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foxcort · 9 months

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a lion does not concern itself with the opinion of sheep. tamlin-centric, tamlin/briar (if you squint) au, gen | ao3

But the Lord of Casterly Rock said and did nothing beyond the steady glare he fixed upon his youngest son.

for @isterofimias & @praetorqueenreyna ❤️

a/n: straying a little from my edit in that tamlin's family is still very much alive and his father is lord of casterly rock and *insert all titles here*! tamlin's family are based on the versions of them i imagine existed in acotar canon and less based on the lannisters/asoiaf (though it was difficult trying to separate tywin from tamlin's father, but can you blame me?). also this can be seen as a prelude to the brilin asoiaf au (oneshot for now?) i'm working on, though its more centered around tamlin and how i imagine he would translate into the asoiaf world. (ps. may i suggest listening to the rains of castamere or a lannister always pays his debts while reading this? or maybe even this casterly rock themed ambience/music?). i apologize in advance for my disgustingly excessive use of commas

It was never a good omen when Emrys approached him with a smile on his face. Especially when that smile was too predatory to carry any good will, and the glint in his eyes too cruel to preface anything but torment. Tamlin sighed softly to himself, eyes tracking his brother's movements as he dropped into the seat beside him with all the comfort that didn’t, and should’ve, existed between kin.

"There'll be no need getting all pretty and proper for Lord Tyrell's daughters today." That smile widened. Sharpened. "Not for you, little brother."

Tamlin threw him a weary look from where he sat, haphazardly reclined on one of the finely carved rosewood chairs situated in his guest chambers. "If you have something to say, spit it out." His answer was irate and breathless, still labored from the sparring practice his mornings were oft scheduled with. Having a conversation with Emrys while he had the upper hand was never pleasant. Even less so when Tamlin's body was littered with bruises and soaked in sweat, the fabric of his crimson tunic clinging uncomfortably to his chest.

Emrys gave a mocking click of his tongue, as if chiding a child for impatience. "This came for you. Just before dawn."

A small scroll — loosely unrolled enough to indicate Emrys had taken the liberty of reading it first — sat in the middle of his brother's outstretched palm. Bait in a bear trap.

For a long moment, Tamlin stared, his stomach turning at the possibilities before he calmly collected the paper and unfurled it. Return to Casterly Rock at once. With a quiet groan set off by his sore limbs, he sat up and leaned forward, forearms stretched over his thighs as he turned the message over, searching for an explanation he knew he would not find. Just his name eloquently printed on one side and the six meager words on the other.

"Shame." Emrys laughed, low and taunting. "I could've sworn the youngest was smitten with you. Caught her painting a pair of green eyes too soft to be mine."

Tamlin's gaze snapped to his brother's, the mirror of them always unnerving. It was their mother's eyes. His eyes. Shared between them in a juxtaposition of cruelty and mercy. A curse from the Seven, surely, when those eyes — softened further by his mother's smile — were the only ones that had ever looked at him with love and kindness.

"Are you so lacking in charm, you had to arrange for me to be sent away in order to ensure favor from one of Tyrell’s daughters?”

He thought distantly of the three of them and how they seemed to skirt around Emrys, recognizing at the very least, an undercurrent of savagery that did not belong amongst the delicate roses and clear sunshine. Truly, he was a lion amongst lambs in their presence.

"Careful." A glimmer of rage flickered in the green of his gaze, reminding Tamlin that while they were gifted with their mother's eyes, everything else was a bane from their father. “Or you’ll be journeying to the Wall in place of Casterly Rock.”

And he did not doubt him.

Not when Emrys’ anger was an inferno compared to the ember that sat diligently in Tamlin’s chest.

“You’re to marry the Stark girl.”

It was an effort to keep his mouth shut, though Tamlin's fingers curled into fists under the table, jaw tightening. Whatever he thought he would be facing upon his return to the Rock, it was leagues away from this. And perhaps even farther away from what Emrys could have influenced. No, this was a decision born entirely from his father's mind.

He supposed he should be glad. There were worse fates than marrying into a traitor house. And when he thought of his brief time in King's Landing and the too-watchful gaze of Hybern Greyjoy's red woman, it was almost enough to abate his anger. Almost.

“Do I have a say in this matter?” His voice was measured, surprising even himself.

Only the slight arch of his father’s brow gave Tamlin indication that he’d been heard at all. But the Lord of Casterly Rock said and did nothing beyond the steady glare he fixed upon his youngest son. As if the question was too dull to answer.

“You’ll be leaving in a week. With Lucien,” he paused to lean back in his chair, satisfied that the insolence of Tamlin's question did not tread further, “and a retinue of no more than ten men.”

Small, by Lannister standards, even for the least significant son. His father did not wish for them to be noticed, then. "What of the Tyrells? Will they not ask why I was pulled away in the middle of talks?"

"They will not." Irritation singed the end of his father's tone, his answer too quick. A glint of disdain sharpened the Lord's cold gaze, "Let me assure you, there was never any impression that you were an option for groom. Lord Tyrell's eldest will choose between your brothers, and you— you will go to Winterfell to marry the Stark." He paused, body rigid again. "Is that clear?"

Once more Tamlin held his mouth firm, afraid that if he opened it he would make the grave mistake of truly angering his father. Grey might've speckled the fine golden thread of his hair, but a man could count himself blessed by the Seven to survive a duel with Callen Lannister. He was as sharp and vicious with his sword as he was with his tongue. And Tamlin had been at the end of both enough times to know when a limit had been reached.

Callen rose from his seat — seemingly content with his son's silence — and Tamlin's gaze flickered to the courtyard beyond the room. Beams of sunlight filtered onto the lone tree planted there, snagging his bleating thoughts, a balm to his bruised heart. Years of being Callen's least favored did not lessen the blow his words often landed, and every new interaction reopened a wound he had thought long since healed.

"Your mother leaves to join your brothers in Highgarden tomorrow in hopes that her company will usher Tyrell's daughter into making a decision." His father's hand curled around the back of his now vacant seat and the sound of wood scraping on stone filled the room as he set it neatly in place. "Meet her before she departs.” Not a drop of warmth existed in that tone, though Tamlin knew some part of his father always considered his mother's heart above them all. “It would grieve her if you froze to death in the North without a proper farewell."

Tamlin had no chance, or will, to speak before his father turned on his heel and swiftly left the room.

In contrast, his mother had a retinue of thirty.

Twenty-five men, gathered in an arrangement outside the castle, and five women — his mother's personal attendants — seated safely in the awaiting wheelhouse. All the gold buried deep in the Rock, and it was Tamlin's mother his father treasured most. The one and only ideal he respected him for.

He squeezed her hands and cherished the warmth they offered, knowing soon he would feel nothing but the biting cold of the North. "My sweet boy." Her voice was smooth and pleasant as she slipped a hand from his to cradled the side of his face, a comforting gesture familiar to him since childhood. "Promise me you'll send a raven once you've reached Winterfell. It would settle my nerves."

