#gaius’ priority always seemed to be the king? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bitsandbobsofwriting · 4 years ago

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The Magic Reveal fic we deserve, in which Merlin gets as angry as he deserves to get:

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Don’t get me wrong I LOVE a magic reveal with a Merlin who feels bad about lying. I love a reveal with Arthur being furious and Merlin crying but then they talk it out and all is well. I think it's pretty in-character for Merlin to want to see Arthur come to his own conclusions about magic, without being influenced by Merlin’s opinions

BUT I also kinda wanna see Merlin get angry? Like, why should he feel bad about hiding himself in a kingdom where "himself" gets him nothing but a pyre?? Yeah, he and Arthur are close, but unless you've lived with a secret like that (one that will get you shunned, hated, or even killed) then, and I CAN'T STRESS THIS ENOUGH, it doesn't matter How Close you are with someone, how certain you are that they would never hurt you, or care either way, it will almost ALWAYS be scary to tell them. So like. Let Merlin get angry:

I'd say Arthur has been king for maybe a year at this point. He's still a new monarch, still a lot on his plate, BUT also still plenty of time for him to have repealed the ban on magic, or at least started working on it.

But he hasn't.

Granted he hasn't executed anyone in a while (banishments and prison time are the norm, executions are only used nowadays for high treason). BUT the law still remains, it's still technically punishable by death, to be a sorcerer.

Arthur and Merlin have little hunting trips, when Arthur is getting too stressed and losing too much sleep, when he trains the knights too hard and snaps at even Gaius, Merlin (or sometimes even Leon, if they're both being grumpy arseholes) insists that they leave the city for a day or more, to go hunting.

The council have been told it's so the King can keep up with his fitness, can keep familiar with his lands, and keep his skills sharp (he only has enough time to train with the knights a couple times a week nowadays, a far cry from the several hours he used to do every morning without fail), and that keeps them satisfied.

The Gang (the Knights, Gwen, Gaius, and Morgana (she's good in this because that's what I want let me have this)) know the truth, that sometimes the two of them just need a few days to goof off and be themselves, to finally get some time to relax. They'll grab a couple hares and maybe a stag on the way back if they can, so they can at least pretend that's what they've been doing the whole time.

These trips can last anywhere between a day, to two weeks, and Arthur leaves the same set of instructions with the council and the knights every time:

"The safety of Camelot’s people is your highest priority. I leave Sir Leon in charge of everything to do with the knights, patrol, and should any form of conflict arise. If there is an emergency, you are to consult the Inner Council (I don’t know if that's a thing but let's say it is; its The Gang), and send a squire on horseback to fetch me immediately. There's one boy in the troupe who always manages to track me the down the quickest, so make sure he's the one sent, Sir Leon knows who I speak of."

(He's improved over the years, but Arthur is still very... cagey, when it comes to compliments, and his trust. Leon will never mention it, but the fact that Arthur leaves the safety of the kingdom to him, without hesitation or worry, makes him feel greatly honoured. That is the highest form of trust Arthur is capable of giving.)

ANYWAY I feel like most of this has just been backstory so let's get into it:

Normally it's Merlin or Leon who demand that the trip needs to happen.

This time

It's Arthur.

Arthur has tried to ignore it (he's trying to get better but he's not great with emotions and stuff, the big dummy) but Merlin has been in a sour mood for weeks now. He's been quiet and withdrawn, snappy, and has been avoiding Arthur whenever possible.

At first it was easy to ignore, when it started a few months ago it was barely noticeable to anyone who didn't know the two of them Very Well, but in the last few weeks it's become a problem.

Arthur reckons a trip might do them some good. Merlin can relax, and will either get over whatever is bothering him, or be comfortable enough to talk to Arthur about it.

So they head out. Merlin doesn't seem too happy about the trip but he doesn’t complain.

(Odd in itself, if Merlin is unhappy about something he usually makes it known.)

The first couple of days are... odd, to say the least. It seems that every time Arthur notices Merlin relax, he quickly tightens up again. One short, joking conversation is followed by a few more hours of painful, awkward silence.

Arthur comes to the daunting realisation, that if he wants to help is friend (and the love of his life but like... baby blondie has hardly reached that conclusion himself, he might need a bit more time on that) is to confront it head on.

So they're settling down in the evening. The fire is roaring, the horses have been fed and watered, dinner has been eaten, and the two of them are sat at opposite ends of the fire (Very Odd, they're usually glued at the hip, especially when it's just the two of them).

Arthur looks at his friend properly for the first times in a while and he Does Not Like what he sees.

Merlin is visibly exhausted, big bags under his eyes, and his skin paler than normal, scowling ever so slightly into the fire. Shoulders tense, and hands gripping each other until the skin on his knuckles is white. And despite all that, Arthur thinks that Merlin looks more sad, than angry.

Maybe Merlin notices Arthur's staring, they hold eye contact for a little while before Merlin becomes sort of... resigned?? To the fact that he's gonna have to have this conversation whether he wants it or not? He goes to say something but before he can, Arthur interrupts him:

"So Merlin. How do you think I'm doing so far?"

(Which is a stupid thing to say, really. But Arthur is, as we've already established, extremely emotionally constipated, and he figures that finding out what's wrong with Merlin indirectly, and then subtly fixing it behind his back, is a far better idea than asking him to his face.)

Merlin clenches his jaw and looks away it this, his reply and his body language clearly sending different messages:

"You know what I think. You're going to be a great king."

Arthur thinks : "(Going to be? I've been king for a year, there's been no war and far fewer attempts on my life than when I was a prince. There's been a good harvest, all diplomatic meetings have gone well, and more peace treaties, and trade agreements, have been signed in the last twelve months, than in the ten years before it. I know I can still do better but... does Merlin not think I'm good?")

Arthur says : "Going to be? I think I'm a pretty great King already if I do say so myself."

"Then why ask? Besides. There are a few things you haven't done."

Merlin's tone is biting, even though he tries to force it out casually. Arthur notices. ”There are a few things you haven't done”... that means something specific.

"Hmm. I suppose. What things did you have in mind then, Merlin?"

Arthur also tries to sound casual, but the question comes out very pointed

Merlin desperately doesn't want to say it out loud, in fear of revealing too much of himself, so he goes with the vague answer of:

"Promises were made. I guess I just figured you weren't the type to break them, that's all. I'm sure you'll get there in time."

Merlin sounds sort of hopeful there. But the sort of hope that he's been living with for years, the sort of hope that has a layer of sadness and resignation laying over the the top like a tablecloth.

Arthur notices:

"Promises?" He doesn’t want to talk too much or too loudly, in fear that Merlin realises that he's speaking openly and clams up again.

Arthur has realised, over the last year or two, that despite their closeness, despite the endless conversations they seem to have, he doesn't really know all that much about Merlin. He knows he doesn’t spend as much time picking herbs, or in the tavern, as he and Gaius would claim. He doesn't know his favourite colour, or season, or holiday. He doesn't know when abouts his birthday is, or what he likes eating. He doesn't know much about his childhood, he's never mentioned his father.

(Despite all this, he's still in love with the idiot, but again, a revelation for another time.)

Merlin responds "To the druids. You promised they would be welcomed, that magic would return. I know your opinions on magic-"

(The manservant visibly shuffles at this, uncomfortable.)

"-but I figured a promise is a promise. Keeping your word had always seemed so important to you. Before."

Arthur notices the past tense. Like Merlin doesn’t believe that Arthur holds importance to his word anymore:

"I'm not my father Merlin. There have been no executions just for the sake of it since I took the crown."

Merlin’s reply comes quickly, in a harsh tone:

"Yes I know that. But your fathers law still remains. It's technically still punishable by execution just to exist as a sorcerer in your kingdom."

(Arthur notices the thinly veiled disgust in Merlin's voice when he mentions Uther. Arthur knew that Merlin disliked the previous king, but he didn’t think he hated him that much.)

Merlin is getting more and more visibly frustrated at this point. Both at Arthur, and the topic of conversation, but also at himself, for letting himself become so worked up over something he'd sworn to keep Arthur away from.

"You really didn't like my Father did you Merlin?" He says it with a chuckle, trying to keep the conversation light and casual.

(This is NOT a conversation that should be light and casual, his friend is in pain, and revealing more of himself than he ever had before, this should be serious. But Arthur isn't quite sure how to do that, so inappropriately light and casual is what he goes for.)

Merlin responds with a quiet, but forceful:

"I hated him. I still do. He's your father, I know that you're not him, and I know you can't help your heritage. But I'll never forgive Uther for what he did. And I'm not angry that he's...gone."

Arthur's very much taken aback at that. He knows everyone has... strong opinions on Uther, but they've never voiced it in front of him.

"Why?? I mean I know he put you in the stocks a couple of times, but so have I to be fair. Why do you hate him so much?"

(This is the point Merlin gets angry. Or angrier. This is when he stops trying to hide it, stops trying to hold it in. Arthur hadn't gotten angry at Merlin for talking about Uther in such a way, he was just curious. Merlin had been planning on telling him the truth at some point anyway, so he might as well do it now, with no one else around, and Arthur in a goodish mood.)

Merlin jumps up, clenching his fists and staring Arthur in the eye for the first time since the start of the conversation, breathing deeply.

Arthur is taken even further aback at Merlin's sudden unwillingness to hide his true reaction to the topic at hand, but he doesn't say anything, and just waits for Merlin’s response

"Why?? Why do I hate him? Maybe because he was blinded fear and selfish hatred."

Merlin stops and looks away, but doesn't sit down, still tense.

I imagine he's waiting for Arthur to say something, but he doesn’t, opting to wait for Merlin to carry on himself, unwilling to remind Merlin exactly who he was talking to, and about what.

After a few moments of silence, Merlin continues, getting angrier with each word as he paces:

"Your father, the Great King Uther, murdered thousands of people. He committed genocide, because he insisted on blaming other people for his own mistakes. He didn't pay attention to the fine print, and killed his own wife and in return, he executes THOUSANDS of MY people. Just for daring to exist. He was so full of hatred, but he, of course, was infallible so it MUST have been someone else's fault. He was incapable of admitting his own mistakes and the injustice that went unpunished is indescribable, he was a tyrant, and a murderer, and I'll never forgive him."

(Arthur knows the truth about what happened to his Ma in this story, I don’t know how, he just does. And it's a topic of conversation he avoids like the plague.)

At the end of his little outburst, Merlin stills. He is shaking as he glares at the floor, and is more furious than Arthur has ever seen him before.

The King notices the little slip up.

"Your people?" He says, so quietly it's a wonder Merlin hears it.

Merlin freezes at this, at the realisation that there's no real way he can play this off. He was planning on telling him at some point anyway. They're miles away from the city in the middle of a large, barely tamed forest. If he needs to run for his life, he could get away easily enough.

"Yes Arthur. My people. You really should've let me speak first."

Arthur is reminded of the fact that Merlin had opened his mouth to say something, before he'd interrupted him at the beginning of the conversation. It felt like it was hours ago now, but it was really only a few minutes.

The King isn’t nearly as shocked as he thinks he should be. He knew there was something odd and secretive about Merlin, and he'd considered that he might have magic in the early days, but that hadn't been a genuine consideration for years.

He wants to be angry, and selfish, and furious at Merlin for lying to him all this time. But after hearing Merlin’s little speech, does he really have any right to?

Yes, Arthur hadn't executed any sorcerers, but he also hadn't changed the law. He hadn't stood up to his father and he certainly hadn't tried to stop the executions before he was King himself. Can he really blame Merlin? For being scared? For being angry?

"You're a sorcerer." It's not a question. It's a statement. In his mind he knows the truth, but it needs to be confirmed, out loud, by Merlin himself, before they can move the conversation on.

"Yes."

And that's all he says. Arthur waits. And when he's tired of waiting, when he realises that Merlin isn't just gonna carry on talking this time, he speaks up:

"And?"

"And what, Arthur? What do you want me to say? That I'm sorry I lied? Yes, I feel bad for lying to you, but I'll never apologise for protecting myself in a kingdom that would see me burn. And I would do it again in a heartbeat"

Arthur nods. He's tense, but he notices that he isn't scared and he wonders why, after all, as far as he was aware magic had only (almost only) caused him pain and fear.

(In the back of his mind he knows why he's not scared. Merlin doesn't have an evil bone in his body, and he's met the druids, he knows that some magic users are peaceful.)

He looks up at Merlin to see him staring at him, a sort of challenging look on his face, like he was daring Arthur to prove him right. Daring him to be selfish, and angry, and just like his father.

But when Arthur looks deeper. Really Looks at Merlin. He sees the fear, Arthur has no doubt in his mind that Merlin could escape, or even fight him off, now, if he needed to. But Merlin is scared.

If that wasn't enough to break Arthur's heart, the quick glance that Merlin throws to the space a few feet from Arthur's side, is.

Arthur looks over slowly, eyebrows furrowed, to see what Merlin glanced at so fearfully. His heart shatters when he realises what it is. Arthurs sword, sat underneath his bag, just out of his reach. Merlin thinks Arthur is going to kill him. Merlin is scared. Of Arthur.

