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“I told you there was nothing interesting.” The druid said, making Arthur jump like a startled cat and drop the book he’d been holding. He’d halfway drawn his dagger before he’d gotten a hold of himself. “You’re lucky I didn’t skewer you,” Arthur hissed, sheathing the blade. The druid scoffed; “you’re lucky you didn’t try.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes at the other man. “Magic doesn’t make you invincible. I could take you apart with one blow.”

“I could take you apart with much less than that,” the druid replied, his smile wicked. Gold gleamed in his eyes for a moment, swallowing up the blue and making his dark eyelashes gleam. Arthur’s hand tightened again on the hilt of his dagger, heart pounding.

Then, as quickly as it began the glow was gone, and the druid was turning back to the shelves. “Have you given up yet or do you need more time? Someone will find you eventually.”

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The fourth time, Arthur almost didn’t recognize the druid, he wore a hood up over his dark hair– hiding those big ears– and was flanked by two other mantle-wearing men. All three carried sigils in their hands. Arthur couldn’t quite make out which one it was, but they were active and the faint glow revealed the man walking in the middle had sharp cheekbones… almost the same ones that the mask the druid had been wearing two weeks ago (Arthur had not been counting, he simply had an excellent sense of time) hadn’t quite covered. 

Then he looked up and those bright blue eyes met Arthur’s the prince realized simultaneously that yes, it was him, and also that he’d been leaning out from his hiding place for far too log and had now officially been spotted by the enemy. The druid blinked, then turned quickly to the man beside him, apparently asking him a question. He showed no sign of alarm, and there was nowhere to run with three druids coming down the hall, so Arthur ducked back into his hiding spot to wait.

The prince pressed himself flat to the wall, willing the tapestry he was hiding behind not to move with his breath. It should be thick enough, but… the footsteps of the three men passed without incident, the one familiar voice oddly loud as he said, “no point in going back to the library now, Gili, there’s nothing interesting there. Besides, Freya will be away delivering those scrolls for at least the rest of the afternoon.” “How convenient,” Arthur thought, smiling to himself. So, the druid was content to let him search

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Merlin 2x04 Lancelot and Guinevere

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“Absolutely not.” When Merlin looked up the prince was blocking the door. His eyes glittered in the fire, twin chips of ice. “Excuse me?” 

“You heard me.” Arthur crossed his arms; his gauntlets clanged against the chestplate he still wore. Dirt was smeared on the edge of the plate, stained the collar of his tunic a rusty brown that contrasted with the soft, tanned skin of his neck. Merlin could see the pulse there, steady, but fast. He was human. Vulnerable. Even so, he was not one to be trifeled with. Arthur planted himself between the snarling fey and the door with grim determination and, human or not, he may as well have been a wall; impenetrable Pendragon will wrapped in iron.  

The magic hadn’t settled yet after the battle– it mingled with the desperation, a mixture that buzzed like adrenaline in Merlin’s veins, tingling in his fingertips. He would make this mortal obey him. How dare this human presume to understand the machinations of the Court? How dare this man attempt to trap a Prince of Faerie. 

(more below the cut)

“You dare–” The slide of metal cut off the furious words. Merlin drew back with a hiss. He felt his fangs, sharp on his lip; “you dare to threaten me!” Tears– of rage, no doubt– pricked at his eyes, the betrayal was like a wound, though Excalibur was limp in Arthur’s hand, the deadly tip pointing at the floor. 

Arthur’s gaze softened, “You fool,” he said, his voice low, like the point of his sword, “I can’t let you leave. I can’t. You can’t honestly have expected anything else.” 

“You have no say–” The sting faded under the sadness on Arthur’s face. The look in his eyes wasn’t anger, Merlin realized, it was fear. Fear for him. “Arthur, you can’t keep me here.” 

“I can try. I have to try–” His voice broke when he added; “They’ll kill you, Merlin. They’ll rip you apart.” 

The two princes stared at each other. Human and fey, barely an arms length apart, and yet in two different worlds. Finally, Merlin sighed. “I cannot ignore the summons. They will only come here. Your people will suffer, and then they will take me back to the Court all the same. I can’t escape judgment for my crimes.” 

“What you did wasn’t a crime.” Arthur snapped, frustration adding a sharp edge in his voice. 

“Loving a human is a crime.” Merlin argued, automatically. The words registered a second later and he froze, eyes wide. “I– I didn’t–” Blue locked with blue, and Merlin felt the blood drain out of his face– “I didn’t–” but the human was on him before he could even consider what to say. The legendary blade clattered to the floor as gloved hands fisted in the front of Merlin’s battle leathers and dragged him toward Arthur. The human prince kissed like a man possessed– like this was his last chance. It probably is, some part of Merlin’s mind reasoned, but he couldn’t be bothered to care just at that moment. He met the human prince enthusiastically, leaning into the soft warmth of Arthur’ mouth, so much more yielding than the rest of him. It was like flying, falling, and being pulled all at once. 

