marguerite_26 | Fic:These Castle Walls Bleed Lies (Merlin/Arthur) R

Merlin would likely be waiting in Arthur’s chambers so Arthur avoided that side of the castle entirely. He wandered the halls, stumbling his way through the wreckage of the west tower, poking his head in the abandoned rooms. The few meagre possessions left inside were rain-soaked from the gaping hole in the outer wall and the previous night’s storm. The cold spring wind whistled through the abandoned tower, chilling him numb.

When it became too dark to see any longer and Arthur tripped over rubble, smacking his knee onto the stone floor, he decided it was time to visit his father.

The servant at Uther’s side disappeared the moment Arthur walked in. His mind reeling from the day, Arthur simply sat, held his father’s hand and watched him sleep.

He hated the rush of fear at the thought of Uther opening his eyes, of being well again and taking the kingdom back. The burden was Arthur’s now, and he couldn’t imagine sharing it, telling his father all that he’d decided in his absence and handing back the reins.

He would never strip his knights of their titles. And he could never find the words to explain away the meaning of Merlin’s marking. Not when he couldn’t understand it himself.

“Sire?”

Arthur looked up, startled to find Gaius by his side.

“Merlin told me about the misunderstanding.”

“The misunderstanding?” Arthur’s eyes widened, incredulous as Gaius’s wording choice.

“Yes. The etchings on the table, Sire.” Gaius rocked back and forth on his heels, the picture of casual. “The ancient kings would keep a court sorcerer at their right hand. You happen to keep Merlin at your right hand. It's pure coincidence.”

Gaius was so confident in his words, his tone calm and logical. Arthur's mind flashed to the woman, Alice, who Gaius once hid, and to the way Gaius had looked as he lied to Arthur's face while his father lay dying on the floor of these chambers.

“Tell me, Gaius.” He chose his words carefully. “Did you know my father used sorcery before I was born? That he associated with sorcerers?”

“Yes, Sire.”

Uther's hand was cold, his skin like thin worn parchment in Arthur’s own. “And what made him stop? What made him determine they were evil and had to be … purged?”

There was a long uncomfortable pause, but Arthur waited it out, not giving Gaius an inch. “He was betrayed,” Gaius said at last.

The fire crackled across the room and Arthur turned to it. The blaze was high for the king's comfort. Arthur's neck was damp with sweat. “Betrayed how?” he asked, sick of these word games and half-truths.

“He had requested something of a sorcerer and received something unexpected in return.” Gaius's voice shook as he spoke, the first crack Arthur had ever seen in Gaius's well-practiced neutral tone.

“You've been defending him for a long time, haven't you?” Arthur let the ambiguity of who hang in the air. It seemed Gaius was a well-practiced liar, whether it was for Merlin or Uther.

“I'm not sure I follow you.”

“My father was willing to let you use magic to restore his health. He told me to instruct you to use whatever means necessary and that you would understand.”

“He was obviously delirious.”

“What else has he asked you to do, Gaius? What other secrets has he asked you to keep?” Gaius stumbled backwards, mouth open to reply, but nothing came out. Arthur was grateful for that, at least. “Do you keep as many secrets for him as from him? Is that how it balances out in your head?”

A log fell in the hearth and Gaius startled. It took a moment for him to gather himself. “You are upset. It's been a trying week. You should get some rest.”

Arthur barked out a bitter laugh. “You are very loyal, Gaius. But very rarely honest.” He swept out of the room. The lies in the air scuttled under his skin; he clenched his fists not to claw at his arms and neck, his pounding chest.

Arthur entered his chambers, unsurprised to find Merlin there. Merlin jumped like a started rabbit when the door crashed open. “Well, if it isn’t the man on everyone's mind,” Arthur snarled, letting all his festering anger seep into his words.

“Sire.” Merlin rushed towards him as if proximity would help plead his case. “That placement was a coincidence, Arthur. I just picked a spot at the table.”

Arthur heard the well-practiced tone in Merlin's words and imagined Gaius and Merlin, together deciding on their approach. How they would 'deal' with Arthur's suspicion. Suddenly the two of them became transparent. It was mortifying. “Yes, Gaius was just telling me how random the seating was. How it all means nothing.”

