#p emrys

[justaz]

uther has recently been putting more and more pressure and responsibilities on arthur as crown prince of camelot. he’s been dragged into countless meetings, forced to sit by his father during trials, princess after princess has been shoved into his arms in hopes of marriage and arthur is tired. he’s exhausted. he’s been stretched so thin he doesn’t even bother to engage in merlin’s attempts at banter. merlin is concerned and worried and wants to whisk arthur away on a hunt or some other quest to just get him out of camelot to recuperate. arthur is cracking under the stress his father is putting him under but he doesn’t show it bc he is the Perfect Prince. until he catches merlin using magic and he can hear his father ordering him to kill merlin in his mind but he’s certain that choice would actually crush him. if killing merlin, his best friend, is what it means to be prince, he doesn’t want it. he ignores the enraged voice of his father echoing within his mind and grabs merlin’s hand and they flee camelot together to live peacefully on a farm far, far away

[kateis-cakeis]

'It's very swordy' Merlin vs 'It will do my bidding' Merlin

[yourfavecharacterisqueer]

I LOVE YOU!!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH AAAAAA

can someone PLEASE draw merlin and arthur with the barbie mugshot cards (merlin as barbie, arthur as ken), except it’s arthur in his armour and merlin in modern clothes?

[intomusings]

ೀ ﹒﹒  favorite   names   compilation    !

ur   fav   musings   girly   again   here   with   the   first   of   my   christmas   goodies   .   my   favorite   thing   to   do   is   these   name   compilations   so   i   decided   to   create   another   masterlist   of   my   absolute   favorite   ones   (   some   old   ,   mostly   new   )   anyways   all   i   ask   is   that   if   u   found   this   useful   ,   u   like   or   reblog   to   show   ur   support   .   i   hope   everyone   is   enjoying   the   holiday   season   ♡

- a : abella, ardella, ares, aire, arden, ayla, arie, alder, august, aymes, atlas, alina, alora, aryn.

- b : beau, babette, belle, blake, briar, bronte, banks, boston, bishop.

- c : cassiel, clara, celeste, camden, chandler, collins, clay, cartier, chanel, cosima.

- d : dove, dream, danica, delaney, drue, denver, dacey, delcy, darcy, dahlia.

- e : elodie, emory, emrys, elio, elowynne, emerson, evie, edie, estoria, esme, effy, evans.

- f : flora, faye, fallon, ford, forbes, finnick.

- g : gaia, geles, greer, gensen.

- h : hera, hudson, hampton, heath, harlowe.

- i : isla, inara, ilia.

- j : juniper, josefine, jane, jovie, joey.

- k : kiersten, kairo, kaia, kian, kouvr, keanu.

- l : lysander, lanie, lorena, lawson, lux, ludo, lourdes.

- m : marla, marigold, maren, maeve, marlowe, miller, monet.

- n : neah, north, nola, nell, noel, nariah, niamh, nami.

- o : ozzy, orion.

- p : presley, posy, pearl, porter, pacey, paxon.

- r : reed, ruelle, raya, romey, ryker, rhode, reign, rafe, rohan, raiden, remi, rion, rhiannon, reece, river, raine, rumer, reem, rhys.

- s : selah, soraya, sarifya, savion, sloane, sol, soren, scout, saint, striker, serafina, sabina, sutter.

- t : teal, twila, tristan, tobie, tripp, teague, tate.

- v : vienna, vega, vera, vincenzo.

- w : wren, winter, winona, winnie, wilder, weston.

- x : xaverie, xylah, xiomara, xander.

- y : yves, yara.

- z : zephyr.

[platinumshawnn]

Bound by Blood and Fire | Benjicot Blackwood — pt viii

Synopsis: Serra and Benjicot's newly-wed bliss is interrupted by news from the Battle of Burning Mill, leaving Raventree in a state of grief amidst changes. Serra attempts to comfort Benjicot and better understand him in the early days of marriage.

Content warnings: MDNI 18+ — adult language, mentions of blood, violence, and war; era related sexism and gender based harassment/discrimination, sexual content (smut — I.e. female oral/cunnnilingus, implied p/v intercourse), mild depictions of family based violence, implied suicide ideation, mention of major character death.

masterlist | audio playlist | backwards — 7 | forwards — 9

A/N: hi this ain’t my best work but we’re here — sorry to disappear and have no updates for scheduling, I have returned to university as of this week and in that same time, had my wisdom teeth removed so am recovering/getting settled in so editing may be worse than usual

Word count: 8.4K

His ribs pressed against hers as the sun cast in through the window, his eyes closed and lashes fluttering against his cheeks as she lay naked beneath him; waist between her thighs. The bed sheets had been since replaced after the night’s endeavours, where the white ones had not been seen since the feast, grateful when they had returned to find the red silk ones that now hung low around her husband’s hips and bunched underneath him to provide her with some coverage as he slept — his mouth partially ajar and his cheeks pinkened with warmth; Serra didn’t have it within her to wake him from the peaceful slumber as his head rested against her bare chest, instead taking the opportunity to observe his youthful features, free of any of the daily stressors that often exasperated the frown lines between his brows and creased around his mouth. His hair had grown out in the past weeks, nearly in his eyes now as she brushed it back from her forehead with the tips of her fingers — she found he radiated a warmth that protected her from the cool nip of the morning as his body easily covered hers.

She had woken to the sun on her face hours prior, unable to sleep as the sound of horses whinnying kept her up most of the night after the tense events of the night’s feast; but Benjicot…he found sleep like it did not require even an ounce of thought, and kept it like a child did their childhood toys, unmoving and dreaming even after sleep had long-since abandoned her. She found peace and enjoyment in just watching him, however, unable to hold a grudge for the lack of sleep she had achieved — it seemed the only comforting thing in the night.

Once again, she had been haunted by dreams of her mother, longing for her to be present and guide her through what marriage had in store for her, and offering her wisdom on the quarrels of men that lingered; tense in the air even after the group had dispersed, Emrys skulking off with Henry in tow, pleading for him to come back -- she had seen the glare on Kermit’s face, rolling his eyes as he brushed past her and muttered a comment of, “Do you still defend him?”

The feast was tense and uncomfortable, catching pitiful stares as she wandered around the room, a hushed whisper following her with every step — even as the aftershocks of the confrontation had subsided, she was still followed by the reminder that they had yet to forgive the claims against her husband’s role in the death of Rodrik Bracken and his temper that never seemed to know peace; constantly simmering beneath the surface. A trait that was not comforting, to say the least, while his father was away on the frontlines of a battle, causing tension that was only further exasperated by the war for the Iron Throne. A boy who was also yet to be forgiven for the possibility that he — a nobleman who was to be lord of Raventree — fathered a bastard before he’d even had a chance to break free from the confines of their doubts. She’d heard a whisper the night prior, muttering about the disgrace their union brought, averting eyes of Lord Robbard as he watched her move past him and towards the doors where Benjicot never seemed to leave. She had heard the reply that Benjicot had been only a boy who followed the path of his grandfather before him, having an uncle who was a bastard too. She was miserable that her wedding had been dampened by the clouds that lingered over the room of men and women who seemed to sober up following the news of Samwell’s whereabouts.

Benjicot was silent after that, tense with his jaw clenched as he hung near the wall; she was unable to find it in herself to even fight to convince him otherwise, as she was drained and exhausted after the long day it had turned out to be — she always knew that her wedding would be a long, exhausting feat but she had never considered the amount of fighting that had entailed, her joints sore from holding all that tension inside of her for hours on end. Willem continued to circle the room, and every so often, she felt his eyes on them; fixedly watching Benjicot in particular who deliberately made it his night’s mission to avoid his uncle’s eyes as he visibly swallowed and kept that same blank, emotionless look for the remainder of the evening and stared off out the windows. He hardly argued when she insisted they retire for the night, only giving her a quiet grunt as she took his hand, met by her father’s announcement as he and their guests bid them a final congratulations as a series of blessings was offered -- Serra had never felt so many hands on her shoulders as they exited the hall and ascended the stairs back towards their shared room where they had only left some short time earlier.

She had practically collapsed into bed the minute they closed the doors, his heavy footsteps behind her and lingering by the door. It was only then did she witness that tension melt away, his expression softening as he touched her face, allowing her to help him strip down to his underclothes and ready himself for bed; his eyes watching her every move as he sat at the foot of their bed, whilst she rushed around the room, taking a cloth to his face and wiping the sweat from his brow. It then, too, had been by her lead as she brought his hands back on her body, eager to feel his skin on hers once more.

The only singular thought that had not been consumed by the memory of his distraught eyes at the news regarding his father and the dreams of her mother was the embarrassment she felt when she had woken; her body sore from the remembrance of him between her thighs, her body moulded to fit his perfectly as the soft sighs of pleasure echoed throughout the room and down the halls well into the night — the perfect distraction from the feast’s events and the growing remorse in her chest and resentment that gnawed that her. She envied her lord husband who was oblivious to knowing such shame, as he laid against her, an arm finding itself around her in his sleep and clinging to her.

Her thoughts were disturbed by the low groan that rumbled from his chest, the sound vibrating against her collarbone as her fingers carded through the roots of his hair, “How long have you been awake?” He grumbled.

“Not too long,” She lied, her thumb brushing his forehead.

His head lifted, turning to look up at her through squinted, tired eyes that were only half-open, “You’re a terrible liar, wife,” He softly teased, voice thick with exhaustion and gruff as he spoke, “Did you sleep at all?”

She knew there was no sense in trying to lie again — he had seen right through her and hadn’t even hesitated to call her bluff as he slowly moved to sit up on an elbow that was planted against the mattress by her waist, “I did— only a few hours,” Serra confessed.

He hummed, visibly discomforted by the fact as his hand stretched up to brush along her arm, “What kept you awake?”

The urge to lie once again arose, heavy in her chest with a relentless sense of anxiety as she contemplated her answer, “It’s just not been easy to find sleep lately,” she admitted, his chin propped against her chest as he looked up at her, “Do you think…your parents cared for each other?” She asked suddenly, her eyes narrowing as she slowly enunciated each word.

His mouth twitched, a frown etching itself into her brows — she had to fight back the urge to massage the lines from his forehead with her thumb and smooth it away, “In what way?”

She felt it seemed a straightforward question, “As husband and wife, did you ever think they cared for each other?”

Benjicot’s mouth opened, letting out a sigh after he hesitated for words, “I suppose in some ways they did, yes,” he answered, his hand lifting from her arm to brush back the hair from her face as a strand had fallen into her eyes, “why do you ask?”

“I have been thinking about my mother lately,” she admitted, pausing — his features softened at the words, “I realise we have never talked much about yours. I remember your father as a child and what he was like, but I’ve come to the conclusion I don’t remember your mother. I don’t remember what it was like to see them together.”

“They never spent much time together,” he quickly pointed out.

