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There was a monster in the dungeons.
Arthur had heard the whisperings all day, in hushed tones not meant for strange ears. It hadn’t been until the final small council meeting of the day, when he had asked his father outright, that he had been told straight.
“There is a monster in the holding cell.” Uther had said, not bothering to look up from the report he was reading. “A highly dangerous sorcerer was apprehended on the outskirts of the city. This information is embargoed until his execution tomorrow morning, when the city will be told in full of his crimes…” He paused. “…and the excellent work we are doing to keep our people safe from such beasts.” The slight smugness was overshadowed by the curl of his lip as he thought of the Old Religion he detested, and all those who practiced it.
Athur had shivered. “How dangerous is he?”
Still scanning the page, Uther pressed his lips together. “Amongst the worst we have ever encountered. Powerful enough, I am certain, to destroy Camelot with a single spell…”
A single spell? Arthur had enough sense not to ask how his father could possibly have ascertained this.
“Of course…” Finally, Uther looked up. “I needn’t tell you that you are expressly forbidden from entering the dungeons until the devil burns.”
“But Father, my men are stationed –“
“Expressly forbidden!” he repeated, regarding Arthur coldly. “If this creature was travelling into the city, you would have been a likely target. You will stay in your chambers until he is destroyed.” A pause – then, Uther’s face softened a fraction. “I will not risk your life for anything…”
At this crumb of affection, Arthur’s heart quietly leapt. But as much as it meant to him to know his father’s care, such warnings had ignited in him a flame of curiosity that the hushed tones and whispers only fanned. They had housed condemned sorcerers before, of course – but none that had caused quite such a stir as whatever was currently lurking in the dungeon. A monster? Who may have been coming for his blood?
What sort of a knight was Arthur if he was afraid to face the greatest foes? What sort of a king would he be if he hid himself from danger, rather than riding into it? If he too was to one day fight the Old Religion, and keep his people safe…he needed to know what he would be fighting.
The flame was too hot – and only one thing would quell it.
He only wanted to look.
In the dead of night, when the castle was still and sleeping, Arthur eased his chamber door open, and began to creep along the corridor. God, he wished he had thought to put on something dark – his white shirt was almost luminous in the half-light. He held the sword as he moved, muffling any clink of steel that might give him away. In his other hand, he held aloft a lit candle, which would light his way.
Down, down, down he climbed, into the very guts of the citadel. As he twisted through its guts, past the snoozing guards, and all the way down to the darkest cells, his heart thumped in his chest. What, he wondered, would await him in the furthest most cage? How warped, how twisted, would his evil have made him? What sort of evil was he about to look in the eye?
Finally…he spied the furthest cell. Inside, there was only darkness…but even in the darkness…he sensed life. Arthur took a deep breath, summoned all his courage, and crept on. On, and on, and on…until…
There was a monster in the dungeons. Everyone had said so.
But, as he held his candle aloft to illuminate the small, dirty cell, and saw what lay beyond the bars…he was confounded.
It wasn’t a monster at all. It was a boy.
The boy crouching in the cage shielded his eyes at the sudden light…but as he became accustomed, as Arthur did, he lowered his hand to look at him. And Arthur looked back. God, he looked back.
Arthur had never seen anyone like this boy in his life. And, he found, to his surprise, that he had never seen anyone so lovely. He was pale, as white as the moon, with big, blue eyes that seemed to strike lightning with their gaze. His lips were pretty and full, his dark hair flopping over his forehead, his neck long. Everything was long, in fact – he could tell even crouching that this boy would be taller than he was. His cut cheekbones, his almost elf-like ears…there was something ethereal about this boy. Something of another world…
That, Arthur supposed hurriedly before he could fall too deeply into those eyes, was because he was a sorcerer. A dangerous sorcerer, a monster…but there was nothing monstrous about this beautiful boy. Even at a glance, Arthur could see nothing of malice in those eyes, nothing of evil in that face…then again, he reminded himself, roses belied their thorns.
It wasn’t just the way he looked – though of course, he was beautiful. There was something else in that face, something else in those eyes. He had never seen anyone like this, he knew that…and yet, somehow, this boy was familiar. As if he had met him once, perhaps in a dream, and forgotten until this moment. As he gazed down at him, Arthur was compelled, as a moth to a flame.
