CW: More internalized homophobia!
~~~We won or we think we did
When you went away you were just a kid
And if you lost it all- and you lost it-
Well, at least the war is over~~~
A/N: Hey all!
So, sorry for not posting on Wednesday. I've not been feeling well this week, kind of lethargic, and I didn't have the strength to edit this chapter. So I just delayed posting. I think I will skip posting on Sunday and just post next Wednesday. Maybe not. We'll see.
This chapter has a lot in it, but it's because I wanted to end this story-line as soon as I could. Just so I could get onto my plot, which comes into play next chapter. What does this mean? Well, up until now, this story has roughly followed the plot of Merlin, just role-reversed. Starting next chapter, I add my own plot into it. I borrow some elements from the show, but for the most part, it is my own creation. We'll see how well this turns out for us...
The title of this chapter comes from the song In Our Bedroom After the War, by Stars. I thought it was fitting. This is also the song that is sung in the chapter. Most of the lyrics don't fit with medieval world, but eh. Whatevs.
Enjoy!
It had been such a very long day and Arthur, for one, was beyond exhausted. But he couldn't sleep just then. He had people to care for.
His heart still ached from seeing the dead body of Ewan. He'd never been particularly close to the boy, as he was four years his junior and mostly tagged along because he was friends with Elyan and Gwen. They'd never been close, but Arthur remembered the child he had been, the eight year old boy who would run screaming through the fields as Arthur forced his friends to play Hunt, where one of their friends would 'hunt' the rest of them, hiding in the field. Like hide and seek, but not for babies, Arthur would say.
To see him, their youngest, dead… it had hurt him deep inside. He had felt it his own fault. He should have protected him. Should have…
But they didn't have time to pass blame or wonder "what if." The letter claimed that the sorcerers would return to exact their revenge. It was a warning, probably to scare them. It did the opposite.
It had been strangely nice, working with Gwaine again. The man had been quiet beside him, but they worked well together. Like old times. He even had a couple moments where they'd share grins after succeeding to get a particularly stubborn townsperson to agree to leave.
After evacuation was over, the villagers moving to Magegrave, which was the closest village to theirs, they went straight back. It had taken an hour to walk there, and would have taken an hour to walk back, had they not borrowed a pair of horses. Everyone in the area knew of the enemy sorcerers, and as soon as the pair mentioned that they were planning on ridding the world of the scourge, they were met with profuse thanks and the promise to have anything they needed to help. The horses thankfully cut off at least a half hour of their travel time.
It was strange to see the town so dead and empty, he had thought, riding carefully into town, not wanting to set off any bombs. He and Gwaine boarded the borrowed horses in the same stable Merlin's horses were in, and then set off to help with preparation.
It had hurt him; more than he'd ever care to admit. Hurt him to see Merlin and Gwaine kiss so tenderly and passionately, his heart clenched so fiercely to see the pair so clearly in love.
He'd been the recipient of that love, once, he had thought. Both of their love. And he'd squandered both. At least now they were sharing their love with someone who was able to return it. Both of them deserved that, at least.
He'd sent the other men back to work, heart painful as he watched the pair of men that he (didn't, couldn't) loved, love one another.
And then there was the battle.
And then Gwaine fell.
And then Merlin proved to the world how very powerful he was, terrifying and yet so utterly beautiful in his rage.
But Gwaine… he wasn't dead. Arthur had run to the man as soon as he saw him fall, heart stopped. Of all of them, Gwaine was the one he couldn't stand the thought of dying most, save maybe Merlin or his family. Gwaine had just always been so full of life, even as his eyes would dull with pain sometimes. He felt so deeply, like Merlin, though he showed it differently. To think him, dead…
Arthur wasn't ashamed to admit he'd cried, hearing Merlin's rage, feeling the too still chest of his best friend. But then, Freya was there. And she looked wide eyed as she informed him that Gwaine was not, in fact, dead. Not yet. But they needed Merlin to save him, as her power would not be enough alone. The spell the sorcerer used was a powerful one, intending death, but there was protective magic in Gwaine that were counteracting the deadly effects. Freya could hold it off as long as she could, but only Merlin could stop it.
The problem was, Arthur found, faced with a tornado and rainstorm in the middle of the previously cloudless sky, he had no idea how to get through to Merlin. The boy was almost glowing in his rage. He was so tragically beautiful, mourning the apparent loss of his love. Oh, how Arthur's heart had hurt. Aching to see such sorrow directed towards another. He felt evil for feeling it, knowing Gwaine deserved such love, such care, but he couldn't help it. It just…
But he could help Gwaine, he had thought mercilessly, angry with himself. So, he pushed the feeling away and tried to get Merlin to calm down enough to save the man he was so fiercely mourning.
And now he was sitting in his little bedroom, two mattresses pulled in there to house the two men he (didn't) loved. Gwaine was alive, Merlin was alive. They were all alive, if a bit worn. All but Ewan, he amended, heart aching.
But… but, the pragmatic battle analyst in him whispered just then, as he stared at the sleeping men (for they all were men, now. Battle made men of boys). Only one death on their side was a good result, when all of the other side had fallen.
He pushed the thought away, sick with the heartless thought. One death was one too many. Arthur couldn't even imagine having to tell Ewan's mother, father, and little sister that their beloved son and brother would not be coming home. He'd have to, though. It was his responsibility, as their de facto leader. They hadn't had time, when evacuating. And he had felt it too heartless to do it abruptly. Perhaps… perhaps he'd tell them that Ewan died heroically. That he'd died saving his friends, alight in battle. Not cold and alone, likely scared to death. It was the remembrance he deserved.
Beside him, he heard shuffling, and he looked down, seeing the brown eyes of his once dearest friend. Ex-friend now, he supposed. He pushed down the disappointment that it wasn't blue eyes that were staring at him.
"So. Guess I'm a hero now, then. Like the sound of that," Gwaine rasped, voice still weak with his near death and subsequent rest, but it was getting better. He let out a sound of protest as Gwaine sat up, wincing as he did so. There were no physical wounds but magic often didn't leave a mark. Didn't mean that wounds were not there, hidden under the surface. Merlin had taught him that.
"You're an idiot. Nothing new there," Arthur shot back, quietly as his eyes flitted to the boy who was still asleep, exhausted from his show of power earlier. Arthur had honestly been as terrified as he'd been impressed at the display.
"Well excuse me, then, for saving your ladylove. Gentleman love, I should say. I can attest for the fact he is most definitely not a lady…" Gwaine mused, grunting when the pillow Arthur lobbed at his head hit its mark. "Hey! I'm a war hero now, you can't do that to me. You are a cruel man, Arthur Pendragon. Very cruel."
Arthur couldn't help how he chuckled at Gwaine's overdramatic words, before sobering. He looked at his former friend with what he knew was sorrow in his eyes. Gwaine sobered too, standing with a grunt.
"You do know you almost died, right? And that you should, I don't know. Be resting?" Arthur asked drily but didn't bother to do much more than complain. Gwaine was almost more stubborn than him, and he didn't want to argue. Not now. Not after he'd nearly lost him.
"Yeah, but where's the fun in lying around all day? I've got better things to do," Gwaine grinned rakishly, stalking slowly over towards Arthur. Arthur, despite himself, felt his heartbeat fast as the man drew determinedly near.
