merlin_holidays | Happy Merlin Holidays, vissy! [2/2]

“What,” Merlin said weakly, but all he could think about was the smell of cloves and his eyes, that blue turned gold from the flickering lights from the trees. His insides were tying themselves into knots and he felt over-heated, flushed from head to toe, and something in him curled up shy and frightened, because he wanted, but he was just a bloody servant, and the knight knew it. “I--I have to go.”

He was caught as soon as he turned, and spun around. The look on his knight’s face was indecipherable; he reached up to touch the edge of Merlin’s mask and Merlin flinched. “What about this?”

“I--changed my mind.”

“Like hell,” he said, and Merlin squeezed his eyes shut as he tugged it off, biting at the inside of his mouth when he heard a sharp inhale.

“You’re--” he said, an odd echo of Merlin, “--the mouthy one from the forest.” Merlin opened his eyes to glare and found his knight’s mouth hooked in a smile. He lifted a hand and dragged his thumb against Merlin’s bottom lip, callused skin catching against the soft inside. “I knew,” he said, low, “I knew there was something about you--”

This time, Merlin kissed him back.

Their masks were on the ground, back to the same crumpled, dirty fabric they’d been before, and Merlin’s hand landed on one as he was eased down. The smell of smoke and wood was heavier here, but pressed close as they were, Merlin was breathing in leather and sweat; tasting spit and--berries, like some odd, unsettling fragment of his dream. There was a hand cradling his head, fingers dragging through his hair and against his scalp, and it made Merlin shiver and arch up, urgent. His heart was beating quick and hard in his chest, but in more anticipation than fear--he’d explain away what he had to in the morning, but right now, he wanted this, this man’s mouth and hands and eyes on him, and he’d take it, anything, everything he could get.

“What are you going to do,” he whispered into the hungry, wet space between their mouths, because he wanted to hear him say it, because saying it always made it more real.

“Fuck you,” his knight said, hoarse and tight like a promise, like something inevitable. Large hands slid under Merlin’s tunic and found skin; Merlin wanted to jerk away and press closer, squirmed with indecision while his clothes were pushed and pulled at, until he was laid bare on the cold earth--trousers caught on his ankles and shirt bunched up high on his chest. His knight placed a hand right in the centre, rough palm just above the sensitive span of his navel, where nerves fluttered like wild things, and said, “will you let me?” all taunt, like he couldn’t see how hard Merlin was, cock jutting up shameless and demanding.

“Does it matter?” Merlin asked, and his knight’s grin was all teeth.

“No,” he said, and ducked down to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss on Merlin’s chest, before biting hard enough to hurt. Merlin cried out and bit down on his tongue because he wouldn’t be like those others, he wouldn’t--but then his nipple was caught in a sharp, sweet suck and he couldn’t hold it back, bucking up hard and shouting his pleasure, hands curled tight in golden hair and tugging, yanking, keeping him in place.

He didn’t let up until Merlin felt ravaged, nipples too sensitive and throbbing, gone an obvious, angry red even in what dim light they had. Merlin could feel the hard, thick length of his cock against his leg and wanted to see it, touch it, put it in his mouth, but his knight seemed content to rut against him with slow rolls of his hips while he sucked bruises on whatever patch of skin he could find. Merlin threw his head back and let him, fixed his hazy vision on the merry, blinking lights in the trees until he couldn’t take it anymore and whined, “Would you just--touch me--”

What he got was a sharp bite on the jut of his collarbone, and a nose nudging his shoulder, his arm. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

“I wouldn’t if you didn’t seem in need of instruction,” Merlin said, if only as a means to distract himself from the way his knight was snuffling against him, taking quick, hungry breaths right under his arm, where sweat and musk had collected the most. Merlin didn’t say anything until he yanked the shirt off and pressed his face there, against damp skin and fine hairs, and then he couldn’t not, burning up with embarrassment and cock blurting precome. The words seemed to stick in his throat but he got them out, said, “You’re--what are you doing?”

