#merlin is performing magic in front of arthur | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years

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Merlin accidentally becomes Legolas/Katniss/Merida… you know the type;

He may be shitty at sword fighting, but Merlin begins to use a traditional bow and arrow and… actually becomes very good at it??

I imagine the first time he does it, it’s a complete fluke.

The five knights, The King, and Merlin are on their way back from yet another (frankly, ridiculous) quest.

They have been, of course, ambushed by a group of bandits, twenty to their six (six plus Merlin, though no one bar Lancelot knows about his magic, so he isn’t counted as a fighter). Though the knights outweigh them in skill, their sheer numbers makes it a… challenging, fight (meaning that they are winning, but far too slowly for their liking, and no one wants to admit it).

Now normally, Merlin hides behind a tree or in a ditch, and performs his spells quietly without being noticed, slowly helping and speeding up the fight. Except this time, the Gang was in the middle of a barren, open field, the bandits had disguised themselves with magic until the moment they attacked, and Merlin was right in the middle of all the action.

Everyone worried for his safety. There was nowhere for him to hide here, so they had to keep an eye on him, lest he get hurt (and Arthur sulked, or kicked off, depending on how badly he was hurt).

With nowhere to hide (and no branches to drop, or roots to trip people with), and one of the knights throwing a glance his way every ten seconds, he couldn’t use his magic.

He was currently on his hands and knees, Leon directly in front of him, Percival to his left, holding off four attackers between them (Merlin would marvel at how impressive that was if he weren’t otherwise preoccupied).

He keeps trying to get to Arthur, crawling between legs and over the groaning, injured bodies of bandits (he made a point to land sharp elbows and harsh knees into the more… sensitive areas), but with everyone moving around so rapidly, and the vicious swinging of swords and axes and maces inches above his head, he kept getting side-tracked and blocked and almost knocked out.

With a frustrated huff, he notices yet another bandit rounding on The King. Said huff turns into a pained gasp when he realises that Arthur hasn’t seen him yet.

The bandit raises his weapon in the air, seconds from bringing it down on Arthur’s back, but Leon is right there, and there are no branches to drop on him, and Arthur still hasn’t noticed!

The noise is too loud, grunts and yells and clashes of metal drowning out any sort of warning yell that Merlin could throw Arthur’s way, and he scrabbles around on the floor desperately; hands raking through sharp grass and over bloodied bodies as he stares in horror at the triumphant smirk on the future-King-killer’s face.

Time seems to slow (no magic, just adrenaline) as Merlin’s hands find purchase on a smooth, curved piece of wood. He picks it up without looking, at first intending to throw whatever it is as hard as he can in the bandits direction, before something (magic, instincts, periphery vision, who knows) tells him to look down.

He obeys, and widens his eyes as he sees the longbow gripped tightly in his right hand, and a stray arrow on the floor next to his left.

Merlin is no expert, only having actually hunted once or twice back home in Ealdor, when he was younger, but that was just enough knowledge for him to know roughly how to notch the arrow and fire. He pulls the two up quickly, a plan formulating in his head:

Step 1) Notch arrow.

Step 2) Close eyes.

Step 3) Magic? Hope?

Step 4) Come up with some sort of lie that explains how he managed to make the shot from sixty yards away, through a crowd.

Thankfully, it would appear that Merlin’s bad luck has given him a rest today; the first three steps go off without a hitch (the fourth will come a little later, when the battle is over), but he doesn’t have time to congratulate himself before he’s thrown into the fray, the bandits now obviously seeing him as some sort of threat.

Arthur finally defeats his own attackers, looking behind him in shock to see his unknown enemy lying on the floor, gurgling up blood and grasping weakly at the arrow through his neck. His head whips to the side, trying to find whoever had made the shot; his bewildered gaze meets Merlin’s for only a second before the servant is dragged to his feet, and promptly punched in the face.

He stumbles back and can just about hear Leon yell something from beside him but he pays it no mind, righting his balance once again and swinging his arm back, before bringing it down harshly on his newest attackers head. The resounding crack echoes over the field as the wood of the longbow splits in two on the bandit’s skull, and he drops like a sack of potatoes.

The fight doesn’t last much longer, each knight taking advantage of their enemies' fatigue, and Merlin using his now broken longbow to whack them in the shins or trip them up when they weren’t paying attention.

He was sad to see it broken, but two of his closest friends literally owned a blacksmith's, and he had easy access to the Castle’s armoury; he could get a hold of another one easily enough, as long as he survived the journey back home.

The battle finally came to a close. Everyone was exhausted, and each of them was sporting more than one hefty bruise, but they were all alive and there were no serious injuries, so they could be grateful for that. After Arthur had counted his men, and generally taken stock of things, he traipsed tiredly over to Merlin, who had abandoned his broken bow in favour of cleaning a still weeping cut on Elyan’s temple.

“Didn’t know you had it in you, Merlin.”

The servant ignores him at first, biting his lip in concentration as he carefully wipes the grime away from the wound. It was small, so an infection wouldn’t be too worrying, but it wouldn’t be comfortable and would make the scarring worse, so best to avoid it if at all possible. He hums in satisfaction as he leans back on his heels, Elyan gives him a grateful smile, and Merlin finally throws a glance Arthur’s way, before focusing back on threading the needle in his hands; it would only need two or three stitches, thankfully:

“Hmm. I'm not fond of hunting, but we had to for food back in Ealdor. Except we didn’t have fancy crossbows or hunting dogs, so we had to make do with hand-whittled longbows.”

Arthur nods, frowning slightly:

“Still, if I’d known you were that good, I would’ve demanded you had a bow of your own; that way us lot wouldn’t have to spend so much time making sure you don’t get yourself killed.”

Merlin smirked and quirked an eyebrow, but doesn’t look away from Elyan’s stitches, whispering an apology at the man’s wince before he speaks slowly, concentrating:

“Careful Sire, that almost sounded like a compliment.”

Elyan snorts out a laugh, but Merlin tuts and lightly slaps his leg disapprovingly, and he stills again. Arthur rolls his eyes with a huff:

“As if. Hurry up, I want to get moving as soon as possible.”

Arthur wasn’t the only one that noticed Merlin’s outstanding shot, and over the course of the next few day’s journey home, he received a multitude of compliments from the other knights.

Including an hour long excited infodump about the history and use of longbows from Leon, which Merlin eagerly hung onto every word of, a fond smile on his face (Leon was a noble, and had it practically beaten into him to not ramble, so Merlin always did his best not to discourage the man. That, and the fact that it was actually very interesting, and useful, if he were to keep up this charade that he was an expert marksman).

When Merlin finally had a moment alone with Lancelot, a few days after they had gotten back, he burst:

“Please please tell me you know how to use a longbow??”

Lancelot raises his eyebrow from where he was sat on the bed in Merlin’s room. Merlin was staring at him with unconcealed desperation, and the knight chuckled as he answered:

“Why? It’s not like you need any more training, that was a cracking shot.”

Merlin huffed loudly, running his hands through his hair as he looked back at the knight:

“I used magic!! I closed my eyes so no one would see and I guided the arrow with magic! Now everyone thinks I’m some master marksman! This is bad. What if next time I can’t use magic, or what if someone notices that I have my eyes closed when I fire?”

Lancelot clamps a hand over his mouth in a poor attempt to stop himself from giggling, but he gives up quickly, bursting into laughter at the younger man’s panic. Said younger man fumes, sputtering as he picks up one of the knight’s discarded boots and throws it at him:

“It’s not funny, Lance! I’m being serious, this is an actual issue!”

Lancelot calms himself, rubbing the mirth from his eyes as he takes a deep breath:

“Ok ok, sorry. Yes, I can teach you to use a longbow properly. Have you ever actually used one before, or was the hunting thing a cover?”

The red fades from Merlin’s face slightly as he realises the other man is intending to help him, his panic lessening:

“Sort of. Yeah, I went hunting with a bow a couple times, but not enough to be that good at it.”

Lancelot sighs fondly and nods his head:

“Well, that’s a start at least. Come on, I’ve not got patrol until after dinner, and Arthur thinks you’re busy helping Gaius, so we’ve got a few hours.”

So I imagine that’s how it goes for a while.

After their last big adventure, Arthur was reluctant to head out as a group again, wanting to give everyone time to recuperate and get back into the swing of things.

Merlin’s skills with a bow were bought up constantly by everyone, news had even reached Gwen (who gave him a proud smile and a cute little dance to congratulate him) and Gaius (who raised an eyebrow, and had much better skill than Lancelot at holding in his laughter).

