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scoooby · 4 years

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The Reason to Live (is to Die For This)

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Beta: @tenderlyannoyinglight

Word count: 6.3k

Trigger warning: descriptions of pain, death and violence.

Relationship: Merlin/Arthur *if you don't like merthur it can be taken as gen if you skip the last hundred words

Summary:

"I don't want to leave him. He thinks. I can't.

It shouldn't be the first thing he thinks of. He should be thinking of his mother, Gaius, Gwen. He should be thinking of how Kilgharrah had said he was an immortal, but Kilgharrah is also a big lying liar who lies, so he shouldn't have believed him. But he doesn't think of any of those things, after ten years of sacrificing, his brain is wired to think of Arthur, only of him."

In which Merlin is stabbed instead of Arthur. Oops.

Merlin doesn't know where the blood came from, flowing down and not stopping. There's so much of it staining the ground and his clothes, forming a puddle, he feels dizzy and nauseous looking at it. It's been almost ten years, but the sight of injury still repulses him. It scares him even more because he can't find its source. No, it terrifies him. Whose blood is it? Where is he, exactly? But he tries not to dwell on it and wonders where Arthur is. Wasn't he just here? Silly Arthur, always disappearing.

He giggles, then sobers up. He has more important things to worry about. Like the blood. Blood is so red. Like strawberries. He wishes he could make strawberries right now, Freya likes them. Speaking of which, he should probably talk to her soon.

He touches his hand to his abdomen, startled when he feels something wet and sticky. Oh.

Oh.

It's his blood. He's been maimed. He's the one dying.

I don't want to leave him. He thinks. I can't .

It shouldn't be the first thing he thinks of, and he should be thinking of his mother, Gaius, Gwen. He should be thinking of how Kilgharrah had said he was an immortal, but Kilgharrah is also a big lying liar who lies, so he shouldn't have believed him. But he doesn't think of any of those things, after ten years of sacrificing, his brain is wired to think of Arthur, only of him.

It shouldn’t be. He should be more carefree and alive and happy, like he is now. And he’s so happy.

He distantly hears a thud behind him, as if something heavy, clad in metal, had fallen. Swords are made of metal. So is armour. Stupid armour. It takes so fucking long to put armour on Arthur.

He feels hysteria rise up in his throat, he feels like laughing, He doesn’t know why. He’s been stabbed, he should care more. But those thoughts don’t even hit him. He wants to run, to jump. He could fly, like Kilgharrah. Or Aithusa. Can Aithusa fly? He would have to ask Morgana.

But Morgana doesn’t like him.

Maybe Balinor would know when dragons start to fly. He knows a lot, right?

Oh, but he can’t. Balinor is dead. Balinor is extremely dead and rotting. Hunith would be sad if she found out, he doesn’t want her to be sad. She deserves the world. He won’t tell her.

“Don’t worry,” he coos, even though there’s no one there. “I won’t tell.”

He tries to get up, but his knees are weak. He doesn't know why his ears have started to ring. Hhhhh. Hhh. That’s all he hears. It sounds weird. Weird. Weirdweirdweirdweirdweird. What a word, All words should be like it.

Everything is just a blob of grey and black. All he sees is a spinning world and green spots in the corner of his vision. He doesn’t mind, he likes green. He tries to say something, to scream maybe, yet all that comes out is a small, meagre groan.

He feels his eyes closing- And that's it. That's all there is-numbness, and then nothing.

Arthur is not ashamed to admit that he killed Mordred. The knight almost killed Merlin and dared to smile after doing so. Arthur couldn't just let him get away with it, no matter how much it pained him. Guilt doesn’t even come to mind. Mordred isn’t worth it - he tells himself as he walks, knees shaking, towards his manservant's body laying still on the ground.

He's bleeding at an alarming rate. His eyes are closed; his face deathly pale. Arthur doesn't bother with modesty as he rips the stupid brown jacket off (one would think he would come into battle wearing proper armor, at least). He had imagined doing it many times before, in entirely different circumstances, maybe with a bed underneath them.

Merlin torso is littered with scars as wood is with lines. Most of them are healed, so that only white lines are painting Merlin’s pale skin, while others are red, but still no cause for intervention. An enormous hole inflicted near his lungs, however does. Arthur’s not new to blood or injuries, but looking at this one does make him wanna vomit.

He stops, unsure of what to do. His hands hover over the body. What can he do, dammit? He knows first aid, Gaius taught him some when he was little. Nothing has ever come close or as grave as to this. He has been taught to call for the help of nurses, never to do it himself. He has to stop the bleeding, but how ? He's supposed to tie something around it; he remembers that much at least. He looks towards Merlin's face, exhausted and un-moving, a red cloth loosely tied around his neck. All he has to do to stop the blood temporarily, until he delivers Merlin to safe, more medically trained hands, is to tie the stupid red neckerchief around and hope for it to be the right thing.

He prays as he puts it around the gash. He's not entirely sure who he's praying to. It’s an unconscious reflex to beg for health. To be able to say it is someone else's fault, because he knows it's his. He should never have let Merlin come in front of him; let the sword pierce him. Damn him; damn Merlin; damn Mordred; damn the War; damn Morgana; damn everything.

It sickens him, all of it. This cave, this life. The air is dirty. The metallic smell of blood engulfing everything and making it its own. Throwing up would sound like a good idea if Arthur didn’t have more pressing matter at hand.

The air also smells of disappointment. What is he even doing? He's just two years into his reign, the army is practically gone. So many knights are dying in his name, right now, with their belief in him. And now Merlin is going to die too.

No. Merlin can't die, I won't allow it. His resolve hardens as he picks him up in his arms, Merlin’s head on his shoulder, back bent so gravity can keep the blood inside. and carries him through the mass of dead bodies. Arthur places him on the horse and climbs on behind him, arms on the reins and still supporting Merlin’s head.

It's a long ride home. You have to make it. For him. Is the only thought he clings to.

The aftermath of the war lingers everywhere. Bodies within quarter of a mile of another, their sunken eyes staring at them as the ride past.

No one stops them, too busy focusing on their own injured. Arthur's head is down to not see them. They probably hate him. With all of his being, he agrees.

Morgana, from an early age, showed to be better fitted for the crown. Might have even made Camelot a better place, once upon a time, in a time long gone.

Now they're both just as terrible and ill-fitted for his home.

He tries not to think of her, it’s too painful. So, he focuses on saving Merlin again. Merlin. His best friend, who he had always hoped would become something more. His rock, the only one he could trust. Something he has proved over and over again, but something he had realised only during his father's funeral.

Uther’s death is a recent memory. Arthur had cried until there were no tears left to shed over anyone else after. Not out of love or grievance. His father’s love for him was long gone before he himself was. But because the moment Uther’s life ended, Arthur’s reign began and the feeling of no support or companionship with it. Morgana was gone. Ygraine had never been there to begin with, and the overwhelming responsibility hit him- hard . He had felt so alone. There was no one there for him. No one cared.

Then Merlin had placed a hand on his shoulder, whispered to him, told him he was going to be a great king and that he was sorry. As if Merlin was at fault. As if he wasn't the only reason Arthur was still standing.

It made him see more clearly that he might not ruin the kingdom- his kingdom. A spark of heat, mixed with joy and sorrow ignited like wildfire spread all over his chest, then back, arms and legs followed soon, and finally his face; he returned Merlin’s sentiment with a warm smile.

Maybe that's when he had fallen in love, or when he had realized that Merlin was the only one he could trust. He's still not sure which one it was, maybe the love had come slowly, or maybe, and just the seed had been planted back then, or maybe it had come fact and crashing.

And now he was going to be gone too. Arthur sighs, his eyes drooping from a week of no sleep. Everyone leaves. They always leave. Maybe he still had some tears left.

The dark is disorienting. Is he sleeping? Is he even alive? He has to be, he has to make sure Arthur gets back home.

"Emrys," he hears someone say. No, not someone- Morgana. Her voice is unmistakable, ragged and sickly sweet at the same time. She had always been like that, even before, a dizzying array of opposites.

"Witch," he whispers. "Why have you brought me here?"

The smugness in her voice is apparent, "That's very hypocritical of you, isn't it? After all, you're magical too. More than me, even." She didn't answer his question. "All alone now, aren’t you? No one to save you." He shakes his head; how did he manage to get here? The last thing he was doing was shouting at Arthur to bring him along ("I always thought you were the bravest man I knew." “That’s not fair.") Arthur's face had been so disappointed, and it had broken Merlin's heart. But if the war was still going on, then no one would be coming for him. He will have to get out of this by himself.

"What. Do. You. Want." He grits out, he doesn't have the patience, nor the time for this, he has to help them. The knights are strong, but even the strongest of human kind wouln’t last long against an immortal army. He has to be there with them, to help them, to keep them alive. No matter how much his words hurt, Merlin will still save them, because that is what he does.

She laughs. " You."

"I don't have time for games, leave me be."- turning his head around trying to locate Morgana’s voice; the darkness, the nothingness, hasn’t changed.

"Oh, but why would I do that?" Her cold hands are taking hold of his chin, nails digging into his face. She's right in front of him. Her silky dress pooling onto his feet, the edges of her dirty hair grazing his arms. "I have you right where I want you, no one is going to come to save you. I only need one thing from you." She pauses, her fingers snap; there are fires surrounding them in a circle. He struggles against the bonds of rope he didn't realize were tied onto him, but it's of no use.

She’s clearer now, seen better days too. Bags under her crazed eyes, a ragged and torn black gown, a cloak is gracing her hunched back. Frankly, it looks like she hasn’t taken a bath in months. She doesn’t even resemble the Morgana he used to know, the compassionate and cunning one.

This is his creation; he is the reason she is like this. He never should have listened to the fucking dragon, he should have told her about his magic, maybe things would be different then.

"I won't do anything for you,” he hisses. “I would rather die.”

“Oh, you will.” She says it like it’s a fact as if it’s inevitable that he will die soon, and a tremor goes from his head to his toes in a matter of a second. He’s supposed to be immortal, supposed to live for a long, long time. He’s not scared of dying, he supposes. He’s scared of what will happen afterwards. “And it will hurt, I can tell you that, it will hurt so much.” She inches even closer, impossibly so. “But that won’t be the worst part, no. The worst part will be that no one will care . Arthur won’t care. No matter what you have done for him, he won’t even notice you’re gone.”

He’s silent as her words sink in. Sow themselves into his brain, into his heart, tries to convince himself it’s not true.

“Arthur won’t rescue you. You need his help, but he doesn’t have your back. He’s not even looking for you. If you’re drowning, if you’re about to crack, will he even care?” Something on his face makes her look smug like she’s already won. “Face it, Merlin.” That’s the first time she’s called him Merlin and not Emrys since she found out. “You don’t matter to him. He thinks you’re disposable, But I know better.”

Merlin looks up at her. "You're sick," he spits, although it sounds small, unsure. "He would look for me. I know he would." The statement is more for himself than her.

She gives a small, cruel smile as if to convey to him how pathetic he is. “All I need you to do,” she continues, “is to tell me where you are once this ends.”

He's about to ask her what she means, when the fires go out and it all turns dark again.

He stops in the forest, to rest, though he's not sure if Merlin will even survive by the end of it. He lays him down against a rock and lights a fire. He has to make something to feed them, or they'll die of starvation before Morgana's knights get to them. He surveys the clearing they're in, and he's about to walk towards what he is almost sure is an edible plant (emphasis on the almost, kings don't always learn about herbs), when he hears Merlin whispers. He snaps back, his eyes are open, a once tantalizing clear blue now murky and grey.

"Arthur" he murmurs. "Art- I-"

He holds up a hand "I'm here Merlin," he says. "I'm here but don't speak, you need to preserve your energy."

He doesn't listen. "I-I need to tell you something and," he gasps, trying to breathe, "and I need you to listen without interrupting."

Arthur wants to tell him whatever he needs to say probably isn't as important as his life, but the look on his face tells him that it might be.

Merlin shudders, clearly exhausted. "I ha-have magic," he rasps. Arthur's mind goes blank. It's a joke, it has to be. Merlin can't have betrayed him too. He takes a step toward him, to reach out maybe, but thinks better of it.

"Stop being silly," he commands, but it comes out shaky.

Merlin eyes seem wet. When he opens his mouth to speak, all that comes out is a bare whisper, "I ne-needed to tell you. In, in case, I-I, uh, die."

