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Steam 4/5
Title: Steam
Pairings/characters: Arthur/Merlin
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 40k
Warnings: reincarnation, violence, captivity, deaths of minor characters, alternative history, bad science, extreme nerdiness, evil mecha.
Summary: It's been centuries since King Arthur united Albion and lifted the ban on magic. Ruled by Pendragon dynasty, the kingdom had prospered till a feud between the magicians and King Uther the Second drove the country to the brink of collapse. Now it's up to Prince Arthur and his Knights of the Engine to harness steam power to replace the magic Albion had lost, and it's up to Merlin to protect Arthur while he fulfils his destiny.
Author's notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
paperlegends Reincarnation story. Renaissance-era post-apocalyptic steampunk AU set 300 years after canon timeline. Betaed by the wonderful ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
deadwoodmt
Art link: HERE ARE 3 (THREE!!!) AWESOME PIECES byaqualillium who also made beautiful icons and banners featured here.
Podfic!!!! Performed wonderfully bypennyplainknits, zip of all 5 parts is HERE!!!
Also on AOOO for all your e-booking needs
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part 4
Merlin hadn't even considered that a new squad of guards would be posted to the grove after the others were killed. But they were there, a good dozen of them, walking back and forth around their camp fire. He lay in the bushes, trying to come up with a plan. There was no sneaking past them, but perhaps he could just blag it. Walk straight up to them and tell them that the king had changed his mind and the ransom was to be paid. But if they didn't believe him and took him and the stone back to Camelot, he wouldn't have another chance, and Arthur had just over a day left now.
Suddenly a hand touched his shoulder, and a voice whispered into his ear:
"Hello, Merlin."
He flailed and rolled in the undergrowth, making the guards stir and look around. Then he stilled, holding his breath. Edwin the physician was crouching next to him, smiling.
"See," he said quietly. "I just knew that affection between you and your Lord would blossom into something beautiful."
"I brought it," Merlin whispered, clutching at the stone he had stuffed under his shirt.
"I know. I can feel it."
Merlin could feel it too. From the moment he'd opened the door to the treasury it called to him, tugging at the edges of his mind. It was nothing like the dull sparks left in the old machines, and nothing like the wild, joyful magic that used to sing inside the silver bird. This power was tightly coiled, patient, clever and waiting.
"I want to see Arthur before I give it to you," he said. "Bring him here."
"Oh, I'll do one better. I'll take you to him."
He tugged on Merlin's sleeve, motioning away from the grove and the guards. Merlin hesitated - here he could at least scream for help if the physician tried to take the stone from him, but then the ransom would fall back into Camelot's hands, and Arthur...
"Don't you want to see Arthur?" asked Edwin softly, and Merlin went after him, tightly clasping the stone against his chest. He just realized how over his head he was in all of this.
They walked through the forest for some time, first sneaking from tree to tree, then growing bolder as they left the grove behind.
"Who helped you steal it?" Edwin asked. "Was it Lady Morgana or the cute little blacksmith girl?"
He didn't answer, trying to remember the path and guess where they were heading, but he needn't have bothered. They walked up to a small clearing with a witch's circle of mushrooms in the middle. Edwin stepped in and beckoned Merlin to follow, and the next moment they were somewhere else entirely. The thick forest gave way to hilly stretch of tall grass with solitary, gnarled trees here and there. They walked down the hill into the crag between two cliffs, and Edwin pulled back some thick bushes to reveal the mouth of a cave.
They went through, stooping at first in the narrow passage. The cave widened, turning into a bigger room with a few pallets and a fire pit with a cooking pot hanging over it. There was a man crouched on the floor, sorting through food stores. He startled and stared at them, his eyes shimmering as he sensed the magic of the stone. Without a word he abandoned loaves of bread on the ground and rose to follow them deeper inside the cave.
After a few bends Merlin saw bright light ahead and thought they'd be coming to the surface, but it was another cave, bigger than the first one. He saw two other strangers and a bunch of tools and machinery, and then he finally saw Arthur.
Arthur was alive; he was standing on a workbench, reaching up to tighten a bolt on some huge machine in the middle of a cave. He threw a quick, distracted glance at them as they entered, and then he noticed Merlin and his face hardened, turning white in sudden anger.
He dropped the spanner, letting it bounce off the rocks - Arthur would never treat tools that way, he'd yell at anyone who'd dare - and jumped down. Something jangled, and only then did Merlin see a chain stretching from Arthur's ankle to the wall. The skin above it was ringed in faint bruises. Arthur was standing barefoot on the cold rocks. The disgusting tatters he wore were stained with sweat and machine grease, and it took Merlin a moment to realise that those were Arthur's fine sleeping clothes. He had a bandage on his arm and both his hands were wrapped in dirty rags. A big chunk of his hair was missing on one side where they'd cut it to include with the ransom note, and his scalp was showing through in pale patches. It was unbearable to see him like this, but he was alive, he was alive.
"No," he said. "No, no. I did what you wanted. You told me you wouldn't take anyone else if I did what you wanted! You will release him at once! If you lay a finger on him -"
"Oh, what you would do then, Your Highness? Anyway, Merlin is here on his own volition," said Edwin. "Aren't you, Merlin?"
"I... came to save you," said Merlin with a shaky smile. Arthur groaned and clenched his fists.
"Merlin, you bloody idiot," he said. "Now they have two prisoners. How stupid are you, exactly? You keep surprising me."
"No, he did save you," said Edwin. Two of the men came up to Merlin and grabbed his arms; Arthur made a harsh, desperate sound, lunged forward and was stopped short by the chain. Edwin stuck his hand under Merlin's shirt and retrieved the stone wrapped in his neckerchief. "He brought your ransom. Now we can go ahead with our plan. I was starting to think we would have to settle for the simple pleasure of killing you and sending your father your body parts just to watch his face. But now you get to live."
"You made me do all this and you sent for ransom as well?" asked Arthur, gritting his teeth. "I should have known."
"Yes, you really should have. Did you think we'd go through the trouble of kidnapping an heir to the throne just to have him correct our gear ratios? Having you do that while we waited was simply efficient. I'm sure as an engineer you appreciate that. Two birds, one stone. All right, this won't take long. Merlin, you can go join your master."
They let him go and pushed him toward Arthur, and he went, curling his fingers over his cuffs to keep from reaching for him. He wanted so badly to touch Arthur, to feel him there, solid and real, warm and breathing.
For a moment it almost seemed that Arthur wanted that too, that he was about to lean in and fling his arms around Merlin, hugging him like friends do. Instead he put his hand on Merlin's shoulder, clasping it firmly just as he did when they'd first met. His thumb slid down Merlin's collarbone, rubbing soothingly.
"Come on, pull yourself together," he said under his breath. "Don't let them see you like this."
Now, up close, it was even worse than it seemed at first glance. He could see dirt clinging to the creases on Arthur's face between patches of shaggy blond stubble. He could see the sickly paleness of his skin, deep shadows under his blood-shot eyes, fresh cuts on his fingers. He caught a shade of that smell he remembered from Camelot's dungeons: days-old stale sweat, bitter with pain and fear, musty blankets, badly cleaned filth; the smells of captivity. He couldn't even imagine how Arthur, with his daily bath addiction, could stand this - but Arthur was right. It wouldn't do to fall to pieces in front of their enemies.
Merlin nodded and rubbed at his face with his sleeve. Behind him things were moving. The magicians were using spells to push the workbenches to the walls and pull the large machine to the centre of the room.
"So how much was the ransom?" asked Arthur loudly. "What's that, bag of gems? The crown jewels? Guess this should be enough to ship your toy across the sea - where is that you're heading now?"
"We're staying here," said one of the magicians, unwrapping the stone reverently. "This is the last piece of the puzzle. All the strings our puppet needs."
The stone glowed in his palms, rose in the air and floated to the top of the big machine, to the last piece of the casing that was still propped open.
Merlin hadn't really spared the machine more than a glance before. Now he looked, and reached out with his magic to taste and feel as well. It was huge, rising up to the ceiling of the cave. It looked a little bit like an ancient suit of armour Merlin had seen decorating the great chambers of Camelot. It had two legs, a barrel-shaped body covered in interlocking steel plates, and two arms, but that's where the similarity ended.
The thing didn't have a head. Its broad shoulders sloped to a smooth dome with lines of runes spiralling over it. The arms were as thick as legs and twice as long, reaching the floor. With the body tilted forward the machine was supported on all fours. The arms had complex ball-joints at the elbows and ended with mean looking three-fingered claws. The legs of the machine bent forward at the knees and backwards at the heels like animal paws, and its feet were triple-toed as well, thick metal stumps spreading wide on the cave floor.
The Archmage's stone slid into place, and the inside of machine lit up all at once. The magic wasn't flowing yet, but the power of the stone opened up all the pathways and held them like that, hungry, ringing, yearning to be filled. The machine didn't move, but it tensed all over, invisibly but unmistakably.
"What is it?" Merlin asked. "What does it do?"
He couldn't figure it out; the machine's functions were too complex, it was able to move in so many ways, and there was something in its chest - a dark empty whirlpool, a frightening void, and he couldn't fathom what it could be for.
"It doesn't do anything," said Arthur. "Its only purpose is to destroy."
The raised plate clicked down, pushed shut by magic. The machine was complete now, slick and impenetrable from any angle.
"This was the vision of our last Archmage, the greatest sorcerer who'd ever lived," said Edwin. "Uther slaughtered him and ordered his work destroyed - he feared it could be turned on him. He stole the Archmage's stone and kept it from us. He repaid centuries of our service with betrayal and persecution and drove us from our home, all out of fear that one day we'd rise against him. Today is the day we teach him a lesson about self-fulfilling prophecies."
