#(+ now arthur gets to stand at merlin’s side as merlin leads his people (the gods))

[justaz]

god!merlin

druids can NOT speak in people’s minds. when they are before a high priestess, they can pray to her directly and she can hear them (hence the scene between morgana and mordred when he spoke in her mind).

merlin who constantly has this buzzing in the back of his head that he can never understand besides the occasional odd word which makes no sense. but when he’s closer to a druid or when their prayer is super strong, then he can make out what they’re saying.

merlin who brings up the fact that druids can speak into peoples minds to gaius who casually unfurls a scroll containing his ongoing list of reasons why merlin is/evidence of merlin being a god of the old religion.

[pendragonsclotpole]

Merlin Season 5 AU! See end for inspo!

They arrive in Camelot to the news of Mordred’s death. For the first three days of their return, Merlin fixates on the demise of Arthur’s bane more than he does on the significance of Mordred’s death. Mordred’s absence lifts the heavy burden of destiny off of Merlin’s shoulders for the first time in years. He can rest easy, breathe better, live contentedly in the realization that while Morgana remains, Arthur is now free from the curse of his bane.

It takes him weeks to wonder what this might mean for the decision made by Arthur. He is rightfully taken by surprise when one morning, Arthur awakes long before him and presents him with an even longer scroll over breakfast. It is an act to repeal the ban on magic. It legalizes certain forms of magic automatically, presents a drafted proposal for a hierarchical system to police wayward sorcerers, and provides a place on the Council for a Court Sorcerer. The details are so meticulously outlined that Merlin knows deep in his heart Gaius helped Arthur write them. Merlin’s hardly realized he’s crying when Arthur’s arms wrap around and he’s blowing snot into the King’s doublet. He mouths his apologies even as Arthur rubs a comforting hand on his back and whispers back reassuring I knows, and it’s alrights.

In the end, they fulfill the prophecy. Camelot’s golden age lasts for decades. Arthur’s territories grow, and his people thrive, and Merlin stands by his side throughout it all. Magic flourishes. Camelot thrives. Arthur lives and ages. Merlin lives and ages. Arthur dies.

It takes decades. Their bodies grow weak their knees get knobby, (Merlin grows a beard of respectable length much to Arthur’s dismay and annoyance) but eventually Merlin finds Arthur’s body the morning after Arthur’s 96th birthday. It is early enough that none of the servants have arrived to tend to their fire. Merlin, with hands now nearly as wrinkled and gnarled as Arthur’s face, uncorks the vial he’s carried around his waist since the day of Arthur’s first collapse, and swallows whole the concoction within it. The poison takes a few minutes to activate, but by the time he hears footsteps down the hall, Merlin can feel the poison painlessly traveling up his veins and clouding his vision. He smiles, content and sure in the thought that when he awoke next it would be to Arthur’s smiling visage.

He wakes up hours later to Arthur’s cold, sightless blue eyes in the crypts of Camelot. They are alone, about to be placed in stone. For a moment, Merlin thinks he’s merely in the in-between or perhaps brought back as a ghost. He closes his eyes and wills his soul to venture elsewhere. He wills it so much he says nothing as he’s lifted into the walls and entombed beside Arthur. There is something insidiously macabre in seeing your soulmate rot beside you as you desperately attempt to force death to take you. Throughout the process, Merlin absentmindedly thinks if Arthur’s eyes were not cursed to be sightless forevermore the former King would be staring at him with disappointment. I’m sorry, Merlin tells Arthur repeatedly. The apologies peter out when Merlin attempts to die by gouging out his own eyes. He hypothesizes for a few days that the more pain he can elicit, the closer he gets to Arthur. He stops increasing the pain after escalating his to disembowelment and then ceases his attempts to bring about his own death completely after blowing up his body only succeeds in speeding up the decomposition of Arthur’s body. The explosion is both a blessing and a curse. The instant incineration is painless and removes the horrible byproducts and odors of a rotting corpse, but it also leads to Merlin’s eventual resignation. Try as he might, he cannot join Arthur—not even in the presence of their shared crypt.

When he finally pulls himself away from the skeletal remains of Arthur’s frozen and once gnarled hands and musters the force to blast out from the crypt, two months have passed. The body he leaves behind sealed in the crypts is no longer Arthur Pendragon. Arthur Pendragon has left this world. Merlin should have left it with him and now he must find out why he remains, perniciously. There is only one person he can turn that will have this knowledge. Merlin runs to the nearest field and screams out for Kilgharrah. The dragon’s arrival shakes the entire earth around them, but even Merlin can see the weakness in the creature’s movements as he lands.

“So even you are not immune to old age, old friend.” Merlin says. Kilgharrah’s golden eyes look muted in the daylight, and pieces of his scales flake off into the ground.

“You will find only one of us is immune to death by old age, Emrys. And it is not I.”

“What do you mean?” Merlin’s anger gets the best of him. He is confused and hurt and humiliated and alone and deprived of his last wish. He has no room for ambiguities or cruelties. “Have I not fulfilled my destiny? Have I not earned my place of rest?”

“You cannot rest. You are Magic itself. For as long as there is magic in this realm, you will exist in this realm.”

Merlin lets the words rest on the wind for a few seconds before letting them stew and fuel his anger.

“So that’s it then? Years of toiling under the weight of prophecy, decades of laboring to maintain the Golden Age I sacrificed my very being for, and this is how it ends?” Merlin takes a shuddering breath. “You said we were meant to be two sides of the same coin, that are destinies are intertwined. Why is he gone and why am I still here?”

“Arthur is the Once and Future King, Merlin. When the need of Albion is at its greatest, he will return. You are the very essence of Magic. For as long as this realm needs magic, you must remain as magic’s stalwart defender and guardian.” Perhaps realizing the cruelty of his words, Kilgharrah issues one last prophecy. “Do not despair, Merlin. In truth, you achieved the best of all possible outcomes. In another life, Mordred might have lived for longer and Arthur’s death fulfilled decades earlier in place of your true destiny. You received a temporary peace instead. When Arthur returns, he will bring about the end of magic and your death with it.” Then, with a weariness Merlin recognized only in himself, Kilgharrah pulled back his wings and departed.

Merlin never sees him again. It is for the better. It takes Merlin three centuries to forgive the dragon for never pointing out what Merlin himself should have seen. It takes another five before he stops trying to die.

They had achieved everything. Two sides of the same coin, and yet when the story ended, it amounted to nothing.

Arthur died because Arthur was mortal.

Merlin is Magic. Merlin is immortal. Merlin cannot die.

@sneakyboymerlin I blame you for this. Inspired by this amazing post:

[arthursbubblebutt]

Arthur felt it as natural, as natural as trees growing and animals hibernating for the winter, but in his mind, it raged a war. It shouldn't feel natural. Something must have happened. Something led him astray, and now he is left in a place where the hum under his skin gently brushes the surface.

The smiles given to Arthur freely, the mischievous eyes that light the dark corridors, the whispered jokes along his ear, the gentle presence around his shoulders, ever watching, ever faithful. They were breadcrumbs that led him astray, now lost and stranded in a place he was no longer familiar with.

Flowers bloom in cracks and corners, vines hold pillars and broken stone, a cabin that overflows with greenery, and in the middle of the clearing, there is a fire. A fire so large it touched the sky. The fire blazed, and its kindling crackled. It reached Arthur with its burning warmth. It didn't singe him, why would it? He was its owner.

The fire, no longer a flicker of a flame it is now uncontrollable. Arthur reaches out his hand, and all he feels is warm warm warm. But in the back of his mind, he hears a name just as strong as the fire, Merlin. He shivers involuntarily at the intensity

This is not what he was shown by his father! He had a path that he would walk with a queen by his side. He was to lead his people and be a king! So why do his thoughts seem to always turn to the hidden box on the highest shelf.

The small wooden box seemed to have grown larger compared to the last time he was here. The box only contained the smiles and jokes, but now it has held more. Fantasies that he can not and will not pursue.

The clearing fades from vision as he closes his eyes and once again opens. No flowers are blooming, no stones being fixed that he can see, no cabin that looked to be comfortable for two, and no fire that has grown to terrifying heights is warming his cold hands and feet.

He looks down and sees the box. The box is slowly closing, and as he hears the click, he hears another noise. A creak of a door.

"Merlin," he mumbles in his pillow.

"Sire, you're awake..?"

"Get the horses ready, we're going hunting."

"What - now?!"

"Yes, now Merlin," he hears his manservant huff and puff, but ultimately, the door closes again.

That fire he remembers, he feels it blaze to the surface just under his ribs. Arthur rubs at a scar he had Merlin take care of from the last time they had gone hunting, and there was an accident, namely someone almost being beheaded by bandits, and he had to push them out the way. He chuckles at the memory after the ambush. Merlin was so frantic that he tripped twice on the same root.

Arthur looks up from where he was just staring at the blankets covering his lower half. He sees the sun's light finally reaching his window, or at least he's finally noticing the sun, for it's already high enough to indicate its past breakfast. Merlin still hasn't come back.

A tightness shadows his heart, and he feels silly from just that. The covers are thrown off him, and he stands in the cold room. He walks to his table and sees Merlin had indeed brought his food. He sighs into his chair, looking at his plate, not really seeing his food across from him.

His natural path has diverged so much after he had met Merlin. So much so that he no longer knows if he even wants to find it again.

Arthur drifted to Merlin as if he was pulled by a string tied to his heart, and the pull only ever released its tension if the other man was near.

[larrikin-is-a-himbo]

My friend watches Merlin: Part III

And I love how Morgana just covered her cup when Merlin tried to pour her a drink Girl ain't going to forget the little hemlock incident for the rest of her life

Also how is Morgana both the best and the worst at acting

On the one hand she's handling this whole "I have no knowledge of any of this" play very well, but the moment someone barges on her slightly unexpectedly she just loses all her acting skills

Like girl this ain't gonna help you, you only draw suspicion to yoself

I don't know why I'm rooting for the antagonist

I just want Uther to get fucked and this is the length I'm taking

Gwaine my belovef

There's something so homoerotic in campfire scenes

Gwen is the real MVP for still standing after all the bullshit she's been through

Her dad was killed, she got kidnapped at least 3 times already, now she knows that Morgana, a person she liked, is plotting against them

Homegirl deserves a happy ending, and we're only at Season 3

When will Arthur pull his head out of his ass

Maybe is he was less of a dick to Merlin I wouldn't root as hard for Morgana

I'm so tired of Uther and we're not even 10 minutes into the episode

Gaius knows something and I don't like it

Also I do not like that ugly ass CGI monstrosity from the beginning

Oooo Gaius lore

If there's one thing I don't like about this show is that it spoils itself too much

NOPE I HATE THAT THING

I hate that it talks

Oh Poor Gaius This will hurt him so much

Should've let the poison do it's thing with Uther

I'm still so incredibly torn about the Morgana situation

It's just so weird how she suddenly acts with Gwen. Like the whole personality change

I mean it makes some sense considering Morgause's influence and stuff

But low-key I wish they kept them having a good relationship even when Morgana turned to the dark side (which I still support to some level)

What I'm saying is that I'll need fanfics about the two of them

Honestly everything still leads down to Uther being a horrible-ass person. Literally everything

NAH GURRRLLL YOU BETTER STAPH

Can someone PLEASE just kill Uther already

I can't even believe how long Merlin wanted to say those words to Uther's face

Homeboy with the ring looks like he's about to cry every time he's on screen

Arthur should've kicked Uther's ass. I know I would've

KC THE FUCKING DRAGON IS BACK

Oh cool, the magic cup

GWAINE MY BELOVEF

GWAINE NO-

I'm really intrigued by whatever Senred and Morgause has going on

It's so satisfying seeing Uther on his knees

BOOOOOOM. Get fucked Uther, this is all karma

Go queen, slayyyyy

"These people are innocent" "You killed innocents too" The fact that Uther can't bring up an argument Morgana doesn't have an answer for is glorious

It's a shame homegirl went off the rails but Uther finally gets what he deserves

Sup Freya Good to see ya girl, how are you doing this

Oh yeah I forgot about the sword

The most important item in the Arthurian legend cycle

Hey Lancelot how are you doing?

Oh yeah Percival was one of the knights

Canonically he was the one who found the Holy Grail

Oh we're just getting all the Arthurian symbols huh? The round table

Also Percival's armor looks really inconvenient with the bare arms

Good to see the character development in Arthur

JESUS CHRIST That Morgana scream

Welp, the sword is in the stone

Why did this lowkey feel like a Series Finale

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Camlann, except no one is being held back by stupid destinies;

Merlin manages to keep Morgana and Mordred on the side of the light, which has a few rather influential knock-on effects.

Morgause leads her army onto the barren fields of Camlann, her hair and eyes wild, but her sword and focus sharp. Opposite stands her traitor sister’s half brother, the Boy-King of Camelot, surrounded by his precious knights. Today, they would all die, she would make certain of that.

Arthur struggles to keep his hands from trembling, he’s well aware that this battle will likely be his, and subsequently Camelot’s, downfall, but his nerves are settled slightly by Merlin’s comforting presence at his side. Which he feels immensely guilty at. 

He’d done his best to urge Merlin to run, to take Gwen and Gaius and maybe even Morgana, to go to Ealdor to pick up his mother and run even further, just in case. Merlin had refused of course; Gwen and Morgana had squawked at Arthur’s stupid chivalry and planted their feet firmly in the throne room, a symbolic last line of defence, and Gaius rolled his eyes and reaffirmed that he would be in the infirmary tent, as planned. 

He’d given his men his speech and they all seemed content to die for the cause, for one last desperate attempt to keep their home safe, but that didn’t stop the freezing claw of guilt from shredding Arthur’s lungs every time he took a breath. They were just waiting now. For someone to make the first move, for Morgause to get a little closer, for someone to send a messenger. 

Arthur’s broken from his stare when a warm, soft, steady hand takes his gently. His head whips to the side to see Merlin, stood without armour (oh, how The King despaired) staring at him with a slight frown. A frown, Arthur thinks, that should be much deeper, and much more afraid. He’s grateful it isn’t. He’s not sure he could cope with seeing Merlin scared:

“Arthur, if... if I knew a way to win this, once and for all, with not a drop of Camelot blood spilt... would you let me?”

It takes Arthur a few moments to process what Merlin had said, on account of his brain focusing on how grateful he is to hear his voice and feel the warmth of his hand instead of actually listening to him speak, but when he does, he copies his servant’s frown, though his is slightly more confused. He doesn’t let go of Merlin’s hand as he responds, instead tightening his grip:

“What on Earth are you talking about?”

Merlin gulps and looks away briefly, a look of guilt if Arthur ever saw one, but he finds he doesn’t really care. They’re all about to die, he’d forgive Merlin anything:

“If I could win this battle, and the war, right here, right now. Would you let me?-”

At Arthur’s continued perplexed look, Merlin rolls his eyes and huffs, smirking slightly as he adds on:

“-Just humour me.”

Arthur gulps, glancing towards the slowly advancing army before once again squeezing Merlin’s hand and looking back at him:

“It would... depend on the consequences, I suppose. Would you get hurt?”

Merlin shakes his head, then stops, and tilts it sideways as though he’s considering something he’d really rather not think about. He can’t meet Arthur’s gaze as he responds:

“I... might need a few hours to rest, afterwards, but any... long term consequences would depend on your reaction.”

Arthur recoils slightly at that, frown deepening as he shakes his head, completely oblivious to the keen listening ears of his six most loyal knights, and another, hidden towards the back of the group. If he’d turned to see them, Arthur would’ve noticed the blank looks of steely determination on Lancelot and Mordred’s faces:

“Well we would never have to worry about that. I... I could never see you hurt, Merlin.”

The King’s voice cracks as he mentions Merlin getting hurt, and the servant’s gaze softens, knowing that Arthur was thinking of their inevitable demise, creeping closer and closer. He squeezes his hand, giving him a soft smile as his other hand lifts up to rest on his shoulder; his question comes out soft and pleading:

“Do you trust me?”

Arthur has to use all of his self control not to yell his answer across Camlann:

“More than anyone.”

Merlin smiles sadly and steps back, dropping both of his still-steady hands to his sides; Arthur feels the gap between them more heavily than he feels the armour on his back. Merlin goes to turn away without another word, but before he can take even one step, a figure is pushing through to the front, gripping his wrist and pulling him back:

“I’m coming too.”

Arthur’s eyes go comically large as he hears Morgana’s voice come from under the hood. He steps forward to rip it down, and she only spares him an annoyed glance before she’s back to staring purposefully at Merlin. A gasp goes up around the group from all bar two, and Mordred dismounts his horse, walking forward to be in line with Morgana. The three of them entirely ignore Arthur’s outraged words:

“Morgana, what the hell are you doing here? You need to be safe at the castle, you’re meant to take the crown what the hell are you doing here?!”

Merlin meets Morgana’s determined glare with a resigned one of his own:

“No, this is my-”

Mordred interrupts him, his voice strong in a way that Arthur had never heard from the youngest knight before:

“No. No, it’s not. You’re not just fighting for Camelot, Merlin, you’re fighting or us, for our people.”

Merlin looks like he wants to argue, but Morgana crosses her arms and holds her head high as she speaks:

“You’re making a stand and you have no right to stop us from doing the same. This is bigger than you, bigger than all three of us, this is our fight just as much as it is yours.”

Merlin can only hold their stare for so long before he sighs and looks to the floor, entirely oblivious to the knights panicking (bar Lancelot, of course). He looks up with a small, relaxed smile on his face, and if Arthur weren’t so preoccupied with the fact that Morgana was definitely not supposed to be here, he would’ve found Merlin’s almost-nonchalance calming. The servant holds both his hands out:

“Together?”

Mordred grins widely, taking one of Merlin’s wrists as he responds confidently:

“For Camelot.”

Morgana does the same, a sudden wind whipping her hair behind her wildly:

“For our people.”

Without another moment’s of hesitation, Merlin turns and marches towards Morgause and her army. His steps are purposeful and strong, and Arthur can’t bring himself to stop him, no matter how desperately his brain is screaming at him. Morgana turns to him with a not-quite-cruel smirk:

“This has been a long time coming, brother. Enjoy the show.”

Arthur can only blink in surprise as she turns and walks towards Merlin. Mordred looks to him next, though the young knight’s smile is a lot softer, a lot more pitying:

“You should consider yourself lucky, Arthur,-”

Arthur barely registers the use of his first name:

“-my Lord gave up his throne in favour of serving you, buried his crown in favour of polishing yours.”

Arthur shakes his head slightly, his voice quiet and confused and strained as he asks:

“Your Lord?”

Mordred looks to Merlin, still marching across the seemingly never-ending field, with an awed smile; his voice is quiet and holds notes of what almost sound like worship:

“He’s more than you know.”

Before Arthur can respond, Merlin and Morgana stop, turning to look at Mordred expectantly. Merlin stares blankly, his brows slightly furrowed, but Morgana sports a wild grin as she yells back:

“I though you wanted to join in on the fun, Mordred?”

The young knight grins in response, turning to Arthur and giving him one last short bow as he cheerfully says, not a trace of worry in his voice:

“Lady Morgana is right My Lord, enjoy the show.”

He turns away quickly, jogging to catch up with the other two before anyone can say anything. Gwaine is the first to react, jumping off his horse and starting forward, to catch up with them, to pull them back, to ask them what the fuck was going on, but Lance quickly lands behind him, grabbing his shoulder:

“Wait, don’t. You trust them right?-”

He casts his gaze around the others, all looking slightly confused but mostly panicked as they dismount their horses. Mordred, Merlin, and Morgana make their journey to the centre of the field, but Lancelot’s eyes focuses on Arthur:

“-You said you trusted him, so just... this is what he does, Arthur. Please, just trust him, everything’s going to be ok.”

Arthur is desperate to question his knight, to demand that he explain what’s going on and give up anything, everything he knows, but before he can say anything, Elyan gasps and points somewhere beyond their friends. The whole army seems to resume their earlier jitters as Morgause differentiates herself from her soldiers.

~

The three magic users spread out slightly as they come to a stop, Mordred on the left, Morgana on the right, and Merlin, of course, in the middle.

A storm seems to be fast approaching and the loud wind makes hearing each other difficult, but they don’t need words to speak, and Mordred’s question echoes in Merlin’s head as all of their gazes focus on Morgause stepping forward:

“Are the other two coming?”

The Warlock nods, tapping his finger to his temple briefly as he replies:

“I called for them hours ago, they’re almost-”

~

Arthur is distracted from all that’s in front of him when a desperate and terrified voice screeches out from the back of his army:

“DRAGONS!!”

He, and all the other knights, whip their heads around in panic, only to see exactly what had been yelled about. The Dragon that Arthur had supposedly killed years ago is flying towards them like a hurricane, golden scales shining bright even in the shadows of the approaching storm. Next to him flies a much smaller dragon, pure white and clearly young, unstable in the air but still graceful, still terrifying.

Arthur’s heart sinks even impossibly further as they both fly straight over them, aiming for the other side of the field. If Morgause had two Dragons at her beck and call somehow, there was no hope, no matter what ridiculous plan Merlin had. Arthur felt the tears fill his eyes, but he didn’t let them fall. If this was to end in fire, then he’d sprint to Merlin, just so he could see him, hold his hands, beg him for a smile, one last time.

Lancelot holds him back with a hand on his shoulder and a soft smile:

“I know this doesn’t make sense, but just... trust him.”

He turns back to Merlin just to see the great beasts land in front of them, almost acting as a barrier between the three of them and the opposing army.

~

“-Took you long enough.”

Kilgharrah does his best imitation of rolled eyes before dipping his head in a bow:

“Where would you like us, young Warlock?”

Merlin grins, allowing Aithusa to push her head into his hands as he answers:

“I want you somewhere off to the side looking vaguely threatening. Only intervene if you have to, I don’t want the Camelot knights getting twitchy and skewering you, you’re an old man after all, I’m not sure you could take it.-”

Morgana laughs aloud and Mordred snorts behind his hand, but Kilgharrah just rolls his eyes again, giving another bow that this time somehow seems sarcastic before clomping off to the side, prowling up and down the edge of the field and huffing the occasional puffs of smoke in the opposition’s direction. Merlin looks down to Aithusa next, scratching her chin and using a much softer voice:

“Go watch over Arthur, keep him safe but don’t let him or any of the others hurt you, I’m sure Lance will explain. Try to stay out of the fighting and don’t let Morgause get anywhere near Arthur or the knights, you understand?”

The creature purrs and nods, stepping around her master and beginning an impossibly fast sprint towards Arthur.

~

Arthur stares with wide eyes at the gathering in the middle of the field, letting out a deep breath when the Great Dragon bows down to Merlin’s confident stance. The smaller creature bounds to him as he... exchanges words with the beasts, and all Arthur can do is stare as his brain argues over which emotion should be at the forefront. Fear? Confusion? Betrayal? Some kind of guilt? Pride, maybe?

Lancelot definitely looks proud, worried, but proud, and Arthur spares him a questioning glance; before he can say anything, Leon lets out a quiet yelp, pointing across the field and drawing his sword on instinct. Arthur whips his head around to see the white Dragon speeding towards them, eyes bright, teeth bared, and sharp claws ripping up the ground with every step.

He draws his own sword, panic clawing at his gut, but before he can step forward in some pointless attempt to protect his men, Lancelot pulls him back again, stepping in between Arthur and the approaching Dragon with a placating hand held out to each of them; his voice comes out quickly and desperate:

“No, no, she’s on our side, don’t hurt her. Merlin sent her here to protect us, don’t hurt her.”

Arthur stares between them with a mix of blood-curdling fear and endless confusion. But he trusts Merlin, and he trusts Lancelot, so much to Leon’s displeasure he lowers his sword, though he doesn’t sheath it, not yet.

The Dragon finally reaches them, coming to a skidding stop a few feet away. Arthur’s fear is overpowered by confusion, and an odd fondness in the back of his mind, when the creature almost topples over in it’s haste. She purrs loudly, and even Leon appears to relax slightly, even more so when she dips her head in what appears to be a bow to Arthur, before turning her attention to Lancelot and pushing her face into his hands.