He raised his head and looked at Merlin with dark eyes. “You smell good,” he slurred, and bared his teeth when Merlin took in a sudden, hitching breath; kissed him like that, salty and bittersweet, fucking his tongue into his mouth until Merlin broke away to gasp. Then he dragged his face behind Merlin’s ear and sniffed hard, said, “here, too,” and trailed a hand down Merlin’s body to grip his cock, firm and sudden, “and here, I’ll bet,” rolling his aching balls in his palm and then moving lower, digging three fingers into the tight, hot space he found there, rubbing insistently against Merlin’s hole and nearly groaning out, ”here, fuck--”

Merlin covered his flushed face with his hands and said, “o-oh,” and again, louder, when those fingers pressed against his mouth and he was told to, “taste,” and, “get them wet,” and Merlin squeezed shut his burning eyes and did it, sucked hard and got them sloppy with his spit. His knight hissed, and Merlin followed his fingers with his mouth when he pulled them away, plaintive, eager little noise easing its way out of his throat.

It turned into a moan when he was breached, two thick fingers pressing inside him without any kind of warning, giving him no chance to tense up. He opened for them easy, took to being fucked like he was made for it, like this wasn’t the first--the only time. It hurt and Merlin pushed up into it, the burn giving way to sharp, stabbing pleasure and the ache settling somewhere deep inside, winding him tighter. His knight was panting, all laboured breaths and short, hungry snarls, and Merlin could barely hear him over the rush of blood in his ears, nearly didn’t hear him say,

“This enough?” as he twisted his fingers and nudged a third inside, making everything go white-hot and too-much.

“I don’t know,” Merlin gasped, because he didn’t, and couldn’t imagine, but he didn’t want it to stop. He whined when the fingers pulled out, said, “wait, I--yes, it’s enough, it’s--” and his knight half laughed and half groaned and lifted Merlin’s hips up, easy; spread him open and spit, thick and wet right where he was empty and sore and there wasn’t anything for Merlin to do but shout his surprise, clawing at the dirt when all three fingers slotted back in.

“Fuck,” his knight groaned, knuckles deep in Merlin and sounding more animal than man. “Fuck, fu--ck--” and eased them back out, playing against the rim, teasing with his thumb. Merlin made a short, desperate sound when he pulled away completely, but then his legs were being lifted and hooked over his knight’s head, feet still trapped in boots and trousers. It hurt to be spread this wide, thighs burning with the strain, but Merlin forgot all about that when he buried his face there, right there, nose to his balls and mouth on the sensitive, throbbing clench of Merlin’s hole.

Merlin couldn’t breathe. What air he managed to draw into his burning lungs was punched out by the wet stab of his knight’s tongue, the feel of hands holding him open and the sounds he was making--like he was starved and Merlin was a feast. He ate at him until Merlin’s cock was a dribbling, sticky mess against his stomach and his balls taut; hole flinching and so sensitive Merlin thought he was going to die from it, and then--then--he began to bite, sucking bruises and worrying thin, delicate skin between his teeth.

“Please,” Merlin said, voice hoarse, worn, “please, please--” and the knight lifted his head, mouth sloppy and gleaming with spit, and looked at him; then up at the tiny, wildly flickering lights, and Merlin tried to make them stop, rein in the threads of magic that were escaping him, but he was hard and aching and so, so wet, and he couldn’t--fucking--think--

The lights didn’t make any noise when they went out, but Merlin could see them dying far off into the distance, the forest going wild and dark within the span of seconds. His knight laughed and pressed his mouth to the soft skin of Merlin’s inner thigh--bit there, gently, and said, “show-off,” equal parts admonishing and amused.

Merlin turned his face against the dry, cold ground and trembled, whined, “it wasn’t--I didn’t mean to,” and, “stop--teasing,” because his feet ached from curling his toes so hard, and he was dry-mouthed and dizzy and couldn’t take it anymore. There wasn’t any response beyond another bite, less gentle this time, and just when Merlin thought he’d have to start begging again, his knight’s hands gripped his legs and eased them off his shoulders. For a beat he was folded near into two, thighs pressed against his chest and spread wide, and he thought he’d get fucked like that, tightened up at the thought of how the breath would squeeze out of him when he got split open.

But his knight just held him, thumbs pressing into the tender backs of Merlin’s knees, still and focused like he was committing Merlin to memory. It was an impossible feat in the pitch black of night, but Merlin could feel eyes on him just the same, tracking from face to chest to groin, and it made him shiver, fine hairs prickling all over his body.