Gwaine, Elyan, and even Percival were desperate to set up targets and watch him shoot shit (their words), Leon wanted to talk about the specifics of technique and crafting, and Arthur... well. Arthur sounded like he was taking the piss, but there was something else in his tone that Merlin couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Affection? Pride?

Probably not, probably jealousy and annoyance that Merlin is so effortlessly good at something that Arthur himself was average at at best.

Merlin manages to avoid it for a while, showing his “skills” off, but he and Lancelot are running out of excuses, and Arthur is starting to accuse him of being a fake who got lucky. Normally, things like that didn’t bother Merlin, and technically Arthur wasn’t wrong... he had got lucky, and cheated with magic, but that wasn’t the point. It was nice for Merlin, to be good at something, really good.

He was good at plenty of other things. Magic for starters, though not even Lancelot knew the full extent of his power in that area. But he cooked well (shown by the fact that the knights always scoffed the lot), he was a good physician (shown by the fact that the knights trusted him just as much as Gaius when it came to treating injuries and sickness), and he was a BRILLIANT servant, if he did say so himself.

But he never got any actual praise for that. Merlin hated to think badly of the knights, his friends, but they only complained when Merlin wasn’t there, never praised him when he was. Well, apart from Lancelot. And that had just started a bunch of rumours that they were... uh... boinking.

(False. Anyone with more than two braincells could see that Sir Lancelot was head over heals in love with the newly-promoted Housekeeper, Guinevere, and that The King’s Manservant had an affinity for certain a blond prat-King.)

ANYWAY

It was nice for Merlin to have a skill that others thought worth complimenting, and with Lancelot monitoring his practice sessions, correcting any mistakes and offering congratulations whenever he did well, he hoped it wouldn’t be too long before he no longer had to come up with excuses.

Luckily, Merlin picked it up very quickly.

Despite being clumsy by nature (though Lancelot is starting to suspect more and more that it’s all for show), the dark haired servant can consistently hit bullseyes from fifty yards within a month. The further away from the target he got, the less astounding his aim was, but that was to be expected, and another month later he could successfully hit a moving target from seventy feet.

A training session, around three months after he started properly practicing, he finally “gave in” to Gwaine’s begging. Lancelot helped him set up a bunch of targets, and fetched a bag of apples to throw.

Merlin put on quite the show, grinning at the uproarious applause he got from the knights when he hit every single bullseye, and every single thrown target. Thankfully the knowing, proud smiles between the servant and Sir Lancelot went unnoticed, and even Arthur gave him a clap on the back and an impressed nod.

The first time Merlin met the knights in the courtyard to find Leon holding a longbow and quiver of arrows out to him, he panicked slightly, but one reassuring smile from Lancelot boosted his confidence, and he took them with a quiet thank you.

(After the fifth time, Arthur huffed, and told him to just keep them. He was the only one that regularly signed them out of the armoury anyway, so it would just be easier if he just took possession of them.)

It settled everyone’s stomachs, knowing that not only did the group have a master marksmen, hiding in the trees and taking out enemies that they didn’t see coming, but that Merlin personally now had more than his frankly horrifying (or... horrifying as far as they were concerned) stealth skills to keep him safe.

And that (a master marksmen in the trees) is exactly what happened.

In the early days, it involved a lot of bruises; Merlin could fire well, but firing and balancing at the same time? Took some getting used to, and involved a lot of falling out of trees at inopportune times.

The knights, Gwaine and Arthur especially, laughed endlessly at that, but quickly stopped after a particularly tired and irate and bruised Merlin fired an arrow so close by Gwaine’s crotch, that it stuck his trousers fast into the tree just behind him.

At first, it was meant to be just as back-up; Merlin was no knight. He still refused to wear armour, and Arthur didn’t want his manservant to make himself a target... at least that was his excuse.

Really, it was because (as far as Arthur was aware) Merlin had never deliberately killed before. Even now, years into his Kingship, and even longer into his knighthood, Arthur hated killing; it made him sick, and took a lot of practice at compartmentalization before it no longer bothered him as much.

Merlin was his manservant, his (best) friend, the love of his life (secretly). He was not a warrior, he was not meant to kill, he was meant to be protected from that.

But alas, Merlin did not get the memo, and the first patrol he went on with his bow and quiver slung over his shoulder, he killed at least five bandits.

After the fight, it was Leon who approached him first, a concerned look on his face despite Merlin’s nonchalant expression as he checked over the string for wear and tear:

“Are you feeling alright, Merlin? You got a few good shots in there, you’re not feeling sick?”

Merlin looked up at the hand on his shoulder and the soft words, a confused look on his face:

“Why would being good make me feel sick?”

Leon tilts his head in sympathy, which just makes Merlin even more confused:

“The man you killed the other month was spur of the moment, protecting your King. But you... you killed a fair few men today, Merlin. I know that can be incredibly difficult at first, I just wanted to check in.”

The others had finally walked over to join them; Percival, Elyan, Gwaine, and Arthur looking equally concerned, whilst Lancelot hid his proud smile. Merlin just raised an eyebrow at them:

“You seem to be under the impression that I’ve never killed anyone before?”

Everyone (bar Lancelot) looks taken aback at that, and Arthur frowns whilst Leon drops his hand in shock. The King speaks slowly:

“Merlin, are you telling us you’ve killed people before?”

The manservant clenches his jaw at that and looks back down at his bow, resuming his checking of the string and its knots. He speaks lowly, and the knights can tell it’s not a topic he’s fond of:

“Hmm. It’s a tough world, Sire. I’ve done what I had to, to keep myself and the people I care about safe.”

At his dark reply, conversation stopped, and didn’t resume for the rest of the day as everyone contemplated Merlin’s words.

That is, until he was the first one to successfully catch dinner later that evening. At which he got an incredulous look from Arthur when he made it back to camp with his half of the patrol:

“I thought you despised hunting??”

Merlin didn’t look up from the hares he was skinning, and the rest of the knights tuned in, curious:

“No. I hate hunting for sport; it shows hubris and cruelty. Hunting for food is not only necessary and natural, but humbling, if you do it right and honour every part of the creature.”

Arthur, ever the eloquent one, stared at him blankly, and said, rather dumbly:

“...What?”

Merlin huffed, finally looking up:

“Going after helpless animals on horseback with crossbows and hunting dogs is like giving yourself a huge pat on the back for winning a tournament against an unarmoured, unarmed, unconscious opponent, and then calling yourself strong and brave for daring to fight in the first place. It’s an egotistical act of violence for no other reason than cruelty for the sake of cruelty.-”

The knights looks on him with shock, Percival and Leon at least having the decency to look a little ashamed. Merlin looks back down to the hares, and everyone notices the careful way he cuts at the fur:

“I’ve taken these lives to feed us as a necessity. The meat will be eaten, but that isn’t all. I’ll take the bones home for Gaius, the marrow is useful in a lot of medicine. The fur can be repurposed for winter gloves or socks. The organs and other bits that we won’t eat: I’ll take for the pigs in the farms, or the dogs up at the castle. In using every part of them we are... honouring them, in a way. As a thank-you for their... sacrifice.”

Arthur looks a little dumbfounded. As royalty, he of course had never really considered the waste that comes about with hunting, but Merlin, a farm-boy from a rural village who barely scraped by every winter? Of course he saw a deeper meaning in hunting. He would have to.

Elyan is the first to break the silence:

“You almost sound religious, Merlin.”

Merlin looks up at him, a strained smile on his face. As magic incarnate, he has a particularly strong, temperamental relationship with nature and her creatures, a bond that some might call faith. To be wasteful or cruel in any way hurts him in more ways than one:

“Not really, I just have respect for nature, is all.”

No one mentions the thinly-veiled insult, but everyone creeps closer, wanting to see the way he disassembles the creatures for future reference.

It’s been eight months since that first, perfect shot.

Merlin’s skills with a longbow had become a normal, expected part of The Gang’s experiences, but the knights never stopped praising and thanking him when he saved their lives (something that Merlin still hadn’t quite gotten used), and The King had apparently not stopped thinking about it for barely more than a second.

Yule was approaching quickly: Merlin, Gwen, and the Steward being constantly busy with preparations in the castle, the knights being run off their feet escorting emergency aid to the border villages for the harsh winter, and Arthur himself having every minute of the day taken up with speech writing, invite sending, and his other general King-during-Yule duties.

That however, was all to be expected, and of course did nothing to keep Arthur and Merlin from their annual traditions.

It wasn’t official, it wasn’t even spoken of, but the last evening of Yule, the night before the new year, the two of them always spent together.

