#the Lance layer. the Arthur layer. and the Merlin layer.

[mobbothetrue]

Been wrestling with a sudden burst of like. Creative-gotta-do-something-NOW energy with no outlet and I think I’ve managed to wrestle it sufficiently well into getting a head start on three new refs for characters for artfight

and the reason I’m making this a tumblr post is because I’m actually really happy with how they’re looking and I wanna show them off

from left to right: Merlin, Arthur, and Lance

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

The Hell he’s been through;

The Knights have no clue of the suffering Merlin has endured… until one day, they do.

TW: Scars, panic attacks, nightmares, PTSD except they don’t have a word for that, non-graphic description of scars/injuries

Part 2(final part)

It was the height of summer, the bright blue sky was utterly free of clouds and the noon sun beat viciously down onto the training field.

Only the central six knights, their King, and Merlin braved the exhausting heat, the other knights had chosen to train later in the day, when it was cooler, so the field was empty of anyone else. Merlin was sat cross-legged in the shade of a tree, jacket and neckerchief removed (not that Arth- anyone noticed. Definitely not.), though his sleeves were still pulled low over his wrists and his tunic was fastened high up his neck. Despite that, the lack of an extra layer definitely displayed Merlin’s surprisingly broad shoulders more than normal (another thing that Ar-no one noticed). 

The knights were shirtless, despite Merlin’s warning of sunburn, sparring semi-playfully with wooden dummy swords, the type squires train with, and no armour.

Merlin rubs absent-mindedly at the dull, almost gone ache in his ribs, just below his armpit, as he rolls his shoulder. The injury, if it could even be called that, had never been serious and hadn’t even hurt that much when he’d gotten it on the last patrol (a stray mace swing from a bandit just clipped him), at least, not compared to other injuries he’s sustained over the years, but it was an annoyance that made his shoulder stiff on occasion.

Unfortunately, the movement caught Arthur’s eye, and the King frowns, stopping his observation of Elyan and Mordred’s spar to lay a crudely hidden concerned gaze upon his manservant. 

He’d fussed endlessly when he found that Merlin had bandaged his own torso after the fight, demanding that he let someone help next time; Merlin just rolled his eyes at that. The other knights had wisely chosen not to comment, knowing that the attack, and Merlin’s subsequent injury, had already put Arthur in a bad enough mood; though admittedly, the only thing stopping Gwaine from ruthlessly taking the piss out of Arthur’s mother-hen tendencies all the way home was Percival harshly clamping a hand over his mouth and pushing him away.

Merlin looks up to see Arthur staring at him, and the King quickly covers his concern with a look of annoyance when the manservant raises an eyebrow:

“If you’re not going to do anything useful Merlin, get up here, you clearly can’t be trusted to even cower effectively, so you’re going to have to learn to defend yourself.”

Merlin’s eyebrow just rises higher as the rest of the knights’ attention is drawn to the conversation. Lancelot and Mordred hide knowing smiles, well aware than Merlin was more than capable of defending himself, if he really needed to. Gwaine went to open his mouth with teasing grin, though quickly pouts when Percival punches him on the shoulder, and Leon and Elyan smirk at each other before moving their amused gazes to Arthur.

When Merlin doesn’t move, just stares at him disbelievingly, Arthur rolls his eyes and gestures at the half-empty rack of wooden swords:

“Come on, Merlin, up on your feet, grab a sword.”

Merlin just snorts in amusement and shakes his head, settling back against the tree trunk even more:

“Absolutely not. I can handle myself just fine, thank you very much.”

The knights (bar Lancelot and Mordred of course) raise their own eyebrows. Gwaine snorts out loud, stepping up next to Arthur and dropping an overly-friendly hand on his shoulder, much to The King’s displeasure:

“I know you can hold your own in a tavern brawl Merls, but that’s not the same thing as facing bandits and assassins and shit. Princess is right, it might be worth it for you to at least know how to use a sword.”

Arthur turns an accusing gaze on Gwaine, shrugging his hand off as he says:

“And I presume all the tavern brawls Merlin has apparently been getting into are your fault?”

Gwaine grimaces slightly before shrugging with a smirk, and Merlin hides his laughter with a cough before inserting:

“Entirely his fault. Gwaine starts the fights, promptly passes out, and I have to finish them.”

Arthur laughs incredulously; Mordred has to hide the angry clench of his jaw and Lancelot has to hide his sorrow when Arthur replies in a taunting tone:

“I’m meant to believe that you are regularly winning Gwaine’s unfinished fights, am I?”

Merlin shrugs in mock defeat, a grin on his face:

“Believe what you want, Sire, I’ve faced worse than you lot and come out singing, I don’t need training.”

Arthur resists the urge to smirk at the appealing way Merlin manages to make his title sound insulting, and he instead raises his eyebrows:

“You’re not getting out of this, Merlin. I can’t have you bruising yourself every time we leave the city.”

Merlin takes in a deep breath, settling a disconcertingly assessing gaze on The King for a few moments before he sighs and stands up, walking towards the equipment and picking up a sword before turning back to Arthur:

“I suppose you’re right, I doubt any of the other servants would be willing to put up with you if I got too injured. Who would you like me to spar, My Lord?”

Arthur scoffs and shakes his head as the others step back, looking upon the whole scene with fond amusement, bar, once again, Lancelot and Mordred, who are looking an odd mix between concerned and proud. They know that Merlin is capable of more than he lets on, even with a wooden blade.

“You can’t spar with any of us, Merlin, that would be far too dangerous. We’ll start with some basic moves, and then maybe we can move on to a slow, choreographed spar.”

Merlin twirls the sword expertly in his hand, and he’s vaguely away of Gwaine nodding approvingly and Leon raising an eyebrow out the corner of his eye, though he pays them no mind, raising an eyebrow of his own at Arthur:

“Surely starting with a simple spar will tell you my exact skill levels so you can tailor the lessons? You need to know how crap I am before we start.”

Lancelot hides a snort behind a hand, knowing full well that Merlin is just trying to goad Arthur into letting the servant show off his skills without too much effort beforehand. Or without giving Arthur the satisfaction of thinking that he was the one who taught Merlin how to fight. Thankfully, Arthur takes Lance’s snort as a teasing one aimed at Merlin, as opposed to what it really is, so waves him into the ring with a smirk.

Merlin just rolls his eyes, moving to stand opposite his best friend and muttering, just loud enough for everyone to hear:

“Fine, but I’m not taking my shirt off, I’m not as arrogant as you lot.”

Lancelot widens his eyes as Arthur freezes, dread growing in his stomach at the knowledge that The King would take that as a challenge. Arthur turns slowly, a shit-eating grin on his face, and Lancelot grimaces as Arthur claps his hands together:

“Right! I wasn’t going to mention it, but you do have a point, Merlin, if you are to train, you must train as one of us. Come on, tunic off.”

Elyan, Percival, and Gwaine just laugh, but Leon rolls his eyes exasperatedly, and Mordred and Lancelot frown in concern. Neither of them have seen Merlin’s scars in their entirety before, but knowing about the servant’s secret second life had definitely made them more observant than the others, and they had seen hints of old injuries here and there. That’s not even mentioning the times he’s shown up in their chambers, bloody and bruised and in need of treatment, but not wanting to worry Gaius.

Merlin just flushed and stared at him indignantly and Arthur’s teasing grin grew:

“Don’t be shy, Merlin, I’m sure whatever horrific mole or ugly birth mark you’re ashamed of isn’t that bad.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, stepping away from Arthur when he moves towards him. The demand to de-robe, even partially, had immediately put him on edge, and he had gone from playfully annoyed to genuinely irate in a split second. He crosses his arms over his chest protectively when Arthur gestures at him demandingly:

“I don’t have a weird mole, Arthur, you Clotpole, but unlike you lot, I’m not all that keen to show off my old scars.”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. Merlin was hoping that mentioning his scars in passing would appeal to the knights’ warrior sides, would make them sympathetic to his… shy-ness. It did not. It just made them laugh, even Leon, and they all began to point out various scars they had on their chests and back, remarking that he couldn’t have worse than them. 

Gwaine twisted to the side, patting a pink, jagged circle halfway down his back, a grin on his face:

“This beauty is from when I propositioned a lovely fella who was, apparently, already taken. Man’s wife smashed her bottle on the counter and damn near took my eye out with it.”

Elyan cackles at Gwaine’s story, pointing to a perfectly square burn on his shoulder-blade:

“Yeah, well at least you didn’t fall back into a red hot brand at the ripe old age of fifteen because a girl smiled at you.”

Merlin’s back-up plan, which was sneakily sulking off whilst the knights compared their most embarrassing scars, was cut short basically immediately when he heard Arthur yell out:

“Absolutely not, Merlin, I’ve already told you that you’re not getting out of this. Tunic off, spar Lancelot.”

Merlin huffs, annoyed, feeling rather like he was backed into a corner, and Mordred walks forward, to be between him and The King, quietly saying:

“You don’t have to Merlin, just fight with it on.”

Arthur narrows his eyes in suspicion, but before he can say anything, Merlin squares his shoulders and looks at him defiantly, dropping his sword to the floor as he begins unlacing his tunic, his words coming out harshly, his tone dark:

“No, no it’s fine. The King wants to see my scars, and we all know that The King gets whatever he wants.”

The smiles melt rather quickly off the knights’ faces as Merlin speaks, and Arthur flinches slightly at his tone, starting to realise with just a little guilt that maybe this wasn’t funny anymore. He opens his mouth to take it back, to tell Merlin that he was only teasing and he could keep the tunic on if he really wanted to, but before any words come out, Merlin is gripping the collar of his shirt, pulling it over his head swiftly and screwing it up before tossing it to the side, not once breaking his stare on the now pale King.

Arthur lets out a sharp breath at the patchwork of scars that cover Merlin’s chest, and he’s vaguely aware of the various low cries and gasps of outrage coming from the knights behind him. There are so many, some are large and some are small, some look to be from clumsiness, but others look like they should have been fatal. Arthur’s eyes can’t focus on just one, he’s barely taking in each scar before his gaze is drawn to another, and then another, and then another; it’s a little overwhelming, and it’s only when he starts to feel a little woozy that he remembers to breath.

When he finally comes to the conclusion that his brain isn’t going to able to process this for a while, he looks up to Merlin’s face, instead taking in his resolute expression and hard eyes:

“Merlin, what… what happened to you?”

Merlin raises a slow, mocking eyebrow before breaking his statue-like stillness and picking his sword up again, turning to face a distraught looking Lancelot. This movement only reveals the second mosaic of scars covering his back, but he speaks over the next round of gasps and muffled curses, his tone still unbearably dark as he gestures Lance to get into position:

“I told you, I’ve faced worse than you lot and come out singing.”

The knights are so distracted by the myriad of scars covering Merlin’s torso that it takes the servant’s first harsh, well-aimed blow with his sword to break them out of their stupor. They watch the ensuing spar with morbid fascination, finding that not only can Merlin hold his own, he’s winning. Lancelot loses his breath and rhythm much quicker than Merlin does, and the fast-paced spar only lasts around three minutes before Merlin lands a strong punch to the centre of Lance’s chest and the knight stumbles back in shock, lowering his sword just enough for Merlin to step forward and trip him up.

