A/N: And there's finally another chapter!
The False Queen
Chapter Twenty One – Sorcerer and King
Time seemed to freeze for Merlin as Arthur advanced on him, the sword held aloft with its lethal blade glinting in the dim light. Arthur's eyes were dead and cold as he took a step closer to Merlin, his movements robotic and ironclad. Merlin knew that he should be saying something, appealing to Arthur and begging for his life. But no words can escape his mouth, the horror of what is about to occur gagging him. Arthur is going to kill him. Arthur is going to kill him. Arthur is going to kill him.
Arthur's footsteps grow louder as he walked closer, his body less than a metre away from Merlin as he raised Braelyn's sword and readied it above Merlin's heart. Behind them, Merlin could hear Braelyn screaming behind her gag, words of pleading, comfort, broken words and sounds that Merlin can barely make out. It doesn't matter now, how could it matter when the fire in Arthur's eyes has reached burning point and Merlin knows he has only seconds to live. Before he closes his eyes, he takes one last look at Arthur's face and then readies himself for the darkness.
But it never comes, seconds pass and Merlin curiously cracks open one eye. Arthur is still where he was, Braelyn's sword now held slack in his hands, his mouth parted and his breathing heavy. Merlin dares to shift a little bit, easing himself up onto his hackles and then his knees. Still, Arthur does not move. Merlin grows bolder, straightening little by little until he is on his feet again and able to wrest the sword from Arthur's slack grip. For a second, Merlin is afraid that Arthur has befallen some strange curse or enchantment, for still his prince does not move. But then, as Merlin is about to go and check Braelyn for any trace of magical residue, any hint that maybe she is to blame for Arthur's current state, the prince reaches out one hand and places it on Merlin's arm.
"Stay," he whispers, his voice no louder than the crickets that sing around the magic camp in the dark. He sounds wrecked, his voice cracking a little at the end of his request and Merlin has no choice but to obey him. They stand there, sorcerer and king, locked only by Arthur's tenuous grip. Merlin isn't sure how long goes past; seconds, minutes, days, it doesn't matter. Time blurs as their eyes finally meet, and Merlin sees Arthur's gaze shift a little.
Moving slowly, as slowly as if he were about to slaughter a wounded deer, Arthur raises his other hand and rests it on the curve of Merlin's jaw, thumb stroking over the rough skin there reverently. Merlin closes his eyes, the touch as familiar to him as if it were his own and yet so strange. With great care, Arthur slides his other hand up to Merlin's shoulder and tugs him close until there is little space between their bodies and Arthur is all Merlin can see. And then, Arthur pulls Merlin into a gentle hug, his hands coming to rest around the sorcerer's waist and pulling him in tight. All Merlin can sense is Arthur; the smell of sweat coming from his skin, the tickle of his hair as it brushes against Merlin's neck and his hot breath against Merlin's ear.
"You looked so scared," Arthur murmurs, his voice a whisper in the silent room, "and that was my fault. I made you look like that. I wasn't going to hurt you… I could never hurt you." Arthur shudders a little, his grip suddenly becoming painfully tight as he tugs Merlin even harder against him, as though scared that if he lets go, he'll never see the warlock again. Merlin returns the gesture, his magic seeping out of him to wrap around Arthur's body, thin gold tendrils reaching out and touching every part of Arthur they can reach.
They're neither matter nor gas, and when Arthur sees them, he tenses for a second before relaxing again and letting the wisps coil their way around his body. Where they touch, he feels pleasantly warm and tingly, his eyes drooping shut with pleasure. And then they are gone, the air around them once more peaceful and dark. Merlin frowns a little in displeasure.
"You've lost weight," Merlin remarks, scolding, and Arthur has to laugh a little at the banality of it, after everything, to have Merlin standing there chastising him on his eating habits.
"Aye," he replies, laughter tinging the edges of his voice, "marriage will do that to you." At once it is as though a shutter has gone down over Merlin's eyes, shielding the love and happiness that was just there and replacing it with a cold sort of anger.
"Ah yes. Your bride. How is Gwen?" Merlin asks, his voice cold and flat. It sounds wrong coming from Merlin, and Arthur is about to say as much when the sorcerer fakes a smile and shrugs his shoulders.
"It doesn't matter. We have more important things to worry about." Arthur doesn't know what to say, and so he stands there awkwardly, his hand worrying a loose thread at the hem of his shirt. The silence stretches painfully, and Arthur is acutely aware of every sound in the room; the struggles of the bound girl, Merlin's soft breaths and somewhere… somewhere, the warning bell of Camelot sounds.
Arthur's head jerks up in shock, his eyes wide. His gaze immediately goes to Braelyn's sword, discarded wantonly on the stone floor. He sees Merlin's foot come out, kick it towards him and gently, he kneels down and picks it up. Behind him, he can hear the bound girl struggling, but he ignores her in order to turn to Merlin and ask, steel in his voice and anger in his eyes "are there more of you?"
And Merlin can only nod and watch as a shutter comes down over his prince's eyes, shielding all of Arthur's emotions and thoughts. Without a second look to Merlin, he strides from the room, letting the door slam shut behind him.