He leaned into her touch, forcing a smile over his mouth for her sake. "I promise."

Gentle sea winds stirred the unblemished, golden curtain of her hair, a knowing look shadowing her features. "Trust in your father's intentions. They have always been for the good of his sons. Even if it may not seem so in the beginning."

"It's not always . . . easy to see what he sees." Pain colored his gruff voice, escaped from the confines of his well guarded heart. He paused in an attempt to swallow that hurt and failed miserably. "I'm being sent as shackles for the Starks, aren't I?" Only his mother's presence could draw such emotion from him and he hated it. Hated succumbing to that ugly feeling, hated letting it expose his weaker points. "He means to use me to keep them in line."

A soft sigh from her. She knew how he felt. Had tried to protect him from it for as long as he could remember. "He means to ensure all of his sons have grand standing in this world. The North is a stronghold with a precarious relationship to the crown and all of its vassals. Choosing which one of you to tie to the Starks was not done carelessly." Her lips tilted upward and her eyes shone with quiet pride. "Your brothers have little tact where delicate matters are concerned. You, however, are mine. And you always will be." She returned her hand to his and squeezed, coaxing a lightness back into his chest. Knowing she had a part in sending him to the North was both a solace and an ache, but where he found it difficult to trust his father, it was as easy as breathing with her. "Promise me again, you'll send a raven?"

He laughed under his breath, the sound of approaching footsteps stilling behind him. "When have I ever broken a promise to you?" Water glimmered in his mother's eyes and Tamlin quieted whatever thoughts stormed in his mind, to wrap her in his arms. "I'll send as many ravens as you'd like." She shivered, likely an attempt to hold off real tears, and he squeezed her harder. "So many, you'll grow sick of me."

"And stay warm," she murmured into his shoulder, before her chin tilted upward and her gaze settled on someone behind him. She said in a louder, more clear voice, "Lucien, see to it that he stays warm."

"I will, my lady." Tamlin didn't have to turn around to see the grin on the emissary's face, or the deep bow he offered. "Even if I must suffocate him with furs myself."

Finally, he pulled away from her, and she gripped his hand as he guided her into the wheelhouse, one last murmured goodbye passing between them, before an attendant shut the doors. A shouted command rang high above the sound of horses and armor clinking armor, and the procession to Highgarden began.

a/n: i just wanted to add that because i've chosen houses based on what made sense to me, a lot of the asoiaf loyalties and histories will be different — (e.g. the greyjoys taking over the targaryens/iron throne instead of the baratheons/robert's rebellion). i hope you enjoy this one! i've been meaning to do a got rewatch at some point, so there might be future asoiaf au oneshots or shortfics with different characters, ships and timelines! / lannister divider by @dingusfreakhxrrington

#tamlin #acotar fanfic #acotar fic #spring court #asoiafau #with a DASH of feylin because i couldn't resist including them in some way #also this is a little...choppy? im working on my scene transitions they're the absolute bane of my existence istg #didnt have time to go to my favorite little cafe this week otherwise this would've been done days ago T T #🌷#🪻

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authorlaurawinter · 2 years

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HAPPY RELEASE DAY

The Stray Spirit by @ashen-crest

5/5 ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Oh this was an absolute delight! This cozy fantasy was a perfect debut novel for Ashwick. I found myself desperately flipping pages, completely engrossed with the story and characters. Oh, and can I please gush about the illustrations? Because they were gorgeous and such a wonderful surprise to see and I've decided all novels need illustrations. “One kiss before we go in? You’re so overwhelmingly pretty when you’re helping me avoid faking my own death.” This story came alive. Ashwick’s writing is absolutely beautiful, and her characters are the icing on the cake. Emry was such a fun mc - you truly feel for him across the ups and downs of this story. He’s a stunning character and the perfect lead to root for. Cal was a delight as well - her intelligence and desire to help / make a difference stand out on the page. And of course, Aspen was a perfect wrap to the delight of this book. Their excitement and innocence was truly magical. As for the story, it was a light read but dense with beauty. I wish there were more scenes with Emry playing the lute because they were written so eloquently. How is it possible for music to be written so beautifully in a novel? I’ve never seen it done well, until now. Encore, please and thank you.

#book review #fantasy #booklr #writeblr

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devoutpriest · 2 months

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lefayiism:

WATER —- BOATS —- SHIELDS —- PAGANS —- WARRIORS —— VIKINGS. Thats exactly what she had dreamt, sleeping on her bed, midnight black hair amassed on white pillow in bed. However no matter how many times she warned the king of Camelot that trouble was coming, and to ready themselves, he did not listen. Uther had simply thought the soldiers could fight any evil that came their way. Bloody Christians always so bloody arragant she somtimes despised him to the bone. On many occasions Morgana had attempted to take the kings life -- the mandrake root which made his hallucinate his wife ygraine -- but all the same she had failed. Either because Emrys was on the prowl or something happened accidently. Before she knew it Morgana heard the news that Vikings were spotted at the shore and she shot Uther a ’ I told you so ’ glare. How odd that Uther didn’t click on that she was a seer. However she was certain that Arthur had his suspicians as did her serving wench Guinevere. She knew how ruthless the vikings could be. She was always fasinated with the tale of their ways of living and killing that she read up on them several times. It wasn’t long until word had reached the king that the ruthless warriors had reached the Citadel to which most of the courtiers fled to their chambers for. Before she knew it, the vikings were in the throne room and they were exactly how she imagined them to be, especially the one that appeared to lead them. Her emerald orbs locked with the blonde woman who appeared to be a shield maiden, and almost immediately excitement ran through her blood. Then her eyes fell on the male that spoke for them. He spoke eloquent English, yet had long hair and had blood on his face, an axe at his side, and wore viking battle armor.

A priest. What a priest doing there? At this a troubled frown crossed her features and she took a step forward, but did not make it all that obvious in front of the king. Soon enough the King got up from his throne and he took several steps forward, and not once did he look worried or vunerable.—— Uther Pendragon was a cold tyrant who had wiped all those with magic from his kingdom. “You will not be raising this kingdom. I have heard tales that you have reached the britannia soil and have raided many kingdoms, but you will not be raising this one.” His voice was firm, low and rather cold, a look of fury crossing his features. Even though they had successfully broke through their Citadel, Uther remained impassive. At Uther’s stupidity, a smirk crossed the lady’s crimson lips. Such a foolish response from a cold-blooded king.

Athelstan was taken aback on the King's boldness, especially when he and the Vikings had broken through the protection of the castle walls with relative EASE.

Was the King so reckless, so self-assured, that he did not CARE if he antagonized wild men he didn’t know, without a care in the world?

