#merlin so skilled camelot calls for him left and right

[gd-dollopole]

They should have dwelled more into Merlin’s skills (and I’m not talking about just magic)

As I rewatched Merlin, I realised this man has so many skills?!

We often talk about how surely Arthur must have thought him how to use a sword (I agree 100%) but Merlin also knows how to hunt?

He dislikes it, yet years and years of going hunting with Arthur proves to be fruitful. Merlin founds the deer in season four before the entire Camelot patrol. He knows how to recognise tracks on trees and traces of feet in the mud (he knows how to build them in the right way with magic, too). And I have proof that Arthur teaches Merlin, because in season five, Arthur makes Merlin see what was wrong with the branch. when they went out and Arthur noticed that someone (Mordred) had walked past the woods.

Also, season four, episode two? Merlin wakes up before Lancelot and HE IS HUNTING FISH LIKE A MASTER?!

Have we talked about this? Who taught him? I believe most things he already knew how to do, since he grew up in a village with a single mother where everyone had to fetch up for themselves.

He also knows how to cook. And he gets compliments (even if they are jokes) from the Knights and Arthur himself too.

HE IS A PHYSICIAN, and I wished we could have seen so much more of that, because he is hot, because it proves that is so good at learning, listening and also teaching. He tells Daegal how to get rid of the poison, poison, in his body and HE IS STILL SO HUMBLE ABOUT IT?! He spent more than ten years being an apprentice and when Daegal tells him he is a good physician, Merlin denies it?! Bro has low self esteem.

Merlin also has all the skills required from a servant, like sewing, cleaning specific fabric in a certain way, polishing armour and so many other things, adjusting swords and weapons ecc.

I guess it pisses me off when Merlin is described (heavily in fanfictions too) like an incapable manservant, unable to do things for himself or defend himself without magic, when he spent ten years in Camelot doing new work after new work. Just because he was scared at the end of season five without his powers (because he had never lost them before) it doesn’t mean Merlin isn’t capable of using a sword, or help himself, since he does and challenges Morgana too, even without powers.

EDIT:

Merlin also knows how to use a crossbow and how to fight side by side with Arthur and he knows where to head, where north and south are, based on the scent of the air?! Merlin knows so many things.

[helloalycia]

the king’s ward [one] // morgana pendragon

summary: when you and your brother travel to Camelot to compete in a fighting competition, there's one problem: women can't fight. So, naturally, you convince him to switch places with you whilst you have your chance to fight. And impressing the King's Ward is merely a bonus.

warning/s: mentions of fighting and violence.

author's note: hello! so this was impulse written not long ago when i rewatched merlin bc who doesn't love katie mcgrath? it's inspired by that merlin ep where arthur uses a decoy in his jousting (?) match! and it's kind of like she's the man if you think about it haha, so do enjoy! it's a multi-part imagine :)

two / three / four / masterlist / wattpad

"This is gonna be amazing, Y/B/N," I said with a grin, trying to contain my excitement as we approached the tournament grounds.

"Reign it in," he said lightheartedly, though I knew he was right. I wasn't supposed to be competing, he was, so I had to play the part.

Every year, Camelot held a fighting tournament that anybody could compete in, even those who weren't knights. There were no rules and it was an open competition, however despite nothing explicitly saying women couldn't compete, it was a given. And so every year, I only dreamt of competing so that I could see if I was as good as I hoped. Finally, I came up with the genius idea for my brother, Y/B/N, to pretend to compete whilst I actually did the fighting. It wasn't foolproof, but I was desperate, and he agreed after much convincing.

We'd arrived in Camelot last night, our first ever visit to the kingdom, and were staying in the full to-the-brim tavern in a room above the pub. It wasn't ideal, but it would do the job. The real reason I was here was right before me and I couldn't be more excited.

"Y/B/N Y/L/N?" a voice called, and my brother and I both spun around to see a servant boy approaching. "You're up first. You can use the tent over there to get into your armour, if you have any."

"Thank you," Y/B/N said with a nod before we both headed over to his – AKA mine – tent.

"This is perfect for making the switch," I said with a contained grin, looking around the enclosed space.

"You heard the boy, you're up first," Y/B/N said with a smile, before dropping our bag on the bench. "Let's get you suited up."

He helped me pull my armour over the top of my clothes, a bulky-looking but lightweight set that fit us both and was easy enough for me to manoeuvre in whilst also hiding any distinguishable feminine body parts that could give me away. After that, he handed me my sword and gave me a supportive nod.

"Good luck out there," he said, my helmet in his hand. "You're gonna smash it, sis."

I grinned. "I will indeed. They aren't going to know what's hit them."

He laughed and helped me put on my helmet, the metal covering my whole head except for some slits in the eyes to let me see.

"You ready?" he asked once more, and I gave him a thumbs up, already committing to staying quiet. He patted my back. "Go and win!"

Taking a deep breath, I left the tent and headed to the grounds, the sight of all those people watching only exciting me more. All I'd ever dreamt of was showing people my skills, for them to take me seriously. Not as a woman or a man, but a fighter. And this was my chance, finally. I wasn't going to let it slip by.

"I'm sure you're all excited about the tournament, as am I," the King began to speak, silencing everyone in seconds. "It's going to be a magnificent week of fighting, skill and talent. We shall see who the best fighters of Albion truly are. Starting with our first match of the tournament – Y/B/N Y/L/N versus Henry Wright!"

The crowd erupted into cheers as my opponent and I walked in the centre, our chosen weapons at our side. The King looked down at us both with anticipation, waiting for quiet. And then when he was ready, he raised his hand.

"You may begin," was all he said, and I barely had chance to take a breath before my opponent, Henry, swung first.

His mace, spiked and heavy, almost took my head off if I didn't move in time. The crowd 'ooh'd' as it did and I tried to tune them out, focusing on the fight. I couldn't afford distractions.

As Henry kept moving forward, slashing his mace at me and trying to touch my armour, I dodged effortlessly. Henry may have been strong, but he was slow, and his weapon of choice was particularly terrible. Once he'd worn himself out, it was my turn to take a swing at him, my sword coming down on his gauntlets in a wide arc. Contact was made and he grunted loudly, grossly, and stepped back. I slashed a few more times, to which he was now on the defensive, using his clunky weapon as a barrier. But it didn't faze me as I kept on slashing, trying to back him into the side.

Once he was trapped, I let him take a shot at me, only to roll to the side at the last second and swipe his legs out from beneath him. He hit the ground as quickly as I directed my sword at his neck. Lifting his hands in defeat, I couldn't fight the grin from my lips.

The crowd erupted into cheers, yelling my brother's name, and I lowered my sword before offering out my hand. Henry let me pull him up before letting go bitterly, walking off the grounds. I laughed to myself before looking around me at the crowd, waving a little too cockily. I couldn't help it – I'd won! My first match!

When I turned to face the King, I saw he was clapping in his chair, impressed at my handiwork. Seated beside him was his ward, Morgana, and I'd heard so much of her but never seen her before. I wasn't prepared for her beauty, nor the vibrancy of her green eyes in the sun, even from a distance. And once again, I couldn't help but let my cockiness get the better of me. Between waving, I blew her a kiss, facing her directly in a way that I hoped she knew it was for her. Judging from the way she immediately turned pink in the face, I knew I'd succeeded.

After soaking in the glory a moment longer, I left to return to Y/B/N who was waiting for me in the tent. As soon as he saw me, a grin was on his face.

"Sounds like you gave them a good show," he commented as I rushed to remove my helmet and armour.

"Y/B/N, it was like nothing I've ever experienced," I admitted, still buzzing with adrenaline and excitement. "It was perfect. And you should've seen the way I got the other guy on his butt!"

He chuckled as I helped pull the armour onto him. "I'm sure it was something special. It's a shame I can't watch."

"We can't risk you being caught," I reminded him, before handing my sword and helmet. "Go on. Do your final waves. Don't forget to rub it in their face that I won, yeah?"

He rolled his eyes playfully. "I'm not doing that."

I laughed as he left the tent. My smile was permanent as I stood alone. One round down, several more to go.

"The other guys are pretty rough," Y/B/N said as we hung back to watch the other matches and get a better feel for the competition. "You sure you're up for it?"

"Don't even joke," I said to him with a knowing look. "You know it's all I want. They don't scare me."

He raised his eyebrows. "Hey, I was thinking more about them. They're gonna get smothered and not even know it. You don't wanna give them a chance?"

A smile grew on my lips as I shoved him in the side. "You're so stupid."

He mirrored my smile before paying attention to the fights. We stayed there until the last fight before chatting about what we'd seen by the tents. The crowd was dispersing and the other fighters were talking about getting a drink at the tavern, even inviting my brother to join them. He found it strange, the attention, especially since he knew it wasn't for him. I assured him he had to be a team player and not raise suspicion, but he wasn't impressed.

As we were chatting, I couldn't help but notice a blur of black hair in my peripheral vision, and when I looked, I saw the Lady Morgana walking by with her handmaiden. She spotted my brother and I and, naturally, her attention was on my brother. She flashed him a smile, to which he awkwardly returned, and then began to approach us.

"Er, why is the Lady Morgana coming to talk to us?" Y/B/N asked nervously.

"No idea," I said, though my own smile was tempting to break out as my eyes wandered over her figure. She was seriously stunning.

"Hello there," Morgana spoke when she stopped before us. "It's Y/B/N, right?"

He nodded slowly, before clearing his throat and bowing. "A pleasure to meet you, my lady."

"Please, no need for the formalities," she said with a slight laugh, one that I knew I'd be dreaming of for days. "I just came to say that you put up a good fight this morning. I look forward to seeing your performance throughout the week."

"Thank you, my lady," was all he said, and I almost rolled my eyes at his dense self. Couldn't he see she was interested him?

"And who is this pretty lady?" she continued, and I realised she was speaking to me.

"I'm Y/N, my lady," I introduced myself with a smile. "Y/B/N's twin sister. Not identical, thankfully."

Y/B/N rolled his eyes as Morgana laughed at my joke.

"Well, it's lovely to meet you, Y/N," she said, eyes lingering on mine. "Might I say, you have a very talented brother."

I hummed in agreement, biting my tongue and trying not to laugh. Talented... I'd take it.

"I should be going, but have a good evening, both of you," Morgana finished, glancing between us before leaving.

"Y/N, what did you do? Why is she suddenly interested?" Y/B/N asked as I watched her walk away, entranced.

"Nothing," I reassured him, before tearing my gaze from Morgana and looking to Y/B/N. "What? I didn't do anything!"

He rolled his eyes and shoved me before walking away. I bit my lip to contain a grin and skipped after him. I was beginning to like it here.

The next fight was soon upon me and it was safe to say that I was nailing it. My opponent was supposed to be a challenge, but I could swear it was only getting easier. He was over six feet tall and towering over me. Compared to me AKA Y/B/N, he was huge. Luckily for me, height wasn't an issue as my brother and I were close enough in height, a solid five foot eight and nine respectively, so it wouldn't give us away.

The fight was over in minutes, with me landing a winning blow to my clown of an opponent, right in the gut. As soon as he was down, the crowd were up and out of their seats, cheering me on. The intensity of their cheering surprised me at first, as I didn't realise they loved me so much. It took them longer to calm down, and a few flowers were thrown from the stands, making me grin as I waved at them. When I looked to the King, he was surprisingly smiling as he clapped his leather-gloved hands heavily. Morgana was stood up beside him, clapping with the crowd, and I couldn't stop myself.

Without thinking, I picked up a flower from the ground, dusted it off on my armour and threw it up to her. I was relieved when it landed at her feet, worried I'd missed, and she seemed surprised as she picked it up. When she looked at me, I bowed respectfully, making the crowd cheer even louder, and I tried to pretend I couldn't see King Uther losing his smile as he looked at me with suspicion. Oops?

I jogged back to the tent, feeling lightweight and overwhelmingly happy. Y/B/N clapped me on the back in congratulations before we exchanged gear and he headed back out to reveal his face, waving once more.

After he soaked in the glory for a little longer, I packed up our things and we left the tent to get some water. A few knights, to our surprise, approached us and began chatting to Y/B/N about his technique. He played along perfectly, since he was a decent fighter himself, and I merely watched as they spoke of my moves and skill, grinning to myself. Clearly I was doing better than I thought if the knights of Camelot were complimenting me.

"Hey, Y/B/N," a voice called from behind, and we both turned to see a flirtatiously-smiling Morgana walking past. She nodded at my brother, saying, "The flower was cute."

Poor Y/B/N was clueless. "The flower?"

Morgana laughed, thinking he was joking, and left. I suppressed a smile as we both turned to the knights. One of them gave Y/B/N a knowing look.

"Bold move giving the King's ward a flower right in front of the King himself," they said with a snicker, before leaving.

Y/B/N blinked and began to turn to me. "I did what?"

I smiled sheepishly. "What? She was impressed by my skill! How could I resist?"

"Y/N!"

"Look, she's pretty and she deserved it, okay?" I said nonchalantly. "It's no biggie."

He facepalmed and I could tell he was already regretting changing places with me.

Later that same evening, Y/B/N and I were making the most of the training grounds that Prince Arthur was letting the contestants use for the week. To everyone else, I was merely practicing with him, but to us, he was actually helping me practice. 

For the third time in five minutes, I knocked Y/B/N on his butt and laughed at the expression on his face.

"C'mon, at least give me some sort of challenge," I teased, holding out my hand for him.

He let me help him up as he gave me a knowing look. "Don't be too good or people will suspect."

I scoffed. "Nobody will think twice about me."

"Oh yeah, because you're so inconspicuous dressed like that," he said sarcastically.

I ignored him, though I knew he was only looking out for me. Ladies wore frocks and dresses, not pants and shirts. But I didn't like to be restricted – why was that such a bad thing? I hated that I had to put myself in a box just to make others feel comfortable. It wasn't fair.

"Are you ready?" I asked, readying my sword.

He nodded and did the same before coming at me without warning. I held my own well enough, even with him giving his all, and with the utmost satisfaction, I managed to land him on his butt yet again. He narrowed his eyes at me and I began to laugh before pissing him off that little bit more by twiddling the hilt of my sword on my forefinger in the air, watching it spin before catching it. It was a silly little celebratory move I liked to do, one that Y/B/N hated because it usually meant I had beaten him.

Grumbling to himself, Y/B/N helped himself stand up as I watched on with amusement.

"Impressive."

Surprised, I turned around and definitely didn't expect to see the Lady Morgana approaching us.

"You're almost as good as your brother," she commented, looking at me.

Smile fading slightly, I tried not to draw anymore attention to myself. "Something like that."

She lifted a brow curiously. "It's a shame you couldn't compete. You're better than half the men in this competition."

"It's just how it is, my lady. The King's rules," I said, though I was secretly smiling because she thought I was good. As me, the real me, not my brother.

"If it were up to me, I'd have loved to watch you fight," she said, making me smile to myself. I risked glancing at her and saw she was watching me with her own smile, before looking to my brother.

"Good luck tomorrow," she said to him considerately.

"Thank you, my lady," Y/B/N said, bowing.

She nodded her head at him before catching my staring, offering a smile, then leaving.

"Gosh, she's so pretty," I said, unable to look away from her.

"Not here, not now," Y/B/N said in a warning tone before slapping me on the back.

"I'm gonna win just to see her smile," I decided, finally looking away from her retreating figure.

Y/B/N rolled his eyes, shaking his head with disbelief. I raised an eyebrow challengingly.

"Another round?"

"No way," he said immediately, making me laugh as I watched him walk away.

"Like you always do," I whispered to myself as I stood face to face with my next opponent. "Come on."

My opponent carried a sword and shield and was very good with both, as I'd seen him using it these past few days. Probably the first real challenge I had, I was a little nervous, but one look at my sword reminded me why I was here and what I was capable of. I wasn't going to let this man throw me off.

As we fought, I quickly realised he wasn't going to tire out easily. As quick as he was skilful, he dodged all of my slashes, blocked all of my stabs and avoided all of my feigned shots. He was too good, keeping me on my toes. I was growing tired as the minutes dragged on and he knew this, using it as his opportunity to slam his shield against me, knocking me back. I tuned out the audience's reactions, shaking my head to get back into it.

I let him believe he was going in for a strike before rolling out the way and slashing the back of his legs. He groaned as he spun around, blocking my next hit. This seemed to piss him off as he came at me quick and hard, striking every second and driving me further and further backwards. One sturdy hit with his shield and I was on my back. Just as he tried to strike me, I rolled out the way and stood up, putting some distance between us.

Collecting myself, I saw that he pulled his shield over him once more and knew I needed to use that to my advantage. He wasn't going to let it go, no matter how hard I hit it. And I was already growing tired, my body battered and bruised, my energy depleting. If he kept going like this, he'd surely win. And I couldn't let him.

A stupid idea came to my head and I figured it was worth a shot if I was already losing. Why not?

Running directly at my opponent, I watched as he tucked in, shield up and ready to block my hit. Just when he was about to shove it towards me, I used the momentum to jump on it, over his head and hitting the ground, just about. I was so shocked it worked that I almost forgot to use his own surprise to my advantage. Without wasting a second, I spun around and smacked the hilt of my sword at the back of his head, knocking him to the ground. Worried I'd hit him too hard, I kneeled down to listen in.

When he let out a breath, I sighed with relief and stood up, eyes closing for a moment. Then the stands shook as everyone stood up, cheering and yelling and clapping, and I opened my eyes with a smile. As I waved my sword hand in the air, bowing, the cheering only intensified and I couldn't stop grinning. Admittedly, the thrill of it all got to my head and I began to show off, waving to the crowd on all sides. Just because I could, I twiddled my sword on the tip of my gloved forefinger in the air and threw it up before catching it by the hilt. The crowd seemed to love it and a grin was permanently fixed on my face as I left the grounds to return to my tent.

"That's the loudest I've ever heard them," Y/B/N said as soon as he saw me. "What did you do?"

"Whatever I could," I said between a laugh, before pulling off my helmet. "Get me out of this, I'm so hot."

He chuckled and helped me out of it, and I helped him into it as usual. Giving him his sword and helmet, I sent him off before taking a deep breath and drinking lots of water. My body was aching and there were definitely bruises all along my legs and chest, but I didn't care because that was insane. How the hell did I manage that?! Whatever it was, it was incredible and I couldn't wait to do it again in my next fight.

Y/B/N returned after soaking in the glory, pulling off the armour and ready to help me pack it all away, but to both of our surprises, Prince Arthur walked in the tent.

"Hello," he greeted awkwardly, before looking to Y/B/N. "You fought excellently today. I wanted to ask if you'd have a word with me outside."

I hid my smile as my brother nodded, exchanging glances with me before following after the prince. Prince Arthur was impressed by me? No way. There was no way! I'd have to fight him soon enough, since he was also competing, but who cared? He was impressed!

I tried to contain my excitement as I went about packing away my armour, stuck in my own daydream land. So much, in fact, that I didn't hear anybody enter the tent behind me.

"It's you!"

I nearly jumped out of my skin when a familiar voice came out of nowhere. Spinning around, I was surprised to see the Lady Morgana standing there with a shocked smile on her face.

"Huh?"

She licked her lips, stepping fully inside the tent and glancing behind her, before looking to me. Lowering her voice, she said, "It's you. The fighting out there. It's not your brother, it's you."

When I finally managed to stop getting distracted by her pretty smile and listened to what she was saying, my own smile faded.

Swallowing hard, I played dumb. "What? That's crazy."

I tried to busy myself with packing my bag whilst also panicking inside, but she kept going with it.

"The sword trick at the end," she stated with confidence. "Where you twirl it on your finger. You did the same thing when you beat your brother yesterday. It's you, isn't?"

I closed my eyes, cursing myself at my stupidity. The damned sword trick. Why did I have to let my cockiness get the better of me?

"Maybe," I admitted, turning to face her, and she smiled to herself.

"I bloody knew it! Well– okay, maybe I didn't, but it makes sense," she said. "Your brother acts like a completely different person out on the grounds compared to when he's literally anywhere else. Because it's not him."

I stayed quiet, both embarrassed that I'd been caught out and nervous to what it meant for me.

"Wait," she realised, pausing, and I could practically see her brain working everything out. Green eyes met mine as she asked, "The flower. Blowing me the kiss. That was... that was you?"

If only the earth could swallow me up there and then.

"I was committing to the role...?" I said dumbly, making me her chuckle. Beginning to panic even more now, I said, "Look, if I'm in trouble, please don't punish Y/B/N. He didn't even want to do this, but I made him. It was the only way I could compete. I just wanted to see how far I could get."

She furrowed her brows, a confused smile on her face. "Y/N, you're not in trouble."

I blinked, taken aback. "I'm not in... huh?"

"I won't tell a soul," she promised, expression softening. "Keep doing what you're doing. You've single-handedly impressed every member of the court, all the knights, the prince and the King himself. You're amazing, Y/N."

At her words, I began to smile, feeling a sense of pride take over. "Why are you doing this?"

She shrugged, playing coy. "Maybe it's women sticking together. Maybe it's because I enjoy watching you fight. Or maybe I don't want to see you getting punished for being such a good fighter."

I sighed quietly, a sense of relief spreading through me. "Whatever it is, thank you, my lady. Truly."

"It's Morgana," she corrected, eyes flickering between mine.

I pursed my lips to stop my smile from widening, and then she stepped forward and kissed my cheek, making me freeze at the contact.

"And thank you for the flower," she whispered in my ear, before stepping back.

My mouth went dry as I watched her red lips curled into a smile before she left the tent. I was certain I was as red as her lipstick, my heart racing in my chest. A grin soon formed on my lips and I couldn't stop.

Moments later, Y/B/N returned and seemed surprised with his chat with Prince Arthur, but I was too distracted thinking about Morgana, my cheek still tingling from her touch.

"The prince wanted to personally congratulate me on my progress thus far," Y/B/N shared. "He hopes to see me make it to the finals so he can see what I'm all about up close."

His words went in one ear and out the other. Did Morgana always smell of jasmine, I wondered?

"Seriously? I thought you'd be dying to know more," Y/B/N said with suspicion.

"What?" I finally tuned back in, kind of. "Yeah, that's great, Y/B/N."

He studied me curiously. "I just saw the Lady Morgana leave here. What did she want?"

"Huh?" I asked, half listening.

"Y/N!" he said, startling me.

Finally, his words settled and I answered, "She just wanted to compliment how great you did today."

"How kind," he said, not believing me.

I couldn't tell him that she actually knew the truth – he'd get cold feet and back out of the competition, and then I'd never get to prove myself. Besides, Morgana said she wouldn't tell anyone, so we were still good to go. What Y/B/N didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

"Wait," I said, finally acknowledging what he said earlier. "What did Prince Arthur say about me?"

