#morgana x you

[frost-queen]

A smile is what it will take (Male!Reader X Morgana Pendragon)

Requested by anon Forever tag: @missmelodramatic, @alex--awesome--22, @ellie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve , @queen-of-books , @glimmering-darling-dolly , @denkisclown , @wildieflower , @meyocoko , @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl , @m-rae23 , @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr , @swampything07, @melsunshine , @panhoeofmanyfandoms , @venomsvl , @the-uncoordinated-house-cat , @rosecentury , @imagines-by-her, @evilcr0ne , @vviolynn , @niktwazny303 , @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 , @markive-m

Summary: Male!R is Merlin's brother. When a girl has her eyes on you, it makes Morgana jealous that you would smile at her. Surely when you rarely smile. Immediately calling for your brother, she wishes to speak with you. Once in her room, you are greeted with pillows and harsh words. Accusing you and pouring her heart out about her feelings to you. Surprised you walk up to her, kissing her. Having felt the same, but never thinking she did.

Horses strutted on the cobble stone as the knights rode out. One of the horses sat your brother, waving you goodbye. You rose your hand with a polite smile, to return your brother’s greeting. – “Merlin!” – Arthur would call out for him to keep up. Merlin smiled sheepishly at you before catching up with Arthur. Gwain chuckling loud how Merlin responded like a dog to Arthur’s calling. You returned back to your work, unsaddling one of the horses. You set all the material aside to clean later.

Taking the horse by the reins, you started leading it over the cobble stone across the square to the water benches. You barely noticed it till the girl moved in front of you. – “Morning Y/n.” – she said. A sweet smile on her lips, hands giddily behind her back. You simply looked at her, leading the horse around her. The girl turned round, rushing over to keep up. – “May I accompany you Y/n?” – she asked. – “If you must.” – you answered not really caring for it. She came falling in step with you. – “I’ve seen you at work Y/n.” – she started as you kept quiet. Focused on your work.

You arrived at the water benches, tying the reins up around the wooden pole. The horse started drinking from the basin as you patted it on the shoulder. You went around the horse as she moved underneath it’s head to reach you faster. – “You are really strong.” – she commented as it made you quirk your eyebrow up. – “I guess.” – you answered not sure what to say. You bend down to pick up a bucket. Scooping some of the water in it. Taking a step back, you splashed some water onto the horse to get some of the mud off.

The girl jumped back to not get splattered. – “Say Y/n I was thinking…” – she started looking carefully around where she could step to keep her shoes clean. You grabbed a brush, combing the horse to get the mud off it. She came closer once more as you rather just did your work. – “My bed needs mending.” – she called out, making you stop. – “What?” – you asked unsure what she meant by that. – “My bed needs mending. It’s been shrieking almost the entire night. I think it might break apart.” – she went on.

“What does it have to do with me?” – you replied continue to brush the horse. – “Your handy Y/n, can’t you fix it?” – she asked. – “It is a fine opportunity to see my room.” – she added. – “Why would I need to see your room?” – you replied clueless. The girl giggled giddy. She started to come closer, touching your chest. – “To clean it.” – she responded sarcastically, surely meaning something else.

You couldn’t follow why she was even laughing at that. – “You… you want me to clean your room?” – you responded. The girl clicked her tongue. – “No, I want you to do something else.” – she spoke with a wink. It made you stare confused at her. She started laughing at her own pleasure, already imagining being in one room with you alone. Feeling uneasy, you simply started to smile back, not sure what she meant.

Up in her room was Morgana. Pacing around waiting for Gwen to appear. She neared her window, her gaze catching something quickly in her passing. It made her stumbled back to her window to be sure. It was true. Seeing you down below on the courtyard. Through the glass, she thought she could see you smile. Something you rarely did, even around her. Morgana pushed her window open to be certain. Leaning a bit out of her window, she watched the display. You smiling at a girl. Her gaze lowered, feeling drained off all her happiness.

Feeling the ache in her heart that you were smiling at someone else as she rather wished it was her. Wishing it was her down below, smiling upon you. Blessed with a smile in return from you. Her heart thumping loudly in her chest with yearning. Yearning for your affection. Her yearning changed her self-pity to jealousy. Sharpening her gaze, she hated the girl. Repulsed you for smiling back at her.

There was a knock on the door as Gwen entered. – “Morning My lady.” – Gwen spoke holding a towel. – “Your bath is prepared My lady.” – she curtsied for Morgana even though she wasn’t looking. Morgana turned around sharply. – ���Delay the bath, I want Merlin in here!” – she let out. Gwen blinked confused at her lady. – “Merlin? My lady he is out riding with Arthur.” – Gwen informed her.

Morgana tensed her jaw. – “When he returns from hunting, you bring him immediately up to me! I have to speak with him!” – Morgana demanded, dismissing Gwen. Gwen bowed her head, leaving the room. Morgana returned to the window, wanting to see you again.

To her surprise you had left. Even the horse was gone. Probably stabled. In anger and annoyance she paced around. Waiting for Merlin to arrive. Gwen waited at the castle door waiting for the knights to return. They rode up the courtyard. Gwen lifted the hem of her dress up, running over to them.

Arthur already ascended from his horse. – “Gwen lovely to see you.” – Arthur addressed her as she ignored him in a hurry. She rushed over to Merlin who was about to ascend from his horse. – “Morgana requires to speak with you.” – she let out, holding the horse by the reins. Merlin looked confused back  at her. – “About?” – he asked her.

Gwen had no answer for that. – “Just hurry.” – she grabbed him by his elbow, pushing him towards the castle. Confused and slightly worried went Merlin up to her quarters. He knocked at her door, waiting for her to tell him to enter. He entered cautiously. – “You… you wished to speak with me?” – he said, seeing her stand by the window, arms crossed.

“Yes.” – she answered bitterly. – “Tell your brother to come up here.” – she told him. – “Scuse me?” – Merlin said confused to the reason for him to come. Morgana turned more to him. – “Bring your brother up to here, did I make myself clear Merlin!” – she called out in fury.

Merlin bowed. – “Right away, My lady.” – he answered. When he left the room, he wondered why he needed to come just for that. When she could’ve easily called for him herself. Merlin went to the lower parts of the castle. Gaius quarters where he knew he’d find you. You were playing a serious game of cards with Gaius when Merlin entered.

“Morgana needs you.” – Merlin said upon entering. – “Me?” – Gaius questioned, pointing at himself. Merlin came sitting at the edge of the table. – “No Y/n.” – he nudged you. – “Me? Why?” – you wanted to know. Your brother shrugged his shoulders. – “I am simply following orders.” – Merlin spoke as you got up with a loud sigh. Quietly you went up to her quarters.

With a knock, you announced yourself. – “You called.” – you said in a low voice already entering half. Morgana groaned loud as you got surprised by a pillow. It startled you, hitting you against the arm. – “What was that for?” – you asked confused. Morgana grunted loud, throwing another pillow at you. This time aiming for your head as you needed to duck down to avoid it.

“You shameless prick!” – she shouted at you, throwing another pillow. Turning your posture away, you let your shoulder catch the pillows. – “You utter horse’s arse!” – she screamed out, making you widen your eyes at her insults. She threw another pillow at you as you ducked down as it went just over your head.

“How dare you toy with my feelings so much! To think I love you while you flirt with other girls. Well I hope you never smile again in your life!” – she screamed out. – “What?” – you called out, pausing, receiving a pillow against the head. – “You don’t feel sorry do you! Of course you don’t! Why would you!” – she blamed you searching around for another pillow as she had thrown them all from her bed.

In the moment of peace within the storm, you got in motion. Walking up to her. Morgana’s eyes widened when you neared, turning her posture more to you. Tilting your head a bit, you placed your hand on the back of her head. Bringing your lips closer to her to kiss her. Your lips kissed her to lead her into a soft kiss.

Morgana inhaled sharply through her nose, grabbing you by the shirt to deepen the kiss on you. Leading you into a more passionate kiss. Your hands held her by the waist, enjoying the kiss to it’s fullest. Both of you broke the kiss off, out of breath. – “I…I had no idea… If I knew Lady Morgana, I would’ve told you I loved you desperately long ago.” – you confessed to her.