"This can't be," said Arthur, vehemently shaking his head. "No, if my father had that thing he wouldn't give it to you. Not for me, not for anything. No."
"I kind of stole it," Merlin confessed, and Arthur slumped against the wall with a moan and stared at him, furious.
"Well, what was I supposed to do?" Merlin demanded, throwing his arms up. "They said they'd kill you! And you - you worked on it, you corrected their gear ratios! If you hadn't-"
And then he saw it all again, the chain and the bandages and that haunted look in Arthur's deathly tired eyes, and he could punch himself for being such a callous idiot.
"Sorry," he mumbled. "I guess you had no choice."
"Yeah," Arthur said, his eyes softening. "I guess you didn't either."
The men formed a circle around the machine and pressed their hands to its steel flanks, testing the paths, feeling their ways around the power conduit.
"The machines were an abomination from the very beginning," said one of them. "The mere idea that the arcane arts would be used like that: caged and bound, put to household tasks and menial labour, made to perform the work of serfs and animals... It's disgusting. It's a travesty."
"But the machines that run on steam - that's the real danger," said another, pointing a finger at Arthur. "They are dumb, crude implements imbued with the power beyond man's capacity to handle. You'd destroy our forests and plunder our earth to feed them, and you'd never stop. The more machines you build, the more you'd need to keep the vicious circle going."
"Camelot is a blight on this land," said Edwin. "Without it, the duchies will fall in line, and we'll rebuild Albion the way it's supposed to be. We'll restore this land to its true destiny. The magicians will return."
"I notice they aren't here with you," said Arthur. The bravado in his voice was cracking, so clearly fake now it was painful to listen to. "Even your own people think you're raving maniacs."
"They're reluctant to get their hands dirty," answered Edwin calmly. "They'll be back once we've cleared the way. It's not really about the machines. They were only a symptom of this malady. Everything went wrong centuries ago, when the first magician bowed to King Arthur and threw the power of our people at his feet. We need a fresh start, and this time we're going to do it right."
He lifted his palms off the machine's hull and took a step toward Arthur. Merlin pushed forward, ready to plead, bargain, even fight, but Arthur grabbed his arm and shoved him back between himself and the wall.
"Let him go," Arthur said, nearly begging. "You've no quarrel with him. Just let him go, and then do what you will."
"Oh, we're not going to harm either of you. We have great plans for you. Just like your namesake, the great King Arthur, you're going to become a legend. You're going to bring magic back to Albion. You'll watch Camelot burn, your beloved machines reduced to dust, and your traitor Father die in agony. And then you'll take your throne and you'll rule the way we tell you to if you don't want the rest of Albion go up in flames. And Merlin - oh, I'm so glad he's here. I'm giving him to you as your court sorcerer. He's got magic in his blood. Are you surprised, Arthur?"
Merlin's heart sank, even though it was beyond stupid and selfish worrying about his own fate at a time like this.
"Not really," said Arthur flatly with a small shrug.
"I thought as much. You see, that had been our mistake, too. We'd sent our best and brightest to serve as liaisons with the king, and Camelot would poison them against us. This one is irredeemable, but he's completely powerless. Your father saw to that. This boy, just like so many others, was robbed of any chance to develop and harness his gift. He can't do anything. But he's an open receptacle for our magic. We'll use him to relay messages and instructions, and we'll watch you through his eyes."
"Edwin, enough," said one of the men. "Let us begin."
They all placed his hands on the machine again, and Merlin felt their power flow in, priming the pathways and laying down the tasks, burning their orders into the spaces between the runes. The whirlpool inside slowly churned around the first wisps of energy, melting them into restless sparks of blue flame. It was then that he understood what kind of magic that was, what kind of weapon.
Arthur's hand suddenly squeezed his. His fingertips were icy and there were raggedy bandages between their palms, but his grip was sure and strong. Merlin squeezed back, comforted in some irrational but deep way, and readied himself for the next move.
"Merlin," Arthur whispered urgently in his ear. "Make a break for it while they're distracted. I'll create a diversion - just run. Get out of here and run like hell. Use your magic if you can, run and don't look back. Get help, all right? Get out and send help."
Merlin nodded distractedly, waiting for the right moment. His power was lined along the magicians' now, vibrating at the edges of the flow they were creating and weaving inside it. He knew they couldn't sense him. He was so good at hiding, keeping his magic curled up and still as if it wasn't there at all. He’d only ever let it sneak out to explore and feel the world without creating any disturbance or leaving any trace, the way these magicians never had to. They didn't notice him until they finished their preparations and opened up, leaving themselves defenceless, to pour all their power into the waiting conduits. That was when he struck out.
He didn't know if it would work at all, if his magic would be strong and quick enough. But he had to try, and he knew that was what Arthur wanted, no matter the risks.
His magic crashed outwards through the intricate lines of their interwoven power, clumsy and all the more disruptive for it. The men staggered back, screaming in pain and confusion. Merlin glanced down at the chain binding Arthur and thought how much he hated it. That was all it took. The links burst, torn to small twisted pieces, and he pushed Arthur toward the exit.
"Arthur, run!" he yelled. The magicians were recovering, turning to him and muttering spells. He gathered his magic and pushed it at them, messily, blindly, just trying to keep them away while Arthur got out.
Arthur dropped his hand and ran, but only as far as the nearest workbench. He grabbed a lump hammer and a chisel and rushed the magicians, running headlong into the deadly spells flowing toward him.
Merlin fell on his knees and thrust all his power, all he had, between them and Arthur. Then he turned it all toward them, making his intent deadly, putting all his rage into it. The hostile power rippled through his, and he pushed down on it, grinding it into nothing, smashing into their sharp, honed spells with the blunt force of all he was. He yelled it all out, ready to let it his power spill out from the very core of his being until nothing was left of him.
"Merlin, you can stop screaming like a girl," he heard Arthur say after what seemed an age, and he took a breath and opened his eyes. The magicians were on the floor, not moving. Arthur stood next to him, still holding the tools. Blood dripped from them, and he could hear it hitting the stone floor in the sudden silence: plink, plink.
"They said you were powerless," Arthur remarked. His face was paler than before, his expression unreadable.
"Um," Merlin said. His throat felt raw. "Uh. Did you see how I, with the chain?"
"Yeah, that doesn't count. I tired it out for you."
"Huh? Oh, never mind. Did we kill them?"
"Not sure," Arthur said, cautiously glancing at the bodies. "I've not... done this before."
They moved around the room, checking for heartbeats and finding none. The last one was crumpled on the floor face-down, his arm broken and his hair soaked in blood. Merlin thought he could still hear him struggling to take a breath, the last bit of life still gurgling down his throat. Secretly, Merlin had hoped they would all be dead. They deserved no better. But finishing off a wounded enemy didn't feel right; they could take this one prisoner, have him stand trial...
The man suddenly twisted around and grabbed Merlin's leg with his good arm. He'd been muttering a spell under his breath, and he forced out the last words through his bloodied lips while Merlin struggled to push him off. Arthur ran up to them and swung the hammer, baring his teeth in grim determination, and the man fell, not even crying out. His eyes were still open, and they were still trained on Merlin.
"Your magic," he whispered, his mouth twisting into a pained smile. "Your life. You're the centre now."
Arthur hit him again on the temple; the man's head lolled on the floor, and his eyes went empty. Merlin checked his pulse with a shaking hand to be sure. Arthur dropped the hammer and wiped the blood splatter off his face with his dirty sleeves.
"Glad I live in the modern age," he said queasily. "I'd make a rubbish warrior."
Merlin didn't think so, but couldn't find the energy to argue. Something was wrong; whatever the spell was, he knew it did something to him, but he couldn't quite pin it down. There was an odd presence inside his chest, a subtle current running through his body in sync with his heartbeat. It didn't hurt, and it didn't seem to be doing him any harm...
And then the runes on the machine's hull began to glow, lighting up in cold blue one by one.
Arthur shouted a warning, grabbed him and pulled him to the exit as the machine stirred and rose on its haunches, shifting around and finding its balance.
"They must have put some magic in it," Arthur said, hovering at the edge of the bend where they took cover. "It'll run out, it can't be much, right? Right?"
"No," Merlin moaned. He felt it now, the inexorable tug as waves of his own magic were pulled out of his body, leaking out through his fingertips, his solar plexus, everywhere. "No, it's not going to run out. It's feeding on me. That one, he put a spell on me - it's feeding on my magic now!"
"Well, stop it!" demanded Arthur, shaking him by the shoulders.
"I can't! I don't know how!"
He tried, but it was like trying to sprout wings or trying to stop being yourself. No matter how hard he strained, nothing happened; every effort he made only seemed to make the magic pump out of him faster. He didn't feel weakened, but he couldn't do anything. All of his power was locked, bound by a skill far beyond him. He felt every pulse of it, felt his magic being swallowed by the Archmage's stone and spat out again, chewed up and changed. It no longer felt like his, and it was falling right into the patterns set by the will of the dead magicians. It was flooding the vortex inside the machine, which was now a pool of molten, pressurised fire.
"It's all right, it's all right," said Arthur as Merlin cried out in frustration, trying to pull free and sinking deeper with every movement, like a foal in a mire. "It's trapped here, it's too big to get out of this cave, it'll be..."
