#damnit uther

[ofglories]

He's going to hurt someone.

He's an arrogant man but he isn't stupid. He keeps his threats vague and withholds names in her vicinity. But that scar on her forearm is a constant reminder of his cruelty. He doesn't need to be specific. He knows exactly which people he can get close enough to before he strikes.

The mere thought boils her blood. She knows she's being overprotective; they're all grown adults who can take care of their own problems. But she cares about them, damnit. She cares about them a lot. And the thought of this vile man hurting them makes her absolutely sick to her stomach. He needs to be stopped. Something has to be done before he hurts even more people.

(Upon recollection, she isn't sure why the following happens. Just that it does.)

Her body moves on its' own, inching closer and closer to Uther while he continues to speak. Golden eyes usually as soft as a sunset are now burning, almost inhuman with a raging wildfire. Her right hand curls into a tight and improper fist-

-And aims right for Uther's jaw. (for Uther, rip in rip)

It's a surprise.

Uther simply can't remember the last time someone outside of battle outright struck him. Ambrosius would hiss veiled threats at him when irritated enough, when pushed further would usually grab him in a hold that promised an arm broken in several places if Uther refused to fall silent. It was something he'd grown used to. Something he welcomed, in fact.

It was a reminder that the Ambrosius he had known before he'd grown soft was still in there.

That his brother's eyes could still sharpen into daggers of blue steel, sharp enough to cut down gods had he wished.

But outright getting punched?

Whenever it last happened had to have been when he was a soldier on the battlefield. Before he took his rightful place as king of Camelot. Naturally he would have expected at some point someone in Chaldea to try to strike him. For another Servant to finally show their true, pathetic nature and hit one of their betters.

That's what made this all the more surprising.

Uther stumbled slightly, hand raising to cup his jaw as grey eyes focused sharply on the perpetrator. The little Master, the cowardly girl that was so easy to cow that she couldn't even stand up truly against Ambrosius' pet mage. Slowly the corners of his mouth curled into a sneer, eyes narrowing sharply as the Tyrant of Camelot lowered his hand. It was so very tempting to grab her neck right now. To make her learn what a foolish mistake she had made.

But no.

"Well now. Did someone happen to grow a spine recently?" He cooed instead, mockery dripping from his tone as he stepped forward to tower over Cana. "What brought this on, hm? You, who always tries so hard to play at being a peacemaker? You're worse than that brat that's kin to Claudas. So? What could possibly have made you think to do something so foolish as that?"

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Precursor apology for the rambling, I just have Thoughts and I’d love to hear your own about them cause I love the way you think and interpret and handle characters. Feel free to ignore this if it doesn’t actually spark any particular thought/discussion (even disagreement) 😅

I’ve had the thought— do you think Merlin ever gets tired of everyone’s well intentions? Someone pushing him to trust people, to reveal or not reveal magic, to focus on his magic to focus on Arthur, to sleep more or eat better, to confide in people, to learn to defend himself? Not just a weary tiredness of “they mean well, but no” but pushed to the point where he starts to feel like everyone acts like they know him, know everything better (and sometimes, yeah, they do, it’s just a matter of perspective/being nagged one too many times), that turns to serious irritation if not resentment of his friends acting like he’s not “perfectly capable and been dealing with this by himself for years damnit.” In reality we know all of this is from genuine concerns but I can’t imagine that being constantly questioned about his capacity to take care of himself wouldn’t cause some sort of conflict (cause in his head being able to deal with the threats and mess and prophecy and moral quandaries is the same thing, though no Merlin, it really isn’t)

I love you!!!

And yes, I'm in total agreement with you.

First, WITH his magic:

He's got Gaius being condescending and spineless in one ear, demanding he use his magic to help Arthur and Uther and Camelot as a whole, telling him not to trust Kilgharrah or Morgana or Mordred or the Druids, whilst simultaneously telling him that Arthur can never know about his magic. The prophecy specifically says they're equals, two sides of the same coin; I understand not telling him at first, but I honestly think a lot of Merlin's fear comes from Gaius. That's got to be annoying, to constantly be underestimated and demanded of by a man who refused to face his King, and withered under his Genocidal insanity. Then he's got the likes of Lancelot and the Druids in his other ear, telling him that everything will work out ok, whilst... not really giving all that much support. I love Lance, I really do, but he really has no concept of the struggles Merlin faces, and is sort of too wrapped up in his infatuation with Gwen and his loyalty to Arthur to worry about anything else. He might be a good shoulder to cry on, but I also think he probably babies Merlin a LOT, which is understandably frustrating. He tries to force him to take time for himself to sleep or eat or just hang out/relax/rest, when Merlin KNOWS that he can't!! He's essentially got three jobs!! And no, Arthur won't lay off if I just ask him nicely (and no, I DON'T need you asking for me), and no, Gaius won't give me no chores for a week, and no, I can't just leave the Druids to deal with big beasty on their own and have a nap, and no, I can't just warn the guards about the assassin and leave them to it. That's not how any of this works. Yes, Lance means well, but his babying and nagging is, though sweet and loving at first, misinformed and condescending and insufferable after a few months/years of it.

And Kilgharrah is a whole other can of worms, what a dick. Demanding Merlin do this and that, not giving him straight answers, pretending to sympathise with Merlin and be his "kin" whilst also betraying him at basically every opportunity. Between him and Gaius, they make sure Merlin is almost completely and utterly alone.

Gaius' "good intentions" definitely come directly from fear, Lancelot's good intentions come from a lack of understanding, and Kilgharrah's "good intentions" come from a need to control Merlin at every turn. And whether Merlin sees any of this clearly or not, it definitely frustrates him. To the point that he stops going to any of them for help, and decides everything is just easier to deal with and manage if he does it solo.

Secondly, regardless of his magic:

Arthur is almost certainly the worst, when it comes to this sort of thing. He displays, every once in a while, an understanding that Merlin is braver and smarter than he gives him credit for, but he never actually treats him like it. It's like he genuinely thinks Merlin is an idiot, and interacts with him as such. He asks Merlin his opinion, and then ignores it most of the time, he never apologises to Merlin when he's hurt or trouble comes BECAUSE he ignored him, and just generally treats him like more of a nuisance. Merlin can deal with that, in fact it's actually kind of helpful for the whole persona, but when Arthur starts actually paying attention and tries to look after Merlin, he finds it both endearing, and incredibly annoying. Firstly, in the way that "you've never done this before, why are you acting like you care now?" and secondly in the way that "you're in the way, it's better when you're oblivious to me because I can get on with things." . Mostly, with Arthur, he just grits his teeth and gets through it, because he doesn't have much of a choice, but I can definitely imagine him snapping, in a small way, eventually "Arthur, I'm not a child, fuck off." or "I'm perfectly capable." or "I've been doing this for ten years, Arthur, I do not need your supervision." whilst normally things like that would be laughed off, he says it with such a tone that everyone in the vicinity is like... immediately taken aback.

With the others, it's mainly the protection. He's a servant, they're knights, it's kind of expected, but it does sort of annoy Merlin when they act like if he gets a papercut he'll die. He gets smacked around a bit by their captors once and they all FREAK out, demanding they take the punishment instead, and he just has to roll his eyes and sneakily free them with magic. He gets picked on by a Noble and they all get bristly and annoyed and it's just... frustrating, because they don't have the first clue how court works, and if they try to protect him, it'll get worse. They try to teach him how to throw a punch, or they start escorting him around town, or they put themselves in danger to rescue him, and he just can't... understand, that it's not JUST because they're underestimating him (which is annoying, but not the main reason), but also because... they love him?? They want him to be ok?? He has complicated thoughts about that because, first off, these people have no right to love him when they don't know him, and second off, everything was so much easier when people didn't notice him.

and AFTER the magic reveal?

Depending on the nature of the reveal, it arguably gets worse once they find out about his magic. They all automatically think he's weak and not that great at magic, and are always trying to get him to save his energy or train more or whatever. When someone against the repeal starts with him, they all jump in with weak, emotional arguments, which are all mostly factually incorrect, and just kind of condescending and infantilising. Then it's all "I don't need you to fight for me, not when I've been dealing with this my whole life." and "Actually, Sir Leon, you'd be wrong about that..." with a scowl and a stiff back. Even when he tells them he's powerful it's all "I'm sure you are, Merlin. Not like you've not used it for ten years." with rolled eyes and a smirk, until he goes fuck it, and shows off in a BIG way. Only then would they back off a bit, and even then... Merlin still has to glare at them or interrupt them or grit his teeth through it when they needlessly jump to his defence sometimes.

I guess it doesn’t help that he’s one of the babies of the group. I always see Mordred as the youngest, then Merlin, Elyan, and Arthur, then Gwen (I see Gwen as like... maybe two or three years older than Merlin?), then a fairly sizable gap (maybe 5-10 years?) followed by Percival and Lancelot, then Leon and Gwaine (who are, I’d say, up to five years older than Percy and Lance). But also this is all up to interpretation.

ANON I LOVE YOU THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! I HOPE THIS ANSWERS YOUR ASK SUFFICIENTLY!! :D

[liminalpsych]

Equitan live-react (Lais of Marie de France)

Yeeeah. Did you know you're essentially high when you're in the limerent state or in new relationship energy? That early in-love stage that lasts, oh, between 6 and 24 months usually? Sometimes shorter. So many endorphins going absolutely haywire. I can't stand that stage, I want it to be over so I can see the person and relationship clearly.

This better not be another clever competent servant type who I like better than any of the protagonists but is just a side character who disappears midway through the story.

