.x
*
Merlin's first kiss had been from Leia, when he was fourteen. It didn't really feel like anything, a clumsy giggling dab of lips against lips, and the crackling fire from the village Beltane feast dancing in the background. Her hair looked like flames, and she gave him a bunch of flowers, a glance under her eyelashes and ran, laughing away. Merlin stared after her, stunned. Will whacked him upside the head and stole his flowers. He threw them in the bonfire and Leia slapped him across the face.
When Merlin left for Camelot, Leia gave him a press of heather for protection; peony for luck.
When Merlin came back, she was married to the carpenter's son.
*
Arthur hadn't spoken a single word to Merlin since yesterday.
He had disappeared before nightfall and Merlin had sat outside on the steps of his mother's house for hours, waiting for Arthur to return. He watched the treeline for silhouettes, while his supper grew cold on the table. The silhouette never emerged, and Merlin didn't remember falling asleep but he must have, for when he wok, he was still inside the house, wrapped in his blanket and sprawled across two bedrolls – Arthur, still missing.
They burned Will's body that morning, before dawn.
It was still dark; the sun, absent. The pyre blew smoke into Merlin's eyes. It stung a little; dry and hot. But he didn't weep. He hadn't any tears left for crying. He hadn't any words left to say.
And now Will was gone.
Gwen and Morgana stood to the side, whilst his mother held his shoulders and the rest of the village stood a little way behind them. Another death, they would whisper, that Merlin boy and his magic. He stared resolutely into the fire, the flames that were rising with the smoke. And Will was gone because Merlin had failed him. Merlin had never hated his wings more, wanted to rip them from his back along with the magic that still curled golden inside his chest. He wanted to tear it out with a knife, useless, useless, useless, tear it out like the absence of Arthur by his side.
He clutched Will's amulet in his pocket and let the wood dig an indent in his palm like a promise.
"I'm sorry," someone said, and Merlin looked up to see Morgana suddenly beside him, a dark blue cloak wrapped about her shoulders and her eyes red. From smoke or tears, Merlin didn't know. "I know he was your friend."
Merlin nodded, but could not bring words to his throat. Arthur no doubt hated him now, though that possibility didn't inspire the panic that it should have. Merlin felt as if everything he was had been taken and twisted and wrung out until he could feel nothing more, even as his carefully constructed illusions fell apart one by one.
Morgana offered him a small smile, brushed a comforting hand against his arm for a moment, then turned away.
"I couldn't save him," said Merlin after they had both long gone, and it was just Merlin and his mother by the pyre. "Why couldn't I save him?"
Hunith did not answer, but enveloped her son in a tight embrace which Merlin could not return, his hands as cold as the rest of him.
"Merlin," said Hunith, "You would have died."
Merlin thought that his feathers would always now carry the scent of smoke. Something he couldn't shake, even when the pyre had burned down and all that was left was a pile of ash on the grass.
"I know," Merlin replied, wistfully, and Hunith pulled back, her eyes wet with tears.
"No. No, don't ever- you must promise me," said his mother, pulling him even closer.
"It should have worked," said Merlin, blankly, "Will should be here."
Hunith was crying now, tears damp on her face.
Merlin had always thought that Arthur finding out about his wings would be something of a bang. Perhaps during some conflict where Merlin had no choice but to reveal himself. Perhaps when saving Arthur's life during an attack. But he couldn't save anyone if he could not save Will.
"I don't want my magic anymore," said Merlin.
In front of them, the pyre burned, the air shivered, and the ash smoke curled skyward, leaving the earth behind.
*
Beyond the treeline, Arthur could see smoke rising grey into the greyer sky. It was nearly dawn.
Retrieving his sword from where it stood embedded in the soft earth, he finally made his way slowly back to the village. Although he wouldn't admit it, he was afraid of seeing Merlin. Not afraid of what he might do – his anger had already burned down to hurt, his betrayal to the embers of confusion – but rather what he wouldn't do. Merlin had wings, for heaven's sake – was this magic? Arthur didn't know.
The fact that Merlin so easily gave his trust to someone he'd known for less than a day with his secret-
Arthur pushed the thought to the back of his mind. He paused in his steps, something catching his eye. Two sets of prints on the forest floor, undisturbed and fresh. Arthur bent down to examine them, then tracked them back the way he had come, his footsteps breaking into a run as he heard the unmistakable sound of hooves on forest floor. It was easier for him to dash through the trees than a horse with its bulk, and a moment later, Arthur sighted a rider making haste away from Ealdor. His face was masked with black cloth, the shine of a metal sword at his hip. One of Kanen's surviving raiders.
Unfortunately, the man saw Arthur at the same moment, and with a cry to his steed, urged it westward over a large fallen log.
"Halt!"