Y/B/N groaned dramatically and grabbed the bag of armour, ignoring me. I was forced to chase after him, doing his head in about everything the prince said.

[morri-draws]

Gwaine x Reader - 'The Threads That Bind Us' - Chapter 9

Story Summary:

You, a humble dressmaker from Camelot’s lower town, are commissioned to make a new gown for Queen Guinevere. Impressed by your skills, she offers you the position of Royal Clothier. During your time in the castle, you catch the eye of one of the knights of King Arthur’s inner circle, Sir Gwaine. What starts as a sweet courtship is turned upside down when misfortune strikes and you must deal with the aftermath, as well as an unwelcome visit from Gwaine’s unpleasant sister.

Rating: Mature

Tags: Female Reader/Gwaine, set between seasons 4 and 5, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

Words: 2,699

Read Chapter 1 | Read Chapter 2 | Read Chapter 3

Read Chapter 4 | Read Chapter 5 | Read Chapter 6

Read Chapter 7 | Read Chapter 8

Read on Ao3

Gwaine’s mind is a mess of hurt, anger and sorrow, each blow to the training dummy serving as an outlet for his intense emotions.

“You alright Gwaine?” Percival asks as he looks on with a teasing grin. “Did the dummy insult you in some way?”

Gwaine scowls in reply as Arthur announces that it is time to swap to sparring. He pairs Percival with Leon, and Gwaine with Elyan. They begin trading blows, changing between offence and defence, blocking, parrying and striking. Gwaine’s style is particularly aggressive, giving Elyan hardly a chance to defend himself, let alone strike any blows, before Arthur calls an end to the bout.

“Bloody hell, Gwaine, are you actually trying to kill me?” Elyan pants, eyes wide.

“Apologies, my friend,” Gwaine replies, patting Elyan on the shoulder gruffly. “I’ve got a lot on my mind,”

Gwaine crosses the training field to return his sword to the rack, where Merlin appears next to him, a training dummy under one arm.

“Are you alright?” He asks, frowning concernedly at his friend.

“Yeah,” Gwaine answers automatically, forcing a smile. He glances at Merlin, who’s grimacing back at him, clearly not convinced. Gwaine drops the smile. “No, not really. Have you got a moment to talk after this, in my chambers?”

“Of course,” Merlin nods. “Once I pack all this away, I’ll be there,”

~

Gwaine paces the length of his chambers, deep in thought and face set in a frown, until there’s a knock at his chamber door.

“Enter,” He says.

The door swings open and Merlin steps inside, latching it behind him as he looks at his friend with concern. Gwaine gestures to a small table behind him, and he and Merlin both sit down.

“It’s (Y/N),” Gwaine begins. “I’ve finally managed to speak with her. It’s bad, Merlin,” He sighs, running a hand over his face. “It seems my sister has been running her mouth, spreading nasty rumours about me, and (Y/N) came to hear of them. She’s been led to believe that I’m some kind of skirt-chaser and that I don’t care for her at all,”

“Did you tell her it’s not true?” Merlin asks.

“Of course I did. I told her that she can’t believe a word my sister says, but I don’t know if she believed me. I was too angry to say any more so I left,”

Merlin frowns, crossing his arms. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know… I thought maybe I should give her some space to think things over. Then she can decide what she wants to do… whether she wants to speak to me again,” Gwaine turns his head away, hair falling in front of his face, hiding the emotion beginning to show itself.

“So, you’re going to wait for her to come to you?” Merlin asks.

Gwaine shrugs.

“I don’t think that’s the best idea,” Merlin says. “(Y/N) seems like the kind of person who might find that difficult, especially since I’m sure she’s feeling pretty terrible right now. She might wait for you to make the next move. Then you’ll both be sitting around, waiting for the other, torturing yourselves in the process,” He shakes his head. “No, you both need to talk this out, and the sooner, the better,”

“I don’t know, Merlin. I don’t want to harass her. She might not want to talk,”

Merlin’s chair scrapes back as he stands. “I’ll go and talk to her,”

“No,” Gwaine stands so swiftly that his chair falls back with a loud thud. “I don’t want her to think I’m sending someone else to fight my battles,”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make it clear that you haven’t sent me. I’m a concerned friend, that’s all,”

Merlin smiles reassuringly before exiting Gwaine’s chambers.

~

You begin applying gold trim to the king’s doublet, the garment having reached your favourite stage of creation (besides the finished result), which is when it actually starts to look like something. If only you could feel the satisfaction that you usually would at this stage, but your mind is clouded and unfocused. No matter what task you set yourself to, always in the back of your mind is guilt and heartache.

You take a step back to inspect your work when there’s a knock at your chamber door. Your stomach drops. It must be Gwaine. You’re not ready to speak with him yet. Even though a full day has passed, you haven’t thought up anything you could possibly say to him. But now’s the moment, whether you’re ready or not, you have to answer that door.

You cross your chambers and open to door, surprised to find Merlin looking back at you.

“I waited this time,” He says with a lopsided grin.

“Indeed,” You reply. “The king’s doublet is not yet complete. I’m just working on it now,”

“Hmm?” Merlin raises his brows. “Oh, I’m not here about that,”

“Alright… why are you here?”

You open the door wider to admit him and he steps inside, a thumb and finger on his chin, brow furrowed in thought.

You cross the room to the dining table. “Would you like to sit?”

You gesture to the chair opposite you and Merlin nods. You take a seat as he does, clasping his hands in front of him.

He clears his throat. “You know, Gwaine is a good friend of mine,”

You avert your eyes guiltily, steeling yourself for a tongue-lashing.

“He told me what happened,” Merlin continues. “But he is afraid to speak with you again, in case you don’t wish to speak to him, and he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. So, I’ve taken it upon myself to come here and ask you to please speak to him as soon as you can,”

“Does he not hate me?”

“No,” Merlin shakes his head. “He’s just hurting. He’s extremely upset with his sister and… I think he’s afraid he’s lost you,”

Tears prick your eyes and you reach into your pocket to retrieve a handkerchief, dabbing the moisture away.

“I’ve spent the last day trying to think of what to say to him, but I just can’t find the words. All I can think of is how dreadful I feel,”

“In situations like these, it’s impossible to think of the perfect thing to say, because there isn’t one,” Merlin’s blue eyes look earnestly into yours. “You just need to speak from your heart. When you see him, you’ll know what to say,”

You sigh, fiddling with the handkerchief in your lap. “I don’t know about that,”

“Well, I know this,” Merlin straightens. “Gwaine is a good man, one of the very best. There was a time when Gaius was framed and accused of treason. Everyone believed he was guilty, but I knew he would never betray Arthur. I was angry and I was afraid, and I felt that I had no one to turn to. I returned to my chambers one night and there was Gwaine, waiting for me. He wanted to see if I was alright, and when I told him that Gaius had not fled to avoid punishment, but was kidnapped, he believed me. He came with me, no questions asked, to find Gaius and to save him. Gwaine found Gaius and brought him home,” Merlin’s eyes glisten with the emotion of the memory. “He is a true and loyal friend. I’m afraid I overlooked that for too long. Don’t make the same mistake as I did. He has been, and will be, true to you as well,”

You nod sombrely as hot tears fall down your cheeks and into your lap. “I can tell you speak from the heart, Merlin,” Your voice wavers as you force out the words before standing and walking to the nearest window, looking out at the sky. “Do the knights have training this evening?”

“Of course,” Merlin replies.

“Then I shall speak with Gwaine after that,”

“Excellent,” Merlin stands with a smile. “Speaking of training, I need to make sure Arthur’s armour is in order,”

You leave your spot at the window and approach Merlin.

“Thank you for coming to speak with me. You’ve given me courage,”

“You’ve found that courage yourself,” Merlin smiles. “Good luck for this evening,”

~

You spend the next few hours continuing work on the king’s doublet, then swap to Gwen’s gown. The plan is for them both to be completed at the same time so they can be revealed together. Your body feels tight as you work, full of nervous tension for your upcoming conversation with Gwaine. While there is no certainty about how it will go, there is at least a small sense of relief in knowing that he is open to talking. You had worried that you’d hurt him too badly.

You sew until the sunlight filters through your window in that particular way, and you know that the time has come. You briefly check your appearance in the glass, tucking away any fly-aways and smoothing your skirts, before heading out.

You arrive in the wing of the castle containing the knights’ personal chambers and realise that you’re unsure which room belongs to Gwaine. You overheard his and Erika’s voices from one of the rooms those weeks ago, but weren’t close enough to discern exactly where they came from. You decide to just try one of the doors, and if another knight answers, you can simply ask for direction to Gwaine’s chambers. You knock on the door closest to you. Receiving no response, you move onto the next door, but also receive no reply. Your make your way down the passage, knocking on each door, until you’ve tried all, and do not receive a single answer.

You pace for a few moments, flustered. You’d worked up the courage to do this, your stomach twisting itself into knots in anticipation, and now… nothing. Taking deep breaths to calm yourself, you think what to do next, when the idea strikes you to find Merlin and ask him if he knows where the knights may be.

You arrive at Merlin and Gaius’ chambers, knocking on the door firmly.

“Enter,” Gaius’ voice calls from within.

You unlatch the door and step inside. Gaius stands up from behind a desk and removes his glasses, placing them atop the pages of an open tome.

“How may I assist you, (Y/N)?” He asks with a friendly smile.

“I was just wanting to speak to Merlin,” You reply.

“I’m afraid Merlin is not here currently. Is there something I could help you with?”

You consider whether or not to be open with the physician, and ultimately decide that there is no reason for secrecy.

“I was meaning to speak with Sir Gwaine actually, but he wasn’t in his chambers. None of the knights were in fact, so I came here, hoping Merlin might know something,”

“Ah,” Gaius’ eyes brighten with understanding. “The knights were called away on an urgent mission with the king. Merlin has gone with them,”

“I see,” Your anxiety flares. “Do you know when they are expected to return?”

“It is hard to say,”

You nod. “Thank you, Gaius,”

He bows his head in response and you exit the physician’s chambers.

You begin heading back to your own chambers in a sort of daze. You were already anxious when you headed out to see Gwaine, but now, not only are you unable to speak with him, he’s off on an urgent mission, and surely urgent means dangerous? You need to know more, so you change direction and head for the royal chambers.

You receive and answer immediately after you knock, and let yourself inside. Gwen turns to greet you from in front of the antechamber’s window.

“(Y/N),” She smiles. “This is a pleasant surprise,” Upon seeing your expression, her smile falters. “Is everything alright?”

“I went to speak with Gwaine,” you say, closing the gap between you and joining her by the window. “But he’s away,”

“Yes, Arthur and the knights have set out on an urgent mission,” Gwen replies.

“I heard such from Gaius. Do you know what they’re doing?”

“Villages on Camelot’s borders have been attacked,” Gwen speaks in a low voice, as if worried of being overheard. “Arthur wants to know whether it’s simply raiders, or whether it’s enemies crossing the border,” She turns to gaze out the window. “I shouldn’t say simply raiders. There’s nothing simple about them for the poor people whose homes are being targeted,”

“What happens if it’s raiders?”

“Arthur and his knights will defeat them,”

“And if it is enemies crossing the border?” You ask.

“Then it’s an act of war,” Gwen frowns.

“Then for the kingdom’s sake, I hope it’s raiders,”

“So do I,” Gwen turns back to you, her expression troubled. “Though I have seen first-hand the damage raiders can do. Those poor villagers,” She shakes her head, as if to dismiss the unpleasant thoughts. “Have you eaten yet?”

“I have not,”

“Then will you dine with me tonight?”

“I would like that very much,” You answer truthfully. You would prefer not to be left with only your own thoughts tonight.

Gwen smiles before heading to the door, opening it and poking her head out to speak with the guards outside. She closes the door again and gestures for you to sit at the dining table and she takes the seat adjacent to you.

“I’ve arranged for two dinners to be brought up,” She says.

You thank her, but find yourself not knowing what else to say in the moment. You can’t seem to think of anything conversational. You strain to think of something, anything to talk about, when Gwen breaks the silence.

“I feel I wouldn’t be a very good friend if I didn’t bring this up. I knew there was something wrong when you conducted my fitting the other day, and Gwaine hasn’t been his usual cheerful self either. Has something happened between you?”

You certainly hadn’t planned on unburdening yourself tonight, but when Gwen looks at you, the question in her eyes as well as friendly concern, you reveal all, every wretched detail, your composure completely lost as she holds your hand in hers.

“And I went to try to fix things tonight,” You continue your story. “But now he’s gone on a dangerous mission and he doesn’t know how sorry I am,”

“You talk as if tonight was your only chance to speak with him. He’ll be back,” Gwen smiles reassuringly.

“I’m just so worried something terrible will happen while he’s away,” You sniff. “Do you not worry about the king?”

“I worry for Arthur every time he leaves on a mission,” Gwen says. “And Elyan too. But I also have faith, in Arthur and his knights. They’ve been through so much together and look out for one another like brothers,”

You nod along to Gwen’s words, trying to find in yourself the same faith that she has.

“How about this,” Gwen says. “We can dine together every night until they return. We’ll keep each other from worrying too much,”

“I like that idea,” You wipe your eyes. “Thank you, Gwen,”

The dinners arrive soon after and you periodically remind yourself to slow your eating, since the meal is so delicious.

“Perhaps I should spend more time on my own cooking,” You remark. “I only make very plain meals. But it hardly seems worth the effort to make something like this for just one person,”

“Perhaps you’ll soon invite someone over for dinner, and you can put in a little extra effort for the occasion,” Gwen replies suggestively.

You feel a warmth in your cheeks at the thought. How you long for things to go back to how they were before, to feel easy in Gwaine’s presence and to laugh with him again.

You and Gwen spend the rest of the night chatting about a number of topics, until drowsiness kicks in, the conversation lulls and you decide it’s time to go to bed. You head back to your chambers feeling much lighter than you did before. Your anxiety for Gwaine is still present, but you feel as if you can bear it a little better now.

[merlintarotfest]

Merlin Tarot Fest - Round 1 Masterlist

Very belatedly, please see the masterlist for the first round of the Merlin Tarot Fest! All creations were posted July-September 2023.

FIC:

i will wait by the river by g0blincat

Tom the Blacksmith gets so much more than he bargained for when he decides to adopt the baby he finds floating down the river in a basket. Eighteen years later, Merlin has grown into quite the proficient swordsman-- and quite the powerful sorcerer. When Crown Prince Arthur Pendragon convinces his father to hold an open melee with a knighthood as the prize, Merlin, his brother Elyan, and a ragtag group of commoners decide to enter. They soon discover that there is much more at play in the tournament than stuck-up knights and a contemptuous king. As Arthur becomes smitten with Merlin-- whose skill with a sword is unparalleled-- he discovers that there is so much more to this strange, mouthy blacksmith's son than he had initially imagined.

**

I’ll be your strength – and you be mine by adrift_me

Merlin’s words ring in his ears louder than the surrounding silence. "I have magic, Arthur." “Why now?” Arthur asks, fearing to meet Merlin’s eyes. Will they be the unfamiliar gold? Will they be full of fury? Or worse, gentle and crystal clear, as he has gotten used to knowing them.

Merlin reveals his magic to Arthur, and Arthur has a lot to think about.

**

Unwavering by adhd_merlin

Merlin and Gwaine get along splendidly — except when they don't. In which there is a fight, a fight, and a discovery. (Set pre-S5.)

**

The Great Unknown by TheGhostMagus

Back from the Disir, Arthur made the decision to bring back magic, plunging both Merlin and Arthur into intense reflections.

Is Mordred a real threat? Has Arthur made the right decision? And what's wrong with Merlin?

**

The King’s Cards by smartypantsflute

The queen's pregnancy has made Arthur realizes some changes have to be made to Camelot. Gwen tells him about a fortune teller who is never wrong. Arthur decides it's best to talk to this strange woman to learn what is in his future. But this woman looks familiar...

**

the echoes of a thousand voices calling your name by ExcaliburnRowan

After Camlann, Gwen rides out to bring Morgana back home.

**

Home is where the heart is by Brechtjeeatscheese

Merlin is a history teacher with no friends and a boring life.

That is until Arthur Pendragon and his friends enter his life. Suddenly he has friends and his life is everything but boring.

Featuring; falling in love, keeping secrets, chaotic crying and realising that family is not blood but the people you can come home to.

**

The Rise and the Fall by HadrianPeverellBlack

Camelot was recovering.

Merlin had never realized how strong its inhabitants were, but after seeing their ability to return to everyday life after the horrors Morgana had subjected them to, he had to realize it.

Camelot wobbled, tried to hold on, and it did.

They had defeated Morgana, they had won. And, now, they could reap the fruits of that victory.

**

Magic Comes From Within by Pearl09

During a tough battle that injures Arthur, Merlin's magic is revealed. Now Arthur is left to deal with the consequences, angry, paranoid, and slowly discovering something he never knew before.

**

The Breaking Oath by Aro_Tarot

After seeing a sketch of Archdruid Emrys amongst his father's things, Arthur wanted to grow up to become a druid. He saw the beauty in nature but for some reason, his father hated druids, especially the archdruid. Instead, Arthur grew up to become a green knight, an Oath of the Ancients paladin. When he father died, he put his all into helping those around him, and due to this, he ends up stumbling across a druid in need. In the end, he's the one that really needs help.

A short story of Arthur, Merlin, and Gwen taking place in the Forgotten Realms.

**

Nothing by Flower after Blooming Flower by undermycoat

When Arthur sends him away, Merlin doesn't know what to do. For awhile, he tries going after every dark-haired, dark-eyed man in the Five Kingdoms, just to forget his blue-eyed, blond-haired prince, but it never works. Eventually, he returns to Ealdor. That ends up being for the better, however, when said prince ends up in the village too, lost, confused, and unable to remember his own name.

Merlin knows it’s up to him to send Arthur back to Camelot, but that's a lot harder to do when he can't leave with him. Perhaps the appearance of a familiar foe can get him moving, though.

**

The End of the Beginning/The Beginning of the End by SpookySweet

What is life, if not to love? And what is love, if not pain?

**

All I Want by Shana_Rose

Taking another deep breath, Arthur asked himself, for the thousandth time, what would Merlin say if he was here?

The image of Merlin riding next to him came quickly, painfully so.

"Your first act as King was lifting the ban, they may still be suspicious, but that’s a good first step on making peace with the magic community.”

He clenched his fists tighter, careful not to pull on the reins as he did so. And wished for things he could not change. Now king, Arthur goes to meet the Druid leader, Emrys, to make peace.

**

Crooked Trajectory by queerofthedagger

“How did you find me? How did you know I would be here?”

“I know you,” Merlin merely says, because it’s true, and he refuses not to say it out loud just because Arthur might want to pretend otherwise. He’s told enough lies.

Arthur could take Morgana's betrayal and Uther's death, could take the loss of Lancelot and the fact that Merlin had magic. Barely and his days singed with grief, but his kingdom always came first. The revelation, though, that Merlin had been by his side through all these years and hardships solely due to some prophecy? That—well, that is the one truth too bitter to swallow.

When he leaves for an ill-advised break to his mother's childhood home to get away from it all, more things come to light than the simple and irrevocable fact that no authority—no king, no prince, no destiny—could ever make Merlin do anything.

**

king of wands, the world, cups. or: merlin and secrets don't mix. By regicsillagok

what if merlin overthought and arthur was not quite as much a dolt as he seems

**

The Search for the Crystal Cave by thenerdyindividual

The year is 1901, and Merlin is a recent graduate of Camelot University's History Program. He lives in a crummy flat with his childhood best friend Gwen, and they both dream of doing something more with their lives.

When King Uther falls ill, Merlin sees his opportunity to earn his postgraduate degree, and change attitudes towards magic in Camelot. He makes a proposal to the king and his two children; fund Merlin's expedition to the Isle of the Blessed, and Merlin will bring back knowledge of great healing magic that might just save the king's life. While Princess Morgana and King Uther both reject his proposal, the king's bastard son Lord Arthur Pendragon has a different idea. Using his own money, he puts together a team. Merlin, the historian. Gwen, the cartographer. And Arthur's old friend from school, Gwaine, the muscle.

Together, along with Gwen's brother Elyan who they pick up along the way, they sail to the Isle of the Blessed in search of the Crystal Cave without King Uther any the wiser. Magic, adventure, and romance abound, and it's a race against the clock to find the cave before King Cenred!

**

The Last Bear by littelgreyfish

On a hunt, Arthur kills the last bear in the British Isles, and there are consequences.

**

The Lover to the King of Swords by Crimson_Fanfic_Writer_7

“Come on, Arthur! This is the first time they’ve had this festival in over two decades!” A raven-haired man in his mid-thirties exclaimed, grabbing his satchel from the kitchen table. “We have to go! It’ll be our first time and a way to really connect with the community.”

Another man, Arthur, walked up behind him and gently wrapped his arms around his lover, resting his chin on the man's shoulder.

or Arthur and Merlin go to a festival and get a lot more out of it than they were expecting

**

Always by youdgetbored

merthur hurt/comfort

**

ART:

The Once and Future King by Corisan

The cards I drew were The Emperor and Four of Swords.

**

The Lovers (Greed) by kairennart

It's all about choices.

**

All because of a butterfly… by Laevateinn

The first time Merlin felt like an outcast, he was six. Or maybe seven. He can't remember his age with precision, but he can remember how he felt then.

**

Love returned and Sorcery by GYRHS

Based on the Sidhe staff and the Chalice that appeared in the Labyrinth of Gedref.

**

Waiting For This Moment by sugareey

It's when they're surrounded by water that's surging and plummeting down the rocks that Merlin and Arthur decide to take things to the next level.

**

a-star-is-here:

Page of Wands

Nine of Cups

**

Art by wortvermis

**

Art by magicinavalon:

**

Art by multifandombullshitbabes

**

FIC + ART:

Remember Us, My Love? by mischel

“Please, don’t do it, Emrys” they all tell him. He doesn’t listen. After 500 years of waiting, there is nothing Merlin wouldn't do to bring Arthur back to life. And that includes erasing his love for the king in order to use it in a dark magic ritual.

[achirding]

Fate Smate

A SatBK Sonic and Gawain talking and hanging out oneshot!

Summary: Sonic and Gawain take a little break in researching how to get Sonic home to have a little adventure: seeing what new trouble Lancelot has gotten into. Along the way, they have a little chat on Merlin and destiny, and Sonic learns that Gawain and Lancelot are fully aware of their impending 'rift.'

