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rainbowvamp · 3 years

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Willow

Modern Reincarnation AU. Merlin and Lancelot go through a photo album. ~1700 words. Lancelot/Merlin. No warnings apply. (Mention of car wreck that killed Lancelot in a past life.)

A late birthday gift for Mod @little-ligi, because I couldn't have made this fest work without her. You're the best Ligi 💗

There’s no need to print photographs anymore. It’s easy enough to look at a screen and and flip through thousands, hundreds of thousands of images. But there has always been something special about choosing individual moments, perfect snapshots, and cataloging them into a book whose pages he can flip through. Merlin has been alive for over 1500 years. Books are one of the most familiar things he knows. One of the only things that hasn’t changed much in 1500 years.

People changed, clothes changed, transport changed, but not books. Those had remained nearly the same. You open the front cover and you look at what’s inside, just like always.

After 1500 years of adaptations, it was nice for this one thing to remain the same.

So when Lancelot hands him the photo album, Merlin is about to break his own face in half with how much he smiles at it. It’s a good thing, no a great thing, that Lancelot has done. The photo album is a deep forest green, the cover embossed with “The Book of Us.” In silver letters that Merlin traces with his fingers.

“What’s the occasion?” He asked, almost unable to take his eyes off of the book.

“Today is the day we met in this life, 10 years ago. I thought it might be nice.” Lancelot’s voice is so sincere, that Merlin has to look at him, has to look at the face of the man that he has loved without end or conditions for 1500 years. Tears prick his eyes because of all the love he see’s in Lancelot’s.

“I love you.” Merlin’s voice is soft when he finally finds it, and Lancelot crushes him to his broad chest, giving him a stability Merlin didn’t even know he needed until he had it.

“And I you,” Lancelot kissed Merlin’s cheek and Merlin’s fingers itched to open the photo album, but he didn’t want to leave the circle of Lancelot’s arms. He’s content to just listen to soft sound of Lancelot’s breaths, feel the pounding of his heart against his chest.

It’s Lancelot who finally breaks the silence. “Would you like to see the photos, my love?” His voice is soft and nonjudgemental. It’s obvious to Merlin that either a yes or a no would be acceptable.

“Yeah,” Merlin finally says, composing himself to pull away and walk with Lancelot to the couch.

They sit and Lancelot waits patiently for Merlin to feel ready to open the book.

The first few pages cover the span of over a year, with so few pictures taken before Lancelot knew him, before he remembered. Several of them are pulled from Instagram, captions included. There’s one of an empty seat and a drained coffee cup, and the caption just reads “I think I’ve met the man of my dreams.” It’s from their first coffee date, Lancelot’s post-date instagram update. Merlin laughed aloud, almost having forgotten it. The next is a candid shot of Merlin. They’d taken a weekend holiday a few months into dating and gone for a hike. The sun was setting behind Merlin, blurring out his features, but the silhouette was so obviously him.

The next was one of Lancelot cooking breakfast, looking over his shoulder to smile curiously at the camera.

Then the first selfie they’d ever taken together, complete with Lancelot pressing a kiss to Merlin’s cheek.

The photographs become more numerous, after that. Some of them and all their friends. There’s the photoset from Morgana’s birthday party (She’d rented a photo booth “because why they hell shouldn’t I spend Uther’s money on bullshit?”) There’s the Christmas photos for the dinner they always throw at Merlin’s because Lancelot doesn’t have any living family to go home to. Arthur and Morgana pop by when Uther becomes insufferable. Gwen and Elyan bring their father by to say hi. Leon stops by with gifts on his way to Mithian’s parent’s house. All these silly little moments caught on camera and made eternal, printed and carefully organized.

There’s the set they took at their third anniversary, a gift from Gwen and Arthur (who had recently gotten their heads out of unsavory places and started dating). There’s the picture of he and Gwaine standing side be side, smiling like old friends despite having just met twenty minutes ago. Merlin has a bruise forming on his cheek, but he’d insisted Lancelot take picture, to commemorate. “It’s not everyday I get in a bar fight, my love. Humor me.” And Lancelot always did.

There’s the terrible sledding disaster of 2015, where Merlin had crashed straight into a tree, and had been having too much fun to stop it with his magic. This is a still from a video, shortly before the actual disaster occurred. By the time the disaster was eminent Lancelot was no longer filming.

There’s the pictures he and Lancelot used to sneak of each other, just to have. Lancelot watching tellie. Merlin having a nap on the couch. Lancelot unclogging the sink. Merlin folding laundry. There was no rhyme or reason, then, for why they took the photos. It was a fun phase, each feeling challenged to take the most mundane pictures, always followed by a faked whining or griping.

There’s the picture of them from two years ago, in tailored suits, surrounded by friends, making their vows, followed by a series of all their friends dancing. A professional photographer had taken these photos, but Merlin always preferred the less polished pictures he and Lancelot took themselves that day.

Like the one Merlin had taken of Lancelot after he’d shoved cake in his face. Or Gwen’s candid picture of them gazing at each other like the biggest idiots in love.

Merlin doesn’t know when he started to cry, but he feels a tear roll down his face only when Lancelot pushes it away.

“I hope these are happy.” Lancelot puts his arm around him and Merlin nuzzles his shoulder. It’s enough, right now, to feel his warmth and smell his soap and just be near him. It’s grounding in a way only Lancelot ever was. The years with Lancelot, and there always seemed to be so many fewer of those than years without him, always made him feel the most alive. The most loved. The memories of Lancelot were good, but they didn’t sustain him, not like this would.

“Come here.” Merlins said, wiping his face and standing suddenly. He takes Lancelot’s hand and leads him out to the car.

“Where are we going?” He asked as they buckled the seat belts, but Merlin just shook his head.

“I want to show you something.”

—

The self storage place they pull up to is one of the last things Lancelot expects.

“Come on.” Merlin gets out and Lancelot dutifully follows, just like always. He lets Merlin take his hand again and watches as he pulls out a key ring that Lancelot’s never seen before and flips through them.

‘I put everything away, every time I meet one of you.” Merlin explains. “I used to have to keep the houses, to keep the things, but these are more secure.” He finally finds the key he needs as they stop outside a storage unit. “This one is from when we lived in the 1960s. Found you in Wales, then, of all places.” He smiled wanly. “We had 10 years together before you died in 1968. Car wreck.”