"Funny," Arthur heard himself say, throat dry, "I always thought you'd be lapping up the attention like the attention whore you are. You do realize this is the one time in your life you can boss people around and they'd do anything you said, right?"
"Ah, that does sound very nice," Gwaine mused, as he finally made his way over to Arthur. Arthur gasped when he felt a warm hand creep up and hold his face, a tender and fond look in his old friend's eyes. "But I figured I would use my heroic injury as an excuse to finally do something I've longed to do for nine goddamn years. Now, remember Arthur. I'm an injured war hero now. I doubt the lovely ladies and gentlemen hearing my heroic tale years down the line would appreciate to hear that you'd gone and punched me."
Before Arthur could ask, a touch hysterically, why Gwaine thought Arthur would punch him, he abruptly found out, as too warm lips pressed firmly against his, a diligent hand weaving tightly through his hair. And then his brain ceased to work, so it took him a minute to process.
It was… nice. He supposed. Warm. Pleasant.
Utterly, earth shatteringly amazing.
No big deal.
As Arthur gasped, the sensation too much for him, he felt a warm tongue enter his mouth, exploring to its heart content. And Arthur just let it, too numb and terrified to do much other than just stand in shock.
He was feeling so much inside. More than he'd ever thought possible. He'd kissed people before. Gwen, some random girls in the village. Morgana once, on a drunken dare that the pair refused to mention on pain of death. Never had it felt like this. His heart pounding, mind racing. Oh, how he longed to kiss back. To wrap his arms around his dearest friend and never let go. He understood the dazed look in Merlin's eyes now, when he'd just backed away from kissing this man. Gwaine certainly was very good at his craft.
Before he could even begin to hope to muster the courage or brain capacity to even think of kissing back, or pull away, or anything other than stand there like a limp fish, he was suddenly bereaved as Gwaine pulled back. Not far, though, as he felt a hot, slightly sweaty forehead lean against his, a warm chuckle teasing at his tingling lips.
"Oh, how long I dreamt of that. How long I entertained the idea of shutting up your rambling with a kiss. Of knowing what that beautiful mouth tasted like. My biggest regret, as the light hit me and I knew I was about to die, was that I never had. Not sober, at least. Now, when I eventually die, I won't have that regret hanging over me."
Gwaine chuckled after that, wincing as something inside of him hurt. Arthur lifted his arms and supported the man as he gasped in pain, bringing the two impossibly closer. Gwaine sighed, shaking his head.
"Now… now, my biggest regret is that he is going to have to suffer the same fate I did for so long. I know you, Arthur. Know your self-hatred and repressed feelings well. You are going to destroy him and I'm powerless to help. All I can do is beg you to listen to me. Beg you to hear me when I tell you that that boy, that brilliant man, is helplessly in love with you. He'd do anything for you. And to be loved by him… oh, Arthur. It is the greatest gift I have ever known. I would have gladly died for him. I still would, if I knew my death would save him pain. But only you can do that, now, my friend. Trust in yourself. In your feelings. In him. Stop letting your life be determined by the ghost of a man you've never met. This is your life, Arthur. Live it the way you should be. Not how you think your father would want you to."
The words were soft. Pleading. Arthur almost wanted to give in. To listen. To agree.
To let his heart finally, finally decide.
But…
"No," he whispered, feeling Gwaine tense under his fingers. "No. H-he loves you. Merlin… is in love with you. And I am happy for him. For you both. He does not love me. And I-"
Arthur cut himself off, looking off to the side. Unbidden, his eyes landed on the still form of the man they were talking about. Oblivious that he was the center of their heated discussion. Arthur felt the words, the lie, want to stay in his chest. To never be said, to say the truth instead. But…
"-I don't love him. I'm sorry, Gwaine. I really am. If I could-"
"Oh, you could Arthur. And you do. But you are too stubborn to give in. God, how I hate you sometimes," Gwaine muttered, voice impossibly bitter. But he didn't pull away. He just sighed again and leaned his forehead against Arthur's. Again.
"I pity you so much, Arthur. To have to deny yourself everything... and I assure you, Merlin is everything. You would never want with him at your side. Not just because he is a prince. His love… it is glorious. All encompassing. But you will never know. Never allow yourself to feel it. And for that, and that alone, I pity you."
With those words, delivered with the solemnity of the grave, Gwaine pulled back and stumbled over to Merlin's side, fingers carding through dark brown hair when he made it, collapsing to the ground. Arthur could see he was still in pain, his chest hurting, but he said nothing as he turned about face and fled the tiny room that he'd grown up in. As he stormed down the stairs and into the street. He could hear his mother calling for him, Gwen too, but he couldn't, he just… couldn't.
As he ran through the empty, damp streets, evidence of battle all around as the moonlight glistened on the rain-soaked world, he allowed the sob within him to bubble up and be released, tears falling soon after. He didn't even feel the usual shame, too exhausted to care.
It wasn't fair, he thought as he ran, further and further and further. Trying to outrun it all. Why was he like this? Why did he feel so much, so deeply, for the wrong gender? Oh, he loved Gwen. Loved her with all his heart. Or he had, once. But he couldn't deny, not at the moment- when his heart was so open and flayed- how his heart now also beat for Merlin. And Gwaine, he supposed, though the time for that had passed.
It wasn't fair. He was a good man. A righteous man. Why did he have to suffer these emotions that he'd never wanted, never asked for? He didn't want to be this way. Didn't want to love a man who loved another. Didn't want to love a man at all, period.
Merlin could never love him, now. Not after all he had done. All he had failed. How could anyone, after the mistakes Arthur had made?
He was supposed to be a King one day. To rule these lands. How could he do that when he was so impossibly weak? So fragile and worn and wanting? How could he give himself to his cause if he was so broken and wrong inside?
He ran. He ran and he ran and he ran. Passed the drowned farm where their failed plan was supposed to take place. Passed the fields of dying wheat, winter's chill now firmly taking hold of the land. Passed the point of no return, his heart shattering as he ran and ran and ran. Hoping that he could outrun his destiny if he just ran far enough. Fast enough.
Eventually, though, he collapsed. In the middle of a dead field of corn, heart pounding, tears streaming down his face. God. How pathetic. How weak. No one could love a man as weak as him. No one.
He couldn't deny his feelings. Not now. Not after Gwaine had kissed him and unlocked everything he had ever tried to hide from the world. From himself.
He was in love with Merlin. So deeply, desperately in love. The way the boy moved. The way he smiled. The sound of his laugh. It all drove Arthur mad. Barmy. Utterly insane. To think, a week ago they'd been safe and sound inside the castle, his feelings as well hidden as everything else he hid. Now, here he was. Not a gallant knight, the brave hero who saved the day. Gwaine and Merlin took that honor. No...
No. He was the fool. The jester. The universe's whipping boy: created to make the gods laugh at his plight. He wasn't a king. Wasn't anything. How could he be? How could he ever be worthy of such a title?
Of Merlin's love?
He wasn't. He knew he wasn't.
But he would be.
As he stared at the ink black sky, heart heaving as his lungs screamed at him, he made a vow with the world. He would become the king he had to be. Would, one day, be the kind of man that deserved the love he'd once been freely given. He would make the universe rue the day it had thought it could break him down.
