Never Break Heart

A Merlin Fanfiction (Merlin/Lancelot, mentions unrequited Merlin/Arthur, Lancelot/Gwen, Merlin/Will)

Set immediately after the Season 3 finale. Merlin trudges back to his room, a mixture of weary and proud, only to find that goodness has its own reward. SLASH. Merlin/Lancelot

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Finally, after what has felt like the longest day of your life, you are able to collapse onto your slim cot and close your eyes. Your shoulders are aching from the weight of hefting the dragon-sword, and your soul is worn down with the use of your magic. But now it is over. Camelot is safe – at least right at this minute – and the sword is secure in the stone. Your job, you feel quite rightly, is done. For today anyway.

You groan as you attempt to turn over from where you have slumped face first onto the mattress, then give up. Your clothes will have to wait. Washing and teethbrushing, and any of those other last minute must-do-before-bed-so-you-can-get-a-good-night's-sleep things will have to be put on hold too. Just until you have napped a bit. A couple of days. Maybe.

You play the events of the last forty-eight hours over and over in your mind, but it is not on the destruction of the army, or the disappearance of Morgana on which you focus – it is the thought of Arthur at the round table. It is at that glimpse of the king he will become. You remember how he found you after the fight: how he walloped you around the head for not preventing the warning bell, and then how he suddenly hugged you to him, tight, like seeing you alive mattered. How his body was beneath your fingers, and his scent beneath your nose, and you feel your own body begin to react at the memory. And then you groan again as you think 'why now?' when you are too tired and spent to do anything about it.

Then you remember how he pulled Gwen in for a kiss and, despite how proud you are for your actions today, you hate yourself a little. Again. Like every night.

Now, now you find the energy to roll over onto your back and stare at the ceiling; the exasperation like an adrenaline boost. You bring your hands down to the sides of the bed and grasp the wooden frame beneath. You squeeze until you know your knuckles must be white, even in the dim candlelight. You try to force yourself to think of something else, to let your imagination drift in any other direction. This unrequited love, lust, for Arthur has been going on for nearly four years now and you swear there is an actual pain in the hollow of your chest. You think you can hear it when your heart beats.

You close your eyes and search your memories for a different moment to concentrate on – one that doesn't involve Arthur in your arms. You allow yourself to drift back to last night, to sleeping on a stone-cold floor in a castle of ghosts. You remember how Lancelot moved his bed next to yours. How he waited for everyone else to fall asleep before he leant over and into your space and just when maybe, maybe you dared to think… he talked to you about your plan and your magic. And now, retrospectively, you are relieved that's all it was because Gaius was listening in; talking about magic made a much more sensible eavesdropping topic.

Your brain is just beginning to hum, remembering the first time you'd brought him into Camelot and laid him down onto your bed to recover, when a sound in the room outside snaps you back to the present.

"Why, Lancelot, just look at you! I am so terribly proud," Gaius is gushing and you almost feel like you can see Lancelet's bowed head and growing blush through the door.

"About time." Gaius adds. And now you are curious. You let go of the bed and push yourself up onto your elbows to get a better view of said door.

"Thank you Gaius, I never would have made it this far without your and Merlin's help." You wonder if there is a hitch to his voice when he says your name, and then decide you must have left your imagination idly running in the background.

"Is he here?" You hear him ask, and this time you are sure you can hear Gaius nodding.

"He may be asleep though, it has taken it out of him – all this, today."

"I won't wake him-"

"I'm not asleep!" You holler through the door, and Gaius's eyeroll is definitely audible, but soon drowned out by the sound of Lancelot running up your steps and opening the door.

Your grin could split your face in two. He is decked out in the full Camelot Knight regalia, and he turns slowly to show it off; his face a picture of pride and embarrassment. You start to laugh, sitting up fully and swinging your legs out over the edge of the bed.

"Wow, just, just wow. What did I tell you?" You can't take your eyes off him.

He smiles shyly then starts to laugh with you. You push yourself to your feet, cover the two steps it takes to reach him, and pull him into a hug. But you have forgotten how tired you are and, being you, you slip in the process, instead nearly cannoning him into the wall.