….oh no. Welp. Seneschal's doomed. Equitan's gonna betray his own vassal and go after his wife. It's Igraine and Gorlois and Uther all over again.

Oh good. Our title character has at least some morals.

I'm not 100% sure I understand the next bit:

Are we talking about the kind of courtly love where two people who cannot be together love each other from afar yet don't act on it? I know that was seen as very romantic and chivalric and all that, at one point in time.

Or is he talking about nonmonogamy, some kind of V arrangement?

Or is he literally talking about an affair?

This also seems to imply that extramarital affairs were just... normal. I know I've read about the idea in that era that you did not love your marriage partner, and weren't even really expected to; love was to be found elsewhere, but quietly. Is that basically what this is saying? That it would be a pity if the lady didn't get to have a lover outside her marriage?

…oh! I like this lady:

Well done. Nicely stated awareness of power dynamics and abuses of power! Dang. "The love affair would not be equally shared between us two. Since you are a powerful king and my husband holds his lands from you, you would expect, I imagine, to have dominion in love. Love is not worthy if it is not equal."

The king is currently trying to convince her by basically saying "I'm not fickle like those people you describe, I'm different." And not to consider him a king, but as the lady's vassal and lover, and he's totally going to die if she doesn't get with him.

…really crossing my fingers that the lady and the king don't get together. Because yuck.

…damnit. C'mon now. (Why did I expect anything else.)

I am having a hard time figuring out if the narrative is condoning this sort of behavior and dynamic, praising it, or decrying it. Though in the introduction, the translator did say "A reader who takes the Lais in their Harley 978 (manuscript) order is alerted from the beginning that each lai must be read on its own terms and assessed independently with the help of the reader's judgment", so maybe this is not being presented with the writer's judgment, but left to the reader to judge. That would indeed explain why the writer's opinion of the situation is very unclear. As evidenced in this next bit:

"In the end they died of it" suggests potential negative judgment, but the writer also seems to validate the sincerity of the love between the lady and the king. So perhaps it's an attempt to provide a neutral telling of the situation, and let the reader pass any judgment that they might.

Waters (the translator) also says in the introduction that Marie de France's Prologue "implies the need to read the ensuing stories as an instructive group - without, however, laying out any explicit program for how to do so. It combines the effects of control and receptiveness, authority and flexibility, that are evident throughout the Lais: readers are, to use Marie's famous phrase, encouraged to 'supply the rest through their understanding' of what they read, but without any insistence about what the result should be".

Guigemar didn't hit this tension for me, it felt more straightforward and clear-cut about what the desirable outcome was. But Equitan is really pinging the "reader must supply the rest through their own understanding" element.

The poem continues on: the king and lady are carrying on their affair in private, the king claims he is undergoing leeching privately when they're together so that no one will dare to walk in on them. But he loves the lady above all others, and doesn't want any other women, or to even hear marriage spoken of, which everyone else is Very Upset about and complains to the seneschal's wife about. Which of course bothers her a lot.

She weeps to him and expresses fear that he'll take a wife appropriate to his station and leave her, and then she'll want to die. The king, well… here's where the doom begins:

So the seneschal's wife has the Very Sensible reaction of "great! I'll kill my husband!" But in a more genteel way of course: "arrange for her husband's death", which will be easy, if the king helps out.

Her plan is to… boil the seneschal alive in a bathtub?

No, really. The king is supposed to visit her husband's castle, the king requests his company for bathing and dining, and the wife is going to have the seneschal's bath "so hot and so boiling / there is living man under heaven / who would not be scalded and destroyed / as soon as he sat in it", and then the king should bring his men over and show them how the seneschal just "died suddenly" in the bath. Tragic accident and all that.

Well, as you might imagine, this plan doesn't work. As soon as the seneschal goes off to take his back, the lady and the king start getting physically intimate. The seneschal comes back, breaks down the door, and finds the king and his wife together. The king sees the seneschal coming and jumps into the tub to… "disguise his wickedness"? Pretend he was just disrobing for the bath, I guess?

But apparently his tub was as scalding as the seneschal's, so he dies from the boiling hot water. And the seneschal sees this and shoves his wife's head into the bath so that she dies too.

Marie de France makes a judgment here at last. Not of the adultery or the lovers or any of that, just on "pursuing another's harm". The reader can decide for themself the morality of the affair, but trying to kill people is Definitely Bad.

[tiodolma]

Adapting arthuriana and making merlin and arthur of the same age AGAIN is cowardice.

Merlin and Uther should be the ones of the same age damnit!

[little-ligi]

Febuwhump - No.28

No.28 - “You have to let me go!” Fandom - BBC Merlin Wordcount - 2308 @febuwhump

Follow on to No.10 (Hostage Situation)

“How dare you?!” The king rose from his throne, his face red with anger. He threw the parchment to the floor and Merlin caught sight of Arthur’s signature, his seal, and a horrible splattering of blood. His own blood went cold. This was the last time he was ever going to let Arthur go anywhere on his own. He knew he should have insisted on going with him.

The sorceress was restrained and manhandled to the floor. She hissed angrily at the men holding her but didn’t fight them.

“An eye for an eye, your Majesty,” she spat. “Release my husband, and I shall let your prince go.”

“Where is he?” the king growled. His hands were balled into fists, shaking with rage at his sides.

The sorceress merely laughed. “Agree to my terms or you shall never find out.”

Merlin was almost vibrating with nerves. He could feel Gaius’s arm tense beside him. He leant towards him, nudging him with an elbow.

“I can put a tracking spell on her,” he muttered. “I’ll follow her to where Arthur is.”

“Be careful, my boy, she’s powerful.”

“Gaius, I have to save him.”

“I do not negotiate with sorcerers!” the king yelled.

“Your son said the same thing, your Majesty. But I think perhaps you are both wrong,” she said with a cruel smile. “If you want to see your son alive you will negotiate with me.”

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

Uther roared, storming down the steps towards her.

“If you harm him…”

“Release my husband,” the woman cried, sitting up on her knees to glare at the king.

Uther scowled at her with cold contempt. “He is already dead.”

“No!” The sorceress let out a scream so piercing that many of the guards around the room slapped their hands over their ears, the ones holding her letting go. Merlin winced, feeling his magic surge inside him, reading for if he needed it.

The woman shouted a spell and Uther staggered, tripping and falling backwards at the foot of the throne. A guard leapt forward to grab his arm and pull him up, but the sorceress was on her feet again and bearing down on him, near spitting in anger as tears poured down her face.

“You killed him! You will regret that, Uther Pendragon! I shall send you back your prince. I’ll send you back his bloody corpse!”

“No!” Uther growled, reaching for his sword, every guard and knight in the room copying his action.

The sorceress flung the king back to the floor with a second spell then began a chant, turning on the spot so her cloak swirled in a sudden whirlwind. Merlin shot his hand out, muttering the tracking spell just in time before the woman vanished into the hazy air. Luckily, in the chaos, no one except Gaius seemed to notice him.

Gaius put a hand on Merlin’s arm, squeezing briefly and nodding.

“Go, my boy. Good luck.”

Merlin wormed his way out of the throng of onlookers, pushing between servants and knights alike to get to the doors.

“Sir Leon,” the king was shouting behind him. “Take two score of men, find the prince! And find that witch and bring me her head!”

Ignoring the clanging of armour and clamour of voices, Merlin burst from the throne room and began sprinting through the palace, tripping down stairs and hurtling along corridors.

He got to the stables and breathlessly demanded a mount, for once using his status as the prince’s personal manservant to get the stable hands leaping to obey his order. He’d thank them and apologise when he got back, but for now speed was of the essence. Within a couple of minutes, he was galloping out of the front gate, following the tug of his magic to find the sorceress’s location. 

----------

A distraught scream heralded the sorceresses return. Arthur tensed against his restraints, gritting his teeth and trying, in vain, to curl his numb hands into fists. The door burst open and the sorceress swept in, her staff already pointed at Arthur, a spell on her lips before he even had time to blink.

Blinding pain burnt through his head; he cried out, screwing his eyes shut as black spots danced across his vision.

“He’s dead!” the woman screeched. “Executed by word of the king.”

Arthur could do nothing but gasp ragged breaths in and out, trying to stop shaking. He felt limp, only the restraints that held his arms and legs against the wall keeping him upright.

The sorceress raged, screaming spell after spell, her staff flashing in the air as she wielded it against Arthur. It felt like fire blazed in his chest, choking him, stopping him from taking a breath. He twisted and thrashed, his back arching away from the wall, which only increased the pressure of the bonds around his wrists. He was in agony, and he couldn’t prevent the sobbed cries bursting from his raw throat.

Eventually the sorceress stopped, her own breathing heavy, tears streaked down her face.

“Your father has signed your death warrant, Prince Arthur,” she spat at him, her voice shaking. “The second that axe blade fell on my husband.”

Arthur’s head dropped to his chest. He’d known his father would not negotiate with this woman, had known that her demands would not be agreed to. Her husband had been arrested for sorcery and therefore must be killed. That was the law of Camelot. He wasn’t entirely sure how this sorceress had even got into the city, demanded the release of her husband and managed to get back out alive.

“Please,” he croaked. “You have to let me go. Killing me won’t bring your husband back.”

“The king must pay for what he’s done!” she shouted.

“If you kill me, the king will never stop hunting you,” Arthur tried to reason, but he knew it was futile.

