Title: The Man With The Dragon Tattoo – Chapter Thirty-Eight.
Author: Woodland Goddess.
Rated: M
Author's Note: I'm feeling generous, so here's another chapter for you guys! Might want to hide behind a cushion for one part of it, though...
Chapter Thirty-Eight: Raging Fire
Reaching the Crystal Cave took more time than he remembered. Whether that was because he was neither being led by the spirit of a deceased sorcerer nor with his magic bound up inside him was anyone's guess. Merlin preferred not to think about it. Just the fact that they had arrived was enough to contend with. The familiar entrance to the cave was partially obscured with brambles and wild flowers, but the faint glow of crystals in the distant gloom was unmistakable. For a long moment he simply stood before it and felt little lost as he recalled the sheer terror and despair he had felt when unable to access his magic.
Protective arms drew him back against a broad chest. He welcomed the embrace; it kept him grounded. An aristocratic nose brushed against his ear as his lover buried his face in dark hair. Though the intent behind his embrace was all too apparent, Arthur remained silent on the subject. Knowing the man would not dispute his decision aloud sent relief and gratitude flooding through him. Merlin rested a hand over Arthur's and interlocked their fingers, squeezing lightly and briefly.
He extricated himself from Arthur's arms as his expression hardened with determination. Rather than use his magic for such a trivial task, he ploughed his way through the brambles with the will-power of a somewhat irritated bull. Ignoring the snort of amusement that emanated from behind him was difficult, but somehow Merlin managed. A thorn caught him on the wrist when he was almost through. The sting was short and sharp. "Ouch," he muttered as the nerve-endings continued to faintly pulse with pain.
Arthur chuckled behind him. "Don't be such a girl; it's just a scratch."
"A scratch?" He glanced back over his shoulder, gaze laden with faux-protestation and humour "My arm's off!" A large hand cuffed the back of his head abruptly, messing his hair even more than it had been already and sending twigs tumbling to the ground. "Alright," Merlin conceded grudgingly. "No more references to Monty Python and the Holy Grail." His lover huffed behind him and poked him in the back, prodding him forward. Finally, he emerged from the brambles, though a little more scratched up than he had initially hoped.
Arthur stepped out after him, blond hair ruffled and filled with broken twigs and leaves from both their lovemaking that morning and pushing his way through the brambles. Affection swelled in his chest at the sight. Unable to help himself, the sorcerer reached up and began plucking the debris free and tossing it aside. The man oscillated between enjoying the brush of fingertips against his scalp and being irritated by his fussing, and in the end Arthur slapped his hands away in an attempt to maintain some dignity.
An amused chuckle escaped Merlin as he turned to face the gloom. The magic in the distant crystals called to him, wrapping around and dancing with the magic that swirled beneath his own skin. It was almost like the call of a siren. Drawing in a fortifying breath, he stepped forward as the humour slowly faded from him, leaving behind nothing but seriousness. His lover walked at his side, though slightly behind, much as Merlin would have done when in Camelot. When the narrow tunnel broadened out into the inner sanctum, filled with glowing crystals as far as the eye could see, the former King inhaled sharply.
Merlin knew the feeling Arthur had to be experiencing. He knew it well. "Few of my kind have been granted access to this place," he said quietly, glancing at his lover from beneath dark eyelashes. "No one without the gift of magic has ever set foot here." Hand glowing faintly in the light from the crystals, he reached out and tangled his fingers with those of the man at his side. "You've been given a great privilege, Arthur."
The expression upon Arthur's face was soft and intent as he half-turned to look at his former manservant. "Then I'd better try to be worthy." Arthur's hand tightened around his, bringing attention to the quiet nervousness and self-doubt that had always lived within his lover's heart. A fond smile curled his mouth as Merlin squeezed his lover's hand in return. Three little words were on the tip of his tongue – you already are – but the man's attention had already shifted in a different direction. "So, how does this work? Ritual? Incantation?"
