The torches had been lit, and the warm light competed with the dying sun as it slipped over the horizon. The warm scent of linseed oil filled the room, and Merlin hummed to himself as he worked with his eyes half closed.
He'd never tell the prat, but he did take a certain pride in just how well he kept Arthur's armour. The idiot couldn't seem to go five minutes without denting it or getting it muddy, and despite his complaints, there was a strange sort of peace to be found in the soft slide of wool over metal, and the soft scent of polish on the air. Half in a dream he ran the cloth over the swords gleaming edge, oblivious to the soft swish of material that indicated Gwen's arrival.
She spent a few moments just watching him, curled on the floor in a dream; his skin looked like ivory in the last vestiges of sunlight, and though she couldn't see them she knew his eyes were sapphires, their hue unmatched anywhere on earth. In moments like this, when no one was around and the shields he kept so carefully began to fall, she could see the beauty in him, that touch of the otherworldly that murmured of secrets undiscovered.
Gently, she cleared her throat, and he shot upwards like an arrow from a bow, twisting round in panic as the sword fell to the floor, and then he grinned, that stupid but stunning smile that infected everyone around it and brought new brilliance to his eyes. He made a clumsy attempt at a bow, but his expression faded to a frown as she shut the door behind her with infinite care, and stepped softly towards him.
Her cheeks were on fire; though she had been thinking of this meeting for weeks she could hardly bring herself to look at him, not even when he questioned her in tones of great care, as if speaking to a bird that might flee at any sudden noise. "Your majesty?" He asked, and that title still sounded strange as it fell of his tongue, not when 'Gwen' had sounded so much better. "What is it?"
She didn't answer, moving round him to pick up Arthur's sword and run her finger down its surface, the cold metal a link to reality in this place of near dreams. She had come with a purpose, but now she was here the words stuck in her throat, trapped by embarrassment and convention as the frown deepened on Merlin's face.
Eventually she turned to face him, finding strength from the man she loved, and took his hand in hers, tightening her grip when he tried to remove it. Almost idly she traced the long fingers with one of her own, and the silence stretched longer and longer as she was caught up in the contrast of skin on skin; of warm honey drizzled over cream.
"Do you love him Merlin?" She asked eventually, words soft as breath but carried on a whisper, and she didn't need to specify who he was, because Merlin tensed instantly, trying to pull away.
She wouldn't let him, holding onto his hand with a strength that belied her small frame, and she met his gaze head on; there was no mockery, nor cruelty in Gwen, but sincerity blazed from her eyes and he had no defence.
Still, he fought back hard, veiling his eyes with studied blankness that would have many giving up, but she knew him too well and held on, waiting for the shields to drop, and drop they did. His shoulders slumped, the fight draining from him, and his eyelids dropped, a screen falling and blocking his thoughts from her. Without a word he nodded, pulling his hand away once more, and this time she let it go, even though she mourned the loss as his fingers slid from hers.
He spoke, and for a moment, she almost cried, his voice so filled with longing and hopelessness as to melt the hardest of hearts. "It doesn't matter anyway."
She shrugged, even though he couldn't see her, and moved to stand in front of him, tilting up his head with fingers under his chin, but he refused to meet her gaze, content to look somewhere, anywhere else. So she kissed him.
It would hardly qualify as passionate; even though she hoped and prayed he could feel it anyway, could feel that it wasn't just from her. It didn't last long; two pairs of lips pressing gently and away, but he gasped as she broke it as if he'd just run a mile.
And then she said it, just in case he hadn't understood. "He's waiting for us." And offered her hand, her wedding ring glinting in the light of the torches.
Merlin stared at it a moment, realising what it meant, and thinking, she knew, of the blonde who waited upstairs for the outcome of this meeting; knew that if she returned alone Merlin would say nothing, that this thing, this small, fragile thing that connected the three of them would never be mentioned again, the possibilities it offered left to die in silence and solitude.
"He's waiting for you." He said, but took her hand anyway, and was glad it was late, that they would meet no one. He almost smiled when Gwen knocked, even now when she could let herself in anywhere, but the humour died when Arthur opened the door, hair dishevelled and glowing with gold.
Time slowed, and Merlin could see the emotions play across his face; surprise that deepened into shock as he searched both their faces, and then understanding dawned and his eyes widened, but he stepped aside without speaking, letting them both in. Suddenly Merlin couldn't look at him, couldn't face him, instead he stared into the fireplace as if it held the secrets of the universe.
"Well Merlin?" Came the voice from behind him, and he turned, somehow unembarrassed, as Gwen and Arthur stood hand in hand, love radiating from them like the sun.
"Are you willing to share him with me?" The queen asked, and Merlin could see the sincerity shining there, was dazzled to see that Gwen understood, knew that Arthur belonged to Merlin just as much as he belonged to Gwen, and that she didn't begrudge him that. Would never begrudge him that.
He nodded, and Arthur reached out, drew him towards him, and Merlin could feel Arthur's lips on his forehead, soft and dry and ever so slightly warm, and he leaned into the embrace, tension ebbing.
He didn't look up when the door shut and Gwen exited, hiding his head in Arthur's shoulder so his words were muffled against golden skin. "Shouldn't she be staying?" He asked, and Arthur chuckled low and deep.
"Let's start off gently," He murmured, pressing tiny kisses to the side of his friends face. "Sharing takes practice."
There were no more words that night.
I'm not quite sure what this is, if we're being honest, but this idea just stuck with me and I had to write it down. What do you think?