Merthur - Forgotten

Thunder, Lightning, Water, and Skin

"A liar can tell the truth a thousand times and lie only once, but he is still a liar." 

"I'll lie ten thousand times if it means he'll keep me close." 

Arthur was outside again, though this time it wasn't quite so bright, so beautifully calm. The sky was a torrent, a whirlpool of black and grey with streams of white flowing through. Rain whipped his face and soaked his clothes, despite the overhanging roof under which he sat. Merlin, again, was at his feet, much like a faithful dog. His black hair stuck to his forehead and Arthur could see the ripple of his muscles through his wet and transparent shirt. Arthur must have stared too long, because Merlin looked back at him.

"I can fix this for you, if you'd like," he said. Raindrops dripped down his face, accentuating the pale porcelain of his skin. It was an image he associated with empty cathedrals and cold, trickling water from a fountain. Merlin's expression was far from joking, but Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Fix what? The weather or the fact that I can see through your shirt?"

Merlin looked down and picked at his shirt. It pulled off of his chest in a dull red bubble before settling back down against his surprisingly smooth, white skin with only a few new wrinkles. He looked genuinely surprised, the expression showing even through the rain that surrounded them. It was beginning to blow sideways now. Wind whipped their hair.

"Both," he said, looking back up at him. Arthur studied his face for a long time, trying to decide whether or not he was joking or stupid. Well, he was stupid, that much was true, but he didn't think he was that stupid.

"You're right," Arthur spoke, maneuvering himself into a standing position. He could feel the cold wet of his clothes on his back and he knew he was soaked. It was stupid of him to come out during a thunderstorm anyway, but the moment he saw the thrashing winds and the sideways trees, something in his heart pulled him out. It was the dull pain of remembrance, of regret, and yearning. Except that Arthur had no idea what it was he was missing. Now that feeling had passed and Merlin was right; it was time to go inside.

"Come," he said, holding his hand out to help Merlin up. "Let's go change."

Merlin took his hand casually and without comment, though Arthur knew for a fact that this was the first time he'd ever lifted a hand to help him. His touch was wet and cold, like the touch of the dead and that, too, was familiar in ways the prince could not understand. As they went in, they tracked water inside the castle. Puddles that only vaguely resembled footsteps until there was only enough water left to leave the imprint of their shoes. Each footstep was a quiet, clack, clack, clack on the hard stone floors. Merlin didn't let go of Arthur's hand until they were back in his room.

It was colder, quieter in Arthur's room than it was in any other part of the castle and Merlin, somehow attuned to the prince's needs, was already on his knees before the fireplace, rekindling and restocking the wood. Arthur watched him, the curve of his back, the strangely distant expression on his face– that was something that still confused him. Merlin was inexplicably stupid; unable to work a phone or name basic social media outlets. Most of his vocabulary was outdated at best, unrecognizable at worst. He cleaned like he'd never heard of chemical cleaners and he insisted on all of the traditional duties of a manservant... An idiot, if Arthur had ever met one. Except when he thought no one was looking. The prince had seen it before. An out of place expression of sadness, admiration, or giddiness that didn't line up with everything else.

"You're staring at me a lot today," Merlin observed, picking himself up from the floor. His clothes were still soaked– theirs both were– but at his feet was a roaring fire that wasn't there five minutes ago. Arthur hadn't even seen how he'd done it. "Is there something you want to ask?"