Extricating his hand from his lover's grasp, Merlin slipped past him. The weight of his intentions weighed heavily upon his shoulders, but he bore it in much the same way he had born his secrecy in Camelot: with a broad smile and a sparkle in his eye. "Neither," he answered, his voice more calm than he truly felt. "You simply look into the crystals. Well, I'll be looking into them. You'll make yourself comfortable and keep your hands to yourself." The look he aimed at Arthur was a strange mixture of amusement and sternness.
A huff of exasperation escaped the former King, but he raised his hands in surrender. Lowering his hands, Arthur turned and strode towards the raised platform where the unknown deity within Merlin had been awakened once upon a time. The sorcerer watched his lover make himself comfortable upon the platform for a long moment, reluctant to gaze into their future now that the crystals were so close at hand. Large hands rested against powerful thighs as regal eyes gazed at him expectantly, his masculine body bathed in the glow of numerous crystals.
Nibbling his bottom lip, Merlin tore his gaze away and stepped towards the nearest crystal, which protruded from the rock-wall at an odd angle. The siren call of the crystal strengthened beneath the surface of his skin, tugging at his magic playfully. Pale hands braced against the rock as he leaned forward. At first, the glowing heart of the crystal was the only thing he could see within its depths, but abruptly his gaze was filled with nothing but a familiar face and dishevelled hair.
Muscular arms were drawn harshly backwards and bound to the tall stake that kept Arthur upright. Dry wood and hay were placed in a circle around him, hiding his shins from view. His clothes were sodden and stinking with petrol. Imperial eyes shone with unspoken terror as his lover clenched his jaw in dark anticipation and resignation. The image flickered and suddenly it was Mordred in the crystal. The Druid whirled around to face him with a dark smile spreading across his face. Murderous.
Blue eyes flooded with rusty orange.
Fire ignited within the depths as Mordred's face was replaced with that of the former King. Crimson flames engulfed wood and hay and fabric. Merlin wrenched himself away from the crystal, overcome with horror and grief, even as Arthur tossed his head back and screamed. The sorcerer hit the ground hard, pain shooting up through his lower back like a jolt of electricity. Acidic and scorching, bile rose in his throat as he squeezed his eyes shut. It took some effort to swallow it back as his chest heaved, his breath escaping him in short and sharp pants.
When a firm and gentle hand gripped his shoulder he startled and flailed violently, almost clubbing his lover's face with a curled fist. It was only Arthur's quick reflexes that prevented him from clobbering him. The man drew him forward abruptly and Merlin clung to him. "Arthur," he whispered hoarsely, one hand gripping blond hair so hard any sudden movement would rip the scalp off. The screams still echoed in his ears and the lingering scent of petrol burned his nostrils. Protective arms tightened around him as he shuddered with remembered horror and a sinking sense of dread.
Arthur brushed fervent and soothing kisses against dark hair and sharp cheekbones.
For several moments they sat like that, wrapped up in each other's arms as Merlin's heart pounded viciously against his ribcage. Though it took some time, Merlin managed to uncurl his fist and run his hand through his lover's blond locks in an attempt to soothe the sting from his tight grasp. The man shivered and leaned against his hand, welcoming his touch.
Eventually the sorcerer found the strength to withdraw, though his stomach remained queasy and adrenaline continued to pulse through his veins. Merlin shifted until he had his back braced against the rock-wall and drew his knees up to his chest. Wrapping his own arms around his legs was instinctual as he stared down at the ground. But even with his gaze downcast, he could still see his lover in his peripheral vision. Arthur remained kneeling where he had been a moment beforehand, arrogant face expressing more emotions than he could possibly decipher.
Merlin decided it was good thing he had cast his gaze in a different direction; looking at him directly would have been far too painful. Dark eyelashes brushed against his cheeks as he closed his eyes. Flames burned against the backs of his eyelids, a stark contrast to the usual shadow. Eyes snapping open instantly, he tightened his arms around his legs. It was in that moment that Arthur shifted, scooting over to sit beside him. Neither of them spoke, but the sorcerer appreciated the warmth of his lover's am pressing against his own.
The former King tipped his head back, resting the back of his head against the wall of the cave. The silence was broken by Arthur in the end, whose voice was barely more than a murmur. "Are you going to tell me what you saw?" It was almost as though the man feared Merlin would do a runner if he dared speak any louder.
