#and his coldness fo Arthur

[drizzledrawings]

That one line that Dutch says after guarma to Arthur

“You sound like him” makes me wanna bash my head into a wall!!!!!!! Dutch’s coldness and dismissal of Arthur is so tied to Hosea’s death and I stand by that! Dutch’s grief over Hosea was such a tipping of the iceberg

[gimmethosedaddymilkers]

Winter Springs bring Summer Flings

Okay, so, this is another request I managed to find, I'm very late on it and I'm so sorry for that, but I hope that you enjoy it.

@twola requested Arthur and reader in Cotorra Springs....kind of a hot tub, if you really think about it, to just see where things went.

Another NSFW one, and again I might be a little rusty on it, so, please, be patient with me as we go!

I hope y'all enjoy it!

Warnings: Female reader, NSFW 18+, swearing, and you know, typical 1899 things.

The further north you headed the colder it seemed to get.

Common knowledge really, you expected it, you'd dressed properly, packed properly, for the colder weather, the chilly air as you and your travel partner continued to move northern.

Arthur was a quiet guy, when he wanted to be of course, sarcastic and witty, but quiet when he wanted to be quiet.

You felt something towards him, something that you really didn't feel like sharing with him, it wasn't worth the rejection in your eyes.

Arthur felt something for you himself, and much like you, he didn't quite want to be rejected by someone he cared so deeply about.

He loved hanging out with you, usually it was you he asked to come along with him when he needed to get something done.

It's typical for the two of you to take trips like the one you're on now, leaving camp behind for days at a time, just the two of you.

You sigh to yourself as you continue to walk alongside Arthur on his horse, looking around.

Cotorra Springs.

You'd only been up here a handful of times, it was a nice enough place, a little spot of heaven in the cold. The hot springs were so warm, you'd often camped there to retain a bit of heat.

In fact the idea sparks in you as you look over at Arthur.

"Hey cowboy, it's nearly five, let's just take a rest here, we can camp for the night, and the hot springs'll keep us warm."

"But we can make plenty of time yet before dark..."

"Oh c'mon Arthur...please? For me? The water's hot and it's gonna be freezing the further up we go, this could be our last chance to be warm for a bit."

Arthur heaves a sigh, one you're used to hearing when you realize that you've won the argument.

"Alright...Okay, we'll settle here for tonight."

He gives a quiet laugh and turns his horse to the springs and leads the two of you towards them.

The two of you begin to set up your little camp for the night on the edge of the springs.

Two tents, as well as the fire all put into place, and before you realize it you're both settled comfortably.

You smile as you sit across from him at the fire.

Arthur smiles himself as he quietly pokes the fire, making some coffee for himself.

"So Arthur...What exactly are we heading up to Amberino for? And why are we taking such a roundabout way?"

"Toldja, there's a rare white Arabian up there, I've seen it, and I want you to help me catch it. Not albino like Dutch's this is WHITE."

"Okay...and we went the long way because?"

"I wanted to spend some more time away from camp. Dutch's been drivin' me nuts lately."

You laugh and give a nod of understanding as he continues to make his coffee.

After a while of sitting you decide to take a dip in the springs.

The hot water'll do wonders on your back, and you could use yourself a little wash as it is.

"Alright...I'm gonna go and clean up, okay Arthur?"

"Alright, make sure you don't wander too far."

"Of course."

You smile and then stand, patting his shoulder as you walk past him.

Luckily this far up in the woods no one really comes by the springs.

You get far enough away from Arthur that he can't easily see you strip and you get into the water.

You heave a sigh as you sink into the hot water, your back seems to scream in agony as you fully submurge.

The water is clear, almost crystal, and it's incredibly relaxing.

You close your eyes, leaning your head back against the dirt as you let the water wash over you.

Now the only thing you needed to worry about was getting scared by the gysers nearby.

You sit quietly for quite a while, your eyes closed and head back as you rest in the water.

It's not until you hear Arthur's voice that you're eyes shoot open.

"Jesus Christ woman!"

Your eyes spring open and you look up to see Arthur standing above you, his hand covering his eyes.

"I thought you were washin' your face or somethin! I didn't realize you were strippin'! Christ!"

"Oh c'mon Arthur...I'm not that ugly right?"

"No it's the oposite problem there Princess."

You feel your face redden as he says princess and you shuffle in the water.

"C'mon...get in with me, it's got plenty of room...the water is hot, it'd probably do a lot to help your back...."

"I ain't gettin' naked in there with you! I didn't even mean to see ya-"

"Arthur, it's not bothering me..."

Arthur sighs and you watch as he puts his hand on his hip and keeps the other over his eyes.

"A little warning would have been nice at least."

"I told you I went to wash up."

He sighs and finally moves his hand, but he looks up to the sky rather than you.

"I'll...close your eyes...I'll...I'll get in."

"Arthur, the water's clear I'll see it anyway."

He groans but starts to strip down.

"You don't have to do it Arthur. I'm just suggesting. It might really help you."

"I know you're right...it's why I'm doin' it."

You do your best to give him at least a little privacy and look away as he sets his clothes down next to the spring and climbs in.

As reluctant as he was to get into the water the groan of relief as he settles in is a dead give away that he was happy with the decision.

"Feeling a little better there, Cowboy?"

"Ain't had a bath this hot in years."

"Hard to get the water this hot and keep it hot. Natural Hot Springs, they're really nice to take a dip in every so often. I do it every time I pass through here."

"Might have to start doin' it myself, if it's this helpful."

You offer a smile at him and then look up again as the sky starts to slowly darken.

"Might stay in here until the stars come out really."

"Nice and warm in here. Can't blame you for wantin' too...even if I did think you were crazy for gettin' ass naked."

You smile and the two of you grow quiet again.

It's only a few moments before you decide that...now could be the time, the right time, for you to finally mention what you feel for him.

You scoot a little closer, until your hip touches his, and you can see the way his face reddens, at both the touch and the fact that the water does not conceal any secrets.

"So...Arthur...I...Um....I think...maybe this is long overdue but...I want you to know that you mean....an awful lot to me...I'm...well quite frankly I'm very sweet on you."

Arthur seems to think about this a moment, trying to keep his eyes on yours , though you can't help but notice when his eyes drift downwards.

"I'm...I'm pretty sweet on you too, if I'm honest Y/N...Just...ain't never had the courage to tell you."

You smile and decide to take a chance. You let your hand graze his thigh beneath the water.

"Y/N...I'd stop there, if you aren't sure...If you start me up I don't think it'll be very easy for me to stop."

You smile at him, and move, straddling yourself over his lap as the water hits your shoulders.

"That's okay with me, so long as it's okay for you cowboy...I meant what I said. I've cared for you for a very long time..."

Arthur looks at you for a moment, a look in his eyes that seems to be torn between something of lust and yet a hesitancy.

After a few more seconds he decides what he wants and your lips crash together.

You can feel his hands come to your hips as yours go over his shoulders, your hands interlocking as they reach his back.

He kisses you as if it's the last time he'll get to do so, heavy and fast, his hands possesively grasping at your hips, pulling you even tighter against him.

He was already half hard when you straddled him, you could feel him as he pressed against you, it sent shivers through you.

He was kind of big, in all honesty. It excited you.

You let one of your hands cup the side of his neck, and pull away, only to kiss his neck, rather than his lips.

He gives a soft groan and his hand moves towards your ass, and his grip tightens as he pulls you close.

You lick his neck, towards his jaw, and Arthur seems to enjoy it far more than what you expected him to.

"Y/N...Princess...please..."

You kiss his neck again, to listen to the groan that leaves his mouth, it's fantastic. Low, growly almost, and yet at the same time it sounds...whiny.

You keep this up, his other hand moving to your inner thigh, squeezing it he seems to be trying to hold back.

You decide it's best to help him out a bit.

You reach between the two of you, and find his cock, gently you hover slightly, and position him as you settled down onto him.

He moans as you do, doing his best to not buck at the feeling.

"Fuck...fuck...Y/N...Y/N please....It's been a while..."

"It's alright Arthur...it's okay...I promise I'll have fun regardless,"

Arthur manages a chuckle, and his hands move back to your hips, eager for you to start moving.

You take that as your que and gently rock your hips against him, watching as he tilts his head back after a little while, sighing as you move.

His hands grip your hips and he guides you the way he needs. Down, back, and up, repeat.

Down, back, up, repeat.

His hands feel massive against your thighs, and pair that with the sensation of his lips against your chest and neck, you feel just as happy as he is.

You moan quietly, softly as the two of you find a rhythm together, Arthur moving his hips with you.

"Y/N...Wish I'd told you a long time ago how I felt...You feel so good...."

He groans against your skin, kissing your neck fervently.

"I should have said something..."

You mumble out, your hands on his shoulders tightening slightly.

Arthur's only response is to push his face further into your neck, leaving kisses there.

"Arthur..."

You murmur his name, moving yourself a little faster as the two of you keep up your movements.

The fast pace was the right decision, Arthur's pace moves faster too, bucking up into you, as he does his best to quiet down.

His lips go over your neck, your chest, licking, sucking, biting, making you moan.

It's not much longer of this before you feel yourself nearing the end.

You shove your forehead against his shoulder, moaning his name as you clench your thighs, around him as his hands squeeze your backside.

He's soon after, his hips erratic as he groans deeply and leans his own head back, covered in sweat as his thrusts get weaker and weaker.

Finally he stops, breathing hard, you are too.

"Christ Darlin'...That's...I guess maybe we should start doin' that more on these trips."

"I think that's a wonderful Idea."

"Yeah, you would. You only keep me around for my shockingly good looks."

"Oh shut up Arthur."

PLEASE FORGIVE ME IM STILL TRYNA GET BACK INTO THE SWING OF THINGS

[applepiesupreme]

American Apple Pie

Pairing: Low/Mid Honor Arthur Morgan and female OC.

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Savigne Ricci is a temporary guest at the Van der Linde camp. Her path crosses with the enforcer of the gang, Arthur Morgan, and despite their differences, a relationship develops between them. Whole lot of smut and fluff, slow burn-ish.

Chapter 30

AOC link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54945853/chapters/149566579

She was growing to like Shady Belle, or rather, disliking it less. If she were given a choice, she would have gladly returned to the former two spots, but the ride to work was considerably shorter and work was getting busier, so there was at least that.

Ecco hadn’t acknowledged her since the last incident. She had been on edge for a long time, but as he continued to ignore her day after day, her wariness had passed. Just as she was getting lulled by safety, thinking whatever happened had been it and that wasn’t so bad after all, he showed up at her station as if he could read her mind.

“Go to my office, Savigne.”

She froze and broke out in cold sweat. Several moments she lingered, unable to make her feet move. Even though nobody was paying attention, she felt like everyone knew, that all of Saint Denis knew and talked behind her back. She felt deep shame despite not having done anything at all as she slowly walked up the stairs. When she arrived at his office, it was empty. There was only one chair. So she waited, standing across from his desk. 

A minute passed. Then two. Then ten. After twenty minutes she checked her pocket watch and wondered if she was going crazy, if she had dreamed up the entire thing. She watched the slow, tedious crawl of the hands of the watch. Thirty minutes. She vacillated between going back down and waiting on. Maybe he had forgotten? Maybe he was sidetracked? She remained rooted, too afraid to go against his word. Her feet hurt from standing all day but there was nowhere to sit down, so she stood on. The days were shorter now, she watched the window darken and looked at her watch again. Forty-two minutes. He must have forgotten she told herself. I’ll wait five more minutes and then I’ll leave. 

Five minutes later she thought what's another five minutes. She shuffled on her feet and timidly eyed the desk. The temptation to lean against it was overwhelming. The pain on her feet moved up to her lower back. Next time she checked the time, it was an hour. She went to the door and looked out. Chef Ecco was nowhere to be seen. Again she thought she should leave. It was getting late and she was tired. And yet, she returned to the room and stood around. The fear of offending Chef Ecco even more than she had and inviting his ire intimidated her. He was already clearly displeased with her and he could fire her. Then she would eat into her savings and her savings were for the cabin. 

The notion of the cabin gave her strength and she ignored the pain pulsing in her lower back by going over recipes in her head. When she ran out of those she wanted to check the time again but didn��t, afraid to see how late it was. The room got dark. She didn’t know if she should turn on the gas lamp so she stood there in the dark for what felt like hours as the pain in her legs became unbearable. She felt shamefully weak and small, debating how she could allow herself to be treated like this and counter-debating that after all the waiting she had done, it would be foolish to leave now.

Saint Denis transformed outside the window as the arc lights in the streets flickered on. She started to fall into a dreamy state of mind where she hung in limbo, separate from everything. She thought about her childhood and all the orphanages she'd been through and the friends she had lost contact with one way or another and Sister Rodriguez and Sister DuBois and her ex flames, her ex bosses - the entire arc of her life that had started with her carried off the ship with only a tattered book and a photo pressed between the pages, cared for and fed by strangers to now: the chapter where she had somehow, some way managed to find her own family. Sometimes, when she was tense like she was now, she liked to construct imaginary moments in her head. Like introducing Arthur to her parents. Who - because she conveniently could 'remember' them however she wanted - were funny and mischivieous and warm. She imagined helping her mom in the kitchen but her mom would be the superior cook, teaching Savigne the best tricks while her dad opened the door and there was Arthur, with a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Scratch that, that didn't look right at all. Maybe a box of sweets? No, not right either. More like with a deer slung over his shoulder? God, that sounded absurd. 

When she heard the door close behind her she jumped and broke out of her reverie. She looked over her shoulder and saw his silhouette standing by the door, a shadow against other shadows. He didn’t light the lamp and he didn’t move. There was a long silence.

He didn’t apologize, but simply said “Good.”

She turned back to stare at the window. “I need to go home,” she said finally, a tad irritated. “My boyfriend…”

“I want to talk about your future prospects,” was the smooth interjection.

She heard the rustle of clothes behind her and for a moment panicked, thinking he was undressing. She was terrified to look, and so she didn’t. Her heart was thumping in her chest. When he glided to stand right behind her she felt herself start to tremble.

“You’re a good cook Savigne,” was the sigh in her ear. “But that’s not enough. Good cooks are a dime a dozen.”

She cleared her throat but when she tried to speak, her voice was gone.

She flinched when she felt his hand on her upper left arm, light and ephemeral, crawling up to her neckline to casually tuck loose strands of hair behind her ear.

“Don’t move!” he ordered when she tried to shift away and she froze with the low command. She hated the idea that he could feel her tremble.

“Do you like it here?” was the same mild question he had asked her the first time and it triggered something in her, as if she was a lab rat, conditioned for it.

Not anymore, she thought but what she said was “I’m learning a lot, Chef.” 

He chuckled at her answer, fingers brushing over the shell of her ear as she resisted the urge to slap his hand away.

“Have you learned that everything has a price?”

She wasn't sure how to answer this loaded question and for long moments just watched the dust motes lazily dance in the beam of light that was coming from the streetlamp.

“I need to go home,” she droned again finally, feeling short of breath. “My partner will be worried.”

She couldn't see his face as he stood behind her left shoulder but sensed the flare up of his anger. A huff of disappointment as he shifted to her right. She held very still as fingers spidered down her chest, lightly circled a breast. Suddenly a flash of the Murfree incident sparked in her mind and it was like a gut punch. These two men touching her against her will overlapped and for a moment a sense of dislocation and confusion washed over her and she wasn’t sure where she stood in space and time. 

“When you’re here, be here,” he snarled and the feeling passed as the present solidified. 

She felt his palm ghost down her breast and bile rose in her throat as her shuddering intensified. The slow, deep intake of a breath behind her right ear told her that he enjoyed her discomfort. 

“I have an excellent job for you,” he muttered as he came around to stand before her. His hands, deceptively strong after years of kneading and scrunching and molding, held her waist, before they traveled up. His breath smelled of peppermint as he puffed in her face and she had a distant thought that she would hate the scent from here on throughout her life.

Then something very strange happened - Savigne felt herself fracture into two.

She stood there as he gently palmed her breasts, sensitive and swollen with her expected period, revolted at herself for letting it happen but too hypnotized to act. 

But she was also outside the window, screaming mutely and beating on the glass to wake herself up. 

His lips moved but she didn't hear him. What she heard was the smack of the palms on the window pane - tha thump, tha thump, tha thump - a deep, primal sound she heard whooshing and beating in her ears.

Only when the hands on her breasts clenched and a needle sharp pain jolted through her, did she manage to whimper and take in a shuddering breath and the cotton in her ears fell off. The world became louder, sharper, warmer.

“…good,” she caught the last bit of the sentence cooed softly in her ear.

She stood swaying on her feet, trying to gather her thoughts when he idly stepped around her and disappeared behind her back.

A match was struck and the light that flicked on in the room startled her and hurt her eyes.

Footsteps approached, then passed her as Ecco walked around his desk and sat in his chair. 

He huffed at the paperwork piled on his desk and casually checked the folders, stacking them up in their proper order. She watched him, marveling how she had thought him handsome and charming. He looked slimy and dirty, beads of sweat lined up on his greasy mustache; hair caked stiff with pomade, littered with specks of dandruff.

“This job I have for you…” he sighed, distracted by the folder in his hand. “There is this ball coming up. I was invited to cook for it. And I’m going to pick a few people to come along…” His dark eyes turned up to her, dull and lifeless. “Interested?”

She felt incapable of speech but someone did it for her and she heard herself stupidly say “A ball?”

He nodded. “Extra money.”

She blinked at him. The speed with which he entered and left his moods intimidated and unbalanced her because she never knew what he would do a moment later, and she suspected that this was intentional. Very little with Chef Ecco, after all, was accidental. The precision and mastery of his meals, of his plating, of the set up of his menu - all things practiced and perfected through years of observation and mastery. This was no different to him than cooking she realized - something to be done with excellence and unsentimental perfection.

“Good money,” he pushed, taking her silence as hesitation.

Whoever was working her vocal cords, did it again:

“I never cooked for a ball before.”

He waved her argument away, all amicable smiles and easy banter. “Same thing. Easier if you ask me. Lots of cold hors d’ouvres and whatnot, so a lot of the cooking happens ahead of time. Lots of pastries. You’re good at those.”

“If you say so, chef,” she droned listlessly.

“I know you are,” he said warmly. “I actually have something particular in mind. Something…more traditional. Something a bit more Italian. Anyone can make a pie,” he said with mild disdain, “I want a desert that’s more unique.”

“Like what?” It was a surreal experience - hearing herself speak but not doing the talking. Like listening to her own voice on a gramophone but having no memory of the recording.

“How is your frutta martorana game?”

“I haven’t made that…in ages,” she heard herself concede.

“You’ll be great, I know it,” he waved her discomfort away. “You’re great at anything you set your mind to.” The warmth of his voice bolstered the idea that she was dreaming because surely this couldn't be the same man from minutes ago?

She felt her facial muscles strain as her mouth was pulled into a smile. “Where is this ball?”

“Mr. Bronte’s mansion.” The panes of her face moved and whatever expression that resulted in, made him ask “You know him?”

“I know of him.” She heard the tone of wariness in her own voice but he didn’t. 

“Important man,” he said and she noticed his nod of approval. “Anyhow, I mean to surprise him with something from the motherland. What do you think?”

“I think it’ll hit the mark,” Savigne said and her voice sounded muffled to her ears, like it was coming from the bottom of a well. “Especially if he’s Sicilian.”

He smiled conspiratorially when he replied: “I think so too.”

Then a jolt of her inner voice: Refuse.

“I…” she cleared her throat, “I’m not sure if I’m the right choice for the job, chef.”

“Don’t be silly,” he said dismissively, thumbing through the folder again.

Don’t take this as payment for what he did.

“Why, what did he do?” she thought morosely and the memory of minutes ago flared up in her. She was alarmed by how efficiently and quickly she had managed to rugsweep it.

Refuse!

“I don’t want to embarrass myself.”

He blinked up at her. 

“But what about the cabin?” she thought helplessly. “He said good money.”

Her inner voice was sharp like barbwire she had curled a fist on: REFUSE!

“I’m not a good fit,” she said with more determination.

His eyes hardened at her rejection and her breath caught in her throat. “Nonsense,” he said, giving her a weighed look, “You’re perfect. You will accept. I don’t do charity, you earned it.” He looked her a long moment, eyes boring into her, daring her to argue and to her own horror, proud as she imagined herself to be, she wilted under that stare like a child. Not that long ago she had believed Dutch to be intimidating, but when the moment came, she had easily stood up to, spoken back at Dutch. Ecco, not so much.

“Yes, chef,” she whispered at last.

He nodded curtly. “I stocked up marzipan. Practice until the ball. Now go.”