The other knights all start forward on instinct, but when Lance lets out a low chuckle and begins... scratching the creature’s chin?? They step back again, watching as the Dragon begins purring even louder, almost bowling Lancelot over as it rubs it’s scaled body across his legs. It’s... acting like a cat...

Gwaine coughs very deliberately and Lancelot looks up with a blush, biting his lip before saying, his words awkward and stilted:

“Uh... guys, this is Aithusa, she’s... a Dragon. She can’t speak yet, but-”

Percival makes a confused noise in the back of his throat, shaking his head with wide eyes as he asks incredulously:

“Dragons are meant to be able to speak??”

Lancelot grimaces, but nods, but before he can say anything, Morgause’s crazed voice echoes over the field, and their attention is drawn back to the face off between Merlin, Morgana, Mordred, and the enemy.

~

“You can not beat me, not even with your precious pets!!”

The gang can hear Kilgharrah’s low growl at the insult and the sound vibrates across the ground and up into their very bones, even with the distance between them. Aithusa tenses in response, eyes narrowed and teeth bared as she detects the anger and insult swarming in her Kin, but Merlin holds a hand out to the Great Dragon, and both creatures relax as he monotonously responds:

“I’m giving you one chance, Morgause, do not send your followers to a pointless death.”

His tone is even and confident, his back straight, his head held high, and Arthur wonders how he’d never noticed Merlin’s obvious power before. Despite speaking normally, his voice is heard by everyone, even over the howling wind.

The knights can see Morgause’s hands shaking in her rage, her eyes wide and bright golden as she screeches her response, her anger showing through clearly:

“I am no coward!! You are nothing but a servant, a child soldier, and a pampered princess! What hope do you have against me?! I am a High Priestess, you are nothing!!!”

Merlin lowers his head, nodding slightly in resigned sadness. His muttered words, once again, somehow seem to echo across the field, and Arthur recoils at the grief in his tone:

“So be it.”

He slowly lifts his arm, holding it at a forty-five degree angle from the ground, his fingers splayed wide, and Elyan gasps, pointing wordlessly to the lightening dancing between his fingertips. Gwaine lets out a boisterous laugh, grinning as he realises with sudden clarity that Merlin is about to kick ass in a major way.

Arthur just gapes, struggling to process what was happening even as Gwaine whoops and Lancelot smiles proudly. The other knights are also staring, varying levels of confusion, awe, and happiness on their faces. 

From where they’re standing, they can see Mordred and Morgana get into a fighting stance, though neither of them draw the swords they have hanging from their hips. Morgause lets out an ear piercing screech, this one wordless, giving the distinct impression that her mind had snapped under the weight of her fury. Her army begins their march forwards as she hurls a fireball the size of a horse straight for Merlin, but he simply twists his wrist sharply forwards. A bolt of lightening rips down from the sky, intercepting the fireball and forcing it to the ground where it explodes in a miniature storm of silver sparks and golden flames.

Morgause screams again, her and her army speeding up in their approach as Merlin gives some sort of unseen command. All of a sudden, Mordred gives a small leap forward, planting his feet firmly as he thrusts his hands towards the ground before ripping them up again; with the movement, the ground at his feet explodes, vines and rocks and roots bursting from the field in a sharp line heading straight for the army. Morgana, at the same time, swirls her arms gracefully around her head, a few sparks of fire lighting up in the darkness as if from the friction between her hands and the air. She brings her arms down again, completing the elegant flow, stepping forward as she blows harshly into her cupped hands. A great, hot fire bursts forth, huge and angry and writhing as it shoots towards the enemy.

A few feeble counter attacks are thrown from Morgause and the sorcerers she has in her ranks, but ultimately, the army can only look on in horror at their approaching deaths. After a few moments of Merlin staring proudly at Mordred and Morgana’s handy work as it rips apart the first few hundred soldiers, he takes his own step forward, raising his arm to the sky. Lightening dances between just his fingertips at first, then down his arm, then all over his body; he connects to the flashes in the sky, and he glows brighter and brighter until he thrusts both arms forward. A tornado of flashing, crackling light shoots out from his hands, striking down thousands of soldiers. Shards of lightening jump from enemy to enemy, leaving none untouched by magic, each being struck down by Mordred’s earth, Morgana’s fire, or Merlin’s sky.

The Camelot army can only stare on in shock and horror as the enemy is wiped out in minutes, screams of those being buried alive, burned as if on pyres, or fried from the inside out reverberating across the field. Arthur’s mouth hangs open, his eyes wide and frozen on Merlin as he conducts lightening as if it were what he was born to do. Something deep in Arthur’s soul tells him that this is what he was born to do.

Aithusa’s protection isn’t required; none of the enemy soldiers get within ten metres of Merlin and his pupils, let alone Arthur and the other knights, but she patrols the front edge of Camelot’s army regardless, nudging back those that step too far forward (everyone was too focused on The King’s manservant, knight, and half sister being... well... Godlike, to care about the fact that a Dragon was using her snout to gently push people around), always with one eye on Arthur, just like her master had asked.

Within minutes, the field goes almost silent; the only sounds to be heard are the gentle crackling of still-smouldering bodies, and the deep breaths of Morgause, Mordred, Morgana, and Arthur. Merlin seems entirely unbothered, his stance still strong and powerful where Mordred and Morgana sag slightly from the exertion.

Morgause falls to her knees, tears on her cheeks as she finally realises the power that she’s up against; Merlin tilts his head slightly before clicking his fingers. The four of them disappear in clouds of deep black smoke and Arthur struggles to stop himself from yelping and falling back when they reappear in front of him.

Morgause is still kneeling, Merlin in front of her with a blank expression on his face. Morgana stands to the side, her face an odd mix of sorrowfully defeated—Morgause was her sister after all—and vindictively victorious. Mordred stands at her shoulder, looking a lot more tired but still managing to stay upright as he gazes upon the scene with well put together indifference. Aithusa bounds over to be stood at her master’s side, and even Kilgharrah joins them, standing behind Aithusa a way’s off.

Morgause finally speaks through her deep breathing, staring up at Merlin in desperation:

“Who are you?”

Merlin just tilts his head and frowns slightly, crouching down to place a soft hand on her shoulder:

“Who do you think?”

Morgause sags even further, her tears streaming down her face as she almost whispers, her voice cracking:

“Emrys.”

Merlin nods slowly, looking to Arthur for the first time since the whole ordeal started. Arthur is taken aback at the shining gold of his eyes, but holds his gaze, gulping and waiting for his servant (?) to make the first move:

“Your orders, My Lord?”

Arthur takes a deep breath, looking first down at Morgause, who is staring at the floor blankly, then to Mordred and Morgana, who raise eyebrows at him, then Lancelot, who shrugs, and finally the other knights, who stare at him with wide eyes, waiting for his answer just as Merlin is. His hands clench at his side, but he looks back to the dark-haired man, his face determined and his voice strong:

“Your suggestion?”

Lancelot nods approvingly at Arthur’s obvious show of trust; the question is more than just a question, it’s a display that The King is treating Merlin like an advisor, asking for his counsel and trusting his allegiance in front of a crowd. Merlin smiles slightly, tightening his grip on Morgause’s shoulder, not that she notices:

“I’m not overly fond of execution, but we don’t have dungeons strong enough to hold her long term, and too many have suffered at her hand.”

Arthur nods, though he sheathes his sword. He takes a deep breath before his next instruction, knowing that this is... delicate, and important; a turning point in his Kingdom’s history:

“Make it merciful.”

Merlin holds in his proud smile and Morgause only has time to gasp quietly as his hand moves from her shoulder to her forehead. Her eyes roll back and she collapses to the floor, dead before she even hits the ground. 

The Warlock spares the dead witch a quick, pitying glance, and the grief in his eyes, even after all she had done, is endearing, reminding everyone around them of the compassion Merlin is capable of. He stands quickly, but is careful not to make any of his moves too sudden, stepping away from the body and towards Arthur. His stance is strong once again, allowing some before unseen authority, confidence, power to shine through; Mordred and Morgana take their places either side of them, and even Aithusa sits up, tall and proud, as Kilgharrah edges forward slightly.

This is Merlin, showing off his army, presenting it to his King, offering it up for judgment. An army consisting of himself, his two apprentices, and two Dragons; not large, but likely the most powerful the land has ever known, and ever will know.

Arthur gulps, but meets Merlin’s golden gaze. The atmosphere is thick and charged and The King couldn’t pinpoint whether it was from the residual lightening still jumping between Merlin’s fingers, or the sheer power that was just displayed, seemingly effortlessly. He glances over the Warlock’s shoulder at the carnage behind him and can’t help but take a deep, fortifying breath. Merlin tilts his head, glancing at the massacre for just a moment before looking back with an almost repentant smile:

“I apologise for the theatrics,-”

He’s interrupted by Morgana’s whispered murmur of “I don’t, that was brilliant.” but ignores her:

“-but I can... fix that. If you like?”

Arthur frowns slightly, confused and so far out of his comfort zone that he doesn’t even want to hazard a guess at what Merlin might be implying. He feels a mould grow spontaneously in his gut, a horror with spores that spread throughout his bloodstream as he realises that... he doesn’t really know anything about magic, about how it works, about how Merlin is offering to use it. It had yet to occur to him to be afraid of Merlin, but the sudden realisation that he’d been persecuting his servant’s people with no real understanding of his own former hatred was... jarring.

The Warlock sees Arthur’s hesitation, widening his reassuring smile slightly as he repeats an earlier question, from a time that felt as though it had come years before, but was really only minutes. The discrepancy in timelines between Arthur’s head and the real world does not alter the King’s answer

“Do you trust me?”

“More than anyone.”

Merlin closes his eyes, holding his hands out to the side slightly as he lets out a deep breath. The storm, which Arthur and the knights had become entirely oblivious of despite it’s ruinous thunder and blinding flashes of lightening, quickly dissipates; blue sky and bright sun peek through the fading clouds. A gold shimmer ripples out across the ground from Merlin’s feet, spreading backwards like a wave over sand, turning pebbles and leaving the beach clean and fresh in it’s wake. The ground clears, bodies sinking into nothingness and fires being smothered by magic, even Morgause disappears into the dirt. 

Arthur absentmindedly thinks that that could be seen as honorary or disgracing; he supposes it depends on what type of person you were before the end of your life. Merlin would see being entombed within the Earth itself as a blessing, he somehow thinks that Morgause, with her God complex and inflated feelings of infallibility, would find it... demeaning.

Merlin sags his head slightly, and when Arthur’s brain comes back into focus, mostly prompted by the gasping and widespread whispers of the uneasy army behind him, he sees that the barren fields of Camlann, soaked with blood and scorched by lightening, no longer exist. In their place was a vast meadow, bright with the colours of spring and summer; untameable wildflowers stood tall and crimson butterflies were the only reminders of the bloodshed that had watered this paradise before them.

Arthur feels the smile on his face before he had even made the conscious decision to smile, but he decides that today, of all days, he doesn’t mind accidentally wearing his heart on his sleeve. Trust Merlin to do something as unspeakable as rip an army to shreds with lightening, and then apologise for his dramatics by creating heaven on earth.

The King sighs before shaking his head slightly, letting out a short, disbelieving laugh. He can feel the sun on his skin, and his smile grows with the knowledge that the heat warming his cheeks was entirely unnatural for this time of year; Merlin really was pulling out all of the stops.

“You’re a gift to this world, Merlin.”

His voice comes out softly, as if he were afraid of ruining the peace, though he only adds to it; The King finally turns to his Warlock again and almost stumbles back at the immeasurable devotion shining from his now-blue-again eyes. His whispered response carries on the wind as if he were a part of it, and Arthur wonders just how much of this world Merlin has touched, just how much of this universe Merlin has created, extended himself to. Did the wind exist before Merlin? Did the sun? Did butterflies, or lightening, or the colour gold have any space in this universe before Merlin willed it? Gaius’ thick books say they have an answer, but Arthur thinks they might be lying:

“A gift to you, Arthur, only to you.”

~

THE END!

I’ve been looking forward to writing this one for a while, so I hope y’all liked it!! I LOVE writing BAMF!Merlin, (and BAMF!Mordred/Morgana as well so) :D

Same as always, you wanna extend it/write it properly/remix it, then that’s fine, but drop me message before hand and credit/tag me!! :)

[help-i-need-a-cool-username]

Been thinking about what Mordred's life in Camelot would've been like if Merlin didn't hate him and then thought about how if Morgana was around she would probably always give him her favor at every tournament (until he married) and the other knights would tease him for that so have a broad outline for a Beloved Characters Dont Turn Evil AU

Morgana discovers her magic and Merlin swears to her that he'll protect her. He comforts her when she's scared and Merlin begs Gaius to share his knowledge and suspicions about Morgana to Morgana herself. One night Morgana bursts into their quarters in hysterics, waking them up, screaming and sobbing, and it feels like Merlin's hug is the only thing holding her together but its not enough. Glass starts shattering, candles flare, chandeliers fall to the ground. Gaius decides at this point not telling her will do considerable more harm than not, to both herself and others. They stay up through the night. Gaius speaking and Morgana asking questions, Merlin with a supportive hand on Morgana's shoulder. At one point Morgana tearfully asks the question Merlin asked Gaius long ago, "am i a monster?". They all fall asleep at the table, and that morning when Gwen arrives to wake Morgana only to find her absent with her blankets thrown over the bed and several things knocked over she runs and alerts the guards. The guards initiate lockdown and the commotion reaches Uther and wakes Arthur (Merlin is once again late), and they proceed to fear she was kidnapped right under their noses without anyone knowing. Arthur runs down to get Merlin so he can prepare him for the day only to open the door to find the three of them asleep on the table.

Later Merlin organizes for Morgana to learn more than Gaius can tell her from the Druids, but she intends to stay the night at least, if not then significantly longer (anywhere from a week to several months), and they have no good excuse for her to use that would allow her to leave without Gwen and guards. They come up with some very convoluted plan, which does not end up in the raid that occurred in canon, and when Gwen catches her sneaking back she lies and says she wanted to check up on Mordred (who she did run into), to see if he was with the Druid encampment that was rumored to be nearby (which he was). She didn't learn nearly as much as she hoped in those few hours, but they at least pointed her in a direction.

Morgause comes to town, and leaves Morgana her bracelet. After discovering it stops her visions Morgana takes it to Gaius, who reveals it was enchanted and looks similar to the one Lady Vivienne used to wear. Morgana states Morgause got it from her mother, but that Lady Vivienne was Morgana's mother and wonders how the bracelet ever got to Morgause. Gaius says there was a rumor that Lady Vivienne had a baby that displayed a affinity for magic, but Gorlois told Uther their baby had died before they even named her. Gaius reveals that the baby was smuggled out of Camelot and given to the High Priestesses, and Morgause might very well be that baby. Morgana begins to long for a connection with Morgause, to meet the sister she never knew of and recover something of her dead parents. When she begins secretly meeting Morgause, she tells Merlin and then asks him to come with her when she begins receiving lessons from her. Morgause tries to convince them that killing Uther is the right thing to do, but Merlin keeps reassuring Morgana that all they need to do is convince Arthur to change the law for when he is king, and he's not ready to do that now so theres no use in killing Uther before he's ready, and that she does love Uther and Uther does love her and would try to "fix" her well before he ordered her death. Morgause still wants him dead, to rush the prophecy of magic's return. Them sneaking out every few nights cements the idea that Morgana and Merlin are secretly dating in castle gossip.

Im not sure what happens with Morgause, but i think she would still take Camelot at some point and she would spare Morgana and by extension Merlin. Morgana and Merlin make sure to get Arthur out (and Merlin probably goes with him) because they dont trust Morgause to not kill him. Morgause reveals her heritage (and makes Morgana a Princess and her Heir) despite claiming the throne for people of magic and not the House of Gorlois, and the knowledge that Vivienne and one of her daughters were sorceresses leads Uther to believe he can not save Morgana from magic that is likely in her blood and THAT is what breaks his mental state. Morgana's real heritage is revealed soon after, with Uther informing Gaius that Morgana being a Princess is actually within her birth rights. Morgause continues Morgana's training because at some point Morgana has to become a High Priestess because canon. That or Morgause switches sides (this is a Beloved Characters Dont Go Evil AU might as well make it No Beloved Characters Are Evil AU) and she trains Morgana later after Arthur is a established King.

Morgause is overthrown and the Round Table formed. Arthur as well as several people in the castle know of or suspect Morgana of being a sorceress but he refuses to banish her, first believing it to have been out of her control (forced by Morgause) and later learning that her nightmares had been magic all along (how could he punish her for something he knows she had tried to get rid of for over a decade?). Perhaps he lets her keep the title of Princess, having always seen her as a sister (and someone who is compassionate for the people in a way royalty should be) and armed with the new knowledge of her being his actual sister. Everyone expects Regent Arthur to crack down on magic, its what Uther would have done and what the people want, so he does. Morgana becomes a advocate for magic, as she had been for Arthur in private as a Prince, and it scares people in the castle. They believe her to be working with Morgause, despite her arguments being for individuals' wellbeing and how punishments fuels hatred for Camelot. Several attempts are made on her life, many stopped by Merlin and Gwen and sometimes Lancelot. Arthur often "asks" Merlin for his opinion on magic and with Morgana's voice being public he feels okay with being straight with Arthur on what he thinks. Uther dies same as he did in canon: protecting Arthur from a assassination.

Mordred becomes a Knight because canon. Morgana is ecstatic to see him again and acts like a mother who hasn't seen her child in ages when she first sees him. Merlin has learned you often make the enemies that are destined to kill you (ex. trying to stop Morgana's visions from coming true) so he ignores Kilgharrah and doesn't hate Mordred (he is always wary though). Mordred alternates between childlike eagerness around the knights and following Merlin around while hero worshiping him (no one can figure out why. Their best guess is that Morgana is a mutual friend). In the beginning he kept messing up his name (calling him "Merlin" is just weird) and they often talk in their heads and therefore just stare at each other which has led to two conflicting rumors: theyre in love or they hate each other. Morgana often invites him to dinner, and when they dine with Arthur they easily slip into mind-talking (because chewing) and Arthur is convinced that they're making fun of him every time they do it. He protects Arthur when Merlin can't, often runs off to do side quests Merlin needs to do but cant get away to do, and often tags along with Merlin on his quests. Being able to share the knowledge of his destiny since Lancelot died (if he dies in this AU) relaxes Merlin's caution and allows him to be emotionally closer to him. Mordred enjoys being around Merlin and Morgana not just because he's Emrys and she's Morgana, but because they are the closest thing to home he has: they know what he is, they understand (bits) of his culture and make it possible for Mordred to share it with them, their individual magic sings strong enough to remind him of when he lived surrounded by it. He quickly grows to love them so very much and no one understands WHY. The knights tease him about it, and Morgana forcing Arthur to take Mordred on certain missions he isnt qualified for "so he can learn" does not help. Gwaine and Percival were planning to convince him that he couldnt compete in a tournament without a lady's favor because he's the rookie and his panicked look greatly amuses them only to find Morgana giving him her's before kissing his cheek. They were relentless after that, alternating between "lady's favors dont count if they're from your mom," "Mordred has a girlfriend," and whatever the medieval version of affectionately calling him "Bambi" is. Morgana sits in the stand's throne (since Arthur is competing) or besides it if Gwen is queen, and she flashes a smile at him when he comes out (Gwen too. He's a sweet kid with a baby face, of course he's one of her favorites. He also reminds her of Merlin when she first met him: kind, awkward, cute). This settles Mordred's nerves but has the unfortunate side effect of increased teasing. Merlin doesn't let it go to far, he never does, and gives them a distraction before running back to Arthur.

And then magic is brought back to the land and Morgana continues the work of the High Priestesses and helps the rebuilding efforts and they're still adventures and problems, but everyone Lives Happily Ever After

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Rest, Now

Prompt: I absolutely love your protective knights/protective Arthur works. Would you write your take on the aftermath of the Lamia episode? I'd love to see Arthur's reaction once he finds out what happened to Merlin. Bonus points for protective Gwen as well, and them knowing about Merlin's magic.

Ah yes, love this prompt. Protecc™ the Merlin pls

Read on Ao3

Warnings: none, just a sad Merlin

Pairings: gwen/merlin/arthur

Word Count: 2096

The second he sees the walls of Camelot, Merlin slumps in the saddle. Cara nickers in warning and he just manages to right himself before Arthur looks over.

“Are you sure you don’t need to be cured too?”

Merlin suppresses a shudder and shakes his head. Arthur gives him a once-over before turning back around. Gaius gives him a look.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, “just ready to get back home.”

“You and me both, Merlin.”

“Merlin?” Gwen reaches over to touch his arm, stopping when he flinches. “Whoa, Merlin, are you alright?”

“Yes, fine, just—“ he shakes his head— “little jumpy.”

He sees Gwen’s mouth harden a little as she shoots a glance at Elyan. She nods. Camelot’s door can’t close behind them soon enough.

The knights dismount first, each patting their horse as they lead them to the stables. Gwaine looks over his shoulder and reaches for Merlin. Merlin manages to hold still as Gwaine takes his arm.

“Are you sure you’re alright,” he asks in the soft voice normally reserved for dark nights when Gaius is out and Arthur is crueler, “do you need anything?”

Merlin shakes his head.

“Will you tell me if you do?”

He nods. It seems to satisfy Gwaine but not Elyan, who narrows his eyes.

“When was the last time you got looked at? Did Gaius check you out too?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.” Is that Percival too? “You look like you’re about to fall over.”

There are too many of them. Too many. They could be hurt. They could still be susceptible to magical influences. Merlin’s magic could—he could—they’re still vulnerable.

They could still hurt him. He could—she could still have some hold on them. It wouldn’t be the first time Gaius’s magical knowledge has failed them.

“Enough!”

Gwen? Is that Gwen?

“You’re hounding him,” she scolds, pushing through the tangle of knights to put her arm protectively around Merlin’s shoulders, “knock it off. You’ve all had a rough go of it recently so go rest and let Merlin do the same.”

As Merlin watches the knights shuffle like scolded puppies, despite everything a corner of his mouth tugs up in a slight smile. Never let it be said that Gwen can’t make people do what she likes.

The only one standing in between him, Gwen, and getting as far away from here as possible is Leon. He looks at Merlin, splits him in two, peers into the very being of his soul. Then his eyes soften almost imperceptibly and he bows.

“My Lady,” he says, “Merlin. May you rest well.”

Thank you, Leon.

By the time Merlin’s shepherded away from the knights under Gwen’s wing, he looks up to realize that Arthur’s gone. A rush of worry slaps him in the chest.

“Shh,” Gwen whispers as she guides him through the halls, “we’re almost there. It’s alright.”

Arthur turns when they push open the door to the massive chambers, already out of his armor—how long was Merlin down there?—and coming around the table to take Gwen into a hug. Right. Merlin gives himself a shake and starts moving to get their food, do his chores.

Only to be thwarted by a strong arm wrapping around his waist and pulling him into a shoulder that smells light sunlight and metal.

“Where are you going,” Arthur mumbles, absentmindedly nuzzling into Merlin’s hair, “I’ve not had the chance to see you properly since this mess started.”

At the mention of what just happened, Merlin tenses. No. Arthur was never hurt by the Lamia. Arthur was never caught. Arthur is fine. Arthur is safe. Arthur isn’t hurt.

“Merlin? Merlin!”

He blinks, only for Arthur’s concerned face to swim into view in front of him. Next to him, Gwen wraps her hand around his, squeezing gently.

“Hey,” Arthur murmurs, tilting his head, “what’s the matter? You went somewhere for a moment.”

Merlin can’t do anything but blink.

“Come on,” Arthur teases gently, “surely it takes more than a hug to daze you?”

Something cold settles in the pit of Merlin’s stomach.

“They—they were—all she had to do was kiss them.”

“What?”

“All she had to do was talk to them, touch them, kiss them,” Merlin mumbles, “and they were hers. They changed, they didn’t care, they were—it was just a kiss.”

“Hey, hey—“ Arthur starts to hustle him toward the bed— “sit, Merlin, you look like you’re about to fall over.”

Gwen fetches a goblet and wraps his hand around it. “Drink, Merlin.”

“What is it?”

“Pear juice, your favorite.”

“Oh.” Merlin raises it to his lips. What’s wrong with him? Why is he acting like this? He’s fine.