Arthur looks back at Merlin, disbelief and gut wrenching sadness on his face. He resists the urge to jump up (knowing it would just panic Merlin) as he speaks, trying to keep his tone calming, but it comes out rushed and desperate anyway:

"I'm not going to hurt you Merlin, I swear. I'm...sorry, if my actions and words have led you to believe that I would EVER see any harm come to you."

It's over the last minute, the anger and fear from Merlin, that forces Arthur to realise the legacy he's dealing with. That Uther had done so much damage, had struck so much fear into Merlin, that it didn't matter how close they were. Any subtle, deliberate ignorance of the law wasn’t enough. Any small compliments, or defence of Merlin, wasn't enough.

As long as the law remained, as long as Arthur left his fathers legacy intact, with not even a small attempt to dismantle it, Merlin would be scared of him.

Merlin relaxes only slightly at Arthur's words, gulps, and glances once more at the sword before sitting down again. He’s still tense as he stares into the fire once more.

"All these years you've been putting your life at risk, to stay at my side. You could've quit at any time. You could've stayed in the relative safety of Ealdor, but you didn't. Why? I want to know everything Merlin. You... you mean a great deal to me, and it pains me to see you in fear. And I know it's no one’s fault but my own, and I want to fix it. So the whole story, from the beginning, I want to know."

It's Merlin’s turn to be taken aback now. In his mind, everything he's said and done in the last few minutes should be making Arthur angry. The disrespect of Uther, the tone of voice he had taken, the shouting. All of that even before the admittance of his greatest secret. But still Arthur wasn't angry, he was confused, and maybe hadn't quite processed it yet, but mostly he was just sad, sad that Merlin had to be angry on his own. Sad that Merlin had to be fearful on his own.

So he does. He starts at the beginning. His mother sending him to Camelot so Gaius could train him. Saving Arthurs life that first banquet. Saving his life again a few days later. And again. And again. And again

He talks about all the small insignificant magicks he did: cheating at dice games and keeping Arthur's bath water warm and making sure the fire stays lit through the night and helping the knights sleep when they're out and about.

He talks about all the big magicks he did: killing Nimueh and being the last Dragon-Lord and Balinor being his father, and all the great battles he had won and all the times he'd saved Arthur when Arthur hadn't even realised he'd been in danger.

He talks about everything in between. About every lucky fallen branch and every lucky rockslide and every lucky solution that wouldn't have worked without Merlin... nudging it in the right direction.

He talks and talks and talks until his throat is sore. And Arthur stays silent, unwilling to interrupt, listening intently and saving any questions and queries until the end.

After an hour or so, Merlin hesitates, but Arthur can tell that there's something else. Something he's not saying. Something that in Merlin's mind, is the scariest truth of all. So he stays silent, and waits for Merlin to continue:

"The old man that you think killed your father. Dragoon, the sorcerer who kept popping up but was never in the same room as me? That was me, in disguise."

He looks nervous at this and looks up at Arthur. Before, he'd been explaining everything with a blank but resolute look on his face, still staring into the fire (that hadn't been fed in well over an hour, but was still going strong).

Arthur just looks surprised, he'd never considered that Dragoon had been anyone but himself.

"I tried Arthur. I may have hated your father but I tried to save him. But the pendant around his neck stopped it from working and healing magic has never been my strong point anyway. I really did try."

Arthur nods at this. He figured there had been no reason for the old sorcerer to kill his father, and after consulting Gaius and realising the truth about the pendant, he didn't blame him. Though he never told anyone, not even Merlin, why would he? His manservant had never even met the guy.

"I know. I'm sorry, it can’t have been easy, thinking I blamed you for his death all these months. I'm sorry Merlin."

Merlin looks surprised but quietly grateful. Over the course of the last hour of explanation he had slowly become more and more relaxed, realising that Arthur really meant it when he said he wasn't going to hurt him, and just wanted the truth.

Merlin was still scared, and a big part of him still believed he'd probably be banished at the least at the end of this conversation. But it still felt good to get it off his chest.

"But you still haven't answered my question. Why? We didn't know each all that well those first few weeks. Months even. We practically hated each other at the beginning. But you stayed anyway. Despite hating me and despite being in constant danger. Why?"

Merlin once again hesitates at this. He tried his best but even after all these years, he's not quite sure how to navigate conversations about destiny, especially his own, and especially how it's tied so intrinsically with Arthur’s.

Instead he says:

"What do you know about Emrys?" He really needs a starting reference for this part of the conversation, and at this point, the best way to get it is to ask directly.

Arthur goes to question why, but Merlin has been nothing but honest and straight forward with him, so he trusts that it’s important, and answers truthfully:

"Not much. A few Druids have mentioned him to me before. Apparently they've been seeing him in prophetic dreams for centuries, the Druids have quite a few "seers" in their ranks. He's meant to be some great sorcerer, whose destiny it is to bring Magic and peace to Albion, with some King or other at his side. I never payed much attention to it, I hardly believe in visions of the future."

Merlin nods at that:

"You've got most of it. Emrys is meant to be the most powerful Warlock to ever walk the earth, past, present, and future. When Uther started culling sorcerers, an astronomical amount of magic was poured back into the earth all at once. The Triple Goddess took that magic and put it all in one place, in one unborn baby, in the hope that said baby would grow into his power, and restore balance and compassion to the world. The Druids call him Emrys but it's just a title, like King, or Sir, not his real name. He, and the Once and Future King, are meant to rule with the support of one another, uniting all of Albion under the King’s rule, and bringing magic back into the land. Emrys and the Forever King, two sides of the same coin, their destinies interwoven."

Merlin goes silent at that, and Arthur thinks he knows where this is going, but he Needs the confirmation:

"What's that got to do with anything?" is quietly muttered.

"You're the Forever King Arthur. And I am Emrys. Though it's weird enough when the druids call me that so just... let's stick with Merlin alright?"

"All those times you said I would be a great King, all those times you had unfailing faith in me, was because of destiny?"

Arthur tries not so sound hurt, but he’s never cared for, or believed, in destiny. Up until now he'd thought Merlin had had faith in him as Arthur, his friend, not as some prophetic Once and Future King that Arthur was afraid he would never be.

"At first, sure. I was angry, that my destiny had been decided for me. That I couldn't just ignore it because if I did then the world would never know peace. I never asked for that responsibility I just wanted... I just wanted to keep my mother safe. I wanted to learn how to be a physician and use my magic to help and entertain and brighten the world. Just a little bit. And suddenly I had this big important role to play. I hated it. But I did it anyway, kept you safe. And then I got to know you as a person and you weren't your father. You Love Camelot, you Love your people, you're a good man who does everything in his power to help those around him, even if they don't deserve it sometimes. And suddenly, having my destiny be to help you to greatness... well, it didn't seem so bad anymore. Maybe it was your destiny to be that Great King from prophecy, because you were already a good man."

Arthur is speechless at that. Tears gather in his eyes but neither of them mention it and he doesn't let them fall. Merlin had been almost as nice as that in the past, but never so fully, and with the weight of the truth behind it, it seemed much more meaningful.

Merlin gives him a sad smile before he continues:

"I'm your servant until the day I die Arthur. I have faith that one day, you'll do the right thing."

Arthur suddenly remember the whole point of this conversation. That Merlin was upset and angry that he hadn't repealed the ban on magic yet, that Merlin was still waiting on him. Waiting on him to do the right thing. Waiting on him to fulfil his destiny.

Maybe they head straight home? Merlin walks into Arthur's chambers the next morning to find him already up and pacing, making a start on the repeal?

Maybe Arthur demands they go to the closest Druid settlement so he can consult them on how he should go about it? Merlin’s knowledge of magic is great and all, but neither of them were alive before the purge, neither know how it would work practically.

All I know, is whenever Merlin first comes across Arthur working on the repeal, determination in his eyes, he cries a little. That everything he sacrificed is finally paying off.

I also know, that the first time Arthur timidly asks Merlin to show him something magical (maybe that's straight after this tiring conversation, or maybe its days later, back in the safety of Arthur's locked chambers) Merlin cries even harder, Arthur is still scared of magic, how could he not be. But he loves and trusts Merlin more than anything in this world, and he wants to learn to not be scared anymore.

THIS IS COMPLETED!!

All 5 parts have been posted:)

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

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emachinescat · 4 years ago

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Knock

A Merlin Fan-Fiction

by @emachinescat

@febuwhump day 10 - “I’m sorry, I didn’t know”

Summary: It is common knowledge in Camelot that one should never, under any circumstances, enter Sir Owen’s chambers without knocking. Unfortunately, someone forgot to tell Prince Arthur’s new servant.

Characters: Merlin, Arthur, Sir Owen (OC)

Words: 4,618

TW: PTSD episode/flashback

Note: Early days for our boys. :)

Keep reading here, or on AO3!

If you enjoy, pease consider liking, commenting, or re-blogging, and you can follow me for more content like this!

Everyone in Camelot knew about Sir Owen, and everyone who had met him loved him. He was an old warrior, a man of honor and valor with a keen sense for battle and a veritable treasure trove of wisdom. He was old and gray now, and limped from the festering aches of old battle wounds, but he always had a smile and time to chat with anyone he met, nobles and servants alike. After he had retired from knighthood, Uther had awarded him quarters in the castle and a life of luxury.

The kind old man received regular visitors to his spacious rooms and always gladly welcomed them. Lady Morgana brought him a vase of flowers every week, new knights would often visit for advice and encouragement, many of the maids would stop for quick chats between chores, and Gaius brought him his medicine for his old battle wounds and nightmares every evening before bed. Once or twice the king himself had been seen visiting his old friend, and he too always departed with a smile.

There was something that every one of Sir Owen’s many admirers and visitors knew, however, and honored without compromise: Never, under any circumstances, should you enter Sir Owen’s chambers without knocking.

More specifically, no one should enter his chambers without loudly and clearly announcing themselves first – a light, polite knock wouldn’t do, especially not now that he had lost all his hearing in one ear, with the other ear quickly following suit. You had to knock loudly and aggressively, and if he still didn’t hear you, then you had to proclaim yourself as loudly as possible when you eased the door open to peek in. Ultimately, the last thing anyone wanted to do was to sneak up on the beloved Sir Owen, because if he was taken off guard, if he thought he was being ambushed, he became a completely different person.

Sir Owen had fought valiantly for Camelot for many decades, and in that time he saw horrors of battle and the worst of humanity. He’d been gravely injured protecting his fellow knights on no less than three occasions, the final of which had forced him to hang up his chainmail for good. And though he was a perfectly pleasant gentleman when he was in his right mind, in those moments of fear and panic – like when he thought he was being snuck up on or ambushed – he shifted back into the fearsome warrior who had felled scores of Camelot’s enemy’s over the years. And though he was old, he was still strong for his age, and crafty, and his confusion only fueled the desperate strength within him.

Sadly, his moments of lucidity had declined rapidly in recent days, and sometimes he struggled to remember who was his enemy and who was his friend during normal, mundane conversations. He only became violent when he was scared or surprised, however, which was what made announcing one’s presence of the utmost importance when calling upon him.

Every servant in Camelot knew this, as did all the knights and nobles who paid him regular visits. Well – all of the servants except for Merlin, Prince Arthur’s new manservant, who had just been ordered by his prince to go to Sir Owens’ chambers to escort the man to the training grounds. Arthur had asked him to oversee the newest recruits on this crisp autumn morning, and to his delight, the old knight, who had been staying in more often than not, had agreed to do just that. Merlin was happy to have a job other than hefting all of Arthur’s heavy equipment to the training grounds on his own (and all in one go, because Arthur was too impatient to allow Merlin to make multiple trips and very clearly cared nothing for Merlin’s well being in the slightest).

Merlin had never met Sir Owen before but knew that he was a bit of a legend around the castle. He’d heard whispers of some of the brave deeds and epic battles the man had fought in Camelot’s first days. He also knew Morgana brought him flowers to brighten up his chambers, and that he was supposed to be a very kind man with great advice and a smile that would brighten every room. Sir Owen sounded a positive delight, and Merlin had jumped at the opportunity to fetch him for Arthur so that he could meet this amazing man for himself. He sounded like a breath of fresh air in the stuffy citadel – but then again, most anyone who wasn't the prince of Camelot could claim that title, in Merlin's book.

Although Merlin had never been good at the niceties of court when dealing with Arthur, he did make it a priority to remember to knock if he were at anyone else’s door – as Gaius had told him on many occasions, if he just barged into the wrong person’s chambers, he could be in trouble so deep that even Gaius couldn’t bail him out. And so, when he reached the old knight’s chamber door, Merlin made a point to reach out his fist and give a few hearty knocks on the door.

No answer.

Merlin waited a short time before knocking again, but again, no one answered. Pressing his ear against intricately carved wood, he thought could hear something from inside of the room – a faint shuffling, as if someone were moving around. The warlock shifted anxiously on his feet, warning bells clanging in his head. If someone was in the room, why didn’t they answer the door? At the very least, why did the person not call out? Merlin could only think of two possibilities: Either the person in the room could not answer, or was not supposed to be there. Either way, something was off, and Merlin had to check and make sure the old man he was meant to fetch was okay.

Merlin tried the door – locked – and, glancing over his shoulder to make sure he was alone, directed a pointed stare at the lock, felt the heat of magic swell within him, and heard the rewarding clunk as the door unlocked itself. Quietly, Merlin eased the door open and peered inside, looking for any sign of trouble. “Sir Owen?” His calm, quiet voice contradicted the furious beat of his heart, that instinct that warned him of danger.

No one seemed to be in the room that the wary servant could see, so Merlin inched his way further inside, taking in the elegant but sparse furnishings, the headless training dummy in old old but obviously well-cared for armor, and the weapon rack mounted on the wall that seemed to be missing its occupant. “Sir Owen?” Merlin called again, this time a little louder.

He didn’t even have time to turn when he heard the quiet rush of footsteps from behind. The next thing he knew, Merlin was facedown on the warm woolen rug that spanned much of the stone floor, the breath completely knocked out of him. Pain lanced through his upper back, sparking like lightning between his shoulder blades. Something had hit him – hard – and Merlin’s instincts warned him that whoever it was that had attacked him wasn’t done.

Only sheer force of will allowed the warlock to heave himself over on his back just in time to see Sir Owen himself, with his normally friendly, laugh-lined face twisted into a ferocious mockery of itself, gray hair come loose from its tie, and a hefty longsword, dulled with age but still deadly, brandished in his right hand. Merlin noticed that the sword, and the hand that held it, shook slightly moments before the old man – still in incredible shape for his age, as Merlin’s screaming back proved clearly! – lunged again, this time with the point of the blade and not the flat.

Merlin rolled to the side, lungs still heaving for air after being winded by Owen’s first hit, and the point of the sword cut a frayed line in the rug right where Merlin’s head had been. Struggling to his feet, the disoriented servant tried to appeal to the knight’s sensibilities; he gasped, “Sir Owen! I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Another swing of the sword, and Merlin ducked out of the way in the nick of time. “I did knock!” he insisted.

Sir Owen’s eyes, Merlin noticed, were clouded, and when the man spoke, it became obvious that he was seeing a completely different scene than what was actually going on around him. Somehow, it seemed, he thought he was back on the battlefield, fighting a deadly opponent, instead of cornering a frightened servant who had done nothing to harm him. “I won’t let you do it!” the man roared, and his voice cracked under the pressure of the rage and sorrow. “You killed my men – you take no one else!”

He advanced again, this time slowly, methodically, and Merlin backed away at the same pace, all too aware of the corner he was trapping himself in but afraid to bolt and frighten his confused aggressor into doing something he’d later regret. Raising his hands, Merlin spoke like he was addressing a small animal or a frightened child, “Sir Owen, my name is Merlin. I’m Prince Arthur’s servant. He sent me here to fetch you for the –”

He was cut off as Owen slashed forward with the sword unexpectedly, and this time Merlin wasn’t quite fast enough. Even the dulled edge was enough to slice through Merlin’s shirt and into his upper arm, and fire erupted in the wound. Blood, warm and sticky, oozed from the cut and meandered down his arm. He ignored it, more focused on staying alive.

“Liar! Traitor! Murderer!”

Merlin didn’t want to use magic on Sir Owen – from what he’d heard, the man was a genuinely good person, though something seemed very wrong with him now. On top of that, if he realized that his opponent had used magic after the fact, Merlin would be killed anyway. But the idea of being run through with a dull sword was so unpleasant that Merlin decided to take the risk. He turned to run from the next attack, allowed his eyes to flash gold, and heard his pursuer curse as his weapon somehow tumbled from his hands and skittered across the room. Hopefully, if he remembered this at all, he would put it down to losing his grip.

Now that the sword was out of the picture, Merlin felt a bit safer, but he couldn’t decide if he should try to help Sir Owen himself or run to get someone else instead. His choice was taken away from him, though, because he hesitated a second too long – in the time that Merlin had been debating his next course of action, the keen knight had made up his mind and charged bravely into battle. Sir Owen was the kind of warrior who would continue to fight with his bare hands against an entire heavily armed battalion until the very end. He never gave up, never let a little thing like losing a sword stop him.

And so he charged.

To Merlin, it was like Arthur’s prized steed had barreled straight into him, such was the force with which Sir Owen slammed against him. For the second time in ten minutes, the wind was driven out of him from the force of the blow, and he sprawled, stunned, on the chamber floor, his head rapping painfully against the stone.

Bright lights flickered in his field of vision and he tried desperately to get his body to move, but his arms and legs weren’t listening. He watched as the old knight, fury in his dark eyes, approached him, having abandoned the sword all together now that his enemy lay helpless at his feet. Merlin should have been glad that he wasn’t using the sword, but he had a very unpleasant feeling that Owen did not need a weapon to kill.

Seconds later, his unprotected side exploded in agony as Sir Owen drove his boot forward in a merciless kick. Afraid to use his magic again, forgetting everything but his basest instincts to survive, Merlin curled in on himself, nearly crying out at the pain the movement caused him. Another kick, this one to his back, and Merlin rolled away the best he could, panting in pain. Halfway to his feet, on hands and knees, almost there –

Another kick, this one to his gut, and he gagged, falling forward, face-first onto the floor. Blood welled up in his mouth – he must have bitten his tongue.

Merlin scrabbled for purchase on the cold stone, trying to regain his bearings even as every part of his body rebelled against him. He felt the man’s toe beneath his torso and sucked in a painful breath, but this time, all Owen did was flip him over. Merlin lay on his back, breath wheezing from his chest, and he was sure he had a broken rib, maybe more. Slowly, deliberately, like he had all the time in the world at his disposal, the old man knelt next to his fallen foe and leaned in close. Merlin could smell breakfast on his breath – the stink of aged cheese mingled with the sweetness of fruit – as he man hissed, “You’ll die for this – sorcerer!”

Fear crescendoed, overshadowing the symphony of pain, as Merlin realized that somehow, Sir Owen had figured out what he had done, what he was. Helplessness took hold of the warlock. It didn’t matter if he survived this encounter – which was looking less likely by the second, unless he used his magic again – his life in Camelot was over. Might as well use his magic to escape. The giant lizard was wrong, then. It couldn't be his destiny to serve Arthur and bring magic and peace to Albion. He would be on the run for the rest of his life.

Merlin focused on his magic through the pain and felt it rise within him. It slipped out of his grasp as something latched onto his hair and dragged his head up. Merlin got a single look up close at Sir Owen’s eyes, filled with the kind of suffering no sword could inflict, brimming with regrets and hatred and death, before the man slammed the back of Merlin’s head into the ground. A flash of white light – intense pain, swirling darkness.

Merlin may have blacked out for a few seconds, but it couldn’t have been long, because when he regained a semblance of awareness – he couldn’t move, so much pain, vision blurred, he was going to be sick – Sir Owen had retrieved his sword and had it poised over his helpless victim’s heart. “Rot in hell, sorcerer,” he spat, and Merlin squeezed his eyes shut, partly against the pain, mostly in preparation for death.

A voice sounded from somewhere close by, first annoyed, then panicked: “What the hell is taking so long Merlin? I– what – NO!”

The fear in the last word, unexpected and guttural as it was, was enough to convince Merlin to open his eyes. Through the haze his vision had become, he saw a red and gold blur tackle Sir Owen, heard through ringing ears the sound of a brief struggle and the angry accusation “Sorcerer!” and then there was someone kneeling over him again, and Merlin struggled to sit up, to get away. He managed to turn over just in time to vomit all over Prince Arthur’s clean boots.

To his surprise, the prince didn’t yell or order him to scrub them again, right then and there. Instead, with surprisingly gentle hands, the man eased his servant back onto the ground and began checking him for injuries.

“You idiot,” Arthur said as he probed the back of Merlin’s head, eliciting a cry of pain and frowning at the blood staining his fingertips. He moved on to check Merlin’s ribs (“Three broken, at the very least, but we’ll have Gaius look at you.”) and arm. “It’s fairly shallow,” he said, and Merlin thought he must have been giddy with pain and exertion at this point, because it sounded like the prince was actually relieved. Arthur stood, stepped out of his boots with a grimace, and ordered, “Stay there. I mean it – don’t move. I’ve subdued Sir Owen for the moment, but he needs Gaius.” A deep crevice between his brows, the prince added, “And so do you. You’re a mess.”

Merlin didn��t hear if Arthur said anything else after that. He didn’t even see the prince leave the room. The darkness had claimed him by then, wrapping its welcoming arms of comfort around him and staving off, if only for a little while, the pain and the fear of what was to come.

***

When he awoke, it was in his own bed, in his room, and he was alone. Merlin’s head hurt more than he could ever remember it doing before – even more than the time he and Will had climbed on top of his roof and he’d fallen through the thatch. He’d smacked his head on the kitchen table when he’d landed on it, but the pain he’d been in had been nothing compared to his mother’s wrath. Now, though, it was not an ache or even bursts of sharp pains – it was like a drum, and every beat increased the agony he felt. It was the kind of headache that turned your stomach against you, too, and made the world around you lose its crisp edges and stole your ability to concentrate on even the most simple of tasks. His arm, now bandaged, stung fiercely, and the gnawing ache in his ribs turned into a cacophonous mass of torment any time he thought of moving.

So he didn’t move. He lay there, head pounding, body hurting like he had been run over by a horse, and allowed his mind to wander, though with the headache he had, he really did not have much control over the direction of his thoughts, anyway. In the end, every wandering pathway of his consciousness, every thought and question and memory, all led back to the terrifying realization that Sir Owen had seen his magic – somehow – and had probably already told Arthur and the king. Any moment now, guards would barge into his room and throw him into a cold, dark cell. Or maybe they’d skip the cell all together and toss him on a pyre. They wouldn’t even have to tie him to it. He was too weak to move.

The door opened, and Merlin jumped in a mixture of surprise and terror. Even the small movement caused all of his injuries to flare up and he slumped back, face beaded with sweat, panting in exhaustion and pain, waiting for the inevitable and wondering if he should try to fight back with magic since his secret was already out anyway.

It was good that he didn’t, because it was Arthur who entered, and he was alone, and there was a strange look on his face – if Merlin didn’t know better, he would have said it was somewhere between worried and guilty, with a healthy dose of discomfort sprinkled in for good measure. “Merlin,” the prince said in surprise, and it occurred to Merlin that he hadn’t expected his servant to be awake yet. Arthur stayed in the doorway, uncertainty rolling off of him in waves. “I – Gaius stepped out for a moment, to check up on Sir Owen. He’s been in quite a state, really disoriented and worried that he hurt you badly.”

Merlin frowned, and even that hurt. “Gaius?”

Arthur stared at Merlin like he’d grown another head. “No, you moron. Sir Owen. He feels terrible about what happened.”

Perhaps it was the head injury, but Merlin found himself thoroughly confused. “So… you’re not here to arrest me?” He could hear the slur in his own words and realized that he probably looked as bad as – if not worse than – he sounded. Arthur appeared to be as baffled as Merlin. He finally moved beyond the arch of the door and into the room, awkwardly taking a seat in Merlin’s chair, near the bed.

“Why would I be here to arrest you?” His blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What did you do this time?”

“Uh, Sir Owen, he said…” Merlin’s thoughts were as fuzzy as his sight, and he felt that distinctive curdling in his stomach that told him he was going to be decorating Arthur’s shoes again very shortly. Arthur must have seen that tell-tale paling of the face and whitening of the knuckles, because moments later, a bucket had been shoved under his nose and he threw up into it, vaguely surprised that there was anything left to expel. Arthur had produced a cup of water from somewhere, and when Merlin finished, the prince helped him take a sip. The water was bliss, cooling his raw throat and chasing away the sour taste in his mouth.

Nausea under control for the moment, Merlin cleared his throat uncomfortably, not meeting Arthur’s eye after the strangely intimate moment (if he had been looking, he would have seen Arthur studiously avoiding his gaze as well). Merlin picked up where he’d left off, his voice cracked and timid. “Sir Owen called me a sorcerer.” Arthur did look at him now, Merlin felt his eyes, but the warlock didn’t reciprocate. Instead, in a rush, he said, “If he told you that, you have to understand–”

“Merlin.” Arthur’s voice held no malice, only concern and a heaviness that the servant did not understand. “You don’t have to explain to me that you’re not a sorcerer. Yes, Sir Owen said something about it when I was pulling him off of you, but I know he was confused.”

Cautiously, Merlin pressed, “How do you know?”

Arthur laughed, a harsh, clipped sound. “Are you saying that you are a sorcerer?”

Merlin’s stomach flipped over on itself. “No,” he lied, not sure why he had even mentioned Sir Owen’s accusation in the first place. He was making himself look more suspicious; it was just hard to control what came out of his mouth – harder than usual, anyway. “I just want to know why you believe me over a respected former knight.” There. That was reasonable, right? Merlin’s head ached, and he just wanted to go back to sleep, but he had to know, had to have some kind of concrete assurance before he could rest.

Arthur sighed. That same weight tugged at the next words he said: “Sir Owen… he was a great knight, and incredibly brave and strong – still is, for that matter–”

“You can say that again,” Merlin muttered, wincing.

Arthur glared at him, daring him to interrupt again, and continued, “But he has seen some horrible things on the field of battle. And if he thinks he’s being attacked, he lashes out. Gaius says that he somehow finds himself back in the middle of a war, fighting off his worst enemies and watching his men die around him. It’s like he’s reliving the worst days of his life. And that’s why he attacked you – he thought you were trying to ambush and kill him.”

“But that doesn’t explain–”

“I’m getting there, Merlin. For someone who looks half-dead, you sure can run your mouth like usual.” Merlin grinned, despite himself. “Oh, don’t look so proud,” Arthur ordered irritably. “It’s incredibly irritating.” But his own mouth had stretched into a half–smile as well.

“Anyway – the last battle, the one that ended his career… A sorcerer who was fighting against Camelot nearly crippled him. He lay there, helpless, and had to watch as the sorcerer killed at least a dozen of his men. One of them was his only son.”

A grim silence settled over master and servant, and a sick pit had formed in Merlin’s stomach. It was the kind of hollowness that could only exist in misery and pain, and he found himself wishing for the nausea to return.

“He thought I was that sorcerer,” Merlin clarified, heart aching for the man that had nearly killed him. “I didn’t know”

“How could you?” Arthur asked. Then he added, his voice taking on more of the guilt that Merlin had thought he’d heard earlier, “And I – well, it’s my fault,” he hedged lamely. “That you got hurt. Because I didn’t even think to warn you to knock before you entered the room. I was so focused on getting to the training field that it didn’t cross my mind that you didn’t know about Sir Owen’s flashbacks, as Gaius calls them.”

Merlin’s eyelids were heavy, and everything hurt, and he could feel sleep calling to him, but he insisted stubbornly, “I did knock.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Wonders never cease. But,” he clarified, “if he doesn’t hear you knocking and doesn’t know you’re coming, then it doesn’t even matter if you did knock. I should have told you to announce yourself, or had someone go with you that knew what to do.”

Somewhere in the other room, a door opened and closed.

“That’ll be Gaius,” said Arthur, standing up. He looked down at his battered servant, hesitated for the briefest of moments, and then said, “Sir Owen sends his apologies, and he hopes to meet you under better circumstances once you’re both feeling up to it.” In a rush, he added, “And, for what it’s worth, I – I’m sorry too.”

Merlin blinked in surprise, knowing how hard it had to have been for Arthur to admit he had made a mistake, let alone apologize for it. And even though the servant truly didn’t think the prince had anything to apologize for (after all, Merlin forgot important things all the time), it was touching, and he could tell that despite his discomfort that Arthur really meant it and needed to know that all was well.

Arthur leaned over, gave Merlin’s shoulder a gentle squeeze – even that sent bolts of agony through Merlin’s body, but the gesture was appreciated, even cherished. “You did… surprisingly well in holding him off until I found you,” he admitted as Gaius’s footsteps were heard ascending the short set of stairs behind him.

“He beat me to a pulp and nearly sliced me in half,” Merlin deadpanned.

“Yes, but you’re still alive, and that in itself is almost impressive,” Arthur said, and Merlin couldn't tell if the prince was serious or not. “Anyway,” he said, backing away and making room for Gaius, who was puttering into the small room balancing a tray of medicines and broth. “I need to get to training. Gaius, make sure he’s back to work the moment he’s well enough, but… also, not a moment before he’s ready.”

Gaius nodded, patted Arthur on the shoulder in thanks, and began to treat his patient. Merlin watched Arthur leave, a warm feeling blossoming in his chest that had nothing to do with the broken ribs. He barely even heard Gaius’s lecture about propriety and taking care of himself and knowing all the facts before he walked in on a situation. His wandering, aching mind was too busy thinking about the prince.

When he’d first come to Camelot, Arthur never would have apologized for anything. Already, amazingly, Merlin was beginning to see a change in the other man, a spark of something that made Merlin the tiniest bit proud to know him. And it may have been the head injury talking, but right now, despite the irritation he so commonly felt toward his new master, the idea of this destiny the dragon had prophesied suddenly didn’t seem too terrible after all.

Maybe Arthur wasn’t so bad, either.

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panharmonium · 5 years ago

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okay.

i realize this might be a kind of a weird thing for me to devote time to when i’m one episode from the end but honestly? i just have to. i have to. i have a longer piece of meta in this vein that i’ll deal with some other time when i’m less focused on the end of season 5, but given the content of the last couple episodes i just - cannot restrain myself. the stunning level of deliberate, unnecessary cruelty i witnessed in that one moment yesterday (guess i was WRONG omg i STILL can’t believe i heard that with my own two ears...i probably have the lowest expectations of arthur pendragon out of anybody in this fandom but even i was shocked) - it tipped me right over the edge. it threw me for an entire loop.

so, what i have to do right now is take a second to acknowledge the one character who a) predicted this bullshit a long time ago, and b) could have been relied upon to react to it appropriately, that is to say by punching arthur pendragon in the mouth.

fig. A: my Son, ‘I Would Sell Arthur Pendragon to Satan for One Corn Chip’

i love him.

i know we only saw him once. i don’t care. he’s the only non-villain across five entire seasons of this show who ever told arthur pendragon to get fucked, and that makes him an absolute hero.

this kid snuck up on me and became my most beloved minor character. when i first met him, i liked him a normal amount, but i wasn’t as deeply invested in him as i am now. it wasn’t until i got a little further along in the show and started to see how truly painful merlin’s situation becomes without a friend who knows him that i started thinking about him again, and realized how much i actually appreciated him.

so. will.

will occupies a...fairly unique position in merlin’s circle. all of merlin’s other friends eventually become knights, or become queen, and they all hop aboard the arthur pendragon train as they get deeper entwined in camelot’s renaissance. even gwaine, who is a little iffy about arthur in the very beginning, becomes as loyal a knight as camelot has ever seen, and he’s just as invested in camelot’s flourishing as anyone. and i don’t say this to throw shade at him, or at lancelot, or anybody; those two in particular have absolutely always been true friends to merlin, regardless of the vows they took to camelot. but there is just something to be said for like - merlin does not have a single person in his life right now who cares about him without also being beholden to arthur. gwen and gaius and all of the knights are sworn to serve and protect the king. they are all fully aboard the arthur pendragon train, and on board with merlin’s mission to aid arthur and keep him safe. gwen, gwaine, gaius, lancelot - even merlin’s own mother is on that train, when she tells merlin he has to go back to camelot at the end of 1.10, saying “you belong at arthur’s side. i’ve seen how much he needs you.”

these people would not argue with merlin over the merits of sacrificing things for arthur, because they, too, would do anything for their king. they wouldn’t necessarily challenge merlin on statements like “his life is worth a hundred of mine,” because they understand what merlin means. they’re on that same page.

and that’s nice and all, but given recent events (and forthcoming events, i suspect) i suppose i just am feeling. a little tired of that.

i’m tired of the arthur pendragon train. i want to get off. i want MERLIN to get off. and the only other person in the world who ever believed that merlin deserved to get off the arthur pendragon train was will.

all the most recent episodes i’m watching are highlighting for me once again how little merlin settles for in his life. he can’t be known. he can’t be seen. he can’t be accepted. he can’t be listened to. he can’t be believed. he can’t be respected. he can’t be safe. he can’t be loved. he can’t say ‘i am sorry that i can’t go with you to this place’ (for the first time in HOW many years?) without receiving a deliberately nasty, cutting slap across the face.

and we try to rationalize this away; we try to look at the good parts (and yes, there are good parts, of course there are good parts; of course arthur and merlin care about each other) but the ultimate truth is that arthur isn’t merlin’s real friend, not yet. he thinks he is. but he isn’t. a real friend isn’t someone who might kill you if they knew who you were. a real friend isn’t someone who makes you feel like you have to pretend to be someone you’re not.

you cannot be loved if you aren’t safe.

the only person who ever acknowledges this dynamic is will. will sees the parts of arthur that merlin tries not to look at, and will loves merlin enough to say ‘this situation you are in is messed up.’ he’s the only one, across five seasons of this show, who ever comes right out and says that merlin is fooling himself when it comes to this ‘friendship.’ merlin might have other people who care about him, later, but all of them are as wrapped up in arthur’s well-being as merlin is. they don’t tell merlin he deserves better. they don’t tell merlin ‘this is shitty. this is a shitty situation you’re settling for. you deserve more than this.’

five seasons, and will is the only person who ever says this. merlin’s own mother won’t tell him this.

i’ve been thinking about will kind of a lot as i watch these episodes.

i think...i think will would lose his mind if he could see merlin at the end of this show. at ANY point in this show, practically. he would be so devastatingly angry. if he ever heard “his life is worth a hundred of mine” come out of merlin’s mouth - i mean. he’d kill somebody. he'd thump merlin upside the head and then go kill somebody.

will was only ever in this for merlin. he didn’t save arthur’s life because he’d started to like the guy; he did it because that’s just who he is. he saw someone about to get shot and his first instinct was to get in the way. he’s not riding the arthur pendragon train, and he’s certainly not riding the camelot train, but he still makes sure merlin can go safely back to the citadel, because for some unfathomable reason, merlin seems to feel that it’s important.

because - and this is so important here - will doesn’t even know anything about merlin’s ‘destiny.’ they didn’t have time to talk about dragons or destinies or any of that. all will knows is that it’s important to merlin, for whatever reason, and that’s enough to make it important to will. even though he doesn’t understand it. even though he doesn’t agree with it. even though he personally thinks arthur’s a loser. he does what he does so that merlin can have what he wants, so that merlin can be safe and happy in the city of his choice.

SAFE and HAPPY. and merlin isn’t either of those things. merlin has never been less safe than he is now. and merlin hasn’t been happy for a very long time.

will would be rolling over in his grave if he could see merlin now. he would have fought against the sort of...slow self-immolation we see merlin surrendering himself to here every step of the way. will told a prince to fuck off in front of the entire population of ealdor; he wouldn’t have any qualms about telling ‘destiny’ to get stuffed, either. and i find myself missing that single-minded devotion, that uncompromising affirmation of merlin’s intrinsic worth, as opposed to merlin’s importance as a prophesied figure out of myth, as the skies darken over merlin’s head and i see him getting ready to (i think) do something that would send will into an absolute rage.

none of merlin’s friends or family have ever wanted him to suffer, but will was the only one who saw where this was going, a long, long time ago. he knew from the beginning that it wasn’t right. and like...people can complain about him refusing to jump on board the arthur+merlin ship all they want, but the reason he doesn’t get on that boat is because he’s always been captain and sole passenger of the HMS Merlin, and he is the only one who has ever understood that these two boats, with the way the world works right now, just can’t sail together. so much would have to change first.

so like...i miss this kid. i really do. and i think merlin misses him, too, but not in a way that he can afford to let himself think about. how can a person in merlin’s position afford to remember someone who always thought that merlin’s happiness and safety were more important than anything, when merlin has, by necessity, spent all these years forcing himself to finally accept that his own happiness and safety will always have to be his last priority? how can he handle being reminded of a time when someone unconditionally believed that merlin deserved to live in this world and be happy, not because of what merlin could do or what great purpose he would serve, but simply because he is. just because he exists. because he’s enough as he is. he matters just as he is. he deserves to be safe and happy just because he is, not because of what he can do for his majesty the prince.

i don’t think someone in merlin’s position can afford to think like that, especially now. i think it’s like - when you’re overwhelmed or stressed or upset and you’re holding it together but then somebody does one simple nice thing for you or gives you a hug and that’s when you lose it and start bawling - it feels like that. i don’t think merlin could handle being gentled in that way. i think it would be similar to when gwaine tells him “not arthur” - that inability to conceive of somebody who only cares about him, who puts him first. i think if merlin allowed himself to remember that there was in fact a time in his life when he was someone’s first priority, if he remembered what that felt like - he would crack right down the middle.

i think if someone were to really remind him of what he deserves from this life, to remind him of what he used to hope he would one day have, he would never be able to do what he thinks he needs to do.

anyway.

the point of all this is just that as i enter the very end of this show and see merlin still - still - being deliberately gutted by someone who is supposed to love him, someone for whom merlin has been totally willing to give up his life a hundred times over, despite never being recognized and never being accepted and never being free - it is making me appreciate even more keenly the very few people in merlin’s life who chose not to treat him that way. the very, very few people who knew him and loved him just the way he was. and in particular it makes me appreciate will, who never had eyes for anybody but merlin, and who, uniquely among merlin’s friends, could not care less about arthur pendragon if you paid him.

after the last episode, i’m just really feeling his energy.

#the once and future slowburn #no kings no masters #meta #anyway i love this boy #more and more every day #esp. now that i've become suspicious that he and lancelot might end up being the only ones whose honest friendship merlin ever gets to enjoy #i used to think (back when i first started this show and assumed it would someday have a happy ending)#that people like will were the 'first' people who gave merlin the gift of honest friendship #and that eventually things would change and everyone would find out and merlin would be able to live openly #now i am starting to worry that they may not be 'first'#i am starting to worry that they might in fact be 'only'#the only ones #in twenty-something years #not that i'm saying no one will ever know #but i'm not sure merlin will be able to benefit from it if you know what i mean #it would be nice to be wrong #because this would be criminal #but whether i'm wrong or not #the one thing you can be sure of is that i will never stop singing these people's praises #they've earned it #they've earned it in a way that arthur pendragon hasn't #they've given merlin something arthur pendragon never could #and to be 100% honest they've treated merlin better than arthur pendragon ever did #their absence is felt - severely - in how merlin's life starts disintegrating once lancelot dies and all of them are gone #merlin has been alone for a long long time #i hate to think he's going to die or be otherwise taken out of the game before that changes #but i suppose i'll just have to see #either way i'm gonna be channeling will's energy of 'i am here for merlin and the rest of you can go jump in a lake'#(ACTUALLY UHHHH poor choice of words omg; they really might lol)#GUESS WE'LL SEE ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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capmerthur · 5 years ago

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THE ONCE AND FUTURE FIC

Yet another resurrection fic (sorry?). ARTHUR RETURNS IN CHAPTER 2. Lots of feeeeels, and overdue conversations (at last!) between our precious King and Warlock. Title might change as this goes along, but this has always been the work title in my head since I started thinking about writing it, so… Starts right when 5.13 ends. WARNING FOR SUICIDAL THOUGHTS IN CHAPTER ONE.

Excerpt PART VII:

"Will you tell me - what happened?"

Arthur can't help but hold his breath - his loved ones being long dead is bad enough; Arthur isn't sure he could deal with learning that the circumstances of their deaths had been bad too...

(PREVIOUS CHAPTERS UNDER CHAPTER VII)

VII. (ALTERNATE POV)

Merlin sadly but undeniably beams at him - and still doesn't seem willing yet to stand up. So Arthur gets down - sitting on the ground instead of commanding Merlin up once more. It's the result that matters anyway: to get them both on the same level. And it works, Merlin finally quitting bowing down to simply sit too.

Arthur focuses for some time on the ring back around his finger, and finally exhales:

"I was unnecessarily harsh, wasn't I?"

And he knows Merlin hears it for the apology it is - and accepts it:

"It's all right, Arthur. I realize it is a lot to take in."

And somehow reassured by Merlin's understanding, Arthur finally dares to ask:

"Will you tell me - what happened?"

Arthur can't help but hold his breath - his loved ones being long dead is bad enough; Arthur isn't sure he could deal with learning that the circumstances of their deaths had been bad too...

Merlin feels stabbed in the heart. Because of the swift cut from his own pain at his losses - still, no matter how long ago. And because he can read not only Arthur's pain but also Arthur's fear in Arthur's features.

So Merlin hurries to give Arthur both a firm nod and a fragile but positive smile - a silent soothing promise that it is not the worst, at least:

"I can even *show* you; if you want. Share my memories?"

It's out before Merlin had time to weigh the pros and cons; but Merlin won't back off. Sharing his memories implies sharing how he feels about them - and Merlin of course doesn't want Arthur to get more hurt in the process. But sharing his memories brings an added level of truth and certainty and knowledge to what only words ever could - and Merlin's priority right now is simply to make sure Arthur never gets to wonder about how much he might have edulcorated the past in his retelling.

Arthur starts breathing again, but still has to ask for confirmation, in probably the tiniest voice Merlin ever heard from his King: "They aren't bad, right?"

And Merlin just knows what he should mention first; what Arthur fears the most:

"Gwen lived a full life, and brought Camelot his golden age in your name."

Arthur seems to absorb the information. And then, he smiles - a smile both fond and proud:

"I always knew she would be the greatest Queen."

Arthur meets Merlin's eyes again; sad, of course, but assured:

"I'd like to see, then."

"All right."

Merlin moves closer, extending a hand towards Arthur's forehead, explaining:

"We'll have to be connected. And you must close your eyes."

Arthur studies his eyes a moment - not his hand; then gives a nod, doing as requested. Merlin presses his hand against Arthur's skin; not even taking the time to relish on its welcome warmth - alive! alive! - before plunging inwards.

Merlin focuses on Gwen, and there she is.

"I understand why you need to stay here. But please don't become a stranger?"

And so Merlin had taken a pebble from the ground and had enchanted it before giving it to Gwen. If she held it in her hands, they could communicate through their minds.

And that's why Merlin can show to Arthur how she reigned - or, in fact, not. She soon took the title of First Guardian instead of Queen, taking care of Camelot until the return of its true ruler, and ruled Camelot with her Concil of Knights. One guardian in waiting was elected right away, and then every five years, by and from Camelot's commoners, both to assist and to be trained as next Guardian, so that there would always be continuity by people aware of the kingdom's affairs in case Gwen would suddenly disappear. The new Concil Knights were chosen by all Knights from the Knights ranks whenever a Concil Knight had to be replaced. The First Knight (Sir Leon had been the first of course) was elected by his fellow Concil Knights. The next Guardian was to be chosen from and by the guardians in waiting. Everyone admired Gwen's natural grace, intelligence and gentle heart. She was a just and concerned ruler, and her people thrived to be worthy of her. Merlin had placed magicals protections on Camelot's borders, so attacks were rare, and never a surprise. There were winters harder than others, and summers harder than others; but all in all, life in Camelot was good.

His last memory of Gwen still brings tears to his eyes.

"I'm sorry I have to leave you too, my dear old friend; but my time is coming to an end. I can feel it, Merlin. This is our last conversation. And I thank you, for all you did for Camelot, for all I know you will continue doing for Camelot, and most of all, for being here for Arthur, when he finally returns."

Merlin needs a pause.

Arthur is crying silent tears when Merlin cuts their connection.

Arthur doesn't know how to deal with the force of it all. He hadn't realized he would not only see but FEEL Merlin's thoughts as clearly as his own - nor that Merlin's feelings would be as conflicted as hiw own.

Because Arthur feels relieved, from what he saw: Guinevere had been well, indeed. And Arthur is grateful, and amazed, and proud, and grateful, again, for all she accomplished, indeed. But he can't help but ponder about what he didn't get to see - or better said, to hear: her laugh.

"Was she happy?"

Merlin confirms his doubt, making a face and hesitating before answering; and Arthur can't help but wince.

"Happiness comes in all sorts, Arthur. After all that had happened... But all in all, she was *content*, I believe. Satisfied about what she had achieved, about her people living in peace and prosperity. It brought her joy, and fullfillment. You know she was always happy for anyone being happy. That counts too, Arthur."

"She never remarried?"

"She didn't."

And Arthur's first emotion at Merlin's words is guilt.

"I've doomed her, haven't I? My love for her trapped her into becoming this resplendissant but melancolic Queen." She had been his Queen, and she would always be his Queen, no matter the title she had chosen to wear.

"No. Her love for you."

"I let her down."

"It was neither your fault nor your wish to begin with, Arthur; she knew that."

"But I did it all the same. I had sworn to take care of her; and I didn't."

Arthur can't help but let out a huge sigh.

"She would have been happier with Lancelot, wouldn't have she? If only they had escape-"

Merlin's heart definitely cracks at the honesty in Arthur's words. Because Arthur loves Gwen that much indeed - to put her first; even if too late. And because Arthur's remorse is only wishful thinking anyway.

"It wasn't Lancelot at the time, Arthur."

"What?"

"Lancelot had passed behind the veil, and never came out of it. It was a shade, an empty shell brought back and controlled by Morgana to tear you apart. Remember how he was different? So Gaius and I checked. It wasn't Lancelot."

Again, Arthur doesn't know how to deal with this new information.

On the one hand, it makes sense, indeed. Lancelot loved Guinevere; had always loved Guinevere - Arthur had realized in retrospect after his Knight's death. But he was nothing but honorable to start with. The Lancelot he knew wouldn't have tried to...

On the other hand, if it hadn't been real, why hadn't Merlin explained it? Merlin had known Arthur had felt guilty for being the reason for Lancelot's death - again. Merlin had known Arthur had blamed Guinevere, even as he had missed her.

But Arthur understands, eventually.

Because it didn't change anything in the end.

Arthur was still the reason for Lancelot's first (and only) death. And Guinevere still loved Lancelot to start with. Arthur had realized that too, long before then - as she had mourned his passing. Knowing bad magic had been involved explained why things had actually happened - Lancelot wasn't Lancelot and Guinevere was enchanted - but it didn't erase the reason things happened from...

Still, it mattered.

Because even if it didn't change the reason, it had taken away Guinevere's choice in the matter, hadn't it? Arthur had accepted not once but twice that he was her second best. Because he loved her. And because she loved him - Arthur had never doubted her love, even though knowing 'With all my heart' meant 'With all there is left of my heart'. So Arthur had chosen to forgive her, of course; but he had blamed her, at first. And he knows Guinevere had always blamed herself. But knowing now what he knows? Arthur believes there would have been nothing to blame her(self) for, if no magic had been at play. Even if Lancelot had been real and she had chosen Lancelot over him? She would have told him, before, instead of...

"Did you ever tell her?"

"Yes. Only after you- but yes."

"Thank you."

AN:

It's canon after all magical beings *can* communicate through their minds. Merlin is just powerful enough to create such a link even with not magical persons, bear with me. I mean - he could even communicate with Lancelot's mind after his death, right ! (so no, no, no, this has nothing to do with me being too a Trekkie in love with mind melds...)

Also: I have a lot of feelings about how BBC butchered my heart with 4.09 (and their lousy treatment of its aftermath) and it shows, sorry?

(PREVIOUS CHAPTERS)

(Warning for this chapter: suicidal thoughts)

I. (MERLIN POV)

Merlin holds Mordred's sword in his right hand, appraising it. He still can't believe he has found it; still can't believe it's actually in his hands.

Over sixty years now - nothing; yet far too long - Merlin has been waiting for this moment. Since he has begged Freya, and threathened (and apologised - he couldn't blame Freya for not listening; he wouldn't have either, if their roles had been reversed), and begged again - in vain, for Excalibur. Since he has finally understood that he was a fool to hold onto hope for something that couldn't, wouldn't come to pass. Arthur was *never* coming back: Merlin had simply witnessed enough - he had witnessed too much; and too many times; and definitely one time too much one time too many - to ignore it any longer.

It was not that Merlin had grown too tired of waiting - too tired of the ache, the longing, the loneliness... For Arthur? Merlin would *always* wait; however long it might take.

It was not that Merlin had come to believe mankind didn't deserve Arthur to rise again to start with - even though it *was* an easy conclusion, when it was at its worst, when it turned its anger against itself - too many horrors, atrocities, bloodshed. But mankind could be beautiful, when loving, in any form; and marvelous, too, when it was at its best; when it turned its anger towards its limits: the medical progress over the ages would have had Gaius exhilarated, and proud; and what about its general neverending thirst for discovery, for explorations, for quests? - of course Arthur would come back: if only he could.

It was just that Merlin had finally understood that he had been played - not even because Albion (the name has since long fallen out of use and its people had been scattered through the globe, so it might mean nowadays something else than it had used to to start with) had got united without Arthur (and even if it still only meant Great Britain, well, it might after all need to be united again); but simply because the list of unending reasons why Arthur should have come back to save the day and yet hadn't (to mention only the very top of the list: half of humanity wiped out in a finger snap by the Black Death? the whole world collapsing in chaos, bend on destroying itself - World War?) had turned out suspiciously too long, and finally impossibly too long, as mankind had truly reached the lowest point not only ever but even possible without Arthur rising yet again (organised experiments and torture on toddlers, honestly?).

So.

Arthur wasn't ever coming back from the dead, simply because no one ever came back from the dead (except as a shade - and that would be even worse, wouldn't it? - or at a cost too great to burden anyway). It had been easy to believe in the prophecy; simply because it had been what Merlin had wanted. A distant promise of Arthur returning was still way better than no Arthur at all, and so Merlin had willingly taken the bait. But the fake prophecy had obviously been made up; as revenge, or entertainment - or both; and Merlin had felt stupid for not having realized this ages ago - The Sidhe were proud indeed; and Merlin had thwarted them. (It had been easy to forget it at first - to tell himself that they hadn't known Arthur was THE Arthur at the time, whatever...) Merlin wasn't sure about what Kilgharrah might have exactly known or not (On the one hand, Kilgharrah had forged Excalibur, who had always truly helped them. And Merlin had been warned by the Great Dragon, right from the start, and repeatedly; so wouldn't it all have worked out just fine if he had listened. On the other hand, if he had listened? Wouldn't he have been a monster, punishing people for crimes they had not yet committed? So maybe giving him the truth had in fact been the sure way to have him not acting on it. After all, Kilgharrah had hated the Pendragons - at least Uther - enough to have tried to wipe out Camelot. And he hadn't been exactly pleased either to discover Merlin was a Dragonlord, even if he had seemed to soften when he had realized that Merlin would not control him as a puppet. And last but not least, Kilgharrah hadn't taken care of Aithusa as Merlin had thought he would; and that's how Aithusa had ended up with Morgana - and had forged the sword that had killed Arthur), but it didn't change anything anyway...

Well, you bet Merlin hadn't been willing to indulge them any longer. Not that anger was what was driving Merlin, of course. There was simply *no point* anymore in waiting. Nor in living, to be honest - especially as it might be what kept him from actually finding Arthur again somehow; next life, paradise, wherever and however and whenever? Merlin was no religious man, but even he had no answer about what happened after death after all. Maybe it was worth a shot? It was a very, very thin chance indeed; but it was still more of a chance than just staying here waiting for *nothing*... So. Merlin had begged Freya for Excalibur. But as she had kept absent, it had dawned on him at some point that Excalibur wasn't the only blade he could use... Merlin had searched for that other mighty weapon through his magic for years; then had sent his creature to retrieve it when he had successfully localized it.

And here, now, finally, is Mordred's sword.

And Merlin feels no dread, no fear, while holding it. If anything, he feels calm - calmer than he has ever been, probably. And that's how Merlin knows that his decision is indeed right: even his magic agrees.

He should do it in the lake though. Magical artifacts just shouldn't linger around in the open, huh...

Yes.

Let Mordred's blade rest along Excalibur.

And let Merlin rest along Arthur.

Freya will make sure they all lay undisturbed.

Merlin blindly pulls at the cord around his neck, taking it out from under his tunic and sliding his left hand along it until it closes around Arthur's mother sigil (AN) and Camelot's ruler's ring (Gwen had it brought to him, so he could give it back to its true owner on his return: Camelot in the meantime was to be ruled by a Concil of Knights and a Guardian, until Arthur would come back to sit on his kept empty throne and his kept empty seat at the Round Table).

Merlin closes his eyes; makes a silent promise.

I'm coming, Arthur.

He takes a first step into the lake.

Backstory: +1500 years in short - because it hurts and I just don't have the heart to fully write the prologue I had intended to write:

Merlin has never left the lake. He kept waiting. He couldn't, wouldn't leave, (nor SLEEP even for that matter by the way) no matter for how short - imagine if Arthur came back just when he was NOT there, huh. And of course he wouldn't trust his magic to warn him somehow - it had failed Arthur when he needed it the most after all. So no. Merlin has never left the lake. But Gaius has mentioned to him (Merlin got visitors, in the beginning (and his mother came to live with him until she died); before he cut himself off the world) how maybe the time he was given without Arthur was to LEARN more about magic; so that he would be prepared when Arthur came back to face whatever ordeal they were supposed to face. Because even if Merlin is hyper *aware* - he feels *everything*, through his magic - practice is necessary too. So Merlin mastered the art of molding sand/clay and animating it with his magic (basically, he walks the Earth as Old Merlin - because people tends to let old grumpy men on their own - whenever he needs anything physically). He can speak, hear, see, learn, through him, following the world as it expands (America, Australia, etc etc, because even if he was aware they existed, he couldn't physically *go* there before they were 'found'). And he can touch, and carry (for example you bet he brought back something red for Arthur to wear every time - Merlin sort of owns a 'male red mode through the ages' museum by now - and he hates it, of course). The first time Merlin has truly thought Arthur *would* come back has been The Great Plague. The second time has been WWI. The last drop has been the Nazis and Unit 731 experimentations. So Merlin sent its creature to fetch Mordred's sword after having localized it though his magic - and that's what Old Merlin is bringing back to him when this all starts (aka that shot at the end of 5.13)…

(AN: Just so you know, Merlin's magically pierced in the thickness of Ygraine's sigil to pass a cord - he wouldn 't make a hole in the front design of course!)

(Also… A resurrection fic!? What am I getting myself into!? I’m still a newbie around here so I definitely haven’t read enough Merlin fics to ever claim making something original (so by the way, please feel free to let me know your all time favourites resurrection fics! So far I’ve read The Change Trilogy and Like the cycle of the year we begin again (and they’re both gorgeous reads so run and read them if you haven’t yet!) but I haven’t seen (yet?) my take, both on the waiting and on the getting along after Arthur’s return, in the fics I’ve read so far, so I thought I might as well write this down ?)

II. (ALTERNATE POV)

Arthur regains consciousness under water.

He's cold; so cold he's shaking - helpless, steady spasms he just can't put an end to (being past half dead apparently has repercussions?). But it's bright, up over him, and he instinctivally pushes himself up towards the light; towards the air.

The moment he breaks the water, Arthur registers that he's not only alive but that he feels *just right*. No pain in his side, no weakness, no dizzinesss, no strain: nothing wrong at all - except from the convulsions from the cold, but you bet he's not going to complain, all considered. The sun is veiled by clouds, but feels nonetheless like a welcomed warmth on his face, and Arthur breathes deep, bringing his arms up and turning his palms towards the warmth too as the tremors start to subdue; he's alive!; and well! He doesn't need to pat his absent wound in wonder, nor to look at the water, transparent clear instead of bloodened red, to know that what he feels is true.

Merlin's done it.

He *has* saved his life.

Again.

It's both unexpected (Arthur had been so sure he had taken his last breath, when all had finally faded to black) - and yet somehow expected. Magical waters and a sorcerer who knows how to work its power would do wonders, obviously. It has happened before after all, bringing his beloved Guinevere's spirit back?

A sudden realization; and Arthur can't help but laugh. And it feels so exhilarating - alive! alive! - the laugh turns into a howl; and Arthur relishes on it, throwing his head back. Honestly? How could he have ever been *so* blind - of course it had been Merlin then too by the water edge, disguised as an old woman!

Somewhere on his right, a buoying laugh erupts.

And Merlin knows that laugh. So hearing the exact right tone of that entirely unexpected laughter at once feels as if a vicious invisible hand is squeezing at his heart.

He had forgotten it; he realizes. But he would recognize that howling laugh amongst any other...

Merlin doesn't dare to *believe*. Cruel hope nonetheless blooms unbidden in his heart, and his eyes can't help but zero in on the source of that sound.

And it is exactly as it should be; exactly as it has used to be...

There *is* ARTHUR; standing in the lake, water reaching his hips, chainmail glistening, head thrown back as he laughs. (Has anyone ever looked more simply breathtakingly majestic no matter what they did and even without trying?) Merlin can only see his back, but you bet he would recognize the shape of that back amongst any other too.

Merlin's breath is knocked out of him; and Mordred's sword falls from his hand.

Merlin knows what he hears and sees *cannot* be true. He has seen the world in a much, MUCH more desperate state without Arthur coming back then. There is absolutely no reason for Arthur to come back right now. So. He is being granted a vision; that's all. But of course Merlin wouldn't, couldn't, try to take his own life anymore, not after having had even just a glimpse... Besides, he has just handed over the last sword that could end him anyway. Merlin has to acknowledge The Sidhe's thinking; they know exactly well how to play him. But damn, they are vicious.

But no matter the abysmal pain from such a low blow, Merlin still considers this to be a gift, and is determined to draw it out for as long as he will be allowed to. Those few seconds might sustain him for another fifteen centuries to come, and maybe more...

Arthur quiets down after a while. Thinking about his savior: where is he?

Arthur scans his surroundings; and the warmth he feels when he finally spots Merlin definitely eclipses the sun.

The laughing stops, and Arthur turns, eyes searching; and a bright smile appears on Arthur's face the moment they find him.

"Merlin!"

Merlin's knees give out. His name through Arthur's lips has sounded *exactly* right - righter than in any memory Merlin has relied on to live on hanging onto. And it hurts. The shame, and guilt - to realize he had forgotten *this* too? It shouldn't have been possible - to have something so dear going misformed; a pale, withered, incomplete, erroneous copy, so far from the original that its truth has disintegrated? Oh yes, it hurts.

And Merlin's fingers dig; hard, deep into the sand. He cannot reach out. He longs for; he *aches* to - both physically and emotionnally. But he cannot. As long as it's only his eyes and ears that are deceived, then he can pretend it is true...

Merlin starts to cry. He can't help it; he cries - as he hasn't cried since, well, all those years ago: silent tears endlessly streaming down his face, unabached, treacherous; and Merlin hates them - hates the way they blur his vision when he has to - HAS TO - *see*. He is powerless to stop them though.

It is *blinding*.

Merlin has tried, so hard, to keep remembering, to NOT forget. But his memories, even sustained with his magic, have so obviously failed him; haven't done Arthur any justice at all. Merlin has forgotten so, SO much; and being proven just how much he has actually forgotten slices through him like a knife. The exact darker shade of Arthur's blond hair when wet. The exact way Arthur stands and moves. The exact sharpness of Arthur's features - his nose, his cheeckbones, his jawline. The exact shape of that smile - that particular, undeniably fond smile following his name Merlin has used to live for and from. Guilt slashes through him again. How could he have *forgotten* the exact shape of *that* smile; the most precious to him amongst the myriad of each and every of Arthur's smiles?

But then Merlin collapses, instead of cheering with him - he has thought him gone for good? And Arthur suddenly feels like there is still after all a gaping aching wound on his body; but this one deep in his chest, and of his own making. He owes Merlin *everything*, doesn't he? Yet he has hurt him - and so very severely. Despite it, though, Merlin obviously still cares for him; and so very much... His own behaviour puts Arthur to shame. So. Arthur hadn't had the time nor the strength to plainly apologize before. But he has now; and he won't run away from the words that he needs to say - and even more important, that Merlin needs to hear...

Arthur is now rushing through the water towards him - so fierce!, so strong!; alive and well!? His smile is gone though; replaced by worry - because of Merlin's tears, no doubt: yet another reason to hate them then...

And then Arthur is plopping down in front of him, out of breath; and Merlin gets proof again of just how much he had forgotten - the exact colours and depths of Arthur's eyes! There is now a fragile smile back on Arthur's face - a soothing smile, meant only for Merlin's sake; and it's going to break Merlin's heart, no doubt.

III. (MERLIN POV)

"I'm fine, Merlin. I'm fine."

And not only the voice is perfect, but the language is the one Merlin hasn't heard for over a millenium...

"Arthur?" is all Merlin can let out - no more than a somewhat hiccuped whisper as he still has no breath, no voice, to start with; but an obvious plea coming from the depths of his soul. A world of wonder, and longing, and ache, and disbelief, and hope - because no matter what, Merlin can't help but want; can't help but hope - in those two syllabs that own his heart. Magic *does* exist, after all; and Merlin would give it all - all the magic he possesses, all his pain, all his hopes, everything - for this vision to turn real.

Arthur's already fragile smile falters: "Don't you remember, Merlin. No man is worth your tears." The reproach is nothing but badly fake though, and Arthur's voice somehow breaks as it ends: "Especially not me."

And then suddenly - and so quickly Merlin doesn't register any of it before it has actually happened, and so it is too late for him to move backwards to prevent it from happening - Arthur brings his hands on Merlin's face, gloved fingers brushing his tears away under his eyes - and Merlin can *feel* them!?

Merlin is lost; lost in what he sees, lost in what he hears, and lost in what he feels. Can this be true? Can it truly be true?

But then Arthur starts speaking again - rushed out words leaving Merlin stunned.

"I apologize, Merlin. The way I reacted- (sigh) I deserve all the names you've ever called me and more. I'm thick, and dumb, and *such* an idiot, and a complete dollophead, and a cabbage head, and a prat, and a royal *ass*, and I still don't know what a clotpole exactly is but I'm certain I am the definition for one indeed too. I may have seen anyone with magic turning against me; but I should never have doubted *you*, Merlin. I should have remembered the butterfly (AN)."

Merlin just cannot believe what he's hearing. It's everything he has ever wanted to hear; everything he has ever hoped to hear - so how can it be real?

"But more than anything, I think, I'm sorry because I should have known, Merlin. I called you a liar; looked at you like you had betrayed me. But you've told it. You actually shouted it for everyone to hear; and I believe you nearly told it to me, privately, at least once, and presumably more... But I just didn't want to hear it, did I? So I'm sorry I was such a coward; a *coward*, Merlin. And I'm so sorry, and so ashamed - and honestly I really can't blame you for not trusting me to understand: because you were right; and it guts me, Merlin. 'There is no place for magic in Camelot'? How hard it must have been for you to say-"

Merlin can't help but shake his head, about to interject. Not because (even if it's true) one exception shouldn't and couldn't be enough to break a rule anyway; at least not at once, and not until Arthur would understand that magic itself isn't corrupt. Not because it hadn't been hard in fact to say those words - at least not hard enough, and that will always feel wrong. But simply because real or not just cannot matter anymore; not when Arthur's gaze is boring into his very core, pleading and honest and full of a guilt Merlin just can't bear to witness: "Arthur-"

Arthur silences him though, cutting him off by shaking him once by the shoulders: "But what counts is that I know, now, Merlin. Your magic is not only part of who you are; it also makes you who you are. And I will trust it; because I trust *you*. You must believe- No, let me rephrase this before you obey me again - because you *always* obey me, don't you Merlin; even when whatever I say in anger or despair isn't intended nor meant to be an order; and I've done it so often, haven't I... 'Do not put me into that position again'? 'Tell me it's gone'? (AN) So. Can you believe me; Merlin? It's not an order; I definitely do not deserve to give you any order at all to start with anyway. You don't even have to forgive me; you shouldn't forgive me maybe. But please, at least, can you b-"

"Of course I believe you. And there is nothing to forgive, Arthur. Nothing." Merlin half shouts, ancient words flowing instinctively, head skaking 'no' for emphasis, bringing his hands up to Arthur's wrists and pushing downwards, keeping Arthur's hands in place on his shoulders. If this is a waking dream then Merlin never wants to leave it. This is solid enough, real enough, for the rest of his maybe neverending life. "You're here. You're well. That's all that matters, Arthur; I swear that's all that has ever mattered to me."

Arthur holds his gaze for a long, long time; as if waiting for Merlin's clear eyes to betray his words. And when he finally seems confident enough that they are indeed genuine, he whispers, but it sounds like a pledge: "And you're here, Merlin, and you're *you*; and I swear that's all that will matter to me from now on."

AN: Tiny quotes from my Body Swap fic; sorry, I just couldn't NOT put it there, it just FITS...

(Also, just imagine they speak in old brittonic... but please don't expect me to write it? sorry?)

IV. (MERLIN POV)

Arthur squeezes his shoulders one last time and then lets go, about to stand.

"Now, let's go home. We have a feast to prepare in your honor."

Merlin cannot tell if his heart has just completely healed or totally disintegrated. Let's go home?

It's real! Of course it's real. If Arthur doesn't know- It's real! Arthur is truly back! And that's...

But *Arthur doesn't know*. And so *Merlin will have to tell*.

Merlin blanches. He feels guilty, anew. Because he has hoped and prayed and begged for Arthur to return; with everything he had. He has been selfish, hasn't he? And he has been blind; stupidly blind - again. All those years he has prepared for taking care of a still bleeeding wound, for clothes, for food, for any necessities; but it has never crossed his mind that Arthur wouldn't know... and he is not prepared for Arthur's emotional pain; and even less for causing it. Some small part of Merlin can't help but wish now that Arthur had stayed in the lake after all, had never awoken. It's too cruel. Merlin shouldn't be the one to break Arthur's heart.

Arthur is reading his panick wrong, of course:

"Don't worry- No one else has to know about your magic if you don't want to. But you DID end the war, Merlin; you did what I couldn't do - Morgana... All Camelot should know what they owe y-"

And Merlin can't bear Arthur's concern on his behalf any longer; making it last feels like a betrayal. And no matter how much Merlin doesn't want Arthur to get hurt, ever, he cannot and will not lie - not about this. Conjuring ghosts wouldn't be real and would only make it worse in the end anyway. The only option is a clear cut, right away.

"It's not- (deep breath) I'm so sorry, Arthur. We cannot go home. You were gone. For such a long time. For such a long, long time, Arthur. I'm so, so, sorry."

And Merlin watches, feeling his eyes filling up once more, as Arthur's eyebrows furrow in incomprehension; as Arthur blinks, taken aback as realization hits; as Arthur's eyes turn desperate and pleading, shaking his head in denial-

"No. I remember just-" His voice falters as he probably notices the house behind them - the house that definitely hadn't been there before - and who knows what more (trucks on the road farther away? joggers in strange clothes passing by?) "And you look exactly-"

And Merlin has nothing to say, nothing to offer, to soothe the hopelessly growing pain ready to crush his King, hollow him out - nothing but the cruel testimony of his once more, always, useless tears; and Arthur knows, indeed.

It comes out as a whisper, but it sounds as if Arthur's spirit has gone with it, vacillating.

"They're all-"

And the only thing Merlin can say still is: "I'm so sorry" - again.

"My people? My Knights? My- Guinevere..."

And it hurts. Oh, it hurts; to have to see Arthur's broken heart on his face, to hear its crack as his voice breaks on his Queen's name and his head turns away.

"I'm so sorry."

A litany; a chant; a prayer. Over, and over, and over. Pointless, worthless, useless, anyway; as his King cries silent tears, all the more shattering by their quietude...

Then Arthur is up and pacing, a fierce but dark spark in his eyes as his hands turns into fists - anger, rage; of course.

"Why did you bring me back then? How could you bring me back if-?"

And Merlin would gladly take a blow; if it could help Arthur to feel better, somehow. But nothing comes. It's Arthur. Of course nothing comes.

Arthur briefly closes his eyes, inhaling sharply. And when he opens them again, Arthur's anger hasn't faded; but isn't directed towards Merlin anymore.

"But then; you would have brought me back right away, wouldn't you have - if it had been in your power..."

And Merlin feels crushed, again; by how he *always* fails Arthur, indeed.

"I'm so sorry..."

AN: I realize I do have a thing for Merlin crying - blame it on Colin’s A+ crying performances - so of course it has to appear somewhere… Merlin will not weep though for much longer, if it can reassure you…

V. (ARTHUR POV)

Merlin hasn't said the word; but Arthur heard it anyway.

Dead.

He'd been dead.

And for such a long, long time, Merlin had said; even though it feels merely minutes since he closed his eyes?

It makes no sense; it feels unreal - impossible. Merlin hasn't aged a day...

And yet... The grief in Merlin's eyes tells him it's true. Everyone he knows, except Merlin, is gone. Arthur doesn't know what feels worse. To know that he will never see any of them again; or to know that he has failed them all... He feels unfulfilled, hollowed out; utterly lost, even though knowing exactly where he is...

He feels furious, too. What is the point of coming back to life, if it's coming back *too late*?

But Arthur simply knows, somehow, that Merlin - who has literally collapsed upon seeing him emerge from the lake; who has seemed so utterly shattered by his apology; and who looks now so honestly sorry for his loss, gazing up at him from the ground, nothing but stabbing understanding and concern in his eyes - isn't to blame for that lost time.

Which means his presence, here and now, is puzzling indeed:

"What are you doing here, then? If you neither cured me through the lake nor provoked my return?"

VI. (ARTHUR POV)

("What are you doing here, then? If you neither cured me through the lake nor provoked my return?")

Merlin seems to hesitate - looking embarrassed?

"I was waiting. Since you- I've been waiting for you."

And this just doesn't make sense.

"Why would you think I would, I could, ever come back, if I was...?"

"There is a prophecy, Arthur. So you were to return, in order to fullfill it."

"A prophecy?"

Arthur is stunned shocked. He had expected some malicious sorcery at work and Merlin having heard of it and come over - it would have made sense; and it would have given him the opportunity to fight, if not to save then at least to honour his lost people. But Fate? How is he supposed to make Fate pay? And what is Its intent to begin with? A prophecy about him? Arthur feels powerless. Is his life not even his own?

Then Arthur remembers the puzzling word has passed Merlin's lips once before.

(I'm sorry. I thought I'd defied the prophecy.)

So. Merlin had known about this? Before...? And had never said a word - again? Another secret Merlin has kept from him; but this time, about himself - about *his death*? It feels even worse than Merlin hiding his magic. After all, Merlin's magic concerned Merlin, indeed. But how and why could Merlin - who Arthur considered as his true friend, no matter how often he had repeated they couldn't be - keep something that concerned HIM from him? Especially something that monumental?

It hurts. Arthur wants to scream. But all that comes out is a shocked whisper:

"All those years; and you never said a word. You knew how and when I was to die; and you never said a word."

Merlin looks shattered by the accusation - but he doesn't refute it; only try to explain the unexplainable, eyes apologetic under Arthur's blaming gaze, voice so evidently full of guilt and regrets:

"Because I believed I could actually prevent it from happening, Arthur. You are the once and future king who will unite Albion and bring magic back to the land; and helping you achieve such a goal is to be my destiny. So says the prophecy. So I believed I was the one, the only one, able to prevent it from happening. And as it depended on me alone anyway, I thought I should spare you from the weight of such a burden."

Merlin lets out a deep sigh before meeting his eyes fully again, his voice turning urgent and pleading:

"What was I supposed to say? That your loved ones would turn against you? You wouldn't have believed me. And even if you had... I didn't want you to have to worry all the time and about everything. You have no idea how it feels - the infuriating and desperate helplessness; to constantly fight to stop something you constantly fear, but to see everything you ever try twist and turn against you; to realize at every corner that what you thought you understood means something entirely different; and that nothing you ever do makes a difference in the end... 'Once and future'? I used to think it meant you would win the war; take your throne back for good. Or die trying, by Mordred's hand and Morgana's will - but only if I failed. There were two stories, and I thought it was to be or/or; but it was and/and. I was such a fool, Arthur; such a blind fool. It's only when you- when you- that I understood what it truly meant as a whole."

Merlin sounds utterly sincere; not only heartbroken but even empty after his confession.

And Arthur wants to believe that Merlin's silence had been well-meant.

But Arthur can't help but feel betrayed still, lingering on the echo of yet another odd word he hadn't realized to be literal at the time.

(It's my destiny. As it has been since the day we met.)

And Arthur finally understands what he has never been able to comprehend until now. Merlin's puzzling bone-deep *devotion* to him; that dumbfounding unequivocal absolute *commitment* he has never wanted to doubt nor question. Well; it turns out it has in fact little to do with him... He is just a mean to an end, right? Arthur can't help but replay their shared years through his head now with this new knowledge; and it all slashes through him like a double treachery. Arthur can't even tell what feels the worst:

Did I ever know you at all?

Do you even like me at all?

'I want you to always be you', he had said - and he had meant it: the magic, all in all, had only been an addition to who Merlin was. But this? This isn't a simple revelation. This feels like a revolution - a definitive, shattering change. And it hurts, losing Merlin; even though he's right in front of him. Does the person he had always believed Merlin to be even exist? Yet another grief, on top of his fresh mourning for everyone and everything he's lost...

Arthur's hands turn into fists at his sides to suppress his urge to snarl.

"So that's why you came to Camelot. For me to bring magic back."

"What? No! I had no idea- My mother hoped Gaius might be able to guide me: I had questions, about my magic, and-"

Merlin seems honestly surprised - and appalled - by his train of thoughts; at once standing and coming closer in his urge to explain. But Arthur moves away, keeping distance between them. He cannot trust anymore in his abilities to see straight through Merlin without further information. He has never seen straight through Merlin, apparently.

"When did you hear about it then?"

"A few days after I had arrived in Camelot", Merlin confesses right away; eyes pleading, definitely understanding the terrible weight of his words yet obviously choosing to come clean - but not moving closer this time, knowing it would only be rejected.

And it's here, again; in those little things. The way Merlin not only respects his boundaries, but respects them *even at his own expense*. The way Merlin has kept so much hidden, and for so long; yet can't actually tell a lie right to his face when asked for the outright truth, even to save his own skin. It cannot be pretense, right? On the one hand, Merlin's face tells him all he needs to know. But on the other hand, Arthur still needs more answers, and he commands them.

"Who told you?" (Not Gaius, right? Please; not Gaius.)

"Kilgarrah."

"Kilga- who?" Arthur is honestly puzzled. He surely never heard of someone with such a name in Camelot.

"The dragon your father kept prisoner under the castle."

"What are you speaking about?" Arthur doesn't let Merlin time to answer though, cutting him once more as he opens his mouth - collateral information must wait for later, when faced with such an enormity. "No matter; one treacherous beast just said (can dragons even talk?) *this nonsense*, and you believed it? It's insane!"

"The druids spoke about it too."

"That's even more insane! Why would the druids trust- They hated Camelot. They hated me."

"They didn't. Not all of them, at least. (helpless sigh) Anyway, the prophecy is truth, Arthur. Your return is proof of it. You were to rise again; when Albion's need would be greatest. And you just did, Arthur. You just did."

The words stab through Arthur, making him see red. So Arthur cannot be softened by the evident not only wonder but even joy in Merlin's voice and eyes and everything. It comes out in a roar.

"My people needed me! What need can ever be greater than that responsability!"

Silence falls, all the more shattering after his outburst.

But Merlin has heard his need for an answer, and so he gives him one - even if it's none; shaking his head in helplessness, voice breaking and eyes begging:

"I do not know, Arthur."

Merlin is nothing but obviously caring, and sorry - sorry for him; holding his gaze with only patience and commiseration - hurt about his hurt, regrets about his regrets, and helplessness about his helplessness.

And somehow, having to see Merlin's hurt and regrets and helplessness feels worse - worse than his own hurt and regrets and helplessness, somehow: because the pain on Merlin's features is his own doing, again - even though Arthur has sworn to himself only moments ago never to hurt Merlin that badly anew; and even though Arthur knows that none of the injustice he feels is Merlin's fault to start with, if everything had already been written in the stars anyway. Arthur now feels guilty for having lashed out.

Besides, Arthur knows his rage cannot and will not change a thing, sadly. Even Merlin's supposedly unparalleled magic is powerless, obviously. So. His whole purpose, his reason to be, has simply vanished. The desperate rage finally turns into crushing grief, the shout into a devastated whisper.

"The only destiny I ever wished for was to be the King Camelot needed. And now Camelot is gone."

"No."

The fiery professed word brings his attention back to Merlin - Arthur hasn't been expecting an answer; it hasn't been a question. Merlin shakes his head, a clear denial; and then kneels down on one knee, all reverent, head bowed down.

"For as long as I draw breath, Camelot still stands, Arthur. I may have grown up in Ealdor, but you have always been and will always be my King."

The words ring nothing but deeply heartfelt. But to Arthur, they only feel infuriating. Merlin officially bowing to him off formal ceremonial occasions makes him sick. Because surely Merlin is deferent in any way but not that one, especially when it's just the two of them. And most of all, because this is fake and wrong. Arthur wouldn't tolerate even for the most helpless person to bow to him simply because he should to start with; so the greatest warlock to walk the Earth, the most powerful being alive probably? The idea isn't only ludicrous, it's simply nauseating.

"Because a prophecy says that you were 'born to serve me'?", Arthur can't help but spit out, knowing now how literally Merlin had meant those words. It is not enough. It could never be enough. Arthur lets out a deep sigh though at the edge he couldn't keep out from his tone, realising in fact and no matter what, he is more angry at Merlin's Fate than at Merlin himself. How come Merlin isn't enraged too, to start with? He is just as much a puppet of Fate as he is, isn't he? "Get up Merlin; this is ridic-"

"Because I wouldn't change a thing, Arthur", Merlin exclames, cutting him mid-sentence. And it is not often indeed that Merlin actually raises his voice in anger at him; and it startles Arthur silent.

Arthur has crossed a line, apparently. The most startling though is to realize that Merlin's lines aren't about himself (he sure never looked angry over buckets full of cold water over his head or anything): they're about Arthur - once about Arthur creeping around in the woods unprotected for example; now about Arthur misreading him. Merlin's eyes are now boring into his, nothing but fierce and ardent; even though his voice turns again gentle and even adamant:

"You are not my King because of a prophecy. You are my King *in spite* of it. I grew up wondering why I was born with the abilities I had, indeed. But when I was told... Believe me, I really didn't want it to be true; at least, you bet I didn't want it to be *about you*. But then... I got to see what you were truly made of; who you really were. And everything I've ever done since then has always been for and because of you. That's why my magic is for you; and only for you, Arthur. Not because I am supposed to; but because I want to. Because I believe in you. And if my destiny is to be of any help to you then I am proud of it indeed - because I am proud of you."

As always, Merlin just sounds sincere, radiating unwavering loyalty; and Arthur is baffled. Can it still be true, despite it all?

"Please get up, Merlin," Arthur repeats, this time more gently.

"Not yet."

Stubborn - as always, again. It would make Arthur smile if it didn't feel so heartbreaking.

But then, Merlin lowers his gaze once more as his hand moves about his collar, and Merlin is presenting him with Camelot's ruler's ring, holding it out.

"Here. Gwen had what is rightly yours - according to each soul in Camelot - sent to me; so that I could give it back to you on your return."

And Arthur is paralyzed. It means so much. But he cannot take it. It is both too much and not enough. And more importantly: he has no right to - he has let his people down.

"Please, Sire."

And Arthur hears the word exactly for what it is. 'Sire' had used to be his official appellation in Merlin's language in their beginning ('My Lord' being restricted for sarcastic comments since its first use). But its meaning has grown over time - as Arthur had let simply his first name or nothing at all become the norm between them - and Merlin only uses it now on special occasions: whenever Arthur needs an extra boost in confidence and Merlin feels like insisting on his allegiance to him. Some things apparently truly never change.

"It doesn't have to be for me; nor for you."

He's transparent to Merlin, isn't he? Always has been, probably. It doesn't feel worrying though. It is a gift, to have someone who understands him that intrinsically.

"It is the wish of your people. Take back your ring. Wear it with pride. For the love of Camelot."

And how could Arthur deny this? The rallying cry is deep embedded in his soul, indeed - and he would never turn it down. No matter his guilt or inadequacy, Arthur will honor his people's will.

"For the love of Camelot."

Arthur finally takes the ring from Merlin's hand and puts it on.

AN:

I swear, those two will be the end of me. Everything about them is so LOADED, and it hurts :( Their shared history is heavy. Merlin's lonesome centuries are heavy. Arthur losing in a wink his reason for being is heavy. I'll never rest until they get some happiness, they just deserve it :(

Also, please don't be angry at Arthur. He's not at his best in this bit, I agree; but his purpose for being alive is gone for good and he's supposed to be all right 'because it's meant to be'? He has a lot to go through, and it is a lot to take in. So remember two chapters ago. Arthur isn't good with talking about feelings; but he's brave, and when it matters, he speaks - and he actually said A LOT to Merlin then, for someone usually emotionnally constipated who expresses his affection by throwing punches, right...

@clone-number-1

#merlin #merthur #bbc merlin #bbcmerlin #merthur fic #the once and future fic #my own two spells #fanfic #fic #text

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supercalvin · 7 years ago

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Hi, if possible: Canon and Uther finds out that Arthur is in love with Merlin? Maybe confronts Arthur? Thank you :)

Anyone remember this scenefrom 1.09 andalso this hilarious interaction in 2x10? I kinda pulled Uther’s mindset fromthese two scenes. Like Uther’s feelings towards Merlin is definitely a mixed bag.

***

Uther had been eating dinner with his son when he noticedit. Perhaps Uther had noticed this behavior in his son before, but it was thefirst time the realization struck Uther.

Arthur was smiling throughout their silent dinner. He didn’tsay much of anything, but there was a small tilt to his lips.

As Arthur’s servant bent over to pour wine into Arthur’smostly-full goblet, Arthur looked up to his manservant, only a few inches away.Arthur gave a shy smile. Merlin pulled away, either barely noticing Arthur’ssmile or ignoring it.

Uther had never seen his son act so coy before. Arthur was aman who took what he wanted, and stated it proudly. Perhaps Arthur wasn’t alwaysso brash, but he certainly was not shy about anything.

But it clicked into place as Uther remembered Merlin’scomplete and utter dedication to Arthur. Merlin was always by Arthur’s side,and he had proved he would die for Arthur if need be. Such loyalty in a servantwas hard to come by and very valuable. Uther believed that one’s people shouldbe a bit in love with their Prince, but the way Arthur was looking back atMerlin…

“Arthur, I wish to have a word with you.” Uther cleared histhroat, gesturing to the guards at the door and to the manservant. “Alone.”

Merlin’s eyes went wide, making him look idiotic. Utherreally didn’t see the appeal. The manservant bowed and made his way out, givingone last look back.

Arthur was frowning, “Is there something wrong?”

Uther understood Arthur’s confusion, since only matters ofthe highest importance required Uther to speak to someone in complete privacy.

Uther took a sip ofhis wine, thinking over his words, and letting Arthur stew for a bit.

“You’re fond of the boy.”

Arthur’s body stiffened. Uther knew his son well and he knewas Arthur incessantly tapped on his goblet that he was nervous.

“You won’t answer me?”

“It wasn’t a question.” Arthur said, with an unusual snap inhis tone towards Uther.

“Your manservant is very loyal. He would die for his Princein a second,” Uther noticed the way Arthur frowned and seemed highlyuncomfortable at the thought, only proving Uther’s theory. “Despite his lack ofetiquette and his overall…idiocy… Heis a valuable servant.”

Arthur opened his mouth to answer, but Uther cut him off.

“He is your servant, and it is required that he is loyal toyou. But you cannot return these sentiments, Arthur.”

“Why am I being chastised?” Arthur sneered “I value Merlin’sloyalty and companionship. I see no crime in that.”

“No, but in the past you have risked your own life for his,a mere servant. You are not just a man, Arthur. You are Camelot and you can never prioritize a servant over Camelot.”

Arthur swallowed, looking down at his half-finished meal.

“I know young love when I see it, Arthur and this cannot continuein this way.”

Arthur looked up, eyes just as wide as his uselessmanservant’s. “Love?” Arthur scoffed, trying to laugh but it came off wrong. “That’sridiculous, father.”

“I’ve seen enough.” Uther snapped, and Arthur seemed cowed. “Youcan do whatever you want with the boy, I don’t care. But you cannot love him, whenit means that you will put his life over Camelot’s. You have a duty to Camelot,as my heir and as the future sire of Camelot’s next King you cannot be with aman-“

“Father!” Arthur tried to protest but Uther continued.

“If I see that you cannot set your priorities straight, I willsend the boy back to the countryside and I will ensure you let out your…needs… elsewhere.”

Arthur was red in the face. Whether it was from humiliation,anger, or both, Uther couldn’t tell.

“You understand why I’m telling you this?” Uther asked.

Arthur was tapping furiously on the arm of his chair. Lipsthin and eyes downcast, Arthur finally let out an answer. “I understand, father.”

Merlin had been worried out of his mind when Uther sent everyonebut Arthur out of the room. The hall where Arthur and Uther ate dinner was oneof the few places in the citadel that Merlin had yet to find a place whichallowed him to spy inside the room. So he was forced to go back to Arthur’schambers and wait for Arthur to return with the news.

When Arthur returned, he couldn’t help but immediately start‘chattering’ as Arthur usually called it.

“What did he say? Is everything alright? Did somethinghappen?” Arthur didn’t say anything, only frowned and tugged off his jacketwith more force than necessary. “Shit, Arthur, did it have something to do withone of the visiting nobles? There’s going to be a war, isn’t there? You’regoing to war, oh gods, I’ve never been to war!”

“There’s no war, Merlin. Shut up.” Arthur threw his jacketon the floor and then tore off his shirt, tossing it behind himself. He went behindthe changing screen before Merlin could ask anything more. Merlin shuffled awkwardly,picking up the discarded clothes as they flew over the screen.

Arthur came out in his well-worn sleep trousers, and thenwashed his face in the bowl of fresh water that Merlin had left out. He had yetto say anything.

“Am I not allowed to know? Is that what it is? You know Iwould never tell a soul, Arthur! Not even Gaius, if you asked me to keep asecret, I would!”

Arthur looked pained. “I did ask you to keep a secret, butit appears my father found us out anyway.”

Merlin paused, feel his jaw unhinge as he stared at Arthur’sfrowning expression.

“Your father knows that we… He talked to you about…” Merlinmade a vague gesture.

He and Arthur had been in this odd arrangement for only afew months. They slept together, sometimes after the thrill of a fight wellwon, sometimes after a long day of stress, but also sometimes just for the hellof it. Merlin wasn’t complaining about the arrangement, but he never knewArthur’s stake in it. After all, he would be King one day and Merlin was stilla warlock…

Arthur turned to his bed and pulled down the covers with afierce tug. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t worry!” Merlin exclaimed, “Are you mad! Your fatheralready hates me! He’ll have my head on a chopping block next!”

“No, he won’t.” Arthur looked uncomfortable, like there wassomething else on his mind.

“Arthur…” Merlin came up beside Arthur, touching his facetenderly. Arthur leaned into it like he always did, before he pulled away abruptly.

“Stop. Just…stop.” Arthur stepped away.

“What did he say?” Merlin asked, touching Arthur’s arm, butagain he was pushed away.

Arthur gave a self-deprecating laugh, “He’s right, you know.He’s completely right.”

Merlin frowned, trying to get Arthur to look at him, butfailing.

“He doesn’t care that we fuck.” Arthur said, finally turningto Merlin, his tone harsher than Merlin expected. “Why would it matter? I won’tproduce bastards this way and besides that, it’s none of his concern who is inmy bed.”

Merlin coughed out an awkward laugh, “So, what’s theproblem?”

Arthur looked into his eyes, examining Merlin for a longmoment.

“Arthur-?”

Arthur lunged forward, grabbing Merlin’s face in a tightgrip, and kissed him fiercely. It was a harsh kiss. Even the sex they had hadafter a near-death experience had never been this rough. Merlin gasped, but hedid not protest. He grabbed onto Arthur’s shoulders and tried to keep up withthe kiss. It seemed to come out of nowhere, while Merlin was still trying toprocess what had riled Arthur up.

Arthur pulled away, but his eyes were not filled with lust,like Merlin would have thought.

Merlin frowned at him, “Arthur? What’s wrong?” He touchedArthur’s brow, trying to smooth out the wrinkles that formed when he frowned.

Arthur let out a long and shaky breath. He leaned his headdown on Merlin’s shoulder. “I can’t. I cannot just have you like this. I won’t.”

Merlin shook his head, “I don’t understand.”

Arthur looked up, cupping Merlin’s jaw in soft, gentle hands,nothing like his previous hold. Arthur smiled ruefully. “My father said that ifI ever prioritized you over Camelot, he would banish you.”

Merlin smiled with confusion, “Arthur, you would never prioritizeme over Camelot, don’t be ridiculous.”

“Oh, but I do, Merlin. I do.”

Then he kissed Merlin slowly, taking care to kiss Merlin’supper lip and then his lower lip. He held Merlin so reverently Merlin waslightheaded from it.

“I am…” Arthur shook his head. He pulled away just enoughthat he could take Merlin’s hands into his own. He pressed a kiss to Merlin’sservant-worn knuckles with his eyes closed. “You hold my heart in your hands,Merlin. But I am not just a man. I am Camelot’s future King.” Arthur looked up,somber clouds in his eyes. “I would die for you, Camelot be damned, and myfather knows that.”

Merlin stared. He stared and stared, until finallyeverything slotted into place. Then, he understood Arthur’s anger and the wayhe shook as he held Merlin’s hands.

Merlin gripped Arthur’s hands, “We hold each other’s hearts.There is no weakness in love and loyalty. If your father disagrees, then he is aslonely and bitter as I always believed.” Arthur opened his mouth, but Merlin stoppedhim. “You will not choose me over Camelot, because I won’t let you. I am justas dedicated to Camelot and to peace as you. No one will be dying for anyone.”

Arthur gave a weak smile, like he was only humoring Merlin. “Anyoneever told you that you’ve a strange look on the world.”

“You, on countless occasions.” Merlin smiled, touchingArthur’s jaw. “Now, kiss me?”

Arthur did.

#merlin #merlin fic #ficlets #merthur #anonymous #***#holy shit that is a post

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