#vampire arthur pendragon | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

justaz · 5 months ago

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once merlin puts arthur to rest, the world around him disappears and he’s in ealdor staring at his mother’s back. his sobs from the lake grow worse at the sight of his mother and he wails like he’s a child again, calling repeatedly for his ma. she spins around and finds him, without asking any questions she dashes forward and pulls him into a hug, holding his weight as he falls apart in her grasp, choking out nonsensical words and soaking her dress with tears, snot, and drool, his overwhelming grief causing him to ignore any sense of shame he might’ve felt at such a scene.

he doesn’t remember explaining anything to her, frankly he doesn’t remember much beyond the cries he pressed into her shoulder, but she says he’s been in ealdor for a week. she’s clearly worried and asks, no, begs him to eat or drink but he doesn’t feel the need or desire to, and even if he did, he simply doesn’t have the energy to bring the sustenance to his mouth. she cradles his head in her lap and runs her finger through his hair like she did when he had a nightmare when he was younger. it’s almost enough to make the entire thing seem like a horrible, horrible dream. but theres blood on his tunic where he held arthur’s body to his own so he knows it’s not true.

his mother doesn’t ask any questions, the look in her eyes telling him that she knows anyway. perhaps his nonsensical babble created a clear enough image for her to understand. maybe she just saw the broken look in his eyes and came to the conclusion on her own. she doesn’t mention him. merlin isn’t sure if he’s relieved about that or not. in the end, he brings it up, he asks how she was able to go on after balinor left. he asks how she was able to pick herself back up on her own two feet and carry on life as normal after receiving his letter informing her of his passing. she says sometimes she can’t, sometimes she lays in bed and listens to the birds sing and can’t help but hate them. she says she lives on for him anyway. she pushes herself up and makes food and works in the fields even when she hate the world around her.

merlin tries to relate, tries to understand, tries to imagine himself getting up every morning and living on in his name. he can’t. his parents loved each other, he knows that, but they were their own people and were able to stand the years apart. merlin…merlin is arthur’s, even in death. everything he is, everything he’s done, has been for arthur. he is half of merlin’s soul, the center of merlin’s world. how can anyone expect him to move on as if he’s capable of being alone? how can anyone expect him to function as if half of his soul, half of himself, isn’t dead in a lake? merlin can’t do it, he can’t imagine living a life without arthur. he barely got through the week and that’s only because he was passed out for a majority of it. how could he make it a year, much less another fifty?

he can’t. he can’t do it. he can’t breathe, he’s in agony, the world around him doesn’t exist anymore. not without arthur.

he’s back at the lake now, tears still streaming down his face despite the pounding headache from dehydration yet it doesn’t matter, not anymore. none of it does. he stumbles into the lake and sends his magic into the water to tug excalibur from the depths. he can feel freya pulling the sword back, but his magic overpowers hers easily and the sword springs from the lake, gleaming in the afternoon sun. freya’s face appears in the ripples of the water next to him, her expression pleading and sorrowful. merlin whispers an apology before turning back to the sword, staring at the sharp point of the blade. he brings it closer to hover just over his heart, the metal pressing against his skin but not enough to draw blood just yet.

peace washes over him. the sun warms his skin and the water cools him to keep it from being unbearable. the birds sing in the trees as the wind whistles through the leaves. merlin stares up at the brilliant blue sky and pure white clouds roll by, images of bunnies and birds and crowns and horses staring down at him. he wonders if avalon will be this peaceful, if he and arthur could lay out in a field for eternity, basking in the sun and laughing as they point out misshapen clouds that supposedly look like the other.

he plunges the sword into his chest, right through his heart, and falls back into the water. bubbles trail out of his mouth up towards the surface, blood spills from his wound and mixes with the water. he closes his eyes as he sinks further and further. he knows when he opens them, he’ll be with arthur once more. it’ll all be okay. he doesn’t feel his body hit the bottom before blackness fills his mind.