Lancelot only ever remembers bits of pieces of his past lives, normally only the good bits. “You weren’t with me, I presume?”

Merlin laughed as he wrenched the storage room door open. “You wouldn’t let me.”

“Is that why you never let me ride in a car without you now?”

“Part of it. I also just don’t like to be away from you.” Merlin flicked a light on and Lancelot was surprised by the sheer volume of things that existed in the room. “This was all of your things. I usually give myself about a year to wallow before I pack it away. If it’s here I never have to forget it, but I can still come and see it, if I need to.” He drags Lancelot to the back. On a wire rack there are plastic containers that looks like they’ve been taped shut. Merlin mutters a quick spell to remove the taping and then digs through the box. There are books, folders, papers, but then Merlin pulls out a photo album.

“I want you to see this. Because… I don’t know. It feels important.” Merlin is a very very old man, but he still doesn’t always have all the answers. Sometimes he just has to trust his gut and hope for the best.

He takes the album gently. It doesn’t smell stale the way old books usually do, most likely due to Merlin’s magic, but he flips it open anyway, without question. The first picture is of him and Merlin, a different him, but the same Merlin, Merlin’s arm is slung over him and they’re posing much more like a happy couple than a pair of friends. “Who took this?” He asked, tracing the lines of Merlin’s face. He looks so much older here than the Merlin he knows.

“Elyan. He liked photography. Took well to most of the Arts that life, actually.” Merlin smile and flipped a few pages to show Lancelot a picture of Elyan with a painting. “Abstraction was sort of the thing, then. He does a good job of it.”

“I don’t know anything about art, but it’s very compelling.” Even in the dreamy old photo, which was saying quite a lot.

“I brought it, a few years after he died. It’s in one of the other units.”

“How many of these do you have?” Lancelot asked, turning the page and almost laughing aloud at the image of Gwaine holding Arthur in a headlock. The two of them never changed, apparently.

“Just a couple. There are quite a lot of units in each building.”

“You own this building?”

“I’ve been alive for 1500 years, my love.” Merlin kisses his cheek and Lancelot closes the album. “I have a lot of stuff.”

“We’re taking this with us.”

“That was always the intent.” Merlin closes the box and spells the tape back into place. “That was a gift from you, too, actually, birthday present.”

“I’m predictable.”

Merlin laughed and wrapped an arm around Lancelot, tilting his head up to kiss his forehead. “You’re sentimental, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He pulled Merlin’s head back down to kiss hims squarely on the lips, making Merlin finally pause for the first time since they’d gotten in the car. “Neither would I.”

#mercelot #merlance #minimercelotweek2021 #day 5: gift #I was gonna write a fill for Thursday based on stuff I knew you liked but yesterday was a wash for writing #but maybe I'll get to it before the end of mercelot week anyway 👀#mmw2021fill

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emachinescat · 3 years

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My Merlin One-Shots

*Crossovers, tags, character studies, and crack not included in this list. All links go to AO3 stories.

1. The Day that Camelot Forgot | Rating: T | Words: 6,444

A vengeful Morgana casts a powerful curse on Camelot on the day Merlin is named Court Sorcerer, making everyone in the citadel forget that Merlin – and his impact on their lives – exists. She can only maintain the spell for one day, but twenty-four hours is more than enough time for the warlock to get himself into some serious trouble. Written for Febuwhump on Tumblr. Day 24: memory loss

2. The Masks that Most Suit Us | Rating: T | Words: 6,152

After Uther's death and a mishap on the training field, Merlin chooses to suffer in silence in an effort to allow Arthur to grieve unburdened. But everyone has their breaking point – even the newly crowned king of Camelot. Written for Febuwhump on Tumblr. Day 13: hiding injury

3. Chilly Confrontations | Rating: G | Words: 5,905

Sequel to Frozen Revelations. After a near-death experience in a frozen river, Merlin's secret, unbeknownst to him, is revealed to the king, queen, and a small band of knights. Arthur finds himself facing off against himself and one of his own knights as he struggles to come to terms with Merlin's magic - and accidentally makes things much worse for the warlock in the process.

4. Pain Has an Element of Blank | Rating: T | Words: 5,019

Sequel to “I Should Not Dare to Leave My Friend.” Merlin is captured by slave traders who don’t need a magical artifact to contain his powers. After all, even the most powerful sorcerer in the world can’t run away if his legs are broken. Even contained, though, Merlin’s a force to be reckoned with – and he is determined to make it back home. Back to Arthur. TW: broken bones, slavery. Written for Febuwhump on Tumblr. Day 16: broken bones. Sequel: I Shall Have Lived a Little While

5. He Should Wear Armor | Rating: G | Words: 4,904

AU tag to 'The Crystal Cave'. While running from bandits, Merlin is fatally wounded by an arrow. An old man appears with a solution, but will Arthur turn to magic to heal his dying friend? How far will he go to save Merlin? "Merlin was dying..." 3x05

6. Frozen Revelations | Rating: G | Words: 4,783

When a stir-crazy Arthur decides to go on a hunt right after the biggest blizzard Camelot's seen in years, he doesn't realize that his flippant decision could hurt of one of the people he cares most about - in more ways than one. Requested by secret-identity-revealed. Reveal fic, whump. Sequel: Chilly Confrontations

7. The Neglected Neckerchief | Rating: T | Words: 4,701

A group of bandits torture Merlin in front of Arthur for their own entertainment, using Merlin's beloved neckerchief against him in the cruelest of manners. Now, Arthur must struggle to come to terms with a traumatized Merlin, whose neckerchief has been replaced by a ring of bruises. TW: strangulation, panic attacks. Written for Febuwhump on Tumblr. Day 21: torture

8. Knock | Rating: T | Words: 4,621

It is common knowledge in Camelot that one should never, under any circumstances, enter Sir Owen's chambers without knocking. Unfortunately, someone forgot to tell Prince Arthur's new servant. TW: PTSD. Febuwhump Day 10 - "I'm sorry, I didn't know"

9. Prince Dollop-Head and the Bear-Faced Monster | Rating: G | Words: 3,986

Merlin tells a bedtime story to a little princess, and Arthur is not amused. Pure fluff, with tons of bromance and fluffiness!

10. Ransoming... Myself? | Rating: G | Words: 3,786

Merlin needs Arthur to know about Morgana's betrayal, but is afraid Arthur won't believe him, so he cooks up a plan. How far will go to make Arthur see? Kidnapping himself seems like a good start...