Contains: Gawain and Lancelot are besties! Gawain talks about destiny and fate a lot and is super unimpressed with the idea he and Lancelot are gonna be mortal enemies and Lancelot is supposed to kill him! Gawain is super pushy, literally and figuratively- big brother syndrome lmao! Shadow is up to weird inscrutable antics as usual! Gawain isn’t very fond of Merlin and isn’t very nice about his descriptions of him!

Rating: G

Word count: 2,424

Note:  This is supposed to be part 1 of a stand alone story, but I repurposed it to fit the Destiny prompt. Might go in an make a part 2, might go back to the original one and polish it up, idk! For now, enjoy Gawain and Sonic hanging out! C:

Sonic has never been fond of paperwork or research. He’s very much a hedgehog of action, tearing through obstacles at mach speed and figuring everything out as he goes along. And when he literally and figuratively comes up against a challenge he can’t power through, he calls up Tails. His little buddy loves research, is good at thinking through problems, and able to adapt and tinker his solutions to any and every situation. It’s what makes them such a good team. Unfortunately, Tails wasn’t invited to this little trip to Camelot. Sonic’s been handling everything pretty well so far, but figuring out the right magic and locations for his return trip is turning out to be a little tricky. And, as he looks at the piles of scrolls, papers, and books on the round table, Sonic desperately wishes once again that Tails were here to help him. (Smithy is a skilled craftsman and smart in his own right, but apparently being a blacksmith doesn’t require reading! How is it possible there’s a guy that looks so much like Tails but is illiterate?! If he’s going to be here for much longer, then Sonic’s gonna put teaching Smithy to read on his to-do list.) At least he’s not forced to wade through all these papers alone. Sonic glances over to his left where Sir Gawain is quietly reading. It’s weird. Gawain isn’t Knuckles, but echidnas aren’t exactly common, so it’s incredibly eerie to see someone with that knucklehead’s same face and explosive temper just sit and think and research- “It is time for a break!” Gawain’s booming voice shatters the quiet of the room and breaks Sonic out of his idle thoughts. “Huh?” He blinks, startled, as the echidna snaps the book shut. Gawain doesn’t push the chair back so much as he pushes the entire table forward, standing up and stretching his arms above his head. He looks at Sonic expectantly as he exercises his shoulder, “Come.”

“Okay,” Sonic doesn’t know what Gawain is planning, but      anything    beats pouring over these boring old papers, “Where are we going?”

“On a quest!” As soon as he’s in Gawain’s radius, the echidna grabs Sonic to push him ahead. Gawain keeps one hand firmly on the hedgehog’s back, obviously very comfortable around pointy quills.

“Quest?” Sonic shrugs as he lets Gawain lead him through the corridor, not used to being the one encouraged to go faster. He has to glance backwards to make eye contact with the echidna, “Quest for what?” “Lancelot!” Gawain tells him cheerfully, “That daft man has a terrible habit of getting into the worst kind of trouble when left to his own devices. Let us make sure he is not in need of succor.” “Heh,” Sonic laughs at hearing Lancelot described like that. The dour hedgehog would undoubtedly disagree with Gawain’s assessment, and would very much resent anyone thinking he needed to be rescued. But much like Shadow, Lancelot seems to be a magnet for trouble, too.

“Sounds like you two get along well,” Sonic remarks absently as they pass through a partially re-constructed corridor.

“Indeed!” Gawain answers proudly without any bit of hesitation, thumping his fist on his chest, “Sir Lancelot is my dearest friend and closest companion!”

“…Huh, that’s cool,” Sonic says after a moment, a little surprised by how quickly and emphatically Gawain answered that question as he pulls a heavy wooden door open.

“Does that surprise you?” Gawain asks mildly, innocent enough but with an undertone of emotion Sonic can’t quite place. Definitely not positive though, “Have you heard differently?”

“Nothing, really, it’s just-“ Sonic makes a seesaw motion as they pass a grand collection of woven tapestries that seem to have survived the wreckage. Dusty and mostly still on the floor, but Sonic’s eyes linger on a tapestry of an old man with a disturbingly familiar looking mustache, “Merlina made it seem like you two weren’t super close. More rivalry than friendly to your whole friendly rivalry.”

“Bah, poppycock!” Gawain scoffs, obviously relieved as he shakes his head dismissively, “That’s simply because her grandfather filled her head with all those nonsense prophecies! Those silly tales of how our bitter feud would result in the end of the dream of Camelot!”

“Ah,” Sonic answers ambivalently, surprised at the blasé dismissal. He didn’t believe in things like prophecy and fate, but it seemed someone like Gawain, who seemed incredibly committed to intangible things like chivalry and duty, would care more. Especially if they were supposed to destroy a whole entire kingdom over a spat, “So you heard everything Merlina said when she was under the influence of the scabbard?”

“Sir Sonic, that was not new information for either myself or Lancelot!” Gawain seems genuinely amused by his attempt at gentleness, laughter booming in the stone hall. That it was broken didn’t seem to impact the acoustics too much.

“For as long as we have known them, the girl and her grandfather have never let us forget!!” The echidna sighs heavily, mouth twisting into a grimace like he just sucked on a lemon, “That mad codger ranted about destiny all the time, and what role everyone would play in the downfall of Camelot. Whether you wanted to listen to him or not!”

Gawain obviously finds this topic frustrating, ripping the stairwell door off of its hinges as his voice rises in his growing agitation, “The moment he saw me or Lancelot, he would immediately remind us of our destined ‘rift.’’”

The knight doesn’t even try to fix the door, just leaves it off to the side as he ushers Sonic through the doorway, “Merlin told ranted about my fate all the time! Long before I even met Lancelot!”

Gawain massages his forehead just under his visor, “He was driving me mad! I didn’t know a damn thing about who Lancelot was supposed to be, but when I finally found him, I was going to challenge him to a duel to the death!”

“That sounds reasonable,” Sonic answers dryly, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. Gawain obviously had a flair for the dramatics, given how he reacted to his unexpected loss to Sonic, but why did this guy go straight for the kill-or-be-killed option? Definitely some less drastic steps he could try first.

The echidna is either oblivious to Sonic’s sarcasm or choosing to ignore it, nodding as though he truly and honestly thought ‘duel to the death’ was a reasonable solution, “Aye. Either Lancelot’d kill me before ‘fate’ wanted me dead, or I’d kill him first and derail the whole damn thing.”

 “Wait, what? Kill?” Sonic’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, stopping mid-step. Gawain continues to usher him forward like a little kid, though, which is starting to get kind of annoying. He digs his heels into the stone and pushes back against the echidna’s strength, “Lancelot is supposed to kill you?!”

“Aye! My kiss of death at Lancelot’s hand will be dealt by the sword with the red hilt!” Gawain waves a hand flippantly, obviously past the point of caring and seeming overall unimpressed by the whole impending-murder prophecy.

“Actually, that was the first thing Merlin told Lancelot when he first arrived at court, too!” The knight sighs wearily, so maybe it still does bother him some, “Not even a greeting! A new arrival, determined to prove himself among the legends of chivalry and champions of justice, guided by tales of fellowship and a kind, just king-”

Sonic lets out a long breath through his nose at all the unnecessary detail and adjectives, very much not moving his feet at all now. Gawain seems to be even stronger than Knuckles is, pushing him forward like Sonic weighs nothing. It’s kind of impressive, but he’s only putting up with this treatment because he’s curious to hear how this story ends, “Only to be immediately accosted by a strange old man! A strange old man with a very big walking stick who points it at this unknown youth’s face and just starts yelling in his face, ‘You! You’re going to kill Gawain, the man you love most, with the sword of the red hilt! It’s your destiny!’”

“...Youth?” For some reason, Sonic’s attention fixes on that weird little detail, squinting at Gawain’s face over his shoulder. The echidna’s obviously an adult, but it’s not like Gawain has an incredible amount of wrinkles or gray hairs, “You’re older than Lancelot?”

“By two years!” Gawain announces proudly, and Sonic’s interest in that sidenote immediately fizzles out. The echidna was just being his usual dramatic self again and making something small seem much bigger and more important than it actually was, “Where was I?”

“Well, neither you or Lancelot seems to be dead, so I’m assuming you didn’t end up challenging him like you planned,” Sonic offers only slightly helpfully before they’re both standing at the bottom of the stairwell. He crosses his arms over his chest as he watches Gawain, in a much better mood, gently open the door without breaking it off its hinges. It still shakes and creaks like the wood is protesting- Gawain definitely isn’t as careful with his strength as Knuckles is.

“Ah, yes! The moment I heard my name mentioned, I immediately knew this was supposed to be my destined rival. I stood up to challenge this knave who hadn’t given anyone his name yet, but before I could call out to him…” The echidna grins wide at the memory, looking incredibly amused and pleased, “Lancelot told Merlin no!”

“Heh,” Sonic is much more amused by Gawain’s good mood, finding that wide smile contagious. The ceiling abruptly goes from patches with holes to clear blue sky piles on either side, which means they’re close to the epicenter of Merlina’s whole freeze-everything-to-save-everyone spell, “How’d Merlin take it?”

 “Exactly as you think!” Gawain laughs heartily, eyes crinkling as his smile stretches across his muzzle, “Simply imagine it, Sir Sonic! The greatest sorcerer of our time. personally responsible for putting Uther and his son on the throne and orchestrating so many other wondrous and terrible events! Used to being respected and feared, only to have this saucy knight without a single deed or accomplishment to his name, tell him directly, ‘Give that quest to someone else, I’m not interested,’ before walking away! Lancelot gave the King’s Advisor his back without a second thought!”

Sonic shakes his head with an amused sigh, not really understanding why this is so funny, but Gawain’s chuckles are hard to resist. Shadow probably wouldn’t have given Merlin an answer, just glower at him and leave to do his own dark hedgehog-y things, like usual. Sonic grins right back at Gawain, “Hehe. Merlin sounds like an intense guy, I can understand why you didn’t like him very much.”

“I did not dislike him,” Gawain says carefully, very obviously trying to make his point as precisely as possible, “Merlin had always been a little odd, always had a habit of speaking in prophecies and riddles, but he wasn’t...”

Gawain pauses as he mulls over his words carefully, obviously searching for the right word before giving up, “He took a turn for the worse after King Arthur lost Excalibur.”

Gawain’s mood dampens to a quiet melancholy, rubbing at the back of his neck as they finally get to the courtyard entrance. Rather, the chipped walkway and pillar markings that show this was once a doorway, “Perhaps that loss was the beginning of the end.”

“Yeah?” Sonic prompts Gawain absently, hand on his hips as he looks at the little garden. It’s odd- this had been the epicenter of Merlina’s magic that had leveled half the castle, but the trees and flowers here seem absolutely fine. Not so much as a broken branch or scattering of leaves across the grass, “What makes you say that?”

“Well, shortly after that, Merlin began acting like he was on a desperate, secret quest,” Gawain goes up to the nearest tree, leaning a hand against the bark as he peers up at the branches, “Frantically looking for signs, muttering to himself that there wasn’t enough time!”

Gawain pulls back and rubs at his forehead, obviously not finding what he was looking for, before moving onto a different tree, “Merlin was then obsessively watching the flight of birds in the sky, scribing into his glass ball for hours, looking into the horizon of the lakeshore and the mouth of the river like he was searching for something...”

Gawain’s eyes slide over to Sonic with an unplaceable emotion, “Or someone?”

That catches Sonic by surprise, stopping mid-step towards the tree, “Me?”

He points to himself, looking around to make sure Gawain isn’t actually talking to Lancelot who suddenly materialized out of nowhere, or someone else, “You think he was looking for me?”

“Who can say?” Gawain answers back just as evasively, nodding towards the second tree and giving it a gentle tap that still has the entire tree shaking. There’s a loud squawk from the branches as two little birds fly out in a panic, and a much less bird-like muttered curse.

 “Lancelot!” The echidna yells up at the tree branches cheerfully, as though he didn’t just try to knock Lancelot off the tree a moment ago.

Sonic squints up at the tree, and sure enough, there is a figure high up in the branches that looks very much like a hedgehog… but is hanging onto the branch in a more sloth-like way. Lancelot obviously hadn’t been in a very stable position before Gawain shook the tree, and appears to have only just managed to avoid being knocked off.

Sonic snorts at this very inelegant and uncool look for the grim hedgehog, and is momentarily sorry Caliburn isn’t here to see this. That sword of his put Lancelot up on too high a pedestal, and would benefit from seeing more of the man and less of the legend.

“Hullo, Lancelot!” Gawain calls out again, waving when the tree-bound hedgehog finally spots them, “What are you up to today?”

“Gawain!” Lancelot answers back just as cheerfully, which is honestly a little weird to hear from someone who looks so much like Shadow but nice that apparently he holds Gawain in high esteem, too, “Sonic!”

Lancelot changes his grip so he is holding onto the branch with one hand, holding out a bundle that… looks like it’s squirming? Huh? Sonic squints at the bundle as what looks like a little, stubby hand shoots out from a space in the fabric, “Impeccable timing! I could use your assistance in this matter!”

- Fin -

[the-king-and-the-druidess]

Album: Merlin, by Dutch band Kayak; genre: progressive rock; 1981

I can't say that I fell in love with the music, it's too 80s, perhaps; but the lyrics, it's a lovely Arthurian poetry. Feeling very inspired by it. There are: Merlin-centirc, proto-mergana, two passionate gwencelot and one absolutely fabulous armor song that finishes the album and the legend.

The cycle follows the classic legends: Merlin is a prophet (interesting that the BBC writers chose to tie their Merlin and Morgana so close, passing his legendary seer ability to her), a King's enchanter and protector, and, in the end, a lonely madman in the Crystal Cave. He willingly self-fulfills the prophecy he has seen: he decides to let Uther indulge in his vicious love for Ygraine; it's just meant to be in order to let King Arthur came to this world.

"Bard of the unseen, I'm Merlin, the child of the light, my power can strike people blind, I'm Merlin, the sorcerer in the black robe."

Then it moves to Arthur and the Sword in the Stone. Merlin directs Arthur to his destined throne and promises greatness, peace and unity.

"Arthur holds Excalibur, the invincible weapon, to fight the wrong and serve the right, I know he'll make it happen."

However, just at this moment of light and hope, Merlin is aware the end already walks in their shadow. He knows about Arthur's past sin and his greatest forbidden love – his sister.

"There's a scar from his past which he'll bear till the end, like a curse it will last, his own blood wants revenge."

Afterward, the Album leaves Arthur to the knights and Grail, and tells a story of Merlin's tragic love and betrayal. Here we see how the BBC writers reworked the legends of Niniane/Viviane, these Morgana's incarnations, bringing them back to mergana narrative. Merlin teaches the Lady of his heart magic, and she turns this gift against him (we were deprived of this exact trope in the BBC, but The nightmare begins can count to an extent.) She even becomes a Seer instead of him.

"My future is yours, sweet lady of the lake (mind Morgana and Avalon), you betrayed me, stole my power (Morgana literally did it in TDOTD), when I put all my trust in you, could not see you through. (From S1 to S3). I'm buried alive, shut in this cave of darkness, there's no escape here from my grave, my skills can't save me (TDOTD-2) There's a reason that I'll never know, I couldn't follow why you had to go."

Kayak's Merlin cycle then moves back to Camelot and presents us with two perfect gwencelot songs, made from Lancelot's point of view. One can be understand as a courtly love, Arthur takes his next quest and Lancelot and Guinevere are left together;

"Now he's gone, is it wrong or selfish to stay? The magic returns wherever you call my name; tranquil but glowing, you're like a distant star, I'll show you my feelings now that we've come this far."

The other is a post-Camlann gwencelot, post Arthur, where Lancelot begs Gwen not to leave him. The strongest and bravest knight says that he needs his Queen's protection.

"Can't afford to lose, I couldn't live alone, I want you around, because I need your protection."

The darkness is drawing, Arthur is dying and Morgana comes to take him to Avalon. "Love's aglow" is a very beautiful duet with a strong but gentle Arthur's voice and Morgana's mysterious echo. Arthur's farewell forgiving song to the world. Every line is so profound and fitting for any version of armor. I like how Arthur's "take the blame, feel no (shame)pain" can either be "I take the blame, you, feel no pain" or "we take the blame, I feel no pain(dying)".

"There was a time I could freely breath the air

No matter where I went, you would always be there. Passion came, I could not defend myself from you. Did we dance and did we had the same dream of fame? Feel no pain.

Carry me when I feel so tired I would almost fall.

Finally losing the fight we'd hoped to win, climbing too high, too late to turn back and too far for cover, tell me

Did we touch and did we play the game; take the blame, feel no pain.

I can't believe the things you'd said, what happened to the dreams we'd had? A frozen heart; still deep inside, love's aglow. Now should we take it as it is. What lesson did we learn from this:

Though many dreams are lies untold, I see a world as pure as gold, out there.

And after everyone and everything is dead, only Merlin remains:

You'll move with the winds, and confide in the sea,

The madman of the forest, just a ghost of what you once have been. You're nothing but a wanderer obsessed by your dreams.

[camelotremix]

2022 Camelot Remix - Reveals & Masterpost!

♥ Thank you everyone for joining us again for another fantastic year, we hope to see you all again next year! ♥ We've had some amazing remixes this year and want to thank all of our remixers and pinch hitters for your hard work - you've been FABULOUS. ♥ Thank you to everyone who read, commented, kudosed or showed love in any way for the works created. And if you haven't left some comments, kudos, or love, here's your chance! Your ever-loving mods, Sknits & Fifty ♥

Art & Fic: lfb72 created The Red Thread of Destiny - The accidental soul bond remix for ExcaliburnRowan (Merlin/Arthur – Teen and Up – Art & 2.3k) Summary: Art for Camelot Remix 2022. In mediaeval times the ability to harness and manipulate the elements was called magic. Many centuries later when humanity took to the skies and explored the stars in spaceships it was called the force. Once upon time in a galaxy far far away, Prince Arthur, captain of the Camelot fleet was sent on a peace treaty mission. He was tasked with negotiating with the Sidhe, a small, ancient but deadly race from the planet Avalon. They had a fierce affinity with the force and were known for their trickery. To aid in his mission, he took Lieutenant Merlin Emrys – also skilled with the force. Having successfully made it through the laborious greeting ceremony, everything seemed to be going smoothly until Arthur discovered he had somehow married Merlin and now the two were destined to spend an eternity together. Fic: ajsrandom created Awkward Romance (the would you shout it from the rooftops? Remix) for princessoftheworld (Arthur/Gwen – Gen – 842w) Summary: Arthur wants to date Gwen, but doesn't know how to ask her out. When Merlin suggests an outlandish plan, Arthur jumps on it (much to Merlin's chagrin). Fic: TheCourtSorcerer created Romantic New Year (the Romantic Santa Remix) for merthurallure (Merlin/Arthur – Explicit – 2.5k) Summary: It had been hard rigging the Secret Santa to ensure he got Merlin’s name, even harder to deal with the nerves that came with trying to pick the perfect gifts and write the perfect notes (he still winced thinking about his first one, so direct and straightforward—he’d been so worried Merlin would find it strange, he got lucky). In the end, it had worked out, though, and now he had a date with the man who drove him mad in all the right ways. Even now, days later, he could still feel the tingle of Merlin’s lips pressed firm against his own… His heart stuttered in his chest as he pulled up to Merlin’s flat. Fic: EachPeachPearPlum created this feeling follows me wherever i go for sushishin (Merlin/Lancelot – Teen and Up – 1k) Summary: In the months he and Merlin have been leaving the citadel under the cover of darkness to take care of creatures menacing Camelot’s countryside, Lancelot has come to appreciate bodies that disappear on their own. It doesn't happen often, but he very much appreciates it anyway. Fic: scotscookie created Finding Light in the Darkness (Dancing in the Dark Remix) for slantedknitting (Merlin/Arthur – Mature – 2k) Summary: Arthur's had his eye on Merlin for some time - a few moments in the dark is all he needs to make his move. Fic: aeris444 created Sorcerer’s Robes for impala_chick (Merlin/Gwaine – Teen and Up – 640w) Summary: Merlin gets fitted for his Court Sorcerer’s robes. Gwaine is not exactly on board with the situation, but he can't deny how good Merlin looks. Fic: camelittle created Oops I did it again! The Two Huskies Remix for lfb72 (Merlin/Arthur – Teen and Up – 18k) Summary: Merlin gets hit by a curse meant for Arthur, as a result of which he transforms into a dragon at seemingly random intervals. No-one can work out what causes Merlin to transform into a dragon, let alone what can help him to turn back again. It’s Arthur’s duty to help his hapless manservant to return to his normal self, but it won’t be easy. Not without acknowledging a few things about his own feelings along the way. Fic: merthurallure created Living Art (My Mark On You Remix) for digthewriter (Gwaine/Mordred – Explicit – 1.7k) Summary: The one where Mordred is a work of art, and Gwaine is his tattoo artist. Fic: digthewriter created Malentendu (traduire mon amour remix) for TheCourtSorcerer (Merlin/Arthur – PG – 1.3k) Summary: A bit of misunderstanding and a bit of destiny. It was a start to their love story. Fic: impala_chick created Tub Confessions (The Ealdor Bath Remix) for aeris444 (Gwaine/Merlin – Teen – 1,367) Summary: Gwaine accompanies Merlin on a trip to Ealdor, and surprisingly fits right in. Merlin tries to deny how much his feelings have grown, but Gwaine isn't afraid to tell him the truth. Fic: queerofthedagger created Romance, Romania, and Relocation (the Dating, Dragons, and Disaster Remix) for fifty-fifty.dreamwidth.org (Merlin/Arthur – Teen and Up – 3.8k) Summary: Arthur thinks of how Merlin has always been too selfless for his own good, and the tabs in his browser that catalogue the history of a dream he has never once told Arthur about, but that Arthur knows the shape of, all the same. --- It isn't possible to raise a dragon in London, once it is past a certain size. Arthur and Merlin struggle to separate from Aithusa after the first year, though, no matter how much they both know that it's for the best. Sometimes, unconventional problems require unconventional solutions, and Arthur thinks Romania is rather beautiful, really. Fic: sinivalkoista created guardian (on eagle's wings) for ajsrandom (Gen – Gen – 897w) Summary: Arthur knows he shares a connection with someone - he just doesn't know who it is. Fic: Shana_Rose created Puppy Dog Eyes (Puppy Love Remix) for clea2011 (Merlin/Arthur – Gen – 1,547) Summary: He’s glaring down at the now knee-high Samoyed pup, who was not done growing according to his housemate. “I told you, that was the last time,” he hisses. Aithusa sits and looks at him with her big wide sad eyes. - Arthur wants nothing to do with Merlin's puppy. Really, he doesn't. Fic: princessoftheworld created the sky's the limit (i can't believe that we are free remix) for moonflower999 (Arthur/Merlin/Gwen – Explicit – 5k) Summary: Arthur and Gwen have just gotten married, and Merlin has been scarce. Arthur's not very happy...yet... Fic: slantedknitting created A Different Kind of Summer Fling (the tentative touch remix) for polomonkey (Merlin/Arthur – Gen – 3,650w) Summary: Arthur lives in a seaside town, and one summer he meets Merlin, who is bizarrely wearing winter gear on the beach. They strike up a quick friendship, and Arthur finds himself wanting more. But Merlin is a closed-off mystery… until he begins to take off his scarf, and then his hat, and then, finally, his gloves. The first time they touch, skin meeting skin, Merlin reveals who he really is. Fic: sushishin created If I Start a Commotion (On the Floor remix) for EachPeachPearPlum (Gwaine/Merlin – Teen – 2,700) Summary: "I'm sorry." The problem is - well, one of the problems is - that Merlin really is sorry. He's sorry every time, but that doesn't change the fact that Gwaine doesn't know about his magic, and it's too much of a risk for Merlin to tell him. "I'd take you with me, if I could." Would he still want to come, if he knew the truth? Fic: tari_sue created Never Fall For a Straight Boy (the uneasy remix) for oncefutureemrys (Merlin/Arthur – Teen – 2,743) Summary: 'Rule number one – never fall for a straight boy, they will break your heart and not even know they did it.' If only Merlin had listened to his own advice rather than falling for Arthur Pendragon, King of the (dire) Straights, Clotpole In Chief, Dollophead In Charge of Knob-ends, then he wouldn't be in this position. Who did Arthur think he was anyway? Prat. Although… what are the rules about falling for a not exactly straight boy? Fic: linorien created East of the Sun and the West of the Moon for MerlinMorganEmrys (Gen – Teen – 4771w) Summary: Arthur has been cursed. Morgana is worried. And Merlin is messing about with time travel? Morgana knows he's Arthur's only hope, but the warlock of the west wind never does things the normal way. She only hopes it works. Maybe then he can rescue her, too. Fic: clea2011 created Rainbow is the Colour (the Red Thread Remix) for scotscookie ( Arthur/Merlin, Gwen/Morgana – Teen – 15.5k) Summary: Merlin likes working for Prince Arthur.At least, he does until the day that King Uther has his worst idea ever and uses magic to locate soulmates for Arthur and Morgana. It's a terrible idea. Everyone tells him as much. But Uther wants grandchildren. And anyway, when did Uther ever listen to anyone else? Fic: moonflower999 created Reconciliation (The "Us" Remix) for tari_sue (Gen – Gen – 1,630w) Summary: Uther does some soul searching. Fic: geekslave created The Last to Know for Shana_Rose (Merlin/Arthur – PG/Gen – 2k) Summary: When Arthur has a personal crisis involving Merlin, to his surprise, Gwaine becomes his personal confidante. Who knew Gwaine was capable of decent advice? Fic: oncefutureemrys created The Most Selfless Act (The Best, Terrible Plan Available Remix) for linorien (Gen – Teen – 3,238w) Summary: After Morgana's been found out about her magic and sentenced to death via burning, she's resigned to the fact that she will die. But perhaps, with the help of Arthur, Gwen, and Merlin's terrible, dangerous plan, there might be hope at the end of the tunnel yet. Fic: polomonkey created Any Place is Better (The Save Me Remix) for queerofthedagger (Merlin/Arthur – Explicit – 4.6k) Summary: Arthur lives for those nights. He’s hot in his own skin most of the time, desperate for escape, desperate for something beyond the path Uther’s chosen for him. He only calms when Merlin’s beside him, when he puts the pedal to the floor and makes them fly through the blackened streets. Arthur wants to escape, but not without Merlin by his side. Fic: MerlinMorganEmrys created Emrys & Pendragon, Avocados at Law for sinivalkoista (Gwen/Arthur, Freya/Merlin – Gen – 4,580w) Summary:  (the red in my ledger, gold in my veins remix) Fic: ExcaliburnRowan created I'm Anchored By Your Side (The It's Only Love Remix) for geekslave (Merlin/Arthur – Teen – 7.8k) Summary: Four times Arthur visits Hunith, and one time he doesn't. Fic: fifty-fifty.dreamwidth.org created Convergence (The How We Met Remix) for camelittle (Merlin/Arthur – Teen – 18,674w) Summary: When concert pianist Arthur gets injured protecting Merlin, a total stranger. Little do they both know how their lives are about to converge as they are brought together by a force neither of them can quite understand. Spoiler alert: it’s love.