As if it heard him, the machine rose higher on its hind legs and a brilliant ray of pure light shot out of the centre of its body. They were blinded for a second. When they could see again through the clouds of stone dust, the cave wall was gone, and daylight was pouring in through a wide, steaming tunnel. The machine was grappling at the edges of the tunnel with its arms, widening it. Stones crumbled in its claws like lumps of clay. As they stared, dumbstruck, it cleared enough of a way to push off the floor with its legs and leap upwards through the tunnel, clearing it in one graceful jump.
Arthur lunged after it and scrambled through the tunnel with Merlin following suit. Once outside, the machine stopped for a moment and twisted around, getting its bearings, and then broke into a run. It leapt heavily from one foot to another, pushing off the ground with its long arms. It circumvented bigger trees and ran straight through smaller ones, and their trunks snapped against steel.
They ran after it. It was faster than them, though not by much, and Merlin knew that eventually they'd have to slow down and it wouldn't. It was leaving a wide trail, its feet gouging deep marks in the forest floor, and they could still see it ahead, but it was getting away. Even if they could catch up, Merlin had no idea what they'd do.
"It won't make it to Camelot!" Arthur yelled, grunting when his bare feet hit rocks or pine cones. "I've rigged it to fail. I've sabotaged every part of it! It won't make it - it has a few miles in it, no more, and then..."
They made it to the top of the hill and Arthur stumbled, staring down incredulously.
"All that time," he muttered. "All that bloody time, that's where I was?"
Merlin caught up to him and saw Camelot, just like he saw it for the first time: on the hill in the centre of the valley below, beautiful and peaceful and crowned with white towers and great chimneys. It was so close, not five miles away.
The machine was running down the hill, easily scaling down the steep incline. If it kept going like that, it would take it a quarter of an hour to reach the nearest houses, and if it spared those it would be at the city walls minutes later.
"Look!" Arthur gripped his arm, hard, careless with his strength in his excitement. "Look, there it is!"
The machine wobbled slightly, faltering in its steps for a fraction of a moment. It lost control of its heel joint and staggered for a few steps, attempting to lock that leg and adjust its balance. But then it continued running, a little sideways now, using its arm as a crutch. It didn't slow down that noticeably, but Arthur was triumphant, nearly hopping on the spot.
"Look!" he yelled again. "It'll spread now, now that knee will go, then that elbow, and then the axle will pop out of alignment - it has a few good steps in it, on the furrowed fields it has to push that much harder, it won't make - "
The machine's knee buckled, right on cue, and this time Merlin saw something pop out, maybe a few small bearings. He felt the magic inside the machine falter too, falling slightly out of line. Even over the distance he heard a loud metallic screech when something inside the hull gave and the arm of the machine went slack, the claw twitching erratically. The machine stopped, holding itself carefully upright. Arthur swallowed loudly next to Merlin's ear. His fingers on Merlin's arm were trembling.
"Come on," he whispered. "Come on, give up. You're dead."
The machine pushed off the ground with its good leg and leapt up. At the top of the arch its back opened up. Two panels slid out, revealing moving wheels and pistons underneath. The magic inside it twisted and changed, and the machine soared up, flying.
"No!" Arthur screamed. "It can't possibly fly! It doesn't even - it's not possible!"
"Magic," said Merlin bitterly. It was his magic, ripped right out of him. He felt how it was working and couldn't do a thing to stop it. The machine was hovering in the air, flying slowly but steadily. He could feel that its insides were half torn. Everything was slipping from its sockets, delicate cogs broken, springs hanging loose, uncoiled and twisted. But if it held itself perfectly still, like it was doing now, it could still fly right over Camelot, and it could pour fire over all of it. It could burn Camelot to the ground. They had no defence from air attacks. Crossbows wouldn't do anything to it, and Merlin wasn't even sure if they had a catapult or if it could hit something directly overhead...
His magic, that man had said, his life. Merlin felt it to be true. He couldn't stop the spell. Trapped and bound, all his strength was useless to him; he couldn't get free, not as long as he lived.
He thought about his mum, and it hurt to imagine her pain when she would find out. But then he thought of Camelot: Gaius, Gwen, Morgana, the engineers, all the people, all the mothers and children there, unaware of what was coming toward them bringing fire and death. And then, then it was easy. Arthur was still holding onto the chisel as if he'd been planning to attack the machine with it if they managed to catch up to it. Maybe he even had, but it didn't matter. It was a stroke of luck. The chisel was sharp, so it would be quick.
Arthur was lost, staring at the machine in complete disbelief, not yet accepting what was happening. Merlin gently uncurled his fingers and Arthur let him, let the chisel slip free and settle in Merlin's hand. Merlin grabbed it hard, concentrated on the pressure of steel against his palm so he wouldn't have to think of anything else and wouldn't be afraid and struck upwards, fast, aiming at his own throat.
He must have faltered at the last second, or Arthur was just that quick, but when his mind cleared from a moment of that terrified blankness Arthur had the chisel, and Merlin's wrist hurt where Arthur had twisted it. There was only a shallow scratch on his neck, but it stung as he clutched at it and it bled all over his hand. His magic was still caught in the spell, and the machine was still flying, getting so close to its target now.
"What in the hell do you think you're doing?" Arthur yelled in his face, and slapped him on the ear, harder than he probably meant to. "Are you out of your mind?"
"It'll stop if I die."
"You don't-"
"Yes, Arthur, I know that for sure! I can feel that! I don't want to die, do you think I want to? We have no choice! Arthur, come on. Please. Help me. We're out of time."
"No. No!"
"Arthur, it's Camelot! It's your people, it's your kingdom! Just think how many would die - and we can stop it, we can save them all. With just one life, Arthur, we have to."
He grabbed Arthur's hand, the one holding the chisel, and pulled it up. Arthur resisted, his whole body locked and his eyes - Merlin couldn't bear to meet his eyes.
"No," Arthur said. "No. Not you. Not you."
"It's your duty," Merlin told him, and Arthur made a wretched noise, something between a groan and a sob. He turned his head toward Camelot, and suddenly stepped back.
"Woah," he said. "What."
There was another dark shape in the sky, quickly bearing down on the machine. It beat its great wings, speeding up, and Merlin recognised it. He yelled in sudden joy, jumping and waving his arms. The dragon didn't pay him any heed, probably couldn't see him from that distance. It was flying straight at the machine, and it was many times its size, terrible and glorious.
The machine spat out an endless ray of blue fire. It arced through the sky, aiming at the dragon's head. The dragon folded its wings and dove under it, barrelling down like a stone for one dizzying second before it fanned out its wings again, whipped its tail and somersaulted in the air, ending up underneath the machine. The dragon grabbed it by the leg with its clawed paws and hurtled it down toward the green fields.
The machine crashed into soft earth, coughing out fire in a mad spiral. The impact threw up a wall of soil, making a huge crater in the field, but the machine scrambled up right away. It pushed up with its good limbs and straightened, and leapt upwards again. Just as it strained to gain flight, its arms flailed up and it twisted on itself as if in pain. One of its legs jerked and snapped off at the joint; a seam opened up at its shoulder with a beam pushing through. It fell down again and struggled to rise, tearing the loose beam further through itself. Then the magic finally slid free of the mutilated metal paths, free of the pull of the Archmage's stone. It spun out, unravelling, and singed the green wheat shoots to black for yards around.
"It's dead," Merlin said. His magic was settling back, happy, warm, relieved to be his again. "I'm free."
Arthur slung an arm over his shoulder, leaning in with all his weight. His knees were probably as weak as Merlin's felt right now. And then he started laughing, and he was so beautiful. Even dirty and worn out like now, he was perfect and radiant, golden and beautiful as the sun. Merlin could look at him all his life and never get enough.
"Damn," Arthur said finally with a prattish, smug smile, still chuckling a little. "I knew it would work. I'm awesome!"
The dragon made a slow circle over the broken machine and flew toward them, gracefully gliding down.
"Er," Arthur said, peeling himself off Merlin and squaring his shoulders. "What is that thing? Do we have to fight that now?"
"I don't think so. Well, I hope not!" said Merlin cheerfully. Most of the time he wasn't sure what to think of the dragon, and even less at that moment.
The dragon touched down and walked the last few steps toward them, swaying from side to side like a landed duck. Arthur looked at its enormous head then at the ten inch long chisel he still held in his hand, considered it for a moment and nonchalantly tucked the chisel into his waistband. Then he folded his hands behind his back in a stiff ceremonial posture, as if he was stood in Camelot's great hall, dressed in velvet and with his golden coronet on his brow. He bowed to the dragon, shallowly but slowly and respectfully.
"Thank you," he said in a loud, clear voice. "Camelot owes you a debt of gratitude."
"It does," the dragon answered. "Perhaps I shall ask for it to be returned one day."
"Hey, I did save your life out there," Arthur immediately noted. "If I hadn't rigged that machine to fail it would have fried you on the second pass."
The dragon responded with a low, amused chuckle.
"Arthur Pendragon," he said. "Hear this. Magic will be a part of this land till the end of time. It can be your ally or your enemy. That choice always rests with you."
It spread its wings and took off again, easily soaring upwards.
"Wait!" Merlin called. Arthur grabbed his hand in warning, but Merlin just squeezed back reassuringly and yelled again. "Wait! Did you know this would happen? Why didn't you just tell me? We could have - did you want for this to happen?"
"The future is fluid," said the dragon, hovering in the air above them. Every beat of its wings was blowing their hair back with a sharp gust of wind.
"What? What does that even mean?"
"Nobody knows. That's the point."
"Are you really my friend? Why did you send me here? Tell me!"