arthur awakens from his fitful slumber in a bed that is not his own. he squints at the room, or rather hut, around him and finds an old man hunched over a book in the corner. arthur tries to speak but all that comes out is a squeak of air, his throat too dry to speak. the man hears and whirls around to begin treating him once more, prattling on and on about how he found arthur in the woods outside his village donning shiny clothes which he discarded bc of the blood staining them yet he couldn’t find a wound. arthur’s hand reaches up to his side but there’s no stab wound there, not anymore, though he does sport the scar. he remembers how he got it, he remembers stumbling away from the battlefield, he remembers being found by merlin- merlin.

he asks the man about him but he seems confused and denies ever knowing someone by that name. arthur climbs out of the bed (the flash of golden eyes) and hastily pulls on his armor (“i’m a sorcerer. i have magic.”). he’s out the door before the old man can protest. he’s in a village he doesn’t recognize, they must not be anywhere near camelot (“i’m still the same person.”). he turns to the old man hobbling out of the hut and demands directs to camelot. the man stares at him oddly and scratches his ear before informing him that he’s never heard of a camelot before (“you’re my friend and i don’t want to lose you.”).

he instead asks for directions to the woods where he was found and sets off in that direction, the old man shuffling after him (“me, i was born to serve you, arthur.”). it doesn’t take long to reach where he was found. if the old man had carried him home it couldn’t’ve been much of a hike (“and i’m proud of that.”). he steps into a clearing where the man panted that he found him here (“and i wouldn’t change a thing.”). it’s no where near the lake where merlin held him as he took his last breath, it’s no where near camelot. the man didn’t even recognize the name of his kingdom (“it’s not why i do it.”).

arthur sits in the grass as he thinks on his next move and the man who watched over him sits next to him (“i’m not going to change now.”). he speaks lowly of a prophecy about a man from a time long forgotten sent on a journey, a quest, to retrieve what has been lost. he says how the prophecy led many to a sword lodged in stone (“i’m not going to lose you.”) but no one could pull it free. he points out arthur’s armor and calls it odd, he mentions camelot, a kingdom of which he’s never heard, and gestures around the clearing where he found the mystery man. he concludes that perhaps the prophecy spoke of him (“i can’t lose him.”).

arthur, with no other options, follows the man’s directions to a lake. not exactly lake avalon but close enough. theres a small island in the center that seems more like a hill. the sword, his sword, excalibur is buried in a stone covered in moss, misshaping it’s actual form. arthur wades across the water and climbs the hill. he wraps his hands around the hilt of excalibur and closes his eyes. he imagines merlin confident and reassuring expression as they and all his men stood in the woods around this damn sword in a different stone however long ago it was. he breathes in and out (“he’s my friend.”) and pulls.

excalibur comes free just as it did before. arthur watches the metal pull free and as it does, the moss on the stone falls away revealing its form. it looks like a collapsed figure, excalibur having been lodged in it’s chest, right where it’s heart would be. arthur squints at what looks like the head and feels a flash of familiarity. the stone slowly fades away from the hole where excalibur was all the way to the hill. as the stone fades, it leaves behind skin and clothes and hair and…merlin.

arthur drops excalibur and falls to his knees to hold up merlin’s limp form. he feels warm, as if he didn’t just spend however long with a sword in his chest as a stone. he’s not breathing. why isn’t he breathing? arthur grasps around, shifting his clothes out of the way to find the wound where excalibur had once been. the skin is stitching itself together with tiny golden threads. arthur looks back up at merlin’s lax face as the wound fully closes. he inhales sharply as his eyes fly open, glowing gold, and all around him it seemed the world finally inhaled after suffocating for millennia.

merlin exhales and golden sparks shoot from his lips to flurry around in the air. the grass under them grows longer and curls around both his and merlin’s body where they rest against the ground. the water around their island clears from the murky brown to a blindingly clear blue. the air is crisp and clean, the sun brighter and warmer, and one soul finally whole again.