With a sneer, the sorceress jabbed her staff forwards. Arthur was flattened back against the wall, his head thumping into the stone. Blood bloomed across his already stained shirt as if she’d stabbed him with a blade. His stomach lurched, pain radiating through his entire torso.

Before he had time to recover from the blow, the magical restraints holding his arms and legs vanished and he fell to the floor in a crumpled bleeding heap. The staff was levelled on him again and the pain ricocheted through his body. Agonising pain, like a thousand tiny daggers plunging into his skin, crawled up his back. He keened, the sound torn from him until even his voice gave out. His hands grasped uselessly against the floor, trying to pull himself away, but the pain was never ending. It burned and burned and burned.

He couldn’t breath. Nothing existed apart from the constant pounding in his head. He kicked his feet into the stone floor.

“Let me go,” he begged, his pride shattered as he sobbed into the blood stained floor beneath him. “Let me go.”

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

A horrible ragged scream echoed through the building and Merlin dashed forwards. He reached a door at the end of hallway and burst through it, his hand already up and ready to unleash his magic.

Arthur was curled on his side on the floor in the middle of the room, panting and whimpering, blood seeping through his shirt and trickling from between his lips. The sorceress was standing over him, her staff jabbing into his back.

Merlin threw his hand forwards, sending the woman flying into the wall, then hurried to the prince’s side.

“Arthur!” He dropped to his knees, placing one hand on Arthur’s shaking back, keeping the other outstretched to the sorceress.

“Who are you?” she spat, pulling herself up from the crumpled position she had landed in.

“Someone you’re going to wish you hadn’t crossed,” Merlin muttered, bending to try and see Arthur’s face, which was pressed against the flagstone floor, his eyes glazed and partially closed.

“I doubt that,” the woman hissed.

She pulled her staff up and suddenly burning pain was racing through Merlin’s head, ferocious and blinding, feeling like it was going to split his skull in two. He cried out, arching his back and grabbing his head. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t think. Every muscle in his body jerked as fire lanced down his spine.

“No!” he ground out, gritting his teeth.

He blinked, trying to see through the haze of agony, forcing his magic up to fight the incoming spell. Slowly and painfully he managed to push her magic out of his head, clearing his mind and blocking her from making another attempt.

With a gesture of his hand he tugged the staff from her grip, snapping it easily with a spell. He let the two pieces of now useless wood drop to the floor and a flicker of fear crossed the sorceress’s face.

“You can’t…” she whispered.

“You gave me no choice!” Merlin yelled, flinging her back against the wall again.

She slid down it, motionless. Whether she was dead or just knocked out, Merlin didn’t care; Arthur had just groaned and shifted his hand.

“Arthur? Arthur, can you hear me?” Merlin muttered to him, his hands sliding across Arthur’s back and shoulders, searching for injuries.

“M’lin?” He blinked up at him, his eyes clouded, unfocussed and streaming with tears.

“Come on, we have to get you out of here. Can you stand?”

“Wh’ happ’d?” Arthur slurred, his head lolling as Merlin tried to hoist him up a bit.

Merlin didn’t answer, concentrating on getting Arthur sitting upright, leaning against his chest. He pulled Arthur’s arm over his shoulder and slightly unsteadily got to his feet, dragging the prince up with him. He wrapped his arm around his waist, pressing against him and taking his weight on his hip. Arthur just about got his feet under him and together they staggered from the room.

Merlin looked back over his shoulder, saying a spell to bring the ceiling down as soon as they were out of the building. The rumbling, crunching crash of falling masonry roared behind them as Merlin dragged Arthur towards the woods where he’d left his horse.

Arthur wasn’t completely with it as they made their way into the trees, his stumbling feet catching on a root and sending him tumbling to the floor. Merlin was pulled down as well and he breathed heavily as he scrambled back up and leant over Arthur. The prince groaned, his hand clutching at his wounded stomach. Merlin propped him against a tree, brushing the hair back off his face. His eyes still wouldn’t focus.

Frowning, Merlin pulled Arthur’s hand away from his stomach, replacing it with his own. With a quick glance at Arthur’s slack face and closed eyes, Merlin muttered a healing spell, lifting Arthur’s shirt to check the wound. His spell didn’t seem to have had any effect. Whether that was because it was a magically inflicted injury or just because Merlin had never excelled at healing spells, he wasn’t sure. He tried again and managed to at least stop the bleeding.

“M’lin, sound str’nge…” Arthur murmured.

Merlin cut off from the spell guiltily, he’d thought Arthur was unconscious. But his eyes drifted open and he gave Merlin a bleary look.

“How are you?” Merlin asked, ignoring Arthur’s inquisitive comment. If he asked anything else, Merlin could just pass it off as his delusional mind playing tricks on him.

Arthur groaned. “Ev’rythin’ hurts.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I –” He stopped, leaping to his feet when he heard approaching horses. His hands balled into fists, magic pooling in his palms and he stood protectively in front of Arthur.

Thundering hooves shook the ground until suddenly several dozen horses burst through the trees ahead of them. The red cloaks of Camelot knights flowing behind their riders.

“Merlin?!”

One horse cantered over and the rider looked down at him. Sir Leon opened his mouth to ask a question but before he could say anything, he caught sight of the prince slumped behind him, and immediately slid off his horse, hurrying to Arthur’s side.

“Sire! Arthur?” He put a gentle hand under Arthur’s chin, tilting his face up to look at him. Then turned to Merlin. “What happened? Where’s the sorceress?”

“I… I don’t know,” Merlin lied. “I didn’t see her, I just found Arthur and got him out.” He gestured behind him in the direction of the collapsed building.

“Go and search! Find that sorceress and bring her back to the king. Preferably dead,” Leon ordered the other knights and half of them rode off in the direction Merlin had pointed, the rest circling the trees around the fallen prince. Leon grimaced and looked back at Merlin. “How did you know where to find him, Merlin?”

“I – he told me where he was going and I, um, just searched the surrounding areas?” Merlin offered, knowing his voice sounded uncertain in the lie, but hoping Leon would be preoccupied enough by Arthur to not notice.

The knight gave him a brief searching look, but then turned his attention to the prince.

“Leon…?” Arthur looked up at him, confusion tilting his eyebrows into a frown.

“Yes, it’s me, Arthur.” Leon smiled, his hand gripping Arthur’s shoulder. “Come on, we’re going to get you home.”

Merlin helped Leon lift Arthur to his feet and carry him over to Leon’s horse, where they hoisted him up into the saddle. Leon gave the patrol of knights orders to keep searching the area, then mounted up behind Arthur, wrapping an arm securely around his middle to hold him to his chest.

Merlin dashed into the trees to find where he’d tied his own horse and scrambled up into the saddle, trotting quickly back to Leon’s side.

“Thank you, Merlin.” Leon gave him a large smile. “Well done.”

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Unjust

Prompts: Prompt for ya if u like! Ur so talented, big fan of your stories!-->>> Arthur is forced to come to grips with how little Merlin's life matters to society when Uther refuses to even discipline the nobles who beat him, dismissing Arthur with the words that will change how he sees the world forever; "Stop being so dramatic, he's only a servant. I'll get you a new one." - anon

The last fic you just wrote with h/c and merlin's duties as a servant WAS SO GOOD AND SO PAINFUL. Could we get a sequel? Maybe the knights trying to deal with the aftermath or the first time it happens again and Merlin trying to figure out what's something he's supposed to tell Arthur about v. actually his job? I don't know - anon

Ah yes more of these bois always

Read on Ao3 Part 1

Warnings: implied/referenced abuse, uther is an absolute gobshite, merlin gets hurt quite bad

Pairings: merthur, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Word Count: 2624

Arthur thought it couldn’t get worse.

Couldn’t get worse than Merlin looking at all of them with a completely serene expression on his face and telling them he’s been abused since the second he set foot in Camelot. That he could look at all of them and be absolutely sincere, calm, almost resigned about the torment he’s been put through.

Couldn’t get worse than Merlin being confused when all of the knights immediately protested, that yes, Merlin, this is systematic abuse, that has been allowed to pass unseen for too long, that there are no consequences for things like this but damnit there should be. That Merlin, somehow, knew that this was wrong but didn’t call it abuse.

Couldn’t get worse than Merlin looking at him, right at him, and telling him that Arthur has abused him, since day one, and that he doesn’t feel it’s his place to stop him. That Arthur has been complicit and has helped people abuse him because he thought Arthur didn’t care enough to help him realize that it was wrong.

No, Arthur thought they were past the worst of it.

Now Arthur tells Merlin bluntly that he’s not supposed to be the servant to any visiting knight. He’s supposed to walk them to their chambers and leave, right then. There will be other servants who will help them get settled the rest of the way. One will see to the bed. One will see to the food. One will see to the armor if, and only if, it is requested. Merlin will not spend a second more around the knights than he has to.

Merlin looks a little afraid when he tells him that and Arthur can’t stop himself from taking the man into his arms and asking him what’s the matter.

“They’ll be angry,” he mutters, studiously avoiding Arthur’s gaze, “they’ll be angry I’m not staying.”

“Then they can come and talk to me.” Arthur brushes Merlin’s hair out of his face. “But they don’t get to harm you.”

Leon enforces it the first time a knight decides no, he’s going to get upset when Merlin leaves. Leon’s temper does not flare often, nor does it flare particularly high, but he’ll never forget the way Merlin rushes to his side and tells him he swears Leon’s eyes flashed red for a second. Leon tells him later that he…persuaded the knight to be grateful that there were servants here to help him at all.

He makes sure to be nearby the next time, just to see Leon slam the knight against the wall.