Merlin looked confused for a minute, unsure how to reply, and Arthur wondered if maybe he would get an honest answer. But a flicker of hope passed over Merlin’s face. “Of course. I mean, none of us knew what the markings meant. I was just as likely to sit on your right as on your left.”

Arthur let his lip curl into a smirk. “Looking to take Gwen's spot, are you? It's currently vacant. Though the chance of beheading seems equally high.” He hated how bitter he sounded, but there was no stopping it.

Merlin's cheeks bloomed red. “That's not what –”

Grabbing both Merlin's wrists in a tight hold, he shoved Merlin back against the door. He vowed to not let go until he heard the truth. “Do you have magic?”

“I—” Merlin opened his mouth and closed it again, his eyes searching Arthur’s face.

“Yes or no.” Arthur was pressed up against him, almost too close to see properly. “My life is too full of lies, Merlin.”

Merlin's face crumpled, pathetically pinched lips and wrinkled brow. After a heartbeat, he raised his chin and held Arthur’s gaze. “I have magic.”

Arthur exhaled, a puff of air in Merlin’s face. It was a relief to hear it, oddly. The truth was soothing, despite the myriad of problems it created, the underlying betrayal of it. He clung to Merlin's wrist like a lifeline as the revelation was absorbed and sunk into his fevered skin. Merlin didn’t try to free himself, even as Arthur’s grip tightened.

He needed to understand. “Have you ever used magic to manipulate me, to change my opinion or make me feel something I did not?”

Merlin considered the question. “I haven’t, Arthur, I swear.”

“Have you ever used your magic against Camelot?”

It took a moment. Arthur could tell Merlin's mind was racing, knowing everything was riding on his complete honesty. “I used it to help free the druid boy, Mordred. I used it to become Dragoon the Great in order to manipulate the king into freeing Gwen.”

Dozens of questions ran through Arthur’s mind at that. A tickle of laughter bubbled up in his chest at the thought of Merlin as the ridiculous Dragoon, but the humour died with Merlin’s next words.

“I freed Kilgharrah.” Merlin squeezed his eyes shut and turned away. “The Great Dragon.”

Arthur's hand flew up and clasped Merlin's neck before he even realised it. “You what?”

“I had to,” Merlin said, defeated. His Adam’s apple bobbed beneath Arthur’s palm. “I agreed to free him in exchange for information to save Camelot. It was the only way. I didn't know what he'd do.”

There were hundreds – hundreds! – of Camelot’s people killed by those attacks. He’d lost seven knights, men he’d known since he was barely able to hold a sword. His fingers curled around Merlin’s throat.

“I swear to you,” Merlin rasped, the air barely escaping through Arthur's fingers. “If I'd known, I would have let him rot down there.”

Arthur snatched his hand away and stepped back, needing distance, needing far more distance than his chambers afforded. “That, I cannot forgive.” He looked at Merlin then, and did not know him.

“Arthur, please.” Merlin was broken, lost, his cheeks blotchy and wet as he rubbed them.

Arthur shook his head, unable to meet Merlin’s eye, and flew out the room.

The weight of the sword in Arthur's hand and the chill of the early spring breeze at his cheeks calmed him as he strode to the line of hay-stuffed men. It was past midnight and the moonlight lit the armour with an ethereal glow. The first strike was satisfyingly loud in the quiet night.

He was well past the point of exhaustion, his shoulders burning and lungs aching with each breath when Lancelot found him.

“The letters are sent, Sire.”

Arthur froze, sword high and ready to fall on the sole remaining practice dummy – the others were nothing but dented metal at his feet. “Go to bed, Lancelot.”

He let his sword fall and the amour cracked, spilling hay into the wind.

“Sire.” Lancelot's voice was a soft, even tone. “With all due respect, you should take your own advice.”

“I don't feel like it.” He sounded more the petulant child he'd been at fifteen than the king he'd needed to be now. Deflated, Arthur lowered his sword.

“I saw Merlin.”

“Don’t.” He was here to forget.

“He knew he'd have to tell you someday. He knew you'd be upset.”

“Upset.” Arthur snorted and kicked a hauberk that lay on the grass. “Yes.”

“He's saved my life a dozen times at least. Yours even more than that, I imagine.”