#i can never just write a cool casual post #its gotta be its own fanfiction #ficlet #whatever #DID YOU CATCH IT??#I DIDNT SPELL IT OUT BUUUUUUT #when merlin stabbed himself with excalibur it was more like putting a stake in one of the original vampires #(from tvd just btw)#he just went to sleep until the sword was removed. however with his ‘death’ magic was removed from the world #arthur pulled excalibur free and brought merlin back which brought magic back to the land #boom. destiny fullfilled.#at least half of it #now they have to unite albion or whatever #bbc merlin #merlin emrys #arthur pendragon #tw suicide attempt #grief #angst #happy ending tho #i was real vague with the timeline too lmao in my head they remained dead for thousands of years #500 - they die. 2447 - world ends. 5281 - civilizations reemerge. 5804 - merthur comes back.#thats my timeline but watever u like best is what we’ll go with #look. i wrote merthur to be /r but the thing about them is even if its platonic…the bromance is real SO #merthur #/r or /p doesnt matter. still fits.#fanfiction #fanfic #fic

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magicalsniper · 5 months ago

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A Vampire Resides in Camelot

4,118 words | Teen | Part 2 of 12 Author's AO3: MagicalSniper Story Link: A Vampire Resides in Camelot Part One

Summary: In the kingdom where the Pendragons reign supreme as ruthless vampire hunters, Arthur Pendragon stands as the most feared and skilled of them all. His loyal servant, Merlin, appears to be a clumsy, scrawny, and goofy young man, but secretly, he is a pureblood vampire—the rarest and most powerful kind. As Arthur travels the land, slaying vampires and declaring them dangerous monsters, Merlin remains by his side, hiding his true nature. Initially, Merlin's need for blood is minimal, allowing him to pass as a human with ease by claiming the vials of blood from Gaius are medicinal. However, as Merlin's strength grows, so does his thirst, and he becomes increasingly desperate to avoid drinking human blood, fearing he will become the very monster Arthur hunts. When the charade unravels, and Arthur discovers Merlin's true identity, their world is thrown into chaos. Faced with losing his friend, Arthur makes the ultimate sacrifice: offering his own blood to keep Merlin alive.

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The One Where Merlin Struggles with Puberty

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Arthur strode into the great hall, his boots echoing against the stone floor, with a determined glint in his steely blue eyes. His father, King Uther Pendragon, sat upon his throne, a figure of imposing authority. His scrutinising gaze fell upon his son like his very presence disappointed him.

"Father," Arthur began, his voice resonant within the chamber, "the villages at our borders are succumbing to vampire attacks. The people live in constant fear; their lives are being destroyed."

Uther's gaze remained unyielding as he replied curtly, "Those are outlying territories, Arthur. There is no immediate threat to the castle’s safety."

"Then, at what point does their suffering become our concern?" Arthur's tone rose, laced with frustration. "When they are but half a day's walk from our walls? When the terror is upon our doorstep and half our people have already been turned?"

"Exactly," Uther said, his voice cold. "That is when it becomes a matter for the crown."

Arthur's jaw clenched; he knew that waiting was not an option. The problem would only get worse if they allowed it to continue. With a curt nod, more to himself than to his father, he turned on his heel and departed, his mind set on a quest to rid the kingdom of its lurking shadows.

Meanwhile, Merlin paced in Gaius' candlelit chambers, the flickering light casting long shadows on the stone walls. Dusty shelves, crammed with vials, herbs, and ancient texts surrounded him. A large wooden table in the centre held various alchemical instruments and an open book, which Gaius stood before with a deep frown. He turned from the book and watched with weary eyes as Merlin paced back and forth, his dark hair tousled, his usually mischievous blue eyes now clouded with angst.

"Merlin, you must calm yourself," Gaius urged.

"Easy for you to say, Gaius," Merlin replied, a wry smile flickering across his pale features. "You don't have fangs threatening to sprout whenever you smell a fresh pie."

"Indeed, I have other ailments to worry about at my age," Gaius quipped, but his expression soon softened. "What happened?"

