#percival: the arm in armour is silent

[nextstopparis]

the knights: armour

percival: our

[lit-in-thy-heart]

Elyan makes Percival this but chainmail

oh my-- 🤣🤣🤣

YES YES YES YOU ABSOLUTE WONDER OF A PERSON

this calls for a ficlet

When Percival returned from patrol, Elyan was sat cross-legged on their bed with a strange garment laid out in front of him across the sheets. Even from the door, Percival could see Elyan's smile flickering stronger than the surrounding candlelight and, infected, Percival felt a grin of his own tug at his lips.

'What have you done now?'

Elyan, still beaming, silently gestured to the bed. Loosening his armour as he walked, Percival strode towards the bed and tilted his head. Instinctively, his hand reached down and his fingertips caught the delicate links forming the chainmail -- Percival could see it was chainmail, nothing else danced like that in candlelight, except perhaps for Elyan's heartbeat -- before moving to Elyan's hands, which were covered in small burns.

'Did you make this?'

Elyan nodded, manipulating his fingers around Percival’s hand. 'I thought it might get Arthur off your back. And mine.'

Raising Elyan's hand briefly to his lips, Percival grinned again. 'Should I try it on?'

'Ideally.'

As Percival eased his current armour over his head, Elyan leaned back against the headboard, covering his mouth with his hand. He automatically moved closer to the other knight when the gambeson was exposed, reaching out towards him, but Percival gently covered the approaching hands with his own.

'I don’t think I need to be completely undressed, Elyan.'

Elyan withdrew. 'Pity.'

Shaking his head, Percival picked up the chainmail and dropped it over his head, struggling to find the corresponding holes for his arms. Without the visual aid of a massive gaping one on either side, it was incredibly difficult to identify any part of the chainmail that wasn't massive metal shroud. With a frown, Percival increased his force, stopping when Elyan found one arm and gripped it tightly.

'You're going to break it,' he gently said. 'Just--Take it slowly. Let me help you.'

'This is why I don't wear sleeves,' grumbled Percival, but allowing Elyan to guide his limbs through the folds in the chainmail all the same.

When he had aligned the garment with his body, Percival looked down at himself and burst into a fit of laughter, raising his arms. The sleeves seemed to exhale like a waterfall, shivering in the breeze that Percival created with his arms, and both Percival and Elyan watched in wonder as the delicate illumination from the candles was imprisoned in the strong threads of metal, the spectacle causing the light to drip down to the floor. Glancing towards Elyan, the smile on Percival’s face softened as he recognised the gentle curve of satisfaction along Elyan's lips.

Elyan, noticing the glance, looked up. 'I hadn't realised that they would be longer than me.'

'You realise that I will have to sleep in this because it will take too long to put on in the morning?'

'This is going to be an interesting night, then,' Elyan replied, biting back laughter.

*

Percival and Elyan, being the model knights they were, were usually early to Round Table meetings but the additional time alone had proved too much for Elyan, who was choking with laughter on the balcony when Gwaine and Lancelot walked in. Gwaine took one look at Percival, sat with his arms folded and his sleeves trailing along the surface of the table, and abandoned his conversation with Lancelot about Merlin's birthday to join Elyan in screaming from the balcony.

Fighting to keep a straight face, Lancelot took his seat and pointedly pushed the end of one sleeve closer to Percival. 'Looks like you've had some tricks up your sleeve.'

From the balcony came the distinct sound of wheezing and a sharp burst of laughter.

Percival responded with a severe nod. 'Yeah, this bad boy can fit so many weapons in it. The enemy is going to have the shock of their life.'

Staring at Percival for several seconds more, Lancelot bowed his head as tears gathered in his eyes and a grin spread across his face. Slowly, as the other knights filed in, he lowered his head until it was resting on the table, his entire body shaking. When Gwen entered with Leon, her eyes immediately jumped to Percival and her hand simultaneously jumped to her mouth. She stood frozen for several moments, before catching on to the renewed laughter coming from the balcony, and slipped through the door leading to the staircase. Unbeknownst to Percival, she never made it past the third step, sinking down on it and dissolving into smothered giggles with her face buried in her hands. Leon remained rooted to the spot, his mouth open.

Arthur, initially, was preoccupied with giving Merlin instructions and didn't pay much mind to the rest of the room until his eyes, having instinctively darted to the space that Gwen usually inhabited, discovered that several of his knights were missing. Then he walked straight into Leon, who still hadn't moved. About to tell Leon to move, Arthur became quietly aware that the echoing noises from above were not coming from crows, as he'd initially dismissed them as, but from said knights. It wasn't until Merlin nudged him that the Regent thought to look at Percival.

Percival, who was still slouched in his chair, arms folded, creating a tablecloth from the sleeves of his chainmail.

'What--What is that?' cried Arthur.

'You're the one who wanted me to wear sleeves,' responded Percival with a shrug.

Gwaine, howling by this point, fell over the side of the balcony, suspended by his belt as Elyan, who was still trying to catch his breath as he caught the accessory, tried to haul him up. As Merlin rushed to help them, he passed a crying Gwen who brushed him away with violent hiccups when he asked if she was alright.

Lancelot had slid from his chair and was in a shaking heap on the ground. Leon, moving from Arthur's path, turned on his heel and exited the room.

Arthur had half a mind to follow suit.

tysm for this, it's actually beautiful, and i don't know how you managed to find that picture but it is s t u n n i n g 💕💕

[jiejie-eonni-onee-sama]

For my king

For the amazing @randomfandomimagine​ 🌹💝🎉​

Hope you’ll enjoy!

In the corridors of Camelot castle, a servant was running breathlessly towards the flats of (Y/N), the king's future wife.

When he entered the room, the future queen was in the middle of a conversation with Merlin, the royal enchanter who was also Arthur's best friend.

When the young woman saw the breathless servant arrive, she exclaimed:

"What's going on? Why such an intrusion?"

"I beg your pardon, Your Highness, but I have some alarming news to tell you urgently."

Concerned, (Y/N) asked:

"And what is this bad news?"

Swallowing fearfully, the young servant declared:

"Your Highness, Sire Merlin, I have learned that a hoard of bandits captured our beloved King Arthur during his hunting trip!"

At these words, the future queen let out a cry of horror while Merlin was left speechless.

"But who would dare to do such a thing?"

"From what I understand, it was errant knights called the Order of the Red Dragon who engaged in the racketeering, kidnapping and murder of several noble lords."

"Now they've struck hard: by kidnapping the King of Camelot, they're sending the message that no one is safe!" muttered Merlin.

As for (Y/N), she sat on her bed and remained pensive. She couldn't believe that Arthur Pendragon, the man of her life, the one she was about to marry, could fall into the hands of armoured thugs. 

The young woman knew that Arthur's captors would demand an exorbitant ransom. 

The messenger held out a letter with a trembling hand:

"It has arrived just now, Your Highness."

Carefully unfolding the message, (Y/N) could read the threat:

We, the Knights of the Red Dragon, demand a ransom of 100,000 gold ecus in exchange for King Arthur Pendragon, safe and sound. His whore must deliver the loot in person to the location indicated. If we have not received our payment in three days, we will send you the head of the Pendragon son.

The mere idea of knowing that the man she loved was in the hands of these boors made (Y/N) angry. 

In a gesture of anger, she crumpled up the letter and threw it around the room, shouting in rage:

"So I'm just a whore? Well, they'll see what the whore has in store for them!"

Merlin and the servant stepped back in fear. True, (Y/N) was a sweet and gentle person. But when she was angry, she was as frightening as a dragon guarding its gold!

At the same time, Lancelot, Percival, Elyan, Geraint, Gwaine and Leon came into the quarters, armed from head to toe.

"Merlin, is it true what they say? Has Arthur been captured?" asked Lancelot.

"It is, alas: the Order of the Red Dragon is responsible for this crime. And we have only three days to save him. Otherwise, Camelot will have no king, and (Y/N) will lose her betrothed!"

The knights looked at each other, horrified: what to do? They who were ready to celebrate the marriage of their monarch found themselves having to save him from lawless men.

"In that case, let's not waste time: we must ask the population to contribute to the payment of the ransom!" declared Geraint.

"Are you mad? The people have already suffered a bad harvest! If you add a tax on their dues, it will be a disaster!" screamed Gwaine.

"What do you want us to do, then? Attack their camp directly? That would be suicide, and they might kill Arthur!" sighed Percival, massaging his neck.

Elyan turned to (Y/N) and asked:

"Lady (Y/N), since you will be the future queen of Camelot, the decision is yours. What shall we do?"

The young woman was silent for a long moment as she hatched a plan. A triumphant smile came over her face.

"Lady (Y/N), is everything all right?"

"Yes, I am fine... and I even have a plan. I will need you, dear knights of the king!"

She turned to the servant.

"Bring me a large wooden chest. The finest you can find!"

"Yes, Your Highness." the servant replied as he left the room.

Intrigued, Merlin asked:

"(Y/N), do you expect the people of the kingdom to pay the ransom?"

The mischievous smile on the face of the future Queen of Camelot told the enchanter that she had another idea.

"But who says, my dear Merlin, that we will fill this chest with gold coins? There is no way I'm going to give any gold coins to those monsters. On the other hand, I know what we're going to fill this chest with, and you're going to help me do it."

"You do? And what can I help you with?"

(Y/N) put his hand on Merlin's shoulder and said:

"I think you will like this part of the plan, for I am calling upon your talents, my dear Emrys. It is what you will do..."

As she explained the plan to him, Merlin smiled mischievously. The Order of the Red Dragon has no idea what would happen. Merlin's word, you don't mess with King Arthur without paying the consequences!

Two days later.

Tied up in the back of a makeshift shelter, Arthur brooded on his revenge against his captors: if he got away, he would make them pay dearly for their crime!

In the meantime, he had to keep calm and look for a way out. 

The King of Camelot sighed: he was angry that they tricked him like a beginner. If only he had gone with his knights or Merlin, none of this would have happened!

It was at that moment that he thought of his fiancée. Poor (Y/N)! She must have been so worried about him. 

Arthur clutched his head in his hands: what would his fiancée think of him? Was she ashamed that her future husband, who was supposed to be the most powerful man in the kingdom, was captured by drunken knights?

Speaking of the latter, he could hear them laughing and getting drunk, celebrating their future wealth. Arthur raged: if he could get his hands on his sword Excalibur, he would cut them to pieces!

Suddenly, one of his captors exclaimed, his voice intoxicated:

"Hey, did you hear? I hear the future queen of Camelot is going to bring the ransom in person, accompanied by a mere servant!"

"Maybe she has more guts than I thought! I thought she was just a whiny little whore!" sneered his companion as he took a drink.

At these words, Arthur exclaimed:

"Don't you dare talk about my fiancée like that, you fat pig!"

A silence fell over the room: not all the brigands had expected to hear Arthur Pendragon's angry voice.

Suddenly their leader rose from his seat and strode towards his prisoner with a threatening step.

Once he reached the King of Camelot, the man sneered:

"You don't seem to understand who you are talking to, Pendragon. You are not the king here, but our prisoner: your word is worthless. So, if my men and I want to say that your (Y/N) is a whore, we say it, and that's it! Consider yourself lucky to be alive for now!"

The young Pendragon glared at him in defiance: no way was he going to show any weakness!

Suddenly, one of the rogue knights came storming in:

"Chief, she's coming!"

"Who?"

"(Y/N) from Camelot. She's coming with a servant and a well-filled chest if you follow me!"

"That's the spirit! Come, my friends: the future queen of Camelot brings us our reward!"

The whole group came out to see (Y/N), and a male figure hidden under a long cloak arrived. Both were on horseback and dragging a heavy wooden chest behind them.

Seeing his bride, Arthur was both happy and sad: although he was glad to see (Y/N) again, he felt sick to his stomach that she had to tax her people to pay the ransom.

The leader of the Red Dragon walked up to (Y/N) and bowed, mocking:

"Berwyn, leader of the Order of the Red Dragon. You must be (Y/N), future Queen of Camelot!"

"That's strange: I thought you were going to call me "Pendragon's whore." Is that what you think of me?" replied (Y/N) with venom.

"I would never dare say such a thing of a beautiful lady like you!" sneered Berwyn, making his companions laugh.

The young woman looked at them with contempt. They will be less malicious in a moment!

"If you've finished taking me for a fool, it's time to talk business."

"Certainly, my lady. Give us our money!"

"Not until I see my fiancé!" 

With a wave of his hand, Berwyn ordered his men to bring in their prisoner. The young woman was horrified to see the ill-treatment her fiancé had received as she saw the bruises on his face. But at least he was alive!

"You see? As we agreed, he is alive. Now it's your turn to keep your word!"

(Y/N) turned to the hooded man and said:

"Untie the chest and bring it here!"

"Yes, Your Highness!" replied the man who took the chest and dragged it with difficulty to Berwyn's feet.

"Here is your money: there are 100,000 gold ecus inside this chest! Take your money and leave my future husband alone!"

Massaging his chin, the leader of the Red Dragon had a strange feeling that it was all too good to be true. He called for one of his men:

"Dewydd! Go open that chest for me!"

Without question, the man named Dewydd stepped forward and knelt before the chest. With a sweep of his sword, he broke the two locks and lifted the lid.

But to the horror of the Red Dragon Knights, it was not gold that was in the chest, but rats and snakes that leapt out of their wooden prison.

Furious at being tricked, Berwyn raised his sword and attacked (Y/N):

"You'll pay for this, you bitch!"

He did not have time to take another step as a powerful bolt of lightning propelled him against a tree. The other brigands turned to the hooded man who had just thrown the lightning.

"Who are you?" cried one of the knights.

The mysterious servant took off his hood, and everyone saw the face of Merlin, one of the greatest wizards in the land!

"I am your worst nightmare!" the wizard replied with a smile.

In the next second, the knights of Camelot leapt out of hiding and rushed against the Knights of the Red Dragon, who had no time to prepare for the attack.

After a few minutes of fighting, the Knights of Camelot won the battle hands down!

"I was expecting more fighting spirit, so I'm a bit disappointed! But I guess you're not used to fighting against real warriors anymore!" laughed Percival.

On their side, Lancelot released Arthur from his bonds.

"Sorry for the wait, my king."

"But I didn't mind: I was sure you would come to my rescue." 

"Thank (Y/N): she was the one who prepared this plot!" declared Merlin with a mischievous smile.

Speaking of the young woman, she walked over to Berwyn, bound tightly against a tree.

Without warning, she began to slap the knight:

"Nobody (slap) kidnaps (slap) my husband (slap) without paying the price! AND I AM NOT A WHORE (slap)!"

This scene amused the knights of Camelot very much, and they started to laugh.

As for the knights of the Red Dragon, they understood that the future queen of Camelot was not a woman who would let herself being insulted.

Arthur was surprised, a little terrified, but felt like he was falling in love with (Y/N) again!

"If you want my advice, Your Majesty: don't piss off your fiancée. It will always be good for the future!" Geraint advised him mischievously.

"I'll try to remember that!"

An hour later, everyone set off towards Camelot, the knights escorting their prisoners. Arthur (Y/N) and Merlin rode side by side.

"Now that this rescue is successful, you can concentrate on your wedding," Merlin smiled.

"Good idea, dear mage. I hope you will be there!" the King of Camelot pointed out.

"How could I miss the happiest day of my two greatest friends' lives?"

Smiling, Arthur took (Y/N's) hand and placed a chaste kiss on it.

"I was sure you would do anything to save me... Even though I think you took a lot of risks by coming here!"

"But I was not afraid of anything: after all, Merlin and the knights came with me!"

She stroked his cheek.

"And besides, I would do anything to save my beloved king!"

The young Pendragon smiled before kissing the young woman on the lips. 

The future queen of Camelot smiled mischievously:

"You have to admit: it's pretty funny."

"What is?"

"For once, it is the lady who saves the knight!"

Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Please don't shout it from the rooftops!"

"We'll make songs of it!" shouted Merlin, making the knights of Camelot laugh.

"Merlin, you clotpole!"

(Y/N) burst out laughing at this umpteenth bickering between the King of Camelot and his magus.

That said, her fiancé has a point: she would do anything to save her beloved king...

Thanks for reading!

Hope you loved the story!

Please, don’t hesitate to request!

Take care of you! 💝😘🥰😍

[ilikedumbknightsinlove]

Fic: A Dead Man’s Unrest (part 2) Gwaine/Lancelot

Canon-divergent fic where Morgana doesn’t have Shade Lancelot kill himself at the end of 4x09, but instead has Agravaine aid in his escape so that he can be beside her when she later invades Camelot to further taunt them.

PG-13 overall so far, for violence, threat and death. Warnings may be added to and rating changed in future (planning? sorry don’t know her)

Gwaine/Lancelot, with background Arthur/Gwen. This chapter takes place still in 4x12.

[Part 1]

Excerpt:

“It could be,” Morgana said, evidentially pleased by Gwaine’s outburst. Murmurs with amused and mocking tones started rising up from the men around them. “If you still insist on being loyal to your dear Lancelot despite everything he’s done, why don’t you show it to us? Fight for his life.”