Leon bustles Merlin down to the armory, passing it off as the need to clean the weapons, when Arthur knows full well it’s an excuse to hoard Merlin to themselves and keep him safe.

Sometimes Elyan takes it a step further, comes between whatever knight thinks it’s a good idea to accost Merlin in the armory and tells them back off. He makes a show of Merlin knowing exactly where all the weapons are and exactly how often one of them will come down to find him. Merlin returns to Arthur’s chambers after the first time with a soft ‘you’d really come look for me?’ Arthur doesn’t quite cuddle him to sleep that night but they don’t move from the hug for a while.

Percival, of course, turns the protective hug into an art form. The man is huge, certainly much larger than the average knight, and watching him glare at someone over Merlin’s shoulders is quickly turning into one of Arthur’s favorite past times. He’s no stranger to the way Merlin will sometimes scoot closer to someone when he’s feeling overwhelmed, but it’s something else to see Percival almost mold into shape when Merlin’s by his side. A soft word in Percival’s ear and you couldn’t drag him away.

Lancelot is never far from Merlin’s side. Merlin jokes one day that he and Arthur have some sort of alliance or pact; one of them is never allowed to be further than a few paces away from him if the other isn’t around.

“That’s not true, Merlin,” Lancelot chuckles, nudging his knee with his foot, “the two of us don’t have that pact.”

No, Arthur smiles privately to himself, the six of us have that pact.

And sometimes Merlin can’t come to Arthur. That knowledge still burns when he remembers it, but it makes sense. Arthur holds a position of power. Arthur has—whether he feels sick with regret or not—contributed to Merlin’s abuse. Arthur is not always there for Merlin the way he needs to be. But Lancelot is.

And when Lancelot isn’t, Merlin always has Gwaine.

Arthur is not too proud to admit that he and Gwaine butt heads more often than they don’t, certainly when it comes to Merlin. But where Merlin’s safety and comfort is concerned, they never fight. It is Merlin who dictates where he feels the safest, whose side he wants to stay at for a while. It is Merlin who decides where he will run when he’s upset. They never fight about it. It’s always concern—what can they do to help? When was the last time he ate? Does he want to talk about what happened? Merlin notices it the first time Arthur accidentally walks in on him lying in Gwaine’s arms and there’s nary a barb tossed between them before Arthur is softly asking if he’s allowed to stay too and Gwaine tucking him into the embrace alongside them.

“Did you two finally learn how to get along?”

“Only for you, Merlin,” Gwaine says quietly, “only for you.”

And yes, there are absolutely nights where Merlin shakes more than he usually does or one of the visiting knights makes the mistake of cuffing him where they can see and they all end up piled into Arthur’s chambers. After the knight’s been humiliated on the training field by every single one of them and blacklisted from any future tournaments.

Merlin doesn’t always ask for them, but when he does, everyone drops everything. That’s the unspoken agreement. Merlin so much as sniffles and their afternoon plans are dust. Arthur will never forget the day Percival swept into his chambers with Merlin in his arms, the other knights in a guard of honor as Merlin threw his arms around Arthur’s neck.

“Shh, shh,” Arthur murmurs, lowering them to the ground as Leon tells the guards to leave them be, “you’re safe, I won’t hurt you, you’re alright.”

That’s a promise.

So yes, Arthur thought it couldn’t get worse.

As always, leave it to his father to make everything worse.

Merlin is missing. Arthur strides out of his chambers before the guards even realize the doors have been thrown open. Merlin is missing and that’s all that matters. His armor clanks loudly in the hallway and the other people jump to the side to get out of his way.

Good.

He knocks on the door of Gaius’s chambers. Gaius looks at him like he’s just grown another head. It doesn’t matter. Where is Merlin?

“I thought he was with you, sire.”

Merlin is missing. He leaves with strict instructions to find him whenever Merlin turns up. He stalks to the armory and runs into Elyan and Percival. Where is Merlin?

“Haven’t seen him,” Elyan mutters, already rushing off, “I’ll ask Gwen.”

Percival falls into step behind him as they hustle down the corridor. Leon comes out of one of the halls and immediately assumes a position on Arthur’s left.

“What is it, sire?”

“Where is Merlin?”

Leon doesn’t say another word. If all the guards decide to flatten themselves against the wall as the three of them go by, that’s their business.

They find Gwaine muttering curses as he storms toward the tournament grounds.

“Where is Merlin?”

“If the way Godefroy was looking at him is any indication—“ and they’re already seeing red— “then we need to move.”

No need to tell them twice.

Arthur leads the charge down to the door. He throws it open and all the training knights freeze. He glares around at them, looking for Merlin, Merlin, you’re not Merlin.

“Godefroy,” comes Leon’s clipped voice, “where?”

“This way.” They turn to see Lancelot stalking toward the training ground, the other recruits parting like smoke as they storm forward.

Arthur feels it before he hears it.

Smack!

The other knights are caught in the maze of weapon racks as Arthur darts through the armory.

“Stupid, worthless boy, needs to be taught a lesson.”

Smack!

The wounded yelp makes him push faster. He rounds the corner and—

Godefroy. On top of Merlin. His hand raises to smack him again. Merlin on his back. Hands up. Defending but not defending enough.

His teeth are not bared.

His expression is resigned.

He does not spit in the knight’s face.

The knight moves to strike him again.

Not on my goddamn watch.

“Get your hands off him,” Arthur snarls, the blade singing as he pulls it from the scabbard, “get your hands off him!”

Godefroy looks up. “He’s just a servant, he needs to be disciplined properly.”

“You must not have heard me—“ why is he still too far away?— “I told you to get off of him.”

Godefroy rolls his eyes but complies, because Arthur is the prince and his word is law but that doesn’t mean the knight has to agree.

Merlin doesn’t move.

Arthur snarls again, readying his sword for an attack only for Godefroy to stand there, not readying himself for the blow.

“How dare you strike him,” he spits, “how dare you raise a hand to him.”

Godefroy says nothing.

“Are you too much of a coward to defend yourself?” Arthur hefts the sword. “Are you?”

“Arthur,” comes a steel voice from the other end of the hall, “what is the meaning of this?”

He turns.

Uther strides toward him, looking down his nose the way Arthur looks at the muck on his boots. “Surely you have some explanation for your behavior.”

“He hurt Merlin,” Arthur growls, gesturing at—oh, Merlin, why are you still on the floor?

Uther scoffs. “I understand being possessive of your property, but really, Arthur, there’s no need for such childish behavior.”

“Childish—Father, he hurt him.”

“So?”

So?

So?

Fucking so?

“He’s just a servant,” Uther says, waving a dismissive hand, “stop being so dramatic. I’ll get you another one if Godefroy breaks him.”

Godefroy steps around Arthur, looking far too smug, and leaves.

Arthur stands there, panting, as his chest roils with anger too deeply buried to come out as anything other than agony.

This. This is why Merlin didn’t believe him.

Distantly, he hears the other knights rushing down the corridor and he turns, sheathing the sword and crouching, all but ripping off his rough gloves to cradle Merlin’s head in his hands.

“Merlin,” he calls softly, “Merlin, can you hear me?”

Merlin nods, his eyes still a little dazed.

“Good. Try and sit up. Lean on me if you need to.”

By the time Lancelot rushes forward to fall to his knees beside them, Merlin is propped up against Arthur’s shoulder, his head far too red for his liking. Gwaine mutters another curse as the knights spill protectively into the hall.

“Merlin,” Lancelot calls, “Merlin?”

Merlin shakes his head. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not,” he corrects, taking Merlin’s hand, “it’s really not.”

“It’s better me than someone else.”

Arthur buries his head in Merlin’s neck. Because Merlin’s right.

How many other servants have had to go through this? How many people has the mighty wheel of Uther Pendragon crushed underneath its weight? How many times has he turned the corner into a hallway where someone was beaten just for being a servant?

Merlin has him. Merlin has the knights. Merlin has Gaius. Merlin will be protected because they know about Merlin.

Who don’t they know about?

“This stops,” he grits out, “right now.”

“You can’t stop everyone,” Merlin mumbles, still slumped against Arthur, “you can’t, Arthur.”

“I’m the Crown Prince of Camelot,” Arthur says, holding Merlin tightly, “if I decide that there need to be consequences for actions, there will damn well be consequences.”

There are.

Merlin is shuttled back to his chambers with Lancelot and Elyan. Gwaine and Percival return to the training grounds with twin looks of determination. Arthur and Leon go straight to the steward.

The steward blinks up at them, clearly taken aback by the question. “I’m terribly sorry, sire, would you mind asking one more time?”

“The servants,” Arthur says, “how many of them are mistreated? How are they mistreated? I want to know.”

“Well, sire…all of them.” The steward fiddles with a stack of paper, moving it aside so he can lean on his elbows. “They do not have…there is not the power to protect them the way there is to protect you or the knights.”

“And how do we give them that power?”

“Come again, sire?”

“They are people,” Arthur says firmly, Leon’s unwavering presence at his side, “they are people and they should be treated as such. How do we ensure that happens?”

“W-well, sire,” the steward says slowly, “any large reforms would need the consent of the King. But there are…there are smaller ways that we can arrange for their treatment to…improve.”

“Such as?”

The steward looks at him strangely. “Forgive me, sire, but…I did not expect this behavior from you.”

Arthur shifts in the chair. “Perhaps I’ve been refusing to look for too long.”

“It is an admirable shift, sire.”

“It’s common decency. Now what do we do?”