Even, as Athelstan thought that, he felt an inkling of shame run through him. Was that not what Father Cuthbert, and the other monks back in Lindisfarne might have thought–HIMSELF, that the presence of God would save them, no matter what? That not even pagans could kill them…

Oh, how WRONG he was; and he was torn now, doubt creeping into his mind about God’s Will. He glances to the others—they all seemed merely amused by Uther's defiant proclamation, no signs of being deterred by it.

"We can…” Ragnar spoke. “And we shall.” And a grin formed across his face.

“Please LISTEN." Athelstan said urgently, moving slightly closer to the King.

"I am a Christian, like you. And you are outnumbered–perhaps, not by true number, but by sheer force." He points to the axe, it dripping blood, and the strong muscled viking warriors with him who survived in majority. Athelstan had advised not to bring in the head of a dead guard on a pike, to Floki, as that could disdain his argument of peace he was making here. "Please consider a different approach, Your Majesty.”

His head then swivels to a dark-haired woman, noting that she took a step forward, but whether it was to him or in the general direction of the Vikings, he did not know. He bows to her, she looking more interested ; green eyes sparkling.

“My lady, please make your King listen to reason.”

#rp partner | lefayiism #ic #overall known as:#rp partner | fayofavalon

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finishinglinepress · 1 year

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FLP CHAPBOOK OF THE DAY: Sleep on Needles by Richard Lyons

ADVANCE ORDER: https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/sleep-on-needles-by-richard-lyons/

The poems in Sleep on Needles disperse human consciousness beyond us vs. them tribalism to create fleeting bonds with any number of species: a garlic flower, some gibbons, a Greenland shark, a nautilus, a blue whale, a rat. Trying to leave room for the impossible, these poems crave experience outside of language. They eschew convenient certainties including homo sapiens’ historical claim of dominion over plants and animals. “Memory decants identity,” one poem claims, and, thus, within these poems, identity and persona are on the move and always about to change.

Richard Lyons is the author of Heart House (Emrys Press 2019), Un Poco Loco (Iris Books, 2016), Fleur Carnivore, winner of 2005 Washington Prize (Word Works, 2006), Hours of the Cardinal (University of South Carolina Press, 2000) and These Modern Nights (University of Missouri, 1988). He has been a recipient of a Nation “Discovery” Award and is Emeritus Professor of English and Creative Writing at Mississippi State University. He lives outside of Memphis with his wife.

PRAISE FOR Sleep on Needles by Richard Lyons

To read a Richard Lyons poem is to be ushered into a dreamscape by a skilled and trustworthy guide. In this arresting book, a nautilus hums, a man paints with the oil from an oil spill. Worlds and lifetimes ripple through these spare, muscular poems, and even the most clear-eyed view of suffering is accompanied by some element of comfort. “There’s no time left,” writes Lyons, just before offering a glimmer of hope for something still to come: “I am waiting.” These are urgent and utterly moving poems.

–Catherine Pierce

Sleep on Needles, Richard Lyons’s sixth poetry collection, is testament to a poet of keen observation whose language provides a context for poignant perceptions that needle one’s psyche with hauntings of lost loved ones, aging, and the passage of time. His reveries provide a nexus for self-awareness within a world of persistent complexity and inevitable change. Lyons states, “Reverie insists on its own / concept of time taking me out to its edges, / sun and water in short supply.” But his poems are not of the dream world, per se. Instead, they eloquently explore transient realities that together remind us of our inextricable connections to nature, to experience, and to one another. These poems are generous in what they offer and inclusive in what they provide. Lyons’s gift of embracing existence within language makes it possible for us to share in his hope that “… language will lift the shadows / as easy as cedar waxwings relay a berry / down a line of birds….”

–Gary Myers, author of Planet Auschwitz

Please share/please repost #flpauthor #preorder #AwesomeCoverArt #poetry #chapbook #read #poems #nature #aging #loss #hope #healing

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bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years

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Arthur discovers Merlin’s musical talents, and it leads to a lot more than either of them were ever expecting.

Listen. I know. I know. I KNOW that the Arthurian Legends take place in the 5th century, and pianos weren't invented until the 17th/18th century. I know. But I don't care, let me have this

Arthur, as the crown prince and heir to the throne, was taught anything and everything as he grew up.

Uther demanded perfection, and every other member of staff in the castle was a tutor of some sort.

Not only was Arthur taught to fight, in every style known to man, he was taught to read quickly, to write eloquently. He was forced to practice his handwriting until every letter measured exactly right, and he could write in multiple different styles. He was taught to navigate by the stars, and pull together medical supplies and weapons from nature. He was trained to see lies, to manipulate, to take charge, and to control every situation, even if he had to do it from the shadows. He was even taught extensive mathematics, to assure he could keep up with the financial advisers in council meetings.

Any skill you can think of? Arthur was forced to practice it until he perfected it

The one thing he could not get the hang of, was music.

He could just about dance (something that Uther refused to give up on) but even after years of practice, and years of having his knuckles bruised by rulers, he couldn't play more than a couple simple tunes on any sort of instrument.

Uther figured that,,,, in the grand scheme of things,,,, if his son were to be absolutely hopeless at just one thing, he's grateful it was music.

(Though he always made sure Arthur knew what a disappointment that was).

Arthur had just been crowned king!

A couple weeks after Uther's death, Merlin came to Arthur in floods of tears, and told him the truth about his magic, Emrys, the prophecies, everything.

All is fine and dandy (I think I’m incapable of writing about Merthur in any capacity, without a magic reveal)

Arthur is still being visited by nobles and other royals, from across all kingdoms, to apologise for the loss of the previous king, and wish Arthur luck and power in his own rule.

This, of course, comes with many gifts worthy of a king.

He gets all sorts. Ancient books, and special weapons. Magnificent horses and exquisite foreign fabrics. Golden treasures that are worth more than 10 of Merlin's little village.

Each visitor essentially hoping to outdo everyone else, and gain the new king's favour.

(Of course, Arthur was trained to see through the manipulations of court, and he takes notice of those trying too hard)

One of the many things he was gifted, was an ornate, black, Grand Piano. Huge and shiny and really, very beautiful.

Arthur still can't play, but admitting to such a trivial shortcoming would be unbecoming of a king, and refusing a gift would be even more unbecoming, so he gracefully accepts, and has it moved to his chambers.

He may not be able to play, but it goes well with his kingly décor.

When the piano was first presented to him, it was Merlin's face that caught his eye the most.

The moment the sheet was lifted to reveal it, Merlin's face lit up, in an astounded smile so wide Arthur thought it looked painful. His eyes glittered.

Arthur figured that a poor, village farm boy, like Merlin, had simply never seen such an instrument before, so he brushed it off.

He does however, take note of Merlin's behaviour the next couple of weeks. How he keeps getting distracted from chores, and even in the middle of conversations, while he stares in awe at the piano.

It does confuse Arthur just a little, but he doesn't mention it.

(Not that it isn't a beautiful piano but.... it is just a piano?)

So it's a couple weeks after Arthur received his gift, it sits in the corner, so that whoever was sat, playing, would be facing into the room.