"You can't die." He clasps Merlin shoulder this time, leaning down. "But stop delusioning yourself Merlin. You don't have magic, I would know." It's not real, he would've been able to tell. This can't be true, it can't.

"And I use it for you," he continues, seeing his expression. "Only-only for you."

"Shut up," Arthur whispers. Merlin flinches back. "Shut up, shut up, shut up."

"I-," he starts, but he cuts him off.

"Do not speak to me."

Arthur looks at him, something rising in his throat. He thought it would be bile, but it's laughter. Of course, of course, the only person he trusts has magic.

He stands up and walks away, until he's sure Merlin won't be able to see him.

Merlin’s heart sinks as he stares at Arthur’s back, she was right. He told him about his magic, and now he was leaving him to die in a forest, never mind the reason he was dying was that he had taken a sword for Arthur. Never mind that he had spent a decade protecting him, trying to stop hundreds of people from killing someone he himself hadn’t particularly cared for at the beginning. Never mind the fact that he had sacrificed so much, just so he could be comfortable living in a castle built on the sins of his father and the corpses of magic users. Ten years, all down the drain. Merlin wants to laugh, of course, it comes done to this. To Arthur abandoning him because he told him something he didn’t want to hear. Fuck him, fuck the pendragons. Couldn’t let him die in peace.

He stews in it for a while, too tired to cry. Too sick of everything to even care anymore. He won’t tell her though; couldn’t let it all go to waste. She’ll find out anyway, he knows, she has her sources.

Yet, he has more important things to focus on, Arthur will either come back, or he won’t. But his wound stays. The giddiness is gone, replaced with something else. Something warm, like a fire in his stomach.

He presses down on his abdomen. as he sighs sharply through his nose, it helps with the increasing pain, stabbing his bone and overtaking his senses.

His lungs struggle to breathe, it feels as if they’re filling with water as he drowns; his whole body burns as his back arches and writhes. It’s like there’s thousands of needles being pushed into him from everywhere, as if the needles had been pulled out from a fire before being inserted into him- red hot and painful, so painful. He wants to stand up, to run and jump into a lake, but his legs feel like jelly, he can’t move. It hurts so much. He hears distant echoes of screams; they’re probably coming from him. And just like that, it starts to ebb. The needles being pulled out hurts more, but the small burns they leave behind are definitely better than it was before. He slumps down against a tree, numb.

He feels his eyes droop. His pain is still shooting through his body, but at least he has some time before he has to feel it again.

He wakes up again in some time, not sure when. It doesn't hurt as much as it did before. He’s just tired. He lays there for what feels like hours, but the sun hasn’t even set, so it was probably a few minutes.

To his immense surprise, he comes back. Arthur… comes back.

"Come back to finish the job, huh?" Merlin snarls, refusing to believe that maybe he came back to help him because he cared for him. It's too good to be true. Arthur is compassionate and he is kind, but not to magic users. "One stab wound wasn't enough for you?"

Arthur's already been saved from the imminent death of his which has been prophesied for a few centuries already, Merlin no longer has to worry, and he doesn't want to either. If this is his reward, to be called a coward, to be ignored and hut out, what everything had been leading up to, he might as well have died years ago. He used to wake up with only Arthur in mind, He loved him, still does. He’s not going to go out any other way.

He was the reason he lived, and he is the reason Merlin is going to die.

Arthur recoils in shock, his mouth is hanging open a little.

Good , Merlin thinks, he needs a wake-up call.

"What?" He asks.

Merlin hopes his expression can convey his feelings and how unamused he is because his throat is clogged up and he's too exhausted to say a word more. He may be a warlock, but it doesn’t change the fact that he is in unbearable pain.

Arthur looks at him as if he's grown a second head. "You- you thought I was going to kill you?"

There's no reply. Arthur comes forward, stops when he sees how scared the other man becomes. He sits down onto the cold, hard ground. "Merlin," he says softly, "I, I'm angry at you, I'm not going to lie, but I would never, never kill you. I- how could you even-" he trails off, he kicks some dirt glumly. "Just, we’ll talk about this when we're back home, okay? When you're better."

Arthur doesn't know how Merlin could think that. He would never- he didn’t even imagine doing anything other than demoting him, at most. He feels betrayed, and he feels let down. But this is Merlin. If he practiced magic, there must have been a good reason.

Fuck. Has he been that bad of a friend? Has he been so distant that Merlin thought Arthur was going to kill him? He knows he should be angrier, and just a few hours ago, he was. He was ready to yell and to scream and to rage, but then he thought of Morgana. About how he used to love her, and how she changed when he turned her away, He doesn’t want the same to happen to Merlin, doesn’t want him to change too. If Merlin dies because Arthur abandons him, he will never forgive himself.

So, as he snuffs out the fire and tries to cover up his tracks, because he knows Morgana will be looking for them, he doesn’t say anything. When he picks Merlin up and places him on the horse, he tries to be as gentle as he can. When he squeezes Merlin's hand in what he hopes is comforting, he just hopes Merlin doesn’t hate him completely.

Merlin floats in and out of consciousness for what he thinks is a day, but he can’t be sure. When he first wakes up, he’s trotting along on a horse, Arthur behind him, and then he’s in front of a fire, sitting on the ground, then the horse again. Once, he wakes up to strangled screams, but he’s not sure what was going on. He’s too scared to ask. The fifth time he wakes up, however, it’s different. It’s not a coincidence, it’s on purpose, Arthur is shaking him awake. He makes out that they are next to the lake, where he has sent away so many corpses already.

It's calm and serene, obvious to all that is happening around it.

“Wha-” he starts to say blearily, he knows they haven’t reached Camelot yet, so what is going on?

Arthur silences him by placing a hand on his mouth. “We’ve got company,” he whispers. Merlin stiffens up, never a good thing. Not when you’re trekking through the woods, your companion and you both in bad conditions, both starving, one run through with a sword. Not when your companion is the ruler of kingdom which has war being waged against it.

“Arthur,” he says, his voice still sounding heavy and drowsy.

“What?” His mouth feels swollen, and he is incredibly tired, but he can tell he’s agitated, so he doesn't beat around. “Use the sword."

He looks surprised, the expression he hates. The one he uses whenever he realises that he underestimates everyone around him. "I think I know how to use a sword better than you do, Mer lin."

Prat.

"I mean, don't use your old sword, use Excalibur. It can kill anything. " Saying even this much feels like he just ran from Ealdor to Camelot without break, but he manages.

He opens his mouth to reply, but then his eyes widen. "Did you hear that?" His voice is low but urgent. Merlin blinks, he didn't hear anything other than the wind and- oh, he hears it now. There's distant screaming, coming from a woman from what it sounds like. It's barely noticeable, but the sounds of footsteps and something heavy being dragged on the forest floor towards them is much, much louder.

They exchange glances, only for a second. Merlin gestures towards the sword and Arthur nods, not questioning him for once.

Merlin tries to speak, he wants to help, but his throat is becoming clogged, and his vision is becoming blurry and- I am not going to survive. He thinks, before his eyes roll back into his head, and he passes out once more.

Arthur does not dare to say anything, or to do anything, other than stay frozen in his spot, sword in hand.

The noises are coming closer and closer. The screams have subsided now, but the steps have not. He knows he should highball out of there, but he has a feeling that whatever is coming their way cannot be outrun, and 50% of his lessons in swordplay focuses only on telling him to follow his gut.

"Emrys," says a voice. He inhales sharply, he recognizes that voice; knows it better than he has any right too.

"Morgana," he breathes.

She pouts, looking disappointed. "Seems like our Emrys isn't awake. Shame, I wanted him to see you die." She says it casually, as if she tells her once-brother that she’s going to kill him every day.

He reminds himself - this is not his sister, not the woman he grew up with. If he doesn’t kill her, she will kill him. And she will take his kingdom.

But he never meant for them to get caught up in this, he had to control himself. He can’t rush to hug her or stab her. He can see a flicker of what she used to be, the brave, young woman. He needs her to hold onto that. If she doesn’t, he will have to do it. And he really, really doesn’t want to.

But as she lunges at him, the flicker ebbs out. She has slipped through his hands, and she has changed. She has been carried away by the waves of sorcery, and it has ruined her. He remembers her being his hero when they were young, when they used to sneak out of the castle to look at the stars. Her arguing with Uther over whether it was right to commit genocide, the irony of which has stuck with him. Her teaching him to use the sword, having already mastered it herself. Her forcing him to make friends with Gwen, who grew to become his ex-lover and best friend and surrogate queen. The memories keep on coming, and they don't stop. But she, like everyone else, changed. No matter what time, she is different now. It will never come back. He wants to go back, when they were innocent and naive, when everything was left for them to discover.

But he can’t.

So he fights back instead.

It's all he can do to make his hands steady as his blade sinks into her stomach, as he buries it deeper and deeper until it comes out on the other side. She looks surprised, then grim. She'll be alive for a few days, at most, a few minutes, at best.

But he can't bear to leave her suffering, alive but dying, tortured. So, he stabs her again, this time aiming for the heart, and again. And again. And again. When he is sure that she's dead, he stops, sliding onto his knees. He glares at the sword in contempt. He killed her; he killed his sister.

No .

He killed the woman who wanted to burn his kingdom to the ground. He had no other choice.

But what sort of person is he? He's killed both his knight and his former sister on the same day, with the same sword.

He grips it harder, then looks at the lake. He needs to get rid of it, that's what he needs to do. No one can find out what happened today, he can't let them. He raises it and throws it in. He had thought it would land on the banks, considering how heavy it is, but it doesn't. Instead, the sword flies out of his grip, and cuts through the air, towards the lake. He swears he can see a hand reaching out of the water to catch it, but it's probably a trick of the light.

He turns to her body laid on the ground, eyes open and unblinking, mouth looking as if gasping for breath, cloak sprawled around her like wings. She's dead.

Somehow, he knows if he had used the other sword, she would not be; he knows enough about magic to realise that the high priestess cannot be taken down by a normal weapon.

But Excalibur was not normal, was it? Just another thing to add to his list of questions.

It takes him thirty more minutes to dispose of her body in the lake, staring as it sinks deeper into the water. He doesn't look away, no. He deserves this. He has to remember, and he will.

He doesn't move for a long, long time. Only goes so when he realizes that, although she is dead, Merlin is not yet. Arthur intends to keep it that way. He turns his back on her. Every step drains him, but he does it.

He can't be left alone again.

It takes them two more days to arrive in Camelot. All of it passes in awkward silence, with Merlin getting paler and paler with every passing second. Arthur doesn’t say anything out loud, but his mind is racing. He doesn’t think of them. He can’t. So he focuses on magic instead. He’s not sure if he trusts magic fully, even now, but maybe he should be more open-minded. Maybe he should give it a chance. Maybe it'll be different than it was with Morga- her.

When he arrives, it is completely different to what he had expected. There are mourners, of course. People in white, downcast expressions, closed windows, doors painted black. But there are also red banners hanging everywhere, citizens cheering as he rides past, ignoring Merlin behind him. Cries of "she is dead" and "the war is over". People are grieving, and there are those celebrating. He doesn't ask how they know of her death, he doesn't want to know. They tell him anyway. Apparently, the army stopped attacking, all of a sudden. They had cried, and shouted, and had turned back. It is unclear why, but Arthur knows he is the reason. Morgana dying at his hands is the reason.

Some help him get to Gaius', seeing how unamused he looks. They clear out the road, offer them water. Arthur is grateful for them, glad that at least some of his people acknowledged the dying man and had tried to help.

The physician is busy when he throws the door open, Merlin in tow. There are many, many people here. All with varying degrees of injuries. Arthur can’t bear to look at them. It’s his fault. It’s all his fault. So he ignores them, marches up to him.

“He’s- he’s been stabbed,” he chokes out.

Gaius’ eyes widen, and he rushes to follow Arthur. He lays Merlin out on one of the few empty beds, his body sprawls out on it. It’s sickening to look at as if he’s dead already.

He sets to work immediately, ordering Arthur to fetch herbs and vials and all sorts of things he doesn’t know the uses of. The people around them stare at him blankly, as if they know he’s the king, but they don’t fully recognise him.

He knows when he is not needed anymore, and backs away to watch. It's odd, and it feels so wrong. It's wrong to watch as Merlin is cut open and healed. Like he's invading his privacy. Merlin deserves better than to be put on a show in front of so many people.