 She pointed to the two soldiers who held Gwaine between them, swayed her finger for just a moment as she made her decision and then settled on the man to Gwaine’s left. The one who had the tighter grip on his arm. The soldier exhaled heavily through his nose and nodded. He let go of Gwaine, took a step to the side and drew his sword.

 “If you win this fight, Lancelot will live and I’ll send you down some food,” Morgana said. “If you lose, Lancelot will go back to the world of the dead using the same sword you failed him with. He’ll end himself stood right before you.”

---

  When Gwaine came round he was in one of Camelot’s dungeon cells with Gaius, his weapons and his chain mail gone. Not long after that Elyan was brought to them, unmoving and blood-soaked. His eyes were open but glazed and cold, staring straight ahead. They were the same empty eyes Lancelot had, and for a moment it made Gwaine fear that Elyan’s life had been taken and his body put under control as well. But soon Elyan’s eyes slid shut and his breathing steadied. Gaius bandaged the worst of his injuries with strips of cloth torn from the very thin bedding within their cell, but there was nothing else he could do.

  A pair of heavy footsteps approached, a key clicked dully in its lock and the cell door creaked as it was opened. One of Morgana’s men stepped inside.

  “You,” was all he said, reaching out to grab Gwaine’s sleeve and pull. Gwaine stepped forward with the motion and his arms were taken roughly (to make a point, Gwaine felt).

    “Oi!” Percival shouted and pounded a fist against the bars of his cell just opposite. The noise echoed off the walls, clanging together with the sound of the door being shut and locked.

  “I’ll be alright,” Gwaine managed to get out as he was marched quickly away, one soldier on each side of him. He didn’t put up any resistance as he was lead through hallways, which were dark and empty and so strangely unfamiliar, though he had walked them hundreds of times before. The invading army had taken down every piece of Pendragon insignia they could find and sealed the gates to cut the castle off from the town. When Gwaine was taken past some windows overlooking the courtyard he caught sight of a couple of fires burning. One looked like the flames were still consuming the remains of a large Pendragon flag.

  The last time Gwaine had seen a Pendragon emblem burn was Lancelot’s memorial...

  The throne room seemed wider, somehow, and taller. Far, far colder. Something in the air was different and it put Gwaine on edge. Candles were lit, throwing long flickering shadows upon the walls. The room was lined with Morgana’s men, all of them still indistinguishable to Gwaine. They all wore the same darkened armour, heavy black cloaks and a wrap around their head. Some were silent, some conversed quietly and hurriedly between themselves. All of them had their eyes on Gwaine.

  At the head of the room were the only three people who didn’t conceal their identities. There was Morgana, sat looking pensive and hard at the knight as he was brought to a stop in the middle of the room. To her left stood a man Gwaine didn’t know, who was tall and broad with thinly trimmed facial hair and a large sword strapped proudly at his waist.

  And to Morgana’s right was Lancelot. He had been ordered to kneel at her side. His eyes were like those of a statue, he was looking right at Gwaine but he didn’t appear to actually be seeing anything. There was no focus, no life to him.

  There had always been a particular way Lancelot smiled at Gwaine. The upturn of his lips was often slight, but the smile was mostly in his eyes. They went softer, warmer somehow, and Gwaine would often fancy that he noticed the lighter shades amongst the dark brown of Lancelot’s eyes when he smiled. Gwaine could still remember when he first noticed. It had been when they’d gathered for a first training session to start getting into the routine of being a knight. Gwaine had made an off-hand comment about how he supposed he could at least stick around until Arthur remembered to start charging them rent, and he’d looked up to see Lancelot smile. Lancelot hadn’t laughed, but he was smiling as though he were and it was certainly in his eyes. Gwaine had thought about how much he wanted to see that smile more. Looking back, he often thought that was the moment he had fallen for Lancelot.

  And now there was just nothing. No smile, no life, no colour to his eyes at all. Only darkness. Gwaine couldn’t even tell if that was Lancelot’s chest rising and falling or an illusion of the candlelight.

  He looked like a corpse propped up. That awful thought twisted its way into Gwaine’s mind like a parasite. He felt the same painful rise in his chest as he had done during all those night spent wrecked with grief in the months following Lancelot’s death. That same urge to let the despair consume him threatened to grow but somehow he swallowed it down.

  “Arthur is heading for Ealdor,” Morgana’s voice cut through the room. The sound of her soldiers muttering amongst themselves stopped and Gwaine felt the weight of their stares. There was a silence as Morgana watched him, smiling cruelly, leaning back into the Pendragon throne with a hand resting upon each arm.

  “Thanks for the update,” Gwaine said, after what felt like a far too long silence. “You could have just sent down one of your men with the message. If you think they’d remember.” He cast a glance at one of the soldiers who still held onto his arm. The man glared at Gwaine and his mouth twitched in irritation. Gwaine felt the grip on him tighten, the man’s fingers digging purposefully into his arm.

  “Passing on my thanks to Elyan will mean more coming from you,” Morgana replied and Gwaine clenched his jaw as anger cut through him. While his instinct was still to be reckless and let the adrenaline alone carry him, he resisted, weighing the odds to be incredibly out of his favour. There had been plenty of times where that might not have mattered. But those instances had never involved the lives of others he cared about.

  “Though as I recall, Ealdor is at least a day’s ride,” Morgana went on. “And it turns out subduing and taking over a kingdom is remarkably quick and easy once you have the resources. So now that the first fun part is over and we await the second, we have some time that needs filling with a bit of entertainment.”

  “I’m not really in the mood for telling jokes,” Gwaine said. “Though if you ask Sir Leon nicely enough he might do a poetry reading for you.”

  “Oh, Agravaine told me you were the joker. Though that’s not the precise way he put it.”

  Gwaine felt something cold sink into his stomach. He had never liked Lord Agravaine and did everything within his power to avoid him, though that was one of the few opinions he really kept to himself. But having his very off feelings about the man proven right still felt absolutely awful. Knowing how much Arthur had trusted and relied upon the man-

  If Agravaine worked for Morgana, was that how Lancelot had escaped his cell back then?

  Gwaine’s attention went from Morgana back to Lancelot as the question struck him, and it didn’t go without notice. Morgana shifted so that she could comfortably lean a little to her right and push her fingers through Lancelot’s hair.

  Don’t. Don’t you touch him!

  “They always go on about how the knights are some sort of brotherhood and deep bond,” Morgana said, idly stroking Lancelot’s head. “Though it’s interesting that you should still care for him so much, even after he betrayed you all.”

  “He did nothing!” Gwaine spat out and for a moment he couldn’t see. White hot rage burned up in his chest, flashed before his eyes and then tinged the edge of his vision. He tried to move forward but the two soldiers pulled him back. “Why him? What could Lancelot have done to you to deserve this?”

  “Him in particular?” Morgana looked down to Lancelot. She twirled one finger around his short curls and tugged, but Lancelot gave no response. “Nothing. But I remember when he first came here. He was so bright and noble and keen to serve. Adorable, really.” Morgana took a fistful of Lancelot’s hair this time and clenched her fingers. Again, Lancelot remained still. “He was the ideal man then and he is so even more now. He’s rather handsome, he’s quiet unless spoken to and what’s best is he will obey my every order without question.”

  Morgana’s fist unclenched and she settled her hand again in Lancelot’s hair. She looked at Gwaine again. The candlelight reflected the gleam of vicious joy in her eyes and her smile was wider as she went on. “He’ll ruin Guinevere’s relationship with Arthur because I told him to. He’ll betray his friends because I commanded it. He’d even kill himself right here if I said it was what I wanted.”

  Hot rage was suddenly replaced by cold hard dread. It swelled in Gwaine’s throat and for a moment he felt like his breath had been taken. His chest hitched painfully and something in his head buzzed as he instinctively reached for his sword but found his arms still restrained. But, he suddenly recalled with dread, he had no weapons anyway.

  “No!” he blurted out before he could stop himself. “Leave him! Is this what you brought me up for?”

  “It could be,” Morgana said, evidentially pleased by Gwaine’s outburst. Murmurs with amused and mocking tones started rising up from the men around them. “If you still insist on being loyal to your dear Lancelot despite everything he’s done, why don’t you show it to us? Fight for his life.”

  She pointed to the two soldiers who held Gwaine between them, swayed her finger for just a moment as she made her decision and then settled on the man to Gwaine’s left. The one who had the tighter grip on his arm. The soldier exhaled heavily through his nose and nodded. He let go of Gwaine, took a step to the side and drew his sword.

  “If you win this fight, Lancelot will live and I’ll send you down some food,” Morgana said. “If you lose, Lancelot will go back to the world of the dead using the same sword you failed him with. He’ll end himself stood right before you.”

  Morgana clicked her fingers. The other soldier who had escorted Gwaine from the dungeons unsheathed his sword and handed it over. Gwaine took it and found himself fumbling a little with the grip. His hands had become covered in sweat but he hadn’t noticed until that moment.

  “Has anybody told you what a vile cold serpent you are lately?” he said darkly through gritted teeth as he hurriedly passed the sword between his two hands so he could scrub his palms against the bottom of his shirt.

  “You say the sweetest things,” Morgana said. She still had her hand in Lancelot’s hair, mindlessly stroking her fingers back and forth like somebody petting a dog. “Don’t feel you have to though. I will remind you that Elyan is laying unconscious in a cold dark prison cell all because of Lancelot. His sister is banished and his mind was tormented almost to breaking point. You could always choose to let Lancelot fall to avenge your actual living friend.”

  “Stop touching him.” For a moment Gwaine considered turning his sword on Morgana instead, odds against him be damned.

  The burly man stood at Morgana’s left side seemed to pick up on Gwaine’s thoughts. He stepped forward, drew himself up tall and flexed tattooed arms as he rested one hand on the hilt of his sword.

  Alright then.

  Gwaine straightened, rolled his shoulders back to try and limber himself up. He felt stiff and tired, but he would just have to put that from his mind. Finally he turned away from Lancelot to face his opponent.

  “You want to get this over with?” he asked the soldier, getting a firm grip on his sword and lifting it just enough to give himself an idea of its weight. It was heaver than what he was used to, the balance didn’t quite agree with him. But he would just have to adjust.

  The man snorted and raised his sword ready.

  “You lot aren’t too talkative, are you?”

  His opponent was large but moved quickly. He went for Gwaine while he spoke, arching his sword into the air and then bringing it down heavily. The blade would have landed right between Gwaine’s eyes had he not been able to bring his sword up in time to block it. But it was close, far too close. The weight of the blow nearly made his knees buckle from under him and Gwaine felt his feet slide almost dangerously out of place as he shuffled to adjust his stance.

  Not even one night in the dungeons and it already felt like he was out of practice.

  “What would any of us have to say to a Knight of Camelot that wouldn’t be put better by passing a blade through his throat?” the man finally spoke to him. His voice was low but carried through the tall room. The sound of laughs and taunts started to echo from the high walls. “As soon as your entertainment value runs out, you’ll be dead anyway.”

  Gwaine managed to slide his right foot back enough to be able to push himself forward. There was the screech of blades before Gwaine dodged to the side and finally away from any immediate danger. He took a few paces back and then sunk into a more prepared stance, his weapon outstretched and ready.

  “Oh I’ve plenty of that, if that’s all you’re after.”

  The aim wasn’t to kill him, Gwaine realised, just defeat and humiliate. None of them would die unless it was specifically under Morgana’s orders. That meant his opponent wouldn’t be able to go all out as he might want to, but Gwaine didn’t have to grant any such courtesy in return.

  “You going to put that sword through my throat like you want to or not? I don’t have all night.”

  Gwaine saw his opponent’s nostril’s flare and his face deepen with a scowl. He had touched a nerve. Good.

  The man went for him again but this time Gwaine felt far more prepared. There was now that familiar rush in his heart which had carried him through so many fights before. The noises around him seemed duller, further away, and all he knew was the man before him. His mind raced, searching for anything he could use to get that one step ahead he needed for a victory.

  Gwaine met the attack and parried once, then again, thought he would for a third time, but the soldier swung his sword to the side and further downwards. The blade struck Gwaine in the leg, halfway up his thigh, and it stung.

  Putting his weight onto his other leg, Gwaine went forward in attack. He struck fast, first attempting to go for just below the man’s stomach where his armour stopped, then from the side, then the other, then he raised his weapon and brought it down. Gwaine lost track of his own movements after that. With every passing second his leg hurt even more. His hair was falling into his eyes and there was no time to push it back or even think about trying to toss his head. No matter where Gwaine tried to strike, no matter how fast, the man met his attack and pushed against it.

  After deflecting several strikes, his opponent parried and then barrelled into Gwaine, shoving against him hard with his shoulder. It caused Gwaine to start losing his balance. One hand came away from the grip of his sword and he felt his heart sink with dread as the weapon begun to slide from his grasp.

  The adrenaline rushed so fast he thought he could hear it screaming in his ears. Gwaine grabbed out as he begun to off-balance and managed to get a fistful of his opponent’s sleeve. He stumbled a little but found some footing, though a flash of pain from his leg seared through him. All he could do in the moment was grit his teeth through it as he kept enough of a hold on his sword to slash the blade into the back of the soldier’s leg.

  His opponent bellowed in pain and fury. Shouts erupted all around them. Gwaine tried to draw his weapon back so that he could hit again, but he wasn’t fast enough. Spitting a curse, the soldier raised his arm and struck Gwaine to the side of his head with the pommel of his sword. Darkness momentarily passed through Gwaine’s vision as he fell to the ground. He landed hard on his shoulder, scraping the side of his face upon the stone floor.

  There was a clatter as his sword dropped.

  His arm was throbbing with pain. There was a low groan, which he thought was coming from him but it seemed far away somehow. His vision was hazy, but he could see his opponent loom over him. There was candlelight reflected in the raised sword.

  Gwaine barely thought about it. He struck out one leg and landed a firm kick at the soldier’s ankles. It was his injured leg and moving it hurt like hell, but his opponent hadn’t expected it. He made a noise of surprise and Gwaine didn’t hesitate. He kicked out again, using both legs this time, landing another hit.

  His opponent swayed. Gwaine managed to grab his cape and yanked it to help leverage himself into more of a sitting position. As the man was unexpectedly dragged off-balance, Gwaine struck out his injured leg for a third time. He managing to sweep the man’s feet out from underneath him.

  Somehow the soldier didn’t fall on top of Gwaine, though for a dreadful moment he thought that would be exactly what would happen. He rolled to the side, only just managing to avoid the falling man and found himself facing the sword he’d dropped. Gwaine scrambled, grabbing the sword again and somehow managing to pull himself to his feet. He spun around and spotted the looser grip his opponent had upon his weapon.

  Gwaine swung his sword down to strike a blow to the man’s arm, making him let go of his weapon entirely. He kicked the sword away and stepped onto the man’s arm for good measure. His blade settled against the soldier’s throat.

  “It’s done!” Gwaine gulped through his own heavy breathing. It was all starting to hit him, the hot pain in his leg, the throbbing ache in his shoulder and the scrapes on his face. He was starting to shake, but kept the sword firm in his grip. He looked up, glaring at Morgana through the hair that had fallen into his face. “Good enough for you?”

  The room buzzed with noise. There were jeers at Gwaine and mocking taunts to his fallen opponent. Gwaine was aware of it all, but didn’t catch any of the words. His heart was pounding and his body ached. Though there was a lot of chatter around them, lots of shuffling about and pointing, Morgana sat unmoving. The man stood to her left had his arms crossed across his chest. He was smiling but there was something nasty about it which Gwaine couldn’t quite pin down.

  Lancelot was also unmoving, still knelt at Morgana’s side, and Gwaine felt his heart sink. There was still nothing.

  “You’re not going to finish the job?” Morgana asked, glancing down briefly at Gwaine’s defeated opponent. “I have no use for those who will fall so easily to Arthur’s toy soldiers.”

  “You put one life on the line.” Gwaine tried to gulp down the desperation he felt, but there was a waiver to his voice. “I won, as you asked, and if I see you touch him again I’ll run this sword through you myself!”

  The man to Morgana’s left hissed a curse as he started to draw his sword from it’s sheath. But before he could finish Morgana held out one hand to gesture for him to stop.

  “Helios! It’s alright, I think I can take down one of Camelot’s little gutter rats without your assistance.”

  Helios’ face twisted into a sneer at Gwaine, but he obeyed. “As you wish.”

  She turned and reached to twirl a finger through Lancelot’s hair again. “You see how hard he’ll fight for you?” She asked him, her voice mocking kindness. “Do you even remember who he is?”

  There was a moment as Lancelot looked Gwaine up and down.

  “No,” he said. A small frown crossed his face as he turned to Morgana. “Should I?”

  “I’ve told you everything you need to know,” Morgana trailed her fingers down the side of Lancelot’s face. “If you don’t recognise that man it’s because he’s nothing to you.”

  Lancelot’s expression settled. “Yes my Lady.”