Arthur looked up at the sky wondering if he'd be more willing to listen if it were Gwaine or Leon pleading Merlin's case and not Lancelot, who just that morning all but crushed Arthur's hope of marrying Gwen. And yet, at the moment, Gwen's uncertainty paled in terms of consequence compared to Merlin's betrayal.

“If he'd told you before – if he'd told you that he could win back Camelot and defeat an entire army of immortals with one blow, would you have accepted his help?”

“I – I can't answer that.”

“He didn't know either. And he couldn't risk it.” Neck bowed, Lancelot shook his head. “I didn’t agree with his decision. You deserved to know.”

“We agree on that, at least.”

They sat on the grass together, looking up at the stars. Arthur looked there for answers, wondering if saving Camelot from an evil Queen somehow balanced releasing a dragon upon those same people. Did the universe weigh those lives on the scales of judgement and find Merlin worthy of thanks or punishment? Was it up to Arthur to decide?

“How did he do it?”

“Hmm. That's not my story to tell, your highness.”

“And Gwen?”

“Pardon?”

“Gwen. You and Gwen. Is that your story to tell?” The words came out too loud.

“There is nothing to tell.”

“Do not lie to me!” Arthur’s voice was nearly shrill now and he took a calming breath and added more softly, “Not today. God, not today.”

Lancelot took a moment, seeming to gather his thoughts before admitting, “I love her. I left her only because I guessed your affections.”

Arthur remembered. He remembered the hurt, lonely picture Gwen had made during their journey back to Camelot. The way she'd look over her shoulder and check if they were being followed only to force a smile back on her face when Arthur assured her that she was safe, how it was only months later that the light had returned to her eyes.

“And now?”

“Now she is yours. And I could not have asked for a worthier man to bow to.”

“I release her.”

“I don't understand.”

“Any obligation she feels towards me – I release her of it. She is free to choose to marry as she will.”

“She has already chosen you.”

“As the only other option, maybe. I will not have that.”

Lancelot pursed his lips and looked away. “I can go again. I can leave and not return.” Arthur believed him.

“That is not the answer. Stay. Court her, if you wish. I – I leave this up to fate and Gwen's heart to decide. I will not marry someone who loves another man. There are enough lies in this castle.”

He stood and offered Lancelot his hand. They walked back inside in silence.

~0~

Gaius's room was dark and empty. He was likely still with Uther, waiting to give the last dose of medicine for the day before he retired. A light flickered through the crack under Merlin's door and Arthur approached it.

He stared at the thin, brittle wood and remembered how this had been a large storage cupboard before Merlin had come along. How the walls had been lined with shelves, stuffed with herbs and books that were now scattered about the main chamber. This was where the saviour of this kingdom slept, hidden in the shadows like a dirty little secret. Camelot's walls seemed to bleed with those.

He knocked and listened to the scramble and thuds as items around the room seemed to hit the floor. A moment later, a flustered Merlin opened the door. “Arthur,” he said, shock evident on his face.

Arthur's mind blanked and he regretted not having waited until morning, until he'd decided what to say and maybe practiced it a few times over before facing Merlin again. At a loss, he pushed his way into the room and looked around. Jewellery was scattered all over the bed, at Merlin’s pillow a pile of nothing but gold and silver settings empty of stones, and at the foot of the bed a pile of untouched brooches, earrings and necklaces. Between them was an open leather satchel.

“Ah.” Arthur nodded in understanding.

Merlin blushed. “In case you were going to arrest me, I wanted to get this done. You’ll need it for Leon tomorrow.”

Arthur rolled his eyes at Merlin’s failure at self-preservation. He should have been already halfway to Camelot’s borders by now. Funny how it hadn’t occurred to Arthur that Merlin would run. “Well, let’s see this then.”

Merlin hesitated, but just for a moment. Then, he stretched out his hand and whispered a word. A necklace of purple amethysts rose from the pile. Merlin said something else – an indiscernible slur of vowels – and the necklace shimmered. Each of the dozen gems fell into the sack and the remaining gold chain moved to the end of the bed.

“Clever,” was all Arthur could manage to say at the simple elegance of Merlin’s magic.

“It would honestly take forever to do it all by hand.”

Arthur cracked a smile and the tension seemed to leave his body on the next exhale.