Arthur has just finished up a meeting of some kind, and he enters his room quietly, where his eyes are immediately drawn to Merlin, sat at the piano.

And he hasn't noticed Arthur yet.

The King shuts the door behind him as quietly as possible, and leans on the wall, arms crossed, to observe his manservant.

After a few moments of Merlin seeming to aimlessly stare at the piano, he takes a deep breath, straightens his back, closes his eyes, tilts his head slightly, and gently places his hands on the keys.

Arthur quietly smirks at that. He figures the most Merlin could do is smash a couple of keys and pretend he can play, and that would be brilliant, because the King would never let him live it down.

Instead, Merlin let's out his breath, and he begins to play.

(I'm thinking something simple ish, but still beautiful soooo, The River Flows in You by Yiruma, and Comptine d'un autre été )

And Arthur has to hold in a gasp because...Merlin can really play. And he doesn't want to disturb that.

Arthur briefly thinks that it was odd of Merlin to not have played in front of him. He was clearly good, and Merlin had made a habit of doing whatever he wanted, whether Arthur gave him permission or not.

He had clearly been waiting for an opportunity to play.

But he had also, clearly, deliberately kept from playing in front of Arthur.

("Well I'm the King, if I order him to play for me, he has to." runs bitterly through Arthur's head. But a second, quieter thought, closer to the back if his mind, goes something like this "But I could never force Merlin to do something that made him uncomfortable, or even mildly unhappy." Arthur doesn't like the implications of that, so he ignores it, of course.)

After 10 minutes or so of playing, the music winds down to a stop, Merlin relaxes his posture, opens his eyes, and smiles gently as he removes his hands from the keys.

Arthur thinks two things, First, he would've been happy to stand there for hours if Merlin had carried on playing, and Second.... he doesn't think he's ever seen his manservant that happy. Not just happy but... calm. Relaxed. Completely at ease.

Merlin is always worried about something or other, and Arthur hadn't realised that Merlin's default setting was almost always "stressed" until suddenly,,,, he wasn't.

Merlin still hadn't noticed Arthur stood there, so when Arthur speaks, he does so gently, quietly. He doesn't want to startle Merlin too much, or sound accusing or angry:

"Where did you learn that?"

Merlin still jumps a few feet in the air, and the two of them flinch slightly as the piano chair legs screech backwards on the wooden floor.

"Uuhh.... how long have you been stood there??" Despite the gentle smile on Arthur's face, Merlin still looks like an animal caught in a trap.

"Long enough. You play well." Arthur says, still keeping his tone low and friendly, as he walks away from the door and towards Merlin.

Merlin scrambles to get out from behind the piano, to stand in front of the King.

"So... you're not angry?"

If Arthur wasn't desperately fond of Merlin's previous calmness (and also desperate to not accidentally discourage Merlin from playing again), he would have laughed at the panic in his voice, instead he tilts his head slightly and gives him a fond smile:

"Why on earth would I be angry that you can play the piano? I never got the hang of it, so it'll be nice for the thing to get some use. You're.... you've got quite the talent Merlin. And you still haven't answered my question."

Such a compliment probably would've been painful for Arthur to give to anyone else, but he finds it slips easily out of his mouth for Merlin.

He's especially glad he said it after he notices the blush dusting Merlin’s cheeks.

"Oh. One of the older guys in Ealdor was some disgraced noble or something. The last thing he had, that he refused to sell, was some beat up old piano. No where near as nice as this one. It was out of tune for years, but when I was about 8 some travelling merchants came through the village on the way to Camelot. A whole bunch of people scraped some coins together and we bought an old piano tuner they had. We fixed it up, moved it to the hall, and it sort of became the centre point of the village for a couple months; a few of the older folk knew how to play a little. After the hype died down, whenever I couldn't sleep, which was basically every night at that point, I would sneak out and teach myself to play. I'd be sat there for hours. I think mum realised something was keeping me awake at night but she never said anything. I guess I got pretty good over the years. They always asked me to play over yule and things-"

He looks back at the piano at this, and places a soft hand on the lid, and continues, so quietly Arthur can only just hear him,

"-no one I know in Camelot had one, so I had to stop playing when I moved here. I missed it."

After a moment or two of silence, Merlin looks back at Arthur, the expression on his face clearly showing that he still expected Arthur to clip him round the ears, throw him in the stocks, and tell him to never touch it again.

Arthur turns away from Merlin at this point, and walks towards his desk. He's not very good at intense or emotional conversations, so "as casual as possible" is how he plans on showing Merlin he really doesn't mind.

He shuffles some papers around, and looks up at Merlin (still looking ready to run) :

"I'm impressed Merlin. Feel free to play whenever you want. I found I quite enjoyed listening to it." he once again allows a compliment to slip from his mouth, and once again notices the blush rise on Merlin’s face.

His manservant looks slightly taken aback at that, but relaxes when he sees the genuine smile on the Kings face, and responds:

"Thank you, Arthur. I can't read music or anything, I guess I'm just good at figuring out what will sound nice." he sounds sort of sheepish at that and shrugs slightly. Embarrassed that he can't read music, without realising that "figuring out what will sound nice" in his head, and making it up as he goes, is far more impressive.

"Well I can read music, I was always just crap at actually playing it. I can.... we've still got some sheets lying around, I could.... teach you? If you like?"

Merlin's even more taken aback at that, so much so that he doesn't notice the hopeful look in Arthur's eyes, and the blush on his face.

He fully relaxes at that, and starts to grin, his eyes lighting up:

"Would you?? Really? That would be great because then I could play music that other people know instead of just whatever comes into my head!-"

He forces himself to calm down at that

"-I mean... only if you've got time. I know you've got a lot to do, I'm sure I could find someone else to show me, if you're busy." He chews his lip between his teeth and fiddles with his hand.

"I wouldn't offer if I didn't want to, Merlin. I've got training with the knights shortly, but I can track down my old tutor's books and I can show you this evening, after dinner."

Merlin smiles once again at that, and nods vigorously, before seeming to remember himself, and rushing towards Arthur's armour, beginning to prepare it for training.

He doesn't look up at the King, so as not to show him the blinding smile he's struggling to keep off his face,

But if he HAD looked up, he certainly would've noticed the quietly fond way Arthur was staring at him.

Training happens! And if the knights notice that the King and his manservant seem even more eager than normal for it to be over and done with, they don't say anything.

Arthur has his evening meal back in his chambers, served by Merlin, making sure to surreptitiously leave some left overs for him.

(He seems to be doing a lot of subtle things for Merlin nowadays... hmm)

The both of them are full of frantic energy and failing miserably to hide it. Though they're both so focused on hiding their own excitement, they fail to notice the other's.

Finally Merlin comes back from taking the remainder of Arthur's dinner back down to the kitchens, to find the King sat at the piano, staring with furrowed brows and a bitten lip, at some sheet music, whilst he carefully places his hands on the keys.