[omgrachwrites]

As You Wish - Arthur Pendragon

Pairing: Arthur Pendragon x Reader

Warnings: fluff!!!!

Summary: While Arthur trains with his Knights, you notice that they’re afraid to actually beat him so you give them a show they’ll never forget.

Words: 1436

A/N: I can’t believe this is my first time writing for Arthur, I loved Merlin for so long!! I hope you guys enjoy this and please let me know what you think, I’m trying to get into writing for more fandoms! I love you all!! xxx

It was a beautiful morning in Camelot, a truly splendid that the poets wrote romantic sonnets about and there was nothing more romantic than the chirping of the birds and the sight of the brilliant blue sky. You hadn’t been in Camelot for long but it was already beginning to feel like home. Uther Pendragon was an old friend of your family’s and as soon as your mother got sick, Uther had bid you to both come to stay at his court while your mother recovered, away from the stress of your father’s kingdom.

Your father stayed behind to rule the kingdom and he thought it would be good for you to stay in Camelot, where the sun seemed to shine every day. As you dragged a comb through your hair, you heard a right commotion travelling through your open window. Padding over to the window, you squinted against the sun to see what was going on.

Arthur was training with his Knights and you marvelled at how skilled of a fighter he was as the sun made his hair shine like liquid gold. You recalled all the times that you and Arthur played at being Knights when you were children; it mostly consisted of you beating him. Without even having any breakfast, you retired from your beautiful chambers and made your way out into the warmth of the sun.

Merlin and Gwen smiled at you as you approached them but you could see the boredom shining in their eyes, “you two look thrilled,” you laughed and Merlin pulled a face as he rolled his bright blue eyes.

Gwen smiled at you, “I thought Merlin might want some company.”

“We’ve been out here for most of the morning but it’s all the same. I think the Knights are frightened to actually try and knock him into the dirt,” you bit back a laugh as Merlin heaved a sigh. You knew that Merlin would relish the sight of his master getting knocked to the ground in some friendly sport.

“Come on then, who’s next?!” there was laughter in Arthur’s voice as he called out, holding his out, with a cocky expression on his handsome face.

“I will,” you smirked, vaulting over the fence before any of the men could speak up.

You heard Merlin choke on a surprised laugh and Gwen let out a delighted little gasp. The Knights looked from you to Arthur with amused looks on their faces, and you scowled at them. Arthur smirked and quirked an eyebrow as he looked away from you for a split second, “Princess Y/N, I think that is highly improper.”

You laughed at his rejection as you wandered over to grab a practice sword, tossing it in the air and catching it effortlessly, “why? I used to beat you all the time when we were children.”

Arthur laughed out loud – which you did not appreciate – as he bit his bottom lip, his dark blue eyes sparkling with amusement. You wanted to slap that look off his face, future King or not, “what if I had simply let you win? Maybe I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

That did make you laugh as you recalled one of your favourite memories, “so, when I gave you that bloody nose when we were ten, and I overheard you crying to Gaius, was that you letting me win?” you smirked as one of the Knights snickered and let out a low whistle.

Arthur scowled at you as he clamped his mouth shut, a muscle fluttering in his jaw, “very well, as you wish, Princess,” he performed a mocking bow as he twirled his sword.

You rolled your eyes as you launched forwards and jabbed at him quickly, it was fighting dirty but when met with a real threat, Arthur couldn’t expect them to fight fair. Arthur blocked it just in time with a surprised look on his face as you both circled each other. The both of you were more than a match for one another, you blocked and parried most of the other’s attacks but some blows landed hard enough to knock the wind out of you.

When you landed a blow against Arthur’s chest he let out a grunt as the spectators gasped and winced on Arthur’s behalf. Though, Arthur didn’t seem too put out, instead he only smirked and winked at you. Under usual circumstances that look would have almost made you swoon.

“You’ve grown stronger, Princess,” he launched at you with his sword, making you turn to avoid it and you hit him in the back with the flat of your sword.

“The Captain of my father’s guard used to give me secret lessons.”

As the sun reached higher in the sky, you and Arthur began to grow tired with the heat of the sun and the weight of the swords. Fortunately, Arthur left his flank open and you kicked at the weakness until he went sprawling into the hot dirt. The spectators let out a chorus of cheers but you hardly heard them as you smirked at the handsome Prince on the ground.

You pressed the tip of your sword against his chin and he looked down at it with a smirk before he glanced back up at you, “do you submit, Sire?” you raised a teasing eyebrow.

His lip was cut and his golden hair was muddy and mussed, you didn’t expect him to give up so easily, you knew that he was stubborn, “never!” he shouted, throwing his foot out behind your legs which caused you to trip and fall on top of him.

He chuckled as his hands automatically came up to hold your waist. His eyes were soft as he glanced up at you and you let your gaze flicker down to his lips. If you just leaned in a bit further, your lips would be against his. With a smirk, you leaned in ever so slightly, feeling him breathe against your lips and you saw his eyes close, “what do you say we call that a draw?” you laughed as you stood up and offered your hand to him.

Arthur’s eyes snapped open and you helped him up as he took your hand, his cheeks were red and he looked flustered, “as you wish, Princess,” he nodded at you, clearing his throat.

Later on that evening, you were joining Arthur, Uther and Morgana for supper and you ended up running into Arthur in the long hallways. He smirked at you as he looked at your silken robes approvingly.

“It’s good to see you, Princess, especially when you’re wearing that,” he put emphasis on his words and you felt a hot sting run through your body.

“Do you think that this is all that I’m good for? Putting on a pretty dress?” you tried to keep your voice steady as you felt hot tears sting at your eyes.

Arthur made a tutting sound as he walked in front of you and stopped you in your tracks. His intense blue gaze was kind and warm that you had to look away. He gently cupped your chin, turning you back to face him, “that is not what I meant at all. You are a skilled fighter and it clearly makes you happy. I wouldn’t change that about you, I wouldn’t ask you to be anything but what you are, Y/N, I,” he laughed, “I admit that I am not good at talking about how I feel,” he let out a sheepish smile and you huffed out a laugh. You could tell that he was really trying, “I care for you, I have feelings for you. I’ve waited for you to come back to Camelot for so long.”

His words shocked you, before you had come to court; you hadn’t seen Arthur since you were about thirteen. At thirteen you had been besotted with the dragon prince. The beautiful dragon prince. He looked vulnerable and nervous as he waited for your answer.

You merely smiled, “Arthur,” you breathed as you placed your hands against his chest and pushed him until his back hit the wall. He gazed down at you through heavy lidded eyes with the ghost of a smirk on his face. You threaded your fingers through his soft hair as you stood up on your tiptoes and pressed your lips against his.

Arthur sighed into your mouth as he pulled you closer as he kissed you back. When you pulled away you smiled at him and ran your fingers over his lips, giggling as he kissed them, “I care for you too Arthur.”

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

@smiithys​ @elayneblack​ @amelie-black​

[meta-enthusiasm]

You know what I am really fucking tired of seeing in popular media?

The "evil, hysterical woman in power" trope. The clichè that potrays women who are in a position of power as overzealous, unhinged, power hungry maniacs who are a ticking time bomb waiting to explode.

Female leaders are shown as less resonable and down to earth as their male counterparts, and are often villainized by either the fandom or the narrative of the story itself. They are doomed to fail because of their womanliness and need to be taken down before they enact their evil plans, preferably by a man, or a woman who performs the 'right' kind of femininity.

This trope relies on the sexist misconception that women are more fragile than men, more emotionally unstable and unpredictable.

"Women aren't cut out to be leaders, they should be nurturing and supportive and tend to their families. Having higher aspirations is against their nature and will eventually break them and drive them crazy."

That type of bullshit that was designed to keep women out of leadership positions and keep oppressing us. To keep us quiet and submissive.

Here are a few examples to further explain this stereotype:

Daenerys Targaryen is one of the most well known characters to fall victim to this trope. She is an abuse and rape victim, seeking to change the current social and political systems of the world because she knows how many people suffer under its injustice. ("Crush the wheel.")

For all her compassion and charity she has shown over the series, the writers decided that it would be reasonable for her to go crazy at the end of the show and, despite promising she wouldn't inflict more damage than necessary, kill thousands of innocent people whose government had already surrendered to her.

And guess who had to kill her in the end? Yup, another man. Her love interest, who was "forced" to betray her.

Next, we have:

Morgana Pendragon, from "Merlin". To remind you, she is an abuse victim who had to endure her father's controlling behavior and bigoted attitude towards people with magic abilities which, suprise suprise, she turned out to have. She had to watch as her father murdered and oppressed people just like herself, and when she challenged that behavior, he would come down hard with punishment. (Going so far as to actually throwing her in the dungeons for a couple days.)

Eventually, she rebelled against the corrupt system and had her genocidal father killed. She led a rebellion against Camelot after Uther's son (Arthur) continued to oppress magicians under his reign, and sought to create a better future for herself and her people.

So far so good, right? Well, no. The problem here is that she is the antagonist of the story. She is portrayed as being in the wrong for not quietly taking the injustice and watching it happen.

Halfway through the show, she becomes obsessed with power and status and desperately chases after the throne of Camelot. She is extremly vindictive, manipulative and cruel to others to archieve her goals. She is a "hysterical woman" who is out of control, emotionally unstable, challenges the patriarchy, and therefore needs to be defeated.

Her death was portrayed as tragic, yet absolutely necessary.

(Of course it had to be a man who killed her.)

Azula is the epitome of this horrid, misogynistic trope. She is a fierce, ambitious leader and highly skilled fire bender, respected and feared among her people. She is highly driven and succeeds at almost everything she sets her mind to.

Ever since she came into this world, she was better at everything than Zuko. She was a better fighter than him, a better bender, better strategist, better child. And that is precisely the reason why she had to lose in the end.

Despite coming from the exact same circumstances as Zuko, the story and the fandom at large see Azula as way less redemable and likable than him. Even though she is an abuse victim whose own mother hated her and is a literal child soldier, she doesn't get any sympathy from the protagonists of the story. The otherwise so understanding and wise Iroh even calls her "crazy", (which is, if you've done some basic research into misogynistic expressions, really fucking problematic.) and tells Zuko that there is no saving her. Why? He doesn't tell, but it's obvious that the writers made him say this because of their own internalized sexist beliefs. She isn't offered a way out of her toxic environment like Zuko was. She didn't get the support from Iroh because he had already given up on her.

To top it off, she has a nervous breakdown near the end and loses her remaining sanity. Because, you know, "She's craaaazy!! And SO unstable!! Typical woman." (Not to mention how this further stigmatizes mental illness and portrays it as something only evil people get.)

She was supposed to become the next fire lord, a position that carries utmost power and influence. Of course, such authority could not be given to a woman. That's why Zuko, a man, gets to be the next fire lord, and we are left assuming Azula will be spending the rest of her days in prison.

The writers assume the audience detests Azula and wants her to suffer. She doesn't deserve a happy ending, or the love and support that Zuko got.

Why? Because she poses a threat to the status quo, the patriarchy. She challenged the belief that men had to be the best and most efficient at everything they do, that women could indeed be better leaders and be happy with having a career and not be nurturing, motherly figures to the men in their lives. And for that transgression, for breaking gender stereotypes, Azula was punished.

(It's also why Katara, someone who performs the "right" kind of femininity by being nurturing, motherly, supportive, healing, doting, and is the care taker of the group, ends up taking Azula, the evil and perverted form of femininity, down. I believe @batboyblog has made a similar post about this.)

This is Carmilla from the popular Netflix show "Castlevania", and if you've payed attention to my previous points, it should be pretty obvious what her character represents and how her story ends.

Note that she is also an abuse and rape survivor who is represented as evil and cruel for being angry at what was done to her.

To top it off, she is also an example of the man hating woman stereotype, whose anger at the misogyny and sexism of the world is portrayed as an "overreaction" and as "too much".

At the end of the story, she had to be taken down by another man (Isaac) so that the status quo could be preserved, and the reign of a crazy bitch like her could be stopped. Horay, the day is saved from yet another unstable, selfish woman who would have brought suffering and pain over her country if allowed to rule. Hysterical women with their demand for equality.

Conclusion:

In all these examples, we can see female abuse victims thriving for power and status, for respect, being represented as something negative and something to avoid. Trying to fundamentally change a system that is rigged against women/female representing people is a fruitless endevour that will eventually fail and drive us crazy, because our minds aren't strong enough to handle this type of responsibility and status.

Holding on to anger and bitterness over what was done to us is the sign of a bad person, and the only morally acceptable path is to forgive/ignore our abusers and let the injustice continue to happen.

Strangely enough though, that same gaslighting, victim blaming mentality gets almost never applied to male characters. Men who seek vengeance are never portrayed as weak or crazy for giving in to the wish of changing a corrupt system/killing bad people. (Batman, the Punisher, Hawkeye, John Wick, Jason Todd, Erin, Scar from FMAB, Iron Man, and so on)

The reason why these stereotypes almost never apply to men but almost always to women is sexism. There is no other explanation for this. These tropes were specifically designed to make society believe that women aren't cut out for leadership positions and are happiest with domestic, easy tasks like watching after our children and taking care of the household.

Women who are angry, women who are dominant are to be feared and distrusted. They are represented as a danger to the general public and need to be taken down before they enact their evil plans.

Feel free to add further examples.

[servingliesarchived]

MERLIN’S FAMILY AND THEIR STATUS BEFORE THE GREAT PURGE.

Initially, Merlin knew very little about who he was or where he came from. Raised by his mother who would speak neither of her own heritage, or the identity of his father, he lived a humble life for the first years of his life. Despite the poverty they lived in, his mother was the one that made sure to educate her son, a very unusual thing for how widespread illiteracy was at the time, a fact that was never addressed until later into his adulthood. Interestingly, had the Great Purge never happened, Merlin’s status would vastly differ from what he had been brought up to believe he was, which means  Merlin was a commoner due to circumstance rather than birth.

HIS MOTHER’S SIDE OF THE FAMILY.

Though living an exiled life of a commoner from infancy, too young to remember anything else, Hunith was the youngest child born into a royal family of Demetia  ( Dyved )  in Wales  before its fall due to regicide  ( Merlin later in life visited the place, and later chose to reside at Carmarthen / Caerfyrddin, commonly known as Caer Myrddin, where he established a magic school ).  There were five children in total, three sons from the king’s first wife, and two daughters from the second. The third son was Gaius, who subsequently left their home and any claim to the throne behind at a young age to pursue the study of science and magic in the court of Camelot. Though none of them were naturally gifted like Merlin when it comes to magic, besides Gaius there was a number of magic practitioners among the family members, including Merlin’s own grandmother, as well as Gaius’ mother.

Having different mothers, there was a big age gap between Hunith and Gaius, so they never quite grew up together. Gaius had already been at Camelot when Hunith was born, and she was only few months old when a plot had been conducted to overthrow Merlin’s grandfather. He had been killed along with his wife, two sons and older of two daughters, who was only five years old at the time. Only baby Hunith was successfully smuggled out of the castle and outside the border by one of the knights and her nanny. They settled in the small village of Ealdor, Essetir, close to the border with Camelot, where Hunith was raised by her nanny who acted the part of her mother due to the long years she had previously spent in the service of their family. An educated woman herself, she had been who taught Hunith how to write and read in the secret of their little, inconspicuous house.

Meanwhile, convinced his entire family is dead, it wasn’t until Hunith herself was about nine years old when Gaius found out his sister had been alive. From then on, though they only met a number of times in person, they exchanged letters every now and then, to a point that he sent Balinor, one of the last dragonlords not yet killed during the Great Purge to her house, which ended up resulting in Merlin’s conception  ( which had been destined to happen all along with him being a critical powersource of infinite magical energy ). However, it wasn’t enough for her to enclose in great detail that her only son is magic before sending him off to him eighteen years later, for the fear of the message being discovered and him being executed for it like other magical folks  ( magic children were routinely drowned at the time ). 

Chased away by Uther’s pursuit, Balinor had never known of his son, and Hunith gave birth to him with the help of the woman that raised her. She passed away when Merlin was too young to remember her. Though aware of her own heritage, having lived in exile all her life as well as facing the reality of raising a very magical child in a world where those were killed, she didn’t disclose any of it to him until later in life, when he had already been working on restoring rights of magical folk for years. He was aware Gaius was his uncle by blood, but continuing the safety habit of his mother, never officially called him as such, and rather addressed him by his name.

HIS FATHER’S SIDE OF THE FAMILY.

While Hunith had never lived a noble lifestyle, the same can’t be said about Balinor, who was titled before the Great Purge and Uther’s eradication of the dragonlords. The Order of the Dragonlord was held in a high regard during the times when magic was still cherished and valued, though they practiced the status differently to the norm. The skill itself had been the primary merit behind their power and respect, though they still, for the majority of cases, held lawful titles and position of power among the peoples. Balinor himself had come from quite a prolific line of dragonlords, known for their notoriety, zest, as well as a rebellious streak. In fact, Merlin’s grandfather had proven such by marrying a woman he loved in spite of his own father’s wishes concerning his possible match. Merlin’s paternal grandmother had been a druid, and a very skilled and renowned healer. She passed away just two years before the Great Purge, and Balinor was her only child.

Native to the lands of Camelot, Balinor had been brought up among his people and traditions, taught their ways from young age by his father the same way he was supposed to teach his own son, which he could never do due to Uther ordering a literal genocide. Traditionally, however, he didn’t receive his powers until his father’s death, which happened fairly early when he was only fourteen years old. Starting at a young age had been difficult due to the nature of how you receive the gift, but the already existing reputation of his family had been helpful, and soon enough he too became respected in his own right. In fact, he had grown quite famous due to his strong relationship with the Great Dragon, Kilgharrah, woven and tied to him and his kin throughout the centuries. Balinor was also often a guest at the court of Camelot, and in fact developed a friendship with both Gaius and Nimueh.