Her eyebrows furrowed, “didn’t they?”

“They hadn’t since I was young,” he said, “not since I was seven.”

“How do you know they cared for each other then?”

He moved to prop himself up on his elbow, the joint pressed above her hip as his head rested against his palm, “I’m not sure, a feeling I’ve had I suppose,” Benjicot explained, “She pulled away after my brother died in the cradle, my father tried hard to pull her out of her grief…but I think it was too much for her. I remember she felt…things much greater than anyone could ever understand, he used to get angry with me because he said I took after her as a boy in that way, and boys were not supposed to be so soft. He sat by her door for weeks though, despite that he couldn’t understand.”

Her hand rested on his shoulder, fingers brushing over the bare skin as he spoke, “When we lost her, he sat there for days. He wouldn’t let them touch her belongings or take anything away— still to this day, he hasn’t let them touch her room,” he rambled, “I think the only time I ever saw her relax or snap out of it was whenever he came by to visit. They didn’t do much talking, I think they were just content being near each other some days…I was angry with her for a long time, for pulling away and never quite being like your mother— yours loved you so openly, I remember she was willing to fight so fiercely for her children if she’d had to, all to protect you.”

“And now?”

He inhaled sharply, sighing, “I’ve forgiven her, I think. She did as best she could manage,” he said, his shoulder shrugging, “You remind me of her in some ways. From what I remember her for at least, which scares me at times.”

“What do you mean?” She asked.

“Your ability to feel things much greater than the rest. You are nurturing and kind,” He said, his head turning to allow his mouth to press a kiss to her shoulder, “your ability to be kind to a man like me.”

She reached out, her hand tracing the outline of his face, fingers brushing his hair from his brow for a moment and delicately exploring the shape of his high cheekbones; her thumb skimmed over the skin, a shy smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, “It’s not always as hard as you think.”

Benjicot snorted, “Always?”

“Some days you’re insufferable,” She replied, her hand dropping to grab his shoulder and encouraging him up to her face. The sheets rustled with the move, his chest landing over hers and his face coming to hers with a grin. Her hand found the planes of his back, wrapping underneath his arm and coming around his shoulder as her thighs dropped to accommodate his waist, welcoming him with open arms.

Serra’s fingers continued to trace Benjicot’s jaw, her touch light yet purposeful. She watched him closely, sensing the weight of his memories and his carefully chosen words. There was a softness in his gaze, one that surprised her, as if he had unlocked a piece of himself that he rarely let surface — a glimmer of who he once was as a boy.

“Does it scare you?” Serra asked, her voice barely above a whisper, “That I remind you of her?”

Benjicot’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, as though her question had struck a chord. “Sometimes,” he admitted, the honesty in his tone sending a shiver through her. “Because I watched her break. And I know… I wouldn’t know what to do if you ever felt that way.”

Serra’s brow furrowed as she absorbed his words, her heart aching for the boy he must have been—watching his mother disappear into grief. “I’m not your mother, Benjicot,” she said softly, brushing her lips against his temple. “I won’t leave you to bear the weight alone.”

His arms tightened around her as though he feared she might slip away at that very moment. “It’s not easy,” he confessed, his voice thick with emotion. “Sometimes I fear I don’t know how to… be the kind of husband you deserve.”

Serra let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, pressing her forehead against his. “You’re already more than enough,” she murmured, her thumb stroking along his cheek. “You listen. You care. That’s more than many could say about their husbands.”

Benjicot’s lips twitched into a faint smile, but the shadow of doubt still lingered in his eyes. “Do you think we’ll be different?” he asked, the question heavy with uncertainty. “From my parents?”

Serra tilted her head, considering his words carefully. “I think we already are,” she answered, her fingers running through his hair as she spoke. “We’re talking, aren’t we? We’re here, trying to understand one another, and that’s more than some ever do.”

He let out a soft chuckle, his forehead pressing against hers. “Maybe you’re right,” he said, though his tone held a quiet hope as if he wasn’t quite ready to believe it yet.

Serra’s hand found its way to his back, drawing gentle circles against his skin. “We don’t have to be perfect,” she said, her voice steady and reassuring. “We just have to try.”

Benjicot’s smile widened, his gaze softening as he looked down at her. “I’m lucky,” he said, his voice low and sincere, “to have you.”

Serra’s lips curved into a playful smile as she tugged him closer. “I suppose I’m lucky too.”

He laughed, the tension between them dissolving as he leaned in to capture her lips in a slow, tender kiss. The sheets rustled again as he shifted, his weight pressing her further into the bed, and for a moment, the world outside of them disappeared. Serra’s heart swelled as she felt the warmth of his skin against hers, her breath hitching as she then felt his right hand creep up along the length of her leg, his knuckles pressed to the inside of her knee and gliding up until he reached the apex of her thigh and stopping to rest there — the breath she took was shaky, her lips parting and finding the nape of his neck as he craned up and into her; his chest pressed against hers, “Ben…” She quietly muttered against his lips.

“I could stay here all day…” he replied, his free hand lifting to cradle her face against his palm, his other finally moving over her mound; his fingers dipping into her with an eagerness that shared a likeness to a bear drawn to honey that drew a soft gasp from her mouth, “just…like…this.”

Her head leaned back, pressing into the pillow behind her as his fingers sank into her, pressing up into her walls with slow meticulous in-and-out movements that orchestrated a slew of soft moans with such ease — Benjicot leaned forward, pulling the sheet down and away from her body until she was bare to him and him alone. His lips found the curve of her breast, pressing a soft kiss to the skin before lowering his head; ducking to bring his mouth over her nipple, his teeth dragging along the sensitive peak. Her chest instinctively pressed up into his kiss, mouth falling open with a low whine as she found hold by his hair, “Oh good Gods…” she cried out.

Her walls clenched around his fingers, warm and wet as her womb welcomed him, “We needn’t see anyone today,” he muttered, shifting down her body enough that his lips brushed her ribs. He once again yanked the sheet away from their bodies, further bunched low around his hips and leaving her exposed to the cool Spring air that trickled in through the windows that were left open. He spoke in between kisses to her belly, “could stay here in bed…performing our duty. Creating a babe to rule Raventree.”

“We…have other duties to attend to, m’lord,” She panted, a hand again finding the crown of his head and fisting the locks of hair between her fingers.

Benjicot’s mouth found her hip, using his shoulders to force her thighs apart for him as his hand continued its slow ministrations, “Oh, so formal,” he teased, “those duties will still be there later, the council can spare us a moment more.” His words were muffled by flesh, his voice a low timbre that sent a shiver up her spine as he looked up through thick, dark lashes.

“But breakfast…” she gasped, his fingers curling up into her, “the gift ceremony— you have meetings and…and— dear gods.”

“Sh, my love,” He said as his mouth turned up into a grin. He pressed a final kiss to her pelvis, his mouth then finally closing around her clit and lapping at her with such fervour she felt as though she was burning from within, pleasure surging through her veins; she felt her breath catch in her throat, letting out a high-pitched moan. She was quickly overwhelmed by her peak, her skin ablaze and clutching to the roots of his hair like life alone depended on it, her hips desperately grinding into his face as he coaxed her through it. Her body tensed above him, a tremor settling into every bone as her head pressed as far back as the mattress would allow clenching her thighs around his head.

“Ben,” she finally whined aloud.

—

Benjicot was never quite fond of the idea of marriage — he always imagined that when the day came that he did marry, he would be miserable and only do it solely for the sake of duty. He’d pictured it would be some round faced Perryn girl that he had never paid any mind to, avoiding her gaze during their wedding and throughout the feast, disgusted as he’d bedded her — he had long since settled that he probably would only bed her once or twice a month and hope for the best. Hope that she would be with child quickly as to not have to bear another moon of the tiring routine; hopeful that the old gods would spare him the mercy of a wife who was slow to come with child and put him through that experience time and time again — if the prospect of marriage and his wife-to-be was not going to be by his choice, he at least hoped they would spare him that at least. He’d experienced that once before when his older cousin had dragged him to a pleasure house in the Street of Silk as a boy of ten-and-six, citing that he’d come of age and as a man grown, there came a certain appetite for women — he’d been plunged into the room of a woman who feigned arousal and had done her best to put on a show for him, exaggerated moans and just too much touching him. He had been grateful for the entire experience to be done with, awkwardly dismissing her after he struggled to…be present and perform. There had been no missing Kermit’s snort when he compared her to having horse-like features, eager to return to Raventree and scrub himself raw. He swore he would never step foot in that place again after that.

He’d always pictured a version of marriage that was cold and distant, not something that was born out of love but rather obligation — and yet, surprisingly, he felt lighter that morning. He did not feel shame embracing the touch of his wife, and he didn’t feel the urge to avoid her eyes and feign love for her out of said obligation — it had taken every ounce of willpower to tear himself from their chambers that morning; wanting nothing more than to delay his other duties for another day. He felt at ease with her, and like maybe he could be absolved of any sins he wore like marred scars on his skin; she was a breath of fresh air that Benjicot had not known in a long time, especially in his home.

He had only left after another hour at her insistence, her handmaiden waiting outside the door to enter and draw her a bath, ready to start anew as the morrow stretched into midday. She had practically dragged him out of bed, her robe scarcely clinging her her shoulders as he protested, her face flushed and having to flick back the hair from her eyes as she bid him a final goodbye for the time being with a kiss to his cheek, insisting he go bathe as well, “I will see you tonight.”

It was a relief to hear, something to look forward to. He would see her tonight and she would only be on the other side of the hall, just at an arm's length where he could find her at any moment should he need to — he had sighed and agreed, cupping her face to give her one last kiss before he retreated towards his private rooms. He would die before he admitted that she was right in saying that a bath and some supper would do him wonders — he felt better prepared to face the council that afternoon, at ease as he took the head of the table, all eyes on him the minute he had stepped into the room.

If anything, Benjicot radiated a newfound confidence as he sat down, slowly addressing each member who took a seat after him.

After the pleasantries and greetings, some further congratulations on his marriage, the meeting had been tense and brief, “Have we heard anything from the Red Fork this morning?” Benjicot asked.

There was a pensive silence, Benjicot’s uncle Willem speaking up when the silence stretched too long, “No, we’ve yet to hear anything from your father or Alysanne. They arrived before midnight, according to a messenger.”

Benjicot nodded, though his thoughts momentarily drifted back to the morning he'd shared with his wife. Her warmth lingered with him, even now, as he returned to the pressing matters at hand. The mention of his father and sister, absent from Raventree, only sharpened his focus. His duties as lord could not be delayed any longer, even if the idea of returning to her chambers tempted him far more than facing another day of conflict.

“They’ll send word soon,” Willem continued, noticing Benjicot’s silence. “I trust your father will have it handled.”