But he couldn't do it as a lovestruck child, yearning for the touch of another. Couldn't do it if he was moony eyed and in love. No.
He'd have to bury his feelings. Once again. It pained him to do it, especially now that he had finally, finally acknowledged them. But he knew this was the only way. Arthur needed to be brave. Strong. A warrior. Not some child who was wide eyed and wandering.
And maybe…
Maybe, one day. When he'd become the man that he had to be. When he was finally ready to be the king he would have to become. When he was finally, finally ready. Maybe then he could open his heart and examine his feelings.
Maybe then he and Merlin could be together the way his heart yearned for them to be.
But that was not this day. That day would not come for years yet, he was sure of it. He was still so young, so wet behind the ears. So naive and unburdened, though he had gained several burdens this day. He had always thought himself mature, an adult, even at the tender age of twelve. He saw now how foolish he was, the dead eyes of his youngest friend sure to now haunt him forever. The powerful rage and grief of the man he now knew he loved chilling him to his core. He'd known nothing back then. And he had much still to learn.
Merlin wouldn't be mooning after him anymore. He was assured in that assumption. He had Gwaine now, Gwaine to focus his heart on. Even if the pair separated, Arthur knew that Merlin would never forget his first true love. His first taste at love. It would be with him always, like Gwen would be with him always. It would keep him warm, late at night, when the day was trying. Arthur, though it pained him, was glad. So very glad. At least he'd have someone close to his heart while Arthur found himself.
Arthur knelt on the ground for long minutes more, heart aching as his breathing finally, mercifully returned to normal. He could feel the late autumn chill attack his body, the winter storms brewing in the distance. They'd have to head back to Camelot soon, if they wanted to beat the first of the storms. They'd been gone only one week, half of the two they'd buffeted, but it would be fine. They would be fine.
And if he would miss his home with a fierce ache, his heart broken and tattered as he left, he'd just have to get over it. Kings didn't feel sorrow for leaving home. They did what they needed to do for the best of their people.
And this would be the best for his people. The king, while Merlin loved him, was not a good man. He was needlessly cruel even to his own son. Crueler to those without magic. Merlin would likely reverse the laws that his father put in place, but the king was a healthy man, only just passed his prime. He'd have years and years of his reign left, another twenty if he was lucky, maybe more. He couldn't just wait around for the king to die. And he couldn't, wouldn't, bring about the death himself. It would make Merlin hate him. It would make him hate himself, if he were honest. He also couldn't be the cause of Merlin's heartbreak. Not now. Not now that he knew.
So, he'd just have to man up and become the person destiny demanded he become. And he'd have to do it on his own, emotionally at least. A king relied on no one. Right?
Mind made up, Arthur slowly rose to his feet, shivering with more than just cold. He wiped the tear tracks off his face and squared his shoulder.
He wasn't a king. Not yet.
But he would be.
He had to be.
~XoxoxoxoxoxoXoxoxoxoxoxoX~
Everything hurt. Oh, fuck did it hurt.
This was why sorcerers should never use too much power, he thought dimly, eyes shut tight even as he woke from his dead faint. Magic was energy, wild and untamed. The body was a conduit for the energy, bending it to its will. That's what Gaius had always told him, anyway. If one allowed too much energy- magic- to pass through them, then they'd wear their body thin, like a tree that was struck by lightning. It would destroy them from the inside out.
Merlin was very lucky his body was so in tune with the universe. That he could contain so much of that raw energy without it killing him outright. It hurt, though. Like he'd been eating lightning, his insides burning and raw, mind aching and sore. He'd used up so much of his internal magic, so he had stolen the energy from the sorcerers he'd (mercilessly) killed. Murdered, he should say. They'd been running away. He knew that. Had seen that. He'd killed them anyway.
This was his punishment, he supposed. He hadn't even known it was possible to steal another person's magical energy before. To take it and bend it to his own will. It was horrifying. Terrible.
Powerful.
Merlin couldn't help how he shuddered, the minute movement causing him to moan as pain flared through him. Punishment, he thought, gasping. His retribution for taking more than he had earned. More than any other person had the right to take.
Before he could think more, eyes shut tight against the world, he heard a familiar voice shush him, suddenly aware of gentle fingers running through his hair.
"Don't worry, love. It's alright. You need to rest, you had a lot taken out of you today, just take it easy. Relax," the voice crooned, soothing Merlin's racing thoughts. Part of him realized he knew the voice, but the pain made it hard to think. The meaning of the words drifted from his mind like smoke, but he tried to hold onto the voice. He tried to form words, tried to reply, but it was too much. It hurt too much. He needed…
"M-my... my..." he tried, the words heavy on his tongue. The voice shushed him again, hands gentle in his hair. He tried again. "Bag. Blue… potion. Need…"
He honestly didn't know what he was saying. He had a vague idea of what he needed but was otherwise completely lost in the pain. Even thinking was becoming painful. There was a potion in his bag, he knew. Gaius has given it to him before he left, eyebrow raised, saying to use it if he got hurt. He knew the potion. It was Gaius's standard pain potion. It numbed the mind and body while injuries healed. He didn't know how to express his desire for the potion when his head felt like it was about to split open and let his brains spill out onto the floor if he moved more than a centimeter, though.
The fingers left his hair at that, though, and Merlin mourned their loss fiercely. He hadn't even realized how good they had felt on his agonized head. He just knew that their loss was a horrible one that he'd curse 'til the day he died.
"Merlin. I found a couple potions. You wanted the blue one, yes? I'm assuming it's this dark blue one, with chunky bits? It honestly looks revolting, but if you want it…"
Ah. The potion.
He tried to form a reply, but he found that he couldn't focus on the words, their meaning slipping through his memory like a sieve. He vaguely thought he remembered words, but they were so hard to hold onto… something about a potion...
"Blue… potion. Drink… please. I… need…" oh, how talking hurt. Everything hurt. He needed something to make it stop hurting, but what? He didn't remember. He could feel himself slipping away, his mind wanting the blackness of oblivion, even as he struggled to stay awake. Something told him that if he slept now, there was a good chance he'd never wake up again. He'd heard of too many sorcerers die of overexertion- had even seen a couple right before they died, so wax and wane and still- to not be worried, even as his mind flooded with pain, making that worry hard to hold onto. He had said something. What had he said? Did he ask for something? He didn't know. He was so confused.
After what felt like eons but could only have been a handful of seconds, he felt a warm hand touch his cheek, making him keen. From pain or pleasure he didn't know, the pressure both soothing and excruciating at the same time. He let out a noise of pain when the hand moved to his neck and pulled his head up. He could tell the hand was trying to be gentle, but it felt like he was being electrocuted over and over as pain rushed his system. He distantly heard himself scream, more noises echoing around the room that he couldn't focus on a moment later. The pain was too great.
He distantly heard the sound of people talking, frantic, but he couldn't focus on the words. He could feel himself slipping away. His eyes were rolling back in the sockets, eyes still closed to the harsh world. Before he could pass out, he felt glass press against his lips, and then a foul liquid was slipped down his throat. He thrashed as the liquid hit his tongue, the bitter and horrid taste making him want to gag and spew all over the room, but the warm hand had moved to cover his mouth, forcing the liquid to remain in. The voice from earlier was saying something, tone frantic but also gentle, soothing. A new voice was there, higher, sounding pleading.