When the Great Purge began, at first the danger wasn’t quite so clear to any of them. In fact, the dragonlords were tricked by Uther by false promises, who considered them too close to magic in his vendetta against it. Using them to to call on the remaining dragons to kill them, and Balinor himself who was tasked with bringing Kilgharrah to Camelot so Uther could imprison him beneath the castle as a token of his victory, he rounded most of the dragonlords and executed them, while the rest of them, including Balinor, were pursued and ordered to be killed. Being one of the last, with the help of Gaius he managed to escape and was sent to hide with Hunith, which led to Merlin’s conception. Before he knew Hunith was pregnant, however, he was forced to run again and hid until Merlin found him hiding in a cave in Essetir when he was around 19-20 years old. Never knowing he had a son, and dying within a day of meeting him, Merlin never really learned the ways of his people and was left in the dark about their traditions and practices, at least the ones of dragonlords among the Britons.

[night-faye]

Hunted and Merlin👀👀👀? For Angst for April?

SO! It’s not explicitly angsty, but it certainly has some undertones of it! I apologize if it isn’t exactly what you were looking for, but if it’s any consolation, I am seriously thinking about continuing this!

An arrow whizzed by his ear, and Arthur turned fast, eyes widening as he searched the tree line, his heart pounding in his chest as his fingers flexed around the hilt of his sword, leather wrappings digging into the skin of his palm.

He swallowed, and turned back to the arrow, lodged impossibly deep into the trunk of a tree. Leon was inspecting it carefully, lining his sword with the shaft and attempting to figure out the trajectory.

Arthur turned, then, to Elyan and Percival, both adjusting nervously. They were good knights, no matter what his father said about him choosing to bestow noble titles onto commoners.

Elyan was, after all, just as educated as any other noble, and was the son of the royal blacksmith besides, there was nothing to say he couldn’t bestow a title onto him.

And Percival had saved his life, once. It had seemed only right to keep him close, since the large man had no objections to it.

So, as much as Uther complained, there was no way he could actually rip them of their titles without outcry from the counselors. For Uther was the first of his line to reign, so all the knights that had fought at his side had once been nothing but commoners or outsiders under the last king. There was not yet a strong line of nobility to lean back on. Arthur had every right to add his own trusted names to such a list.

Another arrow whizzed, and this one sliced across his cheek, behind a small, torn open scratch, before lodging into the slightly damp dirt of the trail with a thump.

“Sire!” Leon called. Arthur blinked, and lifted his fingers to the wound as he stared at the arrow, before drawing them back and looking at them.

The wound was barely even bleeding, his fingers only slightly streaked with blood. That was not a miss, and Arthur was beginning to think neither was the first one.

“These are warning shots,” he said, looking up at his three knights. “Warning shots from an incredibly skilled marksman.”

“What are they warning us about?” Elyan asked, adjusting his grip on his sword, and falling into a defensive stance, eyes flicking across the tree lines.

There was a massive roar, and it rumbled through the air, shaking the ground. The trees around them swayed dangerously, a few trunks cracking slightly.

“That,” a new voice said, and Arthur snapped his head up, coming face to face with a man who had to be younger than him, with black hair and ocean-blue eyes. He was standing on a thick, sturdy branch, and his dark blue cloak was flowing behind him and swaying slightly in the breeze, the hood halfway pulled over his head.

It didn’t hide the glint of a circlet made of silver leaves that bore a blue, teardrop gemstone in the middle of his forehead, hung slightly below the circlet by a chain.

Two cloaks, one a blue slightly lighter than the blue-eyed one’s, the other a foresty green that blended in with the leaves, dangled on either side of him. Whoever they were, sitting on the branch above him, they were both well hidden by the foliage. The only other visible thing was their dark, hard eyes, shadowed by the hoods of their cloaks.

The one he could see, standing on the lower branch, crouched down. He was holding a delicately carved bow, the wood engraved with swirling gold, and it now hung loosely from his fingertips, the quiver strapped to his back shifting slightly with his movements. He looked, mostly, annoyed.

“Kilgharrah doesn’t like strangers in his part of the woods. Especially strangers from Camelot.” he said, practically spitting the name of Arthur’s kingdom.

“Who is Kilgharrah? And why does he hate Camelot so much?” he asked.

The stranger tilted his head, and the sun streaming in between the leaves caught his eyes, and Arthur could’ve sworn there was a glimmer of gold running through the blue of them.

“Because the king of that land, Uther Pendragon, had him imprisoned for fifteen years.”

Arthur furrowed his brows. “Why?”

“For existing,” the stranger said, shrugging.

Arthur frowned. That didn’t really… Well, it did sound like his father, but surely he would have heard of a prisoner like that.

“Surely it isn’t as simple as that,” Leon spoke up. Arthur looked over to him, slightly startled. He hadn’t realized the knight had made his way over to Arthur’s side. “Surely this Kilgharrah must have done something beyond just existing?”

“He didn’t. He was a friend of my father’s, and Uther used my father to lure him into a trap, before turning on him, and chasing him from his home.”

“There has to be more to it,” Leon insisted. The stranger looked past them for a moment, and his face furrowed as if he were having an argument, before he rolled his eyes and looked back to Leon.

“Like I said. Kilgharrah never caused anyone harm. But Uther saw fit to eradicate magic from Albion. And that included Kilgharrah and his kind. He is the last of the dragons, and Uther kept him alive, as a trophy, under the castle of Camelot.”

Arthur’s gut twisted, but Leon spoke before he could.

“Dragons are dangerous creatures without reason!! How could you claim he’s never done any harm!?”

The stranger’s calm face fell, at that, and rage flashed across his features like a thunderclap. “Because he had a chance to demolish your beloved kingdom when I freed him, and perhaps I should’ve let him, but he listened to me even without my father’s powers, and he left it alone to live peacefully within these forests. Tell me, first knight, does that sound like a dangerous creature without reason?”

Leon opened his mouth, but didn’t say anymore. The stranger had a point.

The stranger had several points. Arthur has thought, for a long time now, that surely not everyone who possessed magic could be evil, and yet his father hunted them down indiscriminately, simply for existing.

And it sounded to him like that was what happened to this man’s father.

“You know who Leon is, then?”

“I do,” the stranger said, nodding. The calm returned to his face as he turned to look at Arthur. “As I know who you are, Prince Arthur.”

“Who are you?” Arthur asked, taking a step forward, and craning his head. The stranger smiled at that, a soft thing, his eyes crinkling with laughter not yet released.

“You wouldn’t know me.”

“Perhaps I should,” Arthur said, tilting his head. “I will be king one day, and there are several things I plan to do differently to how my father has done things. Perhaps I can learn something from you.”

There was a short burst of laughter coming from higher up, and the edges of the cape to the strangers left was shaking, slightly.

“Now that’s a good one!” A new voice crowed, lined with laughter. The stranger looked up at the person, frowning slightly.

“Now, Gwaine, perhaps he’s being earnest.”

“He’s a prince, Merls,” The voice, Gwaine, apparently, said. “What’s to say this isn’t a trick to lure you down there, so he can slice you down like his father has been trying to for the past eight years?”

“Gwaine,” another voice piped up, coming from the right of the stranger, ‘Merls’ sounded like a nickname, but Arthur wasn’t sure what it was deriving from. “He’s knighted two commoners, already. Maybe he really is different?”

“Excuse me,” Elyan called, he and Percival having joined the small group under the tree with the three strangers. “But, does that mean Uther knows of you?”

The stranger looked down, and smiled at Elyan, something sparkling in his eyes. “He does, Sir Elyan, brother of Gwen.”

Elyan’s eyes widened, slightly. “You know my sister?”

The stranger’s smile widened, and he nodded. “I do, she’s very sweet. You should do more things to help her, though.”

Elyan blushed at that, a little embarrassed, and he rubbed at the back of his neck. “Right, I will.”

“Elyan!” Leon crowed, and Elyan turned to look at Leon, lifting a brow.

“What? Mystery woodsy archer knows my sister, can convince a dragon of anything, and tells me to help her out more? What am I going to do? Not listen?”

There was another burst of laughter, though this one came from the stranger’s right side, the one who had chastised ‘Gwaine’, and suddenly the owner of it dropped down to the branch that the stranger was on, dark eyes bright, and short brown hair shifting slightly from his movement. “Wise words. Merlin’s very protective of his friends, after all.”

‘Ah, so his name is Merlin,’ Arthur thought, tilting his head as he looked back to him. ‘It fits.’

“My father has been hunting you for eight years?” Arthur asked, trying to get the conversation back to something a bit more sensible. Merlin tilted his head back to Arthur.

“Yes, he has.”

“Why?”

Merlin shrugged, easy acceptance. “Because I exist. Because he sees me as a threat.”

Arthur furrowed his brows, he was doing that a lot, actually. “Because you can control the dragon? Shouldn’t he try and make you an ally?”

The one that the as-yet unnamed stranger and Merlin called Gwaine dropped down, long, dark hair shifting and sweeping around his face, something shadowy in his brown eyes, creasing the laughter-lines at the corners of his eyes into something different. “Do you actually know your father at all? Or are you just that naïve?”

He was… Well, he was right. Arthur pressed his lips together. “I try to imagine he doesn’t let his bias against magic cloud his tactical judgment. It’s not the easiest thing to do, given the surplus of evidence to the contrary.”

Gwaine tossed his head back with a bark of laughter. “Alright, so you’re at least funny.” He tilted his head to face Merlin, “Maybe there’s something to your theory of his earnesty.”

Merlin smiled, and if Arthur knew him better, he might say it was smug.

The yet-unnamed one dropped down to the forest floor, straightening up and grinning. “So, you want advice on how to rule better than your father?”

Arthur swallowed, and nodded. “I do. It’s why I came out here. I have a friend, someone I consider a sister, I want to make the kingdom safe for her and people like her. She told me to seek someone named ‘Emrys’, said he could be found somewhere around these parts, and that he could help me.”

The unnamed-one, and Arthur was very close to just asking for it already, nodded, before looking up to Merlin and Gwaine. “Well, did’ja hear that, Gwaine?”

Gwaine pursed his lips, and glared down at the unnamed one. “Oh, shut up, Lancelot,” he said, rolling his eyes.

Merlin, however, finally dropped down. “Well, apparently, I was wrong. You do know of me.”

Arthur blinked, and furrowed his eyebrows. “I… Is ‘Merlin’ not your name?”

Merli- Emry- Whatever his name was, tossed his head back, laughter spilling from his lips.

“It is,” He said, before he shrugged. “But Emrys is another name for me. I don’t often answer to it, though.”

“You always get such a look when the druids refuse to call you Merlin,” Lancelot, and Arthur silently thanked god that he finally had a name for the man, pointed out, a chuckle lining his words.

“It’s the name my mother gave me, I’m not going to just toss it away for some name linked to the destiny that’s been getting me hunted down since my birth.”

“That sounds fair, Merlin,” Arthur said, and the smile that Merlin gave him at that made him feel inexplicable warm.

“Well, then. I suppose we should get to talking, M’lord,” he said, bowing slightly. Though the look in his eyes, and the quirk of his lips, told Arthur that it was less meant as a proper address, and much more of a joke than it sounded.

He’d take it.

“I suppose we should.”

Gwaine dropped down, and that’s when Arthur noticed a sword sheath, with a sword in it, strapped to his side. On second inspection, Lancelot had one as well. He wondered if they were as skilled with them as Merlin was with his bow.

And, well, with the way they were both standing, at ease but ready to shift into battle stances, he wouldn’t be at all surprised if they were.

“So,” he said, straightening slightly, though it still didn’t bring him to Merlin’s height. “When are we going to start?”

Posted on AO3 - Here

Prompt list - Here

[twinkleton]

how abt a douxie x reader fic where douxie and the reader are enemies to lovers back in camelot, but merlin, being able to glimpse into the future, knows they’ll be together in the end, so he pushes douxie to be nicer to the reader! I love your writing btw! your douxie imagine was so precious 💗

hello! thanks for your ask! and thank you so much! it was hard to think of a reason as why douxie would hate the reader, but then I rewatched the first episode of wizards and got my inspo for this fic :) hope you enjoy!

tw: blood

“Don’t be afraid, I’m here to help you,” said Morgana, as she held out her hand to a girl with her back against the wall, tucked away in a back alley. The girl had just been caught performing magic by a guard, which was strictly forbidden in Camelot. To avoid being thrown in a dungeon, she sprinted off towards the nearest alleyway, however luckily for her she was spotted by the only person who could possibly help her.

“Please don’t turn me in, I swear I’ll never do magic again. Please just let me go-” Morgana cut her pleas.

“Not practicing magic is the last thing I want from you, dear,” she assured. Morgana handed the girl her cloak, prompting her to wear it. “What is your name?” she asked.

“Y/N. I’m afraid I have no family name.”

“Never be ashamed of that, Y/N. Be proud that you have no legacy to follow. Your destiny is entirely your own,” Morgana placed her hand on her shoulder. A sigh of relief came from Y/N. She felt safe enough to let her guard down and trust this woman. Trust being something she hadn’t given anyone in so long. 

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“To the King’s castle, you’ll be safe there,” 

“But the King hates anything and everything involved with magic!” Y/N exclaimed. 

“True,” Morgana led her out of the alley and towards the path to the castle. “However, his sister makes the exception,” Y/N gave a soft gasp. She’d never known the King had a sister. This calmed her worries as they headed to what would be her new home.

-----------------  

Adjusting to life at the castle was pretty simple for Y/N. She got along great with Merlin, King Arthur never threw her into the dungeon, and Morgana introduced her to magic beyond what she ever thought she’d be capable of. There was only one person who kept it from being perfect. Hisirdoux.

“For the last time, will you please stop touching my belongings?!” Y/N snapped, grabbing her spellbook Hisirdoux was trying to read from his hands. In her opinion, he had been doing absolutely anything to get on her nerves the past few weeks she’s been here. She went to take a seat at the desk in Merlin’s study that they were both in. 

“I don’t understand why Merlin and Morgana trust you with magic but not me! I’ve been here much longer than you have!” Hisirdoux complained. Here he was, tasked to sweep the floor for the thousandth time, while Y/N is practicing spells he hasn’t even heard of yet. He didn’t even recognize the spellbook Merlin gave her. He sat on top of a pile of books in a corner. 

Y/N scoffed. “Maybe it’s because I have some things called discipline and control. Things you clearly lack,” she spat, flipping a page in her book. 

“I do not lack control!” The broom he had tried bewitching earlier whacked him upside the head, as if in response. 

“Even your broom agrees with me,” Y/N teased. 

That was enough to set something off in Hisirdoux. Unbeknownst to her, he managed to read one spell from her book before she took it away. Now, he has the bright idea to test it. 

Y/N was too focused in her reading to notice Hisirdoux switching his bracelet to the rune needed for the spell. He planted his feet, took a deep breath in, and held his hands out towards him. 

“Ortum obumbratio, ortum obumbratio, ortum obumbratio,” he repeated over and over, and all of the light in the room darkened. There was suddenly a chill in the air.

It was his second repeat that Y/N recognized as one of the spells from her book. It was definitely the worst spell for Hisirdoux to be doing. She shot up from her seat.

“Hisirdoux! Are you insane?! This book is shadow magic, it is way too dangerous for you!” Her hands came to her side, glowing scarlet with her magic. 

He gave no response, still repeating the spell again and again. It seemed the shadows were taking over him, with streaks of black starting to form all over his skin, and his eyes turning back as well. Slowly, dark phantoms came creeping along the walls of the study. One came up behind Y/N, reaching to grab her. She felt the presence and quickly backed away from it. She wasn’t, however, fast enough to avoid another shadow, which slashed at her. It striked her all along her chest to her left shoulder. She let out a cry from the pain. Blood immediately started spilling from the wound.

“Hisirdoux, you have to snap out of it!” she yelled. Still nothing from him. She saw no other choice.

“I’m sorry,” she warned, as she shot her magic towards him, causing him to fly across the room, slamming against a bookcase, causing it to fall. Y/N pulled him away from the bookcase before it landed on him. The shadows suddenly vanished, with the light flooding back into the room. Hisirdoux awoke with a gasp. 

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

Merlin had been at his wits end with the two apprentices. The constant bickering and fighting made absolutely no good environment for him to create the amulet needed for the upcoming war. Y/N was a talented and bright witch, but her attachment to Morgana could lead her on the wrong path. Merlin needed something to keep that from happening. 

An idea had come into his mind earlier to use the time map. Hisirdoux and Y/N were taking residence in his study so he decided to move to another room nearby before opening it. He sat down on the bed inside, and opened the map. He scrolled through time, what he was searching for he wasn’t entirely certain. However, he eventually found it in the twenty-first century. The map showed Hisirdoux and Y/N in a tight embrace, then letting each other go slightly only to pull into a loving kiss, over and over again in a loop. 

He let out a small chuckle, staring affectionately at the image. 

“Love will always conquer evil, won’t it Hisirdoux?”

A loud bang abruptly came from his study. He quickly hid the map away and ran towards the sound.

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

“WHAT THE DEVIL IS GOING ON IN HERE?!” Merlin bellowed. 

It was a justifiable response to the sight he held. His study was a mess, books and trinkets scattered all across the room. Pieces of glass were shattered and all over the floor. One of his bookcases was entirely knocked over, where a dazed and confused Hisirdoux laid beside it. Y/N had collapsed to the floor, leaning against the wall. She was covering her wound with her hand, albeit unsuccessfully as blood was seeping through her fingers. 

Morgana had burst into the room as well, wide-eyed and appalled at what she was currently witnessing. 

“Hisirdoux, Y/N, explain yourselves this instant!” she commanded. 

Hisirdoux was at a loss for words. The idea of having to explain what happened mortified him.

“I-I didn’t mean, I didn’t mean for this-Y/N I’m so sorry-”

“I’ll tell you what happened,” Y/N rose up from the ground, grimacing from the pain coming from her injury.

She made direct eye contact with Merlin. “Your apprentice thought it’d be a good idea to perform shadow magic, something he has never been able to accomplish. I’d congratulate him on achieving it this time, if I didn’t have to save him from it consuming him due to his lack of control,” she throws him a nasty glare. Hisirdoux retreats his eyes to the floor. 

“Hisirdoux, is what she’s accusing of you true?” Merlin questioned. He had no benefit of doubt in his tone however. 

It takes everything in him to look up at everyone. All of their faces are brimming with disappointment. 

“Yes. It’s true,” he confessed. 

“Y/N,” Morgana calls. Y/N walks over to her. “Let’s deal with that wound before it gets infected.”

She glances towards Merlin. “Deal with him, or I will.” With that threat hanging in the air, she and Y/N leave. 

Merlin says nothing to Hisirdoux, which fuels his anxiety more than him speaking ever would. 

“Master, please say something.” he pleaded.

“Do you realize the destruction you have caused?” Merlin spat.

“Yes I-”

“You’ve destroyed my study.”

“I know I-”

“You almost brought dark shadows that would wreak havoc on Camelot.”

“Yes! Please-”

“And worst of all!” Merlin shouted. “You almost got Y/N and yourself killed.”

Hisirdoux sank at that. He was ashamed of all of it, but what he regretted the most of all was putting Y/N in danger. He wouldn’t have been able to live with himself had he gotten her killed. They had their differences and petty arguments, but the last thing he wanted was her death. She didn’t deserve that. 

“I-I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I just wanted to prove for once I was capable of something greater. That you could trust me with more than just sweeping.” He looked over to where the broom was, walked over and picked it up off the floor. “I was wrong, all I’ll ever be capable of is clean up duty.”

Merlin let out a big sigh. “Hisirdoux, I know you are capable of far more than sweeping. Your skill will undoubtedly match with Y/N.”

Hisirdoux looked up at Merlin, with eyes almost pleading for him to continue.

“I’m afraid it’s my own fear that is holding you back. The stronger you become, the greater the threats you will have to face. However, running errands for me and Morgana keeps you safe and away from harm. I owe you an apology, had it not been for my trepidation, none of this would’ve happened.”

Of all of the possible responses he could’ve gotten, Hisirdoux wasn’t expecting that one. He has never seen this caring side of Merlin before, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it. 

There’s a moment of silence again, only this time it’s ended by Merlin giving Hisirdoux two strong pats on the shoulder. Hisirdoux grins. 

Merlin continues, “Now, about dear Y/N.”

The grin on Hisirdoux’s face vanishes. “Please don’t tell me I have to apologize right now.”

“Go apologize to her right now. And don’t-”

“But Master!-”

“But Master me. And do something about this mess.”

And with that, Merlin leaves the study, leaving Hisirdoux alone with the mess and his thoughts.

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

A few hours later, Y/N was resting in her room when she heard a knock at the door. 

“Who’s there?”

Hisirdoux opened the door, poking his head out sheepishly.

“It’s me, may I come in?” he asks.

“That depends, are you going to try to kill me again?”

“Not today, maybe next week?”

That earns a small laugh from Y/N.

“Come in, you fool.”

He walks in, immediately noticing her chest and shoulder wrapped up. Some blood has soaked through the gauze. The feeling of guilt invades his heart.

“Y/N I am so, so deeply sorry. I should have never tried that spell. You were right, I had no control. I let my ego get the best of me. Please, forgive me.”

She takes a deep breath in, then out, and finally smiles at him.

“Mind helping me switch the wrappings?” she asked kindly, apology clearly accepted.

He’s grinning from ear to ear, excited at the chance of helping her for what could be the first time since they met. He sits down beside her on her bed, taking out the gauze from the dresser next to the bed.

Y/N has already started unwrapping the gauze from her shoulder, wincing once it becomes too hard to do the rest on her own. Hisirdoux takes over from there, slowly and carefully undoing the rest for her. Once the wound is revealed, another twinge of regret hits Hisirdoux.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, his words laced with remorse.

“You’ve already apologized, really it’s my turn to apologize to you,” Y/N replies softly.

He begins wrapping her shoulder up again, “Whatever for? You were right about all of it. I’m a screw up.”

“Hey,” Y/N uses her good arm to raise a hand to his cheek, moving his face towards hers. He looks into her eyes, realizing for the first time just how vibrant they are. 

“You’re not a screw up, you just haven’t reached your full potential yet. Besides, I’m not perfect at all. You’re lucky you’re not there when I train with Morgana. It can be a real hot mess sometimes, literally I almost burned Morgana’s hair off one time,” she joked. Hisirdoux laughs, wishing he could’ve been there to see that.

“I’m sorry for not being fair to you these past few weeks.” Y/N says remorsefully. By now Hisirdoux has finished wrapping up her shoulder.

He replies, “How’s the idea of starting over sound?” She beams at him, clearly agreeing with the idea. “Sounds perfect, Douxie.”

