Title: Edge: Prologue
Author: hermitknut
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: PG at the moment, might become PG-13 or even 15 at a later date.
Warnings: Slash (duh).
Summary: King Uther is dead; Long Live King Arthur! But it's not quite that simple. The interregnum – the time between the death of one king and the coronation of the next – is proving to be more complex than it would seem. Two old friends return; but have the last five years changed one of them beyond repair?
Disclaimer: If it were mine… Merlin and Arthur would make out in almost every episode :D
A/N: This is the sequel to "Heads and Tales" [links to all chapters here]. You can probably make sense of this without reading that if you like. This story has not been finished yet so I don't know how long it will be, but it should be about the length of Heads and Tales if not a little shorter. I know little about how this gap between one king and the next works, so I've just imagined my own version :P If you have any suggestions, please feel free to make them – also, reviews are awesome.
King Uther's funeral was held two days after his death. Uncrowned King Arthur led the procession of knights, nobles and loyal subjects, his heart heavy but his stance proud, the Lady Guinevere beside him. After the funeral feast was over and done with, planning for the new king's coronation was set into motion. Robes were brought out and cleaned, parts of the castle that were rarely touched were cleaned and dusted.
Mourning the old king would last one week, as was tradition. At the end of that week the new king would be crowned and the celebrations would welcome in a new era. The entire castle was a flurry of activity; no one was left without jobs to do or duties to perform, save one man.
Arthur sat in his room. He walked the corridors. He paced the council chambers. He ate and slept. But oddly, ridiculously, in the midst of the interregnum, Arthur had nothing to do. Sir Leon was in charge of the knights and the guard for the moment; the only duty Arthur had was to be fitted for his coronation robes at some point. Standing at a window and watching the activity in the courtyard below, Arthur realised that he was actually looking forward to it as the high point of his week. And promptly felt ridiculous.
Losing his father was hard enough, but on top of that to feel so useless, so unnecessary was agony. He needed something to do, some diversion or duty or anything but this waiting around. He kept to himself as much as he could, knowing that if anything tested his nearly non-existent patience he would probably say something that he would regret later. Observing the comings and goings around the castle was interesting, anyway, and took up much of his time.
Boredom wasn't his greatest concern – there was one thought that persisted day and night, through every conversation and every other act. A thought Arthur spoke of to no one, but led him constantly back to the windows to scrutinise the crowds below.
Where was Merlin?
The day after Uther's funeral, Arthur was waiting in the council chambers, listening to a report from Sir Leon. Several nobles of the court were there as well as a few knights, but it was a fairly informal gathering. Arthur was half listening to Leon, and half absent-mindedly watching the sunlight's glow on the stone. That golden glow on the dark stone, so familiar… golden sparks in blue eyes…
"…and as overall the borders seem secure I would recommend that…"
Arthur nodded absent-mindedly at each pause in Leon's speech, knowing that the knight was reliable enough to work without Arthur's interference. But unexpectedly – or had he always been expecting it? – there was a knock on the door, and a guard leant in.
"My lord," he began, "there is a man here who would speak with you."
Heart racing and mouth suddenly dry but his expression revealing nothing, Arthur nodded.
"Show him in."
The doors opened, and in came –
- untidy black hair and vivid blue eyes and smile to break hearts -
- a dark-haired man in old chainmail, who bowed before addressing Arthur.
"My lord."
Arthur smiled, disappointment curling in his stomach. Lancelot, of course.
"Lancelot, it's good to see you," Arthur said with genuine warmth, despite his inner discontent. "There are rooms prepared for you; I'm sure Sir Leon would be more than happy to show you to them." Leon, realising that this was a dismissal, nodded and escorted Lancelot out of the room as Arthur leant back in his chair, gazing out of the window. The rest of the court followed Leon, seeing that Arthur was no longer attentive. Arthur barely noticed them go.
There was a courtly meal that evening. Funereal meats on the table and most of the court in the customary black, including Arthur – and yet it was hardly a dull affair. The death of a king, Arthur was learning, may be a tragedy but life went on without pause and the focus was quickly shifting from Uther's death to Arthur's approaching coronation, the mood of the people with it. Arthur was even more unfocused than usual, but the court was expecting it now. He supposed that most of them thought his silence was a mourning one, which would have made much more sense than its real cause. Guinevere was seated at his left, and he could almost feel her happiness at Lancelot's return. He pushed away his goblet of wine, knowing once again that getting drunk would be a bad idea. Tempting, but bad.
The hearing of the people the next day was a long and dull one. But oddly, Arthur felt excited, anticipating something that he could not put his finger on. As though he had been looking forward to this day for months, years even, and now that it had come he could not remember why. But it still had him on edge most of the day.
Every few minutes he would glance around the room, half certain that he had seen movement where there was none, heard footsteps when there was silence. But it was not until everyone else began to leave that he became deeply, deeply certain that something was going to happen.
He said nothing, merely waited as the rest of the court left a few at a time. His gaze caught none of them, as he sat with his head lowered and his eyes on the floor, deep in thought.
Finally everyone was gone, and the great doors swung shut with a thud. Arthur looked up.
A cloaked figure stood there, alone in the centre of the otherwise empty room. Arthur's breath seemed to stop, his eyes fixed on the pale, slender hands as they rose to remove the hood.
Revealed – black hair, neater and slightly longer than before, curling around still-overlarge ears to brush against the smooth black lines of a druidic tattoo that swept from the jaw line down the left side of the neck. The cloak was a dull grey-black, and tucked into the collar was a tiny blue forest flower the exact shade of those bright, sharp eyes.
The room was still as the two men looked at each other. Then the newcomer gave a respectful bow.
"Your majesty." The voice was the same, but also completely different; the same pitch and harmonic, but there was something missing. After a moment, Arthur realised what it was.
There was no mockery. The voice might have been that of his old manservant but the tone was that of a courtier – respectful, calm, subservient.
Wrong.
"I return to my place, sire, and await your commands."
Arthur swallowed. If this was what he wanted, then the gods knew he had earned it by any other man's standards.
"How do you fare?" Arthur asked politely, his voice shaking slightly. What's happened to you?
"I fare well; I have studied long and hard to hone my skills for this time, and I hope that you will not find them wanting."
The words were not stilted or stuttered but they jarred so strongly, coming from –
"Merlin." Arthur couldn't help it; the name just slipped out. He kept his eyes fixed on the sorcerer before him, desperate for some sign, some clue that this was still his old friend. His old lover.
"Yes, my lord?"
Nothing. Just blank politeness. Arthur swallowed.
"I've arranged temporary chambers for you in the south wing; in the next few days you may pick out a more permanent residence," he said, falling back on courtly protocol, his mind whirling. "You've had a long journey – you are more than welcome to take the rest of the afternoon for yourself."
"Thank you, my lord." With that and a shallow parting bow, the dark-haired man left the room. Arthur was left sitting on the cold throne and feeling more empty than he had ever thought possible.