Arthur gave chase, unsheathing his sword as he ran, only skidding suddenly to a halt when something in the sky caught his eye.
Smoke. Not the trailing grey of the pyre that he knew was burning – but a billowing cloud to its left, bringing the scent of burning timber and ruin.
Arthur ran.
*
"I believed you would die, and that was a risk I could not take. You are too precious to me. You mean more to me than anything I know, more than this entire kingdom and certainly more than my own life."
At the time, Arthur didn't understand. He wanted to believe it – perhaps his father really thought he was going to die. In death, people were more honest, Arthur knew that – he had already seen too much of it. The words warmed his heart and the part of him that craved for his father's affection. As he grew older, age dampened these hopes, as age is wont to do. But even so, Arthur didn't really understand.
Now, he did.
*
When he arrived at the outskirts of the village (he hadn't realised how far into the forest he had really wandered, or how much ground he covered whilst running after the bandit), he could hear as well as see the fire and smoke that billowed from a small house, the flames hot and insistent, inching its way along the fences and to the neighboring cottages. Still running, he rounded the corner just in time to see Merlin – wings and all- run into the house, screaming,
"Leia!"
The house that was on fire.
Panic, new, overwhelming panic gripped Arthur by the throat. In that moment, all thought of hurt and betrayal vanished.
"Merlin!" he shouted, heedless as he pushed past a hysterical woman screaming for her daughter, ready to go after Merlin and drag him to safety. "Merlin!" Out of nowhere, Morgana caught him by the arm. Her fingers dug into his flesh.
"Arthur, you can't-"
"Merlin's in there!" he shouted over the heat of the flames, wrenching his arm free – but even as he did so, Merlin was stumbling out of the half-collapsed doorway, wings and face blackened with ash and soot. He had a girl with him, her straw blond hair equally covered in ash, and her shrieks of pain tore through the air, hands clawing at her face as Merlin collapsed with her on the grass. They were half hidden by people, some pouring pail-fulls of well-water in an attempt to put out the fire. Arthur broke free of Morgana and barreled his way to the front. He was just close enough to hear the tail end of a sentence,
"…be alright."
Before he dropped down next to the two of them, and the girl's screams suddenly tapered off. She sat up, slowly, staring at Merlin in awe with large hazel eyes. There were still small burns on her legs and palms, but her face was fine, from what Arthur could see. Covered in black, but fine. Odd.
"Oh," she breathed, "Thank you, Merlin, I-oh thank you."
"Are you alright?" asked Arthur, and the girl –Leia- had time to stammer out a "yes, sire" before her Mother pulled her away, sobbing loudly as they embraced. Arthur turned back to his manservant, who hadn't moved at all.
"Merlin? Merlin, are you hurt?"
Arthur gripped him by the shoulders, and Merlin jerked away, startled. His breathing was harsh, face white with pain. Arthur shook him, frantic.
"Merlin, what's wrong with you?"
"A-Arth-Sire?" his voice was dry with smoke, trembling with uncertainty.
"I'm here. Where does it hurt? God, never do that again you bloody idiot! You hear me? …Merlin?"
Merlin's hands, fumbling, reached up and clasped over Arthur's own on his shoulder, and Arthur could feel his fingers shaking as it felt over his knuckles and the ring on his fourth finger.
"It doesn't hurt, I'm fine," said Merlin, then broke into a coughing fit. His eyes were unfocused, irises an odd shade of pink and white filming over his usual clear blue. His fingers were still clasped around Arthur's and Arthur suddenly chilled to the bone, a sinking feeling in his gut. Gripped by a sudden, terrible thought, he let go of Merlin's shoulders and held up four fingers in front of Merlin's face.
"Merlin, Merlin look at me. How many fingers am I holding up?"
Merlin's eyes darted left and right, wildly.
"I can't- it's too dark." said Merlin, "It's too dark. Arthur, where are you?"
The fear in Merlin's voice nearly broke Arthur, panic written large across his expressive face. He took Merlin firmly by the arms again, slowly pulling them both upright so he could guide them away from the chaos.
"I'm right here," said Arthur, trying to keep his voice as steady as he could, "I'm right here."
"It's so dark," said Merlin again, almost a whisper, a hand coming up. It hit Arthur hard in the chest because Merlin had misjudged the distance, and it hurt, but fingers fisted in his shirt and Merlin seemed to be reassured a little.
"Come on, let's get you inside somewhere, have a look-"
"I think I've gone blind," said Merlin, trembling under Arthur's hands like a foal in winter. "Everything's so dark."
"It's just concussion," said Arthur. "Just temporary. You'll be fine, I promise."
Merlin tripped over an uneven section of the dirt road, hands flying out to brace himself against nothing, almost falling over.
