Archive of Our Own ^beta

Arthur’s breaths came out ragged, incensed, tumultuous.

Outside, Camelot’s soldiers were reveling in their hard-fought victory, a war that had taken over three months to settle. At long last, King Arthur Pendragon and his army of valiant knights had hoisted Camelot’s red on a soil tainted with the blood of men, signalling a time of peace.

Oh, Mighty Peace! Where art thou?

Arthur’s palms reeked of sourmetal. He pulled down the apparition of his tent, blocking out the rest of the scene, the war, the knights, his victory. Damn. He had, at long last, accomplished in bringing the five kingdoms together, hadn’t he? But in that moment, it meant nothing to him.

Before him stood Merlin, hands on his hips, refusing to meet his gaze.

Though the dark-haired sorcerer didn’t dare look the king in the eye, he could feel his piercing gaze on him; a gaze that was at the same time scorching to the bone and a knife-deep stab to the heart.

Arthur’s footsteps came closer. The celebration and carousing of which both of them were the pivots suddenly seemed faraway, insignificant. Merlin felt Arthur’s shuddering breath on the exposed skin of his shoulder where his tunic had been ripped by enemy sword. Merlin felt the shaky yet steady grip of Arthur’s palms, roughened by continuous killing and sword-handling, clutch his arms and push him backwards until he fell unto their shared bed.

“I know what you were trying to do out there, Merlin,” Arthur said, and there was raw vulnerability in his voice and his eyes, the restraint threatening to crumble any moment to bare the bleeding heart.

“When? Where? What do you mean?” Merlin whispered, speaking so fast that his words came out jumbled.

“You know what I mean,” Arthur kept his gaze fixed on Merlin, the latter looking anywhere but at his lover’s eyes, fearing the brokenness that held them captive. “You know what I mean, Merlin, you know what I mean.” His voice was trembling as that of a man taking his last precious breaths of life.

“No, I don’t,” Merlin promptly closed his eyes. Arthur was so close that he prayed to the gods of the Old Religion that he could not hear the violent hammering inside his heart.

For a brief, increasingly stifling moment, neither spoke. Much like an eerily silent calm before a storm or a battle, it was unsettling. Merlin then felt Arthur’s grip on his arms tightening but instead of sharp words, Arthur’s body collapsed on his chest. The King of Camelot was weeping, each escaping sob leaving a more wrecked Arthur in its wake.

Instinctively, Merlin’s arms sheathed him, rubbing soothing patterns on the king’s back. “Arthur,” Merlin’s voice was on a steep edge. “Arthur... Arthur, look up. Come on, look up, love.”

Arthur looked devastated. Merlin ran his fingers comfortingly through Arthur’s golden hair, now well below his neck. Arthur’s hands went up to hold Merlin’s face in a gentle caress. His thumb grazed over Merlin’s bristly, thick beard- a result of three months of terrifying, ceaseless war. “I saw you there with the third legion, Merlin. I know you tried to hand yourself over to death.”

Merlin’s lips wobbled. “War affects us all, Arthur.”

“But that wasn’t war affecting you, was it?” Arthur retorted, his voice frail and accusing. “It was about your immortality.”

“No.” It came out quiet and a lousy attempt at lying.

Arthur laughed, dry and mirthless, gritting his teeth together, biting his lips harshly. “It was. It was about your immortality.”

This time, Merlin chose to remain silent.

“Why,” Arthur drew in a jarring breath. “Why, Merlin?” Arthur pressed his forehead against Merlin’s, both of them closing their eyes shut at the same moment of confrontation. “I told you before. You have no right.”

Somehow, that last sentence roused something inside Merlin. “Of course I have a right, Arthur. It is my life.”

“But you’re doing this for me,” Arthur countered, his eyes flaming up. “You’re throwing away your gift for my sake.”

“What gift?” Merlin hissed, his jaws clenched. “My immortality is anything but a gift.”

“So you just throw yourself at the first fire?” Arthur asked, despairingly. “What about me? What would I do without you?”

“What about me, Arthur?” Merlin scorned at him. His tone then turned considerably weaker. “I don’t want to live an endless eternity without you by my side.”

“Merlin,” Arthur began, locking their hands together. “I may be Arthur Pendragon, the illustrious king of Camelot, but I am no more than an ordinary man. I can swing a sword very skilfully, defeat armies of men, sure, but in the coming years- in the coming epochs, Merlin, there will be hundreds like me. Hell, there will be mightier, braver kings than I, but you, Merlin...you are not ordinary. And in fact, you have the gift to witness the rise and fall of many such kings. You are extraordinary, Merlin. Please, for the love of Camelot, for our love, don’t throw away what the gods have given you for an ordinary king such as I.”

