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Entry tags:
Merlin - I Can See Tomorrow from Here
Title: I Can See Tomorrow from Here
Genre: Arthur and Merlin, though could be seen as Arthur/Merlin with minimal squinting
Length: ~ 1,300 words
Rating: PG-13 for gore
Warnings: Aftermath of violence
Synopsis: They just need to make it through the night.
Author’s Notes: I broke through my writer’s block with some good, old fashioned angst.
Disclaimer: I do not own this interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
~~~~~~~~~~
“No you don’t! You keep those eyes open,” Arthur ordered. He shook Merlin slightly and, when that did not seem to work, slapped him lightly on the cheek.
Dark eyelashes fluttered and the barest hint of blue appeared. “Arth...” Merlin mumbled, tongue far too thick for his mouth. “Told you already...” he slurred.
“You told me the land can only grant you so much magic at once, one allotment per cycle of sun up to sun down,” Arthur corrected. If his voice sounded frantic, it was no one’s business but his own. “If you don’t use it, it returns to the land to help others. If you waste it all at once, you have to wait for a new day to begin before you are granted any more.”
“Din’t waste,” Merlin insisted. His eyes almost opened fully, but slid shut again as he gripped on to Arthur’s hand, fingers slick and weak as they squeezed slightly and fell lax once more.
“No, you did not,” Arthur agreed. “You saved the legion, saved Camelot if not all of Albion, which means you need to stick around to celebrate the victory.” He placed his free hand on Merlin’s chest, right above the faint and sluggish patter of his heart.
“Saved you,” Merlin smiled. It looked ghastly, lips crusted with blood against the unearthly paleness of his skin.
“That you did,” Arthur whispered, resolutely did not sniff. The dust from the field still flew around them, caught in his eyes and made them water. “Now you have to save yourself.”
“Doesn’t work that way,” Merlin reminded him for what must have been the tenth time since this whole thing began. He coughed and more blood splattered against his lips, oozed from the wound in his side despite the layers of bandages pressed there.
“Merlin...” Arthur sighed, pleaded.
“Magic’s almost gone,” Merlin pointed out.
“But there will be more come tomorrow,” Arthur tried. He looked away, tried to find the horizon in a darkness marked only by the orange glow of torches and the last embers of far too many fires.
Merlin ignored him, pressed on instead and said, “When I go, the wall will fall. Anything on the other side can get in; your men will need to be ready.”
Arthur looked to the men that surrounded him, surrounded them both, swords drawn and shields up as they formed a near impenetrable wall of their own around the hill where Merlin lay and Arthur crouched beside him. If he squinted he could see the barrier Merlin had erected, a line of the faintest gold that marked the borders of their land. He was fairly certain none of the enemy remained on this side of the line, at least not any that still drew breath. Morning would show if anything remained past that.
“They are gone, Merlin,” Arthur told him. He remembered the whirlwind that tossed so many across that imaginary border, past the camps no longer filled with soldiers or knights.
Merlin took a deep breath and the air returned, raspy and harsh. “Missed some. Need to be careful.”
Arthur knew he had missed some, missed the one lone swordman that made it through the line, who engaged no one and stuck to the shadows until he reached the sorcerer that had already tore apart an army and promised no other should ever amass that much power while he still lived.
That was the crux of it all though: Merlin, for all his show of power and protection, for all the fear and terror he had placed in the hearts of the enemy, for all the warning he gave that rang loud and true and for generations to come, might not survive to see the peace he built.
Arthur did not want to think about that. He did not want to think about the wielder of such power pouring more blood than magic back into the earth, about him fading further and further into the abyss with each ragged breath.
“It’s almost tomorrow,” he said instead. “The new day is almost here.”
Merlin chuckled, or at least made a sound that approximated a harsh laugh. “You don’t get it, do you?” he asked, eyes unfocused as he stared upward at the starlight. “I told you that so you would let me go, not to make you clutch on and drag me through to the other side. Albion is safe, Camelot is safe, and, most importantly, you are safe. That’s all that matters.”
Arthur glared at him, though he knew the action was wasted as Merlin’s eyes were soundly closed once more. “You will make it through to tomorrow. You will rise and you will save yourself. Then, when all is said and done and we are back within the safety of the castle walls, we are going to have a very long discussion about self-sacrifice and idiocy.”
