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bitsandbobsofwriting · 4 years

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Merlin and Arthur bond like never before, and war preparations are being made

Morgana sees something... worrying

Part 3 of Merlin’s angry outburst.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5

The next morning, everyone is up early. Merlin pays a quick trip to Gaius, to inform him of his and Arthur’s plan for that evening (earning a raised eyebrow and a concealed smirk) before meeting Morgana at the castle gates, and heading off.

Everyone is busy, and no one in the gang crosses paths for more than a few moments the whole day.

Merlin and Morgana spend almost the whole day at the Druid camp, learning what they can, and asking for healers. (Morgana gives her own raised eyebrow and smirk when Merlin requests the ingredients he’ll need to forge a mental link, but doesn’t say anything.)

Gaius is busy bustling around with the servants he was provided, instructing them on what herbs to collect, where they would be found, and how to harvest properly.

Leon has Elyan, Gwaine, and Lancelot, lead small groups of knights in opposite directions, tasked with heading to the outermost villages, and warning them of the potential danger. Leon himself and Percival stay behind, and continue to oversee training and organisation of extra patrols, and intelligence gathering.

Arthur has meetings throughout the day, mainly focused on the public announcement that would take place the next day, as well as letters to be sent to the lower town. News travelled fast in Camelot, but they wanted to make sure that everyone knew as soon as possible.

Gwen spent the day moving between the forgery, Arthur, and Gaius, making sure everyone had what they needed, and pointing out flaws or missed opportunities wherever she could.

The council may have hated her when Arthur was first crowned (”She’s just a serving girl, My Lord!”) but Arthur had shut that down quickly, and made sure everyone knew that Gwen was a trusted advisor, and was to be treated as such. And even if he hadn’t made that point, no one could deny that she was quick witted, and always made good suggestions.

The Gang gathers once again in the evening, dining together. A small hall off to the side of the throne room had become their sort of HQ, the place they congregated for meals and meetings for just the ten of them. There was only one door in, and they each had their own keys (the only ones made).

Each of them updates everyone on their progress, one by one.

Leon informs the group of when Elyan, Gwaine, and Lancelot are expected back (not for a while, it was a couple days ride to the furthest villages, and they had plenty of places to visit), and how the training is going.

Gaius happily reports that preparations for the infirmary were going quickly, even more so when he was joined by all the healers that M+M had brought back with them from the Druid camp.

Gwen tells that, whilst progress was slow at the moment, the forgery was expecting a large shipment of materials by the end of the week, and work would speed up drastically once it arrived.

Morgana reports that the Druids have only seen what she has, but they’ve promised to spread the word, and try to gather any extra information. They would be sending a few more healers once some more of the Clans had gathered together.

All in all, it’s been very successful. Despite the Kingdom only being one day into preparations for a full scale war, things are going smoothly, and none of them are feeling the pressure of panic in their skulls.

The meeting only lasts as long as dinner does, everyone still having important tasks to complete before it was time to sleep.

Other than Merlin and Arthur, Gaius is the last to leave the room, looking back and saying (with a raised eyebrow, of course):

“I’ve left everything you’ll need in The King’s chambers, do you wish for me to join you and oversee it, in case?”

Merlin replies first (not quite sure why he’s blushing):

“No, no it’s fine. Thank you Gaius. We can always send a guard for you if we need anything.” With that, Gaius heads off, and with a deep breath, Merlin stands, and gestures for Arthur to follow.

They make their way to Arthur’s chambers quickly, the silence just a little uncomfortable. Both of them wondering if they should ask the other if they’re sure one last time. Neither of them say anything.

They enter the rooms to see that Gaius has indeed placed everything neatly on the table, one of his old books lying open on a specific age, and two pain relief potions set to the side.

“Merlin are you-

“I’m fine with it, but are you-”

Both of them speak at the same time, before chuckling quietly and pausing. Merlin is the first to speak again:

“It’ll only take a few minutes to put everything together, but then there’s a spell to be said by both of us-”

Arthur widens his eyes in slight panic at that, but Merlin interrupts before he says anything:

“Don’t worry, you can just repeat after me. You’ll have to copy the symbol as well, I’ll need to paint something over your heart, and then you’ll have to paint the corresponding one over mine, you can copy from the book.”

Arthur takes a deep breath in an effort to calm his nerves (it doesn’t work) before replying to a now busy Merlin:

“I’m not magic and I... what if I get it wrong?”

Merlin looks up from the table, and smiles gently before responding:

“Nothing. I mean we’ll probably still get a headache, but other than that... we’d just have to try again tomorrow. No big deal.” He shrugs before looking back down at everything on the table.

Arthur watches him with interest and sits on the opposite side of the table, trying to get a peak at the words or symbols in the book.

After a few minutes, Merlin has a sweet smelling paste in a bowl and two paintbrushes in his hand. He walks round the side of the table, pulling the book towards him, still open. He grabs a stool and stands it in front of him, where he puts the bowl and paintbrushes.

He gestures for Arthur to stand opposite him, and unlaces the loose tunic he’s wearing. He pulls it to the side, exposing the space on his chest over his heart, indicating for Arthur to do the same.

“Right. Our left hands go on the back of each others head,-”

(Arthur struggles not to swallow at that, and nods, pushing the blush down)

“-and they need to stay there the whole time. Our right hands need to be holding a paintbrush each. They need to be over the bowl, crossed over one another, yours on top. I’ll say the spell, bit by bit, you repeat after me. When we speak we need to look at each other. Once the vocal spell has been cast, it’ll get a little glowy in here, but just ignore it, alright? After that, I’ll touch my brush to the paste. You don’t need lots, and the symbol needs to be painted in one motion, so don’t panic if you run out, it doesn’t matter, just keep going. I’ll paint the symbol at the top of the page on your chest, you need to hold still though, keep your hand in place over the bowl. Once I’ve done, I hold my paintbrush over the top of yours, you lower yours into the bowl, and then paint the symbol at the bottom of the page, onto my chest. We don’t have to hold eye contact for that, so you can look down as much as you need to, to copy it right. After it’s done, both paintbrushes can be put down, and we touch foreheads over the bowl. That’ll be the spell done, and we can move back, the pain will only start after all that has been done, and it’ll only last a few minutes, before it begins to lessen. Gaius left us some pain relief. We can practice actually talking to each other later on. Understand all of that?”

Arthur thinks for a just a second, before nodding. He’s very much grateful for all his knight and noble training at this point, he has a good memory for detailed instructions, good enough that not even his nerves could make him forget what to do.

Merlin seems completely unfazed, I suppose because A) in the grand scheme of things, it’s a very simple spell, and B) he’s focussing more on the magical aspect than the fact that basically every step of this spell, was increasingly intimate.

Arthur tries to force his mind to do the same, as Merlin receives his nod. The Sorcerer picks up his paintbrush, and cups the back of Arthur’s head, nodding at Arthur to do the same.

Arthur follows his instructions to the letter. He concentrates so much on repeating exactly what Merlin said, and painting the symbol exactly like it was drawn in the book, that he doesn’t notice Merlin’s fond smile on him.

Arthur has always pursed his lips slightly when focusing, and it’s one of the many small mannerisms that Merlin struggles to look away from.

It comes time for them to touch foreheads, and Arthur takes a deep breath as he feels Merlin pull him forward (and he does the same to Merlin).

They hold eye contact, and Arthur has to hold in a gasp at the feel of Merlin’s magic flowing through him from the moment their heads meet. Merlin holds them there for a few seconds, before letting go and stepping back, Arthur following suit.

Within seconds, both of them are doubled over and groaning, hands clutching their heads as the feeling of warm, gentle magic is replaced by a splitting headache.

Like Merlin had said, it only lasted for a couple minutes at that high intensity, but it feels like forever.

At long last, the stabbing agony turns into a dull ache. Still in a great deal of pain, but not so much that they can’t open their eyes and head over to the table to down their pain relief potions.

At Arthur’s vague gesture, the both of them head over to the two armchairs in front of the fire, and they collapse in their respective seat, each holding their heads in their hands.

(Arthur had the second comfy chair moved to his chambers after a year or so of Merlin always sitting in his, when he first stated working for him. Merlin noticed, but never mentioned it, and the new chair, though it was never said out loud, became his.)

Arthur speaks (more like groans) after a few minutes:

“I thought those potions were supposed to help?”

“Well, it’s magical pain. Curing it isn’t an exact science. Plus the pain is sort of part of the spell, it’ll have mostly faded by the morning. I can always put together something stronger if it stops us from sleeping.”

Arthur looks up at Merlin for the first time as he begins to speak again:

“So... did it work? I feel a little odd but I don’t know if that’s the headache, or whatever happened when we touched heads, or what?”

Merlin looks up, and raises his eyebrow, before saying, wordlessly:

“Yeah. It worked.”

Arthur widens his eyes at that, before scrunching his face up (Merlin just about manages to not laugh at him) in concentration, and staring at Merlin intensely:

“Am I doing it? Merlin can you hear thiiiiiiiis? Merliiiiiii-”

Merlin laughs, before actually saying:

“Yes. Gods shut up Arthur, yes you’re doing it. It’s not exactly difficult.”

Arthur joins in his laughter:

“Sorry sorry, I just wanted to make sure. What now, is that?”

“I mean, yeah, we should probably-” he huffs slightly:

“We should probably practice. You need to get used to doing it over longer distances, and whilst we’re concentrating on other things, so you don’t get caught off guard. We can just keep each other updated across the day tomorrow, that should be plenty of time for you to get used to it.”

Arthur puts his “concentration face” on again as:

“Yes you’re probably right. Just don’t say anything stupid whilst I’m in a meeting, can’t be distracted by your idiocy.”

Merlin smirks slightly, but Arthur sits up straighter, and interrupts him before he can say anything:

“Can we do the same with images? Like could we show each other what we were seeing? I imagine that would come in very handy.”

Merlin furrows his eyebrows slightly:

“It’s headache inducing, and takes a lot more energy and concentration, but we could, if it was an emergency. I’ve never done it before. We’ll have to practice at some point, if we get a quiet day.”

Arthur nods in thought, and waves around the room, focussing on the window and the laid, but cold, fireplace:

“Could you...?”

Merlin nods his head, his eyes flashing gold as the curtains draw themselves and the fireplace bursts in to roaring flames.

“Thank you.” is spoken is Merlin’s head as Arthur once again puts his head in his hands, grumbling as he rubs his temples. The conversation had helped distract for a moment, but both of them still had terrible headaches.

“Something tells me it won’t take long, you’re already using it like it’s second nature. Though you’ll have to keep an eye on that, remember we have to actually speak out loud to other people, still.”

Arthur hums, but doesn’t look up. Merlin takes that as a cue to end the conversation, and uses magic to wave over the book he was currently reading.

The Sorcerer pulls his feet up on the chair (his chair), and settles in to read another chapter, opposite from the King, who stares into the fire, deep in thought.

Arthur doesn’t take anything that the war declaration said to heart, he knows he’s done right by his people, and on good days, he’s even proud of his accomplishments, as opposed to feeling like he’s still atoning for his father’s evils.

But still. The fact that someone was this opposed to Camelot’s new found prosperity was disturbing, not only politically, but personally. What of the people under this neighbour-tyrant’s rule? Are they suffering? They will surely feel the fallout of this war more than Camelot’s people.

Arthur was caught between guilts. It would be far too dangerous to offer refuge from this tyrant’s rule, it would undoubtedly be taken advantage of by spies and usurpers. But could he, in good conscience, leave those people to suffer under whoever would replace him? When Camelot inevitably prevailed?

These thoughts plague Arthur for a while, and he’s only broken from his spiralling worries when a thump to his side, has him look up rapidly.

He lets out a quiet chuckle as he realises Merlin has fallen asleep in the other armchair (in Merlin’s chair), the heavy book dropping to the floor.

Arthur gets up quietly, stretching his back, and noting that while his head still hurts, it isn’t nearly as painful as it used to be.

He wonders over to his bed, dragging two blankets back to the chairs by the fire.

One, he drapes over Merlin.

Arthur stands over him, and gently strokes the hair back from his face, smiling fondly as his former-manservant shuffles slightly, leaning into his hand, and mumbles unintelligibly in his sleep.

The other, he wraps around himself before settling back into his own chair, resuming the contemplative staring into the fire. Though this time, he’s thinking on the gap between him and Merlin, and how small it had gotten over the years.

You’d think that such a train of thought would be focused on the big things: the battles, the near death experiences, the emotional speeches... the outburst in the woods. But no. They barely crossed his mind. Rather, Arthur was thinking on the small things: the small smile Merlin saved for hurt children when he called them brave, the fire in his eyes when he challenged an arsehole councilman, the pride on his face when Morgana succeeded in her lessons.

Knowing of Merlin’s magic had been an important stepping stone, but a stepping stone nonetheless. Since then, in the time that had passed, he had learnt all the seemingly unimportant things that made Merlin, Merlin.

His favourite colour was blue (blue like the sky and blue like Avalon and blue like the cover of his favourite book (blue like Arthur’s eyes, not that Arthur knew that)).

His favourite season was spring (spring with flowers and baby animals and the world breathing around you. Arthur could almost see Merlin vibrating in time with the world at spring, which didn’t surprise him, once he learnt how tied to nature his magic was).

His favourite holiday was Yuletide (Yuletide with family and dancing and singing and true freedom, all ending in a new beginning, the world getting to start again, in a small way).

His birthday was the first day of the new year (truly, a new year, and a new beginning).

His favourite food is blueberries (but really, he loves any sweet fruit. Never one for actual candy though, maybe he just wasn’t used to such luxuries. Arthur found himself wanting to provide Merlin with every luxury he could ever want).

His childhood was full of mischief and fear (running around pranking people with Will all day, and going home in the evening to find nightmares filled with red cloaks and smoke and a pyre just for him).

Arthur had spent the last nine months making sure that Merlin would never have such nightmares again. He came damn close to changing the Pendragon colours when Merlin told him of the Red Cloak detail.

Before long Arthur also finds himself nodding his head, but moving to his bed means waking Merlin up and sending him away, and honestly? Arthur would happily wake up with a crick in his neck, if it meant he could fall asleep to the sounds of Merlin, gently snoring through the night.

With that final thought, he finally drifts to sleep in his armchair, warmed by the fire, and Merlin’s presence.

The next morning, King Arthur, flanked by his Court Sorcerer, his Court Seer, and his First Knight, announces to a large crowd the news of the impending war.

The people are worried, but he speaks to them honestly, and they respect that. Arthur tells them of the preparations being made: the outer villages already being warned, the partnership with the Druids, the preparations of both medical supplies and the tools of war.

As they thought, word spreads quickly. The city is bustling with people. No matter the war declaration, work still has to be done, but the air is abuzz with gossip and chatter. Arthur is thankful, for the lack of panic, and sends a grateful smile to Merlin when:

“You did good. They respect, and trust you. Be proud.” echoes in his head.

Time passes

After a week or so, the first refugees from the outer villages start arriving, and a few days later, Elyan, Gwaine, and Lancelot make it back, having delivered the notice to all of the outlying settlements.

Like Gwen had said, work in the forgery greatly sped up, and the armoury was being stocked up.

With the help of all the Druid Healers, Gaius’ preparation of the infirmary was going quickly, and he was pleased with the progress.

Morgana was seeing bits and pieces of what The Magicians (M+M and the Druids, named by Gwaine) interpreted to be the big battle, but weren’t seeing how it would start, or how it would end.

It took the people of Camelot (including Arthur) a while to get used to it, but Merlin also had Kilgharrah and Aithusa doing daily fly overs of the whole kingdom.

Magic wasn’t illegal in the opposing kingdom, but was taken advantage of by the crown, and Merlin didn’t want to risk them sneaking up on Camelot somehow, without anyone noticing until it was too late.

Merlin did indeed check on the tunnels like he wanted. He made doubly sure that he knew where all the exits were, and the best ways to defend them. As far as he knew, no one outside the castle knew they were there, so they could be used as an emergency evacuation plan, hopefully with the opposition taking a while to catch on.

Though Arthur liked to remind Merlin that that sort of action probably wouldn’t be necessary. The fighting would hopefully take place no where near the actual city, and even if they did, Camelot was still stronger than their opponent.

Over this time, Merlin and Arthur continued to take advantage of their mental link. Unless in the presence of other people, they spoke almost exclusively in their heads.

Arthur’s poker face was getting much better as well. Merlin's constant snarky comments during council meetings was definitely the main source of practice.

It was during such a meeting, that Morgana burst in, and looked between Merlin and Arthur frantically, before saying:

“I’ve seen it. It’s coming!” Arthur reacts first, yelling at the council:

“Everyone out, right now!-”

He then turns his attention to one of the guards:

“Go fetch Sirs Gwaine, Elyan, Percival, and Lancelot. They should be on the training ground, hurry!” (luckily, this was a rare meeting that everyone else in The Gang was already attending)

With that the guard rushes out, and the remaining members of the council (Arthur, Gwen, Gaius, Merlin, Leon, and now Morgana) rush to their side room.

As they enter, Merlin’s eyes flash gold, and he waves his hand, pushing the table and all but one of the chairs to the side of the room.

The last chair he moves to sit right in the middle, and Morgana quickly settles on it, closing her eyes.

A few minutes later, the knights come rushing in, Gwen murmuring quietly:

“Morgana has seen something, I think her and Merlin want to try and show us.”

Merlin nods to Leon, and he locks the door behind him.

The Sorcerer thrusts his arm towards the floor, and mutters a spell under his breath. His eyes flash gold, and soon enough, the room is filled with steam so thick, no one can see even a foot in front of them. They hear Merlin speak through the fog:

“Alright Morgana, just like we practiced. Focus on what you saw, and push it out of your mind, and onto the steam. Keep your breathing slow, and try to keep things chronological, clear your mind and think of nothing else.”

Morgana hums, and the group hear her take a deep breath (certainly calmed by the fact that Gwen and made her way to her, and had placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, receiving a grateful smile from Merlin).

Within moments, everyone begins to see shapes moving in the fog, and hear sounds echoing around the room.

