. "Promise me that you won't leave Camelot's ground."
In his years of knowing her, she's never once begged nor sounded afraid and it scared him to see her in such a vulnerable state. "It's just a dream, Morgana," he assures softly, giving her shoulder a light squeeze. "It's a short trip and the knights will be there make sure that I'm safe, and protected."
She shakes her head. "You don't understand," she replies, raising her voice, "I'm begging you, don't leave." When he opens his mouth to object, she takes a hold of his hands and peers up at him. "Promise me, Arthur."
He sighs, knowing that it's never been possible for him to ever deny her of anything. "Alright."
She breaks into a bright grin and pulls him into a tight embrace, causing him to chuckle quietly. "Father will have my head when he finds out," he says, as he pats her on the back. "You owe me for this."
Three days later, he finds out that the route he was supposed to be on had been laced with traps hoping to capture him. Somehow, it doesn't surprise him that she'd know ahead of time about these sorts of things.
. . .
His father announces his engagement to Guinevere on the night of his 21st birthday celebration. He's too old for wishes but too young for objections.
The people must come first
He repeats the phase over and over like a prayer but he feels like someone has punched him in the guts and knocks out his air. As he kneels in front of his father and accepts the proposal at hand, all but Morgana cheer for Camelot's new coming of age.
. . .
They kissed once, Morgana and him. It was just a teenage experience, something they both did when they were 17 to see how it'd feel, just two lips pressed upon each other that meant nothing more and nothing less; but the feel of her body presses against his and the softness of her skin upon his were enough to make him feel lightheaded and alive for the first time; like he could finally breathe since his mother died.
It was not supposed to be like that, he thinks, because it was only a kiss and he has kissed many in his life, including Guinevere, the person whose he betrothed to.
. . .
Eyes frantic and hands that shake, she calls out to him with urgency, "Arthur."
Sitting up, he wipes his tired eyes. "Morgana?" When he sees the red in her eyes, he immediately wakes. "What's wrong?" Before she could answer, guards storm his chambers. He jumps to his feet and stands between them and her. "What's going on here?"
Sir Leon speaks up first. "We've been ordered to detain Lady Morgana sire."
"And for what reason is she to be detained?"
The guards exchange looks before Sir Leon speaks again, "I'm sorry but I'm under strict order to take, not to ask questions, sire."
He finds out from his father that not only has she been accused of witchcraft but also the plotting for the death of the King; and it breaks him in two to know that the girl he grows up with was hiding a secret that even he doesn't know about.
. . .
He visits after his father sent her to the dungeon, awaiting sentencing. "Why?" he asks with a voice that matches the turmoil inside his chest. "I could've-"
"You could've what?" she asks, broken and resigned. "Save me?"
"I don't know but I would have done something," he says, as honest as he could because he's still trying to make sense of everything. "I mean, you're…Morgana."
"Given Uther's long history with magic, did you think he'd let me go free?" She then laughs bitterly; eyes never once meet his. "You're even more foolish than I thought."
He says nothing but wonders when she stopped being the girl he once knew.
. . .
He asks Merlin once if he should give up the Kingdom for the love of a woman and hears no answer back. He figures that Merlin knows him well enough to know that even if the answer is no, he'd do it anyway.
He doesn't, of course.
. . .
The day of her execution, Morgana disappears; and the whole kingdom turns inside out. His father demands an explanation how a chained up ward could escape under the watchful eyes of trained guards and screams that they had better find her if they wish to breathe for another day.
Arthur stands on the side, lost in his thoughts because he knows better than to search for the impossible. Morgana has always been the elusive creature that was always too good for Camelot, always too good to be chained up in this place and was always too good to be held down by its castle walls. If she wants to leave, there's no holding her back.
(She says she hated Camelot but it's really his name that he hears)
Counting the last, this is the second time that his whole world falls apart since his mother's death.
. . .
She comes to him in a dream once, all bruises and bloody clothes. He springs up, haggard for calming breaths, with a mind that won't stop wander.
It's always been him who chases, grasping for what can never be his and it's always her who runs, slipping away like water weaving through his fingers.
Forever he'll be hers and for almost always she'll be his.
Isn't that always how it goes once upon a time?