The scarred servant’s chest rises and falls deeply, but not too rapidly as he lowers his sword and offers a hand down to the beaten knight. Lancelot takes it with a slightly shocked smile, patting Merlin on the shoulder as he stands. Merlin flinches away from the touch, no one misses it, clearly not too fond of people touching his bare skin, and Lance drops his hand rapidly, frowning only briefly before he smiles again:

“Bloody hell, Merlin. I knew you were good, but not that good.”

Merlin gives him a strained smile, grateful for the distraction. Everyone sees the moment Merlin’s mask goes up again; he gives Lance a smug grin and twirls his sword once again as he shrugs mockingly:

“I’ve been watching you lot train for ten years, and I’ve been in a few sword fights in my time. I picked up a few things.”

Arthur finally reacts, scoffing as he shakes his head in disbelief, scars momentarily forgotten:

“There’s no way that you can- that was a fluke.-”

He looks smug as he says it, like he’s figured out some great secret, and Mordred lets out a low, annoyed growl; no one notices thankfully, but Merlin shoots him a quick frustrated line across their mental link:

“Please try not to antagonise him any further.”

Mordred looks to him, keeping his face blank as he nods almost imperceptibly. Lancelot and Gwaine look openly disapproving of Arthur’s assertion, but Leon, Percival, and Elyan look almost convinced. Arthur nods decisively, picking up his sword once again and waving it in Merlin’s direction:

“-My turn. And once I’ve beaten you, you’re going to tell us about all of… that.”

Merlin’s eye twitches, but he doesn’t say anything, just nods slightly as he holds a placating hand out in Lancelot’s direction when it becomes obvious that his best friend is going to start trying to defend him.

Arthur takes Lancelot’s place in the ring and Merlin grips his sword tightly, his shoulders tense and his face showing only mild annoyance, despite the anger that Lancelot and Mordred were sure was simmering under his façade. At Arthur’s nod, Leon reluctantly counts them in, and the match begins.

This one is somehow even more fast-paced, though no one is surprised. The last ten minutes had caught Arthur extremely off-guard. An off-guard Arthur is a grumpy Arthur, and a grumpy Arthur is, unfortunately, still the type to take his frustrations out on others. Arthur wasn’t good at dealing with his emotions, meaning the disturbing mix of horror, guilt, and anger at Merlin’s scars, slight… shock, (because he refuses to call it anything else) at his deceptively strong physique, and surprise that apparently his servant can take out one of his best knights without all that much effort, all together have The King bursting with adrenaline. 

He throws blow after blow, but Merlin’s defence is incredibly strong, and Arthur has yet to land a hit anywhere other than the opposing sword. After a couple of minutes, Merlin switches styles, and Arthur almost trips when he realises his servant has, in the space of a second, gone from fighting like Arthur, to fighting like Leon. The knights notice it as well; Gwaine lets out a low whistle and Elyan smacks Leon on the shoulder, pointing incredulously at a sequence of complicated footwork that usually only the First Knight can manage so gracefully. Apparently Merlin can do it too.

Arthur adapts to this quickly; Leon was his sparring partner most often, meaning that he was accustomed to switching between their styles, and they were the most similar fighters in all the group. 

Another minute passes, and the pair still don’t slow, seemingly unbothered by their dumbfounded audience and the sweltering heat, and this time Merlin suddenly starts fighting more like Gwaine. Instead of staying on the defensive and trying to trip Arthur up, he goes on the attack, landing heavier and heavier hits as The King barely manages to defend himself in time.

Merlin is quickly growing tired, his stamina not nearly as good as Arthur’s, but The King grows complacent, even with the vicious pace, certain that he just has to wait Merlin out. He was wrong. Arthur finally gets an attack of his own in but Merlin dives to the side instead of blocking it, rolling and coming up to Arthur’s left before the blonde has time to regain his balance and turn around. He freezes in place when Merlin touches his wooden sword to the side of Arthur’s neck. He can feel it shaking, but it’s undoubtedly a killing blow, and when Merlin drops the sword to the floor in favour of bending over, one hand on his knee and the other on his side again as he pants, Arthur turns around faster than he thinks he’s ever moved before:

“How the fuck did you do that?”

Merlin is vaguely aware of the knights all clapping and shouting encouragement at him, but he doesn’t look up, just waves dismissively in Arthur’s direction:

“I told you, I’ve been watching you lot train for years. It’s easy to imitate you after a little practice.”

Arthur just stares at him in disbelief, but Leon hands the servant a water-skin, ripping his gaze from the whip marks on his back with clenched teeth before schooling his tone and face into something more friendly:

“Merlin, you switched styles twice in as many minutes… you beat the best swordsman in the Kingdom after already being tired from another spar, that’s… that’s incredible.”

Merlin drinks the entire skin as Leon speaks, looking up with another playful mask on his face:

“Well believe me, I’m so sore I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do it again.”

Merlin’s smile drops when he realises everyone is back to staring at him, more specifically, his scars. He steps away from the curly-haired knight, who furrows his brows in concern and resists the urge to reach a comforting hand out to him. Merlin crosses his arms over his chest defensively, hunching his broad shoulders slightly as he frowns at the floor.

Lancelot quickly throws his tunic to him, and Merlin scrambles to pull it on as quickly as possible, but before he can even get his arms through the right holes, Arthur snatches it away, a stern, angry look on his face. Though every one of then can see the badly hidden concern as well:

“No, you agreed to tell us.”

Merlin makes a move for his tunic, but Arthur jumps out of his reach. The servant huffs, annoyed and close to tears all of a sudden as he petulantly replies:

“Actually, you said once you beat me, I had to tell you. I won.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow, taking another step back:

“I’m happy to go another round if you are, Merlin?”

Merlin glares at him angrily for another few moments before completely sagging, staring at the floor with sad, tired eyes as his arms drop to dangle at his sides. Arthur and the knights are completely taken aback at Merlin’s sudden change of disposition, though it heartbreakingly strikes them as less of a change and more of a... reveal. A reveal of some kind of sadness that’s been there all along. How did they not notice this??

Arthur’s breath hitches and his tight clutch on Merlin’s tunic loosens slightly as he all but whispers:

“Merlin... who did this to you?”

Merlin finally looks up at him, letting out a humourless chuckle as he rakes a hand through his sweat-dampened hair roughly:

“Does it matter? Most of them are dead, I-”

His eyes narrow and his voice lowers. The knights hear it nonetheless:

“... I made sure of that .”

Arthur lets out a huff of frustration, not bothering to hide the desperation in his eyes as he pleads:

“Please, Merlin, you’re my... subject, you’re meant to be under my protection. And don’t lie, none of these are more than eleven or twelve years old at most and you got here ten years ago, so they happened in Camelot, under my watch. Please, Merlin.”

Merlin sighs, walking towards the tree’s shade once again. For a moment Arthur panics, thinking he’d pushed Merlin too far as he turned away, knowing that if this conversation wasn’t had now, their relationship would never be the same. But before The King can say anything, the servant slumps back into place against the tree trunk, sitting cross-legged again and biting his lip as he looks at Arthur expectantly.

Before anyone else can move, Mordred and Lancelot take the places either side of Merlin, sitting protectively close. Lance gives Mordred a pointed look, to which the younger knight nods before settling a blank expression on the side of Merlin’s head. Merlin doesn’t look back at him, but pats the knight’s knee as the corner of his mouth turns up briefly in a barely-there smile.

Arthur narrows his eyes, but stores that odd exchange in the back of his mind to deal with at a later date before sitting across from Merlin; the other knights look to each other, worried, before settling in the empty spaces to complete the circle. The group is silent for a while, all staring at a statue-still Merlin who in turn is staring at the grass in front of him; he doesn’t move even when Lancelot brings his hand into his lap, stroking his thumb over the servant’s knuckles absent-mindedly.

It’s Percival that finally breaks the silence, asking in a quiet voice:

“What happened, Merlin?”

Merlin looks up suddenly, as if he had forgotten he had company, taking in a deep breath and tightening his grip on Lance’s hand. He gulps before once again running his free hand through his hair, shrugging slightly as he mutters:

“I don’t recall all of them in perfect detail, just ask about... whatever catches your eye I guess, and we’ll see what I can remember.”

The knights all nod, looking to each other expectantly, no one really wanting to go first. Eventually Leon clears his throat, his voice gentle:

“Why don’t we start with the whip marks on your back?”

Merlin nods, grateful that they were at least starting off with the non-magical injuries. He doesn’t make eye contact with anyone as he speaks, his voice croaky and quiet:

“The newer ones are from Cenred, from a few years ago. He wanted information and I spat at his feet and told him to fuck off. He... he didn’t take too kindly to that.”

Gwaine lets out a quiet curse, and Arthur sits up straight, saying in a crackingly authoritative voice:

“Merlin, if anyone ever tries to extract information from you again, you give them anything. Everything. We’ll deal with the fall-out afterwards, it is not your job to withstand torture.”

The other knights nod approvingly but Merlin just looks up at The King with a raised eyebrow:

“Like hell. I can put up with a remarkable amount, I’d never sell Camelot, or you, out. Never, Arthur.”

Arthur huffs and resolutely ignores the tears gathering in his eyes, but Elyan beats him to the mark:

“That’s not... you shouldn’t have to put up with anything Merlin, it’s not necessary. You just... keep yourself safe. We’ll worry about everything else.”

The other knights nod again, but Merlin scowls and tenses even further, even as Lancelot squeezes his hand comfortingly:

“I’ve been through literal hell, multiple times, in order to protect my home and the people that are important to me. I’m not going to stop that just because it makes you lot uncomfortable, and you have no right to tell me to it’s not my place.”

Everyone looks desperate to argue, but they can’t deny that, after what they’ve seen today, in the last half a candle-mark only, Merlin is evidently a lot stronger than they’ve ever given him credit for. Both physically and mentally. Leon just gives Merlin a small smile and nods; he’s the only one here who has known Merlin just as long as Arthur, and he may not be as close to the younger man as The King or Lance or Gwaine or Mordred, but he’s seen his loyalty in action several times over the years:

“You said the newer ones were from Cenred. You’ve been flogged more than once?”

Merlin nods at the knight, grateful for his understanding and change of subject, even if said change of subject was back to his scars. His expression turns slightly guilty as his gaze moves to Arthur, and The King has a feeling he’s going to feel incredibly terrible at whatever it is Merlin is about to say:

“The others are from... uh.... Uther.-”

Arthur takes in a sharp breath as the tears he had just about managed to get under control gather again. The other knights just look angry, bar Leon, who, though miserable, looks as though he sort of expected it:

“-He didn’t like me very much.”

Arthur whispers his response:

“When? Merlin, when and why did my father have you flogged, and how did I not know about it?”

Merlin tenses his jaw, going from guilty to angry in a split second, snapping his response:

“Why do you think?!-”

Arthur recoils and Merlin closes his eyes briefly as he takes a deep breath, looking back to Arthur with a blank mask and speaking in a monotone voice:

“What did you think he would do every time I took the blame for you missing a meeting or a meal or a training session because you were entertaining a woman or pissing about with your knights? I had to walk into the council room and apologise for your absence because I slept in or I forgot to tell you or I sent you on a hunt on the wrong day. Uther was in the habit of burning people and chopping off an alarming number of heads, did you really think I would get away with it punishment free??