Luckily (Arthur would think) he notices Merlin stood there before he makes a fool of himself by failing miserably to play anything.

Merlin sends him a dopey smile from the doorway, as Arthur shuffles over in the seat, a silent invitation for Merlin to join him.

(I just.... someone pls draw Arthur and Merlin sat shoulder to shoulder on the same piano seat)

Merlin's eyes widen only slightly, but Arthur is so focused on staring at the sheet music and holding down his own blush, that he doesn't notice.

So they're sat there. Pressed up against each other. Both of them internally gay panicking, as Merlin pretends to be interested in the piano keys and Arthur pretends to be focused on putting the sheets in the right order (I mean he already checked 10 times, but Merlin didn't need to know that)

Arthur clears his throat, and looks a Merlin’s face before gulping, and looking away again:

"Why don't we... uuh... why don't you play something slowly... and I could write it down? It might be easier to show you how to read it if we have a reference point you already understand? Maybe?"

At that point Merlin notices that the sheets in his hand are empty, as opposed to the ones on the stand that have actual music on them ("Then why was he shuffling them around so much? I mean.... it not like he's.... nervous or anything. Right? " )

"Oh! Right. Yeah that's... that sounds good!"

If anyone else had witnessed any of this, they most certainly would have rolled their eyes at the nervousness in both of their voices.

Arthur hums and pulls a pencil out, and waves at Merlin to put his hands where they start. He scribbles something in the margins, leaning the paper on his thigh, and:

"Ok, go for it, but only the first few bars, alright? We'll have to do it bit by bit at first."

"Uhh... bars?"

Arthur flushes at that before he replies:

"Oh! Right, uhh...just play the first 20 seconds or so I guess."

The manservant nods at that before taking a deep breath.

Merlin knows this song well, so he stares at Arthur's writing as his hands work automatically.

Arthur is staring intensely at Merlin's hands as he plays, and writes without looking down (another odd skill he has, due to his endless childhood teachings. He can write anything, with no mistakes, perfectly neatly, without looking down at the page.)

Merlin stops and pulls his hands back, looking expectantly at Arthur as he finishes writing, reads it over, and asks Merlin to play it once more.

Arthur stares at the music sheet this time, as Merlin plays. Tutting to himself quietly as he corrects a mistake, and draws some more scribbles above the lines.

"Ok. Next bit."

So it goes like that for.... a while.

To go over the whole song, by 20 second increments, multiple times, takes them at least an hour.

But when they finally finish, Arthur puts the sheet music up on the stand, and instructs Merlin to play all the way through.

He turns the pages as Merlin plays, just triple checking he's got everything right. It would be a nightmare later on (and embarrassing) if he taught Merlin the wrong thing.

Once he's sure everything is correct and he's finished scribbling in the margins, he places it back on the stand, and starts rummaging around in a pile of papers on the floor.

Finally, he pulls out a scaled down drawing of a set of piano keys, all labelled with notes. On the top of the sheet, it also has examples of all the different types/lengths of notes, and other symbols that you see on sheet music.

It's late in the evening at this point, but neither of them notice, so wrapped up in each other and the music that it takes the fire burning down to embers before they realise they've been at it for hours, and it's long past midnight.

Over the course of the evening, Arthur had managed to teach Merlin which keys on the piano were which notes, and a few of the different note lengths.

He also taught him how to play his scales (which isn't really relevant to reading music, but is still important in the grand scheme of playing. It was also an EXCELLENT excuse for him to place his hands on Merlin's, and guide his fingers to the right place, but no one needs to know that.)

As the fire burns almost to nothing, its Merlin, who speaks first:

"Right. It’s uhh, it's pretty late. I should probably get back to Gaius."

"Yes. Of course. I have an early meeting so I should probably get some sleep."

The both of them hum, but stay seated for another minute or so, both reluctant to move away from each other.

It's Arthur, who stands up suddenly, and brushes off his legs before walking out towards his bed. Merlin following shortly behind.

The both of them have stiff muscles from being sat pressed against each other for hours but neither of them mention it.

They also both think about the sudden lack of warmth down their sides, but again, neither mentions it.

"I can get myself ready for bed tonight Merlin, go get some rest. We can... we can continue this tomorrow evening?" Arthur adds the last bit quietly, almost hesitating, as if he's worried this is a one time thing and he's pushing his luck.

That worry is dashed however, as he turns to see his manservant giving him a blinding smile, cheeks just a little bit pink:

"That sounds great. I'll be here bright and early to wake you for your meeting-"

He turns and walks towards the door,

"-goodnight, Arthur." he adds on quietly, looking back towards the King with a fond smile on his face, and still pink cheeks.

Arthur stares at the happy face of his friend (*cough*) for a few seconds, before his brain kicks in gear and he responds, putting on his Kingly voice:

"Yes. Bright and early. Don't be late, or it'll be the stocks.-"

Merlin huffs a laugh at that, but senses that his friend (*cough*) isn't done yet, and waits for him to finish. Arthur's voice softens again as he continues, and he smiles gently:

"-sleep well, Merls."

Merlin tilts his head slightly at the new nickname, but says nothing, just smiles and leaves, shutting the door quietly behind him, and heading back to the chambers he still shares with Gaius.

It continues like that for several weeks.

Unless they're out on some expedition, they spend every evening in Arthur's chambers, sat at the piano.

Merlin is worried at the start, that he's putting too much pressure on Arthur, and that Arthur doesn't really want to be doing this.

But he stops thinking that when Leon casually mentions how Arthur had demanded that, unless it was an absolute emergency, all his evenings be kept free for the foreseeable future.

Merlin holds in a smile at that information, but doesn't mention it to Arthur, despite thinking of it regularly;

Arthur had quietly, without telling Merlin, made sure that they would always have time to sit at the piano together, and that meant a great deal to him.

Merlin didn't pick up the skill too quickly, which surprised Arthur.

He figured if Merlin was already so good at playing, surely it wouldn't take him long to make the connections between the keys he was playing and the notes on the sheet.

He's not too slow. Obviously much quicker than when Arthur had first learnt, but it's taking time for Merlin to be able to sight read, his brain always taking the first few notes of a piece and wanting to run away with it, play his own tune.

(Secretly, they're both grateful it's taking longer, taking more lessons, than expected)

It's maybe a few weeks into this new development, when Arthur storms into his chambers, Merlin already waiting for him at the piano.

Arthur is obviously angry, and not the normal, sulking huff he gets on when someone's annoyed him.

Merlin stands at this, and frowns. He's realised in the recent weeks, that seeing Arthur angry no longer amused him, but worried him, especially when he was in this sort of state.

Arthur hadn't even noticed him yet, too busy stomping around the room, and muttering to himself.

"Arthur? What happened, is everything alright?"

Arthur jumps at that, but recovers from his surprise and regains his anger quickly:

"Bloody council. Fucking elderly arseholes, the lot of them, and they think they know best. The only one who's any help at all is Gaius, and they still treat him like an outsider."