It takes a minute or two for things to come into focus, and the fog seems to sharpen. The Gang find themselves stood in the middle of a field, all in grey. Everything is slightly blurry, and if they squint, they can see the walls of the room around them through the illusion. Arthur speaks:

“This is where the battle happens?-”

A nod from Morgana, who still sits in a chair with closed eyes, prompts Arthur to continue:

“Does anyone recognise it?” Gwaine speaks first, snapping himself out of the shock at what was happening:

“Yeah, I do. I rode through it on the way back from handing out the notices. It’s a huge meadow maybe a three days ride to the North?”

Before anyone can reply, figures, also in grey, start to fade in around them, the first to come into focus being Merlin, closely followed by Arthur stood next to him. The real Arthur stares, obviously slightly disconcerted:

“Ok... that’s a bit weird...”

The fog!M+A look serious, glancing at each other quickly and nodding, before walking in opposite directions.

Fog!Arthur fades, the scene following fog!Merlin as he stalks across the field, before stopping suddenly. He frowns slightly, before seeming to look straight at real!Merlin, and saying:

“I’m sorry. But it’s coming. I can’t stop it, I tried. This is the only way. Just... relax... it’ll hurt less. Four days.”

Real!Merlin frowns, but gasps and takes step back as fog!Merlin looks at him meaningfully, before taking a deep breath and turns away, continuing to walk.

The weather changes, beginning to rain, and if everyone wasn’t so preoccupied by what had just happened, they would’ve laughed at fog(future?)!Merlin going “Oh for fucks sake, why am I always right?” under his breath.

Suddenly, the scene changes entirely.

On the floor lies a body, on his side, but face down, a sword through his back, poking out through his chest. Whoever it was had been attacked from behind. Rain still pours.

If anyone had looked up, they would’ve noticed the meadow completely free of other bodies. A battlefield that had apparently held only one fight.

The Gang jumps, as they hear a yell, and turn to see fog!Arthur race towards a figure no one had noticed.

Fog!Arthur cuts them down quickly, barely paying attention, before falling to his knees next to the body:

“No.... no no no, Come on Merls, don’t do this to me.”

Everyone apart from Merlin gasps at this, watching as fog!Arthur turns the body over.

A vacant fog!Merlin stares up at the sky, unmoving, eyes glassy, blood trickling from his mouth, as fog!Arthur continues to mutter to himself unintelligibly.

Before anyone can react, the scene fades again, completely this time.

The fog melts into the floor, the room around them revealed again, as Morgana slumps in her seat, breathing deeply.

No one looks away from the spot where Merlin’s body had been until Merlin interrupts the tense silence:

“That’s not... good.” He doesn’t look scared, despite finding out that he would apparently die at some point in the near future.

Everyone looks up at him in shock, tears in Arthur’s eyes, and fear and sadness in Morgana’s, but before anyone can say anything, he speaks again:

“There’s a storm brewing at the moment, it should start in about four days, that’ll be what he... what I meant earlier. No armies. That would explain why Morgana hasn’t seen the original Bloody Battle visions in a while... no battle? Hmm.” He seems to be muttering to himself, but looks up as Arthur grabs his shoulders:

“You won’t be going. You can stay back and help at the main infirmary.”

Everyone nods in agreement, but Morgana shakes her head, before saying (obviously tired):

“That’s not how it works. The more.... solid, my visions are, the more likely they are to happen. I’ve never had a vision that clear. And you heard what Merlin... or Future Merlin, said. This is happening.” She looks to Merlin with fear in her eyes:

“You’re going to die. In four days.”

The room once again looks to Merlin, all very confused at why he looks more thoughtful than anything. He shrugs off Arthur’s hands and paces slightly. He let’s out a thoughtful hum before looking at Morgana:

“I don’t suppose you can remember anything about that sword? Did it seem strange to you or... just a sword?” At Morgana’s confused expression, he points absentmindedly to his own chest.

Arthur interrupts:

“What does that matter? It was a sword, Merlin, through your chest. I don’t care what either of you say. We’re keeping you away from that meadow. I’ll lock you up if I have to, you’re not going.”

Merlin looks at him apologetically:

“Of course it matters. Depending on whether whoever that sword belongs to has done anything funky to it or not, I’ll just wake up again-”

He waves his hand casually:

“-and besides. You have nothing here that I couldn’t break out of, Arthur. There really are only one or two things that can tie me down properly, and I’m sure as shit not gonna tell you what they are now. Morgana? The sword?”

She looks shocked at his casual approach before replying:

“Uhh... it didn’t feel evil or anything. It just felt like a sword, but I wouldn’t bet on it. You’ve seen how my meditations have been going recently, not everything is in focus, I could have missed an enchantment easily. I would tell you not to risk it but.... I know you. And that vision was clear. Nothing is going to stop you from... that.”

Merlin nods thoughtfully, but Arthur seems to be getting more panicked, but before he can speak, Leon interrupts:

“Wait... backtrack a minute. What do you mean “wake up again”? Merlin there was a sword through your chest. That was very much a... killing, blow.”

Merlin sighs and looks around the room, finally seeming to notice how horrified everyone looked:

“You guys... remember that I’m immortal right? Unless someone stole one of my dragons without me realizing, and made another Excalibur type weapon, again, without me realising... then I should be fine.”

Arthur bursts, grabbing Merlin once again:

“Merlin that... that was not fine! The future me was freaking out, and you weren’t waking up! There has to be another way. I won’t risk it.”

Merlin ignores him, looking instead to Gwaine:

“You said it was a three days ride away? To the North?” Gwaine nods hesitantly, and Merlin looks towards Leon:

“Have the army gather outside the city gates, but tell them that they’re not going anywhere. It looks like me and Arthur are going to be able to sort this out without any... or... you know... without any permanent bloodshed. But they should be ready just in case. Morgana, take tonight to rest, and build your strength. You’re going to be staying here, the last line of defence, if it comes to it.-”

He’s interrupted by Elyan:

“NO. Look I saw it as well as anyone in this room. But we are not leaving you. We are a family, we hold Camelot in our hands, and we won’t leave you to do this alone. We’ll all be there. You want us to stand back and watch? Fine. But you and Arthur are not doing this without us. Not this time.”

Morgana forces herself to stand, with Gwen’s support. Everyone in the room gives a decisive nod as she speaks:

“He’s right. Nothing you can do, Lord Emrys, will stop us from following you to that meadow.” Merlin looks about to argue, but she narrows her eyes at him, and he deflates.

He looks around the room, at his family, and sees their faces. All set in stone. They had just seen his body, and they weren’t going to let him do it alone, not this time.

He nods slightly, pretending that his eyes aren’t filling with tears. He reaches up and squeezes Arthur’s hand, still on his shoulder, as he sadly smiles:

“...Ok. I... thank you. If we want to get there in time, we’ll need to leave today.”

“We need them all distracted so we can slip away.” echoes through Merlin’s head, but before he can respond, Gwen speaks up, her voice strong and determined:

“I’ll go tell the stables to get our horses ready immediately, and grab some supplies from the kitchen. Everyone meet in the courtyard in half an hour.”

Percival:

“I’ll go to the stables, you head straight for the kitchens and I’ll meet you there after and help.” Gwen gives a firm nod, and the two of them leave. Gaius speaks up next:

“I’ll gather some medical supplies, and fetch some things from my chambers, and then let the infirmary staff know what’s going on.” and he leaves without waiting for a response. Morgana speaks up next:

“I’m going to grab a change of clothes for everyone. You (gesturing to Arthur) need to grab your armour.”

She looks to Elyan questioningly:

“Yeah I’ll help. I’ll grab spares for the knights, you grab something for yourself, Merlin, The King, and Gwen.” The two of them leave, exiting the room and heading in different directions.

Arthur speaks next, but directs it to Leon:

“Have the armies gather around the city, the bulk of the force on the North side. Tell them what’s happening. Hopefully we won’t need them but... if we fail, they need to be ready.”

Leon says nothing, but gives a firm nod, and marches out of the room, heading to ring the emergency bell at the training grounds.

“Well that wasn’t too difficult. What about these two?” Is what manifests in Merlin’s head this time, and he replies quickly:

“I don’t know, but quickly. If you take too long, they’ll know you’re just coming up with excuses to get rid of them.”

Arthur looks to Lancelot and Gwaine, but before he can say anything, Gwaine laughs and interrupts him:

“Absolutely not, princess. There’s nothing left to be done, you two just want to sneak off without anyone noticing, and we won’t let you.”

Arthur huffs at that, and Merlin raises an eyebrow at him:

“I told you they wouldn’t fall for it.” Arthur gives his Sorcerer a withering glare:

“Shut up, Merlin.” Merlin just laughs in response, ignoring the confused looks on Gwaine and Lancelot’s faces.

Lancelot drops the look, and speaks:

“Ok I don’t know what that was, but Gwaine’s right. ALL of us, are going to your chambers so you can get your armour, and then ALL of us are heading down to the courtyard.”

Arthur huffs once again before marching from the room, his Sorcerer and two knights trailing closely behind him.

As agreed, 30 minutes later, all of them are gathered in the courtyard. Morgana and Elyan had packed each of the horses with spare clothes, and the food that Percival and Gwen had bought.

It wasn’t much, but it would do them for the first night, they would definitely have to hunt whilst they travelled, but that’s not unfamiliar to them.

With one last look at each other, they ride out towards the Northern City Gates, Arthur leading the way.

After Leon had informed the knights of what was going on, he had called an emergency council meeting, and informed them as well. They weren’t happy, but Leon put his “in-charge” voice on, and told them to deal with it.

They reached the gates, and Arthur nodded at a grave Gwaine to take the lead. Not a word has been spoken since they met up in the courtyard, and they ride out in silence.

Merlin glances at Arthur next to him:

“Everything is going to be ok, Arthur.”

He gets no response.

I feel kinda bad leaving it there, but just like I thought it would, it was getting a tad too long.

THIS IS COMPLETED!! Part 5 (final part) has been posted.

If y’all want my thoughts on anything specific, let me know :)

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lit-in-thy-heart · 3 years

Text

It’ll Be Okay, Promise

Lancelot wasn’t quite sure what it was that had set Gwaine off. Lancelot wasn’t even sure when Gwaine had been set off. He’d been hurling himself into the training session, keen to catch up on what he’d missed whilst recovering from the ordeal at Fyrien, and Lancelot had been secure enough in the knowledge that Gwaine was alright to focus on his own training. It hadn’t been until the end of the session, when he’d turned around to catch Gwaine so they could track down Merlin together, that he’d realised Gwaine hadn’t been there.

Gwaine had been hidden in a nook along the ramparts with his head in his hands.

‘Gwaine?’

Gwaine kept his face hidden. ‘Yeah?’

‘Do you want some lunch?’

‘I’m not hungry.’

Lancelot lowered himself to the ground, squeezing in beside him. ‘Are you alright?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yeah.’

Lancelot hesitated. ‘I’ll get Merlin.’

‘No, don’t bother him. I’ll--I’ll be fine in a few minutes.’ Gwaine took a deep breath. ‘It’s stupid.’

‘You do know I’ve started carrying the self-deprecation chart in my boot, now, don’t you?’

‘No wonder it didn’t smell quite right when I added to it yesterday,’ sniffed Gwaine.

‘I think you’ll find your feet are worse.’ When no laugh was drawn from the other knight, Lancelot leaned against him, stroking his hair. ‘Tell me what’s wrong, my love.’

When Gwaine raised his head, his eyes were enhanced by surrounding bloodshot veins and his face was wet with tears. ‘It’s nothing.’

‘It’s not nothing if it’s making you this upset.’

‘I just--I missed an easy hit in training.’ Gwaine pulled away from Lancelot violently, raking his fingers through his hair as he stood up. ‘It’s so stupid. But I missed that hit and then started thinking that I might not be as good as I thought I was and what have I got if I can’t fight well and who does that make me--’

‘You’ve got us,’ came a quiet voice. Merlin was standing several feet away, biting his lip. ‘You’ve always got us.’

‘But I shouldn’t pin my identity on other people--’

‘You shouldn’t pin your identity on your ability to fight, either,’ Lancelot gently said. ‘That’s just one element of your personality. A bad day doesn’t make you a failure. It doesn’t mean that you’ve lost yourself completely.’

‘But other people will see me as a failure--’

‘Hang other people,’ Merlin said sharply, stepping closer. ‘You weren’t put here to please them. It doesn’t matter what they think. As long as you’re happy with what you’re doing and you know that you’ll be able to make progress and improve, that’s all that matters.’

Lancelot stood up, hand fumbling for Gwaine’s upper arm. ‘Besides,’ he murmured, ‘you’re exhausted and you’ve been putting immense pressure on yourself to get through this session. You were always going to crack under that kind of strain, my love, this is perfectly natural.’

Gwaine let his hands drop as he fell into Lancelot, closing his eyes. ‘I just hate how stupid it makes me feel. I should be better than this. I know I can be better than this.’

‘You don’t have to be better right away.’ Merlin buried his fingers in Gwaine’s hair, shielding the other side of his body from the world. ‘You can take your time. And if you need to scream at us, we’ll be right here with you.’

‘I’d never scream at you both,’ mumbled Gwaine.

‘Vent, or rant, I mean,’ Merlin corrected as Lancelot tucked back a lock of Gwaine’s hair behind his ear. ‘Just talk to us, sweetheart, okay? We might be able to help. Or it might just help you to get it all out.’

Lancelot squeezed Gwaine’s shoulder. ‘You should get some rest, my love. Come back to the castle with us.’

‘Can we... Can we just stay here for a bit?’

‘Of course,’ Lancelot whispered. ‘Whatever you need.’

‘Could we sit down though, perhaps?’ asked Merlin. ‘It’s just that I’ve been on my feet all morning--’

Gwaine had dropped to the floor before Merlin had the chance to finish his sentence. His partners were not far behind and Lancelot immediately wrapped his arms around Gwaine, letting the other knight bury his face in Lancelot’s shoulder. Merlin knelt beside them both, snaking his arms around Gwaine’s midriff, and rested his chin on Gwaine’s shoulder, nose bumping against the knight’s neck as his fingers brushed against Lancelot’s. Gwaine knew that a rest would clear his head but he’d worked himself up into too much of a state to do anything other than be sandwiched between Lancelot and Merlin and hope that he wasn’t going to let them both down as badly as he feared.

#i really should start taking some of my own advice one day #but today is not that day #i know this isn't the best piece i've written #but catalogue it under self help #because worrying about quality is what got me into a spiral in the first place lmao #has this made me feel better?#...a little #✨ projections ✨#i'm going to look at neednoggle's wonderful purple knights again and then perhaps try my wip again #but in the meantime i will leave this here for anyone else who might need it #merwaincelot #we are bound together by delicate stems #merlin #gwaine #lancelot #bbc merlin #merlin fanfic #lit writes

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fanfic-mind · 3 years

Text

Blood on my hands (all that i've gained and all that i've lost)

pairing: merthur

warnings: non

status: fanfic draft, Part 1/? (~ 2300)

It’s yet again an hour of need for Camelot. But the weapon they need to safe kingdom and people comes with a price. Only those who prove that they are powerful and wicked can receive it. The knights of Camelot don’t have enough evil deeds to be worthy of the sword. They think everything is lost - until Merlin speaks up...

A magic reveal story in which Merlin makes good use of being a morally grey character. Because, yea, Merlin-is-the-victim-reveals are swell and all but he is capable of making his own decisions and some of them are pretty shady. There is still a good amount of Uther bashing included.

Somehow they get into a situation that requires someone with blood on their hands - figuratively (otherwise it wouldn't be a problem because seeing how often Arthur and Merlin and also Gwaine get wounded by just existing they probably wouldn't even have to injure anyone)

Maybe a god of the Old Religion guards a weapon they need to kill the magic beast of the week or to destroy a cursed item.

In any case: they are really desperate. People are dying and this is their last hope, their last resort.

To their misfortune, this weapon is guarded by a very cunning and wicked god and they will only give their weapon to someone who has the power and the will to use it for evil deeds

There is a test that must be passed by the one who wants to receive the weapon. They must prove that they did enough evil deeds to be worthy of it.

Arthur quickly fails his test because despite some wrongs he's done he is way too just and noble to be wicked

The only knight that seems to get at least a few moments more of consideration is Leon who has done some terrible things - however under Uther's orders which isn't quite powerful enough

"Ahh, Uther Pendragon," the god muses, "Him i would have given the weapon. Such rage and blind hatred and, oh yes, so much blood."

Arthur grits his teeth and sets his jar. he wonders if his father would be disappointed in him for not living up to this legacy of his. he wonders - not for the first time - why he wanted to be like his father once and how he managed to end up being so different.

The knights discuss their strategy. non of them is wicked enough to pass the test. they have wicked people in Camelot's dungeons. But Camelot is three day rides off and their quest is really urgent.

They could separate and seek for wicked folk, but the chances seem slim and the risk of them keeping the weapon as they receive it seems too big

People are dying and they need to do something now.

"there must be another way to destroy it," Lancelot suggests, though they've been over this. His eyes stray to Merlin, but Merlin seems caught up in thought.

If there was an easier way to do this, Merlin and Gaius would have come up with it by now. asking the god had been their idea in the first place.

"What if there isn't?" Gwaine argues heatedly. "We can't have waisted six days for nothing. This is probably our last chance."

"so what do you suggest?" Lancelot interrupts somewhat irritated. They temperaments are heated at this point. And suddenly knowing each other’s worst deeds doesn’t exactly lighten the mood. "All of us failed the test. i wouldn't have thought that I'd ever be angry about being found too good and noble."

Gwaine shrugs with a grimace. He hadn't thought that he'd ever be deemed good and noble in the first place.

"maybe there's a way out of that," Arthur says. He hasn’t spoken in a while and all heads turn towards him.

"what do you mean, Sire?" Leon asks, looking uneasy as if he already knows and doesn't like it.

"If you're not noble enough, you proof your nobility by doing good deeds," Arthur starts matter of fact. "so, logically, if I'm not wicked enough, i prove my wickedness by doing an evil deed."

The god smiles a toothy smile.

"To murder just anyone obviously isn't evil enough" Arthur says, looking at the god with disgust. "so it must be somthing worse. murdering a friend, for example."

"My king, with all due respect, this is madness," Leon say carefully.

"sir Leon, that's the point." Arthur says sourly.

"is that really it?" Gwaine shouts at the god who watches his outburst unimpressed. "You want us to slaughter each other?"

the god laughs, distant and hollow and the earth seems to vibrate with it. "The weapon can only be taken by those of power who are wicked and cunning enough to wield it." the god repeats his earlier words.

