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the-king-and-the-druidess · 7 months ago

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Lady green sleeves•Morgana's green dresses

Greensleeves was my heart of gold, your vows you've broken like my heart

The soft woolen green dress with wide sleeves lined with lilac silk was probably the most medieval-looking apparel of Morgana's wardrobe. The show's costume designers compared it with soft chainmail. And the dress played a quite significant role during the development of Morgana's arc in the early seasons. Morgana wears it in the episodes and moments that may be called fateful and crucial for the plot and her fate. Later, green and black will stay her significant colours for years. Green is the colour of magic, nature, life but sometimes is associated with jealousy and cunning.

Season One

The first appearance of this significant dress happened in The Gates of Avalon, ep7. In this episode, we see the Sidhefolk and their magic, Arthur gets sinking in the Avalon waters foreshadowing his future in the Diamond of the Day, and Morgana says that cool phrase, "And killing things mends a broken heart?" foreshadowing her own future as well.

The second appearance is The beginning of the end, ep8. One of the most fateful episodes of the whole show. Morgana, Merlin and Arthur meet Mordred, the end of their world. Morgana heals him, she tries to help him, she confronts Uther and he strangles her. Kilgharrah warns Merlin that Mordred is going to kill Arthur, Merlin has to choose.

Next time we see the green dress in to Kill the king, ep 12. This episode is also crucial. It seals Morgana and Uther's enmity, it's the first time Morgana is willing to kill for her cause, Merlin looses the chance to be free. Also, the way Morgana shows her wounds from the shackles kind of foreshadows her future imprisonment in the well. (This is the first time the dress is worn with the golden girdle)

The last time in this season the green dress can (barely) be seen in Le Morte d'Arthur, ep13. In this episode, Arthur is shown the omen of the Old Religion, he almost dies, Merlin bargains for his life for the first time and kills the High Priestess for the first time. Morgana is horribly tormented by the visions of Arthur's death. (Later, things will turn upside down and she'll become obsessed with his death for another reason). She is wearing the dress looking at Merlin riding off to the Isle of the Blessed to kill Nimueh and by this attract the next priestess, Morgause, in their life. Morgana's magic is getting stronger as well as her fear, depression and anxiety.

Season 2

In this season, the green dress becomes the "Lady Macbeth's beetlewing dress" as it's collar gets decorated with small green iridescent shells. The dress symbolises Morgana balancing on the the verge of moral ambiguousness. She is slowly turning into a dark, tragic, powerful (anti)heroine and wears the green dress pretty often. Unlike the first season, she is either in green or white for the most of the second one.

Morgana wears the dress in The curse of Cornelius Sigan, ep1. Camelot is under magical attack, and we can see the glimpse of the classical Arthurian healer!Morgana when she treats Arthur's wounds. Her and Gaius' exchange in this ep sounds like foreshadowing:

"You shouldn't be doing this."

"It's exactly what I should be doing!"

"You need rest, Morgana."

"And I'm likely to get it with everything that's going on!"(/s)

Compare with "I will know no rest" in His father's son.

The next time the green dress shows in The witchfinder, ep 4. Morgana knows that she has magic, and she is terrified to realise that she, a secret witch, can be burned at the stake just like Gaius and the others. She sees yet again how merciless Uther is to magickfolk, how he is ready to execute even his old friend just because he has magic.

In Lancelot and Guinevere, ep 5, Morgana is in the dress when she begs Uther and Arthur to save Gwen from the bandits. She is losing faith in everyone and everything in Camelot, even in Arthur, when she thinks that no one cares but her.

The witch's quickening, ep 11, is pivotal to Morgana's arc. She is drawn to the rebellion side. She decides to help other magical people to really fight Uther, she is ready to lie and steal in order to win and be free. She is told by Alvarr and Mordred that she is their only hope. Kilgharrah utters the prophecy about Morgana and Mordred's evil alliance and Merlin antagonises Mordred.

There is the full set: the dress, the snake necklace, the snake-ish girdle.

The fires of Idirsholas, ep12, without words is the moment when the old Lady Morgana dies and Morgana the Sorceress is born, although it was not entirely her choice, though she is definitely on the magickfolk's side. Her consent to Morgause and especially to Merlin's causes is dubious or wasn't given at all. She is the vessel of the mighty spell in this episode, just like she will become the vessel of "the power of Heaven" in the future; Merlin poisons Morgana literally and metaphorically and she goes away to come back changed.

She wears the green dress during the entire ep, with the necklace and girdle. It's also the first time Morgana wears black eyeliner.

The "magical" green dress.

This dress of green silk and chiffon combined with the wide golden belt and bracelets first appears in The nightmare begins, ep 3, when Morgana returned from the Druids with the knowledge of her magic; and since then this dress appears in the moments where magic acts/mentioned or Morgana is plotting/lying.

In this season, Morgana is in this dress when she realises that she has magic; when she received the magical bracelet from Morgause, in the Beauty and the Beast – a magical episode – and when she steals the keys from Arthur for Alvarr and Mordred. The only moment this dress is worn in a non magical/plotting episode is Lancelot and Guinevere, ep 5, when Morgana meets Gwen again. The reason why this dress was used this time is unclear, it can be the hint at the future: Morgana finds out about Gwen's secret love for Lancelot and will use it against her in Lancelot Du Lac; or because this ep was important for developing of Arthur/Gwen and evil!Morgana will oppose this relationship in the future.

Season 3

Now dark!Morgana wears purple, green and white colours most often in this season. These are her colours through the seasons (purple, green, white are also happen to be the colours of UK's suffragettes and Women's International Day)

The "fateful" green dress is worn by her only once, she prefers the "magical" variation of the significant green dress in this season.

Tears of Uther Pendragon, ep 1 and 2, open the season where Morgana is "the enemy within", she has joined the dark side and is devoted to witchcraft. She wants the revolution and power and is no longer a friend for Camelot and her former family. She poisons a witness, she watches Uther's suffering from the mandrake root, she falsely comforts Arthur.

The Goblin's gold, ep 3, is a magical episode, and Morgana wears the green dress when she is watching magical chaos disturbing Camelot. She is told that she has a cold heart and wants to see Uther dead and Camelot destroyed.

The Changeling, ep 6, is again a magical episode. Morgana wears the green dress when she first notices Arthur and Gwen's affections and enjoys teasing Gwen about the impossibility of it.

The castle of Fyrien, ep 7, is when evil!Morgana finally turns against Arthur personally, arranging a bait for him. She sees no other way for her mission than to take the throne for herself, so she needs to kill her younger brother for this.

In The eye of the phoenix, ep8, Morgana is lying, plotting against Arthur and uses a cursed magical artifact against him.

In The queen of hearts, ep 10, the "magical" green dress shows when Morgana sees Emrys, her future doom.

Morgana wears the green dress in The coming of Arthur, eps 12 and 13 as well. Theses episodes are full of magic, twists and are very important, since Morgana and Morgause have finally won Camelot.

The "fateful" green dress, in the full set with the snakes necklace and girdle shows for the last time in ep 12, when Morgana and Morgause's plans start unfolding and Morgana is soon to be queen. She lies to Uther and speaks about change and the new age.

This is the last time we see Morgana in full green. Later, when she is a priestess and the witch of the woods, the bright colour of the past will be covered by a veil of black lace.

#long post #heavy post #morgana #merlin meta #the green dress #greensleeves

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gnbrkrs · 4 months ago

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Very late Endwalker tank role quest impressions because I am a slowpoke who couldn't finish it for 2 years

Decided to move this post to Tumblr because I felt I might structure it better without having to think about the pesky character limit on Twitter. Also, as a warning, this perspective may be partially biased due to me picking the questline up again, way long after doing the first part because a lot of IRL issues popped up over these 2 years, and I chose to focus my remaining free time on GPose over anything else.

Overall the questline was... Okay. I would still rank it below the healer questline, which I thought was good at the time I did it, but I am not sure if I'd rank it above the caster role quests(which had a problem of rehashing storylines and motives that were already present in older questlines). There were certain moments where I feared the story would take specific routes, but thankfully, that did not happen.

I feel like the moment where people come to support Kan-E-Senna is very heartwarming, and it was nice to get into her backstory a bit. I am certainly curious what she was like when she was a student, and kind of hope that this may be used as a hook for potential character development similar to one Nanamo and Merlwyb underwent. At the same time, given how much the game keeps shilling the Elementals completely righteous creatures despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary (which I talk about next) makes me unsure whether SE is ever going to take that direction at all.

I feel like a lot of it's potential is downplayed by the fact that FFXIV's story seems to consistently try to gaslight the player into believing that every messed up thing the Elementals do, or every oversight that happens while Gridania prioritizes faith in them above all else, is either something to be expected or For The Greater Good, Actually.

Not only was Ea-Sura-Supin aka Elenyja cast out by the Elementals once for a relatively small mistake as a student, which is a pretty out there thing to do in the first place, especially since at the time, he saw it as his life's calling. They also were powerless to save his wife (possibly because they were growing weaker, but regardless, we have what we have), which broke him the second time. This should show how being overly reliant on them may not be the best course of action, along with the many other instances over the course of the game. The Hyrstmill villagers bring this case up up to Kan-E-Senna, and are completely valid in doing so, and yet their concerns are talked over in a matter of a few minutes, with the answer being to have more faith in the Elementals. Which is... Something that has multiple problems on many levels.

Through the entire game, both in the MSQ and the various job/ role quests, there here are cases in which the Elementals either do nothing for one reason or another, do not help or actively harm because they think a person is bad (which they are right sometimes, but there are also cases where it normally wouldn't be up for creatures like them to decide), or otherwise cause some other sort of messed up stuff to happen. Yet this is continuously treated as something heroic and unambiguously good, and all the bugs of such system are just treated as something that is bound to happen. I get that the world isn't fair, and that there are always going to be things that are perceived as something different than what they actually are, but when literally every other nation in the game, including the other main heroic factions and previous arc's big villain faction, has a "we are actually fucked up and we need to do something about it" arc, the continuous presentation of the Elementals as an unambiguously good force gets old. People love to rag on Werlyt for making Gaius look good (which I partly see as justified because there are certain moments that required elaboration, and I have my own complaints about Werlyt's writing, but also at the same time not justified because a lot of them use the writing as bad faith arguments to bash on the character and portray him as an irredeemable monster worse than Zenos, Emet or Thordan), but IMO the Elementals have been getting it on a way greater scale. Since launch. To a point that most players don't even seem to notice it.

Overall, I think it could have been very good. We see interesting bits in it, we see it expand upon existing lore and characters. And what little we see of Ea-Sura-Supin IMO makes him an interesting character, even if posthumously. But being told once again that the Elementals are perfectly fine and good tires me, so it brings the questline down to my book from good to just okay. Anyway, on to the melee DPS quests, as I've been leveling Viper since DT's launch, and it's about time I started them. Or I might finally say fuck it and jump into DT's MSQ without finishing Viper and Picto leveling, because I am tired of spamming the same dungeons in Trust.

#ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #endwalker #gridania #endwalker role quests #impressions

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fandomficsnstuff · 2 years ago

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Witches and Wizards - 8

(Warnings: FLUFF, a little bit of some dark topics (what happened to Ophelia’s parents), a tiny bit of angst and the twins pranking Ophelia even thousand years away)

Note: I once read parts of a fic where the reader has magic and goes back in time, meeting Merlin. I sadly can’t find it anymore. Also Fred didn’t die in this.

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Ophelia was silent as she stood next to Merlin, tears in her eyes as she watched Arthur kneel, the crown placed on his head and without truly realising it, her hand ghosted over Merlin’s, her pinky finger hesitantly and carefully interlocking with his and she dared to look up at him, chest heaving with nervous and shaky breaths, her eyes locking with his and he gave her a soft smile, a nervous smile of her own breaking out across her face but her smile faded a little as she stared at him, sadness filling her eyes and she gave him one last soft smile before retracting her hand and looking back at Arthur.

“LONG LIVE THE KING!”

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It was evening when Ophelia gently knocked on Arthur’s door, coming inside at his welcome, quietly closing the door behind her. She took slow, careful steps towards the new king as he looked out the window into the darkness, a small sigh leaving her lips. “You’ll be a good king, Arthur… I know this probably isn’t the way you wanted to succeed him but… it happened. And… I know I’m not the only one with any knowledge, and I’m not saying my word is better than theirs, I just want to help… it doesn’t seem like any of the other lords even would listen to me, but I hope you will. I know I’m new here, I’ve only been here a year and a half, but if you ever need an outsider’s perspective, I’m here. I’m not claiming to have some wonderful gift of intelligence or have some special ability to plan sieges or gather armies… but I do have experience in life, even though I’m very young… I’ve been through war, I’ve broken into a bank and one of it’s vaults, then broken out of said bank after retrieving something very important to turn the war against our enemy, I’ve known loss and I’ve known what it felt like to have your entire world ripped away, right from under your feet and I’m good at figuring most people out…” Ophelia spoke softly, Arthur only turning his head in her direction, not even looking at her, making her sigh and take another step forward. “My mother died in my arms,” she began, this made Arthur turn to look at her, small tears in his eyes and Ophelia nodded softly “I was returning home for the summer, she wasn’t there to pick me up as usual but I thought it was fine, she probably had to work late, she was a nurse, you see… a healer, like Gaius. So I thought maybe she just lost track of time, taking care of people. I was thirteen, I knew how to get home by myself, so I did, I had wonderful news, too… My uncle was an innocent man and he was my last tie to my father… so of course I was excited to tell her. I went home. Before I even walked inside it-... it felt-... different. And it was… Inside was a group of people, I knew who they were, I wasn’t naive… the war I was in lasted nearly a lifetime. You see, my father was from a very rich, prominent family with strong views, views these horrible people shared. But my father met my mother, the type of woman his family looked down upon and he just-... fell in love… he loved her and when he found out she was pregnant with his child? He knew he had to do something, something to make his legacy a little less dark for his child. So he rebelled… a one-man army, I guess… his family had sided with the horrible people in this war, the evil ones, I suppose you could call them. We call them Death Eaters. His family supported them, sided with them… he got his hands on one of the things that made their leader so powerful… he went looking for a way to destroy it, at the very least hide it away in the depths of some cave… and he died. He died alone, somewhere, probably some place dark and empty and cold… only a year after I was born… you see, these people had returned a second time around after they initially lost the first war, they had somehow found out that my father had a daughter and a woman he had proposed to but never had the chance to marry.

“They had come for me, for my mother… but mostly for me… they held her hostage, they wanted my loyalty because of how close I was to someone they wanted dead, as payment for the loyalty my father broke… I was stupid, couldn’t see that I could be on both sides and pretend to be with them because I wanted my mother safe… so I refused… they had something that could have killed her instantly, no pain, no fear, no nothing, just like blinking… but instead they tortured her, made me watch… they left her to die in my arms as her heart gave out after the torture…” Ophelia finished, having sat down on Arthur’s bed as she spoke, staring at him with soft eyes, Arthur’s eyes full of tears as he stared at her with sadness and horror. “My mother… she loved bats… I know they usually carry a dark reputation but she loved them…” Ophelia trailed off, leaning down and rolling the bottom of one of the legs of her jeans up, pulling her sock down to reveal her left ankle, a flying bat with light streams flowing after it’s wings, like thin straps of silk were hanging around the wings, even as the bat glided through the air, a smile on Ophelia’s lips as she watched it before pulling her clothes back in place, looking back up at Arthur “it’s called a tattoo… the second I was old enough, I got it, to remind me of her… where I’m from, bats represent rebirth and depth… finding strength in your fears… My mother always told me that it was alright to be afraid, as long as I knew it couldn’t last and that I had to face them at some point… Your father, Arthur, whatever else he was, was always your father first and foremost. He wasn’t a king, he wasn’t a soldier or a commander, he was your father… you’re entering a dark time, Arthur, a very dark time and you need people in your life to help you see through that darkness because the more people you have with you, the less likely you are to bump into things you can’t handle… you’ll all be like a wave, crashing over rocks and climbing over them, uncaring of where they stood because, you? You have somewhere to be. All that’s left now is to figure out where that ‘somewhere’ is” Ophelia ended, standing up with a sigh “and you’re not alone, Arthur. Advisor or not, I’m here. And I’m not talking about matters concerning Camelot or your new title as king, I’m talking about how you’re feeling… I know it can be-... hard… talking about what you feel in your chest because right now, everything hurts, everything hurts and it’s like a burning pain, but believe it or not, talking can lessen that pain and it won’t make you any less of a man or king… just try it, no harm can ever come from just trying something” Ophelia ended before sighing, about to walk out of the room when a hand gripped her wrist gently, Arthur trying to blink away his tears.

“You’ll have a seat at my table and council… always, and I’ll have someone be assigned to you, as Merlin is to me” he muttered, Ophelia smiling softly at him “it’s not necessary, but thank you. I promise I’ll be honest then, even if you won’t like it. This isn’t something I want you to give me, or to accept, I want to help you, as much as I can, you were already a great king before your father died, he would be more than proud” she stated briefly before leaving the room, walking towards her own.

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Ophelia had barely peeked her head outside after hearing the bells when a guard approached, hurrying towards her “King Arthur has requested your presence in the vaults-”

“Vaults?” Ophelia asked with confusion, the guard simply nodding and she hesitated before sighing and nodding, following him down the many, many steps and towards the sounds of voices. “King Arthur-”

“Ophelia!” Arthur practically dragged her inside the dirty, old ‘vault’, cobwebs hanging from the ceiling like drapes. “Arthur, why am I here-”

“You said you broke into a vault once-”

“Technically, yes-”

“Look around, what do you see here?” he asked quickly, Ophelia blinking as her brain tried to catch up with his words, looking around with a frown before shrugging, walking over to the gate where Lord Agravaine stood. “It’s not broken, so it was either picked, which is highly unlikely, or someone had a key-”

“Sire, exactly what I said. Why did you call for her-”

“Because she has experience and she’s wiser than you think” Arthur argued, looking back at Ophelia who gave him a subtle nod of thanks. “Well, uh… the guards?”

“Alive and unharmed. They were knocked out.”

“Alright, so it wasn’t someone who was looking to kill, but they still proved that they couldn’t easily be deterred. Was there much of a struggle?”

“No.”

“Alright… then either cunning, using a diversion, or they were the diversion, they were charming, quick… What was taken?”

“Nothing, except some… relic or something…”

“Expensive?”

“No. It was the third of something called a triskelion” Gaius stated softly, Ophelia giving a brief nod. “Then it was a specific target. Bellatrix’s vault had plenty of wealth but we broke in for one thing only” she murmured the last bit, walking over to the open small casket, examining the inside of it, especially the expensive blue cushion. “This wasn’t an opportunist-”

“We know that by now-”

“It was a heist” Ophelia stated the last bit with a shrug, turning to look at Lord Agravaine who stared at her with slight hatred, Ophelia turning her gaze to Gaius next. “This ‘triskelion’, what is it?”

“A type of key. A key that, according to legend, opens the ancient tomb of Ashkanar” Gaius revealed, Ophelia frowning, looking at Arthur who turned to look at Gaius “I remember my father talk of such a tomb. It contained a dragon’s egg” the second the sentence left his lips, Ophelia turned to look at Gaius with worry “it has been said…”

“You don’t believe it to be true?”

“Well, it is possible, sire, the wealth and wisdom of Ashkanar are without equal…”

“So this heist has a deeper purpose, this thief was learned… is the egg still there?” Ophelia asked with worry, trying to mask it as confusion but it was obvious to Gaius and Merlin, and hopefully just them, that this went deeper to her. “I can’t be certain. But to my knowledge, no one has disturbed the tomb for more than 400 years.”

“But with this triskelion, someone could?” Arthur asked, Ophelia frowning with even more concern now, her gaze turning to Lord Agravaine as he spoke up, “sire, a dragon’s egg can live for a thousand years. Even today, it could still hatch… another dragon can be born into this world.”

“So all my father’s work to rid the world of these monsters would be undone?” Ophelia tensed at his choice of words, her jaw clenching and she forced a smile “I think this goes way above my head, I’m afraid. I’ll be in my room” she announced stiffly, trying to contain her anger as she hurried out of the vaults, storming towards her room and the second she closed the door, she locked it.

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Ophelia ignored the knock on her door at first, trying to make sure her ingredients stood where they used to, trying to clean up the prank the twins had pulled on her, a heavy sigh of frustration leaving her lips as there was yet another knock on the doors, and then someone tried to enter, finding the door locked and Ophelia reluctantly walked over and opened it, seeing Merlin standing outside with a frown. Ophelia lightly rolled her eyes and walked back to her potions kit, jars, pots, boxes, vials and sacks were splayed out on the table where her cauldron had been, Merlin eyeing the various things with both interest and concern. “What-”

“I’m re-organising my ingredients because those bastard twins thought it’d be funny to prank me, they put some sort of hex on it, it keeps placing things where they shouldn’t be when I’m not looking!” she muttered bitterly, picking up a jar of some silvery liquid that looked like melted iron and blood mixed together as one, his eyes locked onto the beautiful, shiny liquid, his eyes continuously locked on it as she placed it neatly on a shelf in the potions kit, the cabinet doors wide open and he could see other vials and jars placed neatly inside, all with small labels, pointing forward. “What was that?”

“Unicorn’s blood… I’m not fond of how you get the blood, or at all in fact, but I buy it from a woman I know. She cares for injured unicorns and if they don’t make it… then she takes as many ingredients from them as she can, she doesn’t let them go to waste. Of course she sells other ingredients too but she’s the only one I know who I’m sure hasn’t actually harmed them to get the blood” Ophelia explained briefly, halting in her movements before turning to look at Merlin, he couldn’t quite figure out if she was angry or scared or confused. “Let me guess; Arthur’s going after the egg because it’s a ‘monster’?? Ignorant bastard… everything that isn’t like them is just dangerous and ugly to them. It doesn’t matter what it actually is! I’m sure they’d kill a goose if it just had one unusual feather and it makes me sick to my stomach!” Ophelia snapped in frustration, turning back around with a sigh, continuing to sort the ingredients. “And I’m guessing you’re going with him..”