Benjicot nodded, though he wasn’t entirely convinced. The tension near the Red Fork had been escalating, and while his father was a seasoned hand at dealing with disputes, there was a sense that this time things might go too far. The Brackens were a thorn in their side, and with every passing day, it seemed more likely that words alone would not suffice to settle the rising disputes.

“We need to be ready,” Benjicot said, his voice steady as he addressed the rest of the council. “If we hear nothing by dusk, I’ll ride out myself.”

His uncle frowned but did not object, biting his tongue with a tense nod that was short and curt. Benjicot’s newfound confidence, paired with his sense of responsibility, was undeniable. It was clear he was no longer the young boy who had once sought to avoid such burdens. Something had changed, and the men around him could see it.

The meeting had spiralled into further updates from the west, an empty him of sound that Benjicot had only half-listened to as he absentmindedly found himself twirling his dagger; his fingers tracing over the intricate digit and blade as he nodded, offering very little to the conversation — there did not feel as though there was much to say. He had grown weary of the dry talk that was often followed by long silences, pausing and exchanging looks with the few lords who surrounded the table, growing restless quickly and dismissing them until the morning after three gruelling hours of staring back at their uncertain expressions.

He sheathed his blade as he stood, ensuring it was secure there as the room emptied — amidst the tense silence that followed the men out of the room, he had found the back of Kermit’s head, slotted between Oscar and Elmo as they trickled out behind the crowd; as angry as he was still, he could not find it in himself to hold that resentment against the boy he’d long since considered a brother.

—

“Do you mind if I join?” He asked, watching as Kermit tensed, freezing mid-swing on the training dummy in front of him.

The sword dropped, and turning to look back at him — he could see his shoulder slump, his jaw clenching as he fully turned to face him from his place in the centre of the training circle, “If that is what you wish, my lord.” He stiffly replied.

Benjicot nodded, blinking rapidly and approaching him, his sword held underneath his arm as he made work of shrugging off his cloak and dropping it into the grass at the edge of the dirt circle. He unsheathed his sword, “I take it you knew of my father’s intentions?”

“I can’t say I didn’t,” He curtly replied.

He slowly approached him again, Kermit’s body still radiating his annoyance as he stepped back, lifting his weapon again, “And you did not think to warn me?”

“It was not my place to, My Lord,” he said through gritted teeth. Silence befell them again.

“You’re still angry with me,” Benjicot said, his gaze going towards Kermit’s feet as circled him, averting his eyes away towards the treeline. He heard as he sighed, his sword dragging across the dirt for a moment.

“You’re not particularly the face I’d wish to see right now,” He admitted.

“Would you rather it be Serra’s?”

Kermit snorted and rolled his eyes, stopping on his right and looking down at the weapon in his hand, “No, she wouldn’t even step within this circle anyways. You know that.”

They quieted, the air filled with the soft sound of birds as dusk slowly approached.

“You know, I never really thought about it— how hard it would be to look you in the eye afterwards,” Kermit started to complain, squinting as the sun struck his eyes. His friend panted, shifting his stance and shuffling back a few steps, an inquisitive look on his face as he adjusted his grip around the hilt of his sword, “knowing you’ve bedded my sister and all. Bit weird, innit?” He finally explained, visibly uncomfortable, trying to make conversation the longer they paced in circles.

Kermit’s sword suddenly lunged forward, swinging towards Benjicot; quickly deflecting it with a clash and releasing a breathless laugh, “Surely you had to have considered it, it’s part of the martial duty,” He huffed. Kermit swung again, their blades meeting halfway and straining as he attempted to overpower his, “marriages and the marital act, it brings children -- heirs. You’re familiar with the marital act, aren’t you, Kermit?” He taunted, shoving his sword and him back suddenly.

He stumbled back a step, sword by his side as he heavily breathed, eyeing him, “I’m familiar with it. I considered that there might be heirs, that was partly the intention,” He said, voice laced with disgust, “but the thought of you—” he said, lunging at him again, his sword being swatted away by skilful hands, “—and my sister makes me sick.”

Benjicot twirled the weapon, swinging it at his side, a wild grin on his face, “Would you rather I bed you instead?” He goaded, taking a few slow steps to his right. “Though I’m sure your father might have some reservations about the idea.”

Kermit scoffed in disgust, letting out a sudden yelp when his friend lunged forward; quickly reacting in time to deflect his blade, his hands coming up to his shoulders to shove him back a step, “You’re fucking vile, you know that?” Kermit said, a laugh slipping from him as he caught himself from tumbling backwards.

“Oh come now, I only jest,” Benjicot said, stepping back to bounce on his toes as his eyes followed the Tully heir’s movements, “but don’t worry, I plan to make you a proud uncle sooner than not.”

Kermit charged forward, blade swinging up and just missing his chin, twisting his arm and bringing it down quickly -- the movement stunned Benjicot, tripping backwards over his foot and scarcely catching himself with a flail of his arms. He took the opportunity presented in front of him, kicking his foot to slide back and bringing the sword tip to his throat, just touching as his partner stared at him with a wide-eyed stare; mouth opening. Benjicot stuttered for a moment before he grinned, tongue pressing to the corner of his mouth as he panted for air, his chest heaving, “Is this what you have come for? To brag to me about bedding my sister?” Kermit asked between breaths, “Because for once, I find myself rather disinterested in the details of the women you bed.”

He dropped the sword suddenly, stepping back a few steps and allowing him to compose himself again as Benjicot wiped his blade against the fabric of his tunic, his arm holding it against his side with the move, “You owe me.”

His head lifted, confused as Kermit stared at him expectantly, “What?”

“You owe me,” Kermit repeated. His words suddenly clicked in, his mouth opening but shutting and deciding on silence, “As boys, if one bested the other, the winner was owed a favour— I need a favour of you.”

Benjicot eyed him, already suspecting the direction the conversation was going as he sheathed his sword against his side and nodded, “Alright. I’ll bait,” He said, “What is your favour?”

“The truth,” Kermit replied.

The training yards were silent as the two men stared at one another, Benjicot’s heart racing as he blinked a couple of times before he nodded again in response to his request, “I noticed, you know…” Kermit began to state, tone hinting he had yet to get to his question and would drag things out to make a point first — Benjicot had become familiar with the routine when he was procrastinating getting to the point.

He sighed, “Noticed what?”

He glanced down at his feet as his sword was dragged through the dirt, disturbing the rocks as it was moved with a grinding sound as the dirt was overturned, “You left every time we went on hunts,” He admitted, “I never thought anything of it at the time, I just assumed you were being stubborn and went hunting on your own after the rest had retired for the night. I noticed how close you always insisted on hunting towards the Brackens.”

Benjicot clenched his jaw, swallowing, “What is your question, Kermit?”

He looked up at him, blue eyes fixed on him as though he was trying to see right through him and dig out every secret Benjicot held in his body, “I know maybe you will never admit it out loud, I know you will never claim the babe as your own,” He said, his voice low, “but did you ever think to come to me about it? Ask me for help with your…predicament?”

“What help might you have offered?” He quickly replied.

His weight shifted from one foot to the other, “I’m not sure, I suppose— I could have helped you over the boundaries, pushed Amos and my father to agree to a union between the two of you, let you live the life you chose…” he explained. “I wouldn’t have pushed for Serra to marry so soon and could have allowed for you both to choose for love, rather than obligation.”

A pang of guilt washed over Benjicot at the thought of what could have been had things been different, picturing the face of the Bracken girl at the weirwood with him instead of Serra — to have even the inkling of yearning for a girl that was not his wife, a woman who had done nothing to wrong him and had been nothing but kind and sweet even when he did not make it an easy task. He felt guilt for picturing another woman when he could still feel her — his good and sweet wife — on his skin, taste her on his lips, her soft voice still clear as day in his ears as he looked away for a moment and looked up over the walls that enclosed Raventree, “You to wed Myrna, and Serra to Aeron—Rodrik alive, and you and I still like brothers. Maybe I could have prevented this whole mess had things worked out differently.”

He breathed a laugh, “I don’t think that would have done anything for the war.”

“No, but maybe it could have saved our houses all the unnecessary grief,” Kermit reasoned. “Did you ever think about it?”

His head tilted, thumb stretching to twirl a gold band around his fourth finger on his left hand that symbolized his marital bond to the very woman whose brother stood before him, “What?”

“Running away to be with her instead.”

He hesitated, “Once, yeah.”

It was not a confession he was proud of, but there had been a moment that last night that he considered what would have happened if he had not returned to Raventree the next day — if he had taken what little belongings he had on him and disappeared in the night with her, never to return or be heard of again. He wondered how angry his father would have been upon hearing the news — wondered how much of a head start they would have gotten before his father sent men searching for him, how long it would take before he gave up and accepted that Benjicot would never return. Would he discover the true reasoning behind his disappearance? Or would he assume he died somewhere in the woods? Would he hold a funeral in his name, without a body? He had almost found the courage that night to ask her to leave with him, but he knew despite her frustration towards her house and her father’s antics, she was forever loyal to her house and would never agree if she was to still possess any ounce of sanity and therefore, the idea of even suggesting it seemed risky. He cowered away that night.

“Would you still have her if you were given the chance?” Kermit suddenly asked.

Benjicot spluttered a laugh in his disbelief, “You’re not seriously asking me this…” He said, finding his friend’s unwavering expression — his smile dropped, “now of all times. Why are you asking me this?”

Kermit hesitated, the stoic expression breaking with a sigh as he looked up towards the sky where the sun shone bright with midday, “Because I’d like to offer you a favour in return.”

“And what, pray tell, might that be?” He asked, stepping towards him.

Kermit’s eyes followed him, hands tight around the hilt of his sword — he could have killed him, right then and there and not given it a single thought, he could do it — he cleared his throat, “I will give you the chance to leave,” he finally responded, the air around them thick with tension, “to be with your true love and to raise your child away from the confines of politics as you see fit, I will help you out of the gates and to Essos with enough supplies to last you long enough to get settled…”

“Kermit, you can’t be serious.”

“—Just leave my sister out of it, I ask that you not speak a word of this to her. She can’t know,” he continued to speak.

“What are you talking about?” Benjicot asked.

“I can send you a small allowance for the first year, to help with the child but after that, you are on your own,” Kermit finally said, out of breath as though he’d yet to take a breath, his eyes searching his face, “should that be what you want, but that is all I can do for you. That seems like a generous offer.”

Benjicot barked a bitter laugh, beginning to move again as he had grown restless with nerves the longer the conversation had continued — the longer he stood in place, the closer he came to losing his mind and lunging at him, his hand reaching towards the hilt of his sword again and drawing it suddenly, “Don’t be fucking mad, Kermit,” he spat, the taste of bile rising the back of his throat and threatening to coat the ground beneath him as he used his sleeve to wipe his brow, “You would ask me to abandon your sister because of some petty vendetta against me? Do you hate me that much?” He asked, his voice laced with hurt by the suggestion.