Arthur goes pale as a sheet and his hands tremble with the understanding. He shakes his head slightly as he looks to his lap, ignoring the tears on his cheeks as he murmurs:

“Merlin I am so sorry, I didn’t... I didn’t think... if I had known I would have duelled him in the damn town square to protect you.-”

Arthur looks up sharply, wiping his face clean as he settles an assessing gaze on his servant, ignoring Gwaine’s murderous glare as he slowly continues:

“-... which is exactly why you never told me, isn’t it?”

Merlin shrugs, a small smile on his face:

“You may never admit it, Arthur, but you were protective of me, even then.”

Arthur flushes slightly, before frowning again and shaking his head:

“You should have told me, it’s my job to protect you.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow, smirking slightly:

“I think we’ve already had this conversation.”

Arthur huffs and narrows his eyes again, good-naturedly this time, and Merlin just rolls his eyes before seeming to sag again, speaking quietly:

“Come on, next one.”

Elyan raises his hand slightly before pointing to the centre of Merlin’s chest:

“How the hell did you get a burn like that?”

Merlin tenses, rubbing a hand over the roughly circular, pink and white scar in the centre of his chest. The flesh looked melted in places, white scar tissue spider-webbing out from his sternum, beginning to fade just before it stretched around his sides, and stopping a few inches above his naval:

“Witch threw a fireball at me. Hurt like hell, but there was quite a lot of adrenaline at the time so I didn’t really notice the pain until later.”

Gwaine raises an eyebrow, evidently trying to control his anger as he asks, in a shaking, though forceful, voice:

“And what were you doing fighting a witch powerful enough to throw fire around?”

Merlin stops rubbing at the scar when Lancelot tugs his hand and Mordred mutters “You’re going to hurt yourself, Merlin.” in his head, curling his hand tightly in his lap instead and speaking slowly, as if he were choosing each word individually:

“Only Leon and Arthur were in Camelot for that. Arthur was dying from the Questing Beast bite, I... went to the Isle of the Blessed to speak to the followers of the Old Religion. There was said to be someone there who had power over life and death and I... Arthur was dying, I had to try.-”

Arthur’s eyes widened at Merlin’s words, mostly the mention of such a power, but stays silent, nodding at him to continue:

“-But the Old Religion requires balance, a life for a life,-”

Leon releases a deep breath, looking to the floor at the implication with his eyes closed, and Arthur lets out a whispered whimper, knowing the depths of Merlin’s loyalty:

“-I offered my own in exchange for Arthur’s. She, Nimueh, that is, accepted,-”

Arthur opens his mouth to say something, he’s not sure what, but before he can yell about Merlin’s self preservation, he notices the darkness on his dearest friend’s face and his voice catches in his throat. Merlin stares at the floor, his face drawn and angry and his voice stormy and clipped:

“-but she tried to trick me. I didn’t appreciate that, we fought, she died. Her life for Arthur’s: the deal was done.”

An audible gasp goes up around the circle, and Percival, who is (other than Merlin and Mordred of course) the most well versed in Magic Info, responds breathlessly:

“Merlin... Nimueh is a High Priestess, The master over Life and Death, she’s very very powerful.”

Merlin looks up at the gentle giant sharply, his gaze unforgiving and his tone harsh:

“Yeah, and she’s also very very dead, because she pissed me off.”

Percival gulps and lowers his gaze, but Arthur seems to have missed everything the two of them just said as he stares blankly at his servant:

“You’d barely known me a year, and I’ll admit that I was an arse back then, and you tried to give your life for mine. Why?”

Merlin looks at him curiously, not responding for a few moments as his anger dies down and his pride grows:

“I had it on good authority that you would become a Great King one day. It only took a little squinting to see it, you were a good man, a man I was, and still am, prepared to sacrifice myself for. You were an arse, yes, you still sort of are, but I have faith in you, always have, always will.”

Lancelot and Mordred smile fondly at him as the other knights stare dumbfounded, but Arthur clenches his jaw, ignoring the shaking in his voice as he says:

“Well, I... I forbid it. You are officially forbidden from sacrificing yourself for me, legally.”

Gwaine perks up slightly:

“Out of curiosity, do we all get the same-”

Arthur interrupts him with a forceful, though slightly amused:

“Shut up, Gwaine. And no, you’re a knight, your entire job description is to jump head first into danger so I don’t have to. I have every faith that you’ll die for me one day.”

Everyone lets out quiet snorts at that, bar Gwaine of course, who looks jokingly affronted before he nods and shrugs, quietly muttering “Yeah, fair enough,-”, the rest of his sentence (”especially considering you’re in love with him but not any of us.”) goes unheard and unchallenged.

Merlin chooses not to respond to Arthur’s demand, but everyone knows that’s his way of not committing to anything, knowing full well that Merlin had never listened to Arthur’s orders before, and sure as shit wasn’t going to start now.

“Next one.”

Merlin’s face had fallen slightly, knowing he wasn’t going to get away with explaining only two sets of scars, and Gwaine asks next, his eyes being drawn to Merlin’s gesturing hand:

“The red bands around your wrists and neck. They look like burns, but not very deep ones. How did they scar if they weren’t deep?”

Merlin looks down at the scars on his wrists, resisting the urge to absent-mindedly claw at the one he knows sits low on his neck. They’re about two inches wide, pale pink and almost impossible to see in the dark but impossible not to see in the light of the noon sun, even sat in the shade. The edges were clean cut and perfectly straight, and Merlin winced slightly at the memory of his magic being contained in such a way.

He looks around the circle, speaking easily. Though it was painful, it was no where near the worst Merlin has ever had, and even if he couldn’t tell the full truth, it felt sort of nice not to have to hide these ones:

“Some sort of enchanted chains, they drained my energy, made me sick and tired, but the magic in the metal sort of... stung, I guess. I don’t really know. I’d been captured by Morgause (is Morgana not mentioned in this entire fic but still Good? Yes.) again and I suppose she didn’t want to take any chances.”

Everyone looks shocked at his casual admission, and Leon is the first to break the tense silence:

“When were you captured by Morgause?”

Before Merlin can respond, Arthur pipes up incredulously:

“Again. You said again. Merlin, how many times have you been kidnapped by Morgause without anyone realising? How many times have you been kidnapped in general?!”

Merlin winces slightly, speaking in a slightly defensive tone as he stares at Arthur as though the answer is obvious:

“Arthur... I’m The King’s personal manservant. I have the power to overrule the Steward and the Housekeeper if I wanted to; as far as servant’s go, I have the most authority, even more than some low level nobles, especially when it comes to running the citadel. I’m sort of... a big deal. I have access to pretty much any information I could want, even more than this lot-”

He gestures to the knights around the circle. Mordred and Lancelot look a little proud once again, Leon is staring at Arthur, shocked that The King didn’t know this, and everyone else stares at Merlin, only just realising that... Merlin was right. None of them have considered it before, but he practically runs the castle.

“-most of the time, and I’m the only one who knows every single state secret, simply from my proximity to you and your council and your paperwork. That is rather... desirable to people like Morgause, people who want to attack Camelot.”

Merlin purses his lips awkwardly as everyone stares at him blankly, but Gwaine is the first to break the silence:

“... and we’ve just been letting you walk around, unprotected.”

Merlin raises as eyebrow:

“I think we’ve already established I don’t need protection.”

Arthur huffs and throws his hands up awkwardly:

“Well you obviously do, if you’re getting kidnapped so often. When even was this?? You haven’t disappeared for a while, and we haven’t had any trouble from Morgause in months.”

Merlin’s face falls, and the knights are taken aback at the reappearance of the... cruel darkness in his expression:

“Believe me, I know. She... won’t be bothering us any longer, I wasn’t fond of her repeated attempts to kill me or you so I... took care of it.”

The knights go pale at Merlin’s casual admittance of killing yet another High Priestess of the Old Religion. He smirks into his lap briefly until Lance once again squeezes his hand, as if reminding him of the mask he should be wearing. Arthur stares at his servant and long time friend, struggling to reconcile the clumsy ideal he has in his head with this... hardened, tortured protector:

“How? Nimueh and Morgause... just... how??”

Merlin’s eyes slowly move up to meet Arthur’s gaze, and The King gulps at the assessing way the servant tilts his head:

“Playing the role of clumsy rural idiot can be a little demeaning sometimes, but it also means that people tend to underestimate me. They think I’m an easy target, and by the time they realise I’ve played them, it’s too late.”

Arthur recoils slightly, and Merlin once again changes dispositions, shrugging casually and smiling easily, his tone light:

“You can get away with a remarkable amount when people think you’re stupid.”

The circle lets out an in-sync breath. All of them knew that Merlin wasn’t stupid by any stretch of the imagination, but they didn’t realise just how smart he is. None of them would admit it, but Elyan, Leon, Percival, Arthur, and even Gwaine on some level, still subconsciously considered Merlin “just a servant” in the back of their minds. At least... they did. 

(Not that that old thought process made them think any less of him, they just didn’t think of him as complicated, as a warrior.)

Merlin takes a deep breath, knowing that his friends would never see him in the same way, but sort of hoping that that was a good thing, gesturing vaguely to the circle once again. Arthur asks the next question, touching his hand to the back of his own neck softly:

“There’s a cut on the back of your neck. It looks deep, like it was reopened over and over, what is it?”

Merlin grimaces slightly, wiping his free hand over his face in exhaustion as Lancelot squeezes his other hand, and Mordred pats his knee comfortingly:

“That one was a few years ago, courtesy of Morgause again. She put something called a Fomorrah in me-”

Percival gasped slightly, harshly whispering “Gods.” under his breath. Arthur spares him a quick glance, making a mental note to question how his knight seems to know so much about sorcery at a later date:

“-so she could try to make me kill Arthur; it sort of... controls you. Makes you only able to focus on whatever instruction you’re given when it’s first put in you. Gaius kept having to cut it out of me, it wouldn’t stop re-growing until we killed the rest of it’s body, and that was with Morgause somewhere out of the city.”

Arthur looked a little outraged, hiding the worry of “I now know that Merlin could kill me without any trouble at all so how the fuck am I alive?”. Apparently he doesn’t hide it well; Merlin gives him a comforting smile and shrugs his shoulders slightly:

“I fought the compulsion pretty well, kept coming up with increasingly complicated assassination plans instead of just... stabbing you in your sleep or something.”

Arthur goes to respond, but he’s interrupted by Leon loudly cursing, his eyes wide as he stares at Merlin with flushed cheeks:

“I just... gave you a crossbow!! You said you were going to kill Arthur and I thought you were joking and I let you walk out the armoury with a crossbow and a handful of bolts!!”

Merlin chuckles, a blush of his own rising as he responds, rubbing the back of his neck again:

“Yeah... I don’t really remember it, but Gaius and Gwen filled me in on what had happened. To be fair, it’s kind of flattering that you never considered that I was the assassin, despite the repeated attempts being made on Arthur’s life and the fact that I admitted it to your face.”

Leon stares at the floor with wide eyes, seemingly trying to process the fact that he had pointed a would be assassin in the right direction, muttering something along the lines of “oh my Gods oh my Gods oh my Gods” over and over until Elyan awkwardly patted him on the back, breaking him from his embarrassed horror.

