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lobelia321TITLE: Love is a Kind of Magic
AUTHOR: Lobelia;![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lobelia321
FANDOM: Merlin
SOURCE: Chrétien de Troyes's Lancelot
SPOILERS: Lancelot (as above). TV series: None.
PAIRING: Arthur/Merlin
RATING: Gen / UG
LENGTH: 916 words
SUMMARY: The King is upset about his Queen's infidelity. But only because it reminds him of his own...
THANKS: Tofrogspace for instant fandom info. :-)
Love is a Kind of Magic
by Lobelia
The King walks along the battlements, and there is tumult in his heart.
Snow falls on the land, not in light tumbling flakes but in hard, slanting rays. It skirts the towers and blows along the tops of walls. It collects in flurries around the King's shod feet. It beats his face, but he notices it not.
"Merlin," he mutters aloud, and he does not know why he says this except that he must. "Merlin," he says again, and were he not to say it, the word would choke him. The name would wind a garland of thorns around his heart and with each breath, the garland would tighten.
So the King paces the frozen wastes of his castle and. out of earshot of seneschals and maids, he mutters and mumbles, like an incantation, the name so long familiar.
The name so long forbidden.
Magic has arisen again. After years of lying dormant, magic drifts over the land, like the snow, like the wind. It enters everything, and it is as if it had always entered everything, and as if nobody had noticed, or dared to notice.
With the magic, other things have loosened.
The King folds his cloak about him, draws the liripipe deep into his brow, and hardens his heart.
He is Arthur. He will not falter.
He will visit his Queen and have it out with her once and for all.
"Lancelot," the King whispers. It is relief, this other name. "Lancelot." A grim diamond grows in his thoughts. "Yes. Lancelot. It is thee I will kill."
The King's fist closes around the pommel of Excalibur. Innocent blood must never flow but Lancelot's blood is not innocent. "The blood of an adulterer," says the King to himself, his teeth chill in the wind, "is never innocent. The Grail knew it. And so shall he."
His lids fall shut, and in his mind's eye, the King sees Lancelot, beautiful Lancelot, Lancelot of the Lake, Lancelot of the liquid gaze and the rolling voice. He sees him, in lusty embrace with Guinevere who is his, his, his, who is the Queen, the King's Queen!
It was in that moment, that first moment when the yet-unknown knight bestrode the flagstones of the Great Hall and made the forty-four legs of the Great Round Table to shake, it was then, when he first raised his visor and gazed upon the assembled knights, ladies and damsels, a gaze so sure, a gaze so far...
"No," moans the King.
It was a gaze he had once known, long ago, in a time when youth was sweet and the apple blossoms flurried in drifts of pale pink, and when a boy, not yet a mage, had gazed at him, the future king, just in that way.
"Die he must," growls the King, "and die he will."
'But thou?' says the wind. It howls through the embrasures. 'Art thou innocent?'
The blossoms danced across a sky-blue sky. The first of the butterflies sat astride catkins. 'You have a flower in your hair,' laughed Merlin, and he blew, and Arthur's scalp was warm with Merlin's breath. 'And you,' Arthur said, and he blew, but the flower would not fall, so Arthur took it between his lips and untangled it from Merlin's thick locks, and Merlin laughed. 'They say a man may eat these blossoms', said Merlin, 'but I have never seen it done yet.' The wind ceased, then, and the butterflies flew away. A shadow stormed across the field, the brook stopped its babbling. 'Let me taste it first,' whispered Merlin, 'lest it be a poison petal'. He put his lips to the flower, and the flower crumbled in between their lips, and the flower was crushed to nothing in between their hot mouths.
"Cobwebs!" snarls the King and shakes his cloak in a harsh halo of frost. "Childhood games! And when you are a man, you must put away childish things. You must discard the rocking horse and take up the sword!"
But all the way down the winding stair and along the corridor, lit by fitful sconces and the flittings of ghosts, the taste of apple floats on the King's tongue.
And when he arrives at the Queen's threshold, he stands as if one felled.
The sword clatters to the floor, and a cry of surprise is muffled by the thick oaken door.
"I would kill thee, Lancelot," mutters the King, "were it not for my own sin."
For had he not sworn an oath of troth? Had he not knelt before the altar and said, "Yes, yes, yes, I will"? Had he not promised to hold and to cherish?
He cannot even remember the colour of the Queen's bedclothes, it has been so long that he has entered her chambers.
There is only one chamber he needs now.
"Merlin," he says. "Merlin. Were thy name a magic spell, I could not say it enough."
And here he is, he knows not how he got here so fast. The door is fast. The hall is silent. The guard sleeps sullenly in his corner.
Arthur does not need to knock. The hinges make no creak as they swing apart.
"My lord," says the silver-bearded mage. His gaze is sure and far. His voice rolls like thunder.
Arthur's heart is thunder in his chest.
On Merlin's bed, there is a coverlet of apple blossoms. Butterflies flit in mid-winter. Spindrift cobwebs weave on the air.
Love is a kind of magic.
***
The End
916 words
All original bits © Lobelia.
AUTHOR: Lobelia;
lobelia321FANDOM: Merlin
SOURCE: Chrétien de Troyes's Lancelot
SPOILERS: Lancelot (as above). TV series: None.
PAIRING: Arthur/Merlin
RATING: Gen / UG
LENGTH: 916 words
SUMMARY: The King is upset about his Queen's infidelity. But only because it reminds him of his own...
