Greater than Magic

A/N: I'm actually trying to do the "DO NOT BREAK THE CHAIN" thing where I try to write at least 500 words a day (small steps) to stop my writing prowess from stagnating, and as a result, I am putting my attentions to this fic I begun quite a while back. With my efforts to comply with the chain, expect somewhat regular updates from me. :D (Also posted in AO3 account: /works/1117378)

Prologue

Merlin may be a sorcerer, but even he knows when things are impossible. There are simply situations, occurrences, which cannot be tampered with or else the entire balance on which the world hangs upon will be upturned, and possibly never be brought back to right again.

Love is one such thing. Its overwhelming pillar of power is sturdier and rooted deeper than the largest, oldest trees which manage to cling unto the forest floor throughout centuries, witnessing the passing of time with an unchanging dexterity of disposition. Magic is not the strongest force in the world, for it is in fact love, a force proven so great since the beginning of time that even the deadliest sorcery can be thwarted by it, and cunning plans of revenge can be broken by true love's first kiss.

Merlin knows that he was born with a special ability that made him stronger than most people he knows, and when he came of age and was sent to Camelot, he was made aware of the great responsibility that is set upon his shoulders that came with his extraordinary capabilities. Although every step that he took to self-awareness has evoked in him a sense of surprise and wonder, like the first time he was able to do something great with his magic by suddenly stopping time to save a glass of precious, precious milk from crashing onto the floor when he was but five years old, and the time when he first saved Arthur's life and felt a deep sense of satisfaction and rightness, as if he was meant to protect Arthur, it is love that one day sneaks up on him and brings him into a bone deep shock that makes him tingle all over, his jaw slackening, and his heart beating thrice as fast as he knows is safe and normal.

The day Arthur comes back from one of his rare trips where Merlin was not asked to tag along more than a week later than his scheduled arrival and three days since Merlin has been reduced to a restless, panic-stricken, bumbling fool that followed any and all clues he could find on Arthur's whereabouts , slightly bruised where his armor is not protecting him but with his back still casually leaning slightly back and a smile on his face when he meets eyes with Merlin's glistening ones, Merlin grasps a force that starts from his chest and spreads throughout his whole body that he knows at once can topple his immense power.

He loves Arthur, and not all the magic in the world can change that.

Unfortunately, it is the same magic that he cannot use to change the odds into his heart's favor. He realizes this soon after he finds out the extent of his feelings when he takes a tentative, almost mindless step forward towards Arthur, probably to hug him, or even just touch him to reassure himself that yes, Arthur is truly back, and is made to stop as Guinevere beat him to it, running towards the King with outstretched arms and a large smile on her face with not a single thing holding her back as she flung her whole body, her whole self upon Arthur the way that a lover, not a mere servant is allowed to do, and Arthur does nothing to stop her, welcoming her into waiting arms that encloses her a second after they make contact.

How Merlin's chest hurt and his stomach makes as if to curl inside, twisted and unbearable. And truly, he wants to come join them and smile at his friend sovereign like he usually did, accompanied with a slight smack on the head, but he cannot stop himself as his body turns away from the sight. He feels love like a physical threat between him and Arthur, and when he is made to choose between fighting it and running away from it, he chose to go.

Jokingly, he thinks to himself as he lies on his bed, curled and covered by his thin sheets with dried tracks on his face while he stares at his trembling right hand, that he is a lover, not a fighter. Too bad it doesn't feel as funny as it sounds.

No one bothers him from his quarters that night even when he is technically skipping his duties when Arthur probably really needs his domestic assistance for once. All are too busy celebrating the safe arrival of the king: dozens are probably waiting on him in his place.

Just as well, he thinks. He needs the night to readjust his gears to accommodate the extra load on his chest and be able to function like normal the following days.

When the sun rises with the coming dawn, he wakes up with a start when Gaius bangs loudly at his door to notify him that his workday has already begun. He grumbles but is able to give the old man a smile on his way out.

He will be just fine.