"No."
"Merlin –"
"Drop it."
"It can't be that bad –"
"Just leave it the fuck alone, Arthur! If I wanted to fucking tell you my secrets, I would!"
Merlin clapped a hand over his mouth almost instantly, regretting the words as soon as they fell from his lips. Guilt gnawed at his innards as Arthur fell silent, strong jaw snapping shut with an audible click of teeth. The atmosphere in the Crystal Cave turned glacial rapidly as Arthur rose to his feet and walked away. The man was not even storming away from him, a sure sign that he was well-beyond simple fury. "Arthur," said the sorcerer urgently, scrambling up from the ground as quick as he possibly could. "That's not...I didn't mean to say that."
Arthur stopped walking when Merlin spoke, but the manner in which he carried himself made it clear that he was far from forgiven. His lover turned around slowly. Royal eyes that were usually so vibrantly alive stared at him, dark and almost deadened. Nausea rose within him as he recognised that expression; the former King had worn it when asking him why Merlin had never told him the truth. About his magic. "Don't lie to me," said Arthur, his voice just as quiet and broken as it had been then. "Not to my face."
"I'm not," Merlin exclaimed.
Kissable lips twisted in a bitter smile. "Aren't you?"
"No!" His hands flailed somewhat violently in an attempt to emphasise his protest. "Look," he said, deflating as Arthur continued to stare at him in that lifeless manner. "I just..." Trailing off into silence seemed easier than giving voice to what he had seen. What the future held in store. How could he ever explain to his lover that he would die screaming in agony? That the smoke would have no chance to suffocate him before flames would lick at his flesh like eager tongues? The sorcerer swallowed thickly, forcing the newly risen bile back down. "Anyway," said Merlin instead, jumping on another topic, any other topic, "you had no problem keeping the knowledge of my daughter to yourself."
"That was an entirely different situation," his lover growled. The vibrant spark that had been missing flickered to life in Arthur's expression at the mention of Belinde, lighting up his forget-me-not eyes and tightening his jaw so much it threatened to snap the tendons within. Merlin's heart clenched in his chest at the sight of it; even the former King's fury would be better than the lifeless expression that had plagued his features only a few moments ago. "These fucking crystals don't show you the past, the things you can't change. They showed you a possible future. Our future. My future. Don't you think I deserve to know?!"
"Arthur –"
"I'm not finished!"
Merlin nearly bit clean through his tongue as his lover's enraged roar echoed loudly through the Crystal Cave.
Arthur's strength seemed to leech out of him a moment later, his entire body slumping with exhaustion. Now, the weight of more than six decades of stress and pain bore down upon his broad shoulders with the intent to crush him underfoot. The urge to gather the prat up in his arms and smother him with affection was almost more than he could handle. Regret pooled within him as his lover shook his head in a dizzying manner, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.
When Arthur finally lowered his hand and lifted his head, the man looked almost ready to keel over. The sorcerer's insides knotted as his lover looked him in the eye. "I know you think I'm some dumb brute, but I'm not," said the former King hoarsely. His large hand shook as he ran it through his dishevelled blond locks. "I may not be the wisest man to walk this earth, but I'm not stupid. Even I can tell where we went wrong! You knew my future a millennium ago, and it was this damned secrecy between us that helped bring it to fruition in the end. Now, today, you've seen what lies ahead of me and intend to make the same mistake!" Devastation flitted across tired and arrogant features. "Why won't you give me a fighting chance?"
The world began to shake with unimaginable force.
Or maybe it was just Merlin.
Suddenly his lover's arms were around him. Warm. Tight. Protective. Loving. "Not everything needs to rest on your shoulders. Let me help you," Arthur whispered, his aristocratic face buried against his neck. "God, let me help you. Don't let history repeat itself, Merlin." The former King pulled back and framed his face with strong hands, thumbs caressing the ridges fervently. Merlin gripped powerful biceps with enough force to bruise, but Arthur hardly seemed to feel it as royal eyes burned with such intensity the Crystal Cave should have erupted in flames. "Please."
