![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
Merlin - Gift
Title: Gift
Genre: Gen
Rating: PG
Length: 1,020
Spoilers: General for Series 1
Synopsis: Every gift as its price, Merlin’s is no exception.
Author’s Notes: This was only going to be a drabble. Maybe a double drabble at most.
Disclaimer: I do not own this particular interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Every gift has its price,” his mother had told him. He had always thought his gift of magic came at the cost of needing to keep it secret. He had to hide what he loved and who he was to simply be who he could be. It was fate’s way of making things equal, he supposed.
He was wrong. Secrecy was not the only toll his gift would extract from him.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Merlin, where are you going?” Arthur demanded. He made no move to stop him, likely long used to his sketchy behaviour by now.
Merlin felt the pressure building, saw the lights dancing on the edge of his vision. “I’ll be right back,” he promised.
He slipped through the tent flap and heard a huffed, “Because, really, why would a prince need his servant to ready him for a tournament?” Louder, Arthur’s voice carried past a waiting knight as he added, “Do hurry to use the privy, Merlin. We cannot delay the activities simply for your constitution.”
He heard the snickering and ignored it, found as close to a secluded corner as he could behind one of the castle supports. He pressed himself up against it as he felt his knees grow weak. There was the passing thought that maybe he should just sit down already, but then the pain consumed him.
The flashes of light became blinding, the pressure in his head agonizing. His muscles ached and he vaguely felt the earth against his palms as he toppled to it. He bit his lip to prevent himself from screaming, from giving himself away, from having to explain that this was the cost of the very thing he should never have. If the possession of his gift did not kill him, surely others’ knowledge of it would.
He had no idea how long he stayed like that, but knew the instant it passed. He unclenched his eyes, tried to settle his breath and loosen his grip on the scraggly grass, wiped the dirt and greenery from his hands. His fingers clawed at the wall to help him stand again, his strength reluctant to return.
He pressed his forehead against the shadow-cooled stone, hoped it would remove the lingering pressure as well as the heat that had made him feel like his very blood had been boiling. He felt the presence at his side, but gave himself another moment before he acknowledged it. Slowly, he turned his head to the left and offered, “Hello, Morgana.”
Her arms were crossed before her, but her face was drawn in concern. “That looked like a bad one,” she commented idly.
He had given up trying to figure out how she knew when the attacks happened around the same time he gave up trying to figure out why she cared. Instead, he simply shrugged and offered, “No worse than the last time.”
“And there is nothing Gaius can do about them?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.
He shook his head. Gaius did not know how bad things had become. “It’s the cost; you know that as well as anyone.” She had her nightmares, he had his. His just happened to visit whenever they pleased.
She did not try to console him or offer him false hope and promises. Instead, she gazed out towards the field where the men had gathered. “How bad will it be?” she questioned.
“At least a spell, possibly more,” he replied. He pushed himself off the wall, tried to find his feet again.
“I saw poison last night,” she advised in the far away voice that he recognized as her own gift. “I believe a lance was dipped in it.”
“Any idea who?” he asked. He was already sorting through remedies and protections in his mind.
Now it was her turn to shake her head. “Look for the green and brown, those were the most prevalent colours.”
He nodded and took her offered hand, felt the surge of her power mingle with his own and thought he might know how she always knew to be there. “Thank you,” he said, and he did not just mean the information.
She looped her arm through his and stepped towards Arthur’s tent. “We do what we need to do,” she shrugged. A knight opened his mouth to comment on Merlin’s return, but she silenced him with a look. “Gwen is distracting Arthur. She’s quite good at it, actually,” she confided.
He smiled despite himself, tried to think of an excuse to give Arthur for his delay.
He needn’t have bothered as Morgana swept open the tent and walked in as if it were one of her own rooms and not the prince’s sanctuary before a battle. “Sorry to steal your servant,” she said lightly. “I thought it was only fitting as you had stolen mine.”
Gwen smiled and Arthur blushed and Merlin knew the matter was settled. He stepped forward and adjusted the straps and buckles of Arthur’s maille, hoped no one noticed the way his hands still shook.
When Morgana left with the same flourish as she entered, Gwen in tow, Arthur placed a hand on Merlin’s, stilled his movements for a moment. “Next time, don’t hide,” he ordered, tone too soft to be commanding. At Merlin’s look, he added, “You can stay in here and no one will see you. No one will actually question my delay.”
Merlin felt his hand quake slightly beneath Arthur’s, felt the pressure increase until it stilled. “Yes, sire,” he replied with a dutiful nod.
“I’d tell you to rest but know you won’t do it,” Arthur said as he released him. He tugged on his gloves and spared a look in Merlin’s direction. “Can I at least ask what to look out for?”
“Green and brown,” Merlin answered before he could stop himself. “The man will be wearing green and brown.”
Arthur nodded and headed off to the field without another word. Merlin took a moment to think that perhaps his mother was only half right and that costs had gifts as much as gifts had costs before he turned to follow.