“If I make it to tomorrow, and if I am granted the gift of magic, I will use every last drop to reinforce that wall and protect you all,” Merlin promised.
“You fool!” Arthur growled. He shook him, knew it likely ripped the wound open further, let the blood and life seep out that much faster. He pulled Merlin into his arms, supported him against his chest and forced him to look out from atop the hill where he lay, past their guard to see the utter destruction and remnants of chaos, to see how no one, not one single body, moved without wearing Pendragon red. He turned back to him and shouted, “There is nothing to protect against! It’s over, Merlin. Over! The only thing you have left to do is heal yourself so, please, stop being so damned obstinate and just get it through that thick skull of yours that you need to live. You need to, Merlin; it’s as simple as that.”
“Arthur?” Merlin rasped. His head lolled against Arthur’s shoulder, and he looked down to see eyes sparkling with something new as the very corners of his lips turned up in what approximated a smile. “It’s tomorrow.”
Arthur tore his gaze away from the man in his arms and looked instead to the barest hint of colour on the horizon. He watched as reds and purples and, most importantly, shades of gold filled the air around them. A slim line of light wound its way through the battlefield, destruction and death revealed in its wake. When it finally reached their perch on the hill, he forced himself to look down at the man now tensing in his arms.
The light split Merlin in two, drew a line right through the middle of him, right through the worst of the damage. It seemed to spread out, set his very being, his very soul aglow from within, with tendrils that twisted outward, clawed against the cloth thick with blood and death. As the light climbed higher, so did Arthur’s gaze until it reached the swirls of gold against the blue, the light of magic and life against the grip of death.
“So help me, if you build another wall...” he threatened.
Merlin reached out, took his hand in his own, and squeezed with far more force and strength than he had managed thus far. Arthur took that as an acceptable response.
He shifted his grip slightly, felt the wetness of the blood harden against his skin, felt the bitter cold of death slowly warm in the sun’s bright rays. His legs cramped and his back ached and he knew Merlin could not be comfortable against the hard edges of his armour, but neither moved, neither pulled away. They sat there, together, pain and grime and everything else left unsaid between them, and welcomed the new day.
~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback is always welcomed.
Genre: Arthur and Merlin, though could be seen as Arthur/Merlin with minimal squinting
Length: ~ 1,300 words
Rating: PG-13 for gore
Warnings: Aftermath of violence
Synopsis: They just need to make it through the night.
Author’s Notes: I broke through my writer’s block with some good, old fashioned angst.
Disclaimer: I do not own this interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
~~~~~~~~~~
“No you don’t! You keep those eyes open,” Arthur ordered. He shook Merlin slightly and, when that did not seem to work, slapped him lightly on the cheek.
Dark eyelashes fluttered and the barest hint of blue appeared. “Arth...” Merlin mumbled, tongue far too thick for his mouth. “Told you already...” he slurred.
“You told me the land can only grant you so much magic at once, one allotment per cycle of sun up to sun down,” Arthur corrected. If his voice sounded frantic, it was no one’s business but his own. “If you don’t use it, it returns to the land to help others. If you waste it all at once, you have to wait for a new day to begin before you are granted any more.”
“Din’t waste,” Merlin insisted. His eyes almost opened fully, but slid shut again as he gripped on to Arthur’s hand, fingers slick and weak as they squeezed slightly and fell lax once more.
“No, you did not,” Arthur agreed. “You saved the legion, saved Camelot if not all of Albion, which means you need to stick around to celebrate the victory.” He placed his free hand on Merlin’s chest, right above the faint and sluggish patter of his heart.
“Saved you,” Merlin smiled. It looked ghastly, lips crusted with blood against the unearthly paleness of his skin.
“That you did,” Arthur whispered, resolutely did not sniff. The dust from the field still flew around them, caught in his eyes and made them water. “Now you have to save yourself.”
“Doesn’t work that way,” Merlin reminded him for what must have been the tenth time since this whole thing began. He coughed and more blood splattered against his lips, oozed from the wound in his side despite the layers of bandages pressed there.
“Merlin...” Arthur sighed, pleaded.
“Magic’s almost gone,” Merlin pointed out.
“But there will be more come tomorrow,” Arthur tried. He looked away, tried to find the horizon in a darkness marked only by the orange glow of torches and the last embers of far too many fires.