"So there's not even a guarantee," Gwaine says, throwing up his arms. "Arthur, let's just leave and see if we can find something else."

"there is nothing else, Gwaine, you said so yourself!" Arthur returns. His expression is incredibly pained but determined in a way that makes them all shudder. Leon, Percival and Lancelot unconsciously get into fighting stance.

Gwaine takes a few steps to put himself between the king and Merlin who is the most vulnerable

Arthur nods to himself, seemingly coming to a decision in his head. Tehn he draws his sword . "If either of you kills me while i try to kill you, that might be enough too" he muses

They all stare at him in horror, unable to believe that he will go through with this.

"My people are dying," Arthur says, his tone pleading, "if i have to sacrifice my good conscience to help them - well, it is a price i must be willing to pay. I'm sorry. But all of you swore to protect Camelot at all costs too."

Arthur halts for am moment then nods grimly. "Don't try to sacrifice yourself. I'm sure that's not what he's looking for" Arthur nods towards the stony god who smiles.

"you can't be serious" Mordred whispers.

"I'm afraid i am. Now, it's been an honour. truely. and i hope - i hope I'll still have your respect afterwards. Though, i can understand if you can't trust me again."

"that's enough."

They all turn around. Partly, because they had forgotten about Merlin who has been uncharacteristically quiet the whole time. and partly because they have rarely heard this sort of tone from him. harsh and demanding. a voice more fit for a king than his manservant.

They stare at him and he makes short eye contact with Arthur before he steps forward, in front of the statue that the god is using as a vessel.

"test me." Merlin says. his voice is determined and his shoulders are set.

Arthur let's out a short laugh, because clearly this is absurd, right? Merlin is the best and kindest of all of them. Actually, coming to think of it, if he's really honest, Merlin probably is the reason Arthur is not like his father. Merlin makes him better. Merlin makes him want to be better.

A few of the knights share his sentiments, laughing slightly hysterical with tension but still perplexed over this development.

Only Lancelot steps forward with a frown as if to pull him back, but merlin raises a hand without looking at him and he stops in his tracks.

Arthur who was about to say something stops too.

The god looks more alive than before he seems to stretch himself to his full height as if he has waited for this

"welcome" he starts as he has with all of them. "young warlock, tell me your deeds."

lancelot tenses, casting a worried glance back at the king who stands there, sword still drawn, eyes fixed in Merlin as if he doesn't understand any of this

Lancelot doesn't either. Even if Merlin is a sorcerer - what evil deeds can he possibly have done? Saving Arthur's life over and over without ever seeking credit doesn't have a ring of evil to him.

"I am Merlin, and they call my Emrys." Merlin starts.

Some of the Knights gasp. Emrys is a name they know by now.

Lancelot wonders whether Merlin considers his identity an evil deed in itself. The possibility breaks his heart a bit.

"I was born with magic. I am the most powerful sorcerer there is."

Merlin takes a deep breath.

"i lied to all my friends. I let them think they can trust me, that they know me. But they never will. I could kill them just by looking at them. I am magic and i killed many behind friends backs and before their eyes, but never revealed myself to them"

"I am a slayer of my own people," he continues, his voice hard, "I killed many creatures and men of magic to protect their murderers - the king and his son. I did it out of self-righteousness and out of selfishness because...” for a moment, Merlin halts, but then he continuous with the same hard tone as before, as if something is forced out of him, but he wants to stand for it.

“I loved Arthur more than my own people. i let many of them die even though i could have helped them if i had revealed myself. But i couldn't bear the thought to be separated from him so i stayed quiet and watched them burn."

The god nods Merlin on. They all stand in shock. They know from before that Merlin won't be able to stop telling his deeds before the god thinks he is done.

"I killed the witch Nimueh even though she told me i have to pay with a life to save Arthur's. Instead of giving my life as i promised, i killed her."

"I killed Mary Collins, Afanc, Aulfric, Sophia, Cornelius Sigan, Myror and many more. "

Merlin's voice falters a bit, but he seems to pull himself together visibly, because his voice is clearer again when he keeps speaking.

"My betrayal to my people is so great, my wickedness so deep, i considered to kill a child on the mere possibility that he could threaten what was mine in the future."

Mordred makes a quiet stricken noise.

No one dares take their eyes off Merlin, but Merlin himself turns his head slowly.

There is a gasp of horror when they all see that his eyes are glowing yellow with magic.

Up until now, no one except Mordred and Lancelot had truly believed it.

"I tried to kill Mordred when he was a child and i wish his death even now though he is kind and serves Arthur."

Lancelot looks at Merlin with complete bewilderment as Mordred sobs.

Merlin doesn't answer Lancelot's gaze, he just turns around again.

They can hear him take in another breath and it sounds more halting than before.

"I knew that my friend had magic and i saw her turmoil and her fear of being killed. of being burned by her own kin like all of the others. but instead of helping her, i left her in the dark. I told her to trust me - she trusted my - and then i poisoned her."

Merlin stops for a moment, his voice sounds rough as if speaking becomes quickly more difficult.

"I gave Morgana poison in full intend and watched her as she died and i regretted when she was healed."

"Only i had the power and knowledge to save her, but i turned my head from her suffering, i killed her when she didn't know better than to turn to her sister, it was me that made her what she is today."

There is another short pause. Lancelot is desperate to see Merlin's face. To demand how this all really went. Because though he knows that Merlin is bound to say the truth by the power of the god, he still thinks there must be a mistake or a trick. This is not Merlin. Merlin would never...would he?

"I conspired with and freed the dragon that attacked Camelot which led to the death of many innocent people. I attempted to kill Arthur on multiple occasions."

Lancelot frowns. This one he knows to be untrue. Merlin didn't want to kill Arthur. it was Morgana's doing that he went after him.

"i saved Uther Pendragon's life - more than once. I let him live even though he slaughtered my people. I saved his life even though i didn't have to. I never killed him even though i had many opportunities."

Merlin pauses then, looking up at the god.

"Do i really need to go on?" he asks and it sounds almost indifferent. except they know Merlin and they know how his face looks when he sounds this way.

The god leans their head to one side slowly. the stone his vessel is made of groans.

"You are worthy, young warlock. More than you know. Into your hands i command my sword."

Suddenly, there is noise and light and they cover their eyes, everyone except for Merlin and Mordred.

They can't be sure but they think they can hear Merlin's voice through it all, speaking a foreign tongue. Then, it's over.

When the air clears, Merlin stands alone, the stone vessel of the god has crumbled to pieces, a big sword in his hand. For just a moment, when he turns around to face them, he looks nothing like Merlin at all. His eyes are golden, and his face is grim, lips pressed into a thin line. His posture is straight and majestic and he holds the sword like a warrior. His appearance strikes them with fear. He looks like power incarnate.

The others notice from the corners of their eyes that Mordred kneels before him. and even as they are completely bewildered, they have an urge to do the same.

The next moment though, it's all gone, and Merlin looks like he's never handled a sword before. His eyes are blue and his cheeks messy with dust and tears. He sinks to his knees and the weapon falls from his hands - is pushed from his fingers as if through magic, landing on the ground with a strange sound.

Merlin looks after the sword with disgust clear on his face. Then he looks up and suddenly he looks afraid.

To be continued

#merthur #magic reveal #merlin fanfic #merlin x arthur #merlin

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thecowardwrites · 4 years

Text

Fifty Shades of Gwaine Part Three

Part Three: The Feast

One more part uploaded! I know it doesn’t take long to transfer one piece at a time, but linking everything takes some time (and I don’t want to overwhelm peoples notifications or dashboard with a shit ton of random writing)

Summary: It’s finally time for the feast, and once again Sir Gwaine is slinking his way into your thoughts.

Warnings: None

Words: 3.2k

<><><><>

In escaping Sir Gwaine and the butterflies, which happened to invade your stomach the two times you seemed to meet him, you were left wandering around the corridors and guessing at which direction to take. Usually, you were never left without a “guide” when you were commissioned for noble families. You did suspect, though, that was more for their comfort than yours. In other words, they wanted to make sure you didn’t have sticky fingers and steal something from them.

“I should’ve asked him where to go,” You mumbled to yourself after taking another wrong turn, leading you back to the entrance of your room. “I’m such an absolute imbecile.”

“That seems rather harsh,” A familiar voice piped up. You glanced over to where Merlin was leaning against your bedroom door, apparently you hadn’t noticed him standing there. Probably too distraught at having gone around in a giant circle to take notice of the serving boy waiting for you.

“Oh, thank goodness,” You breathed a sigh of relief, “Can you tell me how to get to the banquet hall, I had to have been wandering around for hours. How late am I?”

“You’ve only been walking around for the last forty-five minutes according to the guards that saw you leave,” He chuckled, “And, consequently, you’re only about ten minutes late.”

You cringed, realizing you could have just asked the guards stationed in every hallway where to go. “I gather that this won’t be a very good first impression, will it?”

Merlin pretended to think about it for a moment, tapping a finger on his chin in faux thought. “I’d say it makes you more fashionably late.” He grinned at you after making his decision on what to say.

“Well then, good sir,” You exaggerated your voice into an overdramatic, posh accent, “Would you do me the absolute honor of being my escort to such a prestigious event?”

“Of course, Madam,” Merlin attempted a deep bow but wavered, making it look more like he was stumbling. When he arose, his face was plastered with a lopsided, goofy grin, and you couldn’t help but laugh with him.

After taking a moment to compose yourselves, he juts out his elbow for you to take. Which you accepted by linking your arm through his. It wasn’t so much of a dainty hold, rather than having your arms hooked together by the elbows. It was friendlier that way, you thought, made it feel more equal.

“Who all will be there again?” You asked him as you approached a grand door that you could only assume was where the feast would be held.

“Just the king, the queen, the five knights of the round table, my mentor Gaius, and your favorite person in the world and savior. Just a hint that’s me, Merlin.”

“I’m so glad you’ve claimed that title for yourself, Merlin.” You grin, “Without that clue I would have never known who my favorite person in the world is.”

“All in a day��s work, my fair lady.” The two of you stopped in front of the ornate doors of the throne room, turned banquet hall, and waited for the guards to allow you to enter.

“Before we go in, I must ask,” You tugged on his arm slightly, “If you’re my favorite, then am I yours?”

“Well,” He sucked in a breath and cocked his head to the side, “I’m afraid that has to go to Gwaine right now, I promised him he would be for the week.”

“Next week then?”

“No good, reserved for Leon.” The guards had started to open the doors for you now.

“Put me at the next available week and then let me know,” You chuckled before the two of you were finally entering the room you had searched an eternity for. Okay, it wasn’t really an eternity – it wasn’t even an hour, but it was long enough to make you elated to finally be inside.

“Ah, finally Merlin has finally done something useful,” King Arthur exclaims, standing as he sees the both of you, “Welcome, again, Lady Y/N, to Camelot. We are excited to have you here.” The rest of the room following suit to stand as their king did.

“I am very excited to be here,” You announce with a grin as you approach the open seat next to the queen that King Arthur had gestured to. As delicately as you could, you took to your seat while the rest of the room took theirs as well.

“I hope your room is to your satisfaction.” King Arthur spoke as Merlin bounced over to fill his goblet.

“It is amazing, your majesty. I thank you for accommodating me so well.”

The queen, Gwen, responded while Arthur was taking a sip of the wine that was just poured. “It’s no problem. We have more than enough space.”

“Plus,” King Arthur added after, “You are forced to look at my men’s mangey faces for months on end. I feel as though I should be apologizing for asking you to do this.”

You simply laugh at his words along with the few surrounding you, as you take a chance to look over the men that were sharing the banquet with you.

The seven men (including Merlin and Gaius) that the king trusted the most were in this room. It sounded like so few people to trust fully as a ruler, but at the same time the knights made the grand room feel full. Their laughter echoing off the walls, the way they threw themselves around while telling stories and joking about. It seemed like they were more like a family than just a king and his knights.

Glancing around, you took notice of one closest to you who seemed a little less comfortable than the others. The boy was quite a bit younger than the rest of them, and you even. He had dark, wavy hair and the brightest blue eyes you’d ever seen. He wore the same chainmail and cape as the knights - he wore the uniform well. Yet, you could tell he felt slightly left out. Maybe he was the last to join their circle, maybe his age made him somehow separate from them. Maybe he was a secret agent that works for the moon, you never know.

Next to the boy, was an extremely tall man. His arms, apparently too large for the chainmail, were bare and looked like they could tear boulders in half. His hair was cropped close to his scalp, and his face looked as though it was sculpted of stone. If you hadn’t seen him here, smiling and laughing boisterously with the others, you would think him a brutal, frightening man.

You continued observing each of the men in the room. The knight with a mop of curly hair, the one who struck a striking resemblance to Gwen, the old man with locks of white hair and eyes that drooped, and, finally, your eyes fell to Gwaine. The way he threw his head back when he laughed, and how his hair seemed to blow in some imaginary wind. Funnily enough you also heard angels singing which was weird?

As if Gwaine sensed your eyes on him, he stifled his laughter and looked in your direction. He had no shocked reaction to finding your gaze already lingering on him, in fact, he seemed pleased to know that he had drawn your attention. You were sitting almost directly across the table from him, so it was an easy enough excuse to say you had zoned out and your eyes happened to rest on him. But the excuse was (already) futile, especially when you had no way to explain yourself in the loud room.

“He has been looking at you all night,” Gwen leaned over and whispered to you.

“Who?” You tore your eyes away from Gwaine to look over at the queen.

“Sir Gwaine,” She stated, “I think he’s been showing off a bit more than usual, too. Perhaps he has a little crush on our lovely painter.”

Your cheeks flamed up at her words, “Surely not. We’ve barely met.”

“But you have met?” She took a sly sip at her own wine and looked at you from the corner of her eyes. You could tell by the way her lips quirked into a small grin that she was enjoying teasing you. You, in a less dignified manner, began opening and closing your mouth like a fish choking on air.

“He saw… saw me in the town square. We just kind of introduced ourselves from there.” Your neck and ears began heating up with your words. They weren’t lies, but it wasn’t the full truth. It’s not even like you had met in a scandalous way, either. You – for whatever reason – just couldn’t seem to bring up exactly how you had met. Maybe the embarrassment of how you’d wrongfully accused him of trying to arrest a child had been more brutal than you thought, or maybe it was the way he shamelessly flirted with you and how that made you run away. Who knows?

The queen just let out a knowing hum before her focus was drawn away by King Arthur starting a conversation about something that seemed important. You drowned out their words, and once again, looked back towards Sir Gwaine’s, now empty, chair.

Puzzled, you looked up and down the long table, wondering where he might have moved but he was nowhere in sight. You grumbled to yourself, trying to balance the disappointment of his disappearance with logic. The logical side of you was telling you to stop fawning over a man you had seen maybe four times, while the part of you that was fed way too many love stories wanted to believe that he did have a crush on you. Though, as adults a crush seems like a silly thing to get excited for.

Brushing away thoughts of the dark-haired knight, you turn towards… another dark-haired knight.

“Hello,” You interrupted the boy’s thoughts, “I’m Y/N.”

“Mordred.” The boy gave you a small smile, “I’ve seen some of your work in another kingdom we had to visit a few months back.”

“Oh?” A wave of calm washed over you. You knew how to talk about work and if that’s what Mordred wanted to talk about, then you were more than pleased to oblige. “How’d you like it? Be honest.”

“I’ve never really had an eye for anything like that, but you’re pretty good.” His cheeks tinted pink a little as he spoke. Assuming it had to do with not talking to people very often, you continued on.

“Thank you, I think. I’ll take it as a compliment even if it wasn’t.” Your light laughter filled the space between you and Mordred’s tension began to melt away slightly.

The rest of your dinner was spent in between conversations with Mordred and Gwen. It was a relief to have a few people by your side that you felt at ease with, and, as Merlin eventually joined the three of you, your brain was completely void of a certain knight that had seemed to be your subject of infatuation for the day. Perhaps tomorrow you would have forgotten all about him.

<><><>

The following morning, you awoke to the bright sun pouring in from an open window and the sounds of birds chirping happily in the trees. Had it not been for your wine-induced headache and the incessant clanging of metal that accompanied the sun and the birds, you might have had a truly peaceful lie in. However, that’s not what the gods had planned for you that day.

Rolling out of your (extravagant) bed, you place a thin robe over your nightgown and move towards the window that was somehow opened now. Even though, you were sure it was closed the night before.

Leaning against the rock window frame, you glance down at an open, green arena. It was lined with wooden dummies with armor placed haphazardly on them, and various weapons resting along the fence. Upon further observation, you also noticed a dozen or so men sparring in one section of the grassy area.

They were obviously Knights of Camelot, that much your hungover brain could put together, but why they were up so early and disturbing your sleep was something that could hardly be forgiven. But, standing by the window had let the sun melt across your cheeks, and the warmth that followed it was so welcoming, you couldn’t bring yourself to move from your position.

With a satisfied sigh, you slowly dropped into a chair by the window, lay your head in your arms on the frame, and watch the knights as they did their early morning training. Perhaps you had been too quick to mentally snap at the way they trained first thing. It provided you with entertainment while your face basked in the sun on an early summer’s day.

You had dozed in and out during your morning show. Sometimes waking up just enough to catch a glimpse at a shiny knight win his spar, and other times completely imagining an entirely different world as you once again lost consciousness.

“Y/n!” The voice was distant, and you assumed it was another dream. So, you let the voice lull you back to sleep. Afterall, it was just as warm and smooth as the sun felt dancing upon your skin. It must’ve been a dream.

You heard it again, “Y/n!” The voice just begging you to stay asleep for five more minutes. Just a few more moments before reality came crashing in.

The third time your name was called, however, is what drew you out of your slumber. Because you knew that voice. That wasn’t the sultry sound of a fantasy. That was reality.

Picking your head up from its position on the windowsill, you glanced down where the voice was coming from. There, below you, stood Sir Gwaine. He had on a white cotton shirt that clung to his shoulders and his abdomen with sweat. You could tell that his hair was curling with moisture, and he was heaving from the morning workout.

“Enjoying the show?” He shot up at you, a lazy smile transfixed on his face.