But what was most surprising, most astonishing of all, was that this boy spoke first.
“Oh. Hi.”
Arthur started. No one was supposed to speak to him first! They were supposed to wait for him to address them, and only then speak…But the rules of royal propriety were nothing in this darkness.
“…Hello?”
The boy was looking up at him, his eyes filled with wonder. “Wow.” he said, a smile playing around the corner of those full lips. “I didn’t know I got a last request.”
It took a moment for Arthur to realise that this boy, this condemned criminal, was flirting with him. As he did so, he took a step backward, hoping the candlelight would hide the pink flush he knew was rushing to his cheeks. It was so bizarre, he wanted to laugh – and so brave in the face of the coming morning that he wanted to cry. Still, he forced himself to stiffen.
“You can’t talk to me like that.” he said, in his father’s voice.
At this, the sorcerer frowned. “Why?” he asked, smirking. “Who are you when you’re at home?”
But before Arthur opened his mouth – recognition flashed across the face of the captive.
“Ah.”
Arthur waited for the apology, for the correct address, for the boy to at least get to his feet and show deference. But neither came. Instead, the sorcerer straightened up, groaning slightly, and faced Arthur with folded arms. He had been right about his height. “So to what do I owe the pleasure?” the boy drawled.
How astonishing it was to see a condemned man so cool about his fate. Still, he could not stop staring. Finding that his lips had gone dry, he licked them before he spoke – trying not to notice the grin this almost elicited from the prisoner. “They told me there was a monster in the dungeons. I wanted to see for myself.”
Now, the sorcerer’s smile faltered. For a second, he did not speak. He merely gazed back into Arthur’s eyes…then, at long last, he nodded his head. “You don’t really think that, do you? You don’t really think me a monster. I can tell.”
By magic? Arthur wanted to ask, but did not dare. “…You are certainly not what I was expecting.” he admitted. “But none the less – “
Arthur’s mouth was stopped by the sorcerer’s movement. For the boy was, at last, getting to his feet. He did so slowly, as if in pain – which, Arthur thought guiltily, he probably was. For a second, he found himself reaching for his sword. But there was no malice in the boy’s movement, no threat. Instead, a smile flicked across those pretty pink lips. Looking straight at Arthur, he murmured something beneath his breath.
In his eyes, a flash of gold.
It was then that Arthur’s candle went out.
For a second, he was shocked. Plunged into darkness, he flailed, once more reaching for his belt – but before he could even decide what to do next…with another murmur from the prisoner, low, and almost hypnotic…the candle lit itself once more.
Arthur gazed at the candle, as it burned brighter than before. He watched the flame – this magic flame, this flame conjured by the old religion…His father’s voice, ever ringing in his mind, told him to drop it. And yet…he did not. As he watched the candle flicker in the new light, he could have sworn he saw all the colours of the rainbow in the flare.
Finally, his eyes settled upon the sorcerer once more. This beautiful boy, who had performed such gentle magic, who looked upon him with those steady blue eyes as if regarding an old friend. Once more, Arthur was seized with the notion that they had met before. But how could they have? If they had, Arthur would have at least remembered his –
“I’m Merlin.”
Merlin. So singular a name for so singular a person. Despite himself, despite everything…Arthur found himself beginning to smile. By Merlin’s candlelight, he watched him approach the bars, until he was as close as he could possibly be without touching them. He was so close that even in this cold place, Arthur could feel his warmth. This realisation came with grief; how could a warm, young, healthy person, full of life and smiling at him, be condemned to die? How could that be justice?
This mercy, Arthur supposed, had not exactly been hindered by the fact that he was beautiful. So beautiful, in fact, that Arthur could hardly catch his breath.
“Well.” Merlin whispered, one hand curling around a bar. Still, he smiled. “I’m pleased to see that Camelot’s next king may be more open minded than his father.” The corner of his mouth tugged as his grin widened. “You are nothing like him, I can tell.”
Arthur did not know whether to be insulted or not; he had spent his whole life trying to emulate his father’s example. And yet, he could tell by the tone of voice that this was meant as a compliment. Oh, what did it matter – in a few hours, this man would be dead anyway. Once more, this thought tugged at Arthur’s heartstrings…but still, another compliment from one so handsome was like wine, and he drank it down greedily.
