The Thousandth Year || Merlin fanfic

Arthur - Sacrificial

A hand slapped at Arthur's face just as Gwen was leaning in for another kiss. Well, it felt like a slap, though no fists were visible. Arthur jerked back none the less, a hazy sense of confusion floating to the surface of his brain. He pushed the odd sensation away, unwilling to let anything spoil this moment, and trying very hard not to think. He'd been doing that a lot, recently. Turning from the small things that didn't quite add up, that were just a little off. What did it matter that there hasn't been a cloudy day in months, that there had been no sightings of any sort of beast, bandit or monster for as long as Arthur could remember?

These were good things. He told himself. No problems. But, truth be told, Arthur was bored. Although he would never admit it, he missed it: the feel of a sword in his hand; the adrenaline in his veins: slaying whatever fearsome monster dared breach Camelot's borders. Although he hunted often, to occupy his frustrated thoughts, it just wasn't the same. It was as if he summoned the deer by pure willpower, as whenever he drew back his crossbow, a buck appeared as if it had been conjured from the air around him.

He missed the homecoming- trotting proudly through the gates, with eager towns people crowded around his horse, his father saying well done, but you could do better. Not that that could happen: all Uther gave him nowadays was praise. Arthur never thought he would miss his father's surliness, but he did. And when Arthur had come in from yet another peaceful training session, on yet another beautiful day, Merlin would help him with his armour, and chat incessantly in his ear. An image flickered in Arthur's mind then- the first real, tangible thought he'd had in a very long time.

Merlin, conjuring a dragon from sparks.

Merlin, throwing back two bandits with just a raised hand.

Merlin, as a stooped, desperately lonely old man.

Merlin, with magic.

If Arthur wasn't kissing Gwen in that moment, he would have burst out laughing. Merlin, a sorcerer? When fish flew.

His fingers itched- he was thinking of magic more than ever now; if his deadened, sluggish ponderings could be called that. He was completely at peace with the druids of course- they didn't bother him, he didn't bother them. It was treason to even consider it, but Arthur couldn't help but want something: anything to happen, to break this dragging monotony. His mind longed for the distraction, as his blood hungered for the hunt.

Another blow struck his face, and he staggered away from Gwen's concern, clamping a hand across his cheekbone as it smarted. The pain focused, intensified, until it was all he could feel, as if was the only thing anchoring him to this earth. For the first time, he experienced something beyond the distant senselessness that had enveloped him. A voice reached him, forcing its way through the veil of shadows surrounding him.

"Arthur! Please Arthur, wake up. I need you to be here. I need you to be real. Oh please be real, Arthur. Wake up! Please clotpole! We have to get out, we have to go! Arthur you ass! Don't you dare go and leave me! Oh for-" there was a brief pause, a quiet scuffle, then another blow connected with his face, twice as hard as the first.

Arthur's body lurched upward without his permission, his hand already flashing out to intercept the next fist heading rapidly towards his face. He caught it in his open palm, then clenched it, tight.

He slowly took in his surroundings- the darkness and compression of a small tunnel, Merlin kneeling beside him, his face drawn with loss, and his hand caught in Arthur's.

"Don't ever try that again." Arthur said simply, shoving his fist away, and scrambling to his feet. A fierce smile spread across Merlin's face.

"Then don't black out me then!" His words were solid Merlin, but there was a hollowness behind them, as if the pure white wood from the heart of the tree had been torn away, leaving only the crumbling bark, encompassing a gaping nothingness. Merlin didn't give Arthur time to consider it, as he had already grabbed his arm, and was dragging him at a run through the tunnels. Arthur stumbled, but kept his feet and darted after his friend, not knowing the destination or purpose, but seeing the fear and loss manipulating Merlin's features. It was clear he was trying to keep a lid on it, but every so often, as they bolted through tunnels, his face twitched, revealing the torment beneath.