“I was,” You yelled down to him, stifling a yawn, “But it seems it’s all over now.” The rest of the knight were not to be seen, as you assumed they went back to do some knightly duties of some sort. You weren’t really sure what they did during the day whenever they weren’t training.

“How did you sleep?”

“Oh, just fine,” Your voice quipped with sarcasm, “Until these rowdy boys and their metal swords woke me up.”

“I wish I could do something to fix your burden,” He shifted from one leg to the other as he spoke, looking strangely energized for someone who should be ready to drop with exhaustion, “Alas, I am but a simple man with so little control over the king’s schedule.”

“A schedule you don’t seem to follow regularly.” You added.

“What do you mean?”

“I know for a fact you weren’t there first thing this morning when training started,” Your face held a smug smile, happy that you had caught him slacking off and giving you something to tease him about.

“And how would you know that, Lady Y/n? Were you,” He paused to purse his lips, “Were you looking for me?”

Your lazy demeanor had completely vanished. Previously, he was the one at fault. Albeit it was just because he was late to a sparring session, but he was the one under the spotlight. But, as he looked up at you with an innocent pout adorning his face, claiming that you were the one that had their hand in the cookie jar, you wished you had never crawled out of bed.

“I – I was not!” You claimed, but it was too late. “Not looking for you, specifically.”

“Oh?” Gwaine placed his hand on his heart, “Then who were you looking for?”

“I… I wanted to see if Mordred was down there. I think I’m going to sketch out his portrait first today.” You silently praised yourself for a quick (though not smooth) save, “I just happened to notice you were not among the original men I saw.”

You could tell he didn’t believe you; even from twenty feet in the air, you could see the disbelief painted across his face. Though, it didn’t matter as he dropped the subject.

“I’ll let him know you’re looking for him,” He turned around to head back into the castle, before shooting one more phrase your way. “While I like your hair like that, if I were you, I’d check to make sure an animal didn’t nest in it while you were sleeping.”

With a disgruntled squeak, you slam your window shut and rush over to the mirror to check how bad your bed head truly was. It was pretty bad, and you swore you could hear Gwaine cackling from outside.

It took the better part of an hour to detangle and plait your hair, get dressed, and head off in search of Mordred with your sketchbook. It wasn’t an extravagant book: loosely bound with twine and leather, some pages were stained a dark yellow from wear, and it was only half full. But it was a gift and you cherished it deeply.

Just as you had opened your door, you were almost hit in the face with a fist. Basically, throwing yourself back, you look at the person standing in front of your door absolutely horrified.

“I am so sorry,” Mordred gushed, “Gwaine told me you wanted to talk to me. I didn’t realize you were opening your door-“

“It’s okay,” You reassured, letting out a breathy laugh, “I wanted to know if you were free so I could get some sketching done for your portrait.”

“I’m sure I can spare an afternoon.” He grinned.

“Perfect! I just want to get a few angles of your face drawn and planned out so I can see what the best pose for your portrait would be.”

“It sounds like a good plan, where should we go?” Mordred followed you as you strolled out of your room and down the stairs that you learned lead outside.

“Anywhere that has good lighting at this hour,” You skipped down the stairs, excited to get to know more of a Camelot while also learning about Mordred. You’d hoped he would become a friend during your stay here. If anything, your conversations from last night seemed like a good starting point.

“I think I know just the place then,” Mordred gave you a small smile before throwing open a side door and leading you through the courtyard of the palace.

You followed him between a few shops in town and through a bit of shrubbery until he stopped. Using an arm to sweep a tree branch obscuring your view of the spot, Mordred let out a “Here it is.”

You could only say one thing:

“Wow.”

<><><><>

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little-ligi · 4 years

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Febuwhump - No.24

No.24 - Memory Loss Fandom - BBC Merlin Worcount - 1097 @febuwhump

Lancelot was sitting on the edge of Merlin’s bed, his hands clasped behind his head, which was pulled down low to his chest. His shoulders were shaking. Merlin longed to reach out to him. To touch him. But Lancelot flinched every time anyone got too close. Instead he sat down in the chair beside the bed, pulling his pillow into his lap and hugging it.

“Lancelot?” he said softly.

Slowly his friend raised his head. His dark eyes, which were brimming with tears, met Merlin’s for a fraction of a second before dipping down again. Merlin’s heart ached.

It was two weeks since Merlin had managed to free Lancelot’s soul from Morgana’s control, and several days since Lancelot had properly spoken. He was having trouble remembering things. Things that should have been second nature to him, memories that had shaped who he was as a person.

Continue reading on Ao3, FF.net or below! 👇

Morgana had given him enough knowledge to pass as the Lancelot they had all known, but she didn’t know how to make him the real Lancelot. Gaius thought that his true memories might be buried somewhere deep within his mind and that with time they would resurface, but for the moment the other knights and Merlin were just trying to fill in as many blanks as they could.

Unfortunately, spending large chunks of time being told things that he should have already known – wracking his brain for the memories that should have been there to link up with the stories the knights told him – was taking its toll on the newly resurrected man. He often retreated to Merlin’s rooms to hide from the others, and more often than not Merlin discovered him weeping into his hands.

Like now. Merlin dragged his chair closer, so his knee was almost touching Lancelot’s, his hands gripping tight to the pillow in his lap to stop them from reaching out to his friend.

“Are you alright?” he asked softly.

Lancelot shook his head, not looking up. He let out a shuddery sigh.

“It’s too much…” he rasped out, his voice breaking as tears washed down his face. He pressed his hands to his eyes, gulping back the sobs threatening to overtake him again. “I’ve lost too much. I’m not me anymore.”

“Lancelot.” Merlin slowly reached forwards, he couldn’t help himself, his hand hovering over Lancelot’s for a second before he grasped it. Lancelot jerked slightly, an involuntary habit he had developed ever since he came back, and then his hand tensed in Merlin’s, latching on and holding tight as if it was a lifeline.

“I don’t remember…” He gulped. “I don’t remember who I am.”

“You’re my best friend. You’re the noblest knight. You’re Arthur’s champion, Leon’s right hand man. You’re Percival’s confidante. You’re Gwaine’s partner and Elyan’s anchor. You’re –”

Lancelot cut him off before he could say any more.

“I’m not those things anymore. I was… but now…” Fresh tears streamed down his face.

“You’ll always be my best friend,” Merlin argued, shuffling forwards in the chair so his knees bumped Lancelot’s, his other hand coming up to cup his shoulder, holding him steady as he flinched. “No matter what. And all of the rest is still in your heart.”

Stiffly, Lancelot leant forwards, leaning more into Merlin’s touch, his forehead almost touching Merlin’s.

Up close, Merlin could see the turmoil swirling in his dark eyes, the usual deep intensity of his gaze marred by confusion and sorrow. He’d give anything to clear the fog of doubt from Lancelot’s mind.

“I can’t find it… I’m too empty, too hollow, Merlin. I feel so hollow.”

“No,” Merlin said firmly, squeezing his hand. “You’re not hollow.” He put as much weight into his voice as he could, desperate to make Lancelot believe in himself as much as he did. “You’ll find yourself again, I promise.”

Lancelot gave Merlin’s hand a squeeze, letting his forehead come to rest against his friend’s.

“Tell me something, Merlin,” he pleaded. “Tell me something I should know. Something important. Please.” His voice was desperate.

Merlin bit his lip, feeling his eyes start to prickle with tears. He’d been yearning to tell Lancelot about his magic again, but had held off so far because he felt it was too big of a weight to place around Lancelot’s already unsteady shoulders. Too much to take in among the torrents of uncertainty that clouded his memory.

“Please, Merlin,” he begged and Merlin’s resolve collapsed.

“I have magic,” he whispered. Lancelot didn’t respond and Merlin couldn’t stop himself from rambling on. “You were the only one of my friends here who knew. You always stood by me. I didn’t have to lie around you. I miss that so much…” His voice caught in the lump in his throat. He let out a sob, pressing against Lancelot, grasping his shoulder, sliding his hand up to the back of his neck.

“Bregdan anweald…” Lancelot breathed. It was so quiet Merlin almost thought he had imagined it; his memory supplying the phrase from the first time Lancelot had muttered it to him, in the corridor outside the throne room, so happy, so accepting.

But Lancelot’s face had frozen, a glint of recognition in his eyes, even as he pulled back from Merlin to study his face intently.

“What was…?” His eyes darted anxiously between Merlin’s, like he was desperately grasping for answers.

“Say that again,” Merlin murmured, shifting forwards to the edge of his seat, a bubble of excitement swelling in his chest.

“I can’t…. I don’t know….” He looked confused, like the words had been drawn from his subconscious and he couldn’t quite catch them again.

“Bregdan anweald gafeluc,” Merlin said, his heart hammering.

“Bregdan…” Lancelot repeated, wonder filled his voice and a true smile broke over his face. “Y-You have magic,” he said shakily, happily. It wasn’t a question. It was a memory, stated with certainty.

“Yes!”

Merlin threw himself forwards into Lancelot’s arms. Lancelot tensed briefly but quickly relaxed and pulled him closer, gripping the back of Merlin’s shirt.

“I remember…” he huffed out a tiny laugh into the crook of Merlin’s neck. “The griffin… the lance…”

“Yes,” was all Merlin could mutter, again and again. “Yes!”

Lancelot tightened his arms around Merlin’s back, pressing a kiss to the side of his head.

“Thank you, Merlin. For trusting me.”

“Of course.” They pulled back from the hug, their hands still resting on each other’s shoulders. Merlin met Lancelot’s gaze, pleased to see it had a spark of happiness in it now. “I’ll always trust you, Lancelot. And I’ll help you remember yourself, I promise.”

#febuwhump2021 #febuwhumpday24 #bbc merlin fanfiction #lancelot lives #angst #hurt/comfort #emotional hurt #lancelot du lac #memory loss #could be mercelot #ligi writes #a day late #but still going

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cbk1000 · 3 years

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Preview for the next part of my fic:

Then there was the matter of the mandrake, which Merlin had found on a scientific excursion, and wanted to gather. This, Morgana learnt, was a complicated matter, and a dozen and more bored men-at-arms, knights, and Arthur, followed him into the wood to witness it.

Firstly, it had to be done at night, so that the shining of a lantern lit and enflamed the head of it; and then the area all round had to be marked with an iron tool, which prevented it fleeing.

“It can run away?” Morgana asked, looking down at the innocuous thing in the lamplight, quite like any other plant she had seen.

“So I’ve read, and I’m not risking it.”

Then as the trowel slowly unearthed, bit by bit, the glowing head, coiffed rather like Arthur’s in the morning, Morgana saw that under the lambent fronds was a sort of humanish outline; humanish because it had all the requisite shapes, but structured from root. As Merlin dug, the thing stood up out of the earth like a child; and Morgana heard not a few large men draw back from the audience.

“All right,” Merlin said, holding his tongue so that it hung out one side of his mouth in the grip of his teeth, and helped him concentrate. “Now, this is the tricky bit.” And he bound what looked to be the thing’s hands and feet, and called forward Percival, who had a hound on a leash, and beamed to be part of the performance. “So, Percival, you take the other end of the rope here on the mandrake, and fasten it round the dog’s neck, yeah, like so, and then we throw the meat in front of him, far enough that he can’t reach it without pulling out the mandrake. And I have to be quick about grabbing it.”

“Why’s that?” Arthur demanded.

“Because it has great powers.”

“What sort of great powers?”

“I dunno; my book didn’t elaborate. I’ll just do it quick, and then we won’t have to find out.”

So the meat was flung, and the dog scrabbled after it, and the spindly limbs in soft earth came loose with the dog none the wiser; and now as Merlin lunged and seized on the mandrake, it let out a howl as if he had wounded it. And Merlin yelled, and dropped it. The little foot which had been bound to the rope had come off in the struggle; so that the maimed thing now flailed about underfoot, screaming horrifically. Several men echoed it. Arthur drew his sword, and shoved Merlin into a tree. “Ow!”

“Get back, you idiot!” he shouted, and entered the fight in his usual manner, by flinging himself at the thing which he thought might kill him, as if it couldn’t. The screaming was wretched; it was only a plant, but there was a soul trying to get out of it.

It was only lying there hollering whilst Arthur circled it; but Morgana, spurred by the screaming, pricked by the feeling one naturally gets, in the dead of night, in the company of a shrieking weed, seeing that it was too close to him, seeing that whatever it was planning to do, it would do to him first, charged forward, and stomped the hell out of it. There was afterward something of an awkward silence. Arthur still had his sword out. Many large men, many feet away, sidled in stealthily, trying not to show they had been gone. And Merlin, picking up the silent, limp thing, tried to squeeze out the juice from the head. It gave up those few sad drops which Morgana had not trampled out of it.

“I had it, you know,” Arthur announced, sheathing his sword.

Where there is boredom there is mischief; and there was plenty of it now. Whilst the sea called monotonously on the cliffs, and the rain turned to snow, and the snow back to rain, whilst the whole shabby month succeeded in nothing so much as making a nuisance of itself, those human prisoners of it proceeded in kind. These men who had conducted themselves like good, proper adults in the fields, now made as if they were children. Numerous items, of numerous importance, went missing or were modified; and some books in the solar fell victim to the grave affliction of having penises drawn in them. Gwaine and Percival were caught hanging a lord by his ankles over the battlements, for reasons which some ale had assured them was genius; and at supper several pheasants stood up and waggled off their trenchers, whilst Merlin looked round as if to see who had done it. There was a minstrel, very poor at his job, discovered by the chamberlain in the pleasure garden, naked and bound, with his rote absconded by protesters; and even lovely, innocent Gwen, was guilty of conspiracy to commit stupidity, by helping the boys move all the furniture from the great hall to the lawn. And there was the accomplishment, quite out of the league of these other, pettier enterprises, which some unknown intellectual achieved in replacing all of Arthur’s wardrobe with a woman’s.

#writing #fanfic #merlin #merthur

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mimiswitchywrites · 3 years

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Not A Burden

Totally self indulgent Merlin Fic.

TW: SH references, attempted s****de and references, child/s***al a**se references (not graphic but enough that could be triggering)

"It was on yet another hunting trip that he found her, face pale and crimson pooling under each arm. Percival would later find a small knife under some moss next to her. Sweat covered her face and chest, leaving dark patches on her cotton dress. Her eyes were shut and breathing shallow."

A very angsty fic where the Knights find an injured girl in the forest and take her home to heal. Queer fluff with Gwen ensues.

2.5k words.

Masterlist or Read it on AO3

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Chapter 1:

It was on yet another hunting trip that he found her, face pale and crimson pooling under each arm. Percival would later find a small knife under some moss next to her. Sweat covered her face and chest, leaving dark patches on her cotton dress. Her eyes were shut and breathing shallow.

Merlin set to work immediately: pulling fabric bandages from his satchel along with honey and other such ointments to stop the bleeding and prevent infection growing in her shredded forearms. The King and his knights could do nothing but watch, shock drawn on their faces. They had seen blood and death before, but so rarely had they seen someone that had attempted to take their own life.

It was Lancelot that discovered the reason for her considerable sweating and pale face. Wolfsbane. Merlin opened her mouth and found her tongue swollen, further confirming the theory. He leant her forward and, after warning the party to turn around, made her empty the contents of her stomach.

Finally content that he had done all he could, Merlin approached panic mode. He left Lancelot and Elayn with the girl (Percival had left to refill the waterskins and Gwaine had had a ghostly look in his eyes since the discovery and so was left alone) and began pacing.

“We need to get back to Gaius. I can’t look after her on my own.”

“I’m no physician but she doesn’t seem fit to ride, not yet.” His King replied, doing his best to assure him.

“But what if I’ve missed something? I hardly noticed she had been—she had poisoned herself, that was all Lancelot’s doing!”.

“Consider yourself lucky that there are so many of us to help you then.”

“But—”

“You have been training with Gaius for almost a half-decade now, I trust your skills totally. It’s okay Merlin, she will be okay no matter what happens.” Arthur carelessly tacked on the last part, hoping Merlin wouldn’t notice how dark it sounded. He had seen a few of his knights return from their first battle and end up in a similar state and knew too well that most were content with dying if no one could do anything to save them.

“Now, how about you get your mind off this and make us some dinner, eh?”

Merlin rolled his eyes, nudging past. As much as he refused to admit it, he was glad Arthur had given him a distraction, even if it were preparing a stew that he wouldn’t be allowed to eat until everyone else had been served first.

As night fell and the fire grew smaller, Gwaine’s mind ran a thousand leagues a minute. It had been years since he had last thought of what that girl had done – around the time he had met Merlin, actually – and yet, after seeing her in that state for only a few seconds, it was all he could think about. All he could see as he closed his eyes. He longed to help her as he needed help all those years ago, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t talk (the others had made comments about how marvellous that was and he wonders, if only for a moment, if they would say the same had they known what was going on in his head.) He could barely breath, only able to let out fast, short breaths. He felt helpless.

As a Knight of the Round Table, Sir Gwaine did not like feeling ‘helpless’. He was strongly opposed to it, in fact.

It was only after Arthur awoke to take next watch that his brain began to slow (or had it sped up so fast that it felt like it had stopped?) and he began to feel tired. After some prompting by Princess, he lay on his roll mat and let sleep take over.

As the morning fog lifted, Merlin checked over his work once again. He removed her bandages, careful not to let it pull on her skin, and cleaned the last of the blood off. He envied Gaius’ ability to treat a patient without being upset for them – working with tears in his eyes was making the task far more difficult than it should have.

After wrapping her up once again, he declared them free to take her back to Camelot. He state hadn’t worsened overnight which was reassuring, but she hadn’t much improved either, so he thought it best for his mentor to give her a look over too. He had only dealt with poisoning a few times (and at least one of those times he had been the one poisoned) and so was not as confident in his abilities as his friends seemed to be. It was nice that they had faith in him, but he worried it was misplaced this time.

With Percy’s help, they manoeuvred the girl onto Lancelot’s horse. He had volunteered to take her so Merlin could attend to Arthur, who Lancelot had noticed was missing the young man. He had watched their relationship grow for a few years now and, despite not knowing really knowing what was going on between them, he was glad his friend had someone to be with.