He does try to help. Tries to tell as many people as he can to move to the castle, where he is sure more doctors would be willing to help, but some are in too bad of a condition to be moved as they are tended to by nurses. So he elects to focus on his friend instead.

Gaius' hands have always been steady, for as long had Arthur had known him. He cuts open bodies without worry, without even flinching. Which is not the case today, he notices. No, his hands are shaking. Not much as to be obvious, but he's known the man for far too long to not be able to tell when he's scared.

He thinks Merlin is going to die .

Arthur recoils violently. He doesn't know where the thought came from, because it's not true. It can’t be.

Merlin is going to survive. He tells himself.

Merlin. Is. Going. To. Survive.

Merlinisgoingtosurvive

MerlinisgoingtosurviveMerlinisgoingtosurvuveMerlinisgoingtosurvive

He repeats under his breath, rocking himself back and forth on his heels until he almost believes it. He has to.

He's not sure where the time has passed, because Gaius is in front of him all of a sudden but Arthur remembers him standing over the table just seconds ago.

Gaius shakes his head and it takes a few minutes for it to register in his mind. Arthur can't be looking at him, and his heartbreaking face. Just like him, Gaius' only support was Merlin. Was. Not is, was. Merlin is barely dead, and Arthur is already starting to think of him as a memory.

The physician knows what it feels like, but Arthur doesn't care.

"You should've done better," he hisses. He doesn't regret it. Doesn’t regret causing the shock he’s caused Gaius. But it's his fault too. He's the one Merlin took a sword for. But he needs to blame someone else. Because he doesn't want to think of the implications of Merlin dying at his hands. Gaius looks at him as if he is about to break, so Arthur walks away. From him, towards the corpse. He can't bear to face another person he's hurt.

It can't be true. There's got to be something he can do, something. He can't die, he can’t fucking die. Not when there's not much left to say. Not when they've just won. It's supposed to be a thing to celebrate, a war ending, he can't mourn. He can't give a speech to his kingdom which wasn't written by his best friend. Can't lose him. He doesn't think he'll be able to live without him.

He doesn't want to. He won't.

Merlin looks too much at peace, content in a way Arthur hasn't seen him in a long time. His long lashes casting shadows onto his freckled skin, his lips are twisted into a scowl, but he is at peace. He still looks the same, though. Beautiful and striking. Arthur's rock.

And dead.

Arthur’s hands move at their own accord, to stroke the side of his face. A sob escapes him before he can stop it, pushing through his throat. His people need assurance, and him crying like a bloody fool won't help. But that's the last thing on his mind. All he knows is Merlin is dead.

He isn’t able to stop staring, can't help wondering what he will do now. Whether the body will be burned or buried. He will be given a hero's funeral, it's no less than he deserves. He will be clothed in Camelot’s colours, or maybe his Ealdor's. Hunith would know better.

Oh lord, Hunith. She will have to find out through a letter. No. Arthur will have to go to tell her. He can't let her go through it alone.

He's about to turn away, to tell someone to help him move the body when his lips move.

Merlin's mouth opens, just a little bit, but enough to tell that he's alive.

Arthur feels a shock go through him. It was just an illusion.

Right?

"Merlin?" he asks. It can't be true, no matter how much he wants it to be. It was probably a trick of the light, but that can't be right. Because Merlin's eyes are opening and he's staring at him and some colour is returning to his cheeks and oh-

This the man he loves. And he waking up.

"Ar- Arth," he begins but Arthur shushes him. He’s alive, he’s speaking. He doesn’t know how, but it’s real. It’s actually real.

"I'm here," he assures him "I'm here." He shocks even himself as he leans down to kiss him. He's even more surprised when Merlin kisses him back. It only lasts a second before he pulls back, but he just kissed Merlin. It was rough, it wasn't perfect. But he's breathing. They're both here. He can't ask for more.

"Wha- what was," he exhales through his nose, as if speaking taxes him, "that for?"

"I wanted to," he says, shrugging, still not over the euphoria. He just lost him, he’s never going to again. The least he can do is not hide from the truth. "And, I, I also kind of love you. Like, I’m in love with you."

His eyes widen a fraction, but Arthur can tell he’s too tired to question it further.

He wants to say more, he has so many questions as to how he's still breathing, when he started practicing magic, why, but he doesn’t. He has time, they have all the time in the world.

He turns his back, yelling for Gaius. The physician shows up immediately, face lighting up when he takes in the sight of his son very much not-dead.

"We'll figure it out," he says, though he's not sure he heard him over the noise. "We'll figure it out." He grins. Yeah, they'll figure it out.

He swears, Merlin is beaming right back at him.

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sourdough-morbread · 3 years

Note

Morgana 👀

ok so i know you left this ask ages ago and this is like so fucking long i am so sorry.

but i just... i have a lot of thoughts on morgana. *hides pages of notes made for two big morgana-centric WIPs*

First impression: this is what went through my mind in my first watch through

s1: i fell for morgana really quickly. i was like. YES she has MAGIC and she tells off uther and arthur.

s2: i still liked her but i getting concerned about the direction the writers were pulling her character in season 2. i was quite disappointed in the way her turn to evil was written. like she was good then barely on screen and very damsel-in-distressy for some reason. and then she became evil!morgana with zero explanation and zero reluctance. didnt really make sense to me.

s3: i enjoyed her as a villain in, but at that point she was a completely different character in my eyes. not in the old character new instalment but in a entirely different person was put inside her.

s4: she was so boring and one dimetional. just. meh. she barely felt like a threat..

s5: i wasnt even paying attention to her. she has become the random conflict generator the writers rather than a character. so i just didnt care. also i skipped a few eps in my first go so. like dark tower bc i didnt want to see gwen hurt. so i missed out on the emotional impact of that.

Impression now: after rewatching i can see her character arc a lot better. i still think her arc wasnt well done. but thats because the execution was lacking, rather than the trajectory of her character not making sense. because it actually makes a lot of sense.

like in season 1, she is basically immune. she is caught aiding mordred and yet she can get away with uther yelling at her and have it all be forgotten with an apology. meanwhile tom is executed for being seen with a sorcerer. when she wants to kill uther, i dont think she thinks she will be caught. nobody would ever dare accuse morgana and arthur would never suspect it.

then she discovers she has magic herself and all of that immunity is gone. and without that safety net she becomes willing to endanger so many people, including the allies of magic in camelot. you know, people she would be screaming at the defence of previously.

her in 1x10 is a small glimpse of what she could have been. a force for good. someone willing to actually fight against what uther and rulers like him were doing. and i would have loved to see that.

but thats not what the writers chose. instead she regains her footing in hatred and blaming everyone for the fear she felt of death and disgust she felt of herself once she became one of those she defended but saw as beneath her none the less.

and i will never not be salty about how they skipped over her turning evil and how flat she became. like. let me have a deeply evil terrifying witch damn it!

i think what makes her terrifying is that she doesnt want power. not really. she wants revenge. she wants to take everything arthur cares about. she wants the throne because arthur doesn't get to have it. she wants camelot to kill its people. she doesnt care about power beyond how much pain she can cause with it. and thats so terrifying. enemy with no goal but to cause you pain. and knows all your weaknesses and can fool the people you have wronged to think she is fighting for their salvation. how do you even fight that?

idk i just think it was underutilised. again she was just a conflict generator the writers used until the final battle. even then mordred was more significant than morgana.

Favorite moment: just her in the entirety of beginning of the end. if i had to pick one moment it would be her goading arthur to look behind the curtain. its just so good.

Idea for a story: again... the WIPs. but one i havent written yet.

i had one au where arthur found out about her magic on accident and like. it kicked off a whole plot of her learning magic, and arthur finally facing how terrible uther is and getting his shit together. its not a very detailed idea. morgause would probably use this opportunity to manipulate arhtur. agravain would proably be not evil, tho still a spineless slimy noble. idk.

Unpopular opinion: this is not going to be a surprise to people who know me, but i dislike pretty much all of the discussion ive seen about 2x03.

fandom seems to be stuck on this dichotomy of either merlin should have told her about his magic and by not doing so he betrayed her— he did not. merlin tried to help her at the risk of his own life. go watch 2x03 again. or merlin reacted perfectly— also he did not. even while helping her, he still refused to acknowledge her magic.

in a situation where something invisible about you can get you killed, subtle word choices matter. merlins words, him continuing to say he wouldn't know if it was magic, even though they both knew it was and that the other also knew, means something. it means i will keep your secret but i cannot help you. this is by no means a moral failing of merlin. he made this choice out of fear for his own life, and i think it is unreasonable to expect him to react perfectly.

morgana in turn had no reason to go to merlin again about her magic. he has made it clear he doest want to be involved, which he has no responsibility to. and why would merlin be able to help her? he, as far as she knows, has no personal experience with magic except his sorcerer friend.

besides, druids were the safest place for a her to be. it was the safest place for any warlock to be, including merlin. her knowing or not knowing about merlin has nothing to do with it. like. everything that happens in camelot between merlin and morgana in season 2 is perfectly understandable. they didnt wrong each other.

what merlin and morgana actually did wrong is getting all those druids killed because they didnt think the plan through. like all of those people in that camp died. aglain, the person helping morgana, died right in front of her and mordred. the druids were the only ones wronged in that situation. which i have never seen pointed out.

Favorite relationship: her and mordred

listen there is only a singular instance of morgana genuinely hesitating to hurt somebody after her turn and that person is mordred.

Favorite headcanon: oracle!morgana. this is like a whole big headcanon thats basically the origin story of how draognlords came to be. something happened and oracles stole dragons wills and their births to give to mortals as punishment. and then a group of these people came to albion and became the Seers and the dragonlords. who have like different traditions to the druid seers and the priestesses who use methods adapted from scry methods.

thats why she can speak with aithusa even though aithusa cant speak.

#im sorry i cant shut up #a cup of jasmine tea #this is so fucking long #long post #ask #bro idk how do i even tag this monstrosity of a post?

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akimmito · 4 years

Text

Heroes are made by the path they choose

First | Previous | AO3 | Next

Master List

Chapter 12

After his mother leaves, Damian contacts the MT base so that he can go there and train a little, getting Kaalki to open a portal and go through it taking with him Agatha and Edgar, the other German shepherd. He sneaks to avoid being discovered that he has brought his dogs to the scene, since he's not allowed to.

He goes to the weapons room, where the reserves are kept and they will not know if any are missing, not as if he were taking those in sight. He cannot choose a katana, everyone would see that he has it, and he cannot risk being found out by removing weapons from the MT without permission. Grab a couple of knives, Swiss knive and a few small tear gas bombs, barely the size of marbles (usually used by Chloe and Marc).

The next thing in his plan is to convince Kaalki to help him find John Constantine. He could barely find a location on his own and it must be one of two, London or Los Angeles, but he admits that it's easier to use the powers of a Kwami if he want to do it without someone noticing and Hugo is very good at noticing when something is suspicious. He doesn't want to risk it, so he can't be out past lunchtime, which gives him three hours to get there in time to eat and look like he's just had a backyard adventure with his two dogs.

Find the Kwami in the kitchen with Sass and Mullo, the three of them are eating their breakfast, so everyone is already awake.

"Kaalki, can you do me a favor?"Longg joins his friends to have a meatloaf and let Damian talk, he knows that only Sass will not agree with what the boy intends, but neither will he be able to change his mind and none of them will say anything if don't ask them directly.

"What is it?"

"Can you take me to John Constantine?" He doesn't especially enjoy being so nice when asking, but it's always better to stay in his good graces, especially if he needs his help (and he doesn't know much about all of them to know how to do the same as with Plagg).

"The man Plagg lives complaining about?" Kaalki swallows a cube of sugar after asking, he sees that th"What do you want? "He probes, maybe he can get it if he wants something specific.

"I want sugar cubes with muscovado sugar, the last time I ate one was when Marie had not yet founded the MT. Max doesn't like it and she doesn't buy it. ”She pouts, she loves that taste.

"I'll make it." Damian smiles, why do the Kwami love a certain type of food so much?

"Great. I will open a portal to his house."e boy nods and thinks about it. "Why should I? What would I gain?"

"What will you do, Damian?" Sass asks curiously, he doesn't trust the boy to carry two German Shepherds with him who are almost his size and who is reputed to easily drag adult men, nor does he trust that the boy doesn't carry weapons with him.