  “No, Lancelot!” Gwaine couldn’t stand it. Forgetting about the fallen man at his feet, he started forward. “She’s lying to you, Lancelot, I-”

  He barely got three paces, painful limped paces, before Morgana lazily flicked her wrist and her eyes shimmered with fire. Something unseen but heavy hit Gwaine right in the middle of his chest, knocking the air from his lungs as he was thrown backwards like a leaf in the wind.

  Gwaine couldn’t help but cry out as he landed on the ground and struck the back of his head heavily against the cold stone. Bright sparks jolted across his vision and he tasted blood. He gasped for air as he coughed and couldn’t breathe.

  Before he knew it, they were on him. The nearest of Morgana’s soldiers descended to grab at Gwaine’s arms and his shirt to haul him to his feet. Somehow he had kept hold of his sword, but it was easily taken from him before his arms were twisted up behind his back. One of them even yanked at his hair as Gwaine was manhandled into a barely-balanced standing position.

  “Take him back to the dungeons,” Morgana ordered. “Send down the supplies in the morning. No sense in wasting resources if they won’t even live the night.”

  Gwaine called Lancelot’s name as he was dragged from the room. He tried to fight and resist, but could barely struggle against the three men who pulled him away. They forced him along, almost unbalancing him with every other pace, twisting his arms so hard he was sure they were trying to snap the bones. There was a hand gripping the back of his head to tug hard at his hair, and one of them even jabbed at the wound on Gwaine’s leg.

  Though he thrashed and shouted, Gwaine kept looking at Lancelot for as long as he could. He watched for something. <i>Anything.</i> Anything that might show, even for half a second, that his Lancelot was still there. Just the briefest glimpse of recognition.

  But though Lancelot never broke their eye contact he seemed entirely uninterested in the commotion Gwaine caused. His eyes were dark and empty. Not even the candlelight seemed to be reflected in them.

  Through the taunts being growled in his ears by the soldiers who forced him out of the room, and the mocking from those who watched, Gwaine still heard what Morgana told Helios as she gestured at the soldier he had defeated. The man was starting to pick himself up off the floor.

  “You can deal with him.”

  Helios withdrew his sword and advanced on the man. The soldier raised an arm over his face, then Gwaine saw nothing more as he was taken through the throne room doors into the darkened hallway.

  But he heard the pleading cries and how quickly they suddenly stopped.

---

  Food as well as some water and fresh bandages were sent down to the dungeons the next morning, just as Morgana had said. Elyan woke up a little before that, and sat solemn and quiet as Gaius changed the dirty torn cloth bandages for cleaner ones. The only thing to tend to the wounds with was a small bowl of water, but there was nothing which could be done about that.

  Gwaine still sat where he had fallen hours ago after being shoved back into the cell. He’d slumped against the wall and spent the rest of the night drifting in and out of a fitful sleep where he kept dreaming of Lancelot just out of his reach.

  After Gaius finished treating Elyan’s injuries, he shuffled over to Gwaine to bind the slash wound on his leg, having managed to save just enough bandage to do so.

  “What happened to you?” Elyan’s voice croaked as he broke the gloomy silence. “Did she…” a quiver to his words. “Did she also-”

  “No,” Gwaine said. “She had me fight one of her men. Wanted a bit of a show, so who am I to refuse?”

  Percival made a noise in the cell across from them. It was something that was both amusement and exasperation.

  “Did you see him?” Elyan asked, a troubled look settling in his eyes. “Lancelot. I’m sure it was him. He was with her! But he… I don’t know. It wasn’t right. When she…”

  Elyan stopped to take a gasp of air.

  “You should take it easy,” Gaius said quietly, settling a hand on Elyan’s shoulder.

  “No, I’m… I’m okay, it’s-” Elyan inhaled deeply through his nose before he went on. “But when she… when she used the Nathair on me, Agravaine and that other guy she was with, they both left the room. Lancelot remained but…” he shook his head. “It’s like he wasn’t even there. He didn’t react at all. I called to him, I tried to… he wouldn’t answer me.”

  “She’s controlling him,” Gwaine said. It hurt, finally having to speak what he knew. While it had only been in his head a part of him that could still refuse to believe that Lancelot was being twisted and used. Though what the alternative was he didn’t know. But, no, the others had to be told. “Everything Lancelot has done since he came back is because Morgana made him. It’s some sort of enchantment, got to be. You saw his eyes, they’re far too cold.”

  “The Isle of the Blessed,” came Percival’s voice. Gwaine turned so that he could face him. Percival stood at the door to his cell, his fists clasping the bars. Leon sat on the cot against the wall, staring at the floor and looking deeply disturbed. “You think… I mean, we never found his body. You think Morgana was there? Could she have taken him for all this time?”

  “No,” Gaius said. They all looked to him, he was sat perched on the cot of their cell next to Elyan. He sighed deeply and then explained; “I’m sorry, but Lancelot did die that day. He sacrificed himself to close the Veil, just as you know.”

  “Then how is he here now?” Elyan asked, leaning forwards though it seemed to pain him to do so.

  “He’s a Shade,” Gaius told them. “A deceased soul resurrected by necromancy. It’s a very dark and very very powerful magic. Once they’re brought back to the land of the living, they’re moulded to the will of their master and completely under their control.”

  So Lancelot had died that day. Gwaine slid down the wall a little more, feeling his head start to pound as he tried to take it all in. There had been that smallest spark of hope that perhaps Lancelot coming back meant they hadn’t really lost him. Somehow missing something and abandoning Lancelot to survive on his own for months was a dreadful thing, but surely Lancelot being lost was better than him being completely gone.

  But no.

  It had been true. Lancelot had died. Only to be stolen back and used as a puppet. Gwaine had known that Morgana was powerful and her intentions were dark but…

  “Then what… oh-” Elyan’s voice started to shake again as he broke the cold silence that had settled around them. “Oh, Gwen. So she… he did something. He must have done something to her! To make her- oh what have I done?”

  “I… I can’t be sure,” Gaius said. His hands awkwardly fiddled with his robe. “Merlin wasn’t able to- I don’t know what Lancelot’s actions were. Just that he’s under the control of a powerful magic.”

  “No, no he did,” Gwaine straightened as he remembered the previous night. “She told me. Morgana told me that Lancelot ruined Gwen and Arthur’s engagement because she ordered him to. She sent him back here all for that. Morgana must have had him do something to Gwen.”

  Elyan buried his face in his hands with a loud painful moan. “I should have known. I should have known something wasn’t right, why didn’t I realise?”

  Gwaine bit back against the feeling of cold dread that swelled up inside him. He had known. He had known that <i>something</i> was wrong with Lancelot from how he barely even cast a glance at Gwaine. Lancelot had spoken to them and smiled but only, Gwaine realised, when he’d absolutely had to. Otherwise he had kept silent and to himself, wanting nothing to do with any of them. And Gwaine had tried to put an excuse in his mind as to why that might be; that perhaps something happened to Lancelot which he didn’t want to talk about. Perhaps Lancelot even felt angry that they’d left The Isle of the Blessed without him. Maybe in the time it took for him to find his way home he didn’t love Gwaine any more, or even particularly like any of them.

  There had been something very wrong with Lancelot and Gwaine had known it. But he’d done nothing. And so-

  “None of us could have seen what would happen,” Leon said gently, trying hard to keep his voice even but Gwaine could tell he was trying to convince himself as much as anybody.

  “I’m her brother!” Elyan cried. “I should have believed her when she said she didn’t know what happened! I should have fought for her! I should have never allowed this to happen!”

  “Elyan,” Gaius reached out, though didn’t quite touch him. “Your wounds.”

  “I’m alright,” Elyan gasped, his chest heaving. “No. No, but. But if this is ever over, if Arthur manages to take Camelot back, I’m bringing Gwen home. She should have never been sent away, I don’t care what Arthur has to say about it!”

  Elyan’s words hung heavily in the air and nobody doubted him at all. Gwaine clenched his fist into the hem of his shirt and stared at a spot on the far wall.

  “And Lancelot?” he asked. “Is there a way- could we get him back?”

  Gaius shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m sorry, but I just don’t know.”

[little-ligi]

"Miss you." With Gwaine (MaybeaboutLancelot?) (PS this is night-faye)

Thank you for the prompt, Faye!!! But, I don’t know if this is really what you were hoping for… it turned out a lot sadder than I was intending it to. Feel free to send me a different prompt if you don't like this one 😑

Under a cut because of canon major character death and grief.

Gwaine stares across the training field. If he concentrates hard enough he can pretend that he can still see him. Can see his lithe body twisting and lunging, practicing the parries Arthur has been drilling into them all day. Can see his soft hair beginning to stick to the side of his face with sweat. Can see his dark eyes dancing with life…

Only they don’t anymore.

Because Lancelot is not alive anymore.

Gwaine’s heart thuds in his chest. Heavy and painful. He blinks and the image his mind had conjured shatters and he is left staring at a blank nothingness again. He has to catch himself on the weapon’s rack behind him as his knees buckle.

Lancelot is gone.

He can’t make the truth of the statement stay in his mind. Despite it being three weeks since they’d come back from the Isle of the Blessed without him. He doesn’t want it to be true.

Every night he sees him. He closes his eyes and he’s back on the Isle of the Blessed. Lancelot is there, his chainmail gleaming, his hair ruffled by a breeze Gwaine can’t feel. His face splits into a smile and he steps towards him.

“I miss you,” Gwaine tells him every time, reaching for his hands. Only to find them cold and still. He pulls him against his chest, trying to warm him, trying to fit them together again like they should be. But he gets no response.

The Lancelot in his dream is not the real man, only an echo.

Every night Gwaine wakes alone to find tears pouring down his cheeks, his face pressed against the spare pillow on his bed. The one he has not let his manservant change.

He screams into the pillow that still carries the faintest trace of Lancelot, then drags himself from the bed, puts on his armour and makes his way to the training field. The same routine every day.

That’s where he is now, exhaustion weighing him down, crushing him as readily as the grief. The knights silently move on from parrying drills, each stepping to a straw-filled dummy.

Slashing at the practice dummy with his sword takes all of Gwaine’s strength. With each hit he lets out a roar, a scream, the sound ripping from his throat with the pure agony of his heart.

His friends have tried to help with his pain. Percival always steadies him, one strong arm around his waist as he stumbles back upstairs after a training session. Leon presses food into his hands when he hasn’t eaten all day. Elyan sits with him when he drinks.

Even Arthur’s there, his hand finding its way onto Gwaine’s shoulder more often than ever, squeezing encouragingly, and occasionally his forehead pressing against Gwaine’s wordlessly.

But they are all lost in their own grief. And none of them know the extent to which Gwaine and Lancelot had grown close. Except perhaps Merlin. Merlin might have known. But he is heartbroken as well and no longer comes down to the training field to watch the knights. Gwaine isn’t even sure when he last saw him.

Gwaine almost collapses against his dummy when Arthur finally calls them to a halt. He knows his cheeks are wet with tears, knows his eyes have been bloodshot for days. He buried his face into the front of the dummy’s chest, taking in the musty smell of damp straw. It is not like burying his face in the warmth of a firm muscular chest, fine hair tickling his nose as the chest rises and falls with laughter. He misses Lancelot’s laughter more than almost anything else. The way he could pull it from him at any given moment. The lightness of it, the carefree love in it.

He doesn’t hear the other knights talking to him, he ignores the prince’s commands. Hands gently pull him away from the dummy, and he is held securely against Percival. His friend holds him for a long while. Steady and strong. Before guiding him inside the castle and up to the knights’ quarters.

He’s not sure if it’s just in his mind or if it slips past his trembling lips but he cries out as they pass by the closed door to the room that used to be Lancelot’s, his hand reaching uselessly for the latch of the door. Percival steers him into his own room, and Gwaine thanks him, pushing him away when Percival offers to stay with him.

He shuts the door and is left alone.

His manservant – who is rarely around when Gwaine is in the room nowadays – has left a jug of beer on the table and Gwaine lifts it to his lips without even pouring it into the waiting goblet. He drinks and drinks until the jug is empty then lets it fall from his loose grip, smashing on the floor. Smashed like his heart.

He trips over the pieces, stripping his armour and dropping it to join the shards of pottery. Automatically he removes his shirt and breeches as well, leaving him shivering in just his braes.

He falls into bed, without even dressing in his nightclothes, ready to see his love again in his nightmares.

Wow, ok yeah... this got really sad…! If you want a happier one, you can send me another prompt and I will try again... 😑

Here is the list of prompts! Anyone who liked this (or didn’t like it and wants a happier one instead…) just send me a number and a character and I shall write more little snippets!! Thank you to @whumpster-dumpster for the prompt list!

[specialagentlokitty]

Gwaine x reader - Sweet gestures and tired confessions

Me again with another Merlin request 😂 how’d you feel about a Gwaine x reader with prompts 20 & 25? - @youarethereasonimsmiling 💕

20. “That’s 108.” “You What?” “That’s how many times I’ve saved your life since we were kids.” “Why are you keeping track?!” “I’m going to cash them in later.”

25. “I hate that I love you.” “If it makes it any better I love you too.”

You and Gwaine were doing patrol together, Arthur always stuck you two together. You were trouble makers but you were good knights... at times.

“I just want to go back and sleep...” you yawned.

“Can I join you?” Gwaine wiggled his brows.

Punching his arm you playfully glared at him.

“No!”

“Aw...” he pouted.

Rolling your eyes, you carried on walking, only to be pulled back into a firm chest. A horse ran right where you were stood and you breathed a shocked gasp.

“Thanks Gwaine.” You smiled.

Gwaine let you go and looked you over with a frown before it turned into a grin.

“That’s 108.” He said as he carried on walking.

“You what?” You asked falling in step with him.

You saw the corners of Gwiane’s mouth twitch up in a smirk as he glanced down at you and then back ahead. He went to reply, but was stopped by Leon approaching with Percival.

“We’re on night shift, you guys can go.” Leon smiled.

“Thanks guys, we’ll take night next time.” You replied.

Bidding the pair a goodbye, Gwaine and yourself headed back to the castle. It was silent halfway there.

“That’s how many times I’ve saved your life since we were kids.” Gwaine suddenly said.

You chocked on air and your eyes bulged.

“Why are you keeping track?!”

Laughing at you, Gwaine put your back the sling his arm around your shoulder as he carried on walking, bringing you with him. You ignored the pounding of your heart at the action.

“I’m going to cash them in later.”

You shook your head and headed to the changing rooms to rid yourself of your armour. When you had you made your way out and spotted Gwaine waiting for you.

“What on earth could you possibly want from me that badly Gwaine?” You asked slightly worried.

“Haven’t decided yet, I’ll think of something~” he sang.

Rolling your eyes, you walked into your room knowing full well he was following you. Dumping your armour on a chair, you collapsed on the bed with a small groan.

“Close the door when you leave...”

Shuffling so you were on the bed properly, you were fully prepared to sleep. You heard the door closed and guessed Gwaine put your stuff away and left, but suddenly you were picked up.

“Gwaine...” You whinned tiredly.

“Stop whinning, it’s going to be cold tonight. You might want to be under the blankets.

You were laid on the bed once more and covered up. You flushed a little and your heart swelled with affection.

“There, now you won’t get cold.”

You could hear the smile in his voice and you pouted and flipped onto your back, tired eyes gazing up at him. You hated how much you loved him.

In your tired haze, you had no control over the process from thoughts to your mouth.

“I hate that I love you.” You confessed.

Gwaine blinked in surprise, then he leant over, his hands on either side of our head as he gazed down at you. His hair falling around his head.

“If it makes it any better I love you too.”

Laughing quietly, you gripped his shirt and tugged him lightly onto the bed. Gwaine rolled over you and laid on his side next to you, his hand weaving through your hair soothingly.

“I suppose it makes it a little better...” you mumbled out.

Closing your eyes, you tugged the blanket trying to get it from under him.

“Get under the blanket...”

“If you insist.” He snickered.

He moved, the blanket was lifted and then Gwaine was right next to you. Humming in content, you rested your head against his chest and wrapped an around around his waist.

He copied you, one arm went around your waist while is other arm went under your head, so you were using it as a pillow.

“Night...” you whispered.

A tender kiss was placed to the top of your head, Gwaine pulled you flush against him, leaving no space between his body and yours.

“Goodnight sweetheart.” He said gently

TAGS:

Merlin: @havlindzk @sitkafay @milleniumxhan @cassiopeia-barrow

All: @sitkafay @havlindzk @drakelover78 @sammysgirl1997 @mp0625 @tc5322 @hahaboop

[generallynerdy]

Knight In Shining Armour (Gwaine X Reader)

Summary: The ever mysterious Gwaine shows at the tavern every night during your shift. You’re starting to think he’s the only thing keeping the creeps that come with your day job away. Little do you know, the term ‘knight in shining armour’ is quite a literal one.

Requested by Anon: I had an idea for a Gwaine/Reader where gwaine keeps on going back to this one tavern specifically because the reader is always there, whether for a job or other reasons, but he takes any chance he can get to see them. Thanks!

