( once and future king. )

[medievals]

an arthur pendragon open post

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[servanted]

( he tried to stay unassuming in the question between elena or guinevere -- really, an ultimate question between doing what's right, and doing what's in your heart. it's not his place to turn a son against his father, a prince against the king, and so he tries his best to stay quiet, even if he has some strong emotions towards whatever's inside of arthur's heart -- strong emotions towards the crucial role of arthur's happiness, his well being. it doesn't matter if he's in love with the prince, or if he has been since he'd first became his servant. what matters is arthur's happiness, what matters is what arthur wants, even if it isn't merlin.

except, arthur doesn't follow his heart. he marries politically, and it breaks merlin's heart to see his broken, holding a diplomatic hand against elena's and reciting his vows, crowning her. merlin's stomach is sunken in the entire time, and he's not sure it's entirely because arthur is unhappy -- it is, perhaps selfishly, because while it wasn't possible before, it's beyond that now, for merlin to ever have -- what, arthur? the future king? he knew he never had a chance, that idle daydreams of destiny and love were only to be daydreams, and that if his goal in life was to protect arthur, then it would have to end there. a prince would not be caught with his servant -- surely not arthur, either, the most handsome man in camelot, whose heart belongs entirely to gwen. merlin finds himself jealous, sometimes, watching how desperately he stares at the back of her head, watching guinevere and lancelot flirt in their soft way. he wonder what it's like to be loved by arthur, but his wonder couldn't ever measure up, truthfully. a prince's love -- that's something he'll never know, this lifetime or the next.

still, he can see arthur's shoulders sag with each day of forced pleasantries, the lady elena and her odd habits making his patience and happiness wear thin. of course, merlin can read him like a book, not that he's being subtle with his feigned smile, his too harsh handhold on elena's hand. he knows his prince, knows the genuine smiles from the fake ones, and he wishes that he could help -- even with a small glimmer of the old, happy arthur, merlin would count himself lucky. but the prince is always quiet when merlin tends to them, and merlin always leaves his duties early because the prince and princess' room is surely no place for a servant late at night. he hates it when elena thinks to help arthur dress, hates to miss the few, small joys he allowed himself when drawing his fingers loosely across arthur's chest, lining his palms against broad shoulders, and almost pressing his lips to the back of arthur's warm, sunkissed neck. the time spent serving him gets shorter and shorter every day -- merlin never thought he'd miss it, and yet he does, misses waking arthur up in the morning and bickering with him throughout the day, misses being his punching bag for sparring, misses bringing him meals in the evening and offering him guidance. it's just not his place, anymore, and as arthur's mood falls so does merlin's -- because he's incapable of happiness when his prince is upset. that's just how it is.

this day has been a small blessing, old habits brightening merlin's mood, when he doesn't have to mind himself around elena and can offer arthur his genuine self. he hates how easy it is to love him more and more with every passing moment, and hates himself for allowing this kind of pain inside him, loving a married man, loving a married prince. the question is mostly posed as a formality, merlin expecting some snarky answer to gawk and laugh at, but what he gets -- well. arthur's lips are heaven, even if they're gentle and unsure. he smells like expensive perfumes merlin sometimes spills on his hands, like the wilderness and outdoors, like something ephemeral, captivating, and he's warm -- or he makes merlin feel warm, his insides melted and suffocating inside. it takes merlin a moment to realize he isn't living in one of his thousands of fantasies -- that arthur, arthur kissed him, with some ridiculous order resting on his mouth, stay with me, because merlin would never leave his side, if he asked. his eyes fluttered shut with the kiss in question, but they pop open once arthur separates them -- his cheeks are rosy red, eyes wide, lips parted in something like shock.

is it because he lusts for gwen? merlin has to wonder. one servant isn't the same as another, and surely not him -- a long time companion of arthur's, and a man, no less. is it a joke? his heart sinks.

( even if it was, it wouldn't matter. his duty is to serve arthur, and if arthur wants to kiss him a hundred more times and pretend it's gwen -- well, merlin certainly won't complain. the wound probably won't feel so great with the reprise of arthur's kisses, anyway. ))

Arthur. ( arthur not my lord. he's never been good with his royal manners, anyway. ) Are you being cruel to me, now? You know how I -- ( does he know, though? is it possible? merlin bites back the words at his mouth, eyes glancing at arthur's boots which he really should be shining. a hand moves up and wraps around arthur's wrist, but he doesn't pull him away. couldn't, even if he were being crueler than morgana now -- merlin, in many ways, is just as desperate to touch him as he is. he doesn't mind the circumstance -- he tells himself he doesn't, at least. )

[medievals]

[ the days without merlin have been quiet, to say the least. under any other circumstances, it might be appreciated, but arthur finds himself wishing for more and more excuses to have merlin by his side, to have merlin wake him in that obnoxious way he does, to have merlin be with him at every turn of the day. maybe he's become too dependent on him, but mostly he just misses having someone to talk to -- and occasionally throw something at. elena certainly doesn't have merlin's charm (if it can even be considered charm and not dumb luck and idiocy); they go riding together when arthur isn't in council meetings or training with his men, but arthur finds himself bored more often than not. he never thought he'd miss merlin's jokes or any of his other oddities -- but perhaps it's the need for formalities around elena that makes arthur miss merlin the most. merlin has never quite grasped the concept of treating arthur like a prince, but it's exactly that irreverence, the intolerance on most occasions, that leaves arthur feeling empty, yearning to be just arthur instead of my lord. ]