He didn't understand. He thrashed and thrashed against the hand holding him down, distantly noticing that an arm was wrapped around his chest and something warm was pressed against his back; he was no longer lying down, he supposed. He didn't know when that had happened, too focused on the pain and the foul liquid.
He still hadn't swallowed. He was afraid to. He didn't know what was happening. He didn't… he couldn't... then he remembered. Barely. The blue potion. It... it would help...
Hesitantly, he swallowed the liquid in his mouth, coughing violently as it slid down his throat into his belly, where he could feel it working its magic. For it was magic, he realized, body gasping by accident as the pain slowly faded, leaving cool relief in its place. His mind was still jumbled, so he was still feeling very confused.
After a few moments he realized he was still leaning against the warm thing. After a quick inventory of his memories, he realized it was a chest. It was rumbling, which was odd, until he realized there were words in his ear. Then his brain caught up and realized someone was speaking to him. He listened.
"-Christ, Merlin, I swear you will be the death of me. You sorcerers are more trouble than you are worth, I will tell you that. Making me feel like a monster for trying to help you. Ha! How poetic-"
The words kept going, the person ranting about something, something about sorcerers being hard to handle. It was oddly… soothing…
Wait… he knew the voice…
Smiling slowly, eyes squinting open against the harsh light (it wasn't that bright, only a small candle at the end of a near pitch black room, but it felt like agony on his still sore head), trying to see the man he knew was behind him.
"Gwaine," he breathed, cutting off the tirade about how Gwaine was forever suffering for gorgeous, foolhardy men.
"Merlin," Gwaine muttered back, warm lips pressing to his pulse point. He gasped at the feeling, pressing back against the warm chest he was leaning against.
"You're alive," Merlin whispered, suddenly remembering what had caused him to lose control and unleash so much raw power. It was a grief unlike any he had ever known. Even when Will had died he hadn't been so distraught, though he had grieved the boy fiercely and deeply. Losing Gwaine, though… it had felt worse. Especially after having failed Ewan. It had been unthinkable, at the time. To lose the first person he had truly loved, who loved him in return? He couldn't... he just couldn't.
And, speaking of…
"I love you. You know that, right?" Merlin murmured, exhaustion filling him. He wanted to sleep for days, but at the same time never sleep ever again. He knew, now that their quest was over, that they'd have to go home soon. He'd have to leave this village. Leave Gwaine. It was unthinkable. So, he didn't think about it, only thought about the way warm arms wrapped around him, pulling him fully upright and into a pleasantly comfortable lap, warm chest rumbling behind him as Gwaine hummed. It was like heaven.
"I know, dear heart," Gwaine muttered back, lips still on his pulse. For a second, Merlin thought he had finished speaking and had a moment to feel disappointment. What he had expected Gwaine to say, he didn't know. After all, he knew Gwaine loved him, at least a little. The man had said so. But did it extend passed the bedroom?
Yes, a voice in him whispered instantly, he gave his life for you. That means more than words ever could.
Before he could delve deeper into his thoughts, he felt more than heard Gwaine speak again.
"I love you, too. Never thought I'd mean that with all my heart, but here we are."
The words were soft, almost too quiet for Merlin to hear. But it was dead silent in the room, allowing Merlin to barely make out the near inaudible words. And he felt his heart at once swell, and shatter. After all. In a matter of days, he'd be leaving. And who knew when he'd see Gwaine next.
Before he could speak, ruin the moment by begging Gwaine to return to Camelot with him, or to let Merlin tag along on his wandering, he heard a shuffling sound over by the doorway. And he realized, with a jolt, that they weren't alone.
Eyes wide on the shadowy figure, he squinted as he tried to make out features. It almost looked like...
"Freya?" He questioned, realizing he was right a second later when the girl stepped into the dim candlelight, an almost guilty look on her face.
"Hello, Merlin. I didn't mean to intrude or eavesdrop. I had just heard you shout earlier and was concerned. I didn't know when a good time would be to leave, though. I didn't want to interrupt your reunion," the girl rushed, looking awkward as she looked anywhere but the pair. Merlin felt awkwardness rise in him as he remembered his folly the first night, he and Gwaine had been together, sure the memory was fresh in her mind, too.
"It's alright. No worries. What are you doing here? What time is it?"
As he said it, he realized it must be later than he had initially thought. Freya usually stayed transformed for several hours following midnight, the curse usually ending a couple hours before dawn. Maybe around four or five, then? Maybe later.
"Late," was all she said, confirming his thoughts.
"Then we should all get some sleep. I'll be fine. Gaius's potion is taking the worst of the pain away, and my body should heal naturally before it wears off. I have another one if the healing does not complete by the time it does, though. Gaius is nothing if not prepared," he joked, though the words were true. Gaius was probably the biggest worrier. It would be funnier if the older man didn't have good reason to worry about Merlin and his foolhardy ways.
Gwaine hummed behind him again, the feeling so delicious and rich. Merlin would have moaned had his sister not been in the room.
"You lot should sleep. I'll keep watch. I've slept enough for today."
Merlin made a noise of protest at that but stilled his tongue as Gwaine nuzzled his neck softly, lips not quite returning, but close enough that he could feel the man's warm exhales. It was glorious.
"Alright. Get some sleep, you two. I'll see you in the morning," he heard Freya say, before leaving. He did hear her say a muttered silencing charm, though, as she left, which made him laugh. Probably good, as his magic was empty at the moment and if he tried to call on it he'd just hurt himself. He doubted there would be any funny business that night, but it was nice to have the privacy a silencing spell provided.
"I thought I had lost you," Merlin murmured moments later, eyes dragging downward with sleep. Gwaine hummed again (which Merlin was quickly becoming addicted to, as it made his back rumble beautifully), lips finding his neck once again.
"But you didn't. You saved me, my love. Those magic runes you drew into my skin, combined with the magic from your charm, prevented the curse from fully taking hold. That's what the Lady Freya told me, at least. I'd have given my life willingly for you, though. I'd rather I die than you," the man whispered, arms tightening minutely.
"I wouldn't," he replied, shifting in the arms so he could face Gwaine, forehead pressing to his paramour's. He would have said more, but the lips before his were too tempting. So, he just helplessly leaned forward and kissed the impossibly soft, pillowy lips.
The pair remained that way for several long minutes, lazily kissing as the sun began to poke out behind the horizon line, proving how late (or early) it truly was. He usually woke at this hour, his magic waking him as the sun's light shone behind his blinds. Yet, he was still so tired. Exhausting one's magic reserves would do that to a person, he supposed.
"What are we going to do now," he questioned quietly moments later, when the pair took a break to breathe. He could feel that Gwaine was still in pain. The way he held himself. The unnatural weakness in his arms, though he still had some strength. The way he'd wince against Merlin's lips every so often. He wished he could kiss the pain away. Maybe if he kept trying…
"We follow our initial plan, darling. I still want to travel. You must return home. Perhaps we should wait a day or two, to heal, but after that, well. I suppose we should head our separate ways. I won't ever forget you, though. You will be with me always."
Merlin's eyes filled with tears at the soft, tender words, but he didn't protest. While he longed to go with the man, he knew he couldn't. And he couldn't ask Gwaine to return home with him. His father would never approve, for one, likely killing Gwaine to rid Merlin of his affection once and for all. And Merlin didn't want to hate his father. He really didn't.