Morgana’s eyes widened. – “I never knew… I thought you didn’t felt the same.” – you added. Morgana grabbed you by the shirt once more. – “I sure do.” – she breathed out before pressing her lips to yours again. – “If I ever see you smile at another girl, you will regret it.” – she warned you, having broken off the kiss for a moment. Her warning made you gulp soft. Her eyes twinkled when you curled up a smile to her. Blissful, she kissed you again, losing her mind over that smile of yours.

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

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!

[helloalycia]

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

summary: as you continue to hide the truth about your identity, your final round is against the Prince of Camelot himself.

warning/s: mentions of violence, injury and kidnapping.

author's note: so glad you’re all enjoying this one! here’s the second part 🥰

one / three / four / masterlist / wattpad

The next few fights went about as smoothly as the last one did, but without a doubt I pulled through and eventually made it to the finals. Morgana didn't tell anybody about who I really was, which I was very surprised at, and I toned down my flirting with her massively. Partially for the fact that she now knew it was me, and also because it certainly wasn't impressing Uther. I couldn't risk it, especially if he found out the truth about me.

When I found myself facing off Arthur in the final match of the competition, I was nervous to say the least. Everybody wanted their future king to win, of course, but I only wanted to see if I could beat him. He was the best of the best, but I could be, too. Couldn't I?

After the King made a short speech that essentially hinted at Prince Arthur kicking my butt, the fight began and I was thrown into the deep end. He only fought with a sword, as did I, and we both had many close calls, pinning each other down with ease. This fight was the longest I'd had with anybody, the blonde proving to be quite the challenge. But unlike his other opponents, I was keeping up with his every move.

He was bigger, physically, which made it easier for me to sneak around him, avoiding his sword. When his did clash with mine, he had the upper hand with strength. But it didn't take long for me to use his own strength against him and flip him over me. Before I could make the winning strike, he rolled off the ground and pulled his helmet off, throwing it to the side like it was a mere inconvenience. I swallowed hard, keeping mine on and trying not to let his focused expression deter me.

He stalked toward me, swinging his sword with might and keeping me on my toes. I didn't falter under his constant strikes, but my arms were growing tired with his considerable speed. My only option was to disarm him, and when he least expected it, I managed to flip his sword out of his hand and land it my left one, immediately holding him at the end of my sword. He froze, jaw clenching when he realised I'd got him stuck, and everybody waited for me to make the final strike. After all, there were no rules.

But I was no villain, and I gave him a curt nod before dropping both of my arms, lowering both swords. He pressed his lips together but nodded respectfully, accepting his defeat. The crowd erupted into cheers as I tossed him his sword back, and then I began to smile to myself because I'd done the impossible. I'd beat Arthur Pendragon.

When I turned to see the King's reaction, he did not look impressed in the slightest, still seated and staring at us both with shock. Morgana, on the other hand, was stood up and clapping with amazement, grinning down at me. I waved at her, grateful, and then glanced at Prince Arthur who was now smiling graciously.

"You did good," he said over the noise of the crowd, and then smacked my back with pride, but it was a lot harder than I expected and I tipped forward at the force, my helmet flying off before I could catch it.

I froze, my eyes widened with panic, and the crowd went quiet in unified shock. I feared looking up, but when I did, Arthur was staring at me with a slack jaw.

"You're a girl?!"

I looked up at the King, only to see the pure anger and shock written across his face. I facepalmed mentally, knowing I was screwed.

Y/B/N and I were kneeling before the King as he yelled at us about how we had made a fool of him, Camelot's traditions and everybody who took part in the completion. I tried to pay attention, but all I could think about was how close I'd gotten to winning. So close, yet so far.

"...and I could have you banished from Camelot forever!" he was saying, pacing back and forth before us.

Arthur was stood behind him, still in disbelief that I'd beaten him, and Morgana was there too, listening to his verdict. Once he'd finished, she suddenly stepped forward.

"My lord, was it really that bad? Maybe Y/N just wanted to compete," she tried to reason with him, but he wasn't hearing it.

"Women can't fight!" he snapped at her, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

"This one can," Arthur mumbled.

I fought a smile from my lips, which Y/B/N detected and nudged me with warning. Uther was glaring down at us both, irrationally angry.

"You," Arthur suddenly said, looking down at me, and I met his gaze. He seemed conflicted. "You're extremely talented. Nobody has ever bested me."

I wasn't sure what to say, so I stayed quiet.

"It's not right what you did," he said thoughtfully, "but it wasn't fair that you couldn't compete in the first place."

"Arthur!" Uther scolded him.

"Father, a win is a win," Arthur said in a pleading tone. "She deserves the prize and the praise!"

"The whole of Camelot cannot see their future king be beat by some– some woman!" Uther said with disgust.

"But I was!" Arthur argued right back, certainly surprising me. "And that's okay!"

"No," Uther muttered, before pacing again. A silence fell upon us as he decided what to do with us. And then he stopped suddenly, beginning to relax. "We will tell everyone you saw her hair before she disarmed you. That you faltered at the deception and couldn't beat a girl. That you let her win."

At this blatant lie and disrespect, I looked up. "But that's not–"

"You can keep the prize money if you keep quiet," he said to me with a scowl. "Fair?"

I blinked, swallowing hard.

"Father, that's an outright lie!" Arthur disagreed before I could answer. "What's the harm if they know the truth?"

Uther glared at him. "I don't expect you to understand." His gaze fell back to me. "So. Do we have a deal?"

I frowned, glancing at Y/B/N. He mirrored my frown, but nodded. I sighed then nodded to Uther.

"Deal," I agreed reluctantly.

Relived that the discussion was over, Uther nodded. "Finally. Good. I tire of this."

Not sparing us another glance, he walked past us and out of the throne room. Arthur sighed and nodded to my brother and I.

"Please, stand," he said. We did, and he continued, "I'm sorry. Y/N, you should've been able to fight as is. It's a shame no one will know the truth of your abilities and talent."

"Maybe you can change that when you become king," I said disappointedly. "For now, this will have to do."

He rubbed the bridge of his nose with discomfort. "You'll both still be attending the banquet this evening. At my invite. It's the least you deserve after winning."

"We'd be honoured, my lord," I said with a nod.

"Great," Arthur said, relieved. "I shall see you tonight then."

We both bowed respectfully before leaving the throne room, following the knights out of the castle. Once we were finally alone, Y/B/N and I embraced with relief.

"I can't believe you beat the bloody prince," he said with a pride-filled smile.

I laughed, the overwhelming joy of it all – winning and somehow getting away with it – getting to me. "I did."

He pulled me into his side as we began to walk through the city. "So, what are you gonna do with the prize money?"

"What are we gonna do with it," I corrected him. "I couldn't have done any of this without you."

"But we were caught," he reminded me.

I shrugged. "Doesn't matter."

He smiled. "Maybe we can buy some clothes for the party tonight. Got to look our best after all, don't we?"

"Not a bad idea, brother, not a bad idea at all."

Despite Arthur having invited my brother and I to the party this evening, Y/B/N and I still felt a little unwelcome. Word had spread about my deception, including how Arthur had let me win – a story I really hated but knew I couldn't argue – so many eyes were on us when we entered.

"You sure you don't want to leave now?" Y/B/N asked, half joking.

"If I can't get the credit, I can at least enjoy some free food," I retorted, making him smile.

Before we could even think about where to start first, a servant boy approached us with a friendly smile. I recognised him, certain I'd seen him waiting after Arthur throughout the week.

"Y/N, congratulations on your win!" he exclaimed. "Your fighting was just incredible. Not many people can beat Arthur, but you just..." He made a punching gesture with hand, amazed.

"Thank you, but as I'm sure you know, Arthur let me win," I told him, managing not to grimace at the lie.

He snorted as if he didn't believe it. "Right. Well, either way, you're a very talented swordswoman."

I smiled for real, appreciative of his compliment and also the fact that he seemed to believe I'd won by myself and not by Arthur's right.