Arthur clears his throat, staring at Merlin with an almost unreadable expression:

“I did wonder why the attempts just... stopped?”

Merlin understands the question in his tone and nods slightly before replying:

“Hmm. Gaius and Gwen figured out it was me, found a way to paralyse the thing in my neck until I managed to get back to Morgause’s little lair and kill the main body.”

Arthur nods distractedly. How many times had this happened? “This” being something entirely ridiculous and/or incredibly dangerous right under his nose.

Percival clears his throat and Merlin looks to the nervous man, nodding at him to ask whatever it was that was on his mind, despite his growing discomfort:

“There’s... on your back, it looks like a stab wound but... worse. The veins around it are black and it looks painful despite it’s obvious age and... well... it looks like a Serket Sting, but it... it can’t be, right?”

Merlin tenses, back to looking as exhausted and scared and as ready to bolt as he had at the beginning of the conversation. Lancelot squeezes his hand again, tightly this time, and Mordred takes his other to stop him from clenching it too harshly, murmuring:

“You don’t have to, Merlin, not this one.”

Arthur clenches his jaw at the knowledge that two of his knights had known about this. Had known the collage of agony on Merlin’s body, had known what he’d been through and done nothing. Hadn’t prevented it, hadn’t brought it to Arthur, hadn’t protected him. But equally, with how protective and loyal and secretive Merlin is, and how heartbroken the two of them had looked when Merlin first took his tunic off, they likely hadn’t known the full extent of damage.

Merlin just sighs and shakes his head, sensing the curious stares of the others before rising to his knees and turning around, running a shaking hand over the scar briefly before dropping his hand to his side again. The others stare, astounded. They’d only caught brief glimpses of it before, but now they could see it properly it was undoubtedly a Serket Sting. 

The deep puncture mark on his lower back had closed up, but the skin was still sunken in slightly, red and angry looking with hints of purple towards the middle. Percival was right: dark veins, as if permanently poisoned, stretched out from the centre of the wound, dipping below the waistband of his trousers and fading about halfway up his back. 

After a few moments, Merlin turns around again and sits back down, placing his still shaking hand back in Lance’s lap without prompting. Arthur’s one-word question is whispered and cracked, and no one judges him for the tears in his eyes; most of them have tears of their own gathering and falling at their friend’s pain:

“How?”

Merlin gulps, not looking up as he leans slightly into Mordred’s shoulder. The young knight presses back, knowing how fond the servant is of warm pressure, not minding the sticky sweatiness of their still uncovered torsos in the noon heat:

“Morgause again. She got annoyed with me always ruining her plans, getting in the way. Left me chained up in the middle of a nest of... in the middle of a nest.”

Leon takes a deep breath, rubbing his eyes harshly and sniffing before asking, his voice strong despite the slight waver:

“How did you survive that? I’ve... I’ve seen men get stung by serkets and it’s not... nice.”

Merlin breathes shakily, his mouth open slightly as he stares at the floor, memories flashing through his mind and the scar on his back twinging uncomfortably. Again, Percival was right, despite it’s age, it did still hurt. He takes one last deep breath, clenching his eyes shut tightly before looking up at the curly-haired knight, not quite making eye-contact:

“I uh... a lot of screaming, and the help of an... old friend. I was out of Camelot for a few days whilst I recovered, my friend didn’t fancy being executed for helping me, for just existing.”

Arthur furrows his brows but the others, bar Leon, nod in understanding, looking only slightly guilty and not looking to The King as he asks:

“What do you mean? If someone has found a way to cure a Serket sting then they most definitely wouldn’t be executed for it.”

Elyan snorts and Mordred and Lancelot frown at the floor as Merlin stares at Arthur with poorly concealed contempt:

“Arthur... the cure for a Serket sting has been around for centuries, it just involves very strong, very complicated magic. I didn’t fancy dying in absolute agony, and my friend didn’t fancy being executed for the act of saving my life so we stayed away from the city whilst he treated me.”

Arthur looks at his servant, dumbfounded and confused, and the knights stay silent in their awkwardness. Leon, a lifelong citizen of Camelot, is the only other person to look surprised at Merlin’s explanation, though he nods after a few moments, conceding that it... makes sense. Of course it does.

Mordred frowns when he notices Merlin’s knee begin to bounce up and down slightly, but it’s the way he gulps and tightens his grip on Lance’s hand that has the two knights begin to properly worry. They share a quick look, obviously agreeing on something, before Mordred takes Merlin’s other hand and settles a soft touch on his vibrating knee whilst Lancelot looks to Arthur:

“I think we’re done for the day. This has been... a lot.”

Merlin is getting paler by the second and Mordred can sense the man’s distress, shooting Lance a desperate look before subtly trying to shuffle closer to Merlin, who leans even further into his touch. Arthur doesn’t seem to notice, looking annoyed at Lancelot’s assertion and rolling his eyes before moving his gaze back to Merlin’s quivering form:

“No, Merlin’s suffered and I need to know why. There are mace wounds on both your shoulders, I remember one, but not the-”

Arthur is interrupted by a low whine from the back of Merlin’s throat as he thumps his head back against the tree, eyes still shut tightly. His words out come quietly and broken, as if it were a struggle to breathe, let alone speak:

“Can we please stop now?”

Mordred ignores Arthur, moving to kneel in front of the servant whilst Lancelot glares at The King. Arthur just huffs slightly, though he obviously completely underestimates the distress his friend is in, looking concerned, but not letting up:

“Merlin, we’ve barely gone through a third of them, we can’t stop-”

Lancelot lets out a low growl, letting go of Merlin’s hand and moving towards Arthur, glaring as he says:

“Arthur, we need to stop. Now.”

The young King looks taken aback, though the argument is stopped in his throat when Mordred’s quiet voice interrupts him:

“Merlin, you need to breathe.-”

He peers around the young knight as best he can, but Lance’s still vicious glare stops him from moving too close. Mordred brings one of Merlin’s hands up, pressing it against his chest and continuing his soft instructions:

“-Copy my breathing, alright? Can you tell me where you are right now, Merlin?”

The knights all stare on in horror at Merlin’s pale skin and ragged breathing, staying still in their places when Lancelot gestures at them firmly. It’s Merlin’s next word, cracked and whispered, that trigger another round of tears to gather in their eyes:

“C...cave.”

Mordred shakes his head slowly and Lancelot curses under his breath, kneeling back next to Mordred and retaking Merlin’s other hand, holding it between his own securely. Mordred’s soft voice floats in the wind, and if the knights weren’t so distracted by their friend’s pain, they would think it sounds almost magical:

“No, you’re safe, Merlin. Think, listen, feel. Can you try to tell me where you are again?

Merlin shakes his head roughly, his still-shut eyes not stopping the tears from squeezing out as he flinches, strikes of lightening-like agony shooting out from the scar on his lower back. Lance worries his lip between his teeth, rubbing one of his hands up and down Merlin’s shivering arm; a nod from Mordred has Lance speak, his words soft and low despite the waver in his voice:

“Merlin, you know where you are, and me and Mordred are right here with you. You need to open your eyes buddy, tell us where we are.”

Merlin’s breathing instantly seems to calm a little at Lancelot’s voice, and he cracks his bloodshot eyes open, immediately sighing when his blurry gaze lands on the canopy above him, whispering:

“Tree... sky... Camelot.”

The others can see Mordred let out a relieved sigh, and they force themselves to relax slightly. Merlin’s body sags again and Lance frowns, but the young servant’s stuttering words as he stares blankly up into the tree interrupt any reassurance he could have offered:

“Please, I can’t... I don’t... please don’t make me-”

Lance stills his hand on Merlin’s shoulder, not even paying the slightest bit of attention to anyone else as he replies:

“No one’s going to make you, Merlin, we can carry on another day-”

Arthur’s interrupted “But-” is quickly shut down when Lance turns around to glare at him, a sharp “-I said we’re done for the day.” sent his way.

Merlin flinches again, the pain in his back getting worse and worse and making it harder to keep a grasp on reality, so damning the consequences, Mordred presses a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes and he mouths the words to a sleeping spell as quietly as he can. Thankfully, everyone’s attention is on the glaring contest between Lancelot and The King, so no one immediately notices the way Merlin falls forwards into Mordred’s arms, not until he nudges Lance in the leg and mutters:

“He passed out. We should get him to Gaius, he needs proper rest and pain medication.”

Lancelot nods his head firmly, back to ignoring Arthur and the others as he moves to Merlin’s side, pulling his arm over his shoulder as Mordred does the same on the servant’s other side. Mordred’s eyes scan over the knights, searching for whoever looks the most likely to help without question; his gaze stills on a terribly worried looking Gwaine:

“Gwaine, run ahead to warn Gaius, tell him that Merlin had a really bad episode and then passed out.”

Gwaine gulps but nods, gathering his tunic in quick hands and putting it on haphazardly as he sprints back to the castle. Mordred and Lancelot adjust their grips, standing and bringing Merlin up with them as they turn in the direction Gwaine had ran and begin the careful journey back to the citadel. The knights follow behind them closely, hastily dressing themselves and desperate to ask questions, but knowing that now was not the time. Elyan jogs ahead of them to open doors and clear a path, and Percival had grabbed Merlin, Lancelot, and Mordred’s tunics as Leon put all of the swords away before catching up.

Thankfully they don’t come across many people, though Lance and Mordred still do their best to conceal Merlin between them, knowing that he would be distraught if anyone else saw his scars. They make good time to Gaius’ chambers, and they find the Physician preparing a few strong pain potions and sleeping draughts as Gwaine paced.

Gaius looks incredibly worried, but unsurprised, and Lance and Mordred carry Merlin up to his room without prompting; the sick feeling in Arthur’s stomach tells him that they’re practiced at this. The King goes to follow them, but they kick the door shut behind them so they can have at least a little privacy whilst they settle their friend in his bed. They leave the covers off, knowing that he’d just overheat or kick them off in the nightmares that they know are coming. Lance nods knowingly at Mordred, and the younger of the two moves swiftly back into the main room, shutting the door behind him again softly, avoiding eye contact with anyone bar Gaius, even as Percival hands him his tunic.

The elderly Physician raises an eyebrow, and Mordred answers the wordless question quietly, though not quiet enough for the other knights to not hear him:

“Not yet, but soon, he’ll definitely need a sleeping draught to get him through it. It was his back, so he’ll need the strongest pain one you’ve got.”

Gaius nods, picking up two of the many concoctions he had prepared, not reacting to Arthur’s desperate questions, leaving the conversation to Mordred:

“What are you talking about? Get through what??”

Mordred sighs and frowns slightly, unable to get over all of his anger at the King for pushing Merlin so far:

“The nightmares. He always gets them, especially after an episode that bad.”

Arthur recoils, just a little horrified, but Gwaine beats him to the mark, asking in a shaking voice:

“Episode??”

Mordred moves his gaze to the worried knight, a little more sympathetic to the man he knew was more loyal to Merlin than he was to The King:

“Flashbacks, panic attacks. Merlin has been through... a lot. Chronic pain or difficult conversations sometimes trigger a sort of... breakdown, he struggles to differentiate between memories and reality. Normally he can just wait it out with a little help. When it’s really bad we put him to sleep, it’s the only way to stop him from hurting himself accidentally.”