11. I Shall Have Lived a Little While | Rating: T | Words: 3,661

Sequel to "I Should Not Dare to Leave My Friend" and "Pain Has an Element of Blank." The knights bring a broken Merlin back to Camelot, and he and Arthur are finally reunited. Written for Febuwhump on Tumblr. Day 26 - recovery

12. Between | Rating: T | Words: 3,656

When Uther finds out about Merlin’s magic, Arthur has already known for some time – and Arthur has no intention of letting his father kill his servant. Written for Febuwhump on Tumblr. Day 17: identity reveal

13. Not an Idiot | Rating: G | Words: 2,851

When Arthur jokingly requests Merlin's help with something important, Merlin takes it as a serious opportunity to prove that he's not an idiot. Unfortunately, Arthur's foot is in his mouth (again), and through his pratishness, Arthur learns something new about Merlin that helps him view his "idiotic" manservant in a whole new light.

14. And That Would Be Enough | Rating: G | Words: 2,752

In a moment of grief, Arthur says something to his newly appointed Court Sorcerer that he instantly regrets. Written for Febuwhump on Tumblr. Day 27 - “I wish I had never given you a chance”

15. Not Alone | Rating: G | Words: 2,749

Shortly after Merlin's father dies, an understanding Gwen comforts him.

16. The Great Rabbit Rescue | Rating: G | Words: 2,638

Spin-off of "In the Back of Our Minds." A creature in need, a selfless young warlock, and a big secret to protect - and Will is there to witness it all.

17. I Should Not Dare to Leave My Friend | Rating: G | Words: 2,174

An injured Arthur is desperate to go after Merlin, who has been captured by bandits. It doesn't matter that the knights are already out searching for the servant. He trusts them, but this is Merlin that's missing. Too bad Percival's his bodyguard and Arthur's as weak as a newborn foal. Written for Febuwhump on Tumblr. Day 2: "I can't take this anymore" Sequels: I Shall Have Lived a Little While, Pain Has an Element of Blank

18. Servants Are People, Too | Rating: G | Words: 1,982

Morgana gives Arthur a piece of her mind about how he treats Merlin.

19. It's a Zoo Out There | Rating: G | Words: 1,828

Merlin gains the ability to talk to animals for a day.

20. The Last Night of the Kings | Rating: T | Words: 1,653

"We are the folk and we have the right to stand up and to fight for an independent life." When does trying to free your kingdom from tyranny go too far? How many innocents must be killed, how many prophecies undermined? Based on the song by Van Canto.

21. First Impressions | Rating: G | Words: 1,562

Merlin's arrival in Camelot... with a slight twist. AU

22. The Royal and the Restless | Rating: G | Words: 1,554

Arthur can't get to sleep, Merlin helps him out in an unexpected way.

23. Different | Rating: G | Words: 1,192

Little Merlin's mother talks to him, trying to explain to her young son that he is different and special.

24. Nothing | Rating: G | Words: 1,155

"The scariest thing about Arthur's reaction to Merlin's magic was that he didn't react at all."

25. What's In a Name? | Rating: G | Words: 1,050

Arthur tires of Merlin always calling him a prat, so Merlin takes it upon himself to remind Arthur of all the other names that he's called the prince over the years. Arthur is not impressed.

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foxofthedesert · 3 years

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So I just finished my 3rd watch thru of Merlin, and yet again am brokenhearted. Not only by Arthur's death and Merlin's grief, but by Morgana's tragic descent into madness. Though I loathed the choice, I always understood why the writers went the direction they did with Morgana. What I did not understand was the way they handled her relationship with Gwen. It just never made any sense to me that Morgana could be so cruel to someone she clearly loved very deeply - even if only in the platonic sense. To me, it seemed like the Morgana that existed at the end of season 2 was replaced by a totally different, inexplicably cruel and insufferably smirky one by the start of season 3.

Still, prophecies need fulfilled and such, and after all it is a fantasy series based on a complicated mythology where Morgana sometimes is portrayed as evil. I just wish it was handled better.

Be that as it may, as a writer I tend to gravitate toward the untold stories within canon. That being the case, Gwen and Morgana's relationship is a natural attraction. I adore their chemistry, which makes them so easy to pair up. Since I am also not necessarily beholden to canon, that means I can imagine whatever the hell I want for them. Such an AU where their potential is realized before Morgause enters the picture to warp Morgana into her father's daughter.

This little piece is part of that. I may or may not add more entries in the future.

As a side note, this was initially supposed to be much shorter, but my fingers wouldn't stop typing words. Silly digits.

Ficlet below the line!

Morgana awoke giggling in an entirely unrefined manner. Her uncharacteristic bubbly mirth, she discovered, was due to a gentle tickling sensation all across her face. Once the wispy haze of sleep was blinked out of her blurry eyes, a familiar shape resolved into an entirely too handsome face wearing such a love-sick expression that her chest reflexively suffused with an affectionate warmth that quickly seeped into her very bones.

“What time is it?” she asked to the person hovering above her, voice still gravelly and slightly slurred from having been roused out of such a deep, blessedly dreamless repose. The pleasant tickling sensation began anew immediately after her half-slurred inquiry, and when she lifted her gaze she was greeted by rich brown eyes she would swear on her life she could live and die in.

“Just after dawn.” The utterly enchanting creature paying her such lovely attention continued to delicately and reverently brush calloused fingertips across the expanse of her jaw. “Sorry I woke you. I meant to let you sleep in a bit longer, I just really couldn’t help myself.”

A pause allowed a full, dusky lip to be pulled rather invitingly between pearly white teeth before her beloved added, “It seems I never can where you are concerned.”

Morgana smiled. A genuine smile, too. Nothing like the false ones she graced her guardian with, full of barely suppressed loathing and rage. Lately she had been consumed by disgust for the man who so many times proclaimed to cherish her, a man who would see her burnt at the stake if he knew who she truly was. Uther Pendragon claimed to be a fair and just king, yet he waged unlawful wars against territories that dared stand up against his brutish rule and relentlessly persecuted innocents whose only crime was to be born different. People like her. People with magic.