“Ophelia-”

“You’re always putting yourself at risk, Merlin! You’re always putting yourself in danger and you might be powerful but you’re always risking your life! You’re like an adrenaline junkie! Eager to get your next fix of near-death experiences! And now you’re going after a highly skilled thief, to what? Save a dragon’s egg? Arthur will kill you, if he’s merciful! You’re always throwing yourself into danger and I can’t-.... You know what? Just-... try to save the egg, please…” she mumbled, clearly trying to dismiss him so she could focus on organising her ingredients, Merlin hesitating before taking a step closer “Gaius tells me it’s your birthday soon… you’ll be turning twenty...” he noted softly, Ophelia just nodding with a small humm, another silence filling the room and she sighed “yeah, the day after tomorrow is my birthday but-... just go, Merlin, get the egg… I’ll be here trying to fix my bloody kit… and I want you to be careful” she admitted quietly, turning her head in his direction without actually looking at him, Merlin nodding as he got the hint that she wanted to be alone, slowly drawing back, walking out of her room, closing the doors behind him. The second she heard the doors close she stopped organising, hands on the edge of the table as she hung her head, letting out a heavy sigh as she gently shook her head.

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It was nearly dark outside when there was another knock on the door and she had barely returned from the lower town, having helped a couple of wounded and sick people. Ophelia lifted her head from her hand, pushing her plate of uneaten food to the side and standing up, opening to the door to find a grinning Merlin, though his grin faded when he didn’t get a smile in return. “So, you survived” she noted almost with annoyance, gently shaking her head at him before stepping aside, silently offering him inside but he gently shook his head “I uh, I have a present for you… for your birthday. It’s today, isn’t it?”

“Well, it’s nearly evening, but yes…” Ophelia admitted with narrowed eyes, Merlin nodding at her, his grin returning and he nodded down the hall with his head, Ophelia frowning at him, turning around to get her robe, the one with the Ravenclaw crest, and following after him, out of the palace walls of Camelot and out into the forest, the sky darkening yet there was still a hint of light, lighting the way ahead as she walked over branches and sticks and leaves, following after Merlin who still wouldn’t tell her where they were going, or what was in his bulging bag. “Merlin-”

“It’s just around here” he stated, extending a hand to help her over a log and she took it, sighing as she continued to follow after him and out into a field. Ophelia gasped as she saw the egg as he pulled it out of his bag, both of her hands covering her mouth, her eyes wide as she stared at it, her eyes locked onto the egg as it was placed on a tree-stump. She barely heard the sound of wings on the wind, her eyes moving to the dragon first when he landed with a thud, her eyes still wide. “A pleasure to see you again, young Lady Black” he bowed his head, Ophelia unable to speak and the dragon moved it’s eyes to the egg, obvious joy shining through them at the sight. “Is it still alive?” Ophelia asked after finally finding her voice, the dragon nodding briefly at her “it can live for more than a thousand years, Lady Black” it announced, Ophelia letting out a breath of relief, turning her eyes back to the egg as Merlin grinned up at the dragon “so, you are no longer the last of your kind” he stated with joy, looking back down at Ophelia who had kneeled down beside the egg, studying it with great fascination. “When will it hatch?” Ophelia asked softly, standing back up and looking up at the dragon. “Young dragons were called into the world by the Dragonlords. Only they had the power to summon them from the egg… Fortunately, there is one Dragonlord left on this earth,” the dragon looked at Merlin, Ophelia turning her head to look at Merlin as well, “as the last Dragonlord, this solemn duty falls to you, Merlin” the dragon ended, Merlin looking at Ophelia who gave him an encouraging smile.

“How do I summon it?” Merlin asked hesitantly, his eyes drifting to Ophelia for some reason, as though she was the precious egg in front of him, the one thing that nothing could ever compare to, the most beautiful thing, the most expensive, wonderful thing in the world, unmatched by anything and anyone. “You must give the dragon a name” the dragon instructed, smirking, noticing the way Merlin admired Ophelia instead of the egg, the young woman smiling down at the egg itself, admiring it without daring to touch it. “Ophelia…” she looked up at Merlin who had called her name, giving him a soft smile and as though it was the reason why he had said her name, she moved away from the egg, as though she was assuming that he was about to scold her for standing so close to the egg. “Sorry I just-… it’s beautiful” she murmured shyly with a smile, Merlin just still admiring her, a soft smile on his lips as he studied her. “Give it a name” he instructed softly, Ophelia frowning at him with confusion “me?? I’m not a Dragonlord, Merlin” she stated with amusement “it has to be something that means something to you” she added, gesturing to the egg with a soft smile, Merlin still gazing at her “I know… give it a name” he repeated, Ophelia looking at him with shock, the two of them just staring at each other, her eyes growing softer and she turned to look at the egg, a euphoric smile on her lips as she studied it.

“Aithusa…” she decided, turning to look at Merlin, almost as though asking his opinion on the name, Merlin smiling at her before turning to look at the egg, the name she gave him was whispered, deeply, like the earth itself summoned the name and suddenly, the egg cracked. Ophelia was completely star-struck as she watched the white head poke out of the egg, her mouth half open and without being able to stop herself, she slowly walked closer to the young creature, her lips stretching into a bright smile as she kneeled down. “A white dragon… is indeed a rare thing, and fitting, for in the dragon tongue, you both named him after the light of the sun… and in the light of yours, Merlin” the large dragon stated, smirking at Merlin who blushed, his eyes moving to Ophelia, her hair almost white in the light of the moon as it shined down on her and the newly hatched dragon, Ophelia already completely smitten with it. “No dragon birth is without meaning,” Ophelia gently helped it out of it’s egg as it appeared to hit a rather tough part of it, her lips stretching into another grin as the dragon gently nipped at her finger before accepting her help, “sometimes the meaning is hard to see, but this time, I believe, it is clear. A white dragon bodes well for Albion, and for the Dragonlord who summoned it…” the dragon once again teased Merlin “for you and Arthur. And for the land you will build together, and the lives you will each build along the way” the dragon ended, Merlin looking back at Ophelia who had now helped the dragon entirely out of it’s egg, smiling with tears in her eyes before turning to look at Merlin “he’s beautiful…” she murmured, looking back at the baby dragon as it stood on it’s hind legs, Merlin smiling at her “happy birthday, Ophelia” he mumbled quietly, still gazing at her with his whole heart on his sleeve.

#Merlin #Merlin x OC #Merlin x Ophelia #Merlin BBC #Merlin the show #HP #HP fanfic #Harry Potter #Harry Potter fic #Ophelia Black

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 4 years ago

Text

Rainbow

Prompt: have you ever heard the song rainbow by dodie? i just heard it for the first time and i cant think of anything except how much it makes me think of poor bb Merlin. if you're interested could you maybe write a little fic based on it or something? it basically just makes me think about how Merlin would feel the first time Arthur and the knights compliment him on his magic, which is something he's been so conditioned to hate and think is monstrous his whole life (':

Thank you for the prompt, babe!

Read on Ao3

Warnings: none!

Pairings: merthur, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Word Count: 2709

Merlin is magic.

The world doesn't like magic.

...does it?

The first time he sees Percival smile at him, he almost drops his bag.

He’d barged into the armory, rubbed the wrong way from Arthur’s jests that had hit a little too close to home. Sure, in a few hours the prat would act like nothing was wrong or give Merlin some sort of soft look that would be an unspoken apology, but right now, he’s angry.

Merlin angry is never a good thing, but it’s even less of a good thing when he’s got no one to talk to. His magic tends to…protest. A little. He’s gotten a pretty good handle on it over the years, but he’s not perfect.

So when he swings open the door and the wooden boards decide now is the time to careen into a rack of swords, he barely glares in their direction before they freeze and sheepishly retreat back to their previous positions. He huffs and sets about getting the gloves mended.

“Wish you could do that to the others.”

He doesn’t want to say he jumps, because his feet never actually leave the ground, but…

Percival isn’t paying attention to him. He just looks at the rack of swords, perfectly pristine, as if nothing ever happened. He turns to Merlin.

“Can you do that all the time?”

“Uh—technically, yes?”

Percival’s face splits into a grin so wide Merlin would be worried if he didn’t know that spark behind Percival’s eyes. He echoes it warily.

“You’re quite the man,” he says instead, clapping Merlin once on the shoulder as he leaves, “and I am honored to bear witness to it.”

…see now normally Gwaine’s the one for flowery compliments, so coming from Percival…

Merlin shakes it off and gets back to work. But if his face is turning up into a smile rather than the glower he’d been wearing, well, that’s just good for his worry lines.

The first time Elyan claps him on the shoulder and says he should learn a thing or two about magic from him, Merlin stares at him like his eyes have sprouted into stalks.

“I mean,” Elyan says as he gestures to the part of his side that’s still tingling with Merlin’s magic, “if you can make it so I don’t need stitches ever again, I’d better start paying attention, hmm?”

Merlin blinks, still wondering whether there’s an infection settling in that would explain why Elyan is complimenting his magic. “…you could always talk to Gaius.”

Elyan waves his hand. “I’ve gotten the battle healer speech more times than I can count, and I’ve no interest in becoming a court physician.”

“Then you’re out of options.”

“If you’re expecting me to believe Gaius doesn’t know anything about healing magic, I’m not going to believe you.”

“I never said he didn’t.”

Elyan fixes him with a look. “I could always ask you.”

“But I learned from Gaius.”

“Then I’ll talk to Gaius about healing magic.”

“You shouldn’t,” Merlin blurts, “you shouldn’t talk to Gaius.”

Elyan tilts his head. “But you just said you learned it from Gaius.”

“I did, but—“

“...but?”

Merlin’s mouth opens and closes like a fish. Elyan just lies there, on the ground, as the others bicker about who’s looting what bandit. Children, honestly.

But he can’t let them know Gaius is involved. Gaius has tried so hard to absolve himself of magic, to leave it in the past, to—to hide his magic. Told Merlin to hide it too.

“Merlin?” Is that Elyan? “Merlin? What’s happening?”

Merlin blinks. “What?”

“You went away for a moment there.” Elyan frowns. “Are you alright?”

“Yes! Yes, I’m fine, you’re the one who got shot.”

He runs a hand over his side. “Doesn’t feel like it anymore, not thanks to you.”

The knight gets to his feet, adjusting his tunic and armor. He smiles, reaching down to offer Merlin a hand up. Merlin takes it, still dazed.

“We can speak about this later,” he says, “but I would like to learn from you.”

“From m-me?”

“Yes, Merlin, from you.”

With that, Elyan disappears behind him. A few seconds later, he can hear him shouting with Gwaine. Merlin’s still frozen, looking down at his hands. Are they—huh.

If he doesn’t bother to hide the golden curl of sparks around his irises the next time, well, it’s just that he wants to be sure Elyan knows exactly what the magic is.

The first time Lancelot asks him what his favorite spell is, he drags the man into a secluded corner of the palace and hisses at him.

“What is your problem?”

“Easy,” Lancelot soothes, holding his hands up and letting Merlin fist his tunic, “I meant no offense.”

“Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”

“What? Asking you what your favorite sp—“

“Shut up,” Merlin growls, his hand flattening over Lancelot’s mouth, glancing around frantically, “someone could hear you.”

A weathered hand covers his and he lets Lancelot guide his hand away, still glowering. The knight just raises his eyebrows.

“Is it an offense to all the others that you know to pick a favorite?”

“What? No, that’s not—they don’t care, it’s not like they’re sentient.”

“Then forgive me—“ and how is Merlin supposed to stay angry when Lancelot smiles like that—“but I do not see the problem.”

“You can’t just talk about magic like that,” Merlin whispers angrily, “not out in the open.”

“Merlin, in the time that I’ve known you, you’ve done magic more brazenly than I just spoke of it.”

“That’s different!”

“On multiple occasions,” he continues, still smiling, “you’ve done it in front of people that would happily have seen you killed for it.”

“Hence why I don’t really want it being spoken about!”

Something seems to flicker across Lancelot’s face and he steps forward, gently taking Merlin by the elbows. “Merlin,” he says softly, “none of those people are here.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” the knight corrects softly, that blasted smile still in place, “I do know that because Arthur has rooted them all out. And I’ve helped.”

“You’ve—“ Merlin blinks in surprise— “you’ve what?”

“There is no member of court that openly despises magic,” Lancelot insists, “and none that would dare harm a single hair on your head.”

Merlin’s fear fizzles and spurts in his chest, soothed in part by Lancelot’s grip. He swallows heavily, letting his head drop. It meets Lancelot’s sternum with a gentle thud.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Lancelot says immediately, his chest rumbling against Merlin’s forehead, “you’ve done nothing wrong. If anything it is I who must apologize.”

“No, it’s okay.” Merlin takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

“So?”

“What’s your favorite spell?”

Merlin glances around them. There’s a window overlooking the training field not too far. Tugging Lancelot along by his sleeve, he peers outside. No one.

“Let’s go.”

“Oh, we need to be outside?”

“It’ll be less suspicious.”

If Lancelot has any issue with it, he keeps it to himself. Instead he just chuckles and lets Merlin pull him outside like an anxious toddler. He lifts a hand to block the sun from his eyes as he watches Merlin wring his hands.

“You needn’t show me if you don’t want to.”

“No, no, it’s fine, I just…” he takes a deep breath, “I haven’t cast this in a while.”

He cups his hands around his mouth and murmurs softly. As he parts them, a swarm of vibrant blue butterflies fills the air around them, fluttering up from the safety of his palms. A soft smile crosses his face as he watches them fly up into the golden sun.

“Miraculous,” he hears Lancelot murmur distantly, still caught up in the swirl of wings, “truly miraculous.”

If Merlin lets one of the butterflies linger on Lancelot’s shoulder for a little longer, well, he’s just apologizing for dragging the man into this with him.

The first time Gwaine calls him beautiful, he laughs.

To say that Gwaine is a flirt is perhaps the greatest understatement in Camelot other than Kilgarrah isn’t concise.

Seriously. He doesn’t begrudge the dragon his fun—being locked and chained in a cave under Uther Pendragon is enough to drive anyone insane with boredom—but come on.

Anyway. Merlin’s turning away from Gwaine, dismissing the man as drunk again, only for there to be a gentle hand on his elbow turning him back.

“I heard you the first time, Gwaine.”

“And you laughed like you didn’t believe me.”

“Because you’re—“

Merlin’s eyes land on Gwaine’s and he pauses. Gwaine’s eyes are clear. Not dazed or fogged by spirits in the slightest. His mouth isn’t lolling to the side, bared in some audacious smirk, it’s not even smiling.

Instead, Gwaine looks the most serious Merlin’s ever seen him, bar the time he got stabbed and Gwaine pressed down on his stomach like a man possessed. It makes him want to laugh again, break the tension, get Gwaine back to his normal flirty self. But his laugh comes out choked and awkward and Gwaine still hasn’t blinked.

“If you’re looking for a warm body,” he tries instead, “try somewhere else.”

“I’m not, Merlin,” Gwaine says with a seriousness that makes Merlin wobble. “Nor am I joking.”

“I’m not beautiful, Gwaine.”

“Why not?” Gwaine looks him up and down. “Because you don’t think you are or because some nitwits told you you’re not?”

“…both?”

“You’re wrong,” Gwaine says softly, “you’re both wrong.”

Merlin just huffs and makes to turn away again. Gwaine stops him, standing slowly.

“Why don’t you want to hear this?”

“Because I don’t know what you want, Gwaine. And you should know you don’t have to ply me to get me to give you what you want.”

“What if I don’t want anything?” Gwaine won’t let go of him. “What are you running from?”

Merlin sighs. He lets his head hang and sets the jug on the table next to him.

“I’m not—Gwaine, what…why?”

“Because no one’s ever told you, Merlin,” the knight says, finally smiling as he runs his thumb along the sleeve of Merlin’s tunic, “and you deserve to hear it.”

Merlin swallows heavily. “What makes you think I’m beautiful?”

“Not to sound too brash—“

“Since when have you cared about sounding brash?”

He accepts the jibe with a nod, still smiling incredulously. “—but have you ever seen yourself when you do magic?”

Merlin’s cheeks burn.

He knows what Gwaine’s talking about. Some young upstart on the training field decided to show off like a pigeon about to be plucked and launched an errant spear in Merlin’s direction. He barely lifted an eyebrow and it dodged to the side as he fixed the squire with a look that said ‘do that again and it’ll be your head.’

The knights had talked about it for hours.

“Gwaine, I—“

“Merlin,” Gwaine says instead, “why do you think your magic isn’t beautiful?”

Ah.

Well.

That’s an interesting question.

One that Merlin would much rather never answer or hear again, thank you very much.

Gwaine, unfortunately, is not going to let him get away with that.

“Merlin,” the knight prods, “Merlin?”

Merlin’s face twists into an awful grimace. Gwaine doesn’t falter, just waits patiently.

“Because it’s magic,” Merlin spits eventually, “it’s not supposed to be.”

“Most things that are beautiful aren’t supposed to be.”

“But—“

“And just because they aren’t supposed to be doesn’t mean they are,” he continues gently. “And I don’t like seeing you grimace every time someone mentions it.”

Merlin blinks. “I what?”

“You make a face,” Gwaine says, “whenever people mention your magic. Like you wish you could’ve hidden it better.”

“Because most people want me to use my magic for—“

He cuts himself off. He shouldn’t have said that. He should not have said that. Gwaine just gives him a gentle squeeze of encouragement.

“People want my magic,” he says eventually, “not—not—“

“Not you?”

Merlin nods miserably.

“Well,” the knight says quietly, “we do. We want you. Magic and all.”

Merlin blinks. Why did—?

Oh. Now Gwaine’s leaving. As the door shuts behind him, Merlin stands completely still, puzzling over the words still ringing in his head.

Magic and all.

Merlin is inseparable from his magic. He is magic. Anyone who wants his magic is going to get—

Oh.

‘We want you. Magic and all.’

Most people who want his magic don’t want the man attached to it. Or rather, they do, because they want the scapegoat of someone to blame when the magic finally pays off. And most people who want Merlin don’t want the magic. Because—because—

But Gwaine said they do.

If Merlin stands there for a few more minutes before casting a simple spell in front of a mirror for the first time, well, he just—he just wants to see.

The first time Leon pulls him into a hug he cries.

“Come,” the knight murmurs, opening his arms and letting the great red cape spread out behind him, “shed your tears, Merlin, it’s alright.”

Merlin all but falls into the firm cradle of Leon’s embrace, letting the knight tuck his head into the ginger curls and cup the back of his neck. His breaths are coming in great shuddering gasps and it hurts, it hurts, his veins feel like they’re on fire.

“Calm yourself, Merlin,” Leon says in a low, even voice, “it’s alright. You’re safe.”

Merlin’s safe, because Merlin has magic, but Leon isn’t. Leon is just a knight—he’s never been just a knight, but he’s just a knight, and Merlin is fire and chaos and he will hurt him.

“You won’t,” comes the steady reply when Merlin whimpers that he will, Leon has to run before he destroys him, “you wouldn’t hurt me, Merlin, not ever.”

But I could, an awful voice whispers in his head, I could tear you apart, bit by bit, without even lifting a finger.

Something clenches in his gut that sends it roiling. He pitches to the side and dry heaves, horrible bitterness coating the back of his tongue.

“You’re alright,” Leon murmurs, still rubbing his back in slow, reassuring circles, “it’s alright, Merlin, everything’s alright.”

“No—no—it’s not—“

“Hush now, Merlin, don’t try and speak yet, just let this go.”

The ball of hurt in Merlin’s stomach snaps and unsnaps, coiling and recoiling until he’s dizzy, leaning entirely on Leon. Leon, of course, doesn’t even flinch at having the weight of an entire man on him. Instead, he sweeps Merlin into his arms and carries him a little further, settling him on the ground and wrapping his cape protectively around the two of them.

“It’s all gone—“ Merlin chokes— “I destroyed it, I destroy everything—“

“That’s not true, Merlin,” Leon says softly, “you know it isn’t.”

“I ruin everything!”

“You don’t,” comes the reassurance, soft, steady, unwavering, “and you know you don’t. Everything is alright, Merlin, no one is hurt, nothing is the matter, just rest.”

“I’m sorry,” he gasps out, unable to escape the blackness roiling in his chest, “I’m sorry I have magic.”

Shame blossoms in the wake of his words, the tears following shortly after.

Leon simply wipes them away with a gentle hand, soothing Merlin’s whispered apologies with every stroke.

“Never apologize for being who you are, Merlin,” Leon says firmly, holding Merlin’s unflinching gaze, “the world would be all the lesser for it.”

“P-promise?”

It’s the plea of a child. A desperate, frightened, lonely child.

If Merlin refuses to let go of Leon for the next few hours after Leon promises, well, that’s his business, not yours.

The first time Arthur tells him that he loves him, Merlin smiles as he tells him he loves him back.

#bbc merlin #Merlin #merlin bbc #merthur #merthur fic #fic #dragonbabbles

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starrysnowdrop · 4 years ago

Note

“Wait, are those-? Are those bruises?”

I can’t believe this ended up being 1,261 words long!!! 😖 But thank you so much @meepsthemiqo for the prompt!! I got so inspired with this one, so I hope y’all enjoy it!

Having safely landed the Enterprise in Ul’dah after their encounter with the XIV Legion’s Legatus, Gaius van Baelsar himself, and a fully operational Ultima Weapon, Yume, Cid, and Alphinaud decided that they should reconvene in Vesper Bay, to see how they can find their fellow Scions. Alphinaud was the first to go on his way, and Yume stood waiting in the Airship Landing while Cid spoke with the Arrivals Attendant.

As she grasped her right side of her abdomen, Yume reached into her pouch with her left hand and took out a potion. In one swift motion, she opened the vial and downed the blue liquid in one gulp.

Yume quickly put the empty vial back into the pouch slung around her shoulder as Cid walked back over to his Raen companion and smiled brightly, “Alright, we are all checked in now. Think we need any provisions before we head out ourselves?”

Returning his smile, Yume nodded in response. “I might need to grab a few potions, but that shall not take too long.”

“Is it alright if I accompany you?” Cid asked with a twinge of hesitance in his voice.

“As if you had to ask.” Yume winked at the Garlean man with a light giggle.

Though she wanted to move along to their next destination as quickly as possible, her body would not allow her. As soon as she took two steps forward, a jolt of pain shot through her abdomen and up her spine. Yume instinctively grabbed her right side just above her hip to dull the pain.