"Merlin, stop bothering my guests please," Arthur suddenly came out of nowhere, patting the servant boy on the back.

The servant, who I now knew was called Merlin, rolled his eyes playfully before shooting me a final smile and leaving us be

"Y/N, Y/B/N," Arthur said, eyes falling to us. "You both look great. Do enjoy tonight. I've already told my father not to bother you. It's your night as much as anyone else's. Especially mine."

"Thank you, my lord," Y/B/N said, nodding his head, and I nodded, too.

"We appreciate it," I added.

Arthur pursed his lips, staring at me for a moment longer than usual, before mumbling to himself as he walked away, "Beaten by a woman."

My smile grew as I sensed he still wasn't over the defeat. Even if nobody else knew, it was still enough to know I could actually do it.

"C'mon, let's go get a drink," Y/B/N said, already heading towards the table full of drinks.

We both grabbed a goblet each, cheering to my win subtly, before taking a sip. Talking about what we might do next, we almost didn't notice Morgana approaching us.

"Y/B/N, Y/N," she greeted with a warm smile.

"My lady," Y/B/N returned, bowing respectfully, and I followed suit.

"Please, it's really not necessary," Morgana said in jest.

Y/B/N and I exchanged smiles, knowing it was, but we didn't want to offend Morgana and say otherwise.

"I'm going to track down some food," Y/B/N suddenly said, and he shot me a look before leaving Morgana and I alone. I supposed I was grateful he did.

"I never got the chance to say it before," I started, meeting Morgana's gaze, "but thank you for sticking up for me earlier. With the King. You didn't have to."

At the reminder, her smile faded slightly. "I did. I'm just sorry you were caught. You almost had everyone fooled."

I smiled disappointedly. "Yeah, well... Arthur has been too kind, letting me off so easily."

Morgana glanced out at the prince as she spoke, "He has a good heart. Better than his father's." After a moment, she looked back to me with a sad smile. "I'm sorry nobody will know good you really are. It's not fair."

I shrugged, downing the rest of my drink before putting the goblet to the side. "I'll know. That's enough for now. It's all people like me will ever get so... I'll take it."

Her eyes softened. "You deserve more, Y/N."

I didn't know what to say, and stupidly enough, her attention was making me more nervous than usual. I avoided her gaze, hoping my face wasn't turning pink.

"So, what will you and your brother do now?" she asked curiously. "Stay in Camelot perhaps?"

"I would have loved that," I admitted, "but it's probably not for the best. What with the King wanting to kill me and everything."

She rolled her eyes, suppressing the urge to laugh. "A bit dramatic, Y/N."

I tilted my head, quirking an eyebrow. "Is it?"

This time, a laugh escaped her and, gosh, it was quite literally music to my ears.

"You have a pretty laugh," I told her, and this only served to make her hide a shy smile as she looked away. I admired her for one of the last times, before answering her previous question. "Y/B/N and I will figure something out, I'm sure."

"Involving a sword?" she asked playfully.

"No doubt," I agreed. "I love it too much."

She nodded. "Good. A talent like yours deserves to be used."

I exhaled quietly, insides warming at her words. "Thank you, Morgana."

"Where did you learn to fight like you do, may I ask?"

"My father taught Y/B/N and I when we were young," I shared, surprised she'd asked. "We were farmers in our village, but it was raided one day. We had to leave and fighting was all we had afterwards. I took to it better than Y/B/N, but he is plenty good with a sword, too."

"Where are your parents now?" she asked.

"They died in the raid," I said awkwardly, unsure how to say it without sounding like I needed her pity.

Frowning, she shook her head. "I'm sorry to hear that."

I shrugged. "Don't be. It doesn't make me sad to talk about it. Honest."

She looked between my eyes, smiling sympathetically. "I'm sure they'd be very proud of you and how good you are a fighter. Or at least, to know you beat the Prince of Camelot."

I smiled, which soon turned into a laugh when I realised she was trying to lighten the situation. "I hope so."

"It's unfortunate you'll be leaving after tonight," she said with a disappointed sigh, "but I do hope our paths will cross again soon. I was beginning to take a liking to you, Y/N."

My own smile widened, my heart fluttering a little at her words. I bowed once more, saying, "My lady." And when I put out my hand, she gave me hers and I kissed the top of it gently. I looked up and saw she was smiling down at me, green eyes bright and dazzling and making me second guess leaving Camelot.

Suddenly, somebody moved into the side of me, forcing me to drop Morgana's hand and straighten up. I realised it was Y/B/N, looking unimpressed.

"Seriously? In front of everyone?" he muttered, referring to my overtly flirtatious behaviour.

I couldn't help but laugh, too overjoyed to care. "Everybody is distracted by the party."

He grumbled to himself before the two of us faced Morgana. She was tempted to laugh at our encounter, but hid it behind a smile.

"I'll miss the both of you," she admitted, looking between us. "Good luck with what's next. And enjoy tonight."

Y/B/N nodded, smiling appreciatively, and I let my eyes linger on hers for as long as she'd let me. As she turned and walked away, I watched after her dreamily, wanting so badly to grab her hand and whisk her away.

"I wish I could ask her to dance," I said with a sigh.

"You're so stupid," Y/B/N said, used to my behaviour when I was like this.

I grinned, looking at Morgana once more before letting Y/B/N drag me away to find some food. I was certain I'd never forget her, no matter where I ended up.

6 months later...

"We seriously need to invest in a good horse," I complained to Y/B/N as we trekked through the forest. "My feet are giving out on me."

"All you do is complain," he said disapprovingly. "The exercise is good for us!"

I rolled my eyes, adjusting the cotton mask tied around my head and covering my nose and mouth. "Tell that to my swollen feet, mate."

He chuckled beside me, his eyes creasing over his mask, the only indication in addition to his obnoxious laugh that he was amused. "I promise that I'll pay extra for a nice hot bath at the next town so you can soak your feet. Sound good?"

I grumbled to myself as I used my sword to cut away at an annoying branch. "You better bloody do. I'm too young to be limping like I–"

"Shut up!" he whispered suddenly, cutting me off.

I fell quiet, detecting the seriousness in his voice, and my ears perked up to hear what he had. There were male voices in the distance, too far for us to make out specifics. I kept my sword in hand as Y/B/N unsheathed his quietly, exchanging looks.

"Could be bandits," he muttered with caution.

"We'll avoid that way then," I told him, sticking to our usual plan.

He nodded in agreement. "There's a way that leads around the stream and will–"

But he was cut off by a short girlish scream, followed by grunting and laughter. My expression hardened when I realised the bandits must have taken someone, an innocent woman no doubt. We couldn't leave her to fend for herself, and as soon as my gaze met Y/B/N's, he was already nodding in agreement.

"You got your knives?" he asked, looking as peeved as I did.

"Uh-huh. Let's go teach these arseholes a lesson."

The two of us moved quickly and quietly, having moved around in these woods for long enough to know how to keep silent and blend in with our surroundings. The bandits' voices grew louder as we approached and we realised it was a small camp. There were a few tents set up, a campfire in the middle and half a dozen or so men hanging about, either sharpening their swords or having a quick drink.

Y/B/N and I waited, eyes taking in the scene to see what we were dealing with. Seven men were present, with three standing on the outskirts and keeping guard and the rest milling around the camp. I scoured the campsite for any sign of a woman, certain I'd heard one, and that's when my eyes widened at a familiar sight.

Y/B/N grabbed my arm, signalling that he could see her too. It was the Lady Morgana and her handmaiden, the two of them bound with rope and sat back to back on the ground. Their clothes were dirty and raggedy, like they'd put up a fight, and there was a single bandit circling them like a predator does with its prey. His sickening smile put them at unease and I so desperately wanted to slice him to pieces there and then, but we had to be tactical.

Tugging me back, Y/B/N motioned for me to follow him. We backtracked, a fair distance away so that we could coordinate quickly.

"How did they get here?" he asked what I was thinking, before shaking his head. "Never mind. We need to get them out of here. If they've managed to kidnap the King's ward and have set up camp, that means they're making a trade."

"I know," I said with discomfort. "We can make this quick and there'll be nobody left. No trade."