"Talk. "

"Then let's go." Kaalki opens the portal at that moment and they find the sight of an old place and many things. "I've come once we looked him with Marie. "The Kwami smiles proudly.

"Let's go. "

Damian enters the portal followed by four Kwami and his two dogs, he smiles. It was better than he thought.

--------

Marc @MarcAC_twt

I had a sudden urge to scold someone.

Chloe B. @BourgeoisQueen

@MarcAC_twt I thought I was the only one

Alix @LostHeroBunnix

@MarcAC_twt @BourgeoisQueen It's our instincts that already know when one of us has done something stupid, what did you do @Epic_originalChampion?

Epic Kim @Epic_originalChampion

@MarcAC_twt @BourgeoisQueen @LostHeroBunnix It wasn't me, I swear. I'm not the only one who does stupid things, @AdrienAgreste does them too

Adrien A. @AdrienAgreste

@MarcAC_twt @BourgeoisQueen @LostHeroBunnix @Epic_originalChampion Oh no, blame someone else. I just woke up

Marc @MarcAC_twt

@BourgeoisQueen @LostHeroBunnix @Epic_originalChampion @AdrienAgreste I don't know, but something has happened

---------

Marc looks for Luka and Max, walks through the main halls of the headquarters: the training room, the kitchen, the dining room and the infirmary. He goes to private areas like the food warehouse and then to the individual rooms, where he finds Max dozing again after breakfast.

"Max, can you come over? I want to talk to you about something I noticed. ”Max puts his glasses back on and follows him. "I didn't find Luka... although this place can sometimes be a maze..."

"Did you look it up in the library or Marinette's domain?" Max asks. Marinette's domains are four special rooms: a meditation room, a laboratory that serves to create potions and where all the ingredients for a large amount of spells are kept, a small library with all kinds of books on magic and the occult, in addition to a study where she locks herself up when she becomes obsessed with a case. That without counting the magic vault where the box is kept and where only she has access.

"No, I didn't go there... you know nobody enters."

"Luka uses the meditation room a lot." He replies simply, that room is Luka's favorite because of the acoustics and the tranquility it generates.

"Oh, it's true. Are you will wait for me in front of the computer?"

"Sure."

Marc runs towards the mentioned sector. The first time he entered the MT, he couldn't believe how big it was and how organized everything was, to fill any need they had. There's even a living room where they can store their art supplies and there are some great computers for art use or video game play, great graphics cards. Sure, it wasn't so well equipped at first, but as they were making money they were putting together an excellent place for them to socialize and spend time if they needed an outside location of their life.

Luka is with his guitar in the meditation hall, his eyes closed and practicing a melody that has been spinning in his head for weeks, but does not flow completely when he takes it to real life.

"There you are, I want to talk to you about what I noticed while checking the security cameras." Marc feels bad for interrupting, but they are there to work on the butterfly case and not on other matters, although he understands the creative frustration that can arise. Luckily he always steps in front of Nathaniel and never falls behind in his weekly deliveries.

After the small interaction, the two of them head towards the main computer... in the room without a specific name and that everyone calls differently, perhaps they should agree on a name so that they should mention the big computer as a frame of reference. But that, Marc thinks, is a concern for another time.

Max is already settled in front of the computer, he's looking around, the shadow of concern in his eyes.

"Something is wrong?" Luka asks, realizing that more than concern is strangeness.

"I haven't seen Kaalki in several hours."

"Leave them alone, they spend all day with us, they have the right to a break." Marc lets him through, Mullo enjoys exploring and running around, he must have convinced the other two Kwami to play and they must be flying around in secret areas that surely they exist because Felix and Marinette are so detailed (and paranoid).

Max says nothing about it, although it still seems strange to him not to have seen or heard them anywhere.

"So what did you see?"Luka let the previous topic die, after Marc explains everything, they can look for the Kwami and ask them what they have been doing. Not that it' of their business, but is for Max to relax and they not have to face a surprise disaster like when Trixx released the panther from the zoo, after being away from Nathaniel for a few minutes.

"I was struck by what I didn't see. "Marc explains and displays the cameras closest to the scene and the adjacent ones where the butterfly came from, plays the footage and can see in real time that the butterfly comes from nowhere, without passing through the other chambers, the butterfly is present in the one closest to its objective. "I was thinking that maybe our villain approaches the victims so that we don't have a notion of their real location, but it's also not seen that he or she wanders around... I can only assume that it's their civil identity, but suspicious people didn't appear either."

"What if he's in a car?"Max asks, Gabriel was traveling by car to contact Rossi (a pity that they didn't get strong evidence to blame her and Agreste didn't say anything). Max takes control of the computer to check all the license plates of cars that passed through those streets at the same time that the Akuma appeared.

Around twenty cars passed through the area, not counting motorcycles and cargo trucks, although he takes them into account anyway, leaving a total of forty vehicles and that is forty people who begin to track according to the license plates. .

The three stay reviewing the history of each person on the list, they continue like this until lunchtime, when they see the Kwami again because they look for them to eat. Neither thinks much in that later.

-------

It's not the MT

Needle: Guys, we have some new information

Almost Pretty: Tell me it's enough to have someone to hit

Kiss my ass: I also have information

Kiss my ass: While traveling through Romania, I heard rumors that someone is paying criminals to revive crime in Paris

Three balls: It's a joke, isn't it?

Kiss my ass: I wish it were like that, boy

Immune to liars: I'll see if any of my informants on the streets know anything

Almost Pretty: I bet my firstborn that he's the damn butterfly

The Antibiotic: This makes it more difficult... Maybe it's time to include a new vigilante, right?

It’s a Nara: We should not rush, when we have more information, we will devise an action plan

Aithusa: What if the pump was made to order?

Three balls: That would be gnarled

Dragon Tamer: We'll see if we get more information

Wild goat: I have a couple of witness statements and I have been putting together the case with Detective Fontaine, I will give my discoveries about the bomb when Mari returns

Needle: There seems to be a general meeting

Divine gift: I will clear everyone's agenda

Silent Hill: Also mine?

Divine gift: Of course, I'll also schedule you a flight and an appointment with Miss Marie to take measurements of the dress you've been requesting. The first sketches are already

Silent Hill: Unexpected. Thanks, Hugo.

Oscar de la Rosa: I will take care of escorting Master Fu and Miss Marianne from London, they must want to meet their grandson

Three balls: Who knows how to summon demons?

Immune to liers: Does this mean we will all know each other? Why so sudden?

It’s a Nara: I think Felix and Mari have something to do with this

Almost Pretty: The villain is getting into other leagues, this would already enter as terrorism and organized crime. We could end up dealing with Akuma internationally

Needle: Assuming he's the one who wants to reactivate the crime

Plasticine: It's obviously him

Silent Hill: or she

Perfect Crime: His Akuma are thought through in detail, not careless, he waited for something to happen that would attract a wave of negativity not only to get a victim but to take us all vulnerable. Furthermore, he managed to catch us off guard with a non-dangerous, but highly troublesome Akuma. He's just been analyzing us

For all shit: I think it's time for the network that we started to create a few years ago to be fully established, in addition, it will be the first official meeting of the new Order.

Three balls: Great. Mari, can you summon demons?

Not in Hell: No need to summon anyone, I just booked my flight

Plasticine: Oh, I wanted to learn how to invoke

Perfect Crime: Yes, don't even think about it. We have enough trouble adding more

-------

Soooooo.... what do you think?

#maribat #ml x dc #dick x marinette #dickinette #Damian & Marinette #mominette

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dontcare77ghj · 4 years

Text

Dragons

Natasha x reader x Clint x Bucky

Masterlist Sleep Series Masterlist Halloween/Supernatural Masterlist

“Sir you and Miss Romanoff have a message.” JARVIS said one afternoon. For once, the world seemed quiet. The Avengers hadn’t been truly needed for almost a week. In the past week none of them had trusted the silence, they’d all been ready and waiting at the Tower for the next problem.

“Patch it through, JARVIS.” Tony said, pouring himself and Clint some more coffee.

“Tony, I need your help.” A voice familiar to all the Avenger’s said. The team all began to listen intently to familiar girl, all concerned for the safety of the girl. “Nat, Clint and Buck aren’t picking up and I know I don’t have much time left. They’ve found me.” She added.

The team had known Y/N for a long time. She was Tony’s sister, the friend of the rest of the team and the girlfriend of Clint, Natasha and Bucky.

“I’m not going to be able to get out in time. Aithusa’s ill, Veles tore her wing and I can’t move them along with five other dragons in such a short amount of time.”

When Y/N turned sixteen it was obvious that she was different to those around her. She possessed magic. Though her family easily accepted her new skills and abilities she had to keep them secret for years until she and Tony joined The Avengers initiative. But when she turned twenty it as clear she possessed something more than just magic.

She’d met a man called Emrys and he explained the full extent of her powers. She was a dragon lady. The beasts everyone believed to be make believe were real and she was able to communicate with them and they with her.

When Emrys died he passed the living dragons onto her as well as the eggs he protected.

“I’m hiding who I can. The eggs are hidden in the basement and the others will be in hidden in the walls. I’ve left Nat the locations. But Tony, they’re going to take me and Aithusa, and when they do, I need you to come here and find the others and look after them.” Before Y/N could continue any further a loud crashing sound came over the message.

“Fuck.” She cursed. “Tony, I love you. Take care of them and pass my love on to Clint, Nat and Buck.” She said and the message ended. Tony had already dropped the coffee pot and was pulling out his phone. Natasha was already on her phone and a furious looking Bucky was holding tightly onto a worried Clint.

“We’re going now.” Natasha said, jumping from the couch with Clint and Bucky not that far behind her. “Stark if you’re coming, move your ass.” She added, the three of them moving towards the door.

“I’m coming, Romanoff.” Tony said, hurrying after them. Steve shared a look with Bruce, Wanda and Thor. The three of them nodded at him and they all stood.

“We’ll come too.” Steve said, following the four of them.

“Good for you. Let’s haul ass.” Tony said, giving the four of them a quick smile in gratitude.

Having been in a relationship with Y/N for nearly three years, Clint, Bucky and Natasha knew everything about the woman. Despite having some issues with mental health when she was younger and the tragedy involving her parents, she was the most positive person the three had ever met. It was her positivity and light that drew them to the woman and her willingness to the love them despite their pasts that made them stay.

Because the four of them had been together for three years, the three Avengers were very close to their girlfriend’s dragons. Not pets, she refused to let them be called pets, they were dragons and that was it. They knew how much they meant to their girlfriend, but they also knew what HYDRA would do to have their hands on Y/N’s dragons.

Storming into the house, Natasha directed her boyfriend’s towards the secret rooms while she ran down to the basement. Tony ran to check the security cameras while the rest of the team began to search through the house.

Natasha opened the panel and saw the chest holding the unborn eggs untouched.

“Thank Chuck.” Natasha murmured, seeing the eggs were unharmed. She knew what HYDRA had planned for the creatures would be nothing compared to Y/N’s wrath if one of her babies were harmed. Resealing the panel, she rushed back upstairs to check up on the others.

When she made it upstairs everyone was in the living room with six dragons of varying sizes. They all appeared on edge and were surrounding Thor who was talking to them in another language, attempting to calm them.

“Stark have you found anything?” Natasha asked, moving to stand next to Bucky and Clint. A small orange dragon flitted over to the three of them and Clint reached down to pick up the small thing.

“Yeah, I think I have.” He said, turning the computer around to face everyone. He clicked play and they all watched as Y/N shot up at the sound of a loud bang. Aithusa jumped from the bed and hissed at the loud noise as she tried to protectively curl around Y/N.

Y/N stood in front of the white dragon and said something in the dragon’s language when it tried to move in front of her. The dragon hissed slightly but stayed behind Y/N as the bedroom door burst open.

“Manere retrorsum.” Y/N growled and threw her arms up, eyes glowing gold, and threw the men backwards.

She pinned the men to the wall and to the floor, glare plastered on her face. She began to cast another spell when one man’s hand twitched and shot her twice. Once in the stomach and another in the thigh. The pain was distraction enough that Y/N dropped the spell and the men rushed her. She was knocked out as they collared Aithusa.

While they were struggling to hold the distressed dragon two men came in with a large metal crate and injected the dragon with something. The dragon began to slow in her movements, and they forced her into the crate. One man picked Y/N up and the rest picked the crate up.

“Pause the video.” Bucky growled, glaring at the screen. “That’s Rumlow.” He snarled, pointing to the figure holding Y/N.