Some knights start finding it hard to run into servants in the hallways. Some knights don’t receive chambers with proper insulation. Some knights are beaten down on the training ground over and over. Some knights find it impossible to stay.

Some knights figure out what’s going on quickly. Some knights have kind words and soft questions and thank-yous. Some knights start to push back when they see another knight be too brash, too rough, too callous.

Some knights get it. Some knights don’t.

Those that don’t either leave fast or learn faster.

Godefroy finds himself the training dummy, pelted with arrows, clubs, staffs. The other knights find he has grown cocky over sparring with whatever servants have been dragged out to the field and do not hide their interest when Leon offers to help him regain some of his prowess.

He never gets within five feet of Merlin again.

Uther is beside himself, wondering where all his servants have gone, where all his knights are going, and why no one else seems to be the least bit concerned about it. Arthur smiles privately to himself as he watches the steward explain calmly that if he wants to know what’s going on with the servants, perhaps he could try talking to them.

“After all, sire, servants are people too.”

[oncefutureemrys]

I'm doing a round of asks, so here, a new title: At the Top of My Voice [I wIll Sing Your Praise]

thanks for the ask! and for staying up to read themmmm i love you please i love you please stay with me

anyway, I am rushed so here goes!

At the Top of My Voice [I will Sing Your Praise]

“Why can't you just let this go already? Why can't you just let me go?”

“What are you even talking about?” Merlin asked, bewildered. He took a slight step forward, stopping when Arthur stepped back. “What do you mean by ‘let me go?’”

The prince sighed, his hands pressed against the wooden table, his back hunched. “We both know my father's words are right. I'm not… made to be a king, I’m not capable enough, strong enough, worthy enough.” He stopped and looked directly in Merlin’s eyes, his voice hollow and bare. “I don't deserve your praise. Or your belief. Just… let the version you believe I am… go. Because it’s not true, it'll never be true. And I don't want to falsely make you believe it ever will be.”

Merlin, his hands shaking and his heart seething, took another step closer, ignoring Arthur’s hesitation. When Arthur didn’t step away, he took another step, and then another, and then another before finally standing right in front of him.

His shaking hands met Arthur’s pale ones as he looked directly in his eyes and said, “I will always believe in you Arthur. There isn't a thing you could do that would change my mind. If I have to sing your praises, shout them to the heavens I will because, damnit Arthur, you deserve to feel loved and strong and worthy. You deserve to have all of that and more and I won't stand for you believing you don't.”

Or:

After Arthur and Uther get into a heated argument, the prince is resigned to the idea that he’ll never be good enough to be king.

Luckily, Merlin’s there to remind him of how fantastic of a person he is and how much he is truly loved.

I hope you liked it!

send me a ship and a title and ill write a fake summary for it!

[cupcakezys]

Fun challenge for you! (If you wanna do it): Re-write an Arwen scene to Merthur😉

Oooooo yes! Sorry this took a while, I just had so many different ideas and life did not want to give me a break to write any of them. Also, I know you said an Arwen scene… but I might have written a little more than that. So have this way-bigger-than-I-meant-it-to-be fic. ^_^

Read on AO3.

Merthur under the cut!

“I can’t believe you convinced me to stay with you.” Arthur groaned, looking around Merlin’s tiny room. “Was there nowhere else I could stay?”

Merlin rolled his eyes and shoved his semi-clean tunics back into his closet. “We need to keep you out of sight, and Gaius may not know you’re here but he does know your magical beast is about as real as-“

“Your serving skills?” Arthur asked, amused, as he lifts an old bowl Merlin had been meaning to clean for weeks now. The inside had turned a slight red from the soup that had been in it. “Truly, Merlin, this is disgusting. You can’t expect me to stay here.”

Merlin, having spotted his magic book peeking out from under his bed, dived for it, feigning grabbing for his fallen pillows. “You really can’t go without your big bed and your soft pillows? Maybe I could ask Gwen if she’d let you stay with her, or we could hide you in Morgana’s chambers if you really can’t live without your precious royal bed.”

Arthur’s face pinched and he turned away from Merlin, allowing him to grab the book and throw it into the bottom of his closet. He breathed a silent sigh of relief and went back to fixing his bed.

“This will be fine.” Arthur finally said, tense like Merlin was telling him he needed to walk through hot coals.

He rolled his eyes. “Prat.”

Arthur pretended not to hear him. “How are the preparations coming along? Have we found someone to play our knight in the tournament?”

We, he said, like it wasn’t Merlin doing all the work. “Absolutely. He’s a farmer from one of the outlying villages, and no one will recognise him.”

Arthur didn’t look convinced. “But does he look the part?”

Merlin shrugged. “Well…”

“Merlin.” Arthur hissed the moment he opened his bedroom door, making him drop the large pile of washing in his arms, and gods, why did he have to do that.

“What?” He snapped, irritated. He’d only half cleaned the leech tank and still had to do the laundry and scrub the floor. His knees hurt just thinking about it.

“Do you think anyone suspects us?”

Merlin sighed and sat on the edge of his bed. Arthur had taken it the first night, and though Merlin could have complained and gotten it back, he didn’t. Arthur had offered to sleep on the floor the instant he’d seen Merlin lay down, of course, because he may be a prat, but he was a noble knight too. Merlin had refused and gotten a pillow to the face, Arthur’s laughter following him into sleep.

Now he shifted so he was facing Arthur, just barely able to make him out in the darkness. “I doubt it. From what Gwen’s told me, the ladies of the court are quite impressed with Sir William. They think he’s very handsome.”

Arthur snorted. “Typical. He wouldn’t know a real knight if he whacked him round the head with his lance.”

Merlin shook his head, though he couldn’t stop the grin crawling onto his face. “Is all this really worth it?”

Arthur sighed. “Yes. I don’t expect you to understand, but when I’m competing as William, my title doesn’t matter, nobody gives me any special treatment. So when I win this tournament-if I win this tournament, it will be because I deserve it and not because I am Prince Arthur.”

“I think I understand.” Merlin said, though he wished he didn’t. If Arthur’s status as the future king of Camelot kept him from harm then Merlin wasn’t complaining. He hesitated a moment, but Arthur didn’t say anything more, so he stood. “I need to finish these chores for Gaius.”

Arthur sighed, tired and quiet. Merlin gathered his washing and slipped from the room, careful not to wake him.

Merlin startled awake to Gaius standing over him, eyebrow raised, and his head pounding from a night spent sprawled uncomfortably on the floor. A quick glance outside showed the late morning sun shining brightly in the sky. Arthur would have left by now, nervous as he had been this whole tournament. Merlin wasn’t sure why he hadn’t woken him, but he knew he’d be in for it when he went down to the tournament grounds today.

“Merlin, on your feet.” Gaius said sternly. “Arthur may be away, but I’m not. And why is my leech tank still dirty? Where do you get the idea you can sit around all day doing nothing?”

“Wha-?” Merlin pushed himself up, irritation and anger born from all the stress and exhaustion of the past few days rising up before he could stop it. “Do you think I sit around doing nothing?! I haven’t had a chance to sit around and do nothing since the day I arrived in Camelot! I’m too busy running around after Arthur! Do this, Merlin! Do that, Merlin! And when I’m not running around after Arthur, I’m doing chores for you! And if I’m not doing that, I’m fulfilling my destiny! Do you know how many times I’ve saved Arthur’s life?”

Gaius opened his mouth, but Merlin didn’t give him the chance to say anything. He was too angry, and it was like a dam had been broken within him. He didn’t think he could stop himself now, even if he wanted to.

“I’ve lost count. Do I get any thanks? No. I have fought griffins, witches, erm- bandits! I have been punched, poisoned, pelted with fruit, and all the while I have to hide who I really am, because if anyone finds out, Uther will have me executed! Sometimes I feel like I’m being pulled in so many directions, I don’t know which way to turn!”

He was panting by the end of his rant, and all of a sudden he felt exhausted. Gaius was looking at him like he’d never seen him before, but Merlin didn’t feel like talking anymore, let alone apologising, so he spun on his feet and all but ran for his room. He slammed the door behind him and all but collapsed against it.

He heard a door close, knew Gaius had left, and sighed.

Then promptly screamed when he opened his eyes and saw Arthur sitting in his bed, hair sleep tousled and eyes wide.

He clapped his hands over his mouth. “How much did you hear?”

Arthur blinked. “Why would my father have you executed?”

“Arthur-!” Merlin stepped forward, only to jerk back when Arthur flinched, reaching for a sword he didn’t have.

“Are you a spy?” Arthur hissed, more awake now, and Merlin panicked.

“No! I was just- I was born differently. In a way that the king wouldn’t approve of.” He wanted to run, rather than have this conversation.

But Arthur was staring at him in confusion, and Merlin knew if he ran now he might never get the chance to explain himself. He wasn’t sure if it would even matter, if he could lie his way out of this one, but he had to try.

Arthur frowned. “You were born- what, because of magic? Some sort of spell?”

“No.” Merlin shivered, his voice dropping to a whisper. He didn’t even think, too caught up in his earlier anger and the panic now making his heart pound. “Arthur. I was born with magic.”

He immediately clamped his hands back over his mouth. Damnit. Curse his stupid mouth for speaking before he could think. Fear crawled up his back as he watched the prince closely.

Arthur blinked twice before he slowly shook his head. “No. You don’t- I would know if you had magic!”

“I’ve had to hide it all my life, for fear of what would happen if the wrong person found out.” Merlin swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. “If your father found out. How was I supposed to tell you?”