It would be for the best. He had a life in Camelot. A home. Gwaine would get to wander like he always had wanted to. They'd be connected forever through their shared love, even as they grew to love others as well. Merlin had once, when he had been young and naive, thought that a person could only love one person their entire life, like his father loved his mother. He knew now how foolish he had been. The human heart could hold enough love for hundreds of lovers. Gwaine had taught him that.
That didn't mean they couldn't stay in contact, though.
"You must promise to write me, alright? I expect at least one letter a month, though I desire many more. If I don't get a letter a month, I will hunt you down and find whatever ditch you've gotten yourself trapped in. And if you die, I swear I will march into the afterlife and curse you myself for being so foolish," Merlin warned, tempering his harsh threat with a sweet, almost chaste kiss. He said almost, since Gwaine's moan made him feel decidedly not chaste, the kiss deepening for only a second before the man pulled away with his beautiful chuckle.
"I will write you a thousand letters a day, my dear. I promise."
Merlin laughed at the hyperbole, but smiled nonetheless, filled with such tender fondness.
It was then that he realized something was missing in the room. He wasn't sure what clued him in, just a niggling feeling as his magic grew steadily stronger. He looked around, recognizing that it was Arthur's room, even though he hadn't spent as much time in it as he pretended that he did. Why did he feel something was missing? He didn't know the room well enough to think that. Hmm... wait...
"Where's Arthur?" Merlin questioned as he realized that the thing missing was his friend. The other man he loved. How had he forgotten him? He hated how Gwaine frowned at the words, eyes flashing with emotions that faded before Merlin could decipher them, a careless shrug and indifferent expression masking the emotions too quick.
"He ran off about an hour or so ago. After I kissed him," Gwaine tagged on, shrugging again as Merlin blenched, eyes wide in shock. He didn't know if he should feel impressed or jealous. Of whom, he was unsure. Likely both.
"You kissed him?! I'm surprised you're not sporting a bruised eye," Merlin commented, leaning closer to see if he'd maybe just missed the bruise. Gwaine laughed at his words and actions, batting him away, grinning rakishly.
"You wound me! I'll have you know that my kiss enthralled him so thoroughly and completely that he has decided to give up his internalized homophobic ways and has realized he longs for a hot, thick cock to destroy hi-"
"Gwaine! Stop!" Merlin gasped, laughing hard at the image Gwaine invoked. Oh, if only. Gwaine grinned a moment longer, before it faded slowly, leaving the man looking tired and world weary. He was only twenty-three. He shouldn't look so utterly worn.
"Ah, you got me. He barely moved as I kissed him, before bolting out the door like a newborn colt and not returning. I'd be worried if I weren't so pissed. I suppose it was better than I expected. At least he didn't punch me," Gwaine mused, voice light but eyes sad. It hurt Merlin, so he did the only thing he could think of. Kiss Gwaine.
"Hmm. I will admit that he certainly didn't kiss as sweet as you, my lion cub. He holds no candle whatsoever to you," Gwaine muttered against his lips, not pausing to let Merlin reply before kissing him deeply. He'd have protested if he could find it in him to care.
Finally, as the sun began to bathe the world in bright light, Merlin felt his eyes droop too far for him to ignore. He yawned into Gwaine's mouth for the third time, making the man chuckle as he pulled away. Gwaine gave him one last kiss after Merlin keened at the loss, but pulled back completely as he strode over to the thin mattresses on the ground, pushing them together to form one large pad on the ground. Merlin was helpless to obey when Gwaine held out a hand in invitation, lying back on the mattresses as he did so.
It wasn't as comfortable as Gwaine's large bed, he decided, eyes closing unbidden, but it was heaven as far as he was concerned. Anywhere was as long as Gwaine's arms were around him. He had a moment to snort at his sappy thoughts, Gwaine humming and kissing his head in response.
"Sleep, my love. I'll still be here when you wake. Sleep," Gwaine muttered, before he started to sing. Strange. Merlin had never heard the man sing before. He had a raspy voice, clearly not used to singing, but it was angelic to Merlin's ears. Better than the best choirs his father could hire.
"Listen, the birds sing,
Listen, the bells ring,
All the living are dead, and the dead are all living,
The war is over, and we are beginning. "
With the strangely haunting melody echoing in his ears, Merlin slept. And he dreamt of fire.
He wasn't sure if it was good or bad.
~XoxoxoxoxoxoXoxoxoxoxoxoX~
It took Arthur an hour to walk back to his village. Running blindly in the dark had its disadvantages, he thought bitterly as he finally saw the small village as the sun stared down at him from the sky. He'd gotten turned around a few times, not knowing the area he'd run to well enough to automatically know where he was. He had eventually managed to make his way to a landmark he knew about but was dismayed to realize it was more than two miles from town. Fuck, he hadn't realized he'd run so far. It was foolish, not the actions of a wise king, so he'd have to learn to control his emotions better. Ha.
Luckily, he ran into no wild animals, magical or otherwise, on his trek back and was able to drag his drained body through the empty town back to his house. He smiled thinly at his mother, noticing distantly that she had moved Ewan's body at some point. He didn't ask where. His heart couldn't take it. The villagers were still hunkered down in Magegrave, the men too exhausted to run and tell them the battle was over. He figured one of his friends would have the foresight to do so now that the day had arrived. Probably Gwen. Or Lancelot. Maybe Leon. He trusted them, regardless. Besides, he could barely think straight, body dragging towards the ground with his exhaustion, uncertain if he could make it the few steps to his room, let alone run off to Magegrave. It would have to do.
As he entered his room though, brown eyes peering up at him from the mattresses on the ground, muscled arms wrapped tight around the man he now realized he desperately loved but could not afford to have, he froze. Shit. He'd forgotten they were still here. He was about to back away out of the room when Gwaine disentangled himself from Merlin, shushing the man when he let out a soft snuffle of discontent. Arthur's heart clenched at the sweet display. Again, before he could flee, Gwaine gave him a hard look and gestured towards the mattress Merlin was lying on. Now thoroughly confused, Arthur just stared, tired brain not comprehending.
Gwaine rolled his eyes and stalked over to Arthur, ignoring the frantic way Arthur backed up, eyes wide as his heart began to pound. Terrified the man meant to kiss him again (though he wasn't sure he'd oppose the idea as much as he should have), he tried to back away. He didn't get far when Gwaine caught up to him, smirk on his face.
Instead of kissing him, though, the man just grabbed his shoulders and frog marched him across the room to where Merlin laid. They had apparently pushed the mattresses together, like he and his mother would do in the living room downstairs during the winter months, bitter cold entering through the thin windows. Mouth dry, Arthur shook his head, mouth opening to protest, but he couldn't get a word out before Gwaine pushed him down, making him stumble to his knees. He heard his (former?) friend snicker meanly, before he spoke. Softly, to not wake the sleeping man not inches from his face.
"Sleep, Arthur. I promise you won't get cooties. You look exhausted and I bet you've not slept a wink tonight. Rest. I'll keep watch."
Arthur grumbled, but he couldn't argue as his eyes drooped dangerously low. Part of him thought to grab a pillow and just lay on the ground, but the mattress looked so welcoming… (as did the warm, sleepy man lying on the mattress beside his, but that was beside the point.)