“Yume? Are you alright?” She heard Cid ask while holding her eyes shut.

The Raen shook her head and waved her hand at Cid. “I... I will be fine. Just a minor wound from Garuda. ‘Tis nothing to fret over.”

“Just a minor wound, is it? Then why are you looking like you might double over in pain?”

“Please, I will be alright.”

As Yume grasped at the stabbing pain, the fabric of her shirt rose up just enough so that Cid could see dark purple marks on her skin.

“Wait, are those—? Are those bruises?”

Yume was in so much pain that she didn’t even have the strength to explain to Cid what was going on. Her vision started to blur as Cid ran over and pulled up her shirt a little more, revealing bruises that covered the entire right side of her abdomen, surrounding the scar that reached from her hip across to her belly button.

Cid audibly gasped, “Seven hells, Yume!” He placed one arm behind her back and the other underneath her knees, lifting her up to carry her bridal style. “You need a chirurgeon now!”

She whispered his name as she reached up to touch his cheek, but she soon began to lose consciousness. “Cid...”

———

The Raen had no recollection of how she found herself in a bed, but Yume awoke with the light from the morning sun hitting her face. Looking over the room, she recognized the amenities immediately as an Inn Room at the Quicksand. Her eyes scanned the room until an unexpected sight made her heart skip a beat.

Standing upright and leaning against the wall, Cid Garlond had his arms folded and his eyes closed, breathing in deeply. She couldn’t tell if he was asleep, in silent meditation, or just lost in thought, but she sighed with relief at seeing him standing vigil over her.

After a few moments of gazing over at his serene form, Yume called out to him, “Cid? Are you awake?”

As if lightning struck him, the Garlean swiftly opened his eyes and looked over to the Auri woman laying in bed. “I’m here. How are you feeling?”

Cid walked over to Yume’s side and reached out to take her hand in his. His silver eyes gleamed in the morning sun as he gave her a gentle smile.

With a nod, Yume pulled back the covers so that she could look down at herself. “Better.” She glanced downward to see that she had on a loose white gown and she could feel bandages covering her entire right side of her abdomen. “I see that I am healed.”

Cid nodded. “Yes, you are now. The chirurgeon said you had internal bleeding and that you needed to rest for another day before you can travel.”

“What about Alphinaud?”

“He has already been informed, and he’s actually waiting for us here in Ul’dah.”

Cid finally looked away from Yume’s sunlit face towards the ground, but still held her hand gently. “I am curious though...”

Yume looked back at Cid in anticipation, though she already knew what he was going to ask.

“Why didn’t you just tell me you were injured and needed help?”

Yume closed her eyes, fighting back the emotions that were rising to the surface. A flood of memories rushed back to her; there were so many times that she had to survive purely on her own stubbornness and willpower, especially in the years following her exile. She was no healer... in fact, she could not wield white magic at all. But what was even greater than her stubbornness was what she felt for the man standing next to her. The last thing she wanted was to make him worry... yet that was exactly what she had done.

Shamefully, she pulled the covers back over her chest and looked to the ceiling.

“‘Tis just... I am used to drinking potions and letting my wounds tend themselves.”

Cid shook his head as he looked back at Yume with concern. “Even the greatest warriors need a trained healer and lots of rest. Why do you keep pushing yourself?”

Yume’s voice shook as she tried to explain her actions. “I just... I tend to not dwell on myself. I must do my duty as a Scion of the Seventh Dawn...”

Cid crossed his arms and scowled. “Even Scions need others to help them. If you tried to go into battle with your internal wounds, you could have done even more serious damage. Your scar could have reopened!”

As Cid raised his voice, Yume responded in kind, “I know that! I am not in need of a lecture, Cid.”

Cid unfolded his arms as he continued his barrage, “Then why do you not care about your health? Are you trying to kill yourself?!”

Yume’s temper flared as she lifted her head off of the pillow and sat upright. Her tail swished in the bedding as she grasped the blanket with two fists. “No, I am not! Why are you so angry about it?!”

“Because I lo—“ Cid quickly cleared his throat as he tried to recover. “I mean, I care about you, Gods damn it! I don’t know what I would do if something happened to you!”

Cid then turned completely away from Yume as she looked at him in shock. He held his face in his hands as he fought back tears. He deeply sighed as he struggled to regain his composure.

Yume’s heart sunk at seeing the man she has grown so fond of so distraught. She instinctively reached out to him, attempting to call him back to her bedside. “Cid?”

With a few strokes of his beard, Cid turned back to Yume. “Please, just promise me to take the time to get healed and to rest properly. Take better care of yourself, alright?”

Yume quickly nodded and smiled through the tears that threatened to overflow. “I promise. Pray forgive me for my recklessness.”

#writing prompt #cid nan garlond #cid garlond #cid garlond x wol #cid x wol #cid/wol #yume x cid #yume aino #oc: paint it black #otp: always you

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lover-of-midnight · 4 years ago

Text

Is there a way out - chapter 15+16

Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warnings

Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Rape/Non-Con

Categories:

F/M

M/M

Fandom:

Merlin (TV)

Relationships:

Arthur/Original Male Character

Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)

Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)

Leon & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)

Leon & Morgana (Merlin)

Leon/Morgana (Merlin)

Side Morgana/Leon

Characters:

Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)

Merlin (Merlin)

Leon (Merlin)

Morgana (Merlin)

Gaius (Merlin)

Balinor

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Dark

Dark fic

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Rape/Non-con Elements

Rape Recovery

domestic abuse

Suicide Attempt

Depression

Arranged Marriage

soul mates

Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics

Non-Consensual Touching

Omega Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)

Alpha Merlin (Merlin)

Alpha Uther

Beta Morgana

Beta Leon

Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics

forced bondage

Language:English

Arthur scratched his arm slightly as they walked to his room. He could feel the tears burning at his eyes.

He pushed the door open, allowing Leon to move into the room if he wants to.

Leon watched quietly as Arthur walked around the room, he was slightly worried at the way Arthur was scratching at his arm.

“Are you okay?” Leon kept his voice soft.

Arthur was silent for a moment before he nodded. They both know it isn’t the truth, but there isn’t a way they can change the situation.

Leon gave Arthur a sad smile. He felt unsure of what he should do. He knows Morgana and Merlin didn’t want Arthur to be on his own for a long time, but at the same time was there such an awkwardness between them that made Leon wanted to run.

Arthur bit his lip slightly as he tried to settle down in a chair. He couldn’t give Leon something to drink since Aceso had made sure there would be nothing with him in the room that he could use to hurt himself.

“I’m sorry.” Leon looked up sharply when he heard Arthur’s voice, it was the merest of a whisper.

For a moment he saw a broken man, not the person who had stood in front of him as one of the best knights Camelot had ever seen.

“What are you sorry for?” Leon kept his voice soft, but there was a hint of confusion there.

Arthur stared at the floor. He could remember the time he had tried to fight against Uther decision. But that had resulted in pain for everyone involved. Almost losing all of his friends.

Arthur's nails bite into the soft flesh of his palms. He couldn’t bring himself to answer Leon.

Leon crouched down in front of Arthur. His hand were warm on Arthur's knee, pulling Arthur a little bit out of his mind.

He stayed silent giving Arthur a few moments to gather his thoughts.

“For just going quiet on you guys. I- I didn’t want to.” Without thinking about it, Leon pulled Arthur into a hug. For a moment Arthur went tense before his mind click back that Leon wouldn’t hurt him. He was always like an older brother for Arthur.

Leon kept his griped as light as possible as Arthur sobbed against his shoulder. For a moment everything was just too much. Leon's heart broke at the soft sorry that was whispered into his shoulder.

“It is okay Arthur, it isn’t your fault.” Leon tried to calm Arthur down. He could feel Arthur tensing up slightly.

After an hour Arthur had calm down enough to sit back. His eyes were puffy and his mouth dry. He could feel the start of a headache forming.

“I am going to get you some water.” Leon kept his voice soft. When he was sure Arthur was steady he quickly opened the door.

A young serving girl walked down the hallway, there was a slight smile on her face. Leon walked over to her quickly.

“My dear, would you please bring some water up to this room?” Leon gave the girl a friendly smile.

With a small curtsy and yes sir was she on her way again. Leon could only hope that she would hurry with the water.

When he walked back into the room Arthur was using. Arthur was still in the position Leon had left him.

“Arthur?” Leon was now getting worried. The silence in the room was stifled.

Arthur looked up when he heard his name. He could see Leon in front of him, but it felt like everything was disconnected inside him. Everything felt far and at the same time was it near. Without noticing his nails pressed into his legs.

The slight pain was a distracting relief from the whirlwind of emotions he was feeling.

Leon jumped slightly when there was suddenly a knock on the door. He easily opened the door to find the girl holding a tray with pitcher water and a tankard.

“Thank you. One last thing, please go and find healer Aceso and Prince Merlin. Asked them to come here it is urgent.” Leon's voice came out in a slight rush.

With a nod, the girl rushed off again.

Leon focused back onto Arthur. His eyes were slightly glossed over.

“Arthur?” Leon's voice was slightly harder this time. He could see Arthur trying to focus, but something was keeping him in his mind.

Arthur forced himself to listen to Leon. His head was pounding and he felt like he was going to throw up.

“Do you think you can drink some water?” Leon gently placed the tankard against Arthur’s hands.

With shaky hands, Arthur took the tankard. He could feel the coolness of the metal and at the same time the warmth of another person’s hand. Arthur tried to concentrate on the difference in the temperature he could feel.

Anything would be better than his mind.

“Arthur.” The voice was distanced. “Can you drink some water?” Leon, that was Leon’s voice. Need to drink water. In that order.

With shaky hands, he bought the tankard to his lips.

Before he took a sip he froze slightly. What if there is something else in the cup other than water?

Leon looked up when Aceso and Merlin walked in. With a slight nod to them, he focused back onto Arthur.

Merlin watched silently as Leon hold the tankard for Arthur. He was slightly worried about how pail Arthur is, something much had happened.

Merlin crouched down next to them. “What happened?” his voice was a whisper near Leon’s ear. The last thing Merlin want’s to do is freak Arthur out more than he is at the moment.

Leon was silent for a moment. “I don’t know. He said he was sorry for something that had happened years ago, the next thing was he crying. He just started to calm down, I went to get him some water and he was like this ever since.” Leon was slightly frantic.

With a sigh, Merlin formed a sleeping spell. With a quick catch was Arthur in his arm fast asleep.

“The best for him now is rest. It sounds like he was trapped in a memory. He would feel better when he wakes up.” Merlin gave Leon a reassuring smile.

“Are you okay?” Aceso asked softly as Merlin put Arthur to bed.

Leon just numbly gave a nod as he watched Merlin. He knows he would lay later awake wondering how he could have done better here, but for now, everything was alright.

Merlin sat quietly next to Arthur’s bed. He was worried about tomorrow. A reaction like today’s might just set him back.

Arthur twisted slightly to lay on his left side. He didn’t bother to open his eyes since he could feel the pounding headache behind his eyes. The dryness in his mouth. He pressed his face into the pillow with a muffled groan.

Merlin reacted almost instantly. “Hey there.” His voice was soft as he gently runs his hand through Arthur’s hair. He could feel Arthur shivering slightly. With a little bit of coaching, he got his hand against Arthur’s cheek.

With a small hiss he pulled his hand away, Arthur was burning up.

“Arthur?” Merlin tried to get him to focus as he pulled the blanket from his body. With a reaction, Merlin didn’t expect Arthur jumped up from the bed.

For a blinding moment, Arthur’s vision darkened. He could feel his heart quicken. The start of slick spreading down his legs. The need to run almost overwhelmed him, but at the same time the fear of what is going to happen if he gets caught.

Merlin’s hand went to his lip where Arthur had hit him with his head. He could feel the blood trickling down his chin.

Arthur put himself in a defensive stance. His breathing came out slightly faster with each breath he takes.

“Arthur, calm down. What is going on?” Merlin crouched down in front of Arthur, making sure there was enough space between them that he wouldn’t feel threatened.

The air was thicking up with the acrid scent of fear, Merlin’s nose twitched slightly. He tried to make sense of what was going on. From sleeping to a fear-induced panic.

Arthur pressed himself closer to the wall, his hands scratched at his neck and any open pieces of skin he could reach. He tried to focus onto Merlin but everything felt too much.

He forced himself to finally answer when Merlin again asked him what was going on.

His voice was small, and Merlin's heartache at the vulnerability and fear pouring off Arthur when he answered. “Heat.” Arthur tried to make himself smaller.

Merlin was silent for a few moments. Truth be told he knows he should have suspected something like this to happen. Every two weeks, for three months, if he remembers the report correct.

“What do you need Arthur?” Merlin kept his voice calm. The last thing he needs to do is freak Arthur out.

“D-d-don’t k-know.” Arthur pressed his fist against his mouth, he could feel the tears running down his cheeks again. The headache slowly got worse.

Merlin took a quick sniff of the air, he didn’t understand how anyone could enjoy the smell, Arthur’s natural scent was completely buried under the pungent scent of fear. It made him wanted to choke.

“Do you think it would be easier to be back in your bed?” Merlin kept his hands in a surrender position.

Arthur froze up completely. He tried to force himself to breath but nothing came out. It felt like his heart was going to climb out of his chest.

“Arthur?” Merlin leaned slightly forward.

“P-please I wo-would be go-good.” The words came out with small hiccups. Merlin froze. Unsure of how to reacted he let his scent into the room. He could only hope it would help Arthur to calm down.

“Arthur, let’s get you back to the bed. We will figure this out. No one will hurt you.” Merlin edge slowly closer. He made sure to keep his body langue open.

Arthur body felt like lead when Merlin finally got him to stand upright. He hoped that he had read the situation incorrectly but he had a feeling he didn’t. He flinched away when Merlin helped him into the bed.

Merlin was silent, he knows that nothing he says or do would change the fear, he could only show him that he is to be trusted.

“Lay down darling.” The endearment just slips from his mouth without him even realizing it. Merlin gathers a cloth as Arthur tried to get comfortable. A whisper and the cloth was ice cold.

With a gentleness, Arthur never had experienced before Merlin took the cloth and pressed it against his head and cheeks. Hoping the cold would help him break the fever slightly. He knows more than likely in the end it would result in a cold bath if this doesn’t work.

Arthur slowly started to calm down as he realized that Merlin wasn’t planning on hurting him. That he is there to help him. A slight whimper tear trough his lips when his muscles cramp. Fresh tears fell over his cheeks.

A gently shushing sound made him calm down slightly. It was hard to focus on anything.

Both looked up when there was a sudden knock on the door. Merlin pushed himself up to get it. He wasn’t surprised to see that it was Morgana and Leon. With ease he let himself out of the room, almost closing the door.

“He went into heat.” His sounded tired. Morgana gave the alpha a quick once over surprised that he wouldn’t help with the heat. At the same time, she couldn’t help but worry about her brother.

“Is he okay?” Morgana’s voice was soft.

Merlin gave her a slight searching look. “Fever is too high, trying to bring that down.” His eyes turned to Leon. “Can you two try and convince the king to post phone tomorrow trial?” He kept his voice low.

With a nod, Leon turned around. Morgana stayed silent for a moment. “Would he be truly okay?” The worried was evident in her whole posture. Merlin gave her a soft smile. “He will be. Go and help Leon.” With those parting words, Merlin turned back into the room.

Morgana gave the door a last worried glance before she followed Leon. She could remember the dream. Arthur would be happy with Merlin, she knows he will. But the journey they would go on would be littered with hardship. No one could have gone through that and walked away alright.

Merlin crouched down by Arthur side again. He wasn’t surprised to see that he had started to cry again. “Arthur?” Merlin kept his voice as soft as possible. He would need to keep Arthur hydrated but he had a feeling that it would be slightly on the hard side.

Arthur pushed himself up to look at Merlin. He knows he should pull himself together but at the same time, he couldn’t help everything that he was feeling. It felt like he was trapped inside his mind.

As if at any moment Merlin would turn around and hurt him. “I-I'm sorry.” His voice was slightly broken. This wasn’t fair.

Merlin gently shushed him again. “Come you need to drink some water.” Arthur hangs onto the way he gave the order. For the moment he needed someone to just guide him through the motions.

When Merlin pushed the tankard against Arthur’s mouth, he opened his mouth without really thinking about it. The water was cold in his mouth and it helps him to gather his thought’s slightly. Arthur didn’t even realise how thirsty he was, until after the first mouth full.

Merlin checked that he didn’t drink too fast, but he made sure he didn’t pull the tankard away from his mouth completely.

“How are you feeling?” Merlin sat down onto the chair when Arthur was finished.

The quietness in the room was slightly tense. Arthur started at the blankets in front of him, not sure what to make of everything. When he was with Robert he knew after a while exactly what to expect, now he was just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Merlin sighed softly when the minutes had ticked by and he didn’t get an answer.

“Arthur?” Merlin’s voice was soft, but there was a firmness to it, that made Arthur tense up slightly. “Look at me please.”

Arthur forced himself to look at Merlin, his eyes were itchy and puffy from crying and he was relatively certain that he could climb out his skin.

Merlin gave him a soft smile. “Can you tell me how you are feeling?” Merlin was glad that Arthur was looking at him.

Almost as soon as the question was asked he looked down again. Merlin could see how his muscles tensed up. He had a feeling that the acrid smell wasn’t going to leave the room as long as this was going on.

With a quick glance, Merlin searched the room for the teddy bear he gave Arthur. Founding the teddy on the bed he pulled it up. With a gentle movement, he put it down on Arthur’s lap. Arthur pulled the toy against him.

“I’m sorry.” Arthur had briefly looked up when he said it. Before he looked back at the blanket again.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. This isn’t your fault.” Merlin’s voice was firm as he said it.

Arthur stayed silent, clutching the toy to his chest as if his life depends on it. Merlin didn’t deserve a broken omega, why would he stay?

#merlin (bbc)#merlin x arthur #merlin fanfic #alternative universe-dark #dark fic #DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT #rape/non-con #rape recovery #domestic abuse #suicide attempt #depression #arranged marraige #soul mates #non-traditional alpha/beta/omega #non consensual touching #omega arthur pendragon #alpha merlin

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swanqueeneverafter · 4 years ago

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The Once & Future Queen Pt.12

Storybrooke. Sheriff's Station. (Belle reads an entry in a book while Alice grimaces at the creature crawling under Will’s skin.) Belle: “I feared as much.” Alice: “What is it?” (Belle hands Elsa the book who studies the page.) Belle: (To Alice:) “It’s a Fomorroh. (She looks at the drawing of it in the book over Elsa’s shoulder:) Whoever put it there was very highly skilled.” Alice: “What does it do?” Belle: “In the days of the Old Religion, they were used by the High Priestess to enslave the minds of their enemies. Once a thought was planted, the victim would not stop till they’d accomplished it.” Elsa: (Looks up:) “Could that be what affected Anastasia?” Belle: “It’s a definite possibility.” Alice: (Staring at the creature squirming under her brother’s neck:) “How do we get rid of it?” Belle: “First we must paralyse the serpent.” (Belle looks to Elsa who nods and they head into the jail cell to join Alice. Standing over Will who lays sleeping on the cot, Elsa uses her powers to freeze the Fomorroh in place.) Alice: “Is it dead?” Belle: “Sadly not. Merely dormant. Now for the tricky bit. I’ll need a knife.” Lily: (Entering the station alongside Tiana:) “Here. Have mine.” (Lily pulls out a knife from her boot and hands it to Belle.) Belle: “Er... thanks. I still need to sterilize it though.” (Lily nods and walks over to her father’s desk. Pulling open a drawer, she leans down and produces a bottle of rum.) Lily: “Dad’s secret stash. Will that do?” Belle: (Nods:) “Actually, rum is a great antiseptic. Thanks.” (Belle pours the rum over Lily’s knife and Alice grimaces as Belle cuts the Fomorroh out of Will’s neck.) Alice: “That’s it? Belle: “For now.” Elsa: “What do you mean?” Belle: “If you kill one, eventually another grows in its place.” Alice: “But how do we get rid of it, if it keeps growing back?” Belle: “There’s only one way, I’m afraid. You have to kill the mother beast.” Alice: “How can we do that if we don’t know where it is?” Elsa: (Noticing that Will is beginning to wake:) “I think we’re about to get some answers.” Lily: “All right, everyone out of the cell.” (Ushering everyone out, Lily pulls the cell door closed and locks it while Will rolls over onto his back.) Will: (Seeing the five women all staring at him:) “Oh bloody hell. This isn’t good.”