Everyone looks horrified at that, their focus on Mordred rather than Gaius, who was stealthily ascending the steps to Merlin’s room, potions in hand. Arthur is the first to break the tense silence:

“How long? How long as he been getting these episodes, and why the hell did no one think to tell me?!”

Mordred moves his harsh gaze back to The angry King, glaring at him when his voice rose:

“With all due respect, My Lord, lower your voice. Merlin needs rest, he needs to not be disturbed.”

Arthur looks annoyed, though still heartbroken, but nods slightly, almost whispering as he responds:

“You didn’t answer my questions. How long, and why wasn’t I told?”

Mordred sighs, looking to the floor briefly as he crosses his arms over his chest . After a few moments of considering his answer, he finally looks up again, suddenly appearing exhausted and resigned as he replies softly:

“I don’t really know. He didn’t tell us, we just... found out. It took us a while to convince him to explain it properly and let us help. He didn’t want anyone worrying or treating him like glass; it doesn’t happen very often at all, and this is... this is the worst one I’ve ever seen.”

Arthur frowns and shakes his head slightly, but it’s Leon that speaks next:

“Why not tell us, at least? What if something had happened and you weren’t with us? We wouldn’t have known what was wrong.”

Mordred takes a deep breath and shrugs, nodding slightly, obviously aware that he couldn’t tell them about his and Merlin’s mental link:

“We tried telling him that, but he wouldn’t have it. We were maybe one more conversation away from convincing him to tell Gwaine or Guinevere, but I guess that’s not necessary anymore.”

Arthur pushes down the twinge of jealousy that Merlin had never even considered telling him, but it obviously shows on his face; Mordred scowls slightly, clenching his hands to try and cover his annoyance. Before either men can say anything, Lancelot comes back down from Merlin’s room, leaving Gaius with the young servant:

“It’s starting, Mordred we need to go, everyone else, out.”

Percival throws Lance’s tunic to him as the knights move to the door, albeit reluctantly, but Arthur doesn’t move, glaring down at Mordred angrily when the younger man stops him from going into Merlin’s room:

“He’s my manservant, I want to be there when he wakes up.”

Mordred narrows his eyes, and Arthur kicks himself for never realising how much Merlin meant to him before now, but before the knight can say anything, Lancelot steps up next to him, answering in his stead:

“No, me and Mordred will be there, that’s all he needs. You need to go, My Lord.”

Arthur gears up to argue, to pull rank, squaring his shoulders and snarling slightly, but an angry Lancelot is something he’s never seen and never had to deal with before, so he’s far too surprised to say anything when the knight interrupts his posturing:

“I said no, Arthur. He has to pretend in front of you. You’ve already done this to him,-”

He gestures angrily to the door to Merlin’s room:

“-he needs to not tense up and stress out immediately upon waking up.”

Arthur steps back slightly, but clears his throat, pushing through the slight heartbreak and guilt to argue:

“Oh, and he doesn’t have to pretend in front of you two?”

Mordred rolls his eyes, giving Lancelot a pointed look before stalking up to Merlin’s room, leaving the older knight to deal with the angry King. Lance clenches his jaw and lets out a harsh breath, looking away briefly, as if trying to stop himself from saying anything cruel, before giving up and glaring back at Arthur:

“No. He doesn’t. Because we, and Gaius, are the only people who actually know the first thing about Merlin, and he trusts us. He needs space, and time to heal, and comfort, not the demanding presence of a King whose already pushed him too far, who treats him like shit and forces him to think he has to hide who he is. For God’s sake, Arthur, can you please, for once, think of anyone but yourself.”

Arthur widens his eyes, and though Lancelot looks a little like he regrets what he said, he doesn’t back down, nodding to the door behind Arthur and not moving away until The King steps back again. Arthur takes a deep breath, turning to exit the Physician’s chambers before the knight could see the guilt on his face and the tears in his eyes. He leaves without looking back, ignoring the gaggle of knights waiting worriedly in the hall and stalking straight to his chambers, only just managing to shut the door behind him before the tears finally started falling.

Back in Merlin’s room, the servant thrashes in his sleep, whimpering despite Mordred’s comforting whispers in his head, Gaius’ hand in his hair, and Lancelot’s soft lap as a pillow. 

This... was going to be a tough one.

~

The End of part 1!!!

This was legit supposed to only be one part buuuuuuut we can all see how that went. Part two will follow on really quickly, but it was getting far too long to leave all as one 😅

I hope y’all enjoyed it, link to part 2(the final part) at the top!! :)

[donttouchtheneednoggle]

In which Elyan’s gender euphoria causes unforeseen problems

Based on this post and this moderately shitty drawing i did :')

“Are. You. Kidding. Me.”

Here’s the thing. Gwen was generally very supportive of her brother’s right to wear what he wanted. And it made a wonderful change to how he used to be, refusing to leave the house unless he was wearing at least three layers of his baggiest clothes, and sometimes not even then, he was so uncomfortable.

So when he’d finally returned after visiting the Druids and getting into four years of all sorts of unrelated trouble and his chest was finally how he wanted it to be she supposed she couldn’t blame him for indulging in the round table tradition of incredibly low cut shirts. And now she was confronted with it, Gwen couldn’t believe they hadn’t seen this flaw in the plan coming.

“Elyan for god’s sake!”

It had been a good plan other than this seemingly small detail that threatened to derail the whole thing. When Morgana had taken the citadel two weeks ago, attacking with such a volume of troops that they were instantly overwhelmed, there had not been time to grab anything before retreating to the secret tunnels under the castle. Thankfully Gwen had just come back from a ride with Arthur Lancelot Percival and Gwaine so was wearing boots and a dress that was easy to run in. (Merlin had been out gathering herbs at the time and they hadn’t heard of or seen him since. Gwen hoped he had escaped and hadn’t fallen victim to the dragon that they’d heard was causing Morgana’s troops all manner of trouble at night.)

Leon and Elyan had just been returning from a patrol and therefore had a bag of spare clothes and food with them when they’d retreated to the tunnels and bumped into the others (Literally. Gwaine’s black eye was still fairly prominent in the flickering candlelight whenever they had it.) so they’d manage to survive on increasingly smaller rations, able to do a of bit of recon and steal a bit of food wearing the uniform of the one dead guard who had chased them into the tunnels, waiting for an opportunity to… well Arthur was a little vague about that bit. But Gwen knew he’d never abandon his people.

Two weeks later though, with rations and candles dwindling, starvation had become a bigger risk than trying to get out. Indeed, they probably would’ve been forced out a lot sooner by dehydration if it weren’t for the hole in the tunnel roof that let rainwater in. And so it was agreed that Gwen would disguise herself as a boy and go first with Lancelot. 

They would pose as commoners, Lancelot being one of the newest of the knights to Camelot and therefore less recognisable (Percival even less so, but unfortunately nothing about him really screamed ‘stealth’). Gwaine had suggested they dress Lancelot as a woman, the story of Gwen and Leon’s escape the last time Morgana had invaded being one of his favourite stories. It actually wasn’t that bad an idea and he might well look good, but Gwen’s dress would not fit Lance particularly well and they were counting on hiding in plain sight and going in the daylight which required more convincing disguises. They just had to hope Lancelot’s newness and skill in sneaking around would disguise him well enough.

They intended to head to Nemeth to appeal to Mithian and her father, their closest allies, for help. Gwen hated the idea of leaving her husband, brother and friends behind but she could see the sense in it; while she could hold her own in a fight, her skills lay more in negotiation and diplomacy (along with sewing and blacksmithing of course. Oh and she could make an excellent pie too if she did say so herself. God she would kill for a pie right now… And she had recently become proficient in (and gained several bruises from) the art of ‘catch the pebble in the dark’. They’d been down here too long.)

Gwaine, being the most proficient at haircare, had already cut her hair short by the light of one of the last candles, no one trusting anyone with a knife near anyone’s head in the dark. She’d been a little apprehensive about it but it was actually quite a refreshing change. And by Arthur’s wide eyes and rapidly spreading blush when he’d seen her, her husband didn’t mind either.

She’d borrowed her brother’s spare clothes to change into round the corner from everyone though it really didn’t matter as it was currently. Y’know. PITCH BLACK. as he was the closest to her in height and stature, though still fairly far off. However the trousers had fit well enough once she’d tied them round the waist with twine. The problems had started with the shirt. The shirt whose v neck stopped somewhere near her belly button.

“You do know the idea of this was concealment right Elyan? Disguise? Not to flaunt myself?”

There was a confused silence, then:

“Ohh we didn’t think about binding. You should probably do that. This is an odd kind of déjà vu.”

“I really don’t think It’s going to make that much difference. My entire tit is out.” This got a snort of laughter from Gwaine and a strangled sound from some combination of Arthur Lancelot and Leon, all probably for different reasons. A few weeks ago she would’ve made an effort to be more ladylike but at this point she was so past mincing her words it wasn’t even funny.

“I so did not need to hear that,” Elyan complained.

“Did you really have to sit down and unlace the entire thing!”

“It looks better that way!”

“We’re going to starve to death by the time I get this laced back up! Can you not just loosen the laces like Gwaine!” No hang on, that was a thought.

“No!”

“Wait no, you shut up.” She mentally catalogued them. Lance was almost as bad as Elyan. Arthur’s shirt didn’t even have laces. Leon’s was the only one tightly laced up but his shirt would be more of a dress on her. Percival… she did not have the time to get into all the reasons why that would not work. There really was only one option.

“Gwaine. Strip. We’re swapping shirts.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

[gremlinbehaviour]

'Let me get you some water' with Gwen and Lancelot?

Armor was a lot hotter than Lancelot had been expecting before he became a knight. The padded gambeson for one was a lot thicker than the open-necked shirts he preferred to wear, and though the breeze could pass easily through chainmail, it added another layer to weigh him and make the heat feel more oppressive. The worst, though, was plate armor. Fortunately, he didn't have to wear it often, just during tournaments, jousts, and missions where a proper battle was expected or strength was valued highly above stealth or speed, and those were rare. Unfortunately, Uther had always held a midsummer tournament, and Arthur had continued the tradition.

Lancelot was fighting to win, at least until he went up against Arthur. They'd been in opposite brackets though, so they wouldn't fight until the final. It was currently semifinals, so everyone but four contestants had been eliminated and allowed to change out of their armor. Lance jealously watched Gwaine, Leon, and Percival, who had already been eliminated, lounging in the spectators stands. He was distinctly not jealous of Elyan and Arthur, who fought in the heat and the dust of the arena. Their movements were more sluggish than they usually would have been for such elite warriors, likely due to both the heat and exhaustion of having fought so many rounds. Finally, Elyan slipped in the dust and was disarmed. Arthur helped him to his feet after the match was declared and the king and his brother-in-law leaned on each other's shoulders as they made their way to the tournament tent to rest.

Lancelot took a deep breath of the stiflingly hot air, the last easy one before he closed the visor on his helmet and it got even hotter, and made his way onto the field opposite Sir Gareth. The young knight, another commoner appointed to the Round Table a few years after the others, was small for a soldier, but supremely agile and quick on his feet. There was a reason he had managed to defeat Percival in his first round and make it to the semifinals. Lance's only consolation was that he too was unused to wearing a full set of armor and hopefully would be weighed down by it, as well as sluggish from the heat. He must've been, since the slightly older and larger knight somehow won the match, though his memories of doing so were very hazy. Lancelot felt like he was fighting the sun, which beat down on them ferociously despite it being late afternoon, as much or more than his actual opponent. Barely remembering to clasp hands with Gareth after the match, and it wasn't like him to forget his manners, he stumbled over to his own tournament tent. Getting into the shade should have been a relief, but what little breeze had been present outside was nonexistent within the fabric walls. 