Merlin’s eyes were hazy with tears, his throat burning from the struggle to not break into sobs. “I never wanted this gift.”

“I am a king, Merlin,” Arthur said, offering him a broken smile. “And it is great. I mean, it’s all I’ve ever wanted, all I’ve ever trained to be. All my life has led up to this and I can’t deny it.” Arthur paused, hand pressed against the small of Merlin’s back. “But behind all this glory, all this power, all this dominion and claim, there is much lost, too. Being king isn’t all about glory, in fact, it isn’t about glory at all. It is about carrying the burdens of your subjects to whom you’ve promised protection.” He paused once again, his eyes vulnerable and unarmed. “But you know what they don’t tell you? That a king, at the end of the day, is only human, too; that even a king wants to run away sometimes and not want to be king. A king loathes his position as king, too, and he loathes it the most on the battlefield when he has to witness his men turn into corpses before his own eyes.”

Merlin was subconsciously playing with the light stubble lining Arthur’s jaws. “Sometimes, being king doesn’t feel privileged, or like a gift. It feels like a curse. But it is my purpose- the purpose that I was born to serve and I must serve it.”

“I like you better when you’re an idiotic prat,” Merlin cracked a smile, making Arthur release a soft hum of laughter, too.

“Well, I like you better when you’re trying to be alive for me and not jumping into death,” Arthur smiled sadly, shaking his head. He pursed his lips and said, “And don’t you think I hate it?” Merlin shifted in his place slightly, moving inside to give Arthur more room.

Arthur attached his lips to Merlin, breathing, thriving and relishing in what felt like home. “Don’t you think I detest it?” he said, in between kisses, and once again the king’s eyes held a melancholic air that Merlin wanted to vanish, to take away if he could. He had caused him enough pain for a day. “I hate to think that you will one day love another soul.” He looked up at Merlin and kissed him again, this time communicating the desperation and turmoil of his heart in the heat of the kiss. Merlin’s nimble fingers which knew their way around Arthur so well, rhythmically worked to unclothe the king.

“I hate that one day, you will not be mine to love,” Arthur continued, quivering lips hovering over Merlin’s new-grown beard.

“Arthur, I will always be yours,” Merlin said, the heartache reaching his throat once again. “In this life and every other.”

Arthur was laying on top of Merlin now, his breath falling on Merlin’s face. “No, Merlin,” he said, pressing their foreheads together. “You must love again. You must find happiness again. You must move on once I’m gone.”

Arthur’s fingers lingered over Merlin’s collarbones and he dipped down to press his lips onto the little crevice at the end of Merlin’s throat. Merlin shut his eyes, drinking in the feeling of Arthur holding him, the feeling of Arthur loving him. “I’m sorry,” Merlin mumbled, gasping softly at the feel of Arthur’s uncombed stubble brushing against the tender skin of his neck. “I shouldn’t have done that. I was being selfish.”

“We’re all selfish, Merlin,” Arthur said. “We’re all selfish when we’re in love. I am, too.”

“Perhaps,” Merlin mused. “But you are wrong about one thing, Arthur Pendragon.” At this, Arthur raised an eyebrow curiously, asking Merlin to carry on. “You are no ordinary king. Yes, it is true, that in the coming years of mankind there will many more great kings. But none as great as you, Arthur, none as great as you.”

Merlin pulled him down, enjoining their mouths. The thin sheen of sweat on both their chests and bellies mixed together, radiating heat and love and rhythm and harmony. Merlin’s reactions at every touch of Arthur, some tender some teasing, were a thing of beauty. They were both crushed under the weight of their enormous destinies, but here, away from the blood, the battle, they felt invincible.

“Just love me till I draw my last breath, that’s all I ask,” Arthur sincerely said. Then, chuckling, added, “That is, if I don’t by some means fuck it up with my alarming prattiness.”

Merlin laughed heartily and his eyes crinkled. “I already intend to do that, you didn’t have to ask.”

Arthur’s eyes were fond and warm and in that moment, Merlin knew that perhaps the most immortal thing about him, something that would never die was the love he had for Arthur- a love that filled his chest and his bones and still Merlin felt there was more lurching out of him. He may love others in his very long life, but none as deeply as he loved Arthur. Of this, he was sure.