[ arthur could have whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted, however he wanted -- if he wanted. but before all this, it was only ever guinevere (a few stray glances at morgana aside, when he was younger and stupider). it still is guinevere, it just ... can't be. there isn't anything arthur can do about that anymore. he gave up all hope of a happy ending the day he took elena's hand. he gave up love that day, too. duty over love, just as his father would have it. one day, you'll learn to love her, uther's voice echoes in his head, and arthur wishes he could believe that. he wishes he could learn to forget his feelings and be the husband she deserves -- at least if he could do that, she might learn to love him, too -- but the simple truth is he can't, not when his heart belongs to another, not when his heart has always belonged to another. ]
[ it was guinevere, yes, and perhaps some part will always be, some small piece of his heart reserved entirely for her when they share a knowing glance, a nod of understanding (this is how things must be, for the future of camelot, and he does truly wish her well, with whomever she chooses) -- but it's merlin he aches for now, and maybe always has, if he were wise enough to see it then. it's merlin he longs to be close to, yearns to touch, to feel, to be part of, for reasons he can and can't explain. then again, he's never truly been able to understand merlin, so how could he ever hope to understand what it is they have between them? trust, he thinks, has a great deal to do with it. who else would he trust more with his life, with his heart, with the very fabric of everything that makes arthur who he is? merlin has always astounded him with his loyalty. ]
You always duck. [ he jokes in return with a burst of short, low, warm laughter. it's true that sometimes his temper does get the better of him -- he can't count how many things he's thrown, usually in the morning when he's particularly grumpy. has he ever done so with true malice? he knows he hasn't, given the tone of their exchange, but it does make him reconsider throwing any future objects in merlin's general direction. and, anyway, he isn't always aiming for merlin's head, though arthur thinks it's certainly thick enough to withstand a few aimed projectiles. ]
[ the question of why, though ... it's difficult to find the words to explain. there's so much to say and yet not enough words to express it. his hands fall, unsure of himself, as he often has been these recent months. he doesn't quite know who he is or who he's expected to be or even, really, what he wants. merlin always seems to have the answers, for someone so idiotic -- sometimes, arthur feels like merlin knows him better than he knows himself. shouldn't he know why? ] You don't know? [ were his intentions not clear enough? ] I -- [ he doesn't quite choke, but he hesitates, running a hand through his hair. this was easier when their lips were together, speaking volumes more than arthur can find within himself now. he longs for that closeness again, the intimacy, the feeling of being whole, but he doesn't move to kiss merlin again, not yet. impulse never leads to the best outcome. instead, he diverts his eyes to some distant part of the room, wishing the answer was there and not standing directly in front of him. ]
[ he sighs heavily, like a massive weight has suddenly lifted from his shoulders. the truth, then. ] I need you, Merlin. [ his glance returns to merlin's, as if somehow his greatest weakness gives him the greatest courage. ] Not just now, I always have. And, I admit -- [ he swallows, his throat dry, his chest heavy, heart racing, and drops his gaze to the scarf ever present around merlin's neck, his hands messing with it idly as if he weren't the crown prince of camelot and merlin wasn't his servant. he's dreamed of fields out in the country, a cottage for just the two of them, where no one knows his name and doesn't expect anything of him. he's dreamed of this, too, quiet moments alone with merlin in his own chambers -- but only one of them arthur intends on making a reality. as his eyes drag over the curve of merlin's chin, his lips, the bridge of his nose, he completes his thought: ] -- there's a love in my heart for you I can't ignore anymore. That's why ... I'm asking you to stay.
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[ it was guinevere, yes, and perhaps some part will always be, some small piece of his heart reserved entirely for her when they share a knowing glance, a nod of understanding (this is how things must be, for the future of camelot, and he does truly wish her well, with whomever she chooses) -- but it's merlin he aches for now, and maybe always has, if he were wise enough to see it then. it's merlin he longs to be close to, yearns to touch, to feel, to be part of, for reasons he can and can't explain. then again, he's never truly been able to understand merlin, so how could he ever hope to understand what it is they have between them? trust, he thinks, has a great deal to do with it. who else would he trust more with his life, with his heart, with the very fabric of everything that makes arthur who he is? merlin has always astounded him with his loyalty. ]
You always duck. [ he jokes in return with a burst of short, low, warm laughter. it's true that sometimes his temper does get the better of him -- he can't count how many things he's thrown, usually in the morning when he's particularly grumpy. has he ever done so with true malice? he knows he hasn't, given the tone of their exchange, but it does make him reconsider throwing any future objects in merlin's general direction. and, anyway, he isn't always aiming for merlin's head, though arthur thinks it's certainly thick enough to withstand a few aimed projectiles. ]
[ the question of why, though ... it's difficult to find the words to explain. there's so much to say and yet not enough words to express it. his hands fall, unsure of himself, as he often has been these recent months. he doesn't quite know who he is or who he's expected to be or even, really, what he wants. merlin always seems to have the answers, for someone so idiotic -- sometimes, arthur feels like merlin knows him better than he knows himself. shouldn't he know why? ] You don't know? [ were his intentions not clear enough? ] I -- [ he doesn't quite choke, but he hesitates, running a hand through his hair. this was easier when their lips were together, speaking volumes more than arthur can find within himself now. he longs for that closeness again, the intimacy, the feeling of being whole, but he doesn't move to kiss merlin again, not yet. impulse never leads to the best outcome. instead, he diverts his eyes to some distant part of the room, wishing the answer was there and not standing directly in front of him. ]
[ he sighs heavily, like a massive weight has suddenly lifted from his shoulders. the truth, then. ] I need you, Merlin. [ his glance returns to merlin's, as if somehow his greatest weakness gives him the greatest courage. ] Not just now, I always have. And, I admit -- [ he swallows, his throat dry, his chest heavy, heart racing, and drops his gaze to the scarf ever present around merlin's neck, his hands messing with it idly as if he weren't the crown prince of camelot and merlin wasn't his servant. he's dreamed of fields out in the country, a cottage for just the two of them, where no one knows his name and doesn't expect anything of him. he's dreamed of this, too, quiet moments alone with merlin in his own chambers -- but only one of them arthur intends on making a reality. as his eyes drag over the curve of merlin's chin, his lips, the bridge of his nose, he completes his thought: ] -- there's a love in my heart for you I can't ignore anymore. That's why ... I'm asking you to stay.