“You just watched some of your closest friends succumb to powerful magic,” Gwen points out when he voices that, “you watched their minds change, that’s enough to shake anyone.”

“But they’re alright now, Merlin,” Arthur promises, “you’re all safe now. It’s dead, I killed it. You, and the knights, and Gwen, and Gaius, you’re all back here now, you’re safe.”

But was Merlin ever in any significant danger? He has his magic, there’s no way he would’ve been as easy a target as the others. Did he—did he draw attention to them by being himself and being there? Did she take the others because of him?

“Whatever you’re thinking,” comes Gwen’s stern voice, “stop it. Stop blaming yourself for things you can’t control.”

She gives him a pointed look and gestures to their entwined hands.

“Even you can’t fix everything, Merlin.”

“But I should’ve been able to fix this,” Merlin argues, his face contorting, “I should’ve—I—“

“And what would you have done, Merlin,” Arthur asks softly, “what could you do?”

Merlin’s blood runs cold. Next to him, even Gwen makes a little noise.

“No,” Arthur says firmly, “what could you have done? If you’re so intent on blaming yourself, what could you have done to make a difference?”

“Arthur!”

“Come on, Gwen, don’t tell me it doesn’t hurt you to see Merlin try and carry the whole world on his shoulders!” Arthur folds his arms and leans against the poster of the bed. “Tell us, Merlin, why should you be held accountable?”

“Arthur enough.” Gwen’s voice rings in the chamber as Merlin hides his head shamefully. “He’s already upset, he doesn’t need you to make it worse.”

“Don’t—“ he swallows heavily— “don’t fight, please. Don’t fight, not now.”

“We’re not fighting, Merlin,” comes Arthur’s soft voice again, followed by a warm hand cupping his cheek, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Why don’t you go get dinner then,” Gwen says, only a little less frosty, “as part of your apology.”

Arthur only sighs and does as bid. As soon as the door closes, Gwen leans forward and wraps him in a tight hug, letting him gasp heavily into her shoulder.

“Shh, shh,” she whispers, carding a soothing hand through his hair, “shh, Merlin, it’s alright, I’d never give up your secret, I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“He—he asked, Gwen, I—I can’t—what if he knew?”

“I would never let anyone hurt you,” she promises fiercely, “you know I wouldn’t. That includes Arthur.”

“I won’t be able to keep from telling him someday, Gwen!”

“And when that day comes, I will be by your side and he will get down on his knees and thank you for all that you’ve done.”

“He won’t, Gwen. He’ll be so angry.”

Gwen pulls back enough to take his face in her hand. “He may be. For an instant. And then he will thank you. And you know he cares for you far too much to truly be angry at you.”

Merlin’s lip wobbles.

“Oh, Merlin—“ she pulls him back into her embrace— “I’ve got you, honey, it’s alright.”

“Alright, so I’ve got dinner, how are we—Merlin?”

There’s the sound of plates clattering to the table and rapid footsteps before another strong set of arms surround him.

“Oh, sweetheart,” comes Arthur’s warm concern, “what’s so bad? I’m sorry if I pushed too hard, I worry, shh, it’s alright, don’t cry.”

Gwen presses a kiss to his forehead as Arthur’s arms slip lower to wrap around his waist.

“We’re right here, Merlin, we won’t leave you.”

“You’re safe, sweetheart, I’ll look after you, we both will.”

“Shh, shh, honey, it’s okay.”

Merlin buries his head in the crook of Arthur’s neck and sobs. Arthur lets out a comforting noise and his hand comes up to cup the back of his head. He strokes gently, finding the soft spot that makes all of Merlin’s muscles relax on cue. Arthur moves the boneless pile of Merlin to the bed proper, scooping the man into his lap and letting Gwen shift close enough to lay her head between both of them.

“We’re not going anywhere,” Gwen promises, her hand wiping away one of Merlin’s tears, “you can cry, we’ll be right here.”

Arthur’s chin comes to rest on top of Merlin’s head, creating a little bubble of intimacy here, in his arms, sheltered in the lea of him. Merlin is taller than him—a fact he never lets Arthur forget—but the way he’s curled in on himself lets Arthur wrap protectively around him.

There is nowhere safer in Camelot.

After a long while, Gwen pulls away, murmuring something about making sure the food doesn’t spoil. As she vanishes behind the curtain, Arthur slowly shifts to sit Merlin on the end of the bed, sliding off to stand in front of him.

“Shh,” he hushes when Merlin whines in protest, “I’m just grabbing the handkerchief. I need to wipe your face off.”

Gentle fingers tip his chin up and the cloth is soft against his face. Arthur is patient, patting and dabbing up the mess and leaning down so Merlin can wrap his fingers in his tunic.

“There,” he murmurs eventually, setting the handkerchief aside and cupping Merlin’s face in his hands, “a little redder than normal, but other than that…”

Merlin swats halfheartedly at him. Arthur chuckles before he pulls away. Merlin opens his mouth to ask where he’s going when—

His mouth hangs when Arthur lowers himself carefully to his knees in front of him.

“I truly didn’t mean to scare you,” Arthur says in a hushed voice, taking Merlin’s hands in his, “earlier. I just wanted you to see that you—you don’t have to blame yourself for everything that goes wrong. You’re still human, Merlin.”

“Arthur—what—what are you doing?”

“What I should’ve done long ago.” Arthur’s mouth tugs up. “You and Gwen aren’t quite as quiet as you think you are, you know that?”

Merlin’s eyes widen. “You—you heard?”

In response, Arthur takes Merlin’s hands and presses them to his chest, squeezing lightly. His smile softens.

“Thank you, Merlin,” he whispers and the words sink deep into Merlin’s chest, “and no, this wasn’t your fault either.”

“How—how long have you known?”

“I’ve suspected since the troll,” Arthur murmurs, standing and pulling Merlin back into a cuddle, “and I’ve never been angry since the Cup of Life.”

He squeezes Merlin gently.

“So don’t be so hard on yourself, sweetheart,” he whispers, “or else.”

Merlin sobs out a laugh, clutching desperately at Arthur, not angry Arthur, not upset Arthur, warm Arthur, caring Arthur, safe Arthur. “Or else what?”

“Or else I’ll have to make you take care of yourself.” Arthur scrubs his knuckles lightly over Merlin’s head. “So go sit with Gwen and we’ll eat or I’ll carry you there.”

He pulls back, just enough that he can see Merlin’s face and pat his cheek.

Merlin swallows. “Is that a threat?”

Arthur raises an eyebrow. “You asked for it.”

Gwen looks up when Arthur carries a Merlin to their dinner table and sits him down, reaching to take his hand and place it in hers. She giggles, pulling Merlin close enough to kiss his forehead, looking at his smile.

“That’s much better,” she notes, “now eat. You’ve had a long day.”

He’s had a long few days, honestly.

But as he starts to eat, as he and Arthur trade quips across the table, as Gwen’s hand stays warm in his, he may be able to rest tonight.

[strawberri-blonde]

Insecurities - George Weasley

Summary: George gets insecure over Fred and your’s relationship. (Boys are allowed to have feelings too)

Warnings: Angst, and fluff

George watched from afar with his face against the palm of his hand as he saw you and Hermione along with other girls from Gryffindor squeal with glee as his twin pulled a rose from your ear. You didn’t even like roses. They reminded you of funerals. Shaking away his thoughts, the older twin grabbed his books off the table and started towards the door that lead out the Gryffindor common room. “George?” Hearing your voice, the boy haulted in movement but decided to act like he didn’t hear you. “George?” You raced after him with the white rose in hand tugging onto his sleeve. Reluctantly, the boy stopped and turned to face you and once he saw your sweet smile it was hard for the Weasley to be upset. “Why didn’t you wait for me?” With his free hand that wasn’t  occupied with books, it went straight towards your waist while you hands gripped onto his biceps.

“I’m sorry, love. You just seemed to busy with Fred and I didn’t want to disturb you.” It wasn’t much of a lie and luckily you fell for it.

You rolled your eyes and pulled onto his tie to bring his lips closer to yours. The kiss didn’t last long but it satisfied both of your needs for now. “I’m never to busy for you.” You pulled away from him and looked at the Rose in disgust. “Plus you know how I feel about roses.” Your whole statement was true but it still didn’t help the insecurities that were running their George’s veins.

Offering you a fake smile to try and push through his feelings George brushed a peice of hair out of your hair towards behind your ear. “And that’s why I know you’re favorite is...” whispering the spell that he created for you, not Fred. The Weasley pulled a flower from your ear. “A lily.” A yelp escaped from you mouth as you handed the rose to a random girl walking by and clenched the white lily close towards your chest.

“Merlin, I love you.” You kissed the Weasley again this time with more aggression. You both moaned into the kiss when a familiar voice broke you up.

“I feel like I should wear protection from just watching this.” The both of you pulled away when you heard Fred’s obnoxious laugh.

“Shut up, Fred.” You rolled your eyes while George sneared at his brother.

“Aw I’m just playing with you love birds.” The other Weasley twin wrapped his arm around your shoulder then George’s. “Did you tell him?” You shook your head while your boyfriends eyes furrowed.

“Tell me what?” George pushed off his brothers arm to look at you both. Fred was smiling along with you.

“I need help with Astronomy and no one is as good as our girl Y/n here.”

“My girl.” George argued by grabbing onto your hands pulling them towards his chest, getting you away from his brother.

“Yeah,” Fred agreed by dropping his hands in his pockets. “So she’s helping me studying tonight because she knows mum will have my head if I fail that class.”

“Why can’t I help you?” Fred and you both laughed at his question.

“Because babe the two of you together will end up with the two of you creating some kind of bomb and not actually work.” You kissed his cheek and walked over to Fred who grabbed your wrist and started to pull you towards the library. “I’ll see you later, love. I love you.”

Lazily, George waved at you. “I love you too.” The older Weasley twin watched as Fred let go of your wrist and pulled you in his chest and squeezed your shoulder mighty tight. They’re just friends. The boy had to say over and over again trying to kill the demons within.

After the first study session, George has notice how closer you and Fred have gotten and his insecurities grew. He couldn’t help but focus on the small touches of the arm or the hidden laughs. The Weasley knew he was crazy to think that maybe the two most important people in his life could betray him but if Hogwarts has taught George anything. It is that anything is possible.

George was getting frustrated as the time passed. The Weasley was waiting on you and his brother but neither of you have shown. The boy clenched his knuckles before sitting up from his chair to head towards the boys wing; but right as his posture straightened he heard your infamous giggle. In a quick fashion, George turned towards the entrance of Gryffindor’s common room to see you and his brother stumbling in filling the room with laughter. “Where were you?” His voice was stone cold making you straighten your posture while Fred continued to laugh.

“I’m sorry, love, but Fred and I-”

“Excalty.” George snapped filling his frustrations spill from his mouth. “You and Fred. Fred and Y/n. What about George and Y/n hmm. Ever think of actually spending time with your boyfriend.” You furrowed your eyebrows not realizing that he was feeling this way.

“George-”

“Bloke,” Fred cut you offf by walked in front of you to pat his brother on the shoulder. “You seriously need to get a grip.” Wrong move, because George pushed Fred resulting in Fred pushing him back and before anything could get worse. You ran over and gripped George’s biceps and in return he cupped your cheeks but then he saw the bruise on the base on your neck. All of the color disappeared from his face and it scared you.

“Love.”

“Where did that bruise come from?” Stepping back you clasped the wound and turned fo Fred. ”That’s what I thought.”

Your eyes widen at his words. “George no it’s not like that.”

“George, I’m your brother. I would never do anything to Y/n.” The Weasley didn’t listen to any of you as he walked past the both of you straight into Fred and his shared room. When you reached for the knob it wouldn’t open.

“Please, George. I love you with everything in me. You’re my my whole world.” Fred tried a spell to open the door but it wouldn’t budge. Letting out a sigh, you leaned against the door with dispair just wanting your man to know the truth. Fred walked over towards the adjacent wall and hit his hand against it before looking down at you.

“This is all my fault. I’ve should’ve known he was feeling like this.” You instantly shook your head.

“It’s both of ours.” The both of you had frowns and tears ready to linger. “Go to Angela. I’ve got this.” Fred let out a sigh and reached down for your hand to which you grabbed and the Weasley boy pulled you into his arms. “Don’t worry, Freddie. I think I can fix this.” Fred relaxed some into your arms, before pulling away to walk down the hall and out the west wing to go towards his new girlfriends dorm room.

Turning towards the wooden door, you pressed your knuckles against it before knocking. “George, please open the door.” Silence still lingered from the other side of the door. “I can show you what happened. I know a spell. You know Fred and I wouldn’t hurt you like that.” You took a deep breath before saying. “Love, I’d rather kill myself.” For a split of a second you thought you heard something shuffling around. Then you heard the noise once more and the sound of George’s voice. He was disarming his protection spell.

You stepped back and couldn’t help but let out a whimper when George opened the door because he still had wet tears on his rosy cheeks. In instinct, you reached up to wipe them, but he rose his arms to stop you. “Just show me.” His harsh words hurt, but you picked up your wand and pressed the tip towards your temporal lobe and whisper a spell. George watched as a elctirc blue mist sprung from your brain and hovered on the tip of your wand. As you brought the wand closer towards his forehead you looked into his eyes for reassurance that he was okay with it and George gave you a slight nod in agreement. Nodding your head in return, you pressed the tip of your wand against his forehead and watched as his eyes flashed a light blue.

—

You sat down in the wooden chair that resigned in the library as you watched Fred stand above you. “I think you’ve probably one of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever seen.” You smiled up at him as he twirled the poem book into his hands. “And I was wondering if you’d like to be my girl?” Furrowing you’re eyebrows you kept the smile that lingered even though Fred had broken the sentence up so awkwardly. The Weasley noticed your face and let out a sigh. “I don’t know why I get so weird.” Fred swung the book down towards his side as he continued. “I’m so confident but when it comes to my feelings...”

“You’re rubbish.” You added in resulting in the boy to narrow his eyes.

“Thanks for the notice.” You couldn’t help but laugh making Fred push you slightly. You shoved him off before continuing. “Now if you want to go out with Angela so bad you’re going to have to listen to me or ask for George’s advice.” Fred widen his eyes in terror.

“Oh blimey, I’d rather ask Neville.” You suppressed your laughter by holding a straight face but nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, I love him but if I didn’t make the first move, he’d still be lurking from a distance.” Letting a smirk make its way into your face you remembered your first date. “But he does have some moves. Like the flower trick.” Fred nodded sheepishly thinking of at the time he saw George pull that Lilly from your ear. “He invented that all on his own.”

The twin nodded his head. “And when I use it, the ladies love it.” Again you rolled your eyes and closed your book that resigned on the wooden table.

“Just do as I say and give that book of poems to Angela, she likes that muggle arthur.” Fred nodded his head turning around then brought the book up to his face and read the cover again. As he was distracted by the book, he didn’t notice that you stood up from your seat and turned your direction slamming the spine of the book against your neck.

From the pressure of it, your breath was taken from your lungs and you wrapped your hands around your neck while Fred dramatically dropped the book and gripped your biceps in comfort. However, you didn’t want to be touched seeing as you still couldn’t breathe, and pulled away from his grip and took in a staggered breath. “Y/n?” You heart thumped loudly against your chest as Fred took you into his arms again. “Bloody hell, I’m so sorry.”

Hearing the disparity, you coughed a few times then shook your head. “We don’t tell George about this.” You gently rubbed over your wound as Fred kneaded you’re back. “He’ll kill you.”

-

George let out a gasp as the memory faded. His heart raced in his chest like yours had earlier and his neck tingled in pain. However, his throat clenched and tears formed as his mind had those horrible thoughts again. How could he be so stupid. “Love.” Relief washed over your features and you rushed into his arms, letting the boy cry into you shoulder while you cried into his chest. “I’m so sorry Y/n.” You held onto him pushing at him some, guiding your bodies onto his red sheets. Once George had sat down you sat beside him and planted your legs into his lap and cupped his face to brush off his tears. “Love, I’m so sorry.” You let him repeat his apologies a few more times before you kissed his forehead and then his lips to silent his cries.

“Don’t feel sorry, Georgie. You’re allowed to get insecure,” you kissed him again. “But it’s important that you don’t hold it in again.” Looking into each other eyes you continued. “Do you understand?” The Weasley didn’t respond so you pressed the issue. “George, do you understand?” Swiping away the rest of his tears, George nodded his head then placed a hand onto your thigh and one behind your back. Taking your time you smoothed out his long apricot locks, getting the loose strays away from his hazel eyes. Your touched soothed the boy calming his nerves.

“I love you.” You smiled at his words and leaned in to steal one more kiss.

“I love you more.” Your foreheads leaned on one another as you both forgot about the world. Pulling at the roots, you pressed your lips onto his hairline and stood up to change into one of his sweatshirts. “Now let’s get some rest because tomorrow we’re going to have a Georgie and Y/n/n day.” The Weasley smiled at your words and stood up to help fix the sweatshirt that kept wanting to fall off your shoulder.

“I’d like that.” You smiled up at him and stood on your tippy toes and when you looked up, the red mark on your neck ached. George’s eyes filled with sorrow and he kissed the wound making your breath hitch in pleasure. “You were right about one thing?” Raising your eyebrows in response, the Weasley twin continued. “I’m going to kill Fred.”

[pillage-and-lute]

Hey I have a holiday prompt for you! What if it’s the pairing’s first holiday together and they stress about figuring out what to get each other? Any pairing you feel like! PS Reading your stuff never fails to put a smile on face!💜💜💜

Hi Blondey!

cute shit ahead. Modern AU

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“Yen,” I swear,” Geralt panted into the phone. “It’s an emergency. Please, I need your help.”

“No.”

“Yen please I’m actually begging.”

“You should have thought to beg before Christmas Eve.”

“I’m meeting him tonight, Yennefer, I’m on Wilson Street, with all the shops and I’m so lost, please.”

“No.”

“I’ll set you up with Jaskier’s hot friend. The one from the coffee shop. She’s single.”

“...I’m on my way.”

-- -- -- Across Town, Triss and Jaskier’s Apartment -- -- -- 

“I just thought I’d have more time to get him a gift,” Jaskier wailed, draped dramatically over Triss’ beat up armchair. “And then it was thanksgiving, then finals and it’s Christmas eve and I don’t have a gift.”

“Well,” Triss said, sipping her cocoa and barely looking up from her book. “It’s not noon yet, shops aren’t all closed. What kind of gift does your relationship need?”

“What?” Jaskier looked up from his flop of despair, confused. 

“I mean, if you’d been dating for a month it would be slippers or some scotch or something.”

“We’ve been dating eight months though!” Jaskier wailed. “I love him, Trissy, desperately. I see his face and everything goes all pink and mushy.”

“You should get that checked out.”

“No, I mean,” Jaskier sat up and looked at her. “I think he could be the one. He might be it for me.”

Triss looked up from her book. She’d known Jaskier since university, and his heart had always been so mobile, but there was something shining in his eyes. She shrugged mentally. Put it down to a Christmas miracle, but Jaskier was really in love.

“What does he like?”

Jaskier huffed. “He likes being grumpy.”

“And?”

“Me.” He paused for thought. “His horse, Roach, he loves riding. He loves his goddaughter, and mythology.”

“Lord of the Rings nerd?”

“Oh you have no idea, he’s basically Aragorn if Aragorn had albinism.”

“I know a place,” Triss said, getting up. “Put on your coat.”

“Will it be open?” Jaskier asked anxiously, pulling his boots on.

“They live above the shop,” Triss said, throwing his scarf at him. “I know the owners, I’ll just shoot them a text.”

-- -- -- Back on the other side of town -- -- --

“Okay,” Yennefer said. “And you’re sure the hot barista is single?”

“Triss,” Geralt said. “And yes, apparently she’s been crying about it to Jaskier for ages.”

“Right, let’s go looking,” Yennefer said, looking remarkably cheerful.

The rows of shops were mostly open for last minute shoppers and Geralt and Yennefer fought through them. 

Well, Geralt fought. Yennefer just glared and people moved out of her way. 

“Does he cook?” Yennefer asked, pointing at a cookware store.

“Ramen and box mac n cheese,” Geralt said.

“You said he likes clothes?” A very full store with what could only be called hipster clothing.

“He has lots of clothes I want something...special,” Geralt said. He was trying not to lose hope.

“You really like this one.”

“I do, you met him he’s just...bright,” Geralt said, mumbling a little into his scarf as the wind blew a flurry at him.

“Hey, look at the music shop on the corner,” Yenn said. “I’m down here all the time, I’ve never noticed it before.”

Neither had Geralt. “Is it new?” It didn’t look new. It looked nearly condemned.

“You said he loves music,” Yennefer said, stomping in the direction of the store.

“I dunno, that store looks...”

“He loves music,” she said. “And you love him.”

They entered the store.

-- -- -- Triss and Jaskier -- -- --

“How the hell did you find this place?”

“I told you,” Triss said, matter of factly. “I know the owners. They’ll be down any minute to open it up.”

“They’re opening it up just for us?” Jaskier asked guiltily. It was Christmas eve after all.

“They owe me,” Triss said. “I introduced them. Well...reintroduced.”

“Welcome to The Sword in the Stone, Gifts and Novelties,” grinned a young man with very blue eyes and slightly large ears, opening the door. Behind him a blonde young man grinned cheerfully too, he was wearing a santa hat.

“Hi,” Jaskier said, stepping gratefully inside. “It’s a pleasure, I’m Jaskier.”

“Merlin,” said the young man who’d opened the door. 

“Arthur,” the blonde waved.

“Seriously?”

The pair just shrugged. Well, Jaskier, called Buttercup/Dandelion/Julian/a lot of other things, wasn’t about to tell people what to call themselves.

“I hear you need a gift for that special someone,” the blonde -Arthur- said, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Yeah, he loves fantasy stuff and I just... I don’t know what to get him.”

“Gotcha,” Arthur began to lead him back into the shop. Merlin and Triss were chatting by the door. 

“Were you thinking bigger, got a lovely cardboard cutout of Viggo Mortensen?”

Jaskier pictured Aragorn watching them have sex from the corner of Geralt’s little studio apartment. “Maybe smaller but kind of...niche?”

“Lucky you, this place if full of niche,” Arthur said cheerfully. 

Jaskier looked at the wall full of swords and was that a battle axe? “Yeah...”

“Does he wear jewelry?” asked Arthur, jingling a box full of metal in Jaskier’s direction.

“Not really,” Jaskier said. Then something caught his eye. “Wait...” he pulled something out of the box and held it up to the light.

Somehow...it was perfect.

“How much.”

-- -- -- Yen and Geralt -- -- --

“This place looks closed,” Geralt whispered to Yennefer, looking around at the racks of instruments.

“Not closed dearie, just dusty,” came a cheerful voice from right behind Geralt. He and Yennefer jumped.

“Sorry honeys,” said a little old lady with coke bottle glasses. “Got my slippers on, makes me quiet. She shuffled one foot, clad in pink fluff, off the floor as exhibit A. “Gift from my great grandson, aren’t they darling? Now,” she looked at Geralt with laser intensity. “You’d be needing a gift.”

“Um, yes ma’am,” Geralt said. How had she known?

“Ooohoo you need a gift,” said the tiny old woman, “Cause you’s a boy in love.” She nearly cackled. “Follow me honeys!”

Geralt and Yennefer looked at each other, shrugged, and followed. What choice did they have?

“Got a harp,” the shopkeeper called cheerfully. It was indeed a full, standing, concert harp. It had a figurehead on it but the face looked absolutely agonized.

“Maybe not,” Geralt said.

“Hmmm no,” said the lady, shuffling her fluffy slippers. “Bagpipes?”

“He lives in an apartment.”

“That’ll be a no, then,” said the woman, peering at a rack of instruments in the corner. “Aha!” she shrieked, startling Geralt and Yennefer both. 

“This!”

It was perfect.

“I can’t afford it,” Geralt said, feeling hopeless.

“Oh yes you can,” said the little old lady gleefully, if she could Geralt got the sense she would be jumping and clicking her heels. “Nobody wants ‘em these days, this one’s seventy-five percent off!”

Geralt left with a weird shaped package.

-- -- -- Geralt’s studio apartment, evening -- -- --

“Hey,” Jaskier, said, stomping his boots on the mat.

