Okay first of all RL has been whipping me in a serious way recently but finally that should be over and I will have time to stop neglecting my f-list horribly. I also have a large backlog of comments to reply to from nearly a week ago *wince* so apologies to everyone I haven't replied to - I will get there! Soon!

Secondly a gigantic thank you to anyone who nominated some of my fics over at the Merlin/Arthur fic awards! You guys rock ♥ For anyone who doesn't already know about the awards definitely check it out - there are loads of incredibly awesome fics up for voting and it doubles as a convenient recs list :p

Thirdly (ahahaha I promised fic and then go on and on without delivering) glitterandlube is arranging a sort of Merlin big bang type challenge thing (to put it eloquently) which I've signed on for and which should be awesome, so I urge everyone to consider giving it a go.

Finally I've read barely any fic for the last three weeks and I'm suffering withdrawl: f-list, I appeal to you, help a fangirl out and point me in the direction of some of your recent faves? Pretty please?

Right, that's the pleading and pimping over with, so now I give you my most recent merlin_las entry (which won! \o/)

Title: Secrets Wordless Told
Rating: G
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur preslash
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Summary: Sometimes Merlin's more perceptive than Arthur gives him credit for

Secrets Wordless Told

There are some things that Merlin can’t ever know. Some secrets, Arthur must keep to himself – private things, dark things, things that eat at his heart and whisper gloating in his ears in the dead of night. He can tell these corrosive little fears to no one; to let them out and give them voice would be to make them real and call them down on himself tenfold. He can tell them least of all to Merlin, because Arthur needs Merlin’s faith in him, needs Merlin to believe that he’s strong. He needs Merlin to keep looking at him with that fierce light that seems to always know what’s right and wrong and gives Arthur strength when his own is gone. Sometimes, just sometimes, Merlin makes him feel like the king he needs to be, and Arthur will do anything to keep that hope alive.

The truth, plain and ugly in the light of day, is that Arthur is scared of kingship. He is scared of his kingdom, scared of his people; he fears the crown that will one day be his, and he fears the duty and the burden that already is. He is terrified of the power that lies in his slightest misstep. He doesn’t know if he will be ready when the time comes, if he ever could be. Whenever he’s alone, he can’t stop the gnawing fear, drawn ever back to it in the private circling of his mind. He’s afraid that it will crush him down one day, the fear and expectation, the strain of keeping his back straight and his eyes ahead and holding up his mantle of confidence. He sees his father wearing away day by day. He recognises the fear that burns acrid in Uther’s veins and keeps him huddled for safety in the shadow of the executioner’s block, knows it’s bitter taste in the back of his mouth, and that scares him most of all.

In his weaker moments, Arthur is full of fear, fear against which he has no armour to shelter him nor a sword with which to vanquish it; this is Arthur’s secret, and it is one he will take to his grave.

As far as Merlin’s concerned, however, Arthur’s bad at keeping secrets; the worry is plain in Arthur’s face and in the tension of his body during all those moments when he thinks he’s alone, brief instances when Merlin catches him unawares. Arthur shouts his secrets at him in every line of his body, the insecurity and the self-doubt; he confides his fears to Merlin in all but words. Merlin understands Arthur, the good and the bad, the integrity and the vulnerability, and has faith in him anyway; this is Merlin’s secret, one of many, but one that he cannot keep for long.

It slips out one day, just before early morning patrol. ‘It’s okay to be afraid, you know,’ Merlin says almost without meaning to, eyes carefully on his task as he straps Arthur into his armour.

‘Why would I be scared of going on patrol?’ Arthur asks, brash and dismissive; Merlin knows he’s not that stupid.

‘Everybody worries about whether or not they’re doing the right thing,’ he clarifies, tone light. ‘It’s a good thing – means you’re more likely to get it right. It scares me too.’ Merlin buckles on the last of Arthur’s armour. ‘It’s admirable, facing up to that. It’s... kingly. That’s what I think, anyway.’ He hands Arthur his sword.

Merlin glances up for Arthur’s reaction, wary now that he may have overstepped the line.

‘You’re an idiot; I never know what you’re babbling on about,’ Arthur says, but his eyes are soft as he absolutely does not look at Merlin.

‘As you say, Sire,’ Merlin smiles to himself.

Arthur pauses at the threshold of the door. ‘Merlin,’ he says without turning round. ‘Thank you.’

When Arthur strides out to join his men he does so with head held high and certainty in his every step. Behind him Merlin leans in the doorway and reflects that some secrets are not worth keeping.