Merlin's voice trembled as he uttered a single word in response. "Okay." The sorcerer licked suddenly dry lips and stared hard at the frayed fabric of his lover's jacket. Though it took some effort, he gradually relinquished his grip upon Arthur's upper arms and grasped the fabric of his jacket instead. His knuckles whitened under the force of his grip, but it kept him grounded. It kept him in this moment, where Arthur was alive and relatively unscathed, as he began speaking of the vision the crystal had shown him.
Not once did Arthur tear his gaze away as Merlin spoke, but golden skin paled rapidly. His adam's apple bobbed noticeably as the former King swallowed thickly. The man was understandably shaken and Merlin wanted nothing more than to latch onto him and flee to some uninhabited land. To make their home there, away from prying eyes and murderous thoughts and deeds. To keep him safe and sound. Alive and whole. But he could do none of that; his lover was not one to flee when hope seemed lost. He was a fighter to the bitter end.
Arthur fixed a strained smile upon his face. It was like trying to spread a tiny plaster over the stub of an amputated limb. "Well," he said after a moment of simply staring at Merlin as though he were attempting to memorise every last detail, "at least it'll be memorable."
Merlin knew what he was trying to do, but he could hardly find the strength to continue standing – never mind managing to chuckle at a joke that tripped over its own feet and landed upon its face in the mud. Irritation pulsed sluggishly within him and he turned away, his stomach grumbling hungrily despite the nausea that continued to bubble in the wake of the vision and impassioned argument with his lover. "I'm going to rustle up some grub," said the sorcerer calmly as he strode towards the entrance of the cave, forcing his limbs to keep moving though he would rather fall to his knees and pray for Arianrhod to obliterate him from the face of the earth.
When Merlin returned to the cave some time later, the front of his hoody pulled out to form a makeshift bowl filled with berries and raw mushrooms, it was to find Arthur sprawled across the floor of the cave. Sleeping. But it was not the peaceful kind of slumber, where the years seemed to fall from his countenance. With stress lines etched deep into his forehead and tugging at the corners of his eyes, the man seemed decades older. For a long moment Merlin stared down at him, contemplating how much betrayal the man would feel if he zapped him to a distant country. Alone.
The only problem with that plan was that the former King would stomp his way back to the United Kingdom and track him down – just so he could punch him in the face and shout a lot. Sighing in pained resignation, Merlin nudged him with the toe of his shoe. Just like he used to when Merlin used to sneak around his bedchambers in Camelot, Arthur levelled a decidedly unimpressed look at him when he slowly opened his eyes. The expression changed abruptly when he spotted the food.
They got themselves settled, the pair of them sitting with their backs braced against the wall of the cave. A burst of magic divided the fruit into two equal shares, depositing each one into their laps. Silence stretched between them as they ate, but it was far from comfortable. The vision hung between them like a dark cloud, pregnant with rain and flashing with lightning yet to strike the earth. It was not until every morsel of food was gone that the silence between was broken as Arthur slipped an arm around him, hauling him closer.
"It'll be alright," his lover whispered against the top of his head. The bones in his hand felt like they were being crushed as Arthur dragged his hand close to his heart and held it there. Merlin offered no complaints, choosing instead to relish the tight grip as a shaky breath escaped him. Part of him wished he could return to the days when the man had no idea of the fate that rested upon their shoulders. When he had written off Merlin's rapidly altering moods as nothing but a blasted hormonal imbalance or some such notion. "When we get out of this mess I'll bake you some raspberry and white chocolate mountain muffins."
"I thought you said those recipes were for Morgana."
"I lied."
The tension eased somewhat as the sorcerer snorted loudly. "I fucking knew it."
Arthur chuckled softly and began laying faint kisses against dark hair. Merlin tilted his head and those gentle lips found his forehead instead. His eyes fluttered shut as he basked in that simple pleasure, a soft sigh parting his lips. His lover kissed his way down Merlin's face, lingering against eyelids and cheekbones. A hum of enjoyment escaped him and then Arthur captured his mouth in a deep kiss, gentle but heartfelt. As if kissing him had demolished a dam within him, the former King's kiss grew desperate as the man clutched the hand over his heart even more fervently.