A Short Time Later. (After asking for time alone, Tiana and Will talk while Elsa, Belle and Alice watch with Lily from the Sheriff's office.) Tiana: (Casually biting into one of her beignets:) “So, you don’t remember anything?” Will: “I remember Morgana conjuring the snake, but…nothing more. No.” Tiana: “And how do you feel?” Will: “Apart from this throbbing pain in my cheek, I feel fine.” Tiana: “Mhmm. Well rest assured, you deserved it.” Will: (Bringing his hand to his face:) “This was you?” Tiana: “You’re damn right it was. Under Morgana’s control or not, you had it coming. (Will begins to protest:) First you tell Henry that you and Ella had an affair in Wonderland... (Will’s eyes widen:) Then you run up a huge bar tab at the Lair and leave without paying...” Will: “Oh, bollocks.” Tiana: “And finally you try to break into the library. That’s where I put an end to your night on the town.” Will: (Grabbing the cell bars:) “T, you have to know I would never cheat on you with Ella. Or anyone. I value my life too much.” Tiana: (Smirks:) “Oh, I know. Ella was as surprised as I was when Henry told us what you’d confessed to him. Ella and Henry are fine too, by the way.” Will: (Shaking his head:) “I’m lucky to be alive.” Tiana: “Lucky you can run faster than Henry, you mean.” Will: “Henry? No, I’m more worried about Regina! Or Ella... Or Robin if it comes to that. T, can you ever forgive me?” Tiana: (Nods:) “First things first. (Tiana turns and waves for the others to join them:) According to Belle, the serpent in your neck is dormant and when it wakes, your mind will be Morgana’s once more.” Will: “But how do we get rid of it, if it keeps growing back?” Belle: (Walking over to them:) “There’s only one way, I’m afraid. You have to kill the mother beast.” Will: “That creature that lives in Morgana’s hut? (Belle nods:) Great. How long have I got? How long before this thing wakes up?” Elsa: “A day, no more. And I wouldn’t face her alone.” Alice: “Don’t worry, I have a feeling Will’s going to have plenty of company on his trip back to Morgana’s hideaway.” Land Without Magic. Past. Hong Kong. (August sits across from the Dragon.) Dragon: “Tell me. Why have you come?” August: “You see that?” (Rolls up his pant leg.) Dragon: “No, because the problem is with your other leg. (August chuckles and rolls up his other pant leg:) You're turning to wood... Pinocchio.” August: “How in the hell do you know my name? Who are you? Are you from my land?” Dragon: “August, you're in pain. Waste your energy not on me but on your affliction. All you need to worry about is whether I can help you. And the answer is, indeed I can.” August: (Exhales and whispers:) “Thank God.” Dragon: “There are, however, conditions.” August: “Yeah.” Dragon: “I need an item of great value to you.” August: “Money. I-I have some--” Dragon: “No. That comes later. I need something close to your heart, something that cannot be replaced.” (Points to August's neck.) August: (Pulls out a necklace from beneath his shirt:) “This? It's... It's worthless.” Dragon: “The pendant, perhaps, but the string—it was the string your father used to animate you as a freshly carved puppet. In a way, it first gave you life. It will serve as payment from your soul.” (The Dragon holds out his hand.) August: “Will it work?” Dragon: “Perhaps. (Reluctantly, August gives him the string:) Now... as any vendor from this world, I also need payment from your wallet. 10,000 American dollars.” August: “$10,000?” Dragon: “Bring the money tonight, and you shall never turn to wood again.”

Morgana’s Hovel. Present. (Agravaine visits his niece to share information from Camelot.) Morgana: “Do the people grow weary of Guinevere’s reign yet?” Agravaine: “I wish it were so, my lady, but I do bring information of an equally enticing nature. I have planted the seed of suspicion in our young Queen’s mind. I’ve struck a blow at the very heart of old Camelot.” Morgana: “Go on.” Agravaine: “Lancelot grew unsure of my motives, but I’ve turned the situation to our advantage.” Morgana: “How so?” Agravaine: “I’ve used it to implicate an old friend of yours. Gaius.” Morgana: “The old healer?” Agravaine: “I think there are some interesting times ahead for our physician.” (Agravaine goes to pour himself a drink.) Morgana: “And that’s your news is it? You were almost found out and managed to divert their suspicions onto an elderly healer? It’s hardly information of an enticing kind, is it?” Agravaine: “No, my lady.” Morgana: “So, my lord…you can do better. And you will do better.” Agravaine: “Yes, my lady.” Morgana: “I, on the other hand, have learned the whereabouts of the man destined to be my downfall.” Agravaine: “Really? You know where Merlin is?” Morgana: “Yes, and I have already set plans in motion that will lead to the Sorcerer’s own demise.” Agravaine: “My lady, I must admit your news is far more interesting than mine. Where is he, this Merlin?” Morgana: “Ah, now that’s the tricky part.” Storybrooke. Past. October 2011. (On the school playgrounds, Henry looks at a family tree assignment he was supposed to complete. It is not filled in. He tucks it into a folder and slides it under his open lunch box. Mary Margaret walks up to him.) Mary Margaret: “Henry? You didn’t turn in your homework again. Is there a problem? (Henry does not answer, so she sits down beside him:) Oh, Henry. Things really will change if you just believe it. (He closes his lunch box:) Life is unpredictable.” Henry: “Is your life unpredictable? Because it seems to me like everything is pretty much the same around here. Except me. My birth mom didn’t love me. Regina says she does, but she doesn’t. I-I don’t belong here.” Mary Margaret: “You do belong here, Henry. You are loved. (Her expression perks up as she comes up with an idea:) I wanna show you something. (She reaches for something in her bag:) This morning, I was cleaning out my bedroom closet. Like I’ve done every week, thousands of times, and do you know what happened? I found something. Something I’ve never noticed before. (She pulls out a large book, entitled in golden letters as Once Upon a Time, and places it down in front of Henry:) It was just there. Like magic.” Henry: “That’s not possible.” Mary Margaret: “Well, of course not. (Henry begins opening the book:) But it happened. This book somehow arrived. (Henry turns to a page with a drawing of an older man and young boy:) Was it given to me? Did I forget about it? I don’t know, but there it was. And do you know what I saw when I looked inside? (Henry looks at her expectantly:) Hope.” Henry: (Glances down at the book:) “Looks like fairy tales to me.” Mary Margaret: “And what exactly do you think fairy tales are? They are a reminder that our lives will get better if we just hold onto hope. Your happy ending may not be what you expect, but that is what will make it so special.” Henry: “Can… can I borrow this?” Mary Margaret: “You can have it.” Henry: (Smiles:) “Really?” Mary Margaret: “Believing in even the possibility of a happy ending is a powerful thing. I think you could use it. (She gets up and pats him on the shoulder:) I’ll see you in class.” (She departs.) Henry: (Flips to another page of a princess and her prince:) “Ms. Blanchard.” Mary Margaret: “Yes?” (He looks up and is stunned to see her dressed as the same princess in the book. A moment later, she appears as normal.) Henry: “Thank you.” Mary Margaret: (Smiles:) “You’re very welcome.” (She continues walking away.) (Watching this exchange from afar, Emma turns to the Apprentice.) Emma: "That's the last one." Apprentice: "Yes, the storybook that started it all." Emma: "Merlin’s messing with me, right? I put him back in his tree and now he’s getting his revenge? (The Apprentice stares at her with a confused expression:) I mean, I'm not sure I like the idea of being the catalyst behind so much tension between Henry and Regina." Apprentice: "I imagine you would dislike the idea of losing your family forever even more." Emma: "Well, when you put it like that..." Apprentice: "Now remember, you must be in position at the precise time Henry knocks on your door or all will be lost." Emma: (Nods:) "I'll be there. What about Mulan?" Apprentice: "If all goes according to plan, your friend will join you back where you both belong." Emma: "What’s Mulan doing for you while I'm delivering storybooks anyway?" Apprentice: (Smiles:) "There are many elements that have to be set in motion before you can safely return home, Emma. In life, we all have our parts to play, and I am no different. Come, we shall make one last journey together. After that, your fate is in your hands." (They walk together around the corner and out of sight. Meanwhile, Henry opens the storybook and flips to a page of a princess and prince with an infant child.) Henry: “Emma.”

Storybrooke. Present. The Dragon’s Lair. (Zelena watches as Regina fills a large leather bag with various unsavory looking items, including the baseball bat.) Zelena: “What happened to you focusing your energies on Maria and Henry?” Regina: “Morgana targeted Henry. I don’t know what she’s up to and Morgana can attack me all she wants, but the minute you go after my kids? You better believe I’m coming for you.” Zelena: “Are you sure that’s the wisest move? I mean you don’t exactly have the greatest track record when it comes to witch fights.” Regina: “That’s why you’re coming with me. Come on, Zelena, Morgana is the reason Robin Hood had to sacrifice himself. Don’t you want revenge for that?” Zelena: “Honestly... revenge is the last thing on my mind. I’m more concerned about keeping the ones I love safe and so should you be. I thought we retired from the revenge business?” Regina: “Well I don’t know what else to do! Without Emma, I can’t create a protection spell powerful enough to protect the town. Even if I could, we all know how well that worked out last time.” Zelena: “All right, but shouldn’t we try and find out what Morgana wants? Lord knows she’s not the first person to try and take over everything. If we understand her motivation then maybe-” Regina: “Guinevere already tried that, remember? The last time anyone gave into Morgana’s demands, she kidnapped Lily and Maleficent. Then, when people gave her the benefit of the doubt, my daughter was taken from me. (Sighs:) Look, I admire this new passive nature you’ve discovered and we can ask Morgana all the questions you want, but this time we’re gonna take the fight to her for a change. Now are you coming or not?” (Regina picks up the bag and leaves while Zelena considers her options.) Land Without Magic. Past. Outside a bar in Hong Kong. (August looks through his wallet to find payment for the Dragon, but does not have sufficient funds.) Mulan: (From her seat at the bar:) “Hey.” August: “Hey.” (He walks towards her.) Mulan: “You look like you could use a drink.” August: “Yeah, well, I wasn't planning on staying very long.” Mulan: “Come on. Humor me. Celebrating alone is no fun. (When he sits next to her she pulls out her purse, which contains a big stack of one hundred dollar bills:) Figured a medicine man wouldn't take plastic. (Raising her bottle:) Um... To second chances.” (They toast.)

August: “Who knew they'd be so expensive?” Mulan: “Mm. Save my seat?” August: “Sure. (Mulan gets up and heads to the bathroom. August drinks his beer and looks around the bar. Turning back he sees a man now sitting in Mulan’s chair:) Oh, hey someone was sitting there.” Apprentice: “Yes, she was saving my place. Hello, August.” August: (A little startled by this:) “All right, how do you know my name?” Apprentice: (Chuckles:) “I know many names. Would you prefer I call you Pino-” August: (Hushed voice:) “Keep your voice down. August is fine.” Apprentice: (Smiles:) “Very well. August W. Booth. If you’re looking for answers... (Slides the storybook in front of him:) here’s where you should start.” August: “I’m not sure a bunch of fairy tales can cure me. (Winces in pain:) Ah!” Apprentice: (Notices August rubbing his leg:) “The body has a strange way of sending us signals, doesn't it? The tricky part isn't hearing them, but knowing what they truly mean.” August: “Listen, old man, I’ve already found someone who can give me what I want.” Apprentice: “Yes. But you have no money with which to pay him. August, what the Dragon has will stop you from turning to wood, yes. But that's just a symptom. You have a choice to make, either you can steal this poor girl’s money and give it to the Dragon. Or you can take this. (Places his hand on the storybook:) Inside lies the answer to your salvation. (Cautiously, August reaches out and opens the book:) Remember August, only you can cure yourself.” (After turning over a few pages, August looks up to see that the Apprentice and the money have both vanished.) Boston. Past. An Upscale Restaurant. (Emma Swan arrives and walks through the restaurant. Spotting her mark, she heads to Ryan’s table, he stands and extends his hand.) Ryan: “Emma.” Emma: “Ryan? You look relieved.” Ryan: “Well, it is the Internet. Pictures can be…” Emma: “Fake. Out-dated. Stolen from the Victoria’s Secret catalogue. So…” (They each take their seats.) Ryan: “So… tell me something about yourself, Emma.” Emma: “Oh… Uh, well, today’s my birthday.” (Watching this from a discreet distance, Emma smiles at the past version of herself before heading into the elevator.)

The Land of Oz. Past. (Carrying a small basket, a young girl walks along the yellow brick road. Up ahead, her path is blocked by a young man and a fallen tree.) Young Girl: “Excuse me, but your tree is blocking the path. You should move it before somebody gets hurt.” Young Boy: “I'm afraid it's already too late.” Young Girl: (Sees a lone egg nestled in the boy’s hand:) “The poor thing. It must not have survived the fall.” (The girl waves her hand over the egg and it glows green.) Young Boy: “How did you do that?” (The Young Girl waves her hand again and the nest reappears safely in the tree above them.) Young Girl: “Magic.” Young Boy: “Are you a witch?” (The girl nods.) Young Punk: (Stepping out of the bushes with his friend:) “She's a freak! Haven't you ever heard about the monster who lives in the shack? The freak with magic?” Young Girl: “That nest didn't fall out of the tree, did it?” Punk: “No. It made good target practice, though. And so will you.” (The Punk draws back his catapult and the girl runs for cover.) Young Boy: (Charges at them, weapon held high:) “Why don't you practice on my axe? (The punks run away. Turning to her:) Are you all right?” Young Girl: “Yes. Thank you. (Stepping out from behind the tree:) Well, that was a first. Not a lot of people want to befriend the girl with magic. Maybe they're right. Maybe I am a monster.” Young Boy: “You used your magic for good, and that doesn't make you a monster. It makes you special.” Young Girl: “You really think so?” Young Boy: (Offers his hand:) “I'm Stanum.” Young Girl: (Shakes it:) “Zelena.”

Outside Morgana's Hovel. Present. (Raising her head from behind a large boulder, Merida looks down at Morgana's hovel as Agravaine exits.) Merida: (Whispered:) "Do you know that man?" Will: "Not a clue. Thanks to this thing in me neck, I can barely remember my own name." Merida: "Shh. (Merida watches as Morgana also exits the hovel:) Right, there's our chance. You tell the others, I'll go on ahead." The Land Without Magic. Boston. Past. Emma’s Apartment. (Henry Mills arrives outside and is about to knock on the door when it swings open.) Emma: “Hey, kid. What took you so long?” Henry: “Oh... Are- Are you Emma Swan?” Emma: “Yep, and you’re Henry and you’re also my son.” Henry: “Yeah... how did you-” Emma: “I’ll explain on the way. Come on, kid. Let’s go home.”

#sq #swanqueen #swan queen

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koalas-koalas-everywhere · 4 years ago

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Where did the idea that Merlin is bad at healing magic come from?

Ok, that was a clickbaity title, I know where it came from: that scene in the Crystal Cave where he can’t heal Arthur’s wound. Possibly, also his struggle to heal him from the poisoned arrow in The Coming of Arthur Part 1. However, although I understand 1) the desire to nerf him at least a bit and 2) the delicious irony of someone as good as Merlin and who would like to be gentle as much as he does being crap at healing magic but good at combat, I don’t think this is very accurate.

I mean, this belief is the farthest thing from baseless. I mentioned TCC, and I can’t explain why he’d be unable to heal Arthur other than lack of skill (beyond theorizing that the magic of the Cave was impeding him because he was supposed, destined, if you will, to ask for Taliesin’s help and agree to look at the crystal in exchange, which admittedly doesn’t have much support from canon, or Merlin’s general lack of magical ability that caused him, for example to make a rose instead of a strawberry for Freya, although that was in the previous season). Then there’s TCoA, although that one’s a bit... complicated, for reasons I’l talk about in a minute, and, last but not least, there’s the Hollow Queen, where Merlin tries to heal himself but he can’t. Besides that, there are some instances when he didn’t try to heal people so we can extrapolate that he was unable, like when Mordred is hurt in The Beginning of the End, when Will and Freya are dying in The Moment of Truth and The Lady of the Lake* or when Arthur passes out in The Last Dragonlord.

The one from TCoA is complicated, because as I said before, he struggles, and by the time the scene cuts off it seems like he failed, but when Arthur wakes up, he only seems to have problems with the wound itself, not the poison, and doesn’t feel the pain until he walks on it. Then, without a hint of the fever he had before, he walks all the way to Camelot, a day or more, until he can’t go on anymore, but Merlin tells Gaius the spell didn’t work, BUT then Gaius says the wound’s infected, not poisoned, which would be explained by the whole traipsing about with a wounded leg and no treatment, so... I’m not sure what to make of it.

Then in THQ, there were the ameliorating circumstances of being... you know... dying from poison. It’s more a matter of power than healing skills (when he tries, his eyes flicker like cheap old lightbulbs when he tries to do magic). But we’ll count it.

So that makes it 5 times he would have liked to heal someone with magic but couldn’t due to what we can assume is a lack of skill (I’m not counting Mordred because I don’t think he’d dare to use magic in that case, since Morgana seemed to want to be involved and kept up to date in his treatment, proved by how she watched as he did it without magic), two of which are dubious because he seems to be at least partially successful or because there were extenuating circumstances.

Then there’s times where there were people to heal but the circumstances were... peculiar.

One was his father in The Last Dragonlord. He dies much more quickly than Will, not to mention Freya, which suggests an even worse wound than the one the woman who grew up with Druids, notable healers, said was too deep to heal. Merlin says he could save him, but Balinor cuts him off so he could give his last words, presumably because he, a man we also know possesses some healing skills, knew it was pointless. I really have to wonder if there was anything any ordinary sorcerer could have done (I mean, not to victim-blame, but I didn’t see Balinor trying to heal himself), that even Merlin himself pre-The Diamond of the Day could have done, so I’m reluctant to draw conclusions about his healing abilities from this.**

While he heals Gwen in With All My Heart, technically he does it not through any healing magic but by taking her to the Cauldron of Arianrhod and summoning the Triple Goddess, so it doesn’t help measure his skills either.

Additionally, (and here’s where I start to answer one of the most important questions in this post, which has remained unsaid until now, but which has underlined every single line to the moment: “what the fuck are you ranting about you big dumdum if all you’re going to do is agree that Merlin’s bad at healing?!” It’s about the refutation) there’s his healing of Morgana in TCC. This one’s also weird, because he does heal her, but he needed Kilgarrah’s help to do it. It’s possible that he only gave Merlin the spell, like he did with Sigan, but he has a strange sound effect in his voice when he casts it, so it could also be that he had some extra guidance from Kilgarrah to help him along, such as a power boost or an instinctual understanding of how to perform the spell. Like the last one, then, I don’t think this example gives us any reliable information on his healing skills.

But! It does start us off on the next part of this discussion, which is the times Merlin has successfully healed someone.

The earliest example of this is The Mark of Nimueh, where he heals Gwen’s father, Tom. He just sneaks in, puts a poultice under his pillow, casts the spell, sneaks out, and done! Man awake in seconds, cured by morning. Of course, success isn’t as interesting as failure (might be the reason why they continued this particular storyline by having Gwen accused of sorcery instead of just letting her live), but two things stand out about this healing. The first is that Merlin used a poultice for it, which will come up again later, so make a note of that. The second is that this happens before TCC, so it’s unlikely that Merlin just took that failure to heart and tried to improve.

But, TCC is the next time since then that he makes an attempt at healing magic, which, whew, talk about a time gap! That’s two seasons, and at least 2 1/2 years! Make a note of this, too. The time after that is, at least, in the same season - TCoA, in which we’ve settled that Merlin seems to have partial success with Arthur’s wound. (“Yes, you’ve already said this before!” Just go with it.)

Next, there’s The Wicked Day. We know that he did the spell right because everything went to shit. Once more, he used aids for the spell, a potion and incense form sage.

The very next episode, Aithusa, without a clear idea of what they’ve been given, only that they’ve passed out and have difficulty breathing (he might have figured out what it was from the smell of the poultice that he found in the stew), he manages to save all four knights and Arthur from poisoning, this time only with an enchantment.

Then he heals Gwen’s leg in The Hunter’s Heart. Once again, only a spell. Funnily enough, it’s the same wound he tried to heal in TCC, only in a different place.

Last but not least is the poison Gwen uses on Arthur in A Lesson in Vengeance. By the time Merlin has an opportunity to treat him, he’s moments away from death - Gaius says his heart’s nearly stopped, and Merlin himself doubts he has the power to heal him. No potions or herbs, although it’s interesting to note that he does motions similar to chest compressions.

So, to keep tally: his success rate when dealing with poisons and drugs is 100%, and it’s the same for times when he got to use aids such as potions and poultices. It also applies to all healing attempts not subject to extenuating circumstances (magical interference such as the Lamia’s spell or the blade being forged in a dragon’s breath, and when Merlin had to heal himself while he was dying) from TWD forward.

We can see him improve from TCC (season 3) to ALiV (season 5) - he actually makes significant improvement from TCC to TCoA, and from there to TWD and Aithusa. It seems like he learned from his experience in TCC and decided to make up for his lack of natural talent at healing magic by studying. And here’s where it gets really funny. Because we’ve established that there was a time, long before TCC, where he healed someone successfully, and that was Tom, in TMoN. If you’ll remember, around that time Merlin was much more likely to fail the first few (hundred) times he tried a spell, like the one to make that dog statue real and the one to enchant a weapon to fight the griffin. So, way back then, Merlin went, made a poultice, cast a spell and succeeded on his first try, when before (and after) that he’d have difficulties with new spells.

It... actually looks like he had a natural talent for healing magic.

Okay, hang on! you might say. You spent the first half of this fucking novel talking about his healing goofs, don’t come at me with this bullshit now! you might say.

And here’s where you should pull out those notes I asked you to make. Because between TMoN and TCC there’s a world of difference.

To start off, in the first one he had preparation. He’d been able to look for and study an appropriate spell in his book shortly beforehand and, most importantly, he had a poultice. He’s had a perfect success rate when using those. Look at Dragoon - I’ve talked before about how hilarious it is that Merlin struggles to turn off a spell most have trouble achieving, let alone keeping up. In that first ep, Queen of Hearts, Merlin prepares a whole ass ritual to age up,*** but later needs a potion to go back to his own age. On the other hand, every time after that he just casts the spell and he has no trouble undoing it. While it’s conjecture, it’s a pretty solid theory to say that potions and the like, as I’ve been foreshadowing, function as aids when casting spells. They can be necessary, but sometimes they just give the sorcerer a boost. It follows, then, that any spell cast without them will be weaker, such as, say, the one in TCC.

But! He doesn’t use potions for almost any of the other times, either!

Well, that’s kind of tied into my next point: time.

As we’ve established, almost three years go by between TMoN and TCC, and Merlin doesn’t try to heal anyone in that time. He does, however develop his magic in other ways. By The Moment of Truth he can summon a tornado! By Le Morte D’Arthur he can cast the spell he so struggled over in Lancelot! He can summon a shield that can withstand dragon fire! Went against a Sidhe and a Pixie! He- okay, he got better at combat magic. You might see where I’m going with this.

But right then, he needed to heal Arthur! He’d done it before! But... he’d gone rusty.

Honest to God. Yes, this is conjecture. No, I don’t have any proof other than what fits with canon. No, I don’t think it was intentional on the writers’ part.But in my mind and in my heart this is what happened. He was originally good or rather decent at healing magic, but after not using it and instead doing other kinds of magic for so long, during what were technically**** formative years for him as a sorcerer, that he actually lost the hang of it. To be fair, though, he makes up for it pretty quickly.

I didn’t think this through to the end before I wrote it, when I started I thought I’d just conclude there were more examples of Merlin being good at healing magic and that would be it, but putting it all together I’ve found a probably unintended pattern of Merlin having a natural talent for healing, but being forced to neglect it for the sake of combat magic. In conclusion, I’m sad.