"Do you mind keeping it down?" Comes Gaius's clipped tones from the other room. Then his voice softens as he adds, "Some of us are old and need a good night's sleep in a bed and not a cave."

You shake your head, covering your eyes quickly with your palm, then step away from Lancelot to throw a "Sorry" into the other room and shut the door. You lean back against it, still grinning like an idiot, and then look up into Lancelot's eyes and are still. It is as if a hush has come over the room with the simple act of closing the door, and your single candle creates a warm glow that flickers over his features and yours.

:-:

You think of another night like this, your memory picking up where it left off. When Lance was in your room and in your bed and nearly fully recovered, and you asked him how you could say thank you for him saving your life. And he had reached for your neckerchief and pulled you down towards the warmth that was him, and kissed you, in this room.

And how you had let him, and how you had wanted him. And he had been sweet and shy, and so unlike Will back home, who used to kiss you like he was desperate for you and you couldn't kiss back quick enough. And then when Lance had pulled you down onto the bed with him and held your head in his hands, he had asked if he could sleep with you. And you knew it wasn't going to be like all your daydreams about Arthur, with yourself in your hand and his name on your lips. And it wasn't going to be like the sudden grope and tug and pull – the games you played with Will. You wondered, vaguely, if he wanted to make love to you.

And you had tried to stop him, to explain that you didn't, couldn't, love him. But the words had got lost on your lips as he kissed you, and hell if you didn't really like him. And then he had pulled away to say – "It's Arthur, isn't it?" And you had nodded and thought you might cry. But then he was kissing you again, breathing into your mouth "I don't care", and "Please" over and over, and you had melted willingly into his arms, and desperately offered your body.

It had been that way for two nights. And then he was gone.

:-:

He takes a step towards you; you feel his caution travel down his body into the floorboards and creep up your legs.

"You were brilliant today," He starts, and you stop him with a finger to his lips. You feel your eyes turn serious, reflected in his.

"I couldn't have done it without you."

He takes your wrist and lowers your hand. "We make a good team."

You have started to lose yourself in those eyes, when you remember his injury.

"How's your shoulder?"

He steps back and starts to remove his cloak. "A long cut, but not deep. Mostly bruised. Gaius treated it for me." He raises his eyebrows as if asking if you want to see and, as you reach for his chainmail, he starts to pull at his belt. And you know, like a dragon of guilt curled up inside you, that it is just an excuse to get things started, that in helping to undress him you are committing to hurting him all over again. But then you recall the glance he gave Gwen when she kissed Arthur, and you know he is cut deep already, and maybe it's fair to act as a substitute for him too.

You have reached his pale undershirt, and you help him to pull it up and over his head, watching him wince as it passes the bandage on his shoulder. You scrutinise it carefully, feeling the taut material against his skin and satisfying yourself it is not currently bleeding. He laughs at the face you must be pulling,

"You actually look like you know what you're doing."

"It's my greatest talent, looking like I know what I'm doing." You grin at him and he laughs again. "Now shh," you order, shaking a finger in his face, "You'll wake Gaius." You admonish in a whisper.

He sits down on the bed as he is reprimanded, then wraps his arms around your slim frame. You lean forward into him, moving your hands to cradle his head. Then you kiss him. You can almost taste the relief in his mouth as he opens up to you, and you realise he needs this as much as you do. One of your hands moves into his hair – its shorter than the last time you did this, and you can't figure out which way you prefer - when he starts pulling at your shirt and you force yourself to let go of him to help him.

He's less tentative than two years ago, his actions firm and sure, and you wonder briefly if learning to undress manservants is somehow part of a knight's training. You bend to remove the remainder of your clothing and reach for his waistband; he scoots back up and into the bed to allow you access as he raises his hips from the mattress. You crawl up him, and above him, and lower your skin to his, exposing all of you to all of him, and while it is a puzzle piece that doesn't quite fit, it does the job for now.

His mouth has found yours again and he is whispering "Can I? May I?" like it is in your power to deny him anything, and you are reminded of his humility and his faith in you. And this time when he sleeps with you, you think maybe it might be making love after all.

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