Key: (Y/N) - your name

Warnings: cheesy, fluff, attempted kidnapping, mentions of harassment, mentions of obscene gestures, cursing probably, Gwaine’s Gorgeous Face

Word Count: 1,828

Note: hi i love gwaine more than my internal organs thank u for this request i love you

The sun was getting low and the constant clank of wood mug against wood mug was making your head throb. You had been at your shift for a few hours now, but it was getting around that time that the smell of beer would make you sick. The life of a barkeep wasn’t pretty, especially when you considered the wages. They were just barely keeping you afloat, but you could think of worse jobs to take on.

It wasn’t even the wages or the overwhelming smells and noises that made your job such a heinous one. It was the customers who made your life hell.

Rowdy or rude ones weren’t so bad. You knew how to deal with them; either kick them out or, if they were still somewhat sober, let them buy more drinks.

Ones who made messes were significantly more annoying, but you didn’t have to clean up all their messes. You pitied the poor cleaning crew, which was made up of one young boy trying to earn extra to take home to his mother and sisters.

The customers that really gave you headaches were the ones who seemed to think your nice attitude was directed especially toward them, the creeps who would ‘accidentally’ touch your hand as they reached for the beer you put on the table, and, worst of all, those who would openly flirt with you and laugh when you told them to back off. You couldn’t stand those kinds of men.

There was a certain table in the back where these customers lingered. It was a group of five or six men who seemed to never leave the bar.

These men always whistled at you and sometimes dared to even touch you, but it never became more than that. However, they were starting to show more often and their eyes lingered on you more than usual. It was starting to scare you.

Lucky for you, you had a knight in shining armour.

He was late today. It wasn’t by much, but it left you glancing anxiously between the men at the back table and the door. When he strode in, you missed him completely.

“Evening, (Y/N),” his charming voice sounded right behind you.

You jumped in place and whirled, meeting his brown eyes with a gasp. “Gwaine!” You breathed. “You scared me!”

“I’m offended,” he joked with a light smile. “Did you think I wasn’t coming?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” You soon regained your soft smile and went to pour him a drink, heart stopping its incessant pounding when you noticed the men in the back leaving.

As you handed him his drink, Gwaine could not miss your shaking hands. He looked up at you with a tilted head and raised eyebrow, nearly making you faint as it was. He was a beautiful man of firm stature, with luscious hair to rival a maiden’s. You knew nothing of him, his story that was, though you knew of his character.

He was always kind and gentle to you, though fiercely protective when men dared make a show of you in his presence. He was well-mannered, but always itching for a fight, it seemed. Bar fights increased ten fold after he appeared.

“Are you alright?” he said, breaking you from your thoughts.

You shook off your earlier terror and returned to the present. “I’m fine.” You changed the subject quickly. “Are you ever going to tell me what sort of job keeps you busy all day but lets you visit every night?”

“Perhaps,” he grinned devilishly.

You didn’t want to bother him about the men, especially since they had yet to make a move on you. If he was needed, he would be there, but you felt guilty dragging him into something that might not be of significance in the first place.

So, you left it alone and instead spent the rest of the night talking to him. He was there until closing time and walked you home, just like he did every night. He kissed your hand and gave a silly little bow before disappearing down the street, walking with a skip in his step. He was almost adorable.

The next night, Gwaine was late again.

Minutes passed by painfully and you stared longingly at the front door of the tavern, hoping to see a head of brown hair strut in. He never came.

By the time the sun was down and you went to lock up, the tavern was empty. You silently thanked whatever god was out there that the men in the back didn’t appear at all that night. If they saw you without Gwaine, they were sure to do something dastardly.

You donned your cloak and exited the building, locking the door behind you. You were barely a foot from the door when an arm wrapped around your head, covering your mouth when you tried to scream.

Sneaking out of Camelot was not an easy feat. It should have been for a knight, but Gwaine was apparently too suspicious for his own good. He knew the others were starting to notice his disappearances, but he thought he was being careful enough that they wouldn’t figure him out just yet.

He was mistaken, he found, as he was on his way to his regular place when he heard a branch snap in the forest behind him. Turning sharply on his heel, he drew his sword and poked it into the brush that shuffled violently.

“Come out,”  he hissed. “Maybe I won’t flay you for following me.”

Much to his surprise, it was not only one figure that appeared from the woods. From nearby trees and bushes, five men emerged.

“I should hope not!” Scoffed the blond head of King Arthur himself.

He had led the merry band of himself, Merlin, Percival, Leon, and Elyan all this way to follow Gwaine. Knowing the troops they had back in Camelot, their little excursion left home virtually unguarded.

Gwaine instantly lowered his sword. “All of you? Really? Haven’t you anything better to do?”

He glanced over his shoulder almost anxiously at the town in the distance. He was late as it was already, since Arthur had him shine all the knights’ shoes as punishment for some unmentionable antics earlier that day. If they delayed him any longer, he feared (Y/N) would be left to walk home alone.

“Got somewhere to be?” Merlin teased.

Gwaine raised his sword again with a semi-teasing glare. “You I won’t hesitate to flay. This was your idea, wasn’t it?”

“He wasn’t the only one that noticed you go missing every night,” Leon suddenly said.

Elyan snorted. “Far from it.”

“What are you even doing out here?” Arthur questioned. “The only thing this town has going for it is a decent tavern.”

The sudden redness of Gwaine’s face did not go unnoticed, even in the dark. Glancing at each other with bemused smiles, they realised there was only one reason he would ever walk out this far from Camelot every night.

“Do they have a name?” Percival grinned.

“Shut up!” Gwaine huffed and turned away, sheathing his sword. He set off toward the town again, but stopped as he heard footsteps and swung around. “You’re not coming!”

Arthur gave a boyish smile. “I don’t think you can stop us.”

He sighed and slumped over, giving in. “Fine. But do me a favour and act normal.”

“What does normal entail exactly?” Elyan wondered aloud.

They started walking again, making the last stretch of the woods and into town, passing the guarded gate with ease. It wasn’t a big place, but they had the man power to defend themselves. Luckily, they knew Gwaine very well and were eager to let him pass, commenting that he was much later than usual.

“They don’t know that you’re a knight, do they?” Arthur asked on the way.

“No,” Gwaine sighed. “I don’t talk about work. Figure it’d scare them off.”

He almost dreaded bringing them with him as they wandered the streets of the town, eventually coming to the off-road the tavern lied on. Percival muttered something about Gwaine being unable to break old habits and a dagger missed him by an inch.

Turning the corner of the alleyway, Gwaine suddenly stopped.

“Let me go!” Someone shrieked. “Don’t touch me!”

As the other knights heard the same sound, they all drew their swords and rushed forward. Though the others could not recognise the person being dragged off, Gwaine definitely did. It was you, his lovely (Y/N).

The six men were quickly beaten and when only one remained, he tried to sneak up on Gwaine. You threw a nasty right hook, sending him running and squealing like a pig.

As the knights looked at you in complete awe, Gwaine turned to you with hastened hands, which took yours as he looked you up and down.

“Are you alright? Hurt?” He muttered, searching your eyes for any shadow of pain.

You shook your head and squeezed his hands. “No. You?”

“Better now,” he grinned.

You threw your arms around his neck and hugged him tight, breathing a sigh of relief. You refused to let go of him for a minute, before realising that the other men with him were watching. You cleared your throat and let go of him.

“Who are your friends?”

“The ones who made me late,” he said accusingly.

You raised your eyebrows and looked over the rather impressive crew. “Six months of being completely punctual and it takes five men to stop you? Christ, Gwaine.”

He grinned proudly, while the others glanced between each other.

“Six months?” The smallest of the crew gasped. “You’re whipped!”

Gwaine rolled his eyes. “(Y/N), these are my friends. Elyan, Percival, Leon, Arthur, and his servant, Merlin.”

“You just had to throw in the servant part,” the last one muttered mutinously.

Suddenly, you put the pieces together. “Wait, Arthur? King Arthur?” When he didn’t answer and looked away, you let your jaw fall. “You never told me you were a knight!”

“He thought it might scare you,” Arthur spoke up in his defence.

Gwaine was almost sheepish at this point and couldn’t bear to look at you. He had never lied to you before and keeping his knighthood from you was perhaps the one remotely ill-natured thing he had done. However, you approached and could not help putting your hand on his cheek, raising his eyes to yours.

“It was sweet of you to care,” you whispered only to him.

He gave a sickly sweet grin and closed the distance, pressing his lips against yours. You almost sighed gratefully into the kiss, having wished for it for months. Gwaine made an obscene gesture to the men cheering behind your back before pulling you closer, refusing to let go. When he did, it was only for the sake of breathing.

Suddenly, you laughed a little. “I guess you really are my knight in shining armour.”

Masterlist

[magicalmischel]

From the Shadows, into the Light

a merthur fanfic written for the Merlin Memory Month 2019

prompt day 6 - prompts “sharing”, “distraught”, “from the shadow, in the light”

wordcount: 2538

SUMMARY:  Arthur and Merlin have been dating for a while, and when they travel with a big group of knights to check the borders of Camelot, rumours spread fast. Although some knights are happy for them, there are some who don't agree, and for this night, Merlin doesn't feel safe sleeping away from Arthur - so he doesn't, and when they wake up, everything is different and their secret is out. Aka the fic where Arthur publicly announces that he and Merlin are together!

also posted on FFN and AO3.

It had been a difficult day for Merlin. The day marked exactly four months since he and Arthur had decided to be together, and Merlin had hoped that Arthur would know that and that they would plan something special (like the last three times), like a trip outside, just the two of them, or a dinner. What he had not anticipated however, was that his duties as a king always came first and unfortunately for them, there had been reported sightings of enemy knights plotting something inside the Camelot borders. Which meant that whatever plans they had been preparing had to wait, and instead, they had to go investigate the issue to determine whether it was just rumours or a possible threat.

For the past two days, Merlin had been stuck to the back of his horse, riding right behind Arthur, with a group of about forty men behind them. Merlin had to behave like the manservant that he was the entire time, but thankfully, Gwaine, Percival, Elyan, Lancelot and Leon were there with them, so it wasn't completely boring the whole time.

It was getting dark and Merlin was becoming rather tired. They stopped a few moments later and Arthur ordered the knights to set up a camp for the night, and decided who would keep watch first. It was the middle of summer and the night was hot, so they didn't even bother bringing tents. Instead, each of them had their own bedroll to sleep on.

Merlin hopped off his horse and immediately felt his thighs. They hurt from so much riding around, but it wasn't as bad as it used to be when he first came to Camelot. Back then, even after only a few hour long hunting trip, he'd thought he'd never walk again.

"Merlin, feed the horses," Arthur ordered and didn't even look at him. Merlin frowned slightly in annoyance.

"Yes, sire," he mumbled, tying his own horse to a tree. Did Arthur completely forget what day it was? And what it meant for them? He glanced at his king and saw him already talking to his knights, probably devising a plan as they were nearing the borders.

Maybe.

But Arthur was a king, Merlin shouldn't hold that against him, he understood that it was a difficult job taking care of an entire kingdom. Still, he couldn't help but feel a little sad.

He fed his horse and then continued with all the horses of all the knights. Hopefully, it wouldn't take too long because Merlin was already fighting the urge to yawn every few minutes.

As he was nearing the last group of horses, he almost tripped over a root, but balanced it out and successfully reached the horses. There was a group of new knights standing nearby, not noticing him.

"And that Merlin."

Merlin looked up as he heard his name but soon realized that the knights were only talking about him in hushed voices. He was close enough to hear them, hidden behind the horses, and they probably didn't realize he could hear them.

"He's so incompetent, I can't understand for the world why the king is keeping him around."

Merlin frowned sadly. Usually, he was liked among the knights, but these three or four were new and had only been knighted about two weeks ago. Perhaps they didn't realize that he and Arthur were friends?

"Haven't you heard?" One of them looked at the others. "The king is only keeping him because they sleep together."

"Really?"

"Yeah, everyone knows it."

Merlin's cheeks reddened and his heart started beating faster.

"No wonder he drags the boy everywhere we go, he doesn't even have armour and we're heading for a potential fight!"

"I know, right?"

"If I were the king, I would have sacked Merlin a long time ago."

"He should get rid of him, yeah."

"I agree."

They laughed loudly. "He's so lazy, too!"

Merlin swallowed, fed the last horse and quickly fled the scene. He only stopped walking after he reached a thick tree, considerably far from the camping site and definitely out of sight and earshot of the knights.

He couldn't believe it. Did they really hate him? Could they even be trusted when they talked like that? They didn't seem bothered by the idea of anyone overhearing their conversation. What if they decided to get rid of him themselves one day?

Should Merlin really be here? They were right, he didn't even have armour, the only reason he was going was . . . Arthur.

"Merlin?"

Merlin opened his eyes and Arthur was staring back at him, looking worried.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "I'm sorry about today, I know it's a special day for us and I wish we could have stayed in Camelot or at least be alone out here, but I can't stop being the king."

Merlin smiled at him, nodding. "I know that, you don't have to apologise." He was still leaning against the tree rather suspiciously, so he cleared his throat and moved a step forward, trying to look confident.

But it had been a very long time since he last managed to hide anything from Arthur. The king gently touched his arm and repeated his question from before. "Are you okay, Merlin?"

Merlin nodded. "I will be."

"What happened?"

"It's nothing, it's just . . . " He hesitated for a moment, but then he sighed and realized that he was glad that Arthur was there with him right now. He could tell him anything after all. "As I was feeding the horses, I overheard some knights speaking ill of me and . . . . of our relationship."

Arthur's worried frown turned into an anxious one.

"Do they know about us?"

Merlin let out a breath. "According to them, everyone knows."

Arthur closed his eyes briefly, and Merlin knew exactly what he was thinking. They didn't want anyone to know about them, but if everyone already knew about them anyway-

"Should we even keep hiding it, then? If everyone knows?"

Merlin honestly didn't have an answer to that question. Were they ready to tell everyone? And even if they were, would it change anything? Some of the knights already hated him, so could it really get any worse? He was still Arthur's manservant, they couldn't hurt him, could they?

"Are we ready for that?"

Arthur shrugged. "I guess we won't know until . . . until we just know."

Merlin nodded. "Alright. We'll just . . . know when the moment comes. But for tonight . . . " He hesitated again.

Arthur took his hand and stepped closer. "What is it?"

Merlin looked up at him. "Can I spend the night next to you? I mean, I know we sleep like that most of the time anyway, but I was just thinking about the knights and what they said and-"

"Of course," Arthur interrupted him with a smile. "You'll prepare your bedroll right next to me tonight, and I'll tell Sir Leon with Gwaine and the others to sleep around us, just so that you feel safe."

Sometimes Merlin couldn't even believe how considerate Arthur could be when he really tried and cared about him.

"Thank you." He leaned closer to kiss Arthur briefly and Arthur returned the kiss, caressing Merlin's cheek with his gloved hand. When they parted, all worries were forgotten.

They made their way back to the camp, Merlin finishing a few extra chores around the horses and dinner, and Arthur telling his most trusted knights about what had been happening and how to arrange that night's bedrolls on the ground.

Before the evening was over and the forest was enveloped in darkness, Gwaine paid Merlin a visit.

"Don't worry, Merlin, we'll protect you tonight," Gwaine immediately informed him with a confident smile and a nod. "No harm will come to you."

"Thanks, Gwaine, I appreciate that."

Gwaine looked around briefly and then leaned closer, his voice silent. "You know, you could have told me about you and Arthur."

Merlin shrugged at him. "I figured you knew," he answered. "I mean, I heard that everyone knows at this point, but I thought you knew even before that."

Gwaine tilted his head, narrowing his eyes with a smile. "Yeah, I mean I've always known you two were together, but still." He put his hand on Merlin's shoulder. "I hope you know you can trust me, Merlin. With anything."

Merlin smiled at him and put his hand over his. "I know, thanks. I appreciate it."

Gwaine nodded and took a bite of an apple that he was holding, taking a step back. "Well, I'd better get back to Arthur and prepare for the night, then." He waved at Merlin. "Good night, mate."

"Good night."

The night quickly approached and before Merlin knew it, the sun was long gone and the knights were all preparing their bedrolls around four separate fires. Merlin was the last one to take his bedroll from his horse's back, and he hurriedly walked over to where Arthur was sitting on the ground.

When he approached the first of the fires, all the knights, his closest friends, greeted him with a smile. Merlin was glad that he was welcomed there. He unrolled his bedroll right next to Arthur who kept smiling at him, and wished a good night to everyone. He just hoped this would be a good night for him too.

As he lay down, so did Arthur. He was lying on his side, turned close to Merlin, and although Merlin might have been worried before, all his worries melted away as soon as he saw Arthur's warm smile directed right at him.

"Good night, Merlin," Arthur whispered.

"Good night, Arthur."

Some knight yawned loudly in the distance and they both laughed silently before they finally closed their eyes and drifted off.

The morning was very different from what they had both expected. First of all, they had not been the first to wake up, not by a long shot, second of all, they somehow managed to move even closer and were now sleeping practically on top of each other, just like they did when alone in Arthur's chambers.

To think that it was slightly embarrassing was an understatement.

Lancelot was the one to wake them up, but unfortunately, that happened when most of the knight had already stood up and noticed them and their unusual sleeping position.