Coming to terms with her gifts had cost Morgana both countless nights spent in wakeful torment over horrific visions that plagued her dreams and untold days spent wrestling with throat-clogging anxiety over the possibility of discovery. There were many occasions during that frightening period in which she felt as though tottering precariously over a dark, abyssal chasm at the bottom of which lie only inescapable madness. Every second spent at court was an exhausting exercise in choking down a nauseating terror of the tyrant who held the power of life and death over her and would surely decide upon the latter should he learn the truth about her magic. Meals were a unique form of torture due to the perpetual knot residing in her stomach and every event she would normally revel in was transformed into a dreaded affair during which she could scarcely breathe for the crushing weight resting upon her chest.

Frankly, if it hadn’t been for Guinevere and Merlin she is sure she would have already plummeted headlong into those foreboding depths, right into the waiting arms of a hatred no human heart could withstand without incurring irreparable damage.

If Merlin hadn’t told her the truth about his magic as he lead her to Aglain’s druid camp, the pervasive sense of isolation and desperation worming insidiously through her mind would have inevitably forced her into drastic choices. Even before her magic manifested she had silently nursed treasonous thoughts toward Camelot’s cruel monarch. What might she have done if the walls closed in so tightly on her she felt there was no avenue of escape outside of acting upon those unsavory impulses? It hardly bears thinking about for risk of inviting such evil desires back in to her heart when of all her attributes, it is her heart which makes her most special – or at least that is what Guinevere insists to be the case.

Thankfully, finding a steadfast friend and ally in Merlin had done much to ameliorate the suffocating feeling of helplessness she felt as a member of the court harboring so deadly a secret. With much diligence and patience he was teaching her to control her powers, to harness them for good, and to have faith that better days were ahead for their kind. It was also mostly due to the Merlin’s deceptive wisdom and boundless optimism – and to be fair what reasonable person could resist that impish, dimpled smile? – that she began to view Arthur through a fresh lens.

If she bothered to look deeply, as Merlin insisted, to ignore the chauvinistic bravado and infuriating superiority complex, it was not difficult to recognize Arthur’s innate nobility and compassion that existed despite his monstrous father. And seeing as Merlin was as stubborn as he was convincing, it did not take long for Morgana to accept with a cautiously hopeful heart that with the aid of loyal friends, Arthur had it in him to become to the greatest sovereign Camelot had ever seen, a king who might actually prove himself worthy of the people both common and magical to whom he would be sworn to serve. Of course, she and Arthur still had their mundane squabbles and butted heads frequently over political and legal matters, but in the months since Merlin began her training, Morgana had acquired a new appreciation for the young man who was to her as good as a sibling.

As much as Merlin had done for her, however, it paled in comparison to Gwen’s contributions to her health and happiness.

For as long as Morgana had known Gwen she had held the blacksmith’s daughter in esteem far higher than any Lady should their maidservant. What started out as mutual respect born from shared grief over the loss of a parent soon flowered into genuine friendship. For many years they were the best of friends, each providing for the other a refuge from the storms of life and a confidante more reliable and wise and loyal than could be hired with all of Midas’ gold.

By the time Morgana entered womanhood, her fondness for Gwen had only swelled to become boundless as it was profound. In her eyes, Gwen was the most wonderful person in all the world; none could hope to be her equal in breathtaking beauty, charitable kindness, seemingly endless stores of patience, altogether praiseworthy meekness, a silent strength surpassing steel, or in nearly saintly levels of graciousness. Gwen was the unfailing light to Morgana’s rapidly encroaching darkness, the quickening sun to her deathly pale moon, the Aurora to her Luna. She neither trusted any more deeply as she did Gwen, nor did she desire the company of another so keenly. As a result, they were rarely parted until retiring for bed, and then only by necessity of station. So inextricably attached were they Gwen’s friends often jested that she must have accidentally stitched herself to her lady’s garments at the hip. The noblewomen were not nearly so kind. Some of the more prominent Ladies in the castle questioned the innocence of their arrangement, going so far as to exchange idle speculation which painted them as clandestine devotees of Sappho.

If Morgana could be bothered to care about the rumors, she would have confronted the useless busybodies long ago. But quite frankly, their opinions on her relationship with Gwen mattered for naught seeing as Arthur dismissed them as absurd upon reaching his ears and, beyond even that, Morgana would rather die than provide the snide gossipers ammunition that might serve as tacit confirmation that their unwelcome conjecture was not without merit – which was in fact the case.

All the same, though, she took great pains to prevent them from reaching the ears of the king. Uther already disapproved of their unusual bond and reminded her of such every time she treated Gwen with an ounce of basic human dignity while in his presence. Rather than censure the prejudice as she might have no long ago, Morgana now bore the chastisement with pride. Were it required, she would gladly wear forty stripes upon her skin if that be the price of Gwen’s love. The haughty bigotry of her guardian could never dissuade her from the path her heart had chosen to travel. Gwen was far too precious to ever surrender without a fight, to death if she must.

For what felt like ages, Morgana had believed her feelings would never be reciprocated. And that was perfectly acceptable to her, so long as Gwen remained an integral part of her life. The constant yearning that caused her chest to ache, sometimes almost painfully, was something she could endure so long as Gwen was happy.

That perspective radically transformed the night Gwen’s father died.

The midnight bells sounded in the citadel as Morgana slipped out into the upper town. Her intentions were pure at the time. She had only meant to visit her friend and offer what support she could, no matter the reckless impropriety of her visiting the her maidservant’s home so late at night. Instead, one glimpse of Gwen’s devastation over the pointless tragedy reignited her rage. All too quickly it boiled over, allowing those old, bitter feelings to spill out as impetuous threats of vengeance, and not only on Gwen’s behalf but for all those wronged by the merciless hand of Uther Pendragon. For what felt like hours she railed, heedless of the effect her malicious speech was having on the distraught girl she was supposed to be comforting.

It was only when Gwen – sweet Gwen, kind and thoughtful and selfless to a fault – had been pushed to her limits that Morgana’s perilous vitriol was interrupted.

Casting aside station, Gwen grasped her by the face and made her swear to never utter such dangerous words again.

“My brother has already abandoned me and now both my parents are dead,” Gwen had said, lips quivering and cheeks stained by tears. “I can’t lose you, too. I can’t. I won’t survive it.”

“Of course you would, Gwen. You’re the strongest person I know,” Morgana had replied, grasping reflexively at lean wrists, Gwen’s hands having migrated to the back of Morgana’s neck, thumbs cupped round the front of her ears. It was the first time she had been embraced so intimately, and if it weren’t for her anger she most certainly would have shivered with excitement at the surprisingly welcome contact.