"Sorry! Sorry, I can't-"
Arthur looped one arm around Merlin's back, beneath the nook of his wings, and under his knees, hoisting him off the ground and carrying him the rest of the way towards the familiar doorway of Hunith's cottage. For once, Merlin didn't protest, eyes open as wide as they would go, as if it would return his sight to him. Merlin felt so light in his arms that, for a moment, Arthur wondered if his bones were hollow.
They made it back to Hunith's house.
Arthur deposited Merlin on a stool, and Merlin gripped the edge of it with white fingers, eyes darting blindly everywhere. Hunith placed a jug of fresh water on the table, dipped a cloth into it and proceeded to wipe the ash and grime from Merlin's face. He jumped when the cold water touched his cheek.
"I'm going to have a look at your eyes, alright?" asked Arthur, and Merlin turned his head towards him, eyes fixed on a point slightly to Arthur's left.
"Okay."
Carefully, with thumb and forefinger, Arthur parted Merlin's eyelid, revealing that strange film of milk white and flecks of blood in both eyes. Arthur felt a sinking sensation in his stomach, dread, as he pulled back.
"Arthur?"
Not wanting to see Merlin's blank, unfocused gaze, Arthur turned to speak to Hunith instead.
"I've…seen this before. It seems that the eyes have been injured by the fire, though I'm not sure how because there are no burns on his face, he-"
"Is sitting right here," said Merlin, annoyed, "Just because I can't see you right now doesn't mean I'm not here."
"I don't know how long the blindness would last," said Arthur, bluntly, "The red would indicate that your eyes have been damaged by fire, but there are no burns on your skin. It doesn't make sense."
Merlin fidgeted where he sat, but remained silent.
"Is there any change at all?" asked Arthur.
Merlin blinked hard, letting go of the table to rub one eye. He winced.
"It's still dark. Just…black."
"Does it hurt?"
"No," said Merlin, and Arthur could tell he was lying. He was a terrible liar. Well, perhaps not always.
"You need to rest," said Hunith, speaking up for the first time, eyes red-rimmed and face pale. She made her way around the table and helped Merlin stand, guiding him around the chairs and towards where their bedding was still laid out on the dirt floor. Arthur hovered, feeling useless. Hunith helped Merlin out of his boots and ash-stained coat, tucking him under the blanket. Merlin's eyes were still wide open, staring blankly. He twisted, trying to sit up again, reaching out with one flailing hand.
"Arthur-"
Arthur caught Merlin's hand, which gripped his own with fumbling fingers.
"I'm right here."
"Keep talking. Can you keep talking?"
"Demanding, aren't you?" said Arthur, trying to inject some levity into the situation. The smile left him hurting. He pushed Merlin down so he was lying under the covers, the day warming a little as the sun rose over the horizon. It was nearly winter; everyone could feel it coming, cold and insistent. Merlin didn't let go of his hand, and Arthur didn't want to admit how much comfort it gave him.
"Don't think I've forgotten about your wings," said Arthur, "As soon as you're better, we're going to have a long talk about how you're a dirty, disobedient liar."
"Mm," said Merlin, eyes closed.
"Do you know what happens to filthy liars?" continued Arthur; "They get thrown in the stocks for the rest of their lives, that's what happens. So don't think I'm going to be letting you off. As soon as we're back in Camelot, you'll be mucking out all the stables, and then you can polish my boots – properly, not like how you usually do it."
Merlin snorted, "Your boots are fine."
"Go to sleep," retorted Arthur.
"Can't," said Merlin, yawning.
"God knows, you're such an idiot, why did you run after her?" Arthur burst out, "You could have died! Is it too much to ask that you don't go throwing yourself in mortal danger every after day? I feel like you've taken a decade off my life already."
Sunlight was streaming through the cracks in the windows, the sounds of shouting the fire very far away.
"You're such an idiot," said Arthur again, voice breaking on the last word, "I can't even leave you alone for a minute."
Merlin didn't reply.
For a long, long time, Arthur watched him sleep, and thought about Will and Leia. He thought about secrets and fires.
And he thought about wings.
*
"I know," said Hunith.
Arthur could feel ice shiver up his spine at her words, her expression.
"But Merlin is my son, so I cannot be sorry for what you did."
*
Merlin didn't fall asleep.
Even though he was exhausted to the bone from grief and magic, his eyes hurt something awful, and he could not ignore the stifling blackness. Nonetheless, he closed his eyes and tried his best. Reckless, Gaius would say, and Merlin supposed he was. But he didn't care; Leia had been screaming, screaming, and hadn't known what was happening, only that she was in terrible pain and he could save her.His useless magic and even more useless wings, but her- her he could save.
When his vision had blackened out in a burst of pain, Merlin had known something was terribly wrong.