She dreamily marched out of the room on stiff legs and found herself in the street. Then she walked around for a while, her mind blank and dim, turning random corners, brushing against strangers. When she found a deserted alley she doubled over and threw up. One half was horrified to be vomiting in public like some drunkard, but the other half felt relieved as if she had thrown up all the dirt and ugliness and she was clean again. She stumbled away in shame and found a fountain and washed her mouth and her face. Then she walked some more and as she walked, like the focus of a pair of binoculars being adjusted until the image became crisp, her shattered halves glided over one another and solidified into one person again. 

When she looked up, she was surprised that she was standing across the door of the steakhouse. She stood there for a long time, watching the door, unsure what to do. 

Go home, said her inner voice eventually. It’s late.

She knew it to be true but still hesitated with indecision.

It was nothing. You're fine. Go home to your family.

The word mushroomed a deep feeling of warmth and safety in her gut and she turned around towards the stables to pick up Cricket.

Whenever she was late, he would sit by the main camp fire because it was right across the horses and today was no different. He jumped up and strode over when she rode in. 

"Was 'bout to ride out for ya," he said when he arrived. "Yer late."

She turned around and hugged him tightly and he stiffened a little with surprise. Embracing him all the way out by their distant tent used to make him uncomfortable, now he merely tensed up here in full view of the gang and it made her inexplicably but also immeasurably happy.

"Woman, yer drunk again?"

"No," she chuckled into his chest.

He gripped her shoulders and held her out to look at her face. He must have smelled the droplets of vomit on her clothes. "Ya got sick?"

“Threw up,” she sighed. “Did a lot of tasting today. Something I ate must have been off.” If he heard her lie, he didn't push. Instead he pulled the saddle off Cricket as she fed him an apple. Then he took the basket from her and strolled alongside her to their tent.

She thought about telling him about the ball but she knew he wasn't going to like it and she didn't have the energy to fight him about it tonight. “How was your day?” she asked instead.

“Fine,” was his typical stoic retort.

"My back is hurting something fierce," she sighed, giving him a side eye. "A massage would be nice."

"That so?" he grinned.

"But someone has to clean me up first."

He hummed with amusement. 

"Think you can help me with that?"

"I can try, ma'am."

The next day Chef Ecco was gone out of town and Savigne burst with so much joy at the news, she got into a work frenzy. It was as if she had twice the energy to spare as she chopped and whisked and shucked, food appearing in front of her like magic. One of the plates she prepared as a suggestion for the upcoming winter menu was so brilliant, the sous chef came over and inspected it from all angles and praised her until she turned red. She grinned self consciously, shy but proud and Sarah gave her a ‘well done’ smile from her station which boosted her spirits further.

Then she left Antoine’s and headed right to the market and shopped until her basket grew heavy. She saw a little dirty kitten in a corner and cried a little, then almost lost her head in a heated argument with the butcher, then went to pick up Cricket and found herself prattling to Jebediah about how to make remoulade, all the while ignoring the deep confusion and disinterest in his face.

That evening she cooked Arthur meatloaf and sat watching him eat with gusto after her own meal was done.

“Do you chew? Like, at all?” she said with a mixture of concern and disgust. 

He grunted and nodded in confirmation, her sarcasm lost on him.

She sighed and watched the gang idle about, feeling antsy and restless and brimming. In her mind, she was gearing up to have a fight with him because she knew he wasn't going to like her cooking for Bronte and just then the universe decided to trip her:

“Bronte’s gonna have a ball in a few days.” he said around his food. “‘M tellin’ ya so you don’ spin tales in that head o’yours when ya see me all fancy.”

She blinked at him, stupefied. “W-what?” was all she managed a long while later.

He ran his tongue along his teeth and took a sip from his whiskey before he clarified: “‘M goin’ to some silly ball. Don’ want ya to think 'm meetin' a woman or some other nonsense cause I cleaned up.”

“First of all..." she said coolly "...I don't have a single jealous bone in my body." She ignored the dry side eye he gave her. "And second, I guess I'll see you there!"

"How d'ya mean?"

“I have been asked to cook for the ball," she gloated and sat back in her chair. He gave her a sharp look and swallowed his food. “What?” she said with unease when he remained quiet.

“Waitin’ for ya to say you refused.”

“What!? I can’t refuse.”

His eyebrows rose. “Said you was asked, didn’ ya?”

“It’s not that kind of asking,” was her annoyed answer. “I was politely told.” When he didn’t divert his gaze: “What now?”

“Aint’ a good idea.”

She huffed in disbelief. “You just told me you’re going yourself!”

He completely breezed over that point. “Ya don’ wanna mingle with these folks, Savigne.”

“Who’s mingling? I’m just going to be in the kitchen, cooking food.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yer excused,” he said around his food after he stuffed an enormous piece of meatloaf into his mouth.

There was a long silence as she watched him chew with disbelief. “You know, it’s sort of amazing, your hypocrisy.” She enjoyed his startled pause. “Are you seriously telling me you’re going but I can’t?” Her anger sizzled.

His eyes flicked at her. “This man took Jack.”

“You think I hit my head or something? I know he took Jack.”

He continued his dinner for a few moments. “Then ya know it ain’t safe.”

“How come you’re going, anyway?”

“Was invited. With Dutch and others.”

She blinked again and almost laughed because he had to be joking. When he ate on as if it was perfectly normal, she said “Are you serious?”

He did his ‘sure, why wouldn’t I be?’ shrug. 

“The man who took Jack invited you guys to a ball?”

He hummed in affirmation. Still maddeningly eating. Her temper flared up properly.

“And you accepted?”

“Dutch wants to go,” he said, taking a sip from his whiskey. “Thinks we can…find something for us there.”

She gaped at him as he refilled his bowl.

First of all, that meatloaf was heavy and rich and a third bowl was obscene.

Second, and more importantly, he actually had the audacity to ask her not to attend while he himself was going to…what were the words he used… ‘mingle with these folks’.

A few moments later he did a double take at her face. 

“Y’alright?”

“Actually no,” she sputtered, feeling the heat rising to her cheeks.

“What’s the ma-”

“The matter is that you’ve been lecturing me on not getting mixed up with these people and you’re actually going to the damn ball!”

“Woman, I ain’t goin’ cause I wanna,” was his exasperated response.

“Same,” she quipped and crossed her arms.

“Ain’t the same.”

“Why?”

He opened his mouth but she was faster: 

“I tell you why,” she spoke over him. “You’re a damn hypocrite, that’s why!” she hissed. She hated how hot it was here. How stifling. She unbuttoned the top button of her blouse.

He seemed surprised at the fervor of her reaction and slowly put down his fork. 

“Now listen here…” He cleared his throat and took a moment to grab the napkin to wipe his beard. 

“No! Who cares what your explanation is? You’re a hypocrite. You’ll say this and then you’ll turn around and say that!” She glared at the campfire. People still lighting fires in this heat was also obscene.

He looked at her a long moment. Eyed his meatloaf with longing and then looked at her again. She wanted to strangle him for that alone. 

“I don’ like doin’ it,” he said, softer, with a timbre of appeasement as if she was a horse he was trying to calm down. It flared the fire in her hotter. 

“Who said I was?! It’s my damn job!”

“Fair. But...”

“But what?” God she wished he would say something outrageous. That fork was tempting her to grab it and stick it in his hand.

He gave out a frustrated sigh and tried a different angle: “Savigne. Darlin’…”

“Oh this should be good.”

“…don’ wanna worry ‘bout ya when ‘m on a job.”

“Sounds like a you problem to me.”

“Sure,” he said patiently. “But yer my woman and-”

“Arthur Morgan,” she growled as she felt the pulse starting to beat behind her eyes, “Do you actually think that means you can tell me what to do?”

“Course not,” he scoffed. A moment later: “Kinda.” He sighed at the glare he gave her. “Yer safety is my job, ‘member?”

“This is not a treasure hunt,” she hissed. “Or living alone in a cabin. I’m going to a god damn ball as a cook.”

“This man as dangerous as them Murfrees,” he growled. “More!”

“I’m around a dangerous man all day every day!” she said with some heat.

There was a moment of silence. “The hell that mean?”

She quickly looked away.

“Savigne?”

“I was talking about the gang. I mean you. Technically.” she mumbled a while later.

He leaned back in his chair. “Was you now?” was his narrow eyed question. Given the circumstances, that save was nothing but spectacular and yet Arthur Morgan didn’t buy it. He sat there like a bloodhound who had caught a whiff and was about to put his nose down to track it.

“You know what,” she flustered and rose up. “You go on and eat your meatloaf.” She turned towards the trees.

“The hell ya goin’?”

“Going for a walk,” she yelled over her shoulder and ran off before he could sink his teeth into the problem and shake it out of her.

"God damn hypocrite," she seethed, stalking through the dark forest, working herself up. "The problem", she mumbled as she pushed branches out of the way and tripped on roots, "is men." The more she thought on it, the more apparent it seemed. At the root of all her problems: men. Infuriating, despicable, outrageous men. Mr. Rochester? Man. Murfrees? Men. Bronte? Man. Dutch? Man.

Ecco her mind whispered and she flinched at the thought, then quickly stuffed it away.

She fanned herself, feeling all hot and bothered. Her head swam and there was an odd pulse between her legs. She wished her period would finally come so she could be done with it. For weeks now she had been stuck on this ridiculous Ferris wheel, going round and round from angry to aroused to anxious to elevated.

"Men are the problem,” she muttered. “They’re not good for anything.”

An image flashed in her mind of Arthur thrusting into her, his eyes devouring her as the table under her creaked furiously.

She halted and cleared her throat. "Okay now," she mumbled, "pull yourself together, what the hell? 

"The problem is men", she started again but then she remembered the feeling of his trigger finger inside her, brushing her sensitive spot and making her shiver.

She stopped, panting with confusion and a little horrified at the coiling in her gut.

"No, no, no, no," she hissed. "The problem is…"

The way he had moaned her name when she was on her knees, pleasuring him on his birthday.

She felt herself get wet and gasped with disbelief.

Suddenly she heard his running foot falls behind her. 

"Savigne!"

She dived into the thicket, slowly so the bushes won't shiver and crawled around as carefully as she could. 

"Ya gonna make me hunt you down?" he called, amused, and he already sounded closer. “Ain’t gonna take long, tell ya that.”

Silence. She stood stock still. The ego of this man, she thought, incensed.

"Last chance, Savigne," he drawled, closer still.

Even from here she could hear the grin in his voice and it did make the coil in her gut shiver. She listened to the crunching of his steps draw near and softened her breath. Moments later his boots appeared in her sights.

"So be it," he chuckled darkly.

He dropped down to his haunches, back turned to her and inspected the ground. This made her very uneasy and she almost jumped up to protest that it’s unfair. She hadn't taken tracks into consideration!

A moment later he rose up and walked off her field of vision. She took a silent breath of relief. She was about to move on but then thought that he was way too quiet. Maybe he was waiting for her to pop out? So she sat there, listening with utmost attention to the deep silence. Her hands closed on a thick stick and she carefully hefted it, rose just a little and threw it far to her right. The crunch of steps heading in that direction made her grin and she slowly slithered through the undergrowth in the opposite direction.

Idiot, she thought and shook her head. That was the thing about men, they always pranced around like they ruled the world but…She stopped in her tracks. Men did actually rule the world. Whatever, she thought, that’s not the point.

She emerged a while later and peeked up carefully to look behind her. Nothing. She smugly brushed her skirts and turned around with a grin on her face and almost screamed with surprise. He was standing right there, one shoulder pressed against the tree, arms crossed, hips angled away. She gawked at him then morosely turned to the direction she came from in disbelief, then turned back to him again.

“Ya know,” he drawled, eyes locking to hers, “that was kinda embarrassingly easy.”

“You cheated!” she yelped.

“That so?”

“Yeah, you tracked me! Doesn’t fucking count!”

He chuckled and bounced off the tree. “Next time,” he said lowly, “maybe don’ stomp so hard ya leave tracks.”

“You god damn…” she hissed as she marched towards him. The fact that he was utterly unfazed by her menacing approach irritated her to no end. “…smug…cocky…conceited…” He merely straightened to loom over her, rolling his shoulders, visibly amused by her fury. “…man!” she spat.

It was hard to say which one of them was more shocked when she found herself gripping the lapels of his shirt to pull him down and crushing her lips against his. He froze with surprise for a moment, then - always a man who never rebuked her advances - swung his arms around her and kissed her back just as aggressively, lips and tongue moving ferociously against hers.

“I’m going to that ball,” she hissed and grabbed his hair and jerked his head lower as she kissed him again. He grunted with the pain but followed her command, hands grasping her waist to crush her against him.

“The hell y’are,” he grunted as he walked her backwards and threw her against the tree.

She felt a shudder run through her from head to toe as her hands flew to his gun belt. “You don’t give a damn about what I want, do you?” she growled as she reached for his trousers next and almost yanked the buttons off in her haste to undo them while his hands hungrily clutched her breasts and his mouth descended on hers.

“Course I care,” he snarled but his breath hitched as she fell to her knees in front of him and immediately took him in her mouth. He flinched with surprise and couldn’t avoid the loud moan that escaped his lips. His cock stiffened in her mouth and she hummed with pleasure, gliding her lips up the shaft to take him deeper. One of his hands flew to the tree to support himself as a shiver went down his legs while the other tangled with her hair, undecided between drawing her closer and pushing her away. The decision was made for him when her nails raked the back of his thighs as she twirled her tongue around his swelling head and then proceeded to swallow him to the hilt while he moaned again and hissed a Christsakes above her. She moaned too, feeling the burn of the fire between her legs and the wetness soaking her bloomers. 

She sucked harder, setting a ruthless pace as he squirmed above her and his moans grew louder than he usually allowed himself to be. “Christ!…woman…oh…jeeeesus…ah…Savigne…damn”. It was like music to her ears, especially the soft cry that he let loose every time the tip of her tongue touched under his swollen head. She felt besotted with lust, absolutely drenched in it, she felt like she could fuck him till morning and then some. Her head was swimming and her cunt was aflame. Arthur was writhing above her, stunned and reduced to a blabbering mess and she felt like she would come just by listening to the sounds he was making. The power she held over him at that moment was like fiery whiskey, going straight to her head.

She gasped with surprise and disappointment when he pushed her off and roughly grabbed her arm to pull her up. She was turned around and shoved against the tree. “Lies! You don’t fucking care,” she stammered as hands pulled up her skirt and ripped off her bloomers.

“Woman…” he growled into her ear as his fingers found her dripping folds. Her ass was pulled back harshly and she tried to steady herself, gripping the bark as he groaned and immediately pushed into her. She was so wet, he glided in smoothly despite his size. He gasped her name and swelled bigger in her with excitement.

“…would burn the world for ya,” he sighed in her ear, kissing her neck as he pulled out almost completely before the next sharp thrust that made her whimper.

This rendered her speechless for a moment and when she flustered and tried to come up with something witty, his hands pulled up her thighs, lifting her to the tip of her toes as he fucked the breath out of her lungs. She merely managed a raspy cry of ecstasy as he gently bit her neck and increased his pace. In the back of her mind there was a certain pride to have driven him this wild because even at his neediest, Arthur had never taken her rough like this. She bit into her lip to muffle herself and mewled with the pleasure, feeling every nerve in her body light up with fire. Just when she thought it couldn’t get any better he angled her slightly, making her eyes roll back and her toes curl and a few more smacks later she was undone as her mind turned white with the force of her orgasm. 

He whispered a curse as his motions became more vigorous and desperate and soon followed her, the pitch of his gasps rising as he emptied himself into her. Her eyelids fluttered and the sharp sensation of rapture spread through her before it slowly dulled like a forest fire that had run out of trees to burn. She listened to the drumming of her heartbeat in her ears, her head still swimming in ecstasy. He carefully lowered her back on her feet, then steadied her with a light grip on her hips as she almost toppled, her legs still shaking. His panting behind her was loud in the hushed forest. 

A few moments later he asked her if she was okay and she gasped a ‘yes’ as her hands crawled up the tree to straighten herself. He pulled his trousers back up and buttoned them, still breathing hard before he turned her around to look at her face. His thumb glided over her lower lip that she had punctured with her bite and his eyes, still churning and stormy, locked on hers before he lowered his forehead on hers. His harsh exhalations plumed down her face as he pressed her against himself with his hand on her lower back. 

“Savigne…” he managed between the puffs, “...ya possessed?”

“I think so,” she whispered, struggling to catch her breath, too. “Sorry.”

He scoffed, then kissed her temple. “Aint…complainin’…but…hate it when ya…run off.”

“Didn’t look…like you…hated it,” she wheezed. 

He chuckled lowly and retrieved his gun belt from the ground with a grunt. She looked around, suddenly anxious if they had been far enough away from camp. The forest looked dark and empty. She couldn’t hear the camp either but that meant little as her pulse was beating in her ears. She wiped her hands over her face, moist from the humidity and the sweat and tried to push her hair back into shape. Then she gathered her torn bloomers, gave him a pointed look that earned her a shrug and a grin and stuffed them into the pocket of her skirt. 

“You owe me…underwear.” she panted. 

“Me?” he said, running his fingers through his wild hair. “This is all…on you.”

She groaned, now feeling abashed as she was coming down from that insane lust spike.

He chuckled at her state and took her hand, kissed her palm as he led her back. Their walk back was understandably a lot slower and calmer and went on for longer than she expected. They had managed to get pretty far with their furious chase so that was good at least. She beat her skirts to free any dust and debris. She saw the gated entrance of Shady Belle and wasn’t pleased that they had returned this way.

“You think they’ll know when they see us?”

He gave her a look. “I would.”

She groaned again, tried to tame her hair once more as he grinned wider at her discomfort.

“This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t followed me,” she hissed, annoyed by his nonchalance. 

“Course I followed,” he scoffed. “Ya ran like a wild beast. Sides…you know ya would have got lost.”

That much was true. 

“Ya cookin’ somethin’ in the food or what?” he asked, the grin on his face broadening. 

“Funny,” she said drily, then couldn’t help but click her tongue at his expression. He looked like the cat that ate the canary. “Don’t look so pleased with yourself.”

He just smirked. His eyes were warm and she was somewhat taken aback to see unmistakable love in them. Of course by now, having gotten to know him as well as she did, she knew Arthur loved her. But he loved her in his own way – he never said it, nor did he show it in the usual ways people do. The expression of his affection for her was a lot more subtle, more reserved and complicated. 

If she had been asked to explain it, she would have said that she knew he loved her because at times it felt supernatural how well he read her and it wasn’t hard to follow that he only read her as well as he did because he paid attention to her. Nobody paid this much attention to someone if they didn’t care enough about them. 

But rarely did she see it in his gaze as obviously as she did at that moment. It set her heart aflame.

They were close to the camp now. She retrieved her hand and smacked him on the forearm. “Stop. Grinning. Like. A. Fool!” she hissed. 

“Am a fool,” he shrugged, still grinning.

She clicked her tongue again in distaste and dared a glance at the gang as they turned to stroll towards their tent. They seemed to be occupied but you couldn’t trust this lot – they saw more than they let on and had way too much idle time on their hands to share the things between each other that they had missed. 

He was sauntering as if he had returned from some gallant deed and she couldn’t help but roll her eyes at his silliness. When they arrived at the table, his third meatloaf bowl was empty.

She glanced at his face and the stupefied vexation she found there made her erupt in chortles. She clamped her hand over her mouth when he gave her a baleful glance but the chortles devolved into cackles behind her palm.  

“Thought you was done with that,” John called from a distance. 

“You a stray or somethin’?” Arthur barked. “Eatin’ other people’s food?”

Savigne felt the sting of tears in the corner of her eyes.

John just shrugged and scratched the back of his neck, shifting on his feet. “Came to look for ya…food was just sittin’ there.”

Arthur gave her another side eye as she stood there, laughing and dabbing the tears off her eyes with her sleeves. He grabbed the back of the chair and slammed it to the ground hard before he sat down to pull his whiskey in front of him. 

“How come ya didn’ steal the whiskey too, ya mooch!” he yelled, his eyes hard on John. 

“I got whiskey,” John said dismissively.

“Unbelievable!” Arthur hissed.

“Was getting’ cold and all,” John tried and was cut off by Arthur’s sharp gaze. “You was gone,” he tried again, flustered.

“I like it cold, why I left it ya fool!” Savigne had just gained control over her cackling and almost broke into laughter again at that blatant lie.

“Sorry Savigne,” the other man called over. “It was delicious.”

She nodded in acceptance of the compliment as Arthur’s withering gaze made him finally scurry away. 

She fell into her chair, exhausted from bickering and running and fucking and laughing and this time it was him who clicked his tongue at her amusement. 

“This here your fault,” he said, annoyed.