He nodded in agreement. "Okay, so this is what we're gonna do..."

After discussing a quick plan, Y/B/N and I split up to circle the camp on different sides. He was dealing with the bandit guarding one side, whilst I dealt with the other two. Thankfully, we didn't have to get close just yet as we had throwing knives. All I had to do was line up my shot and...

His body hit the ground like a sack of potatoes and I immediately moved onto the next guard. This one was trickier considering he wouldn't stand still, constantly pacing. I almost had my throw perfected when there was a shout on the other side and both the bandit and I turned to see what it was.

"We're under attack, you idiot, help!" one of the bandits called to my target, and I groaned inwardly, knowing Y/B/N had been unfortunately noticed.

Running forward, I was able to take one bandit by surprise as the six others tried to circle Y/B/N. I stabbed one with ease before they began to realise there was two of us, and then I was suddenly fighting three bandits at once. The past six months of taking up odd jobs, plus years of training with a sword, put me at an advantage and I was able to move around without faltering once. In under a minute, all three of them were either dead or bleeding out. Y/B/N had managed the same and we both let out a deep breath, lowering our swords.

The muffled screaming from my left made me turn to see Morgana and her handmaiden, Gwen, staring at us with wide, terrified eyes. They were scrambling backwards on the ground, still sat down and tied back to back, and I tried to step forward to untie them, but they weren't having it.

"It's okay, we're not going to hurt you," Y/B/N said calmly, bending down to pull the pieces of cloth from their mouths. "Just let us–"

"Stay away from us!" Morgana yelled, teary eyed and protective of her handmaiden. "Don't touch us!"

I wondered why she was so scared, and then realised she'd just watched Y/B/N and I murder a bunch of bandits and couldn't see who it was.

"Y/B/N, our masks!" I said to him sharply, and his eyebrows raised with realisation before we both pulled them down to our necks. I looked back to Morgana and Gwen, saying, "It's okay, it's just us! It's Y/N!"

Their fear faded instantly, replaced by shock, and thankfully they let me lean down to cut their ropes from their hands. Y/B/N and I helped them to stand, before I looked over them both with concern.

"Are you hurt?" I asked worriedly. "They didn't touch you, did they? We heard a scream."

"They were teasing us, but no, they didn't touch us, thankfully," Gwen answered, wiping at her eyes. "Thank you. Both of you."

"Are you?" Morgana asked, eyes looking me up and down.

"Am I what?"

"Hurt, you idiot," Y/B/N mumbled, and then I widened my eyes.

"Oh, right! No, no I'm fine, don't worry," I assured her, a little embarrassed and flustered from her tense stare, before looking to Gwen. "I don't believe we've officially met. I'm Y/N."

"The one who beat Prince Arthur in the tournament, right?" she asked, recognition flashing across her expression.

I began to grin. "Why yes, that is–"

"Y/N, not the time or place," Y/B/N cut me off with a knowing look.

I sighed, unfortunately knowing he was right, and changed the subject. "Right. We need to get you both out of here. There could be more of them and we don't know who's going to meet them here. It's not safe."

They nodded in agreement, but before I could even think to lead them out of there, Y/B/N suddenly let out a groan and hit the ground. My eyes widened when I saw an arrow sticking out of his shoulder, and both Morgana and Gwen let out a scream, eyes staring ahead. I didn't waste a second as I grabbed my throwing knife and turned around, throwing it in the direction of the arrow. One of the bandits, heavily injured but not quite dead, had retrieved his bow and arrow. Now he was bleeding out from his neck thanks to my great aim.

"Y/B/N," I rushed out, leaning down to see if he was okay, but his injury didn't look great and my heart was beating way too quickly. "Y/B/N, talk to me!"

"I'm okay," he mumbled, voice strained with pain. In an attempt to push himself up, he hit the ground again and let out a sigh.

"Don't move– just– just wait," I told him, needing him to stay still so I could think.

The arrow was only stuck halfway, not too deep, but if I removed it he would bleed out. We had some time, maybe enough to get him back to Camelot with the others. But not long.

"Can you walk?" I asked him, before attempting to help him stand.

Morgana and Gwen helped on his other side, standing him up before he leaned against me for a moment. His face was scrunched with discomfort, but he looked well enough for now.

"If we're gonna go, we need to go now," he said with a nod. "I'm good. Let's go."

I worried, glancing over him, hesitant to get moving like this. He couldn't hold a weapon in this state, and I couldn't protect him and the others.

"Here, lean on me for support," Gwen encouraged, already moving to his uninjured side. Shooting me a look, she said, "I'll help him walk. Let's get out of this horrid place, please."

I nodded in agreement, pulling my mask back over my face. Unsheathing my sword, I motioned for them to stay behind me before leading the way, on high alert as we carefully walked through the forest.

When I was certain we had cleared enough distance between the bandit camp and us, I stopped fretting and began to ease up a little.

"You okay back there, Y/B/N?" I called, glancing over my shoulder.

"Just peachy," he quipped with half a smile.

I returned it, though his clammy, paling skin was worrying me. Trying to distract myself, I faced forward again, though felt Morgan's presence at my side.

"I'm glad to see you again after so long," I said to her with a quiet voice, so the others couldn't hear. "I do wish it were under better circumstances however."

She glanced at me, a small smile on her lips. "Me too. Gwen and I... we're lucky you and your brother were here. We were out riding when the knights watching us were ambushed. Then we were taken and that's when you found us. That was a day ago."

I frowned. "That's horrible. But don't worry, it'll all be okay now. We're gonna make it back to Camelot and you'll be safe again in no time."

"Thank you," she murmured.

"I'm only sorry I don't have a horse and carriage to help ease the journey," I joked, wanting to lighten the mood.

Her smile grew, a genuine, beautiful one that warmed my heart, and gosh, had I missed seeing it all this time.

[morganalefay]

ARTHUR & MORGANA | I LOVE YOU, I'M SORRY

[morgana-ren]

I DONT KNOW IF YOU WRITE FULL FICS BUT IF YOU DO PLEASE WIRTE ONE ABOUT TGAT LAST ASK.

Just about Astarion sitting in his throne of sorts, in the palace, with tav sitting in his lap. He’s bored, tav sits there- dissociating and wishing they were anywhere else. He asks them if they’d like to do something fun and they say something like “Only if you do my lord” and he saddens some, expecting them to come up with something fun like they used to but they can’t think of anything that he would approve of them doing after so many years of breaking them down and he realizes it’s gotten so dull because tav was the person that brightened his life

"Awfully dull today, hmm? How would you like to do something fun, my love?"

It's an oh-so rare quiet day in the Crimson Palace, and his favorite source of amusement sits placidly on his lap, silent as the grave and still atop him. Content as he is in the peaceful quiet with solely her company, he'd spend the day with her doing– well, something, surely. It’s been a while since they’ve had any time to themselves to truly enjoy each other’s company alone. In fact, he cannot recall the last time with any distinct accuracy.

It seems so terribly long since they've had any time to themselves. Being a Lord keeps you awfully busy.

In a tender moment, he reaches forward to brush a stray strand of hair out of her face and behind her ear with a long, pale finger. She doesn’t react save a slight instinctual flicker of her lashes. Not a hint of expression on her face. He expects her to lean into his touch as she used to and is almost shocked when she does not.

Odd, he thinks. She hardly even seems to notice anything at all.

It’s almost like she isn’t entirely present.

Still, before he can chastise her, she responds to his bid for her attention.

"If that is your wish, my lord,” She responds to his question, lifeless and monotone. Perfectly obedient, just as befits her, and yet—

He frowns, just a little. It irks him, but now that he thinks about it, he cannot recall the last time he saw enthusiasm on her face– or much of anything at all aside from the blank, hollow mask she has now. Completely impassive and unresponsive in a cruel sort of practiced indifference. 

He studies her for a moment and comes to the conclusion that it reminds him of the robots they found in that strange tower in the Underdark so long ago. Programmed to respond to the right things and make the right moves, but utterly incapable of acting on her own whims. Eternally awaiting instruction. 

Empty. Robotic. Precise and yet disingenuous somehow. Eerily so.

