Camelot's Wonders

by OneDarkandStormyNight

Drabble series about the true wonders of Camelot, the people who live there. Drabble 11: Poetry. Summary: Arthur was not actually good at poetry. At least, not the verbal kind...which is why it took a while for those he loved to realize exactly how he showed his affection, if not in words. Inspired by all those "friendly slaps."

1. Arthur's Strength

I promise I'm still working on the Epilogue for Through Golden Eyes. It's proving to be more difficult to write than it should be with the dread of school starting Friday. Anyone want to rescue me from school? We can spend all day watching Merlin together. :D
As stated, this is a drabble for The Last Dragonlord, set during the part of the show when the knights of Camelot agree to help Arthur fight the dragon.

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"No rest for the weary," he'd heard a petulant knight complain once at Arthur's relentless training. That was true. There really was none.

He dismounted his horse and followed Arthur into the royal court, feeling certain that everyone could see how fragile and close to shattering he was.

Arthur had been silent the entire journey homeward, sullen and stony at the death of Camelot's last hope. He had spoken not one word, and for once Merlin did not attempt draw him out, for he had been quite sure that if he had tried speaking to his master, he would have broken apart on the first syllable.

Now, a voice—strong and sure and blessedly familiar—answered King Uther, the passionate tones echoing over the cold walls of the great hall, as they always did. Merlin could not understand the words, and knew not what important thing was being decided now that the last Dragonlord was gone and the great dragon still filled the night skies with terror. For once, he did not care what the future would be; it was that voice to which he found himself clutching, to the utterly recognizable rises and falls of his master's tone, to the sharpness and fortitude underlying every word.

Arthur's booming and profound voice seemed to seep through him, past his grief and regret and self-pity, straight to his very soul. It seemed to renew him, to secure him, to lend him the strength he needed to fight the tears that threatened to spill.

Once again, he was reminded that this was the man to whom he was invisibly bound. No matter what happened or who he lost, there was always this tiny flame deep inside him that burned with the assurance that, though Arthur may never know it, he would never fail to be Merlin's strength.