~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback is always welcomed.
Genre: Gen
Rating: PG
Length: 1,020
Spoilers: General for Series 1
Synopsis: Every gift as its price, Merlin’s is no exception.
Author’s Notes: This was only going to be a drabble. Maybe a double drabble at most.
Disclaimer: I do not own this particular interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Every gift has its price,” his mother had told him. He had always thought his gift of magic came at the cost of needing to keep it secret. He had to hide what he loved and who he was to simply be who he could be. It was fate’s way of making things equal, he supposed.
He was wrong. Secrecy was not the only toll his gift would extract from him.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Merlin, where are you going?” Arthur demanded. He made no move to stop him, likely long used to his sketchy behaviour by now.
Merlin felt the pressure building, saw the lights dancing on the edge of his vision. “I’ll be right back,” he promised.
He slipped through the tent flap and heard a huffed, “Because, really, why would a prince need his servant to ready him for a tournament?” Louder, Arthur’s voice carried past a waiting knight as he added, “Do hurry to use the privy, Merlin. We cannot delay the activities simply for your constitution.”
He heard the snickering and ignored it, found as close to a secluded corner as he could behind one of the castle supports. He pressed himself up against it as he felt his knees grow weak. There was the passing thought that maybe he should just sit down already, but then the pain consumed him.
The flashes of light became blinding, the pressure in his head agonizing. His muscles ached and he vaguely felt the earth against his palms as he toppled to it. He bit his lip to prevent himself from screaming, from giving himself away, from having to explain that this was the cost of the very thing he should never have. If the possession of his gift did not kill him, surely others’ knowledge of it would.
He had no idea how long he stayed like that, but knew the instant it passed. He unclenched his eyes, tried to settle his breath and loosen his grip on the scraggly grass, wiped the dirt and greenery from his hands. His fingers clawed at the wall to help him stand again, his strength reluctant to return.
He pressed his forehead against the shadow-cooled stone, hoped it would remove the lingering pressure as well as the heat that had made him feel like his very blood had been boiling. He felt the presence at his side, but gave himself another moment before he acknowledged it. Slowly, he turned his head to the left and offered, “Hello, Morgana.”
Her arms were crossed before her, but her face was drawn in concern. “That looked like a bad one,” she commented idly.
He had given up trying to figure out how she knew when the attacks happened around the same time he gave up trying to figure out why she cared. Instead, he simply shrugged and offered, “No worse than the last time.”
“And there is nothing Gaius can do about them?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.
He shook his head. Gaius did not know how bad things had become. “It’s the cost; you know that as well as anyone.” She had her nightmares, he had his. His just happened to visit whenever they pleased.
She did not try to console him or offer him false hope and promises. Instead, she gazed out towards the field where the men had gathered. “How bad will it be?” she questioned.
“At least a spell, possibly more,” he replied. He pushed himself off the wall, tried to find his feet again.
“I saw poison last night,” she advised in the far away voice that he recognized as her own gift. “I believe a lance was dipped in it.”
“Any idea who?” he asked. He was already sorting through remedies and protections in his mind.
Now it was her turn to shake her head. “Look for the green and brown, those were the most prevalent colours.”
He nodded and took her offered hand, felt the surge of her power mingle with his own and thought he might know how she always knew to be there. “Thank you,” he said, and he did not just mean the information.
She looped her arm through his and stepped towards Arthur’s tent. “We do what we need to do,” she shrugged. A knight opened his mouth to comment on Merlin’s return, but she silenced him with a look. “Gwen is distracting Arthur. She’s quite good at it, actually,” she confided.
He smiled despite himself, tried to think of an excuse to give Arthur for his delay.
He needn’t have bothered as Morgana swept open the tent and walked in as if it were one of her own rooms and not the prince’s sanctuary before a battle. “Sorry to steal your servant,” she said lightly. “I thought it was only fitting as you had stolen mine.”
Gwen smiled and Arthur blushed and Merlin knew the matter was settled. He stepped forward and adjusted the straps and buckles of Arthur’s maille, hoped no one noticed the way his hands still shook.
When Morgana left with the same flourish as she entered, Gwen in tow, Arthur placed a hand on Merlin’s, stilled his movements for a moment. “Next time, don’t hide,” he ordered, tone too soft to be commanding. At Merlin’s look, he added, “You can stay in here and no one will see you. No one will actually question my delay.”
Merlin felt his hand quake slightly beneath Arthur’s, felt the pressure increase until it stilled. “Yes, sire,” he replied with a dutiful nod.
“I’d tell you to rest but know you won’t do it,” Arthur said as he released him. He tugged on his gloves and spared a look in Merlin’s direction. “Can I at least ask what to look out for?”
“Green and brown,” Merlin answered before he could stop himself. “The man will be wearing green and brown.”
Arthur nodded and headed off to the field without another word. Merlin took a moment to think that perhaps his mother was only half right and that costs had gifts as much as gifts had costs before he turned to follow.
~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback is always welcomed.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject