Chapter Two
There are rumours about the cabin a mile or so from the town.
People say the man who lives there is haunted by a girl, one with soft eyes and tatty clothes, who hangs around his shoulders, slowly driving him mad.
They say he's killed so many men he could build an army from the victims.
They say he doesn't exist, only a figment of a coward's imagination, made to scare children at night so they won't sneak out of their rickety whistle-stop.
He's left mostly alone, the man in the cabin, the one with a night sky for hair and forget-me-nots for eyes. The one who leans on a rifle like a cane; who drinks milk straight from the udders of cows. No one can know if these whispers contain any truth, but Arthur didn't stop long enough in the town to hear them.
And so it goes: Arthur gingerly grasps the teats of a particularly agitated cow, while Merlin watches from the porch, chewing a strand of grass, shouting instructions every now and then.
He's come to the conclusion that he likes Arthur. Despite their similar ages, he has decided he will take the blonde on as his protégé, teaching him the western ways so he no longer has to be alone. He's been isolated in this cabin for years, away from all the gunfire, but now he wants a taste again. He wants a thrill, the kind of ecstasy he got with… her.
It's about time, he'd say.
"Merlin," Arthur says nervously from the floor, "it's not working."
The cowboy leans over his knees, squinting at Arthur's hands from his station on the rocking chair. "Squeeze them harder," he orders, demonstrating with his hands, "be gentle but firm. You have to – "
There's a terrified moo! and then Arthur's crying out as the cow kicks in surprise, jumping out of the way and landing on his rear just in time. The large beast gives an irritated huff before wandering quickly off in the opposite direction to him, not wanting to be groped like that again.
Merlin is howling with laughter when Arthur finally stumbles to his feet, and begins to slap his knee loudly when the blonde shoots him a glare. "What were you trying to do?" he says between breaths, "squeeze the living daylights out of it?"
"Well if you just showed me – "
Merlin pulls himself up out of his chair, swaggering with confidence over to the closest cow. He inspects her udders. "These are full," he observes, kneeling swiftly and dragging a bucket over. "And now you grasp the teat…" he places a pale hand around the pink flesh, looking up at Arthur as he does so. "And pull." He drags his hand down and a white cream oozes out. "See? Gentle but firm. Here – "
He takes Arthur's hand in his own and places it on the udder. Manoeuvring his guest's tanned fingers over the teat, he squeezes out the milk, heads close together as they work.
"You see?" Merlin holds up the full bucket, grinning. "Go do another one. She needs milking." He points to the cow across from him. "I expect at least one full bottle's worth when I get back."
Bucket of milk swinging by his side, the taller man wanders back to the cabin, still chewing amiably on the stick of grass. Arthur sighs, bringing another bucket over to his next victim. He begins to milk her slowly, creating a rhythm as he does so.
He hears Merlin clattering about in the house a few metres back, and when he returns, Arthur's collected a substantial amount of fresh dairy and his partner is holding out a bottle of beer. The blonde accepts it gratefully, letting the amber fluid slip down his throat as he tips it against his lips. Merlin watches as he closes his eyes against the pounding sun, weary.
"Where'd you work before?"
Arthur raises his eyebrows at the question, bringing the nozzle of the bottle away from his mouth. "Why'd you want to know?"
Merlin shrugs, holding his gaze. He says nothing more, so Arthur clears his throat to break the silence.
"Mines," he states simply, taking another swig of his beer.
"I figured as much."
"Yeah?"
Merlin nods, running his thumb around the top of his own bottle. "Better than this?"
He considers the question for a moment, stretching his legs out on the sand and leaning back to face the midday sun. "I miss it," he admits, watching the clouds drift over the sky, "the dirty work, and the physical labour. But I could never go back."
The cowboy doesn't question him; simply nods and drinks lazily from his beer. They sit quietly, both lost in their past, alcohol sizzling quietly beneath their hands.
"Well," Merlin says finally, heaving himself up, "I can show ya a bit of physical labour, if you want."
Arthur smiles slightly, nodding. "Alright then."
The two men gather by a fence, and the more experience of the two eyes the animals in front of him, holding up a hand. "Sometimes," he says, pointing to a cow kicking dangerously at the wood on the other side, "you have to catch the cow. 'Cept, cows don't wanna be caught."
"I'm assuming this is where horses come in."
"You'd be correct." Merlin nods, smirking. "Wanna see my mare?"
He doesn't wait for an answer before wandering off towards a smaller construction beyond the fence. He jumps the barrier smoothly, and then gestures for Arthur to do the same. "This is my little stable here," he informs him, grinning with pride. Arthur hadn't noticed the building before – there wasn't much to see, honestly. But the cowboy in front of him sands his hands together excitedly as he leads his new guest over, boots slowly becoming caked in dust.
Arthur hears her before he sees her. There's a loud whinny as Merlin approaches, and then the majestic form of a horse's head appears. She's a glossy brown, mane almost the same shade as her master's mop, and she greets him with tender eyes, shaking her head.
"Hey there," Merlin coos, and the blonde almost trips at the drastic change in tone. His deep, commanding voice has gone up several semitones as he pats the muzzle of his mount. He brings an apple out from the pocket of his trousers, and Arthur smiles as he lovingly feeds it to her. "This is Hunith," he says, turning to face his companion for a second. "There's another horse I ride, next door. His name is Lancelot." Arthur strides over to see a beautiful grey stallion peering out curiously over the gate. "He's strong-willed," Merlin adds, watching Arthur from his position, "but bravest little sod I've ever seen. You'll be riding him while you're here."
The blonde snaps his head round to face him, wide-eyed. "W-What?"
Merlin rolls his eyes, taking a step back from Hunith. "I said, he's yours."
"But Merlin – "
The man gives him a look that stops him short. Arthur snaps his mouth shut and turns once more to the beautiful horse in front of him. Lancelot sighs loudly through his nose, glancing up at his new master with curious eyes. Arthur smiles.
"Thank you, Merlin."
The cowboy nods, giving Hunith one last scratch behind the ears. "Come on," he says, moving back towards the cabin. "I'll fix us some lunch."
"So your milk." The new addition to Merlin's family of cows and horses swings one foot over the other, leaning back in his chair. The sky has become an electric blue, and is slowly making its descent into night. "You sell it to the town a couple miles back?"
Merlin nods, another beer in his hand. "This terrified little boy comes up and takes a basket with 'im every morning. Makes the whole trek up here." The cowboy chuckles slightly into his drink. "I don' know why they make 'im do it. He's only young."
Arthur frowns. "What do you mean?"
"What do you mean, what do I mean?"
The blonde knocks back the rest of his ale, taking a moment to swallow. "You said he's terrified."
The other man's mouth becomes a small 'o' in realisation, and he looks up to the darkening sky, a gentle wind brushing against the hollow of his cheek. "People generally are."
"Merlin."
His head lolls again to the side as he peers at Arthur. "There are rumours," he admits finally, setting his beer down by his feet. "'Bout me."
"What rumours?"
"Couple years ago, when I stopped bringing the milk down myself, people made up stories. Sayin' I'd gone mad or something." He bends over, rubbing his hands down his face. "'S not true though."
"Why did you stop bringing the milk down yourself?"
"Well, you're just full of questions tonight," he snaps back, accidentally kicking his bottle over in his frustration. He regards the spill distantly as the umber liquid soaks between the cracks in the wood. He seems lost for a moment, eyes clouded over with memories. Shaking his head, their eyes meet again, and Merlin sighs quietly. "I'm sorry. Just tired."
He stands up, picking the empty beer bottle up with him. "I've had enough for tonight," he says, though Arthur can't help but notice that he now appears to be completely sober. Once again, he finds himself wondering about Merlin, this enigmatic cowboy that had taken him in despite the circumstances. The people in the town obviously fear him, but how could they? Merlin, with his easy smile, with his old worn hat, with his warm cracked hands?