“What!? Why?”

“Yer feedin’ these sponges and now we can’t leave food out no more. Too many god damn coons about.” 

She chuckled at that. “All I did was give them an extra pizza pie. Also, stop crying - that was your third bowl. I’ll make you more tomorrow,” she said, wiping the remnant of tears off her face.

He grumbled something incomprehensible as she sank on the other chair. In the distance, Javier strummed his guitar.

“I’m still going,” she said a while later.

“Guess ‘m gonna have to keep an eye on ya,”  he huffed. Then: “I want lazan ya.”

She grinned at the way he said it. “Okay.”

He seemed mollified as he drank his whiskey and she sat with him, placed a hand on his and watched the Moon rise.

[kingsstew]

26 and 19 with Charles? 😳

Oooh, yay! I love Charles, he is my bby. 🥰

19. How about a relationship they have in canon that you don't like?

Hmm... this is tough, because Charles has very few relationships in canon at all. I guess maybe his relationship with Lenny? Not the relationship itself, but the fact that I don't think Lenny actually realizes Charles even likes him. Noshir Dalal has discussed this before, but Charles sees Lenny as kind of a little brother, a lot like Arthur does, and is the only other person to stop for Lenny when he gets shot in the Saint Denis robbery.

Up to that point, their only real interaction is Lenny trying to strike up a convo and Charles telling him he "likes people better when he doesn't have to speak to them." Which is true, in that he enjoys silence and doesn't feel the need to chitchat just fo the sake of it. But he doesn't make that clear, and Lenny doesn't really engage too much with him after that. I just wish they could've had more time to bond, and for Lenny to realize how much Charles actually cared about him before he died.

25. What was your first impression of this character? How about now?

I was a little hesitant about Charles at first (during the Colter mission where he hunts with Arthur) because he seemed like he was going to be one of those badass archetype characters who's always cool and collected and amazingly skilled at everything but also cold and aloof and kind of a dick. I knew nothing about any of the characters at that time, so when he snapped, "You think this is rest? Come along," to Arthur I was like, "Wow, okay, rude. I don't even know you, sir." 🤨 Of course by Chapter 2 my opinion of him was already changing, and especially after the bison hunting mission I knew he was going to have way more depth than "Perfect Badass Tutorial Man."

By the end of the game Charles was my favorite character, hands-down, and he still is. He's got so much depth to his story, and he constantly makes the conscious choice to be kind and gentle. It would be so much easier for him to be violent and cruel, especially when that's what everyone around him is doing, and what most people already expect from him for all kinds of fucked-up reasons. But he defies that and chooses love over hate, over and over again. He sacrifices so much for the people he loves, despite having been burned by others so many times before, and helps bring out the good in those who are willing to grow and change. He's an inspiration to the people around him (Arthur and John especially) and to me too. I literally try to remind myself to "be more Charles" every day.

TL;DR - Charles went from "possibly a dickhead" to inspirational sugar pie honey muffin and now I adore him with all my heart.

[archonofdivinity]

Hot take but I think as a whole the Hitman fandom are missing out on the potential of Arthur Edwards as an angsty morally conflicted character. Here’s an analysis.

Edwards as a character has the main running characterisation of a man who wants full control and power and will stop at nothing to do it. Power corrupts in his case. However the fact this is a vital part of his character is angsty of itself.

According to Carl Ingram’s fable, which is clearly about him, Edwards was from a poor family, and originally joined Providence to make the world a better place. However Ingram also states that the boy in the fable started working under those that took him in obediently, since he knew that in a heartbeat everything he had worked for would be gone.

He was brilliant, but he was an idealist, and he started working for what he believed was a greater cause. Fate, however, felt he would be more useful in the private sector and set itself out to lure him to his true calling: working for the hand that fed him. Grooming him in fate’s own image for when he was needed.

This I think summarises this change in character for Edwards massively. He began working with the system instead of destroying it from the inside, and in this desperation fell under the need for power. However this control is stifled heavily. He wanted to work with the Partners, and one day become one of them. But they would never accept someone like him, a “commoner”. Edwards only seems to rebel after the events that led to him getting the poison chip.

Regarding these events, it does seem key as to why he was given the chip. “In case treachery is contagious”. They gave him the chip because Janus, his mentor, was seen as a traitor, and thought that as his protege, Edwards would be the same. What does this tell us? It tells me that the relationship of Edwards and Janus was very close.

In a way, Edwards’s relationship with Janus is a very interesting one that I feel should be discussed more. The Partners represent the brutality of capitalism, yet Janus represents communism. Two conflicting ideologies in a power struggle. One could say it’s like the Cold War is still happening in Providence, considering even as a defector Janus has clear respect for his memorabilia, and mentions names such as Lenin and Trotsky. Honestly I think all this being said, Edwards would be a leftist, but twisted. I personally see him more as a social democrat. That in turn would give him more of a distrust from the Partners. Challenges to the status quo is not allowed.

I definitely do not think Edwards would have been 100% power hungry though with the influence of Janus and Constantin.

Constantin: Would you believe I never worried when he [Janus] was with the KGB, or front of the Cold War? What could possibly go wrong? But his next employers…

Edwards: You shouldn’t talk about this, Constantin.

Constantin: No one should be this powerful, sir. Too much power in too few hands is like a lightning rod. I worry about you as well.

Edwards: I appreciate it, but there’s really no need.

Edwards also only rebels after he gets the poison chip, because it is the final straw. The Partners have been shown to treat him with clear disdain (in one voiceline in Dartmoor, Alexa still dismisses him as a secretary) yet Edwards never rebels before this. He can tolerate them, know they look down on him, but giving him that poison chip proves they see him as disloyal no matter what he does. That must be a blow to a man who has spent practically his entire life trying to seek approval of the system.

This goes even further with the events of the Ark Society mission. If you do the Social Climbing story and trigger his mission, Edwards and Sophia Washington talk, and Edwards learns that she was entrusted with the kill switch. This must have utterly destroyed him. He had vouched for them against Janus’s orders, and now one was waving a kill switch in his face while the other was plotting on going against the predecessor’s wishes for his burial.

Edwards: I recommended you and Zoe to the Partners, against my mentor’s wishes, because I saw something in you. And this is how you repay me? You think because the Partners noticed you, that you have their trust? Their confidence? I have served them for decades. And you don’t even know their names.

Sophia: And yet, you’re the one with the poison chip in your neck and I’m the one holding the trigger.

Edwards: You? They gave it to you?

Sophia: Ouch. That’s got to sting. I mean… the Constant is like the voice of God, right? Only he speaks for the Partners. Surely, they wouldn’t dream of undermining his authority? Only… The Partners are old school, aren’t they? They recognise class. Pedigree. “Birds of a feather” and all that. And you? You reek of middle class. You carry the stink of public transportation. And while you have spent decades climbing the corporate ladder, me and Zoe, we’ve got ourselves a private elevator and it goes straight to the top.

Edwards: Don’t fool yourself, Sophia. They may use you to punish me, but you’re a tool, nothing more. And this pathetic ruse only shows me how much you have yet to learn.

Edwards is at this point broken. Who can he trust anymore? That leads a lot into his character in Hitman III. He’s hardened. He needs to get rid of everyone in his way. He tries to recruit Diana and capture 47 and Grey. Diana chalks this down to his pride being destroyed and him trying to gain it back since he likes power and winning, but I think it’s more than that. Edwards is destroyed, yes, but not by 47 and the rest extracting and kidnapping him. It was by his superiors, the fact that in Providence no one is truly what they say they are.

Edwards is a tragic character, even if by the end of the series he can be considered to be somewhat irredeemable. But I think he’s a lot more than what I see of most portrayals of him in the fandom (being A New Father ending AUs and him being a pervert for some reason). I think Edwards has the idea of him being a complex character. Maybe there should be some world out there where he managed to put aside his pride and take up some supporting protagonist role, and finally reform Providence into the Destiny Group. After all, having it no longer be a shadow government and an open corporation does make it more likely for people to get justice for past wrongdoings…

[oumaheroes]

Hii I was intrigued by your headcanon that Cromwell burnt Arthur I'd be interested to know more of your thoughts on this (like why that happened)

Reeeaaalllly not happy with this one but I'm running out of time, I'll circle back to this again, Anon!

Trigger warnings for detail of gore

‘It’s been a long day’

Day 20 of Whumptober

Going into shock/ Foetal position/ Prisoner trade

Characters: England

Day 19

------

Witches are not usually burnt in England. That death is reserved for heretics, or only for the worst of witches with another crime to their name.

'Yours are too many to list,' Arthur was told, thick iron chains clamped tight around chaffed wrists as the Lord Protector of his realm paced before him in anxious lines, 'A demon in human form sent to tempt me with pretty lies; witchcraft and curses to lead me astray.'

Men feared what they did not understand. Some men did not understand that which challenged them, that which disproved a core belief or morality that guided them through this messy fucking life. The teachings of the church and Arthur's mere existence going head to head in the minds of those with too much fear and not enough heart to make sense of the unsensable.

Irrefutable. Impossible. True.

Nonetheless, against all possibility and probability, true.

In the eyes of men, Albion had seen his reflection change across history. He is not known to them now, not for who he really is, unless he blesses them with that knowledge. And then- then they see him again. See who he is, what he is for. Can speak his true name, understand the full meaning of his words and use him as he is meant to be used. He sees, he remembers, and he shares and they know.

Times change and opinions change with it Arthur knows, but never before has he been betrayed by one of his own like this.

He was granted a private death. It could be seen as kind but Arthur knows that it is not. Cromwell doesn’t want him to be watched lest what Arthur had told him is proven true- that people will fight, will rise up in his name to hear him. Will push to cut him free, will carry him away without really knowing why they feel so deeply for this stranger with the ancient eyes.

So behind the stone walls of the tower he is locked, cold and alone and waiting until his time comes. Bound and tied as the kindling at his feet is stacked higher higher higher, forcing himself not to search or pray for rain that could grant him a precious extra day. Waits silently as his sentence is read, his sins proclaimed to a waiting bland priest who tuts and shakes his head solemnly to hear the severity of his crimes.

The wood is stacked under his feet. His mouth is gagged. He cannot protest and tries not to. Tries to go with dignity, although his soul is broken by this betrayal. This man knows him, and yet-

The fire catches. Arthur’s head is free to move and he can’t help it, he looks down to watch. It creeps slowly at first, jumping to the hay pressed between larger logs, fat and oil glittering along the sides but then the flame is swallowed, goes deeper. Warmth begins at his toes and smoke fills his nose as wood begins to snap.

He shuts his eyes and tries to be logical. If he breathes in deeply, the smoke will kill him faster than the fire will. Maybe if he breathes in enough, he will fall unconscious before there is too much damage.

He tries it. Tries to take big lungfuls of smoke but breaks of choking. Panic sets in as it grows hotter and he struggles against his bindings, all sense gone as the flames find him, a man of earth and clay amongst the fallen tress of his felled woods. He fancies he catches sight of Wales’ face at a tower window, watching behind thick glass. He’s not seen his brother in years, doesn’t even know where he is and before Arthur is even sure it is him he is gone, nothing but dark windows that watch as he throws back his head and screams himself hoarse.

He feels his skin bubble, smells the scent of himself cook amongst the wood- hair and fat and blood. He feels far far too much for far too long before blessed shock finally sets in and he is free, mind numbing as his body shuts down from the agony. Death approaches as his lungs grow too tight to inhale and he knows that this death will be deeper, will be longer than usual. The times have changed, too much too soon, and to learn the wicked ways of the world he embodies he must walk amongst it for a time.

He is glad. The last thing that he thinks as himself for a lifetime, is that he is glad he won’t have to think any more.

-----

For a wonderful wonderful look into Cromwell and England, I highly recommend reading @needcake 's In This Universal River

Day 21

Full Masterlist

[the-heaminator]

Winter prompt 1 anything with Canada not needing the coat!

what do you mean you 'don't need a coat'???"

I need more putting Jack in the cold and watching him suffer while Matthew is in his natural fucking habitat, its platonic if you don't mind.

It was snowing outside, and a pretty type of flurries, it had already packed onto the ground beforehand, so it was a bit of a difficulty to get out of the house because of the snow, Matthew was just outside in a sweater while Jack looked like he had just come out of Antarctica, not Canada, to him both would have felt the same.

“What do you mean you don’t need a coat? It's colder than a witches tit out here!” Matthew could have laughed at him, oh you sweet summer child, it was only like -5 degrees

“Jack, I think you are just a lizard, nobody else is that cold, fuck, even Arthur isn’t cold and he is built like a damp matchstick.”

“I ain’t no lizard, just cold.”

Jack was, no shit, wrapped up in two jumpers and a jacket, and a hat, to save those sticking out ears of his, one of the jumpers was his, the other he had nicked off Matt, everyone loved stealing his jumpers ‘cause they were by far the most comfortable, and the biggest, Matthew was a big dude, tall and wide, man ate well and it showed, maybe that was why he wasn’t cold. The hat Arthur made, honestly he was fiddly little man and it came out in the way that he crocheted like a madman, that was useful right now, because his ears were so cold.

Didn’t help that December in Australia was the hottest part of the year, at this time he was usually slightly moist on a beach trying not to overheat, not trying not to freeze in the bloody Canadian winter, he wanted to hibernate, a very odd thing for him to do considering he had about as much energy as the sun, but even the sun was hiding today, behind steely grey clouds, and the air was cold, so very cold, it hurt to breathe man, he should have worn that bloody scarf.

He was a surly little thing when it was cold, he always had been, the dampness of England used to get to him like it used to get to books, making him damp and limp and sad, he disliked it severely, this was a drier cold, but it was also a much colder cold, and instead of being damp and limp, now he was cold and frozen and a bit frostbitten. Matthew was vibing, Arthur was bundled up but was moving around like a midget with a mission, the smaller you were, the more heat you lost, so logistically he should have lost the most heat.

But there was also the fact that he was a cold little bastard to begin with, he didn’t produce his own heat anyways, if anyone was a lizard it was him. Bullshit, but even he seemed just fine, Matthew was still literally just wearing a jumper, Alfred was wearing a jumper and gloves because while he was an idiot, he did like having his fingers intact, Matthew seemed not to care, his fingers would regret this, to Jack at least they most certainly would.

Alisdair, much like Arthur, was also wrapped up warm, but nothing like Jack, both were just about wearing a jumper and a coat, Alisdair was wearing wellies, a name that Matthew and Alfred found immensely funny, Jack called them gummies when he wanted to, so did Eli, but fucking rain boots was just boring, though admittedly if said in a rush or with an accent wellies very much morphed to someone saying willy, which was always funny to hear.

Anyways. Jack was cold. Matthew was seemingly immune to the cold, and he got hit in the face with a fucking snowball.

Matthew wasn’t wearing gloves how hadn’t his fingers frozen what the fuck, Jack would have been more agile had he not sort of dug himself a few inches into the snow by his incapability to stay still, and what happened was that he got a faceful of snow, fell down, and then got filled with the unimaginable rage of 20 suns and started chasing after Matt, then Matthew knew he was fucked, Jack was so much faster than him, Matthew used to be a hell fo a lot more agile but he had put on a whole lot of weight in the past couple decades and was no longer as agile as he could be.

Also regardless of how agile you were you could not outrun Jack on a fucking mission, and with some difficulty and a lot of slipping and sliding he managed to get his frigid ass to Matt and knock him over, he got a face, and a body, full of snow.

Alfred, not being one to let a chance to be a fucking dumbass go untaken  decided to get involved, and dumped a whole armful of snow on the both of them. The enemy of my enemy is my friend so Matt and Jack had a momentary truce as they went after Alfred. Boys will be Boys despite them being a couple hundred years old.

Arthur and Alisdair were standing a bit off from this whole farce, both chainsmoked like a chimney, and they were doing just that, don't ask me how they managed to light them because I genuinely do not have a clue, regardless of how frozen their joints were at the moment, the compulsion to join them was so goddamn strong.

They were civilised but only barely and very few can resist the urge to throw a snowball at a sibling, and those two were no exception.

"CATCH THIS YOU FUCKING CUNT."

Alisdair got a mouthful of questionable snow.

Arthur was faster than Alisdair but Alisdair had longer legs so this could be anyones guess, everyone was dogpilling snow on Jack and he was pretending to die. Alisdair had flipped Arthur till he was on the snowy ground, winded since he slammed him into it, and then started putting snow down his shirt.

The other 3 were watching because holy shit that was so fucking evil, and then they got back to covering Jack in snow.

He groaned and started to read his will. Not that he had a will. Being functionally immortal and all. But he did. And very dramatically so.

He was loud naturally, and Eleanor could record what he was saying from inside, all cozy and warm, recording them being fucking idiots, watching Arthur and Alisdair was interesting tik because there there may have been malicious intent.

"And I hereby relinquish my house to the lizards~" and then he mock died, went all rigid in a way that didn't happen until rigor mortis set in, and even from a distance she could see him still breathing.

Matthew and Alfred tried to look solemn, and both were failing severely, they lifted Jack on their shoulders like they would carry a corpse on a stretcher, Jack was taller than Alfred but shorter than Matthew, and Matt had 4 inches of height on Alfred's 5'11, so Jack was a bit crooked held.

He didn't move until they had gotten his wet clothes off him and swaddled him in blankets like a baby. Arthur had kicked Alisdair in the chest and bolted so he could get the bloody snow out of his chest ahhhhh he was so cold, he weighed all of 110 pounds and really did not have the insulation to stay warm, after a quick check in on Jack, who looked ready to pass away, he decided that now would be a good time to hog the radiator.

Eli was the only one who wasn't at least a  bit cold, Matthew was minimally cold, bloody polar bear of a man as he was, Alfred was cold enough that he had also decided that the radiator was a good idea but got scared away from the one Arthur was on because he hissed at him and he did not want to deal with that at the moment.

Alisdair had also buried himself in blankets after getting out of his wet clothes, since he got far less snow on him he was a lot faster to warm up and he could produce his own heat, unlike Arthur.

Eli was completely warm and dry, she was the one who was the beholder of brain cells today and decided not to go outside, and smack Matthew over the head for leaving the door open for a couple milliseconds, she was cold dammit.

Seeing Jack shiver in a pile of blankets was an experience in it's own, and decided, as is her way, to pretend to be a natural geographic producer.

"Here we see one of the different subspecies of Kirkland, this subspecies lacks the ability to thrive in cold climates, and had lowered his defences, and does the distress call of a far younger specimen." That distress call being asking anyone who would listen for tea, strong and sweet and most importantly, scalding fucking hot.

Arthur had unwrapped himself from the radiator and had absorbed enough heat to function and stop his muscles being too stiff to move, he also needed tea to function.

"Oi, who wants tea?"

Everyone but Alfred immediately said yes, who then said yes afterwards because well, it couldn't hurt, and it would make him a bit warmer.

Eli continued "As is custom for these creatures, the distress call of a juvenile causes the coddling by much older members, and one of the most notable comforts that they provide, is a mixture of various herbs and leaves, steeped in hot water, with milk and sugar, almost all subspecies have a fondness for this, save for one," she was referring to Alfred "Who, while not as fond if it as the rest, will still not reject it if given to them."

She watched and recorded the various sighs of contentment as warm tea got into them from various people she was recording all of this "As you can see, this mixture creates the release of dopamine in these creatures stronger than most, myself included." Arthur was fussing over her as much as his pride would let her, and practically forced a mug of tea into her hands.

"And with that, I shall leave, we will be back tomorrow to see what happens when you underfeed some of them." She was only saying that because she noticed that neither Alfred nor Matt had eaten in a while, a while as in a good 14-16 hours, that was fine for the oldest of the species, they were used to a whole lot less, but not feeding Alfred and Matthew made them so incorrigibly grumpy that it was funny.

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

Dark Forest voices

Here comes another interesting headcanon! What if everyone in the Dark Forest had their own, deeply disturbing sound when they talked?

Alderstar--his regular voice, mixed with the fading-echo like sound cats hear when their life drains away and the world around them becomes blurred.

Bonus: his voice claim is Arthur from BBC’s Merlin (newer seasons for older--aka current--age).

-

Angelpaw--his normal voice (a monotone and unexpectedly deep voice), underlaid with the yowls and hisses of his now dead father.

-

Avery--his regular voice, with the dull clang of a live-trap door closing.

-

Batear--his regular voice, along with the screech of bars in the night.

-

Birchflight--their voice + the sound of a BMX bike's wheels scraping on gravel.

-

Bluedaisy--regular voice along with the rushing sound of air as you fall.

-

Claudrat--his regular voice, overlaid with soft whispers that give the feeling of different messages, to not trust him, to follow him, and rarely, of how much fun they will have.