He swallowed noisily and felt nails dig into his skin when he said, “I thought you were going to fuck m-me?” voice as steady as he could make it, which wasn’t very at all, and--“have you forgotten how?” just to entice a sound from his knight, a hungry, animal sound. He was manhandled onto his front before he could take another breath, hands and knees and face in the dirt with his legs kicked apart as far as the trousers would allow. There were thumbs spreading his arse open, kneading a little at his hole, and then a blunt, unfamiliar pressure, slick and slippery, held against him like a threat.

“Oh,” Merlin said into his arms, “oh, fu-uh--” as he was fucked into, a steady, relentless thrust that had him whining and clenching up and trying to squirm away. Every wheezing breath he took tasted like the earth and sex, hard and bitter and sharp enough to make his eyes water, tears prickling at the corners and gathering somewhere in the back of his throat. His knight was making noises and running his hands down Merlin’s sides, gentle the way his cock wasn’t, still, still shoving into him.

“Shh,” his knight said, hushed and strained, fingers laid over Merlin’s ribs and mouth on his shoulder, “almost--just a little more,” but it didn’t feel like a little, it felt like a whole fucking lot, like too much too quickly, and Merlin couldn’t do anything but whine, hurt and muffled against the ground, and try to let him in.

The feel of his balls against Merlin’s arse was sudden and startled him into going tight and tense all over; his knight groaned at the clench around his cock and Merlin hissed, wounded and smarting from it. The spark of pleasure that came from being fingered was absent here and Merlin couldn’t stop himself from squeezing around the invasive width of his knight’s cock, trying to ease the ache that got worse as he began to move, pulling out a little and slotting right back in.

“Don’t,” Merlin choked out, “don’t, just--just stay still--”

“I can’t,” his knight said, gritted out against the back of Merlin’s neck. “I have to--” and started fucking him in earnest, short, powerful snaps of his hips that had Merlin rocking and clawing at the ground. Each thrust punched a gasp from his throat, and Merlin went dizzy from the lack of air, body one big pulse, burning up from the inside. “I’m sorry,” his knight was saying, “sorry, fuck,” but he didn’t stop; if anything, sped up, the slapslapslap of his balls against Merlin’s arse filthy loud in his ears.

“It hurts,” Merlin managed, voice wet and clogged up, and his knight cursed viciously, bit hard at his shoulder before going still.

“Easy,” he murmured, for all that he was vibrating with tension against Merlin’s back, “s’all right, I’ve got you.” He carded one hand through Merlin’s hair and dragged the other down his side, across his stomach and to where his cock had gone near soft from the hurt. Merlin shivered when he took it in hand, calloused thumb on the head, digging into his slit and the prominent nerve below. His knight’s breath came fast in Merlin’s ear, strained and desperate, but he pulled Merlin off like he had nothing better to do, with slow, twisting tugs that had him hard in minutes, and leaking plaintively against his thigh.

“Good?” he asked, almost unsure, and Merlin reached back and pulled him forward for a clumsy kiss, the taste of dirt and musk and salt thick and perfect between them. His cock shifted inside Merlin at the move, but it didn’t hurt nearly as badly now, so Merlin pushed back, tentative; once, and again, and again, fucking himself with little rolls of his hips, widening his stance and pushing himself up onto his hands for better leverage and--

“Fuck,” Merlin gasped, and, “oh, fuck,” because that was the same overwhelming stab of pleasure he thought he’d lost--returned tenfold, making his mouth water and cock pulse precome, balls drawn up against his body. “There,” he babbled, “there, that--” and keened when his knight fucked right into it, slow careful drags and then, as Merlin grew louder, near-violent thrusts that made him drop his head and try to remember how to breathe, trembling all over.

“Tell me,” his knight was saying, mouth hot on the back of Merlin’s neck, “say--” but Merlin couldn’t find the words or the air, and came, instead, with a cry like it was torn from his throat, cock spurting thick ropes of come on the ground, arse clenching up tight. His knight inhaled, quick and sharp, and bit down on the knob of Merlin’s spine, fucking into him furiously as Merlin went all loose and pliant, still jabbing into that tender spot inside.

Merlin rode it out, head hanging between his shoulders, sweat dripping down his face. His arms were shaking from the strain but it didn’t matter and he didn’t care, focused instead on the way his knight was panting, letting out a short little unh every time he fucked in. The forest was dark and silent and still, but there was a full moon beyond the canopy and Merlin could feel the start of a breeze stirring against his skin and he reveled in it, mouth and open and taking in deep, hungry breaths.