[ at least he can count on merlin for one thing. there's a hint of a smile at arthur's lips when merlin speaks his name. it's a relief to hear it, and not from his father. it lights something in him that can't be named, a fire of passion he never wishes to put out. there's guilt in it, he knows, for he'll never feel this way about elena -- but there is some small reassurance in knowing she'll never feel this way for him, either. it doesn't make it right, but when has choosing merlin ever been wrong? ]

Merlin. [ it's gentle, almost, like he's speaking to a scared child. it isn't at all like it normally sounds, ripe with condescension; for once, it sounds like he cares (he always has). ] When have I ever been cruel to you? [ unappreciative, maybe, but never cruel. merlin would surely have said so before if he thought that were true. he rests his forehead against merlin's, closing his eyes just for a moment. he can feel the subtle thrum of merlin's pulse under his fingertips, a rhythm that makes him feel more alive than he's felt in months. ] I've missed you, that's all.

[ it's not all, exactly, but it's as much as arthur's willing to admit. how can he say i want you out loud? even if he is a prince, there are some things he knows he shouldn't want, merlin included. his father would have a fit if he knew, if he ever found out arthur was consorting with his servant like this. arthur's sure uther would call it sorcery, that merlin of all people must have enchanted him -- but it's ridiculous, the idea that merlin could ever be a sorcerer, or that he would ever enchant arthur. for what reason? for what gain? truthfully, he wouldn't need to, anyway. whatever arthur feels for him is as real as merlin's hand at his wrist, cementing them together, and it has been since before this night. ]

[ it's merlin's downcast expression, the way he says you know how i and arthur assumes he meant to say feel, that has arthur hesitating once more. why would merlin ever feel anything for him? he doesn't ask. maybe he can't bear the thought of knowing he isn't alone in these feelings, in this attraction -- it's far more dangerous when it's mutual, after all, isn't it? is he afraid of what this might be? of what they might become? he can't say. merlin has always been a source of comfort, of safety, in a way, even if merlin would be more likely to accidentally stab him with a sword than protect him with one. but he's always been there, no matter what, no matter the peril, and that's the kind of courage arthur has always admired about him. he can't imagine either of them running from this, not when they've faced worse together, but -- ] You have my permission to leave, if you'd rather.

[ he isn't going to force merlin to stay with him. his request had been simply that -- a request, not an order. stay with me, he'd said, because he can't bear to be alone right now. even with elena sharing his bed, there's been a loneliness that creeps under his skin, a yearning for someone that isn't her and never can be. he isn't sure why it's now he longs for merlin to stay, to share his chambers, when before he was content to let him leave. maybe it's because he always had the opportunity then, and you only want something once it's taken from you. arthur can't let this opportunity slip through his fingers again, not when he's already given up guinevere -- and not when merlin is the one person who makes him happy over anyone else. hasn't he given up enough already? ]

[servanted]

( the way he says merlin's name aches, like the way two lovers say each other's names in heat -- arthur has never said his name that way before, and merlin knows, because he has each one of them cataloged, memorized in the rusty files of his brain. his lips are plump and red and god he's so close, he's closer than he's ever been before, and he just kissed merlin, too short and too fleeting for merlin to really make sense of the motion. i missed you isn't an explanation for a kiss, or why arthur's hands are on his neck, strong and soft and never wrong -- merlin can't make sense of it. can arthur really not stand one night without getting his cock wet? even that assumes too much, that arthur would ever actually fuck him, when he could have his choice of the servant girls, knowing it wouldn't take much to keep them quiet -- or even that arthur wants to fuck him in the first place. it could just be a kiss and a request, nothing else.

but merlin knows arthur, better than he knows himself definitely. he isn't cruel, just as arthur had said, he doesn't do things unless he believes in them with all his heart. a kiss, then, and his heart. is merlin being hopeful? perhaps it's because he's upset, and lonely, and unhappy -- perhaps it's because he seeks comfort from someone he knows, more than some stranger he still names wife. merlin supposed he can relate to that, or at least understand it, the same way he understands most of what arthur does and why he does it. they're two beings of the same whole -- every choice he makes is the same one destiny chose for merlin, too. )

Throwing things at my head is pretty cruel, sire. ( a joke, and his mouth spreads into a goofy smile, sire misplaced here for comedic effect. he wonders what the boundaries here are, if he could kiss arthur again or if he should wait for his lord's command -- he's never been good with mannerisms, of course, but he doesn't kiss arthur, either, something else stopping his path. nervousness, maybe, the ever-looming side effect of having a destiny he's trying to achieve -- he's as close to arthur as he could be, though, in ever sense of the word except the literal. surely kissing him, worshiping his arthur like the king he one day will be, won't get in the way of his safety. maybe this, too, is part of his destiny. )

I wouldn't leave if you asked me to stay. ( he says, expression softening from the plastered smile to something sweeter, more sincere. a side of merlin that is almost exclusively arthur's -- to have and take as he sees fit, to make well on or ignore entirely. his entire being is arthur's, despite how often he may act the opposite. he exists for him. ) Not just because you asked me, either. But I do have to wonder... why you're asking me.

( is sex implied? it wouldn't be bad, if it were, but merlin isn't sure what stay with me means, and he certainly doesn't want to say it, and have arthur react in disgust. merlin shifts, dropping his hands to his sides. immediately, he wants to reach out and touch him again, the way he's done countless times before when arthur hasn't been paying attention. )

[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. )