The dragon twisted its neck and looked right at Merlin, baring all its teeth. Merlin felt Arthur tense at his side, but he was almost sure the dragon was smiling at him.
"Merlin," the dragon said. "Try to last longer this time. We're not always friends, but when you're not here, I always miss you."
It flew straight up, twirling in the air playfully; it looked like it loved flying and relished every moment it spent in the air. Merlin stared after it until it was just a dot over the horizon, and then Arthur let go of his hand and lay down on the ground, stretching on his back in the sparse grass of the hilltop.
"Ow, my feet," he grimaced. "Cut them to shreds on that stupid run through that stupid forest."
"Let me." Merlin knelt down to survey the damage, maybe fashion some bandages out of his shirt, but Arthur caught his sleeve and stopped him.
"No, leave it. I'd rather trust Gaius to do that when we get home."
"How will you get home like this?" asked Merlin, a little offended.
"I'm not walking another step. Someone would've seen what happened - the whole city must have. Father will send out riders to investigate, they'll be here soon enough."
He pillowed his head on one arm and tilted his face up into the rays of summer sunlight, breathing deeply of the fresh air. After just a moment of basking in that pleasure, he opened his eyes and levelled an accusing finger at Merlin's face.
"You," he said sternly. "Have an awful lot of explaining to do."
"Yeah, all right," nodded Merlin, resigned, and shifted closer.
"Firstly and most importantly," Arthur said, frowning with his blond eyebrows. "It was you who broke my merlin-bird, wasn't it?"
"It's not yours, exactly."
"Can you fix it or not?"
"I could," Merlin said. He knew it wouldn't take more than a thought. The ancient magic was still inside him, part of his own, yet unchanged by it. It would leave just as effortlessly as it came and would return to its old home.
"Good," Arthur nodded with a little satisfied smile. "Good, you'll do that first thing after we get home. Second thing would be getting my bath ready."
"Home? You mean - you want me to go back to Camelot?"
"Well, yes. I've already paid you for this whole month, in case you've conveniently forgotten. Besides, you were going to die for this city. I assume it means you like it there."
Arthur spoke lightly, obviously joking, but there was something guarded and darkly serious in his eyes, and Merlin wasn't sure how to answer.
"Of course, you'd have to be careful," Arthur continued. "I don't want to see you running around the castle waving your magic around. But somehow you've managed to keep it hidden thus far, so just don't do anything, don't attract attention and don't..."
He trailed off. Now he was looking at Merlin with an expression that didn't belong on his face, didn't suit him at all. It was pity, or guilt, and it made Merlin twitchy, made him uncomfortable, made him dig his fingers into the grass, fidgeting and ducking away from Arthur's eyes.
"I don't know what it's like, to have all that inside you," Arthur said quietly. "Now that you had a taste of it, maybe you want... Maybe going back to Camelot is like asking you to shut yourself in a cave."
It felt good that Arthur would care enough to think of that, but at the same time Merlin knew that Arthur had far too much time to think lately. Arthur'd been locked up, threatened with death, stripped of all power, and now he understood the need to be free all too well. All this sudden sensitivity was just a sign of how raw he felt, how fresh the wounds were. Merlin would rather have the old inconsiderate prat back, the one who was obnoxious and demanding and thought himself invincible. The one who believed that nothing was quite out of his reach.
"I don't feel any different," Merlin said. "I'm not going mad with power as we speak, or anything. All right, I've never tried anything big like that before; I never knew if I could and now I do. But it wasn't a pleasant thing, what we did to those magicians."
"No," Arthur agreed, visibly suppressing a shudder.
"I'd be glad to come back. I'm happy to serve you till I die, really," said Merlin, even though it sounded unnecessarily soppy. Arthur didn't laugh or call him a girl; he just nodded a little, taking it as his due. Merlin was starting to suspect that the old obnoxious Arthur would be back in full force before the day was out. "I just don't fancy my chances after the king finds out I robbed his treasury."
Merlin hadn't really considered how this all could end for him, only thinking as far ahead as the next step and the ultimate goal of bringing Arthur home. He could be exiled or condemned as a thief. Of course, the choice between that and leaving Arthur in enemy's hands had been no choice at all.
"Oh, that. Right. Does anyone know - were you seen?"
"Gwen knows. And Morgana and Morgause..."
"They're all right," said Arthur off-handedly. "Well, obviously, Edwin stole that bloody stone thing himself. With magic! Who even knows how it really works, he might have done. In fact, you've not even been in that cave. You were wandering in the forest, stupid with grief and worry. Or, well, stupider. I defeated them alone and made my escape, and then you came across me as I was resting here. And - you know what, let me do all the talking when we get back, you'd cock it up. You've been struck dumb by the great joy of my safe return. Just pretend you're mute for a week or so until things settle down."
Merlin pouted and rolled his eyes, trying to hide the bright rush of relief.
"Oh, so you're just going to take all the credit?"
"I'm the prince," Arthur said pompously. "It's my birth right. So that's settled, then."
He closed his eyes again. He looked exhausted; Merlin thought he might want to nap here in the sunlight. He sat quietly, watching Arthur's face the way he couldn't before. He’d always had to satisfy the urge with quick glances. Now he could look his fill, feast his eyes on all this: Arthur's pale eyelashes, the shape of his lips, the tiny lines at the corners of his eyes, that funny bit on his nose where the bridge widened slightly.
Arthur's fingers twitched against his hand. He could have dozed off already, and his dreams could be dark. Merlin carefully slipped his fingers into Arthur's open palm and held his hand, willing the nightmare away. Arthur's bandaged hand tightened around his gently.
"And by the way, I still want an explanation about that dragon chap," said Arthur in a completely awake voice. "I take it you're bosom buddies."
"Not really," Merlin said. Arthur kept holding onto him, so he didn't pull away either, determined to enjoy it while he could. "We've only talked a couple of times, and, well, you saw how he is. Mostly I've no clue what he's on about."
"Oh, that's helpful. What about the Archmage's stone? Can you tell me anything useful about that? Can it be used for good, or should I advise my father to destroy it?"
"It can definitely be used for good," said Merlin thoughtfully, remembering the way his magic twisted inside the stone before falling apart into prismatic shards of power that grew pure, refined and multiplied. "Anything could be. The war machine would be amazing for coal mining."
"True," Arthur agreed, his eyes already sparkling with ideas.
"But, I don't know. It's pretty scary. I don't think we're ready for that kind of power."
"Oh, we're never ready. Do you know how monumentally not ready people were for the invention of the crossbows? Or even going further back, bladed weapons in the hands of all those uncivilised ancient barbarians - what a complete disaster."
"Engines, too," nodded Merlin, getting in on the joke. "Centuries ahead of their time."
"No doubt. But that's probably the only way to progress: do first, sort out the consequences later. Otherwise nothing would get done."
He glanced at Merlin. His fingertips were running slow, ticklish circles over the back of Merlin's hand, and it was so overwhelmingly pleasant that Merlin didn't want to question it.
"Right now, I'm thinking that you're not ready," Arthur said.
"What, to have magic? Arthur, it's not like..."
"No, for this," Arthur said quickly and pushed up. His palm curled over the back of Merlin's neck gently. It was only a ghost of a touch, but then Arthur was right there, his face inches away. Then his lips were on Merlin's.
The kiss was light, sweet and chaste, just a dry whisper of skin on skin. The soft warmth of Arthur's lips was somehow shocking, leaving Merlin deaf and blind for a second. The world blinked out, leaving nothing but that sensation: Arthur's mouth pressed to his, his breath on Merlin's cheek, his fingers curling tighter on Merlin's nape, stroking up and carding through his hair. And then Arthur pulled back and lay down again, grinning up into the sky and looking incredibly pleased with himself.
Merlin gaped at him, his lips still tingling with sense memory. He thought he should be angry, that this could be just a cruel joke at the expense of a lovestruck servant or worse, some underhanded gesture of gratitude. But no, he knew Arthur better than that. That was a proud smile. He was proud of himself for the act of bravery in making the first move.
He touched Arthur's face questioningly. He saw Arthur's eyelashes flutter and a bright blush spread over the pale skin under his fingers. Then he couldn't resist that pull, that desperate want any longer. He dove at Arthur like a falcon after a prey and took his mouth, kissing it hungrily, deeply and without reservation.
Arthur was making the most wonderful hitching noises in his throat, and his arms curled over Merlin's back, holding on for dear life. Merlin bracketed Arthur's perfect face with his hands and quickly plastered sloppy kisses all over it, over his eyelids, cheeks, on the tip of his nose, on his lips again. He shifted up so their bodies were pressed together, so he could feel more of the rise and fall of Arthur's chest and the fast hammering of his heartbeat. Arthur's eyes were unfocused and a little wary, his arms tense.
"All right?" Merlin asked hoarsely, his head swimming with joy and arousal.
"I wore these clothes for days. I must smell like a dead horse," said Arthur with sincere anguish.
"No," Merlin assured him. "Well, yes, but I don't mind."
Arthur half-laughed, half-sighed against his lips and pulled him closer. This time he was the one to deepen the kiss, lick inquisitively at the seam of Merlin's lips before pushing further into his mouth. He was a little clumsy at it, a little shaky and unsure and not at all what Merlin had imagined when indulging in wild fantasies above his station. But Merlin liked it all the better for it and loved Arthur all the more.
They stayed like that, kissing in the grass with their eyes shut, not saying another word, until they heard sounds of hooves in the distance, and then Merlin placed the last gentlest kiss on Arthur's flushed lips and got up to wave to the riders.
