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suki_blueTitle: A Trace of Magic
Fandom: Merlin (BBC)
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur (Pre-slash)
Rating: PG
Summary: Sometimes magic can touch
Disclaimer The BBC owns it all.
A thousand thanks to my beta's![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kitty_poker1 and amejisuto. You both rock like shiny little pebbles.
He’d promised Gaius he would stay out of trouble. He’d sworn with a downcast gaze that he would hide the magic, be as ordinary as any other boy. At Gaius’s command, he mumbled the tumbling promises he’d once sworn over and over to his mother. He knew he would break them again, and probably sooner rather than later. Even if it meant his head.
Merlin sat up and rubbed at his eyes, smudging away dreams of dragons and destinies. He pushed himself against the wall and blinked back to full consciousness. A flood of dust-filled light flowed through his bedroom window and brought with it the sounds of a city awakening. Children scuttled and chased with screeching voices. Horses clopped in steady rhythms. Carts rolled and clattered, catching on uneven pathways and cracks, the wheels squeaking and their owners shouting to clear the way, move aside, shift or suffer squashed toes. A cacophony of constant voices, moving bodies and clucking livestock.
Camelot wasn’t all that different from his village, just grander, more considerable, excitable and several pitches louder so the people could hear each other over their own brimming jubilance and discord. Merlin could not comprehend his mother’s notion that he would get into any less mischief here. If anything, the opportunities were far greater. He grinned to himself and thought about his fight -- his second fight – with Arthur. Prince Arthur. If anything was going to get his head cut off, it was a duel with the King’s son, magic or no magic. Not very sensible, but Merlin wasn’t old enough to be considered wise in any way so that was a perfect excuse to indulge in reckless behaviour. One day, when he was no longer gangly and young and he’d filled out his body and grown a beard all the way down to his navel, someone would hang the chains of wisdom around his neck. Until then, freedom and play called. Fighting called too, apparently.
Childish, dangerous, careless, idiotic, inconsiderate. Merlin touched the round lump still lingering on the top of his head, and winced. Fine, add painful to Gaius’s list. But it was fun. He’d felt his heart beating against his chest, his breath forced through his throat too quickly, his lips curling up in a playful smile. And then he’d felt the magic rushing through his veins, hot as lava. It was impossible to resist, like it would burn him from the inside out, scorch his heart and cook his ribs if he didn’t release it. His control was excellent these days and he could use it to his advantage, to tangle and trip and bring Arthur crashing towards humiliation.
Even as the magic left him, he knew it was wrong, that someone might see. There were thirty witnesses to tell the King there were no muttered incantations, no magical trinkets or stinking herbs, but Arthur… Arthur was close enough to know, to feel the truth and, for a foolhardy moment, Merlin considered showing it to him, pulling him in, wrapping the magic around him like warming arms and caressing hands.
Then Arthur slapped him on the head with a broom. Moment shattered. Danger over until Arthur moved in close, studying him, and Merlin started to wonder if just a fingertip of magic had brushed him. Touched him.
Manservant, Merlin thought with no small amount of irritation, his reflections abruptly switching. He wrenched back his blanket and got out of bed. This was his destiny? To be a veritable slave to Prince Prat? His troubles were just starting. He was making no more promises.
Fandom: Merlin (BBC)
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur (Pre-slash)
Rating: PG
Summary: Sometimes magic can touch
Disclaimer The BBC owns it all.
A thousand thanks to my beta's
kitty_poker1 and amejisuto. You both rock like shiny little pebbles. He’d promised Gaius he would stay out of trouble. He’d sworn with a downcast gaze that he would hide the magic, be as ordinary as any other boy. At Gaius’s command, he mumbled the tumbling promises he’d once sworn over and over to his mother. He knew he would break them again, and probably sooner rather than later. Even if it meant his head.
Merlin sat up and rubbed at his eyes, smudging away dreams of dragons and destinies. He pushed himself against the wall and blinked back to full consciousness. A flood of dust-filled light flowed through his bedroom window and brought with it the sounds of a city awakening. Children scuttled and chased with screeching voices. Horses clopped in steady rhythms. Carts rolled and clattered, catching on uneven pathways and cracks, the wheels squeaking and their owners shouting to clear the way, move aside, shift or suffer squashed toes. A cacophony of constant voices, moving bodies and clucking livestock.
Camelot wasn’t all that different from his village, just grander, more considerable, excitable and several pitches louder so the people could hear each other over their own brimming jubilance and discord. Merlin could not comprehend his mother’s notion that he would get into any less mischief here. If anything, the opportunities were far greater. He grinned to himself and thought about his fight -- his second fight – with Arthur. Prince Arthur. If anything was going to get his head cut off, it was a duel with the King’s son, magic or no magic. Not very sensible, but Merlin wasn’t old enough to be considered wise in any way so that was a perfect excuse to indulge in reckless behaviour. One day, when he was no longer gangly and young and he’d filled out his body and grown a beard all the way down to his navel, someone would hang the chains of wisdom around his neck. Until then, freedom and play called. Fighting called too, apparently.
Childish, dangerous, careless, idiotic, inconsiderate. Merlin touched the round lump still lingering on the top of his head, and winced. Fine, add painful to Gaius’s list. But it was fun. He’d felt his heart beating against his chest, his breath forced through his throat too quickly, his lips curling up in a playful smile. And then he’d felt the magic rushing through his veins, hot as lava. It was impossible to resist, like it would burn him from the inside out, scorch his heart and cook his ribs if he didn’t release it. His control was excellent these days and he could use it to his advantage, to tangle and trip and bring Arthur crashing towards humiliation.
Even as the magic left him, he knew it was wrong, that someone might see. There were thirty witnesses to tell the King there were no muttered incantations, no magical trinkets or stinking herbs, but Arthur… Arthur was close enough to know, to feel the truth and, for a foolhardy moment, Merlin considered showing it to him, pulling him in, wrapping the magic around him like warming arms and caressing hands.
Then Arthur slapped him on the head with a broom. Moment shattered. Danger over until Arthur moved in close, studying him, and Merlin started to wonder if just a fingertip of magic had brushed him. Touched him.
Manservant, Merlin thought with no small amount of irritation, his reflections abruptly switching. He wrenched back his blanket and got out of bed. This was his destiny? To be a veritable slave to Prince Prat? His troubles were just starting. He was making no more promises.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2008-09-23 06:29 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-09-23 07:42 pm (UTC)