The last feast of the year would finish, Arthur would stay to see his guests off, thank the staff for all of their hard work, and finally retire to his chambers, his tired manservant barely a hair’s breadth behind him. They would sit in front of the lit hearth (in comfy chairs that only they used), work their way through a jug or two of wine, exchange small gifts, and fall asleep in front of the fire. Their hands, dangling over the side of their chairs, seem to be creeping closer and closer with each passing year; though have yet to become entangled by morning.

This year was somehow no different, and very different, at the same time.

The King and his Manservant settled in their chairs, tired and already a little more than tipsy from the wine drunk during the feast. Arthur looked up at Merlin, the fond smile dropping from his face when he sees the other man’s features pulled into a contemplative frown:

“What’s on your mind, Merls? I don’t think I’ve seen you this serious since the start of the celebrations.”

Merlin looked up at him suddenly, his eyes wide, but he smiles and shakes his head:

“Nothing, nothing. Just thinking is all.”

Normally, Arthur would raise an eyebrow and let a scathing tease on the state of Merlin’s intelligence fall from his lips, but not tonight. This is the only night of the year that The King allows himself to entertain the idea that perhaps he and Merlin were more than friends, or at least could be. So instead he resumes his smiling, and looks back to the fire, taking another sip of his wine before responding softly:

“What about?”

Merlin hums, copying Arthur’s wine-sipping, before taking a deep breath:

“The future, mostly. You, me, Camelot. Secrets and truths, and when one might turn into the other. Soon, I think... yeah. Soon.”

Arthur huffs slightly in amusement. He knows that Merlin hides a great deal of himself, but he always becomes more cryptic after a few glasses of wine, like he desperately wants to say something and doesn’t have the power to stop himself from hinting at whatever it may be.

He asks his next question good-naturedly, a smile sweetened by wine gracing his face:

“The hell does that mean?”

Merlin lets out a short laugh, looking up at the other man:

“Oh, you know. Thinking about spilling all my deepest darkest secrets to you, at some point soon.”

Arthur snorts, saying, only for the sake of keeping up the charade they’ve built:

“You don’t have any secrets, Merlin. Certainly not any that are deep or dark.”

Once, Arthur would have believed that. Then, when he stopped believing it, he was angry about it, and now? Now, he finds he doesn’t mind so much. He is confident, he has faith, in both himself and in Merlin. He knows that those secrets are there, and Merlin knows that he knows, but that’s ok. Nothing either of them could reveal would tear them apart, at least not for long, so Arthur was happy to wait until Merlin was happy to share.

Merlin chuckled at Arthur’s response, shaking his head slightly before reaching down and picking up a small wrapped parcel that he’d stowed away before the feast:

“Come on, I’m a little nervous about your gift this year, so let’s get it over and done with.”

Arthur nodded, accepting the change in subject, and set his wine down so he could pick up the (much bigger) parcel by his own chair.

Merlin raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. After the first gift-exchange happened, Merlin had put his foot down and made Arthur swear to not go overboard on the expense side of things. Arthur may have been a prince, and now a King, but Merlin was still just a servant/physician; he could hardly afford anything worthy of a King.

He had a feeling that Arthur might’ve broken his word this year, but where Arthur had likely gone overboard with expense, Merlin had definitely gone overboard with sentimentality.

They swapped parcels, Merlin placing the large, heavy box carefully at his feet as he gestured Arthur to open his first. Arthur got to it, tearing the paper off without a second of hesitation, and Merlin allowed himself to smile fondly at the child-like excitement on the blonde’s face.

Arthur’s brow creased as he dropped the paper to the floor, stroking soft fingers over the worn leather of an old, well-loved book. Merlin took deep, fortifying breaths as Arthur carefully opened the first few pages, butterflies in his stomach as Arthur’s eyes wandered the yellowed paper in curiosity.

The King looked up at him, amused confusion on his face as he asked:

“Is this yours? I didn’t know you could draw, Merlin.”

Merlin gulped, and shook his head as memories of the exquisite sketches filled his mind; detail-perfect renditions of the castle, the town square, waterfalls and knights in action and people that Merlin didn’t recognise (for the most part. Arthur evidently hadn’t gotten to any of the pages with young Uther on them).

“No, not mine. This one requires a little explanation-”

Arthur nodded, carefully closing the book and holding it protectively in his lap as he gave Merlin his undivided attention:

“-I mentioned off-handedly to Leon a few months ago that I thought the lack of... of paintings of the late Queen in the castle was odd.-”

Arthur gulped at the mention of his mother, but nodded with a small smile when Merlin paused:

“-He said that when she passed, The King had everything to do with her moved to the vaults. He couldn’t force himself to destroy any of it, but looking at it, day in and day out, was too painful. We found the keys, with the help of Geoffrey, and went down to have a look, see what we could find. We didn’t tell you about it because we didn’t want to disappoint you, in case we couldn’t find anything.-”

Merlin once again looked a little nervous at this, and reached a hand out towards Arthur. When the man didn’t flinch away (if anything, he leaned into it), he moved to grip his shoulder blade, running his thumb over the exposed skin at the base of The King’s neck.

“-We found... a lot. Old clothes and paintings mainly, some jewellery. But then I found that;-”

He nodded at the book in Arthur’s lap, and tightened his grip on his shoulder. Merlin spoke his next words so quietly that Arthur almost doesn’t hear him, a soft smile on his face:

“-your mother was quite the artist, Arthur. I knew you had to have it.”

Arthur gasped softly, his eyes widening as he looked down at the book:

“You... you think my mother drew these?”

Merlin smiled at him, moving his hand to squeeze Arthur’s wrist slightly, before dropping it entirely:

“Check the back page.”

Arthur took a deep breath before doing what Merlin said, handling the book with even more care than he had before now that he knows who it belonged to. He turned to the very last page, to see an inscription written in beautiful cursive. Merlin recited it aloud, having memorised the words weeks ago:

“My dearest son, my silly sketches are able to hold only a fraction of our Kingdom’s beauty. I know one day that you will see what I see, treasure it just as much, and make it your own. You have my support, forever and always, your loving Mother.”

Arthur bites his lip harshly, lifting the book to press his forehead against the words as he shuts his eyes tightly, though that does nothing to stop the tears. Merlin replaces his hand on The King’s shoulder as the man shakes. He sniffles slightly, putting the book back in his lap, though keeping his hands wrapped around it securely, as he looks to Merlin:

“Merlin, I... I don’t even know what to say. This is... amazing. I... Thank you.”

Merlin smiles, shaking his head slightly:

“Technically, it wasn’t even mine to give, it’s always been yours. But I thought it might make a nice surprise. There’s plenty of other stuff down there, I’ll show you in the morning.”

Arthur nods his head, wiping his tears as he carefully places the book on his side table and gestures to the box at Merlin’s feet. He was itching to scour through the book, dedicating every single line to memory, but whilst Merlin had been nervous about Arthur’s gift, Arthur was buzzing about Merlin’s, and he was desperate to see the man’s reaction.

Merlin huffs out a laugh, but picks the box up, noting once again how heavy it is. He sets about removing the paper, much calmer and more methodical than Arthur had been, with his face pinched in concentration.

He frowns in curiosity as he sets eyes on the wooden box. It had a hinged lid, and a logo that he’s certain he recognises burned like a brand into the corner. He can feel Arthur bouncing in his chair slightly, and looks up at him in amusement, laughing once again when he nods excitedly back down at the box.

He lifts the lid, and takes in a shocked breath.

Inside was a beautifully crafted long bow; the wood smooth and varnished and carved, and a leather quiver. The patterns embossed in the leather and carved in to the metal at the base, match those carved into the wood of the bow, and Merlin traces soft fingers over the intricate swirls, stopping with a teary smile at the Pendragon crest, carved just next to a Merlin bird.

He lets out a breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding as he looks up at the excited King:

“Arthur this is beautiful. Gods I almost don’t want to touch it, I feel like it should be on display behind glass.”

Arthur lets out a laugh, obviously pleased with Merlin’s reaction:

“Nope. It will be going with you every time you leave the city, and considering how much trouble we always seem to attract, I have no doubt that it will see a lot of use.”

Merlin laughs, closing the lid carefully and setting the box back on the floor, before launching himself bodily at Arthur. The blonde laughs, wrapping his arms around Merlin’s middle with no hesitation as the other man mutters endless thank-yous in his ear.

The servant finally pulls back, settling in his own chair again, and the two of them hope that the other puts the flush on their face down to the wine, and nothing else. They look to each other with wide grins on their faces, and Arthur breaks the stare first, taking another gulp of his wine before laughing jovially and speaking:

“Well. Here’s to an amazing year, and hopefully an even better one, starting in a few minutes.”