All those years of friendship, all those years of being playmates as boys felt like another lifetime as Kermit’s blank expression faced him, “I only mean to protect my sister.” He quietly explained.

“And if your sister is with child?” He asked, voice low as he rushed forward to him until they were practically nose-to-nose and heavy breathing with anger. There was no restraining himself — just as it had some days prior and landed them in this exact position; his temper flared, in his face and clutching his sword as Kermit only blinked, “You would have me abandon my flesh and blood, my house?”

“It would not be the first time,” Kermit calmly replied, though he caught the edge in his tone, “you forget, there are remedies for…undesirable pregnancies—”

Benjicot suddenly brought the weapon up, pressing it to his throat until it just bit into his skin, threatening to ooze blood while he forced his friend back a step, his teeth bared into a snarl as Kermit flinched, “You would do best to mind your fucking tongue!” He growled.

“I only act in the best interest of Serra and her future,” He replied, holding his stare and swallowing thickly; a trickle of sweat rolling down his left temple.

“By implying you’d have her kill my child?” He spat, the blade pressing further into his skin, “I could kill you, you know that? I could kill you right now—

“Benjicot.”

Alysanne’s voice was sharp and stunned as his head whipped around to look over his shoulder where she stood at the entrance to the training grounds, equally surprised to find her watching him with eyes that screamed horror — a look that was so foreign to her, he felt the urge to shrink away and hide in shame, faltering in his hold of the blade as he stuttered for a moment. She was dirtied from head-to-toe, still in riding gear that was marred by blood and dirt, the fabric of her pants torn at her right knee as she held her gloves by her side — her expression a haunted one as she stared in silence, “What are you two doing?”

Benjicot dropped his hand, carefully lowering the weapon and stepping away from his companion who quickly fixed the collar of his tunic by smoothing it out, “I…”

“We were just training,” Kermit quickly answered for them both, “we just got a bit carried away.”

His gaze anxiously looked over his shoulder to where Kermit stood, wiping his neck with the sleeve of his doublet, catching his eye for a moment, “Benjicot should also know better than to get carried away,” Alysanne said, a hint of warning to her words as she eyed her nephew. “Especially now of all times.”

The two men seemed to share a thought, moving in unison to bow their heads to her, “I did not realize you had returned, Aunt Alysanne.”

She scoffed a laugh, stepping down from the steps to approach the circle as she slapped her gloves against her leg; a slew of dust flying up from their fabric, “No, I suppose you were distracted, weren’t you?” She scolded. Her eyes turned to Kermit, observing the wound at his throat that still oozed, “Go to Maester Edric and have that seen to.”

Kermit stammered, “Oh…it’s nothing, it will be fine.”

“It was not a suggestion, Kermit,” She stated, looking again at her nephew who lowered his eyes, “I must speak with my nephew.”

“I…” Kermit began to say, stopping abruptly when Alysanne’s eyes drifted to him again. He bowed his head and cleared his throat, “Of course, my lady.”

The two kin were silent as Kermit uttered a quiet bid goodbye, brushing past them and heading back inside, dark eyes following his every step until he was out of sight — Benjicot could still feel his anger that simmered below the surface, right in his chest as he clenched his jaw and finally let out a scoff once he was out of earshot and looking up and away from his aunt who looked at him. How was he to face Serra later, knowing her brother had even suggested such a thing?

“Benjicot,” Alysanne said, drawing his attention to her.

Benjicot continued to avoid her gaze, grinding his teeth and clenching his sword, focused on slowing his heart that hammered against his ribs — he looked towards the trees, “Benjicot, look at me.”

He finally gave in, turning to Alysanne. "I need you here with me. I know whatever's happening with Kermit is important, but I need you to listen and be fully present with me," she said, her tone urgent as she nervously wrung her gloves in her hands, “are you here?”

He frowned, “Yes.”

She nodded, stepping closer and lowering her voice, “It may not be my place, but I must ask, how did the night go? Was it successful?”

“In what way?” He asked, letting out an uncomfortable laugh as she then reached out to grab his wrist, finding his hand with an incline of her head, “Nobody is dead, so I suppose it was…as best it could be. Though, you’d have known that had you had the decency to stay and witness it. Or at least forewarn me of your intentions.” He grumbled.

“Benjicot, please,” she sighed, her tone exasperated — she lifted her free hand to pinch the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes for a moment. When they opened, he felt there was a shift to her stare, tense and anxiety-ridden as she squeezed his hand, “The marriage— has it been consummated?” She boldly questioned.

His nose crinkled in displeasure, “Yes.”

“Successfully?”

“Successfully?” He echoed.

“Is Serra with child? Is there to be a new heir?” She asked, words coming quickly as she grew increasingly agitated. He had to bite back the urge to splutter a laugh, freezing as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, becoming visibly unsettled by her words.

“It’s…too early to confirm, but I’m confident in the likelihood there will be a new babe by the end of the year,” he slowly replied, “Why? Alysanne, what’s happened?”

She visibly hesitated, glancing towards the house as she sought the words — Benjicot could feel the air around them shift into something tense and uneasy as she sucked in a breath and sighed, looking down as she took his other hand in hers, “I feel it necessary to tell you myself, now before anyone else has the chance to get to you, it has to come from me,” she quietly said.

“Alysanne, what is going on?” He asked, his panic rising.

“It’s your father,” She said suddenly.

He felt the colour drain from his face as he stilled, staring at her with a blank expression, awaiting her next words, “Your father has been killed at the Battle of Burning Mill.”

Benjicot's world seemed to tilt. The silence that followed was suffocating. His heart pounded in his ears, yet his body felt numb, and disconnected. "No," he whispered, his mind rejecting the reality she had just spoken.

Tears welled up in Alysanne’s eyes as she watched him, her heart aching for him, knowing there were no words to ease the blow. “I’m so sorry, Ben,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He shook his head, stepping back, pulling his hand from hers. His thoughts spiralled—his father was gone. He’d never see him again, never hear his voice. It was too much. The pain surged in his chest, overwhelming and raw, “How?” He asked.

“Benjicot—

“How?” He snapped, his voice shaking with anger.

“Amos Bracken,” She finally replied after a brief pause, “who was also slain in battle by my own hand.” She added.

Benjicot swallowed thickly, nodding — he was not sure where to go and what to say, settling on shoving past her to collect his cloak from the ground despite her call of his name. He wanted to shrivel up and hide, like a child scared of thunder, but he knew there would be no hiding — it was only a matter of time before everyone was aware. He wanted a chance to change, wipe his face and find his wife — god, his wife — the only source of light despite the chaos. He clenched his jaw as he stalked through the hallways and towards his room, his gaze straight ahead as he attempted to brush past the great hall before anyone noticed his arrival, his nose being wiped off on the sleeve of his doublet.

It was there his gaze settled on the familiar back of his wife who was in conversation with her father, a hand of hers in his much like Alysanne had done to him just moments prior — the image made him want to be sick as he halted abruptly. She turned to look over her shoulder as he approached, following where her father’s gaze had shifted to focus on him, a pitiful expression on his face as he released her hand — Serra’s expression softened as she found his eyes, her mouth opening but being interrupted.

“Lord Benjicot,” Lord Perryn suddenly announced.

Benjicot fought the urge to growl in annoyance, flinching at the greeting and freezing. He sucked in a deep breath, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment to collect his thoughts and ground himself before he uttered something stupid, “It is with great sympathies…to hear of your father’s passing,” Lord Perryn stated.

His eyes opened, watching as Serra approached him and found rest against his side, his arm wrapping around her shoulders and shakily exhaling through his nose, “Thank you, Lord Perryn.” He grumbled.

“I would like to be among the first to once again declare my loyalties to your house, and in support of your claim to Raventree,” he said, slowly bowing his head, “House Perryn recognizes you as the true heir, despite our quarrels in the past. We would like to remind you that should you need anything, we will be among those willing to aid you in whatever way we can.”

“Aye,” Robbard Mooton reluctantly said after a brief pause, “House Mooton as well.”

Benjicot barely registered Lord Perryn's words. The weight of the day—his father's death, the responsibility of Raventree, and now the unexpected pledges of support—crashed down on him. He nodded numbly, tightening his grip on Serra as if she were the only anchor keeping him grounded.

"Your loyalty is appreciated," Benjicot muttered, his voice hoarse, struggling to find the right words. "I will remember this."

Serra pressed her cheek against his shoulder, her hand slipping into his as if sensing his turmoil. The warmth of her touch steadied him, though the storm within raged on. He could feel eyes on him—Perryn, Mooton, all the gathered lords—waiting for him to speak, to take command of his father’s legacy. But all he wanted was to escape this suffocating air, to retreat from the weight of expectation that seemed to grow heavier with each passing moment.

Instead, he straightened, meeting Lord Perryn’s gaze with as much composure as he could muster. "You honour my father’s memory with your words. Raventree thanks you, and I will ensure your loyalty is not forgotten."

Lord Perryn bowed his head once more, satisfied, though Benjicot could feel the subtle pressure behind the man’s gaze—there would be expectations now, alliances to be honoured, promises to be kept. Robbard Mooton gave a stiff nod, his reluctance still evident, but even he couldn't ignore the power shift.

The murmur of voices behind them began to swell, the lords discussing the future of the Blackwoods, already talking strategy and alliances. It felt like a faraway hum in Benjicot’s ears.

Serra pulled back slightly, her eyes searching his, “Ben,” she whispered, "we don’t have to stay here." Her voice, tender and filled with concern, was a balm to the overwhelming weight pressing on him. "We can go… take a moment."

He looked down at her, the soft kindness in her eyes soothing the jagged edge of his grief. For the first time since he’d heard the news, Benjicot felt something other than rage or sorrow. It was a quiet longing for a reprieve, even if just for a moment.

With a short nod, he turned toward the gathered lords. "If you'll excuse us," he said, his voice carrying a finality that left no room for objection.

Without waiting for a response, he gently guided Serra away, her presence beside him the only comfort in the chaos that had swallowed his world. As they moved further from the crowd, the voices behind them faded into the background, and Benjicot let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

They reached the edge of the courtyard, the cool evening air brushing against his skin, and Benjicot finally stopped. Serra turned to face him fully, her hand slipping into his again.

“I’m here,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath, but in that moment, it was all he needed.

He closed his eyes and let the grief finally settle. His father was gone, and the weight of his house now rested on his shoulders, but for now—for just a moment—he allowed himself to feel the solace of her presence, the promise of tomorrow yet to come.

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[thiamsalpha]

Wip Wednesday

tagged by @fruchtfliege thank you!

“Has Brett talked to them?”

Liam nodded at Theo’s question, “yep.” He popped the ‘p’ as he spoke, “but my ex is on the basketball team… they ended up in a big fight and the principal had to suspend them all.”

“Jesus,” Theo muttered. This kids lore was almost as crazy as my own. “Who’s your ex?”