He wasn't actually sure that he wasn't hallucinating due to the heat when he saw Gwen standing and smiling at him. She wore a lightweight dress that Lancelot would have switched into in a heartbeat if he could have.

"Why are you…" he started to ask, his words slurring as his mouth struggled to keep up with his already slowed brain. "Not that I'm not happy to see you, but shouldn't you be on the other side with your brother and husband?"

"They have Merlin over there," she replied. "Since you refuse to have a servant or even let a page help you at tournaments, I thought I would come check in on you. Is the heat affecting you badly?"

He shook his head, though it made him a little dizzy. "I'm fine." He took a step towards her, and the bed where he could sit down, however briefly, before the final match. Unlocking his knees, however, turned out to be a mistake as he found himself sprawled on the rug floor with the sharp parts of his armor digging into him before he could move even a foot forwards. He distantly registered Gwen's shout of surprise and concern, but it sounded very far away past the ringing in his ears and the pounding of his headache.

"Lancelot, stay awake," she demanded, rolling him onto his back and shaking him roughly. "Are you hurt? Where?"

"N-no," he managed to stutter out. "Just hot." He hissed in pain when he tried to shift a little and the burning edge of his shin guard touched the skin below his knee where there was a rip in his gambeson. Gwen seemed unbothered by it as she quickly began unbuckling his armor and taking it off him. She had been a blacksmith, he remembered, so it made sense that she could withstand the hot metal more than him. It was a weight off his chest, literally, when she tore his breastplate off and he felt like he could finally breathe. Sort of.

"Let me get you some water," she said, jumping back to her feet and rushing across the tent to where a pitcher of water, which even had chunks of ice in it from the royal vaults, sat on a small table. She poured him a cup and walked as quickly as she could without spilling it back to him. His hair was sweaty under her hand as she helped him sit up and drink it. Suddenly nauseous, he tried to turn his head away but Gwen insisted. And, well, he'd never been able to deny her anything, so he let his lips part a little and the water trickle down his throat. It was so dry that the first swallow was painful, but after that he gulped it down as his thirst returned with a vengeance. The cup was empty far too quickly, and he whined for more pitifully.

"I'll get more," Gwen immediately said, and this time she brought over the whole pitcher. After helping him drink another two cups, she poured the remaining ice out into a cloth. Quickly tying it off, she placed the freezing bundle under the back of his neck. Lancelot groaned at the sudden relief that it brought to his headache. He would have been embarrassed by how needy he was being if he wasn't actually in so much need. Though he still felt overheated, he didn't think he was going to pass out from being too warm anymore, especially as the tent flap opened and a breeze wafted in.

"Lance, are you ready for-" Arthur's voice asked before abruptly cutting off.

"The final is going to have to be postponed," Gwen said, settling the comparatively cool skin of her fingers against Lancelot's overheated forehead. "Go get Merlin." The breeze disappeared as the tent flap closed but it was only a minute before it opened again, this time allowing entry for both the king and his servant. Merlin had remarkably cold fingers, which Lance usually spent all winter trying to warm up between his own hands, but today he was grateful for the brief touches of his cool fingers against skin as he unbuckled and stripped off the knight's gambeson and placed cool wet cloths under his arms and knees and around his torso. Those were the same locations where hot compresses would be placed on someone who became too cold, since there were arteries that passed through them.

Gradually, Lancelot's whole body began to edge back from the feeling of being both numb and on fire. His head still ached fiercely, but it was manageable. With the weakness in his limbs, though, there was little chance that he would be getting up from rug floor of the tent anytime soon.

"You should just rest," Arthur agreed when he voiced this sentiment. "We'll postpone the final until tomorrow, or however long it takes for you to be recovered."

Lancelot nodded. "Maybe next tournament," he suggested, "While the knights are waiting to fight, you can have them sit in the shade."

"I think that," Gwen replied with a fond smile, "Is a very good idea."

[elizabethemerald]

Agante Chap 2

Did you think I would just leave the story like that? Morgana mourning her love? No. I write happy gays. And Gwen and Morgana deserve to be together. No longer canon compliant. Obvs. 

AO3

“Morgana! Can you hear me?” 

The voice came to her as if through layers of fog. Morgana struggled to open her eyes and focus on the light around her. The ground she was on was swaying wildly. It seemed a struggle to form words but her mind wouldn’t let her rest. 

“Gwen! Where-?”

“We have her. Gwen’s here.”

“Is she-?”

“She’s alive. By whatever magic or miracle she’s alive. We’re bringing you back to Camelot now.”

Her fears assuaged she slipped back into unconsciousness, her world narrowing to the feeling of a hand on her wrist, a hand she knew. Then even that faded completely. 

* * *

“Gwen!” Morgana sat up with a scream, her eyes wild as she looked around for her.

“I’m here Morgana. I’m right here.”

She felt tears immediately bead and fall from her eyes as they fell upon Guinevere. The other woman was laying in another bed in the royal chambers, her leg wrapped in a plaster. 

“No thanks to you, she survived the stalkling!” Arthur stepped in between them, his face red with fury. “What were you doing out in the woods at that time of night? You know better than to drag Gwen into your foolishness!”

Morgana closed an eye as his voice seemed to pierce directly into her skull. It provided no relief when Merlin stepped to her other side, his voice just as grating. 

“How were you able to cast such powerful magics without a staff? What did you do to the stalkling?”

Their voices drilled further into her head, her headache spiking. 

“You are lucky Galahad noticed your flare. If we hadn’t arrived you both could have been troll food!” Arthur yelling again. 

Morgana clenched her fists. She could feel her hands starting to splinter again. They both kept shouting at her, never giving her a chance to explain what happened. Both of them blaming her for Gwen’s near death experience. Each word bore into her, threatening to severe her very tenuous hold on her emotions and the strange magic she had used. Just when she thought she couldn’t take one more word without lashing out, a voice cut through the noise. 

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” Merlin and Arthur both fell silent at Gwen’s shout. “I’ve heard enough of you two lecturing her! I will not sit by while you insult the person who saved my life!”

Both of the men started to speak again, either accusations or excuses, but Gwen shut them down with another shout. 

“I said enough! Merlin thank you for you council, this conversation is a family affair now.”

“I really must insist-”

“You are dismissed wizard.” Gwen’s voice brooked no argument, as only the voice of a future queen could. Merlin bowed low to her, then to Arthur, then shot a suspicious glare at Morgana before departing. 

Arthur waited until the door closed behind the wizard before whirling on Morgana again, anger in his eyes. 

“Save it Arthur!” Gwen snapped. “You already have been lecturing me ever since you found us in the woods. I can just give her the notes later, can’t you see that she’s tired?”

He stilled, slowly rubbing his hand over his face and removing his crown. 

“I was just so afraid that I would lose you.”

“Yes I know. You love us both very much and you would chain us up in the prisons to keep us safe if you could.”

Arthur’s jaw dropped in horror at the claim.  

“No! I would never lock you up!”

Gwen sighed. “I know. That was cruel of me to say. But I need you to Stop yelling at her. And I need you to listen to me so I can explain what happened.”

Arthur took a seat in between the two beds. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. Gwen took a moment to order her thoughts before diving into her explanation. 

“Morgana was not the one who dragged me into the woods. I was the one who took her.” Arthur took a breath to speak, but Gwen’s hand flew up to stop him. “I wanted to show her the Silver Falls during a full moon. The rumor from the trolls was that it was a breath taking sight to behold.

“Then on our way back to the castle I got ahead of Morgana. I was excited to get back to the castle so we could talk about what we saw.” Morgana couldn’t help but stare as Gwen spoke. She didn’t bring up the conversation they had, had. However Gwen did not even glance her way. “I walked along the edge of a chasm, and the rocks gave way beneath my feet dropping me into the pit. I broke my leg on the fall.”

Gwen’s hand dropped unconsciously to her leg and Morgana could see the corners of her eyes pinched in pain. 

“With the light from Morgana’s magic I was able to see the Stalkling lair I had landed in front of. Morgana used her magic to keep the beast back and then lift me up the cliff out of its reach.”

Now Gwen’s eyes did flick to her own. There was something she wasn’t telling Arthur, but hopefully they would have the chance to discuss it later. 

“Your knights found us right after that.” Gwen finished

Arthur stood, his eyes more tired than even the early hour required. 

“I’m glad you are safe. Both of you. Morgana...I’m sorry, and thank you, for saving her.” Morgana nodded, still not trusting her voice. “If there is anything I can do for you I owe you a debt for saving Gwen’s life.”

“I think we just need to rest.” Morgana finally said, after a silent moment. 

“Very well. I’ll leave you and instruct that you are not to be disturbed.” Arthur said. ‘

He turned away and made for the door. Gwen shot a pleading look at Morgana before stopping her betrothed. 

“Arthur wait!” Guinevere called to him. He turned back to face her. “Do you remember our conversation about consorts?”

“I recall. Has someone caught your eye?” Arthur asked, clearly confused by the sudden topic change. 

“Yes. My eye, and my heart.” Gwen somehow kept her eyes from sliding over to Morgana’s. “Tonight’s adventure… with how close I came to dying… I realized I need to act on these feelings.” She hesitated, her eyes dropping to her broken leg. “I love them.”

“Oh, Gwen.” Arthur’s eyes were sad, yet it did not show on his voice. “If you but say the word I will annul our engagement, so that you may pursue this person.”

“Arthur, please! You and I have both known how important our engagement is for the people of Camelot since we were children. We Will be married. And together we will build a better future for our people. However I would ask your permission to pursue my love in private, out of the public eye.”

“Very well Gwen. I have no qualms. Who is this mysterious person? I wouldn’t even fault you if it was Lancelot.”

“Lance, is fine to look at, but I think he’s more your type than mine.” There was a small chuckle in Gwen’s voice, before she grew serious. “You have to promise you won’t hurt them or be angry with them.”

“Fine I promise. Now who is he?”

“She. I love her so much she gives the stars their light, and makes the roses bloom in my eyes.” Guinevere hesitated again, before her eyes slid sideways to meet Morgana’s. “And she is in this room.”

Arthur looked confused for a second before he followed her gaze to Morgana. His face immediately took on a ruddy hue and he looked like he was about to start shouting again. 

“You promised not to be angry!” Gwen said before he could even take a breath. 

At this Arthur deflated. He rubbed his hand down his face, the exhaustion from the evening’s adventure taking its toll. 

“Really? My own sister?” Arthur hesitated, looking between them. “And do you love her in return?”

“I love her more than anything in this realm or any other. I will love her until my dying breath and beyond until sun goes out.” Morgana said. 

“Then how can I protest?” Arthur said simply. “It is late. And you two need to rest and recover from your ordeal. We can discuss this more when you are recovered.”

“Thank you Arthur.”

“Thank you, brother.”