*Scenes which I just watched to make this post and now I’m crying fucking hell what I do for stupid meta.

**I don’t apply the same logic to Freya because the length of time that must have passed between the scene in the tunnels and her death by the lake, not to mention the amount of jarring that she must have gone through in the trip, makes me think that there probably was a window of possibility there that they just didn’t have the resources to take advantage of. And. I mean. The strawberry scene. I’m just more likely to believe Merlin still had a way to go, magic-wise, but it’s also because of this that I’m not convinced that this is about him being bad at healing, specifically, as much as not being that skilled in magic overall.

*** I also rewatched the scene where he does it and ho-ho-ho-holy shit, his excitement at his idea is adorable.

****Because he was born with magic, he learned ways to use it way before going to Camelot, but this was a new stage of his studies that consisted f different things learned and different ways to learn them and different ways to apply them.

#Merlin BBC #Merlin #am I metaing yet?#I said in conclusion I am sad your honor

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chysgoda · 4 years ago

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Part

Last Dragoon: Tales of the Eighth Umbral Era

FFXIVWrite 2020

Prompt 14: Part Content Warnings: Character death, brief description of extreme frost bite

Spoilers: 5.0 - 5.3

And all I've done for want of wit

To memory now I can't recall

So fill to me the parting glass

Good night and joy be to you all

The Parting Glass, Scottish folk song

“Bel!” She looked up at the sound of her name. Elianne was half jogging with her arms carefully holding her infant daughter safe in the sling across her chest. The Elezan woman was pale and her features drawn and pinched. “Constaint just arrived and he has someone injured with him. He asked for you to come right now.”

Bel Aliender frowned deeply. The brown goose that had been watching them hissed at the new comer. Bel and her work partner ignored the thing and she glanced at the man she was working with who waved her off. She stepped away from the fence that she had been helping to repair and met Elianne half way. “Did he already call for Raya and Linda?”

Elianna licked her lips and glanced around avoiding Bel’s eyes. “He said to get you first. That it’s Unukalhai and the healers will only be able to make him comfortable not… Bel I’ve never seen someone still walking that had frostbite that bad.”

“Kal..” Bel muttered. Her face blanched suddenly. She stepped around the Elezen woman and began to sprint. she darted around or jumped over anyone in her way. She heard old Jaren and Gaius both shout after her but she ignored them. She skid to a stop at the infirmary door and fell through the threshold has she threw the door open. Constaint caught her before she hit the ground and set her on her feet.

“He’s got a few minutes,” Constaint said softly. “I don’t know where he’s been Bel, but I’ve seen people cooked by dragonfire who look better than he does right now.”

The Miqo’te woman took a breath through a throat too tight for her to speak. She nodded and then took another deep breath willing her throat to relax. “Thank you.”

The Paladin gave her a tired smile and stepped back. “I’ll make sure you two have the space you need.”

Bel watched him step out and then turned back to walk down the hall that connected the infirmary, kitchen, and entrance. She paused at the door to the infirmary and steadied herself before opening the door. She still winced to see how extensive the blackening and gangrene was on the visible skin

“I’m glad I could make it back here.”

Bel sat on the edge of the bed next to his hip and rested her hand on his forearm. “Unukalhai.”

“You need to know not to be scared when it happens.” Unukalhai turned his head to cough. When he turned his head back there was blood on his lips.

Bel stood up to go and grab a clean rag from the closet but he grabbed her wrist to prevent her from going. Bel swallowed back tears. “Kal there’s blood… I should get Raya for you..”

“I cannot keep hold of this body much longer, little sister,” the white half mask that Unukalhai had taken to wearing did nothing to hide the painful way his mouth pulled as he spoke, “my aether isn’t dense enough. just don’t leave me as well.”

The dragoon sank back down onto the bed. She knew death, she’d been its hand on the battlefield and sat with those scared of what lay beyond. She knew death and she wanted to rage that it was taking the last of her foster family from her. Gently, mindful of the blackened thin skin, she took his hand. “I’ll stay as long as you need me Kal.”

“I don’t know how to explain what’s about to happen to you, to us. The mechanical details are in my journal. Just don’t panic and remember you will be alright.” Unukalhai wheezed struggling breath. “Just please remember me as myself.”

“Kal you’re making no sense, at least let me-“

“He didn’t remember me Bel!” Unukalhai’s distress made her freeze. When he was sure he had her attention the mage spoke again. “I sought out Elidibus after the calamity. I hoped maybe I’d be able to learn something I could give to you. That’s all in my journal. But Elidibus… something’s wrong with him. At first he remembered and then suddenly he didn’t. He didn’t remember me, didn’t remember saving me from the flood, or training me, it just wasn’t there.”

Bel shushed her foster brother. “I’m not going to leave you or forget you Kal.”

Unukalhai gripped her hand as tight as he could and then let go. From under his robes he drew a garnet pendant wrapped in electrum wire. He grunted in pain as he sat up enough to lift the leather cord over his head. He laid the pendant in her hand and folded her slack fingers over it. Bel blinked remembering when Elidibus had first pressed a mask into their hand… She shook her head, that had never happened to her.

“I put what I know about magic in the crystal. Everything Elidibus and the Scions taught-” Unukalhai began coughing again.

Bel lifted him up as gently as she could and slid behind him so that he could rest propped up against her. She wrapped her tail around one leg to keep it out of the way and wrapped her arms around him as she rested her forehead against the top of his head. “I’ve got you, just relax.”

Unukalhai’s shoulders shuddered. Bel could feel tears drop on her arms even as her own tears fell on her brother’s pale hair. After a few moments his head began to shift back and Bel lifted hers to give him space. Bel listened as he muttered apologies to a world long gone that he could never have saved.

His voice grew quiet.

His breathing stopped.

Vaguely Bel was aware of others gathering in the hall. She bit her bottom lip to keep from yelling out her frustration and impotent rage. Muffled sobs shook her shoulders and her gut knotted with distracting pain. Sometime later she felt gentle hands on her arms coaxing her to let go and step away from the body. She let them guide her, her heart to full and her head to empty to pay attention.

The next time she roused herself she was sitting at the hearth in the communal kitchen. She looked up when Constaint pushed an earthenware cup into her hands. The astringent smell of warm whiskey made her nose burn. The free Paladin made a half hearted toasting gesture, “A parting glass to see your brother off.”

Bel stared down into the cup for a long moment before drinking it in one swallow.

#ffxivwrite2020 #ffxiv fan fiction #red head writes a thing #ffxiv #Unkalhai #bel aliender #Constaint #AU: Last Dragoon #Hey look I gave myself a sad #again

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fakeyellow · 5 years ago

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Can you write a Serafine fic? Sorry I’m just thirsty and I’m not sure if we’re going to see our pirate queen again in BB3 🤧🤧

I adore Serafine ♥ and I think we will see her again in BB3 (although it won’t be enough lol). I don’t have the time to actually write a fic but I couldn’t help myself from thinking about it so here are a few thoughts I had:

After saving Serafine from the Order of Dawn and reuniting with Kamilah and Lily, Eva (MC) decides to stay in Paris with Serafine. Although Gaius is still running rampant in New York, Eva says she needs to explore the darkness that Serafine sensed in her.

If anything, Adrian is relieved because he thinks Eva will be safer in Paris. Kamilah is hesitant but Eva says that this is something she needs to do.

Eva moves in with Serafine and they spend their evenings together, trying to figure out what exactly lies in Eva, with Serafine coaxing out memories and visions using her psychic abilities.

Serafine likes to be close with the people she looks into so Eva opens up every night, baring her soul. Serafine doesn’t want it to be one-sided so she reciprocates with stories of her past experiences, from swashbuckling tales from when she was a pirate to gripping tales of her brief queenhood.

Serafine’s stories are fun to hear about but Eva feels like she doesn’t know Serafine any better than when they first met. For all of Serafine’s outgoing demeanour, she’s a hard person to really get to know. Eva expresses this one night, surprising Serafine who turns quiet and says she’s not ready to tell Eva everything yet. It’s unfair but she’s just not ready.

Eva calls everyone, particularly Kamilah, when she can, but sometimes it’s just not feasible with the time differences, the whole Gaius mess in New York, the fact that Eva’s all too human body needs regular amounts of sleep. Sometimes Eva wakes up only to hear from Serafine that Kamilah has called and her heart hurts because she just misses Kamilah so much.

At one point, Serafine gets hurt somehow and even though she knows that vampires heal quickly, Eva offers her neck to Serafine. This isn’t something new to Eva.

Adrian’s bitten her neck before and he’s always delicate, as if he’s always worried about hurting her. Lily’s bite is filled with a sort of contagious excitement as if she’s still unused to the thrill of fresh blood pouring down her throat.

Kamilah’s bite is tender, so experienced that she knows exactly where to pierce to minimise the pain and maximise the pleasure. And Serafine’s bite is a new experience as well, but it still brings with it the intoxicating rush of pleasure that Kamilah’s does, and Eva tries not to cry but a tear slips out.

Serafine notices and immediately stops, hugging Eva who cries all of her longing and fear into Serafine’s warm embrace.

A few weeks? later, Eva and Serafine have become much closer with each other. They’ve made a small breakthrough into what lies in Eva and although it doesn’t bode well, they decide to celebrate anyway because the past weeks/months have been stressful for both of them.

They share a few glances of wine on the couch and Eva feels slightly buzzed but nowhere near drunk. Serafine laughs at something she’s said and Eva feels mesmerised, entranced at just how beautiful Serafine is. She leans forward and their lips finally touch in one heart-stopping, breathtaking kiss, before Serafine leans back and continues talking as if nothing happened.

It takes Eva a few moments to open her eyes and escape from the bliss that she fell into and she can’t help but feel a little bit hurt. So she directly asks Serafine why she’s ignoring what happened.

And a forcefully light smile plays on Serafine’s lips before she notices that Eva is upset and Serafine sobers up.

“Listen. I think much too highly of myself, not to mention you and Kamilah, to allow myself to be some sort of substitute.”

Serafine then rises from the couch and kindly tells Eva to sleep well.

Eva is left alone and she covers her face with her hands in despair. Because Kamilah had been the furthest thing on her mind when she’d kissed Serafine.

A/N: I just jotted down what I was thinking so it’s not fully thought through / fleshed out but I thought it’d be interesting to play with an MC who becomes torn between Kamilah and Serafine, leaning more towards Serafine.

Also as a bonus, here’s a few potential thoughts I had about Serafine’s backstory. It’s probably very out of character but I’m just not that familiar with her character. Also, I guess you can say this is her hundreds of years ago, so she could have changed a lot.

As a human, Serafine kind of just wandered from village to village. She was a “healer” but really, people just came to her, seeking help. And although she didn’t have psychic abilities then, she found that most people really just wanted to be listened to.

She also deals with physical injuries and sometimes, she’s driven out of villages because people see her as a witch for saving so many lives, even though all she really does is make sure her hands are clean when dealing with injuries. It’s annoying but she figures she would have left those towns soon anyway.

She never settles down in one place because she wants to see the world and she’s always restless whenever she’s been in one place for too long.

But then, one woman comes to Serafine in her temporary home on the outskirts of a town. And she comes every day for a week with a new illness each time until she finally confesses that she just wanted a reason to see Serafine.

And they fall in love and it’s beautiful and for the first time, Serafine feels like she wants to settle down, lay her roots down. The woman says that she doesn’t mind going anywhere with her because she’s found a home in Serafine and Serafine feels like she couldn’t possibly love a person more.

Officially, the woman becomes Serafine’s “apprentice” which doesn’t make any sense because they’re the same age, but the title is undoubtedly useful when no one objects to her moving into Serafine’s cottage.

But then, one day when Serafine’s out alone, foraging for herbs or something, a vampire (I don’t know who) bites her and her life is forever changed. She wakes up alone and confused and terrified and thirsty.

The vampire doesn’t even have the decency to train her and Serafine blindly stumbles around the forest. She comes across a young hunter from town and it’s only when his blood is dripping down her throat that she’s filled with a startling clarity.

She runs to a lake and sees her bloody reflection, her eyes still crimson, her teeth pointed. Terrified, she runs back to where she left the man’s body, and hurriedly hides in the foliage upon hearing the voices of some townspeople.

They take his body to the cottage and Serafine prays to whatever deities there may be, that she has not killed him. But the woman, Serafine’s apprentice, Serafine’s lover, mournfully says that he is far too gone to be helped.

And Serafine is horrified. She’d been called a witch before but that is nothing compared to the monster that she is.

She can’t bring herself to face the woman she loves but she can’t bring herself to leave either so Serafine lives in the shadows, secretly watching over her.

The woman is strong and although Serafine can sometimes hear her crying at night (and Serafine’s heart aches), she always meets each day with an unwavering resolve. Although she’d never really been an apprentice, she takes on the mantle of being the village’s healer.

And every day without fail, even when she’s old and her hands are wrinkled and her eyes are failing, she sits out on the porch of their home, waiting for Serafine to return, not knowing that Serafine is right there.

A/N part 2: I don’t know. The plot bunny sort of wrote itself. Serafine then continues to travel the world and have all sorts of amazing adventures, but in her heart, she’s never really forgotten the woman who first captured her heart, the woman who never stopped waiting even though Serafine was too afraid to face her. lowkey influenced by Asterin’s story in the ToG series.

I don’t have the time to flesh these out into actual fics but I’d like to hear any of your thoughts on my thoughts!

#playchoices #bloodbound #serafine dupont #serafine dupont x mc #kamilah sayeed #kamilah x mc #my writing

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alvaar-aldaviir · 5 years ago

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Movement: Furia

Time Frame: Early Heavensward.

Notes: I said I would dig it out and fix it up and damnit I keep my word. Alvaar's first fight with Ilberd doesn't quite go the way of canon, but it was way more cathartic this way.

The 'White Wolf of the Shroud' was a moniker Alvaar had earned for a few reasons. To the Gridanians and the Scions, it seemed a nickname based on his skills in one pivotal skirmish with the Ixal. But to the Ixal that had given him that name, it meant something else entirely.

“If you think you still fight for justice, lad, you’d best wake up. The truth is, you fight for whoever bloody tells you to. Can you not see you’re being used!? By the Scions, the city-states, even the Crystal Braves. They none of ‘em care a whit what you want-only what you can do for them.

And how do I know this? Because I’m the same-a pawn to be used as my masters see fit. All I ever wanted was to liberate my home land, and I ate dirt to make it happen. But what have I achieved after all these years in servitude? Nothing! Not a bloody thing.

If we ourselves are not free-free to think and to act-how are we ever to reclaim our home land? Know this: there is nothing I would not give to take back Ala Mhigo! NOTHING!”

Those words scratched across his brain, the screech of an iron nail on metal plate. It was only thanks to the fact he’d ducked his chin and shut his eyes even shielded behind the thick brim of the Choral Chapeau he wasn’t blinded by the ensuing flash. The last distraction needed for Ilberd and his two companions to escape.

With lungs still stinging from the poison and muscles burning from exertion, Alvaar nocked another arrow to his bow, instead half blind in anger and deaf to anything but the smug challenge in Ilberd’s grin as he made his retreat. No. No there would be no chase this time. There would be no stalking these prints...

This man had threatened his friends. He had betrayed them. He had sold them out and LAUGHED ABOUT IT.

There was a reason he had been known as the “White Wolf” long before he’d clashed with Gaius, with the fabled Black Wolf of Garlemald. And with rage filling his veins, teeth bared in a furious snarl, it was apparently time to remind them, allies and foes alike.

The arrow had barely sunk into the former Marshall’s calf before Alvaar was sprinting after him through the smoke and dust, his bow slipping into a two handed swing that connected and shattered into the Ala Mhigans face in a rain of splinters.

“Alvaar!” Alphinaud cried after him.

He didn’t hear it. Not through the blood thundering in his ears and the fury burning his veins. There was nothing but the resigned expressions on his comrades faces, running from their pursuers in Ul’dah. The fearful look in Tataru’s eyes as the trio tried to make sense of their new position. The defeated slump of a young Elezen’s shoulders with nothing but haunted thoughts.

And all he’d been able to do was stand there feeling helpless. The emptiness in his chest where Midgardsormr had ripped out the blessing of Hydaelyn like a gaping wound. The final insult after a bloody campaign to wrest Eorzea free from Garleans tyranny...

“I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!” he screamed, voice aching and raw and impossibly foreign to his companions as they jerked at the angry howl.

Dropping his broken bow, he grabbed the cloth at the dazed and fallen man’s throat, slamming him back into the ground and grabbing the nearest stone to bash into Ilberd’s face. He didn’t remember hitting him with that rock again. Or the additional blows that followed without opposition.

“I’M NOT LIKE YOU! I NEVER FORGOT MY LOYALTIES!”

There was so much red. So much of it...

“I NEVER FORGOT THE PEOPLE I WAS FIGHTING TO PROTECT!”

Staining his hands and splattering his clothes.

“Alvaar!”

“I’M MORE THAN A PUPPET ON A STRING!”

If all this bloodshed...

“I’M NOT JUST A BLIND SOLDIER!”

All this hardship...

“I’M NOT LIKE YOU!”

Was not shouldered of his own volition...

“I’M NOT LIKE YOU!”

Faced with his own merit and strength...

“I’M NOT LIKE YOU!”

Then why would he have ever become the Warrior of Light?

Lost to his rage he didn’t see his other attackers until an alchemical orb slammed into his chest, burning against his skin even through the Choral Shirt as it shattered in a hiss of white smoke before bouncing away. And half blind, throat aching further from the gas he’d inhaled, he could only see a haze of a silhouette before a spear thrust out at him.

In retrospect, it probably would have killed him if his fellow Scion hadn’t slammed into him and knocked him over. Instead the spearhead sunk hard into his shoulder, twisting the Bard almost sideways from the force before wrenching free and retreating into the mist.

“Forget it! Grab Ilberd and let’s go!”

Coughing wetly, he pushed himself up to follow those voices even with the extra weight dragging at him.

“Alvaar stop it!” Alphinaud yelled, scrambling for a better grip on the furious Elezen and digging his heels into the dirt as the Bard lurched after their fleeing assailants like a man possessed. “Let it go! We’ll deal with them later!”

There. Through the white fog he could see them, a hulking shadow but they’d be moving too slow with their fallen companion. He could catch up. He’d break that fucking spear off in that blasted Elezen’s guts and let him bleed out on his own damned treachery! Let him have his second chances if he could keep his entrails in place!

“Alvaar please! You need to stop!”

He just needed to shake this extra weight off. If his bow arm was responding better then it should have been easy. If it didn’t feel so damnably hot and his shoulder didn’t burn, he could have grabbed his bow and...

There was a faint vibration over his chest, a sequence of pops before that weight was abruptly gone and he overbalanced face first into the dirt. A rush of cold against his chest and back before weight settled on him again with a thud through the static in his brain.

Shifting enough to watch the three traitors scurry around some distant corner, he tried again to get up but couldn’t with his left arm pinned under him and his right arm refusing to answer.

“ALVAR STOP IT DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND YOU’RE BLEEDING OUT?!” a panicked voice screamed in his ear, voice cracking on the pitch.

Ah, he knew that voice. It was enough to make him pause, sides heaving and the sound of his own pained coughs starting to reach through the rush of blood in his ears.

“They’re getting away,” he wheezed, or tried to when he only seemed able to speak with hacking wet coughs.

The weight at his back finally moved, scrambling up and making his ribs protest before warm aether was soothing through him, focusing into his chest and soothing a bit of the acid in his throat that still felt raw.

Another flicker of a spell in his senses and his arm stopped being numb, bursting back into feeling with a bright angry pain that sent sparks through his skull.

A shriek of agony tore partway out of his throat before it went silent in an aching wheeze, slamming his forehead into the dirt as he tried to curl in on himself from the pain. Distantly he heard muffled footfalls before another pair of hands were soothing along his back.

He didn’t know how many spells and potions it took to repair the damage but when he could finally think straight he noticed Yugiri was helping to brace Alphinaud up so he wouldn’t collapse on top of him.

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen a healer park themselves on someone’s back to heal them, but it was a little unnerving to find he’d needed such measures. He could almost feel Rosa slapping him on the back of the head and admonishing him...

“S-sorry...” he managed out, throat still aching and raw. He’d meant for more words but got little more than a rasp after that.

“You are lucky Alvaar. I think if not for Alphinaud that spear would have found its mark in your chest,” Yugiri murmured softly. “I don’t know that we could have saved you from that.”

—-

Alvaar had lost his voice. It would be temporary, thankfully, but the damage from the poison and subsequent trauma had left him little more than squeaking rasps and a new fear rifling in his heart. How could he have been so stupid? He could have gotten himself killed, or worse yet gotten Alphinaud killed...

He was supposed to be better than this. He was supposed to be past the temperamental rages of his youth. He was supposed to be the Arcanist’s protector, keeping him safe and helping to find their way in the wake of tragedy...

He was supposed to be the Warrior of Light. Not a rage fueled novice that almost impaled himself with his own stupidity.

Fingers brushing along his throat in concern, he fretted silently at how raw and aching it still felt even with healing. The pain flaring whenever he swallowed or tried to speak.

What if he damaged his voice permanently? What good was a Bard that couldn’t sing well enough to inspire their comrades? He wasn’t skilled in the sword or spear... he couldn’t cast white or black magic... His combat skills were as an archer. As a Bard. Raising his voice and channeling the courage and ferocity of victory into his allies...

Shaking his head firmly he shifted his focus. No, there was no time for that. No time for processing when the world kept spinning ever faster ahead of him. There was the matter of that messenger and his mysterious mistress to attend. They needed to hurry back to the Waking Sands. They had stopped briefly at Camp Drybone to handle their wounds and make use of the aetheryte once they were done, there was no time for wallowing in self-pity.

Moving to pull his recovered shirt back on, the Bard paused as he studied the broken closures of the Choral Shirt, fabric ripped and frayed around the main clasp and shoulder straps, scorched from the alchemy bomb in some spots and deeply stained in others. It would take forever to repair... if he even could... what thread had they used? What material and dye? His flight through the forest in search of this armor at the behest of Jehantel, being given this last piece at the end of that long journey when he had finally become something approaching a true Bard... he’d worked so hard to live up to the legacy this outfit symbolized. So hard to wield even a fraction of the inspiring image those storied Bards and Heroes before him possessed...