Last Part
Pairings/characters: Arthur/Merlin
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 40k
Warnings: reincarnation, violence, captivity, deaths of minor characters, alternative history, bad science, extreme nerdiness, evil mecha.
Summary: It's been centuries since King Arthur united Albion and lifted the ban on magic. Ruled by Pendragon dynasty, the kingdom had prospered till a feud between the magicians and King Uther the Second drove the country to the brink of collapse. Now it's up to Prince Arthur and his Knights of the Engine to harness steam power to replace the magic Albion had lost, and it's up to Merlin to protect Arthur while he fulfils his destiny.
Author's notes: Written for
paperlegends Reincarnation story. Renaissance-era post-apocalyptic steampunk AU set 300 years after canon timeline. Betaed by the wonderful deadwoodmt Art link: HERE ARE 3 (THREE!!!) AWESOME PIECES by
aqualillium who also made beautiful icons and banners featured here.Podfic!!!! Performed wonderfully by
pennyplainknits, zip of all 5 parts is HERE!!! Also on AOOO for all your e-booking needs
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part 4
Merlin hadn't even considered that a new squad of guards would be posted to the grove after the others were killed. But they were there, a good dozen of them, walking back and forth around their camp fire. He lay in the bushes, trying to come up with a plan. There was no sneaking past them, but perhaps he could just blag it. Walk straight up to them and tell them that the king had changed his mind and the ransom was to be paid. But if they didn't believe him and took him and the stone back to Camelot, he wouldn't have another chance, and Arthur had just over a day left now.
Suddenly a hand touched his shoulder, and a voice whispered into his ear:
"Hello, Merlin."
He flailed and rolled in the undergrowth, making the guards stir and look around. Then he stilled, holding his breath. Edwin the physician was crouching next to him, smiling.
"See," he said quietly. "I just knew that affection between you and your Lord would blossom into something beautiful."
"I brought it," Merlin whispered, clutching at the stone he had stuffed under his shirt.
"I know. I can feel it."
Merlin could feel it too. From the moment he'd opened the door to the treasury it called to him, tugging at the edges of his mind. It was nothing like the dull sparks left in the old machines, and nothing like the wild, joyful magic that used to sing inside the silver bird. This power was tightly coiled, patient, clever and waiting.
"I want to see Arthur before I give it to you," he said. "Bring him here."
"Oh, I'll do one better. I'll take you to him."
He tugged on Merlin's sleeve, motioning away from the grove and the guards. Merlin hesitated - here he could at least scream for help if the physician tried to take the stone from him, but then the ransom would fall back into Camelot's hands, and Arthur...
"Don't you want to see Arthur?" asked Edwin softly, and Merlin went after him, tightly clasping the stone against his chest. He just realized how over his head he was in all of this.
They walked through the forest for some time, first sneaking from tree to tree, then growing bolder as they left the grove behind.
"Who helped you steal it?" Edwin asked. "Was it Lady Morgana or the cute little blacksmith girl?"
He didn't answer, trying to remember the path and guess where they were heading, but he needn't have bothered. They walked up to a small clearing with a witch's circle of mushrooms in the middle. Edwin stepped in and beckoned Merlin to follow, and the next moment they were somewhere else entirely. The thick forest gave way to hilly stretch of tall grass with solitary, gnarled trees here and there. They walked down the hill into the crag between two cliffs, and Edwin pulled back some thick bushes to reveal the mouth of a cave.
They went through, stooping at first in the narrow passage. The cave widened, turning into a bigger room with a few pallets and a fire pit with a cooking pot hanging over it. There was a man crouched on the floor, sorting through food stores. He startled and stared at them, his eyes shimmering as he sensed the magic of the stone. Without a word he abandoned loaves of bread on the ground and rose to follow them deeper inside the cave.
After a few bends Merlin saw bright light ahead and thought they'd be coming to the surface, but it was another cave, bigger than the first one. He saw two other strangers and a bunch of tools and machinery, and then he finally saw Arthur.
Arthur was alive; he was standing on a workbench, reaching up to tighten a bolt on some huge machine in the middle of a cave. He threw a quick, distracted glance at them as they entered, and then he noticed Merlin and his face hardened, turning white in sudden anger.
He dropped the spanner, letting it bounce off the rocks - Arthur would never treat tools that way, he'd yell at anyone who'd dare - and jumped down. Something jangled, and only then did Merlin see a chain stretching from Arthur's ankle to the wall. The skin above it was ringed in faint bruises. Arthur was standing barefoot on the cold rocks. The disgusting tatters he wore were stained with sweat and machine grease, and it took Merlin a moment to realise that those were Arthur's fine sleeping clothes. He had a bandage on his arm and both his hands were wrapped in dirty rags. A big chunk of his hair was missing on one side where they'd cut it to include with the ransom note, and his scalp was showing through in pale patches. It was unbearable to see him like this, but he was alive, he was alive.
"No," he said. "No, no. I did what you wanted. You told me you wouldn't take anyone else if I did what you wanted! You will release him at once! If you lay a finger on him -"
"Oh, what you would do then, Your Highness? Anyway, Merlin is here on his own volition," said Edwin. "Aren't you, Merlin?"
"I... came to save you," said Merlin with a shaky smile. Arthur groaned and clenched his fists.
"Merlin, you bloody idiot," he said. "Now they have two prisoners. How stupid are you, exactly? You keep surprising me."
"No, he did save you," said Edwin. Two of the men came up to Merlin and grabbed his arms; Arthur made a harsh, desperate sound, lunged forward and was stopped short by the chain. Edwin stuck his hand under Merlin's shirt and retrieved the stone wrapped in his neckerchief. "He brought your ransom. Now we can go ahead with our plan. I was starting to think we would have to settle for the simple pleasure of killing you and sending your father your body parts just to watch his face. But now you get to live."
"You made me do all this and you sent for ransom as well?" asked Arthur, gritting his teeth. "I should have known."
"Yes, you really should have. Did you think we'd go through the trouble of kidnapping an heir to the throne just to have him correct our gear ratios? Having you do that while we waited was simply efficient. I'm sure as an engineer you appreciate that. Two birds, one stone. All right, this won't take long. Merlin, you can go join your master."
They let him go and pushed him toward Arthur, and he went, curling his fingers over his cuffs to keep from reaching for him. He wanted so badly to touch Arthur, to feel him there, solid and real, warm and breathing.
For a moment it almost seemed that Arthur wanted that too, that he was about to lean in and fling his arms around Merlin, hugging him like friends do. Instead he put his hand on Merlin's shoulder, clasping it firmly just as he did when they'd first met. His thumb slid down Merlin's collarbone, rubbing soothingly.
"Come on, pull yourself together," he said under his breath. "Don't let them see you like this."
Now, up close, it was even worse than it seemed at first glance. He could see dirt clinging to the creases on Arthur's face between patches of shaggy blond stubble. He could see the sickly paleness of his skin, deep shadows under his blood-shot eyes, fresh cuts on his fingers. He caught a shade of that smell he remembered from Camelot's dungeons: days-old stale sweat, bitter with pain and fear, musty blankets, badly cleaned filth; the smells of captivity. He couldn't even imagine how Arthur, with his daily bath addiction, could stand this - but Arthur was right. It wouldn't do to fall to pieces in front of their enemies.
Merlin nodded and rubbed at his face with his sleeve. Behind him things were moving. The magicians were using spells to push the workbenches to the walls and pull the large machine to the centre of the room.
"So how much was the ransom?" asked Arthur loudly. "What's that, bag of gems? The crown jewels? Guess this should be enough to ship your toy across the sea - where is that you're heading now?"
"We're staying here," said one of the magicians, unwrapping the stone reverently. "This is the last piece of the puzzle. All the strings our puppet needs."
The stone glowed in his palms, rose in the air and floated to the top of the big machine, to the last piece of the casing that was still propped open.
Merlin hadn't really spared the machine more than a glance before. Now he looked, and reached out with his magic to taste and feel as well. It was huge, rising up to the ceiling of the cave. It looked a little bit like an ancient suit of armour Merlin had seen decorating the great chambers of Camelot. It had two legs, a barrel-shaped body covered in interlocking steel plates, and two arms, but that's where the similarity ended.
The thing didn't have a head. Its broad shoulders sloped to a smooth dome with lines of runes spiralling over it. The arms were as thick as legs and twice as long, reaching the floor. With the body tilted forward the machine was supported on all fours. The arms had complex ball-joints at the elbows and ended with mean looking three-fingered claws. The legs of the machine bent forward at the knees and backwards at the heels like animal paws, and its feet were triple-toed as well, thick metal stumps spreading wide on the cave floor.
The Archmage's stone slid into place, and the inside of machine lit up all at once. The magic wasn't flowing yet, but the power of the stone opened up all the pathways and held them like that, hungry, ringing, yearning to be filled. The machine didn't move, but it tensed all over, invisibly but unmistakably.
"What is it?" Merlin asked. "What does it do?"
He couldn't figure it out; the machine's functions were too complex, it was able to move in so many ways, and there was something in its chest - a dark empty whirlpool, a frightening void, and he couldn't fathom what it could be for.
"It doesn't do anything," said Arthur. "Its only purpose is to destroy."
The raised plate clicked down, pushed shut by magic. The machine was complete now, slick and impenetrable from any angle.
"This was the vision of our last Archmage, the greatest sorcerer who'd ever lived," said Edwin. "Uther slaughtered him and ordered his work destroyed - he feared it could be turned on him. He stole the Archmage's stone and kept it from us. He repaid centuries of our service with betrayal and persecution and drove us from our home, all out of fear that one day we'd rise against him. Today is the day we teach him a lesson about self-fulfilling prophecies."