Merlin nods, lifting his own goblet to tap it against Arthur’s:

“Here’s to the past, that guides us-”

He gestures to the book on Arthur’s table:

“-and the future, that calls to us.”

He gestures to his new bow, and they both finish their wine off, a healthy flush to their cheeks and fond smiles on their faces.

They fall asleep in their respective chairs, the same as every year.

In the morning, they wake with pounding headaches, a promise of a golden future, and hands intertwined.

THE END!!

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earlgreyinpajamas · 3 years

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what if arthur bumps into merlin as dragoon doing magic and recognises him, but instead of having the whole magic reveal thing go down, our poor pining arthur instead thinks that merlin has been cursed by a sorcerer or something and the only way to break the curse is true love’s kiss (because we all know this soft bub secretly likes fairy tales and happy endings, the more tooth rottingly romantic the better). so obviously our bby arthur goes after merlin (who’s running away cause the magic ban is still in place and he likes his head on his shoulders thank you very much) in hopes that he’ll be the one to break the curse.

merlin manages to lose arthur in a crowd, so arthur just resorts to waiting for his manservant in his room, thinking that merlin would probably come to him eventually for help. but lo and behold, it’s a normal merlin that comes into his room instead of dragoon merlin he was expecting and arthur’s heart just breaks, thinking that merlin’s got a true love and it isn't him.

and then from here we go down the angsty path of arthur being a noble idiot and pushing merlin away and giving him days off to see his “beloved” and merlin just being very confused and hurt.

and then we fast forward to arthur’s life being in danger again and merlin having to transform back into dragoon to save him and when arthur sees him he thinks that merlin was transformed back into dragoon again because his true love’s love for him is too weak or something. arthur is absolutely furious at the audacity of this person to treat lightly something arthur would have treasured and then because arthur is so eaten up with grief and jealousy on the inside he shouts at merlin to give him a chance and love him more than whoever he loves now, because arthur would give his arm, his leg, his sword, his kingdom just for a single ounce of merlin’s affections. and also, he will clearly love merlin more than this jerk.

and also, you know that line that’s like “if equal affection cannot be/let the more loving one be me” from that poem about the stars? that is basically the vibe of arthur’s speech. he is all like “and if you cannot love me, then i won’t make you, but please allow me to love you freely” and i am screaming thinking about it.

and merlin is just very confused and is all like “one, how did you know it was me and two, what true love”. and arthur is like “???? are you not cursed” and merlin is like “no???” and then transform back to normal. and arthur is simultaneously like “????” and also super embarrassed because he literally just went through the painful exercise of actually expressing his feelings instead of bottling everything up and it turns out that the situation was not dire enough to warrant that kind of pain. and he’s all like “all right, never mind” but merlin isn't gonna let this go and he’s just like “you love me???” and arthur is just telling him to drop it but merlin is like “that’s good cause ily too” and arthur’s brain just breaks and then maybe they smooch and we get a happy ending worthy of one of arthur’s favourite fairy tales.

(++ and obviously when arthur’s brain is no longer consumed with the whole transformation and true love’s kiss thing, he suddenly realises that he has just seen dragoon perform magic in front of him twice and if merlin and dragoon are the same person, then merlin has magic. and so he immediately rushes out onto the balcony in his sleepwear just to shout at camelot that the magic ban has hereby been rescinded and he’s about to go back in to cuddle with his boyfriend, before he realises that merlin is still kind of freaking out even though the magic ban has been lifted.

arthur figures out that it takes a while to unlearn a lifetime of fear, so he goes back to the balcony to add that he has known and loved a certain man for a very long time, and has recently discovered that this man has magic, but it doesn't change a single thing about him at all because he is just as kind and good as anyone else in the kingdom or even better. the point of his speech is: magic doesn’t change anything about a person and it doesn't make them evil. cruelty exists in those with and without magic and people shouldn't be persecuted for having done no crime. and perhaps here arthur turns his head a little to look at merlin with the corner of his eye, who’s just straight up bawling in relief at this point, and he adds that he’s sorry to everyone who had to live in fear that it took so long for him to figure out.

and so our favourite pair live happily ever after, with merlin helping arthur to atone for the sins of his father and bring about albion’s golden age. the end!)

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lena-in-a-red-dress · 2 years

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So, this is a little left of Supergirl, but I've been seeing some of @twisted-shipper 's post and it's giving me Morgana feels, so here's a little AU/stream of consciousness I cooked up this morning on my way to work:

Merlin AU where Morgana is discovered in the witch hunt, but manages to escape (with the help of Arthur) before Uther can sentence her to death. She flees Camelot and meets up with the Druids, and spends the next couple years learning how to use and control her magic. The witch hunt continues, however, and Uther's continued hunt for her morphing into another purge of magical people.

Morgana's premonitions soon become warnings of the next druid camp to be struck, and she learns to astral project just so she can issue warnings before the king's men descend upon each camp. She doesn't get warnings for all of them, though. There is still so much death, so much fear that Camelot becomes a different kingdom than what we know from legend.

Arthur does his best to curb the violence. When he plans a raid, his manservant disappears, scouring the forest to try and find the camps before the soldiers send their final scouts. His men are all loyal to him, and are equally relieved when they find a deserted camp, but Arthur does not lead every raid.

One morning, Morgana wakes with only moments' warning of an incoming raid-- not led by Arthur, but by the witch hunter himself. There's not enough time to flee... Morgana screams for them all to run, while she holds them off.

She saves as many as she can, harming as few as she can manage, but the result is that she is captured, and bound with magical chains that impedes her magic. She's a prisoner.

When she's brought before Uther for punishment, he can't bring himself to see her executed, and when the witch hunter points out that her healing magic could yet prove useful, Uther has her thrown in the deepest dungeon they have, chains and all.

When survivors of the magic raids are brought to the castle, the witch hunter tortures them for information on other camps. When they can no longer continue, they are brought to Morgana's dark cell, the witch hunter orders her to heal them so that they may resume interrogation as soon as possible-- or, if they are devoid of further information, so that they may be executed in the square.

The witch hunter has an amulet that is keyed to Morgana's chains, so that she may exercise only that magic that he instructs her to. As a result, when he says heal, she can heal the poor soul thrown in front of her, but cannot unlock her chains or harm the witch hunter in any way that could enable her to escape. But as the weeks of this arrangement drag on, Morgana learns she does have some agency.

When one poor druid begs for death, would rather die than face another round of torture and perhaps lead to his people's demise, Morgana learns that her healing magic can ease and speed his passing, and she does.

For anyone who asks, she kills them. With tears pouring down her face she takes their life and performs what druid death rites she can before the guards come to drag the bodies away. She's punished for every prisoner she fails to heal, but she endures it, if only to spare her people any further agony.

One day, Arthur is wounded badly in a skirmish. When the court healers basically tell Uther to start preparing a funeral, Uther makes the decision that will ultimately mean his downfall. He brings Arthur to Morgana in the dead of night, without so much as a torch to guide his way, for fear that the two will recognize each other.

Morgana is ordered to heal, as she always is, and with Arthur too far gone to beg for death, she does. It takes a long time, and when she's finished she can barely lift her head she's so exhausted, but Arthur comes to just as the guards enter to take him aboveground-- this time with a torch in hand.

In the flickering light Arthur casts a groggy gaze around the cell, and spots the dark, yet recognizable figure huddled in the corner.

"Morgana?"

Morgana jolts, as she realizes who it is she was asked to save. "Arthur...? Arthur!"

The door to the cell clangs shut between them.

In the days that follow, Arthur rests, but as he recovers his thoughts remain on that half-imagined figure he thinks he saw. The more he thinks, the more his blood boils with anger, and in that moment, his resolve hardens.

No more.

No more raids, no more interrogations. No more executions.

It takes time, and cunning, and the support of his knights, but he eventually deposes his father, forcing him to abdicate the throne. The witch hunter is killed in the skirmish, to no one's grief at all.

When Arthur finds the amulet, he clutches it close and storms into Uther's chambers, grabbing his father by the collar and leaning in close.

"Where is she?"

Arthur unlocks the door to her cell himself. The figure inside flinches as he enters, curling away from the light. With a moment's pause, he hands the torch off, instructing the man to remain in the corridor.

There's just enough light for him to see by, and when he kneels beside Morgana he can see her curl tighter around herself.

"Morgana," he murmurs. "It's me."

He reaches for her hand first, allowing her to register the gentle contact before he cups her cheek, tilting her face towards him. Green eyes flicker to meet his own, and thin, pale fingers tighten around his.

"You're safe," he vows.