“Hi,” Geralt replied, stealing a kiss. “What’d you tell Triss?”

“Told her I was sending a gift, what’s you tell Yennefer?”

“She’s heading over there now,” Geralt said. “With that movie they both like.”

“Ocean’s 8?”

“That’s the one, and a plate of homemade Christmas cookies.”

Jaskier smiled at Geralt and stole another kiss. “We’re never going to have a moment of peace, now we set them up,” he said. Geralt grinned at him. “Never, but I think we did the right thing.”

They settled in on Geralt’s little loveseat. Jaskier set a wrapped present on the side table. Beside it, on the floor, was a very poorly wrapped mess. Lots of scotch tape was visible. It was quite large.

Jaskier felt panicky.

“Should we,” Geralt said awkwardly. “Do you want to exchange presents now?”

“Sure.” Oh god, Geralt’s gift was so small, and what if he hated it?

“You first?” Geralt said, handing over the odd package.

Jaskier had always been a rip-it-open present person, but he took his time, although there was no salvaging the taped up paper.

“A lute?” he turned to Geralt in delight, face lighting up.

“A lute,” Geralt said. “Is-is that a good thing?”

“Oh my god, Geralt, yes! Oh I love it! I can’t wait to learn it!” Jaskier dropped kisses all over Geralt’s face, careful of his new baby.

He handed Geralt the little package. “It’s not as great but...”

Geralt was a folding kind of person and folded up the wrapping paper carefully, then he opened the box and took out the amulet with the silver wolf’s head.

“Oh,” Geralt said.

Oh. Was that a good oh or a bad oh? Jaskier tried to breathe slowly.

“Jaskier I...” 

Oh no. He hated it.

“It’s perfect.”

What?

“When I was little I thought I’d be a knight,” Geralt said, pale eyes shining. “And I drew wolf’s heads on everything, my crest, I said.”

Geralt was holding up the amulet as if transfixed. 

“Vesemir can show you, he kept the drawings,” Geralt said. Then he slipped the medallion over his head.

“My knight,” Jaskier said. “My wolf.”

Geralt gave a playful growl. Jaskier’s heart thumped a little harder. Geralt must have picked up on something in his eyes because he cocked his head.

“Oh?” he rumbled, low in his chest. “You want a wolf, do you?” He growled again.

Jaskier leapt up, shrieking with laughter and ran to hide in the bathroom. Geralt caught up before he could close the door.

“I’ll huff and I’ll puff,” he said, dragging Jaskier closer and giving him a bear hug. He growled in Jaskier’s ear.

“And I’ll blow your...how does it go?”

“I’m not sure, wolfie,” Jaskier said, pulling Geralt closer by the amulet. “But I think it ends with you eating me all up.”

It was a very merry Christmas indeed.

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Ope! Idiots! With a random appearance from BBC’s Merlin (In 2020? I guess.) and a little old lady. + the magic of christmas.

[where-dreamers-go]

Merlin x Fem!Reader (Soulmate AU) (Text reupload)

(A/N: Yes, I know I already have this up here, but it’s a DeviantArt link and it’s bothering me because it’s an external link. So...can’t take away the link aspect because it won’t let me save it. SOOO...here’s an insert reader from 2017 and my first attempt at a soulmate au.

Warnings: Minor angst?, fluff.

Word Count: 3,773 words)

“I’m telling you, Gaius, I felt something. It has to be magic if I woke up like that,” Merlin stood in front of his room as his older companion prepared breakfast.

“Merlin,” Gaius sighed and turned to the young man, “It could simply be nothing, but.....if you feel so strongly about it we should keep ours eyes open.”

Merlin simply nodded with a minute smile, not informing Gaius that, despite all they’ve been through, he was strangely looking forward to discovering the source of his new curiosity.

The young sorcerer went back into his room to dress for the day and giving the world a hopeful smile as his blue eyes peered down at his golden mark over his heart.

“Someday,” Merlin whispered to himself before pulling on a colored shirt.

* * *

Hide it.

You had to hide it.

The gold, the shape, the details.

A mark that helped bring souls together must be hidden.

Everyone else did since as long as their ancestors could remember. A unique mark appearing on everyone some time after birth, an image that would be perfectly matched to their soul mate. Whether the mark actually resembled something or was a pattern of shapes or swirls. It was said to be a powerful experience to meet one’s other half especially upon realizing who each other truly were.

Regardless of one’s mark, the pair were usually still bound by the laws of whichever kingdom they lived in. A ridiculous notion that you didn’t bother yourself with much. You only pitied those who were unlucky enough to deal with strict kingdoms where it was difficult between soul mates with different statures in life or overall trickier situations.

You were one of those lucky enough to live in Camelot, but even more fortunate to have been granted the opportunity to work in the castle as a servant. It was a drastic change from tending to the farms your family and neighbors grew for many decades.

A newly adjusted life as a castle servant gave you many opportunities during the day to daydream about your possible first encounter with your special someone as you went about your duties.

But how in the world were you suppose to find your soul mate when yours was inconveniently located over your heart?

It wasn’t as if your soul mate was going to display theirs. Well, you certainly hoped not.

You preferred not to tell anyone outside of your family about your golden dragon mark on your chest lest they scrutinize you for having a magical creature as your mark. Some marks weren’t even anything specific as an animal let alone a silhouette of a flying dragon. Your family liked to relish in their hopes of it meaning that your soul mate was a Pendragon, however deep down you knew that wasn’t true. Not just because King Arthur and Queen Guinevere were widely known as soul mates by now, but how the meanings of the marks went much deeper than names or outside appearances. They were symbols of who they were and you were honestly worried for your other half because of living where the majority of kingdoms outlawed magic and if your mark implied as such, you hoped they could take care of themselves enough not to be put to death before you met. If only you knew where to find them because even a peaceful kingdom such as Camelot forbid magic of any sort.

Working in the castle was still a learning experience that involved memorizing directions and scheduled times for cleaning rooms or simply changing sheets on a bed before washing them in a large barrel of water.

Not unlike your current state as you hauled a hefty load of used bedsheets in a basket from more than one bedchamber. This week had brought a number of visitors who sought to greet the new queen of Camelot; although they were a bit late by a few months.

Many of the castle’s servants, like yourself, were scampering around like ants on a daily quest. You had met a few already during your short time there, but remembering their names was more of a challenge than learning where to clean the laundry.

You continued walking with the basket wrapped in your arms as you centered your direction on getting to the lower levels of the castle. Taking a turn, you gingerly made your way down the stairs, being careful to the placement of your feet on each step as your eyes focused on the stone beneath you. The last thing you wanted was to bust a kneecap or make yourself look like a fool if you couldn’t even handle walking down about a dozen steps. More than halfway down the stairs, a patch of skin on your chest prickled and heated into a burn causing you to loose focus on anything else, including the placement of your footing.

“Ah!” You felt the ever fearful sensation of falling ripple through you.

Your body twisted to the left as gravity pulled down on your legs, the basket of dirty sheets leaping from your grasp. Your positioning was quickly leading the fall to surely be on your side in a painful trip instead of toppling headfirst.

(E/C) eyes were trained onto the steps as you closed the distance with hands hardly ready for the impact that was deemed so evident.

It never came.

Well, not from the stairs at least.

A pair of arms were braced under yours before you even registered anyone was near you. Their blue shirt filled your vision as you now felt how your savior was supporting you from even sitting on a single step. Being as your legs were the only part of you touching the cold stone.

“Are you alright?” A strained male voice asked, you figured it was from the position you found yourselves in, but the voice was soothing nonetheless.

“I’m fine,” you answered, not even positive if you were lying or not.

You didn’t fall, which was a plus. Yet your mark was burning into a searing pain with your blood rushing through your veins as rapid as a fleeing rabbit. Too much so for simply almost falling. Your mark had never done that before and you knew that it wasn’t a normal occurrence.

“Thank you,” you said, finally looking up to meet a pair of gleaming ocean blue eyes. A fluttering in your stomach added to the overwhelming feelings that coursed through your body that severely increased in this young man’s presence. One of whom you have never met.

“I’m Merlin,” he smiled as he pulled you to your feet.

The name registered in your mind in a snap, you had heard about him from the other castle servants about how he was the King’s loyal manservant with a name that seemed to stick in your mind.

His hands slid down to your hands before slipping away hesitantly and their comforting warmth they left on you slowly faded.

“I’m (Y/N),” you said, glancing up at him, your hand subconsciously going up to press onto the fabric of your dress that hid your mark underneath. As much as you tried, you couldn’t ease the stinging as it kept your attention.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Merlin asked bringing his hand up to copy your movements. His blue eyes suddenly bouncing between the two of you.

You didn’t reply, you couldn’t, and every part of you was screaming know if he felt it too. The pulling, the aching itch of your bright mark, and the undeniable need to be closer despite only just meeting him.

Was he your match?

Azure eyes bore into your orbs eagerly waiting yours short reply and full of hidden knowledge. His brown jacket moving shakily upon his now heaving chest.

“It burns,” you whispered, hand pausing its movements.

“Your mark?” His voice came out low, tickling your insides into a shudder.

Again you were silent, but you nodded. Oblivious to the by-passers having to walk around the pair of you at the foot of the stairs.

“A golden dragon,” Merlin whispered so quietly that your ears barely caught his three words.

But those words had your eyes widening to saucers and lips parting for what little breath you had.

Merlin took ahold of your free arm, pulling you away from the stairway before almost tripping over the dirty sheets. Using his brown boots to repeatedly kick the scattered fabric and basket aside to be out of the way of others.

Now beside a wall, the two of you stood in front of one another with the fabric mess at your feet.

Brushing aside his red neckerchief, he adjusted his shirt enough to pull the fabric down to his left to reveal a very golden dragon. A shining silhouette of a flying dragon’s profile was imprinted above his heart, an exact copy of your own soul mate mark.

Neither your eyes nor your mind could fully believe it was real. Yet your heart and soul was singing with rejoice at the discovery.

You raised a trembling finger to Merlin’s mark and tentatively touched it. A jolt went up your arm at the skin contact and he let out an uneven breath. Being mesmerized by the sight of it all would be an understatement, what with your shaking knees. Not only did you find a matching mark--your soul mate was seemingly happy and healthy. You would be more than glad to spend a few hours tracing your fingers along the delicate shapes on his warm skin.

An equally heated hand went up to cover your own with the thumb rubbing gentle strokes on your knuckles.

“May I see yours?” Merlin asked, breaking you out of your trance and focusing on his blushing cheeks.

Only now did you realize how close the two of you were standing from each other. Shoes mer centimeters from touching and Merlin’s breath billowing your hair.

Your eyes flickered over to where people were still milling around. Of all places, you and your soul mate, Merlin, had to meet at one of the most used staircases in the entire castle. That being said, you weren’t too keen on anyone seeing you physically disclose the location of your mark. Even if the neckline of your simple dress made the task rather simple.

“It’s okay,” Merlin softly shifted you to have your back to the stairs and effectively blocking your actions from any prying eyes.

Your fingers worked on their own accord, pulling the (F/C) fabric across your skin the short distance to reveal your still stinging mark.

“We are soul mates,” he whispered, “I knew something was different in Camelot.”

Tilting your head at him, you watched as Merlin’s mouth morph into a triumphant smile. You half expected him to touch your mark as you did with his, but he wrapped you in his surprisingly strong arms instead. A most welcome gesture being as you’ve never felt more relieved and happy in your entire life as you hugged your arms firmly around his waist.

There was a lightness in your chest that could have sent you floating to the ceiling as you nuzzled your cheek into your soul mate’s chest. Safety and joy emitted into you like the warmth from a fire. One of Merlin’s hands combing themselves into your hair while his other held you securely to him by the waist.

“I’m so glad I moved to Camelot,” you mumbled into his shirt as you squeezed your arms tighter around him.

You were sure the grin on your face would become permanent with Merlin resting his chin on the top of your head despite the tears threatening to roll down your cheeks.

“MEEERRRRLIIINNN!”

A spark of fear shot through you at the sound of the booming, annoyed voice. Your other half on the other hand didn’t seem fazed by it in the slightest. If anything his grip on you only grew tighter.

“Merlin! There you are,” King Arthur came from around the corner spotting his manservant. “What are you doing?” He pulled a face as his confusion sank in at the sight of his brunette friend embracing a girl.

“I....,” Merlin gazed down at you, “I found her.”

The look in his eyes as you met his again was overflowing with emotion. Ones that made your heartstrings pull and flex if only as a sign to tell you that he already cared so deeply about you.

Arthur’s eyes snapped wide and he pointed between you and Merlin.

Both you and Merlin looked back to the other young man.

You held in a giggle at the King’s lengthy reaction as Merlin nodded in glee with a new shine to his blue eyes.

“Oh.” Arthur peered around in thought before spying the floor. “Pick up your mess and the both of you can have the rest of today off. I’m sure someone else can take care of the laundry,” he looked straight at Merlin. “But I expect you to be on time tomorrow.”

“Really?” You gasped, fingers digging into the back of Merlin’s jacket. “Thank you, sire.”

“You’re welcome,” King Arthur let a smile slip. “If anything, you need luck having Merlin as your soul mate.”

“Ha. Ha,” Merlin looked as if he was suppressing the need to roll his eyes. “Thank you, Arthur.”

The King nodded at the both of you as he went to walk away, but turned to point at the scattered mess.

“Now, Merlin.”

“Right!” Your soul mate released you and spun out of your grasp.

A surprise giggle escaped your lips as you watched Merlin crouch down and rush to gather the almost forgotten mess. Before you knew it he had everything back in the basket and was standing with it ready to go.

“Shall we?”

It wasn’t difficult for Merlin to keep pace with you as the two of you completed your earlier journey to drop off the laundry. Leaving hand in hand after a hurried explanation to a rather confused woman who was already scrubbing away at some clothes.

You sprinted to keep up with Merlin, following his lead through the halls of the castle. Passing some knights as you went who called out to Merlin in a friendly manner to only have Merlin shout over his shoulder in passing.

“I found my soul mate!” Merlin was practically beaming with his wide grin that you equally matched with a short wave to the men.

Cheers and whistles echoed down the halls from the red-caped knights that added fuel to Merlin’s already quick pace.

Sooner than you thought in your adrenaline-rushed state, Merlin had finally stopped long enough to swing open a wooden door.

“Gaius,” Merlin called out, scanning the room as he lead you inside.

“Yes, Merlin. What is it?” An older man, much older in age than the knights, looked up from a much tattered book and adjusted his glasses. He eyed Merlin with suspicion, making you wonder what trouble the young man beside you had gotten into in the past.

“Gaius,” Merlin took a few breaths, “This is (Y/N). She’s my soul mate. (Y/N), this is Gaius the Court Physician.”

If only you would have noticed the physician’s jaw drop, but Merlin’s voice saying your name as if it was a proclamation of love was an easy distraction. Your hand that held his tightened all the more.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, (Y/N),” Gaius stood from his seat to shake your hand.

“A-and you as well, Gaius,” you briefly shook his aged hand.

“Ah....How did you both meet? Might I ask?” Gaius’ mind was clearly running through a long-winded list of questions and a mixture of emotions at the moment.

It wasn’t everyday that someone you know finds their soul mate.

You and Merlin on the other hand were clearly feeding off of one another’s energies, practically bouncing in place with excitement that only grew.

“When I was heading back to grab Arthur’s armor.....that I forgot, and once I went around the corner to go up the stairs my mark started to burn. But before I could do anything I saw (Y/N) about to fall down the stairs. I mean I didn’t know who she was at the time, but my feet were running after her before I realized what was happening.” Merlin’s fingers easily wound their way between yours. “Then we showed each other our marks just before Arthur showed up and figured out what happened.”

“Not to forget I dropped the laundry basket and made a mess out--.”

“That wasn’t a problem,” Merlin interrupted you and gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

“Let me be very honest with you both,” Gaius started and making you tense, “Soul mates, especially upon first meeting one another can hardly stay away from each other. They are drawn together.”

“Like Arthur and Gwen,” Merlin added in, unfazed by the in progress lecture.

“Yes and you remember how difficult it was for them once they found out. Being together makes soul mates complete and one. So I advise you both to spend your time wisely...and I hope Arthur understands your situation.”

“He gave us both the day off,” Merlin boasted as if he’d never had one, which quite frankly might be the case.

“Today or tomorrow?”

“Just today. You know Arthur can’t function without me,” Merlin glanced down at you with a smirk.

You bumped him lightly with your clasped hands.

“It’s nearly noon, Merlin.”

“I’m sure Arthur has told Gwen and he can survive a few hours without me. Well, hopefully,” Merlin mumbled the last bit, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.

Gaius only sighed, looking about his home, and grabbed an empty hand basket.

“I’m....going to the market....for....I’ll be back later,” Gaius excused himself and walked past the pair of you before leaving.

“Is he alright?” You asked, glancing at the now closed door.

“....He might be in shock,” Merlin suggested with a shrug. “He’ll be fine though. I promise.” He reassured you, leading past the table and towards a door on the other side of the room with a couple of small steps leading up to it.

“Alright, but....maybe we should have listened more about what he had to say,” you said, “Just in case.”

“We’ll be fine. I won’t let anything bad happen to you for as long as I live,” he opened the door and gestured you inside. “But we won’t have as much time as we would like to speak to one another. So we can talk in here.”

“Is this your room?” You asked, taking a seat on the edge of his bed.

“Yeah,” he glanced around the room a bit.

You could sense his overall giddiness, however there was an amount of anxiety now that the two of you were alone.

“To be honest....I was afraid something would have happened to you before we met,” Merlin shut the door behind him, “because of our mark.”

“Afraid? I was worried you’d be locked up for magic or something. It’s a dragon, Merlin!” You gestured to your own mark.

“Er....About that,” he started fidgeting his feet.

“What?” You furrowed your eyebrows at him.

“I have magic.”

Your eyes widened and you were sure your eyebrows met your hairline.

“And I’m the last Dragonlord,” he added, “Which would probably explain our mark.”

“....Dragonlord?.....B-but I....I don’t have magic....a-and you....you have magic,” you tried desperately to have your mind wrap around this information being that it wasn’t theoretical anymore. “But you’re....”

“Arthur’s manservant.” Merlin sat down beside you, his hand finding its way to yours and intertwining with your fingers.

“Yeah,” you breathed out. “How in the world have you not even been caught?”

“It’s a long story.”

“We some have time,” you scooted closer to him with a sweet smile and rested your joined hands on your lap, his hand nicely nestled between yours. “Mister I-can-hide-my-magic-powers.”

“We do,” Merlin leaned closer and lowered his voice, “And I’m pretty sure Arthur will come looking for me before dinner.”

A short snicker shook you before resting your head against his shoulder and peered up into his deep blue eyes.

“I really hope we have more time than that,” you said, watching as he shifted his attention to his free hand that was closed.

“Well as long as nothing decides to attack Camelot today, we should be as good as you make me feel.”

Your eyebrows rose shortly as you breathed out a soft laugh.

“Did you just use a line on me?”

“Yes.....It was bad wasn’t it?”

“No, it was cute,” you smiled, feeling your cheeks get a tad rosy.

“So are you,” Merlin answered back and placed a small rose in your hair.

“Where did--Oh.”

Merlin moved a few stray hairs away from your face before resting his forehead on top of yours. The pair of you closed your eyes, absorbed in the calm moment that resulted from such a fast-paced turn of events.

“Thank you,” you whispered, still keeping your eyes shut and not entirely wanting to break the silence.

“For the flower?” Merlin asked, his fingers playing with the ends of your hair.

“No, for catching me.”

A soft warmth pecked your nose causing you to open your eyes in time to see Merlin kiss the tip of your nose again.

“I’ll never let you fall.”

You couldn’t help biting your lip because the back of your head was hurting from smiling continuously. Something in you told you that he would be the most positive person in your entire life.

“Merlin?”

“Hmm?”

“Did your mark stop burning too?”

“Yeah. I forgot when though.”

“Good,” you snuggled into his side as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