-

Darkbrush--their regular voice (an annoying British-tinged voice), the squawk of fresh-kill travels beside it.

-

Emberdawn--Her regular voice, with the rush of a river during a heavy, dangerous storm.

Bonus: Her voice claim is Effy (is that how you spell it?) from Murdoch Mysteries (newer seasons for older--aka current--age).

-

Fallenfire--her regular voice, mixed with the hoarse rasp of a dying cat.

-

Ferndoe--her regular voice, mixed with the tune of a low, painful wail.

Bonus: her voice claim is Olivia from Haunting of Hill House.

-

Foxfire-- his normal voice mixed with the bubbling of water streaming into a sewer.

-

Froglight--his voice mixed with a growling squeak.

-

Gorseheart--his regular voice along with the sound of skin ripping in the heat of battle.

Bonus: his voice claim is George from Murdoch Mysteries (newer seasons for older--aka current--age).

-

Grousemane--his normal voice. That’s it, because he came from Starclan.

Bonus: his voice claim is Gwaine from BBC’s Merlin (newer seasons for older--aka current--age).

-

Hootpetal--her normal voice, with a touch of splintering teeth, the cracking bone along with the trinkling blood of the nerve.

Bonus: her voice claim is Gwen from BBC’s Merlin (newer seasons for older--aka current--age).

-

Jackdawfoot--his normal voice, mixed with the thump of a Twoleg on a small Thunderpath (sidewalk).

-

Kindlepaw--regular voice, mixed with the crackling of flames too close.

-

Loonfur--her regular voice, mixed with the sound of blood roaring in your ears when your heart races and you feel afraid.

-

Milkdud--their regular voice (higher pitched but demanding tone), the drips of blood upon leaves lurks beneath it

-

Myrtlewing--his normal voice, mixed with the disorienting sounds when caught between wakefulness and sleep, nightmares spilling into real life.

Bonus: his voice claim is Merlin from BBC’s Merlin (newer seasons for older--aka current--age).

-

Perchclaw-- his normal voice, with the warning hiss of an adder about to strike.

-

Pigeonfang--his normal voice in addition to the growling of a stomach that hasn't felt food in many moons.

-

Poppyhill--her regular voice mixed with the sound of a low whistle on the moor during a cold, windy night.

Bonus: her voice claim is Poppy Hill from Haunting of Hill House.

-

Riverrush--his regular voice (a playful and upbeat tone), mixed with the sound of a dangerous river, rushing water certain to drown an unfortunate soul.

-

Rosefrost--her regular voice, mixed with the ominous shattering of ice just before a cat falls into icy water.

-

Sharkstar--his regular voice, mixed with the rumbling thunder of a storm that would make kits wail.

-

Skullmoon--their regular voice, along with the crackling of mouse bones under one’s foot.

-

Snailstar--regular voice + the sound of sand trickling out of an open paw

-

Snipvoice--their regular voice, along with the sound of footsteps crunching along the snow, alternating between walking and running.

-

Snowwing--his regular voice, with the sound of a paws following in the undergrowth, heard but unseen.

-

Stickpaw--regular voice, only strained and tired, along with a screeching when loud noises are made.

-

Stonefern--his normal voice, mixed with the distant barking of angry dogs.

-

Treatpaw--her regular voice (a small yet friendly voice that can quickly turn horrifying), tainted by her sister’s dying yowls

-

Trickpaw--her regular voice (a large and boisterous voice that can be sweet as catmint), the dying sobs and cries of her sister can be heard alongside it.

-

Webstripe--his normal voice mixed with the sound of waves getting stirred up by a boat.

-

Whispkit--their regular voice (whispery and quiet voice, everchanging), the wails of other kits speak beneath it, speaking of debts unpaid.

======================

In addition, it’s possible that the longer one is a resident for, the more their voice resembles the sounds over how they actually sounded in life. It’s very gradual, so much so that it is very hard to notice.

-------------------------------

It’s something the Dark Forest cast would become used to, but would absolutely frighten anyone else. The fading echo of Alder’s voice might even disorient them!

Btw Jackdaw killed kittypets, which is why his voice resembles that.

Myrtle’s was inspired by a time I was having a nightmare while half-awake, which made it feel more real and WAY more frightening than a normal nightmare. I of course had to give it to my favourite boy.

More TBA, feel free to add yours!

[ajpendragon]

Mere Words

Merlin groaned as he tried to lift his head, his vision blurry. As his sight cleared, he glanced around the small room, trying to take stock of his situation. His wrists were cuffed behind him, and his head was throbbing. The room he was in was tiny, barely wide enough for him to lay down, and the heavy wooden door was secured with a solid iron lock. He pushed himself to his feet, attempting to peer through the grate in the door, hoping to jog his memory.

He and Arthur had been…”Wait! Arthur!”He called frantically. He had been with Arthur last night, he was sure of it. No one answered his call, and he tried again. “Arthur!!” This time, footsteps answered his call, and he held his breath as they came around the corner. It was not Arthur. Instead, it was a man he had never seen before, but the look on his face told Merlin that he was not a friend. That, and the fact that he was swinging Excalibur around carelessly. “Where did you get that?” Merlin hissed. “What have you done with Arthur? If you’ve hurt him…”

The man chuckled. “It’s funny how much you care about him, since he clearly doesn’t care about you. I didn’t do anything to him.”

“I don’t believe you. Arthur wouldn’t abandon me, and he would never leave his sword behind.”

“You’re sure about that? There’s no secret you’ve been hiding? Nothing that would make Arthur leave you behind? Nothing it would destroy him to learn?” The man leered at him. “Like, for instance, that you have been lying to him since he met you? That you have magic?” Merlin gasped, reeling back and sinking to the ground as the memories came flooding back.

Arthur seeing him using magic.

Lighting a fire, what a stupid way to get caught.

The hurt and betrayal in Arthur’s eyes.

The stammered assurances that “I only use it for you, Arthur. I would never hurt you.”

The cold look on Arthur’s face as he turned away. “I just need some time to think. Give me some space.”

Turning into the woods to respect Arthur’s wish, tears streaming down his face.

The sudden blinding pain in the back of his head.

Then…Nothing.

“No.” Merlin whispered. “He wouldn’t.”

“He did. We met him dragging your unconscious body through the woods. He begged us to take you off his hands, said you were a sorcerer and would fetch us a good price if we turned you in. He also gave us this sword. Said you had given it to him, and he was pretty sure it was enchanted. He seemed so relieved when we took you. Said he didn’t want to see you ever again, that you had betrayed him. You might care about him, as much as it is possible for a sorcerer like you to care, but he quite clearly doesn’t care about you.”

The man walked away whistling, Excalibur thrown carelessly over his shoulder, leaving Merlin crying quietly behind him.

******************************************

Merlin sobbed for hours, finally stopping when there were no more tears to cry. He curled weakly on the floor. He couldn’t believe that Arthur would leave him like that. He had known that Arthur wouldn’t be happy to learn his secret, but he had hoped that the friendship they had built would have been strong enough to weather the hurt. Obviously, Merlin cared far more than Arthur did.

Days passed. Merlin barely moved, unable to muster up the energy. His captors brought him food and water occasionally, but he didn’t touch it. Without Arthur, he didn’t care what happened to him. His whole life had been devoted to protecting him, and now that Arthur had left him, he had no purpose. He felt lost, adrift, alone.

Days drifted into weeks, and Merlin didn’t notice. He never tried to escape, which he easily could have in the beginning, but what was the point? Without Arthur, what else did he have to live for? Now he no longer had the strength to move. Most of his days were spent drifting in and out of consciousness, with the occasional break either of food arriving, and the uneaten tray being taken away, or his captor returning to gloat. It didn’t matter. The end was near, and he found himself struggling to care.

He had just managed to roll over, which was more movement than he had managed in quite a while, when he heard a commotion down the hall. He didn’t bother to move. The noises drew closer, and suddenly the door was thrown open. “Merlin!” Lancelot exclaimed. He called back over his shoulder. “He’s here. I found him.”

With careful hands, Lancelot removed the chains from Merlin’s wrists before lifting him in his arms. Merlin groaned, hanging limply in Lancelot’s hold. “Arthur knows.” He whispered, his voice hoarse after days of disuse.

”What?”

“Arthur knows. He saw me doing magic. He hates me now.”

“He doesn’t hate you, Merlin.”

“Yes he does. He knocked me out and brought me here, selling me off. He never wanted to see me again.”

“Is that what they told you? Oh, Merlin.” Lancelot’s arms tightened around him. “They were lying to you.”

“No. He even had Excalibur. Arthur left it here, and he left me. He hates me.”

Lancelot carried him out of the building. The sun was warm, and too bright after so long spent in that dark cell. The rest of the knights were gathered around the doorway. “Merlin!” Arthur exclaimed.

“No. No. NO.” Merlin curled his face into Lancelot’s chest. “I can’t. NO!” Lancelot walked away immediately, murmuring soothing nonsense until Merlin calmed.

Gwaine stepped up to prevent Arthur from following. “Give them some space. I’ll go find out what’s happening.”

Arthur paced nervously until Gwaine returned. “He’s terrified of you, Arthur. He insists you hate him, and you turned him in to these men. He’s quite determined in that idea. He won’t say why you hate him, though.”

Arthur sat down heavily. “I know why. I found out he has magic, and I didn’t react very well.” To Arthur’s shock, none of his knights seemed the least bit surprised. “You all knew?” They studiously avoided his gaze. “We can deal with THAT later. Anyways, I told him I needed some space, and he headed off into the woods. Next thing I know, I’m waking up here. They must have nabbed him from the woods, and told him I’m the one who brought him here. He’s spent weeks thinking I hated him enough to send him to his death. No wonder he’s afraid of me.”

“Well, he’s too weak to handle talking to you right now. Once he regains some strength, then you guys can talk it out.”

******************************************

The ride back to Camelot was difficult. Arthur was in much better physical shape than Merlin. They had planned to ransom him, so they had fed him decently well. But he was so worried about Merlin that he was unable to lead the group. Leon, who had clearly hoped to cede leadership to Arthur as soon as they found him, was stuck.

Merlin was a disaster. Physically, he was unable to sit up by himself, he was so weak. Lancelot had managed to talk him into eating, but it would still take time to heal. Mentally, he was even worse off. Nothing that Gwaine or Lancelot said could convince him that Arthur didn’t actually hate him, and so he lived in terror that he was being taken to his death or exile. Every time Arthur even looked his way, he shrank back in fear.

They were traveling so slowly, it took them over a week to reach even a sight of the walls of Camelot. They had hoped to get home that night, but it was getting dark, and so they set up camp on the edge of the forest. It had been raining all day, and they were thoroughly soaked and miserable.

They all split to prepare for the night, heading all directions to gather firewood, set up tents, and find something for dinner. Except Merlin, who was left, snugly wrapped, to watch the horses. Just to watch them. He was, under no circumstances, to do anything other than watch them.

That didn’t last long. Merlin was tired of being useless. Tired of being coddled. Tired of being tired. Keeping the cloak tightly wrapped around him, he forced himself to his feet, leaning heavily against the tree behind him. He tried to take a few careful steps, and nearly collapsed, the only thing saving him another nearby tree. With a quick glance around, he ensured he was alone before raising his hand. A muttered word, and the horses’ tack removed itself, coming to rest in a neat pile at the base of the tree. Or at least that was the plan.

A soft gasp broke his concentration, sending the equipment tumbling to the ground. He spun around to see Arthur watching him. Panicking, Merlin stumbled away from Arthur, collapsing to the ground. “Arthur, I’m sorry.” He begged. “I won’t do it again. Please don’t be mad?”

Arthur reached for him, then pulled himself back. “Merlin, I need you to listen to me. I am not going to hurt you. I do not hate you.”

Merlin’s eyes filled with tears. “But you turned me in to be sent to my death.”

“They lied to you. I had nothing to do with that. I was captured at the same time as you. I thought you had gotten free, until Lancelot brought you out of the awful place. I know I did not react well the first time I saw your magic, but believe me when I say I do not hate you. I just needed some time to process, and I have had plenty of that in the past few weeks. When I actually thought about it, I realized something about all those times when things went just a little suspiciously too well. When I was knocked unconscious and woke up to you telling me I had managed to defeat the danger, even though I never remembered it. It was all you, wasn’t it?”

Merlin nodded slowly, tears still dripping down his face. “I thought you hated me.”

“I could never hate you. You have saved my life more times than I can count, at extreme risk to your own. Someday, you will have to tell me, but for now…” Arthur sank to his knees in front of Merlin, head bowed in the same way that people knelt before Arthur. “Let my thanks suffice, although mere words could never be enough thanks for all you have done for me and our kingdom.”

******************************************

The knights watching from the woods heaved simultaneous sighs of relief. Maybe things would work out after all.

[koolkat9]

Just Until the Storm Passes

Rating: T

Relationship: Scotland + England  

Word Count: 764

Author’s Note: This is based on either a post or a discussion I had with @returntohetalia a few months ago. Either way, the idea isn’t completely my own and part of the inspiration comes from them. 

 It started with a low rumble. Alastair had barely noticed it over his music, but eventually, as the storm grew closer and the sky darker, the rumbling soon turned into a loud boom. It had made Alastair almost drop his book, but that was more from how sudden it was than a genuine fear of storms. But the crashes and bangs from downstairs seemed to tell that Alastair’s brother was not having the same experience.

At first, Alastair opted to ignore him. He wasn’t the happiest with Arthur at the moment, and it wasn’t like Alastair was good at facing his siblings when they were going through stressful situations. That was usually Dylan’s job. However, Dylan was not home at the moment, so when another crash resounded downstairs, Alastair rose with a sigh.

When he arrived downstairs, he couldn’t find Arthur anywhere. Only the broken pieces of a teacup, a discarded scone, and the knocked-over vase were left in the Brit’s wake. Alastair followed the trail of mess to the door that led to the basement. There he found Arthur, huddled up in the corner, shaking violently as he pressed his hands against his ears.

“Arthur,” Alastair called gruffly. The Englishman didn’t respond. A loud crack of thunder rang out, and Arthur pressed against his ears harder, whimpering slightly. So it was the thunder. No, not just the thunder. There was more to it. But Alastair wasn’t good with discussing feelings, so he let it go. He couldn’t just leave his brother shaking like that though.

Without another word, Alastair made his way over to the closet and pulled out an extra blanket. As carefully as possible, he approached Arthur. “Hey,” He murmured, hoping Arthur could hear him and would not be spooked. “It’s okay.”

Just as carefully, he draped the blanket over Arthur’s shoulders. Arthur froze before slowly turning towards Alastair. A tear-stained, confused look was what he found. It was as if Arthur wasn’t fully there, trapped somewhere in his mind. Alastair had seen that look once before when Francis was living with them. It made his blood run cold. “Arthur?”

But Arthur didn’t respond. Instead, he got ready to lunge. Luckily Alastair was able to catch his brother’s hands and pull him into a tight hug. “Hey…It’s okay. It’s just a storm…uh…Wherever you are right now, you're not. You're here with your big brother Alastair, in the basement, under a blanket." He swallowed thickly. "The war is over.”

Arthur still remained silent, but he relaxed ever so slightly into Alastair’s arms. With a sigh, the Scotsman pulled Arthur more comfortably into his lap, just like he would when they were children. And just like when they were children, Alastair began to sing:

"O ba ba mo leanabh

Ba mo leanabh, ba

O ba ba mo leanabh

Nì mo leanabhs’ an ba ba.”

An old lullaby, but a good one. Normally it was Dylan who was in charge of comforting Arthur when he got scared as a child, but on the rare occasion when Dylan was out, and Arthur awoke screaming, Alastair would jump in and like Dylan did, singing their youngest brother back to sleep.  

“Ged tha mi gun chaoraich agam

'S caoraich uil' aig càch

Ged tha mi gun chaoraich agam

Dèan a leanabh an ba ba.”

Arthur clung to him. He was not fully present still, but Alastair wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, deep inside Arthur knew he was safe. Alastair hugged him tighter. He may have been mad at his little brother, but no one deserved to be going through this alone.

“Eudail mhòir a shluaigh an dòmhain

Dhòirt iad d'fhuil an dé

'S chuir iad do cheann air stob daraich

Tacan beag bho do chré

O ba ba mo leanabh

Ba mo leanabh, ba

O ba ba mo leanabh

Nì mo leanabhs’ an ba ba.

Dhìrich mi bheinn mhòr gun anal

Dhìrich agus thearn

Chuirinn falt mo chinn fo d' chasan

Agus craicionn mo dhà làimh”

By the end of the lullaby, Arthur appeared to have drifted off to sleep, slumped against Alastair’s shoulder, his frame no longer shaking. Alastair let out a sigh of relief. He leaned against the wall, loosening his grip on Arthur, though not letting him go quite yet. Outside, the thunder still roared, though it sounded more distant now. Alastair considered taking Arthur back upstairs, but the Brit finally looked at peace, and Alastair didn’t want to wake him and trigger whatever had just happened again.  For now, they’d stay in the basement, at least until the storm completely passed.

The song used:

Ba Mo Leanabh- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P7dW1FtfS9Q&list=PLkmUFuwU4pw0_qDUyOb5u3BUIoTHnSA5r&index=2

[hecatemoon87]

Avast! - Love on the High Seas - An Ian Eames Pirate Adventure

Part III: Keep Your Head On Your Shoulders

Cold, iron shackles were firmly clamped onto Ian’s wrists as the pirates prepared him to board their ship. Dom and Arthur watched their friend closely, wondering if Ian was afraid. Ian, however, was not afraid. In fact, he was exhilarated by the entire experience. He was still high from the adrenaline rush that the heat of the battle had incited within him. Although he was not ignorant of the fact that his life was still in danger, he could not help but be curious as to what was to come.

Dom could not in good conscience allow his friend to be taken and held captive alone. He rose from his kneeling position, but kept his hands raised above his head. Bringing the attention of two pirates standing nearby, they approached Dom. One of them leveled their sword at his chest and the other cocked his flintlock.

Dom hesitantly looked over to the pirate woman, who was leaning against the starboard rail. She was watching her men clear the deck while she waited for another group to go below into the ship's cargo hull. The first chest of Spanish gold emerged from below deck, a set of four men carried it across a plank over to their ship.

“Um, pardon me?” Dom said, trying to gain the woman’s attention.

Her head snapped over to him, her eyes narrowing in on him. She removed herself from the ship’s rail and walked over to speak with him.

“Yes?” she inquired, folding her arms, awaiting for him to speak his piece.

“If you are to take Mr. Eames, we are to join him,” Dom said.

“We?” The woman asked.

“My God, what are you doing?” Arthur whispered harshly.

Arthur was not far from Dom and was still on his knees with his hands raised above his head.

“Correct, myself and the man in navy blue over there, are Mr. Eames partners. I believe the three of us are more valuable together than apart.”

The woman stared at him for a moment. Dom could see a highly intelligent woman behind her emerald green eyes. He knew she was attempting to detect if he held ill intent. She nodded, as if satisfied he was speaking the truth.

“As you wish, Mister…?”

“Cobb, Mister Cobb.”

“And your friend in blue?”

“Arthur Hatt,” Arthur said, unhappily as he stood, holding his wrists out, awaiting to be shackled like Ian had been.

“Very good, Mr. Eames, Mr. Cobb and Mr. Hatt, shall we?”

She stood to the side of one of the planks, extending a hand toward it. Ian felt a flintlock press into his lower back.

“Move,” a pirate said harshly.

Once all three companions boarded the pirate ship, they were led directly to the Captain’s Quarters. Ian was impressed by the ship itself. For starters, it was a Spanish ship, so Red Hand Roy, who was an English pirate, must have seized it during a raid. It was also well kept, so the crew must have been instructed to keep it meticulously clean. There were intricate ornate carvings chiseled carefully in the dark wood. The wood itself was polished and shining brightly in the midmorning sun.

Inside the Captain's Quarters, they were forced into velvet upholstered chairs that were situated around a heavy oak table. As they were seated the door to the room flung open and Red Hand Roy briskly walked into the room. Roy was a very intimidating looking man. He was at least six foot four, two hundred and eight pounds and built like a brick wall. He had steel blue eyes, a great black bushy beard braided into several chains. He grabbed one of the chairs and slammed it down on the other side of the table facing toward his three captives.

“Ye be transporting some very dangerous cargo, my lads,” he boomed.

“That gold was intended for England. The Royal Navy isn’t going to be pleased.” Dom said.

“No, I doubt that they would be,” Roy replied, scratching the side of his face. “But since I have you three fine gents as me hostages, I think they might be a little more hesitant in chasing after their gold.”

“And if they do chase after the gold?” Arthur asked, hesitantly.