Arthur was warm, hot even, flush from the battle and from the rush of letting go. Merlin recognized it, because the same sudden, unexpected freedom sang through his own blood. Merlin’s hands slid across Arthur’s chest, up over his shoulders and to his neck, searching for any exposed skin. There was frustratingly little. Merlin pulled back from the human’s lovely mouth to pant against his lips, “you are wearing armor, human.” 

Arthur laughed, responding by peppering Merlin’s face with small kisses; on his lips, one for his chin, trailing across his jaw. When he reached his destination the prince bit gently on the slightly pointed shell of Merlin’s ear and purred, “Good thing you have magic isn’t it, fairy?”  

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It doesn't matter if that fic has been in your drafts for years and is now self-indulgent to the point of parody. If Steven Moffatt is allowed to do it professionally, you are allowed to do it for fun.

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Is anyone still genuinely in the Merlin fandom? I want to start making edits or wtv- but I don’t even know if anyone would interact with it😭

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is that who i think it is…

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This is why I can’t stop obsessing over these two. Arthur let him walk away, so Merlin let him walk away.

bbc merlin - 04x07 The Secret Sharer

don't know about you guys but i think he should've set agravaine on fire with his mind right then and there. and he would've been right to do it. just a thought.

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MERLIN 4.07 (The Secret Sharer)

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“I won’t strike you, you don’t have to worry,” the man said. His voice was rough and pitched so low it was difficult to hear over the shuddering of the wagon. “I—“ Merlin faltered, he didn’t know what to say. The strange man’s eyes were sharp on his face, like a hawk. The outline of his shoulders, when he leaned forward, revealed bulk under the thin tunic. This man was a warrior, Merlin felt certain. “How did they catch you?” He asked before he could think better of it. 

The man smirked, a wry twist of the mouth, but pride was obvious in his eyes. Merlin felt Gwen shift beside him, she was no doubt interested in the confident stranger. “I was… distracted.” He said, quietly, and glanced around for eavesdroppers. As though unable to help himself, he added, “The bastards don’t fight fair.” 

Merlin laughed, louder than he should have. The leather wrapped around his arms made his skin tingle madly as he crossed them over his chest. “No,” he whispered, leaning towards the other man. “They don’t.” The stranger gave him a fierce smile. Recognition, he thought, and… something else? 

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Arthur: *complaining about how Merlin's always in the tavern* Gwaine who practically lives in the tavern: I have never seen that man here in my life

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“since you are so fond of reading, i thought you might join me?”

“it is not fair, sire. you have found my weakness but i have yet to learn yours.”

“but i should think it was quite obvious.”

for @lauravian 🖤

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Merlin lay behind him, in a corner of the king’s tent. He sprawled across a small pile of supply sacks like it was the finest feather mattress in Albion; head tipped back, body limp, looking for all the world like he was deeply asleep… or perhaps drunk. It struck Arthur suddenly that he’d never seen Merlin passed out drunk before, despite all the time Gaius claimed the servant spent at the taverns. Why hadn’t he ever thought of that before? 

Had Merlin been a sorcerer all this time? 

Every time Merlin inhaled the small fire in the brazier shrunk, as though he was sucking his breath directly away from the flame. Every time he exhaled, it grew again. Outside, the trees rustled, then stilled, rustled, then stilled in the same rhythm. Arthur stared into the fire, then realized with a start that there were no coals or sticks in the brazier. 

Merlin didn’t open his eyes, but when Arthur looked up his mouth was curled into a smug smile.

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You will not use AI to get ideas for your story. You will lie on the floor and have wretched visions like god intended

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Arthur couldn’t sleep.

He’d never been one to toss and turn in the past; if he wasn’t tired, he simply stayed at his desk or paced, or went to see his dogs, or checked on the night watch. Tonight, he lay in bed staring up at the crimson canopy, watching the firelight play with the shadows and trying not to think about his tingling arm. 

He could feel the sorcerer. It was as though the other man was there, just beside him, and Arthur could turn his head and see him. Except, of course, that would never be. His father might allow a sorcerer to live, for a short time, if it was necessary to save his son and heir, but he’d never allow them to be… close. 

There was an odd smell in the air, comforting, though faint. Sage and the faintly salty scent of skin, just a hint of some kind of spice. Arthur was sure he knew exactly who would smell like that, if he could lean close, perhaps at the nape of that long neck…

It was impossible. 

He rolled over, tried to shake the mad tingling out of his hand to no avail. His chest felt heavy, the black lines of the mark looked gold in the firelight. His fingers tingled like someone was stroking his skin. Amusement drifted through the back of his mind, and Arthur had a sudden realization; “Stop it!” He said, out loud in the empty room, “stop it, you prat!” the prince was certain that the sorcerer could hear, somehow. “I’m trying to sleep. Go away!”

He was both relieved and disappointed when the tingling faded and the smell of sage on the air was overtaken by hints of woodsmoke from the fire. The heavy feeling in his chest remained but lightened. Arthur had a sudden, bizarre surge of fond amusement, like an echo of a feeling, before the bond quieted to a gentle thrum. 

The prince rolled over and was asleep in moments.