When It Rains, It Pours
A Merlin / Arthur FanFiction
Set during S3 The crystal cave
Missing scene from The Crystal Cave. The rain hurls down upon you both, but does nothing to wash away your guilt or his grief. M/A
:-:
You stand with your back against the hard stone of the castle, the chill of it seeping through your back and into your bones, like the rain which is soaking through your clothes to your skin. You watch as he hacks away at the dormant Knight, the only sounds those of his blade and his grunts. You think you are crying, but the downpour washes away any evidence before you can be sure.
Murder.
You bang your head back against the wall and for a moment he pauses in his actions. You are not even sure he knows you are there, and when he restarts the obliteration of his metaphor for grief you realise your presence doesn't matter.
If she dies, you have committed murder.
It is your guilt at your actions and your forced inaction at his heartbreak that make you buckle at the knees and slide slowly down the wall to the wet ground. Crouched, you bury your head in your hands and scream. The sound tears from your throat and is accompanied by the final stroke of Arthur's blade as he separates the head from the wooden mannequin. He hurls the sword away, leans forward with his hands on his knees, and slowly - finally - turns to look at you.
And maybe he stands straight and strides towards you, or maybe you lean back and pull yourself up and off the wall, but suddenly he is clinging to you and you are drawing him into your arms. He staggers against you and half pushes, half drags you into the nook between the stones. The rain is pelting down on you both and he matches the rhythm - banging his fists on your arms, your shoulders, your back.
He is all anger and grief and heartbreak. And you take the abuse willingly as punishment - no, more than that: each blow is justice in your soul.
Then is crying. Heartwrenching sobs that grow from his chest and stick in his throat. You finally slide a hand from behind his back and wipe his cheek. It is redundant for the weather is persistent, but at the touch of your fingers to his skin, he finally stills. He leans his weight on you and breathes heavily into your shoulder. Somehow in the action, your hand has wound itself round his neck and in his hair.
Then, abruptly, he steps back, pushes you from him, turns, and starts to stride away. You lean back against the wall he has thrust you upon and look up at the sky; the heavens opening into your eyes, and your mouth, and your soul.
And he should be walking away - you saw him start to walk away! But he is in your light and grabbing your face in his worn hands, and he is kissing you.
It's harsh, and sudden, and as angry as his fists were on your body, or his grip was on his sword. And finally, you don't feel helpless, this, this is something you can do for him. And you kiss his grief and he kisses your guilt, and the rain pelts down upon you both. His hands haven't left your head, and yours are gripping his waist like you can hold to a life: whether it's yours, or his, or hers, you are unsure, but you must not let go.
As the rain begins to ebb, so does his ferocity. Until his touch is featherlight, and your kisses are like breathing. And he slowly moves his mouth away so he can rest his forehead upon yours as he closes his eyes.
Now, you think, now you must do what you can to save Morgana. For your heart which was hardened by the visions in the crystal, has melted beneath his touch.