And here it was, shredded and ruined in his hands and he had only himself to blame. He couldn’t stop Ilberd and the conspiracy that had thrown them down in Ul’dah... and for all his temper he still hadn’t been able to stop him now when he was right in front of him. In his reach...

And all he had to show for it was the exhausted lives he hazarded for nothing, a damaged throat, the shattered remnants of his longbow, the lack of Hydaelyn’s blessing lying raw in his chest, and the ruined shirt of his former legacies he’d tried so hard to exemplify.

Dragging in a breath that hurt for more reasons than a stinging throat and lungs, he stuffed it into his bag and rooted for something else. And if the weight of the chainmail and thick tabard he pulled on instead agitated the still raw chemical burns on his chest... well, that was fair punishment wasn’t it?

The knock at the door is faint, delayed almost a full minute after the footsteps that had brought them to it.

“Alvaar?”

The hesitance and fatigue in Alphinaud’s voice pierces like a lance, and Alvaar sheathes the long hunting knife back into his boot before grabbing what’s left of his things and answering it. The Arcanist doesn’t step back from him, but the unconscious lean away isn’t lost on him either.

“The others are ready to set out. Shall we?”

The nod is automatic, as is falling into place in the Arcanist’s small shadow. He keeps his face set in deadpan calm per his usual, but after months of following the stubborn youth across most of the alliance territories, the glances back at him and odd hesitations in his step are obvious. So he stops and waits, watching the Arcanist finally halt several feet ahead of him in the hallway and stand with his back to him, shoulders tense and pose nervous.

The seconds crawl by, Alvaar refusing to budge and Alphinaud not moving for a long time before finally blowing out a breath and looking back at him.

There’s fear. A wariness that Alvaar had grown used to in others, but less so for him. But even then there’s a concern on his expression that’s stronger still and that’s what surprises him most.

“Alvaar?” he asks, hesitating a moment before carrying on. “I’m sorry... I know you cannot answer me in detail right now but, are you alright?”

The question draws him up short. When... in all the innumerable last battles, had anyone stopped to ask him that? Haurchefant had of course but…

He doesn’t know how to reply, and even if he did he doesn’t have the words to. So instead he manages a weak smile and nods, even as he knows it won’t be reassuring. The doubtful look he’s given is unsurprising, and he almost tries for words but stops himself. Setting a hand to his chest he holds it still for a moment before bringing his hands together and gesturing outwards, mouthing two words with it and frowning with a touch of frustration at the puzzled look he gets in answer. Pondering it a moment he takes two steps to close the distance before dropping to his knees, planting his hands on the stone floor, and lowering his head.

All at once Alphinaud notices how quiet it is. Alvaar groveling in apology to voice what he couldn’t speak.

The silence is deafening and uncomfortable. Suddenly alien to him even when he still remembers the Bard’s calm silence following in his wake. Cutting a path through Primals and Garleans at his command, a Holy Warrior at his beck and call...

It had never bothered him before, the fact Alvaar rarely spoke but did as he was told. In fact, he remembers finding it troublesome the few times he had spoken up following the Castrum... how quickly he’d dismissed the Bard’s words. Written them off as needless...

It’s strange how much he wishes he could speak now. To break that deafening silence. To show that in some small way things were different then what Ilberd had said. That maybe he had changed just a little from the foolish boy he’d been the last year.

The look Alvaar gives him is miserable when he sits up, carefully rising to his feet with a wince and stepping back from him deliberately and reassuming a muted expression.

Blinking up at the Bard as it clicks, his eyes widen but he says nothing for a long moment. Alvaar was worried he was afraid of him, apologizing for his behavior in Halatali. For the terrifying rage he’d shown and what it had almost wrought. He wants to say it’s fine, that he’s not afraid of him... but he is. Just a little. They had all been, watching the Bard chase down and floor Ilberd with a feral desperation. Savaging him with a ferocity he hadn’t ever seen in Alvaar before.

That... that hadn’t been Alvaar. That hadn’t been the patient and silent sentinel he’d known the last year.

Which really begged the question of if he knew Alvaar at all...

‘A pawn to be used...’

Those remembered words make him sick in embarrassment and shame. And after everything they’d been through the last few hours, the last month, for Alvaar to be the one standing there mute and still apologizing...? How? Why? When he couldn’t find a way to say anything of the guilt crushing like a vice around his own heart?

Breathing a slow sigh, he meets the Bards gaze pointedly. “There is naught to apologize for my friend. I... while I may not understand, for now I don’t need to. It can be discussed later if you wish, when you are well again.” He hesitates visibly before stepping closer and resting a hand to the Bard’s arm, both of them able to feel the few spitting sparks of aether as the Arcanist tried to reach briefly for another spell. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t do a better job of healing you, Alvaar,” Alphinaud murmurs, an increasingly more familiar flicker of doubt creeping through his thoughts with the dizziness of mana deprivation.

Alvaar’s hand closes over his warmly, palm calloused and rough against his skin. He almost tries to pull away on reflex before stopping himself, meeting the Elezen’s gaze as Alvaar shakes his head before tilting his head in question.

“Me?” he asks, watching Alvaar nod. “I’m fine. Tired but, we will have time to rest once this is over. I’ll be well for the meantime. But what of you? You did not answer me earlier. If you need to rest then… then I can inform them that we must reschedule. I would have us go together or not at all.”

The Bard stared at him for a stunned moment before a rasped breath left him in an amused huff. Rolling his free hand at him flippantly in a ‘really?’ gesture that made the Arcanist frown at the teasing.

“Yes really,” he grumbled.

The continued staring had just started at the fringes of irritation before Alvaar slipped an arm around his shoulders and tugged him into a loose one-armed hug against his side. Alphinaud blinked in puzzlement, too caught off guard by the move to protest before Alvaar squeezed him gently and held tight for a long moment. It was… still embarrassing. He still hoped people wouldn’t see him and make jokes at his expense but… It reminded him of the Binding Coils of Bahamut. Beaten and battered as Alisaie, Alvaar, and himself had been and the Bard had paused to hug them both in a similar fashion as they’d left the ruins. He’d been annoyed then but this time it almost felt like… like things would be fine. Surely, whatever had come over Alvaar in Halatali would need to be discussed but at his core the Bard was still the same. That would be enough.

Letting him go, the older Elezen thumped knuckles to his own chest, unable to help a faint wince as he aggravated his burns but offering a weak grin regardless.

“You’re well enough and we should be on our way?” Alphinaud asked, already knowing Alvaar would nod and managing his own faint smile. “Then I am relieved to hear it. Shall we?”

They set out together and the fact Alvaar was stepping at his side instead of behind him was not lost on the Arcanist. It was a bit different, not quite something he was yet used to, but he sort of hoped it would stay. While the Warrior of Light’s steady presence at his back had been commonplace before there was something far more companionable walking side by side as they were now even if the silence was almost the same. Something that at least suggested Ilberd’s heated words hadn’t all been truth…

“... If things change Alvaar,” Alphinaud murmurs, glancing up at him briefly. “When you can speak freely again, I mean... if you need to talk then I am here to listen.”

There’s a long pause before Alvaar gives a curt nod, offering the faintest smile at him before they step out into the foyer where the rest of their companions await.

It’s not much, not a miracle by any stretch, but it’s a small token of progress. And for now, maybe that can be enough of a start.

#alvaar aldaviir #wol #alphinaud #alphinaud leveilleur #platonic #ff14 #ffxiv #final fantasy 14 #mywriting #writing #oc #Furia: fury #ilberd #ilberd feare #he had it coming #not a jury alive would convict the wol for bashing his face in

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thetwistedclocks · 6 years ago

Text

so like,,,, couldn’t focus and did this instead

- time for a hunting trip or patrol or whatever everyone’s there and alive we got the whole gang: arthur, leon, percival, elyan, gwaine, lancelot, and merlin

-this is an au so gwen and lancelot just are together and there was no drama with arthur

- gorgeous day, kinda hot though so they decide to stop for lunch and fuel up

- le bandits sneak up on them, and attack

-everything is just like a typical fight, everybody but merlin is whirling around, doing their thing

-merlin is behind a tree, doing little stuff to make sure no one is wounded badly or killed

-our shining knights wipe everyone out, just a ton of bloody bodies scattered around the clearing except they missed one

-this little rat sneaks up behind merlin and he’s got a knife poised to kill merlin

- arthur yells desperately for merlin to move, he cannot lose him not after morgana, not after his father, no no no

- merlin whips around to defend himself, but he has no weapons, everyone else is too far away to help, and without thinking he blows the man back twenty feet, where he hits a tree and dies

- everyone is frozen in place

-merlin slowly turns around to see arthur because oh shit

- arthur says no in a strangled, desperate voice

- arthur’s face contorts and he then starts to scream: how could you, you lying bastard, i trusted you, you were my best friend

- gwaine preemptively moves towards merlin, fearing for merlins safety

- lancelot does the same

-merlin just quietly says im sorry and then whirlwinds out of there but lancelot and gwaine were close enough to get sucked in with him

-the trio lands in a forest pretty far away from camelot, and merlin just curls up into a ball

-gwaine and lancelot look at each other and merlin in shock and have a silently mouthed conversation above merlin’s head

- Gwaine: what the fuck Lancelot: shit ok did you know Gwaine: I kinda had some idea but I never dug too deep into it, did you know? lancelot: yes, he saved my life by killing the griffin with magic Gwaine: so what now Lancelot: I guess we’re fugitives with him now Gwaine: he’s not gonna move for a bit, we need to take care of him until he recovers Lancelot: agreed, lets find shelter for the night

- and they do they just build a fire and make sure merlin’s warm and has some water but he refuses food

-back with arthur the remaining knights suggest going after the trio but arthur shuts them down, hes not letting himself show any emotion

-they ride back to camelot, everyone finds out, gaius is just broken at this cause he cant see merlin or help him anymore, gwen decides to leave camelot without telling anyone to search for her best friend and love, she forgives merlin but wants an explanation, arthur turns in on himself and closes himself off, hes curt and cold, the other knights just dont talk about it though they each slowly forgive the trio over a long period of time

-after a week of no talking, merlin finally speaks to gwaine and lancelot and says: “lets go back home, I can face arthur, and you two can rejoin the knights

-they immediately refuse, saying that they trust and love merlin, and they chose to stay with him

-merlin brings up gwen in hopes to convince at least lancelot but he says its safer for her in camelot and he trusts he’ll see her again someday

-merlin just cant argue anymore, hes tired, and mourning everything he’s lost

-in the morning, they decide well we gotta live somewhere so they figure out where they are, which is western camelot on the very edge at the foot of a mountain range that marks camelot’s border

-they set up a little cabin just outside a nearby village and live their lives

-pretty soon, after occasionally being in the village for supplies, the villagers get suspicious and ask them questions

- they just so happen to catch merlin, who’s a terrible liar, and he blurts out hes a healer

-this village has 0 healers so they start to bring their sick to merlin, who heals them for free, which results in lots of gifts of food and other stuff

-gwaine and lancelot start teaching sword fighting to keep themselves sharp and help out the village

-things are chill like this for a few months

-gwen is still wandering around, learns a bit about magic, and is just traveling through western camelot, hoping to find the trio

-back in camelot, arthur is cracking down on magic

-he isn’t killing people, but anyone found guilty of magic or anything is locked away in these cells uther had made under the regular dungeon out of sorcerers’ bones that contains magic, its like a second purge, just without the executions

-gwen knows this and wants merlin to come back and stop arthur

-lancelot and gwaine slowly gets merlin’s entire story out of him, and see him as a leader now

-merlin is quieter, more reserved, and rarely uses magic at all

-one time this little girl, maybe 10, is brought to merlin wiht a weird set of symptoms

-merlin immediately knows shes developing magic, so he sends the parents away, promising he will heal her, and then he tells her

-she is scared of not being abole to control her new powers but isnt scared of having the magic itself, and tells merlin that her parents are ok with magic too

-the next day he meets with her family, and they discuss it, and eventually, they all decide that he can train her

-so like a few weeks go by of this, and then another person comes to merlin

-this time its an older woman and she wants to learn how to control her magic

-pretty soon merlin is training a lot of people and gets a reputaion

-gwaine and lancelot are worried about how little he sleeps, and how little he talks about the past, they cant help him though

-gwen hears about this village, where magic is celebrated, and finds it

-she arrives, and runs into gwaine, who takes her hand and runs shouting throught the village back to the cottage where lancelot is training

-happy reunion yay

-she and merlin talk, she gets his full story, and he is just a little happier knowing that she’s there but he also finds out about whats going on in camelot

-in camelot, all of the knights just dont talk to arthur anymore, for fear of his verbal abuse

-hes crushed that gwen is gone too, and feels that he has been abandoned

-more and more magic users flock to this village until rumors reach all the way back to camelot

-arthur orders a raid, he orders no killing

-he doesn’t lead it, but eventually, 20 knights or so attack the village

- a lot of magic users are taken, and a few people killed in fires set by the knights

-merlin feels responsible and decides that his merry band of misfits needs to be safer and a whole lot more defended

-so he and a majority of the village move into the mountains

-merlin is now the accidental leader of a rebel camp

-its called camp maxia(magic in galcian/gaelic) and its inhabitants maxians

-years go by, as the camp grows with refugee families and those from villages attacked by bandits because the knights are all out looking for magic users and not protecting anybody

-merlin, with his right hands gwaine, lancelot, and gwen run maxia as a safe place for everyone, and he creates a name for himself as lord maxia to protect his real identity

-arthur knows about maxia, obviously, but doesn’t have the forces to take it down

- during this time gwen and lancelot have this huge wedding, very magical, and very nature themed

- so arthur has most knights out around camelot, and morgana knows this, she joins forces with cenred and takes camelot with ease

-arthur, leon, percival, and elyan get out together

-percival suggests going to lord maxia for help, as he’s got quite a sizable force and has been kind to camelot in not attacking them

-arthur immedietly shuts him down

-they camp outside of the city for about a week, a couple civilians find them and tell arthur whats happening in camelot

-morgana is starving the people and killing those who act up

-arthur still loves his people, more than he hates magic

-so he agrees to go to lord maxia

-arthur, leon, percival, and elyan set out with the few civilians; the knights are each secretly hoping to see merlin at camp maxia, arthur is secretly terrified of that happening

-they’re picked up by a maxia patrol and held in a makeshift cell until lord maxia accepts them into the camp, cause they’re wearing camelot stuff

-merlin is told of a group from camelot in the cells and knowing of camelot’s state immedietly send gwen and lancelot to meet them

- they expect a few knights and prepare to ask how they can help take back camelot

-when they see its elyan, arthur, leon, and percival they have the civilians released and cared for and sit down to talk to them

-arthur wont look at them, so leon speaks, and talks about whats been happening

-gwen offers maxia’s help, and lancelot says that planning would be a lot easier if they weren’t in a cell, and asks if they want to be processed into camp maxia

-the processing entails a quick truth potion along the lines of veritiserum

-leon says he couldnt speak for the whole group, so lancelot says its a personal choice

-percival volunteers first, and then the other knights agree to it as well

-arthur is silent, but livid

-the knights are processed, and meet merlin, and for a night they all have a meal together and its almost normal

-in the morning, merlin goes to see arthur, except he conceals his identity

-they talk, arthur is bitter, merlin is cryptic

-after a few days arthur realizes that in order to help his people he needs to set his anger aside and is processed

-merlin, identity still hidden, administers the test

-under this truth potion, arthur is honest about his views on magic in ways he didnt even realise

-merlin keeps his identity hidden for the planning, much to everyone’s dismay, but they respect his decision

-an attack on camelot is planned

-arthur at this point is slowly trusting knights again, and gwaine, lancelot, and gwen

-they ride for camelot, with camp maxia’s army

-the knights, including lancelot and gwaine, are with arthur and merlin, who’s identity is still hidden

-gwen leads the medical group behind them

-the battle begins, fought by merlin’s men against cenred’s army

-morgana threatens to kill the imprisoned sorcerers

-arthur and merlin, still hidden, fight their way to the throne room

-its just them and morgana and the sorcerers

-arthur is thrown by morgana into the sorcerers

-then its down to merlin to stop her

-so they fight, a big badass magical fight scene

-merlins cover is blown, hes hurt, looks like hes losing

-arthur is flipping out because its merlin and he forgot how much he missed him

-merlin is about to be stabbed by a magical bolt from morgana and arthur just screams merlin’s name

-merlin hears this and needs to live so he can talk to arthur so he defeats morgana

-battles over, people are freed

-merlin is chilling on top of the castle when arthur comes up

-they talk, for a long long time

-when they come down, merlin is forgiven, but not trusted, and magic is now not illegal

-merlin is made the court sorcerer, lancelot and gwaine knights, and gwen is a lady too cause she’s married to lancelot

-the foursome is now part of the round table and camp maxia is disbanded, no longer needed, and becomes a city at the foot of the mountains

-the knights can protect villages now

-all is right, except merlin and arthur still have this great distance

-gaius retires and just chills in merlins tower

-one time he’s out doing something important and arthur breaks his leg in training

-hes brought to merlin, who very very quietly asks if he can heal arthur using magic

-arthur agrees, and he sees merlin use good magic for the first time ever

-this breaks down a barrier

-arthur visits merlin and talks about matters of state

-eventually just his day

-and then he trusts merlin again

-they become best friends once more

-then one night at a ball, merlin is being flirted with by a very attractive knight

-arthur gets really possesive and jealus

-he grabs merlin’s arm and tugs him away, saying something about court matters

-he dragsmerlin back to his room, huffy and angry, not letting go of his arm

-merlin asks what they need to talk about, and he doesn’t get an answer

-next he asks gently whats wrong

-at this point they’re at arthur’s chambers

-there’s no gaurds, they’re at the ball

-he tugs merlin into his room and just glares at him

-merlin is confused and asked what he did wrong, scared to lose arthur again

-arthur just groans and looks away and mumbles something about nothing

-merlin walks over, puts his hand on arthurs back, and says: “well its clearly not, tell me whats going on.”

-arthur just stays quiet

-merlin persists: “arthur please dont shut me out like this”

-arthur suddenly pins merlin to the door

-he just growls, “dont flirt with him”

-merlin is very confused and kinda scared because hes always loved arthur but arthur definitely doesn’t never ever in a million years feel the same way

-he quietly says why not

-arthur just. stares at him. “are you serious?”

-”yes?”

-and arthur just does the whole possesive door kiss thing

-merlin got a light bulb

-a few months later they’re married

-merlin is crowned king

-the end

just, random idea thats been bouncing around. should it be a fic?

#merlin fic #merthur #writing #arthur #merlin #gwen #gwaine #lancelot #gwen x lancelot #idk that ship name

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chrysalispen · 5 years ago

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viii. the eternal reciprocity of tears

alsdjfasdf god this one was a pain. i hate chapters that feel like they’re just bridges to something else but it couldn’t be helped

AO3 Link

Another morning broke, grey and dimly lit.

Light had finally filtered its way through the heavy blanket of clouds sitting low in the sky, driving forth the last vestiges of the storm that had spent its rage upon Mor Dhona and passed along its way north and west into Coerthas. Gradually, the sun -- what little of it that could be seen behind the sickly purple haze of unaspected aether forking its way through the clouds like lightning-- rose over a vast graveyard of men and machina.

In daybreak's wake had come reinforcements: what few conjurers could be spared, descending the cliffside alongside reinforcements from all three of the Grand Companies as part of an organized rescue effort. Now that the rains had cleared and smoke and fog had faded, it was safe to navigate the sheer drop to the plains below, and in short order the parties had coordinated their searches by the marked quadrants the adventurers' units had left in place.

The entire day had been spent searching for survivors that might yet live, who could not be rescued in the inclement weather that had plagued them for two days. No stone, corse, or machina was left unturned, and in their wake traveled Kan-E-Senna's people with their white magic to provide what aid was needful.

Now the sun was setting again, and the Elder Seedseer felt as though barely any progress had been made. So many had been beyond her aid.

Currently she stood watch over a contingent of Serpents as they carefully extracted a very young man - a boy, really - out from beneath a reaper that had turned on its side and crushed him in its fall. Kneeling next to the mangled figure in scarlet and black, she stretched forth a hand to lay upon his brow. Aether poured into his body in a torrent of healing power and little by little the twist of agony in his face eased.

Satisfied that the lad was out of any immediate danger, the Padjal extended a hand towards the waiting Serpent, and with his support regained her feet, bracing her weight against the sturdy heft of Claustrum as she did so. "He will live."

"Yes, my lady. If you'll permit, I believe the adventurers in the nearby encampment have a holding area that-"

"No." Her tone brooked no argument. "See that he is brought to the rearguard for succor and nourishment. Gridania will not consign any of the Empire's conscripts to a prison cell or anything resembling such. They are to be treated as any of the other wounded found in the retrieval effort."

The man before her, who had so recently been willing to kill an unconscious boy, nodded slowly, his gaze not meeting hers. "At once, my lady."

With a gesture to his fellows, the injured imperial soldier was hoisted upwards to be carefully carried to the rear as ordered. Kan-E-Senna did not watch them go. She was surveying the grim scene before her: watching brightly colored coats picking through the rubble, checking for signs of life amongst the bodies of the fallen. This had all happened at her behest.

None of these people would have died here if not for me.

Out of all the city-states within Eorzea, Gridania had been the most exposed: perilously close to imperial territory, little more than a stone's throw from Baelsar's Wall. All that protected them from invasion was the Twelveswood itself, and though the Garleans harbored a healthy caution for it, their ignorance had hardly proven to be any sort of deterrent to venturing beneath its boughs. Castrum Oriens sat on the edge of the Shroud on its Gyr Abanian side, and there had been numerous forward scouting units they'd caught in the East Shroud- too close to the city for anyone's comfort.

She had seen the writing on the wall almost immediately. Nael van Darnus and Gaius van Baelsar had already taken Mor Dhona. She was not naive; she had known then it was but a matter of time before the Empire set its sights on Gridania, perceived as the weakest of the three nations. If Gridania fell, thus fell all of Eorzea. Divided, none of them would have been able to stop the VIIth Legion.