“I felt bloodlust,” Merlin stopped pacing, his shoulders slumping. "Stronger than ever. My senses and strength intensified, and I could barely hold back... If this continues, I will lose control."

"In those times, you have to try to remember who you are, Merlin—a young man with a kind heart, no matter what runs in your veins," Gaius assured him, placing a comforting hand on the young vampire's shoulder.

"Kind heart, maybe," Merlin mused, a spark of his usual levity returning. "But if you ever see me eyeing your neck, feel free to whack me with your walking stick."

"Rest assured, I'll do so without hesitation," Gaius replied, his lips twitching in amusement.

He motioned for Merlin to sit at the table before sitting opposite him. “Has your mother told you anything about pureblood puberty?”

Merlin scrunched up his nose. “Another puberty?” He barely just left the last one!

“Pureblood vampires, Merlin, experience puberty quite unlike humans. It's a critical and turbulent time for them. Their abilities and instincts are heightened to extreme levels. Their senses become razor-sharp, and their strength can be overwhelming.”

Merlin leaned forward, his eyebrows drawn low on his face. “That sounds… dangerous.”

“It is. You will have to learn how to control your new powers and urges. Without proper guidance, you could be a threat to yourself or those around you.” Giaus pushed the book between them towards Merlin, pointing to a faded picture on the page. “During this period, your emotions will be intensified. You will be more volatile and more aggressive. This is why many vampire clans have strict rites of passage to help their young navigate this phase.”

Merlin frowned, “But I don’t have a clan… what are these rites of passage?”

“Rites and trials designed to teach control and responsibility. Normally, those going through puberty are often secluded from society until they have mastered their abilities.”

“What!?” Merlin cried, jumping up. “Secluded? I can’t seclude myself. What am I going to do?”

“We could send you to your father’s old clan.”

“Absolutely not,” Merlin growled, slamming down his fist. He winced as the sound of cracking wood met his ears. “What… what happens if one doesn’t master their abilities?”

Gaius sighed, closing the book softly. “If a vampire going through puberty fails to gain control, they risk becoming feral, driven by their primal instincts rather than reason. They become a danger to everyone around them.”

Merlin sighed heavily and sank back into his seat, burying his face in his hands. 'What am I going to do, Gaius?' he whispered, fear lacing his voice.

Gaius stood and reached for a small chest on his cluttered bookshelf behind him. He placed it carefully on the table and flipped the lid open to reveal an assortment of glass vials, each filled with a murky red liquid.

“Listen carefully,” he began, his tone shifting to one of utmost seriousness. “We can try something. I created these for Balinor during the tail end of his puberty.”

Merlin took one of the vials and held it up to the light, studying the contents with a frown. “What’s in it?”

“Each contains a single drop of human blood, diluted with herbs and other...less conventional ingredients.”

Merlin eyed the vials warily. “Blood vials?”

"An interim solution," Gaius explained, meeting Merlin's gaze. "They will sate you temporarily, but they are not a replacement for sustenance. You must seek out alternative sources—animals, perhaps."

"Animals," Merlin repeated, the word leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. "Well, at least the blood from the poor creatures Arthur insists on hunting won’t go to waste… And when these vials no longer suffice?"

"That is a bridge we shall cross when we come to it," Gaius said with a resigned sigh. "For now, they will help keep your secret—and your wits about you."

"Thank you, Gaius," Merlin muttered, pocketing several of the vials as the sound of clanking armor approached.

“Merlin!” Arthur's commanding voice rang through the corridor. The door swung open, revealing the future king, eyes blazing angrily. “We haven't much time. Gather our provisions; we leave by the next candle mark.”

"Right away, sire," Merlin replied, slipping another vial discreetly into his pocket.

As Merlin ran around to gather the necessary supplies, Arthur inspected an array of weapons on the table before him. He reached for an ornate dagger, its blade engraved with his initials and a dragon head, which his father had gifted him when he turned thirteen. Arthur's hand slipped in his haste, and a thin line of red blossomed across his palm.