“What can you tell, then?” he challenged him. It was then he realised that he, unconsciously, had taken a step towards the bars. He had to pull the candle back, lest he burn them.
“…I can tell that you are good.” In his other hand, Merlin had taken hold of another bar, bringing himself so close Arthur could almost feel his breath upon his face. “I can tell that underneath it all, you are kind, and gentle, and just...” With a flash of those eyes, Merlin continued daringly. “And if I am to die in the morning…hahaha…I might as well tell you that you are the most beautiful person I have ever seen.”
At this, Arthur had to take hold of a bar himself so as not to let his knees buckle. Instantly, a self-conscious rebuttal climbed his throat…and yet, as he looked into those eyes, he found himself choosing silence instead. He merely gazed at this flamemaker, and allowed himself to melt.
Behind the bars, Merlin had begun, quietly, to laugh. It was a soft, gentle laugh, without a hint of cruelty. “You’re so sweet. One so lovely should never come to a place like this. Well…” He sighed, and shrugged. “I never thought I would spend my last night on this earth flirting with a prince, but there you go.”
Leaning on the bars again, he smiled. But Arthur felt like weeping. How could it be that this person, warm, and real, and so beautiful, could be condemned to burn to death? Arthur hated it, hated the whole system, hated it with all his heart. Oh God, would that he could help him. Would that there was something he could do! What was the point of being a knight, being a prince, when he could not save him?
Well. Perhaps there was one thing he could do for him. A thought that had not left his mind since first he saw those lips…
Arthur summoned all of his courage, straightened up, and looked straight into those eyes. He was about to defy his father, defy everything he had been brought up to believe…and nothing had ever felt more right in his life.
“Well. What if you spent your last night on this earth doing something more?”
For a second, Merlin frowned. Then, a slightly confused smile crossed his face. “Oh yes?” he whispered, leaning his face against the bars. Oh God, Arthur could just reach out and touch it… “And what would you suggest, sire?”
The word was filled with so much sarcasm it almost vanished into it. Any other day, Arthur would have taken great offence at anyone who dared to speak to him in such a way. And yet, he found that, from Merlin, he did not, could not mind. In fact, he smiled. He smiled so much that he could do nothing but lean forward in kind. To fill the space between them was the most natural thing in the world. In fact, any space left felt more unnatural the closer he got.
Arthur’s heart was beating so loudly, he was sure Merlin could hear it. So overwhelming was the rush of his blood that he felt quite dizzy. Well. He could blame that for what he was about to do. Those lips…
“…Maybe something like this?”
Before he could stop himself, before he could hesitate for another second…Arther leaned up, and kissed those lips.
Though those lips ought to have been strange to him, somehow, their shape folded perfectly into his own, as if they had been two halves of a whole cleft in twain. He thought he knew their taste, their softness, as if it were some half-forgotten dream. It was a chaste kiss, like a tapping bird, lasting no longer than a breath. But as it ended, it took all the air in the room with it.
Arthur looked into those eyes, heart racing, chest heaving, waiting for a response.
For a moment, Merlin simply blinked down at him in disbelief. He seemed on the verge of utter wonder. Then, at long last – a laugh bubbled out of him.
“So, do you do all the last requests, or…?”
At this, Arthur found himself giggling. Giggling? Since when did he giggle? But he did, he did, as he looked up at this wondrous person, and bathed in his warmth.
“You’re right, though,” Merlin was saying, mirth flashing in those eyes as he pretended to nod solemnly. “This is much better than flirting.”
It was then that Merlin reached through the bars, wrapped his arms around Arthur’s waist, and pulled him as close as it was possible to be. Lost in wonder, Arthur’s instincts seemed to have deserted him. He allowed this criminal to hold him, to stroke his waist, to clasp him to his chest as best he could. And, certainly, he was going to allow whatever wonders came next.
When Merlin kissed him again, Arthur closed his eyes, and held him as close as he could. He was soaring in the arms of this sorcerer, high above Camelot and its laws, where no one could touch them. To his delight, these kisses were deeper. More intimate. More desperate. All he could do was cling to his shoulders, and pray he would not fall.
Far from breaking as the last had broken, these kisses seemed endless. One flowed into the next like water as Arthur breathed him in, savoured him, prayed for more. Never in his life had he been so kissed. This was elation. This was enlightenment. This was…magic.