Has she been like this before? Has he simply not noticed?

Perhaps she just needs to awaken a little more. It was such a long night, and he had kept her remarkably busy. She must be exhausted, but surely, she will perk up. She always does. 

Doesn’t she?

“Come, darling. What would you like to do?” He jostles his knees, dandling her on his legs like one might a small, particularly grumpy child. She bumps up and down, only reaching to steady herself on the sides of his throne. 

“Whatever would please you would please me, my lord.”

He groans, rolling his red eyes, a very sudden burst of irritation bubbling in his gut. Always with the My lord, My lord, scraping and bowing like some sort of indentured serf. Proper respect is important, of course, but for the first time in a while— longer than he can honestly think back on, to be honest— they are entirely alone. He is her Lord, yes, but she knew him by another name once– did know him by another name. She knows better than to tease him in front of his vassals but surely—

He can’t remember the last time she said his name. 

His real name. 

How long since he has truly sat by her side and talked with her? Spent time with her? He's been so busy, laying plans and waste, conquering and shedding blood of those who oppose him. The Lord Tyrant, come to rule over his dominion of Eternal Night. She is always by his side, never straying and yet— 

(“I love you, Little Star,” She’d laugh, planting a chaste kiss on the tip of his nose, which would promptly crinkle in annoyance. 

“I’m not ‘Little Star,’ and I’ll never understand why you insist on calling me that.” 

“That’s what your name means, doesn’t it? Little Star? Or perhaps Little Starlight– I don’t really remember.”

“Then why make that my pet name?" He rolls his eyes, annoyed at the use of his own childish moniker that follows him like a shadow to anyone who speaks even a lick of his native language. "Of all the things your brilliant little mind can concoct, you give me a child’s handle? I’m strong, dashing, capable, handsome, fearsome– but instead you choose that absurdity” 

“Because you’re my little star!” And she would smile so brightly that it seemed impossible in the darkness, and he could not help but smile himself. “My light in the darkness. My Astarion, for as long as you want to be. And I love you.” 

His expression would soften once again and he would simply sigh, pulling her close to kiss her temple. The night was cold, but she was so impossibly warm against him, somehow fitting perfectly in his lap and into his heart, where she’d wormed her way in against his own will. The dim firelight reflects in her eyes as she tells him again that she loves him forever if he’ll have her, and he can think of nothing he’d desire more than to ride out the endless night of eternity with her here on his lap, cradled close.)

Something gnaws at him. Something raw and edged with a vicious sort of misery he’d done so well to avoid in ages. He cannot place it but as he looks at her, his stomach is as a dark, abyssal pit, circling and swelling like a maelstrom. 

Something is wrong.

He cannot place the negative emotion, and so he does as he always does now, making the strange yearning her responsibility to soothe. 

He lashes out at her. 

“I’m growing bored,” He says with a cold, cruel edge to his voice. “You know how much I dislike boredom, don't you, darling?"

What he seeks is a reaction. A sudden spark of life from within her. For her to grab his hand and take him to do— to do something. Surely—

And yet, with a motion so fluid that it implies an aged and practiced skill, she slides from his lap down to her knees before him, reaching towards the laces of his breeches. There is nothing behind her eyes as she extends her hand forward to unlace him, hardly even seeing him. Nothing at all. 

“What are you doing?” He slaps her hands away, scowling down at her, taken back by her brashness. 

“You said you were bored, my Lord.”

“And why would you think–” 

Because that is what he’d taught her. 

That her body was built for his amusement; his temple to defile at will. Because of the cold nights in the castle after so many years where he would reach for her, and she would quiver and shake her head with eyes rimmed red and puffy and beg to be left untouched and yet he would speak the words without thinking and she would bend for him any way he wished. 

Because even as she would obey, she would cry and turn away, and he would give it little thought until one night the crying and protesting simply stopped. He thought she had learned. Made peace with her duties and loyalty to him and what it entailed. Mayhaps she had come to realize that her theatrics had little impact on him and surely, he wasn’t so wretched to her now that these waterworks were necessary. His touch could not repulse her so that her weeping was remotely acceptable. She loves him, surely she—

Because he would command her until she would kneel, and so now, she kneels without command.

He sighs, breathing the fire from his lungs, reaching down to pull her back up into his lap. She does not respond, only obeys in kind to his guiding instruction as he settles her back down on his legs. He finds a semblance of patience from within himself which is a strange and unusual feeling, mustering it up to once again ask:

“My dear, what is it that you would like to do?” 

Her head cocks. She does not understand. 

"What would you enjoy? If you had the freedom to do anything, what might it be?"

It takes a moment, but for the first time, a reaction: Confusion. It is slow to take hold but becomes blaringly apparent as it does. It is not as if she doesn’t know the answer, but almost as if she doesn’t understand the question. 

“Whatever you would like to do, my Lo–”

“No, no, darling. What is it you would like to do?” He impresses, harsher this time, and she flinches, recoiling from… something. 

From him.  

If her heart was still capable of beating, he'd be able to hear the way it pumps into overdrive. As it stands, he cannot, but he is aware no less. Her scent changes entirely around him to something that has his brows furrowing. Shortness of breath, dilating pupils, hands beginning to quake— Adrenaline. Steel-edged anxiety. As if this is not a question at all, but rather a test and she does not know the answer, and failure means his displeasure and his displeasure means–

"I— What would you—" She hard-swallows, harrowed by the open-endedness of the question. "—I want what—"

("Come to the meadow with me, Asto," She would grab his hand with a mischievous smile when their compatriots were fast asleep, tugging him up from the comfort of his bedroll. "I want you to come with me."

"It's late, darling. Wouldn't you rather come here and lie with me?" He would try to tug her back down playfully, but would fall against her aggressive temerity, being pulled to his feet through her sheer will. She would stifle her giggling with a hand as she guided him past their slumbering companions, through the tree line and deep into the forest. 

"Come on, lazy boy, come! Come with me!"

"Well, I'm trying to—"

She would hush him and yank him by the wrist, out into the field where he'd first had her, down once more into a bed of wildflowers and long grass. Her melodic laugh like a strange song as she yanks him to the ground despite his weak protests until she would lie her head on his chest and trace gentle patterns on his white shirt against his flexed chest. 

"We don't have to come all the way out here to make love, darling—" He would move to try to kiss her, but she would adamantly press her head against his torso, insisting he stay down in the dirt with her. 

"I'm not trying to seduce you," She would giggle, pointing at the star-spangled sky. "I want to lie under the stars with you." 

"But… why?"

"Because I know we'll have eternity to do it, but it's my favorite moon tonight and it reminded me of you."

He squints, struggling to find anything different about it at all. "I don't notice anything, darling. It looks very much like the moon we see every night." 

"It's so full and bright! Look at the rays!" She holds her hand out as if to cradle a silvery moonbeam in her palm. "It reminds me of the color of your hair." 

She reaches over him to delicately pluck something from the grass, tucking it gingerly behind his ear after she does so. "These poppies are the same beautiful deep red of your eyes in the moonlight. I feel safe here; home, with you. I just wanted to enjoy it for a moment. Just the two of us."

He would wrap his arms around her waist, squeezing so tightly that she would gasp and worm about, trying to return the favor, and yet he would not relent. 

"I want you to feel safe with me," he would whisper into her hair, desperately trying to memorize the scent of it, as if expecting Bhaal himself to come and steal her from his frantic embrace. "Now and forever, I want to feel home in your arms, with you.")

He thinks, for a moment, to return to that meadow, and that perhaps his love— the one he remembers— will return to him. As if her ghost still lingers there, trapped and waiting to be rescued. 

He can’t. 

It is not a meadow any longer, but a battlefield, not unlike the vile destruction left in Ketheric's wake at Raithewait; another one in a million places sacrificed in his conquest for glory, littered with bodies and bones. A graveyard tribute to his power, scorched soil and dead grass. No flowers bloom there anymore— there is nowhere for them to bloom between the suffocating aura of death. 