“I’m not,” Gwen had half-sobbed, voice hoarse from hours surrendered to grief. “I’m only standing at all right now because the person I love most in all the world is here with me.”

Morgana hadn’t understood the nature of that declaration at first. Not until Gwen tucked her lip between her teeth, her nostrils flared with what could not be misinterpreted as anything but raw want, and her eyes went impossibly dark. A sharp gasp of realization was all Morgana could manage as a response, so stunned was she that her most secretive and treasured wish was being fulfilled.

But when Gwen nodded, chest heaving with emotion, despair and fear warring with adoration in her eyes, Morgana could no longer contain herself. Suddenly all the pieces of the puzzle fused together, revealing the explanation as to why a simple smile from Gwen was able to chase away the storm clouds gathering above her head, or why Gwen’s chiming laughter kicked up butterflies in her stomach and a captivating warmth in her chest, or why even the most airy of touches from Gwen left a wake of goose-flesh in her skin. It wasn’t just love. It was destiny.

In retrospect, Morgana probably should have been as if not more terrified of crossing that final, socially forbidden line between mistress and servant, friend and lover, than she was of being magical. The thing of it was, the only relevant factors in that moment was Gwen willingly offering of herself more than she probably should and Morgana being selfish enough to accept.

They made love that night beneath Gwen’s threadbare sheets, and it was glorious, just as Morgana had imagined it would be.

All of their sorrows and anxieties and animosities drifted away like dandelion seeds upon a crisp summer breeze. Cliches regarding such unions suddenly made sense. Somewhere along the journey that began by laving the stiffened peak of a pert breast then languidly progressed into nestling her face into the delicate, aromatic flower situated between smooth bronze legs, she lost all sense of self. It was as if with each bruising kiss, playful nibble, and greedy draw with open mouth, she and Gwen were merging into one being. Gwen’s throaty noises and keening pleas reverberated through her every muscle fiber, down even into the very marrow of her bones. Gwen’s intoxicating flavor permeated her senses until it was all she could taste or smell. And Gwen’s gratification became hers as her hand slipped beneath her ridiculously extravagant undergarments to relieve the desperate pressure upon a mound so slick with arousal that the sound of her feverish rubbing was positively obscene.

Mere heartbeats after Gwen went taut with a silent scream, stars exploded behind Morgana’s eyes as the most exquisite mixture of pleasure and pain engulfed her mind and set her nether regions aflame. Spent and unable to control her trembling limbs, she collapsed across Gwen’s heaving chest. Strong arms immediately wrapped around underneath her arms to pull her in tight, and as she buried her nose in the damp curls at Gwen’s neck, all she could do was weep, utterly overcome by an unspeakable joy she understood without needing to ask was fully mutual. They fell asleep like that, Morgana stretched across Gwen, encased in an embrace that felt like a subconscious announcement of a claim upon her, heart and soul and body, something she not only welcomed but reveled in.

Wonderful thoughts about publicly belonging to Gwen lulled Morgana into a peaceful sleep that went markedly undisturbed.

In the pale light of morning she was still so drunken upon pure, heady, all consuming bliss to realize she would be missed if she did make an appearance in the castle. Had Gwen not pointed that out, she would have been more than glad to spend the entire day wrapped around her new lover, discovering every last spot that made Gwen’s toes curl ‘til the girl was too exhausted to move the tiniest muscle.

Alas, the constraints of reality marshaled both of them to action, and so once they had dressed, they sneaked carefully into the castle by auxiliary corridors during the changing of the guard. By only the slimmest of margins, they slipped into her chambers just as the fresh patrol rounded the corner in their direction. Once inside, the thrill of the close call and euphoria over their consummated love invigorated Morgana into a passion she could not ignore. Overcome by a need – more like an almost maddening hunger really – to touch, smell, and taste every delicious inch of the skin she had feasted upon last night, she unceremoniously dragged a breathless, ruddy cheeked Gwen straight over to her bed.

After that thorough christening, they lingered together in a tangle of limbs, both sated and happy. At least until the sound of Camelot’s awakening resounded through the chambers from the courtyard below and with it the first doubts crept in. Morgana could recall the subsequent conversation as though it had just happened.

***************

“I should see to my duties directly,” Gwen had said, immediately rustling to exit the bed upon hearing Arthur’s booming voice rattle down the hallway, clearly a response to the latest in an endless string of mistakes by his loyal yet tragically clumsy manservant.

Morgana hadn’t wanted to turn loose quite yet, so she tightened hold around Gwen’s waist, halting the undesired escape.

“They can wait,” she replied between leisurely kisses trailed up a shapely arm. “The laundry isn’t going anywhere, nor is the evening gown that needs mending. Stay with me a while longer.” She paused to nuzzle into Gwen’s shoulder. “Stay with me forever.”

Rather than struggle, Gwen melted the embrace. “You know that is all I wish for. I love you, Morgana. More than anything. But…”

“But what?”

“What if someone catches us?”

Morgana scoffed, having missed the long term nature of the question in addition to the concern pouring off of Gwen in waves she should not have missed. It was not her finest moment. She hadn’t meant to be insensitive, though. The idea had just seemed so preposterous at the time because she had thought Gwen was only speaking about the present.

“Who would be so bold as to enter my chambers without permission?” she had said. “Not even Uther at his most disrespectful would dare venture such a trespass. We are entirely safe here. No need to worry your pretty head.”

Gwen shifted in Morgana’s arms then so that they were face to face. “I do, though. Worry that is. And I have to ask: why aren’t you?”

“Why should I be? For that matter why should you be?” Morgana replied. And then she met Gwen’s eyes. Large, and impossibly dark, and unmistakably upset.

All of the sudden it was impossible for Morgana to ignore how frightened Gwen really was. In response, her stomach twisted almost painfully and her heart fell as the happy bubble she had been floating in abruptly burst.

What in all the world, she wondered in a moment of regrettable obliviousness, had Gwen afraid of them being caught? Her brow furrowed as deeply as it ever had as she mulled around potential causes.

Certainly they were going to have to be careful in the future to avoid exposure, she reckoned, but Gwen was as fully cognizant that there were more perilous secrets both were currently keeping. Morgana’s ability to pull the wool over Uther’s eyes was well established, and no one else besides the two of them had unfettered access to her chambers. Besides all that, Morgana knew every nook and cranny of the citadel and was able to slip out and into the upper town undetected at will, of which Gwen was also very well aware. So there had to be more to it. But what?