Arthur cursed under his breath, his blue eyes narrowing at the sight of his blood.

Merlin's head snapped up at the scent, his fangs aching beneath his lips. He squeezed his eyes shut and pulled out a vial from his pocket. With trembling hands, he uncorked it, the concoction's pungent aroma masking the tantalising smell of Arthur's wound.

He chugged it down and corked the vial back up, shoving it in his pocket before turning to Arthur and sidling up to his side. “Here, let me.” He took Arthur’s injured hand in his, his movements deliberately awkward to distract from his trembling. With his free hand, he reached into the bag on the bed and pulled out a bandage roll.

"I guess even future kings aren’t immune to the sting of their own blades," Merlin jested, trying and failing to hold his breath to keep the smell of blood out of his system, already reaching for a second vial as he pulled away from Arthur. It was going to be a long journey.

Twilight reached across the kingdom, casting a pinkish hue over the dew-laden fields. Arthur and Merlin set forth on their steeds with solemn looks on their faces.

"Remember, keep vigilant. We don’t need you falling off your horse because a rabbit scared you." Arthur teased, even as his eyes scanned the horizon as if he could already see the shadows that skulked in the night.

"That was a vampire rabbit, and you know it," Merlin muttered. “Next time a furry little fanged monster comes at you, I’ll just let it happen.” A pang of unease twisted within him, and he scanned the area for anything hiding in the wood.

As they traversed the cobblestone roads towards a small village, villagers emerged from their homes like wary spectres, their eyes hollow with fear. An old woman approached, her hands gnarled as the branches of the ancient oaks lined the village square.

"Milord," she croaked, her voice carrying the tremble of witnessed horrors. "Our kin vanish, and nothing is left but shadows and blood."

Arthur dismounted, his hand resting upon the hilt of his sword. "Tell us what you have seen," he urged, the furrow of his brow deepening.

Merlin followed suit, the frown on his face deepening. Something didn’t feel right, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He sniffed the area subtly but found nothing of interest.

"The creatures... they come with the moon," another villager chimed in, his words tumbling out in a frantic cascade. "Like death itself, they are—silent and swift."

Merlin half-listened to the stories. Between the treacherous whispers that taunted him and the feeling of unease that he felt from the area, he was struggling to concentrate. It was usually the same story—someone, or multiple someones, went missing in the middle of the night, only to turn up several days later with red eyes ready to destroy them all.

It was late into the evening when Arthur and Merlin were about to find solace beneath the boughs of an ancient grove.

"We need a good strategy," Arthur said, unsheathing his blade and inspecting the edge with a critical eye. "We should seek them out under the cover of night. We'll strike swiftly, using the element of surprise."

"Surprise is good, but caution is better," Merlin countered, the image of Gaius's vials flashing in his mind. "These creatures are cunning. We must not underestimate them or risk becoming prey to overconfidence."

"Afraid, Merlin?" Arthur teased.

"You can’t win everything with stupidity and a sword," Merlin quipped, his humour a thin veil over his gnawing anxiety.

Arthur reached over and cuffed him over the back of the head. “Shut up.”

Several hours later, a sombre view unfolded before Arthur and Merlin as they crested the low hillock. The village below lay in disarray, homes ransacked, timbers charred, and an eerie silence hanging over the desolation like a shroud.

Arthur swore under his breath, his jaw set with a grim determination as he surveyed the wreckage.

Merlin followed close behind, his gaze darting about nervously. The scent of blood hung thick in the air, coppery and sweet, and he was forced to hold his breath. He reached into his cloak and clasped a vial. With a furtive glance at Arthur, he uncorked it and took a swift draught, feeling the potion's immediate, albeit fleeting, relief.

"Stay vigilant, Merlin," Arthur said, oblivious to the inner turmoil of his companion.

"No, I’ll walk about with my eyes closed," Merlin snarked.

They stepped through the crumbling gate, each footfall stirring up the ashes of the once fertile lands. Around them, remnants of life stood still—dolls abandoned mid-play, pots overturned, their contents seeping into the earth.