“Then they’ll be pulling yer corpses out of the ocean as they follow me,” Roy said, chuckling.

The pirates that stood behind them laughed as well.

Arthur swallowed nervously, Dom shifted uncomfortably in his seat and Ian leaned in to listen to the pirate with interest.

“I suppose that’s why they call you Red Hand Roy then? Because of all the bloodshed?” Ian asked.

Arthur glared at Ian, but Ian ignored his friend’s disapproval of the topic of bloodshed.

“Aye, I suppose. I didn’t personally pick it out meself, but enough people were using it, so I kept it. But I ain’t no butcher. As long as you gents obey my command, ye won’t be paying a visit to Davy Jones’ Locker.”

The door to the quarters opened again and the pirate woman stepped inside, making her way to Red Hand Roy’s side.

“This here is Josephine, me First Mate. She’ll be keeping an eye on you lads. I wouldn’t get it into yer minds that just because she’s a woman she won’t gut you like a fish.”

“Take them to the brig,” Josephine said, jerking her head toward the door.

The pirates who had been waiting behind them came up and roughly pulled them out of their chairs and prodded them across the deck to be led below and thrown into the brig. As Arthur picked himself up from the floor he rubbed his shoulder with disdain.

“I must make this very clear to you both, I hate you,” he said to his friends.

“Oh, come now! It’s an adventure! If we use our heads we’ll come out of this just fine. Even have a good tale to speak of once this is all over,” Ian said.

Arthur stared at him blankly. “You mean to tell me you aren’t remotely frightened?”

“No, not really,” Ian said.

“Good Lord,” Arthur said horrified. “Dom, you fool! I told you Ian was unstable. Now we are going to die because of him!”

“Calm yourself,” Dom chided. “It is important that we keep our heads. No use in turning against each other. Besides, Arthur, have a bit of fun with it.”

“Fun? You think dying at the end of a bloody cutlass is fun?!” Arthur shouted.

The sound of boots coming into the brig echoed through the room, silencing them. They watched as Josephine emerged from the shadows, resting her hands on the bars.

“Gentlemen, what is all the ruckus about? Are you not finding our accommodations to your liking?”

Arthur huffed and settled into the corner of the cell, while Ian and Dom sat next to each other, backs against the wall.

“Not at all, I find your brig to be rather charming, love.” Ian said, giving her a handsome smile.

In return, she gave him a slight smile, her eyes sparkled with a hint of mischievousness. Ian thought her eyes were comparable to a nymph or a sprite. He couldn’t help but to feel drawn toward her, like she had entranced him with some kind of magic. Her beauty alone played upon his emotions and he was fairly certain Dom and Arthur were feeling the same.

“I’m happy to hear that. But if you call me love again, I’ll cut your cock off,” she said sweetly.

She turned from the brig, leaving them alone once again.

“I think I’m in love,” Ian said, sighing deeply.

“Oh, would you shut up!” Arthur snapped, then abruptly turned on his side, his back facing Ian and Dom and he tried to get some sleep.

The next morning they were awoken by their cell door being unlocked. The three were brought up to deck level where Red Hand Roy and Josephine were waiting. Ian found it slightly amusing to see Josephine standing next to Red Hand Roy. She had to be around five foot eight, a hundred and twenty pounds. Not to say she wasn’t well built, he certainly wouldn’t have wanted to try her in combat. While his eyes were on her, soaking in her femininity, Roy’s booming voice brought his attention back to the matter at hand.

“First order of the day, gents, is that you three lads are goin’ to write some letters. These letters will be given over to the Royal Navy when they come to parley.”

“What would you have us write?” Dom inquired.

“You will reiterate the fact that you are being held captive against yer will. You will emphasize that if the Royal Navy dogs don’t follow my demands, I’ll be killin’ the lot of ya.”

Ian, Dom and Arthur now only wore their under tunics, trousers and boots. Their weapons, coats and hats were confiscated. They were completely vulnerable and although the morning sun was heating up the day, the talk of them potentially being murdered still managed to chill their blood.

“Very well,” Dom said, showing that he would cooperate to the fullest extent.

“Sounds agreeable,” Arthur said, in kind.

“Certainly, but do you really think that the Crown will let you steal six chests of Spanish gold and not take action, whether you keep us alive or kill us?” Ian said.

If Arthur hadn’t been in chains, he would have pounced on Ian and throttled him. Instead, Arthur kicked Ian hard in the leg.

“Ow!” Ian exclaimed, glaring at Arthur.

Red Hand Roy paused a moment, then approached Ian. The pirate's heavy boots thumped menacingly across the deck as he walked toward Ian. Roy now towered over Ian, who was only five foot nine. The pirate's shadow cast over him, blotting out the sun.

“Ye got fire in that belly of yer’s, son. Not a bad quality to have. To answer yer question, we’ll be only taking two of the chests of gold. We ain’t a greedy lot and we ain’t stupid neither. Yes, the Crown will get its knickers in a bunch, but it has to funnel its energy in dealing with the Spanish, not little ol’ pirates such as meself.”

“Very clever of you,” Ian said, swallowing nervously as the big pirate loomed over him.

“Aye, yer damn right it be clever, ya think if I had a bunch of rocks up in me head I’d be where I am now?”

“Indeed, I apologize for overstepping, Captain,” Ian replied politely.

Roy chuckled. “You ain’t half bad, lad. Keep your head on those shoulders of yer’s and you might get out of this alive.”

[banditnoo]

My Castle of Ships {1/2} - Merlin One Shot

Summary |  {A strange phenomenon had occurred when Arthur had been born by magic. He now had the ability to read minds. Nobody knew of his gifts. Arthur knew from a young age that sorcery was not welcomed in Camelot. With fears that his own father would banish or harm him, he kept his piece of magic to himself. A piece of magic that had become much less of a burden after he had been crowned king, and for moments like these; While he was bored and Merlin daydreamed.}

Tags | {Merthur, Magic Arthur AU, mind reader AU, Major Character Death}

Warnings | {Like one swear word? Angsty, but not as gut wrenching as 5x13}

a/n | {I’ve finally worked up the courage to post some of my writing on Tumblr! This has been cross posted to AO3 (Legendary_Julia) and Wattpad (GreaserGal19). Maybe one day I’ll get my usernames in order, but today is not that day. Part 2 will come out... at some point. This was suppose to be a stand alone story, but our boys deserve better. Thanks for checking me out, happy reading!} 

~~~

{A strange phenomenon had occurred when Arthur had been born by magic. He now had the ability to read minds. Nobody knew of his gifts. Arthur knew from a young age that sorcery was not welcomed in Camelot. With fears that his own father would banish or harm him, he kept his piece of magic to himself. A piece of magic that had become much less of a burden after he had been crowned king, and for moments like these; While he was bored and Merlin daydreamed.}

~~~

Merlin was a daydreamer, he always had been. He'd often find himself thinking of Ealdor while he puttered about Arthur's chambers. Sometimes he would imagine what it would be like to rule his own kingdom, to make his own rules. While he scrubbed away at Arthur's hunting boots, he built his own castle. The citadel would be magnificent. The walls would stand tall, glittering with a hint of magic. Beautiful tapestries would hang from every wall, depicting anything the passerby's wished. A series of tunnels would wind throughout and underneath the stone walls, eventually connecting to water. Yes, the castle would have to be by the ocean. Merlin smiled to himself as he pictured it. The birds, the sound of waves crashing against the rocky shores, and the ships. Merlin loved the idea of having ships. With a boat like that he could sail anywhere, do anything. That's what it could be, his castle of ships.

Arthur had to smile at the name. He too pictured the castle from his spot at his desk. He could only imagine the beauty of a kingdom Merlin could build with his magic. The Castle of Ships.

"Has a nice ring to it," Arthur muttered to himself, to caught up in the image to realize he had said anything aloud.

"What was that?"

"Hmm?"

"You said something."

"No, I did not."

"Yes, yo-"

"You're hearing things Merlin, go back to whatever it is you where doing. Maybe scrub a different spot before you muck up my good boots."

Arthur stood up abruptly, leaving a confused Merlin watch him briskly walk out of his chambers.

"He really has gone mad." Merlin muttered as he began to clean the other boot.

~~~

Merlin knew someone was listening. He's felt the presence in the castle for a long time, but could never quite pinpoint it. He had tried to call out many times. Perhaps there was a Druid somewhere within Camelot trying to communicate, or an evil doer with a presence too strong to ignore. But there was never an answer. He was always left alone with his thoughts, which he was slowing getting scared to think.

When the presence felt strong, Merlin would busy his mind with his daydreams. He would think of home, or add details to his imaginary kingdom.

He did his best daydreaming during round table meetings. The presence would always be strong in the throne room, the magic almost danced through the air. It was here that he added the finer details of his castle.

He constructed a grand portrait hall as Leon droned on about the months finances. The long room would have the most brilliant red carpet, lined with an intricate gold and black pattern. He could almost feel himself walking through the grand hallway as he leaned against the cold stone of the throne room walls. As he imagined himself walking along, he thought about whos portraits he would put on display. He would have his mother, of course, and Gwen, his first friend in Camelot. He could picture the cocky smirk on Gwaine's portrait and the valiant yet understanding look on Lancelot's. His eyes scanned around the round table, imagining all of his friends in their best Camelot red, striking wild poses for the artist. They eventually landed on Arthur, whose head was resting lazily against his hand, trying his best to listen to Leon. Merlin hummed to himself, placing Arthur's portrait at the end of the hallway. It would be the only place fit for his king.

He had heard once of a spell that made the portraits move within their frames, adopting the personality of its subject. He studied Arthur's face as he thought, committing every detail to memory. The way his golden hair fell across his forehead in soft wisps, and how his nose came to a gentle point, complimenting the rest of his face. His favourite feature of Arthur's has always been his eyes. A piercing blue that found him in any room they were in.

They were the same blue eyes that were staring at him now, Merlin realized, staring back, not daring to look away now. Their shared a million words with just a look, a conversation no one else would hear.

Are you as bored as I am?

When is dinner?

When will Leon stop talking?

How's the castle of ships coming?

Merlin's heart dropped. He was imagining things, right? He had to be. They weren't really talking to each other, after all. It was all in his head, somewhere Arthur most definitely was not. He was quickly becoming aware of the overwhelming sense of magic flowing through the room.

I know you're in my head. Make yourself known. I don't know what you want, but you won't be getting it.

Arthur was taken aback by the threatening tone in Merlin's voice. He hadn't realized that Merlin could sense the presence of his magic, or that he was so threatened by it. His eyes dropped quickly, looking at everything but Merlin in the corner of the room.

"Is everything alright, Sire? You looked concerned." Leon's address took Arthur by surprise. Sitting up as fast and as straight as possible, he voided his face of any emotion as he shook his head.

"Yes, yes. Everything is fine. We must ensure that patrol around the citadel continues. I've caught wind of a potential threat. A sorcerer."

"Are you sure, sire? I haven't heard of such a thing."

"Certain. I trust my sources," with a final glance at Merlin, he nodded at Leon, urging him to continue with the meeting.  

~~~

Arthur's eyes followed Merlin around his chambers. He could hear his thoughts going a mile a minute as he absentmindedly straightened the pillows on the bed.

"There is something on your mind," Arthur said, not moving his head from where it rested in the crook of his elbow, all but laying on the table.

"What makes you say that?"

"I can see it in your eyes." Their eyes connected from across the room, but Merlin looked away quickly, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. There was a moment of silence before he spoke again,

"Something is troubling you, and I want you to tell me. Please, Merlin, there is no need to lie."

Merlin was fighting with himself, and Arthur didn't need to be a mind reader to see it. They stayed like this, Arthur looking at Merlin and Merlin looking at the floor. They both felt the heavy magic in the room, but neither acknowledged it.

"Have you ever missed a place you've never been? A place that never really was?"

"I never took you for a philosopher, Merlin," Arthur couldn't help the smile that crept onto his face, or the fondness in his eyes, "if this is about your mother, I've told you. She is more than welcome here. I know how much you think of her."

"No, it's- that's not quite it."

'Not thinking of running away, are we?" Arthur's smile grew bigger as he spoke. He knew that's what it was, Merlin had been thinking about it for weeks. He wasn't worried, though. He knew Merlin would never leave without a goodbye, and a chance to convince him to stay. The guilty look in Merlin's eyes confirmed what Arthur already knew.

"I would never! Who would deal with your royal ass everyday if I left?"

"It's a simple fix, really. I would just have to come with you. Make sure you don't get yourself killed."

"Arthur Pendragon on the road? I don't believe it for a minute." Merlin smiled as he spoke. He imagined the two of them running away, into the castle of ships.

Many sleepless nights had allowed Merlin countless hours to add onto the castle. In the late hours of the night, he added gardens and ballrooms, imagined the wind on his face as he held tightly to the mast of a massive wooden ship. Those same nights, Arthur would lay awake in his own chambers, halfway across the castle, and imagine the beauty for himself as he listened to Merlin describe his castle grounds in a way that a child listens to his mother read a bedtime story.

"I am perfectly capable, thank you," Arthur rose form his spot at the table, making his way over to the bed and trying his best not to sound too amused, " and put some wood on the fire, would you? We've got an early morning tomorrow. We're travelling to Annis' land. She wishes to discuss the safety of both our borders villages."

"Is there a reason I was not told of this sooner?"

"It's simply business, Merlin. There's no need to worry. Get some sleep, you'll need it for the journey."

"I have a bad feeling about this," Merlin muttered as he left, shutting the door tightly.

"I heard that!"

"Go to sleep!"

~~~

The knights laughed loudly as their horses carried them down the well-beaten trail. An agreement was reached between Arthur and Annis about the protection of the border villages, making it much safer for villagers in each kingdom to travel through the border forests.

"Smile, Merlin! We're celebrating!" Gwaine gave Merlin's should a rough pat as his horse rode up alongside Merlin's. He held out a water skin, no doubt filled with ale, and gestured it towards Merlin.

"You're always celebrating, Gwaine." He took a long sip before handing back to Gwaine, nodding his thanks. He would need a drink if he was going to deal with the knights for the ride back to Camelot.

Merlin turned to his daydreams as their journey back continued. He was picturing a beautiful courtyard, lush with apple trees and all kinds of flowers, when his magic started to tingle. He hardly noticed it at first, brushing it off as the change in the wind, but the feeling kept growing stronger.

Someone was watching them.

They were just leaving Caerleon's borders through a valley, the perfect place for an ambush. Merlin looked around, uneasy. His body tensed at every little sound as the forest came into view. He was fighting with himself. If he told Arthur, would he believe him? What if it really was nothing? No, his magic wouldn't deceive him like that. He looked at Arthur, who was riding a short distance in front of him.

Merlin didn't even have to call his name for Arthur to turn around. As soon as their eyes met, a look of concern filled his face. His hand came up, signaling the group to stop. He looked toward the tree line, signaling for his men to do the same. Much to Arthur's horror, it was deathly quiet. The birds stopped chirping and the wind seemed to stop howling. The air around them was still as the group looked around.

"Did you hear something, sire?"

"No. That's exactly the issue."

"If we are quick, we can make it to the trees. Find safety in the forest."

Despite Leon's suggestion, nobody moved a muscle.

They continued looking towards the trees, before Merlin gave Arthur a hard nudge. Getting ready to tell him off, Arthur turned quickly on his horse before following his line of sight. Standing atop the rocky hills on either side of the valley were dozens of men wearing loose black and brown clothing, swords and bows drawn, pointed at the much smaller group of knights.

"AMBUSH!"

The horses started going crazy, whinnying and thrashing in an attempt to throw off the knights. Swords were drawn as the bandits began to yell, running down the hills at all angles. They were outnumbered, far too outnumbered to stand a chance against even the weakest opponents. Arthur unsheathed his sword, trying to regain control of his horse.

"Head for the trees!"

Picking off only the first attackers, it was a race between time, the bandits, and making it to the cover of the woods. Taking a sword from one of the bandits bodies, Merlin was quick to follow Arthur. With his heart pounding in his ears, he could no longer hear the commotion of the fight. He could only hope he was losing them.

~~~

Merlin's head was spinning as he stumbled through the thick underbrush of the forest. He had lost his horse when he lost sight of Arthur. He dragged his stolen sword loosely behind him as he tried to ignore the searing pain in his shoulder. The bandits had been quicker than he thought, and had much better aim than what he'd like to give them credit for. He had barely cleared the trees when the arrow struck his shoulder, no doubt coated in a poison that his mind was too foggy to identify.

Things had gone downhill very quickly after that. The sun had set what Merlin could only guess was hours ago. The forest was so dark he could hardly tell which way was up. He was ready to give up finding the others. He had wandered for hours, they could've been halfway back to Camelot by now.

Merlin had stopped for a moment, leaving heavily against a tree to try to catch his breath, weighing his options as he grimaced at the pain shooting through his arm. He stayed there for a few minutes, waiting, listening to the forest. He heard the magic in the forest as it flowed through every tree, every leaf. There were owls in the distance, and the sound of insects flying by. And footsteps? Although the sword was in his good hand, Merlin was weak as he swung blindly behind him. Hearing the dull thud of metal on metal, and a familiar grunt, Merlin dared to turn around.

"It's a good thing you've got sticks for arms," Arthur huffed out a weak laugh as he took the sword from Merlin.

When Arthur pulled him into a hug, Merlin was ready to defend himself, but he was to tired too do anything but lean into the cool metal of Arthur's chainmail. A gentle 'hmff' was all he could manage.

Arthur took Merlin by the shoulders and held him at arms length, giving him a once over. It was hard to see in the dark, but he could see the blood that coated Merlin left shoulder and arm, and now his own hand.

"I would never leave you behind! How could you think that?" Arthur sounded heartbroken as he gripped onto Merlin's good arm tightly.

"I didn't- how-"

"You didn't need to say it out loud for me to hear you."

Confusion was evident in Merlin's eyes as he scanned Arthur's face, looking for any trace of a joke, but he found nothing.

"It's you, isn't it? That presence, that magic... It's you?"

"It always has been."

The magic danced between them, like it had a thousand times before, but there was no fear behind it, not this time.

"You're hurt."

"I noticed."

Merlin leaned into Arthur's arm, trying to stay steady.

"Can you walk? Let me take you to the others. We've set up a camp, we'll be safer there."

"Only if you carry me. Like a damsel in distress."

"Absolutely not," Arthur scoffed as he picked Merlin up bridal style, slinging his good arm around the back of his neck, making sure not to move him too much.

"Hey! I was kidding, you prat! Put me down!"

"Would you rather I drag you? Quit your complaining. If your swing at me was any indication of your strength, you wouldn't have made it another step." Arthur tried to hide the growing concern in his voice. He looked down at Merlin's face, which was now rested against his shoulder, and he could tell it wasn't good. He only now got a good look at what had happened, and his heart sunk. He had had knights that couldn't recover from a wound like that, where the arrow was haphazardly ripped out in an attempt to get rid of the poison it was laced with.

"Merlin?"

"Hmm?"

"Tell me about the castle. The castle of ships. I'm sure there's parts that I've missed. I can't be in your head all the time."

Merlin smiled, closing his eyes as he shook his head against Arthur's shoulder,

"It's a stupid idea."

"It can't be that stupid, you put a lot of thought into it. Have you ever thought of becoming a storyteller?"

The laugh that came out of Merlin was short and hoarse, but Arthur needed him to keep talking. They were still a long walk away from the camp, and Arthur was willing to do anything to get Merlin there alive.

"I didn't realize I had such a way with words."

"Please?"

"What would you like to hear about, my lord."

"I won't hesitate to drop you."

Merlin let out another laugh, much rougher than the last one, that quickly turned into a fit of heavy, wet coughing. Arthur continued to walk, the only sound being his boots hitting the ground for a long time before Merlin began to speak.

"The grand hall, it would stand alone from the rest of the castle. It would have a long, stone pathway for guests to walk along as they gathered for feasts and balls. It would be lined with rose bushed and allium flowers, the dark purple ones."

There was another coughing fit before he continued, "the double doors, they would be engraved. With dragons, fairies, things of magic. Did you know your shoulder isn't very comfortable?"

"I wouldn't imagine, with it being covered in armor and all. Tell me about the boats. They are my favourite part."

"What about them? I've never seen a ship, only the pictures in Gaius' books. They're fascinating, aren't they?"

He could hardly finish his sentence before he started coughing again. It shook through his whole body, making him ache.

"Come on, Merlin. Keep talking. Give me something, a thought, anything. It's not long until we'll be back with the knights. Elyan will fix you right up. Good as new, right?"

Merlin gave a weak smile, "good 's new..."

"Why do you find ships so interesting? They are just big, fancy boats."

Arthur could hear Merlin's thoughts, still going a mile a minute despite him thinking almost nothing at all.