And Merlin, with his haunted eyes, tidal nature, and perfect aim.
Should Arthur be scared of him too?
"I'm off to bed," the taller man says simply before pushing through the back door, leaving Arthur on the porch, alone with his thoughts.
The next morning, Arthur is woken with the sound of boots banging on loose wooden boards. He's blearily blinking his eyes when Merlin bursts into the room, hands laden with ropes, shooting him a cheeky grin.
"Up and at 'em," he chirps, manoeuvring the lasso in his arms. "We're doing some cow herding!"
"What?" Arthur heaves himself upright, blonde hair all flyaway. "Doesn't the fence keep them in?"
Merlin stares at him, incredulous. "That's not what the fence is for, dumbass. I only close it for milking."
"So… that means – "
"The cows have been roaming the field all night, yeah." He rolls his eyes, shifting his arms again. "How would you like it if you were stuck in a pen all the time?"
And with that, he marches out of the room, leaving Arthur to find something clean to wear.
And that's when he sees it. On the chair next to his bed, lies a fresh set of clothes. He runs his fingers over the white cotton, lost for words. When had Merlin left these in here?
Hastily getting dressed, he slips on his tattered boots, somehow forgetting all of his doubts from before.
When he finally gets outside, the sun is already beginning to swell in the sky, and it doesn't take him long to spot his saviour. He sits tall on Hunith, a red neckerchief tied under his chin, hat tilted high against the horizon.
"Arthur!" he exclaims when he spots the blonde approaching, and before he can reply, Merlin's chucked him some rope. "Lancelot's in the stable, saddled up." Arthur stands there, confused. "Hurry up then! We ain't got all day!"
"But, Merlin – "
"I'm not having any 'I can't ride a horse' nonsense. Get your goddamned mount out here already."
Stumbling, Arthur makes his way to the stables, finding the stunning grey horse prepped and ready. He's taken aback once more by Lancelot's strength; the muscles in his thighs move distinctly below his smooth hide. Gasping, he lets his hand graze over the stallion's nostrils. The rough air tickles his palm as the horse breathes.
"Arthur!"
Growling, he leads Lancelot out of the stables, glaring hard at Merlin as he comes to a stop in front of the brown mare. "Well?"
"You need to get on first."
Arthur scowls. "I already told you – "
"Get on." He sighs in defeat, placing his leg into the stirrup and lifting himself onto the saddle. Once he's settled, foot either side, he waits for Merlin's next direction; gaze down as he focuses on staying on the horse. He doesn't get anything but the beating of hooves on sand, and a joyous shout. Startled, the blonde looks up to witness one of the most beautifully raw pictures he has ever come to face.
Merlin, hand raised to the heavens and his body arching off the horse, screams a raging battle cry and gallops full speed at a wandering cow. Alarmed, the beast takes off running. With a loud snap, Merlin throws out his lasso, spinning it in the air like a tornado. Mesmerised, Arthur gapes as the cowboy appears to leap entirely off his horse, rope leering after the cow like the hands of gods. There's another yell as she becomes ensnared in the rough cords, and the horse slows to a trot as Merlin laughs breathlessly, blue eyes closed against the sun.
And Arthur loves it. He loves every second. The screams of rapture, the euphoric streams of colour and sunlight, the heat scalding the backs of your hands and parching your tongue as you submit yourself entirely to the chase. Arthur wants it, the strength that comes with a horse galloping beneath you, and the freedom that comes with creating your own wind in a desert.
When Merlin comes to a standstill next to him again, cow at his side, cheeks red with breathlessness, Arthur holds out his own rope, eyes gleaming.
"Teach me," he says, and Merlin smirks, unties something from his saddle, and places a beige Stetson hat on his head.
A/N Okay so I know this is really soon after the last chapter but it was finished so why not post it? Don't expect this to be the norm though, I rarely actually have time to write :') I hope you're all enjoying it so far, I'm really enjoying writing it. Happy reading!
-tapeandblades