He almost didn’t notice when the fuck slowed, turned into an unhurried grind instead of in-and-out, distracted as he was by the way his skin was buzzing, the pleasant ache settling in every inch of his body--but the broad, sudden pressure against his hole couldn’t be ignored, and he started, head jerking up, as that--that something forced its way inside.

“What,” he said, rocking forward slow and sluggish, too sated to really be alarmed, “what--what is that,” because it felt too wide to be his knight’s cock but couldn’t be anything else, and something twinged in the back of his mind, something remembered and discarded as--as ridiculous, because it couldn’t be--”What are you doing?”

His knight lowered himself until his chest pressed up against Merlin’s back and his mouth landed hot on the side of his neck. “Breathe,” he said, hands bracketing Merlin’s waist, “keep still,” and then, soft in Merlin’s ear, hips still circling tight and slow, “ask me my name.”

Merlin’s heart began to pound again, skin prickling and going flushed, hot. “Who are you,” he managed to whisper, even though he knew, he knew, the shock of it lighting up his nerves.

“Arthur,” said the Prince, and huffed a laugh at Merlin’s panicked, “fuck, oh--fuck, fuck,” and said, “don’t get too excited, darling,” mocking even as he fucked his--his knot in, and Merlin clamped down on instinct, heart somewhere in his throat and beating like it wanted out. His knight--Prince Arthur--grunted in disapproval and spread a palm low on Merlin’s stomach, easing him up as he said, “take it for me, won’t you?” all low and soft, and hissed when his knot finally, finally popped inside.

Merlin bit at his arm and moaned weakly when he didn’t wake up; he could feel the knot growing, stretching him still, and the Prince was pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses against his neck, sucking Merlin’s earlobe into his mouth and making pleased little noises as he came, rolling his hips languidly and shooting thick, hot pulses of come right up into him.

Merlin understood well enough how dogs mated to know what this was, and felt something inside go liquid at the thought of being tied. Moving meant a sharp, stinging pain where they were joined, so Merlin went still and kept the panic at bay while he was lifted, careful hands turning him on his side, back pressed against the Prince’s chest. He was still breathing harshly--still coming--his hands wandering restlessly over Merlin’s body, plucking at his nipples and curling around his spent, too-sensitive cock, and Merlin was caught between arousal and the terrifying thought of facing his mother in the morning.

The Prince read the sudden tension of his body and huffed. “You truly had no idea,” he said, sounding amazed, like he thought no one could be that daft. Merlin bristled and squirmed as far away from his mouth as the knot would allow.

“You were masked,” he reminded pointedly. “How was I supposed to know who was behind it?”

“Of course,” the Prince said, petting Merlin’s cock with languid strokes of his hand, “because the dragon made it terribly difficult to guess.”

“I was a dragon too!” It was too dark to make out anything more than the blurry outlines of the Prince’s face, but Merlin already knew the smug little twist of his mouth. He ignored the way it made his face flush and said, “The mask’s rubbish, it doesn’t mean anything.”

A hand squeezed his balls, rough enough to make him twitch. “It means we’re well matched.” The Prince shifted his hips just enough to have the knot catch at Merlin’s rim and make him shove back, shivering. His chin was caught in a firm grip and he was kissed, hard. “Right about that, wasn’t it?”

“I’m a servant,” Merlin said against his mouth, “and you’re a--prat.”

“Insolent,” the Prince observed.

“Unimpressed,” Merlin corrected, and turned away to hide a smile when the Prince--Arthur--made a disbelieving noise.

He had no idea how long it had been since the Hunt began, but the forest was quiet now, the rustling of leaves the only thing Merlin could hear. Dread wavered at the back of his mind but his eyes were heavy and his body lax; he was warm, and comfortable, even aching and stuffed full as he was, and all his worries could wait for morning light.

“Merlin,” he said, right before he closed his eyes. “My name is Merlin.”

Arthur hummed softly and nosed at his hair.

“Sleep, Merlin,” he said, and Merlin did.

---

He woke to the filtered, grey light of dawn and the voices of men.

Merlin’s eyes were dry and burning, vision blurry from sleep, but he could make out four--no, five--gathered in a loose circle around them, jeering amongst themselves. They were armed, swords at their belts, and draped in Camelot’s colours, these unsettling splotches of red against the backdrop of the forest. They were saying something, and Merlin’s sluggish, sleepy mind strained to catch up; didn’t manage until one turned, cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Wake up, Princess!” and had Merlin jolting in surprise.