He smiled, liking the new nickname she’s given him. Y/N realizes she still has her hand on his face, and lets it fall off. Douxie catches it instead, and they hold each other’s hand, gossiping and poking fun at their masters for a while.

[lit-in-thy-heart]

I'm so excited you've jouned in!!! 💕

You owe Merwaine some happiness after your VERY angsty episode analyses so I would love those two and Sleepy hug please!! 😍

@little-ligi i hope this makes up for the angst!!! thank you for sending a prompt and have merlin and gwaine falling asleep together when with the knights and arthur on a trip thing (unspecified) between s4 and s5 💕

once again, under the cut because this is the longest one yet...

Rearranging his cloak so it provided greater coverage from the brisk wind, Gwaine glanced over at the group who were gradually drifting off amongst the fallen foliage. Despite the undiluted thoughts that inevitably streamed through his head when on watch, Gwaine relished the uninterrupted opportunity to softly observe Merlin without having the eyes of the other knights on him. If he had an apple for every time one of them – usually Percival or Arthur, despite Elyan’s quiet requests for them to shut up – had called him out for supposedly undressing Merlin with his eyes, he would certainly have a bushel of them by now. Granted, Gwaine sometimes did have the habit of mentally undressing Merlin with his eyes when he looked at him, but more often than not the knight was simply gazing in wonder at how such a beautiful being had chosen to devote his life to Gwaine of all people.

Merlin had been out of his sight for the past couple of hours, having accompanied Elyan to retrieve firewood, but Gwaine knew that they were both exchanging new spells that they’d learnt over the past few weeks. Elyan had told Gwaine about his magic before Gwaine had even had his suspicions about Merlin confirmed. Or, rather, Gwaine had stumbled in on Elyan, when the call of nature had echoed in his head on the night they had first met, and had witnessed him throwing all five of Gwaine’s knives without touching a single one. Gwaine had been more bothered by the fact that he hadn’t even noticed that his knives were missing than by the fact that Elyan was a sorcerer. And then, several weeks later, after Merlin had confessed to Gwaine on the night they had found themselves in bed together after an evening in the tavern, Gwaine had told both Elyan and Merlin to meet him in the Darkling Woods, greeted them with the statement that they both had magic, and had left them to it. Although he forced his unwavering support onto Merlin at every given opportunity, Gwaine knew the value of having someone close who knew precisely the struggles being faced, and he was grateful that Merlin had that in Elyan, and vice versa.

With a smile, Gwaine’s gaze slid over to Merlin, cocooned in a blanket and laughing at some remark that Elyan had sleepily murmured, and he settled himself against a tree trunk, moving his eyes back to the space in front of him as he withdrew his sword and positioned it across torso, the point of the blade hovering dangerously close to his neck. It was probably best that he was keeping watch alone, so he wouldn’t get distracted by talking to someone – but it also meant that there was nobody to check him when his attention slid, as it always did, to Merlin. He squinted up at the sky, seeking out the moon. At least he wasn’t expected to keep watch all night. Not that there was much need. Perhaps it was somewhat of an invincibility complex but, ever since donning the cloak bearing Camelot’s emblem, Gwaine had felt untouchable. Almost. The cloak hadn’t made Lancelot untouchable. Setting his jaw, Gwaine took a deep breath and focused on the lazy wave of the leaves opposite, on the stars splattered across the deep canvas of the sky like a bloodstain, on the soft melody of the wind.

‘Come on, now, Gwaine, you know full well how hot you look when you hold a sword like that.’

Perhaps Gwaine, who had not noticed Merlin – Merlin, of all people – approach, had not been the best choice for watch. He looked up with the smile that always graced his lips whenever the warlock was near, eyes dropping with Merlin’s body as he settled himself next to him. ‘I am by no means opposed to making out right here, right now.’

To satiate his desire, Merlin scattered a trail of kisses along his hairline. ‘I don’t think the others would appreciate it.’

‘Mm, you’re probably right there,’ Gwaine murmured, his fingers tracing Merlin’s face. ‘And you should sleep.’

‘I’m okay.’

Gwaine’s hands found the shadowed purple beneath Merlin’s eyes and he fixed him with a look. ‘I know that you haven’t slept properly for the past two weeks. I can see it written all over your face.’

Scowling, Merlin pushed his hand away. ‘Well that’s rude.’

‘But not a lie.’

Expression softening, Merlin wrapped the blanket tighter around his body.‘That’s because you’ve been on night patrol for the past two weeks and haven’t slept next to me.’

‘I don’t enjoy it.’

‘No, but at least you get to talk to Elyan. I’m left alone with the ceiling and my thoughts, and you know how much I hate that.’ Realising how he sounded, Merlin leaned closer into Gwaine. ‘I’m not trying to guilt-trip you. I know full well there’s nothing you can do about it.’

Just as Merlin knew that, Gwaine knew full well that he shouldn’t do what his arm had already started to do but, noticing Merlin’s poorly-concealed shivers, he set down his sword and drew Merlin in so the warlock was resting his head in Gwaine’s chest. Then, kissing the top of his head, Gwaine pushed him away as swiftly as he’d pulled him in. ‘Go to bed, love. If you fall asleep here then your neck will not be thanking you in the morning.’

Looking up, Merlin held his gaze for several moments. With a sigh, he lifted his head and kissed Gwaine on the mouth before reluctantly standing and stumbling back to the makeshift camp. Gwaine watched as he settled himself at a slight distance from the other knights and Arthur, his back turned. The flickering embers cast subtle shadows across Merlin’s back and Gwaine’s gaze remained turned towards him for several moments more before he forced his eyes to travel away from the warlock’s form. Gwaine didn’t need to see it to know how it moulded to his palms when they were alone.

When around other people, Merlin always seemed to skirt around Gwaine, always leaving at least several inches between their bodies, as if afraid of causing Gwaine to shatter as a mirage if he made even the slightest contact with his skin. Gwaine had started wearing gloves more frequently in the hopes that Merlin would be more liberal in brushing against him then, but it had all been to no avail. Then Gwaine had continued to wear gloves anyway, just so that his bare hands wouldn’t have the nerves numbed by grazing surfaces before they reached out for Merlin’s skin. The result was a warm tingle that, to some, would be more of a scald, but Gwaine savoured every moment that his skin was set alight by Merlin. Having a particular skill with fire spells also helped him not feel the agony of burning so much, too.

When they were alone, though, Merlin was the one to remove Gwaine’s gloves and, every time his fingers skimmed the bones in Gwaine’s hand, the knight had to focus so as not to release skittering flames in Merlin’s direction. There seemed to be a ritual with Merlin when they were alone. The warlock would gently draw the gloves from Gwaine’s skin, toss them to one side, and then dedicate a substantial amount of time to tracing the marks on the knight’s hands, no matter how many times his fingers had already followed the cellular paths that day.

First, he always looked for new scalds or burns, disregarding Gwaine’s protests that they didn’t hurt in the same way that their ancestors had when he had first started learning magic, skimming his fingers over the marks as if the touch formed a mental note to treat them at a later date. After assessing the damage, Merlin’s lips always trailed behind his touch, silently reassuring each of Gwaine’s imperfections that they were so wonderfully loved and successfully sending shivers up Gwaine’s spine. Though those shivers always were abruptly severed when Merlin’s touch made its way to the thick scar just below the fold of skin between his right thumb and forefinger. Merlin had never once pushed him for more information about his childhood amongst bandits, but there was always a part of Gwaine that worried Merlin would one day get sick of the sight of the small branded letter, not quite concealed by the path the knife had taken so long ago, and would abandon him to the abyss he had been lost in before meeting the warlock.

But that hadn’t happened yet.

After studying Gwaine’s hands, Merlin then moved to stripping him of his knighthood and it was a death that Gwaine would gladly watch again and again if it was at Merlin’s hands. The chainmail was cast aside, the cloak thrown over a chair, and the sword noisily skimmed the floor until Gwaine was stood in only a shirt and his trousers, equal to Merlin. The only armour Gwaine had ever wanted covering him, since that day at the tavern, was Merlin’s hands. Arthur hadn’t really given him an opportunity to turn down the knighthood and, even if he had, there was always the possibility – in Gwaine’s mind, at least – that Arthur would have been offended enough to maintain his banishment, and then Gwaine never would have seen Merlin again. Being a knight did have its advantages, though: Gwaine never went hungry, nor did he have to sleep with one eye open, and he had been getting into fewer and fewer brawls over the years. Though that last one was perceived as more of an advantage in Leon’s eyes, who had always been the one to drag him out of any frays and then let him cool off in the cells on the odd occasion. Even when that had happened, though, Merlin had always slipped in and spent the night with Gwaine, heating his body up to unnatural temperatures to keep Gwaine warm. The first few times that had happened, Gwaine had been terrified that Merlin would spontaneously combust, but Merlin had frequently assured him that such a trick was not possible.

So they would stand there, facing one another in silence, Gwaine’s materialistic armour strewn across the room, and then Gwaine would take Merlin gently in his hands, tracing segments of the form he knew so well, and then their souls would fuse together with their lips.

 

When the stars had shifted substantially, Gwaine hauled himself from his position and shook out his legs in the vain attempt to rid himself of the cramp in his limbs, slowly advancing towards Leon’s form. He gently prodded him awake, instinctively lunging backwards as the reflexive swipe came from the blankets, and held out his arms to receive said blankets when a thickened voice quietly called out his name. 

Turning around, Gwaine could just make out Merlin’s hands stretching out in a half-hearted wave in the heavy darkness and, telling Leon to forget about the blankets, picked his way through the sleeping knights, guided by the dropping syllables of his name. By the time he reached Merlin, the warlock’s hands had fallen to the ground and, smiling fondly, Gwaine hastily stripped down to his gambeson and slid into the nest Merlin had made.

There were significantly more blankets than Merlin should have had – not that Gwaine was complaining – and Merlin drowsily pushed several layers towards him, turning around to face Gwaine. His eyes flickered in the darkness as his hand fell against Gwaine’s chest and, from the point where Merlin touched him, the knight could feel a comforting heat pushing into him like a blade. Gwaine realised he probably should have tied back his hair so Merlin didn’t accidentally try to eat it in his sleep, but he was too comfortable to do that. With a smile, Gwaine encircled the warlock with his arms and rested his mouth against Merlin’s forehead as his eyes closed.

‘I missed you.’

‘I missed you, too,’ Merlin murmured.

Gwaine frowned, one eye cracking open. ‘You were asleep. You couldn’t have missed me.’

There was a pause. ‘You know I wasn’t exaggerating when I said I couldn’t sleep properly without you next to me, right?’

‘I did not.’ Gwaine waited until he felt five of Merlin’s exhalations drape themselves around his throat before speaking again. ‘Whatever did you do before I came into your life?’

‘Had a decent night’s sleep, because I wasn’t aware of your existence and consequently didn’t have to constantly worry about preserving it.’ Merlin shifted against him, hands crawling under Gwaine’s shirt and settling themselves on his stomach. ‘It’s so strange to think that we didn’t even know that the other existed. That we had no idea that one day we would be right here, in this moment.’

Merlin, when tired, always became philosophical. And usually when Gwaine was tired he couldn’t make head or tail of what his significant other was saying, but perhaps the cool night air had cleared his head more than ale usually did. ‘I think I prefer it that way,’ Gwaine murmured. ‘If we’d known that the other was out there, then I think we would have spent all our lives searching. We would have pinned our entire existence on the other person and that’s...That just doesn’t feel right. Not that I’m saying I don’t love you.’

‘No, no, I know...I know what you mean,’ yawned Merlin, pushing his head into Gwaine’s chest.

Tightening his arms around Merlin, Gwaine listened to the rhythm of the warlock’s breathing pattern, trying to match his own to it, and gently kissed the top of his head. There was a slight mumble, and something that might have resembled an ‘I love you’ and Gwaine murmured it back, just in case. It had been too long since the two of them had drifted off together, wrapped in one another’s beings, and Gwaine would forever bind himself to the soft form that was quite literally touching his heart.

[little-ligi]

Febuwhump - No. 13

No.13 - Hiding Injury Fandom - BBC Merlin Wordcount - 1951 @febuwhump

Elyan gasped as the bandit’s blade plunged into his side. He staggered backwards, just managing to get his own sword up and slash across the man’s chest. As the bandit fell backwards, his sword tugged and pulled painfully out of Elyan’s side, making him fall to his knees, his hand clamping to his side.

He glanced around the clearing, there were only a few bandits left now; the others had nearly finished them off. He let himself sag down, sure in the knowledge the others could handle the last few attackers.

Until there was a scream, followed by Leon shouting. Elyan scrambled to his feet, hefting his sword and stumbled towards the king. Arthur was on the ground, unconscious, a horrible amount of blood across his neck. Leon was standing over him, fiercely fighting the bandit who’d wounded Arthur, who appeared to have more fighting skill than his fellows and was fending the knight off. Merlin appeared out of the tree line and dashed towards the king, sliding to his knees.

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

Percival and Gwaine were the other sides of the clearing, fighting their own opponents, but Lancelot was running to help Leon. Lancelot swung his sword up, yelling a battle cry as he leapt at the bandit. The man turned, meeting Lancelot’s sword and Leon managed to strike him across his back, followed by a violent thrust that finished the man off.

Leon knelt at Arthur’s side as soon as the threat was gone and Lancelot hurried around the clearing, checking no more bandits were about to surprise them from the trees. Elyan made it to Arthur’s side, watching anxiously as Merlin’s hands hovered over Arthur’s neck.

“Help me get his gorget off,” Merlin asked, already unbuckling the armour. Leon’s hands immediately flew to help and soon Arthur’s gorget and chainmail coif were off and Elyan saw the deep cut on the top of his shoulder. It had gone in just past the edge of his gorget and bitten right down to his collarbone. Half an inch to the side and the armour would have saved him. Fortunately, it did appear to have missed the vein in his neck though.

Merlin pressed a wad of bandages to the wound, directing Leon to hold it as he pulled his small physician’s bag off his shoulder and began rooting through it.

“I’ll need to stitch it,” he said abruptly, his eyebrows pulled low in a frown. He pulled a cloth from his bag, spreading it on the ground and placing a spool of silk thread, a small leather wallet, and a jar of honey on it.

“No more in sight,” Lancelot reported to Leon as he and Percival joined the group, Lancelot sheathing his sword. Leon nodded, running a weary hand through his hair.

“Is he alright?” Gwaine puffed, running up to them, his own opponent defeated and a small cut across his cheek.

“He will be,” Merlin said, taking a needle from the wallet and threading it. “Is everyone else alright?” He gave a cursory glance around at the knights, but his attention was still focussed on Arthur.

Elyan pressed his hand a little tighter against his side. He wasn’t going to say anything. He couldn’t let Merlin’s focus waver from the king. Tending to Arthur’s injuries was by far more important that his own.

“Leon, pour a little water here,” Merlin instructed. “Percival, can you come and hold him in case he wakes.”

Percival knelt the opposite side of Arthur to Merlin and Leon, his large hands moving to Arthur’s chest, holding him steady. Leon grabbed his waterskin, unstoppering it and pouring where Merlin pointed.

Elyan had to sit down, his legs were getting a little shaky. He crossed his arms over his stomach, casually keeping the pressure on the wound in his side without being too obvious about it. He schooled his face to try not to show any pain when Lancelot looked at him. Lancelot gave him a grim smile, his eyes narrowing slightly as they swept over Elyan but he didn’t say anything. He hadn’t noticed.

Then Lancelot spotted the cut on Gwaine’s cheek. He pulled the short knight to the ground and sat beside him, using a small scrap of bandage from Merlin’s bag to clean the cut.

Elyan relaxed a little now that Lancelot’s attention was diverted. Gwaine was trying to push him off, claiming he was fine, but Lancelot dug one hand into Gwaine’s shoulder to hold him still.

Pain throbbed in his side, but Elyan fought to keep his face straight, biting the inside of his cheek so the groan didn’t slip out. He watched Merlin to take his mind off the pain. And to remind himself why it was so important Merlin not be distracted. The servant was ever so carefully sewing up the wound in Arthur’s shoulder.

When Merlin was only halfway through sewing, Arthur began to groan and flinch, waking up slowly and groggily.

“Damn it, not yet,” Merlin muttered. “Keep him still, Percival.” He looked over his shoulder, seeing Lancelot still busy with Gwaine and instead nodded at Elyan. “Elyan, hold his legs.”

“Of course.” Elyan gulped back a wave of pain and crawled over to Arthur, leaning his weight down onto the king’s legs just as he started to move.

Arthur came to with a strangled cry, his arms trying to move against Percival’s restraints. Leon grabbed the arm on his injured side as well, bracing it against his knees.

“What –” Arthur managed before gritting his teeth and letting out a groaned yell.

“Stay still,” Merlin ordered him, working quickly to keep stitching.

Arthur ignored Merlin’s order and struggled against Percival and Elyan’s hands. White hot agony shot through Elyan’s side as Arthur unknowingly kicked his knee into the wound. He grunted and black dots danced before his eyes, but he kept his grip, forcing Arthur’s leg back down flat to the ground.

“It’s alright, Arthur, let Merlin stitch it,” Leon spoke steadily, just a hint of pleading panic behind his voice. “You’ll be alright, just stay still.”

Please just stay still, Elyan thought, grinding his teeth.

His stomach was roiling now, as the pain blazed its way across his torso, tightening his chest until he could only gasp for breath. He just had to hold on. He forced the pain to the back of his mind, fixing his eyes Merlin’s needle for something to focus on. It dipped in and out of Arthur’s skin, reminding him of sitting beside Gwen as she sewed clothes for him and their father all those years ago.

He thought about his sister, she would be terrified when they got back to Camelot. Seeing her husband so badly injured. She wouldn’t need her worry added to by seeing her brother wounded too. Perhaps he could hide it from her as well. If he could just hold out until they got back to Camelot, he could go and see Merlin on his own and swear him to secrecy. Gaius would be busy with the king, but he was sure Merlin would be able to help him.

“Ow!”

Elyan jumped as Gwaine shouted behind him. He instinctively whipped around to look. The movement pulled at his side, flaring up the pain and bringing it to the forefront of his mind again.

“Sorry,” Lancelot muttered, his hand coming up to the side of Gwaine’s head, burying into his hair to hold it out of the way and keep Gwaine still at the same time.

“Is he alright, Lancelot?” Leon called, not lifting his gaze from Arthur.

“I’m fine!” Gwaine protested at the same time as Lancelot said, “It’s deep, but clean. It should heal well.”

“I’ll have a look when I’m finished, Gwaine,” Merlin said distractedly.

“No, focus on Arthur. I’m fine,” Gwaine whined.

Elyan’s resolve grew even stronger. Merlin didn’t need two distractions. At least his wound was still hidden. As long as no one noticed the loose links of chainmail that had been ripped apart by the bandit’s sword, he could keep it secret.

“There.” Merlin tied the end of his thread and cut it, dropping the needle back down to the cloth at his side. “Leon, water.” Leon dutifully cleaned the wound again, Arthur groaning as he did so, writhing slightly, his heels grinding down into the soil beneath him.

Elyan’s side was bumped again with Arthur’s movement, and he fought to stop himself screaming. His side felt wet, and every brush of his shirt against the wound stung. His eyes were prickling, threatening to start watering.

“Ok, you can let him go,” Merlin told Percival and Elyan, laying his hand on Arthur’s chest once Percival moved his own.

Elyan sagged back away from Arthur and staggered to his feet, stumbling back to lean on a tree. Luckily everyone else’s attention was still on Arthur and nobody noticed the way he winced as he moved.

“Arthur?” The king peeled his eyes open to look at Merlin. “Try not to move yet. I just need to look at Gwaine, and then we’re going back to Camelot.”

“I –” Arthur gritted his teeth as he tried to shift a little more upright. “I give the orders around here, Merlin,” he rasped.

Merlin chuckled, patting his chest again. “Of course you do, Sire.” He looked up to find Gwaine.

Lancelot was already pulling him over to Merlin, one hand still cradling his cut cheek with a scrap of bloody bandage. Gwaine reached a hand down to Arthur, who lifted his uninjured arm and grasped forearms with Gwaine.

“You alright?” Arthur asked.

“It’s nothing, Lancelot is just panicking that my gorgeous face might be spoilt,” he joked, sending a smirk to Lancelot who rolled his eyes. “Are you alright?”

“I’ve been better,” Arthur said with a huffed out breath of laughter.

Gwaine grinned, his eyes roaming across Arthur’s body, widening when he saw his legs.

“Shit, your leg.” He pointed at Arthur’s breeches that were soaked through with blood over his shin.

Elyan’s stomach flipped. The blood was exactly where he’d had been lying on Arthur to hold him. He glanced down at his side; the chainmail over the wound was covered with blood too. It was his blood on Arthur’s breeches.

His head felt woozy, as if seeing the amount of blood had reminded his body that he was injured. He swayed, trying to catch his balance on the tree, taking deep steadying breaths to get himself under control as pain washed over him in waves.

Merlin was already yanking Arthur’s boot off and rolling his breeches up to his knee to look at his leg. He sat back on his heels and frowned when he found no wounds. He carefully lifted Arthur’s leg, turning it and bending his knee.

“Nothing… it’s not your blood…” Merlin said, bemused.

“Elyan!” Lancelot shouted. It sounded like he was a very long way away.

Suddenly strong arms wrapped around Elyan’s chest, gently lowering him to the ground as he collapsed. Lancelot’s face swam into focus over him, scowling worriedly.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Lancelot demanded, yanking at Elyan’s belt. Merlin came into focus beside Lancelot, helping him lift the chainmail up Elyan’s chest to see the wound.

“Arthur’s more important than me,” Elyan said simply.

“Don’t let him hear you say that, Elyan,” Merlin said seriously. “He’ll be furious.”

“The Round Table makes us all equal,” Lancelot added. “Arthur would hate to think you were suffering just because he’s king and you’re only a knight.”

Merlin called Percival over to help Lancelot hold him as he started threading a new needle. Elyan let himself slip into blissful unconsciousness safe in the knowledge he was surrounded by friends.

[fantasy2739]

If you’re still taking requests, could you possibly do a small fix where Douxie is captured? And Merlin comes to save him?

Yes I’m still taking requests! I hope I’ve done what you asked, less capture and more rescue I think.