“You could have told me.”

“I thought you weren't ready.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed, but he knew it would be a cyclical argument on that point. No matter when Merlin had decided to tell him, they would have needed to work through the betrayal. Immediately before attempting to regain Camelot would have been poor timing, to say the least.

“Lancelot said you defeated the immortal army.”

“Um.”

“With one blow.”

“Yeah.” Merlin looked away, scratching the back of his neck, but his smile was wide and sincere. “I was given a weapon, by a friend, and with Lancelot's help we got close enough to knock over the cup. That's what needed to be done, spill the blood in the cup and—” Merlin curled his hands into fists then flicked out his fingers so they spread wide. “Poof. They were already dead, you see, as soon as Morgause made them immortal, they had forfeited their lives and …”

“You and Lancelot saved Camelot.”

Merlin picked up a ring and inspected it, then dropped it again. “Gaius helped.”

Jealousy curled deep in his belly at the trust Merlin had placed in those two men and not in him. “It should have been me.” Arthur stepped closer. “It should have been me by your side, winning back the kingdom.”

“I was afraid.” Merlin’s voice was soft, quiet words spoken like an apology.

“I know.” Arthur moved to let Merlin’s bowed head rest upon his shoulder. His fingers threaded the silky hair at Merlin’s nape. “Idiot.”

“I couldn’t lose you,” Merlin breathed into Arthur’s collar, warm and wet. It sent a delicious quiver down Arthur’s spine, settling deep in his groin, a sudden need that Arthur couldn’t name. But when Merlin raised his head and their cheeks grazed, Arthur’s eyes fell shut. Instinctively, he shifted, tilting his head to catch the corner of Merlin’s lips with his own. They stayed like that, not quite a kiss, but Arthur could feel the tremble of Merlin’s jaw as they breathed each other’s air. Then Arthur moved, just enough to drag his mouth, feather-light, across Merlin’s. A rumble of pleasure broke the quiet and Merlin’s tongue swept out, wetting Arthur’s bottom lip and tugging it gently.

The spark of need Arthur’d felt before caught flame. Arthur’s hands buried in Merlin’s hair, clinging to him as their mouths met again. This time there was no pretending it was anything but a kiss.

“I asked you before.” Arthur broke away, but didn’t move far. “This time I want you to mean it. Do not lie to me. Promise me, Merlin. I need to trust you – you above all.”

“I won’t, Arthur.” Merlin trembled in his arms, face open and sincere. “Never again.”

“I believe you,” Arthur breathed. “God help me, I believe you.” His eyes stung at the raw ache in his chest. Trusting would never again come easy for him. But he clung to Merlin anyway, his need to believe greater than his need to protect himself. He was hot all over, their bodies pressed so close, their mouths dancing, slick and desperate against each other. He’d never imagined kissing another man, never thought he’d want anyone as desperately as he wanted Merlin at this moment. He poured everything into the kiss, his anger, his loneliness, his jealousy. He gave it all to Merlin.

A dam broke, then. Merlin was everywhere, his hand scrambling under Arthur’s tunic, clawing at him like he would never get enough. Arthur was drowning, swept away in the intensity of Merlin's reaction. He hissed as Merlin nipped at his lips, demanding entrance and suddenly it was wet and messy and in no way like Arthur had been kissed before. This was nothing like the awkward tumbles he'd had in the past – all conscious thought and focused, calculated moves.

With a strangled noise from Merlin’s throat, he pressed his hands to Arthur’s chest, getting a bit of distance between. “What about Gwen?”

Arthur groaned at the interruption and shook his head to clear it. “Gwen has her own decisions to make. And I have mine.”

Merlin frowned at that and Arthur kissed the furrow of his brow. “I would be a hypocrite if I expected anyone to marry for anything but love.”

Hoping that was enough, or at least enough for now, Arthur dove in again, capturing Merlin’s lips. He hummed in approval when Merlin met him eagerly.

There was an 'oof' as Merlin's back hit the wall and Arthur hadn't even realised they'd moved. That he'd walked them across the room to pin Merlin with his thigh between Merlin’s spread legs. They gasped into each other's mouths the moment their groins connected.

“Next time, it will be me by your side. Promise me.” He rolled his hips and watched Merlin’s head fall back at the contact. He latched onto his exposed neck and suckled.