Natasha cursed in Russian and Clint grabbed her hand as he held the dragon in one hand. A coal colored dragon rushed towards the trio and landed on Bucky’s shoulders.

Tony played the video and changed the perspective to the outside camera. The team watched as Rumlow carried an unconscious Y/N out to an awaiting van and the other men held the rattling crate.

“Can you track the license numbers?” Steve asked, catching a glimpse of the van’s plates.

“You could.” Tony said, shrugging as he turned the laptop back to him. “But HYDRA isn’t as dumb as we think. These plates are probably fake or stolen.”

“But we could hack traffic cameras and see where the van goes.” Bruce said, moving over to stand next to Tony.

“They could’ve gotten to the cameras before us. What about satellites?” Tony asked, turning in his chair.

“Hi, hate to interrupt this science convention,” Natasha started, waving a hand at the scientists. “But can you do it? That’s all we need to know.”

“We can do it.” Tony said, Bruce nodding along. “Give us a couple hours and we’ll be able to find her.”

“Great.” Clint said, nodding at the two of them. “You two track them, the rest of you make yourselves at home, we’ll be in our bedroom.” He added, pulling Natasha and Bucky towards the stairs. Four other dragons flitted over to their guardian’s life mates and followed them up the stairs.

“I’m going to slaughter them all.” Natasha snarled, pacing the room with a purple dragon following her closely. “I’m going to tear the hearts out of their chests and make them watch it beat before they die.”

“They will suffer.” Clint agreed, stopping her and taking her face in his hands. “They will learn what happens when someone takes our girl.”

“And we’ll have plenty of help.” Bucky said, wrapping his arms around both his partners. “The team is willing to save our girl; Tony will do anything to save his sister and I’m pretty sure these guys are willing to caramelize anyone who has hurt Y/N.” Bucky added, smiling as the dragon on his shoulders cooed seemingly in agreement.

“We’ll get her back.” Clint promised, kissing Natasha and Bucky and scratching the chin of the coal dragon.

“Yes, we will.” Natasha agreed, smiling at her boys.

Reader POV

“Tell us how to control it.” Rumlow demanded, getting very close to your face. “Tell us!”

“Go fuck yourself.” You sighed, laying your head back on the table and closing your eyes.

You’d awoken alone in a cell. You could hear Aithusa somewhere in the building, but she sounded weak. Before you could attempt to blast the door open on your own, Rumlow and his men had stormed in and injected you with something.

Whatever it was it made you weak. It made your magic weak. Your legs collapsed out from under you, your head felt as if someone were attempting to split it in two and your entire nervous system was on fire. The men dragged you out of the room and into a larger room with an array of torture tools surrounding you.

Upon strapping you down to a metal table, you’d immediately been questioned intensely. Where are the other dragons? Where is Emrys? What do I know about the Avengers? How can they control Aithsua?

Your response to every question had been the same so far.

“Again.” Rumlow barked, moving away from you. You were numb to the pain at this point.

You started laughing as they attempted to shock you again. The pain making you feel disorientated and borderline hysterical.

“Stop.” Rumlow growled, storming over to you and forcefully grabbing your chin. “You think this is funny? Let’s make it funny.” He snarled, moving over to another man he began to furiously give instructions to him in Russian, all the while glaring at you.

A man came to stand next you while another dragged a table of tools over to the two of you. Rumlow smirked as the first man began to look the tools and slowly walked over to the two of you.

“Miss Stark I am going to ask you one more time. Tell me everything.” He said, leaning in close to you. “Tell me about your brother, tell me everything about those dragons of yours and tell me everything about Hawkeye, our Black Widow and our Soldat.”

“Go fuck yourself. I won’t let you touch any of them.” You snarled, spitting in his face. Rumlow smirked and wiped the spit off his face before nodding at the other man.

“She’s all yours.” He said and left the room. The man turned towards you with a scalpel in hand.

“Shall we begin?” He asked rhetorically, smirking as he stepped closer.

Everything hurt. That man was clearly not a registered doctor, that was one thing you knew for sure. Most of your body was covered in blood, cuts, burns of all varying degrees and so many of your bones had been broken.

“Still haven’t loosened your tongue I see. Well I can fix that.” The man said in his thick accent. “How shall we do this? Decisions, decisions.” He mused, going through his tools.

You let out a shaky breath, closed your eyes and relaxed back onto the cold table. What he did to you didn’t matter as long as you could block out the whole situation.

The door slammed open and thundering footsteps came towards you. You opened your eyes and turned to face the owner of the footsteps. You saw a furious looking Rumlow, covered in burns and red marks, storm towards you.

He grabbed your hair and yanked your head off the table.

“You will tell me how to control that demon or I will kill it while you watch.” He growled, holding your hair in an intensely tight grip. “Do not test me.”

“You can’t control any of my dragons.” You laughed, smirking mockingly at him. “I am the only person on Earth who can control them.”

“Then that’s what you will do.” Rumlow said, dropping your head back onto the table. “You will tell that beast to do whatever we say, or I will kill it.”

“You touch her, and I swear I will make sure you burn.” You growled, glaring at the man before you.

“Bring it in.” He said to the other man. The man scurried out of the room like the rat he was. “We’ll see who burns.” Rumlow added, giving you a smirk.

Several men came back into the room dragging in a large metal crate. The crate was shaking wildly, and several sounds of distress escaped the box. At the sounds of Aithusa’s distress you began struggling against the straps that held you to the table.

“Show us. Show us how you control the dragon, or I will cut your throat.” Rumlow threatened as they opened the cage. A man came forward with a noose on a pole and wrapped it Aithusa’s neck and dragged her out of the crate.

Aithusa had chains around her wings and one wrapped around her mouth, preventing her from shooting fire at the men. Aithusa let out a muffled growl as her eyes landed on you.

“Show us.” Rumlow demanded, tracing the scalpel along your collar bone.

“I can’t show you anything when you have her muzzled.” You snapped, hissing as he quickly cut below your collar bone. “It’s fucking true you asshole. I cannot do anything if you have her muzzled.”

Rumlow stared at you for a minute. His face showing no emotion as he debated your argument. Finally, he nodded.

“Fine. Unmuzzle the beast.” He barked. The other men appeared unsettled at the thought of her being unmuzzled but complied with Rumlow’s orders.

“Did they harm you?” You asked, the men in the room watching with interest as you spoke.

“I feel worse than I did before.” Aithusa spoke in her soft growl. “Whatever they injected me with is making me feel weak. But look what they have done to you, they should burn.” She growled loudly, making one of the men jump.

“What are you saying? Tell me what you are saying.” Rumlow demanded.

“She is willing to show you what she can do.” You answered. “But she can’t do anything in here.”

“Why not?” Rumlow asked, pressing the scalpel into your skin again.

“Look at all the flammable objects in this room.” You said, raising an eyebrow at him. “Your entire base would burn to a cinder.”

“Then we will take you somewhere where you can show us.” He said, unstrapping your arms. He bound your hands together and forced you onto your unsteady feet. “Bring the beast.”

He dragged you down a series of long, winding, hallways until you reached a single door. He forced the door open and you were taken aback by how bright it suddenly was. When your eyes adjusted to the sunlight you finally noticed your surroundings. You were in the middle of nowhere.

“Y/N, what are you doing?” Aithusa asked, looking at you wearily.

“I promise I have a plan, darling. Just do what I say, please.” You said, giving her a small nod.

“Now show us.” Rumlow demanded. Some men had set up targets at varying distances for Rumlow’s entertainment.

“Hit the targets.” You told the dragon. Aithusa didn’t hesitate and easily hit the targets, though the amount of fire she breathed varied in amount. She needed to get out of here.

“What else can you show us?” Rumlow asked, looking at the targets in satisfaction.

“Her flight is incredible for a dragon of her size. Place a target anywhere on this field and she will be able to spot it and destroy it easier than she just did.” You answered, shifting your head to look up at the man. He narrowed his eyes and stared down at you.

“If she leaves, there will be consequences for you. And they will be severe.” Rumlow warned.

“Understood.” You said, giving him a nod. “Aithusa, when they unchain your wings, you fly away. Go, find Nat, Bucky, Clint or Tony. Find them and don’t look back.” You told her, not allowing her to argue. Aithusa gave you a small nod and stretched her wings as they were unchained.

Without waiting for another word, she stretched her large wings and took to the sky. The men began shouting in panic as she rose above the ground. Rumlow smirked in excitement until she flew in the opposite direction.

“Shoot it down! Shoot it down!” He yelled, as she disappeared from sight.

“You’re too late.” You smirked. “She’s already gone and when she comes back, she won’t be alone.” You said, smirk dropping when Rumlow began to laugh.

“That’s what I’m hoping for.” He said and dragged you back into the base

Non-reader POV

Aithusa flew as fast as she could in her slightly delirious state. She wasn’t sure where she was going or how she was going to find anyone to help her.

She was dizzily flying in the clouds when a red and gold figure flew next to her.

“Aithusa, it’s me Tony.” The figure said. Aithusa let out a sound acknowledging she knew who he was.

“Can you come with me? I’m with Natasha, Clint and Bucky and your siblings are with us.” Tony said as he and the dragon hovered next each other. Aithusa gave him a nod and next to them a jet suddenly appeared.

A door lowered and Aithusa recognized Bucky standing there with a coal dragon on his shoulders Aithusa flew as quickly as she could and landed next to the brunette and rubbed her head against his hand.

“Hey Aithusa.” Bucky greeted and moved her away from the door. Aithusa began to make a series of rapid growling noises that the other dragons began to respond to in variants of growls.

“Point Break, you want to help?” Tony asked, retracting the plates from his face.

“Aithusa knows where Lady Y/N is.” Thor said and began to speak to the dragon’s language. “Continue in this direction, there is a field coming up. There will be scorch marks.”

“What kind of state will she be in?” Clint asked from the cockpit, hands tightening on the wheel at the mere thought of Y/N being hurt.

Aithusa began to speak in a rapid and deep growl.

“From the sounds of it, very bad shape.” Thor said, looking at the dragon warily. “Brother Bruce, I would suggest you ensure your medical is fully stocked.”

All three of Y/N’s partners and Tony glowered at the thought of the woman being injured. The rest of the team shared a look as the other four glowered and glared, they nodded to each other each knowing to stay out of the four’s way.

Odin knows what they would do to anyone in that base.

Reader POV

“Ah! Fuck you!” You screamed hoarsely. Rumlow smirked and dug his finger into the new bullet wound. “I swear to Hades when I get out of here, you’re going to be choking on your own ass.”

“And I thought we were becoming such good friends.” Rumlow said sarcastically, grabbing another tool off his trolley of pain. “Now you have a choice, leg or arm?” He asked, waving a small saw in front of you. “Or you could tell me what I want to know.” He added suggestively.

“Go fuck yourself, you dick.” You spat, glaring aggressively at the smug man.

Rumlow didn’t say anything as he smirked down at you. He turned the saw on and moved it towards your leg.

“You let me choose.” He said as if a way of reminder. The saw made contact with your knee and you let out a long shriek of pain before the world went dark.

When next awoke you were alone. You were still strapped down to the metal table but Rumlow and his men weren’t with you. Everything ached, you felt as if someone had thrown you into a blender and left to puree.

You looked down at your leg and let out a sob. Your left leg was missing from the knee down. What was left of your knee was wrapped in bandages, but they were severally stained red.

You let out a few more guttural sobs before you forced yourself to calm down. You couldn’t do yourself any good if you worked yourself up and passed out again. You raised your head as high as you could and tried to find a way out of this.

To your dismay you couldn’t find anything in the room to help you break out. Even all Rumlow’s toys had been removed from the dingy room. Attempting to break the bonds that held you to the table was a ridiculous notion. You couldn’t feel your body, how would you be able to move it around?

“Wakey, wakey, darling.” Rumlow said, barging through the door. “Are you ready to cooperate now?” He asked, standing at the foot of the table.

“Go, fuck, yourself.” You enunciated, closing your eyes as he stood near the table.

“Nothing seems to faze you, does it darling?” Rumlow asked, tsking at your answer. “It never fails to amuse me. Now, how can we get that out of you?” He questioned, footsteps echoing as he moves around the table.

Your eyes shot open as the door slammed open. You smiled as Natasha, Bucky and Clint thundered into the room with Tony not far behind.