Upon Arthurs command, the troop began moving. Gwaine rode at the back and Arthur and Merlin took the lead. Percival and Elyan rode next to each other, leaving Lancelot to his thoughts of the girl leaning against his chest. She was a young woman really, looking to have maybe 23 summers, but she looked so youthful that he couldn’t be sure. Her hair was braided with red fabric woven in and a few strands framed her face. She had striking black eyebrows and he was curious of her eye colour. He hoped that she would open her eyes again – the idea of someone so young trying to take their own life left him feeling cold.

He, like the rest of them, he was sure, had occasionally thought of doing as she had. Maybe not thoughts they would take forward, but ideations none the less. They had seen such horrible things throughout their travels, things that kept them up at night, things that made them want to stop thinking forever. It often led to a week at The Rising Sun, but sometimes that didn’t work.

He shivered, trying to banish those thoughts.

A part of him wondered what led her to sitting at the bottom of that tree. What could drive a young woman to consume Wolfsbane and mark her skin in such a way. He had noticed scars on her arms as Merlin wrapped her: either she had been in many, many fights before, or she had done something like this before. He wasn’t sure which option was worse.

Elyan and Percival were concerned. They tended to worry most days, caught up in making sure everyone was okay, but this hunting trip had not been a normal one. It had begun as usual: Merlin sneezing, coughing and stumbling each time anyone went to take a shot at some poor animal, and Arthur having a go at him for it (though everyone knew he wasn’t really angry), and then, after Gwaine finally got a lucky hit on a doe, Merlin found the woman. The light mood soured immediately, doe left on the muddy floor. Everyone went into Knight-Mode, as Elyan liked to think of it. Knight-Mode was when all casual personality faded, and they became formal protectors. Swords were usually drawn but there was no need this time – the woman didn’t look like she would be going for her blade anytime soon. Regardless, Percival kept the blade in his possession just in case.

And now, as they rode slowly towards Camelot, the pair were worrying about the silence. They loved Gwaine – he was great, really – but he had amassed a reputation of not shutting the hell up, particularly on long rides. And yet now, on a trip that would likely take two days, he was silent. Now that he thinks about it, Elyan doesn’t recall Gwaine saying more than a sentence since they had stumbled upon the woman.

On the one hand, it was refreshing being able to listen to the birds and the creek of the trees. On the other, it concerned him. Percival wasn’t much better, turning his head back every few feet to see if there was any change on Gwaine’s blank face. It looked like a part of him was missing, the light behind his eyes seemed to have disappeared. Hopefully, Percival thought briefly, he would be back to his usual blabbering self once they had returned home. Maybe some mead would do the trick. Although he would never say it aloud, the gentle giant quite enjoyed his small friends’ stories. He found they made long trips feel a lot shorter – especially when they were returning from a grave event such as this one.

“Do you have a drink we could give him?” Percival whispered to Elyan, hoping to at least cheer Gwaine up a little before they got back.

“I have water, but I fear that won’t suffice.”

“No, something much stronger seems needed. You don’t know what’s wrong, do you?

The smaller man shook his head, looking grim. The subject of their concern didn’t seem to notice their concerned glances despite their distinct lack of subtlety.

No closer to finding a solution, the pair looked ahead, and continued riding.

Arthur had been riding horses since he was 3. He was good at it, great, even, but right now, all he could think about was how much his arse hurt. Turning to his left, he could tell Merlin was on the same train of thought (about his own arse, Arthur doubted his friend thought about his Kings arse unless it was about the trousers that they agreed never to talk about again). After mulling it over for longer than was needed, he raised his hand to warn the others they would be resting for a while. He knew there was a good stream nearby and intended to lead them there first.

‘Intended’ because, before he could lean his horse towards where he was reasonably sure the stream was, Lancelot called out for Merlin. It seemed their guest was waking up.

Merlin quickly hopped off his saddle, barely keeping his legs from buckling after being sat still for so long, and made his way to Lancelot and Percival, the latter of which had also dismounted. They carefully lifted the girl from Lancelot’s horse and sat her against a tree (It looked far too much like the way they found her for Arthurs liking).

Merlin took a waterskin from the nearest horse and gently poured some down her throat. This clearly woke her up more as she began coughing and spluttering, pushing Merlin’s hand away in the process. When her wheezing calmed down, she looked around in surprise.

“Wh—” another scratchy cough, “Where am I? My throat, it’s burn—” more painful coughs. Arthur almost looked away, somehow feeling guilty that she was in such pain.

“You are on your way to Camelot. My name is Merlin, I’m the Royal Physicians apprentice. This,” he gestures to Arthur who decides he should look more Kingly and not cower and the pained sounds she is making “is King Arthur Pendragon and the others are Knights of the Round Table.”

“Oh.”

Merlin rummages in his bag, pulling the phial of honey out again. He pours a little onto a wooden spoon he had in his coat pocket, and hands it to the girl. How Merlin remembers where he keeps all these small objects is beyond Arthur, but he is glad he does.

“Here, drink this. It should soothe your throat a little. It’s just honey but it will do until we get back to Camelot.”

She eyes it, sceptical, but drinks it regardless.

“I am sorry for the burning. I had to make you, you know, get rid of the wolfsbane you ingested.” She grimaced at the thought.

Arthur waited for a short while until he was certain Merlin was done tending to their guest. “There is a stream around the corner. We should stop there to have lunch before we set off again. I am sure we would all appreciate the chance to stretch our legs.”

The knights all grunt in response before they set off again. Merlin and the girl walk side by side – the girl leaning on him a little – while Lancelot takes the reins of Merlin’s horse along with his own. It doesn’t take them long to reach the stream Arthur had mentioned and the relief that they could stop properly was evident on everyone’s faces. Except Gwaine, he hardly seemed to register they have even moved. Arthur furrowed his brows at this but choose to ignore it for now.

The knights sat on a large log, Merlin and Arthur sitting opposite them, as they ate the bread and salted meat that the manservant retrieved upon reaching the stream. The girl sat beside Lancelot looking dazed. The kind knight offers her small smiles and sips of water occasionally but it doesn’t make much difference.

“I’m going to get more water.” Declared Gwaine, picking up his full waterskin, which looks like it hasn’t been touched since yesterday. He left with a nod to his King, not giving anyone time to object. Merlin shot his back a concerned look but stayed, his patient having his focus. No one else made a move to leave, too into eating or watching the girl as she nibbles on her bread and sips of Lancelot’s drink.

Gwaine was not a crier. He was not going to cry. He was a Knight of the Round Table, protector to the King of Camelot and, if Merlin’s drunk ramblings had any truth to them, protector to the Once and Future King of the united Albion, whatever that meant.

And yet, as he stumbled to away from the camp, aware that no one was coming after him, he felt a lump in his throat that he couldn’t shove down. He finally didn’t feel numb, but he wasn’t sure this was better. Thinking of how his friends would react to him coming back with red eyes didn’t help the situation, instead making his eyes glossy. He sighed a long sigh, and heavily slid down an oak tree, hugging his arms against his chest and leaning his head on his knees.

A part of his wanted to pull his sleeves back and trace the white stripes that lines his arms. Another part wanted to make them red again. But a more rational part (likely influenced by Merlin, curse that beautiful boy) made sure he kept them where they were, wrapped around his torso. He could feel where each line lay, his mind playing tricks on him as he pictured his little blade drawing against his skin.

Sometimes, often, Gwaine hated his brain. It wasn’t a very nice to him. Though, he thought, he wasn’t very nice to his body so maybe this was fair.

He took a sip of his water, making a face as he regretted not bringing the skin of mead that he had thought about before they set off a few dawns ago. Mead would be very nice right now.

Pouring some water on his hands and splashing his face with it, he stood up, shook his head as if to dislodge the thoughts, and made his way back to the temporary camp. A few paces from his previous seat, he realised that he hadn’t actually filled his waterskin, but it was too late and so all he could do was hope no one noticed.

They had, but they didn’t comment so he considered that a win.

Arthur hopped up again as he noticed Gwaine return (he tried not to stare at the clearly-not-refilled waterskin) and gestured for everyone else to rise too. Time to set off. If they continued at the speed they were at before, they should get back before luncheon the next day and he could have a nice long bath, the girl could be treated fully, Gwaine would go to the Tavern and would return just as talkative as before (though he wouldn’t object if he talked just a little less, the King thought) and everything would be okay.

Just one more night in the woods.

I hope you liked this! I have a few chapters already written and am expecting it to be about 6 chapters long? It was meant to be a one shot but I got carried away...

If you happen to want to be on a tag list for this then comment/message me!

This is the first fic I've properly written and it's based on a dream I've been having over the last few days. It's not really planned so I hope that doesn't show.

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panharmonium · 4 years

Note

Saw that meta you wrote about gwaine and I was wondering what you think about Lancelot and his relationship to magic-users.? Because I don't think he tries to convince Arthur that magic is okay or argues that the system is wrong. He knows about Merlin, but I'm not sure how much of that is him just supporting Merlin specific case, though I haven't re-watched the show in a while. Anyway, thoughts?

(The referenced post is, I think, this one, for context.)

Okay, so there’s two parts to this ask.

1) “He knows about Merlin, but I'm not sure how much of that is him just supporting Merlin specific case...”

Personally, I think the show is pretty clear that Lancelot does not have any wider problems with magic.

When he meets the Dragon in 4.02, his first reaction is to defensively raise his sword (cause, y’know...it’s a dragon!), but the instant Merlin says “It’s all right,” Lancelot immediately lowers his weapon and switches over to interacting with Kilgharrah comfortably. As soon as Merlin bows and speaks to Kilgharrah with respect, Lancelot follows suit without hesitation. He answers Kilgharrah’s questions politely, and, when Kilgharrah calls him “the bravest and most noble of them all” he even replies with humility, saying, “I’m not sure that’s true.”

In the same episode, he’s confronted with the Vilia (the river spirits that help Merlin heal) and even without Merlin awake to assure him, he never balks at or reacts negatively to them. He has a full conversation with them about the Veil and Arthur’s plan, speaking to them as respectfully as he would another knight, and he’s delighted and awed to see what they can do when they offer to protect him and Merlin from the Dorocha for the night.

Compare this to Gwaine’s interactions with Osgar (detailed in the linked post), his disrespect for the Disir (also detailed in the linked post), and even how he talks to Dragoon in 4.06 (”You escaped the flames once. You won’t escape again.”/“I’ve a good mind to run you through right now!”), and we can see that there are subtle but clear differences in Gwaine and Lancelot’s attitudes toward magic in general, not just magic as it relates to Merlin.

2) “I don't think [Lancelot] tries to convince Arthur that magic is okay or argues that the system is wrong.”

The difference between Lancelot and Gwaine in this situation is that Lancelot is being held accountable to Merlin and Gwaine isn’t.

What this means, in terms of whether we can hold them responsible for not openly defending the rights of a marginalized group, is this: Lancelot is taking his cues from a member of said marginalized group. He’s doing what Merlin himself wants Lancelot to do. Merlin doesn’t WANT Lancelot to be making a scene about the rights of magic-users right now; he doesn’t want attention drawn to himself; he wants to stay hidden. He has a plan of his own, and it involves keeping his magic a secret until at least the moment when Arthur assumes the kingship, and then (according to all the prophecies) Merlin’s people can be freed. Lancelot is not shirking his responsibilities to Merlin by not raising the subject; he’s doing exactly what anyone should do when dealing with an issue where one person holds a particular privilege and their companion does not: LISTEN to the person most affected. Follow their lead. Let them run the show.

Lancelot doesn’t keep quiet because of his personal attitudes. He wants Merlin to be able to be open about his magic. The deleted scene in 4.02 is great for that, when he asks “will you ever tell Arthur,” and Merlin says it’s never going to happen (because Merlin thinks he’s going to sacrifice himself for Arthur’s sake as soon as they reach the Veil), and you can see that Lancelot isn’t comfortable with that. The camera lingers on his face for a moment after Merlin walks away, and he looks - concerned; because he doesn’t like Merlin having to hide his gifts; he doesn’t want Merlin to be unappreciated; he doesn’t want Merlin to have to say self-deprecating things like “I’m not totally useless, you know.” A similar thing happens in 3.13, when Lancelot tells Merlin, “you’re the one Arthur should knight. You’re the bravest of us all, and he doesn’t even know it.” Lancelot wants Merlin to be recognized properly. He knows Merlin deserves to be free, safe, and respected.

But Merlin, in 3.13, instead replies, “He can’t. Not yet,” and tells Lancelot that what he actually needs right now is a way to get to the Cup without Arthur knowing. And - crucially - Lancelot LISTENS to this and accepts it and gets Merlin exactly what he asked for, as opposed to pushing for what Lancelot himself thinks should happen. Honestly, Lancelot displays better “ally” behavior than a lot of real-life people do, in that he listens to the affected party and does what’s asked of him, as opposed to imposing his own mission and priorities.

Lancelot follows Merlin’s lead, because he knows it’s not his place to make decisions about this particular part of Merlin’s life. Merlin doesn’t want to be outed. He doesn’t want Lancelot to do things that would force or accelerate that process. Merlin is playing a long game, and he wants Lancelot to let him do it, and right now what that looks like is Lancelot stepping back and staying quiet. And that’s exactly what Lancelot does, because he knows it’s not his place to decide how Merlin can best achieve his own liberation.

Gwaine is subject to no such accountability. He doesn’t know Merlin has magic and isn’t acting in response to what a magic-user might want him to do. His silence (and complicity, in some moments; see the linked post for more details) are not choices he makes at Merlin’s bequest, they’re genuine reflections of his actual attitudes.

#thanks for the question; hope that helps!#:)#replies #the once and future slowburn #meta #the bravest and most noble of them all #you're the only friend i've got

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bellamyblakru · 4 years

Note

Heya, it's been a while, but I was wondering if you could turn your wonderful writing skills to another prompt for me? Could you do "I...I need to sit down" for Merthur please? Thanks ever so much 🥰 x

OF COURSE!! I love getting asks🥺id literally write anything you want me to💞thank you for this, hopefully i'm up to par—it's been a minute since i wrote (like a week lmfao i've been reading a lot)

Merlin looked at Arthur on the throne. He was still amazed how good he looked up there, how much he looked like he belonged. Arthur was glowing in the waning sunlight, giving him an ethereal glow. His hair was ablaze, blending with the crown on his head.

He was breathtaking.

Merlin stopped listening to the proceedings in favor of staring at Arthur’s profile for as long as possible. Many commoners came for an audience today, and Merlin was too exhausted to show interest. He has been working since dawn, for both Arthur and Gaius, and the boy was dead on his feet.

Arthur did not feel much better. He could feel Merlin’s eyes on him, but instead of getting angry with Merlin, Arthur actually felt content to let him stare—it was making him warm and fuzzy on the inside, but he didn’t know why, so he let him be. Knowing he had Merlin’s attention, the king straightened his back and tried to listen back to the farmers’ dispute at hand. He was apparently thinking about Merlin’s eyes on him for longer than he thought since the farmers were staring at him, waiting for his reasoning. Arthur blinked slowly, unsure, but Merlin quickly came to his ear and whispered, “Sire, the one on the left killed the right one’s sheep because it was on his farm unattended and was causing a ruckus.” Arthur nodded his thanks, looking more grateful at Merlin than he had all day, and Merlin blushed at the sudden attention from Arthur and bowed back to his spot behind the king.

Arthur started talking, but Merlin couldn’t focus on what he was saying—both tired and now feeling a little hot. Maybe I need to ask Gaius if I’m getting sick, Merlin wondered, getting slightly dizzy now.

“Is there anyone else?” Arthur looked at Lancelot and Leon. “One more, my lord,” Leon answered, as Lancelot was occupied with talking to Gwaine and looking at Arthur’s side together. Arthur frowned, why do they look so concerned? Arthur was about to look over to see what they were looking at, but the next citizen came in.

The minute the man came in, Merlin fell to his knees. Gwaine and Lance were by his side in an instant. Arthur looked over to where Merlin fell, jumping up from the throne, wanting to go over and check him himself. His knights were trying to help Merlin stand, so Arthur decided he could get this last audience done fast and go to Merlin after.

While stabilizing him, Merlin looked up at the newcomer. He felt nausea rush over him just from looking. “Gwaine, Lance,” Merlin groaned out quietly, trying to get them to go to Arthur instead, and once he got their attention he continued, “that man, something is wrong with that man.” Gwaine and Lance looked perplexed but believed him, so they leaned Merlin against the wall to see what was going on.

Arthur just started addressing him, “what may I help you with today?” The man bowed lowly, and in a deep voice said, “My lord, I actually wanted to bring something to you.” Arthur, surprised for a moment, masked his face quickly, “and what would that be?” The man stood up and pulled a small wooden box out of his robes, and he addressed Arthur once more. “My liege, this is a weapon of great power, but I am the only one able to wield its strength.”

“What kind of power?”

“The power to drown the magic out of people. Out of them where the filth cannot corrupt them for any longer,” he stated, indicating to the small box.

Arthur heard a gasp to his right and quickly looked. Lancelot looked horrified, while Gwaine looked absolutely livid. Merlin, on the other hand, looked like he was withering away on the wall behind them, staring with blank eyes towards the box--almost like he was drawn to it.

Arthur was not stupid, or blind. He knew Merlin kept secrets, deadly ones if he kept them from Arthur, so this realization did not quite have the same reaction the old Arthur would have had.

Merlin has magic.

Arthur was quiet for a moment longer, thoughtful. Every adventure, every single quest, every day, Merlin was at his side. Whether it was killing a monster, or cleaning his boots, or making his bed, Merlin never laid a hand on him.

Merlin believed in him and that was enough at the end of the day, wasn’t it? Arthur already had an inkling about magic not being the all evil power his father lectured him about. He wanted to find Morgana and make amends, so this was the path he needed to take to get her home. Magic couldn’t be evil if both Merlin and Morgana had it--they did not choose it either, especially since they both lived under Uther. No one would be foolish enough to use magic willingly with him around. Magic is a gift in the right hands, and a horrible tool in the wrong ones--just like any other tool in this world.

Arthur was about to make history--he could feel it deep within his bones. He could almost hear Destiny singing.

“I am sorry, but I have no need for a weapon like that in my kingdom.”

The man stumbled back, shock written all over his features at the power behind Arthur’s words, “are you not a Pendragon? You would rather magic roam freely in this world than end it once and for all?”

Arthur schooled his face into strength, ignoring his rising temper at the questioning man, “I may be a Pendragon, but I am not my father. I said no. Thank you for coming all this way, you may now take your leave.”