Only one other possibility occurred to her, and it was the one she least wanted to entertain. And yet...

“Unless you regret what has transpired between us?” she asked at length, unable to disguise her own fear, which manifested through a faint trembling in her voice. “No!” Shaking her head fervently, Gwen grasped Morgana’s face much as she did the night before. “Not even for a second. I’ve lost so much, and I have much to regret, but not this. This is the best thing to ever happen to me. I just…”

Again Gwen trailed off, her hands retreating to clasp together against her mouth. And although Morgana’s anxiety had quieted with Gwen’s reassurance, there was clearly something still bothering her.

“Just what?” Morgana prompted, then reached out to stroke Gwen’s hair. “I hate seeing you so twisted up. Tell me. Please.”

A single, contrite nibble of a kiss-stung lip later, Gwen averted her eyes and gave her answer, “Don’t you wonder, even just for a second in the back of your mind, if what we did was wrong?”

Morgana very nearly sighed in relief. This was a problem she could easily remedy, as it was a one she had wrestled with for years only for Merlin’s simple yet profound worldview to unexpectedly resolve.

During the incident where Gwen was accused of using sorcery to heal her father, he had stumbled upon Morgana beside herself after a visit to Gwen’s cell. In her anxiety and grief she had confessed to having feelings for her handmaiden that although unseemly nonetheless had taken hold of her. Where she had expected disgust, she was instead given only understanding and compassion. In that endearingly provincial way of his, Merlin ensured her that love – if true and pure and unselfish, which he insisted hers for Gwen surely was – could never be wrong.

Morgana had felt something turn loose inside her at Merlin’s easy acceptance, as if her heart had been tied into a knot being slowly and perpetually tightened. Breathing became a relief once again. And as she learned to accept herself the way Merlin did, she began to hope that perhaps one day in the future a door would open for her to act upon her feelings without destroying what she and Gwen already shared. She could not have anticipated Tom’s death being the impetus for her to do so. Yet as awful as his tragic death was, it birthed something so infinitely precious that Morgana would never cease being grateful. And if only for the memory of that kind, thoughtful, patient man, she would never stop fighting for the love she shared with her beloved Guinevere.

“Gwen,” she had said, unsuccessfully vying for her conflicted love’s attention. Twice more she called Gwen’s name, and after receiving no response pushed up slightly on her elbow. “Look at me, Guinevere.” When large, uncertain eyes, brimming with tears, met hers, she leaned over so that she could press her forehead against Gwen’s. “We have done nothing wrong. Do you hear me? If you trust me, if you love me as you assert to, believe me when I say this. Something so wonderful and beautiful and perfect could never be anything less than rightly divine.”

***************

That phrase that swiftly became Morgana’s favorite answer to Gwen’s occasional concerns. The world at large, and most definitely those housed within the vaunted halls of Camelot’s citadel, would most certainly view their relationship as wicked and immoral and perverse. If that was indeed the case, Morgana did not believe she ever wanted to be either innocent or righteous. Their love was wonderful, and beautiful, and perfectly divine; an immutable fact which Morgana was determined to never allow either of them to forget.

No doubt lurked within Gwen’s eyes this morning, however, only unadulterated affection. And that made Morgana exceedingly joyful indeed.

“I understand what you mean,” Morgana at last said after escaping that precious memory. She sighed contentedly and shuttered her eyelids as yet another reverent brush of fingers smoothed along the crest of her chin. And while the diligent attention felt incredible, she grew increasingly curious why Gwen’s focus appeared to have narrowly fixated on that one specific region of her face.

“What’s the matter?” Gwen said after a bit of easy silence.

“What makes you think something’s the matter?” Morgana replied, still basking in the glow of Gwen’s magical touch.

“You have that telltale crease between your brow which means something is bothering you.”

This time Morgana opened her eyes. “I’m not bothered, merely at a loss as to why you suddenly find my chin so hypnotizing.”

Gwen sucked at her lip momentarily as if weighing whether to answer before a crooked smile bloomed across her handsome features.

“Well, not just your chin, but if you must know it’s all these little hairs…” And then she stroked Morgana’s chin again, this time allowing her fingers to feather over said hairs all the way down her jawline.

“Are you saying my face is hairy, Gwen?” Morgana asked, frowning as a thread of hurt pulled taut.

As should be obvious, she didn’t appreciate it pointed out that her alabaster skin failed to conceal what otherwise would have been a nearly invisible coat of fine hairs that covered all humans male and female alike. Arthur teased her about it relentlessly when she was a blossoming teenager, and even now some of the noble ladies who envied her would snidely comment upon how it clearly indicated that she was a witch destined for a life of barren unhappiness.

Up til now, Gwen had made no mention of that peculiar feature and Morgana would be lying if she claimed she wasn’t wounded that it would be brought up only now that they were in an intimate situation.

“No!” Gwen’s eyes went wide as the full moon. “No, not at all! I mean...well, yes, it sort of is.” A huffed breath of remorse followed Morgana’s gasp of offense. “Not that it’s a bad thing! I swear I meant no insult. I have some too, after all. It’s just less visible because of my skin tone probably. And don’t worry! It’s nothing like Lady Johanna’s fledgling beard. Not even close. On the contrary, they’re so tiny and delicate and wispy and soft, and I really am utterly obsessed with them because they are part of you and you are perfect, so they are also perfect by extension, and I just can’t get over how adorable they are, and I am currently babbling like a lunatic with zero manners. I am so sorry, milady.”

At the end of that adorable ramble, Gwen’s shoulders hunched in as her cheeks darkened and she yet again sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. Any insult Morgana felt evaporated as quickly as it formed. How could she be upset with such an enchanting creature?

Reaching across Gwen’s waist, she pulled her abashed lover down until they were flush, skin to skin from shoulders to hips.

“Oh, Gwen, there is nothing to be sorry for,” she said, legs instinctively parting as Gwen’s familiar weight settled against her. “My reaction is habit, I’m afraid, due to Arthur’s derisive mocking. It’s actually quite nice to hear a compliment for a change.”

“Are you sure you’re not cross with me? I’d understand if you were…”

No one with a functioning soul could be cross with those doe eyes staring at them, Morgana decided. She danced her fingers with lighthearted mirth across Gwen’s cheeks and over the ridge of her nose.

