Title: Five Ways to Say I Love You
Category: Multi (Canon)
Characters/Pairings: Merlin/Arthur, Lancelot/Guinevere, Cenred/Morgause, Balinor/Hunith, Mordred/Kara
Rating/Warnings: T
Summary: A short piece written about five different couples, each with their own unique way of saying "I love you." Submitted for our Valentine's Day challenge at The Heart of Camelot.
Five Ways to Say I Love You
Merlin/Arthur
It was making sure Arthur always had the thickest, most juicy cuts of meat... not because the king would grumble if he found his dinner lacking, but because Merlin wished for him to enjoy his meal as much as possible.
It was the way he fluffed the pillows each night... not because they needed it, only in the hope that Arthur would have a sound and restful sleep.
Love. It was in everything Merlin did on behalf of the most important person in his life. But he never recognized it as such, for how much thought does any man give to something that comes as naturally to him as breathing?
It was the way he sought Merlin's presence first whenever he entered a room... even if he'd excuse it as merely wanting to know his servant was close at hand to tend to any chores that might suddenly cross his mind.
It was the way he rained down insults on Merlin's head whenever they were together... jeering words were far safer that admitting how he really felt.
Love. It was the one thing Arthur would never admit he felt for Merlin – not even to himself. But the lack of acknowledgement didn't make it any less real.
Lancelot/Guinevere
The small figure trudged wearily down the palace steps, pausing for a moment to pull up the hood of her cloak before she set off for home.
She didn't notice the shadow that followed some twenty paces behind her, keeping to the side streets and alleyways to avoid any chance of discovery. No, she'd never seen him, despite the fact that he'd kept this nightly ritual for months.
Sometimes it was much more difficult for him to maintain his secrecy. She'd stop and press a hand to the ache in her back, evidence of a hard day's work, and he'd long to step up beside her and offer to massage the pain away. Other nights, her steps would be slow, heavy with exhaustion, and he'd wish for nothing more than to wrap his arm around her waist and allow her to lean on his strength as he guided her home.
But no, she was no longer his, and there was nothing to do but respect the boundaries of careful distance that lay between them now. It was Arthur's right to kiss Gwen, to hold her, to avail himself of numerous delights that Lancelot still hungered to claim as his own. He would honor that harsh reality, no matter how much it pained him to do so.
There was only one exception... a single right Lancelot still claimed for himself that he would never relinquish to Arthur. Not entirely.
For he'd learned long ago that it was impossible for him to even consider seeking his own bed until he knew she'd made it safely home.
Cenred/Morgause
Morgause wasn't a woman to be wooed with tender words or sweet promises. He'd tried that a couple of times, only to be brutally rebuffed with a disdainful sneer and a pointed question of, "Are you drunk again, Cenred?"
The flowers had seemed like a good idea... until she'd coldly informed him that unless he needed her to brew a treatment for boils, they were of no use to her.
Cenred had been quite certain he'd finally gotten it right with the dazzling necklace of rubies he'd paid a fortune to acquire. Indeed, her dark eyes had lit up at the sight of it and for once, there'd been no sharp words to follow. But only two days later, he'd discovered she'd bartered the jewels in exchange for an assortment of rare and deadly poisons she'd assured him were the best gift she could possibly hope for.
No, Morgause was not a woman who cared much for romance. Yet late at night during her rare moments of surrender, her passionate cries told him all he needed to know. Cenred would drive himself beyond the point of exhaustion, weary and sore, yet insatiable in his desire to give her the greatest pleasure she'd ever known. For it was only when she lost control that she told him how she really felt, without even realizing she had done so.
The first time he'd ever heard those shuddering gasps, mostly incomprehensible, but with an unmistakable mention of the word "love", Cenred had realized that what he had with Morgause went far beyond insignificant trifles. Perhaps it only ever came to light in their most primal moments, but time and again, it left them both helplessly enslaved to its thrall.
In light of that, he no longer bothered with flowers or jewelry, nor sickly sweet promises of devotion in an attempt to please his woman. And it was just as well – he'd never liked that rubbish anyway.
Balinor/Hunith
"You've been outside again," Hunith said gently, setting down a small basket of apples before she walked into his waiting arms. "Balinor, you know it isn't safe."
"How did you know?" he murmured, his voice slightly muffled as he buried his face in her soft brown hair. "I swear, woman, anyone would think you were the one who had magic, not me."
She let out a soft laugh. "I don't need sorcery to see the scuff marks on the floor, or to notice the way your hair has been tousled by the wind. Besides, you smell like sunshine."
"And what does sunshine smell like?"
"Warmth..." she said thoughtfully. "Flowers and growing things, freshly laundered clothes and newly baked bread, and..."
Danger.
She didn't need to say it aloud. Balinor recognized the fear in her eyes, and felt a sharp stab of guilt knowing he'd been the one to put it there.
Guilt was his constant companion, keeping company right alongside the love in his heart, and the unexpected joy he'd discovered just when it had seemed that his whole world was lost. Yes, he was at peace here in Ealdor with Hunith, but it hurt him down to his soul that he had so little to offer in exchange for everything she'd given him.
"I promise I will not do it again. I just... I wanted you to have these."
And then he reached in a nearby cupboard and withdrew a badly chipped pitcher that was filled to overflowing with the fragrant blue wildflowers he'd gathered for her that afternoon.
Mordred/Kara
It was all for her, just as it had always been.
Were it not for Kara, the sweetly innocent young girl who'd treated a lost and lonely youth with loving kindess, things might have been quite different. He'd already been on the brink of surrendering to his darker side, filled with despair in a world where he was either looked at with fear and suspicion, or exploited mercilessly for the unusual powers he possessed.
But then he'd met her, and had instantly fallen in love with her compassion and hopeful optimism. Beloved Kara, who'd gaze at him with shining blue eyes as she spoke of a better world that would someday come to pass.
A world where they were free.
He clung to those memories through all the dark years that marked their separation, recollections of her warmth and laughter arising to envelop him in a blanket of justice and truth when it would've otherwise been all too easy to seek much more brutal means of achieving the right to practice magic, openly and without any threat of retribution. Without her, he might have done anything in an effort to put an end to the long decades of tyranny.
But no... as difficult as it proved to be sometimes, Mordred held onto his goodness for Kara's sake, for the dream that someday she... above himself, far more than anyone else, would no longer have to live in fear. He could continue to hold faith in the world, as long as there was a chance that world would one day extend its hand in acceptance to the woman he loved.