The man bristled at the dismissal, and just as Arthur was turning to Merlin, he drew a throwing knife out and spoke softly, but loud enough for everyone to hear, “if you are not with us against the powers of evil, then I must end this reign for the greater good.” He threw the knife before anyone could react.

It stopped inches from Arthur’s heart, and Arthur looked at it trying to figure out what just happened. The man gasped when the knife turned back towards him and landed in his leg. “Magic!” The man cried out, horrified that such use of blatant power was used on him.

Merlin stumbled over to the man, who was now on one knee, and spoke very clearly: “if you ever try to threaten the king again, I will not aim for the leg. Is that understood?” Merlin’s eyes shone like liquid gold. Lancelot and Gwaine, quickly behind Merlin, yelled at the guards to put the man in jail with the box he brought with him.

The guards listened, albeit hesitantly, looking towards Arthur for his approval. Arthur simply nodded, still staring at Merlin. It’s one thing to make the connection, but to see it so clearly use for him, in defense for him? It was astonishing. It felt oddly right if Arthur was being honest. Merlin was one of the bravest men he knew, and his power only amplified this feeling for Arthur. To live your life in constant fear, to feel so alone and scared of who you are, it is a wonder why Merlin stayed by his side for so long.

The second the man walked out, Lancelot and Gwaine went in front of Merlin protectively. Arthur ignored them and walked directly to Merlin, who whispered that he could handle this to his friends who looked reluctant to walk away (so they just moved to either side of Merlin, slightly behind him, just in case).

Arthur came close to Merlin, “how long?”

“My whole life,” Merlin responded quietly.

Arthur blanched, realizing how long Merlin lived in fear for his own life and from Arthur himself.

“Why?”

Such a simple question that could allude to many things, but each would have the same reply from Merlin.

“Because I love you.”

That was it. Arthur took a step back, heart beating fast, seeing how much Merlin meant it. He loved Arthur.

Merlin didn’t understand why Arthur wasn’t killing him, or saying anything, or why Arthur just kept staring at him.

But Merlin couldn’t wait for a response, “Arthur?”

Arthur was confused at the tone change, so he just said, “yes, Merlin?”

Merlin was delirious at this point, “if you don’t plan on putting me on the pyre, I think I might...that I....I need to sit down.”

Merlin passed out.

Lancelot and Gwaine caught him easily, looking at Arthur to see his reaction. Arthur was in motion already, picking Merlin up bridal style, and walking directly past them. With a small smile at his knights he asked, “are you guys coming? Or am I to tell Gaius myself what happened?” Arthur was masking his terror for Merlin by easing his knights’ concern for how he felt about Merlin, making it clear what side Arthur was on. Lancelot and Gwaine sighed in relief, accompanying Arthur.

Tomorrow was going to be a big day.

Tomorrow, Arthur was going to say I love you back.

#ashley writes #merthur #merthur drabble #sentence starters #THANK YOU FOR SENDING AN ASK #this was really fun to write #hopefully its okay :)#OOPs just realized that this like 1500 words lmfaoo not exactly a drabble #sorry for writing so much omg #i got excited

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ratisnotcrying · 3 years

Text

one day

Summary: Of course Merlin knew this day would come. As convincing as he was as the bumbling fool of a man servant, he was actually quite intelligent. So he knew that, one day, Arthur would find out that he had magic. But he didn’t prepare for it, he didn’t prepare because he still clung to the blind hope that maybe, just maybe, Arthur wouldn’t find out.

Or: I'm a sucker for Arthur-finds-out-fics and happy endings, so here we are.

Pairing: Merlin/Arthur

Warnings: none!!

Word count: 2.3K

A/N: this is crossposted on AO3 under the same title

~~~

Of course Merlin knew this day would come. As convincing as he was as the bumbling fool of a man servant, he was actually quite intelligent. So he knew that, one day, Arthur would find out that he had magic. But he didn’t prepare for it, he didn’t prepare because he still clung to the blind hope that maybe, just maybe, Arthur wouldn’t find out.

“I have to leave.” There was no room in Merlin’s voice for argument, but Gwaine was a stubborn bastard.

“Merlin, stop being such an idiot and listen to me,” Gwaine snapped, sitting on the bag Merlin was trying to pack, “Arthur will not have you executed - how could you think he would, after all this time, after everything you’ve been through together, why would he kill you? He loves you Merlin - you know this!”

“He doesn’t, not anymore, not after today. And as for why he would kill me, I don’t know, maybe the fact that I'm a warlock would incite him to personally hoist me onto a pyre and burn me himself!?” He cried hysterically before shoving Gwaine onto the floor so he could continue to pack.

“Fuck me, Merlin, you are aware we’re talking about Arthur, not his father? Actually, better question, have you had your memory wiped? Have you forgotten about the time he helped the druid boy escape? Have you forgotten about the multiple occasions he has disobeyed a direct order and risked his life for you, Merlin? Have you forgotten, or did I hallucinate you telling me all of this? He would not hurt you.” Gwaine stood again, grabbing Merlin by the shoulders and slamming him into his cupboard. He was angry with Merlin for thinking Arthur would do anything to hurt him, but he was even angrier with Arthur for allowing Merlin's imagination to run as wild as it was.

“You’re right, all of that is true - but you’re missing out the parts where he always, always ends up hating magic again. He hates magic, and he hates sorcerers, and he sat by whilst his father killed them, whilst his father killed innocent people! And now he is going to watch me burn, too!”

Gwaine took a step back. He had never seen Merlin like this. He had seen him stressed and tired and angry, but never had he seen Merlin so… hysterical, so completely full of fear. Merlin was shaking so hard that when he tried to tangle his fingers in his hair, he actually missed the first few times, his usually pale skin was blotchy and red, tear tracks highlighting the desperation that simmered beneath his skin. Merlin’s bedroom door creaked open and Lancelot slipped inside, closely followed by Gwen.

Lancelot took in the sight before him, the half packed bag on the bed and the broken, unrecognisable Merlin beside him.

“You’re leaving, then?” He said, arms crossed.

“Yes, he is, bloody fool. I’ve told him that he won’t be executed.” Gwaine said, rolling his eyes as Merlin went back to his bag.

“Merlin, how can we make you see? Arthur will not kill you. His love for you is stronger than his father’s beliefs about magic.” Gwen’s voice was panicked.

“No!” He shouted, taking a deep, calming breath when Gwen flinched, rubbed his hand over the small cut on his neck, and continued, “You were not there. You didn’t see how he reacted.”

~~~

It was supposed to be a simple hunting trip - perhaps thinking it was going to be a simple hunting trip was too much temptation for the universe, who just had to balls it all up. It had only been the two of them, just Arthur and Merlin, alone in the forest for a few days - it was meant to be relaxing, a moment of peace away from the hustle and bustle of the castle, and it had been.

Until today.

As Merlin and Arthur were packing up to return to Camelot, they heard the sound of twigs snapping, the official soundtrack for trouble. At first it seemed to be three, maybe four men sneaking up from the north - which they could handle, but, over the sound of Arthur’s sword being drawn, they could hear five, six, seven more. They were surrounded.

As the bandits moved closer, weapons raised and lips curling into a sneer, Merlin realised that this would likely be it. He would be the first to admit that Arthur was skilled, but even he was going to struggle. Merlin had to do something, otherwise they were both going to die here.

He flinched when they shouted, rushing forwards, and for a moment he wondered if Arthur would have laughed at him. Arthur managed to kill two of the bandits almost immediately, twisting from one the other in a move that would definitely have thrown Merlin's back out, before he was overpowered. A third had Merlin pinned to a tree. The remaining few were advancing on Arthur and-

This is it, he thought.

He raised his hand, took a breath and closed his eyes.

He had never realised how far his voice carried, how the foreign words rolled so naturally off his tongue, how, when spoken aloud for everyone to hear, they seemed to sound that little bit more magical. He never noticed until now, when the bandits had fallen to the leafy floor, dead, before Merlin had even finished the spell. Arthur stood before him, his sword hanging limply from his hand as he watched Merlin’s eyes fade from fiery gold.

“Arthur…” He began, but he didn’t know what to say. The look of betrayal on his face caused any coherent thought to die in his throat.

“You have magic?” Arthur breathed, shrugging helplessly. All Merlin could do was nod and watch as betrayal morphed into confusion, and then pure, unadulterated rage. Arthur lunged forwards, sword now held tightly in a white-knuckle grip, and, with his free hand, he slammed Merlin back into the tree, the sharp blade pressed painfully to his throat.

“Arthur. Please.” He blinked, eyes wide with shock. He had hoped Arthur would surprise him, spare him - but apparently he would have no such luck. He couldn’t very well lie his way out of it now - not that he would want to.

Arthur pressed the blade more firmly against his throat and Merlin tried desperately not to wince. He failed.

“Don’t be so pathetic. How could you betray me like this - after everything I’ve done for you?!” Arthur shouted, so close to his face he could feel spit land on his cheek.

“I’m sorry, my lord - I was going to tell you, I swear, I was just waiting for the right time. I wanted to sit down and talk to you about it, I was-”

“Enough!'' Arthur roared, taking a few steps back. Merlin immediately fell silent and averted his eyes. He used his sword to point to Merlin's horse. “You will leave. Immediately. When I return I do not wish to see you.”

Merlin may have fallen to his knees, had it not been for the tree behind him.

“Arthur, please, can we talk about this?” His voice cracked at the end, a few tears falling when he realised that Arthur wouldn’t even look at him. Merlin nodded and tried to blink away the tears before squaring his shoulders, mounting his horse and riding away.

~~~

The sound of Arthur’s door slamming open echoed through the whole castle, only no one heard because Morgana shouted louder.

“Arthur Pendragon what on earth is wrong with you?”

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose so hard it’s a wonder it didn’t bruise.

“Please, Morgana, feel free to come in, make yourself at home.”

Morgana ignored him, choosing instead to stand toe-to-toe with him, staring him down with a look that would have made a weaker man cry.

“Explain to me why my Gwen has just visited me, in tears, I might add, because Merlin is leaving? How could you let this happen?”

“How could I do this? You have got to be joking. He has lied to me - he has lied to me every single day since we met, and you do not think I have a right to be angry?”

Morgana jabbed him in the chest. “Don’t you dare put words in my mouth. Of course you have the right to be angry, but you should not have left him in fear for his life - it’s heartless!”

“I have given him so much, Morgana, I have risked everything for him time and time again, and all along he has been lying to me. How do I know who he truly is? Magic is evil, Morgana, and those who use it are dangerous, and he has worked his way into my life, into my he-”

“Really?” She said, looking as though she had been slapped in the face. “Magic is evil? You do know it’s me that you’re speaking to, don’t you? The same, scared child who confided in you about bad dreams that seemed to predict the future, all those years ago? The same girl who you swore you would protect if Uther ever found out about my gift. If you put him to death, if you make him leave, it will be over my dead body.”

Arthur had the decency to look ashamed, finally averting his gaze, but he still didn’t look convinced. Morgana took a small step forward, her finger still pressed hard into his chest.

“If you kill Merlin, you will be killing the only person who has ever helped me.” She hissed. Arthur looked up in surprise.

“What do you mean he helped you?”

“The day he arrived in Camelot, he knew I had magic - I’m not sure how - but he committed himself to helping me learn, to helping me control my gift and to use it for good. He is a good man - you know he is a good man, he is your good man and he thinks that you are going to execute him.”

~~~

The other knights had joined Gwaine, Lancelot and Gwen in Merlin’s chambers and for a moment, all Merlin could think was how tiny his bed was, what with six fully grown adults squashed onto it. They had all tried, to varying degrees of failure, to convince Merlin that yes, he should stay and no, Arthur would not kill him.

Leon sighed. “Merlin, we have all known about your magic for some time now - you truly were obvious about it - but you must know that we would never let any harm come to you. If you believe nothing else we’ve said, you must believe that.”

“I do believe you. You are loyal friends, but your loyalty to the King, to Camelot, must come first. I must leave, I must leave so that you do not have to choose a side.” Gwaine clenched his fists and made to move, no doubt to try and shout some sense into Merlin, but Percival held him firmly around the waist.

Gwen rose and stood before him, her hand gripping his forearm, “Merlin, we may not agree with your decision, but we will support you.”

Merlin opened his mouth to thank her, but he was interrupted by Gaius’ door slamming open. Everyone jumped up - everyone except Gwaine, who fell off of Percival’s lap - and stood in front of Merlin, who was trembling again. Only a second later did Merlin’s door crash open, revealing a rather distressed Arthur.

Gwaine got up, planting himself firmly at the front of the group.

“He’s leaving. Let him do so in peace.” Gwaine looked as though he was physically restraining himself from killing Arthur with his bare hands.

“He’s not going anywhere. Not until I’m finished with him.” Arthur said calmly.

“No. I will not let you harm him.” Gwaine swung at Arthur, who ducked and pushed him into Lancelot, who hauled him back.

Merlin was still shaking, but there was a look in his eyes, not quite acceptance - perhaps he was just resigned.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, whatever the King has decided, he will have decided for the good of Camelot. I trust him to do what’s right.”

Arthur tried not to be offended by the skeptical looks he received, he really did, but he couldn’t help forcing the door closed on everyone the moment they left. Merlin kept his gaze fixed on the floor.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He was surprised to find that his voice carried no bitterness, in fact there was an uncharacteristic tenderness lacing his words, and this, he thought, could be what caused Merlin to look at him, to really look at him and see that he wasn’t angry.

“I’m sorry, si- Arthur. I wish I had told you sooner, but you must understand why I didn’t - the danger it would have put me in.”

Arthur stepped forward cautiously and when Merlin made no move to distance himself, arthur placed his hand on merlin’s shoulder, just where it met his neck, and brushed his thumb gently over the thin cut there.

“You are an idiot, Merlin.” Arthur sighed, “ I do understand why you hid it - but you must know that I would never have killed you. Despite what my actions may sometimes suggest, things have changed since my father was king.”

“I know. Of course I know that; it’s down to me having made you less of a royal prat.” Merlin said with a cheeky grin, glad of the normality.

“I’m serious, Merlin. I would never hurt you, no matter what you did or said.” Merlin nodded, leaning into the hand that was still on his neck.

“Good.” Arthur moved his hands to Merlin's hips, pulling him in protectively. “Now how about we get rid of my knights, who are no doubt still at the door, and then you can tell me about all the times I missed your magic.” Merlin simply wrapped his arms around Arthur's neck.

“Come to think of it, a lot of falling branches seem to make sense now.”

#merlin #merlin/arthur #hurt/comfort #arthur finds out #morgana doesnt get radicalized by uther in this fic sorry

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bitsandbobsofwriting · 4 years

Text

Merlin goes missing, and they find him in chains, looking blank:

Stories of the great power of Emrys have been spreading. But Merlin is still young, and though powerful, control alludes him, from time to time. What happens when those who crave power for themselves take that control from him? By force?

Part 2(final part)

TW: Graphic ish descriptions of violence/blood.

(This was requested a while ago, mind control being broken by the power of friendship)

Merlin was meant to be on a three day trip to gather some rare herbs for Gaius.

The former manservant thought that it was quite ironic, how “herb picking” had been one of his most often used excuses (after “the tavern”) for where he disappeared to when he was still hiding his magic, but now he was Court Sorcerer, Gaius actually made him do it.

This just meant that no one immediately panicked when he wasn’t back by sundown on the third day.

All knew how capable Merlin was. None of the Druid advisors had been sent a message through the link, and an irate dragon hadn’t shown up asking for help.

Meaning he probably just got lost or distracted; lost track of time. He’d be home by noon the next day, prattling on about something he’d seen, or someone he’d spoken to.

Gaius would give him a raised eyebrow and Arthur would punch him in the arm and he’d be all indignant, insisting that “I can look after myself, and honestly Arthur, I was only gone an extra half day, no need to be so panicked.” with a smirk.

When he still wasn’t back before sundown on the fifth day, The Gang started to really worry. They gather in the council room, just the nine of them (the five knights, Arthur, Gaius, Gwen, Morgana) to try to come up with some sort of explanation, or if needed, a plan.

Morgana speaks first, and the uncertainty on her face heightens the anxiety in everyone:

“I’ve tried looking for him, sensing him, but I can’t feel him at all. Like he’s completely disappeared from the world-”

At that, Arthur interrupts her, panic showing on his face, and his voice shaking:

“You don’t mean?-”

Morgana widens her eyes at the meaning the others had taken from her words:

“NO! No, not that, if he were... dead, I would feel that. I would be able to find his… I would be able to find him, and feel a sort of echo, feel the recent effects he’s had on the world around him. But I don’t, I just feel…. nothing. Like he never existed in the first place.”

Everyone looks extremely troubled at that. Morgana wasn’t nearly as powerful as Merlin, but he had been teaching her, and she was getting stronger. If this feeling of absence worried her, then it worried all of them.

Gaius speaks up after a few moments of silence:

“We could ask the Druids? They have a strong, permanent bond to him. It may help in finding him. If not…”

Arthur nods firmly as he replies to the room:

“If not, we track him down the old fashioned way. We managed before, we might just have to manage again now.”

The others nod at that, determined to not let Merlin down.

(Not let Merlin down again. None of them (other than Gaius, Lancelot, and Morgana of course) had reacted all that well to Merlin’s magic when they first learned the truth. And whilst that was years ago, and Merlin claimed to have forgiven them all immediately, they still felt guilty for the way they’d treated him in those first few hours/days.)

As it turns out, the three Druid advisors were equally worried, and had been in the process of hurrying to the council room to inform The King of the severed tie between themselves and Emrys, just as Arthur had decided to call for their presence.

The whole gang had to quell their panic, and remind themselves of Arthur’s words. They’d managed before, they would manage now.

At first light the next day, Arthur and the knights rode out. Morgana was left with the crown, with Gwen and Gaius as advisors to stay and support her.

The King tried to insist on leaving one or two of the knights behind as well, just in case, but they weren’t having it, and Morgana’s reminder of:

“Merlin is incredibly powerful, Arthur. If someone has been strong enough to subdue or hurt him, then you’ll need all the help you can get.”

-he reluctantly allowed all five of them to come.

Gaius had provided them with the directions, so they could start their search where Merlin was supposed to be, and go from there.