Sighing, Arthur did what he was told for once, not complaining other than a few grumbles, claiming that, "you'd think you hadn't nearly died yesterday." Gwaine just chuckled and sat beside him, facing the doorway.
"I'm very resilient. Besides, I don't need much sleep. I got enough rest earlier. You need it now. So, my friend. Go the fuck to sleep."
Arthur couldn't help the chuckle that escaped, his body facing the other man, back turned to the warm heat of Merlin. He longed to turn around and wrap his arms around the man like he'd seen Gwaine do, but he couldn't. He refused to take such liberties from a sleeping man, who couldn't even defend himself. It was ignoble.
He was just starting to drift off when he felt deft fingers enter his hair, eyes shooting wide as he struggled to sit up, weary mind and body dragging him down before he could, though. He heard Gwaine tsk, likely shaking his head, if Arthur knew him well. Which, despite everything he had missed, he was sure he still did. They'd been best friends, once. As thick as thieves, his mother claimed.
"You've denied me enough over the last near decade. Let me have this, will you?"
Unable to counter that, Arthur settled down again, sleep coming fast as the deft fingers wove through his hair like a spider wove through a web. Or... maybe that was a bad simile. Oh well. He was dead tired.
(And, while he'd never admit it, the fingers felt so very nice. Warm and sturdy, they made him feel calm and easy in a way he hadn't in forever. Since a baby, maybe. Since before his father left and he'd become the unofficial Man of the House. Required by honor to defend others, to never let himself be taken care of. Yeah, his mother tried, but he had always known it was up to him to protect her, not the other way around. And Morgana, though the girl would have his balls if he ever said that to her. Point was, he felt safe. And loved. And wanted. It made him ache somewhere deep inside he hadn't even known existed.)
Luckily (or not), he fell asleep before he could analyze the feeling too much, barely hearing the tune the man above him hummed softly.
God, he was tired.
~XoxoxoxoxoxoX~
Waking up was challenging. Probably the most arduous task he'd ever faced in his young life.
He was just so warm, he though languidly, mind blissfully blank. So warm, and comfortable, and happy. He never wanted to leave this cocoon of blankets and pillow he had created. He hugged the pillow tight to his chest, heart happy as the pillow snuffled in response.
But… wait. That wasn't a pillow. Pillows weren't hard. Nor did they make little (adorable) sleepy noises. Eyes slamming open as he pushed himself back and scampered to his feet, he heard a masculine yelp from where, what he had thought was a pillow, laid.
He could hear amused laughter from the corner of the room but could only stare in horror as Merlin (definitely not a pillow, he thought queasily) blinked up at him with sleepy eyes.
"So. How was your rest, sleeping beauty," he heard Gwaine's amused voice call, causing Arthur to cease his horrified stare so he could glare daggers at his (possibly) ex friend.
"You are a bastard Gwaine. An utter bastard. It is a wonder we were ever friends for so long."
"Aye, but like marries like, and all. Takes one to know one," Gwaine grinned, roguish and bright. And alive, he felt inclined to notice. Definitely alive. Regrettably.
"Would you both kindly shut up? My head is pounding, and I want to die in peace, thanks," a sleepy voice called meekly from the mattress Arthur had just vacated. Oops.
Both men now sobered, they turned as one to the man on the mat, face scrunched (adorably) in pain.
"Ah, shit. Dear heart, do you need more of that potion? I think I saw a second one in your bag, if you do," Gwaine called, voice much softer and more tender. It made Arthur's heart clench, both from the term of endearment and the softness of the usually rough and tumble man. He could only watch as Gwaine knelt beside Merlin, fingers that had lulled him to sleep now tangled in the younger man's hair. At least, Arthur assumed Merlin was younger. He hadn't yet reached 21, like Arthur had a couple months prior to his arrival at Camelot, so he figured it was a safe bet.
"Hmm. No, but thanks. It's not good to take the potion too often if not needed. It can make you sick. I can handle it. I appreciate the offer, though," Merlin croaked, peeking an eye open to smile gratefully at his lover, before closing his eyes with a soft moan of pain. Gwaine just shushed him, humming a tune lightly under his breath as he ran his fingers through Merlin's hair. The same one he'd been humming to Arthur last night (actually, earlier that morning, he amended, looking out the window. He wasn't the best at telling time via shadow position, but his uncle Tristan had taught him once, when he'd been little. He figured it was roughly three or four in the afternoon. Far later than he usually slept, that was for sure. He supposed they'd delay leaving for a little while longer, then.)
He noticed that there were people milling around outside, though, so clearly someone had fetched the townspeople. He hoped they returned the borrowed horses too. Or else he'd have to do it later, and he really disliked the ride to Magegrave. It was a fine town, but it was an annoying trek. He never envied his mother for her journey there and back each day, especially without a horse. At least now she wouldn't have to walk so far. He'd just have to send more money home each week. He'd survive.
Soft snores filled the air then, indicating that Merlin had gone back to sleep. Figuring it was safe to look, Arthur turned back to his possibly former and his current beloved best friends, respectively, heart clenching at the tender look Gwaine gave the sleeping man. It hurt him inside, but he was honestly glad for his old friend. Gwaine had gone through a lot in his young life. He deserved some happiness, however fleeting.
"You're so good with him," he wondered softly, speaking without meaning.
"Hmm," Gwaine hummed, eyes not lifting from Merlin's sleeping form. "I've had years of practice dealing with foolish men hell bent on getting themselves killed. I've picked up a thing or two along the way."
Arthur snorted, remembering all the times he and Gwaine got into trouble over the many years. More than half of it was the brute's own fault, so he had no right to complain. Arthur had spent as much time protecting Gwaine as Gwaine had spent protecting him. More so, honestly, after the man's mother died and he grew insanely reckless and careless. Those had been hard months, on all of them. Even after the grief had waned a touch, he never quite lost that too reckless streak.
"Says the man who once jumped from the roof of a building to escape a gambling game gone wrong," was all he said, tone wry. Gwaine let out a bark of laughter, eyes darting to Merlin to make sure he hadn't woken him. The man still dead to the world, Gwaine turned amused eyes on him.
"Hey! There had been a ton of soft hay to break my fall, I'll have you know. It's better than the time you lost that bet with Morgana and attempted to steal that thug's dagger, needing me to save your arse in the bar fight to end all bar fights. I nearly died, I'll have you remember," Gwaine sniffed, fake pout on his lips. Arthur grinned, daring not to hope that the light-hearted conversation meant anything.
"Please, it was barely a scratch. You've gotten worse punching your hand through a glass window because you 'wanted to feel the breeze,' rather than opening it like a normal person."
"Don't insult me, old friend! Normal is a curse in my house and I'll thank you to not say it again."
"Uh, I don't know if you've noticed, Gwaine, but this is my house. And what's wrong with normal? Normal's just fine."
"It's boring! Horribly dull and lifeless. If there's one thing I'd hate to be called, it's 'normal.' Ugh. Even saying the word makes me break out in hives."
Arthur couldn't help the helpless laughter, though he tried to keep it down to not bother Merlin. He couldn't help the way his eyes shined in the afternoon light, hope naked in his gaze. He hated Gwaine being angry at him. He always had. The other man softened at the look, sighing as he looked back at Merlin, hand still absentmindedly petting the man's hair.