He lay in his bedding, pretending to sleep and listening to the occasional scuffle of boots on dirt or fabric shifting. He could hear other sounds too; people calling to each other, words muffled by distance. The sound of birds, the scratching of something in the walls, the clop-clop of hooves. The sound of Arthur breathing.
Cautiously, Merlin opened his eyes, hopeful.
The world was just as dark as before.
He let out an involuntary whimper, and immediately the hand in his pulled away.
"You awake?"
It was odd, thought Merlin, the sensation of looking, moving his eyeballs, but seeing nothing. Just endless, overwhelming pitch. He could tell that Arthur was close; he could feel the presence of him by warmth and smell, but he had no idea where.
"Yes," he said, reaching out tentatively with both arms, tapping the air in front of him until his fingers hit something.
Arthur.
"Is it any better?" asked Arthur, helping him sit up. Merlin swatted a hand at him, annoyed at the coddling.
"No," he said, reluctantly, "It's all black."
A sigh to his right.
"We need to get you to Gaius," said Arthur after a long moment's pause.
Gaius couldn't help, thought Merlin, but didn't say anything. This was an injury formed of magic. Leia must have been blinded by fire and Merlin's magic had simply targeted the most serious injury, transferring it to Merlin. And he had no idea the extent of Leia's burns, nor how long it would take for his eyes to heal…if at all. The thought of being trapped by never ending darkness made him feel faint, his heart beating a tattoo against his ribs.
"How long was I asleep?" he asked instead.
Rustle of cloth.
"Not very long. Two candle-marks at best, it's not yet midday. Here."
He felt Arthur's hand grip his own wrist, pushing a small cup into his hands and helping Merlin guide the cup to his lips. Even so, Merlin managed to spill half the cup down his front, the water cold and sweet on his tongue.
"More, please," he said, and Arthur took the cup away for a moment and Merlin could hear the gurgle splash of water being poured from a jug. This time, he didn't spill as much, drinking greedily and nearly choking when he swallowed too fast. Arthur thumped him on the back and confiscated his cup.
There was more rustling, the sound of Arthur standing and Merlin tilted his head, trying to follow. Blackness.
"We must leave as soon as possible," said Arthur, "You need Gaius. He will be able to help."
"Leave?" said Merlin, uncomprehending, "But I can't see."
"We can work something out, if you- hey, stop you can't just!-"
There was a sudden confusing flurry of noise and movement and someone was right in front of Merlin, he could feel their breath on his face and hard fingers on his shoulders and he jumped, startled, trying to pull away, this wasn't Arthur-
"Oh Merlin!" someone exclaimed from further away.
"Morgana, stop." Arthur. "You can't just grab him like that-"
Morgana. Merlin stopped struggling, spreading his wing as far back as they would go so she wouldn't accidently brush her hands against feathers.
"Arthur told us what happened," said Morgana. Merlin frowned. Perhaps he did fall asleep after all. "You still…?"
"Can't see," said Merlin, nodding. There was another movement, this time to his left (someone else approaching?) and he turned his head reflexively to look, but the black was all he could see.
"Does it hurt?" asked someone, new. Gwen. "I mean, it must hurt, that was a stupid question but is it any better? Though-"
"I'm fine," he lied.
"You mustn't be so reckless!" Morgana admonished, hugging him, "Look what's happened. Oh Merlin."
"He can't breathe," said Arthur, sounding irritated, "have you packed everything?"
"Yes, sire," said Gwen, and she moved. Where, Merlin couldn't tell. All the voices and movement was giving him a headache.
"Merlin?" It was Hunith, and Morgana's touch disappeared to be replaced with his mother's warm embrace, sudden and smelling of flour and grass.
"Mother," said Merlin, "Can't I just stay here for a while?" The thought of having to travel when he was like this filled him with dread. It was bad enough sitting still and trying to decipher everything through the darkness but even the concept of walking by himself…
There was silence.
"Arthur is right- I'm no physician. You need to see Gaius."
"Perhaps we should wait another day," said Morgana.
"We can't afford to tarry!" said Arthur, voice rising, "Father will be furious as it is and-"
"So you're more worried about your favour with your father than Merlin's well being?"
"You-!"
Merlin flinched at the anger in Arthur's voice.
"He can't travel like this!" Merlin couldn't tell who it was that had spoken, the darkness pressing down on all his sense, not just his eyes. It was almost suffocating.
"He can ride with me," said Arthur decisively, "We'll use his horse to carry the packs. If we depart now, we might make it to Camelot tomorrow."
"He's not well enough-"
"Perhaps it's only temporary?"
"He needs rest-"
"What Merlin needs is a physician!"
"Well, it won't do if he falls and breaks his neck, would it?"
Merlin frowned.
"Are you saying-" started Arthur, sounding indignant. This could go on forever.