They stared at each other for a long time, until Arthur grabbed his cloak and pulled it around himself. Merlin pressed himself into the door as Arthur approached him, and hated that Arthur refused to even look at him.

“Move.” Arthur growled.

Merlin shivered. “What are you going to do?”

Arthur’s jaw twitched. “I have a tournament to win.”

“O-oh.” He slid out of the way, shoulders hunched, as Arthur slipped past him.

Arthur paused. “Your services are no longer required.”

And then he was gone, and Merlin collapsed onto the ground, heart shrivelling in his chest.

Merlin wondered the marketplace in a daze. He had no idea where Gaius was. He suspected he was at the tournament – watching in case anyone got hurt, ready to tend the stupid, bull-headed knights that liked to stab at each other with sharp objects.

Merlin didn’t know for sure. He couldn’t know for sure, because he refused to go anywhere near the tourney grounds. The risk of running into Arthur wasn’t too high, considering the prince was pretending to be away on a mission, but still Merlin didn’t want to risk it. He was afraid of what he might do – whether he’d beg Arthur to forgive him or scream at him for being such a prat when it was Merlin that had to live his life in fear.

No, it was best to stay far away, and that was why he was wondering the marketplace, a bag full of his belongings over his shoulder, as he contemplated leaving.

He wasn’t sure he actually could. Camelot had become his home this past year, and he was reluctant to leave it, whether Arthur hated him or not. He didn’t want to leave Gaius, or Gwen, or Morgana, and who knew how long Kilgharrah might have to wait alone in the dark before someone made their way down to his cave and spoke to him again. The old dragon might have been selfish and just a little manipulative, but Merlin couldn’t imagine spending twenty years alone in the dark, and the idea of leaving anyone to that fate made his gut twist uncomfortably.

On the other hand, if Arthur truly did hate him now, could he trust him to keep his secret? Merlin didn’t know, and it was both terrifying and infuriating. If Arthur couldn’t see all that Merlin had done for him, maybe he wasn’t the once and future king Kilgharrah had foretold he would be.

Maybe he wasn’t everything Merlin had believed him to be.

“Merlin?” A voice called, startling him out of his thoughts.

He jerked around. “Gwen?”

She hurried over to him, a basket in her arms, and Merlin idly wondered what was in it. “What are you doing here? I thought you were helping Sir William.”

Merlin felt his smile turn forced. “He didn’t need me today.”

“Does that mean you missed his bout against Sir Leon?’

Merlin didn’t want to be curious, but he was. “Why? What happened?”

Gwen bit her lip. “Well, he looked really distracted. Sir Leon almost unseated him twice before Sir William managed to catch him in the side and knock him off. He made it into the final.”

Merlin released a quiet breath. “That’s good.”

“I also happened to pass by his tent after the match.” Gwen said, in that knowing way of hers, and Merlin immediately winced.

“Gwen-“

She held up a hand. “It’s alright. He explained. I mean, I understand, to an extent, why but- I mean obviously I couldn’t ever really understand why, I’m not a knight but- you know what I mean.”

Merlin smiled, a real one this time, even if it was only small. Trust Gwen to cheer him up by just being herself.

“He also asked me the best way to apologise to someone he cared for.” She glanced at him meaningly, then chuckled to herself. “Well, he asked in his own way, without asking.”

Merlin swallowed thickly, his throat suddenly dry. “What did you say?”

“I told him that actions speak louder than words, and if he really wanted to apologise he should do something to prove it.” Merlin would be surprised that Gwen had spoken up to the Prince of Camelot, but he knew how determined she could be when allowed the courage to speak freely. Arthur wasn’t someone she needed to hold her tongue around. “So he came up with a plan.”

Merlin leaned close, trying to ignore the way his heart was beating faster by the second. “And what is this grand plan of his?”

Gwen grinned. “He’s going to cook you dinner.”

Merlin jolted. That he was not expecting. “He’s… cooking? Arthur?”

Gwen nodded, almost laughing now, and Merlin had to wonder if this was all some elaborate prank.

Then he imagined Arthur, Prince of Camelot, cooking him dinner, and the fear for Gaius’s tower had him sprinting for the castle.

Merlin only slowed when he reached the bottom of Gaius’s tower. He could hear the faint sounds of cursing coming from the top, and although Gaius should be making potions for tomorrows patients, he suspected his mentor wasn’t the one currently condemning all chickens to an eternity in hell.

He pushed open the door slowly, almost afraid of what he would see.

Thankfully, nothing was on fire. Arthur stood in the corner of the room by the fire, a raw chicken in his hands, and as Merlin watched he frantically tried to find a way to dispose of the chicken in the fire. Eventually the prince threw it in the empty cooking pot and turned back to the rest of the room.

Two dinners from the palace kitchens sat on the bench, and Merlin wasn’t sure if he felt relieved or disappointed.

Looking at Gaius’s still-intact rooms, he decided he was very relieved.

He swallowed and opened the door. “Gwen told me you were cooking.”

Arthur jumped and glanced up at him, guilt and just a touch of fear on his face before he swallowed it back behind his princely mask. “Merlin.”

He inclined his head to the dinners on the table. “You’re not cooking.”

Arthur glanced at it and grimaced. “Look, I can kill a chicken from a thousand paces, just don’t ask me to cook it. That’s what servants are for.” Merlin raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms. Arthur winced. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Merlin sighed and pushed the door closed behind him. “I’m not ashamed to be a servant. I told you before, didn’t I? I’m happy to be your servant until the day I die.”

Arthur made a small, strangled sound. “Why?”

Merlin turned around and shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. “Because I believe in the world you will build.”

“Even though you’re a sorcerer?”

Arthur’s voice was tense, hard, but it wasn’t cold like Merlin had feared.

“Yes.” Merlin met Arthur’s eyes, the first time he had since he had admitted his secret, and was surprised to find Arthur unwilling to look away. “I know you will create a land free and full of peace, a world where ordinary people no longer have to fear for their lives and the rulers of Albion don’t fight each other, but join together to create a golden age of prosperity unlike any other.”

He shifted, looked at his feet as his hands clenched behind his back.

“Even if you never learned of my magic.” He whispered. “Even if it was still banned and you only ever believed it was evil, I would still believe in you. I would still protect you, no matter the cost.”

This time, Arthur sounded a little bit awed, and a little bit broken when he spoke. “How can you be so sure?”

Merlin simply smiled at his boots, a sad thing, and shook his head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Arthur moved forward slowly, giving Merlin plenty of time to move away. He didn’t. A hand rested on his shoulder, another on his chin, tilting his head up gently, and Merlin didn’t resist. Arthur’s eyes were a storm this close, all dark and deep and blue.

He swallowed, and saw Arthur do the same.

“I know I have much to learn. There are some things that I am terrible at – cooking being one of them, and knowing what to say to someone I care about.” He sucked in a breath. “And also apologising when I know I’ve done wrong.”

Merlin’s breath stuttered. “Arthur-“

“Let me finish.”

Merlin hesitated. He’d never heard Arthur sound like that. Like he was begging. He nodded, as much as the fingers on his jaw would allow.

“I’ve had some time to think. About what I heard, and what you said.”

Merlin was tempted to ask about the bout with Sir Leon, but he’d promised to let Arthur finish, and he was almost afraid to interrupt him now, in case this was all a dream.

I’m sorry.” Arthur whispered, and Merlin had to wonder if that was the first time Arthur’s lips had ever formed the words. “I’m sorry you grew up with such fear. I’m sorry you still live with it, every day. I’m sorry it was my farther that forced you to live a life of hiding. And most of all I’m sorry I made you feel too unsafe to tell me.”

Merlin, embarrassingly, felt tears welling up in his eyes. “And I’m sorry I lied to you. I know it hurt you.”

Arthur nodded, accepting the apology easily, and then he released a shaky breath. “Your magic-“

His voice seemed to give out on the word, like he couldn’t force the rest of his sentence past it. Merlin understood. It was difficult, terrifying even, speaking of magic in the heart of Camelot without condemning it.

“My magic?” Merlin prompted, because he needed to hear what Arthur was going to say.

Arthur licked his lips nervously and moved away. Merlin’s chin tingled where his fingers used to be.

“I know you’re not evil. I know if it’s yours then the magic isn’t bad.” Arthur forced out, and now it was his turn to avoid eye contact. “but…”

“It still makes you uncomfortable.” Merlin said, understanding.

Arthur went to protest, but Merlin knew him too well, and Arthur knew it. His face twisted into a slight grimace instead, and rather than admit it he turned to their cooling dinner.

“Come on, let’s eat.”

Merlin smiled hesitantly and joined Arthur at the table. “Does this apology meal include you washing the dishes too?”

“Shut up Merlin.”

Merlin laughed, but after they had finished eating Arthur took his plate, and when they went to sleep that night Arthur slept on the floor, no matter how much Merlin protested.

They woke the next day and silently got ready, Merlin helping Arthur into his clothes as he always did. It felt unreal, that Arthur knew and still trusted him to do this. That he still saw Merlin as Merlin, despite the lies and his father’s hatred of all things magic influencing him his whole life.

“One more match.” Arthur murmured, breaking the silence. “Then the tournament will be over.”

Merlin fixed his cloak around him and stood back. “Then you can go back to being Prince Arthur. To being waited on hand and foot, the giant comfy bed, with the ability to order around innocent servants and knock around your thick-headed knights.”

Arthur frowned in mock offense. “My knights aren’t thick-headed. Some servants are just too much of an idiot to understand the mind of a knight.”