Arthur had been trying to make progress on the magic ban repeal, but had been stalled at every opportunity. The majority of the council were old supporters of Uther, and accused Arthur of being a young, naïve, idealist, who had no experience in the world.

"Oh. I'm sorry, Arthur. We can skip tonight? I can help you get ready for bed and head back, if you just want to go straight to sleep?"

"NO! I mean... no. I'm too tired to teach you anything but... could you play? Anything you want, just play something, please?"

As Arthur looks at Merlin, not even trying to hide the pleading look on his face, Merlin realises how exhausted his King looks, and gives a small nod and smile, before sitting back down.

This is the first time Arthur has asked him to just play something, to just play so Arthur can sit and listen.

He thinks for only a few seconds, before placing his hands on the keys, and playing something slow, and calming.

With every note, Arthur relaxes his tense shoulders. He rids himself of his cloak and boots, and walks slowly over to Merlin, dragging his socked feet across the floor.

Merlin silently moves over on the seat as he plays, and Arthur heavily drops himself in the space.

Merlin continues to play, sneaking glances at Arthur as he goes, trying to gauge when would be a good place to stop, and check in.

After 5 minutes or so, Merlin winds the music down, bringing it to a slow stop, before turning to sit facing Arthur, and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"You'll get there Arthur, I have faith in you. You're the King, don't be afraid to put the fear of the Gods into them, if they continue to question you. You've more experience in the world than all those posh rich ponces put together anyway."

Arthur looks up at that, they had been much more supportive and open with each other, since Merlin told the truth about his magic, but growing up with Uther, Arthur still wasn't quite used to being complimented so thoroughly.

To Merlin's great surprise, Arthur drops his forehead to Merlin's shoulder, and rests it there, before beginning to quietly speak:

"I just want to make it right. I know the atrocities my father committed and... I just want to make it right. I don't want you to have to hide anymore."

Merlin takes in a deep breath at that, feeling slightly guilty that Arthur was going through all of this trouble, for him. But grateful all the same.

He knows the change in law isn't just helping him, but an entire population of people just like him, so he never discourages Arthur from working towards his goal.

With that thought, Merlin places his other hand on the back of Arthur's neck, absentmindedly stroking the base of his skull with his thumb.

"You're not your father. You're a great King Arthur, but more importantly you're a good man. I have faith. We all do."

Arthur nods slightly at that, his head still on Merlin's shoulder, and whispers:

"Keep playing?"

Merlin huffs a quiet laugh out, before turning back towards the piano, careful not to jostle Arthur too much, who turns his head so his cheek is now resting on Merlin’s shoulder.

Merlin plays for what feels like hours before he hears gentle snoring coming from Arthur. He sits quietly for a moment, a fond smile on his face, thinking about how far the two of them have come.

After the magic reveal, they had a rough go of it for all of 2 days before Arthur came round, but since then, their relationship had grown only stronger. Merlin feels honoured, that after all Arthur has gone through, he trusts him enough to fall asleep on his shoulder.

Merlin realises how late it is, and feeling guilty for the certain crick Arthur is going to have in his neck, he gently strokes his cheek, and whispers his name.

Arthur wakes slowly, blinking his eyes open, but not wanting to move, enjoying the sensation of Merlin’s hand on his face.

"Come on. It's late, you should sleep in an actual bed if you want enough energy to yell at the council tomorrow."

Arthur gently chuckles at that, still tired from just waking up, he responds so quietly, Merlin isn't quite sure if he was meant to hear it or not:

"Perhaps I like sleeping here.-"

He raises his voice as he lifts his head, stand, and begins to stretch with a groan:

"- you're right. I am going to yell at them. And I don't want to look like an insomniac when I do it."

Merlin laughs at that, following Arthur to stand, and the two of them walk out from behind the piano.

Merlin heads towards the fire, hoping to poke some life into it, whilst Arthur heads back to his bed, moving the discarded cloak to the back of a chair.

The silence is comfortable, as Merlin tidies around the room, and Arthur readies himself for bed, both content with each others presence.

Arthur struggling to not think of when Merlin had his hand on the back of his neck, or on his cheek, and Merlin struggling not the think of Arthur’s gentle breaths on his neck.

When all is ready, Merlin stands before Arthur once more, absentmindedly straightening out his night clothes as Arthur looks upon him with wonder:

“Thank you, Merls. Depending on how tomorrow’s meeting goes, we might have a repeat of tonight.”

He says it in such a way, and Merlin looks back at him with such fondness, that an onlooker might think neither of them find that idea so bad.

“Any time, Arthur-”

Merlin takes a step back, before giving a final nod, and walking towards the door:

“-goodnight, sire.”

“Goodnight Merls.”

With that, Merlin shuts the door behind him, and heads back to his room, thinking on all the drastic ways his life had changed in such a short amount of time. Uther had died, Arthur was crowned, he told the truth about his magic (and Arthur hadn't tried to kill him), and then all this with the piano playing and the fond smiles and the gentle touches, had all happened in the space of two months.

Merlin smiles all the way back to his chambers, where he drifts into an easy, dreamless sleep.

Meanwhile, Arthur is thinking on the same series of events.

With Merlin’s encouragement, he was actually looking forward to the council meeting tomorrow. He was going to stop trying to please people who were openly disrespectful, and assert himself as a King who would be listened to, and obeyed, by his council.

He had slowly realised his feelings for Merlin at first, but tonight had the realisation come to him once again, all at once this time.

He had already made it clear that the lines between classes were not as strict as under Uther’s rule.

He had knighted multiple non-nobles, and approved the courtship of Gwen (a servant) and Lancelot (a knight) without hesitation, making it clear that such decisions were non-negotiable to the council.

The people of Camelot were, of course, thrilled with such easing on tradition, and he was proud of himself for encouraging bravery and love in all who wanted it.

A king and his servant wouldn’t be too much of a stretch from a knight and a servant.

But he knows how court works. He knows what the councilmen (bar Gaius) will say.

Once the repeal finally goes through, and Merlin is promoted to Court Sorcerer (which he hasn’t mentioned yet, to the council or Merlin. He figures it would make a nice surprise) the councilmen will accuse Merlin of having enchanted or otherwise manipulated the King.

And that will be ten times worse if they initiate a courtship before hand.

Arthur is desperate to make all these transitions as painless as possible, both for Camelot as a whole, and Merlin.

And that’s even assuming Merlin wants to court him. What if he’s reading too much into it?? What if Merlin really does just want to learn to read music and that’s it??

He doesn't want to make him uncomfortable, and with a huff, Arthur collapses onto his bed, resigning himself to just leave it until all this political bullshit was sorted out.

There’s no point worrying about it now.

And besides, waiting will give him more time to try and figure out if Merlin was interested, or just a really nice person.

Hmmm

Considering his manservant is friends with everyone... knows everyone’s names and birthdays and favourite colours.... that might be a little difficult.

