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Entry tags:
Blind Spot
Title: Blind Spot
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: PG
Word count: ~750
Warnings: sex, voodoo, and booze
Disclaimer: This Merlin and Arthur = Not Mine. BBC's. *wistful sigh*
Summary: Uther Pendragon does not have suspicions. He has facts.
A/N: Written for this week's![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
awdt prompt, I'm just trying to add a littl excitement to our sex life.
In his defense, King Uther Pendragon had a great deal working against him when it came to ever, ever finding out that the boy Merlin was secretly a sorcerer. Arthur would never tell, and the knights would never cross Arthur. Morgana would never tell, and the servants would never cross Morgana, because that would mean crossing Gwen—and no one crossed Gwen, for many reasons. Gaius would never tell, and if you crossed Gaius…well. Medicine was such an inexact science.
But not least among all these reasons was Uther's own faith, the almost belief that, were a user of magic ever to infiltrate his castle and court, he—Uther, if no one else—could never be taken in. Even the sudden spate of attacks that had rocked the foundations of Camelot in recent months could not shake that; nor the revelations of treachery from within, as first Morgana's maidservant and then the girl's father were brought up on charges.
After all, hadn't the blacksmith been the only one to recover from the deadly, magic plague that had devastated the city? Clearly the sorcerer had taken root in his living heart instead, driving him to seek out and consort with those who longed to see Camelot brought to ruin. And Uther had found out that taint the moment it manifested itself, turning a once trusted servant into a deadly enemy…and he had purged it from his lands. As he always had, and always would. To keep Camelot safe.
And so—barring another magical plague, another breach in Camelot's defenses—the longer the boy remained in Arthur's service, no matter how many odd happenstances and inexplicable strokes of fortune seemed to accrue to him, perversely the less likely Uther was to believe that he could ever be a sorcerer.
Because, surely, Uther would have sniffed him out within days, and certainly never let him get so close as to become the manservant of his only, his all-important heir.
So when Uther strode into Arthur's chambers after nearly a week of illness and excuses from his son, the first that crossed his mind was that there had to be a reasonable explanation as to why Arthur was lying, spread-eagled, in the center of a pentacle drawn in wine with a dozen colored candles arrayed about him. An explanation that would also cover why Merlin was kneeling of Arthur with an enormous, rune-etched dagger in one hand and what looked like—good heavens—a decapitated black cockerel in the other.
Though, Merlin's frozen expression of guilt did nothing to help his cause. The boy's gaze darted from the cockerel to the candles, to the knife, to Arthur, to the knife again—and then, finally, he scrambled off the prince with a gasp and flung the dagger across the room.
"Your Highness—Your Majesty," he stammered, what limited knowledge he had acquired of court protocol apparently flying right out his ears. "I—I can explain! Not that there's anything that needs explaining. But if it—I mean, it might look like—because, you know, things, not what they seem, that sort of—"
"Father."
Arthur had learned his lessons well. Uther himself was compelled to look over to where his son lay, now propping himself up on his elbows—to say nothing of the boy, who had clapped his mouth shut with an audible gulp. Arthur looked fever-flushed and sweaty, as he had all week, but his voice did not waver.
"Please, forgive Merlin's clumsiness, Father. He must be rather embarrassed. He likely has a right to be, considering what I've asked of him. Which you just happened to…step in on." He cleared his throat and glanced away for a split second; he was still, prince, after all, not yet king. "I was…just trying to add a little excitement to our sex life."
"Arthur!" Merlin yelped, and Uther would have struck it him for it if Arthur had not still, somehow, held his gaze in thrall.
"Your…sex life." The king said flatly, his expression as inscrutable as when he had conducted battlefield negotiations on the Mercian border.
"Yes, Father."
"Yours and…Merlin's"
"Yes, Father."
"Which has grown so dull and familiar that you simply had to find this," he waved a hand, "ridiculously elaborate way to make it interesting again."
"…Yes, Father. I'm afraid so."
Uther's left eye began to twitch.
"This conversation," he hissed, glaring both young men fiercely in the eye, "never happened."
And then Uther Pendragon swept out of the room in a majestic swirl of scarlet robes, quite thoroughly relieved that he hadn't missed a sorcerer living under his nose for months.
Really, It would have been inconceivable.