Merlin pressed a hand to his heart dramatically, and then they were both laughing and smiling softly at each other, and Merlin’s heart missed a beat at the look in Arthur’s eyes. He reached up for his neckerchief and gently tugged it free from his neck, ducking his head shyly as he offered it to Arthur.

“For luck.” He said by way of explanation, and hoped that would be enough.

Arthur rolled the fabric between two of his fingers. “Is it… you know?”

Merlin looked up. “Charmed? No, it’s just an ordinary favour.”

Arthur took it, a slight grin on his lips. “An ordinary favour? Do you know what favours are, Merlin?”

Merlin’s breath caught. “Yes.”

Arthur stared at him, unblinking, before he slowly wound the cloth around his arm. He stared at the red bit of cloth for a moment, breathing shallowly, before turning back to Merlin.

“Thank you.”

Merlin grinned, was going to say no problem prat, now try not to die out there, when suddenly Arthur’s lips were on his and he couldn’t think, let alone speak. He simply allowed himself to be kissed, and when Arthur tried to pull away he tugged him back, throwing his fear and inexperience to the wind and kissing his prince with everything he had.

Finally Arthur managed to pull himself away, and Merlin let him go, no matter how he wished he didn’t have to.

“I must go.” Arthur whispered, and Merlin nodded, because he knew he did, and then he was gone, leaving Merlin alone in his room.

He raised a hand to his lips. They tingled, and Merlin couldn’t wait until this stupid tournament was over so he could kiss Arthur again, preferably in the prat’s rooms, where they could lock the door and not be disturbed for hours.

When Arthur inevitably won the tournament – with only a little help from Merlin and his magic, considering his knightly opponent had mysteriously been replaced with a deadly assassin – Merlin was the first one to congratulate him. It was also the first time he told Arthur he had saved his life, and exactly how, and they first time Arthur had reacted to the mention of magic without a flicker of hate or fear.

It was also the first time Arthur allowed Merlin to use magic on him, the deep cut in his side fading to a thin scar, near invisible unless you knew what you were looking for. Arthur had been uncomfortable, but he hadn’t told Merlin to stop, and after he was healed he had ordered Sir William of Daira to go collect his trophy.

Merlin had kissed him senseless for that.

It was later, late at night in Arthur’s chambers, when Arthur addressed what they had both been avoiding thinking about. Merlin had an arm around Arthur’s shoulders, Arthur’s head on his chest, and Arthur’s fingers tracing patterns onto his side.

“What we have between us, my father would never understand. Least of all if he were to discover your magic.”

Merlin shushed him. “I know. You don’t have to explain it to me.”

“We’ll have to be careful.” Arthur continued, as if he hadn’t heard him.

Merlin snorted. “I know how to be careful Arthur.”

Arthur sighed. “I know you do.”

Merlin pulled him closer, and golden hair tickled his nose. “Things will be different when you’re king.”

He felt Arthur smile. “They will. I swear it.”

It was dangerous, but Merlin was used to danger. Living in Camelot was dangerous, but it was worth it. Similarly, loving Arthur was dangerous, but Merlin knew it was worth it, had the moment he���d saw what a noble man the prince was inside. So Merlin let himself fall asleep, Arthur curled up in his arms much in the same way he had curled up in his heart, and dreamt of the golden future they would bring.

It was their destiny, after all.

-

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[melodicwitchlight]

actualarthor:

Arthur pranced around the room, pretending it was an actual horse and making his best hove clops he possibly could. He chased Morgana around her chambers, laughing at how she ran away. It was all fun and games until Uther walked in and they were better at asking for forgiveness than telling him that they were going to be acting like idiots behind closed doors. They understood that they were in their early twenties, but that didn’t stop their minds from exploring and from them laughing at fart jokes.

Arthur had never felt so free and normal than the times when Morgana was around him. She was such a beautiful woman, but she knew how to laugh and to make him laugh. She was the best person to go to when he was upset. Arthur hoped she knew that about herself.

He tripped on a bed sheet, tumbling to the ground and throwing the broom across the room as an automatic reaction and landed flat on his face. “Damnit!” He shouted, though he couldn’t help but giggle as he held his nose. “Morgana, I almost had you!”

Morgana paused momentarily in her running, and giggled at seeing Arthur fall so ungraciously, sticking her tongue out in retaliation. His imitation of a horse was actually pretty good, and accurate, although she knew that chalked up to years of experience on being on one.

"Let’s hope you don’t trip, during our next swordfight—‘ey, Arthur…?" Morgana grinned mischievously.

[notkate-argent]

[tiodolma]

Maybe, Vortigern killed Igraine? Then, he was going to kill his wife, but that kinda failed when she remembered her life as Morgana. Maybe Uther offers marriage as a way to mend the rift between them and Morgana is enraged about it, because how dare you, your wife just died. Uther is like, yes, killed by your husband and Morgana, And I killed my husband for trying to kill me. I'm not a pawn to be bargained for, not anymore.

What say you?

Anon damnit hhahaa

.......

Queen Elsa is faced with a hard choice. Uther has offered her marriage. Meanwhile Merlin in Ser Ambroise guise has advised to offer her daughter to the newborn babe arthur.

What is more important? power and contol of the kingdom that she had always wanted within close reach or must she wait for years for the prince and her daughter to marry for her to have a say in court affairs? To rule the kingdom?

In hindsight she will still ally with the Pendragons with either option. Merlin’s loyalty have always rested on those conditions after all.

But deep in her heart, something is amiss.

.......

Merlin: So this is how it’s going to be then. In whatever life, in whatever universe, wherever we are, There’s always something that will cometh between us.

Morgana: But at least we shall be on the same side this time.

Merlin: So that is your decision then, to accept uterpendragon’s offer of marriage?

Morgana: I cannot wait not to have any power no longer, Merlin.

Merlin: I am but a loyal knight in your courte after all. With barely any londes nor holdings i can call my own. I am no kynge. I have no sei between the dealings of kynges and qynys. What a fol I was.

Morgana: Merlin...

Merlin: Perhaps this is the right choice, Morgana. With this Uterpendragon, your doter and the grete prynce can both be married to other kingdoms for good allyship. I won’t have to fight you. It’s a good start.

Merlin: ...but i thought this was a chance for us to start again. As it is maybe now is not the time.

Morgana: (quietly) Do I still have your loyalty, Ser Ambrose?

Merlin: (tired) whose sigil am i wearing on mine breast, my lady?

Morgana (breath hitching): ...mine

she watches sadly as Ser Ambrose walks out of the room

.....

And you hear their hearts breaking lol

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Nothing Wrong

Prompt: Writing prompt for Merlin (preferably time passes?): Modern Day everyone try to explain to Arthur how life works now and Arthur trying to get Merlin to therapy because JESUS DUDE and coming up with a somewhat workable alibi for what can essentially be called immortality angst. Hope you're having a lovely day!!

Thanks for the prompt, babe! This is part of a series over on my Ao3 but it can be read as a standalone

Read on Ao3

Pairings: merthur, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2217

 So it turns out that Merlin, to no one's surprise but his, could benefit from seeing a therapist.

“Thank you for coming in today, Mr. Emrys,” Dr. Lerchen says as Merlin sits down in the plush chair, “it’s good to meet you.”

 “You as well, Dr. Lerchen.”

 “Please, Melanie is fine.” Dr. Le—Melanie smiles and fixes her glasses. “I understand that you’ve never been to a therapist before?”

 “Can’t say I have.”

 “Well, I’m happy to have you. May I ask what you’ve heard about therapy?”

 “That it’s something I should definitely do.”

 “Well, I make no judgments about that, but what else?”

 Merlin hesitates. He’s never had someone who’s…paid to listen to him. Whose job it is to help him sort through the mess in his brain. It feels…counterintuitive.

 Melanie nods when he says as much. “You’re not the first person who feels a little awkward asking a therapist for help. Nor are you the first to think you don’t actually need it.”

 Merlin blinks. “I didn’t say that.”

 “No—“ Melanie gives him a look— “but am I right?”

 He fidgets in the chair.

 “You don’t have to answer me if you don’t want to,” she says after a moment, “but I want to reassure you that you don’t need to have a reason to see a therapist.”

 “I don’t?”

 She shrugs. “Some people see me because they’re having issues at work that they’re struggling to manage. Some people see me because they’ve got mental issues they need help with. And some people see me because they’ve never actually had someone to talk to.”

 “…really?”

 Melanie smiles. “Yes, Mr. Emrys. You don’t have to need therapy to have therapy.”

 A weight begins to lift off his shoulders. Judging by Melanie’s smile, she can see it. She sits back in her chair too and tilts her head.

 “Is that all this is,” Merlin murmurs, mostly to himself, “is this…therapy?”

 “Well, I’m not sure if it’s as easy to tell from the two minutes you’ve been here,” she laughs, “but…yes. I ask questions, and if you like, you answer them. Or we simply talk. About…whatever you’d like.”

 “Whatever I like?”

 “Believe me, I’ve spent sessions discussing nothing but movies and favorite colors.”

 “With children?”

 “With adults.” She gestures between them. “I’m here to provide the support you need to work through things. Does that sound alright?”

 “…yes,” Merlin breathes, “that sounds…that sounds great.”

 “Wonderful. May I ask you a few questions about why you’re here today?”

 “Yes.”

 “Do you mind if I write them down?”

 Merlin shakes his head and she retrieves a notepad.

 “In your request for an appointment, you mentioned that you’d been referred to me by a friend of yours?”

 “Yes, um, Leon Camlynn.”