Hope you enjoy it:

He’d been ready. Or at least, Merlin had agreed that he could come along. And going into the Wild Woods with Merlin and the knights was exciting. The sudden appearance of Gumm-Gumms was not. They thought they’d make it to Killahead Bridge before anyone even came close. The Gumm-Gumm attack was swift, scattering Arthur’s forces. Douxie was separated from Merlin, his horse rearing violently. He was near other knights, who were valiantly trying to fight the Gumm-Gumms. But they didn’t have enchanted swords to turn them to stone. Douxie was trying to keep up with them, blasting spells as best he could. Archie flew around, breathing flames to support him. Unfortunately the familiar couldn’t stop a Gumm-Gumm from sending Douxie flying. He’d had a shield, but it broke as he hit the tree. He was surrounded by Gumm-Gumms, including one Gunmar the Black. Douxie was flat on his back, staring at the troll in fear.

“The little sorcerer separated from his master.” Gunmar mocked. Douxie mustered a glare to hide how he felt. The sword pointed at his chest kept him from even thinking about lashing out. “Tell me boy, will you beg me to spare you?”

“I don’t beg.” Douxie’s said firmly. Gunmar laughed. “You’d never show mercy anyway.”

“You have guts. A pity you don’t fight for our kind.” Gunmar said, raising his sword. Douxie knew he was going to die. He wouldn’t bow his head, or close his eyes, he was going to stare his killer down. The sword didn’t swing down, instead put into its holder. “Take him. The old wizard will come for him.” He was grabbed by two Gumm-Gumms, struggling as they grabbed him.

“No!” He yelled. He tried to use magic but one knock to the head and he was out cold.

He awoke in a darkened cave. There was no light but the faint glow of Gunmar’s blue skin and thin streams of light around a stone that was most likely the exit.

“So the young apprentice awakens.” He mocked. “Tell me boy, will you cry as we rip your Master to shreds.” Douxie glared.

“As if you could.” He growled. “Merlin is the most powerful wizard in the world.”

“True boy.” Gunmar agreed easily. “But with you here, he’ll be distracted.” A sneer twisted on his face. “How does it feel, knowing you will cause your mentors downfall?” Douxie looked away. He shouldn’t have come with the knights. He was bait. He almost hoped that Merlin didn’t come. He wasn’t sure he could cope with knowing he’d gotten his master killed. But he also didn’t want to die here. In a cave. Alone. He stared at Gunmar with loathing. He tried to use his magic but Gunmar grabbed his arm and chucked him across the cave. He yelped as he contacted the cave wall. His back hurt, everything hurt. He wanted to curl up. He mentally pleaded for Merlin to come save him. Even though he didn’t want his master to suffer for him.

“What if he doesn’t come for me?” Douxie asked, panting a little as he rolled onto his front.

“If he does not come by tomorrow at sundown, then I will removed your head and send it to Camelot.” Gunmar said. “Pray he comes for you.” Douxie curled up in pain and fear. Gunmar laughed as he left him in the dark. He was there for hours until he heard something. It sounded like yelling. He could feel magic pulsing in the air. He approached what seemed to be the cave entrance. Maybe he could levitate the stone, no doubt everyone was distracted by whatever was going on. He managed to move it just enough to slip out. He saw Merlin wielding his staff with frightening skill. Archie was flying about, roaring flames at unsuspecting trolls.

“Douxie!” He called flying into the boy as he emerged. “Are you alright?” Douxie nodded as he stumbled. His leg hurt, probably from the wall impact.

“I’m fine Arch.” He said, moving as quickly as he could. “We should go.”

“Hisirdoux!” Merlin called. Douxie made his way over.

“I’m fine.” Douxie said before Merlin could ask. “Let’s get out of here.” Merlin conjured a shield, frowning at his apprentice. Douxie wondered if he was annoyed he’d had to come all this way only to find Douxie moving about freely. Douxie tried to pull his mentor along as he heard a roar from Gunmar.

“So you’ve arrived old man.” He sneered before charging with his sword. He slammed it into the shield making it collapse, sending both Merlin and Douxie flying. Archie managed to avoid being hit and breathed fire on the Gumm-Gumm leader. As Douxie impacted the wall he heard a crunch, with his right wrist shattering on impact. He couldn’t help the scream that escaped his lips. Merlin was over in a heartbeat, pulling him to his feet.

“We had better go while Archie’s distracting him.” Merlin said, pulling apprentice along. Douxie tried to walk but his leg and arm were screaming.

“Just go without me.” He tried, feeling as though he might collapse any minute. “They’re not interested in me, I’m just bait.”

“Nonsense Hisirdoux.” Merlin said briskly, practically dragging him along. “I’m not leaving you here to die.” He held the staff of Avalon aloft as he cast a flight spell. “Now hold on.” Douxie wrapped his good arm around Merlin’s neck as best he could as they took off.

“Archie, come on!” Douxie called as they rose up higher. Archie caught up quickly, giving Douxie a quick nuzzle.

“I think we showed them.” Archie smirked. “Kidnap my familiar will you.” Daylight was streaming through the clouds. Douxie didn’t think he’d seen anything so beautiful.

“Thank you for coming to get me.” He said into Merlin’s neck. “Sorry for letting you down and getting caught.” Merlin kept his gaze firmly on the horizon.

“Of course I came.” He said snappishly. “Leave my apprentice to die? Gunmar has some nerve to think he can just take you.”

“Right.” Douxie said, trying not to think too hard about it sounding like Merlin only came because it was embarrassing for him to be caught and killed by the enemy. They flew in silence until they reached the edge of the Wild Woods. Merlin set them down and helped him walk back to Camelot.

“I need to teach you more offensive spells if I’m to take you out again.” Merlin said as they reached the tower. Douxie stared at his mentor for a moment, wondering if maybe instead of embarrassed his mentor was angry at himself.

“That might be a while yet.” Douxie said. “With my arm like this and all.” Merlin turned around quickly.

“What?” He asked. “I thought it was your leg.”

“That happened the first time I got thrown into a wall.” Douxie said sheepishly, scratching the back of his head with his good hand. “I think I broke my wrist.”

“Let me see.” Merlin said briskly. “Hmm yes definitely broken. We’ll have it fixed soon. Looks like you’ll have plenty of time to read up on defensive magic.” He added lightly. He helped Douxie to his room, lying him down on the bed. If Douxie didn’t know better he’d say Merlin was hovering.

“I’ll get some rest Master.” Douxie said, tugging the blanket up.

“I need to set your wrist first.” Merlin said. “It’s going to hurt.” Douxie extended his arm and clamped his mouth shut tightly. Merlin frowned but set the wrist quickly, with Douxie only letting out a small noise of discomfort. They both knew wizards could heal quickly but it didn’t make the pain any easier to bare. Merlin gave him a stern look. “No getting out of this bed until I say so.”

“Yes Master.”

“Archie make sure he does as he’s told.”

“Of course Merlin.” Archie said. “Even if I have to sit on him to do it.” Douxie rolled his eyes.

“You weigh nothing Archie, it wouldn’t stop me.” He said. “Not that I would even think of moving.” He hastily added at Merlin’s look.

“Get some rest Hisirdoux. We’ll talk more later.” Merlin said, heading out the door.

“For a first outing it could have been worse.” Archie said, curling up next to Douxie.

“How Arch?” Douxie asked tiredly, feeling a bone deep weariness setting in.

“You could have died.” Archie said quietly.

“I’m fine Arch.” Douxie said softly, running a hand over his familiar. “You and Merlin got me out before anything bad happened.”

“Still, I’ve become quite fond of you.” Archie said, readjusting his ruffled fur.

“Aww you do like me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, breaking in a new wizard would just take far too long.” Archie replied, giving him a fond nuzzle.

“I like you too Arch.” Douxie said with a smile, feeling himself begin to drift.

“Aren’t you supposed to be asleep?” Archie asked pointedly. He got no reply, only soft snoring. Archie curled back up and joined his friend in sleep.

[retvenkos]

he smiles // mordred

Merlin (BBC) - Mordred x Fem!Reader, fluff

A/N: 8.1k words!!! i didn’t think it was in me, but i clearly love mordred more than i should...

Summary: There had been time for them to bask in each other’s presence, to feel their souls intertwine as their paths converged onto the same road. For, in those days, few as they were, Mordred and (Y/n) shared a common destination and their fates were one.

i.

brother, you could never understand the beauty in his eyes and the pain reflected there. i have found legends of the most desolate of places with the most gruesome of histories and none of them compare to the look in his eyes. he has been rubbed raw of everything he’s loved and has been chipped away of everything he once was.

but he is beautiful, brother, when the stars are resting in the black night of his hair and when the ivy climbs his skin like a statue of marble.

and when he smiles…

is there beauty that could compare?

ii.

Laughter, warmth, and wine filled the Banquet Hall. Knights celebrated, feasting and drinking to good fortune, speaking with one another in their usual, rowdy tones. Music played and merriment filled the hearts of every soldier and guest in the room.

Instead of sitting at the high table where his father had sat before him, King Arthur was amongst his people, Guinevere at his side, speaking to the man that was cause for celebration; Mordred. An old acquaintance and new ally, this young man was knighted earlier that day and the newest recruit was being honored the only way Camelot knew how.

Mordred was smiling, disbelief clinging to the edges of his mouth, hope blooming roses on his cheeks, underneath his skin. His joy was more subdued than that of those who surrounded him, but it seemed as though the happiness that clung to him was the most pure and full joy he had ever experienced in all his years on Earth.

(Y/n) had yet to meet Modred when Gwaine grabbed her arm and took her over to where his fellow knights were huddled together, in the center of the hall.

“Gwaine,” (Y/n) huffed, following her older brother, despite her initial reaction of refusing, “what is it, this time?”

“You haven’t greeted the King and Queen! Guinevere was wondering if you had gotten holed up in the library again, archiving histories no one’s ever going to read.” Gwaine’s voice bubbled with glee, the mead he had drunk already taking effect on his mood, making him even more playful than usual.

“Are you sure it wasn’t because you didn’t want me talking to the ladies at court? I heard a pretty blonde knows you better than I.”

Gwaine grabbed another drink from a nearby servant and took a swig of it. “If she knew me better than you, she wouldn’t have talked to me the way she did.”

(Y/n) scoffed. “Apparently she spends quite a lot of time in your chambers, as well.” (Y/n) raised an eyebrow and stole her brother's mead, taking a drink of it herself.

“We’ve been getting better acquainted.”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes and Gwaine laughed, taking his drink back, only to find it empty. He nudged her in the ribs with a playful scowl before letting go of her arm and nodding to the Queen. He disappeared into the crowd after that, leaving his younger sister to bow and exchange formalities.

“My Lady.”

“(Y/n),” Guinevere smiled, laughing at the title she now wore. Her spirits, too, had been lifted by the contents of her goblet, and the candle-lit hall seemed to be painted in rosy hues. “You know you can call me Gwen.”

“But that isn’t nearly as fun.”

(Y/n) bowed once more, her eyebrows raised in jest and Guinevere shook her head. “Have you met Sir Mordred?”

“No, I’ve not.”

“Well, then,” Guinevere led (Y/n) a few paces deeper into the throng of knights and very quickly found who she was looking for. She smiled triumphantly when she did and put a hand on the shoulder of a man turned away from her. “Sir Mordred, this is Lady (Y/n).”

The knight turned around, (Y/n)’s gaze met his, and the world around them slowed. Her heartbeat quickened and her breath caught as his blue eyes shook her to her core, seemingly looking right into her soul, finding the pure gold that lay at the heart of her very being. In that moment, which stretched into infinity for them but never left the stream of time for others, (Y/n) could see the most beautiful sky form in his eyes.

And she knew the poets to be right in their rambles of beauty and desire and all that fell in between.

“Sir Mordred,” (Y/n) bowed low, long lashes kissing her cheeks and allowing her a second of relief from his intoxicating gaze.

He breathed her name and it sounded like a forgotten memory; like something that was all at once fondly missed and discovered anew.

“I see you’ve met my sister!” Gwaine’s strong voice shattered the still moment efficiently. The knight clapped Mordred on the shoulder with a strength that could have made mountains crumble, but Modred did not move. “She works with Geoffrey of Monmouth in the Royal Library.”

“She’s the brain to his brawn,” Guinevere supplied with a grin, a twinkle in her eye.

“And the beauty,” (Y/n) teased, earning a laugh from Guinevere and a protest from Gwaine. Through the laughing, (Y/n) caught Mordred’s keen eye as it lingered on her.

iii.

brother, i cannot describe it, but there is a kindness in his bones. it is so deeply rooted in the fabric of his being that it cannot be separated without destroying him - picking him apart piece by piece, excavating his soul until it becomes a cavern, stripped of it’s jewels and metals.

the heavens treat him as though he is a part of them. the sun haloes around his head like a crown, like he is an angel on earth.

and, brother, when he smiles…

the skies above clear just for him.

iv.

(Y/n) walked through the castle, purpose quickening her step, her mind stuck in days gone by, those scholars called the Great Purge. She had been translating history texts written in languages that had died with the Old Religion, and had come across a mention of a sorceress she had not heard of in her many years of learning. Geoffrey of Monmouth, the keeper of the library, had told her to take the name to Gaius in search of more information.

“If the sorceress does, indeed, exist,” Geoffrey had told her, “then there is great reason to believe she did not perish in the Great Purge and the king must be warned.”

(Y/n) understood the danger that a sorceress could present to the kingdom, which fueled her haste in going to Gaius’ chambers, but hesitation pricked at the back of her mind, making her avert her eyes from those around her.

Was a sorceress inherently evil? It went against all her beliefs to concede to that idea. She had always been taught that evil was a thing to be cultivated, it was not the natural state of mankind. Then how could it be justified, slaughtering her before she has committed a crime? All men face hardships that poison them with the potential for great evil, yet they are not senselessly killed. But with times being what they were - with Morgana threatening everything Camelot stood for…

The sound of swords clanging disrupted her thoughts, and (Y/n) stopped to calm her mind.

The world was a hard place to navigate through and come out unscathed. There were times when (Y/n) thought it just might be impossible. Sometimes, it seemed that humans were made to bleed. Skin was made fragile for a reason, after all.

Swords clashed together once more, and (Y/n) turned to the source of the noise. The knights (just as she has suspected) were honing their sword fighting skills, the men engaged in one on one combat. Her eyes immediately found Gwaine, who was sparring with Percival, both of them clearly taunting the other. (Y/n) rolled her eyes at their antics, chuckling when Percival was able to get the jump on Gwaine, delivering a harsh blow that her brother was only just able to block, stumbling backward.

Her eyes drifted, then, to Mordred, who was sparring with Elyan. As she gazed at the pair, (Y/n) found herself under his spell once more. His brow was furrowed in concentration and his jaw was set; he looked lethal, like a dangerous poison had been unleashed in his bloodstream and was ready to consume everything in its path. (Y/n) looked deeper into his eyes, expecting a hurricane to be raging within but found no animosity there.

Mordred; like all men; like the sorceress who’s name she had on a scrap of paper, tight in her fist; had the capability to be cruel in this harsh world, but it was not in his nature. She could see that in his soul, and the fact that she could see it from such a distance was a testament to that goodness and beauty she had seen in the Banquet Hall, only a day prior.

King Arthur called for his men to cease their training. Swords no longer clashed. Mordred’s eyes locked with (Y/n)’s.

She smiled politely and he nodded to her, his own mouth curling upward, slightly; a look that was meant for her, and no one else. (Y/n)’s breath caught in her chest. The ache that lingered there was pleasant and bearable, when she remembered who had left it.

Gwaine saw his sister and called to her. (Y/n) snapped her attention to him and waved.

Then, with one last glance at the knight who had caught her attention, she continued on her path to Gaius’ chambers, her thoughts straying from the sorceress at hand, her cheeks warm and heart hammering.

v.

brother, there is a knowledge in his voice that could drown the world in sorrows. he speaks and his words are heavy enough to bury us all alive. but that is not who he is. for, brother, when he looks at me with eyes like diamonds forged far beneath the ground, i see a light that he has created within.

it is warm and kind and believes in the world this one could become. how has he fallen in love with this world when it has come to him broken, already in shambles?

i do not know, but when he smiles…

could the world really be this way?

vi.

The gossip ladies shared while dining was, for the most part, colorful but frivolous. Most of the time it was rumors about a prince who couldn’t banish his feelings for a commoner or a princess who couldn’t hold her tongue while in the presence of men. It was spoken of in tones that made it sound more interesting than it was, and it was passed through the table like another dish they were being served.

(Y/n) listened and engaged with it at yet another banquet, thrown in the aftermath of yet another victory over sorcery. The music played energetically, and as the wine flowed, the painted lips of women loosened and their words came freely.

“That Sir Mordred,”—(Y/n)’s ears perked at the sound of his name—“he’s grown awfully close to the King, hasn’t he?”

The lady who spoke tilted her head and her friends urged her to continue - to finish the thought that was stewing inside her head.

She smiled wickedly, lowering her voice and leaning in, “I’ve heard nasty whispers about where he’s from - no one really knows, but some think he’s a slave-trader, and others…” she paused for affect, and when the music played loudly again, she divulged, “others say he might be a Druid.”

The ladies gasped and (Y/n) felt bile rise in her throat. Suddenly, she wished the gossip to stop - for the music to become so loud that the lady who sat across from her wouldn’t be able to finish the vile thought that she was already speaking.

“If he hadn’t saved King Arthur’s life… Well, we know where he would be.”

(Y/n) stood up in a flash, her jaw set, her eyes angry and frightened, her nerves a mess. The ladies startled and turned to her, but the rest of the celebration carried on. The music still played, the instruments now shrill and jarring, the voices of men suddenly harsh and cruel. (Y/n) was suddenly overwhelmed by the crowd - their fanged grins and ravenous eyes, the hate and anger that lay in their hearts.

“You should be ashamed of yourselves.” (Y/n)’s lips quivered, but her words rang true. The women at the table looked at her, their mouths working soundlessly.

With no further ceremony, (Y/n) left, walking through the castle, letting the sounds of the Banquet Hall fade behind her. Unsure of where she could clear her racing mind, (Y/n) let her legs take her where they pleased.

She stopped in the middle of the balcony corridor, the gentle wind calming her mind, the moon above reflecting a soft, steady light that played against the stone beneath her. The only sound here was her skirts grazing the floor. The stillness calmed her. She sighed and leaned against the stone wall, turning her face to the inky night sky.

What had angered her? She looked at the stars scattered across the sky and wondered at her own actions. Had it been the ladies questioning who Mordred was? No, people were always questioning from where people hailed. It was a way to understand a person without ever knowing them - it was an easy way to allow comfort when in the presence of a stranger. Had it been them accusing him of being a Druid? Perhaps. But, then again, it was not the Druids that had angered her. What had brought her to stand was the implication of what could befall him if he were, indeed, a part of them.

It was dangerous to be something more than just flesh and blood. For there to be rumors, there had to be doubt - and if there was the smallest ounce of doubt in the hearts of those most adamant in the war against magic…

It was not fair - none of it: the rumors, the fear, the suspicion, the deaths of innocents. There was no crime in being born. There was no evil in having been created with skills that few understood. Nothing was inherently wicked, so then how could magic be persecuted as such?

(Y/n) sighed. Perhaps she cared too much. What good could she do, at the end of the day? Being a magic sympathizer only passed suspicion on those you cared for. Was it wise, then, to speak the way she did, to let her feelings be known?

“(Y/n),” a voice called from the shadows, disturbing the silence that had given the woman peace of mind, only moments before. (Y/n) spun around, feeling guilty, her heart beating louder.

It was Mordred, dressed in a knight’s finest, his expression impassive in the moonlight. (Y/n) calmed when she saw it was him who had called for her, but heat rushed to her face.

“Mordred,” she smiled, despite herself, and the dim light played against the curve of her mouth. “I didn’t hear you come. Is the celebration over, already?”

“No,” he answered, walking over to stand beside her, a respectful distance between the two, “I doubt it’s going to end anytime soon.” (Y/n)’s hands itched to be nearer to his, and she folded them together to occupy them. “But what brought you out here?”

“Some of the women I dined with are not as kind in their hearts as they should be.” (Y/n) gazed into the never ending sky, wondering how the stars burned so bright in such a dark expanse. Did their warmth, too, come from within? Did they see Mordred below and feel the same heat fill them so completely? She couldn’t imagine feeling any other way, in his presence. “They may be at court, but they are not nearly as deserving as others.”

Mordred’s eyes twinkled with mirth, like tiny stars igniting in blue skies, although (Y/n) did not seem to notice, her gaze still searching the night around them. He looked at her admiringly, his eyes tracing the curves and dips of her profile - that serene face that drew him out of himself and towards her.

“None of them have any idea of what it’s like to be an outsider, but their judgements of others are swift and cruel.” She turned to him, hesitant to see his reaction.

(Y/n)’s words, so sincere, so carefully chosen, turned Mordred’s face into something softer - something (Y/n) had only seen once before, but felt like she knew more deeply than anything else. “Nobility knows nothing of the suffering they can inflict.” He held her gaze when he spoke, and his words were a melodious lament - almost a siren’s call, pulling (Y/n) deeper into his depths. He sighed, his eyes averting from her own. “But everyone pays for their soul, in the end.”

“Then let ours be pure of heart while we’re still here.” (Y/n) leaned heavier against the stone before her, her shoulders falling deeper, her forearms bearing her weight. She tilted her head to look at Mordred beside her, and he relaxed in a similar manner.

“This world needs more people with your ideals.” Mordred complimented her and heat flooded (Y/n)’s cheeks. He regarded her with a smile - small and conspiratorial, like a soft embrace.

“You can thank my brother for any beliefs I hold. He was the only man to teach me how to rise above what I am.”

The wind visited them once more, weaving through their hair, twisting Mordred’s cape and twirling (Y/n)’s skirts. (Y/n) leaned into its caress, her eyes closing for a brief moment, her entire being becoming one with the heavens above.

“You’re lucky to have each other. Being alone isn’t easily shaken.” A shadow came over Mordred’s eyes, heavy and dark.

(Y/n) turned to the man beside her, her lips parting as she moved to say something.

She was untimely interrupted by Gwaine calling for her. She held Mordred’s gaze for a moment longer, as though debating whether or not to stay and say something more, but when her brother called again, she obeyed.

vii.

brother, he lives with such gravity. every breath is a gust of wind, every step is a tremor in the earth. he is so heavy on this earthly plane, the world presses down on him as though he were made to carry it upon his shoulders.

and yet, when he is still and the world stops around him, he looks weightless, as though he could fly. and brother, when he soars above me he is an angel out of reach, a dream beyond imagining.

and then he smiles…

is there freedom such as this?

viii.

(Y/n) held her skirts in her hands, running through the castle’s corridors, taking the familiar path to Gaius’ chambers. Weaving in and out of people who were in her way, her mind raced faster than her legs. It was only by luck that the gossip of the servants reached her, and she hadn’t a moment to lose.