" 's exactly it. They're big, they're fancy."

"Is there a spell for that? Could you create one?"

"A spell for what?"

"Building things. Constructing this castle, making ships."

"I'm sure I could figure it out."

Merlin shifted in Arthurs arms, trying to make himself more comfortable before hissing out in pain and trying to reach for his shoulder.

"Are you trying  to bleed out? Quit moving!"

Arthur's words came out harsher that he intended, though there was sadness in his voice. Merlin continued to wiggle until Arthur dropped his legs. Keeping one hand around Merlin's waist, he used his other hand to keep a firm pressure on his shoulder. Against Merlin's protest and Arthur's better judgment, they continued walking through the dark.

"We're not going to make it in time." Merlin was leaning heavily into Arthur's side, barely keeping his footing at he stumbled over another tree root.

"We're going to make it. You're not going dying on me now Merlin. That's an order."

"When have I ever listened to those?"

Merlin stopped walking, forcing Arthur to stop next to him. Letting himself fall to his knees, he landed with a small 'thump' on the cold ground, the blanket of pine needles and leaves welcomed him. Arthur lowered himself after him, keeping one hand at Merlin's side, his other hand reached out to rest against Merlin's cheek, keeping his head steady as he closed his eyes.

"Keep your eyes open Merlin. Come on, looks at me. Say something."

"Remember my story, won't you? You've heard me tell it a thousand times. Built that castle of ships. For me?"

"I won't build it unless your there to see it. Open your eyes, Merlin, please." Arthur felt hot tears roll down his face as he looked at Merlin. His friend, his best friend, his only friend, was going to die.

Merlin opened his eyes slowly, only getting them halfway opened before they became to heavy to move. Arthur moved the hand on Merlin's waist to his back, gently pulling him into another hug. They sat like this, in silence for a long time, Arthur not daring to pull away.

Arthur started to hum a gentle tune in a last ditch effort to break the silence, not trusting his own voice to not break if he spoke. It was a tune he had caught Merlin humming hundreds of times. It reminded him of the warmth of the castle, how comfortable he was when he watched Merlin go about his duties from his spot at his desk, listening to the story of a magnificent castle being built and the mighty ships that gave it it's name. It reminded him of all the times he had to stop himself from revealing his piece of magic to Merlin, to tell him that he wasn't alone, that he wasn't hated.

The quiet song came to an end and Arthur stopped, listening to the sounds of the forest and hoping to hear a voice amongst the gentle rustle of trees, but he heard nothing. There wasn't a cough, nor a cry or a snarky remark, not even a thought. It was quiet, deafeningly so as Arthur began to cry. Long, ugly sobs were the only sound as he pulled Merlin closer to him, begging, pleading for him to move, get up, say something, kick him, yell at him, anything.

But alas, there was nothing. Only silence as Arthur continued to cry. He cried for the loss of his friend, his dearest friend. He cried for the loss of the kingdom they never got to create with each other.

He cried, sobbed, begged, and bargained. But that too, only ended in silence.

[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.”

[sirensmojo]

"KINDRED", 4 - Thomas Shelby x Reader.

Warnings: Swearing, romance, violence, guns, drama, slight smut(“slight”?)

Word Count: 5k+

AN: When it’s a reader and Tommy scene, it’s Tommy POV.

❰ ​Previous Chapter

Tommy leaned backwards on his desk chair, a cigarette stuck in between his index and middle fingers. He was looking at the ceiling as if its colour brought to him answers to the multiple questions that had been clouding his mind lately.

Since the day he and Y/N kissed, he noticed she had been avoiding him. She didn’t even send him the weekly book she usually dropped at the office.

He didn’t understand her, and each time he tried to put back together the pieces to get a clear view of her character, the memories of the smell of her hair brought him somewhere else. And whenever he would dare to close his eyes too long, he would taste her lips again.

Even if she chose to stay away from him, he entered her world once and appreciated it so greatly it had printed into his spirits, like a hand in wet cement.

He allowed himself to shift his thoughts to Mosley from time to time, the d-day was approaching and with it, the time he’ll take the lead of the British fascist party.

(...)

The only way Lizzie found to see her husband these days was to come back in business as Tommy’s secretary. He told her she wouldn’t have to work when they got their daughter, Ruby, but he was rarely home, and when he was, his mind was elsewhere.

Even after promising to let her in sometimes, she struggled the most to read him, but despite all, she was deeply in love with him. She had to make the effort and reach for him.

He didn’t agree with her taking back her job at first and she knew exactly why, as being responsible for her having a baby, he had to take care of her, at least he felt like he did. He was undeniably a murderer, cut-throat gangster, but he had convictions and rules to stick to.

This morning began as normal as any other for the Shelby company limited, Lizzie was occupied with papers as Tommy locked himself in his office.

The door opened, Lizzie’s gaze instantly got up, searching for who might that be. When her gaze met the figure, her jaw dropped. ‘Not again’ she thought. This scene reminds her of the time May Carleton came in here only to entice her Tommy.

She knew he didn’t owe her anything, but he could’ve waited at least a day or two before calling another woman. Not even twenty-four hours earlier Tommy was fucking her in some alley in the cold, probably thinking about a woman he knew before France. But he said he was fucking her, Lizzie, and not his lost teenage lover, even if she knew better.

Tommy and his cock.

That May Carleton was walking so confidently in front of Lizzie, she probably thought she was the one to own Tommy’s cock. If only she knew. She glared at her so strongly that May avoided looking at her at all costs.

The woman that just passed the door didn’t look her way, too occupied walking straight to the doors of Tommy’s office with the arrogance of an army.

Lizzie’s eyes went from her seemingly very expensive shoes, up her green pants suit in which pockets she kept a hand, to her suit jacket that fell perfectly on her waist as the end of which was drawing the woman’s hips. Her leather belt marked, even more, her waist and its golden details matched the imposing blue pearls necklace along with the large same looking earrings.

As soon as the woman entered the room, the atmosphere switched, her figure called the eyes, not only due to her ostentatious jewellery collection but also by the woman’s charismatic aura. Even the clicking sound her heels made on the hard ground was full of power. Anyone could hear the confidence in each of her steps, which made Lizzie gasp.

As a moth attracted to light, Tommy got out of his office, a cigarette hanging on his lips. He pressed a shoulder on the door frame, his eyes fixed on the woman walking towards him.

He was indeed waiting for her.

His deep blue eyes weren’t examining the woman’s form in an enticed way, he was solely looking at her face, a thing that made Lizzie’s heart ached because she understood there might be more than sexual attraction between them.

Lizzie knew her husband. From the way he dawdled on the woman’s face to the little waving of his shoulders, she just knew.

The atmosphere again had changed, Lizzie was now oppressed by their two presences, the warm and powerful one of the stranger and the usual cold and disconcerting one of her husband, one completing the other.

As her heart didn’t want to admit it yet, a burning look was exchanged by the two pairs of eyes, and confirmed the obvious her brain already knew, Thomas had found his match, and it wasn’t her.

(...)

Tommy took off his shoulder from the door frame and stood straight as he humidified his lips. The librarian walked to him with her usual unreadable face and when she was close enough, she grabbed his cigarette off his fingers taking her time to make their skin touch as much as she could. Her eyes were still deeply in Tommy’s as millions of sparks animated the tips of his fingers.

The man coughed and turned to Lizzie, motioning his hand to the woman behind the desk, in an attempt to ignore the sparks. “Mrs Y/L/N, meet my wife, Lizzie. Lizzie, it’s Mrs Y/L/N, the librarian I work with at the House Of Commons.” He had sensed the intense look of his wife since Y/N came closer to him.

“Mrs Shelby! I am so honoured to meet you, I heard about your typewriting skills, writing eyes closed, eh? I could never.” Y/N gave a warm smile to Lizzie that squinted her eyes in anticipation. His wife didn’t believe in what the librarian just told and he was sure Y/N knew it too.

“Yeah? Well, I never heard of you.” Lizzie spitted.

“It’s because you don’t keep company with my people.” She had the audacity to take a puff on the cigarette she stole earlier from Tommy looking his wife straight in the eyes.

Even if Y/N’s voice was calm and solemn, it was clear it was an attack. The implication made Lizzie gritted her teeth as she got up and joined them. Tommy rubbed a hand on his own face knowing exactly what she was going to do.

She stood behind the librarian. “And what business do you have here in Birmingham if you work in London?”

“You’re husband,” Y/n responded, not even turning to her. She bypassed Tommy and opened the door’s office before disappearing behind them.

Lizzie followed her with her eyes before looking up at her husband. “The fuck is she doing here? Are you going to fuck her, Thomas?”

“No, Lizzie. Am not going to fuck her.” He responded exhaling deeply.

“Yeah, take me for an fucking idiot.” She walked to the desk to grab her hat & coat. “That’s all you’re good for anyway. You fucked all Birmingham and now London, huh?” She sneered before shaking her head walking to the exit.

“Lizzie.” He called, but the woman had already closed the door.

Tommy raised his brows and sighed before turning to the office where he marked a pause. It was another type of storm he had to face now. He finally opened the door and got in, only to find Y/N seated behind his desk, in his chair.

“Tommy Shelby, OBE, what a pleasure to meet your family.”

“It was quite a show you put out there.” He closed behind him.

When he turned back at the room, she was walking toward him, but she already was pretty near.

“So you fucked all Birmingham already, hum? Trying to expand your activities in London?” Y/N leaned on him, she was so close he could smell her breath and he wondered what was her fucking problem. She ignored him for days after they kissed and here she was again, pushing him to the edges. It was almost as if it was a game for her. And if it was, she was winning all the damn rounds.

“And you? What’s with the attitude?”

“What are you talking about.” She took a step back.

“You have been busy this week, eh?” Tommy walked to the counter and poured whiskey in two glasses.

“Well, the man you have your little brother watching, he talks.” She loosely let out. “The bookmaker Billy Grade, the one that conducts the football betting business” She paused looking at Tommy’s surprised expression. “He doesn’t like Arthur.”

“To who?” Was the simple question he needed an answer to.

“I made moves with Mosley so, yes, it had been a busy week, Thomas.”

At the revelation, Tommy’s eyes squinted. If there was one thing he learnt with Grace was to make sure his feelings weren’t a shackle to business.

“I’m not betraying you, no need for these wrinkles at the corner of your eyes. But you gotta know he’s offered me the South.” She went to the counter and took the glasses before sitting in one of the chairs in front of his desk, one cup in her hand, the other she put on one of the numerous files covering the desk.

Tommy went sitting in his armchair. He lit a cigarette and held one to the woman that declined.

“Only like to take yours.” She gave as an explanation.

“How come he offered you the south?” He ignored her comment.

“North’s Mc Cavern’s, Middle’s yours, South’s vacant. But I have another plan for the South, and you might agree with me as well.” A rictus took place at the corner of her lips, as Tommy looked at her, curious. “Mr Solomons. I know he wrote you that he’s still alive.”

Tommy’s lids fluttered a couple times, he didn’t say anything. How could she know so much all the time? Was she listening to him or something? He for a second thought it might be her spying on him on the phone but this idea went away almost immediately.

She wasn’t Grace.

“He and I are great friends. Not as if he really has any, but do I?” She muttered utterly to herself.

Tommy coughed and leaned back on his chair, making himself comfortable.

“What’s with you, Tommy?” Asked the librarian, and he himself couldn’t put a finger on what was going on. It was always that way when she was around, but everything intensified when they leaned their breath as one and connected together.

His mind was so full of thoughts that had nothing to do with business that it was hard for him to concentrate. But for some reason, he just couldn’t push those thoughts aside.

He wanted her, he yearned for her to touch him the way she did that night, to intertwine their fingers together again and forget about Mosley for an instant, just one. Tommy humidified his lips again as raising his eyebrows, it was like his lips were always dry or incomplete. Her lips belonged on his. He raised his gaze to her in distress.

“You want to come to me house, Tommy? Again?” Her voice resonated in his head, her words taking him by surprise.

“Huh?”

“Have a drink or two, meet my cat...” She went on, looking intently at his soul hiding behind his icy blue iris.

He didn’t recognize her, but did he even know her? It seems not. Every time they meet, she puts another mask on. Somewhere in his soul, he believed it wasn’t a good idea, that thing they shared. But he knew he couldn’t turn away and break the partnership. Not now. Not only could she be hard to beat if they turned to enemies, but he also needed her, she was part of his business now. She was too precious an ally for him to withdraw from the deal.

As he didn’t respond, she drank from her cup, finishing its countenance in one go. “I’ll ask Arthur then...replace his Linda.” She added looking up to the ceiling innocently.

“The fuck did you say?” He hustled to spit as watching her without blinking.

Her gaze went back on Tommy, a playful gleam animating her pupils.

“What do you say?” She sent him back the ball. It was indeed a game for her, and he knew once again she would be the winner because he wouldn’t say no.

He tried to escape her game by coughing it away and smoked his cigarette. “How are you going to bring up Alfie Solomons with Mosley?” He went back on business, but the woman didn’t seem ready yet to give up.

She got up and grabbed the phone with one hand as the other was dialling a number. She sat at the corner of the desk, turning toward the Shelby brother and the phone. Tommy watched her movements closely, curious about how she was going to handle him dismissing her offer.

He couldn’t even hide the fact her stubbornness did something to him, even if he repressed any desire for her. It was as if they were the principal characters in the regency era drama he ended up devouring as it was the book Y/N was reading on their first meeting.

He was so deep in thought he didn’t hear the librarian asking the cable woman to put her in connection with the individual she intended to reach.

“Yeah, Arthur, it’s me. I wonder if you would wa--” Tommy had heard enough. He hung up the line and fixed the phone for what feels like centuries, slowly realizing what his reaction meant.

The Y/E/C eyes woman remained silent, a silence that felt heavy on Tommy’s conscience. He straightened back and leaned on the back of his chair, glancing at the ceiling.

He was done with those games. He couldn’t believe he dove into her crude farce head first, and now he had to face her because she had been staring at him the last minute.

“You’re a devil.” He let the words lazily slip between his lips.

“Call me Lilith.” She spiritedly exclaimed. Tommy’s eyes went to her face at that exact moment.

“So you’re jew, eh? That explains why you know Alfie, but contradicts the fact you and Mosley are close.” Tommy thought out loud. According to his memories, Lilith was a demon of the jew tradition, which led him to his conclusion.

The woman instantly smiled, seemingly very content about the Shelby head struggling to catch her.

“Fair enough.”

“You come to my house?”

“I was talking about the comparison.” He paused, looking at her blankly.

She sighed.

No doubt she was annoyed by Tommy’s behaviour, but she won way too much at their little game. It was about time Tommy won. It was unusual of him to be that shallow but it was their intimate space, so he didn’t care.

(...)

Gina couldn’t see anything when the abductors took her out of the car to lead her down some stairs into what she surmised to be a cellar, she already had a piece of cloth hiding her vision and one in her mouth, preventing her from screaming.

She was petrified and the fact the individuals didn’t say a word, neither during the ride nor once in the room didn’t help her. She could feel heavy drops of sweat rolling down her forehead as dried tears itched the corners of her eyes.

The place was colder than what she remembered a cellar to be. Flashes of her childhood coming back to her from time to time.

“THREE… TWO… ONE… ZERO. I’M COMING GINA!” Her cousin shouted from the kitchen where they last saw each other. The little girl used to come down in the cellar to hide when playing hide and seek with any member of her family, from her cousins to her father.

As her mother was severely ill, she couldn’t play with Gina, but her father always did. When not leading the believers to sing the praises of the Almighty at the local church, he was both a father and a mother to her.

Although her mother & herself loved each other more than anything, she soon stopped seeing her. When at first her father let Gina visit the room of her mother once a day, it decreased from once a week, to once a month to simply never.

Despite the child doggedly asking for her mother, he remained unyielding and managed to keep his daughter away from her mother for her own sake.

It was only when growing older and after the death of her mother that Gina understood her father’s demeanour. He was desperate not to let his daughter watch her mother die.

This time, the cellar didn’t feel familiar and it’s not a joyful feeling that resides in her. Her body reacting to the cold, she was shivering as goosebumps appeared at the same time as she heard footsteps coming her way. Her blood boiling like hot water, she struggled to breathe.

“Call her father.” Gina heard a female voice she had never heard before. She listened to footsteps receding before a whimper escaped her throat.

“Well, you heard the woman, let her talk.” The voice ordered. And just like that, her mouth got freed. “Go on.” The female voice seemed to address her directly.

“What do you want with my father?” She managed to say after she moved her jaws to get rid of the piece of cloth’s taste.

“He’s an old friend.”

“Can’t you just call like normal people instead of abducting his child?” Gina murmured, not totally relieved from the fear. She wanted to appear unmoved and plucked all the courage left in her to get an untroubled voice.

“I know you, Gina.” The voice started, getting closer. “You alright? You’re trembling.” Well, it seems like all the effort she put in wasn’t enough, her true emotions were discovered.

“You know me, huh? So you know as soon as you detach me I’ll assault you and spit right in your face, right?” She angrily let out, she didn’t accept to be defeated nor seen while being vulnerable and defenceless.

But it seems like the individual challenged her, because she heard someone pass behind her and loosen the cords holding back her hands. At the same moment, the piece of cloth blinding her fell on her collarbones.

Before her, stood straight a woman with a closed face, her facial traits weren’t aggressive, but in her eyes, Gina could swear she saw in there an untamed fire. Her brown eyes slid to a sitting white dog near the stranger, it looked like a wolf, even its huge size reminded her of the fierce beast she read about as a teenager.

It was ridiculous to see this situation unleashed the least probable memories of her youth into her mind as vividly as yesterday.

“Who are you? What do you want?” The woman before Gina mimicked her voice, a smile drawing on her lips. “They always ask the same questions.” She shrugged her shoulders seeing Gina’s surprised expression. The freshly Gray woman closed her mouth that was slightly open in an “o” shape and clenched her jaw.

“Well, I need your father to come here, in England. And you,” she tapped Gina’s end of nose, “you’re the thing that’ll make him travel the world all the way to Birmingham. To my greatest pleasure,” She patted her own chest before motioning to Gina, “and much to your displeasure.”

Gina didn’t even know what to say, she used the time the woman spent talking to massage her wrists as the cords were tied very tight. Her gaze dawdled on the woman in front of her, she was wearing a very long purple coat to which two buttons situated at the waist of its owner were closed. She also wore black lace gloves with ostentatious golden rings above the fabric. The diamonds of her rings were blue, matching her earrings. When the woman turned to the side to pat her dog’s head, Gina noticed she had braided her hair in a single braid that fell on her back.

The woman crouched down for her eyes to be at the same level as the dog’s ones, one of her hands scratching its head. “One single word and it attacks you, so you better behave.” She turned her head to Gina, warning her. The blonde woman glared at the other before glancing toward the dog in anticipation.

Y/N got back up and turned her back to Gina as she started to walk toward the stairs. “Get comfortable, it’s your new home for a few days.”

“What, you’re leaving me in this? With the dog?” She screamed at the Y/H/C haired woman.

“If I were you, I’d avoid screaming, Gina doesn’t like too loud noises.” She waved goodbye as answering without even glancing toward Gray.

“What?” Gina asked, confusion in her voice.

Y/N chuckled a bit before turning around, her index went from the dog to Gina, “Yeah, meet your twin.” She walked backwards a couple of seconds before turning back to the stairs and climbing them.

(...)

House Of Commons, London.

The door of Tommy’s office abruptly opened on an angry Michael.

The Shelby brother that was pouring himself some whisky glanced at his cousin. “Michael.” He welcomed.

“Where the fuck is my wife, Tommy?” Gray asked, frowning.

“What?” He squinted his eyes.

“Where. The. Fuck. Is. My. Wife.” Michael spitted each word, looking straight into his older cousin’s eyes.

Tom blinked a couple times, not understanding the request.

“Days ago when coming back from the fucking restaurant some fucking people took her.” The younger Gray calmed a bit, seeing that Tommy truly didn’t know what he was talking about.

“How did they look?” Tom asked, concerned. Even if Michael might have betrayed him, he was family still and anyone jeopardizing the life of a member of the Shelby clan or someone related to them should taste the sweet fondles of death’s fingers.

“Men in fucking black.” Michael started to pace up and down, both his hands passing over his face. “I’m getting mad, Tom, me head fucking all over the place...” He continued.

“Men, no women?” Tommy brows raised, he had to ask. He remembered the conversation he had with that librarian when she was telling him she thought Gina was the weakness and force of his cousin and that she might do something about it.

“No.” Michael stated firmly. Tommy’s tensed shoulders relaxed. “Or..” Tommy raised his brows. “I don’t know, Tom. Fuck.”