Arthur gave them one last fond look before he departed their chamber. Gwen released a heavy breath then squirmed in the bed to try and make herself comfortable. 

“Do you think you could make it over to my bed?” Gwen asked. 

“For you? Of course.” 

Morgana almost immediately made herself a liar as she struggled to stand, yet stand she did. She hobbled across the small space between the two beds until she was leaning against Gwen’s. She kept her arms crossed over her stomach, and winced as she lowered herself down next to her. 

“Are you in pain?” Gwen asked, concern heavy on her voice. 

“It aches here.” Morgana said, gesturing to her stomach. “And on my arms. As if I had survived a beating several days ago.”

Guinevere held her face, looking carefully at her eyes for a moment. 

“Well I’m glad that the cracks have disappeared at least.” She kissed Morgana gently on the cheek. “I don’t know that I’ve ever been that afraid in my life.”

“Of me?”

“For you. Never of you. I could never be afraid of you.”

Gwen leaned forward again, and this time Morgana moved to meet her. Their lips found each other as they sank into the kiss. Morgana ran her hands through Gwen’s long hair, and Gwen held Morgana close, pressing their bodies together. Finally they pulled back, each a little breathless and flushed. 

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long.” Morgana whispered. 

“Then kiss me again.” Gwen whispered back, a hint of order in her voice. 

Morgana raised an eyebrow, but complied. This kiss lasted longer, both of their hands roving, as they both enjoyed what had been denied to them for so long. After a long kiss, Gwen pulled back and moved to give Morgana more room on the bed. She hissed and grimaced in pain as she shifted. 

“Have you not had any healing magic since you’ve been back to the castle?” Morgana asked. 

“Merlin refused to even consider casting a spell, until he figured out what you had done.”

“Well let me remedy this immediately.”

Morgana put out her hand and called her staff to her. She extended it with a thought and after a few muttered words, golden sigils spun into the air around Gwen’s broken leg. Guinevere sighed, and the pinched look left her eyes. Morgana set her staff down at the side of their bed. 

“I love your magic so much.” Gwen said, her words slowing, as the ignored exhaustion weighed her down. “Though we will eventually have to talk about what you did back there.”

“Eventually. But not today.”

“No, not today.”

Sleep came for them quickly. Their exhaustion from the late night excursion and the magic dragged them to the realm of dreams. Bodies curled together, they slept. Knowing that upon the dawn they would still have each other. No matter what. Until the sun burned out. 

The first chapter of this fic is technically canon compliant. Could you imagine if Morgana had not been able to save Gwen after the conversation in the first chapter? Gwen admits she loves Morgana and then dies. Does Morgana tell Arthur? How would he react to that confession? How would Morgana feel knowing Arthur blames her for Gwen's death? That he blames her magic? The thing Gwen loved so much. I just thought it would add a lot more angst to the canon material. But here in this house, we don't bury our gays. They get happy, poly, romances, that completely change the canon material. Any I hope you enjoyed!

[uniasus]

fic rec! 4K Merlin fic

Summary: Arthur hadn’t thought much of what his greatest fear would be until it was carved into his skin. The only thing worse was finding out what everyone else was afraid of.

Comments: Really liked this one. The fears varied, from turtles to Uther, and I also like how there’s a varition in how they are treated from those in the lower town unable to read to those so layered people hide them for as long as possible. Arthur really takes on a wise, leader role here and I love the cameo of Lance (who is out being a wannabe-knight errant).

[dollophead-merlin]

WIP Meme

I was tagged by @queenofavalon3 and @fictionalinfinity ! Thank you!

Don't expect me to finish this. It's just something that's been saved in my drafts for months 🤷🏽‍♀️

Arthur and the knights walked into Cenred's castle, only to be met by a serving girl.

"Cenred will be here soon, Sire. He's a bit preoccupied at the moment. For now, I will lead you all to your chambers. Feel free to explore and make use of all of the services we offer."

"Thank you very much." Arthur replied. They had come to negotiate possible treaties between the two kingdoms.

After he had settled in, Lancelot decided to wander the castle with Percival. The two of them chuckled non-stop as they cracked jokes. Soon enough, they found themselves at the base of the North tower. Being the brave and curious knights they are, they decided to climb the stairs, only stopping when they got to the top.

They got to the top to find a locked door with a key over it.

"Talk about terrible security, eh?" Percival chuckled.

The men were about to turn around to go back to their chambers when they heard the clink of chain links and a slight whimper. Lancelot looked to Percival as if asking him if they should go in. Percival nodded his head before reaching up to grab the key above the doorway.

They opened the door to be met with a pitch black room. Lancelot grabbed a torch from its mount before trudging behind Percival. From the corner of the room, chain links could be heard again. Lancelot pointed the torch toward the sound to see a girl around their age lethargically pressing herself against the wall and attempting to cover her bare body.

"Please, no more, I'm sorry, please!" The girl whimpered weakly.

"Shhh, shhhhh... It's okay, we're not going to hurt you. Can you tell us your name? This is Percival and I'm Lancelot. We're from Camelot." Lancelot soothed, slowly advancing on her as to not frighten her.

"Lance?" The girl whispered almost hopefully before looking up.

The two men recognised her face immediately.

"(Y/N)? Percival, hold the torch for a moment." Lancelot rushed over to the girl and scooped her up into his arms, earning a weak, but strangled cry. It was then that Lancelot really took a look at her.

Her body was littered with large bruises, her bones were broken, her hair was a damp and matted mess, the giant shackles around her wrists that dug into her pale skin were rusted and sharp, she had many wounds that had been ripped open numerous times, and was caked in a fluid that made him sick at his stomach at the thought of.

"I'm sorry sweetheart, I know. We're going to get you out of here as soon as we can, okay? Just sit tight, you'll be alright." He said as he moved some hair out of her face.

"What about Cenred?"

"We'll take care of him, don't you worry my dear friend." Percival said as he crouched down beside them.

"Hey, we need to leave before we're caught but we'll be back soon, alright, (Y/N)? Just stay strong. I love you so much." He said as he placed her back in the corner.

The two knights locked the door and returned the key to its spot and hurried back to the rest of the group.

The knights finally got to Arthur's temporary chambers, Lancelot knocks on the door.

"Come in."

"Sire, we have some urgent information we wish to share regarding (Y/N)." This seemed to pique Arthur's interest.

"What is this information?"

"We were wandering through the castle to pass time and we came upon a room in the North tower." Percival answered.

"Go on..." The king said, not sure where this was headed.

"In said room, we found (Y/N) chained, beaten, and raped."

"You must be mistaken. We've consulted with every kingdom around us including Cenred's."

"Sire, it was her. She recognized Lancelot and I. Meet us at the North tower tonight. we can prove it."

The day seemed to drone on from the countless meetings to the long banquet they held, Lancelot and Percival were sure the end of the day would never come.

Finally, it did. The three men met in Lancelot's chambers before quietly and quickly making their way to the tower. Once they got to the base of the tower, they heard a piercing scream ring out.

Arthur, Percival, and Lancelot decided to wait behind a pillar until Cenred left. After what seemed like hours, he finally headed the opposite direction to his chambers. The trio took the chance to dart up the stairs. They quickly unlocked the door and pulled a torch from the wall.

Lancelot rushed over to his love. She was covered in a fresh layer of the same substance he had found dried onto her pale skin.

"(Y/N)!" He whispered, "(Y/N), you need to wake up, gorgeous."

"Lancelot?" Percival said, pointing to the ground. He didn't realize it, but Lancelot had been kneeling in a rather large pool of blood.

"We need to get her out of here or she's going to die." Percival warned.

"Get her to your chambers and pack up your stuff. I'll tell Merlin to do the same. I cannot leave or they might cut off the treaty. Now get those chains off and hurry!"

They somehow found a way to get the shackles off quickly. Lancelot wrapped her up in his cloak and picked her up, rushing out of the room.

"Percival, can you watch her while I pack?"

"Of course." Lancelot got to packing immediately.

Once he finished, Lancelot rushed over to Merlin's chambers to help him.

"Merlin, we need to hurry, it's really bad."

"Okay, I'm just about done. Who's with (Y/N)?"

"Percival is."

"Let's go."

Lancelot and Merlin raced to their horses and saddled up. Before they left, Merlin uttered some sort of incantation. He said it was to keep her body in a stagnant state until he could attend to her.

They raced out of Cenred's Kingdom and back to Camelot. (Y/N)'s still form made Lancelot sick to his stomach. He tried to push the feeling down until they could stop.

They rode until the sun started to set. Lancelot silently slid off his horse and gathered (Y/N) in his arms.

[azreadytodie]

The Secret of Magic Chapter 1

Chapter One

The Beginning of the Legend

No young man, no matter how great, can know his destiny. He cannot glimpse his part in the great story that is about to unfold. Like everyone, he must live and learn. And so it will be for the young warlock arriving at the gates of Camelot. A boy that will in time, father the legend. His name...Merlin.

Morgana watched cautiously from her window as her guardian and king spoke. His words were practiced and had been spoken many a time and she cared little about them, focusing instead on the man restrained below. Magic was illegal, she knew that but somehow the punishment that awaited the man made her nauseous.  She had never been comfortable with the idea of a death penalty and thought that in its own sense that would make the punisher as bad as the prisoner.

As the man was forced onto his knees Morgana looked down, the thought of actually watching the execution was intolerable but she almost felt just as bad ignoring it. then the axe came down and Morgana pulled away from the window, sickened by the noise as well as the deed that had just been performed. Eyes closed she drew in a deep breath, holding it until the anger subsided, though it had left a foul taste in her mouth.

“When I came to this land, this kingdom was mired in chaos. But with the people’s help, magic was driven from the land. So I declare a festival, to celebrate twenty years since the great dragon was captured, and Camelot freed from the evil of sorcery. Let the celebrations begin!” Uther’s words made the anger rise back up her throat and made her clench her jaw tightly. Then from the crowd came a high keen and Morgana’s head whipped back around to locate the creator of such a pain filled sound. The wailing began again and Morgana could clearly see the woman as the crowds moved away from her. White haired and dressed in rags, the woman’s face was masked by grief and even from her window Morgana swore she could see the pain in her eyes.

“There is only one evil in this land, and it is not magic!” the woman cried, her voice raw and emotional, “It is you! With your hatred, and your ignorance! You killed my son.” Then her voice dropped to a whisper and Morgana found herself unsettled by the old lady, “But I promise you, before these celebrations are over you will share my tears. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. A son for a son!” At that moment, Uther, who had been still until then, leapt forward and cried,

“Seize her!” Uther’s sharp words unfroze Morgana who had been enraptured by the woman’s speech. Before the guards could seize her, however, she began to mutter in a language Morgana did not understand. She then disappeared leaving behind a wind that pushed back the crowds around where she had stood.

Blinking, Morgana closed her window and frowned, as much as the woman had deeply disturbed her, she felt some pity for the woman who had lost her son. Maybe there was some truth in her words.

Morgana had made up her mind some time that afternoon that she would in fact, refuse to celebrate the festival alongside the rest of Camelot. And so when she heard footsteps approaching that were clearly not those of her maidservant Gwen, she sighed.

“Morgana.”

“Yes?” she replied obediently,

“What is it? Why are you not joining us at the feast?” Morgana felt her face twist into a look of disdain as she replied,

“I just don’t think chopping someone’s head of is cause for celebration.” Uther looked away, “That poor mother…”

“It was simple justice for what he’d done.”

