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TDH Merlin
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Published:
2017-10-27
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2,132
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1/1
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inconceivable imagining

Summary:

Arthur and Merlin had known each other practically since birth. They were inseparable from infancy; destiny had a funny way of working out how the man Arthur would rule his kingdom with was the same man who was his closest friend and confidante.

Uther and Balinor weren’t like that; Uther and Balinor fought like a hellstorm every day, every hour. Their wives could try to mend the anger between them, but more often than not it seemed as if the men were trying to run completely different kingdoms.

Arthur knew that he and Merlin could do a better job. They fought, but never seriously; it was always teasing, always in jest, always with a ripple of affection underneath it all. Arthur couldn’t imagine his father ever sneaking into Balinor’s chambers when they were teenagers, just to talk about what was bothering him.

Well. There were probably other reasons Arthur came, too, but he didn’t like to think about those reasons.

Notes:

Shit, it's been too long.

I'm having a weird week, but I knew I had to write fic or I'd hate myself for it. I love the idea and the universe in this one, though it is a little short - I just needed to get something out. I have an idea for something a little Halloweeny that I might write tomorrow, but I have a paper due and Stranger Things is out, so I make no promises.

Hope you like it, please comment if you do!

Work Text:

Arthur crept into Merlin’s chambers, silent as he could. Halfway down the corridor, the thought had occurred to him that he could brush off this midnight visit to Merlin by simply using the night of the full moon as an excuse to creep up on him while he slept and make him jump.

Arthur made Merlin jump whenever he could during daylight hours, so it was a reasonable motivation. He loved trying to get a rise of Merlin. Though Merlin was rarely scared by Arthur, he was always surprised, and that’s what counted.

He used to get scared, back when they were children. Arthur had gotten scared too, when Merlin tried to get revenge. But for the past couple of years, the two of them had faced real fright together. Battles. Soldiers. Sickness. Enemy kingdoms, enemy sorcerers, enemies to Camelot. The future of a kingdom on their shoulders.

Impending arranged marriages.

Childish games didn’t scare either of them much anymore, but it would be nice to pretend, just for a second, that they were still that young. Young enough that the future didn't matter.

Merlin’s chambers were half-lit by the moon out the window, but his friend was sound asleep in his four-poster bed, his long and lanky frame curled around a pillow, mouth open slightly, snuffling in his sleep.

Arthur took half a second to smile at the image before moving to jump on top of him, hoping to elicit a shout –

Somehow, the signals between Arthur’s mind and body became confused and instead of provoking a childish fright, he crawled onto the bed, right beside Merlin, and pulled the covers up over his chest.

He turned to his side, and moved to poke Merlin’s arm, but Merlin had already shifted toward him. He cracked an eye open blearily, and Arthur was close enough to see when Merlin’s gaze cleared as he realized that Arthur was there.

“Arthur?” Merlin asked, surprised. Arthur could always surprise him.

“Hi,” Arthur whispered, but didn’t otherwise move. His heart started being a little quicker for reasons he didn’t understand.

“What are you doing here?” Merlin stretched, cracking his back, not unlike a cat. “I thought you were having supper with –”

“It finished,” Arthur interrupted him before he could hear the name. “My parents thanked her parents for a lovely evening together, her parents said they hoped to enjoy more lovely evenings in the future, Vivian giggled, and I kissed her hand when we said goodnight.”

“Nothing untoward?” Merlin said dryly, obviously holding in a laugh. Arthur shoved him.

“Obviously not,” Arthur scowled. “My mother would never have allowed me to treat a lady in such a way. It would’ve been a stain on her reputation for me to have slighted her like that.”

“That’s the only reason?” Merlin raised an eyebrow challengingly as he turned to face Arthur completely, so they were face to face. Arthur could see every dimple and freckle that adorned Merlin’s features. It made him smile. Arthur had a reason on the tip of his tongue, but Merlin’s tone was too joking for that to be the answer he was looking for.