With a touch of the amulet, the manacles on her wrists open and clatter to the ground. Morgana gasps, inhaling deeply as though she hasn't taken a full breath in years. Perhaps she hasn't, Arthur ponders-- he knows little of the ways of magic. The manacle around her ankle goes next, giving way to a more mundane key.

He gently helps Morgana to her feet, steadies her until she feels secure, then carefully guides her from the cell. By the time they reach the winding stairs up through the bowels of the castle, Morgana leans heavily against him, her breaths short and ragged with exertion.

Arthur pauses only long enough to sweep Morgana into his arms. Cradled against his chest, she weighs very little-- too little. He swallows thickly, glad for the shadows that hide the sudden tears in his eyes.

"Rest now," he murmurs. "I've got you."

Night has well and truly fallen by the time they return to the surface. By the light of a full moon they navigate through quiet corridors until Arthur reaches Morgana's chambers-- chambers he'd ordered to remain untouched after Morgana's escape from Camelot.

When they enter, it's just the way it once was. Arthur deposits Morgana carefully on her bed and kneels before her, finally able to take a moment to examine her.

Glassy eyes stare at him from above gaunt cheeks, her wild tangled hair streaked with strands of gray, and the wrists in his hands are blistered and bloody from the cruel manacles that had bound her hands and her magic.

"Is this real?" Morgana whispers, dazedly. "It can't be..."

"It is," Arthur assures her. "Uther holds no more power-- the purge is over. I swear it."

He can't tell if Morgana believes him. She swallows thickly, her eyes quickly darting about the room as though in search of something.

"Gwen..." she murmurs softly. "Is she--?"

"I'm here, my lady," Gwen answers for herself, bursting through the door with her brother on her heels. She's short of breath and sweating, as though she's run the whole way from the village, but Arthur swiftly rises to allow the woman to take his place before Morgana.

Gwen gasps a sob, half in relief and half at the state of her friend and mistress. But Morgana reaches for her all the same, cupping Gwen's face to bring their foreheads together for a moment of peace.

"I was so afraid for you, my lady," Gwen utters, tears spilling down her cheeks.

Morgana nods, not yet pulling away. "I'm so relieved you're all right..."

Arthur knows his time with Morgana is over-- for now. One of his knights appears in the doorway, his expression urgent; Arthur is needed elsewhere.

"I leave Lady Morgana in your expert care," he says to Gwen. "There shall be a guard posted outside should either of you need anything. I only ask you remain here until I return-- the halls may not yet be safe."

Looking at the two of them, Arthur knows neither has any intention of going very far from the other, and Morgana herself looks like she may yet faint from exhaustion. They would be safe until he returns.

"I shall leave you to it," he says finally, softly. Leaving the room, Arthur tries to focus on the seemingly insurmountable task ahead of clearing the castle of Uther's supporters and beginning the long campaign of winning his nobles' support, but his thoughts stray back to Morgana, and to Gwen.

He can only hope that Morgana will recover quickly under Gwen's care. After all-- he will need help ruling a kingdom of magic.

#bbc merlin #armor #morgwen #could be either #i left it ambiguous #angsty #dark #also merlin is a weenie #just not an outright evil one #i do not have a high regard for him in any au #sorry not sorry

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justaz · 1 year

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court sorcerer merlin and high priestess morgana being The Dynamic Duo in which with them both at arthur’s side, no one would dare cross him or anyone in camelot bc who wants to go against two of the most powerful sorcerers in the world AND the once and future king???? that’s suicide. a literal death sentence. hell no.

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 3 years

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Dumb Luck

Prompt: the usual "Everyone knows Merlin has Magic but Merlin doesn't know they know" but Arthur's being really fucking thick about it. Everything that could possibly be magic Arthur has brushed off as luck or something. At some point Merlin realizes that the knights know (or maybe he's known all along) and the knights tell Merlin that Arthur knows but he's being stupid, which leads to Merlin performing increasingly extravagant/impressive/silly magic in front of Arthur until the point Arthur just asks if Merlin would like him to acknowledge the fact that he doesn't care that Merlin has magic

no brain cells for these boys, leon stop hoarding them

Read on Ao3

Warnings: none!

Pairings: merthur, can be platonic or romantic who tf knows

Word Count: 2943

Alright. Merlin’s going to be honest. Is the absolute best at hiding his magic from people? No. Is he a damn sight near better than some other bastards would be if they had his magic? Yes, yes, he is, thank you very much. They would do quite well to remember that he is magic, and he’s had it since he was born, so he knows what he’s doing when it comes to knowing that he has it. Yes, thank you, he doesn’t go around doing every single thing he could with magic because well, then he’d never get to do much of anything ever again.

And that would be boring.

But yes, maybe he’s a little petty or lazy sometimes. Honestly, he’s just being efficient. Yes, he can justify pettiness as efficient. He’s just getting them back for something that he would otherwise have to expend so much effort doing. It’s very handy.

So the knights work out he has magic. Big surprise there, he knows. Lancelot is Lancelot, Gwaine is Gwaine. Percival stumbles in on him lifting too much a little too easily and cracks a joke about having Merlin pull his weight more on hunting trips and patrols. Elyan watches him fix armor and immediately clamors to bring Merlin to his and Gwen’s forge so he can actually show him how to fix armor.

Leon takes him aside quietly one day and thanks him. Merlin doesn’t start crying, he doesn’t end up breaking down into Leon’s arms, and Leon definitely doesn’t promise that although Merlin may not have been knighted, he thinks of him as his brother in arms.

Leon is very rude sometimes, as a matter of fact.

But Arthur doesn’t seem to notice.

Now, Arthur doesn’t notice a lot. Doesn’t notice Merlin shifting his chair a little bit so he crashes onto the floor, doesn’t notice Gwen spending just a hair too much time with Morgana in the evenings, doesn’t notice the guards that don’t even pay attention to the dungeons. Like, at all.

But there are some things he…should notice.

Like when a branch suddenly lifts itself up from a forest floor to trip a bandit.

“Bandits,” Merlin mutters under his breath, “why is it always bandits?”

He deflects a blow and sends one of them flying into a tree. Behind him, Elyan parries a blow and deftly clubs the man over the head. Arthur is battling another bandit a few paces away as one tries to run up behind him.

Merlin’s hand is out in a flash and the tree branch right in front of Arthur wheels up and smacks the man across the face.

Arthur whirls around and cuts the other man down, successfully putting an end to the fight. Around the clearing, the knights shake their heads and go about picking up the rest of their camp. Really, being far too calm for men who just killed a bunch of people.

Except for Merlin.

Merlin, while this is happening, is slowly coming to the conclusion that he would like to be swallowed up by the ground and never emerge again.

He just used magic, very obviously, in front of Arthur.

Is this the first time he’s done it? No, not by a long shot, but it is the first time he’s done it without any regard for whether Arthur can see.

Arthur turns and Merlin’s heart drops to his stomach.

Arthur wrenches his sword out of the ground and stalks over to him.

Arthur roughly grabs his shoulder. Shakes. Hard.

“Merlin! Merlin, answer me?”

“…Arthur?”

Arthur’s face is drawn. Grim. Almost his father’s. His grip hurts.

“Where are you hurt?”

Merlin blinks. What? Where is he what?

“Where is it, Merlin,” Arthur growls again, already looking him over, “where did they hurt you?”

“I’m—I’m not hurt.”

“You’re paler than a damn sheet, Merlin, you must be losing blood.” Arthur’s hand is…surprisingly gentle as it lifts his chin. “Tell me where. Come on. Now’s not the time for shame.”

“No, no,” Merlin mumbles, “I’m not—not hurt. Didn’t get hurt.”

Arthur slows, grim expression morphing to confusion. “Then why do you look so…”

If in doubt, poke fun at yourself.

“Just scared, I guess,” Merlin tries with a self-deprecating laugh, “wasn’t expecting bandits.”

Arthur huffs, lightly shoving his shoulder. “Leave it to you to be such a drama queen that I think you’re bleeding out.”

“’S nice of you to care.”

“Just glad I don’t have to drag your corpse back to Gaius.”

So that was…bizarre. Not the most bizarre thing that’s ever happened to Merlin, not at all, but bizarre. Arthur may be a little unobservant at times but he’s not that oblivious.

But, in fairness to him—which is something Merlin tries not to do too often—he was in the middle of a fight and had just killed a man. Knights may not be known for the smarts but they are known for their overprotectiveness.

Yes, he can hear you lot protesting over there, it’s true and you know it.

And maybe…maybe Merlin’s been getting a little sick of Gaius screaming about how secret his magic must be kept in broad daylight with the door wide open. Listen, if you think he’s about to get scolded by your parental unit and not immediately find some way to rebel, you don’t know Merlin very well.