"I'm still upset with you, you know. I'm still hurt and feel slightly betrayed. I had thought I knew you better than to say such things, Arthur Pendragon. But I can't blame you, I suppose. You were only trying to protect this one. And now that I've gotten to know and love him, too, I can understand your plight. I'd likely have tried to save him from me, too, had I been in your shoes. I may not be able to forgive; not yet, at least. Maybe not ever. But I am willing to move on. If you wish for that, my dearest friend."
Gwaine looked up at that, eyes steady as the grave. It humbled him, in a way. He spent a couple moments staring into Gwaine's eyes, just… searching. For what, he had no clue.
But clearly, he found it, as he felt himself nod, a smile rising unbidden on his face.
"You have no idea how much I would like that, Gwaine. I hate the thought of you hating me," he admitted, only slightly ashamed of his girly words. Gwaine just barked a laugh, smiling his wolf's grin.
"Oh, my dear Arthur. I could never hate you. No one whose seen your pale, shiny arse, hanging out a window after you lost another ill-advised bet with Morgana, could hate such a pitiful creature. I'm still awaiting my invite to your wedding, after all. To think, my best friend, officially Mrs. Goatfucker. I'll cry tears of joy as I throw rice for your goat husband to eat as you ride into the sunset, off to make horrifying goat slash human hybrids."
Arthur burst out laughing at that, remembering painfully his two most shameful moments. The bet hadn't even been his fault. He was sure he'd have won that card game if Morgana hadn't cheated with magic. She'd then dared him to sneak into mean old Mr. Harbor's house, buck naked, to steal his prized whiskey. He'd only been fourteen, but full of damned bravado and refused to back down from a challenge. He'd almost made off scot free, when Mr. Harbor had awoken and started to yell at him. Startled, he'd climbed out the window, getting stuck as Mr. Harbor drew closer, yelling that he'd beat whoever's white arse he was forced to stare at. Luckily, Gwaine had gotten over his hysterics in enough time to help him flee into the night, Mr. Harbor never knowing who had stolen his whiskey while buck naked, his eyes luckily not as good as they had been in Arthur's childhood years.
He did recall the flushed look Gwaine had given him after, eyes sweeping him up and down slowly. Arthur had, at the time, assumed he'd been checking for injuries. Now, he wasn't so sure.
And he wasn't even going to mention the time with the goat. His 'one true love,' as Gwaine had lamented, time and time again. Ridiculous. It was one time after a ridiculous night of drinking when he'd been seventeen. He didn't even remember it, which had caused Gwaine to sob in faux sorrow, heartbroken that he'd forgotten his love so soon. Bastard. He was half positive Morgana and Gwaine had made the story up.
"You know, I'm so happy you two have made up. Honest, I am. But could you do it, I don't know. Literally anywhere else? Some people are trying to sleep," a sleepy voice interrupted before he could retort back at Gwaine, face flushing as he realized they had gotten a bit too loud. Oops.
He only could watch as Merlin sat, stretching sore muscles with a wince, eyes dazed. With sleep or pain, he didn't know. Gwaine winced, turning to face the man who was sitting sleepily next to him, hands reaching out to touch the sleep warm skin. Arthur had to turn away when Merlin smiled so sweetly back, heart clenched so tight he was sure he was about to die.
Gwaine had been right about one thing, earlier that day. Merlin's love certainly had been a gift. One he would never have again, most like. The thought hurt him more than he could say.
He imagined he could hear the sounds of a wet kiss, which made his hands clench into tight fists.
"I'm sorry, dear. Hadn't meant to keep you awake. We can leave, if you'd like to sleep some more."
Merlin let out a noise of complaint.
"No, I'm fine. I doubt I can sleep anymore anyway. My head hurts. And I'm hungry. Is there any food to eat?"
His voice was so childish that Arthur had to suppress a laugh. It ended out more a snort, regardless, causing Merlin to pout at him as he turned back to face the pair. Who, thankfully, were a respectable distance apart, though their hands were clasped.
"Aye. Lovely Lady Ygraine left you two narcoleptics some lunch from earlier. It's meat stew. Possibly goat, which I apologize dearly for, Arthur. I know how much you miss your beloved, after all."
"Hey Gwaine?" Arthur asked, waiting for the man to look at him with curious, mirth filled eyes, before showing the overly obscene gesture he'd learned from Morgana of all people. "Fuck you."
Laughter rang out across the room at that, Gwaine's husky laugh melding with Merlin's bell-laugh. It was beautiful. Everything he had never known he'd wanted in life. Oh, what he wouldn't give, to live in this moment forever.
But, all moments must end. And so did that one. The trio stood and headed down the stairs to get the lunch his mother had left for them, chattering happily, Arthur guarding his stew warily as Gwaine tried to throw bits of rotten food into it, laugh loud every time he was thwarted, Merlin hitting him lightly upside the head. He always looked away when Merlin would kiss the pitiful look off the others face, though. Out of respect, he told himself. Definitely not the gnawing jealousy that filled him.
Decidedly not.
The next few days would be challenging ones, he knew. Leaving home would feel like the greatest hell he'd ever known, like it had the first time, but so much worse. At least then he'd had the assumption he'd be back in a couple weeks' time. Now? Now he had no idea when he'd return. And even if he did, he knew Gwaine, steady reliable Gwaine (and wasn't that a laugh?) would not be there. He'd be off traveling, the man's face alive with anticipation and thrill. He felt bad, then, for being the reason the man had stayed so long. He hadn't really realized that. He'd just known that he'd always missed the man when he'd gone wandering, his own grin wide and happy when he'd return.
It would all be worth it in the end. He hoped. He prayed. Who knew where the road of time and destiny would lead him? His end stop was apparently being King, but who knew how many years or decades would pass before that day. Who knew what kind of challenges he'd face, what kind of hardships would plague him? Plague them all.
The one thing he knew, though, as he watched Merlin giggle helplessly at Gwaine's action, enabling the man horribly, was that he'd do it, all of it, with Merlin by his side. Or with him by Merlin's side, more like, since Merlin was the prince here. Their destinies were intertwined, woven by Fate herself. For better or for worse, he'd be by that beautiful man's side forever more. It was comforting. Maybe they'd never love one another as he longed to. Or maybe they would, one day. In the far future.
Who knew?
The future was what he made it out to be.
The end destination may have been decided, but the path he wove wasn't.
He liked the sound of that.
~XoxoxoxoxoxoXoxoxoxoxoxoX~
"You ready, love," the soft voice questioned him, making him force a smile on his too stiff lips.
It had been two days since the end of the Battle of Fayford, as he called it. He was still weaker than he should be, his body aching at odd times, but he was finally well enough to travel. And they'd tarried too long. He could sense a storm brewing. They'd have to head out before they got caught up in it.
Merlin was standing beside the horse that Freya was sitting on, chatting with her ladylove, who sat on the other horse. Morgana was apparently joining them; Freya had informed him of this in no uncertain terms. Well, whatever. He didn't care. They'd have to explain her appearance at the castle, since he doubted his father would approve of the relationship. While he wasn't Freya's father, he was her guardian and king, and had the right to reject any relationship he didn't approve of. Which was why they'd never tell him about it, of course.