"This can't be," said Arthur, vehemently shaking his head. "No, if my father had that thing he wouldn't give it to you. Not for me, not for anything. No."
"I kind of stole it," Merlin confessed, and Arthur slumped against the wall with a moan and stared at him, furious.
"Well, what was I supposed to do?" Merlin demanded, throwing his arms up. "They said they'd kill you! And you - you worked on it, you corrected their gear ratios! If you hadn't-"
And then he saw it all again, the chain and the bandages and that haunted look in Arthur's deathly tired eyes, and he could punch himself for being such a callous idiot.
"Sorry," he mumbled. "I guess you had no choice."
"Yeah," Arthur said, his eyes softening. "I guess you didn't either."
The men formed a circle around the machine and pressed their hands to its steel flanks, testing the paths, feeling their ways around the power conduit.
"The machines were an abomination from the very beginning," said one of them. "The mere idea that the arcane arts would be used like that: caged and bound, put to household tasks and menial labour, made to perform the work of serfs and animals... It's disgusting. It's a travesty."
"But the machines that run on steam - that's the real danger," said another, pointing a finger at Arthur. "They are dumb, crude implements imbued with the power beyond man's capacity to handle. You'd destroy our forests and plunder our earth to feed them, and you'd never stop. The more machines you build, the more you'd need to keep the vicious circle going."
"Camelot is a blight on this land," said Edwin. "Without it, the duchies will fall in line, and we'll rebuild Albion the way it's supposed to be. We'll restore this land to its true destiny. The magicians will return."
"I notice they aren't here with you," said Arthur. The bravado in his voice was cracking, so clearly fake now it was painful to listen to. "Even your own people think you're raving maniacs."
"They're reluctant to get their hands dirty," answered Edwin calmly. "They'll be back once we've cleared the way. It's not really about the machines. They were only a symptom of this malady. Everything went wrong centuries ago, when the first magician bowed to King Arthur and threw the power of our people at his feet. We need a fresh start, and this time we're going to do it right."
He lifted his palms off the machine's hull and took a step toward Arthur. Merlin pushed forward, ready to plead, bargain, even fight, but Arthur grabbed his arm and shoved him back between himself and the wall.
"Let him go," Arthur said, nearly begging. "You've no quarrel with him. Just let him go, and then do what you will."
"Oh, we're not going to harm either of you. We have great plans for you. Just like your namesake, the great King Arthur, you're going to become a legend. You're going to bring magic back to Albion. You'll watch Camelot burn, your beloved machines reduced to dust, and your traitor Father die in agony. And then you'll take your throne and you'll rule the way we tell you to if you don't want the rest of Albion go up in flames. And Merlin - oh, I'm so glad he's here. I'm giving him to you as your court sorcerer. He's got magic in his blood. Are you surprised, Arthur?"
Merlin's heart sank, even though it was beyond stupid and selfish worrying about his own fate at a time like this.
"Not really," said Arthur flatly with a small shrug.
"I thought as much. You see, that had been our mistake, too. We'd sent our best and brightest to serve as liaisons with the king, and Camelot would poison them against us. This one is irredeemable, but he's completely powerless. Your father saw to that. This boy, just like so many others, was robbed of any chance to develop and harness his gift. He can't do anything. But he's an open receptacle for our magic. We'll use him to relay messages and instructions, and we'll watch you through his eyes."
"Edwin, enough," said one of the men. "Let us begin."
They all placed his hands on the machine again, and Merlin felt their power flow in, priming the pathways and laying down the tasks, burning their orders into the spaces between the runes. The whirlpool inside slowly churned around the first wisps of energy, melting them into restless sparks of blue flame. It was then that he understood what kind of magic that was, what kind of weapon.
Arthur's hand suddenly squeezed his. His fingertips were icy and there were raggedy bandages between their palms, but his grip was sure and strong. Merlin squeezed back, comforted in some irrational but deep way, and readied himself for the next move.
"Merlin," Arthur whispered urgently in his ear. "Make a break for it while they're distracted. I'll create a diversion - just run. Get out of here and run like hell. Use your magic if you can, run and don't look back. Get help, all right? Get out and send help."
Merlin nodded distractedly, waiting for the right moment. His power was lined along the magicians' now, vibrating at the edges of the flow they were creating and weaving inside it. He knew they couldn't sense him. He was so good at hiding, keeping his magic curled up and still as if it wasn't there at all. He’d only ever let it sneak out to explore and feel the world without creating any disturbance or leaving any trace, the way these magicians never had to. They didn't notice him until they finished their preparations and opened up, leaving themselves defenceless, to pour all their power into the waiting conduits. That was when he struck out.
He didn't know if it would work at all, if his magic would be strong and quick enough. But he had to try, and he knew that was what Arthur wanted, no matter the risks.
His magic crashed outwards through the intricate lines of their interwoven power, clumsy and all the more disruptive for it. The men staggered back, screaming in pain and confusion. Merlin glanced down at the chain binding Arthur and thought how much he hated it. That was all it took. The links burst, torn to small twisted pieces, and he pushed Arthur toward the exit.
"Arthur, run!" he yelled. The magicians were recovering, turning to him and muttering spells. He gathered his magic and pushed it at them, messily, blindly, just trying to keep them away while Arthur got out.
Arthur dropped his hand and ran, but only as far as the nearest workbench. He grabbed a lump hammer and a chisel and rushed the magicians, running headlong into the deadly spells flowing toward him.
Merlin fell on his knees and thrust all his power, all he had, between them and Arthur. Then he turned it all toward them, making his intent deadly, putting all his rage into it. The hostile power rippled through his, and he pushed down on it, grinding it into nothing, smashing into their sharp, honed spells with the blunt force of all he was. He yelled it all out, ready to let it his power spill out from the very core of his being until nothing was left of him.
"Merlin, you can stop screaming like a girl," he heard Arthur say after what seemed an age, and he took a breath and opened his eyes. The magicians were on the floor, not moving. Arthur stood next to him, still holding the tools. Blood dripped from them, and he could hear it hitting the stone floor in the sudden silence: plink, plink.
"They said you were powerless," Arthur remarked. His face was paler than before, his expression unreadable.
"Um," Merlin said. His throat felt raw. "Uh. Did you see how I, with the chain?"
"Yeah, that doesn't count. I tired it out for you."
"Huh? Oh, never mind. Did we kill them?"
"Not sure," Arthur said, cautiously glancing at the bodies. "I've not... done this before."
They moved around the room, checking for heartbeats and finding none. The last one was crumpled on the floor face-down, his arm broken and his hair soaked in blood. Merlin thought he could still hear him struggling to take a breath, the last bit of life still gurgling down his throat. Secretly, Merlin had hoped they would all be dead. They deserved no better. But finishing off a wounded enemy didn't feel right; they could take this one prisoner, have him stand trial...
The man suddenly twisted around and grabbed Merlin's leg with his good arm. He'd been muttering a spell under his breath, and he forced out the last words through his bloodied lips while Merlin struggled to push him off. Arthur ran up to them and swung the hammer, baring his teeth in grim determination, and the man fell, not even crying out. His eyes were still open, and they were still trained on Merlin.
"Your magic," he whispered, his mouth twisting into a pained smile. "Your life. You're the centre now."
Arthur hit him again on the temple; the man's head lolled on the floor, and his eyes went empty. Merlin checked his pulse with a shaking hand to be sure. Arthur dropped the hammer and wiped the blood splatter off his face with his dirty sleeves.
"Glad I live in the modern age," he said queasily. "I'd make a rubbish warrior."
Merlin didn't think so, but couldn't find the energy to argue. Something was wrong; whatever the spell was, he knew it did something to him, but he couldn't quite pin it down. There was an odd presence inside his chest, a subtle current running through his body in sync with his heartbeat. It didn't hurt, and it didn't seem to be doing him any harm...
And then the runes on the machine's hull began to glow, lighting up in cold blue one by one.
Arthur shouted a warning, grabbed him and pulled him to the exit as the machine stirred and rose on its haunches, shifting around and finding its balance.
"They must have put some magic in it," Arthur said, hovering at the edge of the bend where they took cover. "It'll run out, it can't be much, right? Right?"
"No," Merlin moaned. He felt it now, the inexorable tug as waves of his own magic were pulled out of his body, leaking out through his fingertips, his solar plexus, everywhere. "No, it's not going to run out. It's feeding on me. That one, he put a spell on me - it's feeding on my magic now!"
"Well, stop it!" demanded Arthur, shaking him by the shoulders.
"I can't! I don't know how!"
He tried, but it was like trying to sprout wings or trying to stop being yourself. No matter how hard he strained, nothing happened; every effort he made only seemed to make the magic pump out of him faster. He didn't feel weakened, but he couldn't do anything. All of his power was locked, bound by a skill far beyond him. He felt every pulse of it, felt his magic being swallowed by the Archmage's stone and spat out again, chewed up and changed. It no longer felt like his, and it was falling right into the patterns set by the will of the dead magicians. It was flooding the vortex inside the machine, which was now a pool of molten, pressurised fire.
"It's all right, it's all right," said Arthur as Merlin cried out in frustration, trying to pull free and sinking deeper with every movement, like a foal in a mire. "It's trapped here, it's too big to get out of this cave, it'll be..."