And yes, maybe there’s a sick little thrill he gets out of doing magic in front of Arthur.

Maybe.

So. The next time they’re on a hunting trip and he’s as sure as he can be that there aren’t any bandits around, he decides to push a little bit.

Arthur is lounging around because you can take the prince out of the castle but you can’t take the castle out of the prince and he thinks he’s still about to receive the finest of dishes that Camelot’s kitchens can prepare. Well, no, but he is about to not have to cook it himself.

“Light the fire, Merlin, it’s not that hard.”

“Have you ever lit a fire a day in your life?”

“Sure, when I was training.”

“Training? You needed training to learn how to light a fire?”

“It was survival training, with the elder knights. Had to survive a night on my own.”

“On your own?”

“Well, my own campsite. They stayed about a league away.”

Merlin just sighs and crouches down. He eyes Arthur, who is tending to his sword, and then very slowly but pointedly sets the flint and steel aside. Arthur isn’t paying much attention to him.

Slowly, Merlin leans forward and lights the fire with his magic.

Arthur looks up. Merlin looks back at him. Arthur swings the sword off his lap. He sets it on the log, his hand still wrapped around the pommel. The tip of the blade points straight at Merlin’s chest. It gleams in the firelight.

“See? I told you it wasn’t hard.”

Is…is he serious?

As it turns out, yes. Arthur is completely serious.

And at this point, this is science, now, what Merlin’s doing. Experiments. He has to know the limits! He has a hypothesis, he has a method, he wants to reach a conclusion.

Hypothesis: Arthur is really, really oblivious to anything magical.

Method: do increasingly obvious magic in front of Arthur until he notices.

Conclusion: how oblivious is Arthur?

An important caveat: Merlin doesn’t know how Arthur will react to finding out he has magic, but he can burn that bridge when he gets there.

So when he wakes Arthur up the next morning, he draws the curtains with a flourish and when Arthur turns over and pulls the blanket up to his cheek in protest, he flicks his wrist and yanks the covers off the bed.

What does Arthur do?

Mumble and groan and stumble out of bed saying Merlin’s worse than his first governess.

“Wait, first?”

“Morgana and I snuck a toad into her bed. She quit after that.”

“You two did what?”

“Think there’s still frog spawn in that bed frame. Father had that chamber closed off for a while.”

“You—eat your breakfast, you prat.”

“You’re the one that pulled my blankets away!”

…okay, so he needs to take it up a notch.

One of the ones that pisses Gaius off the most is when Merlin uses magic to polish multiple pieces of Arthur’s armor at the same time. So when Arthur is at his desk, Merlin lays his shield across his lap and grabs two polishing rags. He sets the can of polish next to him and starts working on the shield. When he’s sure Arthur is focusing, he uses his magic to lift the breastplate up next to him and start to beat out the dents.

“Merlin,” Arthur sighs, “can you keep it down any?”

Showtime. “Don’t know what you mean, sire.”

“That bloody racket! Can you at least be a little quieter?”

“What racket?”

Arthur shoves the paper away from him and glares at the ceiling. “That banging! It’s so loud I can barely hear myself think!”

“It’s no louder than you normally are, sire.”

“Oh, you—I ought to—“ Arthur just mutters to himself as he claps his hands over his ears.

But he never looks toward Merlin.

Huh.

So maybe Arthur isn’t ignoring him because he’s oblivious. Maybe…maybe he knows already and is…is trying to protect Merlin.

Uther is still King of Camelot. Morgana is outspoken against his cruelty but he is still very much in charge. There’s only so much protection the knights can afford him. There’s only so much protection Arthur can afford him.

So…so maybe Arthur is pretending he doesn’t see because he knows he can’t save Merlin if he has to acknowledge it.

Merlin takes a few days to process that. The knights are concerned, they ask him what’s wrong, what does he need, how can they help? He waves them off, says he’s just thinking.

“Maybe,” Lancelot says kindly, “but with you, Merlin, you’re never just thinking.”

“Or at least it doesn’t stay that way for very long,” Gwaine agrees, slinging an arm around Merlin’s shoulders, “and I don’t know about you lot but I like a little bit of forewarning before I wake up to ale in my shoes.”

“You asked for another round, you didn’t say where.”

“Why the hell would I want them in my shoes?”

Gwaine does what Gwaine always does and steers the attention away from Merlin, leaving Leon and Lancelot to carefully prod him a little more privately. He waves them off too, even though he’s sure he isn’t keeping as much as he would like to be from Leon.

Merlin stops using his magic as much. He does his chores as much as he can using his two hands, lugs buckets of water without complaint, polishes armor until his nose burns and his eyes sting. He uses his magic for particularly stubborn stains in his room and keeps a sharper eye out for how to move this bandit’s sword a little to the right, or how to make this knight’s staff a little heavier.

He thinks Arthur is trying to hide for him, so he hides for Arthur.

Then he can’t hide.

A sorcerer is threatening to collapse the walls of Camelot in on themselves. The entire citadel shakes as Merlin and the knights rush out, dragging as many people as they can. The stone trembles and the wood groans and there are screams. More screams than Merlin could ever bear to hear join the chorus of more than he could ever know that plague him every time he closes his eyes.

He shuts them anyway and runs.

He runs away from the knights, magic pushing him faster, faster, faster with the need to protect the castle, protect the people, protect Arthur. The sorcerer is pulling him away from his people and for that…for that, he must pay.

By the time he gets to the field, it is rippling with magic. Merlin’s fingertips, his ears, even his nose tingles as he rushes deeper, deeper, deeper, trying to get to the eye of the storm.

There, in the middle of a patch of grass, stands a sorcerer. In robes deeper than night and hair whipped up in the wind of the spell.

Merlin grits his teeth and says no.

And when the Greatest Sorcerer to Ever Walk the Earth calls, Magic answers.

The sorcerer is dust before he manages to open his mouth. The field settles. Magic returns to the earth. And Merlin collapses to his knees as the knights run up behind him.

He isn’t a fool, despite what others may have led you to believe. He knows this was magic, could only be magic, and could only be stopped by magic.

So when the knights rush up to him and collapse to their knees around him, muttering that he’s alright, he did it, he’s safe, he did it, is he hurt, all he can think of is how he’s going to have to explain this to Arthur.

They tell him he doesn’t need to explain anything. That Arthur already knows, that he doesn’t care.

Merlin doesn’t believe them. Even if he saved Camelot, which he’s already done, he has magic. He used magic to do it.

They tell him again that it doesn’t matter, that Arthur doesn’t, won’t care.

But Merlin still has to tell him.

“Tell me what?”

+1.

Arthur rushes into the clearing. He can hear him behind them. He can’t find it in him to get up. The knights are still around him, he can hear Lancelot’s voice in his ear, feel Leon’s hands on his shoulders, but he can’t move. Can’t speak.

“Tell me what,” Arthur repeats, and oh, he sounds angry, “what is it?”

“Merlin,” someone—Gwaine—is muttering, “Merlin, it’s alright, he won’t care, he doesn’t care—“

“Of course I care,” comes the cold, cold voice and Gwaine falters, “now move.”

Merlin’s chest clenches. There’s the sharp sing of steel as Gwaine draws his sword.

“Put it down.”

“Nope, can’t do that.”

Then Leon stands up. “Arthur, please think carefully about this.”

“I don’t have to think carefully about anything. Merlin is hurt, let me tend to him. He’s mine.”

“You won’t hurt him.”

“No, I certainly don’t intend to, so move.”

Lancelot’s hands are the last to leave him. Merlin is cold. It’s so cold. His magic buries deep inside his chest and it feels hard to breathe.

Boots. Boots on the ground in front of him. They flatten the grass as a shadow blocks the light. Armor creaks as the figure kneels down. A gauntleted hand cups his chin.

“Merlin,” comes a voice that’s soft, too soft, “Merlin, I need you to look at me.”

And what is he supposed to do, disobey?

Arthur’s face is too warm when Merlin looks up at him. His mouth tugs up into a little smile as Merlin finally makes eye contact with him.

“There you are,” he says, still in that soft voice that doesn’t make sense, “now, are you hurt?”

Merlin can only blink.

“Merlin,” he says, and his voice is a little firmer as he cups Merlin’s chin properly, “are you hurt? What happened?”

His throat is too dry. “Not hurt.”

Arthur relaxes, only marginally. “Then why do you look so upset?”

The world could collapse and Merlin would be frozen here, trapped in the silence of Arthur’s gaze.

Unbidden, his eyes flash gold.