"Have you any idea how much I regret it?" Arthur said against his lips. Soft. Broken.
Merlin's heart clenched tightly in his chest as he squeezed his lover's hand in return and murmured, "What?"
"Being a coward," said the man in a tremulous whisper. Imperial eyes fluttered open, far too close for comfort and dark with pain. Need. His large hand relinquished Merlin's and rose to clutch the edge of his jaw, his fingers losing themselves in messy locks. "I wanted you the moment I first laid eyes on you. You were this mouthy slip of a boy and you infuriated me!" A gentle thumb stroked pale skin as he spoke low and hoarsely, earning a shiver. "I wanted to take you upon my desk, to hear you whisper my name as I laid claim to you, marked you as mine for all other men to see."
"I hated you," the former King confessed in a broken murmur, his fingers tightening in Merlin's hair. "I hated your every glance, your every gesture. Desire burned within me at the merest sight of you and I hated myself for wanting you, for falling in love with you. And I couldn't...I couldn't..." Merlin gripped his lover's jacket so hard his fingers risked snapping, but he said nothing as Arthur continued to explain in a hoarse manner. "I was seventeen when I was caught on my knees in the armoury with one of the kitchen boys. He was executed the following morning under suspicion of sorcery. Of using magic to seduce me, to force me. Because my father couldn't stomach the idea that I was...that I would ever..."
Long forgotten words echoed throughout his mind as he clutched Arthur's jacket. This has to stop. The King would have your head, if he found out. When Arthur had been warning him away from Morgana. The look that the Prince had born upon his arrogant features at that moment flitted across his mind, but it had had nothing to do with the King's ward, at all. It had been a warning to both himself and Merlin, whose bond with each other only seemed to grow stronger with every passing day. A warning within a warning, a conversation within a conversation, and the sorcerer had been absolutely oblivious to it, convinced that the man would never love and desire him in return.
"Father could have suffered a strong friendship between us with reluctance," Arthur whispered against his mouth, hand trembling as it carded through dark hair and came back to rest against Merlin's jaw, "but there was a line I could never cross if I wanted you to live. But I should have kissed you, Merlin. I should have fled with you when I had the chance." The sorcerer inhaled sharply as his lover squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head fractionally before diving back in to kiss him with dizzying force, hand gripping his jaw desperately.
Returning that kiss was instinctual. It did not matter that it tasted of bitter berries and mushrooms, or that crooked teeth nipped at his bottom lip too hard. The faintest coppery tang of blood seeped into their kiss, but the former King hardly seemed to notice or care. Powerful arms tugged him roughly and he found himself in Arthur's lap, wrapped up in his embrace as though he were the most important thing Arthur had ever laid his hands upon. Merlin clutched blond locks tightly as he withdrew from their kiss, but remained close.
When that position grew uncomfortable they shifted, lying upon the floor of the cave, bathed in the light of crystals as they clutched each other. They spent the rest of the day in each other's arms, moving away only to hunt and to eat and to take care of business, but none of it mattered as much as the sorcerer's face buried in his lover's neck as Arthur's arms held him close. Yet it was never close enough. The man's hands hardly seemed to know what to do with themselves; there were torn between rubbing soothing circles and clutching him with continued desperation. As though any of it could ward off the future that lay in store for them.
It was not until the sun had long set below the distant horizon that Arthur surged upwards and twisted, pinning him to the ground. One forearm braced alongside Merlin's head and one hand cupping his thigh, the former King once more broached one of the subjects closest to their hearts. "Marry me," he said softly as he stared down at Merlin. It was obvious the man had spent the day thinking of it and it had finally burst out of him, unwilling to be restrained any longer.
Merlin turned his face away. Gazing into the glowing heart of a nearby crystal was better than seeing quiet hope bloom in his lover's imperial eyes. "I can't."
"Why can't you?" Arthur murmured in a manner that was both gentle and serious. A strong hand slid up from his thigh, ghosting along his side and his neck before cradling his jaw. A gentle pressure encouraged Merlin to look once more at Arthur, whose thumb tenderly caressed a trembling bottom lip. "The laws on gay marriage will change one day, Merlin, but I'm not talking about the future. I'm talking about now." His lover's adam's apple bobbed noticeably in his throat as he swallowed thickly. "Marry me now, right here."