Rumlow pulled his gun out but was not quicker than Bucky. Bucky shot the man thrice and stormed over to him. Tony followed Bucky while Natasha and Clint rushed over to you.

“Sweetheart, sweetheart look at me.” Clint said, grabbing your face in both his hands. “How many fingers am I holding up?” He asked, putting two fingers in front of your face.

“Get your hand out of my face.” You groaned as Natasha cut your hands free. “It’s grotty.”

Natasha let out a laugh and leaned down to kiss your forehead. She quickly got rid of the rest of your bonds as Clint kissed your cheek.

“We need to get you back to the jet.” Natasha said, looking you over with worried eyes.

“I’m fine.” You said as Cint picked you up and cradled you in his arms. You let out a loud yelp as he cradled your battered body. Bucky and Tony’s heads snapped over to you at the noise and rushed over to you.

“Hey baby doll.” Bucky cooed, fingers brushing over your bleeding cheek. “They really did a number on you, didn’t they?” He added, gazing down at your missing leg.

“Hi Buck.” You murmured, smiling weakly at the man. “You haven’t seen a number until you see what I’m going to do to him.” You said and Bucky smirked at the fire in your eyes.

“We’ll feed him to the dragons, okay little one?” Tony said, kissing your hairline. “That sound good?”

You hummed happily and rested your head on Clint’s chest before shooting up and then winced in pain.

“Did Aithusa find you?” You asked, holding your throbbing ribs.

“Calm down, angel.” Natasha soothed. “She’s fine.” Before Natasha could continue seven colourful dragons raced into the room, chirping and growling enthusiastically.

“I thought we told you to help the others?” Tony mumbled, looking into the hallway.

You laughed as the little orange dragon, Vele, made a comment to Tony.

“Vele says they already did and you shouldn’t doubt them.” You laughed quietly.

“We’ve gotta get going.” Tony said, drawing the three of your attentions to him. “We’ve got company.”

“Bucky grab him.” Natasha said pointing to Rumlow, growling on the word him. “Do you have any juice in you Y/N?”

You shook your and looked down. “They did something to me, I can’t use my magick.”

“That’s fine, angel.” She soothed. “Tony can you handle them?”

“With my eyes closed.” He said cockily.

“Hang on Tony.” You said, halting the man. “Vele, you stay with me, you’re still injured. But can the rest of you go with Tony and keep him safe.”

“Of course.” Aithusa said while the others nodded. “We’ll make you proud.”

“Tony, they’ll go with you.” You said and they all moved over to him. Tony gave you a nod and he and the dragons made their way into the hallway. Bucky grabbed Rumlow by the scruff of his neck and dragged him along as Clint carried you into the hallway with Natasha covering the two of you.

“You’re going to be okay sweetheart.” Clit said, running down the hall and holding your body incredibly close to his.

“They took my leg, Clint.” You murmured, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. “He fucking took my leg.”

“And we’ll work through it together. You’re alive and that’s all that matters.” Clint said, leaning down to kiss you.

Running through the building you took note of all the bodies on the ground. None moving, all covered in copious amounts of blood and you couldn’t find yourself to care.

“Clint I’m tired.” You groaned, leaning your face into his chest.

“No, sweetheart, no sleep.” He said quickly. “You have to stay awake, Y/N.”

“Night Clint.” You mumbled, eyes closing as he began to run faster.

“Come on sweetheart, you’re doing so well.” Clint encouraged as he stood in front of you.

“Ok, ok. I can do it. You can let me go now.” You told Bucky who gave you a look.

“Are you sure baby doll?” He asked, eyebrows furrowing.

“Of course.”

“Of course she can.” Natasha said, moving to stand next to Clint. “She’s my fiancé, she can do anything.”

“She’s our fiancé.” Clint reminded, wrapping an arm around Natasha’s waist. “And we know that. Bucky get over here.”

Bucky moved over to Clint and Natasha and you took a deep breath.

It had been a month since HYDRA had captured you. Your magick had come back a week after the incident but unfortunately there was no spell to fix what Rumlow had done to your leg.

Tony had called you into the lab three weeks after your return and when you arrived he was waiting for you with a large smile. Natasha, Bucky and Clint were in the lab with him, each sharing the same grin.

Tony had been working on a new leg with you with Shuri. The new limb shared many design features as Bucky’s arm and made you smile at the thought.

Now here you were, a week after being given your new leg and you were making a lot of progress. It was your first time attempting to walk without a crutch or one of your partners.

Natasha had her phone out as you walked, a bit clunkily, towards them. They all smiled at you as your way over to them. When you were arms length away, Bucky pulled you into his arms and held you into his chest. Clint and Natasha joined the hug you all stood there for a few minutes enjoying the comfort.

“I love you three.” You murmured, raising your head from Bucky’s chest. “Thank you for everything. I wouldn’t have been able to do this without you.” Bucky leaned down and kissed your forehead.

“Of course.” Natasha said, kissing the back of your neck. “We love you.”

“All of us do.” Clint added, resting his head on your shoulder.

The three of you remained in that position for a few more minutes. It was moments like this the three of you relished in, the peaceful and the loving. The moments when nothing mattered but the four of you.

Show your feedback. Give it a like. Leave a comment. Share with your friends and reblog. Inbox/message me any comments, ideas, pairings or if you would like to be added to the taglist.

Taglist

@piper-koko-barnes-rogers @skeletoresinthebasement @hopingforbarnes

Coming Soon;

Natasha x reader x Bucky

Steve x reader x Bucky

Bucky x reader x Sam

Natasha x reader x Sam

Steve x reader x Sam x Bucky

Steve x reader x Sam

Natasha x reader x Peggy x Wanda

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kumeko · 3 years

Photo

A/N: For the Merlin zine! After so long, I’ve finally posted it, ahahaha. I wanted to do a piece on some of the lesser used characters, in that sad gap between end of canon/modern era.

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The path was well-hidden, with long grasses and weeds covering all but the faintest sliver of it. If Merlin hadn’t traversed it a thousand times by now, he would not have found it. As it was, he almost got lost three times. It was a good thing he had de-aged himself before coming here, or he would never have made it.

“Finally,” he grumbled as he emerged from the forest and walked toward the lake. Approaching the shoreline, he sank onto the grassy knoll next to the water. The ground was still soft after the spring rains. “That was tiring.”

You should rest then. A voice bubbled out of the lake, washing around him like sea foam. Leaning forward, Merlin peered into the water to see a face smiling up at him.

“Freya,” he breathed, smiling broadly. Her face rippled in response, her image distorting slightly. Did she look the same as she had when they first met? He wasn’t sure; he could barely remember those early days. Not that he had to—she existed now, and for that, Merlin was grateful.

He was tired of saying goodbye.

How are you, Merlin? She started to emerge from the water, like an iceberg rising. Droplets ran down her body as she leaned against the lake’s bank. Resting her head on her crossed arms, she glanced up at him. “You’re scratched all over!”

“Nature took over,” he grumbled, gesturing back to the woods. He could handle most things, but not the brambles and thorns. If only he had brought shears or a machete. “We should never have let go of the gardener.”

Freya blinked owlishly before laughing. “You never change.”

“I’d like to think I’m a little smarter.” Merlin pouted. Sitting back, he gave her a winning smile. “Maybe even handsomer?”

She broke out into a fresh burst of giggles, shaking her head. “Merlin!”

“Everyone has that exact response.” He frowned. Letting it go, he looked out over the lake at the castle. Avalon was just as untouchable, as unreachable as it had been that night. If only he had reached it then—would Camelot still be standing? Would Merlin still be alive now, centuries later?

There was a price for everything, and the price of failure was too much: a loss of home, of companionship.

Of memory.

Quietly, he asked, “Has he awoken yet?”

He didn’t really need to hear her reply, just as he didn’t need to see the pity in her eyes as she shook her head. “No, not yet.”

“He always did oversleep.” Merlin shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, trying to feign indifference. “That’s why I had to do all the hard work.”

“Well…” She gave him an impish grin. “You were very brave at least.”

“Were? And that’s all?” Merlin splashed her lightly and swiftly moved back before she could retaliate. He still wasn’t sure how much power over the water she had and he didn’t want to end up at the bottom of a lake. Looking up, he could spot a white speck flying in the sky. “Is that Aithusa?”

Freya followed his line of sight, squinting. After a few minutes, she hummed affirmatively. “She likes to fly in the afternoon.”

“It helps her stretch her wings,” a throaty voice rumbled behind him. There was a soft grunt as a heavy body was dragged across the ground. “Her wings are slowly getting stronger and she needs the exercise.”

“Kilgharrah.” Merlin smiled. Getting up, he turned around to greet the old dragon. Unlike this place, time had not been kind to him. His wings were in tatters, his scales worn and dull, and, as he walked forward, there was a slight limp. “It’s good to see you again, old friend.”

“And you too, young warlock.” His lips curled back slightly, revealing his sharp canines as he smiled. “Though I suppose you are not so young anymore?”

Merlin sneered. “I don’t think you’re one to talk.”

“No, no, I suppose not.” The dragon didn’t argue, merely curling up on the ground. It had been centuries since he had flown, even longer since he had left this place. “How fares the world of man?”

Merlin sat back down, wrapping his arms around his knees. It had been almost fifty years since his last visit and yet, oddly enough, there wasn’t much to tell. Civilizations had risen and fallen, men had discovered new technologies and fought over them, and in the end, humanity remained the same. “I’m thinking of moving,” he replied instead. “I’ve been 70 for the past ten years. I can barely remember what it’s like to walk straight.”

Kilgharrah didn’t comment on the change of topic. “You still have not found any companions, Merlin?”

He shook his head with a wry grin. “It’s a little hard to make friends when I know how it’s going to end.” Almost everyone he met was an ordinary human, who would live an ordinary life and die an ordinary death. There were no kings, no noble quests and ancient monsters now.

Aside from this place, there was no magic.

“There are almost no sorcerers out there,” Merlin murmured. He looked down, playing with the ends of his shirt. “There are no druids, no witches—I even went to the source of the old magic and there was a small village there.”

“So it too has been lost,” the dragon murmured, glancing up at the sky. Following Aithusa’s movements, he sighed. “I had expected it, but not so soon. It seems the sky is the last untouched domain. Perhaps one day they will conquer that, too.”

“Are we safe here?” Freya asked, worried. She peered at the forest, as though humans would be marching out of the grove any moment now. Biting her lip, she dipped her hand into the lake. “I can’t leave this place.”

“No, they will not come here,” Kilgharrah consoled her, shaking his head. “Magic might be waning elsewhere, but here it is strong. Avalon cannot be touched by those who are not invited.”

“Why is magic disappearing?” Merlin lifted his head, watching his friend for his response. “I thought…you said I had succeeded.”

“You did,” the dragon replied simply, as though that was all he needed to say. And maybe, to him, it was enough.

But it wasn’t for Merlin. Not after all those years outside, those years spent watching magic become a fairytale, a story told at bedtime to help children sleep. Even Arthur had become legend, more myth than human, and Merlin couldn’t remember what was fact and what was fiction anymore.

“Then why is magic dying?” Merlin asked again, swallowing down his fear. “It’s even worse than it was during Uther’s time.”

“He would be happy to hear that.” The dragon snorted, annoyed to hear that name once more. “Even after death, the man still angers me.”

“I still can’t forgive him.” Freya frowned darkly, crossing her arms. “After all—"

“You’re avoiding the topic.” Merlin’s fingers dug into his shirt. They did this every time; Kilgharrah would change the subject, and Freya would follow suit. But not today. Taking a deep breath, he stared up at the dragon. “Did I fail?”

Taken aback, Kilgharrah shook his head slowly. “No—”

“Did I fail?” His voice broke, and Merlin trembled. “Is that why?”

There were things he could never forget, even if he wanted to. Arthur’s hand in his, his grip weakening. I’m cold, he had murmured, his voice barely a whisper. Hold me. His skin was clammy from sweat, cooling as the day faded away.

The light had died from his eyes before he could reach the water, before he could be saved. Merlin had lost his king, his friend, back then. What he had never considered was that he might have ruined magic, ruined Albion as well.

“Merlin.” A leathery snout brushed against Merlin’s body. He could feel the rumble from the dragon’s voice as he spoke. “You did not fail.”

“Then why is magic disappearing?” Merlin asked, gripping his wrists tightly. “Why is Arthur dead and Camelot gone and—” I’m left alone. He couldn’t say it, the words stuck to his throat like glue.