You looked forward to your future together even if you didn’t quit know it would involve more magic and adventure than you had ever experienced. Merlin would show you more of his magic and entrust you with knowledge of his destiny. No matter what was to come, you would be more than glad to help him in any way you could, even if that meant making sure he remembered to rest and eat.

~~~

Part Two 💖

[a-written-dream]

Chapters: 1/1

Words: 1,788

Fandom: Merlin (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)

Characters: Merlin (Merlin), Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Alternate Universe - Future, Gen or Pre-Slash, Rebellion, Arthur Knows About Merlin’s Magic (Merlin), Cybernetics, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Captivity, Identity Reveal, Evil Uther Pendragon (Merlin), Self-Doubt, Self-Hatred, pretty canon-typical though, POV Merlin (Merlin), The Merlin Melee Challenge 2021, Fights, Rebel Leader Arthur

Summary: Because they had been captured and suddenly Arthur was no longer just Arthur, he was Arthur Pendragon, son of everything they fought against.

Or: In a world years into the future, Merlin and Arthur fight against the tyranny of Uther Pendragon with an entire rebellion by their side. But Arthur hasn’t been entirely honest and even locked up in a cell Merlin can’t help the burning feelings of betrayal and anger. - For @merlin-fic-server’s Melee Challenge. Prompts: ‘I wish I’d told you’, punk, coin & Russian Violet

The metal is cold against Merlin’s back and against the skin of his wrists, even though he’s been pressed against it for the better part of an hour. He wonders briefly if it’s on purpose, if they keep the cell so cold to inflict more distress and discomfort. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was.

A florescent light flickers above their heads, and the only sound in the small space is their breaths bouncing off the walls. There are dents in the door from where Arthur tried to break it down, but even with his strength the door didn’t budge, and with the power-dampening cuffs around Merlin’s wrists, Merlin’s magic is all but useless. Arthur kept trying for a formidable amount of time, but when his hand gave off a sickening crunch of metal, he screamed in frustration and punched the wall for good measure before sinking down onto the floor.

Metal scraps still litter the floor around Arthur’s legs where he’s sitting in the corner now, a long time later, the fight all but drained out of him, head in his hands. The silence is heavy and thick and awkward, tense with Merlin’s anger and confusion, with Arthur’s guilt and anxiety.

“I wish I’d told you-“

Arthur’s voice is quiet and yet it seems to echo and boom within the metal box they’re locked into. It startles Merlin out of the apathetic calm he’d been lulled into by the silence. They’re waiting for their inevitable executions, and yet the sound of Arthur’s voice makes a white hot feeling of betrayal course through him.

“What,” he interrupts, “that you were leading a rebellion against your father? Believe me, Arthur, I wish you had too,” he snaps.

Because they had been captured and suddenly Arthur was no longer just Arthur, he was Arthur Pendragon, son of everything they fought against.

Arthur winces in his corner, running his hands through his hair. “No, I-“

Merlin doesn’t let him finish, too angry to keep the words bubbling to the surface down any longer. “How could you keep this from me? From all of us?” Merlin has been by Arthur’s side for years, fighting with him, protecting him, supporting him, and yet Arthur’s kept something as monumental as this a secret. “How could you not tell me?” Why did you not trust me?

“Why?” Arthur snaps, finally looking up to meet Merlin’s gaze. His blue eyes flash with anger, and Merlin is sure his own dark purple ones are just as angry. In Merlin’s fury, they unhelpfully provide him with the weaknesses in Arthur’s protective plating, with information on just where to send a spark of electricity and magic to shut down Arthur’s entire power system and deal the most damage.

Merlin blinks the detailed blueprints away. He has them memorised, but even betrayed and angry and hurt, he would never do anything to harm Arthur.

“Does it matter?” Arthur continues, voice hard and cold and wounded. “Does it matter that he raised me? That I grew up trying to be loved by a tyrant? That it took me years to finally understand the extent of his atrocities and his crimes? It sure doesn’t make me blind to them, now.” There are tears in his eyes and guilt in his voice. “Sure doesn’t make me blind to the horrific things I’ve done in his name, done to people like-“ you, he doesn’t finish. Like Morgana, like Mordred. To people with the ability to infuse their tech with magic. “I hate him, Merlin, and I hate that I still love him, but nothing, nothing, could ever make me see past the things he’s done, the things he is still doing to his own people, to my people, to our people.” He grits his teeth and clenches his eyes shut, brow furrowed in a painful frown. When he opens his eyes and looks at Merlin again, he looks so very tired.

“I tried to kill him on sight, when I first understood, really understood. I screamed my throat raw as I condemned him from the cell he put me in, and then I decided that I would do everything in my power to make sure his rule comes to an end. I can’t continue to watch people suffer under his hands, no matter how much my wretched heart still aches for his love and approval. I can’t let him continue to slaughter innocent people simply because they exist in a way that doesn’t appease him or because they disagree with him, even if I can never atone for what I’ve done. I will live with the guilt for all my life but I couldn’t, can’t, continue to live without trying to right the things he’s wronged.”

Merlin can’t do anything but stare at him, for a long stretching moment, watching as Arthur holds his gaze and swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. This, this is why they follow Arthur, why the whole rebellion would be willing to lay down their lives for him, because Arthur is a man who hurts with injustices he’s grown up never knowing but has intimate knowledge of, because he sees wrong and does anything he can to make it right, because he’s willing to go against everything he’s been taught to believe and everyone he’s been taught to love to save people he’s never met. Because he’s willing to kill his own father if it means the rest of the world gets to go on living.

“You should have still told me,” Merlin says quietly, his chest aching at the pain in Arthur’s eyes.

Arthur averts his gaze, clenching his hands into fists in front of him. The sound of metal grinding against metal fills their cell.

“I didn’t want you to see me any differently,” he admits quietly.

Merlin’s heart throbs with hurt. Does he not realise Merlin could never? Does he not know the world could turn and end and he would never see Arthur like anything other than the best, the most important person he knows?

“Arthur,” he says softly. He doesn’t continue until Arthur lifts his gaze to look at him. “When I look at you, I see a man who is honourable, compassionate, and kind. I see a man who would do anything to change the world for the better – even go against the father who raised him. I see my best friend,” Merlin watches Arthur grit his teeth and blink the wetness from his eyes, “and I couldn’t see you any differently even if I tried.”

Arthur gives him a hesitant, forced half-smile, hands relaxing against his bent knees.

“I’m hurt you didn’t trust me enough to tell me,” Merlin admits, and Arthur glances away, shame pinching his brows together. “But I’m not angry at you for being someone’s son.”

When Arthur looks back at him, Merlin smiles. “We cannot help who we are born as, only who we choose to become, and every day I have known you, Arthur, you have chosen a path that is good and just and right, that goes against everything you’ve been born into and raised to believe, to be someone who is kind and fair and understanding. And that makes you the greatest man I’ve ever known.”

Arthur’s eyes are brimming, but he’ll never let the tears fall. He never does. There’s a smile on his lips though, and this time it’s soft and small and real.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he says quietly.

Merlin smiles at him again, and he hopes it’s reassuring and forgiving. “The rebellion would do well to know.”

Arthur shakes his head. “They wouldn’t follow me if they did,” he says, as if he truly believes they wouldn’t, as if he doesn’t understand all the reasons each of them have to stand by his side.

“They would,” Merlin tells him, certain and sure. “Sure, there might be backlash from some, but most of them have followed you for long enough to know that it doesn’t matter. They trust you with their lives, Arthur, with the future. Not because of where you come from, but because of who you are. You have proven time and time again that you are willing to lay down your life for the cause just the same as the others, that you will sacrifice everything you have to give for a better world if you must, that you will not hesitate to go through hell to get us there. They don’t doubt your loyalty to them or to the world we’re trying to create, and it won’t change with this truth. They follow you because you are a thoughtful and caring leader, no matter the circumstances of your birth; the only thing that binds you to Uther is your blood and your name. They know that, just as well as I do,” he says. He’s grinning now, the edges of anger only a drop left simmering in his stomach. “You are the rightful heir to the throne, but more importantly, you are their chosen leader, and they will follow you because they choose to do so. Trust them like they trust you.” Merlin holds Arthur’s gaze with steady eyes, and he wonders if the fire he feels in his chest is as clear to Arthur as it is to Merlin. “It matters where you come from only because the world deserves to know that even the son of Uther Pendragon will not tolerate his tyranny or bow beneath him.”

Arthur swallows again. “I don’t know if I can do it.” He looks at Merlin, conflicted and uncertain and scared. But Merlin can see that he’s made up his mind, probably long before Merlin told him to. Perhaps he just isn’t ready to face it alone.

“I’ll be there every step of the way.”

Arthur’s smile is tentative and grateful.

“Thank you, Merlin.”

There’s a beat of silence where all they do is smile at each other, and then Arthur closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, flexing his broken fingers. When he opens his eyes again, the fight and the purpose that had first pulled Merlin in shines with the brightness of a hundred suns and Merlin grins so widely his cheeks hurt.

“So, how do we get out of here?”

Metal scraping against metal catches their attention as something slides underneath the door. The brass object on the floor is flat, thin, and round and they both look down at the coin, hundreds of years old and completely useless in a world where physical currency hasn’t existed for well over a century. They only know one person who still carries those around.

They turn to grin at each other.

“Gwaine.”

[rainbowvamp]

Willow

Modern Reincarnation AU. Merlin and Lancelot go through a photo album. ~1700 words. Lancelot/Merlin. No warnings apply. (Mention of car wreck that killed Lancelot in a past life.)

A late birthday gift for Mod @little-ligi, because I couldn't have made this fest work without her. You're the best Ligi 💗

--

There’s no need to print photographs anymore. It’s easy enough to look at a screen and and flip through thousands, hundreds of thousands of images. But there has always been something special about choosing individual moments, perfect snapshots, and cataloging them into a book whose pages he can flip through. Merlin has been alive for over 1500 years. Books are one of the most familiar things he knows. One of the only things that hasn’t changed much in 1500 years.

People changed, clothes changed, transport changed, but not books. Those had remained nearly the same. You open the front cover and you look at what’s inside, just like always.

After 1500 years of adaptations, it was nice for this one thing to remain the same.

So when Lancelot hands him the photo album, Merlin is about to break his own face in half with how much he smiles at it. It’s a good thing, no a great thing, that Lancelot has done. The photo album is a deep forest green, the cover embossed with “The Book of Us.” In silver letters that Merlin traces with his fingers.

“What’s the occasion?” He asked, almost unable to take his eyes off of the book.

“Today is the day we met in this life, 10 years ago. I thought it might be nice.” Lancelot’s voice is so sincere, that Merlin has to look at him, has to look at the face of the man that he has loved without end or conditions for 1500 years. Tears prick his eyes because of all the love he see’s in Lancelot’s.

“I love you.” Merlin’s voice is soft when he finally finds it, and Lancelot crushes him to his broad chest, giving him a stability Merlin didn’t even know he needed until he had it.

“And I you,” Lancelot kissed Merlin’s cheek and Merlin’s fingers itched to open the photo album, but he didn’t want to leave the circle of Lancelot’s arms. He’s content to just listen to soft sound of Lancelot’s breaths, feel the pounding of his heart against his chest.

It’s Lancelot who finally breaks the silence. “Would you like to see the photos, my love?” His voice is soft and nonjudgemental. It’s obvious to Merlin that either a yes or a no would be acceptable.

“Yeah,” Merlin finally says, composing himself to pull away and walk with Lancelot to the couch.

They sit and Lancelot waits patiently for Merlin to feel ready to open the book.

The first few pages cover the span of over a year, with so few pictures taken before Lancelot knew him, before he remembered. Several of them are pulled from Instagram, captions included. There’s one of an empty seat and a drained coffee cup, and the caption just reads “I think I’ve met the man of my dreams.” It’s from their first coffee date, Lancelot’s post-date instagram update. Merlin laughed aloud, almost having forgotten it. The next is a candid shot of Merlin. They’d taken a weekend holiday a few months into dating and gone for a hike. The sun was setting behind Merlin, blurring out his features, but the silhouette was so obviously him.

The next was one of Lancelot cooking breakfast, looking over his shoulder to smile curiously at the camera.

Then the first selfie they’d ever taken together, complete with Lancelot pressing a kiss to Merlin’s cheek.

The photographs become more numerous, after that. Some of them and all their friends. There’s the photoset from Morgana’s birthday party (She’d rented a photo booth “because why they hell shouldn’t I spend Uther’s money on bullshit?”) There’s the Christmas photos for the dinner they always throw at Merlin’s because Lancelot doesn’t have any living family to go home to. Arthur and Morgana pop by when Uther becomes insufferable. Gwen and Elyan bring their father by to say hi. Leon stops by with gifts on his way to Mithian’s parent’s house. All these silly little moments caught on camera and made eternal, printed and carefully organized.

There’s the set they took at their third anniversary, a gift from Gwen and Arthur (who had recently gotten their heads out of unsavory places and started dating). There’s the picture of he and Gwaine standing side be side, smiling like old friends despite having just met twenty minutes ago. Merlin has a bruise forming on his cheek, but he’d insisted Lancelot take picture, to commemorate. “It’s not everyday I get in a bar fight, my love. Humor me.” And Lancelot always did.

There’s the terrible sledding disaster of 2015, where Merlin had crashed straight into a tree, and had been having too much fun to stop it with his magic. This is a still from a video, shortly before the actual disaster occurred. By the time the disaster was eminent Lancelot was no longer filming.

There’s the pictures he and Lancelot used to sneak of each other, just to have. Lancelot watching tellie. Merlin having a nap on the couch. Lancelot unclogging the sink. Merlin folding laundry. There was no rhyme or reason, then, for why they took the photos. It was a fun phase, each feeling challenged to take the most mundane pictures, always followed by a faked whining or griping.

There’s the picture of them from two years ago, in tailored suits, surrounded by friends, making their vows, followed by a series of all their friends dancing. A professional photographer had taken these photos, but Merlin always preferred the less polished pictures he and Lancelot took themselves that day.

Like the one Merlin had taken of Lancelot after he’d shoved cake in his face. Or Gwen’s candid picture of them gazing at each other like the biggest idiots in love.

Merlin doesn’t know when he started to cry, but he feels a tear roll down his face only when Lancelot pushes it away.

“I hope these are happy.” Lancelot puts his arm around him and Merlin nuzzles his shoulder. It’s enough, right now, to feel his warmth and smell his soap and just be near him. It’s grounding in a way only Lancelot ever was. The years with Lancelot, and there always seemed to be so many fewer of those than years without him, always made him feel the most alive. The most loved. The memories of Lancelot were good, but they didn’t sustain him, not like this would.

“Come here.” Merlins said, wiping his face and standing suddenly. He takes Lancelot’s hand and leads him out to the car.

“Where are we going?” He asked as they buckled the seat belts, but Merlin just shook his head.

“I want to show you something.”

—

The self storage place they pull up to is one of the last things Lancelot expects.

“Come on.” Merlin gets out and Lancelot dutifully follows, just like always. He lets Merlin take his hand again and watches as he pulls out a key ring that Lancelot’s never seen before and flips through them.

‘I put everything away, every time I meet one of you.” Merlin explains. “I used to have to keep the houses, to keep the things, but these are more secure.” He finally finds the key he needs as they stop outside a storage unit. “This one is from when we lived in the 1960s. Found you in Wales, then, of all places.” He smiled wanly. “We had 10 years together before you died in 1968. Car wreck.”

Lancelot only ever remembers bits of pieces of his past lives, normally only the good bits. “You weren’t with me, I presume?”

Merlin laughed as he wrenched the storage room door open. “You wouldn’t let me.”

“Is that why you never let me ride in a car without you now?”

“Part of it. I also just don’t like to be away from you.” Merlin flicked a light on and Lancelot was surprised by the sheer volume of things that existed in the room. “This was all of your things. I usually give myself about a year to wallow before I pack it away. If it’s here I never have to forget it, but I can still come and see it, if I need to.” He drags Lancelot to the back. On a wire rack there are plastic containers that looks like they’ve been taped shut. Merlin mutters a quick spell to remove the taping and then digs through the box. There are books, folders, papers, but then Merlin pulls out a photo album.

“I want you to see this. Because… I don’t know. It feels important.” Merlin is a very very old man, but he still doesn’t always have all the answers. Sometimes he just has to trust his gut and hope for the best.

He takes the album gently. It doesn’t smell stale the way old books usually do, most likely due to Merlin’s magic, but he flips it open anyway, without question. The first picture is of him and Merlin, a different him, but the same Merlin, Merlin’s arm is slung over him and they’re posing much more like a happy couple than a pair of friends. “Who took this?” He asked, tracing the lines of Merlin’s face. He looks so much older here than the Merlin he knows.

“Elyan. He liked photography. Took well to most of the Arts that life, actually.” Merlin smile and flipped a few pages to show Lancelot a picture of Elyan with a painting. “Abstraction was sort of the thing, then. He does a good job of it.”

“I don’t know anything about art, but it’s very compelling.” Even in the dreamy old photo, which was saying quite a lot.

“I brought it, a few years after he died. It’s in one of the other units.”

“How many of these do you have?” Lancelot asked, turning the page and almost laughing aloud at the image of Gwaine holding Arthur in a headlock. The two of them never changed, apparently.

“Just a couple. There are quite a lot of units in each building.”

“You own this building?”

“I’ve been alive for 1500 years, my love.” Merlin kisses his cheek and Lancelot closes the album. “I have a lot of stuff.”

“We’re taking this with us.”

“That was always the intent.” Merlin closes the box and spells the tape back into place. “That was a gift from you, too, actually, birthday present.”

“I’m predictable.”

Merlin laughed and wrapped an arm around Lancelot, tilting his head up to kiss his forehead. “You’re sentimental, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He pulled Merlin’s head back down to kiss hims squarely on the lips, making Merlin finally pause for the first time since they’d gotten in the car. “Neither would I.”

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

5 times Merlin noticed Arthur’s odd reactions to things,

 +1 time he could start on the road to helping.

TW: Graphic descriptions of child abuse, claustrophobia, panic attacks/flashbacks/disassociating.

1)

Merlin notices things. He always has done, ever since he was a child. Maybe it was the magic, maybe it was the ingrained fear of being snuck up on (as a Bastard child, as a citizen of Essetir, and as someone with magic) or maybe it was just some odd, innate skill. It doesn’t really matter: Merlin is observant, he has keen eyes, which is why he notices Arthur’s sudden change in disposition.

It was a normal afternoon, Arthur and Merlin had just gotten back from the first hunt of the spring and were filling The King in on how it had gone. Well... Arthur was, Merlin was just sort of stood there. 

The servant was annoyed that Arthur had dragged him along, both to the hunt and to the meeting, but The Prince had been so excited (not that he showed it too much) at the prospect of telling his father how well everything went, he conceded easily. It was rare that Arthur got his father’s approval; Merlin had only been serving him for a few months, so maybe it was stupid of him to want to see Arthur happy, but oh well. He may be a prat, but he meant well and he loved his people, he deserved a little happiness occasionally.

Uther was in fact proud, and Merlin had better luck than Arthur at holding his grin in, though that changed quickly. 

Arthur was looking out of the window and making casual comments on when he planned on going out next, and Uther, stepping quietly without even realising it, manages to move to the space just behind him without Arthur noticing. He claps a firm, but proud hand on Arthur’s shoulder, and if Merlin hadn’t known that Arthur would deny it later, he would accuse him of jumping a foot in the air. He turns around quickly, eyes wide and barely focusing as Uther gives his son another congratulations, as well as a terse “Make sure you keep it up.”

The sudden tightness in Arthur’s shoulders and his clear discomfort at having Uther so close do not go unnoticed by Merlin and he frowns, making a split second decision that could very well get him put in the stocks:

“Sorry to interrupt, My Lords, but The Prince mentioned wanting to join the evening patrol. Sir Leon and his partner will be leaving shortly.”

Uther whips his head around disapprovingly, and his anger at Merlin for interrupting whatever it was he was about to say translates to a tightened grip on Arthur’s shoulder. The Prince flinches slightly, but carefully steps away from The King, speaking before he can order the servant punished:

“Right you are, Merlin. If you’re happy for me to take my leave, father?”

Uther looks back to his son, confused, but approving of Arthur’s sudden eagerness to join extra patrols:

“Very well. I expect you to keep up the hard work, Arthur, I shall be disappointed if you start slacking again.”

Arthur nods and bows, but doesn’t say anything, his jittery demeanour getting worse with The King’s vaguely threatening tone. He walks stiffly from the room, and Merlin follows with a confused frown, making sure to keep his distance and step loudly on the stone floor; apparently Arthur was feeling jumpy today.

Arthur, still in his armour, leads them down to the courtyard where Sir Leon and another knight were indeed preparing to leave. The Prince doesn’t say anything to Merlin, simply nods in his direction before joining the others, and Merlin thinks he must have done the right thing if Arthur wasn’t shouting at him for giving him extra work that he hadn’t intended to do.

He stores this new, odd information in his mind for future reference, reminding himself to stay away from The Prince’s back and warn him of anyone approaching.

2)

The next thing Merlin notices doesn’t come from a specific incident, more from a series of odd happenings over time.

When Arthur had been released from the dungeons after Merlin’s miraculous survival from being poisoned, he was a mess. At the time, Merlin had smugly suggested that it was because Arthur was worried about him; his hair was similar to a bird’s nest, as if The Prince had been running his hands through it and pulling it on a near constant basis, and the shirt he was wearing frankly stunk of sweat.

Arthur had rolled his eyes at that and slunk off to sulk in his chambers—once Gaius had assured him Merlin would be fine—and the young servant had taken that as confirmation.

The first time Merlin actually witnesses Arthur’s quick, shallow breath and wide panicked eyes, they’re rushing through the narrow servant corridors. The Prince’s grip on his sword looks uncomfortably tight and the sweat on his brow seems a little odd: they weren’t running that fast. Merlin figures that Arthur is just stressed out from trying to catch the sneaky arsehole assassin who was trying to do in as many councilmen as he could before getting away. 

Which is an understandable thing to be stressed about.

Merlin only takes actual note of it when, after the assassin had gotten away, The King had demanded Arthur retrace his footsteps back through the castle to see if the criminal had dropped anything or hidden anywhere. Arthur practically freezes up at that, his wide eyes and pale skin making Merlin frown in confusion, only for his frown to deepen when Arthur stutters through his suggestion of having another knight lead the internal search whilst Arthur heads out into the city.

The relief on Arthur’s face when Uther agrees is, though brief and immediately hidden, immense. 

Merlin thinks back on the state Arthur had been in after he’d quested for Merlin’s cure. Perhaps... perhaps Arthur had been such a mess because he had spent a night in the dungeons, and not because he had been worried about Merlin.

As much as Arthur might like to think Merlin’s an idiot, the servant makes quick connections, pieces things together easily, like a children’s puzzle. At least when it comes to Arthur.

The servant is also reminded of the way Arthur insists that Merlin leave a few candles lit in the evening. At first, Merlin thought it was because Arthur was sneaking out of bed to get more paperwork done (Uther may rarely see it, but Arthur works ridiculously hard), but he checked the paperwork one morning and nothing had been added or altered. Then he though that it was maybe so Arthur could see any attackers coming in the night, because he was paranoid like that, but the candles always burnt out after a couple hours anyway, so it wasn’t like they were lasting through the night.

Merlin figures he was probably just reading into things too much (plus, he knows that accusing Arthur of being afraid of the dark or tight spaces would get him nothing but a slap up the head and, depending on The Prince’s mood, a visit to the stocks), though Arthur refusing to stay in Merlin’s tiny bedroom for any longer than necessary, and insisting on multiple torches being lit whenever they ventured into caves, forces Merlin to reconsider.

It was after one such adventure in one such cave that Merlin took advantage of the castle’s funds being available to him, and heads down to the market to buy some larger candles (and if he cast a spell to make them last longer... well... no one needed to know). Arthur gives him an odd look when he walks into The Prince’s chambers that evening and begins setting up and lighting them without acknowledgement; Merlin answers his questioning hum without looking at him:

“I know you like to be able to see just in case attackers make it into your chambers: these ones should last all the way until the morning. I set up a standing order with a merchant in the lower town.”

Arthur frowns confusedly, knowing that no one had managed to sneak into his chambers in months; it was definitely odd that Merlin had suddenly decided that this was a good idea. Still, Merlin doesn’t look back at him as he casually moves around the room, lighting the new candles and hoping that Arthur wouldn’t notice him leaving the curtains open by about an inch. He notices, though he doesn’t mention it in his response:

“Hmm. It seems you’re finally putting that brain of yours to use, Merlin.”

Merlin finally turns to look at him, glaring half-heartedly as he sarcastically laughs. Arthur just grins at him, glancing at the strip of moonlight on the floor for only a moment before climbing into his bed, muttering for Merlin to go ahead and get an early night.