Oh, damn the bars, damn them to hell…
But strangely, just as the thought crossed his mind…the bars became warm.
So lost in Merlin’s kisses was he that Arthur hardly noticed. But as he reached out to hold Merlin tighter, expecting cold steel to keep them apart…he felt only warm, soft skin, only the shape of his shoulders, only the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed him in in kind…
Though his closed eyes, Arthur saw a strange, orange flash. Like an ignited candle.
The next thing he knew – Merlin had fallen, uninhibited, into his arms.
Arthur’s eyes fluttered open to find the impossible. Gone were the bars from between them – gone was everything that kept them apart. There was only Merlin – who shared every part of Arthur’s astonishment.
“You…” Merlin stammered, blinking down at him, amazed. “You…You kissed me through the bars!”
Arthur did not know what to think. This was sorcery – sorcery more powerful than the flicker of a candle. Sorcery he did not understand, sorcery his father would hate…and yet, in his arms, alive, and gentle, and good, was the sorcerer in question.
What could he do but hold him?
There was no point questioning, no point analysing. There was only here, only now. Laughing in disbelief, Merlin simply covered him with kisses.
“We did that.” he whispered into his neck. “We did that together.”
Arthur giggled giddily. God, now his own father would have his head. Still, he kissed his beautiful monster with beaming lips. There was no world beyond these walls, and there never would be again. There was only them, only he, and this extraordinary person who could do such beautiful things.
It could have been seconds, or several beautiful days, before Merlin finally straightened up. “Alright.” he said, with a sigh as he stroked Arthur’s cheek. “Well. I’m going to make myself scarce before one of your guards shows up. But thank you. Thank you so much…for doing the impossible, and saving my life. Well. In theory. I’d have thought of something – but anyway.” He leaned in, and kissed Arthur once more. “Goodbye.”
With that, and the removal of his enfolding arms – Arthur was left, suddenly cold and alone in the world. This was so shocking, so absolutely unbearable, that there was only one thing to be done.
“Wait!” he called, after Merlin’s retreating back.
“Shh!”
But Arthur could not care. He ran to him, took both of his hands in his own, and held on. “Take me with you.”
For a second, Merlin looked as though he might laugh again. But, as he saw the sincerity in Arthur’s eyes, he blinked. “You do know how insane that is?” he asked. “You are the Crowned Prince of Camelot – and we have only just met!”
“Yes.” Arthur agreed, holding on for all he was worth. “But I refer you back to what has just happened. It was…it was a miracle. It was magic. We made magic together…and it wasn’t bad. It wasn’t evil. It was beautiful. How can I stay somewhere so ugly? Where they would burn both of us for something this beautiful?” He shook his head. “No. I am coming with you.”
Merlin looked as though he hardly dared believe it. “…Really?” he breathed.
“I know it’s crazy. But me, and you…” Arthur reached up, and touched his cheek. “This just feels…right. Even bars could not part us. We are supposed to be together. I know it in my heart. Unless – “ He stopped himself, seized by fear. “Unless you do not want me?”
At this, Merlin almost laughed once more. But he reached down, and with the softest eyes Arthur had ever seen, he stroked his hair. “After those kisses? I will want you for the rest of my life.”
“Then take me with you.”
Merlin cupped Arthur’s face in his hands, and looked into his eyes. Finding no doubt there, he swallowed. “Sweetheart…A life on the run with me won’t be easy. Something tells me you’re not used to roughing it.”
Arthur only shook his head. “I’d go anywhere with you. Right to the end of the world.”
A snort escaped Merlin. “And to escape your father, that’s where we’re going to have to go. Oh God…” He stroked his face. “Look at you. So sweet…I’m going to have to be responsible for you, aren’t I?”
Softly, Arthur kissed his lips. He covered Merlin’s hands with his, and kept his gaze. “To the world’s end, then.”
What could Merlin do, but kiss him back? “To the world’s end. Right.” A second later – he had seized Arthur’s hand in his own, and swept him off his feet, running down the dark corridor to freedom.
“Wait!” Arthur called. “I should get my – “ But one look at that wild smile stopped his mouth. “Forget it, I’m coming.”
Like that, the prince and the sorcerer ran. Before the beacons were lit the next morning, before the alarums were sounded, before the gates of Camelot were barricaded…they had disappeared, gone where nothing, not even steels bars, could ever part them again.