Arthur takes a sharp breath in. Merlin braces for a hit only for—

“Oh, you idiot,” Arthur whispers, “do I actually need to tell you I don’t care if you have magic?”

Pause.

Go back.

One more time.

What?

“I don’t care, you idiot,” he says in a tone that is too fond, “I don’t care that you have magic. You have it, you’re still Merlin, I don’t care.”

Rough metal gauntlets cup his face and oh—it’s cold—

“Merlin, look at me.”

“I—I am.”

“No, look.”

He blinks and has to focus on looking at Arthur.

“I’m not mad,” Arthur says firmly, “and I don’t care that you have magic.”

Merlin starts to laugh. Because of course, of course, Arthur doesn’t care. He’s been so stupid. Arthur doesn’t care. Arthur doesn’t care. He’s doubled over before he can stop himself. The laughs keep pouring out of him, his magic rushing back to his fingers, his nose, his chest. He laughs long and loud and hard and then Arthur is murmuring at him again because no, no, he isn’t laughing anymore, he’s crying.

“Come here, you big baby,” Arthur murmurs, tucking him into the gentlest embrace he’s ever had from someone wearing armor, “yes, there you go, that’s it.”

He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care.

Arthur has known Merlin has magic and he doesn’t care.

…wait, does that make Merlin the oblivious one?

Nah, that couldn’t be it.

It’s not like Arthur is hiding anything else from Merlin.

#dragonbabbles #fic #merlin #merlin bbc #bbc merlin #merthur #merthur fic #arthur pendragon

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inalandofclotpoles · 3 years

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What if Arthur saw Merlin’s eyes turn gold, he just didn’t know it was a sign of magic. Like had he ever seen actual sorcerers practicing actual magic? In front of him? I don’t think so. The Great Purge happened when he was a kid so he couldn’t see it performed just casually. And then the only magic he came across (that he knew of) was when someone was trying to kill him. And that wasn’t really out in the open. So yeah, he saw Merlins eyes turn gold (he might not be the brightest, but he’s not blind), he just didn’t know this was a sign of magic. He just thought that’s what Merlin’s eyes did. I mean he does think “Merlin is a wonder” so his eyes might as well occasionally turn gold

#i found this in my notes #i agree with my past self #our boy is oblivious #and in love #and absolutely loves merlins gold eyes #arthur pendragon #merlin #merthur #merlin x arthur #bi arthur pendragon #merlin hc #merlin headcanons #mine #bbc merlin

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aftertheskyy · 3 years

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The Horn of Cathbhad

Imagine it’s the early 2000s. It’s been 1500 years since Camlann and Merlin is still waiting for Arthur.

Every now and then, he performs a spell that allows him to remember specific moments from Camelot.

But one day the spell goes horrifically wrong and Camelot is gone from Merlin’s mind. Albion, Arthur, Gaius...everything.

Flash forward some time, and he’s living in a busy city somewhere as a historian or archeologist, going by a different name. He’s a whole new person-- one who isn’t aware of his magic, who doesn’t know he’s immortal. But he still wears scarves sometimes.

Anyways, he and his team are at an old excavation site one day-- it looks like Stonehenge, but smaller.

And at one point they come across this old horn. It has ancient patterns engraved on the sides, but there’s a haunting elegance about it.

As a joke, Merlin blows the horn. And all of a sudden, there’s this blinding white light that knocks everyone out-- everyone except Merlin.

Confused, Merlin walks towards it, only to find a man standing in front of him.

He’s wearing chainmail and a red cape, and when he speaks his name, Merlin is terrified.

“Who are you?” He asks the blond figure in front of him. The man’s face lights up at the sound of Merlin’s voice.

“Merlin! It’s me. It’s Arthur. I’m not supposed come back yet, but I don’t know why I’m here- what on earth are you wearing?”

“Who’s Merlin? My name is Will,” Merlin replies. And Arthur’s face falls.

“This isn’t funny, Merlin. I don’t know what’s going on.”

And when Merlin is still not recognizing him, Arthur realizes that something has happened to his friend.

Slowly, he backs away, bowing his head and apologizing for the confusion.

But just before the Veil closes, Merlin gets a sudden flash-- and he remembers everything.

It all comes back to him: Arthur dying, the knights, Camelot, Uther’s ghost...he’s himself again.

But when he recovers, he screams out for Arthur, but the Veil is closed, Arthur is gone, and Merlin’s alone.

He’s desperately trying to blow the horn again and again with what little air he has left from his panic, because Arthur came back, and I didn’t know it was him.

He goes home that day, not speaking to anyone. His memories are back and everything is just changing way to quickly for him to process.

And he gets back to his apartment and just...breaks down into tears, staring at the horn in his hand, cursing it for taking Arthur away from him too soon.

He doesn’t leave his home for a week, trying to recover from the whole experience and the emotional pain of seeing Arthur.

He tries to remember what Gaius had told him and Arthur about the horn back when they were in Camelot. Back when Gaius was alive. How could I have forgotten Gaius? He asks himself.

Just thinking about it is too painful, but if there’s another way to see Arthur, he tells himself he needs to find it.

And then he remembers Beltane. Once a year, the Veil opens.

And he begins to plan for the next year.

Flash forward again, and Merlin is standing once more at the Great Stones of Nemeton, the horn in his hand, ready to bring Arthur back.

And this time, he rushes into the Veil, crying as he sees Arthur in his beautiful cape, unable to express his joy in seeing the light shining off his hair.

They’re finally reunited-- Merlin explains everything that happened the previous year and Arthur explains that he’s technically not supposed to be called out of Avalon until it’s his time.

But they’re both so overjoyed to just finally see each other again, that what might happen next year doesn’t even matter.

Time passes much too quickly, and the Veil is about to close again.

Careful not to look back, Arthur says goodbye to Merlin.

“Wait for me,” he says. “I’m coming soon, I promise.”

And the Veil closes, leaving Merlin alone again, but this time, with the promise of Arthur’s return.

#bbc merlin #merlin bbc #merlin #merlin emrys #merlin headcanons #merlin au #arthur pendragon #merthur headcanon #merthur #knights of the round table #knights of camelot

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sergeantsporks · 3 years

Text

What Greater Good Do I Have Than You?

Rating: Gen, General Audiences

The titans' hunger must be sated, Merlin knows this. But he wishes he weren't the one who had to do it

@alovesongshewrote said something about “do you think Merlin would kill Douxie for the greater good” and my brain went clickity clack and here we are :D

Ao3

The titans had to be fed.

It was necessary. To maintain order. Balance. Magicians lived forever if not killed—and yet more and more would be born.

So every millennium, a wizard had to die. They had to be killed where their magic could return to the earth, replenishing the earth’s supply, keeping the titans asleep and the Order happy.

That was Merlin’s purpose. It was his calling. It was why he’d been born—to maintain the greater good, to choose a young wizard every millennium to die. To train them, to grow and shape their magic into the perfect vessel, then kill them like a sacrificial lamb.

To raise children for the slaughter.

Again and again.

Apprentices gained and lost.

It became routine. He had to kill them. He needed to kill his apprentice.

Not this one.

He didn’t have a choice—this was how the balance was maintained.

Not Hisirdoux.

He’d killed his last apprentice around a century ago. That one had been harder—that one had grabbed his hand, with tears in her eyes, and had asked simply, why? She hadn’t begged for her life, hadn’t fought back. Simply asked why. He’d needed a break, needed to take a step back from all of the killing.

Arthur had handed him an apprentice on a silver platter, his sister, Morgana. Considerate, given that the fool kept slaughtering magicians in his war against magic. A waste. So many magical lives lost, but none of them in the right place or the right way to maintain the balance.

But Morgana grew too powerful too fast. She forged her own path, far too quickly. Merlin wasn’t able to shape her magic, and she never listened to him.

So when he stumbled across a spellcaster nearly getting his head sliced off by Arthur’s knights, he stepped in. The boy was appropriately grateful. Said he owed Merlin his life.

Something about that hit a nerve. Something about… never mind. It didn’t matter. He had an appropriate sacrifice, and it was time to begin to mold his magic.

Hisirdoux was one of the worst apprentices Merlin had ever had. He was clumsy, used magic as a shortcut to everything, and didn’t follow instructions properly ever.

It was all oddly endearing.

And as he spent more and more time with Hisirdoux (and he had to spend lots of time with him, had to oversee most of his training personally instead of assigning a book to read, because the boy would not learn the spell right if he just read it out of a book, by the seven rings, Merlin was starting to think he was doing it on purpose) he started to… grow fond of him. He found himself wondering if he could skip the sacrifice this time.