"Such destruction…" Merlin's words trailed off as he knelt beside a fallen beam, his fingers tracing the scorched wood. He froze as his skin began to tighten and his senses sharpen. Desperately, he consumed another vial, the concoction bitter on his tongue.

"What’s wrong with you?" Arthur eyed him with a hint of concern.

"Headache," Merlin lied smoothly, averting his eyes so Arthur wouldn’t see the change in his eye colour.

"Come, let’s see if any evidence was left behind."

Together, they moved deeper into the devastated village, passing by splintered doors and ripped animal carcasses. Arthur's hand rested on the hilt of his sword as they scanned the area.

"Look," Merlin pointed toward the well, where dark stains marred the stones. He held his breath again, feeling his fangs fall. The scent of fear and blood was too delicious to his senses for his body not to react. He pushed his trembling hands into his pockets to hide them from view. His next vial would need to wait, but for how long, he could not say. As the shadows grew long, so too did the thin line he walked between loyalty and the beast within.

A cold gust of wind signalled their foes' approach. Vampires emerged from the obsidian shadows, silent as death, their eyes gleaming with feral hunger. Arthur's sword was out instantly, its blade reflecting the scant moonlight with deadly promise.

As steel met undead flesh, Merlin wrestled with the tumultuous storm inside him. His blood sang with the call of his kindred, yet his heart belonged to the realm of men. With a silent invocation, he summoned the arcane winds, his hands weaving incantations that sparked with eldritch energy.

Merlin snapped his fingers, and a surge of mystical force burst forth, striking the vampires with stunning light.

Together, they fought—a symphony of blade and magic. Arthur's courage never wavered, and his every strike was a testament to his resolve to protect his kingdom. Merlin's spells danced between the trees, their radiance illuminating the battlefield with flashes of spectral light.

"Your aim improves by the day, Merlin!" Arthur called out amidst the fray, a grin on his face even as he dispatched another foe. “Then again, anything is an improvement from nothing.”

"Learning from the best," Merlin shot back, throwing back his head in a laugh as Arthur tripped over a conveniently placed rock.

Finally, as the last vampire fell to the ground, silence descended upon them once more. Arthur wiped his brow, his chest heaving from exertion, but his eyes shone with the fire of victory.

"Another battle won," he declared, sheathing his sword.

Merlin nodded, exhaustion clawing at his limbs. He took a deep breath, wincing at the taste of acrid blood in the air. "Yes," Merlin agreed, his voice steady despite the weakness he felt.

The ground was cold and unforgiving, swallowed by the creeping tendrils of evening fog. Arthur's armoured boots struck the ground confidently, while Merlin moved with less certainty, his thoughts as scattered as the mist veiling the area.

"Are you sure we're headed in the right direction?" Merlin asked as he glanced over at Arthur, a teasing smile on his lips. "You know, you tend to struggle with reading the stars."

Arthur didn't stop, but a half-smile formed on his lips at Merlin's jest. "No, Merlin, the stars are aligned for us, not against us," he replied, firm yet with a touch of mirth. "Stay sharp. We're close."

Merlin snorted if only Arthur had any idea.

As they delved deeper into the labyrinthine forest, an unsettling prickle danced along Merlin's neck. His senses whispered of something lurking in the shadows. He strained his ears, trying to catch the soft footfalls of the unseen follower. The air was still, too still, and carried a scent both unfamiliar yet oddly recognisable.

"Arthur," Merlin murmured, drawing closer to the prince. "We're not alone."

Arthur's hand instinctively gripped the hilt of his sword, his heart pounding as his eyes scanned the darkened surroundings. "Reveal yourself!" he commanded, his voice echoing off the stone walls. Only silence answered his call.

"Maybe it's just a stray cat," Merlin chuckled, though his heart hammered in his chest.

“Leave it to you to be frightened by a kitten,” Arthur scoffed. Despite his words, he remained tense and squinted into the darkness.