“We’re going to find her, Michael. Stay in your hotel room, stay put, near the phone, right?” The Shelbys' head tapped his cousin’s shoulder before leaving the office.

(...)

He stopped the car near the portals and got out, a cigarette hanging on his lips. Tommy walked the pointlessly long alley, by-passing a ton of fountains and trimmed bushes of different forms and shapes.

The fair distance gave him time to rethink everything that concerned Y/N and his relationship with her. If she truly was behind the disappearance of his cousin’s wife, he would have to deal with her, meaning going to war, which was far from the plan since he entered politics.

He knocked on the door without waiting any further once he joined the principal door. He was looking intently at the windows trying to see a silhouette through it or an ignited light of some sort, but nothing.

The door abruptly opened, making a loud noise and the figure of the librarian was to be seen. Tommy raised his hand to her face, pointing his gun at her, but when her body was fully visible thanks to the moon shining, he blinked, bewildered.

His eyes dropped on a Y/N only dressed with an emeraude lace nightgown. The top was all see-through, but it didn’t stop him from cocking the gun and hold it steady in between her eyebrows. Even though he was here because he suspected her to have turned her back to him, his body reacted a whole different way to the view. His heart started to pounder in his chest as a warmth suddenly took prisoner his upper body. He swallowed in an attempt to dismiss the feeling ready to burst out.

“Missing our start?” She let out, not even pretending to be scared or shook by the situation. As a matter of fact, in their second meeting, Tom indeed pulled a gun at her, how could he forget that. Nobody ever had the nerve to threaten him on his own doorsteps, but of course, she did.

“Where’s Gina?” He ignored she was half-naked along with her remark.

“What the fuck, Thomas?” One of her eyebrows raised in confusion. “What’s happened?”

Tommy switched the position of his fingers, putting his index right on top of the trigger to make known he knew she was lying.

As she felt the danger, the woman banged the door on Tom’s face and not even a second later, he heard bullets being fired as he saw holes drawing through the door. The time stopped, or at least everything appeared as slower.

He instinctively put his arms over his head and kneeled as other bullets were being fired, he managed his way to the wall of the mansion, staying down.

“Fucking hell, Y/N!” He shouted his lungs out, his ears whistling due to the bullets’ noise.

“Remember when I warned you, Thomas. You pull a gun, I shoot!” She accentuated the last part, her tone underlined by anger.

“Why did you take her?” He kept his head close to the wall as shaking it, trying to totally recover his hearing.

“You should’ve asked that when you could, Sergent Major.” She calmly stated.

Tommy could hear she was re-loading her gun.

He looked at the gravels under him and recognized the bullet belonging to a rifle. He frowned, wondering how come she got a rifle.

“No. Put down the rifle, I'm throwing me gun.” He said loudly before dropping his gun in the grass far away from him, his weapon made a muffled noise while encountering the ground.

He didn’t hear anything for a minute that seems to last hours. The night breeze came fondling his face, helping him to ease his breath as the silence made him fully recover his hearing.

The front door opened, and Y/N peeked through. Only one of her Y/E/C eyes was to be seen, and even if her pupil was dilated due to the adrenaline, her look seemed concerned. “Are you hurt?” She solemnly asked, she, as well, being out of breath.

Tommy shook his head on both sides before he managed to stand, helped by the wall.

“You mad woman.” He closed his eyes as taking a deep breath in, knowing she wouldn't try to kill him tonight. When he opened his eyes again, she was in front of him, barefoot on the gravel.

“Sorry… I tend to lose my shit when I’m in danger.” She placed the rifle hanging around her neck to her side, a hand holding it still.

“You weren’t. I wasn’t gonna fucking shot, just trying to scare you.”

“...Well you angered me.” She hesitated in even giving him an answer. She finally decided she didn't need the rifle anymore and went placing it against the wall.

“Not fear, eh?” He teased, and she shook her head as a response.

“Why the fuck did you take Gina away? Michael’s all over the place, he even came to me. The boy’s fucking losing it.”

“Well, firstly, he deserved a little reminding he was still a boy as you correctly underlined,” she raised her brows looking at him, “secondly, after further research, I found it I know her father. Long story short, he’s the only one to be able to deal with her uncle if we don’t want any blood spilt.”

“Fucking was about to spill me gut on your doorstep, the fuck you care about spilt blood, Y/N?” He furrowed his brows as agitating one of his hands, motioning to the ground beneath their feet.

“Yeah,” she acquiesced, “not me that cares about fucking family. It’s you.”

That’s when he realized how serious she took their partnership. When he thought she was solely doing what fitted her best, she indeed took into consideration Tommy's convictions. She took seriously the fact he didn't want the family to be hurt. And although he ranged on her side regarding scaring Michael a bit to make him realize something, he never thought of Y/N to be tough enough to act with as much strategy as ruthlessness. She definitely outdid him in this case.

This sudden realisation aroused something in him. She cared. Even if the care she gave was nonetheless peculiar and typical to her character, she did what she could with what she had right? And right now she was working with him with as much resilience and fierceness as she would do with her own organisation.

“If it was up to me, fucking bullets to the head for both of ‘em and we done.” She dismissively worded as looking afar. “Where’s your gun?” She lazily looked back at him.

Tommy hesitated a short period of time before he grabbed her wrist and pulled her against himself. She didn’t push him away as he neared his face near her, she was the one sealing their lips together. This time, none of them were eager for the other, their kiss was light, soft and pure, contrasting with the chaotic situation they put themselves in.

The blue-eyed man slipped a hand on her back, fondling her skin above the piece of cloth covering her body while she reached for the button of his pants under his coat.

The atmosphere switched, not even seconds earlier it was love talking, now it was a whole another emotion ruling them.

Tom started to walk toward the door, forcing her to walk backwards. When she understood what he intended to do she murmured a soft “No.” and he opened his eyes darkened by desire and urge, looking into hers that were screaming for sex.

A smile grew on her lips as she went sticking her back to the nearest wall, her fingers strongly gripping on the man’s tie. He didn’t break the eye contact and joined her, flattening one of his hands on the cold wall. The warmth of his longing for the woman added to the coldness of the night were mixing together so well he felt a little dizzy.

He couldn’t think about how often he imagined them during their first time or how often he tried to picture Y/N’s curves in his head but his body somehow knew how much he wanted this. His hands were dawdling on any portion of her figure he could find, gulping each piece that was giving to him as if she was the first woman he’d ever touched.

Each kiss enticed him a bit more and whenever he closed his eyes he could literally see fireworks exploding everywhere in him. And whenever he would open them, he would find Y/N looking intently at him, her expression revealing everything she could never tell him, her feelings for him as well as her deepest fear, frustrations & beyond, her eyes being the messenger of the immensity of a soul, to another.

She quickly got to his bum she previously teased with one knee before reaching for his length.

Her cold fingers struck it a few times before she came aligning him with the distress for feeling him inside.

Once he was perfectly aligned, she released him and reunited her lips to his, where they belonged, giving him the green light. He thrust slowly at first, letting her some time to get used to his size. She murmured a low “Tommy...”, her legs encircling his hips as he grabbed one of them firmly. He was keeping her as close to him as possible, making sure their bodies were as connected as their souls were. He ultimately began to come and go, increasing his pace as time passed by.

Her high pitched moans came directly to his ears, the best sounds he’s heard out of his entire life without a doubt.

Following Chapter ❱

[el-cadejos]

Erase & Rewind [Fic]

Fandom: Saint Seiya

Characters: Wyvern Radamanthys, OCs

Description: Radamanthys and his son go to London after Christmas to spend some time with granpa.

Also available in AO3.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

London was cold. The cold wind tugged at the matching purple scarfs, stealing their frozen breaths away with each step. Christmas had already flown by, but the thought was what mattered, right?

Gawain peered through every available window, skipping around the worn-down concrete every few steps to pretend the airplane model in his hands was really flying. It was never too cold for him, but he would always complain about the wind. After finally reaching their destination, though, something else troubled him. “It smells like old wardrobe.”

“Not entirely sure that’s a thing. Please pull down your scarf,” Radamanthys said, knocking on the heavy wooden door. It creaked a little bit when an old man peered outside. His short brown hair was salted with white and a familiar looking unibrow frown welcomed them. He stared at the child with a slight curiosity before fully opening the door and letting them in. The boy did so almost immediately, leaving the two adults behind.

There was an awkward silence between them, the older man looking around at all times. “No missus?” he finally asked.

“Busy with work. She sends her most heartfelt regards.”

“Bring’er ‘round next time, will ye? She’s a good lass.”

He nodded in agreement before following him inside, where the boy was already struggling to get the scarf off himself. They sat down in the smallest living room he had seen, in silence. At least now he understood why his Dad was such a quiet man. “Merry Christmas, Grandfather Arthur. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Happy Chrimble, boy. Ye’ve grown quite a bit since last time I saw ye,” the man groaned back in a husky voice. “Ye were a small thing back then, aye. Angry one, too.”

Gawain frowned at his reply and nudged his father’s leg for further information. Radamanthys side-eyed him. “When you were very young, we came to visit for a few days, since someone refused to go to Germany…”

“I’m too old fer traveling, ye know that.”

“Yer a lazy bastard, that’s what ye are.”

“Watch yer language in front of the boy, ye bloody…!” old Arthur barked, but dropped it when he felt the child’s attentive eyes (and ears) on him. The smile on Radamanthys’ face annoyed him even more. “Who ye got’er, boy?”

Gawain momentarily stared at the pilot of his aircraft model. “Rey. She can also pilot the Millen…” he squinted a little. “Do you even know what ‘Star Wars’ is?”

The old man pondered a bit, massaging his chin. “Rings a bell. Is’at with Nuke Skywonker and Chewbarnacles flyin’ around on space saucers?”

“Luke Skywalker, Chewbacca and a number of other characters, yes,” Gawain corrected patiently. “Have you watched those movies?”

“I rememba the first one, aye. Lad right here wouldn’t get off ma back until I took’im to watch it. Came out sayin’ it was the dog’s bullocks, he did. That he wanted to fly now, real planes and all,” Arthur answered, gesturing towards Radamanthys with stale annoyance on his face.

“I have no memory of that,” his son replied in no particular tone.

Gawain had a shadow of a smile on him before he heard those words. He could tell his Dad was not lying. Not that he ever did, but with the Evil Star, many memories had been… sacrificed for the Dark Emperor’s sake.

“’No memory’? We watched it four bloody times!” Arthur emphasized with this fingers. “No pennies left fo’ butter after that.”

An awkward silence settled in the room and Gawain, being too used to those at home, spoke up. “Did you watch the rest of the movies, Grandfather?”

“Nay. Didn’ catch me eye then, didn’ have who to bugger me to watch’em after.” That unforgiven melancholy was tough water to navigate.

“I can tell you how the story goes, if you like,” he said, sticking his hand in the bag Radamanthys had carried all the way there and taking out about a dozen small figurines.

“I know that bloke,” old Arthur said, pointing to the figure clad in black. “Dark Flamer or som’thn’.”

“That’s Dad. Darth Vader, the Sith Lord who ruled the galaxy along with his Master. He used to be called Anakin Skywalker. This is me, Luke, his son. He inherited the Force from him, and many hard-earned lessons as well.”

“And who am I?”

Gawain ruffled through the figures until he found the one he was looking for. A small blue and white robot. “You are this one.”

“Wot?! A rollin’ trashcan?!”

“It’s a droid, and its name is R2-D2, Grandfather Ar-thur,” he replied with a cheeky smile.

His elder groaned, annoyed. “I hate puns!”

A few hours went by while Gawain re-enacted all the scenes he deemed important about the Star Wars Saga, voices and gags included. Radamanthys did not intervene at all, and was often looking out the window instead of at the other two. He eventually stepped out for a bit, and returned with groceries to cook dinner with. Arthur told Gawain how to manipulate the television before going into the kitchen.

“Go sit’own with the boy. I’ll cook.”

“Bugger off, already started making fish n’ chips.”

They agreed to cook together in silence, with Arthur’s pale amber eyes fixed on his son’s back. He had grown tall and strong, but not chatty. Never had been, never would be. And it took one to know one.

“Ye can stay the night if ye want. Yer room is as ye left it, and the couch ain’t bad company to an old chap like me. It’ll be like ol’ times, aye?”

Radamanthys did not turn. “Nay, never like ol’ times, but we will stay for supper. It’s nice to eat homemade fish n’ chips.”

The old man ruffled a bit, still staring at his son. “I thought ye were dead, ye know. Roamin’ Europe is good an’ all, but ye never came back. No Aranja, no lil’ Rod, and soon enough, no Arthur either.”

Radamanthys remained impassive, staring at the cooking pan. “Life takes funny turns, ye know that. Out of love, ye moved to Faroes with Ma, and out of love, Ma agreed to come to London. And when that love ran out, she moved back, and we saw little of her after that.” He gave the pan a jerk to make sure nothing got stuck to the bottom. “Out of… devotion, one might say, I stayed in Germany, and never looked back.”

Arthur prepared the table while Radamanthys served dinner on the plates. “I kind envy the missus. Ye were never home much and yet she made ye stay in one place fer a long time. Still like her, though,” he mumbled right away. “She gave ye some purpose, whatever it was or is.”

“Da, yer awfully chatty today. Feels like ye fear going mute,” Radamanthys spoke in a low voice. “…But I can see this solitude has opened a void in yer soul, and ye want all that has been buried in it to finally escape.”

In an awkward movement, he placed his hand on his father’s shoulder. A pair of younger amber eyes was peering into the kitchen, undetected as of yet. “I’ve always known ye loved me, ye just never liked me. I don’t blame ye for much, you raised a bloody idiot as best as a bloody idiot could, punches up the bracket an’ all.”

“Wot? I-”

“Don’t push it. Ma was the emotional link between ye an’ me. She spoke what we could not say, and then she left. I accepted yer flaws, as ye accepted mine and that’s that. Gawain, stop eavesdropping and come to eat your supper.”

The boy sat down with a slight frown on his face, embarrassed he failed at stealth. Both adults did exactly the same thing and for a moment, nothing moved in the tiny little kitchen. He put a chip in his mouth and deemed it good enough. “So, Grandpa R2, why did you name Dad ‘Radamanthys’?”

“That’s wot ye gonna call me know? Bloody hell…” he sounded dissatisfied. “That was yer Granny. Said she dreamed of a black angel, and he told’er that if she named her first born that, he would be merciful when the time came.”

And merciful He was indeed, Radamanthys thought to himself. Fell of a horse and snapped her neck instantly. Didn’t even know what hit her, but that was a truth he, and he alone, would ever know about.

“Why did they named ye ‘Gawain’, boy?” Arthur asked, watching the child panic for a moment or two before nudging his father under the table.

“I dreamed of a dark hawk flying over a plain with a dead mouse in its beak.”

“Wot?”

“Wot?” Radamanthys replied, impassive as ever.

“How does that explain it?”

“It doesn’t. I just told ye about a dream I had.”

“Bugger off!”

Supper was concluded with no further argument, though some complementary explanations about Star Wars were required. Specially the name pronunciation, as Gawain refused to accept “Napkin Skywonker” as a proper way to address the Sith Lord. After the plates were clear, Arthur took out two glasses and poured some eggnog. “How old are ye, boy?”

“Eight.”

“Old enough,” he replied, pulling out a third glass and pouring a little bit for him too. “Happy Chrimble, lads.”

Dishes were washed, figures put away, and scarfs wrapped around once more. The sky was dark, and the wind had stopped, but London remained cold. Radamanthys gave Arthur a soft punch on the shoulder on his way out, while Gawain stopped in the middle of the doorway. “Oh, before I forget. Do you know why I said you are R2-D2, Grandpa?”

He groaned. “Because my name is Arthur.”

“Because Anakin and R2 cared for each other very much, no matter how terrible the situation was, and even though they were separated for a long time, and they sort of forgot about the other due to circumstances, they still found it in themselves to care for Luke, each in their own way. And Luke was grateful for it.”

He walked up to his father, turned around and took his hand. “Cheerio, Grandpa.”

“Aye, lads. Cheerio,” Arthur replied, watching them disappear into the night and pressing the blue and white droid tight to his chest.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Notes: Gawain is a shared OC. Arthur is my OC. I’m neither an English native speaker nor located in the UK, so I apologize if it is inaccurate. Originally written in 2016.

[rainbowvamp]

Gone and Back Again

Hello and welcome to chapter 5 of the manic creation that is my princess bride au. I’m slowly seeing my creative energy wind down, so the chapters for week three and four might be slightly more brief than this weeks and next week’s chapters are. It looks like there will be five for next week as well, but not all of them will fit the Albion Party prompts. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

~5100 words. (AO3 Link) 

Arthur and Morgana are our main dynamic today. (platonic) 

Warnings: suicidal ideation, depiction of depression, mentions of force feeding, memory loss, and non-consensual memory alterations. (All of this happens after the cut)  Further: Lots and lots of talk of marriage. And I don't know how marriage works in the long ago times, so if it doesn't make much sense, please excuse me. Merlin is a little sus this chapter, but it gets explained in chapter 7. Oh, in this AU Arthur and Morgana are not related in any way. Just in case you were worried about that.

---

Becoming the King’s Ward is even more suffocating that being the daughter of a Lord. She is always expected to be dressed in finery, she is almost never alone, and far too many men look at her. Arthur does his best to keep them away, but it becomes clear in late Autumn that Uther doesn’t intend for her to be Arthur’s wife. He invites a neighboring king and his very lovely daughter to the Samhain festival. 

Morgana is still seated in a place of honor, but her usual place beside Arthur is occupied by the Princess Vivian. The girl is so insufferable that it hurts to even think her name, and so Morgana does not spend much time speaking to her. 

Morgana’s lack of socializing is excused time and again by someone or other who says that she’d just lost bother her parents, last week, less than a month ago, only a month ago, only a few months ago… She doesn’t have to pretend to be happy, at least, but she knows the excuse will not last. 

Days pass and at Yule, a different princess is at the castle. This one stays for weeks because of the bad weather, and Morgana becomes a ghost in the palace. 

Uther calls her to his chambers one night, a nobleman she doesn’t recognize is also there, likely for the sake over own reputation. 

“Morgana, please sit.” Uther gestures to the place across from his desk, and she takes the seat gracefully, keeping her face cool and collected. “The Princess Elena has expressed concern for your wellbeing. She says you seem, despondent. I understand your parents death was very distressing, and no one expects your mourning to be finished, but I will ask this of you only once. You are to make sure the Princess Elena feels welcome here. She is very likely to become Arthur’s betrothed, and if you are to continue to stay here, you should become friendly with her. Do I make myself clear?” 

He thinks I want his son. She nods and smiles sheepishly. An act she had learned pleased him early on. “I understand, Your Majesty. I will make every effort to show her kindness and make her feel welcome, just as you welcomed me.” 

“Good girl.” He turned back to his papers and she stood, dismissed. 

Arthur is waiting outside the door for her.

“What did he say to you?” He fell into step beside he and she smiled wanly.

“He intends to marry you to Elena, and I should not be so cold to her if I would like to stay here.” 

“I would never let him turn you out. You know that.”

She and Arthur had built a tentative sort of alliance since she’d come to live in the palace. In keeping with that alliance, he took her hand in the guise of reassuring her, while slipping two gold coins into it. She placed them in the pocket of her dress. Beside the ring she had stopped wearing upon the king’s demand. 

“I don’t think you’ll have much of a choice.”

“I’d go with you.” He promises, and she laughs. 

“No you wouldn’t. Your loyalty is too bound to Camelot and it’s people.”

“You are a person of Camelot, aren’t you?” 

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” 

They walk in silence until they reach Morgana’s chambers. At her door they stop and finish the conversation. “Princess Elena has no interest in marrying me. She wants to rule alone.” 

Morgana smiled, “Good for her.”

“Yes. You should still be nicer to her.” 

“I am nice!” She said with a scoff. When Arthur raised an eyebrow at her she conceded, rolling her eyes. “I’m not any less nice to her than I am to you.”

“Yes, but I know you’re nice inside. Elena just thinks you hate her.” 

“I will smile at her at dinner tonight, will that make you happy?” 

“Immensely.” Arthur bows and kisses her hand before he goes, and Morgana make a very unladylike face of disgust at him. He does this to exasperate her and amuse himself, and she plays into it every time. 

—

The castle servants are not as kind as the ones from her home, or as loyal. Not to her, at least. Her stash of coins is discovered and taken, and the King is cold to her for many days. Each stash of coins she manages to acquire receives a fate much the same, until Arthur starts hiding the coins for her. His servant doesn’t take coins, but he does manage to “put away” every bit of traveling supplies Arthur manages to help her acquire. 