As if it heard him, the machine rose higher on its hind legs and a brilliant ray of pure light shot out of the centre of its body. They were blinded for a second. When they could see again through the clouds of stone dust, the cave wall was gone, and daylight was pouring in through a wide, steaming tunnel. The machine was grappling at the edges of the tunnel with its arms, widening it. Stones crumbled in its claws like lumps of clay. As they stared, dumbstruck, it cleared enough of a way to push off the floor with its legs and leap upwards through the tunnel, clearing it in one graceful jump.
Arthur lunged after it and scrambled through the tunnel with Merlin following suit. Once outside, the machine stopped for a moment and twisted around, getting its bearings, and then broke into a run. It leapt heavily from one foot to another, pushing off the ground with its long arms. It circumvented bigger trees and ran straight through smaller ones, and their trunks snapped against steel.
They ran after it. It was faster than them, though not by much, and Merlin knew that eventually they'd have to slow down and it wouldn't. It was leaving a wide trail, its feet gouging deep marks in the forest floor, and they could still see it ahead, but it was getting away. Even if they could catch up, Merlin had no idea what they'd do.
"It won't make it to Camelot!" Arthur yelled, grunting when his bare feet hit rocks or pine cones. "I've rigged it to fail. I've sabotaged every part of it! It won't make it - it has a few miles in it, no more, and then..."
They made it to the top of the hill and Arthur stumbled, staring down incredulously.
"All that time," he muttered. "All that bloody time, that's where I was?"
Merlin caught up to him and saw Camelot, just like he saw it for the first time: on the hill in the centre of the valley below, beautiful and peaceful and crowned with white towers and great chimneys. It was so close, not five miles away.
The machine was running down the hill, easily scaling down the steep incline. If it kept going like that, it would take it a quarter of an hour to reach the nearest houses, and if it spared those it would be at the city walls minutes later.
"Look!" Arthur gripped his arm, hard, careless with his strength in his excitement. "Look, there it is!"
The machine wobbled slightly, faltering in its steps for a fraction of a moment. It lost control of its heel joint and staggered for a few steps, attempting to lock that leg and adjust its balance. But then it continued running, a little sideways now, using its arm as a crutch. It didn't slow down that noticeably, but Arthur was triumphant, nearly hopping on the spot.
"Look!" he yelled again. "It'll spread now, now that knee will go, then that elbow, and then the axle will pop out of alignment - it has a few good steps in it, on the furrowed fields it has to push that much harder, it won't make - "
The machine's knee buckled, right on cue, and this time Merlin saw something pop out, maybe a few small bearings. He felt the magic inside the machine falter too, falling slightly out of line. Even over the distance he heard a loud metallic screech when something inside the hull gave and the arm of the machine went slack, the claw twitching erratically. The machine stopped, holding itself carefully upright. Arthur swallowed loudly next to Merlin's ear. His fingers on Merlin's arm were trembling.
"Come on," he whispered. "Come on, give up. You're dead."
The machine pushed off the ground with its good leg and leapt up. At the top of the arch its back opened up. Two panels slid out, revealing moving wheels and pistons underneath. The magic inside it twisted and changed, and the machine soared up, flying.
"No!" Arthur screamed. "It can't possibly fly! It doesn't even - it's not possible!"
"Magic," said Merlin bitterly. It was his magic, ripped right out of him. He felt how it was working and couldn't do a thing to stop it. The machine was hovering in the air, flying slowly but steadily. He could feel that its insides were half torn. Everything was slipping from its sockets, delicate cogs broken, springs hanging loose, uncoiled and twisted. But if it held itself perfectly still, like it was doing now, it could still fly right over Camelot, and it could pour fire over all of it. It could burn Camelot to the ground. They had no defence from air attacks. Crossbows wouldn't do anything to it, and Merlin wasn't even sure if they had a catapult or if it could hit something directly overhead...
His magic, that man had said, his life. Merlin felt it to be true. He couldn't stop the spell. Trapped and bound, all his strength was useless to him; he couldn't get free, not as long as he lived.
He thought about his mum, and it hurt to imagine her pain when she would find out. But then he thought of Camelot: Gaius, Gwen, Morgana, the engineers, all the people, all the mothers and children there, unaware of what was coming toward them bringing fire and death. And then, then it was easy. Arthur was still holding onto the chisel as if he'd been planning to attack the machine with it if they managed to catch up to it. Maybe he even had, but it didn't matter. It was a stroke of luck. The chisel was sharp, so it would be quick.
Arthur was lost, staring at the machine in complete disbelief, not yet accepting what was happening. Merlin gently uncurled his fingers and Arthur let him, let the chisel slip free and settle in Merlin's hand. Merlin grabbed it hard, concentrated on the pressure of steel against his palm so he wouldn't have to think of anything else and wouldn't be afraid and struck upwards, fast, aiming at his own throat.
He must have faltered at the last second, or Arthur was just that quick, but when his mind cleared from a moment of that terrified blankness Arthur had the chisel, and Merlin's wrist hurt where Arthur had twisted it. There was only a shallow scratch on his neck, but it stung as he clutched at it and it bled all over his hand. His magic was still caught in the spell, and the machine was still flying, getting so close to its target now.
"What in the hell do you think you're doing?" Arthur yelled in his face, and slapped him on the ear, harder than he probably meant to. "Are you out of your mind?"
"It'll stop if I die."
"You don't-"
"Yes, Arthur, I know that for sure! I can feel that! I don't want to die, do you think I want to? We have no choice! Arthur, come on. Please. Help me. We're out of time."
"No. No!"
"Arthur, it's Camelot! It's your people, it's your kingdom! Just think how many would die - and we can stop it, we can save them all. With just one life, Arthur, we have to."
He grabbed Arthur's hand, the one holding the chisel, and pulled it up. Arthur resisted, his whole body locked and his eyes - Merlin couldn't bear to meet his eyes.
"No," Arthur said. "No. Not you. Not you."
"It's your duty," Merlin told him, and Arthur made a wretched noise, something between a groan and a sob. He turned his head toward Camelot, and suddenly stepped back.
"Woah," he said. "What."
There was another dark shape in the sky, quickly bearing down on the machine. It beat its great wings, speeding up, and Merlin recognised it. He yelled in sudden joy, jumping and waving his arms. The dragon didn't pay him any heed, probably couldn't see him from that distance. It was flying straight at the machine, and it was many times its size, terrible and glorious.
The machine spat out an endless ray of blue fire. It arced through the sky, aiming at the dragon's head. The dragon folded its wings and dove under it, barrelling down like a stone for one dizzying second before it fanned out its wings again, whipped its tail and somersaulted in the air, ending up underneath the machine. The dragon grabbed it by the leg with its clawed paws and hurtled it down toward the green fields.
The machine crashed into soft earth, coughing out fire in a mad spiral. The impact threw up a wall of soil, making a huge crater in the field, but the machine scrambled up right away. It pushed up with its good limbs and straightened, and leapt upwards again. Just as it strained to gain flight, its arms flailed up and it twisted on itself as if in pain. One of its legs jerked and snapped off at the joint; a seam opened up at its shoulder with a beam pushing through. It fell down again and struggled to rise, tearing the loose beam further through itself. Then the magic finally slid free of the mutilated metal paths, free of the pull of the Archmage's stone. It spun out, unravelling, and singed the green wheat shoots to black for yards around.
"It's dead," Merlin said. His magic was settling back, happy, warm, relieved to be his again. "I'm free."
Arthur slung an arm over his shoulder, leaning in with all his weight. His knees were probably as weak as Merlin's felt right now. And then he started laughing, and he was so beautiful. Even dirty and worn out like now, he was perfect and radiant, golden and beautiful as the sun. Merlin could look at him all his life and never get enough.
"Damn," Arthur said finally with a prattish, smug smile, still chuckling a little. "I knew it would work. I'm awesome!"
The dragon made a slow circle over the broken machine and flew toward them, gracefully gliding down.
"Er," Arthur said, peeling himself off Merlin and squaring his shoulders. "What is that thing? Do we have to fight that now?"
"I don't think so. Well, I hope not!" said Merlin cheerfully. Most of the time he wasn't sure what to think of the dragon, and even less at that moment.
The dragon touched down and walked the last few steps toward them, swaying from side to side like a landed duck. Arthur looked at its enormous head then at the ten inch long chisel he still held in his hand, considered it for a moment and nonchalantly tucked the chisel into his waistband. Then he folded his hands behind his back in a stiff ceremonial posture, as if he was stood in Camelot's great hall, dressed in velvet and with his golden coronet on his brow. He bowed to the dragon, shallowly but slowly and respectfully.
"Thank you," he said in a loud, clear voice. "Camelot owes you a debt of gratitude."
"It does," the dragon answered. "Perhaps I shall ask for it to be returned one day."
"Hey, I did save your life out there," Arthur immediately noted. "If I hadn't rigged that machine to fail it would have fried you on the second pass."
The dragon responded with a low, amused chuckle.
"Arthur Pendragon," he said. "Hear this. Magic will be a part of this land till the end of time. It can be your ally or your enemy. That choice always rests with you."
It spread its wings and took off again, easily soaring upwards.
"Wait!" Merlin called. Arthur grabbed his hand in warning, but Merlin just squeezed back reassuringly and yelled again. "Wait! Did you know this would happen? Why didn't you just tell me? We could have - did you want for this to happen?"
"The future is fluid," said the dragon, hovering in the air above them. Every beat of its wings was blowing their hair back with a sharp gust of wind.
"What? What does that even mean?"
"Nobody knows. That's the point."
"Are you really my friend? Why did you send me here? Tell me!"
The dragon twisted its neck and looked right at Merlin, baring all its teeth. Merlin felt Arthur tense at his side, but he was almost sure the dragon was smiling at him.