Knowing this, she'd sent missives to Merlwyb, to Nanamo and Raubahn, to Archbishop Thordan, in the hopes that a united front might give the Garleans second thoughts about their campaign, or even deter them altogether.

The people of Gridania and its surrounds were reclusive out of necessity; they had learned long ago that there was a price to live in harmony with nature, for the elementals would not abide them to dwell in the Twelveswood otherwise. And yet, she could not well ignore an impending Calamity, any more than she could ignore the steel boots and metal airships on their doorstep. Given even the smallest chance tragedy might be averted, she had tried.

And failed. Despite their best efforts, the Seventh Umbral Era was upon them.

"Seedseer?" a familiar voice rumbled, intruding upon her grim thoughts. "You look like a lady with something on her mind."

"Yes," she said distantly, gazing back in the direction of the interim camp at the edge of the field. "I am overseeing the rescue efforts. Was there aught you wished of me?"

"We're about to head over to the interim camp and see to the prisoner transport there. Merlwyb is waiting for us."

"General Aldynn, I cannot well leave when-"

"They too have folk that will be in need of succor from the Conjurers' Guild," he said. "I'm told they have an infirmary in operation and none too many healers to work it, though it seems they've lost surprisingly few souls thus far, all considered. Come. Your people know what they're about. It can keep for a bell or two, and then I'll let you right back at it if that's what you wish."

The Padjal squared her shoulders and lifted her staff, tucking it over her shoulder, before folding her hands over the front of her robes. "Very well, but only if I am allowed to tend to the prisoners. I can't imagine many have had their hurts addressed."

"I'm sure there will be no objections," he said with a weary smile. "Shall we?"

Kan-E-Senna answered him with a smile of her own, but she couldn't help one last glance over her shoulder at the wasted remains of the field -- and the movements of the rescuers still searching for survivors -- before she turned to follow.

~*~

Aurelia had registered the entrance of another person into her immediate range of perception almost as soon as the oilcloth partition shifted on its rope. She didn't react or respond at first, assuming it was either one of the other medical staff or the next person in line. They could wait another five minutes or so for her to finish her examination of the young soldier perched on the edge of the table.

She was fighting not to fall asleep on her feet, truth be told, but there was little to be done save recuse herself from further surgeries. The enhancer injection she'd given herself was quickly losing its effects. There were more in the field kit Sparrow's friend had found, but more than one infusion in a twelve-bell period was ill advised.

Besides which, they were highly addictive, and she had no intention of falling prey to that trap, either.

She rubbed her eyes and turned her waning attention back to the Lalafell sitting patiently in front of her. Like most of the other Eorzeans she'd seen, his attitude towards her was some mixture of fear, mistrust, and a wary sort of respect for her skills - Garlean or not, it seemed, in a situation like this her presumed allegiances were less important than her ability to provide aid.

Once they realized she had no intent of performing nefarious experiments upon them or harming them, the injured here had taken her presence more or less in stride. That said, she still wasn't quite certain if their reticence stemmed from her clearly visible third eye or from her profession. Really, it could be both. But she wasn't going to waste her time or theirs asking; it hardly mattered now.

"The head wound looks far worse than it is," she judged, using her index and middle fingers to lift his chin and tilt it gently from side to side. There had been a small penlight in the kit, which she used now to check his eyes. "Move your eyes with the light."

"It was bleedin' bucketfuls when me mates and I first came here."

"Scalp cuts tend to bleed quite a bit. It isn't deep at all, shouldn't need more than a cleaning." Setting the implement aside, she gently reached for the bandaged hand in his lap. He flinched, but didn't push her away. "I'm more concerned about this hand of yours."

"It hurts, miss. Please don't t-"

She winced at the smell, when she opened the soiled dressing. Two of the fingers on his hand had turned black.

"Miss," he began, but Aurelia was already shaking her head.

"With better facilities, perhaps, but with what's available to us now there's no saving them."

The soldier sighed. "The conjurers can't... you know...?"

"Unlikely," she said, "as far gone as it is now."

Before Castrum Novum had deployed her cohort to the staging camp, Aurelia's late commanding officer had taken her and some few others aside, those who had never before seen serious combat engagements, to forewarn them that the battle was going to be ugly and bloody, and they were like to be taking more limbs than they saved.

He'd said it was just the unfortunate nature of such things, and even the most advanced medical practices couldn't fix everything. But it was very different to hear "you'll become more familiar with amputations than you expected" than to actually tell someone to their face they were going to lose a limb. Witnessing the grief of the soldiers was a gut punch to her conscience.

And just as it had been with the last dozen or so who had come to her with spreading rot in their limbs, it hadn't lessened a whit. She swallowed down the guilt and continued her speech.

"For what it's worth, you do have my utmost sympathies," she said quietly. "I have a salve I can use to numb the area so the work can be done, or I can speak with Captain Brudevelle and have the conjurers put you under."

The small shoulders slumped. "I'd... I'd rather not be watchin' you take off me fingers, miss. No offence."

"None taken." Aurelia resisted the urge to offer any further platitudes, knowing it wouldn't be appreciated. She reached for the crutches leaning against the table, braced herself, and carefully rose from the stool, leaning her weight into the walking aids so that the bulk of it wasn't on her working leg, and turned around to see who had entered while she worked. "Pray give me a few moments and I'll speak with the Capt- oh."

A very tired and grim-looking Edwin stood at the entrance to the partition. His face was calm, but his eyes were very solemn.

"Captain Ahrmbraena's asked me to come and fetch you," he said.

She felt her heart drop into her stomach.

"I have a patient," she said, a trifle unsteadily. "I cannot well leave him as he is."

"That won't be necessary. I'll take over."

"Have you even slept?"

"I've had more sleep than you," he retorted, and Aurelia couldn't help but flush at that. "Go. Take the back way so you skip the line and the mud. We'll have to change out your dressings after."

"They'll need changing anyway." She glanced over her shoulder at the disconsolate-looking young man sitting on the table. "Pray be gentle with him. The fourth and fifth digits are lost and he's taking it about as hard as one would expect."

"I told you, I'll handle it. Now hurry and go."

There were a few glances her direction as she made her painful way out of the tent and back towards what passed for the medical bay, but most of the initial surprise at her third eye was gone by now, and the attention she received was perfunctory at best, the casual curiosity of onlookers wanting to see who had passed them. She limped to her destination as fast as she could safely navigate the deep and muddy ruts in the pathways, grateful that no one remarked upon her passing.

~*~

An empty stool awaited her at Sazha's bedside.

Bryngeim Ahrmbraena occupied the other. The Roegadyn lifted her head wearily to look at Aurelia as she seated herself, her eyes red-rimmed, deep and hollow shadows carved in half-moons below them, her face pale. Aurelia wondered if she had taken any rest at all, or if she had been here the whole time.

"Edwin says he's going," she said, in a low, rough voice. "I hope you weren't overly busy."

"I had a patient, but he traded places with me. The poor boy lost two fingers, but he'll live." Aurelia looked down at the dying man on the pallet. His breath rattled in his throat, harsh, slow sighs that were very loud in the dark quiet of the tent. The only other sound was the captain's soft sniffling. "Thank you for having him fetch me."

A halfhearted shrug. "Was the least I could do; Sazha said you two meant something to each other once. And... I wanted to apologize to you."

"No, it's-"

"It's not all right. That's what you were going to say, isn't it? It's not all right. You've done naught to merit my rudeness." She sighed, wiping at her eyes with her fingertips. "At first it was down to you being an enemy. But then it became clear he and you- that you- and I was jealous. He told me I had no call, that you and he..."

Aurelia thought about her strange dream, and decided it would be best to keep that to herself. No need to make the woman think she was mad on top of aught else.

"As I said before. Childhood friends," she said quietly.

"He is very fond of you."

She took the limp hand at his side, tightly bandaged, with great care, knowing how damaged it was. "As I was - am - fond of him."

"I don't know what I'll do," came the soft, choked response. "He was- we'd meant to settle. There are folk that would object to us being together, him being a Miqo'te and all, but no one whose opinions we'd mind. He had no family that I knew of, and mine... well, the less said the better. None of import to gainsay us, and we're adventurers, and... it's expected for us not to follow tradition, you know."

Aurelia nodded. She understood that notion quite well.

"But... we had all these plans. Everything we'd do... and now- it's not fair, it's just not fair-"

What was left of the captain's composure finally crumbled, and she doubled over the pallet, sobbing, her hair draped over L'sazha's shoulder.

Aurelia felt a deep-seated sense of discomfort playing witness to the woman's meltdown, unsure what course of action she should take and feeling as though she probably hadn't been meant to see such a private moment. Her countrymen were a very reticent people, and while Garleans were as subject to intense emotional outbursts as any other Spoken race, they took pains not to express those emotions in public if possible.

In the end she chose to offer silent comfort. She reached over the pallet and braced her hand, gently, against the woman's shoulder. Captain Ahrmbraena didn't speak, but she didn't push her away, and after a moment one of her hands came up to wrap around Aurelia's wrist. She didn't remove it; she simply held onto it as she cried.

For that moment at least, their respective allegiances were of no import. They were simply two people in a moment of shared grief.

As the bell wore on those breaths grew louder, harsher, slower and more torturous, as if every lift and release of his chest was made through terrible agony. Aurelia sat up, removed her hand from the captain's shoulder, and laid her palm once more against the unburnt patch of skin over his brow, to stroke through what was left of his hair. Captain Ahrmbraena watched with anguished eyes, still clutching his other hand, but said nothing.

Aurelia leaned over and kissed his good ear. It was soft and cool, and didn't flicker in response beneath the heat of her breath.

"I love you, old friend," she whispered. "I wish we could have met again in happier days. But it-... it's all right for you to let us go. We'll be fine."

You always tried to protect me, but you don't need to do that anymore.

She had heard, once, that people in comatose states could still retain some of their senses, though she didn't know how much of her words would have reached him in this state. And she didn't know if it was that reassurance or if her timing had been prescient, but after another small series of loud and tortured breaths there was a soft, long sigh from his chest, a soft click in the back of his throat-

-and that was all. There were no more breaths. He lay on the pallet, his body now just an empty shell.

Aurelia heard a loud, strangled sob, as if someone had knocked the breath from the other woman's lungs.

She took a moment to reflect; her own grief was much quieter, a small shower rather than a storm. Her best friend was gone and with him the girl she had once been, and Aurelia thought to herself she might be grieving for that loss, as well: for the sweet and sunny and outspoken little girl who had rescued her first and only friend from an imperial patrol, done what she could to help him. Stolen treats from the kitchen together, learned their Eorzean letters together, climbed trees together.

It felt like the closing of a chapter, the final death of her childhood. Truthfully, she knew that her old self had been doomed to such a fate when she had set foot on the transport back to the capitol seven years ago. But the last rattling vestiges of that life had now passed for good, and her old dreams had died along with it.

Her body felt heavy with sorrow. She was crying herself now; she could feel her tears dripping from her cheeks and into his hair.

And it was to this scene that a group of four Maelstrom soldiers arrived, flanking her on all sides. She tensed at the overwhelming impression of their presence, but she couldn't summon the wherewithal to move herself from her friend's corse long enough to retain even a shred of her dignity. Captain Ahrmbraena was likewise stirring from across the other side of the pallet.

"We've come for the prisoner," a quiet voice spoke, somewhat awkwardly, into the silence. "Admiral's orders. Conscription's been overruled, now the Conjurers' Guild has people here. She's been relieved of her duties and you're to remand her to our custody."

With some effort Aurelia forced herself to sit upright, tried to speak in her defense.

"I was told my skills were needed to-"

"Not anymore. Your reprieve's over. It's to a gaol with you. Transport leaves today." This from a second man, the curt tone marking him as the officer in charge. "Put your hands out."

She blinked at all of the Eorzeans in turn, half-blinded by her tears. There were no kind or helpful faces here; these were the cool, remote expressions of soldiers who looked upon her and saw only a faceless enemy, and somewhere through the grief, she felt her stomach clench with apprehension. There would be no understanding conversations or common ground with them.

"Damn you, I said give me your swiving hands," the man spat when she did not react right away. He grabbed her with such abrupt ferocity that the violent movement jostled her still-healing leg, smacking it painfully against the side of her wooden perch. Aurelia let out a gasped cry despite herself. It was all she could do not to fall from her perch when her wrists were yanked forward and the cold irons were slapped upon them. "Get up. Now."

"Are you lot blind?" Captain Ahrmbraena snapped, surprising Aurelia out of her partial stupor. "Look at her. She can't bloody stand, never mind walk."

"Then we'll drag her," came the sneered response. "I don't give a shite about an imperial's godsdamned comfort and nor should you, but if you're so hellsbent on taking her part then you can carry her yourself."

The Roegadyn said nothing, only fixed the man with a cold glare until he could no longer look her in the eyes. Finally she turned her attention to the bewildered young woman who now sat with her head bowed, staring with empty eyes down at the metal hasps and chains that bound her once again. Her blonde hair had come partially loose from its coiffure over time, and tumbled over one of her shoulders in a tangled mess.

Sazha's friend, she thought, and likely the only person who understood - and felt - the depths of her grief. She felt a surge of pity and anger.

"Come on, then," she said gruffly. "Arms about my neck, unless you'd like them to make you crawl through the mud. Don't worry about the crutches. I've got you."

"Captain-"

"It's Bryn, Garlean," Bryngeim replied as she hoisted Aurelia's weight into her arms with a soft, cracked grunt, her voice still hoarse from crying. "Just Bryn."

#reborn by fire #aurelia laskaris #wol origin story #garlean warrior of light

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rubyboys · 6 years ago

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for years or for hours merlin/arthur, 5k, smut, fluff, first time, heartwarming

Merlin is ill, Arthur is injured, and revelations are had. (Or--it’s the middle of winter, but Merlin feels warm.)

read on ao3

Merlin’s not looking when it strikes.

It’s a fast, shadowy thing, the skin of its pointed wings so thin that Merlin can see Arthur’s silhouette through it, can see Arthur’s outstretched sword and raised, stubborn chin.

It’s a stupid mistake, but he waits a split-second too long: he’s caught off-guard by the vision of Arthur, the shape of him through the flesh of something evil. Merlin doesn’t notice the beast’s claws, like long iron blades, plunging towards him. In the dark, he doesn’t see the whites of its eyes.

But then, the world is taken by a startling expanse of black, eaten up entirely by a shocking void—until he realises that he can see the moon, fuzzy and far away, and the rough lines of treetops against the night sky. He’s strewn on the black, wet forest floor, the rain pelting down on his limp body, but he can’t really feel it.

He can hear Arthur shouting.

It tears at his heart, makes him want to sit up and see, makes his magic charge up in a roiling, furious mass in his chest. But the moon is disappearing, the treetops slipping sideways into the press of his eyelids, and Arthur’s roar feels quieter, like he’s listening to him from underwater. Merlin’s magic shudders, and sighs, and then it’s all over.

His eyes are closed when Arthur hits the ground too, landing barely a foot away from him with a hurt grunt, his sword skidding away on the damp dirt.

He’s unconscious when Arthur lets out a throaty, broken scream, one that eats up the grim, wet sound of hook-like claws ripping into his stomach.

He’s lost to the silence when the night fills with the sound of the knights’ feet, dashing desperately against the ground, and the whipping of wings against the air.

Merlin sleeps.

A sluggish, rolling sleep, it swaddles him up and carries him, leisurely, from forest floor to hard bed, and weighs him down even in the daylight. He loses himself in it.

The few waking moments he has over the coming days are vignetted by a thick tiredness, forever crushed by the heavy hang of his eyelids, and lost amid the deep, bodily ache of his bones. He’s in a bed, somewhere—that he knows—and it’s been at least a few days, because light has come and gone a few times, along with repeat visits from the knights trying to get him to drink water and whatever foul potion they’ve pulled together.

He’s not at home, he knows, not in Camelot. There’s a persistent wish at the back of his mind, anyway, that the next time he opens his eyes, he’ll be back home, and Arthur will be well, and this tight line of tension in his shoulders will disappear.

Context comes back slowly.

It was a quest. Uther would never usually send the knights away at this time of year, not in the cold, and he’d never even think to send Arthur out into the fray mid-winter, but Arthur was stubborn.

Brave, you know, the way he always is, the way it lights up his eyes and puts a knot in his jaw. Stupidly brave. There was a beast—something they couldn’t put a name to, something terrible—wreaking havoc on small, rural villages, and Arthur said he needed to go. Merlin, of course, went with him.

But it went wrong, Merlin remembers. It’s not safe to go questing when it’s this cold, when darkness falls so early in the day. The knights were sure it was a bad idea, but then, after days and days of not being able to find the beast, after nights and nights of convincing themselves if they just stay out a little later, they’ll find it—the beast found them.

He can’t make sense of it, but some memories come back clearly.

Black sky. Wet forest floor. The sound of shouting. Those terrible wings. And Arthur.

Realising that he’s sick comes slow and horrible, sinks under his skin as he dreams until it’s a real, tangible thing that pins him to the mattress and keeps him from waking.

The realisation that Arthur was wounded—seriously, terribly injured—booms into his dreams like a punch of thunder, and, from then on, his dreams change, malformed by fear. He dreams in short, cutting images that flicker fast behind his eyelids. In each of them, Arthur is hurt, and Merlin can’t help him.

It’s a terrible thing to dream.

One evening, he manages to catch a couple of lucid moments, between the sound of wings, the sound of screaming. It’s twilight, and there’s two shadowy figures in his doorway, talking softly. They look towards him as he grunts, tries to find his hands beneath himself, and suddenly all he can see is Arthur’s face, Arthur’s troubled eyes and parted lips, and Arthur’s hands, strong and taking Merlin’s face between his palms.

And then sleep rolls him under again, a swift crush that keeps him down until morning.

The next time he wakes up, he thinks this will be the one that sticks.

He’s been lucid under closed eyes, able to keep track of his thoughts for a few minutes now, so he’s fairly sure he’s not stuck in his nightmares anymore. He opens his eyes with caution, and, immediately, his question is answered. He’s not in Camelot.

The morning sun passes into the room through starchy pale curtains, creating watery bands of light, each cross-hatched with faint shadow. The room itself is a small, narrow, clean place, like one that might belong to a healer, like Gaius. It’s not a room Merlin has ever seen before. It’s a strange feeling, to lie in a bed he’s lived in for the past few days, and feel as though it’s the first time he’s ever looked at it. His bed is low to the ground, covered in crumpled white sheets that have left sleep lines up his right arm.

There’s a small, icy window on the wall behind him, but across the room there’s a larger window, drawn over in spiralling circles of ice, revealing a weak, fine snowfall.

His nightmares are whispering at the nape of his neck, but it’s morning, and Merlin won’t let it bother him. He’s ill-at-ease enough already. There’s a heavy pressure in his head, a horrible headache, holding him tightly and make him feverish and uncomfortable. But he has to see Arthur.

With a deep breath, he swings his legs out of the bed, and tries to walk towards the door.

That’s not happening.

He staggers, and knows right then that it’s an impossible feat. He’s not ready to get up. His feet twist and slip on the cool floor, and he jerks back to land awkwardly on the bed, breathing hard. Little pinpricks of light are swirling urgently in front of his eyes, and it takes time to blink them away.

Merlin braces himself carefully on the edge of the bed, breathing deliberately and slowly, and commits himself to just staying here until he feels well enough to get up. He doesn’t want to be stupid and hurt himself further. Arthur would never let him hear the end of it.

His heart hurts suddenly, a nasty pang of worry that he blinks away. He will find out when he is ready to get up. It almost makes him not want to get up at all.

“Merlin.”

Arthur.

Merlin turns his head, and there he is, stood in the doorway, really there, and Merlin’s stomach swoops with relief. He lets out the tension in his shoulders with a breath, blinks heavy eyelids, and looks at Arthur in open relief. Nearly giddy.

He grins. Or he thinks he does. He doesn’t seem to have a lot of control over any of his muscles.

“What the hell are you doing?” Arthur exclaims, moving towards him quickly. He fits his hands under Merlin’s armpits and pushes him back onto the bed, letting him lie down properly against the pillows.

“Trying—” Trying to get up, he wants to say, but the words slam against his lips and don’t go any further. He’s too tired, too feverish. He can’t keep his eyes off of Arthur, though.

“Here,” Arthur says, placing the duvet back over Merlin. “You utter madman. You are in bed for a reason, you know.”

Arthur meets Merlin’s eyes confidently, but he looks wrong. For all the loud, declaratory nature of his entrance, his shoulders are high and tense, his knees locked and stiff in his effort to stand up. His hand hovers by his stomach. There’s a faint discomfort in his calm expression that could be easily missed by anyone but Merlin.

“What’s wrong?”

His voice is slurred with sleep, a mumble, but Arthur understands him anyway. He stands up straight and lets out a brief scoff. “Trust you to worry about me,” he remarks. “You’re the one who’s been practically comatose for three days.”

Merlin nearly rolls his eyes—would, if it weren’t for his headache. “Dollophead,” he says.

It’s more of an unintelligible groan than a word, but Arthur argues, “Hey!” immediately. “You’re the dollophead,” he says, softer than he normally would, and moves across to stand at the end of the bed.

“The beast,” Merlin asks immediately, hoarse and cracked.

“It cursed you. Magical illness,” he explains, with deliberate calmness. He’s leaning against the wall in an attempt to appear casual, but his hand is still waiting awkwardly near his stomach, protective, and flinching away any time his fingers accidentally brush his top. “We don’t know exactly what it was, but we found an accomplished-enough healer to help. And she helped.”

That doesn’t sit well with Merlin, even through his stupor. The only way to cure a magical illness is through using magic, any villager would know that. And Arthur would never willingly work with a sorcerer.

Would he?

The words don’t come easily; it’s too hard to sort through the heavy clouds in his head obscuring his thoughts, settling like thick dust over the things he wants to say, until Merlin can’t remember what he wanted to say at all. What he ends up saying is, “I don’t understand,” and it’s close enough that he lets his expression communicate the rest, a troubled frown.

“Hey,” Arthur says. He sits down at the end of Merlin’s bed, and disguises a strange wince by clapping Merlin briefly on the leg. “You’re well now. You, uh. Got through the worst of it. We’re just waiting on you to be well enough to ride so we can take you back to Gaius.”

