title: tall tale
disclaimer: 100% disclaimed. the characters are not mine and no profit is made from this story.
summary/excerpt: the booming voice of the dragon rings in his ears. it makes him cringe every time he is reminded.
a/n: it’s my first time to post here but i’ve been lurking here for a long time. thought it’d be high time to actually write something. it’s nothing spastic, just a short doodle i made while i was watching reruns of season 2
He doesn’t love him, doesn’t even like him.
Too brash, too loud, too freaking handsome
The prince charming – all dashing and courageous – every girl dreams of marrying.
His very own royal prat.
The cogwheels are slow in turning.
Threats too many, too fast.
He needs to breathe sometimes.
Inhale and out.
He wonders when all this destiny stuff will pan out.
The booming voice of the dragon rings in his ears. It makes him cringe every time he is reminded.
He’s my destiny.
Too different. Too stark.
They pull away to the outset of the sun. Opposite directions.
They end up where they began.
It’s a tell-tale, a tall tale, a tall tell-tale.
Until the reign begins, he sits on the corner.
He doesn’t know love. Does not pretend to.
He wonders what it would feel like.
From both end of course.
Maybe he’s in love.
Merlin treads on an ever-present fear that when he arrives at Arthur’s chambers, he’ll be stone cold, pale and … and…
He blames it on too many battle scars that just won’t heal.
Arthur stirs. Breathes.
Merlin would give up everything to keep it that way.
Maybe a little in love.
The people cheer in the background.
Arthur sends dust flying when his foot skids.
Thrust. Clang. Thrust.
The loud brush of metal. Still it’s lost on Merlin’s ears. His heart is beating too fast.
Thumpy thump thump thump.
The constant loom over Arthur’s head is death weighing on his heart.
A tear of the flesh.
The trickle of blood.
Merlin wants it to end.
They holler and cheer. They have their champion indeed.
Merlin is left with the man. His palms brush salted skin, mending wounds the eyes can’t see.
It’s Arthur - raw and real and vulnerable.
Merlin doesn’t like it when the light goes out of his eyes.
Another body to add to the count.
It’s another piece of Arthur drifting away.
He’s a hero and a saint.
He’s an executioner but none would admit.
Abiding thy father.
It breaks Merlin’s heart.
It’s tiring sometimes.
Gold eyes. A flourish of words. The twist of a finger. A sway of the wrist.
He creeps on the shadows on the wall.
Fleeting moments. Non-existent. Barely there.
It makes his heart race and beat, beat, beat.
Merlin gets lost sometimes. Off to farway. All bright colors and promises of freedom for his hands. A new world waiting for him. The power is at his fingertips and he knows he can if he wants too.
It’s his choice to stay. He’d like to think it’s his choice.
It’s never fate that dictates him to still be here; to stay by Arthur’s side, to hide and lie and save a life.
Never his own.
It’s not destiny that binds us all. It’s love.
Hunith’s voice is dear and soft and promising.
Wishes it were true.
Beat. Beat. Beat.
I live for you.
And I you.
He sees it sometimes – a spark of affection in Arthur’s eyes.
He feels it sometimes – the heat of Arthur’s skin on his, the beating of his heart filing the gaps of his.
It’s almost love. It’s heartwarming and churning and burning.
It steals his breath away.
This is where he belongs.