“Nonsense, sweetling. It’s no different than me admiring your freckles.”

Gwen’s features relaxed into a flattered smile. “You like my freckles?”

“Like them? I love them! How could I not? It’s like you said, they are a part of you, and you are perfect, therefore they are perfect by extension.”

In response, Gwen gave her an appreciative little smile before arresting her hand to place a kiss upon the inside of her wrist.

“So you won’t mind to be awakened like that again should I fail to curb my weird fascination?”

“Only if you won’t should I wake you by mapping the stars written across your cheeks,” Morgana said, then returned Gwen’s tactile affection with some of her own by again acting out her words with her own fingers. She was pleased when Gwen leaned in to the touch.

“I promise I won’t. I think I’d quite fancy that, actually.”

“Then I promise, too. And if you’re a good girl today, perhaps I will indulge your fancy tomorrow morning.”

“Well, then, I’d better get to work, hadn’t I?”

Eyes flashing with eager anticipation, Gwen threw the covers aside and made to get out of bed – a development Morgana was not prepared to authorize. Not only was she of a mind to lounge abed and cuddle away another hour or two, all of Camelot was blanketed in snow and she was loathe to be deprived of Gwen’s heavenly body...heat.

“Now, now,” Morgana tugged at Gwen, almost desperate with a need to curl right back into Gwen’s warmth and never move again while hoping she sounded at least somewhat the dignified noblewoman she was supposed to be. “Don’t be so hasty. Have you forgotten yourself and your duties to your lady? I haven’t yet had my good morning kiss.”

Gwen tumbled back into bed giggling merrily. “For shame! I have failed my lady most unforgivably. I shall rectify the trespass immediately.”

“See that you do, Guinevere, and promptly,” Morgana said, her eyes twinkling as her own merriment curved her lips into a smile. “As you know, your lady does not appreciate being made to wait.”

After a deliberately silly half-curtsy, Gwen draped herself across Morgana’s body, and once settled whispered her reply against Morgana’s already tingling lips.

“My lady’s wish is my command.”

The brief peck that followed was not enough for Morgana. Fingers winding into dark curls, she pulled Gwen into a much more passionate kiss, which lead to another, and another, until the embrace quickly evolved into tangling tongues and undulating hips. Soon enough, Gwen’s head was disappearing beneath the sheets and Morgana was having to recall how to breathe due to the magnificently excruciating pleasure coursing through her loins.

And that was how she came to be late for her first appointment of the morning, where she was relentlessly lectured about the importance of punctuality over manchet, eggs, sausage, and apples sprinkled with cinnamon. It was worth it, though. Her giddy grin throughout breakfast only made Arthur more bewildered and Uther more angry.

#bbc merlin #gwen #morgana #morgwen

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emrysarthurpendragon · 4 years

Text

Whumptober day 3 | Alt: Comfort

Where am I?

What happened to me?

Arthur? Arthur, where are you?

Am I dead? Maybe he killed me before I woke again? For our friendship’s sake?

Merlin’s drifted back into darkness’s arms; he felt safe, for now.

* * *

Arthur had been thinking. A lot. Near the fire, Merlin had been unconscious for the past hours and all the prince could focus on was how Merlin had magic. No. Not had, has. Gaius’s ward was still breathing, and this would not cease anytime soon. Not even with his … lies. Had Merlin been practising when they first met? Probably. This would explain all the weird incidents occurring when they ran after one another and how Arthur made a fool of himself. How powerful was his friend? He made an entire building fell into pieces. He made them transport without even being awake when it happened. That must be something! Even regarding wizards’ standards. Blue eyes fell on Lancelot. The knight had been keeping watch over Merlin since they arrived here. He tended to the serving boy’s wounds and never let them approach with weapons at hand’s reach. They all noticed healed scars on their friend’s body. Scars that faded long ago, but with terrible stories attached to them. He saw Merlin half-naked through the years. At least after they met, and the boy had no choice but change into dry clothing after their usual banters. Those were inflected to his manservant after he first came to the citadel. By whom? Noblemen bother by their strange friendship? Attackers? Whenever they were ambushed? No. Arthur snorted when he remembered Merlin cowering to avoid battle. Or was he? Strange things did happen when bandits or enemies of Camelot attack them. Branches fell with perfect timing on their opponents, saving their lives more than once. Was it Merlin? He needed to know. If not for his sake, for Merlin’s. If he were right, this could be proof enough all sorcerers were not filled by hatred and darkness. Merlin was the opposite. Kind. Good-hearted. Goofy. A weird sense of humour, which often involved making fun of his master. Selfless too. He sacrificed his own well-being for Arthur, working extra hours just so his amour would be clean for the next day, and then stumbling more than ever the next day. Still he saw nothing. There must have been signs. Hints toward Merlin’s secret. With a heavy sigh, Arthur stretched and walked to Lancelot. The man glared at him, gesturing to his sword and the prince left it a few steps behind before sitting next to both his knight and valet.

“How did you find out?” he asked after an uncomfortable silence. If Lancelot knew and said nothing, this must mean something.

“Remember the manticore’s quest? Merlin used magic to save me and kill that beast. I’ve known since then,” Lancelot said, smiling fondly at their sleeping friend. “Then, I started noticing things. Like how he protected us without getting credits for it.”

“And Emrys? He’s related to Merlin?”

“I…” Lancelot hesitated; Arthur knew the truth now. “Yes. Pretty much. That’s why Morgana questioned him. Merlin told me her power showed her future. In it, Emrys killed her during a terrible battle. Since then, she wanted to find out who he is and stop him at all costs.”

“I don’t understand. Percival said I’m supposed to work hand in hand with Emrys. Legend and destiny. If it’s true, where is Emrys now? Why doesn’t he show up and change my mind on magic?” they would not build that future if they were playing hide and seek together.

“That’s the trick. He’s already here. Hidden in plain view and going unnoticed among your people,” chuckled Lancelot, now noticing how close the others were. They started listening and Leon gasped, realisation filling his features.

“Merlin?” he asked in a low voice, his gaze unmoving while said boy breathed in and out. In and out. Unaware of his surroundings.

“What about Merlin?” Arthur asked, still oblivious. He just couldn’t imagine Gaius’s ward as a powerful being. Not even after what they witnessed earlier.

“Yes, Merlin He’s Emrys. He was born to protect you, Arthur. He would die to do so, if it means you stay alive.”