Merlin watches him.

“Your stomach.”

Arthur’s mouth opens wordlessly for a second, before it breaks into a light, cautious smile. “It’s a wound. But I’ve been wounded before.”

He looks at Merlin, but doesn’t seem settled by the expression he finds there, so he continues.

“It scratched me, quite deeply, over my lower ribs. It didn’t do any major damage, and the healer has said I’ll be fine to ride by tomorrow, at the latest.” Arthur waves his hand flippantly, and doesn’t look at Merlin. “If anything, it just stings.”

And that’s the final straw.

It’s not Merlin’s best idea, but, annoyed and struggling with words as he is, he channels all the energy he has into his left foot, and kicks Arthur’s lower back where he’s sat at the end of the bed.

Arthur gasps, a genuine expression of shock—quickly followed by irritation—appearing on his face. He raises his hands in surprise, staring at Merlin in wait of an answer.

Merlin scrunches up his nose and kicks him again.

“Merlin!” Arthur announces, indignant, and Merlin readies himself to kick Arthur for a third time. Arthur seems to sense it coming, with his good reflexes, and grabs Merlin’s ankle through the sheets, fixing Merlin with a shocked stare.

Merlin lets out a deep breath, glaring at him. He scuffles briefly with his better judgment before tossing it aside, like he always does when it comes to Arthur.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he says firmly. “Sire.”

It’s work, getting the words out, and they stick together slightly, made loose by his dazed tiredness, but they seem to do the trick. It hits Arthur hard, makes him fidget, look away, his cheeks a little flushed. He stares at the low chest of drawers across the room as he considers his words, before finally committing to plain honesty. It’s something Merlin always admires about Arthur. A brave and complete honesty.

“I don’t remember,” he admits, slowly, talking to the lowest drawer on the dresser. “But, apparently, it was…”

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and rubs his hands together. The tension in his back is clearly visible, palpable in the air. Makes Merlin almost want to touch him, smooth it out of him.

“It wasn’t looking great, for a few hours. The knights were brilliant, really stepped up and, uh, found a healer, who fixed me within a matter of hours. It’s nothing to worry about, but it. It hurts. I’m going to have to be careful.” He pauses, seemingly finished, but then he takes a breath and adds, “For quite a while.”

And then he looks over to Merlin with troubled, nearly anguished eyes, his lips pressed together in worry.

“But then when I woke up, they said you were—” He stops short, and takes a careful breath. “You were ill,” he says, like the words are impossible, “and that it wasn’t looking good either. And she couldn’t fix you. But I told her, just do anything, anything you have to do, anything at all.” He swallows and raises his eyes to the window across the room, and Merlin sees that his eyes are a little red. “She said you’ll be up and about by the end of the week.”

Merlin considers this. It’s a nasty thought, and what’s worse is the quiet ache in Arthur’s voice, and the way he’s trying so hard to smooth it over, to sound relaxed. There’s a tumultuous sea there, rushing tides of worry and morality and duty and pain, and how the hell does someone map out all of that, get to the heart of it, and make it better? Arthur is aching. And Merlin owes him his life.

And then, what Merlin considers, is that it’s a bit cold.

Yes, he confirms to himself, there’s a cold chill in the air, and Arthur is hardly dressed for the winter. In fact, he’s most likely been horrendously underdressed these past few days, without Merlin’s invaluable help getting him ready in the mornings. He’s most likely freezing.

Merlin swings his duvet up, nudging Arthur lightly with his toes, making obvious the warm and empty space in the bed.

He doesn’t say anything, just looks at him, and Arthur just stares back, wordless.

Merlin’s not confused, and he’s not offering this out of fatigue. He has those defenses ready on his lips; he’s not confused. He’s more lucid than ever. It’s just impulsive—but it’s hard not to be impulsive around someone like Arthur.

Arthur’s expression is unreadable. He’s just staring. And then, abruptly, he goes, “I owe you my life, you know.”

Merlin grunts in surprise.

“It was going for me. And you were in its way. My injury could’ve been a lot worse had you not been there to slow it down.”

Merlin lets out a laugh. That’s what he’s there for. He smiles, and this time, he knows he’s really smiling, helplessly, without inhibition, as much in his eyes as his mouth.

Arthur watches him further, and his chest heaves with a silent breath.

And then, without a word, he shifts down the bed and gets under the duvet.

It’s scary, terrifying, thrilling, and Merlin suddenly considers that maybe this is too delicate a situation for now. It’s too breakable and too precious, the stakes too high, and Merlin thinks suddenly that he shouldn’t have forced it, that maybe he misread it.

But.

But Arthur did get into bed with him. Who knows what it means, why Merlin offered, why Arthur did it, but he’s here. The weight of it all rests like a whole other person in the few inches between them. He opens his mouth, tries to find some words, watching Arthur helplessly.

Arthur makes himself comfortable, curling up opposite Merlin and mirroring his position, but his cheeks are red, his eyes focused. He deliberately doesn’t meet Merlin’s eyes at first, but then he does, he looks right at him. Nerves spike in Merlin’s stomach, a hot flush immediately crawling up his neck and cheeks.

And then Arthur’s eyes crinkle up, and he lets out a gentle, hearty laugh. Breathless. Merlin lets out the breath he was holding, splutters a laugh, and lets himself feel the warmth, spreading from Arthur’s body to his. It’s not cold anymore.

There’s nothing to say, because words fall short. And perhaps Arthur doesn’t have the words for this, doesn’t know how to make sense of these feelings, or how to talk to Merlin about it. But it doesn’t matter, because everything’s okay, now. He’s here, feeling it, warm and smiling and close.

Arthur cringes and says, “You’re so cold,” and Merlin grins sleepily. He knows a challenge when he sees one. He puts his hand on Arthur’s arm, slots his leg between Arthur’s calves, and Arthur squirms away, shoulders shaking with quiet laughter.

Merlin says, “You’re too warm,” and Arthur shakes his head, grinning. Arthur looks so relieved, so okay, and the joy of it thrums through Merlin like lightning, like magic. Enough to wake up him, to help him feel more lucid.

They fall quiet, and stay like that for a moment. Merlin swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and finds himself counting his breaths, keeping calm. His headache is gone.

“You’re ill,” Arthur says, softly, like a question.

“I don’t feel that bad,” Merlin answers, honestly. He talks slowly, but he gets the words out. The words come easier now that his head doesn’t hurt so much. “A healer fixed me?” He won’t ask any further than that. It’s too sensitive. Too heavy.

Arthur nods tensely. “Yes. She thinks the beast had some kind of poisonous scratch that can induce illness, and even coma. You’re very lucky to wake up at all. We just have to keep an eye on you, she said.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Yes, but I prefer to make sure.”

“You really care, then?”

“Yes,” Arthur says plainly, meeting Merlin’s eyes. “Yes. Of course.”

Merlin inhales sharply, and lets the silence settle between them, sharper this time.

“Okay,” he says.

Arthur watches him with a surprising intimacy, openly appraising Merlin’s face. His eyebrows are burrowed a little, his mouth a tight line, but the longer he looks at Merlin, the longer Merlin looks right back, the more he seems to calm down. He visibly relaxes after a moment, and closes his eyes. His legs draw a little closer to Merlin, his arm softens under Merlin’s hand.

It’s intimate, madly close, and Merlin knows that any other other time it wouldn’t be okay.

Now, though, it’s okay. For whatever reason, it’s okay. It’s perfect.

“Will we be back for Christmas?” Merlin asks, attempting conversation, and Arthur purses his lips in amusement.

“I just might hit you if you keep talking, Merlin,” he says, eyes still closed. “Are we or are we not trying to sleep?”

Oh. Merlin smiles, accepting the new rule even as it twists uncomfortably in his gut. They’re just trying to sleep. That makes sense. Nothing more.

So he whispers, loudly, “I’m thinking of getting Gaius a teapot.”

Arthur’s eyes shoot open and, a bright light in his eyes, he rises up on his knees to push Merlin down against the mattress, and grabs a pillow to whack him with. Merlin protests, but he can’t keep the smile from his voice, the laughter from his eyes, even as he pushes as Arthur’s shoulders and complains, “Oh, God, you’re so heavy!”

Arthur whacks him again; their laughs rise into the air, blending together.

“No, I might die!” Merlin laughs.

“Not if I kill you first!” Arthur exclaims, red-cheeked and arming himself with another pillow. His knees are wedged around Merlin’s thighs. It’s one of these wonderful times when Arthur ignores all of it, ignores who he is and what they’re meant to be, and he just acts like himself instead. And Merlin never knows what that means or where the boundaries are, never knows how to act with a man who is so inextricably part of him, a man he is so intrinsically part of.

Merlin pushes against him again, and Arthur drops his pillows and instead grips Merlin’s hands, trying to wrangle him into a position of mercy, breathing harder. Merlin’s no match for him.

They laugh until the laughs dry up, and all that’s left is Arthur, leaning over Merlin, in a bed, breathless.

Arthur swallows. His thoughts are painfully visible on his face, so open—only Merlin doesn’t know how to read them.

There aren’t any clear next steps.

Merlin can’t ever find a path forward with Arthur, not when the world seems to be falling apart all around them, when they’re solving a new problem every week. Not when Arthur is forever being pulled away to another battle, another enemy that wants him dead, and Merlin is forever trying to catch up, trying to move faster, think faster, kill an enemy before it has a chance to even think about striking.

There aren’t any next steps, and there won’t be any steps when everything’s fine again, and they’re safe, and can go home. Camelot is a structure that pins them down, draws firm lines between what Merlin can and can’t say to his prince, between how Arthur can and can’t answer his servant. They can get along, they can fight, they can laugh, but they can’t be friends, and they can’t even think about anything beyond that. It’s too far.

It doesn’t feel too far, now.

Their chests are inches apart, so close Merlin thinks he can hear Arthur’s heartbeat, or maybe that’s just his own pulse, racing. Their legs are interlocked; Arthur’s hands are gripping Merlin’s between their stomachs. They’ve never been this close. And Arthur isn’t pulling away.

Not that Arthur would ever pull away from him; Merlin knows he wouldn’t, couldn’t, can’t. It’s not in his blood to back away. But he would never take the next step, either. If there were rules that allowed for this, said it was okay, then… Then Merlin thinks this would be their whole lives. Each other would be their whole lives. King and consort.

Merlin stares up at him, doesn’t dare breathe. Arthur swallows, his eyebrows pinned together in a dark frown.

And here it is, the ugly reality. The rules don’t allow for this. Arthur’s just a prince, joking with his servant. And Merlin’s just a fool.

But then Arthur breaks the rules.

Because they’ve never done this, never spoken about this.

But he just places his hand by Merlin’s shoulder, and leans over him and just kisses him.

Like it’s that simple.

It’s slow, considering, thoughtful, lingering. Like there’s no stakes, like there’s no stakes at all, and under Arthur’s mouth, under the heat of it, Merlin feels hotter and dizzier than his fever had ever made him feel.

“Arthur,” Merlin whispers, shocked, too shocked to call him sire or anything like that.

And Arthur just answers him with, “Merlin,” slow and steady, and kisses him again. Merlin gasps into his mouth, arching upwards. God help him, he kisses Arthur back.

Everything changes.

Arthur holds Merlin like he thinks that if he loosens his grip, even slightly, Merlin might disappear. He holds him like he thought he might never hold him again, like he can’t be bothered to hide his fears anymore. He kisses him with a ferocity that Merlin can’t help but match, can’t help but cling to him and kiss him and hold him just as hard, because how could you ever let someone like Arthur go?

“I’m not letting you go,” he tells Merlin, like an oath, working his way down Merlin’s neck in methodical, hard kisses, kisses that could leave bruises, kisses that Merlin hopes leave bruises. With his hands on Merlin’s wrists on the pillow above them, he shifts up and takes Merlin’s mouth like he can’t believe he ever stopped.

“Don’t,” Merlin gasps, “don’t ever.”

Arthur makes a choked sound at that, his cheeks all the redder for it, and doubles down on Merlin’s lips and jaw and ears, gives him everything. It’s so much, so much, but the floodgates are open, everything unlocked, open and exposed and shining, and Merlin can’t ever let this end.

His hands find their way to the hem of Arthur’s shirt, start pulling at it. Arthur obeys immediately, rises up and strips himself of it.

Merlin’s eyes cut immediately to the bandaged wound on Arthur’s stomach, and he can feel the worry visible on his own face, plain as day, but Arthur shakes him out of it. Takes Merlin’s hands and says, “Hey,” gets him back to reality, so Merlin can look up at him, take in the stunning vision of Arthur. “It’s fine,” he says, eyes big like he needs Merlin to believe it.

“Are you sure?” Merlin says, and he doesn’t know what he’s asking with that. Maybe he means the wound, maybe he means this, all of this, all of it hanging in the air.

But Arthur says, “Yes,” and balls his shirt up and chucks it on the floor, plants his hands on either side of Merlin’s face and lowers himself down to kiss him all over again.

It’s freezing cold, but he doesn’t seem to feel it at all. Merlin has seen Arthur topless dozens of times, hundreds, but he never imagined he’d been able to do this, be able to touch him like this, slide his hands up between them, up Arthur’s chest and neck and into his hair. It’s all there, for him, and Merlin is all there for Arthur too.

Everything he has, Arthur can take. And Arthur takes.

When Merlin opens his mouth, Arthur is right there, meeting him.

When Merlin pushes up, Arthur grabs Merlin by the hips to pull him close, grinds Merlin right up against him.

When Merlin tries to sit up to take his shirt off, Arthur gets there first, strips Merlin of his top and groans, spreading his broad hands over Merlin’s chest and stroking his chest and ribs over and over and over, like he can’t believe he’s really there.

And then Arthur starts talking, endlessly talking, a rushing, open stream of words that Merlin could never even imagine. He grunts them against Merlin’s lips, mouths them onto the underside of Merlin’s jaw, kisses them into Merlin’s collarbones, pleads them into Merlin’s chest, just above his heart. “I’ve been checking on you,” he confesses, “every day. Between every meal, Merlin, before sleep, and after waking. I needed to know you’d be okay.”

“I’m okay, Arthur,” Merlin says, a promise, and slides his thigh up to provide a surface for Arthur to rut against, and Arthur does.

“I tried to find it. I wanted to kill it,” he tells Merlin, with his mouth leaving a long, precious line of kisses in the hollows under Merlin’s collarbones. The words are muffled, but Merlin hears them. His hand grips Arthur��s shoulder, his eyes never leave Arthur’s face.

If there’s a word for this strong, overwhelming, gorgeous feeling, if there’s a word for wanting someone like this, then Merlin doesn’t know what it is. Love doesn’t cut it.

“I needed you, Merlin,” he pants.

It’s so much, it’s too much, filling up Merlin’s heart and making him ache, worse than sickness, better than anything he’s ever felt. Arthur keeps going.

“I went out. Just me, and my sword. But I wasn’t healed enough, and I couldn’t stop bleeding. Leon found me and brought me home.” He kisses the bottom of Merlin’s throat with an impossible delicateness, a wet swipe of his tongue. “And I just came in here and sat with you. Didn’t want to leave.”

Merlin strains needily up against him, harder until Arthur gets the message and shifts so their cocks are right up close through the fabric, perfectly slotting beside each other, and Arthur is so hard—for Merlin—and Merlin can’t breathe like this.

The air between them is hot and muggy, stiflingly so, and Merlin only leans in further.

“I’m never letting you go,” Arthur vows. Gods, he can’t keep saying this, he can’t keep saying it. “Never, Merlin, never, never.”

“Arthur,” Merlin pants, a plea, and Arthur looks up at him with wide, honest eyes.

“Anything,” Arthur says, like he would never say anything else. “Anything.”

Merlin grips Arthur’s shoulders and tries to pull, and Arthur surges forward immediately, cradles Merlin’s jaw in his hand and kisses him with heated strikes of teeth and hard brushes of his tongue. It’s intoxicating, and Merlin raises his legs up, spreads wide to cradle Arthur’s hips between them, and crosses them at the ankles just below Arthur’s tailbone to pull him closer.

“Gods, Merlin,” Arthur grunts, so grateful, so relieved, and pouring all of it into Merlin’s mouth.

Merlin’s close now, as Arthur crushes down on him with sharp, certain snaps of his hips, saturates every inch of Merlin’s mouth with cherishing kisses, pushes Merlin even closer with dirty, quiet grunts.

“Close,” he warns, “I’m—” and Arthur pushes up onto his knees, grabs Merlin by the thighs and drags him immediately down the bed so that Merlin’s arse is pressed right up against Arthur’s cock. It’s a sudden, shocking gesture, but it’s perfect, it’s perfect. The pressure is gone, isn’t building quite so intensely anymore, but now Arthur is rutting, through the fabric of their trousers, into the crease of Merlin’s arse, and looking down at him with those eyes and saying, “Is this okay?”, taking Merlin’s hand firmly, locking their fingers together so that he can be all the closer, and asking again, “Merlin, is this okay?”

“Yes,” Merlin grits out, emphatically—pleading and demanding and not-quite-believing-it all at once. “Gods, yes, Arthur.”

Arthur closes his eyes, lets his mouth fall open, and keeps rutting against Merlin.

He raises his speed but falters unsteadily, grunting in pain, and between their bellies Merlin can see Arthur’s stomach muscles fluttering rapidly.

Merlin slows down his eager kissing, puts his hands on Arthur’s chest and says, “Stop.” His voice comes out sleepy, pitched low, but Arthur stops near-immediately, with just one or two uncontrollable strokes, slip-sliding fast between Merlin’s legs.

“You’re in pain,” Merlin says, and Arthur answers, like an accusation, “You’re ill.”

Merlin can’t help but grin at that, and Arthur ducks his head and grins too.

“Don’t—don’t push it, Arthur, you’re hurt.”

Arthur turns his face from Merlin, shifts on his knees to position himself close, and slides his hands down Merlin’s thighs to spread them further. Stubborn fool.

“No,” Merlin says, placing his hand on Arthur’s chest. He still won’t look at Merlin, stuck still with that stoic, distant expression on his face. Embarrassed. And that won’t do either.

Merlin’s annoyed now, lit up with irritation the only way Arthur could make him, stupid stubborn Arthur, and says, “Hey,” firmly. The way a servant shouldn’t speak to a prince.

And Arthur looks at him with worried, distant eyes, expression unreadable, and Merlin’s not having it. He reaches up to fist his hand in Arthur’s shirt and tugs, lightly, and says, “Kiss me. Kiss me,” and Arthur opens his mouth to let out a breath, and says, “This isn’t what I—”

“Kiss me,” Merlin repeats. See, he can be just as stubborn.

And Arthur looks at him with blown, dazed eyes, breathless, and kisses him.

He sets his hands on the mattress around Merlin’s head (the pillow is long-gone, shaken off the bed) and bows down so that he can kiss Merlin. Merlin groans against his mouth a little, wraps his arms around Arthur’s shoulders and uses his legs to pull Arthur down closer.

It’s desperate, but it’s a slow, languid kind of desperation, and Merlin can’t help but take stock of every little thing Arthur makes: each short, rough grunt, each hitch of his breath, each shallow, urgent, slow roll of his hips. It’s grateful, it’s kind.

“Merlin,” Arthur murmurs, low and reverent as they kiss. Arthur says Merlin’s name like it’s a spell, like it’s a prayer. Merlin doesn’t think he’s ever been loved as openly and gratefully as this. He’s never been touched like he’s too burning hot to keep hold of, and clutched tight like he’s worth it anyway.

Arthur grinds down into him as Merlin grinds up to meet him, each of them gasping as their bodies take what they need from each other in equal measure, sharing something perfectly between them, like it’s easy, like it’s just that simple.

Merlin is warm now, sweating, but it’s not a fever. “Please,” he says, and it comes out like a whine, “I’m close.”

“Yes,” Arthur says, breathless, “yes.” It’s both permission and plea.

Merlin presses his fingers into Arthur’s arms and lets go. He comes with a cut-off shout, wetting the fabric between their cocks so it’s stickier, better, and his muscles stiffen and strain, his lungs searching for breath as he mouths shapes into Arthur’s neck.

He can feel it when Arthur comes—just seconds later, while Merlin is still strung out and gasping, dazed with it—because he stiffens up for a second, goes still and swears under his breath, and the space between their cocks starts to get hotter, wetter. His hips stutter back to life, and he rides out the rest of his orgasm in trembling, languid strokes.

When it’s over, he collapses down onto Merlin, and shifts slightly to the side so that they can look each other, still interlocking, still breathless, still close.

They’re both filthy now, Merlin is sure, and sex can’t be good for either of them—someone who’s been nearly comatose for several days, and someone with a questing injury—but he can’t bring himself to care. He feels alive like this, his heart vibrating under his skin, the feeling of Arthur’s heartbeat against his chest, the feeling of relief, thrumming in the air around them like a revelation. He stares at Arthur through heavy, tired eyes. He feels boiling now, even as he watches the vague flutter of snowfall outside, and Arthur’s still panting, a bit sweaty, staring right back at him. Merlin’s hand is resting on Arthur’s chest, rising and falling with Arthur’s quick breaths, and he hopes to the gods that Arthur won’t push him away.

They’ve never been close like this, open like this. Not in this way.

And Arthur pulls Merlin in by the hips, taking him into his arms so that he can kiss him again, one last time before they get the rest they both really need. He brushes against Merlin’s lips softly, thoughtfully, gently, and Merlin closes his eyes and sighs with the sweetness of it. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to stop kissing Arthur. He’s completely fine with it, too. Merlin tucks his thumb under Arthur’s chin to raise his jaw up and kisses him again, even softer, and Arthur meets him firmly.

“We need rest,” he tells Merlin, softly, as their lips pull apart.

Merlin buries his face into Arthur’s neck, breathes him in, and sleeps.

No nightmares.

#merthur #merlin #merlin/arthur #merthur fic #my fic #fic #okay!! i wrote 2 new fics and i have not posted either of them on here bc of laziness but Here I Go #Being Organised lolol #this is lemon btw #mine #also i do just recommend reading on ao3 anyway bc the formatting on here is bullllshittttt

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