Arthur, thankfully, had many other reasons. “I hate her, Merlin. I really do. She’s snobbish and rude and horrendous to everyone around her.”

“Just like you, then,” Merlin remarked blithely and Arthur flicked his ear in response. He yelped, and then shoved Arthur’s shoulder, laughing and easy and bone-achingly familiar. He and Merlin had known each other practically since birth. They were inseparable from infancy; destiny had a funny way of working out how the man Arthur would rule his kingdom with was the same man who was his closest friend and confidante.

Uther and Balinor weren’t like that; Uther and Balinor fought like a hellstorm every day, every hour. Their wives could try to mend the anger between them, but more often than not it seemed as if the men were trying to run completely different kingdoms.

Arthur knew that he and Merlin could do a better job. They fought, but never seriously; it was always teasing, always in jest, always with a ripple of affection underneath it all. Arthur couldn’t imagine his father ever sneaking into Balinor’s chambers when they were teenagers, just to talk about what was bothering him.

Well. There were probably other reasons Arthur came, too, but he didn’t like to think about those reasons.

“I thought I was going to marry Elena,” Arthur complained instead of pondering the complexities of Merlin. “She was weird, but at least she was funny and liked riding horses. We could talk to each other. Vivian and I don’t have anything in common, I don’t care what you say.”

Merlin was quiet for a moment, and his voice was more serious and sympathetic when he began to speak again. “So is the marriage deal final? I thought Uther was just showing you off to all of the available princesses and waiting for a best offer.”

Arthur shrugged morosely. He hated thinking about things like this. “My father wants it to be Vivian. Thinks it’s the best deal, alliance-wise. My mother doesn’t like Vivian either, though, I could tell. She had a look like she had dung up her nose every time Vivian talked.”

Merlin laughed, his eyes crinkling up around the edges. “Ygraine never looks like she has dung up her nose.”

“You should’ve been there,” Arthur said threateningly, and realized half a second later that he could say that in a contemplative, longing tone and it would’ve been just as true. “Or at least Morgana should’ve.”

“She has her own suitors to fend off,” Merlin said casually with a flick of his hand. He yawned, pulling a pillow under his head to prop his arm up against.

“You’re one to talk,” Arthur said grumpily. “Your father hasn’t started forcing girls on you.”

“I’m sure I’ll marry whoever they deem second best,” Merlin said, and for the first time, Arthur can sense the tiredness in his voice at the idea. “I’m sure it won’t be that bad – our parents love each other, and they didn’t exactly have a choice in the manner.”

Arthur knew that, and it comforted him a little. Not so much when it came to his own mother, who Arthur knew from experience could grow weary under Uther’s heavy demeanor. But when it came to Hunith and Balinor, it was easy to see that they really loved each other. Balinor, who was always thunderous in nature, quieted around Hunith. He let her take care of his wild nature.

When Arthur was younger, he couldn’t believe that Merlin was Balinor’s son. He had been so quiet; mischievous and clever, but never angry, never thunderous.

Now, the two of them led an army together. Now, Arthur could see the resemblance.

“Maybe you’ll marry Elena,” Arthur said, and his voice accidentally cracked. Merlin’s eyes were soft on his, and he quickly cleared his throat and changed the subject. “I’m only eighteen. They can’t have made a decision yet. They’ll wait it out, bide their time, see what alliance is most important five years from now. War could’ve broken out by then. We might be on the battlefield, not –”

“At the altar?” Merlin finished for him, his smile small and sad. He didn’t want to get married any more than Arthur did; they could commiserate on that. The only thing that they both knew was that Morgana had it worse; she would have to leave Camelot when she married.

They used to have a plan, formulated from three ten-year-old brains; Merlin and Morgana would get married to make sure that Morgana would never have to leave them.

Arthur hoped his father was still considering it, but knew he couldn’t be. Alliances were too important to sacrifice the court’s princess and the court’s Dragonlord to one another when they could be used to much more strategic ends.

Arthur didn’t know if he could ever think like a king, or at least the kind of king his father was.