From then on, Merlin packs extra torches in his pack when they go adventuring, and if he has room, a candle, in case they end up in an inn. If Arthur notices any of that, or the fact that Merlin always opens the window whenever they’re in the tiny Physician’s chambers for more than five minutes and always keeps him company on the now-rare nights Uther is angry enough to lock Arthur in the dungeons... well... neither of them point it out.

3)

The next odd reaction doesn’t happen until years later.

Of course Merlin keeps noticing Arthur’s aversion to surprise touch (especially from knights and his father) and general dislike of the dark/closed spaces, but dealing with it and adjusting to make things easier just sort of becomes part of their routine, without either of them really realising.

Arthur has been King for a few weeks when it happens. It's warm, too warm for armour, so the roundtable knights are practicing their hand to hand instead of using swords and shields. Arthur usually sits out for these lessons, teaching and observing from the side-lines as opposed to taking part in spars. Merlin had always thought it was odd, but the one and only time he had brought it up, years ago, Arthur had forced him to join in on the lessons. He had a lot of bruises that day.

But today was not a usual day apparently; Arthur joined in. He seemed reluctant at first, like he was unsure if he actually wanted to, but his first weeks as King had been going well and he’d had a successful meeting with some of his Lords the previous day, so he’s in a good mood. He finally caves when Lancelot offers to spar with him; there was something about the gentle man that just makes everyone in his vicinity feel a little more at ease.

The sun was shining, but heavy rain the previous week means the grass was bright and soft; all in all, it was a lovely day, but Merlin’s focus was still on Arthur and the way he and Lance dance around each other. All the knights were holding their strength back a little, the purpose of sparring is rarely to go all out, but practicing form and technique and footwork is always a good idea.

Arthur falls into the rhythm of the spar, dodging and side-stepping and blocking with ease, neither he nor Lance were eager to speed things up in the heat. He was moving automatically, running on instincts and just a little bit of adrenaline, which is probably why he freezes up when confronted with something so terrifyingly familiar.

A glint of sunlight off something metallic caches his eye, and his gaze moves away from the fight for barely a split-second, but when he looks back all he can see is shortly cropped brown hair, a bright red tunic, and a fist swinging for his face.

Lancelot yelps when Arthur doesn’t block like he had expected him to, and Merlin is sprinting over before The King’s head has even finished rocking to the side. The other knights go to crowd closer, worried for their leader, but Merlin waves them off harshly and they keep their distance, trusting him. Lancelot looks horrified, but dutifully steps back as Merlin puts one hand on Arthur’s shoulder and uses the other to tilt his chin from side to side. 

Merlin’s frown deepens when Arthur just lets himself be manhandled. Even in his worst injuries he was reluctant to let people check him over; Merlin quickly notices his wide eyes staring vacantly and the breathing that was far deeper than it really should be. He tries to get The King to look at him as he speaks lowly, so the others can’t hear him:

“Arthur? You with me?”

Arthur gulps, blinking rapidly and meeting his gaze, though Merlin can tell that he still isn’t really seeing:

“I... I’m sorry, I... I didn’t mean... I wasn’t...”

Merlin can only just hear Arthur’s whispers, and he’s grateful for the fact that the others definitely can’t hear them. He moves the hand on Arthur’s shoulder down to grip the other man’s hand and squeezes, and uses the other to shield his eyes from the sun as he mutters:

“Arthur, it’s Merlin, you’re out on the training field with members of the Roundtable, it’s late Spring, and you were crowned King three weeks ago. Arthur?”

It’s only then that Arthur’s eyes come into focus. 

Merlin has never been grateful to have the bones in his hands almost break, and he doubts he’ll ever be grateful for it again. Merlin’s squeezes back, digging his nails in just a little as a subtle “please don’t break my hand”. Arthur loosens his grip and Merlin raises his eyebrow slightly in question; the blonde groans slightly and lifts a shaking hand to rub his eyes:

“What happened?”

Merlin glances at the huddle of knights behind him and gives them a reassuring smile before he looks back to Arthur, speaking so everyone can hear:

“You took quite the well placed hit from Lance, got a mild concussion and lost yourself for a minute. You’ll probably be fine by this evening, but I want to get you in the shade just in case, ok?”

Arthur seems surprised at the explanation, but nods wordlessly, letting Merlin guide him up towards the castle without a fuss. That just worries Merlin more, and he speeds up slightly as he yells over his shoulder:

“Leon’s in charge!”

Leon just chuckles, knowing that Merlin wouldn’t be paying them the slightest bit of attention if Arthur was even close to being seriously injured, but Gwaine just tilts his head and frowns:

“I love the guy but since when does Merlin decide who’s in charge? If he had said Elyan was in charge would we have just... gone with it?”

Leon shoves him playfully and tells him to get back to work, giving Lancelot a comforting pat on the shoulder as they all look away from the servant-King duo.

Merlin doesn’t take Arthur to the physician’s chambers, but goes to The King’s bedchamber instead; Arthur wasn’t actually concussed, but his mind had been elsewhere for a moment, so much so that he hadn’t recognised Merlin and spoke to him as if he were someone else. He sits The King down on the edge of the bed and kneels in front of him, hands on his knees as he frowns:

“Arthur? Still with me, or gone again?”

Arthur takes in a sharp breath, making eye contact with Merlin again as he straightens his back and answers confidently, his voice wavering only slightly:

“Yeah, yes, I’m with you. Sorry, lost in thought. I don’t feel concussed, are you sure?”

Merlin nods and stands up, leaving Arthur on the bed as he moves to open the window and get him a goblet of water:

“Hmm, I lied, I don’t think you are either, you weren’t hit that hard to be honest, but you weren’t really... with it, thought it best to get you away from the others.-”

He turns around the see Arthur tense and angry-looking, though Merlin gets the distinct impression that it’s not aimed at him:

“-You probably just got dazed by the hit, that and you’re overtired, you’ve been staying up late the last few nights. Drink this, maybe have a nap, or at least stay out of the sunlight for a few hours, you’ll definitely be getting a headache at some point soon and I don’t want you to make it worse.”

He hands over the goblet of water, holding it slightly out of Arthur’s reach so the other man has to stand for it. He manages to stand on his own two feet with no issue, and the shaking in his hands is lesser than it was before, though not gone entirely, so Merlin makes a mental list of all the chores that he could finish here, in Arthur’s presence. The King drinks the water absent-mindedly, leaving the goblet on the side table as he mutters:

“Overtired... yeah, probably.”

He wanders towards his desk, collapsing in the seat and staring half-heartedly at the paperwork spread all over the place. Merlin relaxes slightly, deciding that maybe there was a reason Arthur never joined in on hand-to-hand.

4)

Merlin wasn’t fond of Arthur’s current visitor, Lord Algere, but he was pleased to note that Arthur didn’t seem all that fond of him either. He was an old supporter of Uther’s, which meant the occasional snide remark about how Uther would’ve handled certain situations differently, followed by deferential admissions of being “a close friend and advisor to the former King.”.

He was just friendly and kiss-ass enough that he couldn’t be kicked from court, that Arthur still had to be polite to him, but he rubbed pretty much everyone up the wrong way and Merlin couldn’t wait until he left to go back to his estate, thankfully situated on the furthest edge of the Kingdom. 

It's the day before he’s due to leave when he says it:

“You remind me of your father a great deal, you know, you’re very similar.”

Arthur freezes up at the so-called compliment, but recovers quickly, giving the Lord a tight smile before excusing himself so he wouldn’t be late for the city border patrol he was undertaking. Normally Merlin didn’t go with him on these patrols, he’d only be gone for a couple hours at most and he was joined by a partner; it gave Merlin time to finish up some chores, but the servant felt the need to be there today.

The King is silent the entire time, which is unusual considering he's riding alongside Sir Leon today, and those two always have something official to talk about. He doesn’t even spare Merlin an annoyed glance when the servant drops his bag and has to dismount to pick it up, only halts and waits for him to catch up again. Though he's sure The King had relaxed slightly at the beginning of the patrol, when Merlin mentioned that he fancied tagging along, and if Merlin weren’t so worried he’d be immensely proud at his apparent ability to put Arthur at ease.

Leon gives Merlin a worried grimace as they ride back into the citadel, but Merlin shakes his head and smiles, his meaning of “I’ll deal with it, I’m sure he’s fine” obvious in the action. The two of them have gotten quite good at silently communicating over the years, God forbid Arthur find out that they were trying to look after him.

They made the journey up to Arthur’s chambers in continued silence, though Merlin really starts to really worry when Arthur just wanders over to the window and stares down into the courtyard. He only does that when he’s feeling particularly pensive. Merlin lays out the work he knows Arthur had wanted to get done this afternoon and perches on the edge of the desk, facing Arthur’s back with his arms crossed:

“Arthur, you alright? You’ve been quiet.”

Arthur nods, but doesn’t turn away from the window, staying silent. Merlin purses his lips, but it doesn’t take him long to figure out what he thinks might be wrong. He moves across the room and sits himself down at the dining table, casually starting on the polishing he had left there earlier as he speaks, trying to keep his tone as neutral and absent-minded as possible:

“I’ve no clue what Algere was talking about earlier, he either knows nothing about you, or didn’t know your father nearly as much as he says he did.”

Arthur finally turns from the window, fixing a curious frown on Merlin, who forces himself to keep his gaze down:

“What makes you say that?”

Merlin still doesn’t look up, but knows that he’s on the right track. Arthur has been able to admit, especially recently with his changing opinions on magic, that his father was not a good man, though he still struggles to admit that he wasn’t a good father:

“Well, from what I’ve seen, you look way more like your mother than you do Uther, and you don’t act like him at all, you haven’t picked up on any of his mannerisms or anything.-”

The servant finally looks up at Arthur, his words true but his nonchalance false as he continues with a confused frown:

“-To be honest, I’ve always thought you act more like an odd mix of Leon and Morgana. You’ve definitely got Leon’s sense of chivalry and respect and his knightly traits, but your... how do I say... fiery attitude when it comes to your sense of right and wrong, that’s definitely Morgana. Uther was quick to anger, you’ve got fairly good control of your anger nowadays. Uther was set in his ways and refused to change no matter the consequences, you bend traditions all the time, improve things in ways that Uther would never have dreamed of doing.-”

The servant shrugs and looks back down to his polishing:

“-I just don’t see the similarities, and I certainly know you better than Algere. I’ve a feeling I knew Uther better than Algere as well.”

Arthur hums non-committedly, but sits down at his desk instead of turning back to the window. Merlin feels the tension leave his shoulders, but doesn’t relax fully when he notices Arthur staring at his folded hands instead of working. Apparently it had only partially worked:

“Arthur?”

He doesn’t look up, just shuffles slightly in his eat as he lowly answers:

“Do you think I might... turn out like him? In the end? People say he was kind and gentle when he was young. If... if I ever have children...”

The question goes unasked, but the fear in his voice is palpable, and Merlin has to stop himself from sprinting from the room to burn every painting of Uther he can find. Instead, he puts the armour down on the table softly and stands, making sure to step loudly and clear his throat as he leans against the edge of Arthur’s desk again:

“Arthur, you’re a wonderful King, a wonderful knight, a wonderful man, and I guarantee that one day you’ll be a wonderful father. Don’t stress, you’ve out done your father in every other aspect of your life, I’m sure you’ll continue to do so.”

Arthur looks up at Merlin with a slight frown on his face, though it’s more thoughtful than anything. Merlin holds his gaze with a soft smile for a few moments, content to wait for Arthur to give him some sort of cue; Arthur just rolls his eyes and shoves him from the table, picking up a quill and finally beginning to actually work:

“Try not to insult the former King too much in one sitting, Merlin. And that armour won’t polish itself.”

Merlin just laughs quietly and moves back to the table, understanding and accepting that that was probably the best he was going to get. He makes a mental note to mention Arthur’s similarities to Leon next time the three of them are together; Arthur will be relieved, though he won’t show it, and Leon will be flattered beyond words. 

He dares not do it with Morgana. Both of them would be secretly be pleased, though they’d kick up one hell of a fuss trying to deny it.

5)

Thankfully, the two of them are in Arthur’s chambers when it happens.

Merlin’s not entirely sure he could use the “concussion” excuse like he did last time, not with the length of time it lasted.

It’s late, the curtains are drawn—with the traditional inch wide gap allowing a strip of moonlight to fall across the floor and over Arthur’s bed—and Arthur’s special candles have been lit. He’d been made aware of the spell Merlin had cast on them a few months ago, and though he was annoyed that Merlin had put himself at such risk, he hadn’t asked him to remove the spell, which the servant took as a good sign (both that Arthur wasn’t too mad about the magic, and that it had been a good idea).

The King sits at his desk, doing his normal pile of evening paperwork and trying to fit in as much as he can before Merlin snatches it away and manhandles him into bed, Merlin who is generally pottering around the room tidying. Arthur thinks of it more as just... moving the mess around, but he let’s him be; Merlin’s quiet company is much appreciated, especially with all the difficulties Arthur is having with repealing the ban on magic.

The King lets out a deep sigh, sitting back in his chair and tiredly rubbing his eyes. Merlin notices, because of course he does, and wanders over, a concerned frown on his face as he sits in the chair opposite him:

“You alright? Hit a snag?”

Arthur hums but shakes his head, opening his eyes but staying slumped in his seat; Merlin makes plans to get him to bed at some point in the next half candle mark at least:

“Hmm. No, just tired. This whole thing is draining, I wish I could just force them to see sense.”

Merlin knew that the them Arthur speaks of is the council. Currently, The King has about half of them on side, not including Leon, Morgana, and Gaius, but they need a majority by a significant margin before they can move forward, and Arthur refuses to act in any way that isn’t democratic.

Merlin nods, smiling softly at his lap as Arthur closes his eyes again:

“This is what it means to be King, Arthur,-”

At first, Merlin doesn’t notice the way Arthur’s eyes fly open, nor the way he slowly sits up straight, nor the way his shoulders tighten and his skin grows pale and his eyes go vacant.

“-but I think you’re doing great, don’t be too hard on... Arthur? Are you alright?”

Merlin frowns when he finally looks up to see The King sitting ramrod straight and staring into the middle distance, his breathing ragged and his blue eyes glassy and unseeing. He stands slowly, moving around to Arthur’s side to crouch there and wave a hand in front of his face.

He doesn’t react.

Merlin shakes his shoulder slightly, hesitating only momentarily before touching him, but even then, Arthur doesn’t respond. The servant gulps, glancing over his shoulder at the door to make sure it was locked before touching a hand to Arthur’s forehead and muttering a spell; he normally uses this spell to wake up unconscious people, but it has no effect on The King other than sending a slight shiver through his body.

Merlin calls his name a few times, but it expectedly has no effect. He tries to test Arthur’s pain awareness by pinching the underside of his arm, and whilst he flinches away slightly, he doesn’t come to, still stares blankly at the opposite wall. Merlin thinks of calling for the guards and asking for Gaius, but somehow he doesn’t think the elderly physician will be able to help; there was no magic at play here, and he certainly hadn’t been poisoned. In all honestly he just looked a little zoned out, like the time Merlin had lied about the concussion, except it was clearly lasting longer this time.

Merlin frowns but tries his best to keep the panic at bay, it had only been a few minutes now, but other than breathing Arthur hadn’t moved an inch.

The servant takes a deep, relaxing breath, or at least what he hoped would be a relaxing breath. It’s not. He uses magic to slide Arthur’s chair away from the desk slightly, and moves into the space it leaves, shuffling all of the paperwork away and leaning on the edge. Once again, he puts one hand on Arthur’s shoulder, and takes his hand with the other, squeezing slightly.

He waits.

After another ten minutes or so, Arthur’s breathing gets slightly more frantic, and he begins squeezing Merlin’s hand back. Merlin moves closer, crouching in between Arthur’s legs and shaking his shoulder again, but he stops when Arthur begins muttering:

“Didn’t... I... I’m sorry. Not my.... didn’t... didn’t mean to... sorry... disappointment...”

Merlin’s frown deepens at the barely audible whispers, especially when he notices the tears gathering in Arthur’s eyes. He shakes his shoulder again and forces himself to speak, just about managing to keep the waiver from his voice:

“Arthur, there’s no one else here, it’s just you and me, it’s just us, just Arthur and Merlin. It’s the evening in late Autumn, it’s almost time for bed, you sparred with Percival this morning and had a long, annoying council meeting this afternoon. You’re sat at your desk in your chambers with me, no one else.”

Arthur’s eyes come into focus, slowly at first and then all at once. He blinks and stands suddenly, almost tipping his chair backwards in his haste as he reaches a hand to his sword-less hip. Merlin moves back quickly, grimacing as he bumps harshly into the desk. Arthur’s gaze whips around the room desperately, as if searching for a danger that he was certain was there, before his eyes finally land on Merlin. The servant holds his hands out placatingly, not relaxing even as Arthur takes a deep breath and seems to calm down.

The King slumps back in his seat, rubbing the tears from his eyes with shaking hands; Merlin crouches down again, but doesn’t dare touch him, not quite yet:

“Arthur?”

His head whips up, but he relaxes again when he sees Merlin sat in front of him:

“Yes, sorry, I... must of dozed off or something.”

Merlin frowns, but nods one, speaking slowly, his tone low and even:

“Hmm. Must’ve, you looked like you were having a nightmare or something so I woke you. Time for bed, I think.”

For once, Arthur actually agrees with him, not bothering to argue like normal as he stands on shaking legs and heads to where Merlin has neatly laid his sleeping clothes on the bed. Merlin’s concerned gaze follows him, but he doesn’t move too far from the desk, deciding that he and Gaius definitely need to have a chat about... whatever the hell that was.

Half a candle mark later, Arthur is quietly wishing his manservant a good night and dismissing him. He was obviously distracted, Merlin normally can’t be frowning for more than thirty seconds before The King is hounding him about what’s wrong, but thirty minutes pass with not a question from Arthur, and Merlin makes his way to the Physician’s Chambers hoping that Gaius is still awake.

Thankfully, the elderly physician is still pottering around, tidying away various bits and pieces and generally preparing the room for a new day tomorrow. He immediately notices Merlin’s peculiar mood and gestures for the younger man to sit opposite him at the table:

“What’s bothering you, my boy?”

Merlin sits slowly, biting his lip and trying to decide just how honest to be:

“What does it mean if someone... zones out, completely, for extended periods of time?”

Gaius raises an eyebrow:

“I’m going to need a little more than that, Merlin.”

Merlin huffs but nods, shuffling in his seat slightly but responding:

“I was with someone earlier today. We were just chatting whilst we worked and suddenly they just... weren’t there anymore. Stiff, eyes glazed over, ragged breathing. They responded slightly to pain but it didn’t snap them out of it and they just... sat there, utterly blankly, for about twenty minutes. Eventually they started muttering to themselves, but it didn’t make any sense, then they... woke up, I guess, and thought they had fallen asleep. They definitely weren’t asleep, but they weren’t... I don’t know, conscious?”

Gaius frowns but nods, clutching his hands tightly on the table as he explains, his voice grave:

“Hmm. Sounds like an extended disassociation episode. I gather that I’m not to be told who this was?-”

Merlin shakes his head slightly, and though he looks slightly annoyed, Gaius nods and continues:

“-This happens mostly to people who experience something extremely traumatic, though it also happens in victims of extended abuse, especially if the abuse was in childhood, the younger the victim, the worse the reaction. Occasionally it can happen randomly, though it’s mostly triggered by something in their surrounding environment.”

Merlin’s frown deepens, and Gaius would easily hazard a guess at saying he looks angry. He doesn’t point it out though, just waits for his ward to continue:

“What can trigger it? And what other symptoms will child abuse victims display?”

Gaius takes another deep breath, but slowly responds:

“Anything can be a trigger really, something they see or smell or hear, something someone else does or says.-”

(”This is what it means to be King, Arthur,-” pops into Merlin’s head.)

“-As for other symptoms, aversion to touch, occasionally fear of being alone, OR fear of being in another’s presence. Some experience trouble with regulating strong emotions, difficulty in regulating long term relationships, platonic or otherwise, trouble with self-esteem. It varies from person to person, there is no strict list of obvious signs. Might I ask... why?”

Merlin shakes his head and stands, moving towards his bedroom with clenched hands and tight shoulders. Just before he shuts the door behind him, he turns to look at Gaius over his shoulder, brow furrowed and voice low:

“What... what was Uther like? When Arthur was a child?”

Gaius closes his eyes briefly, letting out a weary sigh and trying his best to hold in his grief:

“Strict, extremely difficult to please. He never... he never hit Arthur, not in public anyway, though it wouldn’t surprise me if he was violent privately. As a child, The Prince was terrified of the dark, and the dungeons. I got the impression that Uther forced him down there on more than one occasion. Arthur is... the one your concerned about?”

Gaius knows the answer, but it doesn’t stop the tears from welling in his eyes when Merlin wordlessly nods before shutting the door behind him.

+1)

A few weeks have passed since Merlin had figured it all out.

He didn’t dare bring it up to Arthur, and shuts the conversation down any time Gaius mentions it. The conversation is for Arthur, and Arthur only, and Merlin wasn’t going to force it. 

Besides, they’ve been extremely busy with the transitions; The Kingdom was going from anti-magic to pro-magic, and Merlin was going from servant to a member of court. Arthur had tried to force nobility onto him as well as his position as Court Sorcerer, but Merlin had put his foot down at that, insisting that he wouldn’t become some stuck up wealthy arsehole, not even if his life was on the line.

Gwaine, Elyan, Percival, Gwen, and Morgana had grinned at that, Arthur and Lancelot rolled their eyes, Mordred continued to insist on calling him “My Lord” anyway, and Leon had looked marginally affronted as he mumbled something along the lines of “I’m a Lord you know, technically.”.

They aren’t lucky this time around, and it all comes to an explosive head in a quiet, though still habited corridor in the middle of the afternoon.

Afterwards, Merlin absent-mindedly considers the fact that they could’ve been in the courtyard or the throne room or somewhere equally busy, and thanks the Gods for just this little bit of luck; only two servants, one guard, and the... the noble and his son were in the corridor at the time.

Arthur and Merlin are making their way to the council room, preparing themselves for a busy meeting: it was the first since magic was officially legalised, and the first that Merlin (and Gwen, though that was another matter entirely) would officially be sitting in on. Though, in all honesty, pretty much the whole Kingdom knew that Merlin had been advising Arthur privately for years.

Merlin frowns and Arthur stiffens slightly as they spot the noble gripping his young son’s collar and aggressively whispering at him. The boy can’t be more than ten summers old, but the tears in his eyes display his utter terror clearly enough; no child should ever have to be that scared, especially not of their parents. Merlin resigns himself to just magicking the pig’s trousers down when no one was looking his way, but barely a second after he makes that decision the man raises his hand, and slaps the boy across the face.

Everyone in the corridor freezes as the boy cries out, and the noble doesn’t seem to notice the way the guard looks frantically between him and The King, waiting for instruction, or the way the servants and Merlin were staring, horrified. Arthur breaks out of his shocked stupor first, striding towards him with his fist already raised and his eyes blazing:

“How fucking DARE you?!”

His knuckles make violent contact with the man’s mouth, and the spray of blood from a busted lip and loosened teeth is what spurs Merlin into action. He runs forward, scooping the distraught boy up in his arms and quickly handing him over to one of the servants:

“Take him to Gaius, swear that you will not utter a word of this to anyone bar the Court Physician?”

His eyes flash golden as the servants’ both nod, and they rush off in the direction of the Physician’s chambers. Merlin, satisfied that they will be unable to break their promise, turns next to the guard, momentarily ignoring the way Arthur has shoved the bleeding noble against the stone wall:

“Fetch the Lady Morgana and Guinevere and tell them to go to Gaius and the boy, stay with them, swear that you will inform no one bar those three what has happened?”

The guard nods, understanding the magic implicitly as Merlin’s eyes flash gold again. He spares The King and his deserving victim one last glance before running towards Morgana’s chambers.

Merlin turns, finally, to Arthur, almost-but-not-quite recoiling at the tears on his cheeks as he lands another punch to the noble’s jaw. His face is black and blue at this point, and Merlin pulls Arthur back just as he raises his fist again; he thrashes in his grip, but quickly sags as his breathing deepens. The noble falls to the floor, unconscious in all likelihood, and Merlin clicks his fingers, banishing him to the dungeons with nothing but a shower of golden sparks.

Arthur breathes deeply, leaning all of his weight on Merlin as he clamps his un-bruised hand over his mouth, his wide eyes staring intensely at where the boy had been stood moments before. He doesn’t respond to Merlin’s calls, and with another flash of gold, they disappear, reappearing in Arthur’s bed chamber.

Merlin shoots Mordred a quick message over their mental link as he lowers Arthur to the floor, leaning him against the edge of the bed and moving around to be crouched in front of him. The King’s breathing has gotten dangerously deep and dangerously fast, the tears streaming down his face as his hands clench and unclench around nothing. Merlin quickly intertwines their fingers in an effort to stop Arthur hurting himself, but that just freaks the other man out even more as he desperately scrambles to get away from the contact.

Merlin lets go and moves back, eyes wide and desperate as he watches Arthur bring his knees up to his chest, burying his head in his arms and rocking slightly. His cries are muffled, but Merlin can still hear the heart wrenching sound; the Warlock takes a moment to breath before he stealthily moves around the room, lighting candles, locking the door, and shutting the curtains (bar an inch), before moving back to sit beside Arthur, a foot or so of space between them.