"Merlin," the dragon said. "Try to last longer this time. We're not always friends, but when you're not here, I always miss you."
It flew straight up, twirling in the air playfully; it looked like it loved flying and relished every moment it spent in the air. Merlin stared after it until it was just a dot over the horizon, and then Arthur let go of his hand and lay down on the ground, stretching on his back in the sparse grass of the hilltop.
"Ow, my feet," he grimaced. "Cut them to shreds on that stupid run through that stupid forest."
"Let me." Merlin knelt down to survey the damage, maybe fashion some bandages out of his shirt, but Arthur caught his sleeve and stopped him.
"No, leave it. I'd rather trust Gaius to do that when we get home."
"How will you get home like this?" asked Merlin, a little offended.
"I'm not walking another step. Someone would've seen what happened - the whole city must have. Father will send out riders to investigate, they'll be here soon enough."
He pillowed his head on one arm and tilted his face up into the rays of summer sunlight, breathing deeply of the fresh air. After just a moment of basking in that pleasure, he opened his eyes and levelled an accusing finger at Merlin's face.
"You," he said sternly. "Have an awful lot of explaining to do."
"Yeah, all right," nodded Merlin, resigned, and shifted closer.
"Firstly and most importantly," Arthur said, frowning with his blond eyebrows. "It was you who broke my merlin-bird, wasn't it?"
"It's not yours, exactly."
"Can you fix it or not?"
"I could," Merlin said. He knew it wouldn't take more than a thought. The ancient magic was still inside him, part of his own, yet unchanged by it. It would leave just as effortlessly as it came and would return to its old home.
"Good," Arthur nodded with a little satisfied smile. "Good, you'll do that first thing after we get home. Second thing would be getting my bath ready."
"Home? You mean - you want me to go back to Camelot?"
"Well, yes. I've already paid you for this whole month, in case you've conveniently forgotten. Besides, you were going to die for this city. I assume it means you like it there."
Arthur spoke lightly, obviously joking, but there was something guarded and darkly serious in his eyes, and Merlin wasn't sure how to answer.
"Of course, you'd have to be careful," Arthur continued. "I don't want to see you running around the castle waving your magic around. But somehow you've managed to keep it hidden thus far, so just don't do anything, don't attract attention and don't..."
He trailed off. Now he was looking at Merlin with an expression that didn't belong on his face, didn't suit him at all. It was pity, or guilt, and it made Merlin twitchy, made him uncomfortable, made him dig his fingers into the grass, fidgeting and ducking away from Arthur's eyes.
"I don't know what it's like, to have all that inside you," Arthur said quietly. "Now that you had a taste of it, maybe you want... Maybe going back to Camelot is like asking you to shut yourself in a cave."
It felt good that Arthur would care enough to think of that, but at the same time Merlin knew that Arthur had far too much time to think lately. Arthur'd been locked up, threatened with death, stripped of all power, and now he understood the need to be free all too well. All this sudden sensitivity was just a sign of how raw he felt, how fresh the wounds were. Merlin would rather have the old inconsiderate prat back, the one who was obnoxious and demanding and thought himself invincible. The one who believed that nothing was quite out of his reach.
"I don't feel any different," Merlin said. "I'm not going mad with power as we speak, or anything. All right, I've never tried anything big like that before; I never knew if I could and now I do. But it wasn't a pleasant thing, what we did to those magicians."
"No," Arthur agreed, visibly suppressing a shudder.
"I'd be glad to come back. I'm happy to serve you till I die, really," said Merlin, even though it sounded unnecessarily soppy. Arthur didn't laugh or call him a girl; he just nodded a little, taking it as his due. Merlin was starting to suspect that the old obnoxious Arthur would be back in full force before the day was out. "I just don't fancy my chances after the king finds out I robbed his treasury."
Merlin hadn't really considered how this all could end for him, only thinking as far ahead as the next step and the ultimate goal of bringing Arthur home. He could be exiled or condemned as a thief. Of course, the choice between that and leaving Arthur in enemy's hands had been no choice at all.
"Oh, that. Right. Does anyone know - were you seen?"
"Gwen knows. And Morgana and Morgause..."
"They're all right," said Arthur off-handedly. "Well, obviously, Edwin stole that bloody stone thing himself. With magic! Who even knows how it really works, he might have done. In fact, you've not even been in that cave. You were wandering in the forest, stupid with grief and worry. Or, well, stupider. I defeated them alone and made my escape, and then you came across me as I was resting here. And - you know what, let me do all the talking when we get back, you'd cock it up. You've been struck dumb by the great joy of my safe return. Just pretend you're mute for a week or so until things settle down."
Merlin pouted and rolled his eyes, trying to hide the bright rush of relief.
"Oh, so you're just going to take all the credit?"
"I'm the prince," Arthur said pompously. "It's my birth right. So that's settled, then."
He closed his eyes again. He looked exhausted; Merlin thought he might want to nap here in the sunlight. He sat quietly, watching Arthur's face the way he couldn't before. He’d always had to satisfy the urge with quick glances. Now he could look his fill, feast his eyes on all this: Arthur's pale eyelashes, the shape of his lips, the tiny lines at the corners of his eyes, that funny bit on his nose where the bridge widened slightly.
Arthur's fingers twitched against his hand. He could have dozed off already, and his dreams could be dark. Merlin carefully slipped his fingers into Arthur's open palm and held his hand, willing the nightmare away. Arthur's bandaged hand tightened around his gently.
"And by the way, I still want an explanation about that dragon chap," said Arthur in a completely awake voice. "I take it you're bosom buddies."
"Not really," Merlin said. Arthur kept holding onto him, so he didn't pull away either, determined to enjoy it while he could. "We've only talked a couple of times, and, well, you saw how he is. Mostly I've no clue what he's on about."
"Oh, that's helpful. What about the Archmage's stone? Can you tell me anything useful about that? Can it be used for good, or should I advise my father to destroy it?"
"It can definitely be used for good," said Merlin thoughtfully, remembering the way his magic twisted inside the stone before falling apart into prismatic shards of power that grew pure, refined and multiplied. "Anything could be. The war machine would be amazing for coal mining."
"True," Arthur agreed, his eyes already sparkling with ideas.
"But, I don't know. It's pretty scary. I don't think we're ready for that kind of power."
"Oh, we're never ready. Do you know how monumentally not ready people were for the invention of the crossbows? Or even going further back, bladed weapons in the hands of all those uncivilised ancient barbarians - what a complete disaster."
"Engines, too," nodded Merlin, getting in on the joke. "Centuries ahead of their time."
"No doubt. But that's probably the only way to progress: do first, sort out the consequences later. Otherwise nothing would get done."
He glanced at Merlin. His fingertips were running slow, ticklish circles over the back of Merlin's hand, and it was so overwhelmingly pleasant that Merlin didn't want to question it.
"Right now, I'm thinking that you're not ready," Arthur said.
"What, to have magic? Arthur, it's not like..."
"No, for this," Arthur said quickly and pushed up. His palm curled over the back of Merlin's neck gently. It was only a ghost of a touch, but then Arthur was right there, his face inches away. Then his lips were on Merlin's.
The kiss was light, sweet and chaste, just a dry whisper of skin on skin. The soft warmth of Arthur's lips was somehow shocking, leaving Merlin deaf and blind for a second. The world blinked out, leaving nothing but that sensation: Arthur's mouth pressed to his, his breath on Merlin's cheek, his fingers curling tighter on Merlin's nape, stroking up and carding through his hair. And then Arthur pulled back and lay down again, grinning up into the sky and looking incredibly pleased with himself.
Merlin gaped at him, his lips still tingling with sense memory. He thought he should be angry, that this could be just a cruel joke at the expense of a lovestruck servant or worse, some underhanded gesture of gratitude. But no, he knew Arthur better than that. That was a proud smile. He was proud of himself for the act of bravery in making the first move.
He touched Arthur's face questioningly. He saw Arthur's eyelashes flutter and a bright blush spread over the pale skin under his fingers. Then he couldn't resist that pull, that desperate want any longer. He dove at Arthur like a falcon after a prey and took his mouth, kissing it hungrily, deeply and without reservation.
Arthur was making the most wonderful hitching noises in his throat, and his arms curled over Merlin's back, holding on for dear life. Merlin bracketed Arthur's perfect face with his hands and quickly plastered sloppy kisses all over it, over his eyelids, cheeks, on the tip of his nose, on his lips again. He shifted up so their bodies were pressed together, so he could feel more of the rise and fall of Arthur's chest and the fast hammering of his heartbeat. Arthur's eyes were unfocused and a little wary, his arms tense.
"All right?" Merlin asked hoarsely, his head swimming with joy and arousal.
"I wore these clothes for days. I must smell like a dead horse," said Arthur with sincere anguish.
"No," Merlin assured him. "Well, yes, but I don't mind."
Arthur half-laughed, half-sighed against his lips and pulled him closer. This time he was the one to deepen the kiss, lick inquisitively at the seam of Merlin's lips before pushing further into his mouth. He was a little clumsy at it, a little shaky and unsure and not at all what Merlin had imagined when indulging in wild fantasies above his station. But Merlin liked it all the better for it and loved Arthur all the more.
They stayed like that, kissing in the grass with their eyes shut, not saying another word, until they heard sounds of hooves in the distance, and then Merlin placed the last gentlest kiss on Arthur's flushed lips and got up to wave to the riders.
Last Part
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Oh, I love that Arthur said this to Merlin!
And such an exquisite first kiss! <3
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