“The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion.” Albert Camus
Author: Chestnut NOLA
Fandom: Merlin (TV)
Relationship(s): Merlin/Arthur Pendragon
Word Count: 651
He wondered when Merlin was going to admit to having magic. It was obvious, now that he had finally seen through his lover’s lies. Lies that he knew to Merlin were necessary for survival. Merlin who’d survived the cold touch of the Dorocha, and would have offered up his life for Arthur’s, if Lancelot had not done so too quickly to be stopped. Merlin who’d pulled him invisibly from behind, ripping him away from his intended blood sacrifice. It could’ve only been Merlin, not Lancelot, nor Gwaine. Merlin was a sorcerer, a sorcerer working in the heart of Camelot for years, a sorcerer who was Arthur’s servant first, then friend, and more recently lover, after many years together. Merlin had magic, powerful magic. He was perhaps as powerful as Morgana, and had, Arthur understood now, thinking back on many things, thwarted her time and again for Arthur, for Camelot.
His door creaked open; soft light from the corridor touched the tall, thin figure briefly, before the shadows of his moonlit room enveloped Merlin in its pale light. Merlin was ethereal in the glow, treading softly toward his bed, and Arthur wondered why he had not see the otherworldly in his manservant before now. How did no one notice Merlin’s light of magic beneath his fine alabaster features?
Then Merlin tripped, bumping against the bed with a bang, and Arthur couldn’t help the smile that twitched at the corner of his lips with Merlin’s murmured, “Sorry.”
Merlin was a ridiculous fellow, clumsy, shamelessly insubordinate, and uncommonly kind to everyone. It must be the ears, Arthur thought. They were suitably distracting; at least Arthur had found them so for the longest time. Now they were just one feature in a host of others that made Merlin beautiful in his eyes, and maudlin in his thoughts.
Clothes rustled, whispering over Merlin’s skin, a sensuous sound until he bumped the bed again, his boots clopping on the stone floor. Arthur could see it all in his mind’s eye, he had no need to turn over and watch the awkward grace of Merlin.
“That’s my word,” Merlin breathed. The bedclothes swished, and a bit of cold air kissed his back before he was enfolded in warm smooth skin from head to toe.
“I’m the Prince, it’s my word now,” he said softly, as Merlin’s fingers smoothed over his side, around to his belly where he caught the long digits, tucking them to his chest with a kiss on rough knuckles.
Merlin gave a happy sighing kiss against his nape, wriggling and stretching, tucking his plump cock close under Arthur’s bottom. There was a low arousal between them, as there always seemed to be lately, but they were both tired from the day. Merlin would wake aroused with the larks, for a sleepy round of soft frottage, pulling pricks, or fucking, then Arthur would be allowed to go back to sleep until Merlin woke him again in a more dreadful, cheerful fashion.
He kissed Merlin’s hand again before tucking it under his chin, closing his eyes and willing sleep to come. The legacy of his father weighed heavily upon him with new knowledge. He’d not agreed with his father on the execution of those accused of using magic with little to no evidence besides the word of another, nor had he agreed with Uther’s determination to eradicate the Druids. His kingship would be different in that respect; however, he’d not intended on changing Uther’s laws against magic. He knew magic was dangerous, and had seen the evil that sorcerers were capable of, the evil that Morgana had become.
Merlin was not evil. Merlin was all that was light, and good, in the world. Arthur felt it down in the depths of himself.
He needed to learn more, to be informed, and in the end… Uther’s legacy of death to all things magic would be no more.