“They’re coming,” Merlin murmured, his eyes flashing gold. “They’re using something to shield themselves from me. I can only tell that we’ve met them before.”

“Friend or foe?”

“We’re about to find out.” Merlin tensed as her gaze lingered on them from the embrace of darkness— a pair of emerald eyes glaring out from the trees at them.

The figure stepped forward, the moonlight revealing her face. Morgana emerged from her concealment, her long dark hair cascading like a raven's wing and her piercing green eyes fixed on her half-brother with an intensity that could cut through steel.

"Arthur," she said, her voice melodious.

Startled, Arthur almost dropped his sword at the sight of her disarming him. “Morgana!” Shock and relief battled on his face as he stared at the sister he thought he had lost. “Where have you been?”

"Six months, dear brother, and nary a sign of you," Morgana stated, her tone both accusatory and playful. "And here I thought you'd forgotten me."

Merlin watched her warily but closed the gap and joined Arthur in a heartfelt embrace that enveloped Morgana. "We feared the worst," Merlin confessed, his eyes still taking her in, a frown on his face. He subtly leaned closer and sniffed at her neck. It was Morgana, that much he was certain of, but she definitely had a scent on her he had sensed on her before. The look she gave him as he pulled away did not go unnoticed.

“Yet here I am,” was her simple reply. “I am afraid I come with dire news.”

"What do you mean?" Arthur urged, his brows knitting together. "Have you heard about what has been happening?"

“You’re chasing the fodder when it is the puppeteer you should seek,” Morgana stated plainly, her eyes flicking to Merlin’s before returning to Arthur’s.

It was just as Merlin had feared then. He cleared his throat, “Armies are being created then? To what end?”

“Is it not obvious?”

Unfortunately.

Merlin scowled, “Just what we needed.”

“Enough of this nonsense,” Arthur commanded. "Six months vanished without a trace," he muttered, more to himself than to the enigma before him. "And now you return with tales of darkness? It ill suits you to play the seer, Morgana."

Merlin snorted and rolled his eyes at the heavens.

"Does it?" Morgana's voice was silk over steel. "Or does it simply displease you that I might know something you do not?"

"You’re making no sense," Arthur retorted. "You speak of vampires as if they’re capable of taking over a kingdom! Their mindless creatures, nothing more."

Morgana’s eyes bored into Arthur’s before turning to Merlin. “Is that what you believe?” Merlin’s heart dropped to his stomach. She knew.

“I—” Merlin was saved from answering by a bloodcurdling scream piercing the night air.

The abruptness of the scream tore through them, and their heads snapped towards the direction of the disturbance. Merlin sniffed the air and froze, “Oh no.”

"Arthur," Merlin warned his voice barely above a whisper yet carrying an edge of urgency. That scream hadn’t been human— it was primal, guttural, and filled with a rage that sent your blood cold.

As the echoes of the scream died down, a massive shadow lunged from the trees, its form grotesque in the moonlight. A werewolf, its fur matted with blood and filth, bore its fangs— a snarl ripping from its throat as it set its sights on them.

"Merlin, do something!" Arthur shouted, stepping protectively in front of Morgana with his sword extended.

Merlin extended his hands, murmuring incantations under his breath as his eyes burned gold. These spells should have calmed the beast or turned it away, but the words dissolved into the night, powerless. His magic, usually so potent against creatures of the night, fizzled into nothingness. He stared, mouth agape, unable to comprehend what was happening.

“What is wrong with your magic?”Arthur grunted, dodging the werewolf’s swipe, his blade meeting the creature’s hide with a clang.

"I—I don’t know!" Merlin replied, panic lacing his voice. He racked his brain for any alternative, but his thoughts were chaotic. How could this be happening? Werewolves were susceptible to magic—it was one of the few advantages they had against such monsters.

"Vampire magic doesn't work on them," Arthur said between breaths, dodging another attack. "But yours should!"

