Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, its characters, places, or events; all rights belong to its creators/owners.
Cover image designed by Phoebe594. Isn't she fantastic?
If Wishes Were Kisses
"Ah, here it is!"
Arthur loved his girlfriend, he really did. And he appreciated beauty as much as the next guy; case in point, his girlfriend. But honestly, traipsing around some museum in search of that one particular painting she had seen while here with one of her classes from the college was not his idea of a great way to spend the one Saturday his dad had actually allowed him to take some time away from the company, no matter how "breathtaking," "beautiful," or "poignant" Gwen thought it was.
So as happy as he was to spend time with Guinevere anywhere, doing anything, he couldn't see why he should be expected to get excited about anything in this museum except Guinevere. Certainly not a "poignant" painting from some guy whose name he probably wouldn't be able to pronounce from hundreds of years ago. What exactly did "poignant" even mean?
But as he looked at this particular painting, he found that it was actually breathtaking. And he didn't know as much about art as Gwen did—composition and palettes and tone and whatnot—but there was something about the picture that was beautiful, something that just felt perfect about it or alive somehow, and not just because the two figures that were the focus could have been himself and Guinevere in another life.
The woman was dark-skinned and short, dark curly hair falling around her face and hiding it where it was buried in the shoulder of her knight. The knight's face was equally hidden, buried in turn into the woman's shoulder on the other side, but his lighter skin and height matched Arthur's and the hair that peeked out from behind the woman's head—though just as caked with filth and blood as the silver chainmail and armor and blood red cloak—was clearly the same shade of bright gold.
They were embracing against a dark background with the edges of what was probably a castle just barely sketched into it, as though they were alone in their own little world with just each other. They leaned on each other, in that embrace, with a sort of desperation and raw intensity that made Arthur think—know—that this was more than just any embrace; if he had to guess, judging from the filth on the knight's armor and cloak and the mottled red and white of a bandage peeking through a hole in his chainmail on his nearer side, the knight had just returned from a battle when neither had been sure he would.
Looking at them, Arthur felt an echo of what they must be feeling: the love, the relief, the joy, the weariness, the reassurance and comfort of finally being in each other's arms—and he pulled his Guinevere close and kissed her hair, glad to have her in his arms, in this moment as always. Maybe that was "poignant"?
She giggled and pulled away a bit to look up at him. "It does remind you of us, doesn't it?" He agreed and she smacked him lightly in the chest with a grin. "I told you it would. Isn't it just gorgeous?" He nodded again and listened as she explained what she saw in it from her artistic perception: the balance of colors, with the two figures wrapped in bright reds and golds and silvers touched by light while the background was shrouded in a mix of darker colors, and the two similar but distinct shades of red that made up the lady's dress and the knight's cloak signifying that they are still individuals within their union; how the light and dark played on the emotions of the scene, bringing out the joy of the reunion, but also the sadness.
"Sadness?" Arthur asked.
"Don't you feel it?" Now that she mentioned it, he there was something a little sad about it; not necessarily for the two in the painting, but maybe like the painter was sad? Or maybe nostalgic? Or . . . "'Melancholy' might be a better word, I suppose," Gwen put in. Yes, that was it; trust Guinevere to know the right thing to say, even about a painting.
Still, he couldn't help but tease her. "I thought it was 'poignant.'"
She smacked him on the chest again and smiled, but she made an agreeing noise. "'Poignant' is definitely the right word for the title." With that she gestured to the plaque mounted beside the painting and Arthur stepped closer to read it.
"Title: If He'd Come Home, subtitled Camlann. Painted by little known artist M.E. Balinor c. 1832."
I WILL SHIP THIS TO ETERNITY AND BACK!
'Kay, moving on . . .
So the title of this piece actually sort of sprang from nowhere, but once I'd thought of it I looked it up because that didn't quite sound like how the saying was supposed to go (and there weren't any fishes in this story). In doing so, I found that this is not how the saying goes, but it is the name of a jazz song, the lyrics of which go very nicely with this story, especially the line "If dreamers were schemers, I'd make my dream come true" ("If Wishes Were Kisses," Perry Como).
In case it isn't clear enough, the painting was done by Merlin, who imagined what the reunion would have been like if he'd been able to bring Arthur home after Camlann. I like the idea of Merlin using his father's name as a surname sometimes.
Thanks for taking the time to read! Reviews and critiques would be appreciated as I am always trying to improve; if you have flames, bring 'em on.
Have a magical day!
M1ssUnd3rst4nd1ng