"I can ride," said Merlin, and everyone fell into sudden silence.
The silence stretched on so long that Merlin was beginning to wish for them to start arguing again, anything to fill the dark, roaring empty space in side his own head, where he was trapped without colours or light.
Finally, Arthur spoke.
"That's settled then. We leave in one candlemark."
*
The question was this:
Why couldn't he save Will?
*
Arthur couldn't take his eyes off Merlin's wings.
His new ability to think 'Merlin' and 'wings' in the same sentence was a feat in itself. He had left him alone with Hunith to see to the horses, and now stood outside the cottage door, unsure whether he could interrupt them.
He knocked. Paused. Then pushed open the door.
Merlin was standing near a recently abandoned stool, wings slightly unfolded for balance as he waved away Hunith and made his way around the table, one hand smooth wooden edge. He was looking to the empty space to Arthur's right, the blank, unfocused quality of his usually sharp eyes made Arthur feel sick.
"You ready?" he asked, holding out a hand to grasp Merlin's arm before the latter could walk into him.
"Yeah," said Merlin, trying to retrieve his arm back. "I can walk by myself," he said indignantly and then promptly fell out the doorway because he couldn't see where the steps began. Arthur just managed to catch him round the waist.
"No," said Arthur grimly, "You can't. Come."
Slowly, they walked towards where the horses were waiting, surrounded by some of the villagers who had come to fare them well. Arthur noticed that Merlin's shoulders grew tense at the barrage of voices, and his eyes flicked blindly, darting, everywhere, as people walked about and hens clucked in their pen. He walked in small, shuffling steps, wary and painfully uncertain. Almost unconsciously, he moved closer to Arthur's side, one hand coming up to grip the sleeve of his shirt as Morgana walked towards them, footsteps crunching loudly in the dirt.
"It's Morgana," said Arthur, reassuringly, "I'm going to mount first. Then she'll help you up behind me."
"But my wings-" protested Merlin, worried, "She'll-"
"She'll what?" asked Morgana.
"She'll help you up," said Arthur, smoothly. Maneuvering Merlin so that his wings were facing away from Morgana, and Arthur helped her hoist him into the saddle before mounting in front. The mare fidgeted slightly, and Merlin's arms immediately wrapped themselves around Arthur's waist. Tight.
"Merlin," said Arthur, with a quirk of an eyebrow.
"Sorry. Sorry, sorry," muttered Merlin, and Arthur could hear the barely suppressed fear in his voice. Merlin had never been a particularly competent rider – he bounced around the saddle like a sack of potatoes. As a knight, Arthur had been trained to fight, mount and ride blindfolded, but for Merlin…
"It's alright," he said, "Hold on if you have to."
Merlin loosened his arms, and Arthur felt a strange sense of disappointment which he ignored. It was just stress.
Hunith stood to the side, eyes wet with tears.
"Take care," she said, and Merlin shifted. Arthur could tell he was trying to seek her out amongst the confusing babble of sound.
"I will, Mother."
Arthur nodded to Hunith, made sure Merlin was firmly seated and spurred his horse out of Ealdor.
*
The more Arthur thought about Leia, the more uneasy he felt. Because there was the fact that there were barely any burns on Merlin, and none on his face; only a few scratches and grazes. How had the flames injured his eyes, and nothing else? It made no sense.
In his mind's eye, he saw Will, face contorted with emotion, Merlin dead on the ground. It's not my secret to tell. Will, you really don't know. Will, you're going to kill me anyway, Pendragon.
Secrets, thought Arthur.
*
Merlin must have fallen asleep at some point, lulled by the steady rocking movement of the horse's gait and the sound of rustling leaves because next moment, he was tumbling out of the saddle.
A hand caught him by the upper arm and he was pulled back upright, disoriented in the still unfamiliar dark.
"Right," said Arthur, "Looks like we're stopping for the night."
Without light, Merlin had lost all sense of time, floating in a world of sound and sensation that was narrowed down to the gait of the horse, Arthur's scent near his nose, the texture of his shirt beneath his fingers and the curl of his magic deep within his belly. Despite the pain still lingering in his eyes, his magic hummed happily, the presence of Arthur making him warm.
Merlin tried to slip out of the saddle as he felt and heard Arthur dismount. The mare, jostled by Merlin's unruly limbs, whinnied and moved, almost dislodging him again.
"No, we're almost out of daylight anyway," said Arthur, guiding Merlin's hands to the reins, "Better find somewhere to make camp. Hold the saddle and stay still."
And then the horse was moving again, presumably with Arthur leading in front; Merlin couldn't tell. Behind them, he could hear the sounds of the other two horses and Gwen's soft voice as she and Morgana talked. He felt the cool of shadows as they wound their way into the forest, the canopy above them deepening so that soon, Merlin was suppressing shivers and folding his wings more tightly to his back.