“He’s not important,” Hayden said, slamming her book shut. “None of them are important. We protect each other and that’s what matters. Those pricks can cry about it for all I care.”

snippet from my deaf Liam fic, chapter one is finally done!

no pressure tags: @axxxx13 @ashyjingles @bererjs @blue-hair-and-angels @chasing-chimeras @dreadful-doctors @diaphanous-anchor @fuji09 @fanfics-writer @genetic-hellhound @lovelylittlegrim @mmoosen @nightshade-emrys @slimeyslimeyballsack @wolfboy88

[merlinmylove]

The final chapter is up!!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63826411/chapters/163670266

Thank you all for everything <3

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Merlin hated being kidnapped. It was truly the worst, especially at the hands of Agrvaiane, the slimiest and most pathetic person he’d ever had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting.

He’d been tied to the rock wall for two days at this point, arms crossed over his head in an uncomfortable position. His head was still hurting quite badly from where he’d been struck— probably by a rock — and his vision was a little off. But his hearing wasn’t.

From further into the cavern, he could hear Gaius’ weakened screams. 

Agravaine had informed him when he first woke that a Catha Priest was working on behalf of Morgana to extract information. Information that Gaius was reluctant to give, and wasn’t it just such a happy coincidence that he had found a sleeping Merlin in the woods? And surely, as Gaius' assistant, Merlin also knew something about the sorcerer Emrys.

Emrys. They wanted Emrys. They needed to know who he was and where he was. Were his ribs not cracked, Merlin would’ve laughed at the irony. Aside from the broken bones and bruised, bleeding skin, Merlin was also in pain from the cold iron chains.

Of course, Agravaine had no idea he had captured a warlock in these chains; he had simply picked up the discarded ones Morgana had brought with her. 

Merlin was trapped both inside a cave and inside himself. He could not escape, nor could he rescue Gaius. Gagged by cloth, he had been forced to sit and listen in on his father-figure screaming in pain, while he could do nothing to help. 

Gaius had been tortured for days, even before Merlin arrived. Dark magic and human hands had caused insufferable pain to both of them. The Catha Priest had worked tirelessly on Gaius, while Agravaine occasionally helped out when he was not busy abusing Merlin. 

Bruised and cracked ribs, small cuts into his skin, aching muscles, and a thundering headache kept Merlin awake. The stench of blood and dirt didn’t help, either.

Merlin prayed to the goddess that Gaius would break soon. He hoped that the older man would tell their capturers what he knew, if only so he could die quicker. A quick death would be preferable to this agony, and Merlin didn’t want Gaius to protect him.

While Merlin could save himself, he knew could no longer save his uncle, and so, praying for a swift death was his only hope. 

Merlin tried to cover his ears with his arms as he heard another scream of terror. Smoke from a fire filled his lungs, and he started coughing, blinking his eyes in pain. He tried again to reach for his magic, and while it sizzles under his skin and seemed to be just as desperate as him to escape, he cannot break the chains. Not yet, anyway. Not while his head is still spinning. 

A hard crack was heard and Merlin whips his head in the direction where it came from. The cave was filled with a loud silence, and all Merlin could hear was his heartbeat. He knew in that moment that Gaius had finally reached his end. He had either told them what they needed to know or he had perished from the pain.

Four days after Merlin left Camelot in search of his uncle he had died, and there was nothing Merlin could do. Regardless of how it had happened, his mother's brother's death was on his hands. Still, Merlin had never felt more relief than grief than he had in this moment.

—

Elyan and Gwaine had rushed ahead on horseback to alert the new court physician of the incoming patient. 

When Arthur and his knights finally made their way up the stairs into the castle early in the morning, Gwen was standing there waiting. “I’ve cleared out the guest rooms in my corridors. She will be more comfortable there, and not in a busy workspace.”

Arthur, Lancelot, Leon, and Percival carried Hunith up the stairs and towards her new rooms. She stirred a little in her sleep, but she seemed to be at ease. They moved her onto the bed, and Gwen and Farris began tending to her. 

“Get some rest, Arthur. You need it.” Someone said, but he couldn’t make out who. Wordlessly, he made his way back to his rooms, throwing bits of his armor off as he walked. Behind him, Gwaine followed him like a shadow.

Once safe inside his chambers, Arthur’s knees buckled under him, and he fell onto the carpet in front of the fireplace, where Merlin always sits. They would enjoy their quiet evenings together, Arthur in his chair nursing a glass of wine, while Merlin sits cross legged on the floor mending his shirts, or polishing his armor. 

Hours of his life had been spent listening to Merlin talk nonsense and pretending he wasn’t interested. But he was. He always listened to every word Merlin said because his voice was a solace he craved. The way Merlin spoke about his days and how he spun stories had always fascinated the young prince, and even now, as a king. 

Arthur clenched the worn carpet threads between his fingers. He never knew his soul could long for someone quite like this. He never knew his heart could hurt quite like this. 

The only times he’d ever truly suffered heartache was from seeing his mother's ghost, when his father died, and when he ended his courtship with Gwen. 

Because that’s what this was. 

Heartache.

Fuck. He was in love with Merlin. Oh, sweet gods above, how had he never realised it before? But now that his mind was caught up with how his heart was feeling, he could finally see sense. In Merlin’s bright smile, his stupid ears, and the way his fringe falls into his blue eyes — in him, Arthur sees his future and his happiness. His home.

“I love him,” Arthur choked on his tears as he confessed to Gwaine, who had sat down beside him. The knight rubbed his shoulder in a soothing gesture.

“I couldn’t even admit publicly that we were friends, but I love him!” Arthur cried. Had his father seen him now, he would’ve slapped some sense and decency into him. It was undignified and beneath a Pendragon to cry openly. Especially over a servant, and a male one at that.

But Arthur found he didn’t care what Uther or Agravaine had to say anymore. He had already lost one love due to them, he was not about to lose another. Merlin was his best friend, his faithful companion, and his absolute everything.

Father had always said servants were expendable. Replaceable. But not Merlin. No, to Arthur, he was irreplaceable.

“I’m glad to see you finally admitting it. It’s been rough watching the two of you walk on eggshells around each other, especially since your thing with Gwen ended.” Gwaine teased, not unkindly, but in the same trivial manner he always seemed to use.

“What are you talking about? I only just now realised it!” Arthur sputtered, but his knight laughed.

“Come now, princess. The way the two of you behave like an old married couple, fretting about each other like old wives, it was clear to anyone with eyes what Merlin was to you.” 

And in a much gentler tone, he levelled “…And what you are to him.”

“You don't know that. Don’t say it; don’t give me hope, not now.” Arthur was not above begging.

“Oh, but I do know. Merlin more or less told me so, and don’t think I’m breaking his confidence, because he also told me to look after you before anyone else. Even Gaius. So, I’m only telling you this so you will get a grip: Merlin is still out there. He still loves you, and if anyone can find him, it’s you. The two of you always seemed to have this...deeper understanding of each other.”

Arthur looked at Gwaine as the man helped him stand up.“Guess you could say there is a special bond between us. Something that has always drawn us closer to each other. It’s like…like I can sense him in any room without even setting eyes on him. My body knows Merlins’ like my own.”

Ordinarily, he would be embarrassed to admit such a thing out loud, but not now. He wiped his eyes and steadied himself. Gwaine met his eyes a little uncertainly.

“Even though he can command dragons? Even though it was most likely him who released it in the first place? Will Merlin be safe in Camelot given this newfound information?” 

“I don’t care anymore. I’m sure in time I will come to question things, but right now, the only thing I care about in this world is to get Merlin home.”

Gwaine smiled at him as he leaned against the door. He looked proud of his king, and it made Arthur feel some semblance of hope again.

—

Hunith stayed in her new chambers, hiding under the covers, while Gwen and Farris tried to keep her calm. She still smelled of smoke from the dragon fire that had saved her life.

She’d been clinging to the bedsheets, shaking and crying, for hours. “It’s not real, it’s not real,” she moaned while Gwen kept trying to calm her down. Her moss green dress was torn and dusty. Her hair was matted, and her pale skin was bruised.

She never opened her eyes, too afraid of what she might see, but she did eventually accept the truth that she had been rescued. Eventually, she tired herself back to sleep. 

—

The knights gather at the stables once more. Tired and hungry, they set off for the woods again. Hunith is safe, but her son isn’t, and Arthur is going to bring him home, come hell or high water.

Gwaine's words rattle around his brain, and he cannot get them to stop. Merlin was a dragonlord, and by law, he was to be executed. Of course, Arthur would never do that — and he had never intended to harm Balinor either when he risked his life to save Camelot.

But it still posed another question that confused him. Was a dragonlord's ancestry any different to magic, or was it just another kind of magic like his father had believed. In that case, Merlin never chose to study magic, instead, it was chosen for him by nature.

And that makes no sense. All his life he’s been taught that magic was an evil knowledge that one sought out for power. But if magic could simply happen to people without their consent, then…then that changes everything.

Everyone knows Gaius used to practice magic. He still does, to some extent. The books, the potions, the network of sorcerers. And now that Arthur knew Merlin was a dragonlord, a dragonlord who had studied herbology and medicine under Gaius, he realised something else; 

Merlin always seemed to understand and recognise magical creatures and people. If Merlin could inherit his dragonlord powers, it stands to reason he could have learnt magic from Gaius, too. 

Merlin was a dragonlord who studied magic.

The wind howled as they rode on, Elyan tracking what remained of some footsteps. The king was barely keeping up with them, too lost in his own head.

Arthur remembered the whispered conversations he’d overheard as a child. About how magic was celebrated and revered in Camelot and all throughout Albion for centuries, before his father became King. Even several years into his reign, magic was an integral part of the kingdom, as seen by the dragonlords and court sorcerers like Nimueh, who used to be his friends.

Until one day when father decided it was evil and unleashed a purge that has lasted nearly thirty years…What was his explanation, Arthur wondered? For years, he’d been told that magic killed his mother; how that happened was never explained. 

The incessant talk of the wickedness that was magic was inescapable. Everyone believed it was evil so it must be evil. But how can one man decide the natural forces of the universe is a wickedness, and try to eradicate it?

Arthur dreaded the idea that Morgause had told him the truth. At the time, he had refused to accept the notion that his father could willingly do such a thing. To bargain a life, anyone’s, let alone his wife’s, for that of an heir…well, now he realised it was precisely the sort of thing Uther Pendragon would do.

Arthur cursed and gripped the reins tighter. Merlin had always said he needed to control his emotions. It was this lack of control that had landed them in this situation in the first place. He could ruminate about his father's follies another time — right now, he had a manservant to save.

—

They find Merlin’s bag and belongings a few hours' ride away from the Citadel. A small camp had been made there, the fire had burnt out, and Merlin’s belongings lay scattered across the wet grass. Hengroen was still tied to the tree.