All that is left is a beautiful memory buried beneath a river of dried blood, and you cannot water flowers with dried blood or wean them on bone dust. That meadow is one moment suspended in time as trapped in amber, impossible to claw free from its temporal prison. He cannot remember the last time he saw that jovial smile she had saved just for him in that damned meadow. 

He cannot recall the last time she said the words "I love you" and cried his name as a preternaturally beautiful siren song without being commanded. 

He frowns, feeling something strange and haunting in his chest. Something viciously clawing up his throat as he looks at her: at her empty red eyes that were once the most beautiful color, full of love and life when she looked upon him; at her contorted expression that used to be as radiant as the sun and he could have sworn that her light could have sustained him through the dark, miserable nights of his eternal curse if only she was by his side; at the frailty of her body that almost seems to creak and break beneath his weight. 

"My love, look at me."

And she does, if not by command, then by instinct. 

"Smile for me, will you? Can you do that for me?" 

And she does, her lips turning upward and raising to reveal two sharp teeth— and nothing more. It's uncanny and revolting and wrong. There is nothing behind her eyes, nothing at all. No light, no life, and certainly no love. 

He used to be able to see himself in her eyes. How her heart sang for him, cheeks blossoming with blood at the sight of him. He could hear her heart rabbit behind her ribs, her hands quaking with excitement to touch him even in the most innocent of ways. Through her eyes, he found his own value— his own worth— and finally began to understand that he deserved love; he deserved happiness. She had healed him, giving almost all of herself to do it, selflessly and without asking for anything in return even as he despised himself and refused his own agency—

And she stares at him now with soulless eyes, he is left to wonder if he has taken too much from her in his quest to take everything. Wonders if she will ever be that lovestruck, moon-eyed girl again, wanting nothing more than to lie under the moonlit meadow with him. If she will ever kiss his eyelids as a delicate butterfly and whisper eternity in his ear. If she will ever feel safe and home and loved around him again in his embrace–

Save she is no longer quaking with anticipation at his touch, but trembling from fear, lost and terrified at the posing of a simple question. Her scent is foreign even as it is familiar and he cannot recall when it began to change. There is something in her eyes that haunts him, and though he can see himself within him, what stares back is not him. A terrible realization rakes knives down his soul, a gaping maw threatening to swallow him whole. A tightening in his lungs, and even as he does not breathe, he does not believe he could even if he tried. 

“Darling?” 

“Yes, my Lord?” 

Her face is impassive once more. Perfect porcelain expression. Not a crack in the mask. Not a wrinkle in the facade. Practiced day in and day out until it becomes real. He remembers it well.

How long has it been? How long since he has looked at her? Truly looked at her? Spoken to her? Told her he loved her? 

Showed her he loves her?

When was the last day he did not command from her that which she begged not to willingly give?

He cannot remember. He cannot recall. 

He demanded and she had no choice but to give. More and more and more. He drained her dry and now where was once his sacred oasis, there is nothing at all. No matter how long he looks, there is never a flicker of anything in her glassy eyes. 

He wonders if even as he has gotten everything he has ever wanted, he lost the one thing he needed. 

It paralyzes him. For the first time in an ageless eternity, he feels something: Panic. 

Even his endless power cannot bring her back. His beloved is dead, and he has killed her. Upon him sits a pretty corpse, empty and devoid of all that made her her. A doll with her face. A doll with barely even that. 

Her laugh, her smile. Her passion and desire and love. The tenderness inside of her and the warmth she once held. Everything that pulled him from his shell and showed him how to love once more. He bloomed in her light– and then snuffed it out entirely. 

How long has it been? How long has she been gone?

Though she may be undying, he realizes with horror akin to a dawning sun that she is gone– and has been for some time. 

“You seem stressed, my Lord? How can I make you happy again?”

Second part of the story HERE

[twistedshipper]

MERLIN 5.02 Arthur's Bane | for @the-king-and-the-druidess 🍁🍎🕯💀🍂

[gldnstrngs]

a preview of my fic that i desperately need to finish:

“You see, I am betrothed,” Arthur said, making everyone look at him with wide eyes.

Lord Alaric blinked once. And then twice. He didn’t stop blinking after a few seconds. “My lord?” he questioned politely, glancing at the others.

There was a part of Arthur that wanted to laugh at their gobsmacked faces, but that wouldn’t be very kingly of him, so he cleared his throat with an assertive nod. He grabbed Merlin’s hand from his lap, feeling him stiffen slightly. Arthur squeezed it gently, stroking with his thumb. He then placed their interlocked hands on the table, so everyone could see. “I am to marry Lord Merlin.”

It was safe to say that there was a… range of reactions, if you will.

Morgana ended up staring at him and Merlin quietly, her eyes flicking back and forth between them to the point that it was even making Arthur’s eyes hurt. Gwen had let out a high-pitched sound through tight lips, doe eyes wide. Lancelot had promptly spat out his wine. Leon had done the opposite, chugging his wine from his goblet. Elyan solemnly slid over some gold coins to Gwaine, who had been smirking—and, okay, Arthur going to have to have a word with them about betting on their king—and pocketing his earnings. Percival had been teary-eyed, using a handkerchief to dab at his tears. Gaius stared at the couple with an intensely raised eyebrow, while Geoffrey had a hand to his heart in a way that Arthur couldn’t tell was heartfelt or scandalized. And Merlin was gripping onto Arthur’s hand, gaze boring onto the table and ears turning bright red.

update:

so i finally published it heheheh

[kissme-withyour-cherrylipstick]

I caught the Lady Morgana staring at her maidservant 😳

1x06 A Remedy to Cure All Ills

[merlins-strawberriesandroses]

The thing no one ever considers while writing up character analyses about Merlin is that. he must have been sooooooo sleepy.

[gd-dollopole]

“In life, you always have a choice. Sometimes, it’s easier to think that you don’t.”

“I don’t want to be brave. I just want to be myself.”

“Some lives have been foretold, Merlin. Take heart, for when Albion’s need is greatest, Arthur will rise again.”

“There is not right or wrong. Only what is and what isn’t.”

“An half cannot hate what truly makes it whole.”

“No young man, no matter how great, can know his destiny.”

“I’m happy to be your servant, until the day I die.”

“Sometimes, you have to do what is right and damn the consequences!”

“You’re a son of the earth, the sea, the sky. Magic is the fabric of this world, and you were born of that magic. You are magic itself.”

“Everything here—is so full of life. Every tree, every leaf, every insect. It’s as if the world is… Vibrating. As if everything is much more than itself.”

“I don’t want you to change. I want you, to always—be you.”

“Until then, we go unmarked in death as in life.”

“You’re wrong. Don’t think I don’t understand loyalty just because I’ve got no one left to be loyal to.”

“You’re like two sides of the same coin.”

And in the same show, you’ve got an episode where the entire castle suffers from flatulence, Uther goes bald, the court physician slaps the king across the aforementioned bald head, more than once, while being possessed by a Goblin, the prince Arthur Pendragon gets donkey ears and brays, and another one when Uther, none other than the King of Camelot, marries a Troll.

The duality.

[hoarder-of-dragons]

Wedding vowes

Arthur: I would die for you

Merlin: I would kill for you

Arthur: I would wage wars for you

Merlin: I would kill millions to be with you

Arthur: I would challenge the gods to be with you

Merlin: I would over throw the Gods and become their new ruler just for you

Arthur: I would sacrifice-

The rest of Camelot, whispering: What the actual fuc-

[batchilla]

Fata Morgana Chapter Two - A Dance Earned

Content warnings of violence, death, and outdated views on women.

Sweat drips down Jason's nose, and his breathing is laboured. He cannot wipe it away, not without lifting the faceguard of his helmet. So, he lives with the discomfort, the sting of sweat in his eyes, the stink of it within his metal suit. His arms, one holding his sword, the other bearing a shield strapped to his forearm, ache. His head is pounding. His heart feels as if it may explode with how fast it beats.

He adjusts the grip of his sword to refocus himself. In the edge of his vision, tied to its hilt, the princess ribbon flutters gently in the breeze.

Centred, and reminded of his reasons, Jason levels his sword, and charges to meet his opponent.