"Merlin? Arthur, it's morning," he told them.

Merlin stirred, his head positioned on Arthur's chest, and Arthur hugged Merlin even closer before he opened his eyes. When he did, he reacted slowly, with caution.

"Merlin," he whispered, nudging Merlin a little until Merlin also opened his eyes. When he realized what was going on, he moved away quickly, almost making his head spin. He sat up on his own bedroll and stared at all the knights around them.

Arthur also sat up, now completely awake and aware of the awkward situation.

Merlin looked at Arthur, who looked at him too, and in that one moment, they both knew what this meant, what they were thinking about.

It was time.

They were ready.

And even if they weren't, they had to be now because there was no other choice at this point. Whereas before everyone had suspected, now everyone knew for sure. So why not make it official?

Arthur cleared his throat and stood up, holding his hand out to Merlin to help him get up. Merlin accepted his help and stood up next to Arthur, letting go of his hand again.

All the knights were awake now, and Arthur and Merlin had their utmost attention without even trying.

Arthur took a deep breath and slowly reached out his hand for Merlin to take. Merlin stared at the hand, then glanced at all the knights around, but finally took it and held it tightly. He trusted Arthur, and if he thought that this was the perfect moment, then so be it.

"As most of you have probably already noticed," Arthur started, "Merlin and I don't have the usual relationship of a king and his servant. The most important aspect of such a relationship is loyalty and trust. But Merlin and I have more than that. Not only do I trust Merlin with my life and he trusts me with his. Not only is he the most loyal and trustworthy person I know, and in return, I am loyal to him. But we also love each other and always will." He paused for a moment, looking at the knights all around him and Merlin squeezed his hand in support. A smile returned to Arthur's face. "This is me telling you that Merlin is my manservant and also my chosen companion. And if anyone has a problem with that, they will have to find a new king to follow."

Merlin gasped softly, looking up at Arthur. Did Arthur really just risk his entire army, all his men, for him? Was he willing to lose all of them?

"Most of you have known Merlin for years," Arthur continued. "You've watched him carry out all my orders, follow me everywhere despite his lack of training in combat, and always have my back. He has never been anything but friendly towards you, and that's why I expect that there will be no problems with him being more than just a friend to me. But if there are any problems, if you find yourself hesitating in your loyalty to me, you're free to return to Camelot. I will not judge you, but I need knights that I trust, and I need to know that you trust me to lead you. So if no one has any questions-"

"How long have you been together?" Gwaine interrupted Arthur with a grin on his face.

Arthur turned to him and sighed. Of course, it would be Gwaine who interrupted him. "For four months."

He whistled.

Lancelot nudged him with his elbow so that he'd keep quiet.

Arthur turned back to his knights and finished his speech. "So without any further ado, eat your breakfast and get back on your horses. We are only a few hours away from the border."

There were a few whispers among the knights, but eventually, they all followed Arthur's orders.

Merlin and Arthur turned towards each other and briefly hugged, both relieved that there weren't any further problems with the knights and that they could safely continue travelling.

"Aw, look at them," Gwaine commented as they parted.

"Gwaine," Leon warned him.

"What? I'm just happy for them."

"It's okay," Merlin smiled at him. Then he smiled at all of them. "Thanks, everyone."

"You got it, Merlin."

"Yeah, you can always count on us," Percival added, and the rest of them nodded in agreement.

"Alright, so now that this is resolved," Arthur put his hands on his hips, "go on, get your horses and put out the fires, or we'll never make it to the border today."

Leon and Lancelot were the only ones who answered with "sire", but sooner or later, everyone left and so did Merlin and Arthur. They put their bedrolls back on the horses and in just a few minutes, left the camp behind. And this time, Merlin was riding right next to Arthur, leading the way with him.

*the end*

[multifandom-damnation]

They watched Grog cut down enemy after enemy with his axe in a wall of carnage as he laughed.

They watched Vex fire arrows from the sky like a goddess, hidden in the tree brouths and darkening sky.

They watched Vax dodge the bullets fired his way from his friend’s own creation and fling his daggers into enemy skin.

They watched Keyleth survive attacks and cast spells like she had never been knocked down.

They watched Scanlan’s grin grow as strong as the spells he was casting as he cleared out the battlefield alone.

And Percy… They watched him fall.

I’m sorry you guys, I really tried to make this good. As soon as I watched the ep I knew I had to write something but guys… I’m sorry. It’s not very good. I’m so annoyed haha, this took ages. A lot of the dialogue it from the actual ep (all of it I think??) and I know it’s gonna be shitty so maybe just take that into account before you read it xx

They watched him fall.

They watched him fall the first time, watched the necklace break and shatter, watched him get back up. Watched his hands shake so badly his shots missed, watched him growl in silent fury.

The second time, they watched as Ripley shot him with his own creation, watched as he fell to his knees, then face down, watched the burning holes Ripley fired meet their mark, piercing into him, Orthax raking his claws of shadow across his chest. Watched the blood pool around his body like a cape and head like a halo he never asked for.

They watched as his body stopped moving, watched his chest stop rising. Kynan reached for him, turned him over, watched as his eyes stared blankly at the sky. The trickle of blood running along the side of his face and into his hair, dying it red.

Keyleth screamed as Vex flew down on her broom in a fit of fury and fear. Grog roared bloody murder at the spot Ripley once stood, Scanlan with his hands in his hair and silent tears down his face. Vax stood, motionless, in the centre of the crevasse, daggers dangling limply in his fingers, his legs giving out and falling to his knees as he stared at the women he loved most running over, crying next to their friend.

Scanlan moved to grab his sword, Grog yanking the Chain of Returning back a little harder than was necessary, catching his axe in a bone-shattering grip. Keyleth stands, shaking hands covering her face, Vex next to Percy on her knees in the glass, checking his pulse and shaking him. “Can you do anything? As a Paladin?” She cried to her brother, who just shook his head and placed it slowly in his hands.

The zip!, had them turning to where Scanlan and Grog stood. Grog’s axe raised high above his head, froth foaming and falling from his lips. Scanlan’s hand was up, purple energy crackling around his fingers as they watched a purple bubble form around Ripley, encapsulating her in Otilukes Resilient Sphere. She looked around, placing her hands up against the sphere. “What? What the heck is going on?”

“You can curse,” Scanlan snarled, walking closer towards her. “It’s ok. You’ve killed one of us.” He turned back to his group, his friends, his family, now minus one. “Everyone gather around her.” He shouted, waving his sword to get everyone’s attention.

Looking up in shock and horror, Vex shook her head. “I’m not leaving Percy.”

“I’m going to drop this thing, and we’re all going to fucking kill her together.”

“No…” Keyleth mumbled, shaking.

Vax finally brought himself to his feet and turned his back to his brother, dead on the ground, and faced the bitch that took his family from him. “Yes, we are.”

Ripley fired at the wall, throwing everything she had at the barrier, to no effect. She slammed her shoulder into it, shouting, raked her fingers across it, nothing. The dark shadow of Orthax rested below her, under the sphere, trying desperately to get to her.

Scanlan slowly walked over to her, sword in hand. Vax started walking as well, Keyleth catching up and reaching down with a shaking hand to place hers in his. Grog readied his axe. “Vex!” Scanlan shouted.

“No, I’m staying. I’m not leaving Percy.”

“But- “

“I’ll shoot her at a distance!”

Grog put his body right against the orb, Keyleth on his side. Scanlan made his way closer, calling out over his shoulder. “Vax, you with us?”

A moment of heart-wrenching silence and Scanlan almost turned back, “Yes.” Quietly, a breath on the wind, but full of fury. Kynan walked over and joined them as well, as far away from Percy as possible, on the other side of the orb, hands folded on his chest, head bowed.

The bard looked around at the rest of his family. “Ready?”  Keyleth’s hands were shaking, but she turned to face Scanlan when he spoke. Her eyes brimming with free-flowing tears.

Grog snarled. “When you are.” His axe was raised high, and his eyes were red with an unbridled fury.

Scanlan met the eyes of his family, met the tearful eyes of Vox Machina and with whatever energy he had left: “For Percy.”

With her hands pushing against the orb, Ripley tried with all her might to get free, but her spells wouldn’t work, her bullets wouldn’t pierce, her sharp words were dull, her screams fell on deaf ears.

“Percy’s killing you right now,” Scanlan told her, meeting her eyes and her awful twisted grin, teeth too sharp and eyes too brave. He would have to take care of that, the determined look that fooled her into believing that they would ever let her leave the island alive after what she’s done. “Not us.”

He dropped the spell, and they all attacked.

They watched her as she fell in a tangled heap of blood and vines and arrows, watched as her now detached arm fall by her head as Vax sliced if from her body, watched her insides spill out from Grogs cut in her navel, watched her neck snap from Keyleth’s Grasping Vine, watched the blood leak down her face from the bleeding de Rolo crest Scanlan had carved into her, a permeant memory of who she had taken from them.

The shadow of Orthax shudders, wavers, then dissipates, leaving the battlefield silent and frightfully empty.

The twins scouted the cave a mile off. Keyleth cleaned Percy’s cuts, washed away the blood he seemed to be drowning in and weaved flowers through his hair. Grog collected the guns from the corpses littered around the battlefield, standing on their heads until the skulls crumpled like tin-foil. Scanlan came back with a hard onyx figurine in his hand, Kynan walking shyly behind him, and the gnome looked like he was on the edge of screaming.

The twins returned, both trying to hold back tears, Vax with his arm slung around his sister and her head on his shoulder, just as Scanlan summoned the mansion and they all made their way inside with Percy resting in Grogs arms.

It was Vax who shyly suggested that they have a blanket fort, that they all sleep in together with the others’ breathing and heartbeats loud and strong in the room, comforting each other if one woke up screaming from a nightmare with Percy’s name on their lips.  The servants brought all the blankets and pillows they could find and a long ornate table. They put Percy on the table, and Vex covered him with a blanket, a pillow behind his head, and they could almost pretend he was just sleeping, would wake up once Vax stuck a slimy finger in his ear or Grog poured ale on his face.

Fireflies danced above their heads as they fell asleep, and they stared at them in an effort not to reach a hand out to grab their friend, who was just sleeping if they pretended hard enough.

The walk through the sun tree was fast, but the walk to find Pike was agony.

Percy was slung over Grog’s shoulder, the rest of Vox Machina trailing like an armoured guard around them. Whispers, gasps, crying, screams, muttered prayers, half-hearted laughter, begging Pelor to bring Lord Percival back, and Vox Machina stopped and spoke to none.

Serenrae’s temple seemed so far away.

A guard stopped them, eyes bright and mouth a large cheerful grin that reminded the group too harshly of Ripley’s twisted smirk. “You’ve returned! I- “His eyes drifted to Percy’s limp body hanging off Grog, and the words died in his throat before he could say them. “Oh.”

Vex rubbed her arms and leaned forward. “Someone should get Cassandra.” She said quietly, fighting back the tears.

Pikes face once they reached the temple made Grog bite his lip hard enough to taste blood, for Vax to look away, for Scanlan to say nothing.

“I knew something was wrong.” She whispered, brushing hair out of her face. “Where is he?”

They found Orthax feasting on the tattered and ruined soul of Percy and Keyleth severed the thread. Pike called for Serenrae. Vex begged him to come back to them.

The ceremony was hard, it was long, it was horrible, but with a torrent of crows and Vax’s wings outstretched over Percy’s prone body as though they were his own, Percy took a breath, and the holy light lifted filled the room as he opened his eyes.

He was tired, so very tired, and it had felt like a century since he had seen his friends with a beating heart of his own, but they only said it had been a day? It didn’t feel like a day. His eyes were heavy, his lungs filled with jagged glass, and Percy had the suspicion that if they were to open him up to look, he would be filled head to toe with bullets and black glass.

Even Vax who Percy knew didn’t like him- couldn’t stand him, who Percy cared very much for but hoped that Vax wasn’t foolish enough to care the same for him, was looking down at him with tearful relief with his hand in Percy’s hair and his fingers pulsing with holy light. Percy thought it must have been bad.

Cassandra came in soon later and he could almost imagine he had seen her a few days ago and not the years it felt like.

Using his gun as a crutch, he hobbled his way towards the castle, the imposing white towers blocking out the sun.

They watched him sit quietly while they talked, watched the cogs turn in his head to formulate plans, watched him start to say and stumble. Grog took a step behind him so he would hit the Goliath instead of cold hard ground and Keyleth put her hand on his arm to keep him steady.

Gilmore handed back their items and yawned, stretching his hands above his head. “Is there anything else you want me to look at before I go to bed? Because- it’s late.”

“What time is it, Shawn?” Vax asked calmly, looking at Percy out of the corner of his eye.

Looking up at the sky, Gilmore tilted his head. “Nine?”

“Nine,” Vax repeated quietly, looking at his sister, who nodded. Then louder: “Percival, you should go to bed.”

Percy sighed, pushed his hair out of his face. “Soon. I am not quite ready for sleep, and we have a lot to talk about.” They watched ideas of the up-and-coming battle flit between his quickly darting eyes and watched his lips tighten. “We need to have a discussion. Perhaps in the morning?”

“Yes,” Vex sighed, quietly, walking towards him and placing her hand on his other arm. “We should sleep. You should. You look very tired.” It was meant to be soothing, but she felt- the others watched- him flinch, a fleeting look of fear crossing his face and gone in an instant.

“We can have this conversation tonight; I’m just going to be feeling miserable for a while.” Desperately searching for any reason to not be alone, not to be secluded, isolated in his room with memories and him after being reunited with his family after an eternity, and his eyes searched their faces for any trace of pity, any form of giving in.

Shaking her head, Keyleth looked him in the eyes, and Percy looked away. “I don’t think that’s a wise idea.”

He tried, he really did, and they watched him fight, even though his eyelids were dropping and his head was sinking down to rest on his chest, watched him stumble and lean back on Grog, watched him try desperately to keep all his friends with him. But he needed sleep.

His voice quavered, and he blocked out the rest of the conversation, his head clouding with the never-ending darkness that filled him the last time he slept, those years he spent with his eyes closed and his heart stopped. His eyes opened, the darkness gone, caught the last snippet of the conversation. “It’s true, but Percy needs to get the fuck to sleep, seriously.” Vax placed his hand under his chin, lifted his face, his wings blocking out the sun from hitting Percy’s face.

Vax watched the human’s mouth open and close, words stuck in his throat. “I must admit, I… fear sleep at the moment.” Vax rubbed his thumb across his friend’s jaw as he took a shaking breath.  Percy’s eyes met his, tired and fearful.

Blocking out the rest of the others, Vax moved his hands to his shoulders, blood speckled, the fabric tarnished and unravelling, and squeezed. Percy slowly looked at him with eyes almost begging him to understand. “Nobody wants to talk to you right now. We want you to go to sleep. We’re going to go have a drink and a fabulous time. We’ll see you in the morning.”

Stumbling back to his room, Percy mentally kicked himself for not insisting he stay, not forcing himself to go with them to whatever bar they found in Whitestone, not staying in the company of his family after so many centuries of being alone with… him.

He fell face first in bed, fully dressed, fully armed, and fell into a dreamless sleep filled with the horrifying darkness and heartbreaking silence that filled with nothing but the familiar dark cackling and his pained screams, could swear that someone was waiting for him in the cold, empty, dark.

His friends came home that night, slightly drunk and tired, tiptoeing by his door as if they would wake him up, Vex sneaking in to replace his note, Vax to check his pulse and his body for holes, Keyleth to brush his hair out of his face and to tell him to get some sleep, they would be there in the morning. Cassandra entered at some point in the night and didn’t leave until many hours later, but they didn’t question it, and found Percy in the morning under the covers, in his favourite pyjamas, his guns where he is most comfortable and his clothes folded neatly or handing up in his closet.

Even the deep angry, red speckled holes in the fabric seemed to be stitched back together.

They kept their eyes on him afterwards, always had him in their sight. Even after the meeting with Rishan, his attempt at pious and calculated words failed him, his voice heavily laced with tiredness and his body giving up on him, using Grog to stand upright.

But they watched him fight, during the battle with the Frigid Doom. His shots went wide often, his aim off and scattering against the icy wall behind. His thoughts were muddled and he wasn’t sure what to do when Yenk climbed up the wall to tear into him, bleeding dark red onto the platform.

Even so, Percy reasoned with the green dragon and bargained, words strong and determined although inside, his tongue was tied into a knot, his stomach a heavy lead weight and his heart a painful stab wound as his clouded mind struggled to form the right things to say.

Back at the castle, he’d fall asleep standing, swaying into Keyleth or Grog only for the Goliath to carry him back to his bed. His mind was always going as fast as his bullets from the barrel of his gun, plans and strategies rolling around like rocks down a mountain, tumbling over each other in a panic to reach the bottom first, his words faster than his lips and his brain even faster still, Scanlan playing a tune on his shawm or his flute until his eyes fluttered closed. Keyleth would gently guide him back to his room with his half-closed eyelids, Vex would whittle arrows while Percy made bullets until his fingers were numb, Vax sat quietly with him, back to back, touching for the first time willingly and openly since the tomb as they cleaned their weapons and whispered about memories, Cass working him to the bone in the study until his hands were covered in charcoal and ink, wax caked under his nails from the wax seals and his hair a mess from where his sister had been running her fingers through it.

