lady_bug_kay | Merlinfic: a wretched, muddled fate (Merlin/Arthur)

Title: a wretched, muddled fate
Author: ladybugkay
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1406
Spoilers: nothing specific, but let's assume you've seen all of series 1, okay?
Summary: Merlin might be in love with Arthur, but that doesn't mean he has to be happy about it.
Disclaimer: Oh, to be the BBC and own this version of the characters. Alas, I am not, and I do not make any money from this fic.
Note: This is mostly ramble, and it's a lot cheerier than the title might suggest. The title is from Pablo Neruda's "Sonnet XLIV," translated by Stephen Tapscott.
Note2: I really need to find a Merlin icon.

Arthur is really something of a prat.

Merlin has tried to tell him this, has tried to tell quite a large number of people, actually, considering Arthur is technically his employer and his monarch-one-step-removed, and also the undisputed golden boy of Camelot. Still, Arthur is undeniably a prat, and Merlin knows it only too well.

Just like he knows other things. He knows, for example, that someday Arthur is going to be a magnificent king unparalleled by any who have come before, and he knows that he and Arthur share a destiny, and he knows that, apparently, he and Arthur are two sides of the same coin – (once you’ve heard something enough times it starts to sink in, though he’s still not entirely sure what it means) – and he knows that rotten fruit hurts almost as much as fresh vegetables when it’s thrown with a certain strength and frequency.

So, yes, Merlin knows that at some point in the future – near or far, the dragon is always vague on that bit – everything will be bright and shiny and wonderful for him, but in the here and now of it all, Arthur is something of a prat and Merlin dreads the words that come out of his mouth because they invariably mention some disgusting chore that must have been conceived solely to torture manservants and make them wish they had someone to clean their chamberpots and wash their dirty underwear and endlessly polish their weapons and armour…or, you know, whatever shiny objects they own.

In other words, whenever Arthur opens his mouth, Merlin wishes he had a Merlin of his own to do everything for him. On the worst days, Merlin thinks wistfully of finding a spell that will allow him to copy himself so that one of him could run around doing everything Arthur told him to do while the other him could do whatever he wanted to do, and then everyone would be happy. Although deciding which of him would do what might cause some friction between the Merlins, so he’s holding that plan in reserve for the time being. As a last resort type of situation.

(Strategy isn’t Merlin’s forté. He’s much more of a spontaneous, think-on-his-feet person.)

Given Arthur’s prattishness and general unpleasant demeanour, not to mention his tendency to assign truly revolting jobs to innocent young men rewarded for life-saving services by being turned into slaves for certain young royals with more arrogance than ten princes require, Merlin doesn’t know quite how to handle the fact that every time he sees Arthur these days, he has the nearly uncontrollable urge to push him against a wall and just rub up against him. And maybe smell him all over and lick the underside of his jaw and stick a hand down his trousers and thrust against his hip and generally take every possible advantage of him. It isn’t exactly what one would call a normal response to a person who is capable of infuriating you to the point of speechlessness, and it certainly isn’t appropriate behaviour for a servant. It also has the unfortunate effect of rendering Merlin’s ability to sleep somewhat…moot, to be honest. If he’s able to sleep at all, it is brief and restless, filled with sweaty, aching dreams, and altogether unsatisfying, in spite of the nature of said dreams.

Merlin always thought that this sort of thing was supposed to make the sun shine brighter and your heart feel lighter, inspiring you with a general sense of well-being and joy. Instead, all he gets out of it are stained sheets, a near-permanent and highly uncomfortable tightening of his trousers, dark circles under his eyes, and a predisposition toward dropping and tripping over things whenever he is in the vicinity of a certain prat of a prince.

It’s not fair. Really, it’s not.

Something should be done, Merlin thinks, if only he knew what it was. He’s tried to talk to the dragon about it, because surely this will interfere with that epic destiny he is supposed to ensure Arthur has, but all the dragon does is look sly and make pointed and hopelessly obscure comments couched in poetry, and then fly off to the farthest reaches of his chain, and really, Merlin has had more than enough of that, thank you very much.

One day, Merlin is going to find a soothsayer who speaks plainly and answers questions in ways that actually make sense and can provide some kind of clarity. It’s possible he might have to become such a fortuneteller himself, because Morgana certainly doesn’t like to share what she sees, even with him – and yet it all gets a little confusing when Merlin tries to picture himself predicting the future and gets only the image of himself as a little baby.

What does that mean?

Maybe he knew what would happen way back then, when he was still in swaddling clothes, but if he did, he’s forgotten absolutely everything about it by now, so it doesn’t count. It would be nice if he could remember being a baby and know for sure, but Merlin thinks there was probably rather a lot more notice taken of food and the woman who provided it than of anything that might be useful to him now, or even years from now.

He can be depressingly focused on the present, Merlin knows, which is possibly why he’s not very good at anticipating the consequences to his actions and thus allowed himself to fall in love with Arthur in the first place. He simply wasn’t paying attention and didn’t consider all the negative ramifications of developing those kinds of feelings for someone who is indisputably a prat and likes to insult him at least twice before breakfast and three or four times before dinner. Not to mention, the object of his affections is directly related to a man who actively hunts down and murders people like Merlin.

Yes, there was a definite lack of forethought involved when Merlin developed feelings for Arthur. (It’s that whole absence of strategic planning that gets him every time.)

There are days when Merlin would like nothing more than to find a way to travel back in time for the sole purpose of kicking his own arse for being so blind, showing such devastatingly poor judgment, and being utterly lacking in forethought.

Interestingly enough, that, at least, might be possible, because hindsight is something Merlin is rather good at. As long as he doesn’t try to travel forward in time, that might actually be a feasible proposition. But on the other hand, Merlin is rather opposed to pain, particularly when he is the one suffering it, so maybe he won’t try the whole time travel thing, after all.

He’ll put that one back on the shelf with the Merlin-copy idea under ‘worst case scenario.’

Besides, while Arthur is a prat, he is also quite a fit prat, which anyone with eyes can see, and he can be rather appealing when the sun hits his hair just right and his smile lacks that arrogant edge – and every time his clothes are in any stage that could be classified as off.

And if Merlin is being brutally honest and forthcoming, the noises Arthur makes in his sleep the last hour before he wakes up are stupidly endearing.

Really, all in all, if Arthur weren’t such a prat, Merlin wouldn’t mind so much being in love with him. There is a distinct possibility he might even like it. So while Arthur might grow out of being a prat in a few years, if all goes well, until then, it looks as if Merlin is going to have to put up with Arthur in spite of all his annoying habits and proclivities. Because what it comes down to, is that like it or not, easy or not, and of his own choosing or not, Merlin has fallen neckerchief over heels in love with Prince Arthur of Camelot, future legendary king and the other side of Merlin’s coin.

The giant prat.

Bugger, Merlin thinks.

“Sonnet XLIV”

You must know that I do not love and that I love you,

because everything alive has its two sides;

a word is one wing of the silence,

fire has its cold half.

I love you in order to begin to love you,

to start infinity again

and never to stop loving you:

that’s why I do not love you yet.

I love you, and I do not love you, as if I held

keys in my hand: to a future of joy—

a wretched, muddled fate—

My love has two lives, in order to love you:

that’s why I love you when I do not love you,

and also why I love you when I do.

-Pablo Neruda

Current Music: "The Only Living Boy in New York" Simon & Garfunkel

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

drusillas-rain.livejournal.com

aww - so sweet ^_^ I'd love to read something similar from Arthur's POV!

From:

this is for the quiet screamers

Merlinfic: a wretched, muddled fate (Merlin/Arthur)

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