Arthur doesn’t sleep too well that night, but when Merlin questions it the next morning, he just says that he’s anxious to get this whole yelling business over and done with.

FINALLY, the repeal goes through.

It involved a LOT of yelling on Arthur’s part. But things began to go much more smoothly when he fired half the council (the ones being the most belligerent and disrespectful, which for a cruller king would’ve ended in execution rather than a lost job) and replaced him with his friends and supporters.

Leon was speechless when he was offered a seat, Gwen almost cried, and Morgana raised an eyebrow with a “Finally.”

(Yes. Morgana is still here. She’s still magic, not that anyone knows. And she’s good. Why? because it makes me happy.)

The whole kingdom celebrates, the borders are opened to druids, and Merlin reveals his magic to the rest of the gang, closely followed by a tearful (she would deny it though) Morgana, and all is well.

Arthur received congratulations and warnings and offers of advice from all across the other kingdoms.

Arthur drags Merlin to the privacy of his chambers a few days after the official change in the laws, and interrupts his questioning with:

“Shut up and listen for a minute Merlin. This is... important. And you needn’t answer right away of course, it’s... a big deal, and a big change, and I’ll of course understand if you don’t want to take it on board, its a big responsibility, and I know you’re not too fond of politics anyway, but there’s no one I would trust more so... what do you say?”

Arthur looks at Merlin expectantly, a hopeful look on his face as he continues to grip Merlin’s arms.

Merlin raises an eyebrow in confusion before replying slowly:

“Arthur you.... you haven’t actually told me what it is you’re asking.... what is it you want me to do?”

Arthur flushes at that, and takes a step back (seeming to realise that he was stood awfully close to the other man) and lets go:

“Oh! Right, uhh... I was hoping that you would accept my offer to become my Court Sorcerer. I know it’s a lot of responsibility, you’ll of course no longer be my manservant, and it will be a great deal of-”

Before Arthur can finish his rambling, Merlin rushes forward and grips him in a tight hug:

“I’ve already told you Arthur, I’m proud to serve you, in whatever capacity you want me-”

He pulls back at that, but stays close, still gripping the King’s shoulders:

“I will stay by your side Arthur, for as long as you’ll have me. I would be honoured to be your Court Sorcerer.”

It’s Arthur who pulls Merlin into the next hug as they both let out joyful laughs.

The hug lasts a while, both gripping tight, and grinning to themselves.

Arthur pulls back first, his grin falling into something far gentler. He keeps his arms around Merlin as he gulps, before whispering:

“What if I want you by my side forever? Would you stay?”

Merlin tilts his head at that, as if confused at why Arthur doesn’t already know the answer:

“Nothing on this earth, could ever take me away from you, Arthur.”

Arthur smiles at that, teary eyes, and whispers once more:

“In any capacity?”

Merlin smiles at that, and as Arthur glances down at his lips, before looking back up into his eyes, he lets out a breath:

“Any capacity...-”

Merlin lets out a gentle chuckle as he adds on:

“Though I definitely know which capacity I would prefer.”

Arthur laughs gently at that, before leaning in, and meeting Merlin halfway, in a slow, chaste kiss.

Arthur doesn’t pull away as the kiss ends, but instead rests his forehead against Merlin’s softly, before saying, so quietly Merlin barely hears it:

“Play me something Merls.”

THE END

Genuinely this might be my favourite one so far. I’m literally begging someone who has more artistic talent than me, to draw Arthur and Merlin sat at a piano together, guiding each others hands, and generally being hopeless.

Also the idea of Arthur being the first to call Merlin “Merls” fills me with joy

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heartxshaped-bruises · 2 years

Text

BOLD what applies to your muse, ITALIZE situational ones. Feel free to add your own suggestions and carry it on. TAGGED BY: @alxnetxgether (( thanks a lot! this was nice! )) TAGGING: @x-brokencrowns @lilxmcrtes @xnecromantia @ask-thedepressedkidatthetable @savagecuhnt @heretoboogie

★ 𝐄𝐌𝐑𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐒

► ACCENT

“country” │ “backwoods” │ “sailor” │ “upper class” │ “city slicker” | foreign speaker │ refined

► ELOQUENCE

► TONE

loud │ soft │ room volume │ high pitched │ low pitched │seductive │velvety │ speech impediment │ abrasive │ gruff │ shrill │ booming │ matter-of-fact │ toneless │ husky │gravelly │ breathy │ nasal │ barking │ chatty │ condescending │ musical │ suave │ world-weary │ brash │ authoritative | flat

► HABITS

refers to self in third person│ incorporates different languages /terms/ sayings │ uses gender-specific terms │ adapts to audience │ changes pitch around animals or children │ shifts tone when lying │ gives others nicknames │ uses terms of respect towards others

► OTHER BITS

Emry’s a potty mouth. He doesn’t think in advance because he doesn’t have a filter, the words just slip out and usually don’t bear any malice. It’s just the way he talks, but it makes him come off like a rude or immature jerk sometimes. If he intends to be rude, you’ll usually know - not because of the words he uses, but because you can clearly distinguish between the sound of his voice.

Emry’s the background singer of his band, so he can sing - but you’ll either like it or hate it, there’s no in-between. In my head though, his singing voice is a mixture between his face claim Tom DeLonge and Brian Sella because the vibe is just right.

► VOICE CLAIM REFERENCE:

Sample Link - Talking

Sample Link - Singing (live)

★ 𝐉𝐎𝐄

► ACCENT

“country” │ “backwoods” │ “sailor” │ “upper class” │ “city slicker” | foreign speaker │ refined

► ELOQUENCE

► TONE

► HABITS

► OTHER BITS

Joe’s speech is very nuanced. He will never shout at you, yell, be snarky or anything close. Even when he’s very angry - what’s already very rare bc it’s hard to upset him - he sounds polite, but you can tell by the restraint in his voice that something’s off. There would be more of a lurking undertone, enstranged and more impersonal words to be used.

► VOICE CLAIM REFERENCE:

Sample Link - Voice

Sample Link - Speech-Pattern

#★ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴ: ᴇᴍʀʏ ʟɪʟʟɪꜱ #★ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴ: ᴊᴏᴇ

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supercalvin · 4 years

Note

Hi! Good luck with the whole...word going insane bit :D For the prompt, I would love to read on the closeness between merlin and the knights, and Arthur trying to woo when all his subjects are kinda more in love with Merlin than they should (i.e. they all realized long ago how awesome Merlin is, and they are shameless in their appreciation of his person). In these trying times, I just dream of reading Merlin being utterly loved and supported for once, and Arthur just catching up

Aaa what a cute prompt! Merlin deserves all the love in the world!!

Prompts (or any prompt) + Ficlets

***

A month after Arthur’s coronation, he finally felt like he was settling into the throne. That was the night Merlin came to his chambers with shaking hands and guilty eyes. He confessed to years upon years of lies and transgressions. Arthur felt like his entire world had been turned upside down, even more so than when his father had died or when Morgana had attacked Camelot.