But that was ridiculous. He couldn’t—even if he did, Hisirdoux wouldn’t live long enough for it to matter, because the Order would note the lack in the balance, the titans would awaken, and they would all be destroyed.

Maybe he could find a replacement?

What was he thinking?! He’d never taken more than one apprentice at a time, what if one of them asked what had happened to the other? He couldn’t risk Hisirdoux becoming friends with some other apprentice and then trying to prevent their death!

He still found some girl spellcaster anyway, rescued her from Arthur’s knights. She headbutted him in the face and ran away as thanks. So that plan went out the window.

He had time, he had plenty of time, he had 900 years to find a replacement. Or find a way to stop growing so blasted attached to this oaf of an apprentice who broke everything he touched and would likely break his old heart as well.

In the past, Merlin had always managed to find some flaw with his apprentices, one that he exaggerated in his mind until he could pretend it wasn’t such a horrible thing to kill them.

Hisirdoux’s only flaw appeared to be that he cared a little too much. His sweet, trusting apprentice that looked up to him. That and he was clumsy. Merlin could work with that.

So he blew his apprentice’s clumsiness out of proportion. He scolded him every time he dropped something, expressed exasperation that he couldn’t do anything right.

Part of him hoped Hisirdoux would get fed up with it all and run away, where Merlin could never find him again.

But of course he didn’t. No. Of course not. Hisirdoux stayed, no matter how many times Merlin yelled at him, always with that same quiet determination, always sticking with him no matter how hard it got.

He was so determined to become a master wizard, to get his wizard’s staff. Merlin almost wanted to give him one, wanted him to live long enough to become a master wizard.

Morgana was right.

He was an old fool.

And then, one day, he found his apprentice locked in a wardrobe, under a sleeping spell.

Even though he’d just seen his apprentice a few moments ago.

Wonderful.

He confronted the other Hisirdoux, and found out that he was from the future.

900 years to be exact.

Right around when it would be time for the sacrifice.

According to this other Hisirdoux, the Order had attacked them.

So he hadn’t managed to kill Hisirdoux. Hadn’t even tried, based on the way his apprentice treated him.

It was… relieving to hear. Far too relieving, he told himself, considering that it heralded the end times.

When this future Hisirdoux kept arguing, kept pressing him, he shouted that he wouldn’t lose another apprentice. He’d been talking about Morgana, but he realized he couldn’t lose Hisirdoux. He couldn’t kill him, couldn’t kill a single other apprentice, and especially not Hisirdoux.

But… Hisirdoux hadn’t come alone. He’d brought along a young sorceress.

The wheels started turning in Merlin’s mind. He watched as Hisirdoux began to train the girl. As if he knew what a master wizard taking on an apprentice meant—as if he knew what came at the end.

But still.

Still the gears in Merlin’s head clicked quietly, formulating a new plan. The timing would be tricky, there would be such a small window. It wasn’t worth the risk, he shouldn’t go through with it.

But then, timing things was exactly his forte.

Hisirdoux would get his staff. He would be a master wizard.

With all that it entailed.

Still, when Merlin gave him the staff, he didn’t tell him the price of being a master wizard.

He didn’t tell his apprentice his original fate, the fate he was now changing. No, that was a job for himself in 900 years.

They sealed away Morgana, and the gears once again began turning.

Wait 900 years.

Bring the frozen Morgana to the Primal Heartstone.

Free her.

Perform the ceremony.

The magic might not be perfect, since he never had trained her very well, but it would do.

Hisirdoux didn’t ever need to know. He could keep his apprentice, and he didn’t have to put his burden, his heavy, heavy burden, on his son’s shoulders. He could continue on quietly, continue on loathing himself while Hisirdoux lived a long, happy life with his student.

Yes. This would work.

It didn’t work.

Things went wrong from the moment the trollhunter woke him up. And before he knew what was happening, Morgana was dead, and he was back to square one.

Kill Hisirdoux, or put his own burden on his apprentice’s shoulders?

Merlin watched as his son tumbled down into the time portal. He was running out of options!

Douxie returned moments later with his staff.

Maybe it was too late. Maybe it was all over.

No. No. He’d spent too long protecting this world, keeping the balance, losing his own soul to do so. He couldn’t stop now, not now that he finally had someone else to live for. Someone that he was actually protecting the world for.

Young Claire insisted that they go after the trollhunter. Merlin heaved a deep sigh.

“I know of a way to put off the order,” he admitted, “It will delay them for a millennia—that may give us an opportunity to retrieve Jim Lake Junior.”

“Then we’ll do it,” Hisirdoux said confidently.

Blast.

There was only one way to keep Hisirdoux alive. And there was absolutely no way for him to not find out.

Merlin had the ability to open a portal to one singular place. One of fate’s cruel machinations. And open it he did, taking Hisirdoux and Claire through to a place below trollmarket, to the last remaining Primal Heartstone. He sucked in a deep breath.

“Hisirdoux. You wanted to become a master wizard. I have granted you your staff, but there is one last thing I must teach you.”

Claire balked. “I don’t like this place.”

Before she could react, Merlin bound her to the heartstone with his magic. Hisirdoux yelped.

“Master! No! What are you doing?!”

“To keep the balance, to delay the order, a sacrifice must be made. A sacrifice of magic.

“No! You can’t! Not to Claire!”

Merlin could see it. The moment the realization hit him.

“Wait… Were you… planning to kill me?”

Merlin didn’t answer, but he was sure his silence said just as much.

Hisirdoux’s eyes filled with tears, and he gasped like he couldn’t breathe. “This whole time—you were planning on killing me? From the moment you rescued me in the alley—you saved me just so you could kill me later?!”

Merlin created a knife with his magic and held it hilt out towards his son. “Hisirdoux, it is the only way to keep the balance! Master must kill the apprentice—you said you wanted to be a master wizard, well, this is what it entails!”

Hisirdoux pushed the knife away, standing in front of Claire, his arms out. “Then do it. Kill me, like you originally planned. Because I won’t let you harm Claire.”

“Douxie, no!” Claire yelled. Her eyes sparked with magic, but the place was designed for the slaughter of wizards. Merlin’s magic held her.

Hisirdoux’s shoulders were trembling, but he managed a smile. “It’s okay, Claire. This way you can save Jim.”

Merlin’s own hand was shaking on the knife. “Hisirdoux, move! I don’t want to kill you! If you won’t kill Miss Nunez, then I’m afraid I will have to, but I will not lose you!”

“No! If you want to kill someone, if you really think that it’s necessary to save the world… I’m not going to let it be my friends. The only reason I’m alive today is because you planned to kill me. I’m not supposed to be here—my life is forfeit anyway. So do it. Let Claire live.”

Merlin raised the knife, his whole body shaking so hard he thought he might stab himself. Hisirdoux squeezed his eyes shut.

Merlin’s arm fell. “I can’t,” he whispered, so quietly he could barely hear himself.

His son turned his face away, tears leaking out of the corners of his closed eyes. “What are you waiting for? Just do it!”

Merlin hurled the knife down to the ground with a clang. “I CAN’T!” he shouted. He released the magic holding Claire. “Kill me instead,” he told Hisirdoux, collapsing to his knees in front of the heartstone, “I cannot kill you, and you will not kill Claire. So kill me instead.”

“What? No! We’ll find another way!”

“I might kill him,” Claire offered.

Merlin transferred the discarded knife to Hisirdoux’s hands with a spell. “Do it. I’ve killed so many apprentices. I cannot continue doing this—please. Avenge them. It is only fitting for me to die at the hands of my own apprentice, after I killed so many. Kill me, stave off the Order, save the trollhunter. You’ll have a millennium to find your other way—I could have looked for another way, should have looked for another way all this time. But I didn’t. That is my failing.”

Hisirdoux dismissed the knife in a puff of blue smoke, offering Merlin a hand up. “No. No more deaths, no more sacrificing wizards to this. We’re finding another way. We’ll save Jim. We’ll fight the Order. But I’m not going to continue this cycle.”

“Is every life so precious to you?” Merlin mumbled, “Even a life as decrepit and horrendous as my own?”

“Every life. We just lost Jim—I’m not losing anyone else. Not like this.” Hisirdoux pulled Merlin up to his feet. “You want to make up for what you did to your other apprentices so badly? You won’t do it by dying. You have to live, and repair the mistakes you made. You can accomplish good things, I know it, but you can’t do that if you die here.”

Merlin felt his eyes grow suspiciously wet. “What could I possibly accomplish that would be greater than saving you?”

His son’s eyes teared up, but he brushed them away and nodded to the still-open portal. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

#toa #tales of arcadia #merlin ambrosius #toa fanfic #my writing #douxie #claire nuñez

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