#I teared up when Gwaine came back

[ellie-the-awesome-11]

so I listened to the new episode

[justaz]

s1ep10 will says “oh so you told arthur your secret then?…face it merlin, you’re living a lie” and i desperately need someone to say that to him again in front of arthur and the knights. shiiit au where will survives and visits merlin in camelot years later when arthur is king and they have the same argument. will turns to the peanut gallery where arthur staring at him with a raised brow and goes “how many years have you lived here merlin? and you still haven’t told him. you haven’t told any of them. you may surround yourself with people you call friends, but you are completely alone here.” and storms off.

merlin who also storms off after standing still in shock for a moment, fighting back tears bc will is right. it’s been so draining for merlin to live a life built on lies, to hide himself from his friends, to pretend to be something he’s not. all he wants is to be loved and appreciated for what he is. everyone in camelot loves the merlin he’s carefully crafted, not the merlin he is. lancelot follows after him and is his shoulder to cry on after that whole show.

the other knights are sitting around going “wtf just happened” and theorizing on this secret will mentioned. there’s also a quieter, secret conversation going on where unnamed knights plan out will’s murder for making merlin cry. anyways, lancelot tells them to drop it after they prod him for answers and call him out for being the only one of the knights to know merlin’s secret.

from then on the knights keep at least a quarter of their attention on merlin when he’s near. they watch him as if he’ll slip and say whatever his secret is out loud. gwaine keeps the most attention on merlin and is the first one to find out. he follows merlin out of the room and lowers his voice and goes “you know, i would commit regicide for you if you asked. if you came into my chambers and were like ‘gods arthur is so annoying, lets kill him’ i’d do it in a heartbeat.” he then leans in closer and whispers “and if you had magic, i wouldn’t tell. i’d probably just convince you to use it for pranks.” elyan finds them hugging in the hall, merlin crying into gwaine’s shoulder and gwaine holding back his own tears.

the other knights are slow on the uptake but all eventually get there in the end, except arthur. the king cannot for the life of him sniff out this secret the other knights found out. whats infuriating is that they had banded together in determination to figure out the secret and said they’d help guide one another to the truth once they did or just outright tell each other. instead, every time one of them figured it out and the others asked them about it, they’d just get all sullen and serious and say “it’s not my secret to tell” so arthur really has no idea

merlin has to work up the courage to face arthur and tell him himself. it takes a while. like a WHILE. like A WHILEEEE. merlin makes up with will and the other knights find out about his magic one at a time and express their support and love and apologies for all the inconsiderate and harmful things they’ve said in the past. slowly, merlin’s resolve and confidence strengthens. yet he stalls and stalls and stalls and eventually gwen and audrey the cook and even george figure him out before he can tell arthur.

he’s so nervous he ends up just letting the words fall out of his mouth, “tomorrow you have to be up bright and early for a meeting about queen annis’s visit next week also i have magic” arthur just stares at him from his bed. he’s miffed bc he was SO CLOSE to figuring it out, he knew it!! if merlin had just waited like another week or two he would’ve got there eventually. probably. also he’s been lied to but that takes back burner rn bc merlin just spoiled all the progress he made in figuring out what he’s been hiding. he throws a pillow at him and complains about it.

[bebravedearheart]

mergwaine + 48, for that ship+number prompt!

This has made me so happy! Sorry it's taken me so long, life has been busy, but I hope you like it!

Merwaine kiss ...out of habit

As first meetings went, theirs made for a good story at least. Although, when Gwaine told it he would of course add more heroics on his part, and leave out the fact he was unconscious with a knife embedded in his thigh.

He'd been grateful to Merlin since then, and Merlin had patched up far more scrapes and cuts since then, though luckily none as serious. Each time he'd woken in Merlin's cot in the anteroom of the physician's chambers he'd wanted to smile and flirt and show his appreciation, but he could never quite bring himself to. He feared ruining their friendship, couldn't bear it if Merlin turned away, or tried to say something to make him feel better in that awkward, endearing way of his.

Gwaine had never had a true friend before, and he valued it beyond measure. He took care to check in with Merlin when he looked glum, really listened to everything Merlin told him and felt chastised in a way he was not used to when Merlin was disappointed with him.

Merlin for his part seemed to be able to see through Gwaine; to pick apart his glib remarks when asked how he was. Gwaine hated it, and was more thankful for it than he could say.

And gods he wanted Merlin. Not just for a tumble. To wake up with each morning and kiss softly in the dawn. To fall asleep wrapped around, bodies entwined into one entity. To whisper in the dark all he couldn't say out loud when he was being looked at.

He would not breathe a word of this to anyone, of course. Merlin deserved far better than him, deserved someone beautiful, someone who knew how to say the right thing, someone who didn't cause so much trouble--even if Merlin didn't mind that.

To celebrate the King's coronation a feast was thrown--the first in many months; Arthur had been too preoccupied with his duties as regent and worrying about his father to keep up with anything more than the bare minimum of the courtly calendar. Now though, he seemed freer, like the shadow of anticipation was no longer weighing heavy on his shoulders.

Merlin was invited as a guest, not a servant. Gwaine grinned at that news, clapped him on the shoulder and told Merlin he'd have to come and borrow something nice to wear (though added that Merlin was the only person he knew who looked good in rags).

Merlin declined his offer with a laugh, giving him a playful shove and telling him Gwen had it well in hand.

Gwaine did not think a great deal of it, standing between Leon and Percival in the hall when the celebration came around with is customary cup of wine--sweeter than the usual vinegary swill they were served but still somehow better than the ale. He glanced up as the door opened to admit a latecomer, almost dropping the goblet. He saved himself from embarrassment, though he did not take his eyes of Merlin as he walked in with all the regal bearing of a man born to nobility. He wore an unspoiled white linen tunic, over which there was a jacket in pale green silk, belted at the waist and flaring out at the hips, falling to mid-thigh. On his legs Merlin wore deep, forest green breeches in velvet, fitting tightly to accentuate his slender legs. His hair was oiled back, smoothed and swept back from his head, far from its usual wild waves.

Gwaine was not the only one unable to tear away his gaze but he was the first to reach Merlin, bowing low. His noble manners came easily; old habits die hard, as they said. Gwaine did not think twice about taking Merlin's delicate hand in one of his own--too rough, calloused palms--and pressing a kiss to the back of it as if he were a lady. He heard Merlin's sharp intake of breath at his surprise and straightened up, catching a glimpse of the pink tinge high on Merlin's sharp cheekbones. With his usual grin, Gwaine snatched another goblet of wine from the tray of a passing servant and downed it without pausing for breath before he pulled Merlin in by the collar of his ridiculous coat and kissed him properly; deep and filthy. Old habits died hard, after all.

When they broke apart, Gwaine made to leave, to go and find something else to drink, someone else to bed to avoid any awkward conversation beginning with the words "I'm flattered but..." He got no further than a single pace when a hand curled around his wrist to stop him, pulling him back into a much gentler kiss. Merlin tasted of spices and smelled of herbs. "You scrub up well," Gwaine said against Merlin's lips. "And you had manners hiding somewhere."

[themedievalpoet]

If Mordred and Freya grew up in the same Druid camp.

There was a moment of weakness. The two were in the tavern. Merlin was telling Mordred about the Druid girl he had once saved and protected. . . Well, he tried to, anyway. Her life slipped through his fingers and he blamed himself. It wasn't usual for Merlin to chug back the alcohol like this and certainly not to be so vulnerable around people, especially not around Mordred. But Mordred was the only one who could know, being a Druid and a magic user, and on nights like these, the feelings he had pressed down came spilling out of his heart.

While Merlin sobbed incoherently over this girl, Mordred tried to put the pieces together. Merlin told him that this was a Druid girl, who was captured, because she was dangerous. But she wasn't dangerous at all, she was kind and loving and compassionate, and lonely. Though Mordred had a hard time deciphering the words between Merlin's hiccups, he did know one person that could match this description.

"Was her name Freya, by any chance?"

The look on Merlin's face at the mention of her name. . . His eyes widened, his jaw dropped, and he teared up. "How do you know that?"

Mordred smiled, but only in sadness. "She lived in the same camp as I. Her parents were kind people and took care of all the children. Freya was as kind as her parents and took care of all those who were younger than her. She sang melodies that I can no longer remember the sound of, only that she sang them with passion and love. I've always seen her as an older sister. The day her parents passed away, we were all grieving. Us children the most."

Merlin looked at him. "Why did you cast her away?" he asked. "It wasn't her fault."

The young knight frowned. "I was just a child," he said. "The other children and I wanted her to stay, no matter what form she took. But the adults thought it was best for her to leave and never return. He said we were all in danger if she was around."

There was a brief pause. "I asked Freya what happened. A man attacked her while she was gathering herbs in the woods, so she defended herself. His mother found her and cursed her. It was horrible to hear. None of this was her fault."

He shifted in his seat. "Freya's magic is strong, but her heart is delicate. She wouldn't want to use her powers when every night she is forced to. . ." Mordred shook his head and stopped there. "I was afraid I might never see or hear from her again. But thanks to you, I know that she passed in peace."

"In peace?" Merlin wiped away his tears.

"In peace," Mordred repeated. "You've shown her compassion. You've shown her what love is. I'm happy she could feel loved in her last moments."

"You know Freya, you say?" Merlin asked, slurring his words. "How can I believe you? What if you're just making things up?" He was bitter, but how could he not, after all that had happened to him? "What was her favourite fruit? Do you know that?!"

Mordred scratched the back of his head. "I'm not lying to you about this," he said, "but I don't remember her favourite fruit. . . She always picked strawberries for us when we were little. But she also gave me apples, because I particularly liked those. I don't know. Maybe she just liked red fruit."

It was then and there that Merlin passed out, dropping his cup in the process. The tavernsmaid scolded Mordred for it, so Mordred quickly got off his seat and tried to carry Merlin out of the tavern, back to his room. He wasn't as heavy as Gwaine, thankfully, so carrying him was a lot less terrible. When he arrived, Gaius was sitting at the table.

"What is this?" he asked, surprised that Merlin would let himself be carried by Mordred out of all people. Gaius walked to them and helped Mordred put Merlin back in his room.

"I think he should rest," Mordred said. "Not only does the prophecy weigh heavy on his shoulders. . . He carries a heavy heart with him, too."

He gave Gaius a smile and walked towards the door. Right before he walked out, he stopped and turned to Gaius.

"I wish nothing for love to flourish the world," he said. "I wish for Emrys to feel the same kind of peace I feel when I am around him. I hope that one day, he can feel safe, and he can rest."

[starrieisdelusional]

snippet of arthur snapping to banished!merlin in s4 of my fix it au

Arthur has really been an idiot hasn’t he?

He’s not one to overthink things. Arthur has always rely on efficiency. Running a kingdom needs to be orderly. He doesn’t have time to think unnecessary things. Mundane tasks such as ironing his clothes and preparing his food are left to the servants. Kings does not have time to think of such things, let alone dispensable things.

Now he’s cursing himself for being so negligent. It should be obvious from the very beginning. Branches does not fall from the sky at proper timings, nor do fire blows up indoors, dancing up the ceilings. Arthur thought it was merely coincidence, but after running a kingdom for a year he sees now that coincidences usually happens for a reason.

Arthur felt the blowing of the wind too often on his expeditions. He knows how unidentifiable creatures shows up in the morning, in the forests of Camelot. Or how assassins made a fool of themselves, dying before they even had the chance to take Arthur’s life. And each time it happens, he always saw a blur of a figure, so quick Arthur thought he is hallucinating.

He knows Merlin is there. Hiding in the shadows, watching Arthur from every corner. He was enraged at first. How dare he? Did he really think that Arthur was that stupid not to notice his little stunts? But every time he tries to catch him, it always ended up in concerns

Guard: (in a flashback) Is everything alright my lord? Arthur: …fine

The castle staff never question his disappearance, oddly quiet of Merlin’s banishment. Guinevere didn’t talk to him for a month. He didn’t miss the glare that came from his army. Lancelot and Gwaine have always been fond of the manservant. They stopped after a few months.

Arthur thinks that the camelot notice him. And they pretend not to. But he can’t really do anything can he? Not without sounding like a lunatic. So he never addresses it. Even when it’s so blatantly obvious.

Arthur is sick of it truthfully. It reminds him of him in a way. Is it too much for them to trust him? Morgana and his father too…and now Camelot. Is it because he’s such a fool for a king?

So one night when they were on an expedition, when Arthur is sick of all the lies, and the hypocrisy and everything. Arthur sneaks out of the camp, to where the banshee is last spotted.

Arthur waits for it to come. He waited and waited, until he heard a scream, when it almost got him, it dissolves into dust, hit by a spell so powerful Arthur still feels the intensity.

Voice: It is not safe out here, go back to your camp Arthur Pendragon

Arthur: Stop taking me for a fool Merlin, I know it’s you

When there’s no reaction, he groans, drawing his sword

Arthur: COME OUT MERLIN STOP BEING SUCH A COWARD!

It was quiet for a while and Arthur screams. He thrust his sword into the ground.

Arthur: I’LL LET YOU KNOW MERLIN- THAT’S RIGHT I KNOW IT’S YOU -THAT I HATE YOU! YOU LIAR! I TOLD YOU TO NEVER APPEAR IN FRONT OF MY SIGHT EVER AGAIN! AND WHAT DID YOU DO? YOU STALK ME LIKE A CREEP! HAVE IT EVER CONCURRED TO YOU THAT THE THINGS YOU DID AREN’T NORMAL? WELL YOU ARE! DO YOU REALLY THINK I WON’T NOTICE THAT YOU’RE IN CAMELOT THIS WHOLE TIME?? YOU’RE AN IDIOT AND A INEPT INCOMPETENT RUDE BUMBLING OF A FOOL!! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU SO MUCH!!

Arthur wipes the tears that starts to fall out of his eyelashes

Arthur: I hate that you won’t go away, I hate everything about you, I hate that stupid grin of yours, I hate your attitude, I hate your stupid face, I hate that stupid haircut, I hate your tears, I hate that I think of you each night

Arthur grips the hilt of his sword, struggling to speak

Arthur: I won’t forgive you Merlin of Ealdor. For as long as I breathe I will make sure you can never go back to Camelot nor will I ever allow magic to roam free in the land. I will follow my legacy as Uther Pendragon’s son

Arthur went back to the camp. He feels warm despite the cool winter air and his heart feeling like lead.

When morning came, there are no more banshees. Arthur saw a cloaked figure behind the trees, watching.

season 4:

main post:

To find my other ramblings about this AU, filter with the hashtag #must we really rely on fate?

[hopelessromantic5]

Love in All Its Forms

Merlin liked to think he knew quite a bit. He's all of twenty and four, now. He's learned so much information in the last three years, his head feels it might explode. Only the magic of the Earth itself still holding him together.

But there were always reasons to keep going. Camelot, her people, that needed protection. His family, his friends, Hunith, Gwen, Lance, Gwaine, Leon, Elyan. They've all become a part of him now.

Merlin also liked to think he knew a lot about love. He was easily capable of feeling a love that passes between two people. Each different than the last.

For example, the love between Gwen and her brother Elyan was that of a comrade, a brother in arms. They teased and poked and worried feircly. As opposed to the love that Merlin can see slowly growing between Gwen and Lancelot. Theirs is a quiet feeling. But no less intense. They communicate with silent looks and soft touches. When they are together, their eyes never dim.

In his mind, Merlin considers this oddity as just another power in his arsenal. He can see love before the lover's even notice. Like Gwaine and Percival, for instance.

Gwaine is…a complicated person. That may be the understatement of the century, but there are many things that Gwaine never lets see the light of day. A brave knight in the face of his own memories, out of neccesity. Merlin would try his damndest at the beginning to get any information out of him at all, about his past, or his hurt. But Gwaine insisted he was fine, and Merlin wouldn't want to hear it. That was, until Percival came along with Lancelot, and Gwaine bloomed like a flower in spring.

Percival was shy, something that Gwaine latched onto immidiately. He always had a thing for the quiet ones. The gentle giant favored hanging around the stables or the royal kennels, looking after dogs and brushing down the horses in his down time. Merlin has caught Gwaine watching Percival on more than one occasion, but said nothing. Never bringing attention to the unspoken connection they seem to have. After all, Merlin couldn't judge either of them a bit.

In a group setting, Gwaine was still his boistorous, frankly blunt self, and in turn, he pulled Percival out of his shell. They would huddle together in council meeting, or close in the tavern, whipsering about training, or gambling, or just their days. Merlin does try not to eavesdrop, but its nearly impossible when he can feel the waves of affection rolling off of them and out into the room, making everyone around them, unknowingly, softer.

Even Arthur.

Oh, god.

Arthur. King Arthur. The Once and Future King of Albion.

A royal, supercillois prat with a heart of gold and hair to match.

Anywhere he went, he arrived like the sun each morning. Beautiful and regal and breathtaking. Merlin nearly choked on it.

Morgana would call him a hypocrite, if she were here. She went to stay with the druids shortly following the death of Uther. After Arthur was settled into Kingship, she said her tearful goodbyes and promised to return in the winter for Yule.

Before leaving, she hugged Merlin fiercly and whispered into his shoulder "Take care of yourself. And him." He did not need to ask who 'he' was. "You're the only person in the world that makes him truly happy."

With that, she took her leave. Stepping away from a sad, shell-shocked Merlin.

"She will return soon, Merlin." The King's voice pulled him out of his thoughts and back into the royal chambers. How had he known what Merlin was thinking of?

"I know, sire." He nodded, resolute to not look at the King in his private, sleepy state. "I just miss her, is all."

"As do I." Came a quiet response. "She was always better at this part." He shuffled parchments on the desk. "The paperwork and the delegating."

"She would vehemenately disagree." Merlin chuckled lowly, still staring at the pile of clean clothes he has yet to sort.

"That she would." Arthur's voice sounds far away, which caused Merlin to look up at him, only to find the King watching him do absolutely nothing. He almost couldn’t breathe. His magic rising up in his throat any time Arthur looks his way, these days.

"Are you…" the golden King began, unsure. Merlin's eyebrows pinched slightly. "Do you and Morgana-"

"No!" He practically shouted into a very quiet room, causing him to flinch at his own blunder. "I mean… no." He tried again, calmer. "She is very beautiful and kind, but it's not like that. It's just that…" he sighed, looking down at that same pile of clothes, trying to find the right words.

"She's a high preistess. Extremely, naturally, powerful. While there are other magical users now in residence here, it's not quite the same. The druids and everyone, they all look to me as some kind of…" He trailed off.

"God." Arthur finished for him. "They see you as a god."

"Well, yes." To busy his hands, he finally began sorting different piles. "Morgana was someone with magic who understood that I am not, completely, the immortal of legend. She's been to Ealdor, she's seen where I used to put my hands into the Earth and grow vegetables in the winter so that we would not starve." He shrugged. "She was a nice collaborator to have, a friend."

"I'm sorry." Merlin snapped his neck to look over at Arthur, still behind his desk, but work long abandoned.

"Whatever for?"

"That you must seperate peices of yourself in order to exist in a certain place. That there are those who make you feel as if you aren't human, but some savior sent to magically fix every problem we have." Arthur shook his head slightly. "You are more than that."

This. This is what Merlin can never find the words for.

He knew what he felt for Arthur was love. But it seemed so above and beyond any love he's ever felt, he hesitated to label it such.

Yes, he would die for Arthur without ever thinking, he would throw himself down at Arthur's mercy should he ever fail him. But that was only one peice of it. That was the love he feels for his King, that was the loyalty attatched to his affection.

Another part of him, the part that sits quietly with Arthur in his chambers, the one that wakes a sleepy man every morning with much more fondness than is appropriate. It was just Merlin, that fell in love with just Arthur. His heart, his kindness.

That part of Merlin would destroy anything and everything to see Arthur happy. He would burn down the world.

This was what scared him.

"Am I?" Is all he can manage to get out, in a cottonmouth whisper.

"Of course, Merlin. You are what keeps this kingdom afloat. Not just because you defend Camelot from grave dangers, or keep the grain stores stocked for winter. But because your light seems to bleed onto others and make us all unbearably happy. We would all be miserable without you."

"We?" Merlin can't help but point out with a small, shying smile. "Including you, sire?"

Merlin saw, in the candlelight, as the King's cheeks turned a bright pink and he tore his eyes back down to his scattered desk. "Well I would certainly be miserable with George all the time."

The well put-together man only did half of the usual tasks given to a manservant of the King. Merlin woke Arthur, dressed him, served him breakfast. He attended him at feasts and every night, he readied the King for bed. No one was taking that from him, as far as he was concerned. Unless Arthur told him to go, he would be here, always by his side.

"Have no fear, your highness, I will always be here to save you from manservants with no personality."

"Thank the gods for that." Arthur said, all too serious.

Merlin tried to lighten the mood, with a small chuckle he asked "Did you honestly think that Morgana and I-"

The King cut him off, scrunching his eyes closed in embarasment. "Gods, I didn't know, okay? I knew you cared for her but I didn't know if it was more than-"

"It's not. I care for her as a sister. I care for her as you do."

Arthur smiled at him. "That is good to know." He tapped on the wooden surface of his desk with a finger, staring at the motion in thought. Merlin just watched him.

"So, you don't have your eye on anyone, at present?"

Merlin's brain froze still. How was he supposed to answer that? "I…wouldn't say that." He responded quietly, not looking away from Arthur's stark blue eyes.

Arthur seemed almost disappointed, but not surprised. "I thought as much." he said with smile that did not reach his eyes.

At Merlin's questioning look he said, "You're often daydreaming when I find you alone. With some dopey looking smile on your face." He tried to sound offhand when he asked, "Who's the lucky lady?"

Merlin decided, for once in his life, to be honest when asked a question. Looking at his feet once more, he responded. "Not a lady at all, actually." the man sighed, bereft. "A complete idiot that they somehow allowed to be King though he can't even dress himself most days. I don't know how the kingdom hasn't-"

His rambling was cut off once again by the King. But this time a completely different tactic was used.

The kiss was hungry, while Arthur's hold on him was gentle. As if he were afraid to break something precious.

They come up for air some minutes later, now grasping onto each other for dear life. "We should've done that ages ago." Arthur whispers into the air between them, causing a giddy laugh to ride up out of both of them.

Their love is like flowers growing up out of the frozen solid ground. Or a gust of cold air in the dessert.

[allthehumanflaws]

Reunion of Albion

[This is just a short headcanon that I had about BBC Merlin. Hope it helps you somewhat forget the pain of the finale. :)]

Nearly 1500 years after the death of the Once and Future King of Camelot. There is a shift in the air. The birds of Camelot seem more cheerful than ever. Everything seems as if shifting. The sun is brighter than before and the Queen stands in her room looking out in wonder. 

"Merlin! What is happening?" she called out. "I have no idea Gwen, but whatever it is I feel strangely happy." "You were looking for a counter spell, did you find it? It has been the same of years now." "No Gwen. Even the Great Dragon has no answers." said Merlin. 

Neither of them had aged a day. For 1500 years they were the same as they had been on the day when.... Some strange curse had befallen Camelot. The Queen, Sire Leon, Sir Percival, Merlin and Gaius had not aged a day. Nor had a lot many people. The world around them had reached many heights but how much ever Merlin tried he could never bring that change to Camelot. How much ever he tried he couldn't reverse the curse. It was as if Camelot was stuck at one place in the loop of time. Each year Merlin would try to do something to reverse it but nothing has worked. 

"Your Majesty! There is something happening at the Lake of Avalon." said Leon bursting inti the room. It wasn't far away so all of them set out immediately. 

"Merlin, Gaius do you know something of this?" asked Percival. "No. This is not something I know of." replied Gaius. The Lake was shining with a bright light. The trees were swaying to an unheard tune. There was some sort of movement in the middle of the Lake. 

Merlin stepped closer. In his heart, he knew what was happening. He had known a day would come when they would be reunited. A day when they all will return. All of them stared open mouthed. A bright light blinded them all. When they opened their eyes, it was a sight to behold.

Middle of the Lake their stood Arthur in all his might with the Excalibur glinting in his hand. Beside him stood Gwaine, strong and smiling his own sword in his hand. Elyan stood beside him, grinning from ear to ear and Lancelot, stood there smiling at his long lost friends. 

The Once and Future King has returned and with him have returned the Knights of Camelot. They were welcomed with open arms and flowing tears. There was a banquet and a feast. There was laughter and love. Camelot had returned to its full glory. But Merlin had not shed a single tear all day. It didn't seem real to him. To him, it seemed another of his many dreams. To him, it would all end. He had seen this before it ended with Gaius waking him up but as he decided that his going to sleep would end this, Gwaine came up behind him and said, "Merlin! There you are at last! I have been looking all over the place for you. I am a bit rusty, point me to the Tavern?" "Sir Gwaine has forgotten where the tavern is !? I must be dreaming!" said Percival. Leon entered behind him laughing followed by Elyan and Lancelot. Then came Gwen and then Gaius. Last of all came Arthur. They all laughed, and Merlin stared at them, tears finally prickling his eyes.

"Merlin, you idiot! What are you staring at?!" said Arthur smiling. 

He had them all back. He had them back and now he realized what had happened to Camelot. Albion was no other than Camelot. He was Albion and because he was awaiting the arrival of The Once and Future King with his Knights, Albion waited as well. And now the wait was over for Albion had finally been reunited.

[It's not enough to remove the pain, but I hope it's enough to give you hope that all was well after all. Hope you liked it!!]

[mightybog]

Gwen & Merlin | Teen & Up | No Archive Warnings Apply | Word Count: 500

Post-Canon | Ghosts | Grief & Mourning | Immortal Merlin

For @merlinmicrofic with the dialogue prompt "almost" and the @tavernfest Merlin Horror Month 2024

An elderly Gwen summons Merlin to Camelot on Samhain. Their old friends walk the Earth again for a night.

☾ ☾ ☾

She was sitting by the fire in the chambers she had once shared with her husband. The flames sputtered in the grate, attacked by the late autumn winds. Upon the hearth there were food offerings; it was Samhain, the eve of the night the dead woke from their sleep and roamed the Earth once again.

“Merlin,” Gwen called to him softly, her eyes shining and a little cloudy in the light, evidence of the cataracts laying claim to them. She stretched out her hand and he hobbled over with his staff and took it. It was soft, wrinkled, but strong. 

Gwen had received him earlier in the throne room but this, with the night blackening the windows, was when they could truly speak. 

He sat down groaningly beside her. Immediately, she leaned towards him in her chair and poked his knee. “I heard a rumour.” 

He leaned as well. “A rumour?” he croaked. 

“I’m told that you're not as you appear to be. That you…” she seemed to search for the words. ��They say nature has not taken hold of you as it has me.” 

He opened his mouth but she stopped him.

“Let me see you as you really are... Please.” 

He changed, letting go of the glamour he had assumed. 

By the way she reached out, he knew she couldn’t help it. She cupped his unbearded face, swiped a thumb over his cheek like there was a tear there just as her own eyes filled. 

“It’s like…” she trailed off in wonder. 

“Seeing a ghost?” he guessed. 

“No,” she shook her head, retracting her hand. “No. I should know… I called you here because-” 

There was a knock at the door. 

She cleared her throat, emotion leaving her voice. “Come in.” 

A knight entered.

“Is it time?” she asked.

“Almost.” 

“Help an old woman up, Merlin?” 

They were on the ramparts of the outer walls, it had been a struggle to get up here, but Gwen, now bundled in Merlin’s cloak, had been singularly determined.

It was a full moon but the night was choked with mist. 

Merlin’s magic prickled, beyond the walls something had stepped back onto the mortal plane. 

He tried again to implore her to return to the palace. “Gwen, it's Samhain, we shouldn’t-” 

“Just… Watch.” 

He grimaced but did as his queen bid. 

A horse whinnied faintly, like the tail end of an echo. From the mist, three caped figures on horseback were given form. Ceremonial Camelot banners, washed grey by the night, waved silently in a non-existent wind above them. Their shape, their faces, tilted up, serene, their eyes on the queen – Merlin startled. “It’s-!”

“Gwaine… Lancelot… and Elyan,” she finished, her voice breaking more with each name. 

“But..? Gods, why-?”

“They came last year, and the year before that,” she said, breathing. She drew her borrowed cloak closer. “I know now. They're waiting for me.” 

In Avalon his friends would be together again. Death had never been kinder, and fate more gruel. 

[winters-mistress]

Cirilla's broken heart.

It's Geralt of all people who breaks the silence between them. Ironic, really, that the man of so few words finds them when nobody else can. After all this time, after everything that happened, it falls to him to speak, to comfort, do to something, when nobody else knows how.

Everard! Gwain! Wake up!

His daughter and his brothers had told him she had yelled, throwing the witch's blade as the two witchers shoot up in their beds. His girl, his strong, beautiful, brave girl, had had a few precious moments of lucidity in the midst of her docility, and with it, she had saved them, imprisoning the demon in her mind.

The time between Yennefer's betrayal and the hard, frantic ride to Kaer Morhen do not make sense to the witcher. From the moment he holds his sword to her throat to that where he pushes her off him as he seeks out his girl, time doesn't add up. That's why he's tried so hard to fill in the blanks, why he asked the two of them, and his father, what had occurred in their perspective. They could handle it, they were strong, and his daughter had made sure they had survived the battle, but coming to his daughter to ask what had happened to her was something he wanted to avoid for as long as possible. The last thing Geralt ever wants to do is hurt Ciri.

"Asking how you are is a stupid question," Geralt begins. He hears his daughter inhale, but he cannot see her, she's facing away from him. "so, what are you feeling?" He thinks that's the best way to go, honesty and bluntness.

Everard had told him the ivory-hilted blade had sat in the wall with a satisfying clunk as Ciri had yelled at them to get back, get to Vesemir, get help, before the demon had taken her again, her face falling slack before falling sly, emerald eyes glowing a horrific shade of neon.

His girl, his brave girl, had fought the demon, and she had won, but it had came at a cost. She's only just recovered enough strength from her fainting and vomiting spells she'd had once they returned from the mysterious sphere. She's not strong enough to walk the keep, so she doesn't know about the destruction and the bodies of the basilisks. Geralt hopes they can rid the bodies and scrub the blood and fix the tree and the walls and the tables before his girl is well enough to start her training again. The last thing she needs is more pain.

"I-" Ciri's voice is tired and soft, it doesn't speak of thirst or gritty like she'd swallowed sandpaper. Geralt had heard her speak in many ways, loud and relieved when they'd met in the forest, monotone and untrustworthy before Nivillen, tearful and shaky once they'd left, strong and stubborn when they would train and spar, angry and bitter when Geralt had denied her the mutations. But never like this, defeated and exhausted, it chills him. "I don't know," she pauses, pushing a lock of hair from her face. It's undone and falls in curls and waves, she hardly ever wears it down, it makes her look younger and more like the Princess she is, especially with the clean white linen tunic she wears. "I don't know what to feel, what to say." Now, Cirilla turns towards him, her legs folding up behind her.

"I understand." But he really doesn't, he doesn't understand it all. He so wants to, he wants to take that pain he sees in his daughter's eyes, he wants to hold her against his chest the same way he felt when they reunited in Cintra. Will she smile if he gives her a few of her favourite strawberry jam cookies? Or will a blade do it? Will she allow him to come closer, hold her and protect her from a world that hunts her for reasons neither of them understand?

By the time Vesemir had came to Everard's room, Ciri -was she still? Or would it be more accurate to call her Voleth?- had gone. She was on her way to the medallion tree by then. Was he there then? Going up the mountain, coming into the courtyard?

Trapped within her own mind, Geralt doesn't know what she was forced to see, and it startles him. No, it scares him. His daughter is so strong, so brave, whatever that demon had forced into her mind had hit below the belt. Ciri had survived the Cintran slaughter and weeks on the run, her night with the beast and the vampire, months with unruly witchers and the betrayal of Yennefer, she had survived it, and had never reacted as such.

"How many?" She looks up at him, eyes tired, but set, as if she's resigned herself to a horrible fate.

"What?" He frowns.

"How many did I kill?"

Ah. He supposes she wouldn't know what she did after the last monster was taken down by Coën.

He knows what it is to be resigned here. Just days ago, Geralt had walked cautiously around the keep, thinking that this next turn would be the one where he would find his girl on the ground, used and eliminated due to the demon's influence. Maybe Yennefer would have gotten to her again, lead her by the hand to her death in exchange for chaos.

Geralt's fist clenches. He's so furious with Yennefer. How dare she. How dare she do that to him? To them?

The battle had begun after Voleth had refused his offer of himself as a sacrifice to save his child. Witchers crowded around her, swords at the ready, after Jaskier had ran inside the room and told them about what Yennefer had done, about how her deal with the demon had lead to Ciri being possessed, and of how the girl clearly didn't want to do them any harm, with how she had broken out of her trance and yelled to alert the witchers of the danger.

Thankfully, all the swords were pointed at Voleth, and not Cirilla. He didn't know what he would have done if Ciri hadn't saved his brothers, and the vengeance had been turned upon her instead.

Ciri had had moments of lucidity, where she had managed to push the demon to the back of her mind, enough to ask him to help her, to warn a brother of an incoming attack, or a weakness in the basilisk, but he didn't know what the girl had been through in the moments where her body was not her own. When she herself had been locked inside her own mind like a bluebird in a golden cage, he had been too busy trying to figure out a way to free his girl.

He cringes as he steps forward, watching her neck as she moves her hair. He remembered the sick crunch when she had been forced into submission, when it looked like a black, shadowy hand had grabbed her hair and forced her back. Vesemir and Gwain had heard too, for they took a moment to stop fighting their shared monster to see the source of the noise, before coming back to reality.

"None." Geralt comes back to earth, realising that she was still waiting for an answer, loathe to leave her waiting for words like he had in those first couple weeks on the winter road. "Do you not remember what happened, after Yennefer?"

"No." she whispers, fiddling with her fingers, looking down in shame. "I don't remember much from being on the road until I fell into you." Ciri pauses, licking her lips, looking up. She meets his eyes, and she looks tired. "I only remember parts of the fighting."

"Would you like to know?"

"Yes, of course."

"Well, after Yennefer came into the room, she tried to give you a potion, clear the demon from you that way. All the monsters were dead by then, my brothers all coming over to see what she was doing."

"And?"

"It didn't work, clearly." Geralt walks towards her, and takes her weight as he sits beside her, his girl leaning upon his shoulder. He holds her steady, holds her strong, he will be strong so she can be weak, so she can be vulnerable and upset and frightened. Lord knows she must not have had the chance much since the slaughter. "Then she had an idea, cut her wrist and let the demon come to her instead, leave you alone."

"And that didn't work as well."

"No. It was a foolish plan. All that happened was that she fainted from blood loss quite quickly after."

Ciri chuckled humourlessly. "Sorceresses are always self centered like that."

"Indeed. I don't know what you said, what you did, but you whispered something, and then there was a loud noise. Horrid, really, even for a witcher." He nods. "A large, black figure appeared in front of you, it was shadowy, as if it was a ghost. You looked over at the room, yiur eyes were black, like all the other witchers, and suddenly you woke them all up. Even Marek, with his lack of face-" he notes that Ciri winces as if she was struck. "And Timron, with his no legs, Roose and Lukas, you brought them all back. Even Eskel and Remus, several others, too. They just appeared out of thin air, from boots to head. You brought them back."

"What? How? They weren't there." Ciri is surprised.

"You don't tend to obey the laws of the world, sweet girl. The word impossible doesn't seem to hold weight with you."

Ciri chuckles, her eyes filling with tears. She sniffles, burying her face into his shoulder.

He holds her, calms her, runs his fingers through her knotted blonde hair.

"Thank you, little wolf," Geralt says, once she's pulled back. He's lay a hand upon her cheek, comforting her as much as he is cleaning her cheek of tears.

"For what?"

"Bringing my brothers back. Thank you."

"It seems rather undeserved, when you consider I had no idea or no control over it."

"Even still. Thank you."

Ciri closes her eyes, hiding back in his hair.

"Then what happened?"

"You looked back at the shape, and it disappeared. You fainted into my arms. We thought everything was okay when you woke up, because Yennefer was healed, too, and you were free, before all the doors and windows slammed closed. Fires burned out, the lot."

"Yeah, I remember." She settles into his shoulder. "She came back for me, and I portaled us to-" she sighs. "somewhere."

"Yeah," he shuffles. He wishes he could say something to comfort her about the wraiths, what they said to her, but he finds none. "Yennefer's fine, by the way, you healed her when you healed us."

"And her magic, is that back?"

"No." He whispers, "she still knows all her spells, but she tried to light the fires and couldn't. She was upset, but she's not the priority anymore."

"What'll happen to her?"

"I don't think I can let her go with the knowledge she has, about you and about here."

"What?" Ciri pulls back quickly. Geralt's shoulder is cold, he wishes she was still where she was. Her eyes are wide, disbelieving, bright emeralds in a sea of coal. "Are you kidding? You're letting her stay?"

"She told me she helped you make a portal in Nenneke's."

Ciri hung her head. "About what happened there-"

"Shh, it doesn't matter." Geralt soothes, bringing a hand back to her face. "She took you from me, but we are together now."

She sniffles.

"When did you speak?"

"When you were asleep, two days ago."

"And that's that, then? She's staying here?" Ciri sounds nervous.

"To be no more than a tutor to you. I don't trust her, you don't trust her, my brothers don't trust her, but she told me that she helped you with a portal, and that's more than what Triss ever did. I'm told a portal I'd complex magic, too."

"But-" she starts. "You can't-"

He frowns. "What's wrong?"

"You don't understand what happened. When she took me away, we ended up at Goldencheek's house, you remember, the wife that saved me? The husband that saved you?"

He nods.

"Geralt, the fire man-" she swallows thickly. "the fire man got them. Got them all, her, her husband, and the two boys." Cirilla reveals.

Geralt allows himself a moment of grief for four lives so needlessly wasted. For the two boys who were all in all innocent, yes, he knows one of them caused his girl a bit of bother, but children should never die in their parents' war. He grieves for a woman so kind to open her heart to Ciri for no other reason than that she wanted to. And he will grieve for a long while a man who was so generous and honourable that he qiuld save a lowly witcher and put up with his sharpness and hostility just because he felt it was the right thing to do.

"After I found them, Yennefer-" Ciri takes a calming breath, sniffling as more tears come to her eyes. "Yennefer told me they were keeping you hostage in Cintra. Hurting you. Torturing you, because of me." she reveals.

Geralt says nothing, just stares at this child. This sweet, beautiful, vulnerable child who had been betrayed by everybody in her world apart from a sweet farmyard mother and a handful of mutated witchers holed up in a crumbling castle.

By the gods, how could he be so blind? How could he have fallen for Yennefer's charms so easily that she could disarm him and illusion him into thinking she had his child's best interest at heart? Surely it was because Yennefer's one mission since he had known her was motherhood, and now she had an opportunity, she does this?

As he looks at her now, all he feels is rage for the woman. Her deception aches in his bones, the depths of it startling him. He knew she had trapped Ciri and was going to lead her by the hand to the demon, but somehow this -as small of a sin as it was in comparison to that- was worse. Yennefer had messed with Ciri's mind, told her that he was in danger because of her, manipulated her and deceived her. All for what? Nothing, in the end.

"Ciri," he starts. But he finds that he doesn't know how to finish the sentence.

It seems like he doesn't have to.

The girl sniffles and wipes her tears, a fruitless task as more simply streak her cheeks, before crawling over to him and placing herself into his lap, curling into his chest and neck. His arms bound around her, warming her and keeping her safe.

"I don't want her to be with us." she sniffles. "She betrayed us, everybody always does."

"You have me, Ciri. And my brothers and Vesemir and Jaskier, you should know that I'm not going to forget this. What she's done, to us and you. I promise, I won't forget this. And I will keep you safe from her if she tries anything."

"Where is she now?"

"Infirmary. Jaskier took her there after you healed her. Stitches."

"So, you promise not to fall to your knees to her if she flutters her lashes again?"

He chuckles. Ciri bites a grin, looking so conflicted with her red eyes and her wet cheeks.

"Promise. Me and you against the world, pup. I'll keep you safe. From monsters and men and mages alike."

Ciri smiles.

"I don't want her to be with us, but if you think it's best, then you need to play bodyguard. I won't trust her again, you do understand that?"

"Of course." He wipes her cheeks again. And thankfully, they stay dry.

Ciri cuddles into him. "Rest some more, sweet girl. When you feel up to it, you can come downstairs and meet the brothers you helped."

"As long as they're not all like Lambert." Ciri yawned. "Can't handle another arse in this place."

Geralt laughs. "You can see Remus throwing him off a snowplough if you like."

Ciri smiles. And closes her eyes.

"You'll be here when I wake up?"

"I will, little one. Rest now."

[morganalefay]

Could you tell us about AM Dream a little dream of me? And TSAC chap12? ☺

Thanks for asking! :) So Dream a little dream of me is an ArMor fic that is pretty much just in outline form now, but it's an idea that has been stuck in my head for a while now and won't let go.

This would be alternative version of Merlin s3, where Morgana wants to get rid of Uther, but doesn't hate Arthur - rather she wants to ensure that he will do better than his father, and decides to put herself in a position to control him. To ensure that she can manipulate Arthur, Morgana uses dream-walking to get inside his head and seduce him/learn more about him. This is heavily inspired by Salem 1x07 Our Own Private America, especially the line, "Dream-walking in any man is dangerous, let alone one you love. You could lose your way and never come back."

Morgause cautions Morgana against dream-walking too much, but Morgana obviously doesn't listen. Arthur struggles to tell dreams from reality, and at some point Morgana loses control and ends up too deep, seeing some dark memories of Arthur's (think Merlin 4x10 with what happened in the druid camp) Arthur also sees inside Morgana's head and gets a glimpse of some things she wants to keep hidden.

---

TSAC chap12 is obviously the next chapter of "the stars are crying (for what we could have had)" I have this and the last chapter all mapped out, I'm just moving very slowly. Chapter 12 includes Arthur & Morgause teaming up to overthrow Uther, which I love because fuck Uther lol. Also Gwaine is back (yay!!) because his moments with Morgana are some of my favorites.

Anyways here's a snippet from the beginning of the chapter:

Life in Camelot was grueling most days, though of late things were worse than ever, and Arthur was starting to feel worn thin. A group of his knights had ventured onto Cenred’s lands on Uther’s orders, and now all of them were reported to be dead. Including Leon. Gwen burst into tears when she heard the news, and Arthur couldn’t blame her. It felt like all they did was lose people they cared about anymore. Arthur had met with Morgause a few times since she found him in the woods, though they still hadn’t agreed on a plan to overthrow Uther. Morgause's original plan involved too many civilian casualties, and Arthur refused to harm his people when only Uther was to blame. Arthur was growing impatient, but Morgause insisted that they would find a way. Sometimes Arthur found himself questioning whether trusting Morgause was the right choice, but he knew she loved Morgana almost as much as he did. Morgause would ensure that Morgana came home again, and that was worth any risk to himself.

[merlinisnotover]

Emptiness

Whumptober Day 31 tw: major character death

Merlin was no stranger to death. He had watched men die of illness, wounds, and self-sacrifice. He’d seen innocents put to death that he couldn’t save. He’d seen knights fall in battle, baring their teeth against the pain. He’d seen Lancelot give his life gladly for Camelot, despite Merlin’s protests. He’d laid his king to rest and the tears had not stopped for weeks. He’d returned to Camelot to find Gwaine gone as well and been inconsolable.

But this?

He couldn’t do this.

Hunith lay on her bed, only a trace of the strong woman he was raised by. She had been sick for months and Merlin had moved back to Ealdor to care for her.

His magic had been useless, even with all of Gaius’ books at his disposal, Court Physician in his own right now, and it soon became apparent that it was only a matter of time.

“Merlin,” Hunith whispered, and he fell to his knees at her side in an instant.

“Yes?”

“You’re a good boy,” she said. “I’m proud of you.”

Merlin’s eyes began to tear again and he blinked them away. He was so tired of crying.

Hunith coughed suddenly, and Merlin rolled her to her side to help clear her airways.

“I’m not ready to say goodbye,” Merlin whispered when she had recovered.

“I know, cariad. None of us ever are.” She patted his hand on the mattress, papery skin over boney fingers. “It’s time though. You can’t fight time.”

“I want to try,” Merlin admitted. “I wish you’d let me move you to Camelot. We could find something to help —.”

“I know,” Hunith said again. “But this is my home. I belong here.”

Merlin nodded glumly, not wanting to waste time having this argument again. “I know.”

She lifted her hand and cupped it around his cheek instead. “You’ll be fine. You’re a strong boy.”

Merlin laughed wetly, the tears pressing at his eyes again. “I don’t feel very strong. I feel like a small child again.”

Hunith patted his cheek. “And you’ll always be my small boy, my magical boy. All grown up and Court Physician like my uncle. I’m so, so proud of you.”

“I love you,” Merlin whimpered, clutching at her hand.

“I love you, too, cariad. More than I can ever say. But I have to go.”

“Not yet,” Merlin begged.

“Merlin, I know you can feel it, too.” Hunith looked up at him with sunken eyes.

“Yes,” he whispered. “You should rest.”

Hunith smiled again, her dry lips cracking.

Merlin pulled the blankets up over her too-thin chest and stoked the fire to make sure she was warm, then settled into the chair beside the bed to keep watch.

The rattle of her chest began sometime past midnight, startling Merlin from his thoughts.

“Mum?” he knelt beside her again, taking her hand, but she didn’t stir. It would be soon, then. The dying always knew.

He sat with her for hours, her breathing become more and more shallow as the night dragged on. Just as the dawn was beginning to break over the village, she took a breath in, out, and did not draw another.

Merlin turned her hand and felt for the pulse at her wrist, but none came. She was gone.

Falling back onto the floor, Merlin sobbed until he couldn’t breathe. His eyes ached as they produced more tears than he thought possible. And his heart constricted around the empty space his mother left there.

Merlin was alone.

[queerofthedagger]

Monaaaa beloved goose 💛 angst prompt #1 for Gwen/Gwaine 🥰☺️

Most beloved goose, of fucking course you'd make me unwell about them...

This Beltane Dance

Gwen finds him in one of the larger villages along Escetir’s border, an hour’s ride south from Ealdor.

It has been months since Gwaine left Camelot, a sentence of banishment and Gwen’s rejection dogging his steps; or perhaps that is considering herself too highly.

Perhaps she had got it right the first time, and he had been doing nothing but flirt with her as he did with every other remotely attractive person he came across. Perhaps she is going to arrive in Lyndhurst and make her way through the Beltane crowds, with Gwaine nowhere to be seen.

He shouldn’t be; she has not given him a single reason to meet her beyond Merlin being the one to send the letter, and surely, even someone like him has better things to do than wait for a servant girl from Camelot.

The village looms not far ahead, and the nerves in her stomach drive a merciless knife through her carefully constructed canvas of a life that is secure and certain and all mapped out.

Gwaine should not be here; she had sent a letter, offering no explanation to Merlin in the way that she knew would keep him from asking. She had accompanied him on his visit to Ealdor, and barely stopped long enough to greet Hunith before disappearing without another word.

If anyone were to understand, it would be Merlin, she thinks, letting it soothe the ache of regret burning beneath her heart.

She rides into Lyndhurst, stalls selling food and trinkets lining the main street, garlands adorning the spaces above, and knows that she will find him exactly where she had asked him to be.

She wishes that the knot within her stomach was anything less than excitement. ---

In the end, he finds her. In the end, he drags her along to the Beltane fires without any explanation regarding his presence here. He makes her jump across the leaping flames, again and again, until luck pants exhausted through their lungs, and his hand feels glued to hers as if it belongs there, always, always, always.

“You came,” she says, useless, hours later. He is sprawled out beside her on dry straw, the fires still dancing, and she cannot tear her eyes away from his long, elegant fingers wrapped around a cup of mulled wine.

He tips his head back to look at her; for once, his smile is small and private, something solely reserved for her. “You asked,” he says; as if it were that easy.

It sounds like a revelation. It sounds like absolution, the simple matter of his voice and his affection flushing away the weight that is Morgana’s name, Arthur’s expectations, Merlin’s secrets.

She smiles, her heart reckless, and presses her fingers to the corners of his mouth. She demands, “Show me more,” and he laughs as if that is all he has been waiting for.

He does; drags her across leaping flames and into spinning dances until their laughter is the only sound permeating the bristling night air. Twirls her, round and round, until their laughter merges into each other, his dark eyes so bright that she might drown in them.

His lips warm, unerring, when they find hers; peace, after all, as if she deserves it. ---

In the end, morning dawns; it has always been waiting to happen, but for just a few hours, Gwen had pretended that it would not.

Up north, Merlin is waiting for her, ignorant and too entrenched in his own secrets to ask.

Back in Camelot, both Morgana and Arthur still wait.

She looks at Gwaine sleeping beside her, tracing his sharp, beloved features, and wonders if she could not make herself a home here.

“You have to go,” he tells her, not an hour later; if it were anyone else, she might take it as a dismissal.

As it is Gwaine, she presses her fingers to the lines of grief in the corners of his eyes, and says, “And what if I did not?”

It is a reckless notion, stupid, except for how it is not.

His smile is brittle, all the same. He presses his forehead to hers and says, “Come on, your Majesty; don’t give me false hope.”

We both know that you are going to go back, he does not say.

She swallows the protest, the justifications, the hurt and the fury and the pleading.

Back at home, Morgana is still waiting. So is Arthur, Merlin, everyone else.

She presses her lips to the corner of Gwaine’s mouth and vows, “One day. One day, I’ll stay.”

He smiles at her, but the strength of his fingers against her waist tells her that he does not believe her.

The strength of her fingers clenching in his hair tells the story of how she does not believe him, either.

✨December Gift-Ficlets ✨

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Don’t Run

Prompts: hello hello hello i have a merlin fic idea (which you are Not obligated to write /gen) merlins been hiding his magic from arthur for ages (but arthur already knows about it, doesnt really care, and has just been waiting for merlin to tell him on his own terms). merlins magic gets revealed and merlin is Terrified. he basically begs aurthur to not burn him and instead banish him or something. arthur (who was not expecting this) decides hey maybe its a good idea to let all these emptions calm down before I talk about this with him because clearly merlin isnt okay right now. and so he leaves merlin to let him have a break. but merlin freaks (or gets kidnapped or something idk /lh) and decides 'fuck it time to run before he decides to kill me.' arthur now has to go find this magic dumbass (he's probably very worried about him) However, when he finds merlin, merlin assumes arthur is there to kill him and figures 'well if arthur wants me dead i suppose i'll have to die' or something.  arthur is naturally horrified and rushes to clear things up. again, if you dont want to write this/dont feel comfortable writing it, dont /gen (i know its detailed brain went brrrr at like midnight and thought this up lmao) have a great day!!! drink water or get bonked /lh - anon

me, as the angsty person i am, am a sucker for the 'Person A gets kidnapped or captured for a bit and when they're rescued think they're dreaming/hallucinating' trope. no pressure for you to write this ofc, feel free to ignore this /gen - anon

prompt: can you please do a Merlin gets betrayed by someone he cares about h/c fic? also can merlin be aroace and trans? - anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: panic attacks, betrayal, anti-magic sentiments

Pairings: merthur, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Word Count: 3725

It was supposed to be a normal hunt. It was supposed to be a normal hunt. 

It was supposed to be this: they get out of the castle so Arthur can be less of a prat, the knights have that weird banter that they always do where it’s ‘we can make fun of him but if anyone else tries, you will be eviscerated,’ and Merlin gets to enjoy being in the woods because it’s nice outside and he doesn’t actually have to do that much. They only tend to hunt small things like rabbits and birds anyway. 

It was not supposed to be most of the knights having to stay behind for various reasons, including Gwaine who somehow got swept into helping Leon with a council thing. 

It was not supposed to be just him, Arthur, and three random knights. 

It was not supposed to end like this. 

Merlin grunts, hitting the ground hard as a sword slams into his back. He gasps, struggling to find purchase on the loose dirt as the sound of shouts reach his ringing ears. He turns over, trying to get up, only to have the point of a sword leveled at his face. 

“G-Gareth?”

Gareth, the knight who had actually been decent to him—which meant he’d helped put away his equipment, helped Merlin tidy up, and actually been nice to him—snarls down at him, sword still aimed right at his throat. 

“What—what’s going on?”

“Don’t play dumb, you wretched thing,” the man growls, the point of the sword perilously close to slitting his throat, “I’ve had my eye on you since I came to Camelot.”

“Your eye on me—what? What’re you talking about?”

“As if you don’t know!”

Merlin’s breathing grows ragged as the sword forces his head back down on the ground. Gareth leans over him, spittle flying from his lips. 

“You’re poison,” hisses the same mouth that called him kind, called him compassionate, called him hopeful, “you’re a plague that deserves to be wiped out. Scum and traitors, all of you, inhuman bastards that drag the rest of us down to your level.”

It’s the shock of the words that does it, bringing tears to Merlin’s eyes as the conviction in the man’s face drives the sword down further. “G-Gareth, I—“

“Don’t.” 

He winces as the sword digs in. 

“Keep my name out of your hell mouth,” the man spits, “don’t try and curse me.”

“What,” says the most glorious and furious voice Merlin has ever heard, “is the meaning of this?”

Arthur.

Arthur storms up to them, his own sword drawn, eyes like flame as he sees Gareth with his sword at Merlin’s throat. 

“Drop it,” he warns in a voice of steel, “and I might just let you keep your life.”

“He’s a sorcerer, sire.”

Merlin’s blood runs cold. 

No. 

No. 

No, no, no, no, this can’t be happening. 

Not like this. Arthur wasn’t supposed to find out like this. No, he was—he was going to tell him, promise, he was but—but after, after everything was fine and fixed and then—then he could—

Not like this. Please, not like this. 

“A sorcerer? Merlin? You must be joking.”

“It’s no joke, sire.” Gareth snarls again. “I saw him with my own eyes. His eyes glowed, he threw a spear halfway across the arena without his hands. He has magic, I tell you.”

Merlin looks helplessly at Arthur but all he sees is a stony face. The blade turns him back after a second, back into the face of contempt and hatred and all the things that hurt far worse than any sword. 

“We must kill him,” Gareth says solemnly, “to root out the poison before it destroys us all.”

And before Merlin can say anything, before Arthur can say anything, he lifts the sword and makes to swing. 

“Merlin!”

A blast and Gareth is flying back across the clearing, smacking against the tree and falling to the ground with a clang. 

It rings in the still air. 

Merlin’s eyes widen. 

He doesn’t hear the cries of sorcerer, magic, evil over the pounding of his heart in his ears. He doesn’t see the light glint off of blades as they’re pulled from scabbards. He doesn’t feel the threat of others getting closer over the dread of what he’s just done. 

He’s killed himself. 

He used magic to hurt one of the knights of Camelot. 

He revealed himself in front of Arthur. 

What have I done?

“Sire, what do we do?” He hears the voice from a mile away. “I’ve never killed a sorcerer before.”

Never killed a sorcerer before. 

He’s asking Arthur how to kill a sorcerer. 

Arthur knows how to kill a sorcerer. 

Arthur has killed a sorcerer before. 

Arthur is going to kill me. 

Merlin shies away from them, curling up into a ball before realizing that could be seen as defiance and whimpering, throwing himself to his knees with his hands raised. 

“I’ll go,” he croaks, “I’ll—I’ll leave, you’ll never see me again, just—just let me go. Banish me instead.”

Please, just let me run. 

He can’t look at Arthur’s eyes, filled with rage and contempt like Gareth as he strikes him down. He can’t look at him like that, he can’t do it. He won’t survive that alone. It wouldn’t be the sword that kills him. 

“Please—please, I’ll go. I’ll go and you’ll never see me again,” he begs, “just—just let me go.”

“Pathetic,” another one of them says, “is that the best he can do? I’ve seen a dog beg better than that.”

Arthur still hasn’t said anything. 

“We need to kill him, sire,” Gareth says—oh, he must’ve gotten up— “who knows what he could do?”

Merlin finally looks up, if only to see how close they all are, and his eyes lock with Arthur’s. 

He can’t see any of the man he knows. 

“Return to camp,” says the stranger who wears Arthur’s face, “pack the supplies. We must make ready for a hasty retreat back to Camelot.”

“But sire—“

“Now.”

Two of the knights glance at each other and slowly begin to back away. Gareth remains for a moment longer. 

“Be wary, sire,” he says, “he’s tricky. Did his best to seduce me, he’s a wily one.”

“I can handle him. Go.”

Gareth shoots one last truly disdainful look at him before he retreats into the undergrowth, the sheen of his sword the last to vanish. 

Then it’s just the two of them. 

“Arthur,” Merlin gasps, “Arthur, please—“

“Shut up.”

The words are different. They’re not playful, not irritated, not—not Arthur. They’re cold. Impersonal. An order. They strike Merlin like rocks from a sling, making him flinch into a sharp rock that jabs right through the thin material of his trousers. His throat closes until only pained and pitiful whines can escape. 

They remain where they are for a long moment before Arthur begins to retreat as well, sword still held aloft, backing away until he’s far enough that Merlin can hardly see him. Only then does he turn. 

Merlin watches the single spot of red walk away from him until it vanishes into the forest. 

His magic tingles in the tips of his fingers and a soundless yell burns his throat as he shoves his hands against his chest, trying to make it go away, this is all your fault, you ruined everything, you always ruin everything!

He has to run. He has to run because sorcerers die in Camelot, they’re put to the sword or burned at the stake and he can’t look at Arthur while he kills him. He can’t. He just can’t. He’d sooner die of that than whatever execution they can dream up. 

With stumbling and clumsy steps that are dragged down by his traitorous magic that for some reason doesn’t want him to flee from the site of his execution, he scrambles to his feet and runs. 

If Arthur—if Arthur finds him after this, he can say he tried to run. He can run again, he’ll keep running. He’ll spend his life running if it means Arthur won’t kill him and he won’t have to see it. 

He runs harder and faster than he’s ever run before because Arthur is a warrior who’s been trained to kill since birth and he’s stronger and faster and can run for longer and if he catches Merlin—

He loses track of where he is. He just runs. 

But his magic, his damned magic, that has always loved Arthur more than it loves him, won’t let him. 

Like a tether from his navel that twists through the forest, he knows exactly where Arthur is. And exactly when he starts to give chase. 

A wretched sob tears itself from his throat and he pushes on, his magic dragging him back each step as Arthur gets closer, closer, closer, and he’s no longer just hearing his own breath and phantom footsteps as he crashes through the woods. He can hear the snapping of twigs, the rustling of leaves, and that voice. 

That damned voice. 

“Merlin!”

He can’t stop. If he stops he dies. If he stops Arthur kills him. If he stops he—he—

His magic all but throws him over a root and he yelps, turning into a frightened scream as he’s pitched down a hill and into a boulder with a crack. 

“Merlin!”

Leaves rustle as Arthur skids down the hill after him and he’s so close, he’s right there and Merlin has to run, he has to run now, but his legs are shaking and his arms won’t work and his magic keeps tugging him back toward Arthur and he just collapses into a useless, cowering mess at Arthur’s feet. 

“Merlin!”

“No—no fire,” he gasps out, “please, you—you can do it here, I won’t fight, I won’t—you can use your sword, please, no fire, I don’t want to burn—please, no fire—“

A strong hand grips his shoulder and pulls him in to—

No sword pierces his chest. No dagger finds a home in his gut. There are no hissed words, no glares, no low solemn speeches about magic as a plague. 

He can’t even see Arthur anymore. Just the hill. There are two tracks in it. One where he fell and one where Arthur skidded after him. Red fabric flutters in front of him too. Arthur’s cape.��

Why can he see Arthur’s cape?

Only when a head turns and breath starts to puff over his neck does he realize what’s happened. 

“A-Arthur?”

“Don’t you ever,” Arthur says in a rush, chest still heaving against Merlin’s where he’s pulled him flush against him, legs tangled in a heap, “scare me like that again.”

He’s…he’s in Arthur’s lap. Arthur’s holding him. Arthur’s hugging him. 

Arthur has his face buried in Merlin’s neck and he’s telling him not to scare him like that again. 

“Arthur?”

“You,” he says, and he sounds like Arthur again—a very angry Arthur, but at least it’s Arthur— “are the biggest idiot I’ve ever met.”

He pulls back and his eyes are still on fire but he’s looking at Merlin like a starving man. 

“Why did you run? You could’ve been hurt! You were hurt, you slammed into the rock like it broke your back.” He runs a hand over Merlin’s spine as if reassuring himself Merlin’s not hurt. “You idiot, I almost lost you.”

Merlin just blinks. Almost…lost him? Doesn’t Arthur want to kill him?

“Well?”

Oh. Arthur’s waiting for an answer. “Aren’t you going to kill me?”

Arthur’s face goes white, slack in horror, then contorts anew in red rage. “No, Merlin, I’m not going to bloody kill you.”

“B-but you—“

“I didn’t want the others to try, you absolute petticoat,” he says, still glaring, “because you’re a little lamb who rolls over whenever anyone is trying to fight you except me—which is rude, by the way—and you wouldn’t so much as lift a finger to defend yourself if they tried!”

…that’s why he sent them away?

Arthur rolls his eyes when he voices that thought. “Yes, Merlin. They’re under the impression that they’re to start back to Camelot without me to gather reinforcements.”

Reinforcements—the knights—no— 

“Calm down, you idiot, they’re not actually going to—oh, for the love of—Merlin.”

Merlin listens to that. He freezes in Arthur’s arms as Arthur’s hand comes up to cup the back of his head. He stares at him pointedly, gaze flicking from one eye to the other. 

“I lied,” he says slowly as if he’s talking to a child, “so they would leave.”

“You…you did?”

“Yes. Because then I could talk to you about having magic—hey,” he says firmly as Merlin tries to pull away again, “none of that. Stay with me.”

Another order. He can do those. 

“Right. I wanted to talk with you about having magic so that now we can work together to keep things like this from happening and—where are you going?”

“What do you mean now,” Merlin asks, eyes widening as he tries anew to struggle away from Arthur, “what does that mean?”

“Merlin, I’ve known you’ve had magic for a while now, and—“

“You what?”

“Come on, you’re not exactly good at hiding it all the—hey!”

Merlin had flailed, succeeding in loosening Arthur’s grip and sending them both falling over. He scrambles up, trying to claw his way free but Arthur is faster and he’s on him in an instant. 

“This isn’t working,” he hears Arthur growl to himself before arms like steel bands close around him, hauling his back against Arthur’s chest as legs lace through his and pin him well and truly. 

“N-no—“

“Shh,” comes Arthur’s voice, suddenly soft and gentle and Merlin hates the way he instantly relaxes, “easy, now. It’s alright. You’re alright.”

A truly pathetic whine leaves his mouth and Arthur hums. 

“I’m not going to kill you,” the gentle voice says again, “I’m not going to burn you and I’m not going to use my sword. You will not die.”

But he’s a sorcerer. Sorcerers die in Camelot. 

“I sent away the others to protect you. They’re not going to hurt you either. The knights—our knights—won’t let you be hurt and neither will I.” Arthur’s lips brush the shell of his ear. “You’re safe, Merlin. I’m going to protect you.”

“But,” Merlin gasps, “but I’m a sorcerer.”

“Yes,” Arthur says patiently, “you are. I’ve known that for a while. You are Merlin, you are a sorcerer, and I’m going to protect you.”

“Sorcerers die in Camelot. You—you should kill me.”

“I am not going to kill you. You are mine,” and there’s a hint of steel in his words now too, “and no one is going to touch you.”

His magic thrums in his veins and slowly, slowly his breathing slows. 

“If I let you go, will you run again?”

“N-no.”

“Alright.”

Arthur lets him go and Merlin doesn’t run. He lets Arthur turn him around and cup his neck again, the other hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t look mad anymore. 

“Is that why you ran,” he asks, still speaking softly, “did you think I was going to kill you?”

When Merlin nods, looking away in shame, he just hums again. 

“I’m not going to kill you.”

“I know that now.”

“Mhm. So when we go back—“

“Back?” Merlin’s head jerks up. “You’re not banishing me either?”

“What part of ‘I’m going to protect you’ did you not understand?”

“B-but I thought—“

“No, you didn’t,” he says in that soft voice that makes the insult almost an endearment, “you didn’t think because you didn’t realize that I could never kill you or send you away. I’d sooner leave with you.”

His magic hums as if to verify the truth in his words. “You…you would?”

Arthur frowns, but it’s not an angry frown. “You really don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

“How important you are.”

The forest seems to fall silent. 

Merlin’s eyes widen so much he’s afraid they’re going to fall out of his head. And Arthur’s just looking at him with his face all sincere and his voice is still soft and his hands are gentle where they hold Merlin like he’s something precious and—and—

“What?”

“All those jokes,” Arthur says, “about you and being replaceable and being the worst and a coward…I never really meant them. Never. Well, you are an awful servant, but none of the others. I don’t want you to leave.”

Slowly, like he’s coaxing a skittish animal to him, he pulls him closer. 

“I want you.”

Something in Merlin’s chest breaks and he’s sobbing into Arthur’s shoulder in the next moment, hands scrabbling uselessly at his cape, his armor, his hair, every bit of him that he can reach. Arthur weathers the storm like a castle in a gale, holding him tight enough that he won’t blow away. 

“I want you,” he whispers, sweet rain in the clouded sky, “I want you to stay, Merlin.”

————

He’s on his back. He’s got a sword at his throat. Arthur stares down at him like his glare is enough to burn him alive and he’s snarling out Merlin’s name. 

“Magic is a plague. You’re poison. You’ve betrayed me. How could you do this?”

Merlin can’t speak. His mouth trapped shut. Arthur lifts the sword. 

“You’re nothing but an inhuman beast,” come the words that hurt far more than any mortal weapon, “you, who cannot love, who are of twisted mind and body, you who do not understand what it is to be a human.”

All of the secrets he’d hoped to hide…exposed for the world to see.

“May all of Camelot curse your name,” he growls, “Merlin. Merlin, Merlin—“

“Merlin!”

Merlin gasps, jolting upright, trying to get away from the sword, just run—

“Merlin, calm down,” Arthur says, wrapping his arms around him and coaxing him to his chest, “it’s only a dream, Merlin, it’s only a dream.”

No, no, this must be the dream. Why would he be in Arthur’s chambers, at night, in bed, in bed with Arthur—this can’t be—

“Shh, shh, shh, sweetheart,” Arthur murmurs, lying back down with Merlin in his arms, “I’ve got you. It’s only me. You’re safe.”

“A-Arthur?”

“Yes, sweetheart. It’s me.” There’s a mouth on his neck. “Just me.”

He’s still panting, the run still pushing through his legs. Arthur hums, settling him into the blankets and propping himself up over him. 

“Where are you right now?”

“Forest,” Merlin chokes out, “sword. You were going to—to kill me.” He swallows. “Said all of Camelot would curse my name.”

“You’re with me,” Arthur says gently, “we’re in the castle. I’m not going to kill you. Can you see?”

He looks around. There’s the desk. There’s the window. Arthur’s white nightshirt is shining in the moonlight. 

“…yeah.” He swallows. “I’m—I’m not abusing you, am I?”

Arthur almost reels back in shock. “What? What on earth are you talking about?”

“I—‘cause I can’t—I can’t love the way that—“

“Stop right there,” Arthur orders, leaning down and cupping his face in his hands, “don’t you give a damn about that, you hear me? I care for you, I’m fond of you, you care for me, you’re fond of me, yes?”

“Y-yes.”

“Then that’s all that matters.”

Merlin swallows again. “And I’m not…wrong?”

“‘Wrong?’”

“…you don’t mind—“ he blushes— “my—my body?”

“Your bod—goodness, Merlin, this must’ve been quite the nightmare.” Arthur shakes his head. “No, Merlin, your body’s yours. You do what you like with it.”

It says something about how rattled he is that he doesn’t reach for any of the jokes he could make right now. 

“Hey,” Arthur calls, leaning down and carding his fingers through his hair, “be gentle with yourself, alright? That was a horrible thing that happened, let it heal in its own time.”

“But it’s hard.”

“I know.” Arthur leans over to kiss his cheek. “Trust me, I know.”

Merlin rolls over, wrapping his arms around Arthur as he chuckles in surprise, pulling him into a proper cuddle. 

“You just have to stay, then, until it feels better.”

“Oh, Merlin,” he hears faintly as sleep begins to tug at him once more, “you don’t need to make reasons for me to stay. I’m staying with you, sweetheart, for the rest of our lives.”

[fandomwriterstuff]

A Seat at the Round Table (10)

Mob!Stucky x Female Reader

Rated T

~1.3k words

Steve and Bucky explained to you that Barton was in fact a name. Clint Barton. Notorious prankster and Natasha’s official spy partner. Also known as Gwaine. You didn’t even know that super secret agent spies were a real thing in New York City. The more you know. 

They also reassured you that Clint had spoken to them and agreed to sharing his name with you. His words (a direct quote according to Bucky) were: “If you trust her Boss-man, then I trust her.” You were feeling the love with everyone sharing with you, but you were also feeling a bit of imposter-syndrome. What if you weren’t trustworthy? What if you were kidnapped and asked for information and gave away their names and location? 

When you brought it up to Steve and Bucky they agreed that that would be unfortunate, but they knew you would never do it intentionally and they would never let you get kidnapped again. You also got brownie points for approaching Natasha about self-defense (an endeavor that would be starting that very afternoon). 

Bucky also noted that you didn’t actually know where in the city they were, which you didn't even realize was true. You weren't observant the times you came back here. 

But it was for the best, you supposed. 

The prank war continued, you hadn’t seen Natasha since her guttural scream the night before, and you assumed Clint was in the doghouse.

“What are you thinking about, beautiful?” Bucky asked as he reached behind you and tucked your shirt tag back into your shirt. You smiled, life really was about the little things, and Bucky and Steve seemed to understand that. 

“I haven’t seen Natasha, I was wondering what Clint did to her stuff,” you answered as you popped a piece of fruit into your mouth. Steve chuckled from across the table, newspaper in hand. He looked over the top of it to give you a grin.

“He replaced her after-shower lotion with unscented self-tanner. You haven’t seen her because she’s been trying to not look like an Oompa Loompa,” your eyes widened into saucers. 

“I contributed to that,” you squeaked, your anxiety suddenly flooding your brain again. 

“Don’t worry, princess. Like I said, she won’t hold it against you this time,” Steve winked at you and it did calm your nerves the slightest bit. You felt like you were riding a rollercoaster with all the emotions you were feeling the past week, but it was so much better than the monotonous numbness you felt when you were kept at home and not allowed to do anything. These feelings were new and wonderful… And all thanks to Steve and Bucky (and Sharon and Sam, of course). 

“Thank you,” the words tumbled out before you could stop them. “I don’t know what kind of trouble I would be in right now if not for you two,” you looked up and made eye contact with each of them briefly. “I’d be alone at my house with nobody and nothing while my father got himself into deeper and deeper problems. Defenseless.” You sighed and Bucky, who still sat beside you, rubbed a comforting hand up and down your back. 

“You’re not defenseless of your own accord, and none of this is your fault. Your father kept you safe, but he also kept you very sheltered, and not in a good way. You’re very strong to stand up to him like you did and to trust us,” he offered you a soft smile and you looked over as Steve folded up the paper and smiled over at you.

“We care about you, Y/N. We don’t want you getting hurt because of what your father did,” you offered a slightly watery smile back.

“I haven’t had a lot of people openly care about me,” you rolled your eyes and tried to force the tears back. “I mean clearly my father cares about me in his own twisted way, but no friends, no family, no… anybody,” you reached out and grabbed the hand that was closest to you, Bucky’s metal one, for comfort. “It’s new and I feel all warm and fuzzy inside,” you giggled at the thought. “And I…” You paused, hands suddenly clammy. You weren’t sure if Bucky could tell since you were holding his prosthetic hand, but you sort of hoped he couldn’t tell how nervous you were. “I care about you two as well. A lot. It’s a little scary and everything is happening so fast. But I also feel connected to Sharon, Sam, Clint, and Natasha. Everyone here has carved out a little place in my heart and I’m honestly terrified to lose you all,” you let out a shuddering breath. “I’ve never had something I could lose before.”

“You’re not going to lose us,” Bucky’s voice was soft and Steve came around to sit on your other side. You still held Bucky’s hand as Steve cupped your chin and tilted it towards him. 

“Do you know why?” His voice was soft and you blinked up at him, shaking your head gently in his light grip. “You’re special, and we don’t want to let you go.” With those words swirling around in your mind, you weren’t altogether shocked with Steve’s next move, but you also didn’t totally see it coming. 

With his hand still cupping your jaw, he leaned in so your foreheads were touching, and your eyes fluttered closed in anticipation. 

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he breathed the words, lips a hair's breadth away.

“Please don’t stop,” you whispered back, and then he caught your lips in a soft kiss. It felt so new, having someone kiss you who genuinely cared about you. 

You’d kissed people before, sure. But you’d never kissed someone who you planned on seeing for more than one or two dates. You’d never been kissed with such gentleness and care. And when Steve brushed his tongue against the seam of your lips, you let him in. You reached up to hold the back of his neck with your free hand and brushed your fingers through the short hair at his nape. He tasted like strawberries and syrup, the remains of the delicious breakfast you’d shared. When he pulled away, you opened your eyes to see his soft smile. You would have been content to stare at that beautiful face all day if not for the gentle tug on your hand, the one still holding Bucky’s.

“You gonna give me some love too?” He asked from beside you, mirth in his voice. Everything felt as if you were experiencing it in HD IMAX slow motion in the most wonderful way. You pulled your hand away from Steve and turned towards his partner, excited at this new turn of events.

“Only if you ask nicely,” you teased him, smiling as he chuckled. 

“My sweet, beautiful, charming princess, would you bestow upon me a kiss?” He was charming and he knew it. So you did what your body was begging you to do, you pulled him closer by his hand, reached your free hand out and ran your fingers through his thick hair and pulled him into a kiss. You knotted your fingers into his hair, his own hands reaching out to grasp your waist. The kiss was just as wonderful as Steve’s, but different in a good way. Bucky slid his tongue into your mouth with practiced precision and you felt every stroke of his hand up and down your side. His thumb snuck its way under your shirt and was rubbing circles on your soft skin there. 

When he finally pulled away, you were breathless and wanting for more. 

“That was…” You started, blinking owlishly at the brunet in front of you who was smirking with pride.

“Yeah, it was,” you giggled at his response and leaned back so you could see both of them.

“I would like to do more of that,” you admitted, smiling shyly. You received giddy, boyish grins in response. 

“Feel free, darling. Anytime, anywhere.”

Part 9 Part 11

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Everything is right with the world;

The gang discover a hidden talent of Merlin's whilst they enjoy the peace:

It’s been one year since the ban on magic was repealed. One year since Merlin became Court Sorcerer. One year since Sir Mordred and Lady Morgana became his students. One year since the never-ending peace began.

Sir Gwaine was the one to insist on a celebration, though the others were pleasantly surprised when he ardently denied that he was just looking for an excuse to drink (”You're all well aware that I don’t need an excuse. I just think we’ve... we’ve done some incredible things, ya know? We’ve worked ourselves to tears, to the bone, to the point of bleeding; do you not think we deserve an evening to just relax and be merry?”).

So an evening was put aside. Everyone’s schedules were cleared; things were taken care of earlier in the day or pushed to the next afternoon, and they all gathered in a clearing an hour or so from Camelot’s city walls. The captain of the guard had been informed where they were at Arthur’s insistence, it wouldn’t exactly be safe to have the city go without the entirety of the Inner Council, even for only a night.

Percival had dragged a cart of firewood behind him (none of them had wanted to waste any time collecting it), and once he and Elyan have it arranged in a neat tower, Mordred waves his hand, mutters a spell, and encourages it to burst into hot, energetic flames, under Merlin’s proud gaze, of course.

Merlin was happily wedged between Morgana and Leon, content to watch conversation flow between his friends as he thinks back on the last year, on all the things that had changed. His pleased gaze slides over to Gwaine when the man bursts into loud, drunken laughter at something Lancelot had said. Not everything has changed.

A quick breeze whips through the clearing and Merlin can feel the knight next to him let out an involuntary shiver at the sudden drop in temperature. Whilst everyone’s distracted by the flaring of the fire, he slips their fingers together, muttering a few golden words until Leon untenses, leaning slightly into his shoulder to soak up his warmth. The knight turns his head, dipping a quick peck to Merlin’s shoulder and muttering a quiet:

“Thank you, Merls.”

Merlin’s grin grows, and if another flash of his eyes has the flames morph into a Dragon, swirling around the circle and conveniently blocking the two from view? Well... no one notices. Everyone cheers as the fire roars and spits and flies about, and Merlin copies Leon’s earlier affection, pressing a kiss to the knight’s shoulder before letting his head fall to rest there softly. He waits until everyone’s excitement over the Dragon peters out completely before lifting his head, and reluctantly wishing it away.

It wasn’t that they were ashamed, but the relationship was special and new and just for them. It wasn’t anyone’s business, and though they loved their friends endlessly, they weren’t quite prepared for the questions and prying and teasing that came with them knowing. That, and the two of them had a bet going: would Arthur have seen it coming, or would he be caught completely off guard? 

Leon would go as far as to say that Arthur already knew, what with how long and how well he knew them both. Merlin thought the exact opposite, the man was oblivious; it took Merlin saying “Arthur, I’m sorry to be the one to break this to you, but you’re in love with Gwen.” for him to realise his own feelings. At which point The King had gone “Fuck. How long?” and Merlin had to tell him that it had been, unfortunately, years.

Thankfully for everyone (the pining really was unbearable) the two had quickly sorted themselves out, and were sitting on the opposite side of the circle to Merlin and Leon, hands intertwined under Arthur’s cloak in a way that they thought was subtle, but really wasn’t.

Merlin silently congratulates himself on all that he had achieved (including their union), and by default, thanks the heavens for giving him Leon, an expression of gratitude that he asserts often; the First Knight was the only reason Merlin felt worthy enough to give himself the credit he deserves. He spent the first ten years of his life in Camelot absolutely certain that he was the monster under the bed inspiring bravery in others, yes he was... essential, in a way, but he was by no means a hero. That, and he was convinced that Arthur would’ve managed just fine on his own, at which point he once again has to remind himself of how much of a dumbass The King can be sometimes.

The laughter is boisterous, fuelled by good alcohol and rich food and a buzzing happiness that they all want to hold on to forever. Merlin takes a few more seconds to quietly observe before throwing himself into reminiscent conversation, reminding everyone, much to Arthur’s chagrin, of the stint of time he had spent braying like a donkey. Arthur retaliates by bringing up the time he and Gwaine found Merlin head to toe covered in mud; the Warlock raises a challenging eyebrow at that, stating that, in no uncertain terms, if Arthur wanted to turn this into a competition on who had seen the other do the most stupid shit... then Merlin would definitely win.

Arthur grumbles some more, but can’t help the grin that spreads across his face when Gwen pats his shoulder consolingly. The bright smile on Merlin’s face certainly helps as well; Arthur had been deliberately ignorant of the way Merlin was suffering for years, choosing to ignore cracks in the man’s façade because it wasn’t what he wanted to see. He hadn’t realised quite how dark his manservant’s eyes had gotten, how fake his smile was, until the brightness returned on the day of the ban repeal.

He’d never quite stopped kicking himself for not realising sooner, and he figured if Merlin taking the piss occasionally and knocking him down a peg is what gave him that wide smile... then Arthur was just fine with that. He would begrudgingly admit, to no one but himself, that it was probably good for his ego as well.

The evening slowly dims around them, but no one’s spirits drop with the sun, instead being elevated to even higher levels in the moonlight.

~

Darkness had fallen an hour or so ago, and a gentle lull in the conversation has everyone staring into the flames tenderly, thanking whatever deities they each believed in, or perhaps just the universe itself, for granting them such a golden chance at perfection. There were still bandits and difficult trade negotiations, still slavery in neighbouring Kingdoms and beasts roaming the wilds, but Camelot was prospering, and the world would soon follow.

Merlin, in a fit of...courage or sentimentality or something else equally as soft and warm, swelling in his lungs and up his throat and down to his fingertips, untangles his hand from Leon’s and mutters a few words, waiting for the inevitable weight to materialise in to his lap. Everyone feels the familiar prickle of magic, but no one looks away from the fire, and Merlin feels that gratefulness crackle in every bone of his body; never before had he dared to imagine a time when the feel of magic didn’t make his friends even a little bit afraid.

No one bar Leon notices what he’s summoned, not at first, not until his fingers, now soft and free of callouses, pluck the first few notes of an old, barely remembered song. They all look to him softly, and though none of them knew he could play, no one dares break the peaceful spell, content to save their questions until another day. The introduction to the song is long, and after he plays it over a few times, Gwen finally speaks, her voice, barely a whisper, carries through the clearing:

“Do you know the words, Merlin?”

He doesn’t stop in his playing, but nods softly, his voice even softer:

“Hmm, yeah, but I’m not much of a singer.”

Gwen widens her eyes and sits up straight, a playfully outraged smirk on her face despite her still gentle tone:

“Liar. I never said anything because I didn’t want you to stop but... you sing while you work. You’ve got a lovely voice, Merlin.”

Merlin flushes slightly and he almost refuses again, but Gwen’s desperate face and Leon’s warm hand on the small of his back encourage him; he smiles gently, taking a breath before softly beginning to sing.

“Her eyes and words are so icey, oh but she burns, like rum on the fire...”

The knights and Morgana all start slightly, taken aback by Merlin’s voice, but Arthur, Gwen, and Gaius just smile to themselves. They’d never heard Merlin sing so deliberately before, but they’d definitely been unintentional audiences to the odd verse, here and there. Leon holds in a grin; part of him was definitely bitter than it was no longer his secret, a guilty pleasure he could indulge whenever sleep eluded him, but he could still do that whenever he wished, and a greater part of him was proud that others got to share in the beauty that was Merlin’s singing voice.

The softness of the moment was captivating in a way that made them wish for the moment to never end, as if they were bathing in starlight or being painted with the colours of a sunset. But they each had to remind themselves that, just like the stars would shine every night and the sun would never stop sinking, Merlin was here to stay; they could ask him to sing at any time.

No one moved an inch as Merlin sang, and though this gathering, with fire and starlight and magic and music, was something they could do every night if they wished, something about this specific event felt special and memorable; they all had a feeling that this image, this atmosphere, would hover in the back of their minds for the rest of their long lives, a reminder of all they once worked for, and all that they worked to keep.

The song comes to a soft ending, and the few second of silence afterwards is too long and too stifling, the absence of Merlin’s ethereal singing too heavy, so no one argues when Arthur softly requests another, nor does Merlin deny them:

“Of all the money that e’er I had, I spent it in good company...”

The lute is plucked again, though not nearly as insistently as before, but no one minds, all accepting easily that the strings were accompanying Merlin’s voice and not vice versa. 

Arthur turns to his love, and no one can find it in themselves to gag or mutter something vulgar when he presses a soft kiss to her forehead; not even Elyan can bring himself to send The King a protective glare.

Gwaine has his eyes closed, hands folded serenely in his lap as he leans his back against a tree, face angled to the starlight. Merlin doesn’t think he’s ever seen the energetic man so calm; he always seem to be on the go, though Merlin always got the impression that his jumpy playfulness was to cover his paranoia and constant need to watch his own back. Percival and Elyan look equally peaceful, in a way that Merlin had never seen in them before; the former had met Lancelot after some sort of terrible disaster had befallen his family, and the latter never stopped carrying the guilt for abandoning his sister. The darkness in their eyes had been a constant until now, and Merlin found himself willing to play forever if it meant the three of them would stay this happy.

Gaius looks ten years younger, the frown lines on his face almost non-existent as he stares at his ward with proud wonder; even Mordred and Morgana, who feel the oppressive weight of their destinies on a constant basis, even now, suddenly look light, like they had no troubles in the world, and knew for certain that it would stay that way forever.

The song comes to a quick close, but Merlin doesn’t need prompting to start another. The Warlock’s eyes are drooping, but his fingers don’t freeze and he uses the long introducing instrumental to press another brave kiss to Leon’s shoulder; Merlin can feel the knight’s soul flare with happiness at the affection, and he wonders why he ever thought he’d need bravery to kiss this man. 

Leon moves his hand to the floor behind Merlin, holding himself up and welcoming the Warlock’s back as he tucks himself into this semi-embrace, still playing. No one seems to notice the casual affection, or if they do, they don’t react, too caught up in their own peace to be bothered about questioning or prying or teasing (though Gwaine, when he cracks an eye open and sees it, definitely makes a mental note to do all of that tomorrow, when the world isn’t quite so still).

The words begin, and though both the lute playing and the lyrics are just a little quicker than the previous songs, no one minds the change in tempo, all happy to sit and listen to whatever Merlin saw fit to play, and frankly, Merlin thought this one was the most fitting of them all.

“Oh, hot sand on toes, cold sand in sleeping bags, I’ve come to know that memories are the best thing we ever had...”

A song all about memories made with friends, warmth in their bones and the feeling of starlight and the blessed morning that they know is coming.

They stay in the clearing until the edge of the sky turns pink and the fire burns down to embers, and whilst they had spent the majority of the night dreading having to return to the real world, they find the walk back to the city is an easy one. They know that, whilst they’re leaving the evening behind, they’re taking more back home with them: a sense of peace, wrapped in a ribbon made of bonfire smoke and starlight.

It goes without saying that Merlin and Leon walk back hand in hand at the back of the group, and Gwaine decides that it isn’t quite tomorrow enough yet for him to start taking the piss.

The world unfreezes, but the peace stays.

~

THE END!!!

Ok so I really wasn’t planning for this one to be so... quiet? I’ve never really written like this before, I think I like it, but I’m not sure, so let me know what you think! :D

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[blog-for-merlin]

someone read this merthur WIP for me bc it was so good writing it <333

Arthur had been going on these rides ever since Morgana's death. He always went alone, but Merlin knew that no matter how far he rode, he'd end up at the grave. The first few times, Arthur would still be out at the early hours of dawn and it was Merlin who'd go out to find him under the willow tree by the lake where Morgana had been laid. Arthur had insisted she be buried, not cremated. I want her by my side. If not in life, at least in death. On those dark mornings Merlin would find his King, so strong and dignified when leading his people, drunk and sobbing on his knees, begging for his sister's forgiveness, always clutching a bouquet of baby's breath. Merlin would crouch down next to the mess that he called his king, cup his face, red from either all that crying or all that mead. He'd wipe away the tears from his cheeks, and let him tell stories from his childhood that he'd heard a thousand times before. He'd hold him in his arms when his voice cracked and the tears came splashing down again and when the first light came, he'd gently pull him up off the ground, use his fingers to comb his sweaty hair, golden in the sun's rays and mount him onto his beloved horse Phillip. Then he'd walk the horse back into Camelot, making sure to enter through the backside of the city walls where Gwaine would be waiting to let them in.