“This belongs to Merlin,” Percival spoke as he picked up a small dragon carved from wood. “He showed it to me once…said it was his family’s.” Everyone stared at the small dragon with a sense of pity and sadness. Arthur packed up the bags and tied them to his horse. He refused to cry again. 

It was Leon who brought him out of his thoughts. “Sire! Look, track marks. Someone was dragged that way.”

—

Gaius lay dead on the floor, and Merlin was still chained to the ceiling with cold iron. He had failed to save his uncle's life, and he would carry that guilt with him for the rest of his own. 

Gaius had told the Catha Priest what he needed to know before he died, but the man had refused to bend for Morgana and had instead left to raise an army in Emrys' name. Frustrated that his role as a spy in Arthur’s court was revealed, and angry that the priest had refused him, Agravaine had decided to make Merlin his new victim.

While Agravaine has been torturing him for information for hours, Merlin was never going to crack. No matter how hard he hits or how deep he cuts, nothing can make Merlin betray his king.

“Accept it, Merlin. Morgana has probably killed Arthur by now. There is nothing left for you back in Camelot, not after your little speech.” He gloated, twirling a dagger in his hands.

Merlin scoffed at the pathetic display. “Arthur isn’t dead. I would know it in my heart if his had stopped. There would not be air in my lungs if he had stopped breathing. My King is alive; I know it in my soul.” He replied with pride.

A hard fist met his face, and he felt his lip split open. Merlin smiled.

Agravaine had no idea he had actually captured the fabled Emrys he had spent months trying to find. He only knew Merlin as Arthur’s pet servant. It had better stay that way, at least until he got out of these chains.

“You know I will never break, you know this is fruitless. Just let me go.” Merlin tried to bargain, but it was too much to hope that Agravaine would ever let him live.

“Never.” Agravaine was but a mortal man, while Merlin was the last dragonlord. He was Emrys. His head was no longer spinning, and his anger was burning hot, fuelling the magic that flowed through his veins.

He held the blade up to Merlin’s face. “Any last words before I gut you like a rat?” He laughed, and Merlin jutted his chin up in a defiant manner. He taunted the man who held no power over him.

“Long Live King Arthur!” Merlin chanted with a huge busted-lipped grin. While he had no plan of dying today, he had always wanted to die knowing he stayed true to his king with his last breath in life. 

The cold iron chains may have dampened his magic, but he could still feel it simmering beneath his skin. Merlin summoned all his strength to break the chains. He could hear the metal crackle and the chains splinter apart. 

Agravaine was thankfully too bloodthirsty to notice the outstanding magic taking place in front of him. He aimed the knife at Merlin’s chest.

But he was too late — within half a second, a flurry of red capes and silver armour appeared through the cave opening, surrounding Agravaine at sword point. Six knights stood strong, swords drawn, ready for battle.

They had found him! His knights. His friends. They had come for him, just as he had hoped they would. He could see Arthur standing tall in the midst of them, his golden hair looking like a crown adorning his head, as he kept his sword pointed at Agravaine.

Merlin could taste his freedom mixed with the blood in his mouth. The worst week of his life was finally over, and Arthur had come to find him. His King.

“Drop the knife,” Arthur commanded his uncle, who was so shocked by their entrance that he didn’t have time to react properly. Sirs Leon and Percival were on him immediately, and grabbed his arms to the side, holding him tightly.

The chains holding Merlin’s arms above his head were loose now, and he wiggled them out as best he could. Gwaine yanked them down from the wall and helped him get free. His muscles screamed in pain from being held up in an unnatural position for days, but he didn’t care because Gwaine was hugging him.

“Where’s Gaius?” He whispered to him as he held Merlin in his arms. 

“He died last night,” Said Merlin calmly. He pointed with his hands to the right side of the cave, where it wormed itself further into the mountains. “He’s in there.”

With sad looks on their faces, Gwaine and Lancelot tried to get him out of the cave, but Merlin resisted. He shook them off his shoulders and turned to face his uncle's killer. 

They were both kneeling on the ground before King Arthur’s feet. They look into each other's eyes. Blue met fury. “Before you die, I want you to know something. And I want you to hear it from me.”

Everyone stilled at Merlin’s hard tone. “I lied to you. I know who Emrys is, and I know where he is.” Merlin taunted the older man. 

“You’re looking at him.”

Agravaine scoffed and hurtled insults after him, but Percival and Leon held him back.“You? Emrys? Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin. You’re nothing more than a servant.” He spat.

“Exactly. I was born to serve my King.” Merlin’s stone cold voice left no room for doubt. Something seemed to register in Agravaine's eyes, and the man shook with anger. Merlin was always there, always by Arthur’s side. Always foiling his plans.

“And you will die with that information. You will die knowing you failed your mistress. You will die a traitor and a failure; Morgana won’t mourn you. She won’t even notice your death. She never cared about you.”

“We were going to be King and Queen together!” 

Arthur inhaled sharply at this remark but kept his sword hand still. Merlin laughed painfully as his broken ribs dug into his organs.

“Is that what you think? Tell me, my lord? Did she ever allow you to get closer than the occasional brush of arms or a kiss on the cheek? No. She never cared about you; she only used you to get revenge on Arthur, and as soon as you proved useless, she planned to kill you without a second thought. You were nothing but a convenience to her.”

Painful humiliation and hurt flashed across the man’s face. He looked struck with grief over his lady and their supposed love. “And you will die knowing you insulted Ygraine's memory.”

Lancelor kept a steady hand on Merlin, who was tired of hiding. Arthur was about to discover his magic, but at least he had proven Agravaine’s betrayal.

“I am Emrys, and I have harnessed the power over life and death. I know you wish to see your dear brother and sister in Avalon, but that’s not where you’re headed.” He paused for a moment, looking into the man’s eyes. “And I think you know it.”

Agravaine swallowed uncomfortably. Percival tightened his grip on him. No one spoke.

“Say hi to Uther for me.” Merlin grinned before Lancelot and Gwaine helped him stand up and carried him out of the cave.

—

Arthur stood before his kneeling uncle. “Lord Agravaine.” He began, his voice stone cold. For once, Arthur didn’t feel guilty about sentencing a man to death. Nor did he feel grief about losing a family member.

“You stand accused of high treason, of murder and torture. There will be no trial. You’ve proved your guilt before us all, and for that, you will pay with your life.” 

His uncle had no chance to speak up before Arthur aimed his sword and swung. A wet swishing sound echoed in the cave as his throat was slit open. No more words were spoken. Percival dropped the man’s limp shoulders, and Agravaine fell flat on the ground. Dead.

Arthur felt cathartic. His uncle was dead. Good. He had killed his last living blood relative. And he was proud of it. He would kill a hundred more family members if it meant Merlin’s safety.

Looking around the cave they were all standing in, he could see the blood splatters soaking into the ground and walls. He could tell the cave went further in, where Gaius was. Leon, Percy, and Elyan went in search of the physician while Arthur walked back out after Merlin.

He sees his friend cradled in Gwaine's arms and Lancelot attempting to assess his injuries. There was a lot of blood and bruises. Merlin winced as Lance's hands touched his chest.

Arthur stumbled over to him, soaking in the sight of Merlin alive and breathing. He was alive! Thank the Gods. Arthur knelt and reached out to him. 

Arthur was so overcome with relief at seeing Merlin alive that he kissed his face. A quick press of his lips to Merlin’s forehead, and then cheek, an expression he would never normally have shown. But he simply didn’t care anymore. Merlin was alive — even if he never found it in his soul to forgive Arthur —he could at least rest knowing his friend was alive. He tried to speak, “Merlin, I...” 

“I know.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I know, Arthur. And I’m sorry too. I never wanted you to see me like that. And I’m sorry your uncle didn’t love you the way you deserve.”

Kind, sweet Merlin, always thinking of others before himself. Arthur tried to smile at him, but it looked more like a grimace. Things between them had changed. He took Merlin’s hand in his and kissed it. “I am the one who’s sorry, Merlin. I’m sorry for not listening, for not being the King and friend you deserve, and I’m so sorry, Gaius...” He hiccuped.

Gathering his senses, Arthur opened his eyes and spoke more clearly. “He will have a funeral of honour.”

“No!” Merlin refused, wincing against the bandages Lancelot applied to his chest. “Gaius spent the last twenty-seven years of his life fearing the pyre. He died loyal to Camelot. Please, Arthur, grant him some dignity in death. Don’t burn him now.”

“Alright, Merlin, I hear you.” Arthur treaded carefully around the topic of his old mentor's death. “How…how would you like it done?”

“Can you take us to the lake at the edge of the forest? It’s less than an hour's ride away. The goddess who lives in the lake will ensure his safe passing to Avalon.”

“Oh,” Arthur seemed confused, but he was past the point of asking questions. Whatever he could do to make Merlin forgive him, if he ever could, he would do.

Three knights emerge from the cavern, carrying the old man between them. They had wrapped him in their capes. Arthur was ashamed to admit he was happy he was spared the sight of the old man’s wounded body. 

No man is worth your fears, father had once told him. But it had been years since he last believed in it. As they placed Gaius’s body down on the ground near them, Arthur looked at him.

He sobbed over the dead man whom he had loved like an uncle. “I’m so sorry. You deserved so much more, and I failed you. I swear I will honour your name every day for as long as I live. Your death is on my hands, but your life will live on in our memories.”

Merlin leaned into Arthur and gripped his hand tighter. He leaned back into him. The ground was cold beneath them, and the air was crisp. “We should leave if you want to get to the lake before nightfall.” 

Lancelot brought his horse over to them. “I will carry him.”

“No, he should be with me,” Merlin tried to argue, but the two knights shut him down.

“You are too injured, my friend. You cannot hold onto both the horse and Gaius. He will be safe with me, you should ride with someone else, though.”

They start their journey to the lake, Lancelot with Gaius and Arthur with Merlin. The other knights formed a half circle around them for protection. The lake Merlin spoke of was close enough, and Arthur allowed himself a moment to breathe in Merlin’s presence. Arthur cradled him like he was the most precious cargo. The warrior king used gentle hands and a kind voice as he spoke to his servant. He held onto Merlin as they made their way.

He didn’t know how to bring up what Morgana had done to Hunith, but the truth was what Merlin deserved. Arthur explained as gently and calmly as he could because Merlin needed to hear this from him. “Your mother is safe in Camelot.”

“Why is she there?” Merlin tried to look back at him, but with his painful ribs, he couldn’t move much. He leaned back into Arthur’s arms instead.

“Morgana took her and tortured her for information. Your dragon brought her to me. She is safe with Gwen now and being looked after carefully.”

Merlin’s face set hard. His jaw clicked shut, and Arthur felt uneasy. The ground underneath them started rumbling like thunder; gravel and dirt fell away, and Arthur felt the ground shaking under Llamreis’ hooves.