Kilgharrah seemed to understand anyway. “I do not know everything, Merlin. Despite my age, some things are secret to me as well.” Gently, he pushed his head next to Merlin’s body, calmly breathing in and out. Merlin could feel his own heartbeat slow down and follow suit. “I do know that you met your destiny and you did not fail. One day, the Once and Future King shall return and, with him, magic will flourish once more.”

Merlin leaned against the dragon, breathing in his scent. It was of charcoal, of earth and fire and centuries long gone. It shouldn’t have been as comforting as it was. They were kin, someone had told him once. Dragon and Dragonlord, connected by a deep magic. Perhaps that was why this felt almost like an uncle soothing him.

“All things must end.” The dragon sounded almost wistful as he spoke. “Even your wait shall one day end.”

“Will it?”

Freya pulled herself even higher out of the water, reaching out to grab Merlin’s limp hand. Squeezing it, she smiled. “It will. Until then, we’re here with you.”

“Freya…” Merlin grasped her hand back tightly. He was lonely, yes. Home was no longer what it was, yes. But what he had forgotten was that he wasn’t alone.

He still had Freya and Kilgharrah and even Aithusa. He still had a place to come back to. If Kilgharrah said his wait would be over one day, then it would. He had never led Merlin astray before.

“Thank you.” Merlin smiled, looking at Freya and then Kilgharrah. Wiping his eyes, he felt his ears grow hot with embarrassment. He had been acting like a child, and at his age, too. “Don’t tell Arthur about this. He’d never let me hear the end of it.”

The dragon chuckled. “Perhaps I was wrong. There are some things that do not end.”

“You’re supposed to reassure me!” Merlin grumbled.

“Don’t worry, we’ll keep it a secret. Just like with all the other times.” Freya deftly dodged his incoming splash before slipping back into the water. “I’ll see you later.”

“Bye.” Merlin waved. Turning back to the dragon, he grinned. “So I guess it’s just you and me now. Just like old times, huh?”

The dragon looked up at the sky once more, his eyes trained on Aithusa. She flew in figure eights, lower and lower with each lap. As she grew closer and closer, Merlin could see the slight dip in her flight, the shakiness of her movements. “I have a favour to ask of you, Merlin.”

“Sure.” Merlin couldn’t resist the rare change to tease his old friend. “It’s usually the other way around. It’s about time you asked.”

Kilgharrah didn’t take the bait. “Aithusa has been getting stronger. She might never be able to speak properly or fly as she should, but she is improving.” The dragon paused and closed his eyes. “I ask only that you keep an eye on her in the coming centuries, that you aid her in her growth.”

“I’ll…try…” Merlin winced, not liking it at all. Ever since he had killed Morgana, the dragon either tried to bite him or hurt him. “I thought you were taking care of her.”

“I was.” The dragon opened his eyes now, focusing on Merlin. “But I can no longer.”

The jest died from Merlin’s lips. This—this was serious. His voice came out a ghost, barely a whisper. “Why?”

“I might not be here next time you return, Merlin.” His words were casual, factual. As though they didn’t mean anything.

As though they didn’t mean everything.

Merlin froze. “No.”

“Everything ends, Merlin. Even I.”

“No.” Merlin couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Swallowing hard, he dug his fingers into his thighs. All he could think, could say, was that one word. That one plea. “No.”

“I told you centuries ago that my time was coming.” Almost tenderly, the dragon extended a wing to wrap around Merlin. “In order to save Arthur, I flew my last. Since then, it has merely been a question of when.”

“But…there has to be…” Merlin couldn’t deny the scars, the holes in the wing. Nor could he look away from the patchwork of scales on the dragon. When had he gotten so old? There were gaps in his hide, areas where aged skin showed through. Just when had it gotten so bad? Now?

“Not today. Maybe not tomorrow.” The dragon breathed out softly. “But when you return next, I will not be here. It is only too bad I shall not live to see the return of magic.”

“I can’t save you?” His voice came out a ragged whisper and he buried his face in his knees.

There was a price for everything. A witch had told him that, centuries ago. Merlin could barely remember her aside from her sharp blue eyes and the wicked curve of her red lips. She had held out a golden chalice as she spoke. There is a price for everything: an eye for an eye, a life for a life.

Merlin thought of his wait, of the eons that would pass before Arthur returned. What was the price of a king, of a friend? He had been paying it all these years, and he would be paying it for years to come. Even that was not enough to equal the price of a life. He looked up at the dragon, at the last of his kin.

He could not take that cup again, could not fill it with the waters of life and force him to remain.

“It is my time,” Kilgharrah said. “Just as it had been your friend’s time before me.”

There was no fighting it. Merlin blinked back his tears—he had already cried enough today. “I’ll take care of her.”

“Thank you, Merlin.” The dragon looked across the lake. “Perhaps I was too hasty back then.”

“Hasty?” Merlin blinked, confused.

“When I asked you to retrieve her egg.” The dragon sighed and lowered his head. Resting on the ground, he closed his eyes. “I should have waited longer.”

What if. I should have. Those thoughts had plagued Merlin’s mind for the past few centuries. Arthur could have lived. Gwen wouldn’t have cried. What if, what if.

“What’s this, doubt?” Merlin teased, forcing a chuckle. “The great dragon thinks he’s wrong?” Rising, he walked up and pressed his face against the dragon’s nose. “It’ll be fine. I’ll take care of her, and it’ll be fine.”

He would be damned if he let Kilgharrah die plagued with regret.

“Hmm…” The dragon sighed, ruffling Merlin’s clothes. “Thank you, Merlin.”

“It’s nothing.” He stepped back. Forcing a smile, he gestured at toward the forest. “I have to go now—I’ll come back soon.”

Kilgharrah gave him a long look before nodding. “Goodbye, kin.”

The finality of it all settled on him like a woollen cloak. Not trusting his voice, Merlin waved and left.

There’s a price for everything, a witch had warned him once.

He had understood that. He just never thought the price for waiting would be so steep.

#merlin #kilgharrah #freya #aithusa #arthur pendragon #fanfic

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tyrseward · 4 years

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late night stroll

Word Count: 557 Warnings: None Summary: Lancelot is tired. He really wishes Merlin would stop dragging him out of bed in the middle of the night for unspecified reasons. // Takes place at the end of s04e04: Aithusa.

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Lancelot is patient. He has to be, has trained the value into himself since he was little and his mother told him, no, you can’t be a knight, sorry, dearest, and he replied, but I’ll become one anyway. He has waited and trained and traveled and done more than he thought he would ever be capable of to reach his goal, hushing the small, restless part of him that longed to be more and reminding himself to be patient.

Lancelot is patient, and he has reached his goal, and now? He is exhausted.

Exhaustion and patience do not coexist very well. In fact, Lancelot knows full well how not-patient he is when he’s dragged out of a well-earn, desperately needed sleep.

As does Merlin, who has witnessed Lancelot’s grumbling, half-woken threats firsthand. Therefore, Merlin should know better than to knock insistently on Lancelot’s door shortly after midnight and, once he has crawled out of bed to answer the door, pull him into the hall and away from his room.

“Merlin,” Lancelot groans, reminding himself that he dearly loves Merlin and would be upset in the morning if Merlin died under mysterious circumstances. “What are you doing?”

“I want to show you something,” the warlock replies. He glances back at Lancelot, eyes fading from gold to blue, and Lancelot hears his doors shut quietly from behind. Then, Merlin sets the hand not currently clutching Lancelot’s wrist in a shackle-tight hold on his satchel, and grins. “Something important.”

“It better be,” Lancelot grumbles. Satisfied that he can put off the decision whether to dispose of Merlin for a bit, he settles into a walking daze, trusting Merlin enough to not disturb the desperate attempt to stay within sleep’s grasp.

Distantly, he hears Merlin breathe a spell beneath his breath. Lancelot stumbles as his socks and boots appear on his previously bare feet, then glares fiercely at Merlin.

Merlin shrugs, a bit more amused than Lancelot appreciates, and says, “We’re gonna be walking through the forest. I doubt you’ll be able to sleep walk through that without landing on your face, with or without my help.”

Lancelot curses under his breath. However, he does slowly surrender to wakefulness. By the time the two have made it to the tunnels Merlin frequently uses to sneak around Camelot, the knight is aware enough to note Merlin’s excited energy.

“Should I be concerned?” He asks. Several ideas of what awaits them flits through his mind. He then carefully shoves them aside and refuses to acknowledge them. “And should I have a sword?”

“It’s nothing dangerous.”

“And is that in your measurement of dangerous or in mine?”

Merlin laughs quietly, but does not respond.

Yes, Lancelot decides. He should definitely be concerned.

“You owe me a day of uninterrupted sleep. Two, if I end up pissing myself because I’m half-asleep and unarmed and you’re setting me up for a heart attack.”

“Don’t worry,” Merlin says, in a way that only makes him worry more. “I’ll tell Arthur you’ve fallen ill.”

’That’ll get you at least two days,’ Merlin does not say. Lancelot hears it anyway.

Lancelot once again reminds himself that he loves Merlin and trusts him with his life. That does not stop him from wanting to strangle Merlin and return to bed if only to hide from whatever he’s being led to.

#bbc merlin #merlin fic #ship: merlin/lancelot #merlin bbc #merlin fanfic #tyrseward writes #series: misadventures of raising a dragon

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capmerthur · 5 years

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THE ONCE AND FUTURE FIC

Yet another resurrection fic (sorry?). ARTHUR RETURNS IN CHAPTER 2. Lots of feeeeels, and overdue conversations (at last!) between our precious King and Warlock. Title might change as this goes along, but this has always been the work title in my head since I started thinking about writing it, so… Starts right when 5.13 ends. WARNING FOR SUICIDAL THOUGHTS IN CHAPTER ONE.

Excerpt PART IV:

It's real! Of course it's real. If Arthur doesn't know- It's real! Arthur is truly back! And that's...

But *Arthur doesn't know*. And so *Merlin will have to tell*. It's too cruel. Merlin shouldn't be the one to break Arthur's heart.

(PREVIOUS CHAPTERS UNDER CHAPTER IV)

@clone-number-1

IV. (MERLIN POV)

Arthur squeezes his shoulders one last time and then lets go, about to stand.

"Now, let's go home. We have a feast to prepare in your honor."

Merlin cannot tell if his heart has just completely healed or totally disintegrated. Let's go home?

It's real! Of course it's real. If Arthur doesn't know- It's real! Arthur is truly back! And that's...

But *Arthur doesn't know*. And so *Merlin will have to tell*.

Merlin blanches. He feels guilty, anew. Because he has hoped and prayed and begged for Arthur to return; with everything he had. He has been selfish, hasn't he? And he has been blind; stupidly blind - again. All those years he has prepared for taking care of a still bleeeding wound, for clothes, for food, for any necessities; but it has never crossed his mind that Arthur wouldn't know... and he is not prepared for Arthur's emotional pain; and even less for causing it. Some small part of Merlin can't help but wish now that Arthur had stayed in the lake after all, had never awoken. It's too cruel. Merlin shouldn't be the one to break Arthur's heart.

Arthur is reading his panick wrong, of course:

"Don't worry- No one else has to know about your magic if you don't want to. But you DID end the war, Merlin; you did what I couldn't do - Morgana... All Camelot should know what they owe y-"

And Merlin can't bear Arthur's concern on his behalf any longer; making it last feels like a betrayal. And no matter how much Merlin doesn't want Arthur to get hurt, ever, he cannot and will not lie - not about this. Conjuring ghosts wouldn't be real and would only make it worse in the end anyway. The only option is a clear cut, right away.

"It's not- (deep breath) I'm so sorry, Arthur. We cannot go home. You were gone. For such a long time. For such a long, long time, Arthur. I'm so, so, sorry."

And Merlin watches, feeling his eyes filling up once more, as Arthur's eyebrows furrow in incomprehension; as Arthur blinks, taken aback as realization hits; as Arthur's eyes turn desperate and pleading, shaking his head in denial-

"No. I remember just-" His voice falters as he probably notices the house behind them - the house that definitely hadn't been there before - and who knows what more (trucks on the road farther away? joggers in strange clothes passing by?) "And you look exactly-"

And Merlin has nothing to say, nothing to offer, to soothe the hopelessly growing pain ready to crush his King, hollow him out - nothing but the cruel testimony of his once more, always, useless tears; and Arthur knows, indeed.