Every night, he still dreamt of the millennia he spent with Orthax, the terrible pain as he writhed and screamed in the smoky black grasp with the claws that pierced his skin and poisoned his blood with corruption, spirit tattering like parchment set aflame and the laughter/screaming of the voice that haunted his dreams for years. Sometimes he dreams of the Briarwood’s and the begging and screaming of his siblings, his parents, his caretakers, the glint of Sylas’s teeth and the bubbling laughter of Delilah as she hung off of her husband’s arm, purple death swirling around her fingers. Other nights it was Ripley, with her questions and her fingers and her tools, her smile as sharp as the dagger in her hand and her mind as strong as the chains that bind his legs and his arms.

It took a long, long while, but after a time, he stopped waking up screaming, stopped missing as many shots. His gun stopped giving off as much smoke with every fire. He stopped falling asleep on his feet. Vox Machina watched their brother grow stronger again, watched his change, watched him be the brave de Rolo he always was.

They watched him rise.

[malesherbes]

Stargazer

The knight of Wales in the battle stood

Silent, gazing in the snow.

Deaf to cries and fury, in the woods,

The man whispers her name, low.

 Percival, the young lord with blond hair

Looking at the snow, bloody

Red drops, vivid image of past years,

Five drops of crimson rubies.

 *

 Solomon Shinzer walks through the dark mead

Wet from summer nights’ dew, His legs

Brushed by shining umbels lulling with daisies.

The great telescope heavy on his back,

And in his sky, countless stars.

 Solomon Shinzer comes each night in the mead

To check if all stars have names:

Pleiades and Hyades, the big bear and Orion,

If lonely comets follow the Milky Way,

If the sun rises like a lion.

 Once, he came with a child on the blue hill,

Past waterfalls and sleeping brooks,

Past the furze where amber heather blows

On the blue meadow by the mill

The child smiles. She is his daughter.

 Her hand in his hand, they walk, silent,

Centaureas blooming breath their sweet scent,

A nightingale echoes memories from sunset

The stream’s harpsichord sings its low anthem.

She haunts his spirit, he can’t forget.

 *

 Blood drops, still hot on the whitest snow

Like dark iris petals flow

In the knight memories. And he cries

Like alone under the sky.

 On the white face of snow, her lips open

Her eyes, dropped here like jewels, stolen

From the almighty hand of god. Her smile,

Scattered in battlefield, pieces of paradise.

 *

 Solomon Shinzer lays on the blue meadow

Amid roses from dewdrops wet

And whispers from the life of the earth;

His hands rest on his chest, his eyes lost in the sky

And the child left behind plays with dark fireflies.

 Solomon Shinzer follows the line of the north chariot

Betelgeuse, the shepherd’s star, Proxima Centauri…

And so many lights with no name.

He weeps as he thinks : so many are dead.

The girl in her white dress with lilies dances.

 His sight wanders, past nebulas, strange voids, shadows,

Parts of space unseen, solar winds, pulsars.

And in the darkest corner of the universe, faint lights glow,

In a remote constellation, far away in oblivion, seven red stars.

With the moon’s silver beams the little girl dances.

 Seven red stars drawing, in deep darkness, the face

This face of hers, dead long ago, smiling in the sky,

This sky of his, open like dim heavens. Tremors in his heart race

This heart falling, his hands, shaking, and tears in his eyes.

At the moon’s reflection in the pond, the girl glances.

 *

 Lost in contemplation, he forgets

The battle, his dying friends

His spirit fled far away, he lets

Chaos of swords inflict pain.

 Around Percival, many men are dead,

His soul, his love kisses the snow.

A spear pierce his ribs, an axe hits his head.

That still, weeping in silence bows.

 *

 The first star, bright, glowing like her fiery eyes,

A spark of life, a hurricane

Her laugh filling her dreams, her smile,

Blazing flames, a sun, her name.

 (The child tries to touch the moon on the lake.)

 The second star, wan, soft like her fingers,

Like her songs in the night, her skin light as snowflakes.

Faint like her whispers, like her dear love,

Her intangible shape, feathers if a dove.

 (The girl follows the moon’s slow moves on water.)

 The third star, red like her kisses’ ecstasy,

Like her passionate cheeks, like roses,

Blood running through their heart, hot touches

Caressing hands, wonderful waves, their faces.

 (Feet naked in the mud, the child walks with stars on the brook.)

 The fourth star glows blue, like her eyes, still and dead,

Their walks on the strand, the secret they fled,

Blue like the sky beaming above their holding hands

Like the wind in her hair, blue and deep like the mead.

 (Bird on the milky way, the girl follows the stream.)

 *

 The knight of Wales throws his eyes on the snow

On his armoured chest, a red flower blows,

And always, her face, a moon, an angel

Whispers “I love you”, lost in the battle.

 From the white knight wounds, a drop of blood falls

Just under her eye: a tear. Low, he growls

And in a last sigh, his short life he breathes.

His tears on her tear, her heart in his breast.

 *

 The fifth star glows long, a cross in deep space,

Hints of paradise, wrinkles on her face.

The sixth star glows hard like a burning stone,

Their words forgotten, her crying, alone.

 (The girl dances in stars, white by the waterfall.)

 The last star glows weak, almost invisible:

In brightness smothered, dying, she trembles.

Her life, plucked early, fades in sad riddles

And his heart, consumed, in ashes crumbles.

 The girl slips on a rock.

And down she falls.

Down she falls.

 *

 The knight Percival in the battle stood,

Dead, torn between spears of wood.

From the snow, a ghostly head rears,

Kisses him a last time, and in blood swoons.

 ***

 “Ghost in the stars, how long will you haunt me?

How long will I suffer, can’t I forget thee?

For your dark paradise, shall I live in hell,

In my life without you, what curses dwell?

O, spirit, did I not kiss you a last time?

Did I not close your eyes, weep for nights and days?

For what unknown crime do I have to pay?

Shall my life be burnt down by your dying breath?

Shall your sleep deprive me of all peaceful rests?

O, I cannot love you, star, uncanny face,

Don’t show me those tears, don’t show me this fate!

I will not let this wraith corrupt my galaxy.

 If I shall remember, let it be your smile,

Engraved in my heart, stedfast in the night.

If I hear your voice, let it be your laugh,

Echoed in the breeze, bird’s songs in green oaks.

 Let it be a spark, a whisper, a tale,

Sweet melancholy of our brightest days

A dance with the wind and the nightingale:

Your pain I forgot, but your bright eyes stay.”

 And to red stars, Solomon Shinzer closes his soul’s windows.

 He hears a cry, runs towards waterfalls,

Grabs the hand of the child, holds her in his arms

Caress her hair, cherish her breath,

Looks at her face and sees

The world’s two brightest stars.

 *

 Do not look away from the earth too long

Do never repeat the abyss’ strange song,

Open your windows to friendly planets

And do never gaze in too remote stars.

 You shall only glance at stars with a name

And constellations from our galaxy,

For you’ll never now infinity’s shames,

And how queer and dark universe can be.

 *

 A man and his daughter walk slowly in the wood,

Hand in hand, fetching umbels and violets,

The pass by a field where a high tree stands.

In the tree, a skeleton: a man on a horse,

With a broken helmet, two wings made of swords.

In a tender bow, the skull looks

At a patch of green grass where seven daisies blow.

In the grey cedar, the knight of Wales

Looks at this selfsame face from centuries ago,

Ghost made of white flowers, or stars with no name

Lost in the sky, far away beyond the brook.

 And in Sinnaï’s desert, a great stargazer stands,

Lonely monument, forgotten and empty,

Fragile skeleton, stones engraved with fame,

The man and his daughter pass by and do not see.

[gold-from-straw]

The Nature of Trust ch2

Part 2 of my story for @pttucker​ and @fandomtrumpshate​ (or @fth2018offerings​ not sure which one to tag, sorry!) Here’s chapter 1, and it’s available from the start on AO3 as well :)

“I don’t like this.”

Arthur sighed and rolled his eyes. “You don’t like this, Merlin, because you’re riding through the forest in the rain when you’d rather be in your warm bed.”

“Can you blame me?” he retorted. “But that’s not what I mean. Something feels wrong.”

“You and your feelings,” Arthur said, exasperated.

“Don’t worry, Merlin,” said Elyan, patting him on his shoulder. “We’ll keep you safe from the scary deer.”

“I should hope so too,” snorted Merlin. “Have you seen the antlers on those things? But that’s still not what I meant. Arthur, please, can’t we hunt up on the ridge? The valley is —“

“A better hunting ground? Easier for the horses? Dryer? Which one of those do you have a problem with, Merlin?”

Merlin gave Arthur a flat stare, and Leon rolled his eyes. Those two were such children. He was amazed they didn’t resort to sticking their tongues out at each other.

“What do you mean something feels wrong?” Gwaine asked, nudging his horse’s ribs to overtake Percival.

“Oh, not you too,” groaned Arthur. “Don’t tell me, Gwaine, you’ve also got a feeling in your waters? I think that’s just the lack of alcohol. When the world stops spinning, that means you’re becoming sober. Say it with me - so-ber. I know it’s been a while, but —“

“You just don’t know how to have fun, Princess,” Gwaine grinned, unconcerned. “But you’ve got to admit, the last time Merlin had a bad feeling about things we all nearly got blown up. You can’t blame me for checking up on our little weathercock.”

“Merlin gets a bad feeling all the time. He acts strangely all the time. It was just a coincidence that this one time he was right. If Merlin’s not complaining, that’s when I start getting worried.”

“I don’t think that’s —“

“It’s fine, Lance,” said Merlin quickly, flashing a smile.

Leon watched the two of them exchanging what looked like quite a complex conversation made up of eyebrows and frowns and head shakes. He snorted. This was definitely the disadvantage of being the eldest of the group, all the rest of them seemed like children.

Merlin and Lance dropped back a little way, talking under their breath, and at one point, Leon turned to see Gwaine had joined them. Merlin and Lancelot looked suspicious at first, which surprised him - Gwaine had always seemed very close to Merlin.

He frowned as the three of them bent their heads in congress. Gwaine then nodded to the others and leaped off his horse. Lancelot reached out for her reins, while Gwaine made his way up the slope, his hand on his sword.

“Where are you going?” Leon called.

“Thought I saw something, don’t mind me,” he yelled back.

Arthur glanced up. “Ignore him, Leon. We’re not on patrol. If he insists on getting himself gored by a boar that’s his problem.” He raised his voice slightly on the last part, and Leon saw Gwaine grin back at him.

Arthur turned to Leon, his voice becoming serious. “Sir Gwaine may be impulsive, but I trust him to follow orders when necessary.”

“He should behave and follow orders all the time,” Leon muttered. “He’s a knight of Camelot.”

Arthur laughed. “If we expect him to behave himself, we’ll be sorely disappointed. Allow him a long rein when it matters less, and he’ll feel like he’s won something.”

Leon shrugged and turned back to focus on the path ahead, which was narrowing. Perhaps Arthur was right. Gwaine acted the fool, but he was loyal and brave.

A cry rang out through the forest, and Leon startled, staring up the hill. Arthur called a halt, but not before both Lancelot and Merlin had leaped from their horses and raced up the hill in the direction Gwaine had gone.

“Merlin!” snapped Arthur. The sound of steel meeting steel echoed through the trees, and Arthur turned to the men. “Bedevere, Elyan, follow the path ahead on foot, stay aware. Percival, Leon, climb the ridge on a path parallel to Gwaine’s and come up on the battle alongside them. I’ll follow those three idiots.”

Leon didn’t like the idea of the king putting himself in the most dangerous position, but while Arthur would take disagreement at nearly any time, the heat of battle was not one of them. He and Percival leaped off their horses, racing up the hill to keep the sounds of a fight on their left. It wasn’t long before the flash of armour and blade appeared through the trees, and he saw Gwaine and Lancelot fighting a group of bandits.

The impulse to dive right in and assist his friends was still almost overwhelming, even after all these years, but he and Percival were well trained. They stayed silent and out of sight until they’d rounded the melee. Arthur’s red cloak fluttered behind a great elm, and Leon caught his eye, nodded.

The three of them dove into battle with a roar. The bandits fought frantically, as fierce as any cornered beast, but the knights of Camelot were trained by the warrior king himself, and, even outnumbered as they were two to one, fought with an elegance and economy of motion that still made Leon’s heart swell with pride and vicious joy. Arthur himself battled three men, and Leon ran his blade through his own opponent, spinning around to cut the tendons behind the knees of another, then leaped towards his king. They turned back to back with a wordless synchronicity borne of a decade and a half of training together. Leon was distantly aware of battle sounds rising from the valley below, and knew Elyan and Bedevere would be doing Camelot proud with the bandits who were fleeing.

Percival was engaged in battle with a bear of a man, who opened up a cut on his bicep as Leon glanced over at him. Percival flinched but ducked under a vicious sweep of the man’s blade and reached under his guard, striking upwards just as Leon dispatched his own opponent.

He was about to turn to find his next bout when he saw a man creeping up on Percival from up the slope. Percival, who was still tugging his sword free of the last man’s rib cage. “Behind you!” he roared, but he knew in the depths of his soul it was too late, the enemy too close already. Percival’s eyes widened as he turned, as he saw his own death.

With a mighty crack, a branch split from the oak tree behind the man, landing to crush his skull and knock him at Percival’s feet.

The forest was silent, but for their gulping breaths, sped up by exertion and adrenaline. Percival turned back to Leon, his eyes wide, a man who’d felt the robes of death brush as it passed. For a moment he focused just past Leon, at a point just over his shoulder. Then he blinked and turned to look back at the body at his feet.

Leon quickly glanced over to where Percival had been looking, but there was nothing there but a large boulder. He turned to Arthur, who was already giving his blade its initial clean before sliding Excalibur into his scabbard. “Is everyone all right?” he called, and the men sounded off in turn, as they were trained to. Elyan and Bedevere climbed the ridge, Elyan cradling his ribs. Arthur frowned as he saw him. “Where’s Merlin?”

“Here, sire.” Merlin ran out from behind a boulder and went straight to Elyan’s side, his hands already buried in his satchel and drawing out bandages and herbs.

“I’ll collect firewood,” said Bedevere, and Merlin nodded to him.

“We’ll go back to that clearing a minute or so back down the track,” Arthur called after Bedevere as he trotted off. “Gwaine,” he said, turning to frown at him. “How did you- what exactly did you see?”

Gwaine glanced over at Merlin, and Leon could swear he saw the boy shake his head slightly. “I thought it was a deer,” Gwaine said. “It was just movement I saw. But there was also a flash of- of blue.” He indicated a body lying a few feet away. “Must’ve caught sight of his weskit there. If I’d known it was a bunch of bandits, I assure you, Princess, I’d have said something.”

Arthur nodded and patted him on the shoulder. “Good catch, Sir Gwaine. If it weren’t for your sharp eyes we’d have been ambushed further down the path.”

“But—“ Gwaine flickered his eyes over to Merlin and trailed off. “Thank you, sire,” he said with a nod and a smile that didn’t seem to reach his eyes. “Should Lancelot and I prepare those rabbits we got earlier?”

Arthur nodded and turned to Merlin, who was inspecting the deep cut along Elyan’s side. “That would be useful, thank you.”

Lancelot patted Merlin’s arm as he passed him. Leon frowned a moment. There was something strange about the young man who exasperated all of them with his nervous grumbling, but then threw himself into battle without armour or weapon.

Then he saw Percival was still standing and staring at the body of the young man who’d nearly been his doom, and he went to lead his friend away.

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Soul-stealer Part 2 (Final Part)

The aftermath; Arthur and the Gang fret, and Merlin wakes up to find that a lot has changed in a few short days.

Part 1

Unsurprisingly to Arthur and Lancelot, the moment they open the door, they are met by a gaggle of scared and desperate looking knights, all babbling at once and demanding answers.

Gwen had also joined them at some point. Whether someone sent for her, or she just happened to be awake, the two men don’t know, but don’t really care enough to ask.

Arthur just rubs his eyes tiredly, shutting the door behind him. Lancelot notices the King’s exhaustion and worry, and subtly steps in front of him, happy to deal with the talking for now.

He gives the others a placating smile and holds his hands out, gesturing at them to be quiet:

“He’ll be fine, he’s just exhausted. Gaius says he probably won’t wake up for a few days. We’ll post some guards right outside the door, and he’ll send for us if anything changes, for now, we should all get some rest; we still have to report to the council in the morning, no matter how worried we are.”

Percival and Elyan give shaky smiles, but trust Lancelot’s words, and traipse off in the direction of the knights’ quarters. Leon nods, but looks to Arthur worriedly, and steps around Lancelot to put a hand on his shoulder. Arthur looks up at him in surprise, but pats the hand on his shoulder and gives the First Knight a reassuring, though weak, smile. Leon returns it, and with that, he follows the others down the corridor, heading to his own chambers.