Soon, they stopped and Arthur manhandled him out of the saddle. Merlin wobbled a little, legs unsteady as they always were after a long ride, and he kept one hand to the smooth warm leather, trying not to move at all. Everything was so unfamiliar, and he felt as if he would walk into something, or fall, as soon as he took a step.
"Someone needs to stay here with him while I gather some supplies," said Arthur. Merlin's heart lurched, but he tried to be brave, biting down on his lower lip.
"I'll stay with him," offered Gwen, and there was the sound of footsteps on wet grass, twig snapping, once, twice, and then a hand on his elbow, the smell of faint lavender water.
Merlin let her lead him, his steps painfully small, until she turned him around and urged him to sit, pressing gently on his shoulders. The rough texture of bark behind his back, cold moss through his shirt. Tree. Merlin pulled his knees to his chest.
"Are you alright?" asked Gwen from somewhere above him, and Merlin nodded.
Morgana and Arthur's voices, a little way away, muffled by the trees;
"I can hunt, you realise. Women aren't entirely useless."
"…For god's sake, Morgana, we need…."
Merlin leaned back against the tree, feeling the bite of cold – though the forest sheltered them from the worst of the night winds. He could hear the snorting of the horses, leather being pulled from the tack as Gwen bustled about. The thump of packs hitting the forest floor near Merlin's left, a scuttle of mice behind the roots of the tree. Blackness. He could hear more breaking of twigs, leaves rustling.
The forest was so loud. He could smell the sharp damp of earth in his nostrils, and feel the faint tinge of green to the magic. But he could not see.
He counted the seconds until he heard Arthur return, "Merlin," he announced, dropping what sounded like a pile of wood on the floor. Merlin breathed out again.
Flint, striking. Then the crackle of fire, like the one which had burned Leia's house, the fire that had sent Will away. It was nearly close enough for Merlin to feel its warmth, tingling.
The rustle of trees masked footfalls in the leaves, and Merlin flinched violently when someone's hand landed on his shoulder.
"Shhh- calm down, it's just me," said Arthur, "Sorry. Sorry, Merlin. Here, you need to get closer to the-"
"No," said Merlin, voice scratchy from hours of silence.
"You'll freeze," insisted Arthur, pulling him forcibly up by the armpits and Merlin struggled, kicking out.
"What the- stop this at once," said Arthur, anger creeping back into his voice and Merlin knew he should be reasonable, he could feel Arthur nearly cracking under the multiple revelations of the last few days, truths and secrets and lies all mixed together in a bloody stain but-
"You're being ridiculous! For heaven's sake-"
The fire should be yellow red, but all Merlin could see was black.
"Please," he said, and he was surprised to hear his own voice sounding like it did. As if, being blind, he forgot he could speak. He blinked furiously, out of reflex. He could hear Morgana talking somewhere to his left. Horses shifting. He stood still.
Arthur paused, and Merlin heard him sigh.
"You have to move closer to the fire, Merlin – it's too cold."
Slowly, finally, Merlin relented. Arthur guided him forwards ten or so steps, then urged him to sit on something softer and smoother than wet leaves. His bedding. There was already the smell of something cooking, and Merlin's stomach protested hungrily. He could feel the heat on his face, and he tried not to move.
He listened to the sounds around him, the sensation of his eyes, still open, useless now, like the fold of his wings.
More damned rustling, confusing and everywhere around him. Someone crouched down to his right; Merlin could feel the faint press of human company. Sound of sparks, and then something hot being pressed into his hands.
"Here," said Arthur, and Merlin held the bread up. It smelled heavenly, and he took a bite, thankful he didn't miss his mouth and embarrass himself. There was a slice of hard cheese melting between the bread, and Merlin savored the burst of flavour on his tongue, the moment of colour. Within moments he had finished, picking the crumbs from his fingertips.
Arthur chuckled beside him, and a somewhere, Morgana laughed.
"More?"
He nodded, and something else – not bread- was placed in his palm. The texture was rough between the pads of his fingers, and when he took a bite, he realized it was the last of the trail-rations Arthur packed; jerky. Meat was a luxury, and Merlin chewed as slowly as he could, concentrating on the process of eating, letting his eyes fall shut so he could pretend.
Arthur was being unexpectedly kind, all things considered. What with Merlin's deception for the better part of two years, the wings and – Merlin shivered- the magic Arthur still did not know about. He should tell him, he should have told him about everything a long time ago. Destiny blurred the line between right and wrong, it took your 'shoulds' and twisted them into 'musts'.Destiny was about passions and fears and illusions, life and death, secrets and sacrifice. Merlin twisted a finger in the chain around his neck, over the ring that hung there. The metal was warm from his chest; smooth against fingers.