Eventually, she gives up. Spring comes and goes, then another Winter. She mourns the loss of her freedom almost as much as she mourned Lancelot. Eventually the hopelessness gets the better of her, and she takes ill. Arthur visits her everyday, and at first she can muster the occasional conversation, but as time passes she finds she has the will to speak to him less and less, and eventually, she goes quiet. He is good, and kind. The last thing she intends to do is bless him and wish him well when she thinks that she will die. 

She doesn’t die. 

Uther calls physicians from every corner of the Kingdom to come and tend her, and promises the position of court physician to anyone who manages to cure her. She’s poked and prodded, and Arthur is by her side as often as he can be. She doesn’t trust these strange men and so she’s always grateful for his presence, even if she doesn’t say so. She wishes they would just leave her to die, but her body is too heavy to move, and her mind too clouded to protest. 

Her dry lips barely part to take a little water. She can’t eat, and her sleep is fitful. 

She goes through nearly a dozen physicians before one, Merlin Emerys, finally cures her. 

“Take this.” Is all he says to her, not even bothering to do a physical exam.

She is laying on her side, curled in on herself, much the same position she’s been in all afternoon. She doesn’t reach fo the medicine when he offers it, and only his assistant, Gwen, can coax her into motion.

“He looks very young, doesn’t he?” Gwen asks as she smooths hair back from Morgana’s face. “He is, but he is very knowledgeable. Studied with all the best physicians in the five kingdoms. Here, let’s sit you up.” Gwen takes her under the shoulders and props her up. Arthur moves forward and adjust her pillows so she can lean against them, taking Morgana’s hand to help her shuffle back against them in the bed.

Her whole body hurts, aches with the motion. She feels hopeless, like nothing will ever be right again, and the only reason she doesn’t protest is because there is no point. She’ll just be force fed whatever concoction he has for her if she does. That was what happened with the first physician who had come to see her. 

She can’t focus on anything that’s happening, she just takes what she’s given, letting Gwen give her medicine. She drinks and the bitterness she is expecting never comes. Whatever this tincture is, it’s sweet, and there is just enough of it for a few sips. She swallows it down and then Gwen lets her go, lets her rest against the pillows and returns to Merlin’s side. 

Arthur and Merlin bend their heads together and whisper to each other. Arthur’s shoulders are tense, hunching inward, while Merlin speaks low and easy. Gwen stays beside him all the while, but says nothing. There is no ring on her finger, so she is not his wife. Morgana wonders idly if they are involved.

It’s the most interest she’s had in anything in months. 

Arthur sees Merlin out of the room, and a servant comes in to bring Morgana something to eat. She finds that she is starving, and she eats everything given to her. It was a small amount of a wide array of food, the castle staff having been told to prepare anything and everything they thought might make her eat. She eats all of it, and Arthur watches her with wide eyes. 

“What?” She asked when she finally stopped eating long enough to see her friend. The servant who had brought her dinner was out of earshot, straightening the room, but Arthur looked at her and held his tongue. Morgana watched his eyes, and then nodded, understanding. He sat beside her bed and took her hand in his. 

When the maid moved further away to get Morgana’s bath water, Arthur leaned close to her and whispered, “The potion is already working. I’m afraid it is not just medicine he peddles.” 

Morgana raised her eyebrows at the accusation, but Arthur shook his head, looking to the maid again. “I’m glad you’re eating well. I hated watching you be force fed.”

“You could have stopped it.” She reminded him, in fact, she had begged him to stop it, weak and breathy from too little time spent speaking in too many days. 

“You would have died. I hated it, but I would not see you dead.” 

“The kingdom will talk. The Crown Prince favoring an orphaned girl.”

“And orphaned Lady. It’s hardly out of character.” 

“It is out of line with your father’s plans for you. Which princess does he like for you think season?”

Arthur laughed. “Princess Mithian.” 

Morgana had never met princess Mithian. She found she wanted to, if only to compare her to all the other princesses that she had seen paraded in front of Arthur.

It was one of the first things she’d wanted to do in a long while.

“Get out.” She said, her voice stronger than it had been in weeks. “I need to dress.” 

“It’s late afternoon.” 

“And dinner is soon. I need to dress. Get out.” 

Arthur laughed, and squeezed her hand as he stood, gesturing the maid over to help Morgana out of bed for the first time of her own accord in days. 

—

The Lady Morgana goes down to eat dinner with the Prince and the King for the first time in a month that evening. Uther immediately calls for a servant to bring him Merlin, who he assigns the position of court physician. For the first time in weeks, Morgana smiles brightly, and whatever the man has done, Uther is glad for it. 

Morgana eats heartily, almost unbecomingly heartily, but neither Uther nor Arthur begrudge her the meal. She is boney, and her dress is loose from the weight she’d lost in her sickness. She is to eat to her heart’s content. 

The food Morgana eats tastes divine. For weeks everything in her mouth felt like ash and nothingness. Now the warm sting of wine and hot vegetables feels like home, like life, and she is eager to take it all in. 

Uther asks her questions, and she is eager to speak, happily chatting about her intentions to take a morning ride, her desire to return to her studies, and even her desire to start looking for a husband. 

This catches Arthur by surprise. 

Morgana has not spoken of a husband of her own accord except to speak of her dead love, Lancelot. Something about this is strange. 

When dinner is over, Arthur excuses himself and goes to find the Court Physician, Merlin. 

“What did you do to her?” Arthur finds Merlin in the court physicians chambers with his assistant, Gwen. Merlin is wide eyed and watchful when Arthur enters his room.

“I gave her a medicine to heal her mind. She is better now, yes? Eating, active, back to her usual self?” 

“Yes.” Arthur doesn’t dare make an accusation without more proof, but the wary way that Merlin’s assistant watches him makes Arthur think that he is on the right track. “I haven’t seen her this happy since before her parent’s deaths.” 

“Grief can sometimes be so deep that it dulls everything else. What’s the point of food when you’re in so much pain you can’t fathom going on?” 

Merlin sounds so wise, so knowledgeable, when he speaks, but Arthur is suspicious. 

“If you say so. Well, whatever you’ve done. Thank you.” 

“I live to serve.” The physician waits for Arthur to leave, but he doesn’t go without sizing Merlin up first.

He would be able to take him in a fight, if needs must. 

—

Time goes by and Morgana is happier than Arthur has ever seen her and while he is glad for it, his suspicions never waver. 

They are never left alone anymore, upon his father’s insistence. With Morgana’s willingness to speak of marriage, he thinks maybe he’s trying to discourage anything untoward between them. This makes it hard to ask Morgana the question he so desperately needs an answer to. He sees hints of it, but he doesn’t find hard proof of anything. She doesn’t stare off in the distance like she once did. She smiles like she has no worries. She never slips her hand into her pocket to touch Lancelot’s ring. 

Merlin is a good court physician. He can heal almost any ailment, or at the very least help the patient be comfortable. Gwen is also very competent, though she is quiet. She doesn’t talk much to the other servants, as he’s heard from George. Or, as he’s made George tell him in his own quest to wheedle out whatever information he can about Merlin. 

Merlin is a hard nut to crack. The man’s face never falls, always tranquil, always sure of himself. Even in the most dire circumstances, he is easy-eyed and softly smiling, like he expects everything will just go his way eventually. 

Uther eats it right up. 

Arthur doesn’t dare make his suspicions known until he has proof, and even then he thinks he’ll have a hard time having a man killed who’s done so much good, but a year on and he still doesn’t know what’s wrong with Morgana. Between his new and increasing duties as a knight and the crown prince, and Morgana’s now constant activity, he barely has time to speak to her, let alone discern what the problem might be. 

He has nearly a whole sack of gold coins discreetly saved before he mentions to Morgana that if she wishes to leave, soon she might be able to.

When Morgana smiles serenely at him and says she has no wish to leave, Arthur knows that something is wrong. And he can’t do anything about it. 

—-

Morgana’s parents have been dead for two years, a plenty adequate mourning time, when Uther starts suggesting matches. First a Lord’s son that Arthur knew to be a cad. Next a young Lord who was fine but very bland. After that, a prince from a neighboring Kingdom who had caught word of Morgana’s beauty and shown interest.

All of these men Morgana entertained, smiled at, was polite to, far more polite than she had ever been to Arthur before her mind sickness. She made them smile and completely enthralled them, only to turn down each proposal made, all smiles and apologies. 

That, at least, gave Arthur some comfort. 

But after a year of failed courtings, three years in the palace, people were starting to talk. Morgana is 21 and people start to call her unlovable. They don’t say such things about Arthur, and he is nearly 23. It seems unfair to him, that people are so cruel. 

“If this keeps up, you might have to marry her, Arthur,” Uther said in passing once, rubbing his temple while he read an angry letter sent by yet another lord turned down by the Lady Morgana. “Gorlois used to speak of her unwillingness, but I never expected she’d be so brazen about it here.” 

Arthur doesn’t think before he speaks, going over the grain reports from the latest council meeting in more detail. “Is that an option?” 

The soft sound of Uther setting down the letter he’d been reading draws Arthur’s attention up from his own. 

“Is that something you would consider?” Uther had made no secret of his distaste for Arthur’s own reluctance to marry. Uther, of course, hadn’t been married until he was almost 26, but he often forgot that. 

“Maybe. If she was amenable.” Arthur shrugs. It would save them both a lot of trouble, at least. They were good friends, Arthur would never press for a physical relationship, and their marriage would be in name only. For Morgana’s sake, it would probably be the least painful option. Arthur wouldn’t mind not having his father trying to force him to fall in love with new women every season either. 

Of course, there was still the question of status. 

Uther doesn’t respond, but Arthur can feel the king’s eyes on him long after he’s gone back to reading over the grain report. 

—

A month later, while they are having dinner, Uther asks Morgana if she has any interest in courting Arthur. Considering this is right in front of Arthur, he’s quiet embarrassed, but Morgana only smiles, laughs, and says, “Arthur is one of my dearest friends.” 

“Dear friends make the best husbands.” He raises his brow at her, watching her every reaction. She looks over the table at Arthur, who smiles, shrugs. They don’t get much time to talk now, but maybe if they were courting, he would finally have time to get to the bottom of Morgana’s drastic change in demeanor. 

“Well, I suppose there’s no harm in courting. It can always be broken if we don’t agree with each other?” She looks at Arthur when she asks this question, and Arthur nods, solemn. 

Uther grins and claps his hands together. “Excellent.” He just seems happy to have two problems off his hands all at once. 

And Morgana’s unwillingness to marry had been a problem. Rumors started to fly that she’d been holding out for the prince since their first meeting, wrapping him around her finger for three long years until he had no choice but to beg Uther to court her. Morgana never mentions these rumors, and so neither does Arthur. 

Morgana’s early morning ride is now accompanied occasionally by Arthur, and George. They sometimes take their breakfast alone, save for a chaperone, usually the Lord Agravaine, who had also been seeing over Morgana’s lands. 

It’s on one of their shared rides that Arthur manages to tell her that he won’t expect anything “wifely” out of her if they do end up married. Morgana just smiles and nods, shrugs like this doesn’t particularly bother her. 

This is too far. And so he tests her. 

“Where do you keep his ring, now?” 

She blinks and looks at him. “What?” 

“His Ring. Lancelot’s ring. Where do you keep it?” 

She looks at him blankly, blinks a few times, and then shrugs. “I forget.” 

I forget. A woman so distraught at the loss of her love that she’d been willing to leave behind everything she knew with no money and only the dress on her back, but she’d forgotten the last thing that she’d received from him? This was why she felt better after the potion was drunk, he was sure of it now. She’d been made to forget the things that caused her pain.

But still she’d refused to marry. The love ran deep for her. Arthur wouldn’t pretend to understand it, but he respected it none the less. 

“It was that damn physician who did this to you.” Arthur muttered, but Morgana was unaffected, distracted by the buzzing of a few nearby bees, smiling. 

He wonders if this was what Morgana was like with him, this Lancelot fellow she’s so lost without. He hopes she was. That he brought her joy with whatever time they had together. 

Arthur has a physician to see, so he ends their ride early, despite Morgana’s protests. 

George is glad to be heading back, at least. 

—

As soon as they return, Arthur storms the court physicians quarters and confronts Merlin about what he’s done to Morgana. Merlin holds firm that he’s done nothing magical, and has only given a sick girl medicine to make her better.

“How is it better to forget your love?” 

“She was dying for him, Arthur. Doesn’t your friend deserve a chance to live her life, free of pain?”

“Life is full of pain. You can’t simply get rid of it. What sort of heartless bastard are you?” 

Merlin’s eyes flash with anger and maybe something else, but before Arthur can get a good look at it, Gwen, his assistant, takes Merlin by the elbow and reminds him they have a pressing appointment with an expectant mother in the lower town. 

Arthur lets them go, but he doesn’t forget that interaction. 

—

For a year he courts Morgana, and finally, at Yule, he makes a public proposal. She accepts, as she had agreed she would weeks before, and the Yule celebration becomes a celebration of their engagement. Their wedding is set for Samhain of the next year. The wedding of the crown Prince and the King’s only son is going to be a giant affair, the whole of Camelot will rejoice in it. 

At least, that’s what everyone keeps telling him. Morgana seems content enough to marry him, though he can’t help feeling distraught where this marriage is concerned. Morgana isn’t in her right mind without her memories of Lancelot completely intact, or blocked off, or dimmed, or whatever it is that damn sorcerer has done to her. 

So, finally, Arthur goes to Merlin and demands he lift the spell on Morgana.

“My Lord, I haven’t cast a spell on her. I gave her medicine. Medicine that saved her life, might I remind you. Even if I could simply reverse it’s effects, which I can’t, she would only be right back where she was when I gave it to her, wasting away with mind sickness.” Merlin’s face, when he says this, shows no remorse, not a hint of anything resembling pity. He just looks… blank. 

Arthur hadn’t wanted to hear this. He grit his teeth and closed his eyes, trying to collect himself. “What exactly did your medicine do?” 

“It blocked some of her ability to feel emotional pain. She still has all her memories, if that’s what you’re worried about. She simply doesn’t hurt when she thinks of them.” 

“You say that like it’s not a terrible thing.” 

“I’m a physician. My whole life is dedicated to easing people’s sufferings.” 

Arthur is very glad Gwen isn’t here. He’d feel terrible starting a fight in front of a woman. 

Arthur clocks Merlin in the mouth for the blasé way that he talks about taking Morgana’s feelings from her. “I want you out of this castle. We’ll find a new court physician. Whatever your remedies are, I don’t want them for my people.” 

Merlin glared but didn’t say anything back. Arthur stormed out of the room and only once he was down the hall did the commotion start in the physicians quarters. 

Arthur felt satisfied, then, that at least he’d gotten a rise out of the man. 

—

Uther gives him grief about firing the court physician, but when Arthur stands his ground and says he doesn’t like the way the man behaves, Uther simply nods and agrees to send the man, and his assistant packing. 

He hadn’t held out much hope for the possibility that Morgana would return to her old self when the man was gone, but when three days passed and Morgana still seemed unbothered, mood entirely unchanged, Arthur’s last little bit of hope died.

He promised himself that he would do right by her, then, and committed himself to honoring the memory of her love. He’d make sure to remind her regularly, even use the ring Lancelot had given her as her wedding ring, if she wasn’t opposed to the idea. 

—

Their engagement goes well, and Morgana throws herself into the wedding preparations. She seems to be enjoying herself, and Arthur is glad of that, at least. They eventually find a new court physician, a wisened old man named Gaius. Arthur takes his suspicions about Morgana to the man, but he claims he can do nothing for it. Even so, something about the look on his face makes Arthur suspicious. 

He sits down to breakfast with Morgana in his chambers, and while his manservant is attending to business on the other side of the room, he takes her hand in his to get her attention.

Morgana looks away from her breakfast and smiles easily at him. He would be a liar if he said he wasn’t glad Morgana smiled more now than she had years ago, but something about it always felt wrong. Knowing she was being forced to suppress the memories of her dead love made that feeling of wrongness infinitely greater.

“I’ve said this before,” He started, and she raised an eyebrow, curious, but without any bite. He used to quite like that she was always subtly making fun of him. “But I feel the need to say it again, with the wedding just a few weeks away. Morgana, I will not expect anything of you in this marriage. I do care for you, but I don’t love you anymore than you love me. You will be an excellent queen, and I’m grateful to have you by my side, but this is a marriage of friends, and equals.” Despite our differences in stations goes unsaid, but not unheard.

Morgana’s smile becomes softer. “I know you don’t. I wouldn’t be marrying you if you did. I-“ She stopped, trailed off, really, blinking like she was blinking away some thought she couldn’t be bothered to remember. “The preparations are going splendidly, anyway. It will be a beautiful ceremony. Unfortunately large, but it can’t be helped. We can’t refuse anyone an invitation.” 

The way her mind changes track from the aftermath of the marriage to the wedding itself worries him, and he thinks that he should’ve pushed harder for a cure of some kind. But he dared not do anything that might alert Uther that he suspected an enchantment was placed on Morgana. Uther’s intolerance for magic had extended to those under its influence before, and he wouldn’t risk Morgana’s life like that.

“No, I suppose not. Any friends you’re looking forward to seeing?” 

Morgana laughed, “Other noble ladies have never liked me much, I ruffle their feathers.” She pulled her hand away from his and went back to her breakfast, but Arthur was not quite done.

“I want you to use Lancelot’s ring, as a tribute to him.” He watches her carefully when her body stills, eyes distant as she looked down at the fruit she’d just speared with her fork. Again, she blinks away a thought and smiles. 

“I don’t know where it is.” She smiles, but it’s tight. “I haven’t even thought of it in years.” 

“Would you like me to help you look for it? It might be nice to have.” Even if she says no, he thinks he’ll try to convince her to find it. Maybe whatever connection it gives her will help bring her back from whatever spell Merlin put on her.

“Maybe,” She says it like she can’t be bothered either way. He swallows and nods.

“Let’s look for it. You used to love it so much. I’d like you to wear it again, once we’re married.” 

“The wedding is in just a few weeks, and I haven’t seen that ring in years. Do you really think we’ll find it in time?” One of her eyebrows raises, a question, and maybe a challenge.

“How hard can it be? It’s probably in with the rest of your jewelry.”

Morgana laughed wholeheartedly now, still delicate enough for a lady, but very obviously laughing at him.

“What?” He asked, and she just shook her head.

“I don’t think you realize how much jewelry you’ve given me over that last two years. Your courting gifts are very unoriginal.” 

—

Sure enough, her vanity and another separate chest are both full of Jewelry. She goes through her vanity while Arthur checks the chest, but neither of them find it. Morgana gives him a knowing sort of “didn’t I tell you” look, but Arthur is determined. Morgana is his friend and that ring is important to her, whether she remembers it or not. He will not see it lost forever to time and a terrible curse. 

“Alright, fine. So it’s not with your jewelry. Check the pockets of your dresses, then. I’ll look under the bed.” 

Morgana laughed at him again. “You really think I’d find it in a pocket after all these years? Surely a laundrywoman would have taken it out and put it with my things.” 

He leveled her with a gaze that brokered no arguments. “Humor me.” 

She rolled her eyes at him, and at least this teasing felt a bit like the Morgana he’d known for a short while before she’d been influenced. 

Arthur got to his hands and knees, then down to his stomach, to look beneath every piece of furniture in the room. The bed, the night stands, the wardrobe. He even looked behind her changing screen and under the empty tub, but there was no ring in sight. 

The rustling of fabric at the wardrobe stops and Arthur looks around the privacy screen to see Morgana, standing frozen at the door, head bent, eyes locked on something Arthur can’t see.

He gets up and approaches her quietly, trying not to startle her. 

“Morgana?” He asks when he’s still a few feet away, trying to see around the wardrobe doors to what she��s holding, but his vantage point is no good. He moves to stand behind her, looking over her shoulder. 

In her pale, shaking hand, lies a dull, tarnished ring. The band is far too wide to be fitting of a noble lady, let alone a queen, and the stone doesn’t glitter so much as gently diffuse light. He’s seen it only a few times before, after his father banned her from wearing it, but he thinks this must be it.

“I found it.” When she whispers it, her voice is choking. He gently turns her toward him and there are tears in her eyes. When she looks up at him, he sees every ounce of pain he remembers from their first meeting, and maybe more, laced with years of regret. “I can’t marry you.” 

Arthur nods, feeling tears prick his own eyes as he pulls her into a hug. “We’ll figure something out.” He promises, and she sobs into his shoulder, soaking his shirt through. He pats her on the back and swears that he won’t force her to be married to him. Not on his life. 

He explains his suspicions of Merlin to her, and when she goes to bed that night, she’s distraught. The next morning she goes for her daily ride without him, presumably to think, and she never returns.