-fin-
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: PG
Word count: ~750
Warnings: sex, voodoo, and booze
Disclaimer: This Merlin and Arthur = Not Mine. BBC's. *wistful sigh*
Summary: Uther Pendragon does not have suspicions. He has facts.
A/N: Written for this week's
awdt prompt, I'm just trying to add a littl excitement to our sex life.In his defense, King Uther Pendragon had a great deal working against him when it came to ever, ever finding out that the boy Merlin was secretly a sorcerer. Arthur would never tell, and the knights would never cross Arthur. Morgana would never tell, and the servants would never cross Morgana, because that would mean crossing Gwen—and no one crossed Gwen, for many reasons. Gaius would never tell, and if you crossed Gaius…well. Medicine was such an inexact science.
But not least among all these reasons was Uther's own faith, the almost belief that, were a user of magic ever to infiltrate his castle and court, he—Uther, if no one else—could never be taken in. Even the sudden spate of attacks that had rocked the foundations of Camelot in recent months could not shake that; nor the revelations of treachery from within, as first Morgana's maidservant and then the girl's father were brought up on charges.
After all, hadn't the blacksmith been the only one to recover from the deadly, magic plague that had devastated the city? Clearly the sorcerer had taken root in his living heart instead, driving him to seek out and consort with those who longed to see Camelot brought to ruin. And Uther had found out that taint the moment it manifested itself, turning a once trusted servant into a deadly enemy…and he had purged it from his lands. As he always had, and always would. To keep Camelot safe.
And so—barring another magical plague, another breach in Camelot's defenses—the longer the boy remained in Arthur's service, no matter how many odd happenstances and inexplicable strokes of fortune seemed to accrue to him, perversely the less likely Uther was to believe that he could ever be a sorcerer.
Because, surely, Uther would have sniffed him out within days, and certainly never let him get so close as to become the manservant of his only, his all-important heir.
So when Uther strode into Arthur's chambers after nearly a week of illness and excuses from his son, the first that crossed his mind was that there had to be a reasonable explanation as to why Arthur was lying, spread-eagled, in the center of a pentacle drawn in wine with a dozen colored candles arrayed about him. An explanation that would also cover why Merlin was kneeling of Arthur with an enormous, rune-etched dagger in one hand and what looked like—good heavens—a decapitated black cockerel in the other.
Though, Merlin's frozen expression of guilt did nothing to help his cause. The boy's gaze darted from the cockerel to the candles, to the knife, to Arthur, to the knife again—and then, finally, he scrambled off the prince with a gasp and flung the dagger across the room.
"Your Highness—Your Majesty," he stammered, what limited knowledge he had acquired of court protocol apparently flying right out his ears. "I—I can explain! Not that there's anything that needs explaining. But if it—I mean, it might look like—because, you know, things, not what they seem, that sort of—"
"Father."
Arthur had learned his lessons well. Uther himself was compelled to look over to where his son lay, now propping himself up on his elbows—to say nothing of the boy, who had clapped his mouth shut with an audible gulp. Arthur looked fever-flushed and sweaty, as he had all week, but his voice did not waver.
"Please, forgive Merlin's clumsiness, Father. He must be rather embarrassed. He likely has a right to be, considering what I've asked of him. Which you just happened to…step in on." He cleared his throat and glanced away for a split second; he was still, prince, after all, not yet king. "I was…just trying to add a little excitement to our sex life."
"Arthur!" Merlin yelped, and Uther would have struck it him for it if Arthur had not still, somehow, held his gaze in thrall.
"Your…sex life." The king said flatly, his expression as inscrutable as when he had conducted battlefield negotiations on the Mercian border.
"Yes, Father."
"Yours and…Merlin's"
"Yes, Father."
"Which has grown so dull and familiar that you simply had to find this," he waved a hand, "ridiculously elaborate way to make it interesting again."
"…Yes, Father. I'm afraid so."
Uther's left eye began to twitch.
"This conversation," he hissed, glaring both young men fiercely in the eye, "never happened."
And then Uther Pendragon swept out of the room in a majestic swirl of scarlet robes, quite thoroughly relieved that he hadn't missed a sorcerer living under his nose for months.
Really, It would have been inconceivable.
-fin-
no subject
nicely done.
no subject