He was so close.
Emrys
Merlin started.
"What?"
A twig snapped by his ankle.
"Er…" came Arthur's voice, "Merlin?"
"Did you hear that?"
Emrys.The voice said once more, familiar. Emrys, we can help you.
"Hear what?" The sound of metal against leather. Arthur drawing out a blade. "Merlin, are you alright?"
Come, Emrys.
Merlin turned his head blindly, trying to detect where the person was hiding, where the voice was coming from…before he realized that the voice was inside his own head. There were only ever two beings that Merlin knew could speak telepathically.
Warily, he thought as loudly as he could.
Mordred?
Yes.
Distantly, he heard Arthur; "Merlin. What-"
Where are you?
Hidden. There are others with me. We can help you.
I thought you had gone from Camelot.
I owe a debt to you, Emrys. I never forget.
How-
Merlin was brought sharply back to his own body when Arthur slapped him on the cheek. It stung.
"Merlin! Merlin, snap out of it!"
Loud. Arthur's breath on his face, voice laced with worry. Merlin could hear it, and his magic reached out to comfort. Merlin pulled it back with his wings, tucking them close to his body.
"Stop shouting-!" Morgana.
"Is he-" Gwen.
"What happened?" asked Arthur, lowering his voice, but the grip on Merlin's arm didn't lessen.
Emrys. You must come to us.
"Nothing," Merlin lied. Another lie. "I-I just fell asleep. Wasn't concentrating, sorry."
Although Merlin couldn't see Arthur's face, he could tell Arthur didn't believe him. To his surprise, however, Arthur's hand disappeared from his arm, letting the subject go without further questioning. Merlin swore he heard a disappointed exhale of breath. His heart twisted.
"You better get some rest then. We ride early tomorrow. Morgana."
There was a confusing mess of noises which Merlin gave up trying to decipher, clumsily pulling off his boots and clambering into his blankets. Voices, whispering, footsteps everywhere and Merlin edged away from the heat where he knew the fire still glowed. Shuffling. A grunt, and the shing of metal.
Emrys, said Mordred once more, you must come to us before dawn. We cannot venture into Camelot.
How did you know what had happened? Asked Merlin.
A pause.
The Fae felt the magic, replied Mordred, the turn of life and death where there should have been none. Then your pain.
The fae?
We can talk later, said Mordred, you must come to us.
"G'night, Merlin."
But Merlin didn't hear.
You can help me? The blindness-
There was a long pause, and Merlin, desperate, could only hear the rustle of leaves and the turning of bodies. Flame, dying to embers; the smell of wood-smoke in the air. Black, black, black, black-
Yes.
But I can't see. How do I find you?
I will guide you.
Tense under the thin cover of his blanket, Merlin tried to level out his breathing, simultaneously listening for the rhythm of Arthur's somewhere beside him. As if sensing his indecision across their mental link, Mordred said,
You must wait until the Prince is asleep, Emrys.
He'll hear me, thought Merlin, torn, - he doesn't know.
And it must remain that way.
Merlin didn't reply.
*
"There was a time when you would think twice before lying to me."
Merlin stared at Gaius, wanting to say, you're not the only one.
*
Arthur was a light sleeper. He needed to be; the battle field did not leave room for rest and his dreams, when he had them, were faded and brief like fancies. He could usually pull himself awake easily enough.
It had been the whisper of wind that woke him; the tell-tale signs of someone else's breaths in the room. He lay in his bed, feigning sleep, as he heard something brush against his bedpost. Footsteps, too light to be heard except for the pause of the air it landed on. The intruder crept closer, and Arthur kept his breathing long and languid, acutely aware of the handle of the knife, just within reach under his pillow. He shifted his right wrist slightly, getting ready –
And in a flash, the assassin was upon him, knees pinning his legs down on the bed, one hand holding a long, lethal looking knife at Arthur's throat. Arthur's own knife. His wrists were pinned down also by some invisible force, and Arthur stared up into the face of the man above him-
It was Merlin.
Merlin.
Merlin, white wings illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the half closed curtains, skin fae pale, eyes a shocking blue. He was looking at Arthur calmly, without recognition, and Arthur could barely feel the touch of the blade on his skin. Merlin's wings were huge either side of him, down feathers fluttering in an unseen breeze; soft and untouchable.
"Merlin?" asked Arthur, heart tearing. The knife pressed closer to his throat, cold.
"God commands it, Arthur Pendragon," said the angel.
"No, Merl-"
"You killed Will," he said, and slashed downwards with the blade.
Arthur woke with a gasp.
*
Emrys.
Merlin paused at the edge of the forest clearing. It had taken him a painfully long amount of time just to get this far without alerting anyone; walking in pitch black, with only sound and touch to guide him.