Once he turns the corner, Arthur’s gaze drops to the floor again, and he leans against the wall behind him, clenching his hands tightly in an effort to stop the shaking.

Gwaine and Gwen are a little more reluctant to leave.

Lancelot was well aware that Gwen knew about Merlin’s magic (not that anyone else knew that, least of all Merlin), and he sends a loving smile to her in comfort. She weakly responds with a smile of her own, before nodding her head slightly at Gwaine.

Lance’s smile drops as he looks to the other knight, the man in question being the most serious and withdrawn either of them have ever seen him before:

“Gaius promises that he’ll be fine. We can’t help him if we’re exhausted, Gwaine, we need to get some sleep.”

Gwaine lets out a long breath, gulping before seeming to sag slightly, looking to the floor as he mumbles an agreement. He allows Gwen to squeeze his hand briefly, before he gives the two of them a tight smile, and walks stiffly the way Leon, Elyan, and Percival had gone (after sending an out-of-character concerned glance Arthur’s way. The King doesn’t notice).

Gwen sighs and gives Lancelot a fond, reassuring smile. He raises an eyebrow at first, but then nods in understanding, glancing back at Arthur before walking tiredly towards his and Gwen’s shared chambers.

The woman waits until the knight has turned the corner, before finally turning around to face The King. He looks up at her, his face tense and eyes teary, and she sighs, before pulling him into a hug.

He tenses at first, but she squeezes tighter, and begins running a hand through his hair softly, ignoring the sharp pain of his armour digging into her skin. Arthur finally relaxes, accepting the comfort of a friend, and hugs her back, burying his face in her hair and trying desperately to stop himself from crying.

Gwen lets out a deep breath, and mumbles comfortingly in The King’s ear:

“You have to trust Gaius, Arthur. Merlin will be fine.”

Arthur tightens his hold on her, thumping his head against her shoulder softly in frustration, before saying:

“I know, that... that’s not the point, I... I’ve been so wrong. How could I have been so wrong for so many years? How could I let Merlin be so scared?”

Gwen bites her lip, taking a few moments to respond, not once loosening her hold on her friend:

“You couldn’t have known, Arthur. Everything he does, he does to protect us, you.”

Arthur finally pulls away and slumps against the wall, tightly wrapping his arms around his middle in a display of vulnerability that Gwen has never seen before, but will never mention to anyone.

She steps back, understanding implicitly that what Arthur needs now is a comforting presence and a listening ear.

The King stays silent for a few moments, gathering his thoughts, before he roughly shakes his head and huffs, looking up at Gwen:

“I know that. I think I’ve always known that. But what else don’t I know? What other lies did my father ingrain into my head? How many innocents have I killed, how many people are scared of me, because I allowed myself to be fooled by my father’s apparently misplaced hatred?-”

Tears finally overflow and his voice cracks as he continues:

“-He was so scared, Gwen. When we got him back in one piece, he... it didn’t matter what we had said to him earlier, he was so scared. How did I let that happen? It... It’s Merlin, how did I not notice that Merlin was so constantly afraid?”

Gwen leans against the opposite wall, gripping the front of her dress tightly to stop herself from fidgeting. She lets out a deep sigh, glancing briefly to the floor before meeting Arthur’s gaze once more, tears in her eyes:

“We all missed it, Arthur. Merlin is... a master at deception, lying, hiding his pain. I catch glimpses of it sometimes, I think we all do. A bruise here, an odd excuse there, the occasional mournful look on his face when he thinks none of us are looking. But Merlin has always been there, for all of us. He’s just this... constant, reassuring presence, ready to help or comfort at a moment’s notice. We all rely on him so heavily, I don’t think we even notice sometimes; none of us wanted to see the cracks, none of us wanted to see how sad, or scared, or angry, he was. So we didn’t. We all failed him, Arthur, but now? Now, we’re all going to make it right.”

She finishes with a firm nod, her voice stronger with her decisive last sentence. Arthur gives a resigned sigh, still looking doubtful, but before he can respond a look of realisation crosses Gwen’s face, and she tilts her head, speaking softly:

“You love him, don’t you?”

Arthur tenses his jaw slightly, almost denying it with a scoff, but instead, he sags once more and rubs his eyes harshly with the palms of his hands before looking up at her:

“Yeah, I... I think I do, I think I have for a while. And I didn’t even notice until he looked me in the face, and all I could see was how scared he was. Of me. Of what I... what he thought I would do to him. He’s the kindest, least evil person I’ve ever met, and I’m the one that made him that afraid. What does that say about me, Guinevere?”

Gwen just sighs. She knows Arthur is a good person, but there is also no denying that he was wrong in his persecution of magic, and how do you comfort a man who has just realised the atrocities he has unknowingly supported? Committed himself?

She steps towards him again, taking his hand and pulling him from the wall, settling a soft kiss to his cheek:

“Come on, Arthur. Lets get you to bed. Lance is right, you’ll still need to speak to the council in a few hours and you can’t do that whilst you’re dead on your feet.”

Arthur gulps, and sends one last worried, longing glance to the door behind him, Gwen just chuckles fondly:

“I’ll wake you up slightly early so you can check in on him before the meeting starts, how about that?”

The King finally sends her a smile that looks, though weak, genuine, and nods his head. With that, Gwen leads her friend to his chambers, quietly turning down his bed and getting a fire going as he retreats behind the changing screen.

She works slowly, dallying around the room. It goes unspoken, but both of them know that she won’t leave until Arthur is settled in bed, and she’s certain he will stay there once she goes. He finally crawls under the covers, and his exhaustion shows clearly; his head hits the pillow and Gwen barely has time to sweep the hair away from his eyes before he’s spark out, sleeping fitfully.

She sends one last concerned look towards her friend, before stifling a yawn and leaving the chambers, softly shutting the door behind her and eagerly heading to collapse in her husband’s arms

~

Gaius was, of course, correct in his assessment that Merlin wouldn’t wake up for a few days.

That didn’t stop Arthur from checking in multiple times a day, someone else in the Gang usually joining him.

Unfortunately, Arthur’s sudden announcement to the council that he fully intended to legalise magic, whether they wanted him to or not, meant he was stuck in meetings all day when Merlin did finally awake.

Gwen and Elyan were sat at his bedside when he opened his eyes. He’d been moved to the bed in his own room, once Gaius assured everyone that he was in no danger; said Physician was bustling around in the next room, busy as always, trusting that Gwen and Elyan would fetch him if Merlin’s condition changed.

Gwen felt the twitch in her hands and looked from her brother to Merlin’s face in concern, to see his eyelashes fluttering, before finally opening blearily.

She gasps, and squeezes Merlin’s hand tighter as she glances up at Elyan, quickly telling him to go fetch Gaius, and to send the guards to find the others.

The Knight runs a calloused but soft hand over Merlin’s forehead before rushing out of the room. Gwen doesn’t pay attention to the hushed words being exchanged on the other side of the door, not even looking up when Gaius bursts in, various potions in his hands.

Merlin groans quietly; Gwen lifts her other hand to cup his cheek and leans over him, smiling.

Gaius takes the chair Elyan had been in as the knight walks back in, nodding at Gwen’s questioning gaze. Merlin groans again, waving his other hand around aimlessly, seeming to relax when Gaius takes it in his own.

Gwen chuckles at him slightly, and Merlin’s confused, tired eyes find her as she softly speaks:

“Welcome back Merlin, you had us all worried. Arthur is in a meeting right now, but he’ll be here soon, I’m sure. He and the knights have been fretting endlessly.”

Merlin’s eyes close again as he smiles slightly, but they open wide a second later, a panicked look on his face. Elyan, from his spot stood behind his sister, leans over, putting a soft but forceful hand on his shoulder as he tries to sit up, and speaks quickly:

“It’s alright, Merlin. We meant what we said, you’re perfectly safe. Don’t get me wrong, we’ve got a lot of questions-”

Gwen looks back at him disapprovingly, and swats his leg with her hand:

“-but we’re just glad you’re ok. Get better, you can tell us all about your secret heroics later, alright?”

Merlin relaxes, lifting a shaking hand to pat Elyan’s own softly, nodding and giving him a weak but grateful smile.

Elyan returns it, before quietly telling Gaius that he’ll wait for the others in the main room, and silently walking out the door. Merlin, now with a little more energy, coughs slightly before mumbling:

“How long was I out?”

The two of them help him into a sitting position, Gwen quickly taking his hand again as Gaius uncorks the first of three potions, and answers:

“Your soul was... ah, reassembled in the evening of Monday. It’s now Thursday afternoon of the same week. Drink this.”

Merlin takes one whiff of the potion after nodding, and grimaces as he tries to push Gaius’ hand away. The Physician just raises a challenging eyebrow, and Gwen tuts; Merlin rolls his eyes in response, taking the potion with a huff and gulping it down in one, a disgusted look on his face.

He takes the other two in quick succession, knowing that there was no point in trying to refuse; Gaius’ Eyebrow of Doom, he could just about manage to resist, but Gwen’s disapproving and worried gaze could never be endured for long.

He was rewarded with a goblet of water and a pat on the back from Gaius, and another friendly smile and squeeze of the hand from Gwen.

The servant opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, he tensed up, tightening his hold on her hand as his now worried gaze moved to the door.

Gwen frowns at him, stroking his hand gently as she says:

“Merlin? What’s wrong?”

Merlin just gulps, glancing at Gaius quickly before looking to Gwen, and then back at the door:

“He’s coming, I can feel it. Arthur.”

Gwen relaxes again, back to smiling as she shakes her head softly:

“You have nothing to worry about, Merlin. He’s spent the last three days on a warpath against the council, trying to repeal the ban on magic. That is, of course, between bouts of panicking about whether you were going to be ok. Really Merlin, you should’ve seen him when the knights got you back here, he was so scared for you.”

Merlin looks at her doubtfully, and squeezes her hand as they hear the door to the Physician’s chambers bang open:

“You’re sure he’s not angry?”

His quiet, scared tone of voice brings tears to Gwen’s eyes; if she knew how frightened he was, she would have told him that she knew about his magic years ago. She gives him the strongest smile she can manage and nods firmly as she strokes his cheek softly with her free hand:

“I promise.”

Merlin bites his lip nervously, but returns her nod and looks to the door expectantly. Gaius strokes a hand through his hair before going to the door at the sound of muffled, desperate voices on the other side.

The Physician opens the door just as Arthur reaches it, Leon and Lancelot a hair’s breadth behind him, presumably having come from the same meeting. Gaius raises an amused, though fond, eyebrow, before wordlessly standing aside and allowing the three men to rush into the room (Elyan waiting in the other room for Gwaine and Percival to be fetched from training).

Despite Merlin’s internal insistence that he wouldn’t cry, tears fill his eyes at the sight of his friends looking so worried. Arthur exclaims his name, his tone an odd mix of relief at seeing him awake and concern at his well-being.

The King rushes forward, and Merlin barely has time to gasp before he’s being wrapped in a tight. Gwen lets go of his hand, sitting back in her chair as Lancelot stands behind her, a fond smile on his face as he gently rubs her shoulders. Leon visibly relaxes at the sight of Merlin hesitatingly returning Arthur’s hug, though Gaius tuts, unhappy with the way his patient was being jostled around so much.

The longer the hug goes on, the tighter Merlin grips Arthur’s tunic, and the closer to spilling his tears he gets. He had been so worried, so scared, but Gwen was right: everyone really had been fretting.

Arthur finally pulls back, but before he can say anything Gwaine bursts into the room, closely followed by an equally worried looking Percival, and a fondly smirking Elyan.

Gwaine pushes in front of Arthur (who huffs indignantly before moving back) and wraps Merlin in a tight hug of his own, holding the servant’s head close to his chest, and murmuring:

“Bloody hell Merlin. Took you long enough, we were all starting to freak out a bit.-”

He leans back, but perches on the edge of the bed and keeps his hands on Merlin’s shoulders:

“-Though to be fair, Princess here has been freaking the whole time.”

Arthur huffs again, louder this time, and Merlin throws a glance his way. Before he can say anything, Gwaine is roughly shoved to the floor (with a very undignified yelp) by Leon, who says-

“My turn.”

- as he pulls Merlin into a brief hug, before sitting back and patting him on the shoulder a few times with a soft smile on his face:

“Glad to have you back, my friend, we’ve missed you.”

The servant returns his smile, and Leon gives him a nod, standing and moving back only to be replaced by Percival.

The biggest of the knights doesn’t fit on the edge of the bed, at least not without slipping off or crushing Merlin’s legs, so he settles for leaning over and pulling him up into a tight hug. Gaius tuts again, but no one pays him any mind; if they were actually hurting Merlin or causing any damage, he would say so.

He finally drops Merlin with a mischievous grin, and ruffles his hair before moving back. Lancelot leans over Gwen to squeeze his best friend’s shoulder; the grin on his face mirroring Merlin’s teary one. The knight leans back again and Arthur pushes himself to the front of the crowd once more, reminding everyone just how much of a tight fit it was to have six bulky knights, and two others, in a room where a tiny single bed took up most of the space (The King made a mental note to have Merlin, as the soon-to-be-appointed Court Sorcerer, moved to bigger chambers, and to give Gaius a bigger bed).

Merlin’s smile drops a little, but Arthur lets out a deep breath and perches on the edge of the bed, taking Merlin’s hand in his own with only a slight blush.

He gulps, and if he’d payed any attention he would have noticed almost everyone else in the room rolling their eyes as he opened and closed his mouth, not knowing what to say.

Merlin, having finally convinced himself that he was safe, at least for now, simply raises an eyebrow at him, and Arthur can hear Gwaine snorting behind him, breaking him out of his speechless stupor:

“It’s good to have you back, Merls. The council are being predictably difficult and I miss your sarky comments in my ear.”

Leon purses his lips and nods in agreement, obviously getting just as frustrated with the slow pace the council was moving at as Arthur was. Lancelot just smirks and rolls his eyes at their dramatics.

Merlin’s smile grows again, and he quirks an eyebrow:

“Aww. You missed me, Sire?”

Arthur just lets out a short laugh and shakes his head, before looking back up at Merlin softly, and gulping:

“More than you know.”

Gwen stands abruptly, taking Lancelot’s hand, and gesturing to the door pointedly:

“I think that’s our cue to go. Lancelot, Leon, why don’t you catch the rest of us up on how the meeting was going?”

Leon nods knowingly, giving Arthur a pat on the shoulder before leaving the room, closely followed by Elyan. Gwaine smirks, and opens his mouth to say something presumably vulgar, but Percival huffs and clamps a hand over his mouth before pushing him out of the door. The two of them are followed by a laughing Lancelot and Gwen. Gaius looks to Arthur with an unreadably expression on his face, before saying in a deadpan tone:

“Not too much... ah, activity, he’s still weak and needs rest. The walls in these chambers are also not all that soundproof so... be mindful of that.”

The Physician ignores Arthur’s surprised blinking and Merlin’s deep blush, getting to the door just in time to stop Gwaine (who’d poked his head through to say something, again, presumably vulgar) with a hand on his face and a quick shove.

Arthur and Merlin chuckle slightly at the sound of Gwaine falling backwards down the steps with a high-pitched squeal, but quieten, looking to their laps awkwardly as the door shuts behind Gaius.

Merlin’s hand is still clutched tightly in Arthur’s, but he doesn’t pull away, looking up with a gulp, the worried expression back on his face. Arthur meets his gaze, biting his lip and furrowing his eyebrows worriedly.

“Merlin, I-”

“I’m so sorr-”

They both try to break the silence at the same time, but where Merlin chuckles slightly, Arthur frowns, having heard what Merlin was trying to say. He squeezes his hand tighter, and speaks forcefully:

“Don’t you dare apologise Merlin. I’m the one that should be sorry.-”

Merlin frowns, sitting up straighter and opening his mouth to retort, but Arthur shakes his head roughly:

“-No, Merlin. I should be, and I am. I am so sorry that you had to live in fear, it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right, but no more. I’m fixing it I promise. I’m repealing the ban, and you don���t have to scared anymore, none of your people do, I swear it, in the name of Camelot.”

The tears finally overflow from Merlin’s eyes and he throws himself forward, clutching Arthur tightly and silently crying into his shoulder. Arthur returns the hug without hesitation, running a soft hand up and down the other man’s back and whispering apologies and reassurances in his ear.

Merlin pulls back after what feels like hours, wiping his eyes with his sleeve and smiling slightly when Arthur takes his hand again. His face falls into a frown once more, and he looks up to The King nervously:

“Still. Perhaps if I’d told you earlier, all of this could have been avoided. I shouldn’t have lied for so long, I shouldn’t have been such a cowa-”

Arthur interrupts him:

“No, Merlin. You should never feel bad for protecting yourself in a Kingdom that should, by law, see you burn just for existing. It is not your responsibility to put your life on the line just to help a grown man reach a moral conclusion that he really should’ve been able to reach himself.”