The sky darkened and Arthur felt the telltale sign of lightning forming above in the clouds. Had any other sorcerer done this, he would have been petrified, but as it was Merlin, his Merlin, he was able to calm himself.

He steadied Merlin, who was sizzling with magic, golden sparks flickering between his fingertips. “Breathe, my love. Your mother is alive and safe; you will see her as soon as we return home.” He pressed his lips into Merlin’s head, not exactly kissing him, but the gesture wasn’t platonic either.

“I guess I should apologise for lying about you killing a dragon,” Merlin mumbled as he calmed down.

“I’m glad he’s alive, if only to look after Hunith. But I'm a little sad that I can no longer claim the feat of dragonslayer.” Arthur tried to joke before he continued. “He said Morgana was still on fire when he fled with Hunith. I’m not sure if she’s alive, but I reckon she is. Apparently, she suspects that Emrys is working against her.” 

Arthur didn’t know who or what Emrys was, but if Merlin told Agravaine the truth then he had no reason to worry. If Merlin was this Emrys, then he knew Camelot was safe.

“Is he?”  Arthur whispered into Merlin’s hair.

“With every fiber of his being.” 

—

They sit and watch Gaius's body being sent off into the lake. The boat Merlin had conjured sailed away quietly, bobbing gently in the waves. Merlin had kept a silent vigil over the funeral for a while before he looked over at Arthur.

“I have magic.” There was no point denying it any longer.

Arhrur huffed a little laugh. “I figured it out on my own. I’m not entirely useless, you know.” Arthur teased, but his eyes were still wet. “I don’t care, Merlin. I have questions, many of them in fact, but all I care about right now is getting you back home. You’re alive! That's all that matters to me.”

The other knights pretended not to be listening as Merlin and Arthur had their necessary talk. “You called me love,” Merlin said, but it was a question.

“I did…”

“Why?”

“Because that’s what you are. You are my love.” Arthur had never been more confident. As he held Merlin’s hand in his, their legs pressed up against each other on the stony shore, and he finally felt at ease.

“Does that mean my banishment is lifted, that I can come back?” Merlin’s eyes glistened, but a smile was forming on his face.

“You were never actually banished! Camelot is your home, and your mother is there now too. I want you to come home.” Arthur retorted.

“Then why did you threaten it?”

“Because your words frightened me, it angered me. I was so afraid of losing the last family member I had that I pushed away the only true friend I’ve ever known. And it scared me that you always knew me so well, that you could read me like an open book.”

Merlin smiled at him and pressed their foreheads together. Ever so gently, he threaded his fingers through Arthur’s new-grown beard.

“We know each other so well because we’re connected through destiny. Our souls were chosen for each other. I was born for you. Some say we’re two sides of the same coin — one is always connected to the other.”

“Does that mean you love me too?” Arthur dared to ask, only to be met with a rather unbecoming snort. “Of course I do, you dollophead. I always have, with everything that I am.”

Despite the busted lip and the blood in his hair, Merlin smiled as brightly as he could. Arthur had never seen a more beautiful sight.

“Will I ever earn your forgiveness?” He whispered to his lover, friend, and servant.

“You already have it. But I don’t think I deserve yours…I’ve lied too many times and done so many horrible things. People are dead because of me.”

“Did you have a good reason for your actions?” Arthur asked while he stroked a piece of dark hair behind his ears.

“Sometimes, yes. Other times, no”

“Then we shall talk about it. And we shall listen and cry together. But know that I have already forgiven you for anything you might’ve done, just as you have forgiven me for this.”

—

“Never letting you out of my sight ever again,” Arthur murmured into Merlin’s soft, damp hair. One hand clutched at his neck and the other at his waist, holding him tight, tight, tight. He had practically carried Merlin up the stairs and into the castle upon their return.

“No? Never?” He huffed a little defiantly into the king's shoulder. It hurt to laugh, but he was too elated to be back with his king to care.

“No, you’d just get into all kinds of trouble.” Arthur tried to joke, and Merlin coughed a little laugh. It was a delightful sound, Arthur thought. One he would happily spend the rest of his life listening to.

“I didn’t do half bad without you, you know.” 

“Don’t go fishing for compliments, Merlin; it's unbecoming of the King's servant.”

“So I still have my job?” Merlin tried to joke back, but really, he should know his king better by now, for Arthur just scoffed.

“You’re my manservant, terrible as you are, always late and eating my food, you’re still mine. My rooms are a mess, you know, and I haven’t shaved in over a week. You’re gonna have to work overtime to make up for your lazy ways.” 

—

Merlin spent the next few days being tended to by Farris, while Gwen and Arthur fretted about him like his mother would’ve. Arthur had practically glued himself to his side the last few days. While still tending to his kingdom and preparing for an inevitable attack by Morgana, he spent whatever time he had with Merlin.

Huntih was getting better, but she still relied on sleeping draughts to avoid nightmares. Merlin stayed with her every day, speaking in gentle tones and reading to her. As she smiled at him with all the love a mother has, Merlin swore to the Goddess he would fulfill his destiny and kill Morgana.

—

A week after his return to Camelot, Merlin was about to fall asleep next to Arthur. He rested his head on his broad chest, loving the warmth and safety of their embrace. He closed his eyes in happiness. After everything that had happened, after all their conversations and tears, his king still loved him. Arthur had chosen him over his father's old laws, over propriety and dignity, and his king had never seemed happier.

The king held his whole world in his arms as he hugged Merlin tighter. “I don’t deserve your loyalty,” Arthur mumbled into the dark, pressing a kiss to Merlin’s forehead. His skin was warm against Merlin's, who only curled closer into him.

Merlin rolled his eyes before he looked up at him and kissed his jaw. One day, Arthur would come to forgive himself, but until then, Merlin would have to remind him of their shared forgiveness.

“Still, you will always have it.”

The end.

[literary-illuminati]

An Arbitrary Collection of Book Recommendations

(put together for a friend out of SFF I've read over the last couple of years)

Cli-Fi

Tusks of Extinction and/or The Mountain in the Sea by Ray Nayler. They’re pretty different books in a lot of ways – one is a novel about discovering a certain species of squid in the Pacific might have developed symbolic language and writing, the other a novella about a de-extinction initiative to restore mammoths to the Siberian taiga – but they share a pretty huge overlap in setting, tone and themes. Specifically, a deep and passionate preoccupation with animal conservation (and a rather despairing perspective on it), as well as a fascination with transhumanism and how technology can affect the nature of consciousness. Mountain is his first work, and far more substantial, but I’d call it a bit of a noble failure in achieving what it tries for. Tusks is much more limited and contained, but manages what it’s going for.

A Half-Built Garden by Ruthanna Emrys. In a post-post-apocalyptic world that’s just about figured out how to rebuild itself from the climate disasters of the 21st century (but that’s still very much a work in progress), aliens descend from the sky and make First Contact. They’re a symbiotic civilization, and they’re overjoyed at the chance to welcome a third species into their little interstellar community – and consider it a mission of mercy besides, since every other species they’ve ever encountered destroyed themselves and their planet before escaping it. Awkwardly, our heroine and her whole society are actually pretty invested in Earth and the restoration thereof – and worried that a) the alien’s rescue effort might not care about their opinions and b) that other interest groups on earth might be more willing to give the hyper-advanced space-dwelling aliens the answers they want to hear. Basically 100% sociological worldbuilding and political intrigue, so take that as you will.

Throwback Sci Fi

Elder Race by Adrian Tchaikovsky is possibly the only thing I’ve read published in decades to take the old cliche of ‘this generic-seeming fantasy world is actually the wreckage of a ruined space age civilization, and ‘magic’ and ‘monsters’ are the remnants of the technology’ and play it entirely straight. Specifically, it’s a two-POV novella, where half the story is told from the perspective of a runaway princess beseeching the ancient wizard who helped found her dynasty for help against a magical threat, and half is from the perspective form the last surviving member of a xeno-anthropology mission woken out of stasis by the consequences of the last time he broke the Prime Directive knocking on his ship tower door and asking for help. Generally just incredible fun.

Downbelow Station by C. J. Cherryh is, I think, the only thing on this list written before the turn of the millennium. It’s proper space opera, about a habitat orbiting an immensely valuable living world that’s the lynchpin of logistics for the functionally rogue Earth Fleet’s attempt to hold off or defeat rebelling and somewhat alien colonies further out. The plot is honestly hard to summarize, except that it captures the feel of being history better than very nearly any other spec fic I’ve ever read – a massive cast, none of them with a clear idea of what’s going on, clashing and contradictory agendas, random chance and communications delays playing key roles, lots of messy ending, not a single world-shaking heroes or satanic masterminds deforming the shape of things with their narrative gravity to be seen. Somewhat dated, but it all very impressively well done.

Pulpy Gay Urban Fantasy Period Piece Detective Stories Where Angels Play a Prominent Role

A Master of Djinn by P. Djèlí Clark stars Fatma el-Sha’arawi, the youngest woman working for the Ministry of Alchemy, Enchantments and Supernatural Entities in Cairo, a couple of decades after magic returned to the world and entirely derailed the course of Victorian imperialism. There’s djinn and angels and crocodile gods, and also an impossible murder that needs solving! The mystery isn’t exactly intellectually taxing, but this is a very fun tropey whodunnit whose finale involves a giant robot.

Even Though I Knew The End by C. L. Polk is significantly more restrained and grounded in its urban fantasy. It’s early 20th century Chicago, and a PI is doing one last job to top off the nest egg she’s leaving her girlfriend before the debt on her deal with the devil comes due. By what may or may not be coincidence, she stumbles across a particularly gruesome crime scene – and is offered a deal to earn back her soul by solving the mystery behind it. Very noir detective, with a setting that just oozes care and research and a satisfyingly tight plot.

High Concept Stuff That Loves Playing around With Format and the Idea of Narratives

Radiance by Catherynne M. Valente is a story about a famous documentarian vanishing on shoot amid mysterious and suspicious circumstances, as told by the recovered scraps of the footage she was filming, and different drafts of her (famous director) father’s attempt to dramatize the events as a memorial to her. It’s set in a solar system where every planet is habitable and most were colonized in the 19th century, and culturally humanity coasts on in an eternal Belle Epoque and (more importantly) Golden Age of Hollywood. Something like half the book is written as scripts and transcripts. This description should by now either have sold you or put you off entirely.

The Spear Cuts Through Water by Simon Jimenez is the only classic-style epic fantasy on this list, I believe? The emperor and his three demigod sons hold subjugated in terror, but things are changing. The emperor, terrified of death, has ordered a great fleet assembled to carry him across the sea in pursuit of immortality. The day before he sets out on his grand pilgrimage to the coast, a guilt-ridden guard helps the goddess of the moon escape her binding beneath the palace. From there, things spiral rapidly out of anyone’s control. The story’s told through two or three (depending( different layers of narrative framing devices, and has immense amounts of fun playing with perspective and format and ideas about storytelling and legacy.