The man’s name escaped him - it had been a long day. However his green heraldry told Jason the man likely serves the Queen family. Formidable archers were plentiful in their barracks. It was likely the bow he held had carried him to the final round more than the shortsword at his side. So, Jason would make it his priority to close distance, to force him to rely on melee skill.

He strikes out, his sword colliding with the breastplate of the other, trying to unbalance him, sending a loud clang of metal on metal, almost lost in the cheers of the crowd.

His opponent hurriedly drops the bow, draws his sword and hits back, making Jason grunt as he feels the opponent's sword collide with his dominant arm.

Jason isn’t so easily distracted though, he had fought far too many more deadly foes to drop his blade or allow pain to distract him in the heat of battle. He takes his shield, slamming it into his opponent's chest, sending the man colliding with the ground.

His victory is swift and definitive over the green clad man. In a real battle, he would have ended the lesser warrior with ease. It would be so easy. Something in his blood urges him to do it. A ruthless instinct that had kept him alive thus far. He puts the point of his blade to the defeated’s throat.

The roar of the crowd fades out. Morphs and twists into the screams of battle. Of that battle. Of the fields of Arkham. His grip tightens on his sword, and he looks down, not at the Starling knight, but at the face of a boy. He holds a pike, and wears leather armour that will do little to save him - that will not save him - that didn’t save him as Jason plunges his sword into his heart. He hears the boy cry, not a scream, a whimper. The last, trembling word that leaves his lips as he dies is a call for his mother. He looks up, to a field of bodies. A battle won at last, an enemy army slain… The field of battle soaked in blood, the smell of death mingling with the ocean air. And in this moment he knows himself a monster.

Reality fades back in, and Jason is not looking at the seaside battleground of Arkham, but looking up at the royal box. At her. At his Princess. The princess, he reminds himself - not his.

She looks … beautiful. She always does, in his humble opinion. Today, however, he feels his breath catch at the mere sight of her.

She’s worn red. But not just any red, his red. The same velvet fabric as the ribbon tied to his sword - surely something she had done deliberately. She had planned this for him. He gulps, grateful that no one can see his expression due to his faceguard.

Her gaze trails down to his opponent, still laid on the dust. Yes. Right. The other knight.

“Yield.” Jason demands, his arm flexing as he ever so slightly presses the sword in further to make his point.

“I yield.” The other man says, a little too quickly. Jason sheaths his blade, and offers a hand to bring the man to his feet.

Jason takes a deep breath as he removes his helm, and locks eyes with her.

You are going to die.

It should be illegal, frankly, for Captain Todd-Wayne to look like that.

He offers his hand to his defeated opponent, and you near swoon. To see such an honourable act after witnessing him put the realms warriors to shame all morning near stops your heart.

His hair is stuck to his face with sweat, his face flushed with the effort of the fight. His chest, you imagine, is heaving under his plate. Mentally, you imagine that paired with his half tied shirt from the night before, and are forced to pull out your fan to cool your face.

Your lady in waiting, Lady Stephanie Brown, leans down to whisper in your ear over your shoulder. “Are you quite well, M’lady?”

“Hm? Ah. Yes. It is simply… the heat.”

“But of course.” She replies, in a tone that from anyone who wasn’t a dear, dear, friend, would have you asking if they were daring to imply your dishonesty.

“You there!” She calls to a servant “fetch the princesses parasol!”

Then, turning back to you, she whispers once more “The heat?”

She echos playfully. You swat her arm.

“Hush.” You chide, and in response she wiggles her eyebrows.

You watch Jason leaving the arena, watch him splash a ladle of water over his head from a nearby barrel, and doff his gauntlets to take from an adjudicator a plush pillow, on which rests the crown of roses.

You smooth your skirt and carefully arrange yourself to appear adequately surprised when he approaches. Certainly you knew that as much as your heart was his, that crown was yours - but it would not do well to be too obviously aware of his affections, nor display your own.

Sure enough, you watch as he approaches, bowing deeply to your Father, your Mother, your younger brother, and finally, you.

Jason lifts out of his bow, meeting her eyes and trying not to appear as nervous as he felt.

He knew, of course she would not deny him.

It was testament to her charity that she indulged his annual request, similar to giving alms. A single moment where he could pretend he stood a chance at being anything more than her guard dog.

He knows that should you not wish to allow him this, you would not have given him a favour. Still, his hands, hands that have ended countless lives, calloused and rough from a life of hard, violent labour in her fathers name, but for her sake, shake slightly as he takes the crown in hand.

“Your royal highness.” He holds the crown out, and she bows her head obligingly.

Jason places the roses among her locks, trying not to linger on the sensation of her hair under his fingers. She looks up at him, her eyes wide and so filled with…

Love. His soul whispers. Wishful thinking, he knows. Affection, perhaps. Fondness, even. But it would be prideful to the point of insanity to think she loved him. Certainly she looked at him as if she did… but it could not be. Surely.

He steps back, taking her in the sight of her in his crown, knowing that for a few minutes that evening, he would get to hold her in his arms.

The dress you’d laid out on the chaise for the ball tonight lays forgotten. Not Jason’s red - it would be too overt to wear such a colour twice in such swift succession. So, something close, but something that inspired innocence and femininity. You had risked much in sneaking away from the palace to his tent, much more in wearing his colours. Tonight, you must be the picture of what your father wished of you. Mindful, Demure, even.

You pace the length of your rooms as the sun sets, running a hand down your face in distress.

“And you are quite certain?” You ask, turning to Stephanie, who stands beside the gold coated four poster bed you’ve slept in since childhood.

“Do you think I would tell you this if I had doubts?” She counters, shaking her head. “My source is good. Your father has been made a… rather generous offer by the Earl Sionis in exchange for your hand. A significant portion of fertile farming land.”

You nod. You had always known it would be your fate to form a political alliance, since the birth of your brother had taken the kingdom from your grasp. You were not even particularly opposed. Many such marriages were tolerable, and realistically once your husband had his son, you would only need to see him on formal occasions, and enjoy a life free of strife and hard labour.

But Earl Sionis? You had heard nothing credible of course, at least to the courts. Only rumours. Only the claims of his survivors, few as they were. Chief amongst them, in your mind, being Stephanie. You knew not exactly what he had done. But mention of his name filled your closest friend with fear and that was enough for you to think the lowest of him despite being unintroduced.

Still, you understood at least the political mechanics of how the match came to be. In the divying of the spoils of Arkham the Sionis line had been richly rewarded. Rewards that may well have been due to Captain Todd-Wayne, had he not been thought dead. Between the peasants, lands, and spoils he had taken, the Earl would have resources enough to make your father amenable to the match.

You sigh, your shoulders falling in defeat, in helplessness. You feel Stephanie move closer, and her arms wrapping you up in a hug. “I’m so, so, sorry.”

She whispers in your ear as you allow yourself to rest your head on her shoulder, and take a deep, shaken breath to fight tears. It would not do well to be seen to have been crying, especially if you could not explain how you had come to know of your inevitable engagement. You take a hankie from your pocket and dab at your eyes.

“Fret not. I… I will be safe while my father lives. He will not risk the Kings ire. I have till his death to endear myself to him.” Your lie tastes of ash on your tongue. But Stephanie seems cautiously comforted by your words. You were, after all, a talented liar. You may well have been a talented mistress of whispers in another life.

This is not that life though, and rather than a mistress of whispers, you are a princess. A helpless, beautiful flower blown by the winds of fate. You are not a talented spy. You are property of the realm. Privileged and pampered property, though property all the same.

You take another, deeper breath and withdraw from Stephanie’s arms. “Well. I have a ball to prepare for and I daren’t be late. I presume the Earl is in attendance this eve?”

“He is.” she confirms, as you ring a bell to summon your handmaidens to help you dress.

“Well then, we must make an impression.”

You did wish to dazzle, of course, but not your potential husband. If this was your last chance to dance publicly with Captain Todd-Wayne? You intended to look your very best.

Jason was not a scared child. He was a seasoned warrior. He was not skulking. He was simply scouting the ballroom's perimeter. The rooms' grandeur, while beautiful, lead to many nooks and crannies for an assassin to take refuge in. He was most certainly not hiding from his adoptive father.