An arm wrapped around him and he was crushed back against a hard chest before he could think to move, flipped so he was lying under Arthur’s broad form. Their eyes caught for a second, and Merlin felt, all of a sudden, every bruise that littered his body, the unrelenting throb inside; the tips of his ears burned and Arthur’s lip curled up into a snarl.

“Cape!” he barked, and Merlin jumped a little, hands coming up to brace against his chest. “Now, Gwaine.”

“Aw, come on,” said a man, and Merlin looked over Arthur’s shoulder to confirm it was the one that had yelled before.

”Now.” Arthur’s eyes were narrowed, and still locked on his. Merlin swallowed and tried to remember that anger wasn’t directed at him; glanced back at the knights and found the loud one pouting, unhooking the cape from his armor. It took Merlin a moment to realize what it was for, and by then he’d already been wrapped in it, covered from shoulder to knee and lifted to his feet.

Arthur’s hands on his waist were the only thing that kept him from wobbling back down. His thighs were sticky and skin stiff with dried spit and come and it hurt even to tremble, the ache in his arse sharp and persistent and twisting all the way up his spine. But there were eyes on him, and not just Arthur’s, so he squirmed out of his grip and bit his lip against the pain.

“All right?” Arthur said, but he sounded like he wished he hadn’t, face stiff and uncomfortable. He was entirely bare and not at all conscious of it, but Merlin couldn’t even appreciate the fact because of the way he was acting, like they were just strangers, instead of strangers who’d fucked all night.

“M’fine,” he mumbled. He got a curt nod in response and Merlin stared intently at the ground, ignoring the curious gazes of the knights, the badly muffled conversation. Arthur began to gather their clothes, and Merlin took a peek from the corner of his eye, caught sight of his soft, tender looking cock before he pulled on his trousers. It wasn’t so different from his--smaller, Merlin thought, when it wasn’t hard--beyond the fleshy swell of his knot at the base. Merlin’s arse twinged at the reminder and he looked hurriedly away, worrying the inside of his mouth and ignoring the tentative swell of arousal.

“Did you bring the horses?” Arthur asked, bending to pick up Merlin’s clothes, and their masks. At a chorus of yes, Sire, he turned to Merlin and said, “let’s go, then.”

“Wait,” Merlin called, when he began stalking towards his men, “my clothes.”

“Later,” he dismissed, not even bothering to glance back, and Merlin gaped for a second before the meaning registered and his face went hot. Surely he couldn’t think to have Merlin ride back like this--wrapped in Camelot’s colours and looking like he’d been mauled--but clearly, he did, and Merlin’s hands twitched into fists at the thought.

“No,” he said, loud, ”now.”

His tone wasn’t lost on Arthur, and neither was the obvious mimicry; he stopped and glared, and Merlin glared right back, held out a hand when he didn’t move. A vein ticked in Arthur’s jaw, and he handed Merlin his clothes with a little push, halfway to petulant. Then he looked to his knights and scowled, and they--they began to turn their backs, heads down.

“I’m not a blushing maiden,” Merlin said hotly, and let the cape drop. “Look, if you want.”

“They don’t want,” Arthur snapped, and the one who’d been glancing back--the loud one--quickly turned away, coughing. When Arthur came to stand in front of him, a large, unhappy shield, Merlin made an agitated noise.

“What is wrong with you,” he hissed, squirming into his trousers, face red from embarrassment and anger and potent confusion. Silence stretched long and thin and Merlin jerked his tunic over his head, the smell of sex and sweat strong and sudden in his nose.

“I don’t want anyone looking at you,” Arthur said, so quietly Merlin almost didn’t hear him. His face was sullen and serious, belying the absurdity of his words, and Merlin couldn’t help but laugh a little, weak.

“That’s--” he started, and didn’t know how to finish. Arthur had a little furrow between his brow and his mouth was pursed and very red; he looked as unsettled as Merlin felt. He didn’t know how long they stood there staring at each other, wondering, but it was long enough to make the knights restless, muttering and shuffling their feet.

“We haven’t got too long, Sire,” one of them called, sounding apologetic. “We’re to ride at noon. King’s orders.”