I Couldn’t Think of Any Categories That Included More Than One of These

All The Names They Used For God by Anjali Sachdeva is a collection of short stories, and probably the most literary thing on this list? The stories range wildly across setting and genre, but are each more or less about the intrusion of the numinous or transcendent or divine into a world that cracks and breaks trying to contain it. It is very easily the most artistically coherent short story collection I’ve ever read, which I found pretty fascinating to read – but honestly I’m mostly just including this on the strength of Killer of Kings, a story about an angel sent down to be John Milton’s muse as he writes Paradise Lost which is probably one of the best things I read last year period.

Last Exit by Max Gladstone – the Three Parts Dead and How You Lose the Time War guy – could be described as a deconstruction of ‘a bunch of teenagers/college kids discover magic and quest to save the world!’ stories, but honestly I’d say that obscures more than it reveals. Still, the story is set with that having happened a decade in the past, and the kids in question have thoroughly fucked up. Zelda, the protagonist, is kept from suicide by survivor’s guilt as much as anything, and now travels across America working poverty jobs and sleeping in her car as she hunts the monsters leaking in through the edges of a country rotting at the seams. Then there’s a monster growing in the cracks of the liberty bell, an in putting it down she gets a vision of someone she thought was dead is just trapped – or maybe changed. So it’s time to get the gang together again and save the world! This one’s hard to rec without spoiling a lot, but the prose and characterization are all just sublime. Oddly in conversation with the whole Delta Green cosmic horror monster hunting subgenre for a story with nothing to do with Lovecraft.

Some Desperate Glory by Emily Tesh is a story about aliens destroying the earth, and growing up in the pseudo-fascist asteroid survivalist compound of the last bits of the human military that never surrendered. It stars a heroine whose genuinely indoctrinated for the first chunk of the book and just deeply endearing terrible and awful to interact with, and also has a plot that’s effectively impossible to describe without spoiling the big twist at the end of the first act. Possibly the only book I read last year which I actively wish was longer – which is both compliment and genuine complaint, for the record, the ending’s a bit messy. Still, genuinely meaty Big Ideas space opera with very well-done characterization and a plot that does hold together. 

[calamity-talvi]

Wings (snippet from WIP)

@saladscream because I love you so much and your encouragement and chatting to you always brightens my day, I went ahead and even drafted (VERY ROUGHLY) a small snippet just for you on this wip that was just an idea and had nothing before you asked about it.

Essentially this is a modern au where everyone has wings. Except Merlin was injured and no longer can fly, but he does still train others on flying. Arthur is a prince and has decided Merlin is the one to train him for presently unnamed tournament (I haven't got a name for it yet, @saladscream if you want to help me brainstorm I would happily accept it ;P).

The snippet is a draft for Merlin and Arthur first meeting;

“Mr Smith, if you are here once again to complain about my supposed lack of qualifications in training you for being a cripple. Then I urge you once more to take it up with the department head, I can do nothing about the arrangements and if you wish to change instructors they are the ones to organise that.” Merlin huffed out, his eyes still fixed on the rather large pile of paperwork he needed to sort through. “I am neither this Mr Smith you speak of, nor am I here to question your abilities.” Came a deep rich voice, that while familiar wasn’t a voice Merlin knew immediately. “Oh bugger!” Merlin exclaimed hurriedly, realising he had insulted someone randomly. “I’m sorry, one of the students I teach has been-” The words died on his tongue as he looked up and saw who was standing in his office doorway.  Prince Arthur Pendragon. The prince looked at Merlin in amusement. A wide smirk played on his lips as he walked into the office space. “I’ve been known to make people speechless, however I must say I haven’t often been mistaken for someone and insulted at the same time.” Merlin pinched and rubbed his eyes. “I’m sorry, your highness?” His voice raised in question. “I don’t know the correct form of address, but anyway, look, I mistook you for someone else who has been causing me trouble in class. Could you just forgive me this once and maybe not put me in the tower for treason?” The prince looked Merlin over in curiosity and then flung his head back giving a joyful laugh. “I was right, you’re perfect! Exactly the kind of person I need.” “Excuse me?” Merlin asked, his tone sharper because he didn’t enjoy being laughed at. “I’m here to inform you that you are to be training me for the [insert pretentious flying competition name].” Prince Arthur informed. Merlin felt his heckles raise at that. “I’m sorry? I think I misheard you there, did you say I’m to be your trainer? Because you’re barking up the wrong tree. You could hire anyone to coach you for that event, and any of them would be better than me.” Merlin stood up and walked towards his office door, gesturing that the conversation was over and it was time for the prince to leave. From the corner of his eye Merlin saw the giant white wings on the prince’s back ruffle and flutter. “Merlin Emrys, youngest and fastest flyer of this nation. Or at least was on track to become the fastest in the nation before your accident.” A phantom ache on Merlin’s back reminded him of what he had lost. “Get out!” He said darkly. “Like you said, I was but I’m not anymore. I have greenies constantly jumping down my throat, questioning my ability because I’m deemed a grounded cripple now! I-” Merlin slammed his fist on the doorframe, no longer caring if he was insulting the prince. “I cannot train you.” Merlin said after several breaths. Prince Arthur’s expression was unreadable as he approached Merlin and peered deep into his eyes. “I only want the best to train me, and I have determined you are the one to fill that role. I do not care for what others may call you, or what you have now come to believe about yourself. I know who I want and that is you.” “Oh is it? And what if I still say no?” Merlin challenged back, gazing into the prince’s blue eyes. “I could make it a royal order and then you would be obligated to train me. But I would rather you choose to do so of your own free will.”

SO yeah anyway Merlin will eventually agree to training Arthur and romance will eventually bloom. And maybe Merlin isn't as unable as he's led people to believe re.flying but you'll have to wait and see ;)

[cecils-dragons]

Behold! A rare gijinka sale from your man here! He's a non bred g2, so nothing special(other then a special place in my heart). Had to do a cute multigaze because it's the best! Emrys can be yours for the price of 7kg! If you want to do treasure or split payment, please do let me know :D Thank you all so much and I hope you all have a wonderful day. Also reblogs are appreciated because tumblr's being dumb with links again :P.

[dogfiish]

emrys :p

[samglyph]

Other au thoughts:

- Arthur (nerd) is very excited to be meeting the King Arthur and Merlin, but on first meeting has to quickly catch up on the fact that 1. Arthur doesn’t know who Merlin is in a legendary context and 2. That he absolutely shouldn’t let the prince of Camelot know he’s got an alien king in him

- also I think it’s funnier if Arthur isn’t king yet. Prince Arthur. Less exciting.

- Merlin can hear John, and can communicate with Arthur L and John telepathically like with other druids, but Arthur doesn’t know how to do it back since he’s only really cast one spell and is used to communicating verbally with John

- in order to make the worlds cohesive in this au I think Merlin as Emrys counts as a great old one in the same way John does. Like, he’s a human manifestation of magic itself. Give me my eldritch horror about that. Design note: Merlin has a black halo (like Kaynes but more stable) only visible to John. Arthur P could develop a halo, but he doesn’t get it if he doesn’t do the whole destiny thing.

- some one is tragically dying but it can’t be our main characters since the only one who doesn’t have plot armor is Arthur P and it’s not really his time yet.

- Both Malevolent and Merlin have the tendency to kill off side characters, the question is does Merlin have a higher body count than Arthur (the answer is yes). Arthur is a little perturbed to see how blasé this 20 something is about killing in self defense since he just had a whole thing about doing less murder. (He’s not he’s just Real used to punching that feeling down.)

[juicezone]

hi!! hehe ok silly question for you, do u think any of your ocs would get along with my ocs? and if so which ones?? :D i think winnie makes friends with almost everyone they meet skdhjs so maybe she’d be a good fit :P i think she’d like ward probably :] and maybe rome and arias could bond over blue hair hehe (although rome changes his hair colors all the time so maybe they wouldn’t match lol) :]

- @azalea-bee

(sneaks into ur oc stuff tag) i think winnie and rory would definitely get along too, i bet rory would have a blast introducing all his farm animals to winnie and they can have snacks in his garden!!

rome and arias would probably get along i think u mentioned once like. rome going "backyard camping" and arias would probably love that idea and this his tattoos are super cool... they can play video games together and arias would probably see rome with like red hair or something and immediately start pestering vesper to get fin hair dyes

cooper would probably be very much on the "i dont like new people side" but i bet ward would drag him along so like if anyone interacts w ward, they get a mildly reluctant/resigned cooper

but also lowkey i think cooper would see emrys with winnie and be like (STARES INTENTLY) but get puffy and huffy and be like "no im NOT interested in hanging out" (CONTINUES TO STARE INTENTLY) and wards like "yeah no hes just like that give him a week i think"

i think itd be funny btw for micah and cade to be friends bc bunny and cat... but i think cade's mellow way of regressing would match micah's "i interact on my terms" cat cafe vibes.. they're just chilling out with a snack tray each and music and a comfy couch

[aerowolf]

hi i can't stop making ocs. anyways here's my new ginger Irish bbg Emrys

he's the Tailor and i don't have much set yet but the general idea is in this like. AU of mine where Pauling was raised specifically to be an assistant to the Administrator, she was raised in this really cruel organization that taught them all different useful skills while teaching them espionage, weaponry and combat. The Tailor is very focused on sewing, he creates the outfits for both teams, patches their outfits up etc, he's also skilled in the aforementioned categories. Miss P's personal tailor, he probably a little crazy.

I'm gonna be making a bunch of Purple Team characters who were raised in that organization. Kennedy was part of it too, but she made it out but ended up being hired as a merc anyways. Bidwell was also part of it and that's how he ended up as Saxton's assistant. So they all work for Mann Co. and support the owners, Admin, Mann brothers and mercs. I'm probably going to have things like the Chef, Gunsmith, Record Keeper, Chauffeur. And instead of mercs they're this assistant team. Kickass idiots. They're more behind-the-scenes whereas Pauling is like the Manager of them which. I guess that's what they'll call her. And Bidwell I'm just gonna be calling the Assistant.

[marsmellowpink]

HOLYFOX

People can disagree with me, but if we talking about Aarya and Emrys relationship, I think Emrys is the leading one in overall relationship (like dating, conversation, etc) while Aarya is the leading one in bed-

If you know what I mean (˵ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°˵)

P. S. IN ORDER TO NOT GETTING BAN BY TUMBLR, I DECIDED NOT TO POST THE FULL PIC XD

So yeah! No full picture for all of you, h0rny people xD

[catslilypad]

Now who could he be looking at with such a face 😳

You could wait for the game to see what this image is, or you could sign up to our P@treon, see this gorgeous museum worthy piece, years of other art AND help us fund more things!

(psst, it's Emrys he's looking at like that)

CG: Flowers of Temperance (Emrys)