Beside him stood Gwaine, eyes bright as he held his pack on his back, smile wide as he looked at the open expanse of road before him. They'd had a party the night before, the remaining friends, laughing and singing as they said goodbye. And remembered their fallen friend, Ewan's funeral pyre burning earlier that day while his mother and sister sobbed. Elyan had told them solemnly that he and Gwen would look after them. The pair had always been the closest to the boy, after all.
At some point, Merlin had been irrevocably accepted by Arthur's friends, the rowdy boys welcoming him with cheers when he'd shown up the night before, still a little tired. He'd honestly been shocked. Doubly so when Elyan has shown up and gave him a respectful, if a bit tense, nod. Then they'd entered into a conversation about the merit of different kinds of wheat to be used in baking. Apparently Elyan was the town baker, taking over after his father died. Merlin knew the family had once been blacksmiths (the best in the land, Arthur had muttered to him, shrugging), but wisely didn't bring it up, just listened, somewhat bewildered, as the young man ranted about wheat.
Gwen later had laughed at him, saying he'd just earned Elyan's respect by listening to his mindless rant without any complaint. Whatever, Merlin had thought, drinking the watered-down wine the men had given him. They were drinking harder stuff, but because he was still recovering, Freya had glared at them when they'd tried to give him some of their drink. He'd just rolled his eyes but didn't complain. He didn't fancy an aching head when his magic was still so weak, anyway.
Now here he stood. Heart oddly full and sad as he stared at the small village he had come to adore. He'd miss Arthur's friends, he realized. His friends, now. He supposed. It was strange. He'd never had so many friends.
And now he had more than a friend, he thought as he looked at Gwaine, who smiled sweetly at him, before kissing him chastely. Freya was right there, after all, so they couldn't do much else. As it was, the girl began gagging, protesting. Merlin flushed, but just grinned cheekily. They wouldn't be together physically, but they both promised to write often. He'd heard of long-distance relationships before. He was sure they could make it work. He'd have to be careful that the king never saw the letters, but he had earned loyalty from enough people he felt they'd be safe.
"I suppose so," he replied, realizing he hadn't said anything in long moments. "I never expected that I'd feel so strangely… sad, leaving here. This last week sure has been a trip."
Gwaine chuckled again, wrapping his arms around Merlin's waist, resting his chin on his shoulder. He felt warm lips press against his cheek, making him smile sweetly.
"I know what you mean. Never thought I'd see the day I actually left this village. I think I'll almost miss it. It's stifling, but hey. It's home," Gwaine remarked, smiling bitterly as he pulled away from the embrace to glance back at the town. There was something akin to sorrow in his brown eyes, but Merlin kindly didn't mention it. Just kissed the warm, scratchy cheek, earning himself a wide grin.
"You'll be fine. I know you will. Don't hesitate to write me if you need anything, alright? And I mean it. Anything at all," he warned, pulling closer to the other. Gwaine grinned cheekily.
"Oh? Anything at all? Even…" Merlin blushed fiercely as Gwaine whispered in his ear, words filthy but so delicious. God, he was going to miss this man.
"Oh, yes. Definitely that," he heard himself breathe, as Gwaine laughed.
"Oi! You two going to just stand around gossiping all day, or are we planning on letting the storm hit us?" A voice called out through the still village, breaking the men apart. Gwaine still had a cheeky grin on his face as he turned to the newcomer, Arthur pulling his pack further up his shoulders.
"Says the one who has been holding us up saying goodbye to his girlfriend. Is the princess ready to head out, or do you need more beauty rest?" Gwaine snarked, eyebrow raised. The man would not be traveling with them the entire way, but they would travel as far together as they could before Gwaine decided to head into a different direction. He had no idea where he was headed, he had said, but he knew he'd be there eventually. He had kindly allowed Merlin to place a mild tracking charm on the man so that he'd know roughly where Gwaine was if he scried for the man on a map. It wouldn't tell him the exact location, but it would give him a place to send letters to. Plus, he thought privately, would assure him that the man was still alive. One could only scry an alive man, after all.
Arthur just rolled his eyes and gave Gwaine an obscene hand gesture, making Gwaine gasp in mock offense, turning big brown eyes on Merlin. Oh, Lord.
"My prince. Look at how your servant treats me. I demand his head," the man sniffed, shaking his head sadly. Merlin just laughed, patting Gwaine's cheek lightly.
"Poor baby. I'm sorry the mean servant hurt you. How can I make it up to you?" He asked, grin sharp with suppressed laughter. Gwaine couldn't reply before Freya threw a book at the pair, eyes annoyed and amused at the same time.
"Stop. Or else the next thing I throw will be decidedly more deadly," the girl warned. Figuring he'd better take her word for it, Merlin just nodded and took the reins of his beloved horse. He had decided he'd walk alongside the creature with Gwaine, Freya sitting on Buttercup since her legs were so much shorter than theirs were. Morgana was on Raindrop, the woman deciding to come back with them (which Merlin was privately happy about, for his sister's sake), though Arthur seemed inclined to walk with the other men. Probably felt his pride demanded it, he thought fondly.
Finally, as the clouds began rolling in lazily, the quintet and two horses set out, chatting and laughing as they made their way towards their future.
And when Merlin finally arrived home, shivering from the bitter rain that they had failed to avoid, his father grinning and asking how the pilgrimage had gone, more invested than he'd ever been in his son's life in years, he knew he'd miss the simple, lazy days he had spent in Fayford with Arthur and their friends.
He had changed. He knew he had. He had faced battle. Had taken lives, not even just in self-defense. He was wiser now, he felt, though he still had much to learn. He wasn't the boy he had been when he had left. He had no idea who he was now, but he was both excited and terrified to figure it out.
"You seem different, Merlin," Gaius informed him as he sat with the older man, court adjourned for the day. Merlin just smiled at his oldest friend, his second father. "Older. I see your pilgrimage has indeed helped you learn control."
And it had. His magic was more settled, once it had replenished enough. Merlin shrugged, knowing the man had a double meaning in his words but unable to talk about it in public. He made a vow to talk to the man more often in private. He'd been so busy lately that he'd not had the chance to talk to his dearest friend. He had so much he wanted to talk about, his mind jumbled as he thought of what had happened, needing a parent-figure to help him sort it all out. And while he'd been getting along better with his father since his outburst, he doubted they'd ever get close enough to talk about the things he needed to talk about.
"I suppose it has. I feel older. It was one hell of a pilgrimage," was all Merlin said, shrugging.
Who knew what the future held? Who knew where the road would twist and turn? Who knew what would happen next?
He supposed he just had to wait and see.
He didn't know if he was excited or terrified at the thought.
Maybe both.
Yes.
Definitely both.
.
.
.
.
.
END ACT 1
A/N: For those upset about the Merlin/Gwaine thing, again, don't worry! Merthur is coming. This was just them getting to a solid foundation. Next chapter deals with a big time skip, so we get to see how things are after a while has passed. Part of me thinks I should turn the next part into its own story, like a sequel to this one, but I don't think this story would work well on its own, as it stands. So instead, we have Act 2. There are four acts in this story, by the by. I see each one as a season, in a way, though act 4 is really short, aha.
Thanks for the reviews and comments, everyone! :-D