“To whom?” Morgana retorted, “He practiced magic, he didn’t hurt anyone!”

“You were not around twenty years ago. You have no idea what it was like.” Uther’s voice was dangerously quiet but Morgana chose to ignore it.

“How long are you going to keep punishing people for what happened then?”

“Until they realise there is no room for magic in my kingdom! You will be with me when I greet Lady Helen.” He said more calmly, Morgana fumed at the direct order as Uther began to walk away,

“I told you I want no part in your -“

“I am your guardian!” his voice was raised now and her had turned back to face her,

“I expect you to do as I ask. If you won’t show me the respect, at least respect our finest singer.”  

With that he walked away again and Morgana could not help but call out one last warning,

“You know the more brutal you are the more enemies you’ll create!”

  The next morning Morgana noticed that Gwen was standing idly at the window,

 “What’s the matter Gwen? Anything interesting happening?” she said peering out the window behind her maid,

“Oh! My lady, you startled me. As it so happens, there is something happening.” Gwen gestured towards the scrawny youth being dragged away by the palace guards,

“My goodness! What on earth could he have done?” Morgana gasped, surely a boy like that couldn’t need throwing into the dungeons? Then again, he could have been stealing, he had looked so awfully frail.

“He stood up to Arthur.” Gwen sighed, “The prince was bullying his manservant and that boy through a punch at him. It was awfully brave.”

“Brave or stupid?” Morgana wondered aloud, “I suppose it is nice to see someone stand up to Arthur for once. It’s intriguing…”

Merlin was unsure of what was happening. It was the second time that a voice had called out to him in his mind, echoing and emanating from deep below in the heart of Camelot. He was drawn to it as a moth was to a flame. And so it was without trouble that he navigated his way into the lowest bowels of Camelot, sneaking past the guards and following the voice that still whispered his name. There he came upon a cave. Filled with darkness, and an echoing voice that spoke only one word.

Merlin…

“Where are you?” he called out into the cave, his words clear and filled with more confidence than he felt.

As soon as he said it a great gust of wind pushed at him and the sound of wings filled the air as a mighty dragon lowered itself onto an outcrop of rock, not too far from the cave entrance. Merlin could practically feel that magic radiating off of it. The strength of it cause Merlin to wonder how on earth he had managed to go this long without standing face to face with the beast.

“I am here.” The dragon spoke, voice deep and wise. It looked at him, eyes piercing every layer of Merlin’s being, “How small you are, for such a great destiny.”

“Why? What do you mean? What destiny?” Merlin breathed,

“Your gift Merlin, was given to you for a reason,” the dragon’s words gave Merlin hope, more hope than he had felt in all his life, in all the years he had spent hiding his magic in Ealdor.

“So there is a reason.” The dragon chuckled,

 “Arthur is the once and future king who will unite the land of Albion.”

“Right…”

“But he faces many threats. From friend and foe alike.”

“I don’t see what this has to do with me.” Merlin blurted, his irritation at the royal prat obvious in his tone.

 “Everything. Without you Arthur will never succeed. Without you, there will be no Albion.”

 “No.” Merlin shook his head, “no, you’ve got this wrong,”  the idea that it was his destiny to serve Arthur, the arrogant spoiled son of a… with his good looks and fortune and terrible attitude. It was too much for Merlin to bear.

 “There is no right or wrong!” the dragon said incredulously, “only what is, and what isn’t.”

 “No I’m serious! If anyone wants to go and kill him they can go ahead. In fact I’ll give them a hand.” Merlin exclaimed, but the dragon just laughed in a way that was almost a giggle.

“None of us can choose our destiny Merlin. And none of us can escape it.”

“No, no way. There must be another Arthur because this one’s an idiot.”

“Perhaps it’s your destiny to change that.” And with those words the dragon spread its wings began to fly away. Leaving Merlin to call out for it to answer his questions.

By the time news of the scrawny boy reached her ears again, Morgana was already preoccupied with preparations for the banquet. She had long accepted that she could not avoid the duty and was deciding what to wear. Or more importantly, who would be taking her. As Gwen re-entered the room she began to speak,

“You know, I’ve been thinking about Arthur. I wouldn’t touch him with a lance pole.” She chuckled, walking behind the screen, “Pass me that dress, will you Gwen? I mean, the man’s a total jouster. Just because I’m the king’s ward doesn’t mean I have to accompany him to the feast. Does it?”

Gwen was quiet which was decidedly odd; she was use to her maid’s opinions. “Well does it?” she asked again, Gwen let out a sound which Morgana took as a no.

“If he wants me to go then he should invite me. But he hasn’t, so do you know what that means?” Morgana asked, Gwen let out another noise, but further away, perhaps she was preoccupied? “Where are you?” She asked, looking over the top of the screen. Gwen was holding a dress up in the middle of the room, presumably folding it.r

“Here.”

“It means I’m going by myself. I need some help with this fastening?” she was concerned again when Gwen didn’t reply, “Gwen?”

“I’m here.” Gwen called back, heading over and helping her with the fastening.

“So, it’s whether I wear this little tease. Or give them a night they’ll really remember.” Gwen let out a chuckle.

“Dresses aside my lady, I think you just scared poor Merlin half to death!”

“Merlin?”

“The boy I was telling you about earlier. I think he came in to give you your sleeping draught and you mistook him for me!” Morgana put her hands to cover her face,

“Oh goodness! I should have known it wasn’t you! That explains a lot. It’s quite odd. Merlin keeps popping up… I wonder if I will see more of him…”  

As Uther welcomed the Lady Helen, Morgana sat in anticipation. She had to admit that hearing the most esteemed singer in the kingdom excited her greatly. And Lady Helen was certainly a vision to behold, standing tall at the top of the banquet hall. As Lady Helen began to sing Morgana found herself enchanted by the music. It was powerful and seemed to relax her completely…

The next thing Morgana knew she was lifting her head off of the table. Quickly regaining her surroundings she saw the change in the room around her. Everything was covered in cobwebs and the chandelier which had one been hanging from the ceiling was now pressed on top of an old woman who was wearing Lady Helen’s dress. Morgana recognise the woman as the mother in the town square from days earlier. The woman who had been seemingly dead reared up suddenly and launched the knife she was holding at Arthur.

Just as suddenly however, Merlin appeared Grabbing hold of Arthur and pulling him out the way. There was something wrong about that in Morgana’s eyes. Something very wrong indeed. She had seen where Merlin had been standing, there was no possible way he could have made it to Arthur or time. Still, she was grateful and she stared at the boy in wonder.

“You saved my boy’s life.” Uther said, Morgana could tell he too was in shock, “a debt must be repaid.”

 “I… well -” Merlin stuttered,

“No don’t be so modest, you must be rewarded.”

“No honestly, you don’t have to your highness.”

“No, absolutely! This merits something quite special.”

“Well…”

“You shall be awarded a position in the royal household. You shall be Prince Arthur’s manservant.”

“Father!” Arthur cried, Morgana chuckled, what would normally be a great honour seemed to be displeasing to both Arthur and Merlin, though she felt more pity for Merlin in this case. Arthur went through his manservants quickly. Although, Morgana was beginning to see there was something quite special about Merlin. Perhaps, the combination of Arthur and Merlin could be the start of something…well, amazing.

 NEXT

So yeah, this is my first Merlin fic, yay! It’s one of 31 parts but I’m really invested in this so hopefully they’ll be out soon. I don’t know how to do that link thing with previous and next and stuff but I’m sure I’ll figure it out by the time I post the next chapter! Thanks for reading!

[aresaphrodites]

Merlin😍

Thank you, nonnie!! (Finishing up the ones I got yesterday because this was actually really fun, but so time consuming LMAO)

Send me a show/fandom and ill answer -

Top 5 favourite characters: Merlin, Arthur, Gwaine, Morgana, MordredOther characters you like: GwenLeast favourite characters: Morgause and Morgana. I have a love/hate relationship with Morgana tbh.Otps: Merthur! Lance/Gwen.Notps: Mergana.Favourite friendships: Morgana/Gwen before Morgana went batshit crazyFavourite family: Merlin and Gaius were a cute lil family. Favourite episodes: Dragon episodes! The goblin episode was a gem. Favourite season/book/movie: The first season has a special place in my heart.Favourite quotes: There’s so many. “You’re like two sides of the same coin.” and “Arthur is not just a king. He is the once and future king.”Best musical moment: Ummm, maybe when that lady sang in the first episode and nearly killed Arthur lmao.Moment that made you fangirl/boy the hardest: Arthur and Merlin’s really gay fight in the first episode. There were some golden quotes in that scene.When it really disappointed you: Morgana going evil. I knew she would but…Saddest moment: “I can’t lose him! HE’S MY FRIEND!” Shit broke my heart.Most well done character death: Arthur’s…. it was sad af but beautifully done. Or maybe Morgana’s just because I was so glad she was finally dead.Favourite guest star: Ahhhh, none tbh?Favourite cast member: Colin Morgan! (Merlin)Character you wish was still alive: Fucking ArthurOne thing you hope really happens: I really wish this show would come back and give me Arthur and Merlin reuinting.Most shocking twist: If I didn’t know the legend then it would have probably been Morgana turning evil and wanting Arthur dead because of how much she originally loved him.When did you start watching/reading?: Only like two years ago I think.Best animal/creature: The dragon!Favourite location: The castle?? Arthur’s chambers. ;)Trope you wish they would stop using: Um, I don’t really think there was one.One thing this show/book/film does better than others: It was so good at showing the amazing dynamic between Arthur/Merlin and how much they truly cared for one another. It’s the best take on the Arthur legend by far.Funniest moments: The goblin episode. Couple you would like to see: ARTHUR AND MERLIN, FFS.Actor/Actress you want to join the cast: None.Favourite outfit: Morgana’s dresses!Favourite item: Excalibur. Do you own anything related to this show/book/film?: A cute little sticker on my laptop of Arthur and Merlin singing “You’re the Voice”What house/team/group/friendship group/family/race etc would you be in?: I’d probably be a sorceress (or I’d like to think)Most boring plotline: Hm.. I don’t think there was one in my opinion.Most laughably bad moment: Morgana trying to be “bad” was cringey just because I hated it so much. I hated to see her so evil.Best flashback/flashfoward if any: Ummm… I can’t remember honestly.Most layered character: Arthur. Most one dimensional character: Fucking Morgause Scariest moment: All the times I thought Morgana would finally murk their asses or Melin would get caughtGrossest moment: Hmmm… I don’t know.Best looking male: ArthurBest looking female: MorganaWho you’re crushing on (if any): MerlinFavourite cast moment: Mmmm, not sure.Favourite transportation: The dragon. Most beautiful scene (scenery/shot wise): Tbh any shot, there were some beautiful backgroundsUnanswered question/continuity issue/plot error that bugs you: WHY COULDN’T YALL GIVE ME A TRULY HAPPY ENDING FFS A MERTHUR HUG WITH ARTHUR COMING BACKBest promo: Idk I saw this show after it ended.At what point did you fall in love with this show/book: First episode, as soon as I saw Merlin. I watched like three episodes back in my middle school English class and I always thought it was pretty cool.