Take for instance the pillar he stood behind. 12 of them lined the walls of the ballroom, made of marble and polished till they shone. Anyone could be using them as cover. The polished tiles with their elaborate design and the way they made voices and footsteps echo and carry to create the most lively atmosphere could conceal whispered threats in their manufactured noise.

Technically he had the evening off. Though when it came to her safety, he refused to let the matter fall into another’s hands. Especially after West’s embarrassment last night, letting her escape. Honestly, she had never tried to flee his company, and couldn’t understand why his brothers in arms struggled so much in containing her.

She was a menace, more often than not. Take last night. He was a man of honour, or at least he would always portray himself as one in the presence of a lady. Perhaps a little less than honourable was that he had given the minstrials a heavy coinpurse to ensure the song that opened the ball was a long one. No harm was caused by his deception, but he felt a treacherous liar all the same.

He reluctantly steps out from behind the pillar, before anyone could dare to accuse him of anything so childish as avoiding the Duke. Besides, the royal family would soon be announced. Traditionally, she would enter with them, but as the crown of roses was hers, she would enter after, as tradition dictated.

Sure enough, The King, Queen, and the young Prince enter, and as he often does, Jason’s eyes rake the crowd, looking for any sign of an unordinary reaction from the gathered peerage. True he bore the King no particular fondness, but a threat to her family was a threat to her.

Jason observes the Earl, Roman Sionis, who uplifts his glass to the King in a smug gesture. It … was no crime. Nothing he did in public was. Nevertheless, it set his bones on edge. He didn’t care for the look in the Earl’s eyes. Then again, something about Roman Sionins had filled him, since his return, with great unease. Nothing the man had done seemed to earn this, beyond the many rumours… what Jason felt was more visceral. But a feeling alone is hardly grounds for an accusation if he did not have a crime.

But then, with an eruption of trumpets, your name is announced. Like a doomed sailor, Jason turns to her. She is his gravity. She is … his everything. She looks radiant. Her dress is a soft pink, like a sunrise, with white underskirts that shimmer ever so slightly as if made of woven starlight. She has worn the rose crown, and jewels fine enough to likely feed half the country for a week.

He moves towards her, A moth to a flame, he cannot look away as he extends a hand. She takes it, and Jason kisses the back of her hand, momentarily despising whichever handmaiden had put her gloves on this eve. “My lady.”

He whispers against the fabric of the glove. He rarely said it. Only when he forgot himself.

She smiles at him, and Jason … can’t help but to notice it doesn’t seem sincere. Well. Her performance of affection had been impressive thus far - he could hardly fault her if her facade wavered.

The nobility move back, clearing the dance floor as Jason leads her to its centre. He places a hand on his waist, the other behind his back. She places a hand on his right epaulette. She stands a slight distance from him, and Jason ignores the desire to pull her closer, flush against his starched black military uniform with it’s red sash and the array of medals pinned to his chest.

Jason guides you by your waist in a series of slow, sweeping circles, before taking your hand and spinning you, first away and then close. You have to stop yourself from colliding with him as you are pulled back by placing a hand on his chest. You feel him tense, which, unlike plate might, allows you to feel the raw strength he possesses. You breathe deeply. Now is not the time for depraved thoughts.

“You fought well today.” You whisper to him he takes your hand from his chest with the one that had been behind his back, lacing your fingers together as you move into a more traditional waltz around the room.

He shakes his head in self deprecation “I was… motivated, my lady.”

You try to fight your smile and your sorrow, which work in a strange dance of their own.

“I am only sorry that this shall be our last.”

Because it would be. While Captain Todd-Wayne was of high enough rank and respectable enough standing he could petition a space on your dance card at many a ball, he did not. Would not. For reasons unknown to you, despite your brazen affection for him, and his for you, you had danced only those four Fata Morganas. And now that was all there would be.

“What?” He asks, his voice pitching higher than you’d previously heard it. It was a risk to tell him, but you trusted in his ability to be discreet. He deserved to know, you figured, that this was in many ways goodbye.

“I suspect myself soon to be wed.” You admit, fighting to keep your voice appropriately light. You needn’t concern him with the worst of the news yet, needn’t ruin the night utterly. You feel his grip on you tighten, and see his expression become mournful.

“Well.” He says, his voice tight and forced.

“I suppose it was a day always on the horizon, Congratulations my- Your Royal Highness.”

You hear the music end, but can’t quite bring yourself to step away from him. Can’t look away from his eyes, the bluest, most beautiful in all the land, you were sure. Neither of you move as you look at each other, as you squeeze his hand back, and fight the desire to tell him you love him before the chance is lost to you forever.

You hesitate too long. Perhaps you will always regret it.

An imposing, stately man approaches. You have never met him, of course, but you know him at once. From his suit so fine it borders on the garish, to the smug and self confident smile on his face. Earl Sionis bows to you, seeming to ignore the Captain entirely.

He speaks your name in a manner far too familiar. He smiles, and speaks with the charm of a cat toying with a half dead mouse. “My Lady, your beauty was not exaggerated in the tales that reached me. Might I have the honour of your hand… For the next dance?”

The deliberate pause is not lost on you, though you pretend it is. He is goading his perceived rival, you figure.

A ridiculous notion. There is no rivalry. Captain Todd-Wayne… Jason, would win the contest for your heart with laughable ease.

But you are petals in the whirlwind of fate, and so you smile, and say you’d be delighted. You do not look back at Jason… Captain Todd-Wayne. It would surely kill you.

[buzzbuzzlittlebees]

in s1e8 when merlin helps arthur and morgana break little mordred out of the dungeons, the dragon has already told merlin to let the boy die, and we can see his hesitation, but when arthur asks him to help merlin agrees because his love for arthur is greater than his fears

that’s a love story if you ask me

[saintverse]

i genuinely can't decide what's funnier

[thesorcerersshadow]

“you have to show everyone that you were right and they were wrong.”

i’m so fascinated by what gwen says here because there are ways in which it feels almost antithetical to a more surface level reading of her character (that does, at times, feel like the one the show wants us to engage with.) she doesn’t say that exposing valiant is the Right Thing To Do or appeal to a sense of honor or justice in the broader sense, even though i’m sure she does think that and believe those values apply here.

what she says here is… so self-interested, on merlin’s behalf. she believes him pretty implicitly (she asks once if he’s telling the truth, he says yes, she doesn’t question it) and her main reaction is “you have to do something to prove you were right.”

and i think part of that comes from just, like, really liking merlin right away / seeing the good of humanity in him (something i will maintain forever is mutually a big part of what they see in each other) and being offended on his behalf, feeling that he’s been Wronged. so like, justice is at play in her mind here, but it’s on a far more personal, intimate level than just being about Doing What’s Right.

and i also don’t think it’s a reach to say gwen might be doing some projection here. it might not have been on the same level/with the same stakes, but how many times do you think gwen had to bite her tongue when she knew she was right about something? morgana is kind to her as an employer at this point—far kinder than many nobles would be to their servants. but there is still and uneven balance to their dynamic, and even if morgana is willing to hear her out about certain things, in front of other nobles, in front of court, in front of uther—gwen knows her word doesn’t count for much, either.

[thedaselcor]

Morgana and Merlin both stared, absolutely astounded when breakfast was done and Arthur brought all the dishes away without being prompted. Gwen had gone with him, but was sent back only a minute later.

“He just needed to know where the soap was,” she explained, though she was as astounded as the rest of them. “Told me we needed to start on flower crowns,” she added, as if she thought Arthur had said it to explain things, but that she didn’t understand how it explained anything anymore than the others did. Merlin couldn’t fight the crimson blush that invaded his cheeks when Gwen shot him an ‘I told you so’ expression. When he first tried to talk, it came out with a squeak, “I can--” he coughed to try to stabilize his voice and try again. “I can show you how to braid the flower crowns right into your hair, if you like!”

[twistedshipper]

Now, the anger's gone, It leaves behind a pain, again. Where did we go wrong?

Almost Seems (Too Late to Turn), Clannad | for @the-king-and-the-druidess 🍀