archaeologist_d (archaeologist_d) wrote in camelot_drabble,
archaeologist_d
archaeologist_d
camelot_drabble

Double drabble: Evidence

Author: archaeologist_d
Title: Evidence
Rating: PG
Pairing/s: none
Character/s: Merlin, Arthur
Summary: Arthur knew the truth but waiting for Merlin to tell him was hard.
Warnings: none
Word Count: 200
Prompt:189 - Evidence
Author's Notes: none
--------------------------------------
Arthur knew. Of course he knew. How could he not? Merlin went around tossing magic in front of him, beside him, behind him at every wild turn, uttering traitorous words, barely concealing the molten-gold in his eyes, then making up absurd stories to cover his tracks.

As if Arthur would fall for such rubbish.

It’s a wonder he hadn’t been caught, a wonder that he hadn’t been killed, but almost insultingly, a wonder that Merlin hadn’t realized just how much Arthur protected him - with excuses and cover-ups and lies.
 
Between them, there was always pretense, hiding behind false smiles and feigned idiocy as each tried to protect the other. Both of them drowning in an ocean of lies, betrayed trust, and disillusioned hope they’d created between them. And Arthur didn’t know how to break free.

But every day, he tried - with private talks and long looks and acceptance in everything except the thing that mattered most. Daring rescues and adventures and heart-stopping danger, and in the mix, too, was more than a little love. Much more than a little.

But it wasn’t enough.

Until Merlin would trust him enough with the truth, there would never be anything more.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
And since I missed the deadline for last week's, here it is.

Author: archaeologist_d
Title: Thanksgiving
Rating: PG
Pairing/s: none
Character/s: Merlin, Arthur
Summary: Merlin wasn’t thankful for his long life.
Warnings: none
Word Count: 175
Prompt:188 - Thankful
Author's Notes: apparently Thanksgiving is becoming more of a thing over in the UK. So I thought I’d incorporate it here.
---------------------------------

It wasn’t so bad when Thanksgiving was one of those weird American holidays that looked good on paper but was hell in practice. Too much stuffing, turkeys and goose and ham and something odd called cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes and mushy peas, then incredible desserts and lots of drink, sounded fine, even intriguing. And he did like fruit pies.

But when it crept over to the UK and the few people he knew started insisting that he come for dinner because he had no one else, he was less than thankful.

It wasn’t the theoretical insult. It was true enough.

But he wasn’t about to give thanks for what little he had. Even the little was irrelevant. It was what or rather who he was missing in his life, his very long life, that mattered. And he’d be a hypocrite to thank the gods, or whoever was determining the hellish fate he’d been dealt, for it.

Instead, he’d wait. And when Arthur returned at long last, then maybe they’d have their own Thanksgiving celebration.

Together.
Tags: *c:archaeologist_d, c:arthur, c:merlin, p:arthur/merlin, pt 188:thankful, pt 189:evidence, rating:pg, type:drabble
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