After a few minutes of no change, Merlin starts humming. He can’t remember any of the words, but it’s an old lullaby his mum used to sing when he couldn’t sleep, when he was scared of his own magic and his own friends and every shadow that moved in the dark. Arthur’s breathing slows, though he still hiccups occasionally, and Merlin rests his hand on the stone floor between them: an offer, not a demand.

Arthur doesn’t take it, instead shuffling over to lean his head on Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin freezes, not daring to put his arm around the other man as he continues to hum; he must’ve circled back and restarted the same song six, seven, eight times before Arthur nuzzles in further and sniffs before muttering:

“You’ve a good voice, Merlin.”

Merlin huffs a gentle laugh, leaning his head on top of Arthur’s softly as he quietly replies:

“Runs in the family, my mother used to sing to me, though I don’t really know any other tunes I’m afraid.”

Arthur nods, but doesn’t reply, turning into Merlin’s chest slightly as the Warlock hesitatingly wraps his arms around the other man; he stops being so hesitant when he notices Arthur’s eagerness. Merlin pulls him close, sighing but letting Arthur settle in before he says anything. In the back of his mind, he’s aware of the pain shooting up his spine at being sat on the stone floor for so long, but he decides he doesn’t really care, if this is what Arthur needs.

After a few more minutes, he rubs his cheek into Arthur’s soft hair and speaks, his voice gentle and loving:

“Feeling better?”

Arthur stiffens slightly, but quickly relaxes, nodding into Merlin’s chest and mumbling:

“The boy?”

Merlin smiles at Arthur’s worry:

“Safe. He’s with Gaius, Morgana, and Gwen, under protective guard.”

Arthur nods again, tightening his hold on Merlin’s tunic:

“And his... father?”

“Bloodied up and locked in the dungeons, far away from his son. Mordred let the guards know that he is not to leave under any circumstances, told the council that the meeting had been postponed until further notice, and then went to relieve the guard in the Physician’s chambers.”

The King relaxes, and so does Merlin, though only slightly, he knows that this is where that terrifying conversation has opportunity to rear it’s ugly head:

“Arthur, are we going to talk about this?-”

He rushes to carry on when Arthur’s breath hitches and his hands pull on Merlin’s tunic slightly:

“-You can say no, Arthur. I swear, I will never, ever ask, not if you don’t want me to.”

Arthur doesn’t relax, but he shakes his head, gulping before replying, his voice thick:

“No, it’s fine, I should probably... talk about it, right? Morgana is always on my arse about being less repressed or whatever.-”

Merlin nods, but doesn’t say anything, stroking his fingers through Arthur’s hair rhythmically. Arthur lets out a deep breath, humming contentedly at the gesture and leaning even more into it:

“-My father was... difficult to please. His default was anger, no matter what, and it was... rare, for him to be anything but furious. He never... not in public, and never left marks where anyone could see.-”

Merlin struggles against the urge to hit someone (preferably Uther, though unfortunately he was dead. He supposes Uther’s old supporters would do in a pinch), but he makes do with taking a deep breath:

“-When he was especially furious he would lock me in a storage closet, or the dungeons. He... he would order that all the lights be put out, and all the windows covered, so I couldn’t see. Merlin I couldn’t see anything. I still... I can’t stand the dark, but I’m guess you figured that out?-”

Merlin knows that he’s referring to the candles and the perpetually open curtains and nods, humming in agreement:

“-How pathetic is that? A grown man, a King, afraid of the dark.”

Merlin tightens his grip on Arthur and shakes his head:

“It’s not pathetic, Arthur. It’s an automatic response, a defence mechanism that your brain puts in place to try and protect you from being re-traumatised. To this day, I’m terrified of fire, even though I have no reason to be anymore, even though it can’t hurt me as a Dragon Lord.”

Arthur gulps, but relaxes slightly, though his voice is quiet, almost ashamed as he continues:

“I can’t look at Lancelot’s turned back, I struggle to spar with him as well. He... he doesn’t even look anything like my father, he just... he always wears red and has the same hair as my father when he was younger and they’re the same height. Sometimes I feel like I’m a child again, everything around me just disappears and I’m back in that dungeon, or my father is stood over me screaming. How am I meant to be a good King when I’m scared of my own shadow?”

Merlin sighs, staying silent for a few minutes as he attempts to put an answer together in his mind. Arthur sniffles again, and Merlin is suddenly made aware of the wet patch where Arthur’s head rests on his tunic:

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, as many times as you want: you are a wonderful King. You’ve delivered a Golden Age upon this Kingdom, your friends love you, your people adore you. You’ve never just been a good King, Arthur, you’ve been the best this Kingdom, and this world, has ever seen.”

Arthur loosens his grip again but huffs a quiet laugh against Merlin’s chest, which the Warlock definitely counts as a win:

“Kiss-ass.”

Merlin laughs this time, though he doesn’t stop carding his fingers through Arthur’s hair:

“Nah, when have you ever known me to kiss ass? I speak only the truth, My Lord.”

They both fall silent again, and Arthur pulls away from Merlin’s chest. Merlin drops his arms immediately, not wanting to make the other man uncomfortable, but Arthur just takes one of his hands and goes back to sitting by his side, his head resting on Merlin’s shoulder. The silence is long, but comfortable, and it’s dark outside by the time Arthur speaks again:

“Merlin?-”

The Warlock doesn’t make a sound, but squeezes Arthur’s hand in acknowledgement:

“-I thanked you for all the big stuff: saving my life, and saving the Kingdom, and all that. But I never thanked you for the small stuff. The candles and the endless support and the excuses.”

Merlin frowns slightly in confusion, not that Arthur can see:

“Excuses?”

“You didn’t think I didn’t notice, did you? You started years and years ago. You always seemed to notice when being with... with my father, or the knights, or anyone really, was getting too much, you always had some excuse ready. Sometimes you outright lied, even if it would get you in trouble, just to get me away from people. I don’t know how you knew... no one else ever realised. Saying I had paperwork when I didn’t, or a patrol when I wasn’t scheduled for one, or a concussion just to give me some privacy. Thank you.”

Merlin smiles slightly, squeezing Arthur’s hand again:

“You were too busy looking after everyone else, someone had to look after you. I’m grateful it was me, Arthur, I-”

He pauses and sits up slightly straighter, though it doesn’t jostle Arthur too much. He lifts his head anyway, staring at Merlin in concern with tired eyes:

“Merlin?”

Merlin looks to him suddenly, but smiles:

“Hmm, sorry, just Mordred. Updating me on the kid and asking if you’re alright.-”

Arthur’s cheeks flush slightly, but Merlin’s smile grows as he shakes his head:

“-Don’t worry, no one knows about... this, just that you went berserk when you saw a Noble beating his kid, and punched his teeth out.”

Arthur relaxes and nods, humming thoughtfully as he looks to the floor. He stands up, wobbling only slightly after being curled up in the same position on a cold stone floor for several hours, and Merlin follows him confusedly:

“Do... do you want to go check in on them? The kid’s been asking after you apparently, wants to thank you.-”

Arthur looks conflicted, almost as if he were worrying that he wouldn’t actually be welcomed, so Merlin puts a hand on his shoulder and smiles, waiting until Arthur looks at him before continuing:

“-We can leave it until morning, if you like, but you saved that boy, Arthur, there’s nothing to worry about.”

Arthur nods, but doesn’t move until Merlin wipes his face clean with his sleeve and smooths out his clothes. If he uses a little magic to make the two of them more presentable, then neither of them mention it as they walk purposefully to the door.

Merlin looks to Arthur stood next to him, his hand hovering over the door handle:

“Ready?”

Arthur smiles at him, taking his hand and squeezing it, but not dropping it as he opens the door and steps into the corridor:

“Ready.”

~

THE END!!!

As angsty as it was, I really enjoyed writing that😅. I couldn’t help myself though, I had to give it a happy ending :D

I hope y’all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!! I love y’all!!

My Ko-Fi, which is where I post sneak peeks of upcoming works, check it out and consider donating!!

[magics-protector]

Mountain Sound

Soulmate AU: Soulmates have one song that connects them - when one soulmate listens to it, they both can see each other.

The Song: Mountain Sound - Of Monsters and Men

(which I think fits Merlin absolutely perfectly)

Spotify, Apple Music, Youtube

A small kind of crack fic from my Everlast series - which will start up sometime this week because it’s Reading Week and I finally have time to write it!

With a soft sigh leaving her lips, Y/N fell into her chair, dropping the books she carried down onto the table. A long start to an already long day, if you asked her. 

First, she had to help Jack get his hand out of a cookie jar (because apparently her adopted little brother couldn’t just ‘magic’ his way out of it). Then, her Uncle asked her to “help” with work on Baby’s engine - and by “help” she meant that he made her stand there while she held all his tools and wasn’t allowed to touch the engine itself. 

Not that she could complain. It was nice having everyone home for once - not that it was going to last long. Hence the reason for all the books. A new day would bring new cases and as always, Y/N was responsible for research - being her father’s daughter had it’s disadvantages in that way. 

Speaking of her dad, he sat across from her, eyes trained on the laptop in front of him as he searched and typed, falling into the same pattern quite easily. Pulling her knees up to her chest, Y/N opened the first book on her pile and began to research - so it seemed Dragons were the big enemy of the day. 

As she read, Y/N started to notice writing she hadn’t seen in over a year. Language she hadn’t seen since she disappeared. It was the old language of the Druid People. Something she had learned to read over the years. 

As she read on, Y/N noticed the old phrasing of the common Soulmate connection: “Songs and stories of different melodies and tunes. That is what shall lead thy heart to its destiny”. 

“Huh, well that kind of sucks.” She said, meaning to think it but it just came out. 

Sam pulled his head out of his computer and looked up. “What sucks?” 

Y/N looked up from the book, motioning to the page. “The language in this book. It talks about the soulmate connection. You’d expect it to rhyme, but it doesn’t.” 

A laugh like breath came from Sam as he shook his head. “Not all old texts have to rhyme, you know?” 

Y/N scoffed with a smile. “I know that. I just think it would have been funnier and more romantic if it did.” 

Then Y/N’s smile faded. “Hey, Dad?”

He hummed in acknowledgement as he looked down at his laptop again. 

“What was your song? You know, your song with Mom?”

Y/N could see Sam tense at the question. Y/N had known for so long that her parents were in fact soulmates, but Sam never talked about her. The memory of Will was almost to painful for him to remember. Not the relationship itself, but what happened to her. 

He shifted in his seat, looking down as he nodded before he stood up, moving around the table to sit next to Y/N, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “It was Rebel Rebel. That was our song.” 

Y/N turned her head, her face shocked. “Your song with Mom was Rebel Rebel? Dad, I did not take you as a David Bowie fan.” 

Sam chuckled, moving closer to the edge of the chair and placed Y/N’s head on his shoulder. “He grew on me, only because of your mother. She loved to listen to his stuff. Rebel Rebel may have been our song but I can still remember her screaming the words to Space Oddity like there was no tomorrow.” He moved his head to look down at her, placing a small kiss on her head. “You remind me of her. Everyday I can see her in everything that you do and I know how proud she’d been if she could see you.” 

Y/N smiled sadly. “Have you ever tried to see her again? Maybe if you listened to the song again you’d see her..” 

“It doesn’t work like that, Bug.” Sam chuckled sadly. “Your mother has been gone for a while. I don’t think it’s possible to see her again until I get to her myself.” 

Y/N could sense that the conversation was getting to him, so she stopped. She would have much gathered leaned in and enjoyed the moment, which is what she did. 

“Woah, didn’t realize we were interrupting a moment.” 

Sam and Y/N looked over to the archway of the library where Dean walked in, followed by Cas and Jack. 

“Where the hell have you been, Dean?” Sam shook his head. “I called you like an hour ago to help with research.” 

Dean scoffed, taking Sam’s old seat. “Yeah, well, I had to pick these two up from the Gas Station.” He pointed at Cas and Jack with his thumb. “And what’s this about research? You two obviously aren’t doing any - OW!” 

Cas whacked Dean across the back of his head. “Don’t be rude, Dean.” 

Dean didn’t argue, he couldn’t argue with Cas, so he just grumbled. 

Y/N giggled as she watched her Uncles interact - it was honestly so surprising how long it took for the both of them - well mainly Dean - to come to terms with their connection. 

“Hey, Dee?” 

Dean looked at Y/N with a hum. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your song?” 

Dean sat up, leaning back in his chair while Cas took a seat next to him. Cas had a smile on his face while Dean gave off a rare cross between a smirk and a smile. “Well, that’s easy. It’s --”

“You Shook Me All Night Long.” Both Dean and Cas said at the same time, which made the both of them smile at each other. 

Y/N nodded her head, almost as if in agreement. “How did I know?” She giggled. 

Jack smiled too - he hadn’t found his song yet, but he was waiting, knowing he’d find it one day. He looked over at his ‘sister’ with a curious face. “Why do you ask, Y/N? You’ve never been interested in Soulmate songs before.” 

Y/N felt all eyes on her. She thought for a moment, before she answered. “Well.... I kind of want to find my song.....” 

Dean looked at his niece with that bothersome uncle look. “I thought you had no interest in finding them.” 

Y/n looked down at her hands, rubbing them together. “But I did. At least, I’m 99% sure I found him.” 

Everyone’s faces erupting with smiles and cheers - Sam gripped her tight in a side hug. “That’s amazing, Y/N!” 

“What’s the kid’s name?” 

“Where’s he from?” 

“What’s your song?” 

Y/N put her hands up to stop them.”Woah! Woah! I never said I found my song. I just said I think I found him.” 

Cue the confusion. “But,” Jack tilted his head. “if you haven’t found your song, then how do you know?” 

Y/N took a breath before she stood up, walking towards a pillar of the archway and leaned against it. “I just feel it.” She laughed with a smile. “When I was with him, it was like.. nothing else mattered....” She shook her head. “What we went through was a lot for two people to handle, but with Merls, it was like.... it was like we could take on the whole world and no matter what the outcome was, as long as I had him, I won.” She seemed so lost in the memory, so lost that when she came back she went pink with embarrassment and she held her arms. “If that makes any sense....” 

Sam, Dean and Cas looked at each other with knowing looks. “Well then,” Dean said. “Looks like we have a song to find. After all,” Y/N looked at her uncle in confusion. “We don’t want to leave him waiting.” 

*******************************************************************************

“Ugh, this is hopeless!” 

Hours and hours of music and nothing. They tried it all - Bon Jovi, Hozier, My Chemical Romance, Lana Del Rey and countless other bands and still nothing. 

The team sat there for hours, playing music from Dean’s collection, random bands they found on YouTube, but nothing was working. 

Y/N slumped in her chair, defeated. She ran her hands over her face before she stopped and sat up quickly. “Wait!” She looked at her dad. “Dad, you said you weren’t very fond of Bowie but Rebel Rebel was your song with Mom. How did you find it?” 

Sam sat for a moment, his hand over his mouth as he thought, before his eyes went wide. “There was something that connected it to me. I would see the record or hear it faintly on the radio and that’s basically how I found it.” He leaned forward to pull his laptop towards him. “Is there any song that just stands out to you, Y/N? One that you can think of without hesitating? Like you’d see the album and feel a pull?” 

Y/N thought for a moment when her eyes went wide. She raised her head slightly and mumbled under her breath. 

“What?” 

She looked up at her family. “Mountain Sound. It’s a song by Of Monsters and Men. I’ve never really thought about it til now, but there’s something about it.” 

Sam quickly typed it into his search engine and pulled it up, handing it and the headphones over to Y/N. 

With shaky hands, Y/N put the headphones on and started the song and it was like the world had stopped. Swirls of gold filled the void in the archway capturing her gaze and she smiled. Those golden swirls soon started to form the shape of a man sitting with a book on his lap. That man, Y/N knew him better than anyone did. Tears pooled in her eyes as her smile grew wider. “I knew it.” 

Sam, Dean, Cas and Jack all smiled. They did it. 

As the swirls finished forming the boy, Y/N moved to the floor, carrying the laptop down with her as she moved closer to his form. The boy seemed to enticed by his book until he looked up and over her way. He looked around hearing the music himself and then he looked at Y/N and a smile broke out on his face, tears in his eyes. 

“Y/N?” His voice was eery, but that was normal for this kind of thing. 

Forgetting she was in the presence of her family, Y/N laughed, tears streaming down her face. “Hey, Merlin.” 

The young Warlock smiled, lunging forward to touch her, and through the power of their song, he hugged her for the first time in over a year. “I never thought I’d see you again, My Love....” He lamented. 

Y/N held him close. “Takes a lot more than a glassy portal to keep me away from you, you Cabbage head.”

Merlin pulled back, but made sure to keep a hand on her shoulders. “Where are you? We looked everywhere for you. I thought Arthur was going to take off my head if you weren’t found.” 

Y/N looked up at her soulmate and smiled. “How badly did you irritate him this time?”

With a look of pride, Merlin answered. “I going to be honest, I nearly had the Knights turn on him.” 

“Pft, hahaha! Merlin! You can’t just lead a coup against Arthur! That’s my job!”

Merlin laughed, he laughed so hard that he leaned forward and turned, resting his head on Y/N’s legs. “Honestly, to be fair, it wasn't his fault. All those Lords had been quite vocal about their disapproval over your rescue mission. I thought Gwaine was gonna tear off someone’s ear.” 

Y/N giggled, playing with Merlin’s blackish brown locks which had grown out since the last time she saw him while her other hand ran over his cheek, where a small stubble had grown as well. “I wouldn’t put it past him to do that.” 

“No. But I think the others would have let him if Arthur hadn’t been in the room.” 

Y/N looked down into his eyes and smiled. “It’s just nice to know I’ll have a huge welcoming when I get back.” 

Meanwhile, as Y/N and Merlin continued to ramble and talk away as the song repeated and repeated over and over again, Sam and the rest of Team Free Will decided to leave Y/N alone with her soulmate and as they left through the back door, Sam watched as Y/N smiled the brightest smile he’s ever seen. Silently, he vowed that he’d make sure Y/N got back to wherever she had disappeared to. 

[rosemaidenvixen]

In the Fullness of Time

Chapter 4: Years Past

Ao3

Content warning: Classist language, Violation of bodily autonomy without knowledge or consent

Merlin swore as the carriage went over yet another bump.

“A thousand pardons Lord Merlin sir!” Galahad called from outside “Road’s a bit rough out this ways,”

Rough, that was a gentle way to put it. Was this an actual road or were they driving over a legion of troll remains? This was no way for a Master Wizard to travel, but where he was going his preferred forms of magical transportation would not be...well received “How much longer Galahad?”

Without warning the carriage jerked to a stop, Merlin letting out a whole string of curses as he was nearly thrown from his seat.

“We’ve arrived! Mind your boots, ground’s a touch muddy,”

“...Thank you for the warning,” Merlin grumbled, getting to his feet and opening the carriage door.

If anything Galahad had understated the conditions. The road, if one applied the term quite loosely, was nothing more than a coarse dirt track that went from the larger, more maintained road to their destination. Thoroughly churned by countless wagons and boots until it was a quagmire of mud and rubish, reaching ankle deep in places.

Merlin let out a sigh, resigned himself to the inevitable filth, and stepped down, grimacing as his boots sank into the muck. The small company of knights around him dismounted with a clatter of metal and leather. Galahad himself hopped off the front of the carriage and jogged up to face Merlin “What are your orders sir?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Merlin said while gracefully stepping around the knight “You and your men may stand down, I shall deal with this myself,”

Moving with surprising speed, Galahad ran forward and once again blocked his path “With all due respect, I cannot do that, the king’s orders are that all unregistered magic users be investigated by a company of trained knights, no exceptions,”

Merlin barely suppressed a grumble, it was rather impressive how Arthur managed to be both brilliant and a fool “Very well then, set up a perimeter around this…” he glanced warily at the buildings ahead of them “village...don’t want any surprises coming in or getting out,”

“Right on then,” Galahad turned towards the knights “You heard the man, spread out and surround the village! No surprises in or out,”

The knights all rushed to obey, Galahad joining them, as Merlin walked up the road straight into the thicket of buildings. He could have easily handled this by himself, no need for busybodies gumming up the works. But Arthur insisted on the knights’ presence to...what was it? Reassure the masses…

Merlin spared a glance at the people of the hamlet as he passed through. 

Men and women in clothes just as patchy and ragged as the buildings around them lined either side of his path. As soon as they noticed his presence they parted like all of the sea, ducking inside buildings and hurrying down alley ways. Some peeked at him out of cracked windows and doors while speaking to each other in hushed whispers. A precious few stood their ground, glaring openly at Merlin as he passed by, nearly drawing a laugh out of the Wizard. 

Ignorant rabble the lot of them. 

Fools who spent their lives with noses buried so deep in the dirt they couldn’t be bothered to look up at the stars.

There had been a time in his youth that he longed to teach people like these. To use his powers to help those that lacked the tools to help themselves. To bring enlightenment to those that clung stubbornly to the dark.

Had he ever really been that young?

Merlin shook his head to dispel the daydreams. 

More likely than not this so-called sorcerer was someone that happened to swear right as a pitcher of milk was falling to the floor. Soon enough Merlin could clear this all up and be on his way. As it was all he wanted was to get back to Camelot and have his boots cleaned to a polish. 

A space opened up in front of him as he reached the heart of the village, Merlin paused and glanced around. Most decent sized settlements surrounding Camelot had a central building of sorts, usually used for storage and official gatherings. Even smaller communities had squares that served much of the same purpose.

This town, if it was large enough to truly be considered that, had neither of those things. The only sort of central feature present was a modest stone well, which a large crowd was gathered around.

“--which is why we need to burn him!” a woman’s voice screeched “We cannot tolerate this evil blight in our midst!”

“And anger the demons who made him? Are you mad!? No, we have to sink him in the bog, give him back to his own,” 

“I’m not touching him! You know what Fae do to those who mess with them and theirs, best to wait for the king’s men to come, let them deal with--”

“We’re wasting time! Just give me a barrel and a cartful of peat and I’ll do the job myself!”

Merlin cleared his throat softly, just loud enough to make the gathered crowd turn in his direction. Upon sighting him nearly every one of them gasped and staggered back in alarm. Only three held their ground, two men and a woman, the one who so fiercely advocated for burning if he remembered right.

He allowed his face to mold into the placating smile he so often used when discussing magic with those who hadn’t the slightest idea how it worked “Good morrow to you folk, I am Merlin Ambrosius, here on behalf of the king. Now I understand you’ve been having trouble with a sorcerer?”

One of the men, the one in charge if his slightly cleaner coat and trousers were anything to go by, stepped forward and stammered out a response “Y-- yes, we have him locked up for now, but there’s no telling what kind of curses he’s brewing,”

Even with all of Merlin’s considerable patience, he was barely able to keep from rolling his eyes. These simpletons wouldn’t know a curse if he conjured one up right in front of them.

Well time to go clear this up and let the village goat herd or whoever it was out of wherever they’d penned him up “I promise you have nothing to fear, a squadron of the king’s best knights are here with me and they will allow no harm to befall you. Now take me to this sorcerer of yours and I will deal with him myself,”

The crowd visibly relaxed at his words; or more precisely, upon learning of the knights’ presence, the village headman slowly nodding at him “Follow me then,”

Merlin allowed himself to be lead to the far side of the village, with the rest of the group trailing behind. No doubt curious about his powers as much as they feared and despised them. The headman stopped at the edge of the buildings, pointing into the trees beyond “He’s in there,”

A cave barred with a wooden door was built into a hill a short distance away from the village proper. A space no doubt ordinarily used for storage now converted to a makeshift prison cell.

The headman twisted his cap in his hands “So...how long will it take you to--”

“That will be enough,” Merlin waved him off “I’ll take care of everything from here on out,”

The headman swallowed hard but still stepped aside to let Merlin pass, striding towards the cave. None of the villagers followed him, of course not that he expected any of them to.

Reaching the cave door, he opened it a crack and poked his head in. It was too dark to see the contents of the cave, the light of the open door doing little to penetrate the gloom.

“Hello?” Merlin called into the dark cave “Anyone in here?”

No reply from within the cave was forthcoming. Merlin remained standing in the doorframe in silence for a few moments. 

His patience was rewarded when a soft sniffle broke through the silence.

Merlin blinked in surprise. Well that was...unexpected.

He opened the door all the way, banishing some, but not all of the shadows. Allowing for his eyes to adjust just enough to see a small figure huddled in the far corner of the cave.

A child, dark haired, a boy by the looks of it, sat curled up on the floor of the cave. And by the look of how dirty and disheveled he was, he had been in here for some time. Clear tracks ran down his cheeks from where tears had cut through the dust. The child wasn’t crying at the moment, though whether that was due to exhaustion or dehydration remained to be seen.

Merlin strode over, slowly as not to startle him, and got down on one knee a few feet in front of the boy “Hello there,”

The child said nothing but followed him with his eyes, clearly trying to gauge how much of a threat the Wizard was.

Merlin gave his best, non-threatening, smile “Let’s lighten things up a bit, shall we?” he held out his palm, and with the barest breath of effort a green witchlight flared to life there before floating up to the cave ceiling, filling the small space with emerald light. 

A parlor trick by his standards, but it served as a good example to those not versed in the subtleties of Wizardry.

The child lifted his head to stare at the witchlight as it ascended to the roof of the cave, mouth open and eyes large with wonder.

“Now tell me young one…”

Aware he was being addressed, the child tore his gaze away from the ceiling to stare back at the Wizard, wariness coming off of him in palatable waves.

“Can you do anything like that?”

Merlin expected the child to shake his head, or at the most mumble a soft no. So it came as no small shock when the child raised his own tiny palm and stared at it with furrowed intensity.

His astonishment was even greater when cerulean sparks flared to life in the boy’s hand.

They flickered for a few seconds before going out, the boy letting out a small puff of exhaustion as they did.

This was no charlatan or victim of coincidence, this boy had actual power. And for someone of his age to even attempt to mimic a spell after only seeing it performed in front of him once…