 “Ah, yes, I see.” She makes a note. “Had you been discussing therapy with him prior to the referral?”

  “You should try it, Merlin,” Leon says encouragingly as Arthur sits down on the couch, “it’s just talking.”

  “I’ve had experience with therapy before, Leon.”

  “Not like this,” Leon promises, his eyes shining with the understanding of what type of ‘therapy’ Merlin’s been put through, “I promise.”

  Merlin sighs. “Look, I appreciate the offer, but I’m fine, Leon, I—“

  “Merlin,” Arthur interrupts softly, “I think you should try it. Just once, at least.”

  He doesn’t blink at Merlin’s look of betrayal.

  “Leon says it helps him, and maybe it’ll help you too.”

  “There is so much between us already,” Leon says softly, drawing Merlin’s attention again, “so much history—“

  “So why would I want to talk to someone that I’d have to explain things to?”

  “—that you might not be able to talk about it with us,” Leon finishes, “and you’d only have to explain as much as you were comfortable with.”

  Merlin sighs. “I don’t believe you. There’s—I—I can’t—my—hmm.”

  “You don’t have to explain everything all the time, Merlin,” Leon says, “and you definitely won’t have to during the first session.”

 “I agree,” Melanie says, patiently writing things down, “I’m not here to pressure you into telling me things you’re not comfortable with, nor am I going to tell you what to do.”

 “He said that I should get used to talking to someone.” Merlin toys with the end of his shirt. “Someone that wasn’t…him.”

 Melanie nods. “How long has it been? Since you spoke to someone other than Leon?”

 1500 years. “…a while.”

 “And is Leon your closest friend? Do you have anyone else?”

 “I know people at work, I talk to them, they drag me out for pub nights. But Leon’s my only…friend-friend, really.”

 “I see.” She looks back at the appointment record. “It says here you’re also considering whether or not you have some sort of PTSD?”

  Damnit, Leon.

 “…yes.”

 “You needn’t tell me anything you feel uncomfortable telling me,” Melanie reminds, “but whatever you do tell me will be useful in how I can help you.”

 Merlin can’t help glancing at the door.

 “Doctor-patient confidentiality,” comes the quiet reassurance, “nothing you say will leave this room.”

 He takes a deep, slow breath. He hasn’t talked about this to anyone. Not even Arthur. Not really. There are so many secrets that no one knows that he doesn’t know how to tell one without telling all of them.

 “Pick something small,” Melanie suggests when he says as much, “something innocuous. A memory, perhaps, one that makes you happy.”

  “Come on, Merlin, this way!”

  Merlin rolls his eyes as Arthur drags him through the woods. “Whatever creature you’re hunting is going to hear us coming from yards away, as you’re so fond of telling me.”

  “We’re not hunting Merlin, now come on!”

  “Then why are we out in the middle of the woods for no reason? And why am I carrying all this food?”

  Arthur bursts through the edge of the woods into a clearing, spinning around with a blinding smile. “We’re having a picnic.”

  Merlin blanches. “A what?”

  “A picnic, Merlin,” Arthur repeats, taking the basket from him, “we’re going to sit down and eat.”

�� And they did, in the field, as butterflies flew around their heads.

 “That sounds lovely,” Melanie says, smiling, “and how long ago was this?”

 Merlin’s smile dims. “A long time.”

 “Was it near where you grew up?”

 “No, no, it was…quite far away. I, um, I grew up in a smaller village and went away to a big city to work.”

 “Was it hard, being away from your family for such a long period of time?”

  He misses his mother’s smile.

  He misses the smell of the barn when he walks outside—not the big, Camelot stables, but their little barn with the cinnamon and cloves stuffed into the corners to keep the old donkey happy.

  He misses Will, the shouts and yells of the other boys as they rush up and down the streets.

  He misses the old man’s warbling in the late night as he walked back and forth with the lantern, putting out the lights on his market stall.

 “I’d never been farther than walking distance away from my home,” he says quietly, examining his hands, “so it was…hard to adjust.”

 “I’m sure. Did you go back to visit them ever?”

  “The winters are harsh in Ealdor,” his mother says, pleading in front of the tightly Uther Pendragon, “and there are many children. Some of them just won't be strong enough to survive. We barely have enough food as it is, and if Kanen takes our harvest, our children won't live to see another summer. Please, we need your help.”

“Ealdor's in Cenred's kingdom,” Uther says dismissively, “your safety is his responsibility.”

“We've appealed to our King, but he cares little for the outlying regions. You're our only hope.”

Uther regards his mother with what can only be described as forced pity. “I have the deepest sympathy for you and would have this barbarian wiped off the face of the earth.”

“You'll help us?”

“I wish I could.”

Perhaps sensing Merlin’s dismay, Arthur speaks up. “Surely we can spare a few men?”

“…once.”

 Melanie tilts her head. “You sound sad.”

 “…my friend died when I went back,” Merlin says, “he…I’d known him since I was a little boy. He was…important to me.”

 “I’m sorry to hear that.” And she does sound genuinely sorry, Merlin realizes, as she leans forward. “What was his name?”

 “Will.”

 “Will,” she repeats, “I’m sorry he passed.”

 Merlin shrugs. Out of all the people he’s lost, he can’t afford to hurt over all of them all the time.

 “What did you do afterward?”

 “I went back to work.”

 Melanie blinks. “Just like that? No time off, no time to grieve?”

 “…where I come from, that wasn’t really a thing.”

 “…I see.”

 Merlin shifts. “Is something wrong?”

 “People need time to process things,” she says, “to reconcile what’s happened in order to learn how to live with it. And if you weren’t given that time…”

 “It wasn’t the most pressing thing on my mind.”

 That gives her pause. She raises an eyebrow and nods for him to continue. Merlin fidgets a little in the chair.

 “…I have a secret,” he says finally, “one that Will died to protect for me.”

 She makes a soft noise.

 “I couldn’t tell anyone,” Merlin continues, staring at a spot on the carpet, “it—they would’ve—“

 He breaks off. He hasn’t thought about his magic like this for centuries. He hasn’t thought about his magic for decades. He hasn’t actually looked at himself for…a long time.

 He’s been hiding for almost as long as he can remember.

 “What would they have done,” Melanie prompts softly.

 “Killed me.” Merlin looks up. “They would’ve killed me.”

 To her credit, Melanie doesn’t look shocked. Instead, she smiles softly.

 “No one will kill you for a secret, Mr. Emrys, not on my watch.”

 That shouldn’t make him feel as warm as it does, but he finds his own mouth turning up into a smile.

 “Does your family know your secret?”

 “My mother did. My father…yes, he knew.”

 “Does Leon know?”

 “Yes.”

 “Anyone else?”

 Merlin hesitates. “Yes. Yes, someone else knows. Even though I…I didn’t…I didn’t tell him when I should have.”

 “You’re the only one who gets to make that decision,” Melanie reassures, “no one else.”

 “But he felt so betrayed when I didn’t tell him. He was…he was angry with me.”

  “You’ve lied to me. You’ve lied all this time.”

  Merlin can’t quite hear his heart crack in two, but he can feel it.

 “Why did you decide to tell him?”

 Merlin shrugs. “He was going to get hurt if I didn’t show—if I didn’t tell him.”

 “Hurt?”

 “He…”

  Ygraine, his mother, gone on the day of his birth because of magic.

  Uther, turned bitter and cynical, making enemies upon enemies of magic while hoarding it for his own selfish purposes.

  Morgana, his own sister, twisted and tortured by Uther, by Arthur, by Merlin, until she was barely recognizable.

  Arthur had lost so much to magic that Merlin can’t bear to give him something else to lose.

 “…he’s already been hurt by it,” Merlin says, shutting his eyes, “I didn’t want to hurt him too.”

 “What happened to him?”

 “He—“

  Mordred steps out from behind a rock and walks toward Arthur, he raises his sword...

  Arthur either hears him or sees his reflection in a sword on the ground. He stands and blocks the attack, he goes to stab and stops, realizing it's Mordred. Mordred stabs him and withdraws the sword, fatally wounding him.

  Arthur goes to a knee.

  Merlin can’t find the breath to scream.

  “Merlin. There is nothing you can do.”

  “I’ve failed?

“No, young warlock, for all that you have dreamt of building, has come to pass.”

  “I can't lose him! He's my friend!”

  “Though no man, no matter how great, can know his destiny, some lives have been foretold, Merlin...Arthur is not just a King-he is the Once and Future King.”

  Once and Forever.

  “Take heart, for when Albion's need is greatest, Arthur will rise again.”

  Merlin. Merlin is all that’s left.

  “It has been a privilege to have known you, young warlock-the story we have been a part of will live long in the minds of men.”

  1500 years…

  “Merlin? Merlin!”

  He’s back.

 “…he went away. For a very long time.”

 “And now?”

 Despite everything, Merlin finds himself smiling. “He’s my flatmate.”

 “I’m glad to hear it,” Melanie says softly, smiling too, “you two deserve your soft epilogue.”

 Wait, what?

 “I’m afraid that’s all we have the time for today, Mr. Emrys,” Melanie says, standing and holding out her hand for him to shake, “but I’d be happy to set up another appointment.”

 “Uh, yeah, yeah,” Merlin says, scrambling to his feet and shaking her hand, “and please, Merlin’s fine.”

 “Merlin.” Her handshake is firm, grounding. “Be in touch.”

 “I will.”

 “And one last thing,” she calls as he goes to leave, “there is nothing wrong with being gay, Merlin.”

 Wait, what?