After a full day’s journey, they arrive at the first of two clearings, just before nightfall. After a thorough look around, they found that Merlin had in fact been there, but he left peacefully, and they found no sign that anyone else had travelled through recently.

So he hadn’t been taken from the first clearing. Arthur and Gwaine had wanted to push on through the night, the second of the two clearings was only a few hours away, but Leon gave them a stern look, and with support from the others, insisted that they rest for the night.

They could wake early and continue in the morning, but the horses (and the knights) were starving, and tired, and needed rest. They would be no use to Merlin at all if they turned up dead on their feet.

Elyan tried to volunteer for the first watch, but Arthur insisted he take it. No one really argued with him, they knew he wouldn’t sleep well anyway, not with Merlin missing, and potentially hurt.

Elyan did however wake up a few hours later (a pure coincidence, it definitely wasn’t because he asked Percival to cast a low-level enchantment that would wake him (I like to imagine that once things had settled, Merlin tries to teach the lads a little sorcery. Arthur is hopeless, as are Lancelot and Elyan, but Leon and Gwaine aren’t toooo bad, and Percival is fairly alright)) and insisted that The King get some sleep.

He didn’t like to do it often (Arthur’s head was already big enough) but Elyan did use a little flattery to his advantage:

“Come now, My Lord. You’re the strongest of all of us, and it’s your orders we follow, how can we expect to win if our leader can’t walk or think straight?”

Arthur mumbles something about how “Flattery won’t get you anywhere in court, Sir Elyan.” But dutifully allows himself to slip into a fitful rest.

As promised, they rise and pack up just before first light, choosing to eat whilst they ride out just as the sun rises over the horizon.

The second clearing they reach, tells a much different story to the first. The knights slow their horses down, and stare on in barely concealed horror at the scene laid out before them.

Merlin’s horse lay dead to the side of the clearing. They had clearly killed her deliberately so that Merlin couldn’t escape if he freed himself. That could be the only explanation. She wasn’t wearing her saddle, and was still tied to the tree: Merlin wasn’t riding her when the arrow was fired.

The ground was scorched almost entirely, and a few trees had been uprooted, with the remaining standing ones bearing scorch marks and sword scars higher than naturally possible.

Merlin had obviously fought back, but the small puddle of blood next to his dropped herb bag tells them that he had been injured before the fight even began. Whoever took him? Knew who he was.

After a moment of shocked silence, Arthur starts barking orders:

“Percival, check the horse and the herbs, try and figure out how long ago this happened. Gwaine, Elyan, Lancelot, have a good look around, try to find anything discarded by his attackers; we need to figure out who took him. See if you can learn how many there were, and how they attacked, we need to know if they themselves are magic, or if they just know how to fight magic. Me and Leon will check the surrounding areas to find out where they went. Leave your horses at the edge, we don’t want to muddy up any tracks.”

Everyone wordlessly nods, and they go about their tasks quickly but thoroughly. No wants to make any mistakes here, Merlin is incredibly important to them, and they couldn’t risk going in to this blind.

They work in silence, and once Arthur and Leon return from their scouting ahead thirty minutes or so later, they gather the horses once more and huddle at the edge of the clearing.

Arthur looks to Percival expectantly, and he reports his findings quickly:

“Going by the carcass and the herbs Merlin had already cut, this happened maybe four or five days ago? Considering he was obviously still picking, and not just dawdling-”

(he gestures to the bag that he had picked up and attached to his saddlebags)

“-I’d say he was taken in the afternoon of the second day.”

Arthur clenches his jaw at that, that was five days ago. Hopefully they hadn’t travelled too far, and weren’t still travelling, otherwise it would take far too long to track them down.

He looks to Lancelot next:

“We found two bodies, average, plain armour, and it didn’t look like anything had been taken from them after they died. One of them did have this in his pocket-”

He looks grim as he says this, and hands over a very crumpled piece of parchment. On it, there was a rough sketch of Merlin’s face, and the Pendragon crest. It was rough, old, clearly drawn from memory, but there could be no mistaking who it was.

Arthur looks angry at that, but tucks it into his saddlebag before gesturing for Lancelot to continue:

“I don’t think they used magic, at least not combative magic-”

He gestures around the clearing, at the scorch marks:

“All of the blows seem to be extending out from the middle, from where Merlin was stood: he fought back with magic, but they used normal weapons.”

Lancelot looks to Gwaine, and he wastes no time in telling the group what he found:

“There was a broken off arrow shaft next to Merlin’s bag, someone shot him. I couldn’t find the head, so it’s still in him most likely, we need to be prepared to clean an infection when we find him-”

Percival interrupts him:

“I had a look through his bag, there’s a lot of useful stuff in here, so that shouldn’t be too much of a problem.”

Gwaine nods and lets out a sigh of relief before continuing:

“The arrow shaft stunk, and his blood was funky. I’m guessing they soaked it in mandrake or something to knock him out. Otherwise he would’ve decimated this lot. They would’ve only had to avoid his attacks for two or three minutes at most before he passed out. And even then, he wouldn’t have been all that coordinated.”

Everyone worries at this. Every new bit of information just tells them that whoever took Merlin knew exactly who he was, and what he was capable of.

Elyan speaks up next:

“Going from the tracks, I’d say there was six or seven others, not including our two corpses. They were spread evenly around the clearing so he could only attack at one at a time, all they had to do was aim one good shot, and wait it out. They may not have used magic to attack, but they must have hidden themselves somehow: there’s no way that Merlin wouldn’t have felt them coming, we’re in the middle of a forest, this is his domain.”

Arthur hums thoughtfully and nods, before speaking to the group:

“I agree with your assessment of seven other attackers. Me and Leon found a large group of tracks, from multiple people, coming from the North, but they split up and spread around the clearing about a quarter of a mile out. No has any idea who they were?”

Everyone shakes their heads, and Lancelot speaks once again:

“No. The armour was non-descript, the weapons left behind were nothing special. They had no tattoos, nothing of value on them, no defining marks, sigils, or crests. Nothing. Either they were randomly hired mercenaries, or they were clever enough to not carry anything that could identify them, or their masters.”

Arthur growls in annoyance and nods once again. The Knights all gather their horses and follow Arthur and Leon’s quick pace out of the clearing, towards the tracks they had found.

At Arthur’s instruction, they split into two groups, one following along about 10 feet to the left of the tracks, the other, the same to the right.

They needed to be careful, the group who had taken Merlin were obviously well informed professionals, and would know that it wouldn’t be long before someone came looking. They didn’t want to run into any traps or ambushes by following the exact same path the kidnappers had.

The Knights follow the trail for another couple of days, taking few breaks, and spending the majority of it in silence; not even Gwaine is being talkative.

A few hours into their tracking, there was another battle arena (though much smaller than the last).

They didn’t stick around for long, it was likely that the mandrake had worn off quicker than expected, and Merlin had tried to escape. Once they saw Lancelot turn pale as he picked up a bloody rock, they hurried their horses along the trail even faster than before.

It was around noon on the third day since they left the second clearing, that they notice the tracks getting significantly fresher: the kidnappers (who had been on foot, meaning the knights were making good time anyway) had slowed down; they must almost be there.

That evening, they finally came across what appeared to be a rundown farm. The roof of the house was caved in, and there wasn’t even one fully intact fence in the whole property. A large barn further to the back of the area however, was in good condition.

The tracks went all over the overgrown farm, but focused mainly around the barn (going no further than the edge of the property) and the Knights could see the flickering light of a fire glow through the gaps between planks of woods.

They tied their horses up a few metres in to the treeline. Normally having horses during the attack would be useful, but they were at least a four days journey from the capital (on horses, closer to two weeks on foot), and depending on the state Merlin is in, he may not be able to walk it. They needed to leave the horses undamaged and with energy enough to flee if they had to.

Arthur sends everyone off to scout the area, learn what they could, and they gather once more about five minutes later, hidden behind the rundown house to avoid being spotted.

Leon speaks first:

“I got as close as I could without being seen, there are about twenty-five men in there. I didn’t recognise any of them, and none of them had any identifying marks, but there was one man who was clearly in charge. Larger than the rest, had nicer clothes, a large key on a chain around his neck.”

Arthur perks up at that:

“Might unlock whatever is holding Merlin. Did you see him?”

Leon sighed and shook his head grimly:

“No, but the fire lit only the middle of the room, I couldn’t see in the corners or along the edges.”

Percival speaks next, quickly adding what he had learnt:

“There’s no one else in any of the other buildings, and no fresh tracks leading away from the area. Merlin must be in there with them.”

Leon hums in agreement before continuing:

“They weren’t... drunk. But they are drinking. It might be worth it to wait for a few more hours so we have more of an advantage. There’s only six of us remember, we-.”

Gwaine shakes his head roughly, interrupting:

“We can’t wait. Who knows what they’ve done to Merlin, but if they’re celebrating, and he isn’t fighting back, then it’s bad. We need to get him out of there as quickly as possible.”

Arthur hums thoughtfully as he thought through their options. Both of them had valid points, but the attackers wouldn’t go through all of this trouble just to kill Merlin, so he shouldn’t be in any imminent danger, and as much as he wanted to rescue him as soon as possible, they had to be careful.

He looks up at the group and replies confidently:

“We wait until the sun has disappeared completely. It should be no more than half an hour. That gives us the cover of darkness, and gives them time to lose a little more of their wits.”

Gwaine seems like he wants to argue, but a pointed look from Lancelot calms him, and the group go through the motions of checking their armour and weapons, preparing themselves fully for a difficult fight.

After spending the time preparing, and discussing their options, the group decided that the best plan was for them to split in to two.

Arthur, Elyan, and Gwaine were to rush through the large door at the front, and Leon, Percival, and Lancelot would sneak in through the small door at the back.

There was no way they would be able to hold on to the element of surprise for long, and it would be a difficult fight, but hopefully the first group would be distraction enough to allow the second group to kill at least a few people before they realised what was happening.

That, unfortunately, is not how things go.

After one last firm nod from Arthur, the group splits and heads as quietly as they can to their designated entrance. The King takes a deep breath before gesturing at Elyan, who pushes the door open with force, allowing Gwaine and Arthur to rush in without hesitation.

Elyan joins them, and they make a point to look at the enemy, so as not to draw attention to the other three sneaking in behind them.

It takes only a few seconds before Arthur realises something is wrong. None of the men seem angry, or even worried in the slightest, and as he spies Leon step silently forward to slit the throat of the man closest to him, he understands why.

Leon takes three steps fine, but on his fourth, he hits an invisible barrier, and is thrown back violently. He hits the wall with a crash, and falls to the floor, unconscious from the blow to his head.

The leader of the group glances briefly behind him before looking back to Arthur, amusement on his face. Arthur covers his confusion with anger, but before he can demand an explanation, the leader begins to speak:

“Looky here, boys! Kidnap one sorcerer, get six of Camelot’s finest knights free! That’s a pretty good deal if I do say so myself!”

The rooms breaks out into laughter, and Elyan takes a step forward, speaking in a dangerous tone:

“Well unfortunately, our sorcerer was not for sale. So if you would, we’d like him back.”

The leader chuckles once again, and the knights have to stop themselves going for an attack. Leon was just about starting to stir, and Lancelot stands protectively in front of him, waiting for the knight to right himself again.

“I’m not so sure he wants to be returned, good sir. I think you’ll find that he’s quite enjoying being under my service-”

He raises one hand and grips the ancient looking key that’s hanging around his neck, and looks to a darkened corner of the room before speaking again, louder this time:

“Isn’t that right, oh sorcerer of mine? Come here.”

The knights have to hold in a shudder at what they see.

Merlin, or what looks to be Merlin, judderingly walks out of the dark corner towards the key-holder. His left shoulder hangs oddly, and they can see the blood staining his clothes and dripping from his hand, leaving a trail on the floor. His feet drag across the ground, and his head nods and sways, like he is desperately trying not to collapse into unconsciousness. A wound on his temple still slowly seeps blood, and his hands shake.

He had a thick, metal collar around his neck, and two matching circlets around his wrists. Thick chains, the length of his arms, attach the cuffs to the collar (so that he still had full mobility, but all three circles of iron were connected), and as his body sways, the knights can see the skin beneath the metal has been rubbed raw, to the point of bleeding in some places.

But what was most striking, was the permanent golden glow of Merlin’s eyes, and the blank look on his face.

The golden colour didn’t quite match up to it’s normal hue, and seemed duller, sickly, somehow.

The knights stare on in horror as their friend, clearly not in control of his own actions, finishes his disjointed journey to his new master.

Arthur glares viciously at the man as he growls out:

“What have you done to-”

But before he can finish, a resounding thwack echoes around the room as a gauntleted hand connects with the side of Merlin’s face.

The other bandits laugh as Merlin’s head rocks violently sideways. His head is angled towards the floor for just a moment before he looks back up at the leader, the blank look not having left his face, despite the blood now dribbling from his mouth and the dark bruise already forming on his cheek and jaw.

Gwaine lets out a growl, but before he can take a step forward, the leader speaks once again, a horrid grin on his face:

“Be a dear and subdue our new guests, sorcerer.”

Without hesitation, Merlin sidesteps the leader, giving him a direct line of sight to Lancelot, Leon, and Percival. He waves his hand at them, muttering something under his breath, and the three of them gasp as they lift off the floor, and go flying across the room towards the other knights.

Arthur only manages to widen his eyes in surprise before he’s bowled over by Percival, and before the group can react, they find themselves unarmed, and kneeling side by side; lined up in front of the leader, with Merlin’s hand extended towards them.

The bandits begin laughing once again, the leader the most uproarious of them all, as the knights struggle to break free from Merlin’s grasp.

Arthur is the only one who holds still, not resisting, as he tries to get Merlin to look at him, but the sorcerer isn’t paying any attention. It almost seemed like Merlin just... wasn’t present. His body was stood in the barn, but his mind, his soul, were elsewhere, not even looking upon this earth, let alone stood in it.

Merlin’s blank face looks to the leader, and he doesn’t react at all as Arthur yells at him:

“Merlin! This isn’t you, he’s controlling you! You have to take back con-”

The leader interrupts him, his hand still gripping the slightly glowing key, as he directs himself to Merlin:

“Oh do shut them up, sorcerer.”

Merlin looks to the group once more, twisting his outstretched hand slightly. The knight’s voices are ripped form them suddenly, and silence permeates the barn for only a second before the bandits continue their laughter.

After a few minutes of the knights being unable to move or make any noise, the leader speaks up again:

“You know, sir knights,-”

He smacks Merlin again, in the same place as before, and the knights tense even more at their friend’s non-reaction:

“-I had thought, that the most fun part of having a pet sorcerer, would be the magic, and don’t get me wrong, it’s great, but-”

This time he aims a punch to Merlin’s abdomen. The Warlock bends over slightly, and takes a step back, before righting himself again, and returning to his original position:

“-I have discovered, in fact, that the most fun part is actually having a living punching bag, who can’t die as easy as the normal peasants and commoners I lay my hands on.”

He grins wickedly once more as he takes out a small dagger. The knight’s eyes all widen and they begin struggling even more against their magical bounds, as the leader drags the blade along Merlin’s outstretched arm.

The cut isn’t too deep, but it’s long, and bleeds enough for infection to be a definite worry.

Merlin’s head wavers slightly and his lip twitches, but he otherwise doesn’t move.

The leader looks to an almost tearful Arthur, and slowly, ever so slowly, pushes the blade into Merlin’s uninjured shoulder, as he grins:

“I wonder, sir knights, how much he can take.”

Arthur looks back to Merlin and sees him flinch, his face seeming more strained. Arthur hates himself for thinking it, but the more pain this jackass inflicts... the more aware Merlin seems to be becoming.

The glow in his eyes flickers, but only momentarily, and Arthur feels the ability to speak come back to him. He holds his breath for a moment, hoping that it’s just him (or that the others had the same idea as him). He lets it out a moment later when none of the knights make any noise.

He needs to pick his moment, wait until Merlin is most aware of his surroundings, before he tries to reach out to him.

It’s a difficult situation, a mix of not wanting Merlin to have to suffer, but also knowing that there is no way the knights could take him on. Not even with no other attackers to worry about. Not even with Merlin at partial strength. The only way for them to win this, is to get Merlin to come back to them.

The Knights watch on with horror, glares painted on their faces, as the leader removes the knife and steps away. He wipes the blood off the blade on Merlin’s clothes harshly, the pressure on his wound making the glow of his eyes flicker once again.

The arsehole looks to the rest of the grinning bandits, and yells:

“So, boys! Shall we see what our new pet can do? We have some lovely new test subjects after all!” A cheer goes up around the room, and the knights take in nervous breaths. They know what Merlin is capable of, and though he doesn’t show off his magic regularly, they’ve seen him angry, seen him when he has the least control of his magic; and right now, he has zero control. The only thing they could do is hope that this mercenary didn’t have a very vivid imagination.

At the bandit’s cheer, the leader turns around to sweep an assessing gaze over the knights. He hums thoughtfully, before waving his arm in Percival’s direction:

“He looks like a big guy, looks like he can take a lot. Break his arm for me, sorcerer.”

The others look to Percival in fear, but his only reaction is to take a deep breath, and clench his jaw.

Merlin tilts his head slightly, and moves his outstretched arm to be pointed at Percival. Arthur sees him swallow, and his hand shake slightly. He’s fighting it. The sorcerer stands still for just a moment, staring at a resolute Percival, but at the leader’s yell:

“DO IT!!”

-he closes his fist, quick as lightening, and a snap sounds out. Percival makes a pained face, but makes no noise as his arm hangs at his side.

Arthur casts a quick look at him, and is grateful for the lack of blood and odd angles. Merlin had managed to break his arm in the least damaging way possible.

Percival’s breath evens out, and he shakes the daze from his head before looking right at Merlin and saying:

“It’s alright, Merlin.” Arthur tenses slightly at that, but the bandit’s seem to be too drunk to notice the broken silence.

The leader bellows out again:

“Aw, well that was a little anti-climactic. Hmm... what about him-”

He gestures at Leon, who is now only slightly dazed, before continuing:

“-knock him out. Properly, this time.”

Merlin’s outstretched hand moves once again, pointing at Leon. Merlin hesitates for even longer this time. His hand shakes violently, and the glow in his eyes dulls (only slightly, but permanently this time) as Leon gives him a small smile, and nods at him.