Merlin sighs, but nods at Arthur’s imploring face. He relaxes back against the wall and Arthur smiles softly, lifting a hand to stroke the side of his face. Both of them blush slightly, but neither pull away as Arthur quietly speaks:

“We’ve got a lot to talk about Merls, but you should get some rest, we’ve got plenty of time.”

Merlin nods, eyes blinking blearily as he yawns, just now realising how tired he is. He shuffles down in the bed so his head rests on the pillow again, but doesn’t let go of Arthur’s hand, even as he stands up to move to Gwen’s chair. Merlin tugs his hand slightly towards him, shuffling over in the bed:

“Will you stay?”

Arthur looks down at him, a soft smile on his face as he nods. He lets go of Merlin’s hand, but only so he can climb under the covers, settling with his back against the wall. Merlin rolls between the King’s legs, laying with his head on Arthur’s stomach as he sighs contentedly, one hand hanging off the edge of the bed, and the other back to being held by Arthur.

Arthur smiles down at him, running his free hand through the man’s hair as he softly speaks, so quiet, Merlin almost misses it:

“Always. It’s good to have you back in one piece, Merlin.”

~

THE END!!!

I hope y’all liked it, I really enjoyed writing such an alternate magic-reveal, so thanks anon for the idea!!

Head over to This List to let me know what y’all want next!!

[lit-in-thy-heart]

For the hug prompt: 15, merwaine!!

@zykamiliah thank you for the prompt!!! i'm sorry it's taken so long and i sort of made it merwaincelot as well...thanks again, i hope you like it!! 💕💕

(for context, this is set between s3 and s4)

Training sessions, Gwaine had long since decided, were worse than patrol. At least with patrol, he could allow his mind to drift. In training sessions, if Gwaine’s mind drifted for a split second then he would be on his back, winded, before a coherent thought even had time to form.

It was hard enough to keep his thoughts from drifting when Lancelot was beside him in training, let alone when Merlin was also in the vicinity.

Particularly when Merlin was intently watching him. Not that Gwaine really minded Merlin being so close to him; Arthur had recently taken to banning Merlin from the training ground since walking past him, pinned against the back of a target by Gwaine, with his neckerchief woven between Gwaine’s fingers and his shirt halfway up his torso, with Lancelot kneeling down to kiss Merlin’s abdomen. It was a natural reaction for Gwaine: training always made him so aware of his own body and his mind automatically jumped to how it slotted against Merlin’s and Lancelot’s, but Arthur didn’t seem to approve of that particular collision – at least not when he’d been ambushed by it five times in the space of three days. So Gwaine was going to prove that he could finish a training session without making Merlin moan and hopefully persuade Arthur to lift the ban on Merlin watching training sessions permanently.

Merlin, when Gwaine snatched a glance that he promised himself would be the last one, was quietly talking with Elyan, who was sitting out after Percival had accidentally dislocated his partner’s shoulder with the ferocity of his hug after Elyan had escaped, unharmed, from bandits. They looked over at Gwaine at irregular intervals with sly smiles and, judging by the speed at which Elyan’s mouth was moving, Merlin was receiving a summary of all the various references to him Gwaine made when he wasn’t around. Before he turned back around, Gwaine caught Elyan’s eye and scowled lightly at him. Merlin knew that Gwaine had a soft spot for him and Lancelot – which was to be expected when they were in a relationship – but Gwaine was reluctant to expose just to what extent he truly cared for the two of them. Lancelot, of course, knew about how much he cared for Merlin, the two of them having discussed their love for him numerous times on patrol, but Gwaine was always careful not to talk too incessantly about Lancelot when he was within earshot, just in case it became overbearing. Because if Lancelot and Merlin knew that they was the force that pushed each breath out of Gwaine’s body each day, if they knew that every slight touch from their fingertips managed to make the nerves in Gwaine’s skin scream in exhilaration, if they knew that Gwaine would slice his soul into ribbons to bind any wounds Merlin or Lancelot bore, then they would both leave him. The only person Gwaine had ever unloaded his soul to had been his sister, and that bond hadn’t left her any more unwilling to sell him off.

At a call of his name, Gwaine returned to the session and caught Lancelot channelling silent concern in his direction. He shot him a reassuring grin and angled his face towards Leon to demonstrate that he was actually paying attention to what he was saying about the importance of catching the enemy unawares. As much as Gwaine understood that they all needed to be trained to a certain standard, he also had had much practice at catching people unawares throughout his life so far. He himself had been caught unawares, namely by Merlin and Lancelot but in entirely different circumstances, but he could reel off at least nine different methods of a surprise attack off the top of his head, and probably seven more if he had a moment to think about it. Gwaine still had a long way to go, but he wasn’t terrible at the skills a knight required. None of them were, really. Percival had his stupendous strength, Elyan and Lancelot were both light on their feet – though Elyan was comfortable with more weapons than Lancelot was – and Leon, of course, had been a fully-fledged knight for almost two years. And Arthur, of course, was Arthur. They all had their individual strengths, but when they came together they were unstoppable and Gwaine, for the first time in his life, felt like he was part of a singular organism that operated as one. As if he finally had found his settled place in the world.

In his younger years, he had been at the centre of a group, but never part of it. He had been a tool for the bandits he lived with, a means to their ends, a weapon that they could wield whenever they required it. Then, of course, any kinship he might have had with them had been severed when he’d murdered a third of them on his first active mission as an adult. Merlin had been the first person since then whom he had felt a connection with, and Merlin had led him to Lancelot, and then of course the Round Table. There were still moments when he thought Leon could do with being dragged down a peg or two, and moments when Lancelot was far too noble and self-sacrificing to the point where Gwaine had to poke him in the back to check if he still had a spine to stand up for himself (he always made sure to kiss the place he’d touched afterwards just to reassert his love for him), or when Elyan and Percival were too hesitant to attack, or when Arthur was perhaps a bit too harsh on Merlin (Lancelot had held him back from threatening the regent with a knife many times over past treatments that Merlin had flippantly mentioned) but, for the most part, he loved them all. Not that he’d ever dare tell most of them that.

He’d told Merlin that, many times over, in the held breath of the night, in various ways. After that melee, where Gwaine had killed two men and saved Arthur’s life again, when Merlin had been patching Gwaine up as they had waited for Uther’s final judgement, Gwaine had plucked up the courage to tell the servant that he loved him. Not with those exact words, of course, he’d simply said that he had been glad Merlin was safe, but the look in Merlin’s eyes had given him hope. Gwaine had taken that hope and used it as armour against the physical blows that had been dealt between being banished from Camelot and next seeing Merlin. Protecting himself against mental blows had proved to be a bit more of a challenge. And he’d told Lancelot he loved him, many times over too, in the shadows cast by a stirring dawn when Merlin had slipped away in the darkness so as not to get persuaded to stay for a little longer. He’d told Lancelot, one morning, that the Knight’s Code could go to hell and he would live his life by the code that Lancelot and Merlin had written with their fingers across the scroll of Gwaine’s skin. Lancelot had written that down, sliding from Gwaine’s arms, and had said that he should try his hand at poetry, to which Gwaine had murmured something about leaving that to the professionals and enticed the other knight back into his arms.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, Gwaine tuned in again just in time to be knocked to the floor as his legs were taken out from beneath him with a very large stick. Groaning, Gwaine squinted up into the sun and tried to make out the silhouette looming over him. ‘Thanks, Lancelot.’

With a soft smirk, Lancelot offered his hand to help pull him up. ‘You shouldn’t have been distracted.’

‘I wasn’t distracted,’ Gwaine grunted, swinging to his feet.

‘What was the last thing Leon said?’

Gwaine’s gaze slid towards the place where Merlin was stood. ‘That everyone take a moment to admire Merlin.’

Shaking his head, Lancelot grinned. ‘I agree that everyone should take a moment to admire Merlin, but Leon didn’t say that. He said to partner up.’

‘I mean...that makes more sense,’ conceded Gwaine, dusting himself off. ‘So we’re just trying to get people on the ground?’

Nodding, Lancelot spun the lance – Gwaine made a mental note to make a joke about that over dinner – in his hands. ‘Preferably with receiving as few blows as possible in the process.’

‘Alright. In that case—’

Gwaine tied back his hair with the string around his wrist and set his jaw, watching Lancelot intensely. They stood for several moments, neither of them daring to make a move first, and held each other’s gaze, silent aside from laboured breaths. Then, Gwaine launched forwards before making a sharp turn and sprinting towards Elyan and Merlin, who had been quietly talking and not paying much attention to the knights on the training field.

Merlin barely had time to cry out before Gwaine’s arms had hooked themselves around his torso and securely trapped him against the ground. Straining his head, he struggled to meet the knight’s eyes and heard Gwaine’s victorious shout towards Lancelot without seeing the expression on his face. He had been having a very engaging discussion with Elyan about healing spells when Gwaine had rudely interrupted, and he had now completely lost his train of thought. He had a habit of losing his train of thought when he was around Gwaine and Lancelot, or thinking about Gwaine and Lancelot, and it had a habit of driving Arthur slightly insane. Especially when he was asking Merlin about his thoughts on which route they should take and Merlin absent-mindedly suggested taking the route along the prominent vein on Gwaine’s forearm in front of the council. Still, it had been a month since he had last done that and Merlin had been doing remarkably well at not getting distracted by either of his knights during this particular training session.

As Gwaine turned around, Merlin saw his grin melt into the smile that was reserved for him and Lancelot alone and the knight shifted so he was sat on top of Merlin, his hands skimming the latter’s shoulders. ‘Did I catch you by surprise?’

‘You did indeed,’ Merlin said, eyes flickering across Gwaine’s body. ‘Was there any particular purpose?’

‘That was the purpose. We had to practise taking the enemy by surprise,’ Gwaine stated, his hand now pushing a path through Merlin’s hair.

Sitting up, Merlin rested his arms on Gwaine’s shoulders. ‘So I’m the enemy?’

‘No, you’re taking the place of the enemy,’ corrected Gwaine, settling his hands on Merlin’s waist.

‘And why hasn’t Lancelot taken the place of the enemy?’

‘Because Lancelot is a much better fighter than you are and would be prepared for a surprise attack.’

‘Which is exactly the point of the exercise,’ Lancelot warmly interrupted, wandering over with the lance resting across his shoulders. He said nothing for several moments more, staring at both of them sat there on the grass, using all the strength he had in him not to join their loose hug. ‘Come on,’ he murmured, instead choosing to kick Gwaine’s ankle gently with his eyes still fixed on Merlin, ‘what did we make a deal about this morning?’

Sighing, Gwaine extracted himself from Merlin. ‘I know, I know. If we go the whole session without making out with Merlin, then we can spend the whole night making up for it, I know.’

‘I am still in earshot,’ Elyan stated, looking between the three of them. ‘You know that, right?’

As Merlin mouthed an apology in Elyan’s direction, Lancelot turned around to glance towards Arthur. He was distracted by a staring contest with Percival, it seemed, and Lancelot took the opportunity to quickly dart over to Merlin and press a kiss to the skin that was illuminated by the sun as it tentatively peered out through the clouds. At Gwaine’s scandalised look, Lancelot shrugged. ‘It wasn’t making out and I never said you couldn’t do the same. Especially since Arthur is not paying attention.’

Grin transforming his face, Gwaine kissed the same spot and allowed his fingers to linger on Merlin’s throat for a suspended second before drawing away and catching Lancelot’s hand as they discreetly returned to their training spot, sharing a brief kiss. As Gwaine’s tongue made its way into Lancelot’s mouth, Lancelot dropped the weapon and moved instinctively closer to Gwaine’s body.

Gwaine took the opportunity to let his hands sneak down to Lancelot’s waist and promptly threw the other knight over his shoulder and onto the ground with a wicked grin. ‘Gotcha.’

Across the field, Merlin was laughing.

[jgvfhl]

Oh I get it 😋

the knights: armour

percival: our

[lit-in-thy-heart]

I'm so excited you've jouned in!!! 💕

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘I’m okay.’

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

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

‘But not a lie.’

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

‘I don’t enjoy it.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

But that hadn’t happened yet.

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

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

 

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

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

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

‘I missed you.’

‘I missed you, too,’ Merlin murmured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[specialagentlokitty]

Merlin x reader - Clouded judgement

Me again 😂 could I request a Merlin x reader where they have magic and maybe save Arthur or another Knight, using 15 & 23 from the print list. Loving the new merlin fics btw ☺️ - @youarethereasonimsmiling 💕

15. “I just wanted to help...”

23. “You idiot, why’d you do that?!” “To save you!”

A/N: I kinda went a bit off the requests because I’m a dumbass pls forgive me😂❤️

Walking around the forest with your sword raised, you had a scowl on your face, you wanted to find this man before the knights got to him, and apparently he wanted you. He stepped from behind a tree.

“(Y/N).” He smirked.

“Dan.” You growled.

Dan laughed and started circling you. He only stopped when all the others came rushing to surrounded him, you held up your had signalling for them all to stop.

“Don’t.” You said to them.

“(Y/N), he’s dangerous.” Arthur said.

Ignoring him, you walked a bit closer to the man.

“We don’t need such pointy weapons do we?”

You looked at your sword and threw it to the side much to everyone’s protests. Taking your Camelot cloak of you folding it and placed it on the floor.

“Course not, we’re going to end this now.”

“Same rules dear sister?”

“One new rule.”

“Oh?” He smirked.

You begun to pulled your armour off and dropped it on your cloak, now you stood in just boots, trousers and a shirt. Just like him.

“Life or death. Only one of us are making it out of this.”

Dan hummed and tossed you a dagger. Picking it up from the forest floor, you adjusted your stance and held the weapon in front of you. He copied you and smirked.

“Life or death it is.”

“This is madness, enough!” Arthur yelled.

“Sorry Arthur, king or not this is personal.” You laughed weakly.

With that you lunged, you got a good first hit, your blade cut his arm. Dan swung and you ducked, sweeping his legs from under him you aimed for his neck but he rolled out the way, swiping your legs in return.

“Damn it...” you cursed.

“You’re getting sloppy, maybe this’ll help.”

He pulled a throwing knife from his pocket and threw it at Arthur, snapping your head towards it, your eyes quickly flashed gold and it just missed him.

“How dare you!”

“Testy.”

With an angred cry you stood in from of him widely swinging your blade, each time he dodged, he struck your on your arms or stomach, and you swung even harder, until finally you cut his chest.

“I’ll kill you!” He snarled.

Dan ran, his fist connecting with your stomach making you gasp and double over, his elbow connected with your back sending you to the floor, your weapon clattering across the dirt. You were kicked over, his foot placed on your chest and he smiled wickedly as he raised it and quickly stomped on your leg. A scream of pure agony ripped through you and you heard a crack.

“Sad really, you knew you wouldn’t win this fight.” Dan shrugged.

He went to move, only to have a much longer blade run through him. With wide eyes he stumbled to the side, shock written all over his face before he fell.

With a groan you hauled yourself and looked down at him, then to Merlin who was staring at the body. Taking a breath you limped over and pushed him back a few steps.

“You idiot, why’d you do that?!” You yelled.

He turned his gaze to you.

“To save you!”

“I didn’t need to be saved! Damnit Merlin I was supposed to be the one to kill him not you!”

Turning around, you begun to limp away, ignoring your belongings in Leon’s arms. You went to walk past Arthur but he stepped in front of you making you stop.

“You need to be treated, we’re a day out from Camelot they could become infected. Not to mention you’ve probably got a cracked or broken bone!”

“I’m fine.”

“You aren’t fine!”

You carried on walking, it wasn’t long until your leg gave way. You tried to stand up but you couldn’t, with a frustrated growl you punched the ground.

“We’ve got you.” Percival smiled.

The man easily picked you up and he carried after maybe an hour before Arthur found a suitable spot to make camp. Percival places you with your back against a tree.

“Thanks...”

Leon set your stuff next to you, and they all carried out with their tasks, Merlin begun heading over with some things and silently sat in front of you, first he begun to work on your leg, muttering a sorry when you groaned in pain.

Then he begun to work on your arms, taking another half an hour to carefully clean the wounds and bandage them.

“I’ve got to clean your stomach.” He said gently.

“Why did you do that Merlin?” You asked.

“I just wanted to help...” he whispered looking down.

Sighing, you layed yourself on the ground and let Merlin lift your shirt just enough to see the wounds, and to see the scars that littered your skin.

“I’m sorry.” You sighed.

“It’s alright.”

The pair of you went silent again, when Merlin was done he trailed his fingers along on of your scars.

“You’ve fought him before?”

“Many times.” You nodded.

“Is that why you got angry?” He asked quietly.

“I didn’t mean to, I suppose my hatred for him clouded my judgement. Know that I’d never hate you, or resent you for it Merlin.”

“Arthur could have found out you have magic...”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take, Dan never missed a hit in his life.”

Merlin pulled down your shirt and helped you sit up against the tree again, he begun to put away his supplies and went to stand, only to have you grab his wrist and stop him.

“Merlin, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He smiled.

Smiling back, you let go and watched him leave. Resting your head on the bark of the tree, your grabbed your sword and rested it on your chest as you closed your eyes, you’d have to do something nice for him to thank him

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