The King had gone on a patrol to the Black Mountains that morning, and when they had come back…

The servant’s weren’t clear in what had happened, but Mordred was wounded - carried into Gaius’ chambers by Arthur and Merlin.

To be wounded was one thing; but to be carried into the castle by the King, himself? (Y/n) didn’t know what to think, but she feared the worst. Her heart was beating faster than ever, a drum to which her anxieties chanted inside her skull.

Still running, her feet slapping the stone incessantly, she turned a corner and stumbled headlong into someone walking the opposite way. (Y/n) muttered an apology as she started to dodge the obstacle, but whoever it was moved in her path once more, grabbing her shoulders with a tight grip.

“(Y/n), what’s the matter?”

It was Gwaine, his brows furrowed in worry.

“It’s not me you need to worry about,” she all but snapped, her tone clipped from worry. “Were you with Mordred?”

“He’s with Gaius, now.” Gwaine’s worry started to melt away, seeing his sister unharmed by the day’s events, but (Y/n) shared none of his relief. “He’ll be fine,” Gwaine repeated, trying to reassure her by catching her eye.

“What happened?” Her voice and lower lip shook, her nerves frayed and unable to settle. “I - I heard rumors, and—”

“—And you won’t settle down until you see for yourself. I know.” A smile slowly grew on Gwaine’s face, and he wrapped an arm around (Y/n)’s shoulder, walking with her to Gaius’ chambers. In all their years together he had become the father his younger sister never had, and learned her better than any lesson he had been given in his entire life. Gwaine knew his sister, and he knew she wouldn’t be able to still without absolute confirmation.

He slowed her eager pace, trying to soothe her before she saw what lay within the physician’s chambers.

“So,” he began, a grin already plastered onto his face, “you’re that worried about Mordred?”

(Y/n) felt herself burn from embarrassment.

“Not not, Gwaine. He could by dying!”

Her brother laughed and allowed her to see the knight she fretted over. She rushed to his side, and the pallor in his cheeks made her stomach twist in knots. She brushed his raven hair off of his forehead, feeling his fever. She looked to see if his eyes moved behind his lids or if his chest rose as he breathed inward, but he didn’t seem to respond to life at all. She whispered a prayer under her breath before turning to Gaius, already questioning what was wrong and what could be done.

“There is old sorcery at work - knowledge beyond my understanding.” Gaius’ words were uncertain and he shook his head just slightly, as though he had already concluded the worst. “The Disir were said to be a most sacred court with power unimaginable.”

The Disir. (Y/n) knew their name from stories she had translated from dead languages to that which was spoken, now. If Mordred had been stuck by a force so revered and entrenched in the Old Religion...

“But there could be a cure?” (Y/n)’s tone was adamant in their desperate hope - far more so than her thoughts. Gaius looked at her as though he saw something deep inside her gaze, and eventually conceded.

“Perhaps… in the texts of the Old Religion…”

(Y/n) was out of the physician’s chambers and racing down the hall before he could finish. She had no practical skills in medicine, but she was an archivist. She knew languages and history, and due to her position, she had unlimited access to the Royal Library. If there was an answer between the pages Camelot stored, she would find it and use it to save him.

The candles in the Royal Library burned brighter than usual, lighting the shelves that lay in dark, unused corners. (Y/n) situated herself amongst the shelves she knew had to keep the secrets she so desired, choosing books from the rows. She lost herself in piles of ancient texts, her hands careful and precise as they skimmed down page after page, searching for an answer. Volume after volume was pulled from its resting pace, meticulously scoured, and replaced once more.

Geoffrey of Monmouth allowed the candles to be burned all night long, eventually retiring for the evening and leaving (Y/n) to her search, giving her a fond, supportive squeeze on the shoulder before shuffling away. Servants still gossipped out in the corridors, their voices drifting like ghosts to where she sat. Gwaine came to her before his nightly rounds of the castle began, and found her sitting on the floor, her skirts pooled around her as she continued her search. She was desperate for some kind of news, but Gwaine had none; Mordred’s condition was unchanged and dire, still. Tears threatened her eyes and he had taken the time to embrace her, rubbing her back soothingly, promising her things would be alright.

(Y/n) clung to his faith, feeling the crushing weight of gravity bearing down on her. How could people live with such pain?

She felt herself grow tired. She opened more books. She felt herself grow tired. She flipped more pages. She felt herself grow tired. She sought more answers, feeling them slip through her fingertips - elusive and intangible. She felt herself grow tired.

The candle burned lower until she could no longer feel it’s warmth - until she could no longer see it in her mind’s eye.

In her dreams, she could see pages before her, with drawings of three women in robes of black, with writing that was slanted and almost unable to be read. (Y/n) reached out to grab the page, hold it in her grasp and learn it’s secrets, but her body was heavy like stone, unable to move - unable to save him.

“(Y/n)...” Mordred’s voice called out to her, so full of life, so full of love. She stirred. “(Y/n)...” She moved.

(Y/n)’s eyes opened, and she was lying against a shelf, a volume open on her lap. Light from the morning sun spilled from the nearby window, and when she looked up, she had to blink to believe it was real.

Mordred smiled down at her, his cheeks pink and flushed with beauty, his eyes bright. He was something out of a dream, in that moment, the sun’s rays casting the shadows away from him, bathing him in golden light.

His name slipped from her lips in wonder, and she repeated it once more, euphoria filling her tone with something akin to a song.

“I was told I could find you here.”

Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, but she couldn’t bring herself to look away from him long enough to hide it.

ix.

we could never see it, brother, with our lives painted in such rosy tones, but his world is drenched in stormy, blue waters. it is salt rubbed into wounds and waves battering stone until they erode away. it was not a crucible that forged him, but an ocean that drowned him and left him washed on shore, gasping for breath. brother, his story is one that we whisper at night, voices low in fear of giving those wayward souls power over us all. if he so desired, we could be crushed and left. the crows would pick us clean.

but he looks at me and his ocean eyes cradle me, rocking me back and forth with the tide. and i am safe, in his embrace. i am loved, wrapped in his arms.

and when he smiles…

our story has yet to unfold.

x.

(Y/n) looked at the wares of different vendors, strolling through the streets with no real destination in mind. The day was beautiful, with the sun partially covered with thick clouds, the heat emanating from it just enough to be comfortable and without chill. The people around her were happy, for the most part, their worries few and their good fortune abundant.

There was peace in Camelot, and (Y/n) wished - foolishly, perhaps - that it would last.

Stopping to search for coins to buy a loaf of bread, (Y/n) readjusted the basket she held and a book she had been carrying fell out. Before she could lean down to grab it, the book was already in someone else’s hands, being wiped clean. “I’m sorry about that.” (Y/n) looked up to see who had helped her and found Mordred before her. He had a grin on his face, lopsided and pulled to the left, his teeth just visible beneath his lips.

His sharp eyes were on the small volume before him, reading the title with interest (Y/n) had not thought she would find.

Mordred shrugged off her apology, instead turning his interest to that which he had recovered. “Poetry?” (Y/n) shifted under his teasing gaze. “Is it for the King, perhaps?”

(Y/n) scoffed, well aware of the joke that had been floating through the palace - Merlin and King Arthur learning poetry by candlelight. Was the Queen impressed with her husband’s talents? Leon had been given extra training for two weeks when word of it reached Arthur.

“The King and I have very different tastes in poetry, I believe. He’s more of a romantic.”

Mordred snorted, flipping through the worn pages. “These poems…” Mordred’s eyes flashed with something unreadable, his tone still gentle when he spoke, but his countenance changed nonetheless. “They’re about magic.”

(Y/n) bowed her head, training her eyes at her skirts brushing the ground below.

She had been caught.

It was just literature, and she didn’t believe there was any harm in it. Poetry could not teach her sorcery. The knowledge that lay in those poems were not spells that she could wield against Camelot and those she loved, and yet, she knew, deep down, that such things would not matter to those who would wish to persecute her for harboring such knowledge and allowing it into her home.

“They’re just poems. Just stories written in beautiful languages. There’s no harm in it, only understanding.” (Y/n)’s words were low but spoken with conviction and heart. “I only wish to understand that which I am to fear.”

“And I admire you all the more for it.”

(Y/n) looked up into Mordred’s eyes where she held his tender gaze. Her worries were put to ease by his serenity, and she idly wondered why she has ever been nervous in the first place. Even now, she could look into his gaze and see the kindness that lay deep within his heart. Within those blue eyes, she could see his sympathy for magic, not dissimilar from her own, but more deeply sown. She could see, deep in his soul, that there was something he knew and had not shared.

She wished to tell him she wouldn’t tell a soul. (Y/n) wished to hold Mordred and whisper in his ear that he could bare his entire soul to her and she would regard him the same. She wished to let him know that she knew him deeply and irrevocably, that in those still moments when they walked with one another or locked eyes from across the room, she felt their souls were one and she could not distinguish where one began and the other ended.

“Would you like to hear some?” (Y/n) put her hand on the book lightly, her fingers brushing his, warmth igniting where they touched. “The old way of speaking… it’s beautiful.”

Mordred smiled and she slipped the book out of his hands, starting to leaf through the pages, searching for the right sentiment she was looking for.

He spoke, then, his words soft and with a lyrical lilt, whispered between the two of them. (Y/n) gazed up at him, and it took her a moment to realize that he was reciting a poem - a variation of one of the poems inside the book she had in her hands. She listened to him, allowing his language to captivate her senses and pluck at her heartstrings. The poetry spoke of magic - it’s ubiquitous power and intentionless existence - and how the world, whether it wanted to be or not, was gifted with it.

When he finished, (Y/n) realized that the warmth that had spread through her body had made her lips pull into an expression of awed wonder. She tried to regain control over her features, but Mordred had already seen her beauty and wouldn’t forget it for all his days.

Mordred took (Y/n)’s hands in his and closed the poetry book, placing it back in her basket. “Keep that safe,” he said. “It’s not wise to have poetry about magic in Camelot.”

(Y/n) started to grin, staring up at him challengingly. “And to have it committed to memory? Is that just as guilty?”

Mordred chuckled, but after a moment, his face turned grave. “In Camelot, I believe so.”

“Then Camelot is too harsh with matters of magic.”

Mordred did nothing but nod.

xi.

there is a ferocity deep within him, brother. it has the strength of a bear and the loyalty wolf; baring its teeth and tearing out throats. he keeps it deep within himself, burrowed beneath the ground, hidden amongst the trees.

it is strong, brother, but he is it’s master. he has run with the wolves and become one with the pack. he has faced the bear and made peace with its power. he has a strength inside of him that cannot be changed, and it protects this world from what he could be. and i stare at him, in awe of the power which he possesses within.

and when he smiles…

he is nothing i could not love.

xii.

The forest around them teemed with life - birds singing from the treetops, the undergrowth shaking from the movement of small animals, and the nearby brook babbling. (Y/n) breathed in deeply, the smell of the fresh air clearing her mind and filling her senses with a feeling of calm. Absentmindedly, she fiddled with the bad slung around her shoulder, the books inside of it slapping against her thighs as she rode her horse forward. Mordred, riding alongside her, looked at her from the corner of his eye, but she did not notice his gaze through her pleasant sigh.

They were riding to Carleon - Sir Mordred escorting the Royal Archivist - to meet with the genealogist that worked for Queen Annis. Geoffrey of Monmouth found a discrepancy in their bookkeeping of the old, noble families and needed to compare his records with the other kingdom, but at his age he was far too old to undertake such an adventure - especially at such a critical time in Camelot’s history. (Y/n) had been sent in his place, her expertise growing with every day that passed, the old librarian sharing his knowledge and legacy with the woman so that she might one day succeed him.

It was to be a fairly safe journey. Carleon was an ally of Camelot, and the two kingdoms were not far from one another. King Arthur had allowed Mordred to escort the woman, his warnings minimal - only that Mordred not forget his duty while protecting (Y/n).

Gwaine had been there to see the pair off, teasing (Y/n) of her feelings for the young knight.

“I believe your love life is the one we need to keep an eye on, Gwaine.” Her brother had laughed at that, and she told him to behave while she was gone. The last thing she needed was to worry about him while traveling to another kingdom.

Their journey so far had been a peaceful one. The two had time to talk about all that had happened in Camelot - from the gossip of what happened in the lower towns to the battles that the knights had waged in the name of the King. After that, there had been time to talk about the histories she had been translating and scribing; the worlds that she learned about on weathered pages were vibrant in their age and charming in their customs and habits - all of which had betweitched her, ensnaring her attention.

Mordred had deep interest in what had come before him - those millenia in which magic reigned, free - and (Y/n) was happy to share her passion with someone who listened and cared.

There had been time for them to bask in each other’s presence, to feel their souls intertwine as their paths converged onto the same road. For, in those days, few as they were, Mordred and (Y/n) shared a common destination and their fates were one.

Now, there was less than a two hour ride left, and with the end in sight, (Y/n)’s anxieties started to claw their way into her heart. She closed her eyes and focused on the world in front of her, this forest of bright yellows and deep greens, this sanctuary where she and Mordred were together, close enough to get lost in each other’s eyes for eternity.

“How much do you think Gwaine has worried while we’ve been gone?” (Y/n) smiled at the knight who rode beside her, her tone fighting to be as light and cheerful as the words she spoke. “I saw him talking to you before we left. What did he—”

A high-pitched scream that was not their own erupted into the sky. With a flash of metal, Mordred had unsheathed his sword and was riding for where the sound originated. (Y/n) followed, and when they burst into a clearing, they found it to be full of bandits surrounding an elderly man and his daughter. Without a second thought, Mordred sprung into action.

(Y/n) grabbed a sword from one of the bandits that Mordred felled and joined him in battle, her strikes proper and effective, although unceremonious and without the craft of a true swordsman. Mordred spared her an impressed glance before engaging with the rest of the marauders.

Surprise was their biggest advantage, and the two of them were able to dispose of four of the bandits quickly. The rest of the men ran, reasoning that the spoils weren’t worth the risk involved, now that a knight of Camelot was among them.

After the last of the men disappeared into the trees, (Y/n) dropped the sword she had been using, looking over the scrapes and minor flesh wounds she had received. Mordred walked over to her, his own eyes scanning her for injury, and she reassured him she was fine, her eyes moving to search him.

“Where did you learn to use a sword?”

(Y/n) scoffed, the adrenaline still buzzing through her veins. “Gwaine. Who else would arm a young girl against her will? He said I would need to one day.” A grin tugged at her lips. “I suppose he was right.”

Mordred smiled briefly and the two of them turned to the people who had cried out for help. The elderly man thanked them, taking their young hands in his own and blessing them good fortune for days to come.

“Such kindness is lacking in the world, today, when it is most needed.”

“We are just glad we could be of assistance to you and your daughter.” Mordred dipped his head low, and his voice echoed with past transgressions - moments of his past where he was a victim to circumstance, just as they were. “No one deserves such violence and pain.”

The old man peered at Mordred with years of wisdom, and he squeezed his shoulder like a father would. “You have such good souls”—he looked at (Y/n), as well, with a kind twinkle in his eye—“both of you.”

“Good souls are hard to come by.” (Y/n) agreed, gently. “They’re a rare treasure, indeed.”

Mordred looked at her, his eyes like the sky on a cloudless day. She regarded their bright brilliance with a warm glance and roses of the most vibrant pinks blossomed beneath his cheeks.

Later, after the travelers had gone on their way, and the two were riding for Carleon once more, (Y/n) found the courage to speak something that she had been thinking on for a while, but had only articulated just then.

“Mordred, when we were fighting those bandits…” her words trailed off, but Mordred was patient as he waited for them. “I know we’re only human - average and simple - but when I’m at your side, I feel stronger than that - better, even. It’s almost like…”

Silence didn’t stay between them, long.

“Like you have magic.”

xiii.

brother, we live such violent lives and meet such violent ends, but his life is precious in it’s softness and should never die on the end of a blade. this world has rubbed his edges with stone to sharpen them to fine points, but he wraps himself in soft down and refuses to be changed.

this life he lives deserves to be full, brother, with none of the emptiness that has surrounded him for so long. so much has been taken from him, so much of what he owns has been displaced. and so he holds me as though i am already gone.

but when i am resolute beside him, he smiles…

could the world bear to tear us apart?

xiv.

“All I’m saying is that Mordred is a lucky man to have caught my little sister’s eye.”  Gwaine held up his hands in mock defeat as the two of you walked down the castle steps and into the Citadel. “How many people have you turned down over the years? I vividly remember at least three…”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes at her brother’s teasing, quickly shooting back, “And for every person I turn down, you lead another to your chambers.”

Gwaine feigned hurt, but a grin grew on his lips all the same. “I have more honor than that, (N/n).”

“More tact, you mean. If Arthur were to see you—” Gwaine nudged (Y/n) in the side and she laughed good-naturedly, elbowing him right back.

“But, truly, (Y/n). Mordred is a fine knight and if the two of you—”

“Gwaine...” (Y/n)’s face was hot with embarrassment and her brother smiled down at her, affection in his gaze.

“I would be happy, is all” —he tilted his head, then, his lips pulled into a thoughtful frown— “and a bit proud.”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes. “Exactly what I always wanted.” The two laughed, and once the moment sobered, (Y/n) turned to Gwaine, her expression genuine and earnest. “But really, thank you.”

Gwaine put a tender hand on her shoulder, squeezing it strongly. He opened his mouth to say something, but the clapping sound of horse hooves hitting stone caught his attention, and both siblings turned to see who was approaching.

An entire patrol of soldiers burst into the Citadel, many of them leaning over, their expressions drawn in pain and suffering. (Y/n)’s eyes searched frantically until they settled on Mordred, his expression grim and worried, but the rest of him seemingly okay. Gwaine walked over to him and he dismounted, both Knights meeting each other half-way.

“What happened?”

“We were attacked.” Mordred’s blue eyes flashed dangerously. “It was Morgana.”

“And you got away?” (Y/n) walked over to them, her eyes scanning over the injuries that the patrol had sustained. Almost all of them had a bruise or two, some of them with gashes on the head or sides. What had she done?

“It’s the King she wants,” Mordred sighed. “She’s just trying to draw him out.”

Gwaine nodded deftly, his brow furrowing as his entire disposition changed. “I’ll let Arthur know,” he assured Mordred, putting a hand on his arm before leaving.

(Y/n) watched as Mordred turned back to the men behind him, checking their wounds and sending them to Gaius if necessary. She watched his face contort with worry as he passed over each man, his eyes filled with care and legitimate attentiveness to each of their circumstances. The soldiers smiled gratefully at him, as though thanking Mordred for showing them that they were seen. In such a large military, it was easy to get lost in the sea of hundreds; people stopped becoming human and were just another sword in combat, just another body left on the battlefield. But here, under Mordred’s worried gaze, they were human. Bleeding, battered, and bruised people with hearts that were broken and minds that were screaming in the silence.

The love that resided within Mordred was quiet, but (Y/n) could see it from any distance and behind any facade.

When the last soldier was tended to, Mordred made his way over to (Y/n) and she looked at him deeply, with a soft care that made him feel entirely known and wholly loved. “Are you alright?” Her voice was low and pleading, careful but firm. “Morgana didn’t hurt you?”

“I’m alright.”

(Y/n) looked at him, her eyebrows still furrowed as she searched his expression for something to tell her the contrary. Finding nothing, she sighed and reached out to embrace him, holding Modred close to her beating chest.

He melted against her slowly, then all at once. His arms moved to wrap around her more securely and she responded to his touch, her hand getting lost in his hair. The pair stayed like that, enveloped in each other’s arms, until their hearts synced together and beat as one.

“Things happen so quickly Mordred,” she spoke without pulling away, her breath hot against his ear, “I don’t want you to be someone that passes by without me ever telling you how much you mean to me.”

Mordred hugged her tighter, until he felt he couldn’t breathe from her love. “Nothing can happen to me while I have you to live for.”

(Y/n) pulled away slowly, her eyes questioning whether or not he meant what he said. Mordred’s smile was in full bloom, adoration and love pouring out from him with no end in sight. She stared into his deep, blue eyes and her question died before ever making its way to her lips.

xv.

brother, you could never understand how the world has wronged us all and the poets exist only to make amends, but when i feel his heart against mine, i know it to be true. this existence is strife and heartache and nails tearing into flesh, but there is consolation in the arms of a lover and there is peace in their kiss.

and, brother, you may not understand his depths, but my lover is good. despite how he bleeds and breaks, he is whole when he lays beside me, his hands lacing with mine, his features carved by the artist we know as Time.

and when he smiles…

is there love that could rival mine?

xvi.

His lips were rough against her own, hot and wanting, pushing all thoughts that weren’t of him to the recesses of her mind. His arms were steady as he held her, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other planted firmly on her waist, pressing her against him. She kissed him back with equal fervor, her hands trailing up his chest as they reached for his dark hair, thick and soft beneath her fingertips.

She kissed him deeply once more before parting to take a breath, her forehead resting on his, their noses bumping together, gently. Mordred’s eyes fluttered open and the world was extended to (Y/n), begging her to take it in her soft hands and make something beautiful from it’s fraying edges and tattered bits.

She didn’t know how to tell the world that it was already beautiful, when she looked through his eyes and saw its glory reflected there. If everything could be crafted in his mind’s eye this existence could be a much softer way of living.

“I love you,” she breathed the words, and even though they were her own, they made her heart race in her chest. She could feel his speed up as well, and placed a hand over his chainmail, where she knew his heart lay beneath.

Mordred sighed, “And I love you.” Their lips connected for one sweet, brief moment, and when their eyes met once more, he was smiling, his iris’ twinkling with the light of the sun. “I could love you for the rest of my days and it wouldn’t be enough.”

(Y/n) giggled at his charming words, unable to contain the love that filled her so completely. He kissed her again and it felt like a cloud - downy and warm, like what she imagined heaven to be like. For a fraction of a moment, his lips hovered over her own, and it was she who chased after them, her lips divine as they pressed against his.

A knock at the door pulled them apart, and Mordred looked at her with sympathy, unwilling to pull away from her embrace, not wanting to venture into the night when all of his world was right here, in front of him.

(Y/n) put a hand to his cheek, rubbing the smooth skin with her thumb. “Be careful out there, Mordred.” Her voice was still ragged, her breathing slowly finding its normal state, and the sound of it pushed on his resolve, begging him to stay.

“I promise.” He kissed her once more, and when he walked out the door, sword in hand and a smile on his face, she believed him.

xvii.

and when the sun has not yet come up and he is wrapped in my embrace, he is mine.