“I’d rather go to war than get married,” Arthur found himself voicing allowed. He expected Merlin to hit him, or tell him he was an idiot, or shout at him to say that he couldn’t put his own needs above Camelot’s.

Arthur already knew that; he just had to say it to someone.

Merlin, however, just looked at him pensively, his eyes soft around the edges. “Why?”

“Because,” Arthur hesitated for half a second, “because then it would be you and me against the world. Like it always has. It wouldn’t have to change.”

Merlin smiled, affection clear in his eyes, his eyes that flashed golden as the emblem of two gold coins glimmering in the air between them, just for a moment, before dissipating into the darkness.

“Two sides of the same coin,” Merlin said, and one the last of the golden pieces of magic, Merlin’s magic, landed on Arthur’s nose. It tickled, just for a second, before disappearing with the rest of it. “It’s always going to be you and me, Arthur.”

“Yeah,” Arthur drew his knees up to his chest as he dug his head into one of Merlin’s pillows, already knowing he would stay here the rest of the night. “But we’re built for the battlefield. Not for marriage.”

“Men go to war,” Merlin remarked, and though his voice was light, Arthur knew that his heart was not. "And women wait at home for them. One of my mother’s sayings.”

“I think Morgana would take an issue with that,” Arthur whispered, wondering if maybe Merlin’s head was in the same place his was. “I do, too. I don’t need anyone waiting at home. I just need –”

He broke off, not knowing how to finish.

Merlin, eyes golden even though he was casting no spell, finished for him. “I just need you.”

They were both quiet, knowing what they had just spoken, the implications of it, had been made crystalline and couldn’t be taken back.

“I don’t think,” Merlin said after a moment, lips twisting sardonically, “that this is quite what the prophecy had in mind when it foresaw two sides of the same coin uniting Albion.”

“We don’t know if that’s us,” Arthur countered, his heart hammering. “It could still be our fathers. More likely our sons. Or grandsons. Or –”

“It’s us, though,” Merlin said, his smile bittersweet. “I can feel it. There’s a reason I have more magic than all of my fathers before me. And – and there’s a reason that you’re kinder than yours.”

Merlin’s hand rested against Arthur’s shoulder. His eyes were light and heavy, blue and golden, at the same time. Not for the first time, Arthur wished that they had been born without the weight of prophecy upon them.

But if the prophecy was what brought them together, in this odd synchronized idiosyncrasy that had colored their lives since the day Merlin was born, three months after Arthur was born, and Arthur always wondered how the hell he had survived those first eighty-nine days without Merlin by his side – then it was worth it.

Arthur couldn’t imagine life without Merlin; Merlin was his other half in a way that even Balinor and Uther could never understand. Their coin was one of kingdoms, strategy, and war.

Arthur and Merlin’s was one of something else altogether.

“You’re my best friend,” Arthur whispered, looking at the frayed edge of Merlin’s tunic instead of his chest, “and we’ll always be together. Always. We just need to marry girls who – who understand.”

Understand that we’ll never love them as much as we love each other.

Arthur had the thought, and saw it mirrored in Merlin’s face, but neither of them said it out loud.

“Maybe it’s not too late for me to marry Morgana,” Merlin said quietly, laughingly, “and for you to marry Elena.”

“I don’t think I’d hate marriage so much if I could marry who I chose to,” Arthur said, and somehow, despite all of the odds, found Merlin’s calloused hand and took it in his own.

“Me neither,” Merlin said, and squeezed.

Arthur closed his eyes, nestling further into the pillow. A moment later, Merlin shifted, and Arthur felt his breath brush against his hair.

If Arthur kept his eyes closed, he could pretend that he didn’t know how close they were. He could brush it off. Forget about it. Never think of it again.

That would be impossible, of course, and so Arthur cracked an eye open to see Merlin’s head only inches from his own, eyes closed and dozing off, lips close to lean in for a kiss goodnight.

Arthur fit his head between Merlin’s neck and shoulder, and his lips skirted across Merlin’s collarbone, just for a moment.

It was a start.