A shaky breath escaped the sorcerer as he shifted in discomfort, the action bringing his hips briefly against that of his lover. "We don't have rings."
"Now, you're just making excuses. Entirely understandable," the man teased, a grin tugging at his arrogant mouth and threatening to blind him. "Waking up beside me for the rest of your life isn't likely to be a fun experience." Arthur withdrew abruptly, hauling him upwards until the pair of them were kneeling before each other. "And we do have a ring," he continued softly, holding Merlin's hands in his and staring at him as if every constellation in the vast night sky lived within the span of Merlin's eyes, "if you'll have it."
The former King's name was a ragged exhalation, but his face said yes. Loud and clear. The purest joy softened arrogant features as Arthur slipped his signet ring from his finger and held it between them, the Pendragon crest glinting faintly in the crystal-light. "By the sacred laws vested in me," his lover said quietly, voicing words that caused butterflies to burst into existence in Merlin's stomach as his heart pounded hard against his ribcage, "I crown you, Merlin, Prince Consort of Camelot." He took Merlin's left hand in his own and slid his signet ring upon the ring finger.
The sorcerer swallowed thickly and his eyes flooded with magic. The signet ring grew a fraction smaller, settling snugly at the base of his slender finger. Imperial eyes flicked upwards as a blinding grin faded into a smile far softer and warmer than any that had graced his arrogant mouth in the entirety of his existence. Slowly and deliberately, Arthur drew his left hand towards his face and laid the softest kisses against each pale fingertip. Dark eyelashes fluttered against flushed cheeks as a sigh of pleasure escaped him.
It was not long at all until Merlin lay back upon the ground as Arthur blanketed him in warmth and affection, hips nestling snugly between welcoming thighs as their lips came together in an age-old union. A gentle and confident hand slid beneath the fabric of hoody and t-shirt and he broke the kiss as a startled laugh escaped him. An explanation was on the tip of his tongue when his lover suddenly clapped a hand over his mouth, royal face draining of colour rapidly as he climbed abruptly to his feet, hauling Merlin's gangly frame up with him.
The former King gestured for him to be as silent as possible and shoved him hard, the action startling him so badly the sorcerer did not dare to protest. He followed the man's instruction as Arthur snatched up his gun and quickly withdrew a magazine from within his jacket. It clicked into place as his lover loaded the weapon with deadly efficiency. That was when Merlin heard it: the brambles leading into the cave were rustling. Too loud to be a mere animal. A sinking sense of dread flooded him and his magic broke free of its restraints, lighting up his eyes and waiting for a command.
On silent feet Arthur moved towards the entrance of the cave, armed and ready to fight to the death. He disappeared around the corner even as the rustling came to an end, cautious steps echoing through the cave. The ensuing skirmish was loud and aggressive, two men grunting and cursing at irregular intervals. There was something intensely familiar about the second voice, sending a burst of happiness through him, though he could not place it. "Fuck, Pendragon," the new man snapped irritably as Merlin dashed forward without thought, magic gathered at the tips of his fingers. "Is this how you treat every man that nearly becomes your brother-in-law?!"
When Merlin rounded the corner it was to see Arthur pinning a cloaked figure to the grimy wall of the cave, the barrel of the gun pressed hard under a pale-skinned chin that glowed in the moonlight streaming in through the gaps in the brambles. The expression upon the former King's face was feral as he glared at the pinned man, whose upper face remained remarkably concealed by the black hood that covered the intruder's head. "It's how I treat Interpol while on the run."
Though his eyes remained hidden, it was clear that the cloaked figure was now looking directly at Merlin. "Yes, well," said the intruder in a calm manner, "let's see what your companion thinks about all this, eh?" A pale hand reached upward and wrenched the black hood down, revealing the figure's face fully.
Feeling as though the carpet had just been ripped from beneath his feet, the sorcerer whispered a single name: Ivar.
A familiar mouth quirked upwards in a smile. "Father."
To Be Continued.
*flails*
Feel free to let me know what you think!