“I promise, Arthur.” Merlin said in a breathless gasp as Arthur marked his neck. “It's always you. Always.”

Merlin tugged his hair until their lips crashed together again. They found a rhythm, deep slow kisses that were edged with promise and heightened by every roll of their hips. The tingle of his skin told him he wasn't far off from embarrassing himself. But his hips were thrusting involuntarily, dragging the most delicious noises from Merlin. There was no way he could step back at this point.

“Gaius!” Merlin squeaked into the kiss, turning his head away.

Panting onto Merlin's cheek, Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and listened. Beyond the door, there was the shuffling of feet and clatter of items being moved about a darkened room.

They stayed still for a moment, panting, foreheads pressed together, hands tangled in hair and under tunics. Finally, Arthur moved back. He rearranged his clothes, trying to gather what he could of his dignity despite the obvious tent in his breeches. His cheeks burned at how far he’d let the moment take them, the intensity of his feelings towards Merlin that he’d never acknowledged before.

Merlin visibly shuddered and ran his hands through his hair. “I love Gaius, really. But sometimes...” He smiled, flushed cheeks and a mischievous glint to his eyes.

Arthur chuckled and pressed a quick kiss to Merlin's swollen lips, just because he could. When he moved away, Merlin's mouth chased his, nipping and trying to prolong the contract. Something in his chest tightened and took hold. This was what love felt like. The realisation crashed onto him and took his breath away.

At the door, Arthur turned. “I think it's time you move out of Gaius's storage cupboard. Tomorrow, pack your things. There are more empty rooms in this castle than we know how to fill at the moment.”

He made a mental note to make sure it would have a door that barred.

Merlin burst into Arthur’s chambers three days later, out of breath and limbs flailing.

The past few days had been filled with preparations, readying for the campaign to claim Cenred’s kingdom that they still weren’t sure was happening. The nights were reserved for Merlin and exploring this tentative something they now shared – gentle kisses and desperate touches, peppered with the stories of Merlin’s magic, what it could do, had already done, in the defence of Camelot and Arthur.

The campaign would be ready by month’s end if Leon’s fishing net came back full enough, which Arthur still doubted and Merlin did not. Arthur had already decided Lancelot would remain in the castle – with Gwen – while Arthur, with Merlin at his side, entered Cenred’s kingdom. After that, he’d let fate and time take its course.

“Arthur!” Merlin ran to the window and fumbled it open. “Sir Leon’s returned.”

A little numb with surprise and trepidation, Arthur didn’t move fast enough apparently because Merlin was beside him in a blink, tugging at his elbow.

He shook off Merlin’s hand and stood. “I’m coming, Merlin.” With a deep breath, he pulled his coat straight and lifted his chin. His stomach flipped as he moved towards the window overlooking the courtyard.

Leon and Gwaine where still on their approach, sitting high in the saddle, red cloaks billowing in the breeze. Behind them were another ten of Camelot’s men, the group they’d gathered to travel with. But behind that were at least three dozen horses and still more coming as far as the eye could see.

“They came for you, Arthur.” Merlin pressed up against his shoulder. “These are the men you’ve shaken hands with and looked in the eye each time you visited their village. These are the men you’ve excused from taxes in bad years and whose families you've protected from raiders.”

Arthur stared out the window while Merlin’s words poured into his ear. The riders were a ragtag collection of men -- from farmers who’d seen as many winters as Uther, to young farmhands and apprentices, looking at the citadel wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

“They came for you because they believe in the world that you will build for them.”

Arthur spun on his heel. “I should greet them.”

“Arthur, wait.” Merlin scrambled through Arthur’s wardrobe and pulled out a heavy cloak with a bold Camelot dragon embroidered on the back.

“All right.” Arthur huffed. “Quickly.”

Once he was dressed, Merlin considered him a moment before grabbing his crown and gently placing it on his head. Merlin looked him up and down, and dipped his head in a small, proud nod. “Go. Meet your people.”

Chest warm and heavy, Arthur grinned and rushed out the door, knowing Merlin would be at his heels.

His father had conquered Camelot at Arthur’s age, but at that moment Arthur felt himself destined for something even greater.

- FIN -

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