“Noon?” Merlin echoed as Arthur grimaced. “Noon--today?”

It made sense, of course; there wasn’t any reason for him to stay after the Hunt was over, and unsuccessful to boot, but something still clenched up in Merlin’s chest. He looked at Arthur and couldn’t manage to keep the unhappy edge from his voice when he said,

“You’re leaving?”

“No,” Arthur said, slowly, almost quizzical, “we are.”

Merlin blinked.

“What?”

---

Merlin didn’t think he’d ever seen so many people gathered in so small a space before. The air inside the Elder’s tent was thin and stale, smelled like age and thick, powerful herbs. It burned to breathe it in, and out of the corner of his eye Merlin could see Arthur’s nose twitch, the only thing to mar his stony expression. Behind him, his knights wore identical faces, eyes narrowed and mouths set into firm lines.

Sweat gathered at the back of Merlin’s neck. The Elders didn’t look pleased, and his mother’s face had gone ashen the moment she’d seen him, and stayed that way; she was gripping his arm now, nails digging into skin, and Merlin could hear her swallow, the shallow breaths she took.

The silence that had descended was tense, stifling, but when it broke Merlin was sorry to see it go.

“If what you say is true,” Elder Helewys spoke, the curl of her mouth making it clear how little she thought of his word, “then Nimueh decided to leave us. And you--what? Thought you would simply take her place?”

“I didn’t--” Merlin winced as Hunith’s grip tightened, panic rolling off of her in waves. “I didn’t know what would happen.”

Elder Helewys raised her brows. “You didn’t know of the Hunt?”

“No, I knew--”

“So you knew what the mask was for--who it was for.”

“Yes, but--”

“And you wore it willingly, isn’t that right? Or did she hold you down and force it on you?”

“Peace, Helewys,” Elder Aglain said, before Merlin could stutter out a reply that would only feed her anger. His eyes, when they fell on Merlin, were kind. “What use is bickering now? He is chosen.”

“But he shouldn’t have been.”

“Then I suggest you question me,” Arthur said, voice flat, “since I am the one who chose him.”

Helewys pursed her mouth. “It is not you I find at fault, Prince.”

“But the fault is mine.” Arthur shrugged, loose and dangerous. “Perhaps you aren’t aware of what the Hunt entails. I was the one to pursue him.”

“I am aware,” Helewys said, stiff. “But he wasn’t meant to be a part of it. it was conducted under false pretense--”

“Are you saying I’ve been tricked? Has Camelot been made a fool by the People?”

“No!” Colour rose in Helewys’ thin face. “I am saying that this boy does not--cannot--represent us. A union with Camelot means haven for we magical few, Prince. We would have you bound with a person of magic.”

Arthur’s mouth curled up and Merlin felt his insides turn to lead. “You don’t believe Merlin possesses magic?”

Hunith made a small, horrified noise that was drowned out by the Elders’ murmuring. Helewys frowned and said, slowly, “Not beyond what he has been taught.”

“That’s odd,” Arthur said, pursing his mouth in a mocking imitation, “because I was under another impression entirely.”

Merlin closed his eyes and didn’t flinch when Hunith’s nails dug sharply into his arm. Sorry, he thought at her, sorry, sorry, but couldn’t quiet the little throb of pleasure in his gut at the sight of the Elders’ startled faces. Helewys looked at him and he held her gaze until she turned away, looking perturbed.

“Well,” she said, taking a breath and folded her hands slowly. “Then we would request more time from you. We need to--deliberate.”

“Take all the time you need.” Arthur smiled. “But we ride at noon, and we take him,” a jerk of his chin in Merlin’s direction, “with us.”

He ignored Helewys’ protesting noise and stalked outside, his knights falling into place behind him, filing out of the tent in a neat line. He hadn’t looked Merlin’s way once since they came in here, and Merlin tried not to wonder what that meant, forced himself to focus on the matter at hand. Helewys had gone a blotchy red, Aglain pensive, and the other Elders wore identical troubled expressions. Hunith released Merlin’s arm to wipe her damp palms on her robes, and it began to sting in the absence of pressure.

“Well,” Aglain said. “That seemed rather final. I’m not sure what there is left to deliberate, Helewys.”

Helewys’ lip curled, but before she could speak Hunith stepped forward, hands wrung together.