This boy had potential.

And Merlin would be damned if he let such potential waste away in a dank cave.

Merlin got down on both knees “What is your name young one?”

“Hi-- Hisirdoux,”

“Well then Hisirdoux, what do you say we go outside and discuss things further?”

“I...I can’t…”

“Of course you can, others may not like what you can do but if I say you can leave no one will stop you,”

“But…” Hisirdoux raised one of his arms ever so slightly, a soft clink of metal accompanying the action.

A sound no louder than a cricket’s chirp, deafening to Merlin’s ears.

“Boy, show me your hands,”

Hisirdoux complied, stretching both arms out in front of him, allowing Merlin to see crude iron shackles wrapped around his wrists, sloppily fastened to heavy chains bolted into the cave wall.

Merlin had been millenia old even before Camelot was founded. He’d watched empires rise and crumble. And he’d seen every manner of cruelty that humans could inflict on each other. By now there was no atrocity that was capable of shocking him.

This however, gave him pause.

“Hold still Hisirdoux, let me get those off you,”

Merlin moved closer, raising a hand over Hisirdoux’s wrists, gently probing into the shackles with his magic. 

Elemental iron was the antithesis to magic and could impede it in any form, from raw ore to rusty nails, but it’s true power of binding lay in its shaping. Molding the earth and bending it your will, ingenuity triumphing over the unknown. And a clever and experienced Wizard such as himself could see through the patterns of iron’s construction and unravel it.

It was not difficult, these shackles were especially crude. Hastily hammered together from materials never intended to bind. Probably why Hisirdoux was still able to manifest some power. So it only took a minute, then a flick of his fingers and the shackles fell to the ground.

However the damage had been done.

Hisirdoux whimpered, gently poking at one of the angry red burn marks with a wince. 

Merlin laid both hands over the boy’s wrists.

“Sana et integro,”

Bands of green light bloomed to life and wrapped around the burn marks, slowly fading as they sank into the skin, taking some of the bright redness with it. It wouldn’t heal Hisirdoux completely, but it should end his pain for now.

However he would carry the scars with him for the rest of his life.

Had his neighbors known how badly the iron would injure him, a young child fresh into his magic, or had they merely been concerned with sealing his power away at any cost?

The real question was if any of them bloody cared.

“Better?”

Hisirdoux nodded with a sniffle.

“Good,” Merlin reached over and gently cupped his chin, the boy flinching at the contact, tilting his head up to look him in the eye “Hisirdoux, what I can do and what you can do is called magic, the ability to channel the arcane energies of the universe to bend them to your will,”

Hisirdoux said nothing, merely stared up at him with wide, but not frightened, eyes.

“You are capable of so much more than you know, and if you become my apprentice, I can teach you how to wield your powers to their fullest potential,”

“B...but I don’t want to be an apprentice, I want to stay here with mother and father,”

Merlin held back a sigh of disappointment. Hisirdoux might not have realized it yet, but he had no home here, not anymore. No matter, that truth would make itself known soon enough, the only thing to do was get it over with as quickly as possible. no reason for Merlin to prolong the inevitable.

“Very well then,” Merlin stood and extended his hand “I will take you to them,”

Even though he was far from being moved by such things, sentimentality being something he’d abandoned centuries ago, seeing the flash of hope on Hisirdoux’s face and knowing how unfounded it was hardly felt pleasant.

Hisirdoux reached up, tiny fingers grasping his own, and pulled himself to his feet. Following along as Merlin stepped out of the cave, wincing as they stepped into the bright sunlight.

How many days has his parents sat back and allowed him to be locked away in the dark?

Merlin wasn’t overly fond of the sensation of the tiny, grubby fingers grasping his own, but it was the best way to keep Hisirdoux from running off. If their talk of burning earlier hadn’t convinced him, seeing Hisirdoux’s condition in the cave cinched it. 

The boy was not safe here.

And sure enough, as they approached the village, Hisirdoux brightened, and started to pull away “Mother! Father!”

Merlin kept his grip on Hisirdoux’s hand firm, not letting go as they stepped up to the gathered villagers, despite the boy’s attempts to pull away. Steeling his expression when he saw the mother and father Hisirdoux was looking at.

Hopefully Hisirdoux never had to learn that his mother wanted to burn him alive.

The tell-tale clatter of plate armor came up from beside him, and Merlin turned to see Galahad rapidly approaching. 

“How goes it finding the unregistered sorcerer, any luck?”

Merlin paused and greeted the knight with a nod, ignoring Hisirdoux’s attempts to break free and run to his parents “As a matter of fact I have, he right here,”

“Where? All I see is some waifish…..” Galahad trailed off, eyes going wide from behind his bushy brows.

Good to see Merlin wasn’t the only one appalled at how these villagers had treated their ‘sorcerer’. 

And speaking of a crowd was starting to form around them, drawn by Merlin’s appearance and Hisirdoux’s shouts. 

Merlin straightened to his full height and squared his shoulders.

Time to reset the wound as quickly as possible.

“False alarm everyone,” he gestured towards the squirming Hisirdoux with one hand while looking around at the gathered villagers “This boy does have magic, but he is of no threat to you, you can all go back to your ordinary lives,”

Hisirdoux strained as he continued to try and escape Merlin’s grip and run to his parents “Mother! Mother! I can come home now!”

The mother in question stepped up close and glowered down at him, expression hard enough that it caused Hisirdoux’s brightness to dim “That’s not my boy, not any longer, that child is tainted by darkness, he has no place in my house or in this village,”

No one else around them spoke up, either in agreement or objection, although based on the looks on their faces they hardly disagreed.

Hisirdoux froze, expression beginning to crumple “But moth--”

“Don’t you dare!” the woman shrieked, the sheer venom dripping from her voice enough to cause Hisirdoux, some of the villagers around her, and even Galahad to recoil “Don’t you dare address me as your mother! You’re a curse, a demon, you dare to call yourself our child, deceiving us and hiding your true nature so you can bring ruin to us all--”

“Beloved enough,” the man next to her put an arm around her waist and gently pulled her back “I know this is a trying time for you, but you must not lose yourself in such wrathful displays,”

He put both hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eye “Our child may be tainted by Fae magics, but all is not lost, soon the evil will be gone. And there will be more children between us,”

She sighed, slumping in his grip “You are right, soon our village will be godly once more, and we will have more children to replace the one we lost,”

Hisirdoux had gone completely still, staring up at his parents with an utterly horrified, heartbroken expression. 

His father turned back towards Merlin “My wife speaks true, that’s no son of mine, either you take care of him or we’ll do it ourselves,”

An unfortunate but not unexpected response “Very well then,” he gave a gentle tug on the fingers still clasped in his “Hisirdoux?”

The boy looked up at him, eyes brimming. 

“My offer still stands, do you wish to become my apprentice?”

He gave a terse nod, tiny faced pinched in the effort to hold back tears.

“Then let us go and--”

“Hang on,” Hisirdoux’s father cut in “You can’t just carry my son off,”

Merlin raised an eyebrow “I thought you said he was no son of yours?”

The man flushed but held his ground “I sired him, raised him, and fed him. Can’t just let anyone go carrying him off with nothing to show for it,”

The sheer audacity of this man stopped Merlin in his tracks “How are you to demand such a thing when you’ve made it quite clear you’re not interested in taking him back?”

A triumphant glint entered the man’s eyes “You seem fairly interested in him, wouldn’t want to leave him and have something happen now would you?”

Merlin’s expression darkened, disgust he’d thought himself long past feeling slowly trickling into his chest. He’d seen poor reactions to people discovering their child was touched by magic many times before, this was far from the first time Merlin had witnessed parents proclaim their child dead while they stood living before their eyes. But never in all his centuries had he witnessed any cling so greedily to the corpse “You presume much if you think you can command me to--”

“It’s not as though you can just carry him off,” the the man said, unnervingly calm “The king wouldn’t be happy to hear of his Master Wizard carrying off children from their parents. So you can either pay my price or I’ll find someone who will,” 

Around him the other villagers, his wife included, were murmuring in agreement. Mentions of prices or even other options should Merlin prove unwilling to pay floating up in hushed bits of conversation.

Hisirdoux glanced back and forth between the two men. As young as he was he couldn’t possibly understand the intricacies of the situation surrounding him. But he clearly understood something, some base instinct informing him of the peril he was in, that he stood at the crossroads of danger and safety. His tiny fingers gripping Merlin’s hand with all the feeble strength he could muster. 

The disgust filling him deepened into a rage the likes of which he hadn’t felt in decades. Merlin had to make an effort not to shatter Hisirdoux’s fingers in his grip. From off to the side he could see Galahad watching the entire exchange with his jaw hanging open.

These people, who owned little more than the clothes on their backs, had been blessed with a child with immense magical potential, who possessed the power to potentially build their hamlet up to a kingdom in its own right, and this was how they treated him? They didn’t even afford him the dignity that they would a rat or a wolf, to them Hisirdoux was merely property. Blighted property that they had no desire to keep, but every right to sell to the highest bidder.

These fools had done what in a single afternoon what beings far greater than them had spent years trying and failing to accomplish.

They had made Merlin angry.

He let out a sigh and hung his head “Very well, name your price,”

The man grinned victoriously “Eighty pounds and not a pence less,”

“Fine,” Merlin said coldly.

The man blinked, clearly expecting some haggling involved.

“Galahad,” 

The knight jerked towards him, startled out of his stupefied state.

“Write up a contract stating that these two,” he inclined his head towards the couple in front of him “Are to receive eighty pounds in exchange for signing over their son to be a ward of the crown,”

Galahad nodded slowly, pulling open his bag of parchment and official seals “I’ll get right on that,” he glanced down at Hisirdoux, tears now openly rolling down his small face “How about you two go ahead and wait in the carriage, I won’t be but a minute,”

Merlin nodded, turning and tugging Hisirdoux after him as he headed away from the village and back towards the awaiting carriage.

He waited until Galahad and the crowd of villagers were far out of earshot before starting the chant. Hisirdoux could no doubt hear him, but he would neither remember the words or understand their significance.

Merlin preferred not to use blood magic, both due to the impracticality and the immense risk, but today he would make an exception.

Hisirdoux’s parents, with a complete lack of understanding of magic and how it functions, had declared their child tainted and cut him out of their hearts and community. Deciding to either sell him to offset their so-called loss or kill him and be done with it.

Well if that was the way they treated their firstborn child, Merlin would ensure that there would be no more children after Hisirdoux, for either of them.

From now until their dying days Hisirdoux’s parents would never again bear children, neither with each other nor any other partner.

The words felt cold and slimy falling from his lips, the magic they invoked soft and subtle. Slowly creeping into the bodies of Hisirdoux’s mother and father, altering them just enough to accomplish his goal.

Of course the blood magic curse would only affect those two, the rest of the village, the ones who had been complicit at best and gleeful participants at worst, would not share its effects.

But they would see Hisirdoux’s parents, see what the curse did to them without ever knowing the cause for certain. And they would wonder, and they would be afraid. 

He completed his curse just as the carriage and the rest of the knights came into view, falling silent as he stepped up to them, from far behind he could feel the last traces of magic settle into place and the curse take hold.

Merlin helped Hisirdoux climb the steps into the carriage, from behind him he heard Galahad come up and call to the rest of the knights.

“Alright we’re burning daylight, let’s get a move on!”

A quick glance to the west revealed just how right Galahad was, the sun was now far lower in the sky and they needed to hurry if they wanted to make it to safety before the darkness came and brought trolls with it. Moving swiftly, he stepped into the carriage and shut the door behind him, lifting Hisirdoux up onto the seat and sitting himself beside him just as the carriage pulled to a start.

Hisirdoux remained silent the whole while, had been ever since he’d heard what his parents truly thought of him, eyes locked on the small window, watching the village that had been his home slowly fade into the distance. 

“Hisirdoux,” Merlin spoke softly “I know you must be dealing with quite a lot right now, but you need to understand that there is nothing inherently wrong with your abilities. They are a tool like a sword or a hammer that can be used for good or for ill. They are not evil or corrupt they simply are,” 

The boy refused to look directly at him, eyes bright and lip trembling.

“How your village reacted to your abilities isn’t a reflection of your faults, but of theirs,”

Hisirdoux didn’t react aside from a sniffle, small shoulders starting to shake.

Years from now Hisirdoux would look back on this day as nothing more than a faded scar, a memory of a wound long since healed. But the future was far away, and today the wound was still fresh and raw. Merlin had said and done all he could for now; some wounds could only be healed with time. 

Settling back in his seat, Merlin turned to glance out his own window, prepared to spend the rest of the trip in silence.

Without warning something abruptly pressed into his side.

Startled, Merlin glanced sharply down, only to see Hisirdoux clinging to his torso, openly sobbing against him.

The sight was so baffling that Merlin didn’t know how to react. 

What on earth did this boy think he was doing? Merlin was a Master Wizard, not some nursemaid Hisirdoux could cling to whenever he wished. Merlin’s duty as his master was to instruct him in the ways of magic and that was it, he’d hire a nanny for everything else. If Hisirdoux was going to be his apprentice the boy needed to bloody well learn the difference between the two straight away.

He raised a hand to push Hisirdoux away, but paused just before it could touch him. Keeping it poised in the air for a few seconds, Hisirdoux’s weak sobs echoing in the small carriage, before dropping it with a sigh. Lowing his hand to softly pat Hisirdoux’s back instead.

Perhaps some indulgence was in order, the boy had just been cast out of his home and family. Granted it didn’t look like either of those had been worth very much, but still they were all that he had ever known.

This couldn’t be a regular occurrence, as soon as they got to Camelot Merlin would arrange for a proper nanny to handle caring for Hisirdoux. As master and apprentice, Merlin was responsible for Hisirdoux’s education and nothing else. But just for today, he would make an exception.

As their journey went on, the carriage rocking along as it carried them down the rugged road, Hisirdoux’s sobs gradually softened into sniffles, Merlin rubbing his back all the while, eventually he quieted altogether, though still remaining curled up against Merlin’s side.

“Hisirdoux?” Merlin said quietly.

No response.

He glanced down, glimpsing shut eyes and a slack face, a soft snore escaping him.

For a moment Merlin just stared incredulously. 

The child had fallen asleep on him, of all the impertinent-- good lord what if he started drooling on him?

Merlin briefly considered trying to move him, before settling back in resignation. If he tried to move the boy chances are he would wake up, and after being locked away for days with hardly any food or water and his wrists wrapped in iron...Hisirdoux needed a good rest.

And while Merlin wasn’t smitten with the idea of being drooled on, at least while he was sleeping Hisirdoux would be quiet and out of the way.

Tilting forward as much as he could without disturbing the sleeping child, Merlin peeked out his window, and again out the opposite one. Seeing no knights riding near enough to see inside, he swiftly snapped his fingers. A blanket on the opposite seat becoming sheathed in green light, leaping over and tucking itself securely around Hisirdoux’s sleeping form, the light around it vanishing just as quickly as it appeared

Satisfied that the deed had gone unwitnessed, Merlin leaned back and gave Hisirdoux one more soft pat on the back as the carriage continued on down the road.

[prongsies]

Baggage • George Weasley

PAIRING: George Weasley x Reader

SUMMARY: George doesn’t like being back in The Burrow after the war, but before he could even enter, his mum sent him out to but some items. It wasn’t all too bad- especially since it led to him receiving such exciting news.

WARNINGS: Mentions of the war and death; slight angst with a happy ending

PART 2

________________________________________________________________

George trudged up the street towards The Burrow, hands in his pockets as he fought off the cold. It’s a week before Christmas, one of the most joyous occasions of the year - if only their family had been complete. 

The war took a toll on everyone envolved in it - it had been greedy, finding the weakest of their weak spots then snatching it so violently away from them. For his family, it was Fred.

The St. Mungo’s healers told them he had been lucky to survive that much of an impact, if only that had been it. Apparently, the wizard who had managed to throw him against the column had actually used some form of Dark Magic. Reversible, the healer reckons, but far too advanced - far too ancient for them to reverse.

Upon hearing the news his twin brother has a chance to live, everyone was ecstatic. Kingsley had arranged a group of the best healers they have available, teaming up with workers in the Department of Mysteries to figure out just what happened to his brother.

He was against it at first, not wanting his brother to be the subject of what he thought was something like an experiment - but as he turned to look at his mother’s tired eyes, he agreed.

He stopped in front of his house, looking up at its towering height as memories of his twin brother flashed before him rapidly. He shook it off, blinking back his tears as he pushed open the front door, inhaling the scent of the food his mother was preparing.

Crouching down, he untied his muddy boots, only for his mother’s voice to stop him. 

“Can you run down the grocery store, George” She said, causing George to rise from his position, turning towards his mother.

 “Gee, no ‘It’s great to see you, Georgie’ or anything?” George joked, crossing his arms at Molly, “It’s not like I had to trudge up the hill just to get here, Merlin’s beard, mum!”

He smiled as his mother laughed, catching how her eyes didn’t crinkle at the sides the way it used to. She him into a tight hug, burying her face to his neck as she muttered, “It’s great to see you home, George”

She pulled away, nose a tinge of red as she sniffled a bit, before laughing. “Oh, now you got me crying, George!”

“It’s not my fault you’ve got a soft spot for me, eh mum?” He smiled, eyes softening towards his mother, “For the record, I did miss you too. I’m sorry I haven’t been around”

“It’s alright, dear” Molly wiped her nose with a towel. Composing herself, she fished into her apron pocket, pulling out a couple of muggle British Pounds, handing them to George together with a sheet of parchment. “Now, go run down the supermarket and grab me these things”

“Why do I have to do it?” He whined, eyes catching Ron emerging from the kitchen, munching on a freshly baked tart, “There’s Ron, why can’t he go?”

“Hey!” Ron had protested, catching bits of the pastry that almost escaped his mouth. He paused to swallow for a moment, pointing at George, “You’re the one already by the door, why don’t you get it?”

“I just got here!”

I didn’t know there were this many options, George thought as he stared at the variety of cereal in one single shelf. In their world there were only like - a dozen to choose from, but here? Merlin! 

“Come on, George” Molly said calmly, looking up at him. He noticed how tired her eyes were, remembering the letters his father sent about his mother not being able to sleep properly. With a sigh, George nodded, taking the money from his mum as he crouched down to tie his boots, exiting the house - not before Molly calls out, “Hurry back!” behind him.

___

“I recommend this one” A voice made him jump. 

He really hasn’t been the same after the war - a bit more jumpy now unlike before where he had been the one to make people jump.

With a hand to his chest, he turned to see a (y/h/c)-haired person there, staring at him with a soft smile. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. You’re George Weasley, right?”

He nodded his head, trying to hide the fact that he didn’t know who this person is in front of him, now reaching out a hand towards him, “I don’t know if you remember me because I was in the year below you, but I’m (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N) - from Hufflepuff”

Now, he remembers who you are - well, mostly based on the articles he had read on the Special Edition Daily Prophet after the war. He remembers seeing your face there, among other who have contributed to the war, how your parents were killed in the first war, and now your twin brother in the Battle of Hogwarts.

You were alone, he recalled. He remembers thinking how sad it must be to be so - losing everyone you loved until you’re the only person in your family alive. But here you are, grinning up at him as if everything was okay.

“George” He replied, taking your hand to shake.

“Anyway,” You continued, snatching up a blue box, “If you’re looking for Molly’s cereal, this is what she usually buys”

You drop the box into George’s basket. He seemed confused still, eyes running over his list, a bit embarrassed now that it’s revealed he doesn’t know his own mother’s preferences. But your hand on his forearm comforted him. “I can help you along, don’t worry”

You looked up at him, smiling softly as he seemed to reconsider it, “Okay” He finally said, handing you the list.

He followed you around the store, basket still in hand has you picked up the items you’ve seen Molly get.

“Your parents like coming here” You started, just to break the silence in the air. George, who was deep in thought, hummed as his eyes snapped towards you. “They said the muggle lifestyle of it all amuses them - especially your father. I recall Arthur asking if he could tear apart my register, which would’ve been okay if it wasn’t that expensive”

So it’s her store, George realized, nodding towards you. 

“They’re mostly here for the potions though” you continued, adding the last item on the list into the basket, “they’re constantly brewing them in the back. Kingsley came by yesterday to get the last few vials of your brother’s potion-”

“You’re the one brewing them?” George interrupted, “You’re the one supplying his- his experimental potions”

“You know, I really couldn’t tell if you’re mad or not” You said softly, studying his features - eyebrows furrowed, cheeks turning red. Oh, he is.

“I can’t believe you’re- you’re turning my brother into a lab rat!” He exclaimed, finally releasing his pent up emotions. He knows he shouldn’t have done so, considering you had lost far more people than he had, but he’d been holding it back for so long.

Tears rushed down his cheeks as he continued releasing his frustrations on you, basically belittling her skills as a potioneer - claiming his parents, the healers, the Department of Mysteries’ workers have misjudged you, that you were leading them on.

He stopped, breathing heavily as he wiped away his tears.

“Is that all?” You surprised him by asking. He looked up to see you looking unfazed at his breakdown, silent as you collected the basket from him to bring to the counter. “You know, after the war, I thought I’d nothing else in the world could hurt me again - turns out I was right, eh George?”

He approached you, watching as you rungs his items up with a flat expression. “I’m sorry”

“No, it’s alright, George” You replied, smiling at him, “Sometimes we really just need someone to listen. I’m guessing you’ve bottled that up for quite a while now, right?”

George nodded.

“It’s nothing, really. I remember the first time your mother visited me here. She spent more than an hour trying to calm me down when she asked me if I was alright” You laughed heartily, “I came home alone after the Battle of Hogwarts, did you know?”

George didn’t respond. By that time, all the items have been rung, all packed neatly into a paper bag for George. You rounded the counter to stand beside him, leaning your backs against the table. “McGonagall told me to go home, to get some rest - I couldn’t. Not when the thought that I wasn’t able to save my brother crossed into my mind”

Your voice wavered, but you didn’t crack. George admired you as you kept going, telling your story without shame - like you had gotten over it already. But the truth is that you didn’t, that when you retreat into your bedroom after closing up the shop, packing up your potion ingredients, you cried until you fell asleep, until your head hurts in the morning.

“When I heard about your brother” You continued, “How there’s a chance of saving him. I agreed to partner with everyone else, scanning through every book I could find that could help me whip something up for him. I admit, it was a long process”

“I could imagine” George chuckled, calmer now than he had been when he lashed out on you.

“But it was working. Within a few days, his finger was moving, then his whole hand - he even managed to flip me off the one time I told him how disheveled his hair looked” You laughed.

“I haven’t visited him, you know? I couldn’t bare to see him” George replied sadly, “I didn’t even want to go here today if mum hadn’t forced me. I told her there was no family occasion, why would I need to be here? Then you know what she told me when I entered the house?”

“What?” You asked, amused as George smiled.

“She told me” He said, mocking frustration, “To go back outside and buy some items from your store. Who even does that?”

“Your mother, apparently” You poked his sides, making him giggle, swatting your hand away, claiming to be ticklish. “I’m pretty sure she just wanted you out the house because your brother’s going home today”

“Excuse me?” 

“Fred - he’s going home today” You replied. Within a few seconds he was running out of your store, willing his legs to move faster as he neared the Burrow - groceries forgotten.

Excitement filled his bones as he slammed the front door open, looking around before his eyes met his brother’s, who was sitting on a wheelchair, a bandage wrapped around his head.

“Well, I’ll be damned” Were Fred’s first words to George, who stood by the door speechless. He was well aware of everyone watching the scenario unfold in front of them, beads of tears running down their faces at the small reunion, “Explain to me, Georgie, how I still manage to be the more handsome twin even if I’ve been confined in the hospital for months?”

“Fuck off, Freddie” George replied, rushing over to his brother to pull him into a hug. He felt over the moon as Fred’s arms wrapped around him, keeping him in the embrace longer.

The pulled away, both teary-eyed.

“Great, now you’ve got your snot all over me” joked Fred, wiping away his own nose, “Merlin, George! My feet aren’t even fully-functional yet, you could’ve waited until I was capable of taking my own shower”

They were interrupted by Molly Weasley greeting another person who have entered the Burrow. George turned to see you standing there, the bag of groceries in your hand as you smiled at the reunion. 

“Thank you so much for everything you’ve done, (Y/N)” She cried as she brought you in for a hug as well, squeezing you tightly while she asked for the final price of all the potions you had brewed for them. “It’s all free of charge, Molly. It’s all on me”

She was about to protest when you continued, “It’s a thank you - for being there for me. Please don’t worry about it”

“Then join us for dinner” George piped up, staring at you. “Stay for dinner... please”

Fred smiled, staring up at his twin who looked at you as if you hung the moon. Well, you did bring his brother back to life, but that’s besides the point.

“I can’t believe you got a date while I was cooped up in the hospital” 

“Shut up, Fred”