Keep walking forwards. Quickly, come.
As well as Mordred's voice, now an almost constant, itching pretense in his mind. Taking a deep breath, he tried to take normal strides, catching his palm on the barks of trees as he went, striding forwards and stumbling over roots and uneven ground.
Turn north east. There, there- that's right. Keep going, Emrys.
A protruding tree root caught Merlin unawares and he tripped with a cry of surprise, landing sprawled on the ground, earth in his mouth. He lay there for a moment, aware of a dull pain in his ankle.
Emrys!
Mordred's voice was like a prayer. Merlin clambered to hands and knees, reaching out tentatively with both hands outstretched until he caught the familiar texture of rough bark beneath his palms. Pulling himself upright, he spat the dirt from his mouth, wincing at the coppery taste of blood on his tongue.
We can give your sight back to you. Come, come quickly.
It was hard. Merlin waited with baited breath as he walked onwards, each step preparing for a fall, the endless fear that the ground would open into sky in the next step he took…then the next…then the next. Branches caught on his skin and face, and soon he was covered in scratches. He winced as a particularly sharp piece of branch flicked backwards, missing his flailing hands and cutting him clear across the temple.
Come, Emrys, just a little further.
How far, Mordred?
Just a little further.
Taking a trembling breath, Merlin kept going.
He didn't know how long he walked, or how much ground he covered. It seemed like he had been walking forever, but the darkness distorted Merlin's other senses, such as time. Perhaps he had only gotten a little way, his steps small and wary, tripping over things and almost falling over obstacles that would not have been a problem, usually.
A twig snapped, the sound sharp as a whip crack in the stillness of the night.
Merlin twisted around, instantly tense. Gods, he hadn't even brought a dagger with him.
Perhaps it was an animal? A rabbit?
Mordred?
No reply.
Mordred! Where are you? Where am I?
Panicked. I must leave. We must go-
Merlin's heart was beating so fast he thought it was going to force its way out of his throat. The darkness didn't waver, solid, weighing down on his chest. He couldn't breathe.
No! Don't leave me here! Mordred!
Merlin heard the sounds of running footsteps, then a voice, Arthur's voice shouting "MERLIN! Merlin where-"
Crashes. Then Merlin was being slammed bodily into the tree he had been standing by, the breath knocked out of him as his feet temporarily left the ground. He choked, surprised, a ringing roar in his head.
Arthur was almost screaming into his face, voice cracked with fury, rising above a shout.
"What were you thinking? Wandering off in to the forest, blind, in the middle of the night?!"
Arthur jerked Merlin up, hands fisted in his shirt and slammed him back into the tree once more, the impact jarring along loose wings. He could feel the prince actually trembling with his anger, furious in a way he had not been when he found out about Merlin's secret. Arthur's hands moved to circle Merlin's biceps, fingers tight and bruising.
"You ungrateful, stupid, blasted- what possessed you?!" His voice was hoarse, scratched, as if he had been shouting for far too long, "What did you think you were doing?!"
"Arthur," said Merlin, the word riding out his last breath, and Arthur's hands abruptly disappeared. Merlin would have collapsed to his knees had Arthur not caught him. He coughed, heaving in the cold night air.
"What were you doing?" asked Arthur, shaking him, grip tightening when Merlin tried to pull away. "You will answer me right now."
"I thought I heard something," said Merlin, pleading. Mordred had fled. Oh gods.
"You thought you had- Goddamn, and you couldn't have woken me instead?"
And Arthur sounded so wretched, as if his words were being torn out him. Merlin reached forwards warily, palm finding Arthur's chest, open collar, neck- his face was damp beneath Merlin's fingers.
"What if I couldn't find you?"
With a jolt, Merlin realized there were tears.
He opened his mouth to apologize. He wanted to say, There was a promise, wanted to say, I don't want to be like this forever, and why could I save her and not Will? But then Arthur's hands came to cup the back of his neck, and that was all the warning Merlin had before Arthur's mouth slotted over his.
Arthur's lips were unexpectedly soft, and the forest around them seemed to sigh; or perhaps it was Merlin. Sound seemed to have been sucked into nothingness, like air from lungs. Arthur's ring dug into Merlin's skin as Merlin kissed back, fingers frozen on Arthur's jaw. Arthur groaned once, mouthing down Merlin's neck, biting at his pulse point. He pressed hot kisses into the skin there, leaving places for the wind to touch, and fitted their bodies together like two pieces of a puzzle.
"Arthur-" gasped Merlin.
And Arthur vanished from under Merlin's fingers.
There was only the sound of breathing and Merlin's own heart, hammering in his chest, a thousand times too large.
In that desperate moment, Merlin thought he could have flown.
:i:
[A/N] Poor Arthur, his little heart probably is about to burst from everything.