“Elder,” she said, voice wavering, and Merlin itched to call her back, “surely you won’t allow him to do this.”

“No,” Aglain said gently. “I cannot allow Camelot’s Prince to do anything.”

“But this is a mistake! Merlin’s not meant for this, he’s not a part of it. He’s--he’s just a boy.”

“Hunith.” Aglain clasped his hands together. “We both know Merlin is far more than just a boy.”

Hunith lost what little colour there had been left in her face and Helewy’s eyes widened at the confirmation. Merlin’s stomach began to cramp with unease; it was one thing for Arthur to say what he had, and another entirely for the Elder. He didn’t want to hear any more, didn’t want to know what he knew, and by the look on his mother’s face, neither did she.

But they couldn’t turn away, and had to listen as he said, soft, “Balinor was both friend and mentor. He spoke highly of you. Both of you.”

Hunith took in a wet, ragged breath, and the Elders frowned and turned surprised, speculative eyes in Merlin’s direction. Balinor, someone echoed.

“You knew of this,” Helewys said, suspicion twisting her mouth. “You knew this would happen.”

Elder Ulric spoke, voice rusty from age and disuse. “He Saw it. Didn’t you, Aglain?”

“I See many things,” Aglain said easily, “and most never come to pass.”

Helewys snorted, a startling sound to come from a woman so tiny and frail. She looked at Merlin again, this time with the stirrings of interest in the lines of her face, and he bit the inside of his mouth as he stepped forward and curled a hand around Hunith’s wrist. His mother fit her palm to his and Merlin directed his attention to Aglain.

“It’s decided, then?” he asked, ironing the trepidation from his voice, and hiding the excitement. He squeezed Hunith’s hand, a silent reassurance. “I must go?”

“You always have a choice, Merlin,” Aglain said, looking fond. “But some things are destined, and will be no matter what you choose.”

Merlin ducked his head when Hunith squeezed back. “I don’t suppose you’ve Seen that, too?”

Aglain laughed.

---

He found Arthur near the edge of the campground, hidden in the shade. There weren’t any of his knights around, and Merlin supposed they’d gone to fetch their things, or ready the horses, or whatever they did to prepare for days long journey. Merlin would find out soon enough, and that thought made him bite back a smile.

Arthur’s eyes were closed, and he didn’t open them as Merlin approached. “Well?”

“Well what,” Merlin said, stepping close enough to touch the toes of their boots together.

“Well, have you come willingly, or will I have to tie you to the horse?”

“Would you really do that?” Merlin asked, curious. “I don’t think the horse would find it very comfortable. The rope would chafe.”

Arthur’s mouth twitched, and his eyes opened to slits, still that shocking blue. “You’re nervous.”

“I’m worried about the horse.” Merlin swallowed, and reached out a hand to pluck at the hem of Arthur’s tunic. “They’re right, you know. I’m not meant for you.”

“Who gets to decide?” Arthur sneered. “Your Elders?”

“How about life?” Merlin suggested. “You know who I am. A servant.”

“I know what you are.”

“It’s one and the same.”

Arthur reached out and grabbed his arms, spun him so he was pressed back against rough bark. “You really are an idiot,” he said, nostrils flared, and Merlin’s mouth went soft, wanting a kiss, but Arthur held that aching inch of space between them. “You won’t be a servant in Camelot. Just someone who could set the forest on fire with a thought, and douse it with less.”

Merlin swallowed, and turned away. “You don’t know--”

Arthur gripped his chin and forced him to meet his eyes. “I’m a Pendragon,” he said, on a short laugh, “I know,” and then, softer, like it meant something more than Merlin could understand: “I chose you.”

Merlin’s throat clicked, dry, and he dropped his gaze to the collar of Arthur’s shirt, the hollow of his throat. What he thought he knew wasn’t even half of what Merlin had been hiding his entire life but, Merlin thought, eyes on the strong beat of his pulse, maybe it was a start. So he lifted a hand and placed it on Arthur’s chest, tilted his head back and said, like he was entirely unaffected,

“What if I don’t choose you?”

He didn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t for Arthur to grin and lean in and kiss him, hard, like he’d been wanting to ever since they stopped, and say:

“You already have.”

There wasn’t really any way to argue that. Good thing, too, because Merlin was too busy kissing him back.

---
fin

Happy Merlin Holidays, vissy! [2/2]

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