“Oh, should it, Arthur. Should it? I had no idea,” Merlin snarked. His gaze darted around, searching for anything that could be used as a weapon or distraction. He grabbed a fallen branch, hardly a match for claws and teeth, but he couldn't stand idle while Arthur fought alone.

"Focus, Merlin!" Arthur commanded, narrowly avoiding a particularly vicious lunge from the werewolf. "We need to drive it back!"

"Right," Merlin said, forcing confidence into his tone. He feinted at the werewolf with the branch, hoping to draw its attention long enough for Arthur to find an opening.

“Behind you!” A strong voice from behind them called.

Arthur spun, his blade glinting in the pale light as he managed to slice across the beast's flank. The werewolf howled, the sound mingling with the clashing of metal and the thundering of their hearts.

A man with dark wavy hair and a strong athletic build got between Arthur and the werewolf. His sword gleaming under the moon’s pale light, he met the creature mid-leap and turned its ferocity aside with a well-placed blow.

"Stay behind me!" The man shouted, parrying another swipe of the werewolf's deadly claws.

"Behind you? You'll find I'm quite capable of standing at your side," Arthur retorted grimly, joining the fray.

The two men’s movements were synchronised as if they had trained together for years. The man was precise, finding weak spots in the beast's defenses, while Arthur's strength drove the creature back, step by torturous step.

Who is this man? Merlin wondered silently, clutching the useless branch against his chest. He felt a pang of guilt for his inaction, but there wasn’t much left he could do. To engage would mean to reveal, and revelation was a luxury he could ill afford.

"Merlin! A little help here!" Arthur's voice cut through his reverie, tinged with urgency. Arthur's blade sang a metallic song as it cleaved through the air, narrowly missing the werewolf's snapping jaws. The beast was a maelstrom of claws and fury, each blow from its massive paws sending sparks flying from Arthur's armour. The prince's face was set in grim determination, blue eyes tracking every move with predatory precision.

"Right," Merlin muttered to himself. "Help. Without magic." The irony was not lost on him. He was a vampire who couldn't fight a werewolf with strength lest he reveal himself, and a wizard who couldn’t fight the werewolf because of a magic that should have worked but didn't. The absurdity of it all would have been laughable under different circumstances.

He watched the man move, throwing himself into the fray with a ferocity that matched the beast they fought. There was something inherently noble about him, an aura that spoke of chivalry and honour—the very ideals Arthur so cherished in his knights. It was no wonder they fought well together.

"What are you doing, Merlin!?" Arthur grunted, sidestepping a vicious pounce and driving his sword into the werewolf's flank.

With a howl that seemed to shake the very stones beneath their feet, the creature stumbled, its form shimmering as it tried to flee—but in a moment of quick thinking, Merlin shot out his hand, “Fyr!”

A line of fire blocked off the werewolf’s escape. “Fire, they hate fire!”

Arthur and the man seized the opportunity. The man harried the beast, keeping it engaged and enraged, while Arthur readied himself for the killing blow.

"Keep it steady, Merlin.” The man called, “Just a little longer..."

With a mighty roar, Arthur lunged forward, his sword glinting in the torchlight. The werewolf, caught off guard by the sudden assault, had no time to evade. The silver blade, guided by Arthur's unwavering hand, found its mark, plunging deep into the creature's chest. A howl of agony split the night as the werewolf's form shuddered and then stilled, its body reverting to the twisted shape of a man.

"Good thinking with the fire, Merlin," Arthur said, clapping him on the shoulder with a grin that belied the seriousness of their situation.

"Yeah," Merlin replied distractedly, a frown on his face as his mind was elsewhere. Why did his magic not work on werewolves all of a sudden? Did it have to do with his ‘vampire puberty’? And if so, what was he going to tell Arthur? “Hey, Mor— where did Morgana go?”

Morgana's second disappearance left them with more questions than answers, and Merlin knew they were far from unravelling the mysteries that ensnared them.

As they gathered, ready to continue their quest into the night, Merlin cast one last glance at the fallen foe. The battle was won, yet the war was far from over.

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