Work Text:
I love you like certain dark things are to be loved
Going back to the lake, it's painful. His chest is closed in a grip that grows tighter every second, even if it has been days since water shallowed his king's body.
He couldn't stay in Camelot after Percival found him and brought him back. He wandered in the city walls only for the few hours needed to break the news to his people, to tell them their sovereign was gone, that he had failed to save him. Then he left the Council room without looking back, while sobs and teary eyes accompanied him on his way.
He went to Gaius, because the man who was like a father to him deserved a fair farewell before being left alone by his boy who was about to start a journey towards God knows what places. The warlock had not yet decided where to go, but he knew he could no longer stay.
He gathered the few things he had and moved away from that place that now held nothing but painful memories; And at that time he saw the book.
A twitch of nausea struck Merlin at the memory of the words kept in those old pages. The memory of a night when he and Arthur were going around the castle searching for the ghost of the old king, who had returned from the dead.
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“Is everything all right, my Lord?” Leon had asked, finding them while patrolling the corridors. Arthur had obviously urged his servant to find an excuse for their late walk; Merlin was used to it by now. How many times had he had to cover the blond man and how many times had he had been sent to the stocks by Uther for doing so?
“I'm teaching him some poetry” he had answered, because it was the first thing that had come to his mind and because he knew the look on Arthur's face would have been priceless. Leon had looked at them in a strange way, incredulous and amused, before walking away, his eyes illuminated by an odd glow.
“Poetry? That's the best you could come up with?” The king had complained.
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Now, while he drags himself to the calm water, he cannot help but think of the book in his hand, the only one he took with him. He opens it at that worn page and a tear falls on the words written in black.
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“I wonder how Leon could believe such an excuse... as if you knew something about poetry.” Arthur had said as they resumed their wander around the halls, torch in hand. Merlin had not shifted his gaze nor has he changed his posture, but the air around him had become almost solemn as he began to recite the verses with intense tone.
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
Arthur stopped, head slightly bent down and eyes wide open, because even though he knew Merlin's words were not directed at him personally, he hadn't been able to prevent his heart from pounding.
The servant turned around, an unreadable expression on his face, and looked at him with such a feverishly expression that caused shivers down Arthur's spine. Then Merlin smiled, as only he could do. "Perhaps I have read a few books in my spare time. You know, when I'm not cleaning boots or sharpening swords"
Arthur had let out a sigh, the tension loosening from that simple gesture from the dark haired man. "I should have known a love-struck girl like you would read love poems" and they had begun to walk once again.
When Merlin had promised to finish the poem some other time, Arthur rolled his eyes and hit him on the head, trying to ignore the irregularity of his own breath.
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The tear that wets the ink is immediately followed by another, while Merlin's trembling hand rips the page on which the verses are written and drops the book on the moist grass.
“I told you I'd finish it some other time” He whispers to the wind, his gaze resting on the island in the middle of the lake. Then he closes his eyes, because he doesn't need to read to remember the words he wants to recite, the words he has never been able to say.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride.
So I love you, because I know no other way than this.
While his voice fills the air, a gust of wind tears away the sheet from his hands and drags it into the water, stealing it just like his king's body. Something in that warm breath that caresses his cheek and ruffles his hair reminds him of Arthur's hand, and Merlin cannot help but smile.
So close that your hand on my chest is my hand.
So close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.