Arthur hadn’t banished Merlin, but he threatened it more often than he liked to remember. It took what felt like ages for all of Merlin’s deeds to come to light, and each one felt like a new wound being reopened and healed again. But Arthur knew from the very beginning it wasn’t Merlin’s magic that hurt Arthur. It was his lies. It took Arthur the better part of a year to understand all that Merlin had done and how little a choice Merlin had in those lies.

Changing laws was never an easy task, especially for a new King, but especially for a law as harsh and indomitable as the ban on magic. To his council’s surprise, Arthur lifted the ban, but also appointed a Court Sorcerer. The day of Merlin’s instatement at court, Arthur had feared Camelot’s reaction. Arthur had worried the knights wouldn’t trust a manservant to protect them. Or that the servants would resent Merlin’s promotion. Or that the lower town would see the magic ban and Merlin’s position as a trick.

He need not have worried, though. To Arthur’s amusement, Camelot’s people loved Merlin. The council was a little disgruntled, but they were the minority. The knights were overjoyed with Merlin’s promotion. Gwaine in particular wouldn’t stop puffing up his chest and patting Merlin on the back, like some sort of proud rooster. The castle servants seemed to dote on Merlin as he stumbled through his transition from servant to lord. The serving girls cooed over him as he insisted they just call him Merlin, because he really hated when people called him ‘my lord.’ The people of the lower town adored him, praising him for all he had done. There were a few, Arthur noticed, that held tightly onto Merlin’s hand as they desperately thanked him for his bravery.

All of this was unexpected, but what was most unexpected was the change in Arthur’s own heart. He had always loved Merlin. He had been by Arthur’s side for so long, and he had always been a loyal and compassionate friend. Now, every day it felt he was seeing a different person dote on Merlin. Arthur’s surprise wasn’t because he didn’t think Merlin deserved the praise, but rather that Arthur seemed to be the last person in Camelot to acknowledge it. It appeared as though Merlin’s instatement as Court Sorcerer was just Arthur catching up with everyone else.

Merlin slammed open Arthur’s chamber door. (He still hadn’t learned to knock and since he was no longer Arthur’s manservant, he had even less of a right to enter Arthur’s chambers unannounced. But Arthur was surprised to discover he truly didn’t mind.)

Merlin stomped into the chambers, “If another person says ‘my lord Emrys’ to me one more time, I’m going to turn into a bird and fly away and you’ll never see me again-”

Merlin’s odd rant was cut short when he noticed what he had walked in on.

The table was set for two. Arthur was setting down a candle, as he finished lighting the last of several that adorned the table. Arthur himself was only in his white tunic, his chainmail and cloak discarded earlier in the evening.

“Oh,” Merlin cursed under his breath, “I’ll just,” He made a motion to the door and took a step backward.

“Close the door, you idiot. The food is going cold.”

“Huh?” Merlin said.

Arthur ignored him and poured two goblets of cider (Merlin’s favorite.) He offered one to the Court Sorcerer who was still hovering awkwardly in the chamber entrance. Eventually Merlin closed the door with a flick of his hand, his eyes shining gold for a second, and took the offered goblet. Merlin held it to his chest, looking a little bit like a spooked stoat.

Arthur held out a chair, and Merlin took it silently.

“Well?”

“Uh,” Merlin said, eloquently.

“What was this about you turning into a bird? Did a serving girl corner you again?”

That seemed to break Merlin out of his stupor. He continued his rant about propriety and how Arthur had turned Merlin into a lord as punishment. Arthur just ate his dinner and sipped his cider, bemusedly watching Merlin chatter away.

After dinner, Arthur poured Merlin more cider. Merlin seemed to have gone quiet again, staring into his goblet with brows pinched.

“Not to your liking?”

“Hm? Oh, no, it’s good. Amazing, actually. Um, so, this dinner was for… I mean how did you know I was going to come here? You didn’t exactly tell me to join you for dinner.”

Arthur smiled, “Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin. You’ve come to my chambers every night for the past month, since your instatement.”

“Oh. Have I? Old habits die hard, I guess.” Merlin blushed, “I’m so used to coming here at the end of the day.”

“You still refuse to move out of Gaius’ room too.”

“It feels wrong to move out,” Merlin rehashed his same old argument.

“There’s a perfectly acceptable chamber for you in the East tower. You could have an entire room for your work.” Arthur sighed, “You’ll need to move out eventually.”

Merlin bit his lip, “I’m not used to it yet. It feelsstrange. I feel like I’m forgetting my chores. I keep thinking that I should do the laundry or polish your armor.”

“You don’t have to anymore,” Arthur said.

“I’m sorry I keep coming to your chambers. I’ll have to remind myself not to-”

“Don’t,” Arthur said a little too quickly. He cleared his throat, “You don’t have to. I mean, I don’t mind.”

Merlin blinked at him.

“You can come to my chambers at the end of the day, like you used to. You can join me for dinner.”

“What? Every night?” Merlin laughed, but his eyes were cautiously watching Arthur.

“If you like,” Arthur said, feeling his own stomach tighten into knots.

“Oh,” Merlin said. Arthur could tell he was fighting off a smile, “Alright.”

“Good,” Arthur said, his stomach doing several flips. He took a sip of his cider, watching Merlin out of the corner of his eye. Merlin was watching him as well. He felt a bit like a young boy, discovering the wonders of love all over again.

Arthur stood up and offered his hand to Merlin, “Join me by the fire?”

Merlin looked at the hand, reaching out but pausing before his hand touched Arthur’s.

“Arthur… Are you…Are you courting me?”

Arthur didn’t retract his hand, but it took a lot for him not to turn away, embarrassment and fear of rejection warring inside him. Arthur’s mind cycled through several phrases of ‘I can stop’ and ‘no, don’t be absurd’ and ‘only if you want me to.’ He must have paused long enough that Merlin seemed to take that as a ‘yes.’

Merlin’s hand slipped into Arthur’s, his palm fitting neatly into Arthur’s.

“You don’t have to court me, Arthur.” Merlin stepped up close to his King, his other hand reaching up and brushing Arthur’s hair into place. “You won me over a long time ago.”

Arthur heart picked up pace, and he tried not to shiver at Merlin’s delicate touch.

“Let me, anyways?” Arthur’s words were a little disjointed.

Merlin smiled, his eyes closing into small crescents. “Far be it from me to deny the King.”

Arthur huffed out a laugh, “Now that is simply untrue. No one defies their King quite like you do, Merlin.” Unable to control himself, he lifted their joined hands and kissed Merlin’s knuckles.

Their joined hands rested between them as they sat by the fire, Arthur watching Merlin conjure scenes in the flames.

***

Prompts (or any prompt) + Ficlets

#merlin fic #merthur fic #ficlets #merlin #merthur #artemis69

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