( once and future king. )

[medievals]

an arthur pendragon open post

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[medievals]

[ 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.

[servanted]

I'm just faster than you. ( which is said with merlin's jesting flair -- they both know that it isn't true, but joking around helps relieve some of the tension off of an otherwise serious conversation. which is only multiplied twofold when arthur mentions love, off on his own and without prompting, and merlin is sure his eyebrows have raised far off his forehead, his bony cheeks turning red from -- well, mostly just from shock. even his wildest fantasies would never involve this, something mutual shared between them. merlin's been all too aware of his emotions towards arthur since their first week together, where merlin had relented that he existed for one reason, and that was to stand beside arthur. he's always shone so brilliantly, so blindingly, but merlin would've never thought he'd have the opportunity to feel -- love like this, arthur saying secret words with some stutter or hesitance in his voice -- arthur telling merlin he has love in his heart, and it's strictly for the young warlock.

a ping of guilt with that thought, that arthur still doesn't know the full truth and he probably never will, because the right moment to tell him just doesn't exist. he can love merlin, maybe, but he'll never love him completely -- not when he doesn't know this huge thing about him, this defining feature for both their destinies. though, magic has never defined merlin, exactly -- of course it's made him who he is today, but when he uses his magic exclusively and entirely for arthur alone, it makes it... less merlin's magic, and more theirs. still, it's not an excuse -- and merlin is the master of excuses, but even he knows when he's pushing it. he'll have to tell arthur about it eventually, just -- not tonight. is it greed that keeps the words from forming on his mouth? probably. selfishly, he wants arthur all to himself, as he always has but knew he could never, except in early morning hours, when he could close his eyes and pretend that the hurdles between servant and prince weren't so difficult to climb.

they still are, though. a man of arthur's caliber shouldn't be with a man like merlin -- it doesn't make sense, just the same as arthur and gwen didn't, and maybe that brings some enlightenment to merlin while he thinks it, eyes wide and the words he wants to say still stuck on his tongue while he looks at arthur. the heart wants what it will, and of course it made sense to be in love with arthur -- charming, handsome, kind-hearted and good-willed -- but logic can't be applied to the heart. in that way, it makes sense for arthur to love him, too, just because it doesn't. if arthur wants him, says he needs him, why would merlin fight it?

he wouldn't. naturally he breaks out of the trance arthur's words put him in, the sound of the syllable love still lingering in his ear drums, and he wants to hear it one million more times, every day and every night, and take some kind of sick pleasure in knowing arthur will never love his wife the way he loves his servant. merlin smiles, nervous, his hands cupping arthur's cheeks while he curves in towards him, their noses touching in brief affection. still, merlin doesn't close his eyes, keeps them open and intense and entirely focused on arthur. )

"There is a love in my heart..." ( he repeats after him, humming thoughtfully after. ) In mine, as well. Within all of my heart. ( he does have rare bits of eloquence, and he's happy now happens to be one of those times, leaning in until they're a breath away. ) Until my last day, Arthur, I swear that much will always be the truth between the two of us. I am yours in every way, as I always have been.

( and he seals that oath with a kiss, confident and sure. )