THANKS: To
frogspace for instant fandom info. :-)Love is a Kind of Magic
by Lobelia
The King walks along the battlements, and there is tumult in his heart.
Snow falls on the land, not in light tumbling flakes but in hard, slanting rays. It skirts the towers and blows along the tops of walls. It collects in flurries around the King's shod feet. It beats his face, but he notices it not.
"Merlin," he mutters aloud, and he does not know why he says this except that he must. "Merlin," he says again, and were he not to say it, the word would choke him. The name would wind a garland of thorns around his heart and with each breath, the garland would tighten.
So the King paces the frozen wastes of his castle and. out of earshot of seneschals and maids, he mutters and mumbles, like an incantation, the name so long familiar.
The name so long forbidden.
Magic has arisen again. After years of lying dormant, magic drifts over the land, like the snow, like the wind. It enters everything, and it is as if it had always entered everything, and as if nobody had noticed, or dared to notice.
With the magic, other things have loosened.
The King folds his cloak about him, draws the liripipe deep into his brow, and hardens his heart.
He is Arthur. He will not falter.
He will visit his Queen and have it out with her once and for all.
"Lancelot," the King whispers. It is relief, this other name. "Lancelot." A grim diamond grows in his thoughts. "Yes. Lancelot. It is thee I will kill."
The King's fist closes around the pommel of Excalibur. Innocent blood must never flow but Lancelot's blood is not innocent. "The blood of an adulterer," says the King to himself, his teeth chill in the wind, "is never innocent. The Grail knew it. And so shall he."
His lids fall shut, and in his mind's eye, the King sees Lancelot, beautiful Lancelot, Lancelot of the Lake, Lancelot of the liquid gaze and the rolling voice. He sees him, in lusty embrace with Guinevere who is his, his, his, who is the Queen, the King's Queen!
It was in that moment, that first moment when the yet-unknown knight bestrode the flagstones of the Great Hall and made the forty-four legs of the Great Round Table to shake, it was then, when he first raised his visor and gazed upon the assembled knights, ladies and damsels, a gaze so sure, a gaze so far...
"No," moans the King.
It was a gaze he had once known, long ago, in a time when youth was sweet and the apple blossoms flurried in drifts of pale pink, and when a boy, not yet a mage, had gazed at him, the future king, just in that way.
"Die he must," growls the King, "and die he will."
'But thou?' says the wind. It howls through the embrasures. 'Art thou innocent?'
The blossoms danced across a sky-blue sky. The first of the butterflies sat astride catkins. 'You have a flower in your hair,' laughed Merlin, and he blew, and Arthur's scalp was warm with Merlin's breath. 'And you,' Arthur said, and he blew, but the flower would not fall, so Arthur took it between his lips and untangled it from Merlin's thick locks, and Merlin laughed. 'They say a man may eat these blossoms', said Merlin, 'but I have never seen it done yet.' The wind ceased, then, and the butterflies flew away. A shadow stormed across the field, the brook stopped its babbling. 'Let me taste it first,' whispered Merlin, 'lest it be a poison petal'. He put his lips to the flower, and the flower crumbled in between their lips, and the flower was crushed to nothing in between their hot mouths.
"Cobwebs!" snarls the King and shakes his cloak in a harsh halo of frost. "Childhood games! And when you are a man, you must put away childish things. You must discard the rocking horse and take up the sword!"
But all the way down the winding stair and along the corridor, lit by fitful sconces and the flittings of ghosts, the taste of apple floats on the King's tongue.
And when he arrives at the Queen's threshold, he stands as if one felled.
The sword clatters to the floor, and a cry of surprise is muffled by the thick oaken door.
"I would kill thee, Lancelot," mutters the King, "were it not for my own sin."
For had he not sworn an oath of troth? Had he not knelt before the altar and said, "Yes, yes, yes, I will"? Had he not promised to hold and to cherish?
He cannot even remember the colour of the Queen's bedclothes, it has been so long that he has entered her chambers.
There is only one chamber he needs now.
"Merlin," he says. "Merlin. Were thy name a magic spell, I could not say it enough."
And here he is, he knows not how he got here so fast. The door is fast. The hall is silent. The guard sleeps sullenly in his corner.
Arthur does not need to knock. The hinges make no creak as they swing apart.
"My lord," says the silver-bearded mage. His gaze is sure and far. His voice rolls like thunder.
Arthur's heart is thunder in his chest.
On Merlin's bed, there is a coverlet of apple blossoms. Butterflies flit in mid-winter. Spindrift cobwebs weave on the air.
Love is a kind of magic.
***
The End
916 words
All original bits © Lobelia.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-14 01:01 pm (UTC)this is beautiful.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-14 02:51 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-14 01:30 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-14 02:51 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-14 02:42 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-14 02:50 pm (UTC)Hey presto. Who needs canon?
And you understand this, if nobody does!!! I am so happy that you happened to stumble across my post! I, too, have been more off than on the list for this past semester. I hope all is going well in the Houses of Healing??
:-)
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-15 07:25 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-15 11:43 am (UTC)Thank you again. I don't know; I was reading Chretien de Troyes and poetry seemed to be the way to go.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-15 06:03 pm (UTC)-and the whole generic knighting ceremony flashes through my head-
"I dub thee... blah blah blah" X)
What's the poetry like? The oldest I read is like... Walt Whitman-ish. And the odd amount of shakespeare.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-16 12:05 am (UTC)Knighting ceremony!!!! Ah, the potential....
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-16 12:15 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-15 10:38 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-16 12:02 am (UTC)