Magic Lives

It was late winter when Arthur discovered Merlin. He already knew who he was, of course, they had already met; but, it was only on that December evening when he truly saw his servant.

Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw coming through Merlin's bedroom door. Before he has thought that he was entitled to every room, every cupboard in the kingdom, but what if behind one of those doors was a dream boy, holding in his hands the very essence of crime, the substance of evil and controversy and...

Beauty?

Oh yes, that was what disquieted him the most was the fact that he found the scene...beautiful. And not only the pearlescent blue-white of the spell, but everything—the book in front of him, the way the enchantment threw shadows across his lovely face. Merlin.

Arthur had opened his mouth, but no sound came. Turned to leave—no, his spirit was rooted. After a long silence, it was finally Merlin who broke it.

"I meant to tell you." He shifted on the bed, crossing his legs beneath him and crushing the spell between his cold-cracked hands. His face was now dark, silhouetted by the moonlight.

Once again Arthur attempted words. Once again, none came forth.

"Please don't tell your father." Arthur looked and, even in the darkness, could see the beginnings of tears contorting his face as they did his words. "I don't want to die, Arthur."

Arthur was able to move himself to the bed. He seated himself on it, looking down at his palms. They were sweating. "I don't want you to either." His throat was dry. He swallowed. "I'm not going to tell."

Even as he spoke, Arthur could hear Merlin beginning to panic, his breaths quickening. Arthur looked at him, placed a hand under his chin, and said it again. "Merlin, I'm not going to tell anyone."

The warlock smiled, gave a little laugh. He looked at Arthur, a little look before casting his eyes down and then bringing them back up again to look into Arthur's eyes. His irises glowed aureate, a euphoric gold that stared deep into Arthur's soul.

"Merlin?"

"What?"

"Can you...do it...again?"

Merlin turned, part of his face now blue by the moon, his smile illuminating it and stoking the fire if his eyes. He took Arthur's hands. "Do it with me."

They faced each other, Merlin reading off the sorcery words in a whisper and Arthur repeating them until he knew them enough for them to chant in unison. Slowly, steadily, the light began to glow, although this time it was a nacreous color show.

"It's a heart spell," Merlin murmured. "It tells you who's in here." He took a hand and placed it on Arthur's heart.

Arthur gave a nervous chuckle and looked into his lap. "Well," he began to mumble, "what does it—"

He never quite finished his sentence, for someone was occupying his lips.

Merlin.

Crazy, stupid, idiot dream boy Merlin.

Kissing him.

The light faded as Arthur placed his hands on Merlin's face, his hair, his back, anything that was Merlin. And he found the warlock's hands restless as well.

They didn't sleep.

That night would become a subject of controversy; however, it was rarely brought up, even though it was the only thing on anyone's mind. They would be killed for all that happened in that room. Making magic. Making love.

But neither cared.

For as any young warlock of valiant man-loving prince can tell you, there exists one magic that will live to one day burst out in an incandescent show with every color of the rainbow. And if you find yourself facing death because of the colors your heart bleeds as it beats on your sleeve, it is death you shall greet with open arms.