Merlin ignored him, pressed on instead and said, “When I go, the wall will fall. Anything on the other side can get in; your men will need to be ready.”
Arthur looked to the men that surrounded him, surrounded them both, swords drawn and shields up as they formed a near impenetrable wall of their own around the hill where Merlin lay and Arthur crouched beside him. If he squinted he could see the barrier Merlin had erected, a line of the faintest gold that marked the borders of their land. He was fairly certain none of the enemy remained on this side of the line, at least not any that still drew breath. Morning would show if anything remained past that.
“They are gone, Merlin,” Arthur told him. He remembered the whirlwind that tossed so many across that imaginary border, past the camps no longer filled with soldiers or knights.
Merlin took a deep breath and the air returned, raspy and harsh. “Missed some. Need to be careful.”
Arthur knew he had missed some, missed the one lone swordman that made it through the line, who engaged no one and stuck to the shadows until he reached the sorcerer that had already tore apart an army and promised no other should ever amass that much power while he still lived.
That was the crux of it all though: Merlin, for all his show of power and protection, for all the fear and terror he had placed in the hearts of the enemy, for all the warning he gave that rang loud and true and for generations to come, might not survive to see the peace he built.
Arthur did not want to think about that. He did not want to think about the wielder of such power pouring more blood than magic back into the earth, about him fading further and further into the abyss with each ragged breath.
“It’s almost tomorrow,” he said instead. “The new day is almost here.”
Merlin chuckled, or at least made a sound that approximated a harsh laugh. “You don’t get it, do you?” he asked, eyes unfocused as he stared upward at the starlight. “I told you that so you would let me go, not to make you clutch on and drag me through to the other side. Albion is safe, Camelot is safe, and, most importantly, you are safe. That’s all that matters.”
Arthur glared at him, though he knew the action was wasted as Merlin’s eyes were soundly closed once more. “You will make it through to tomorrow. You will rise and you will save yourself. Then, when all is said and done and we are back within the safety of the castle walls, we are going to have a very long discussion about self-sacrifice and idiocy.”
“If I make it to tomorrow, and if I am granted the gift of magic, I will use every last drop to reinforce that wall and protect you all,” Merlin promised.
“You fool!” Arthur growled. He shook him, knew it likely ripped the wound open further, let the blood and life seep out that much faster. He pulled Merlin into his arms, supported him against his chest and forced him to look out from atop the hill where he lay, past their guard to see the utter destruction and remnants of chaos, to see how no one, not one single body, moved without wearing Pendragon red. He turned back to him and shouted, “There is nothing to protect against! It’s over, Merlin. Over! The only thing you have left to do is heal yourself so, please, stop being so damned obstinate and just get it through that thick skull of yours that you need to live. You need to, Merlin; it’s as simple as that.”
“Arthur?” Merlin rasped. His head lolled against Arthur’s shoulder, and he looked down to see eyes sparkling with something new as the very corners of his lips turned up in what approximated a smile. “It’s tomorrow.”
Arthur tore his gaze away from the man in his arms and looked instead to the barest hint of colour on the horizon. He watched as reds and purples and, most importantly, shades of gold filled the air around them. A slim line of light wound its way through the battlefield, destruction and death revealed in its wake. When it finally reached their perch on the hill, he forced himself to look down at the man now tensing in his arms.
The light split Merlin in two, drew a line right through the middle of him, right through the worst of the damage. It seemed to spread out, set his very being, his very soul aglow from within, with tendrils that twisted outward, clawed against the cloth thick with blood and death. As the light climbed higher, so did Arthur’s gaze until it reached the swirls of gold against the blue, the light of magic and life against the grip of death.
“So help me, if you build another wall...” he threatened.
Merlin reached out, took his hand in his own, and squeezed with far more force and strength than he had managed thus far. Arthur took that as an acceptable response.
He shifted his grip slightly, felt the wetness of the blood harden against his skin, felt the bitter cold of death slowly warm in the sun’s bright rays. His legs cramped and his back ached and he knew Merlin could not be comfortable against the hard edges of his armour, but neither moved, neither pulled away. They sat there, together, pain and grime and everything else left unsaid between them, and welcomed the new day.
~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback is always welcomed.