The leader snarls before aiming a violent punch to Merlin’s side, before screaming:

“YOU ARE MINE!! STOP HESITATING YOU BEAST!″

This time, Merlin pulls his hand towards himself quickly, and Leon’s body tips forward. His head smacks off the floor with a sickening thud, and he doesn’t move from his place crumpled on the floor.

The others panic slightly at this, not being able to see Leon properly, but Arthur holds in a grin. He’s seen enough knights be knocked out to know that Leon was still conscious. Merlin had deliberately held back, cushioned his blow. There was no question that if he had really tried, Leon most certainly would have passed out, which means that Merlin is somewhat in control of his strength, if not his actions.

Arthur is grateful that Leon has the sense to lie still and keep his eyes closed. In order to remain convincing, The King plasters a sufficiently horrified look on his face as he looks from Leon to the Leader.

The man gives a satisfied hum, and turns to Lancelot, a loathsome smirk on his face:

“You, my friend, are far too calm for my liking. Let’s change that, shall we?”

The bandits let out yet another cheer (And Arthur is pleased to see that the majority of them are incredibly drunk at this point. He just needs Merlin to focus long enough for Arthur to grab the key) before he continues:

“Choke. Him. Out. I want to watch the life drain from his pathetically noble eyes. I want to see him panic as his breath is stolen from him. DO IT!”

Fear flash across Lancelot’s face, before he schools his features again. Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan do not manage to hide their panic at all, and Leon takes in an unnoticed deep breath from his place on the floor.

Arthur looks a tad worried, but this has got to be it. He knows how close Merlin and Lancelot are, there will be no better chance to try and break him from this pig’s control, he only needs a moment, and he can see Leon subtly preparing to pounce as well.

Merlin moves his arm to be pointed at Lancelot, and the knights can see their Warlock flinch slightly as Lancelot speaks a shaky smile on his face:

“It’s ok, Merlin, it’s not your fault.”

Merlin’s hesitation earns him a smack on the back of the head, and a second later, he turns his open hand to the ceiling. With that motion, Lancelot raises from the floor.

His hands go to his throat and his eyes widen a fraction as his feet kick, looking for purchase, but finding nothing.

Arthur gulps as he looks between Lancelot and Merlin, waiting for the last possible moment before he jumps into action.

The knights, thrash slightly trying to reach Lancelot as he begins to audibly choke. His legs kick more violently, and his face turns red, his eyes shut tight.

He manages to opens his eyes just a fraction, looking to Merlin and letting out a choked, barely audible:

“I... trust you... Merlin.”

Lancelot’s eyes close once again as his thrashing slows and he loses the last of the air in his lungs.

Arthur stares at Merlin intensely, and the moment a tear falls from his eye, he yells:

“Merlin, look at ME!”

The leader lets out an outraged yelp as Merlin drops his hand to his side, whipping his head around to stare at Arthur. Lancelot drops to the floor with a thud, and begins taking in sudden, deep breaths. The glow disappears briefly from Merlin’s eyes, and in that moment, he lifts a hand to his head, whispering “30 seconds”. The moment his fingers touch his temple, he crumples gracelessly to the floor.

Leon finally moves, jumping to catch Merlin before his heads makes contact with the floor and at the same time, Arthur leaps at the outraged Leader, tackling him to the floor roughly.

Percival moves to Lancelot, and quickly drags him, using his good arm, to the side of the room so that he can catch his breath. Gwaine and Elyan tackle the men who had been standing closest to them, and take their weapons, before moving quickly to stand above Arthur and The Arsehole (still wrestling on the floor).

Both of them hold their blades to his throat, and at his momentary hesitation, Arthur finally lands a good punch to his jaw, properly dazing him.

Arthur rips the chain from his neck and staggers back, leaving Gwaine and Elyan in front of him, not moving their weapons from the man’s neck.

All of this had happened in around five seconds, the knights following Arthur’s signal smoothly and in tandem (exactly like he had trusted they would), and the rest of the bandits too drunk to react quick enough.

The bandits had finally gathered themselves, and have their swords out and pointed at the gang, but before they could move forward, Elyan speaks:

“Take another step, and we’ll cut his throat.”

Arthur knew that that wouldn’t hold them for long. No honour among thieves, they didn’t care if he died because it just gave way for a power struggle, allowing one of them to come out on top as the new leader.

He glanced down at Merlin and Leon again before looking behind him to check on Lancelot and Percival. He counted in his head. Twelve seconds to go.

Elyan and Gwaine pulled the stuttering leader up by his clothes and drag him back. Gwaine stands behind him, his sword held across his throat, as Elyan takes his weapons from him and then moves to stand by Gwaine’s side.

Six seconds to go. Arthur isn’t really sure what he’s counting down to, but he trusts Merlin.

The bandits begin taking slow, drunken steps towards the gang once again. They may be pissed, but they also still vastly outnumber the knights, especially with Lancelot coughing his lungs out, Leon with at least a minor concussion, and Percival with a broken arm.

Three seconds... Two... One.

As the Arthur’s mental countdown reaches zero, he turns his head to check on Merlin, at the same time as the sorcerer opens his eyes once again.

His eyes shine bright golden once again (though still not quite normally), so brightly that Leon and Arthur have to shield their eyes for a moment. That moment is all it takes for the bandits to take action, and they surge towards the gang.

Gwaine pushes their leader into them, and his large form knocks two of them over. Gwaine and Elyan are the only ones who have weapons, so they hold off the first of the attackers as best they can. Percival picks up a still struggling Lancelot, and Leon and Arthur grab an arm each of Merlin. The five of them rush outside, and once Arthur yells back at them, Gwaine and Elyan turn and follow them. They shut the door quickly behind them, and Lancelot is dropped the floor, Merlin left standing blankly, as the rest of them throw their collective weight against the door. Percival speaks first, holding his broken arm to his chest, and bracing his shoulder against the middle of the door:

“Why isn’t... ugh... why isn’t he doing anything??”

Lancelot looks up from his place on the floor, and staggers to his feet, leaning on (a still blank) Merlin for support. He taps his face slightly and squeezes his hand, but still the sorcerer doesn’t react. His hand brushes against the cold metal of one of the cuffs, and he looks back to Arthur, still coughing lightly:

“He’s still bound! Please tell me you managed to hold on to that key?!”

Arthur nods, and Lancelot stumbles over, pressing his weight against the door with the others as another shove is felt from the other side. They wouldn’t be able to do this for long, the bandits were becoming more and more coordinated.

Elyan speaks up:

“We don’t have... no time to uncuff him, you’re in control Arthur just tell him to kill them or knock... or knock them out!”

Arthur looks angry at that, and shakes his head violently:

“No, I won’t take that control from him. I won’t.”

Leon yells next, his words slightly slurred, but understandable:

“You have no choice, Arthur. Just something simple!”

Arthur growls, and huffs as another, much harder shove hits the door. The gang almost stumbles back, but they brace themselves against the door once more, and Arthur shouts:

“Fine! Merlin, protect us!”

Without even a second’s hesitation, Merlin raises his hand towards them, and then pulls towards him. The knights all find themselves flying away from the barn, but land on their feet a few feet behind Merlin.

The barn door opens with a crash, the first three men falling forward, but quickly being trampled on by their... co-workers... as they escape the building. Before they can make it far however, Merlin throws up his other hand, muttering something under his breath, and all of them are stopped, frozen in place.

Merlin keeps his hand stretched out towards them, and the knights hear one of them go “oh shit” under their breath, as the realisation crosses their faces.

The Warlock’s face remains blank, and after a few moments of the knights catching their breath, Arthur steps forward hesitatingly:

“Merlin?-”

Merlin tilts his head slightly, but doesn’t turn to look at him and Arthur gulps, and moves around to stand in front of him. He holds the key in one hand, and grips Merlin’s arm with the other, he speaks over Merlin’s shoulder to the others:

“I don’t see a keyhole or anything. How do I get this thing off him?!”

The knights shrug and move forward, examining the iron from a distance. Gwaine speaks first:

“Well, Merlin would know, right? Ask him.”

Arthur frowns slightly, he is really not liking this, but none of them have seen anything even slightly similar to this before:

“Merlin, do you know how to release yourself from this?” as he speaks, he shakes one of the chains, and hears the bandits behind him begin squeaking in fear.

Merlin still doesn’t look directly at him, staring straight ahead, eyes still glowing, one hand still outstretched, but he does give a slow nod.

Arthur gulps once more, and takes Merlin’s lowered hand. He presses the key into his palm, holding his hand over it and quietly says:

“Do it. Take it off.”

Merlin mutters something else, forcing the barrier he had placed around the bandits to stay in place. He closes his hand around the key, and without looking, touches the end of the key to the cuff on his other wrist. A hole opens up in the metal, and he pushes the key in, twisting only slightly before the cuff falls off his wrist entirely, still dangling by the chain attached to the collar.

The glow in his eyes instantly dims a bit, and he takes a staggered step back. He shakes his head slightly, and the key swaps hands. He does the same to the other cuff.

He falls to his knees, shaking, and the knights step forward to support him. He slowly lifts the key to the collar, and the same thing happens a third time. As the collar falls to the floor, the glow in his eyes flashes it’s normal, healthy colour, before disappearing entirely.

His blue eyes find Arthur’s momentarily, just long enough for Arthur to smile at him and nod. That’s all the convincing that “everything is ok” Merlin needs, and he promptly passes out, slumping forward.

Arthur just about catches him, and looks over his own shoulder panicked, thinking that with Merlin unconscious, the barrier would disappear.

It would appear that Merlin had thought of that, even in his state, and the barrier stayed in place, leaving Arthur and the knights to let out breaths of relief.

Now everyone has had time to catch their breath, and Merlin was free, they had a moment to realise how furious they were.

Gwaine looks ready to slaughter every man there, and every person they’ve ever spoken to, and even Lancelot looks pissed.

Arthur gathers Merlin up in his arms, carrying him bridal style and looks to the others:

“Grab our weapons from inside, quickly, we need to get out of here, I don’t know how long that's going to hold, or how long Merlin will be out. We need to get him to Gaius, and bring that... thing.”

He gestures to the set of cuffs still sat in the grass, and Leon steps forward to pick them up. Elyan and Gwaine stand guard in front of Arthur and Merlin, (still being the only ones who are actually armed) and Lancelot and Percival rush around the group of bandits, still frozen in place, and through the door into the barn.

They come out not even a minute later with everyone’s swords, and hand them out. Merlin begins to stir, and Arthur spares him a quick glance before gesturing back towards where they left the horses.

The group huddles together, Arthur with Merlin protected at the back, pointing their weapons at the bandits as they shuffle back, moving as quickly as they could, not daring to move their gazes from the kidnappers.

Merlin stirs once more, but settles quickly, probably still a while from waking up, and the group reaches the treeline before they begin to pick up the pace.

They finally reach their horses, and Gwaine quickly helps Arthur load Merlin up in front of The King, head lolling back to rest against his shoulder.

Leon wraps the cuffs in a spare tunic before shoving them into a saddlebag, and the group takes one last look behind them, before galloping back in the direction of Camelot.

If they went by the crow flies, instead of detouring to those clearings, they could be back in three days, instead of the four and a half it had taken them to get here.

They ride through the night, trying to get as far away as possible, not taking any breaks, and only stopping to make camp a few hours after midnight.

Elyan splints and wraps Percival’s arm, Leon drinks plenty of water and tries not to pass out, and Lancelot coughs the whole journey, but other than that, there seems to be no lasting damage or serious injuries.

They have little food left, but (despite no one being willing to admit it) they were all a little shaken, and none were prepared to leave camp to hunt or forage for anything more substantial.

Merlin had stirred a few more times, and opened his eyes briefly when Arthur laid him on his bedroll, but it didn’t last long, and he was passed out again shortly after.

The King massages some water down his throat, has Elyan help him with digging out the arrowhead, and follows Percival’s instructions on which of the herbs Merlin had gathered would help best with pain, infections, and larger wounds. The arrow and stab wounds were stitched and thoroughly cleaned, before Arthur moved on to the less serious wounds: checking his jaw to see if it was broken (it wasn’t, thank the Gods), and dressing the burns and bruises on his neck and wrists. The head wound wasn’t serious thankfully, only requiring a thorough cleaning, and two stiches.

Leon takes the first watch with Arthur, on account of not being allowed to fall asleep just yet, but there isn’t much conversation as they watch their friends toss and turn, obviously not sleeping too well.

Gwaine takes over from Leon around two hours before sunrise, before informing Arthur that:

“If you don’t go to sleep, I’ll put you to sleep. And then we’d have to double-ride two horses. And that would slow us down even more. So. What’s it gonna be, princess?”

Arthur grumbles minimally, but he knows Gwaine is right. He doesn’t move from his spot however, choosing to lay down right next to Merlin.

Gwaine simply raises an eyebrow, (and wakes him before everyone else in the morning) at The King’s position.

Arthur has one hand gripping Merlin’s wrist, and the other splayed out against Merlin’s chest, his Warlock’s pulse, and breath, just under his fingertips whilst he slept.

They get back to Camelot when expected, around three days later, just before noon.

Leon’s concussion had cleared up completely by the time they had got there, and Lancelot’s throat wasn’t quite so irritated. Percival’s arm was still broken of course, but with the help of some medication they had brought with them, the pain hadn’t been too bad.

Merlin had woken up a few more times across the journey, but was far too exhausted to stay awake for more than an hour at a time, and despite his grumbling, he admitted that it would be best for him to continue sharing a horse.

He managed to get some food in him as well, which the knights were relieved at, and the herbs must’ve been very special, because the infection in the arrow wound was almost gone by the time they got him to Gaius, and they had managed to avoid infection in the stab wound entirely.

Speaking of Gaius, he fussed to the extreme when Merlin hobbled in to the infirmary, supported by The King. After double checking all of his wounds, and forcing a mixture of gross tasting potions down his throat, he had him asleep on one of the patient pallets whilst he checked over the others.

He set Percival’s arm with magic, gave Leon a potion for the headaches he would be having for the next week or so, and gave Lancelot a special tea mix to help with his throat.

The moment Gaius relaxed, Arthur did too, trusting the physicians assessment of his friends. Elyan had scurried off to find Gwen and the Lady Morgana, before joining Gwaine, Percival, Leon, and Lancelot, for much needed naps in their own quarters.

Once everything slowed down a bit, Arthur presented Gaius with the chains and key, and explained to him what had happened.

It was late in the evening at this point, so they spoke quietly, not wanting to disturb Gwen or Morgana, who had both fallen asleep in their chairs at Merlin’s bedside.

“His eyes were bright gold, but they looked... wrong? Like slightly the wrong colour. He was almost completely blank, barely reacted to pain, and just.... stared. Into the distance. Like he had no awareness of his physical surroundings.”

Gaius looked concerned, but not so much so that it worried Arthur:

“Ah. That would explain the severed connections with Morgana and the Druids, his consciousness was locked away, pushed far too deep for anyone to find him. What else?”

Arthur looked uncomfortable and shuffled his feet as he continued, recalling memories from the previous days that he was sure would haunt him as he slept:

“Well... he hesitated a few times, when he was told to... hurt us. Like he was fighting it. But when he was hit or yelled at, it looked like he sort of... re-set? And he would do whatever he was told.”

Gaius nodded:

“Yes. Merlin is incredibly powerful, but so are the enchantments on these chains. He would have fought against it viciously, but the sudden noise, or pain, would’ve have shocked his system into obeying without hesitation. I’m guessing that’s how you broke him free?”

Arthur glanced briefly towards Merlin, before nodding, and replying even quieter than before:

“Hmm. I waited until he looked most... unsure, most hesitant, then yelled at him to look at me. His eyes cleared for just a moment, he whispered “30 seconds” , then knocked himself out somehow. We got the key thing, held off the bandits for 30 seconds, then he woke up and I...-”

He clenches his jaw and looks away at this, letting out a harsh breath at the memory. Gaius pats his hand a few times consolably as he speaks:

“You did what you had to my boy, you didn’t take advantage, or force him to do anything he wouldn’t have willingly done anyway. If anything, from the sounds of it, you were far more merciful and forgiving than Merlin would’ve been.”

Arthur huffs a weak laugh at that, and Gaius smiles, before saying:

“I’m hesitant to analyse these chains until I know more. I’ll talk to the Druids tomorrow, and wait until Merlin’s strength returns before doing anything. You best get some sleep, My Lord.”

Arthur looks up sheepishly, and bites his lip not quite meeting Gaius’ eyes. The old physician raises an eyebrow, prompting him to speak:

“Would you mind if I... stayed here for the night? I can just pull out a pallet but I...-”

Gaius picks up where Arthur hesitates:

“Don’t want to leave him?-”

Gaius smiles once again at Arthur’s infinitesimal nod:

“That’s fine by me, though you’ll have to leave this room to talk to the council eventually.”

Without waiting for a response, Gaius gets up and walks away. He checks Merlin’s bandages briefly before shuffling off to what had been The Court Sorcerer’s previous room, before he had been given his own chambers.

Arthur sighs, and walks over to Merlin, standing above him. The colour has returned to his cheeks, and he looks much healthier now he was no longer covered in his own blood and was wearing clean clothes.

He sweeps the hair away from his forehead, and leans down to place a gentle kiss where his hand had been. He looks up to see Gwen looking at him sleepily, a fond smile on her face as she stares at Arthur’s blushing face.

She stands and stretches, before whispering:

“Why don’t you take my chair, Arthur? I should probably get back to Lancelot anyway, and I doubt you want to leave his side?”

Arthur nods slightly, and whispers his gratitude as Gwen gives him a quick hug, before sneaking out the door.

Arthur settles in the chair, finding a comfortable (or as comfortable as possible in a wooden chair with wonky legs) position, as he once again wraps one hand around Merlin’s wrist, and places the other over his chest.

He falls asleep after only minutes, and rests easier than he had in a week, satisfied with the knowledge that Merlin was safe and on the mend, and returned to the position Arthur thought he belonged in most: next to him.

THE END!

I dunno, I might write a part two, about the psychological effects on Merlin? Of having his magic controlled, AND of having to watch from behind his own eyes as he hurts his friends? Let me know if y’all wanna see something like that :)

EDIT: Part 2 is up! Link at the top

Same as always lads, you wanna write it out properly with paragraphs and descriptions and shit, go for it, but credit and tag me ✌

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