“But it’s stupid! Merlin can hurt himself with a spoon! If he were so powerful, he would be dead because he sneezes too hard and just blew his room up!” OK, kind of rude. Merlin was not so stupid. Or was he? “He can’t keep a secret. I would know. It’s not…”

“Merlin’s more than that. Just … talk with him. Give him a chance,” Lancelot asked.

With the betrayal still burning him third degree, Arthur wanted to say no. The conflict feelings sent him various messages. Forgive or kill. Understanding or hatred. Decide never felt so difficult before. The prince he used to be when they met, his father’s puppet, roared with anger and wanted to deliver Merlin to the flames. His new self, the one with strong feelings for his servant stood proudly, facing whoever may hurt the brunet. He needed to listen. To understand Merlin’s side of the story. So he waited … night turns into daylight. Another afternoon started and night fell again when Merlin awoke. After their talk the previous day, Lancelot had relaxed enough to sleep. Arthur took first watch and noticed Merlin’s eyes fluttering open.

“Rise and shine,” the prince mocked his serving boy’s usual greeting. “How are you feeling? You … you scared us.” You scared me. I thought I’d lost you. Don’t ever do that to me again.

“I … what…” then it hit him. Arthur knew the exact moment Merlin remembered what happened and what he’d done. Merlin went into full panic attack mode and Arthur’s body reacted before he could think. His arms locked around Merlin’s waist and he whispered words he never thought he would say. Especially to a sorcerer.

“Shh … it’s okay, Merlin. You’re fine. You saved us,” he murmured, gently brushing a strand of black hair. Merlin jumped at the touch and Arthur felt a pang of worry. This man could be the death of him. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m still alive…” Merlin whispered, dumbfound. Why had Arthur did not kill him? He had plenty of time if he had been out all that time. Wait. Arthur was hugging him. He watched him with worried eyes and something else … was it … no. Not love. Arthur loves no one more than his own person; a royal prat. “I was supposed to die!” the warlock suddenly gasped, watching around them with fright. Why was he…? He made a choice. He picked his life as a sacrifice to the goddess. He had to give up everything, just so Arthur may have a long and peaceful life, with a queen and lots of kids running in the castle. But here he was, breathing and … his mind free of Morgana’s spell. Free of whatever had bothered him for the last few weeks. Even when he walked and hang himself in an oak tree. Well, mostly. He still heard the voices in his mind, whispering tempting words behind an obsidian wall. They will come back, eventually.

“Merlin. Merlin focus,” ordered Arthur. “Good. Breathe in, breathe out … I know you’re scared. Listen to me. I won’t kill you. I’m hurt. I’m furious even. You lied to me … you kept secrets from me.”

“I’m sorry, I did not…”

“I know. You had to. Merlin I…” Arthur inhaled, unsure. If someone had told him this day would come, he’d laughed at the man face. “I guess I need to thank you … for what you did. You protected me, us, Camelot. You got hurt and never asked for recognition. Instead, I acted like a…”

“A prat?” Merlin joked.

“Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

An angel pass, two, three and an entire van. Arthur knew he just shocked his servant. He never thanked him or anyone outside his knights before. Could one go into shock after such a change in their lives? After all, as a prince, people mostly kissed the floor he walked on and are grateful for his existence. Not the other way … oh … right … his head may pass the doors if he continues. His thought came to a halt when he heard Merlin’s soft voice, while their friends snore loudly around the camp.

“I’m dead. I’m sure of it now…” chuckled the younger man, raising a hand to brush over Arthur’s warm skin. If he hides it well, the once and future king felt a shiver ran down his spine. When he spoke, his voice sounds tight and uncertain. “Why would you? Tell me, Merlin.” The warlock still gently caressed his skin and they both blushed, even if no one noticed.

“Arthur never thanked anyone. Not even in my wild dreams. Ergo, I’m dead and I’m thankful…” under his fingers, Uther’s son froze. What for? “Arthur?”

“Don’t say those words. I’m your king and I ban you from dying. You’re not allowed to leave me. Not ever.”

“You can’t, I died already. I wouldn’t do that if I were still alive…” Merlin mumbled, sitting awkwardly. His hand still stroking his prince cheek. Their eyes met and suddenly, the world around them felt silent. Event the knights stopped their snores. King and vagabonds stared at each other’s for an eternity or mere seconds. Merlin’s inner voice tried to stop him, yelling something about him still alive or whatever … but he did not listen. He knew better. Arthur had to kill him, with the ban of magic still standing. He may regret it later, the morning after … but for now, the warlock stopped fighting his inner demons. He leaned toward his prince, the one who was still holding him against a strong body and their lips met for the first time. A warm feeling grew in them both. Arthur was stunned but deeper the kiss. He had desired that man for a long time now. Not since day one, no. They hated each other’s when they met; the feeling turned into something else. Respect. Love. Care. He wanted Merlin to feel it all and when wet tears fell over Merlin’s cheeks, the prince pulled back and gently chase them his thumbs.

“I need to show you something, Merlin,” Arthur whispered, not letting go of the sorcerer as he gently slapped the back of his head.

“Ouch! It hurts!” protested Merlin, his eyes widening when he realised when he just said … and did. Did he just … had he … no he … oh. Arthur followed his train of thoughts all along and snorted when Merlin yelped, mortified. Trembling fingers before his lips, Merlin shook his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t … it’s the spell, I guess… I…” Arthur stopped the rambling, forcing his friend to meet his eyes again.

“Don’t apologise. I’m glad you did it … even if you thought this world was an illusion. And I don’t want a world without you. Not now. Not ever. Understood?” with only silence for an answer, the prince continued: “I like you the way you are. Magic or not. Clumsy or not. Brave or coward. It doesn’t matter, OK? By the end of the day, you’re still the same old Merlin. Now that I know the truth, I can help you protect your secret, especially from my father.”

“You… You accept my magic?” Merlin asked, still confused at the mere prospect of being free of any secrets.

“Lancelot talked me out my prejudices.” Arthur admitted. Remembering Lancelot words about how magic was not different from any weapons. Just like a person can either help or kill someone with a sword, the same thing works for magic’s users and as a king, his duty was to bring equal justice in the kingdom. Murder with weapons or magics were both leading to a death sentence. The others shall live free of fear. “Now I see clearly and I promise you this: once I am king, I’ll lift the ban of magic.”

#whumptober2020 #no.3 #comfort #merlinbbc #fic

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