It comes out as a whisper, but it sounds as if Arthur's spirit has gone with it, vacillating.

"They're all-"

And the only thing Merlin can say still is: "I'm so sorry" - again.

"My people? My Knights? My- Guinevere..."

And it hurts. Oh, it hurts; to have to see Arthur's broken heart on his face, to hear its crack as his voice breaks on his Queen's name and his head turns away.

"I'm so sorry."

A litany; a chant; a prayer. Over, and over, and over. Pointless, worthless, useless, anyway; as his King cries silent tears, all the more shattering by their quietude...

Then Arthur is up and pacing, a fierce but dark spark in his eyes as his hands turns into fists - anger, rage; of course.

"Why did you bring me back then? How could you bring me back if-?"

And Merlin would gladly take a blow; if it could help Arthur to feel better, somehow. But nothing comes. It's Arthur. Of course nothing comes.

Arthur briefly closes his eyes, inhaling sharply. And when he opens them again, Arthur's anger hasn't faded; but isn't directed towards Merlin anymore.

"But then; you would have brought me back right away, wouldn't you have - if it had been in your power..."

And Merlin feels crushed, again; by how he *always* fails Arthur, indeed.

"I'm so sorry..."

AN: I realize I do have a thing for Merlin crying - blame it on Colin's A+ crying performances - so of course it has to appear somewhere... Merlin will not weep though for much longer, if it can reassure you...

(PREVIOUS CHAPTERS)

(Warning for this chapter: suicidal thoughts)

I. (MERLIN POV)

Merlin holds Mordred’s sword in his right hand, appraising it. He still can’t believe he has found it; still can’t believe it’s actually in his hands.

Over sixty years now - nothing; yet far too long - Merlin has been waiting for this moment. Since he has begged Freya, and threathened (and apologised - he couldn’t blame Freya for not listening; he wouldn’t have either, if their roles had been reversed), and begged again - in vain, for Excalibur. Since he has finally understood that he was a fool to hold onto hope for something that couldn’t, wouldn’t come to pass. Arthur was *never* coming back: Merlin had simply witnessed enough - he had witnessed too much; and too many times; and definitely one time too much one time too many - to ignore it any longer.

It was not that Merlin had grown too tired of waiting - too tired of the ache, the longing, the loneliness… For Arthur? Merlin would *always* wait; however long it might take.

It was not that Merlin had come to believe mankind didn’t deserve Arthur to rise again to start with - even though it *was* an easy conclusion, when it was at its worst, when it turned its anger against itself - too many horrors, atrocities, bloodshed. But mankind could be beautiful, when loving, in any form; and marvelous, too, when it was at its best; when it turned its anger towards its limits: the medical progress over the ages would have had Gaius exhilarated, and proud; and what about its general neverending thirst for discovery, for explorations, for quests? - of course Arthur would come back: if only he could.

It was just that Merlin had finally understood that he had been played - not even because Albion (the name has since long fallen out of use and its people had been scattered through the globe, so it might mean nowadays something else than it had used to to start with) had got united without Arthur (and even if it still only meant Great Britain, well, it might after all need to be united again); but simply because the list of unending reasons why Arthur should have come back to save the day and yet hadn’t (to mention only the very top of the list: half of humanity wiped out in a finger snap by the Black Death? the whole world collapsing in chaos, bend on destroying itself - World War?) had turned out suspiciously too long, and finally impossibly too long, as mankind had truly reached the lowest point not only ever but even possible without Arthur rising yet again (organised experiments and torture on toddlers, honestly?).

So.

Arthur wasn’t ever coming back from the dead, simply because no one ever came back from the dead (except as a shade - and that would be even worse, wouldn’t it? - or at a cost too great to burden anyway). It had been easy to believe in the prophecy; simply because it had been what Merlin had wanted. A distant promise of Arthur returning was still way better than no Arthur at all, and so Merlin had willingly taken the bait. But the fake prophecy had obviously been made up; as revenge, or entertainment - or both; and Merlin had felt stupid for not having realized this ages ago - The Sidhe were proud indeed; and Merlin had thwarted them. (It had been easy to forget it at first - to tell himself that they hadn’t known Arthur was THE Arthur at the time, whatever…) Merlin wasn’t sure about what Kilgharrah might have exactly known or not (On the one hand, Kilgharrah had forged Excalibur, who had always truly helped them. And Merlin had been warned by the Great Dragon, right from the start, and repeatedly; so wouldn’t it all have worked out just fine if he had listened. On the other hand, if he had listened? Wouldn’t he have been a monster, punishing people for crimes they had not yet committed? So maybe giving him the truth had in fact been the sure way to have him not acting on it. After all, Kilgharrah had hated the Pendragons - at least Uther - enough to have tried to wipe out Camelot. And he hadn’t been exactly pleased either to discover Merlin was a Dragonlord, even if he had seemed to soften when he had realized that Merlin would not control him as a puppet. And last but not least, Kilgharrah hadn’t taken care of Aithusa as Merlin had thought he would; and that’s how Aithusa had ended up with Morgana - and had forged the sword that had killed Arthur), but it didn’t change anything anyway…

Well, you bet Merlin hadn’t been willing to indulge them any longer. Not that anger was what was driving Merlin, of course. There was simply *no point* anymore in waiting. Nor in living, to be honest - especially as it might be what kept him from actually finding Arthur again somehow; next life, paradise, wherever and however and whenever? Merlin was no religious man, but even he had no answer about what happened after death after all. Maybe it was worth a shot? It was a very, very thin chance indeed; but it was still more of a chance than just staying here waiting for *nothing*… So. Merlin had begged Freya for Excalibur. But as she had kept absent, it had dawned on him at some point that Excalibur wasn’t the only blade he could use… Merlin had searched for that other mighty weapon through his magic for years; then had sent his creature to retrieve it when he had successfully localized it.

And here, now, finally, is Mordred’s sword.

And Merlin feels no dread, no fear, while holding it. If anything, he feels calm - calmer than he has ever been, probably. And that’s how Merlin knows that his decision is indeed right: even his magic agrees.

He should do it in the lake though. Magical artifacts just shouldn’t linger around in the open, huh…

Yes.

Let Mordred’s blade rest along Excalibur.

And let Merlin rest along Arthur.

Freya will make sure they all lay undisturbed.

Merlin blindly pulls at the cord around his neck, taking it out from under his tunic and sliding his left hand along it until it closes around Arthur’s mother sigil (AN) and Camelot’s ruler’s ring (Gwen had it brought to him, so he could give it back to its true owner on his return: Camelot in the meantime was to be ruled by a Concil of Knights and a Guardian, until Arthur would come back to sit on his kept empty throne and his kept empty seat at the Round Table).

Merlin closes his eyes; makes a silent promise.

I’m coming, Arthur.

He takes a first step into the lake.

Backstory: +1500 years in short - because it hurts and I just don’t have the heart to fully write the prologue I had intended to write:

Merlin has never left the lake. He kept waiting. He couldn’t, wouldn’t leave, (nor SLEEP even for that matter by the way) no matter for how short - imagine if Arthur came back just when he was NOT there, huh. And of course he wouldn’t trust his magic to warn him somehow - it had failed Arthur when he needed it the most after all. So no. Merlin has never left the lake. But Gaius has mentioned to him (Merlin got visitors, in the beginning (and his mother came to live with him until she died); before he cut himself off the world) how maybe the time he was given without Arthur was to LEARN more about magic; so that he would be prepared when Arthur came back to face whatever ordeal they were supposed to face. Because even if Merlin is hyper *aware* - he feels *everything*, through his magic - practice is necessary too. So Merlin mastered the art of molding sand/clay and animating it with his magic (basically, he walks the Earth as Old Merlin - because people tends to let old grumpy men on their own - whenever he needs anything physically). He can speak, hear, see, learn, through him, following the world as it expands (America, Australia, etc etc, because even if he was aware they existed, he couldn’t physically *go* there before they were ‘found’). And he can touch, and carry (for example you bet he brought back something red for Arthur to wear every time - Merlin sort of owns a ‘male red mode through the ages’ museum by now - and he hates it, of course). The first time Merlin has truly thought Arthur *would* come back has been The Great Plague. The second time has been WWI. The last drop has been the Nazis and Unit 731 experimentations. So Merlin sent its creature to fetch Mordred’s sword after having localized it though his magic - and that’s what Old Merlin is bringing back to him when this all starts (aka that shot at the end of 5.13)…

(AN: Just so you know, Merlin’s magically pierced in the thickness of Ygraine’s sigil to pass a cord - he wouldn ’t make a hole in the front design of course!)

(Also… A resurrection fic!? What am I getting myself into!? I’m still a newbie around here so I definitely haven’t read enough Merlin fics to ever claim making something original (so by the way, please feel free to let me know your all time favourites resurrection fics! So far I’ve read The Change Trilogy and Like the cycle of the year we begin again (and they’re both gorgeous reads so run and read them if you haven’t yet!) but I haven’t seen (yet?) my take, both on the waiting and on the getting along after Arthur’s return, in the fics I’ve read so far, so I thought I might as well write this down ?)

II. (ALTERNATE POV)

Arthur regains consciousness under water.

He’s cold; so cold he’s shaking - helpless, steady spasms he just can’t put an end to (being past half dead apparently has repercussions?). But it’s bright, up over him, and he instinctivally pushes himself up towards the light; towards the air.

The moment he breaks the water, Arthur registers that he’s not only alive but that he feels *just right*. No pain in his side, no weakness, no dizzinesss, no strain: nothing wrong at all - except from the convulsions from the cold, but you bet he’s not going to complain, all considered. The sun is veiled by clouds, but feels nonetheless like a welcomed warmth on his face, and Arthur breathes deep, bringing his arms up and turning his palms towards the warmth too as the tremors start to subdue; he’s alive!; and well! He doesn’t need to pat his absent wound in wonder, nor to look at the water, transparent clear instead of bloodened red, to know that what he feels is true.

Merlin’s done it.

He *has* saved his life.

Again.

It’s both unexpected (Arthur had been so sure he had taken his last breath, when all had finally faded to black, no matter how much he had been trying to stay with him, as Merlin had pleaded; to hold onto Merlin, to his voice, to the way he was holding him) - and yet somehow expected. Magical waters and a sorcerer who knows how to work its power would do wonders, obviously. It has happened before after all, bringing his beloved Guinevere’s spirit back?

A sudden realization; and Arthur can’t help but laugh. And it feels so exhilarating - alive! alive! - the laugh turns into a howl; and Arthur relishes on it, throwing his head back. Honestly? How could he have ever been *so* blind - of course it had been Merlin then too by the water edge, disguised as an old woman!

Somewhere on his right, a buoying laugh erupts.

And Merlin knows that laugh. So hearing the exact right tone of that entirely unexpected laughter at once feels as if a vicious invisible hand is squeezing at his heart.

He had forgotten it; he realizes. But he would recognize that howling laugh amongst any other…

Merlin doesn’t dare to *believe*. Cruel hope nonetheless blooms unbidden in his heart, and his eyes can’t help but zero in on the source of that sound.

And it is exactly as it should be; exactly as it has used to be…

There *is* ARTHUR; standing in the lake, water reaching his hips, chainmail glistening, head thrown back as he laughs. (Has anyone ever looked more simply breathtakingly majestic no matter what they did and even without trying?) Merlin can only see his back, but you bet he would recognize the shape of that back amongst any other too.

Merlin’s breath is knocked out of him; and Mordred’s sword falls from his hand.

Merlin knows what he hears and sees *cannot* be true. He has seen the world in a much, MUCH more desperate state without Arthur coming back then. There is absolutely no reason for Arthur to come back right now. So. He is being granted a vision; that’s all. But of course Merlin wouldn’t, couldn’t, try to take his own life anymore, not after having had even just a glimpse… Besides, he has just handed over the last sword that could end him anyway. Merlin has to acknowledge The Sidhe’s thinking; they know exactly well how to play him. But damn, they are vicious.

But no matter the abysmal pain from such a low blow, Merlin still considers this to be a gift, and is determined to draw it out for as long as he will be allowed to. Those few seconds might sustain him for another fifteen centuries to come, and maybe more…

Arthur quiets down after a while. Thinking about his savior: where is he?

Arthur scans his surroundings; and the warmth he feels when he finally spots Merlin definitely eclipses the sun.

The laughing stops, and Arthur turns, eyes searching; and a bright smile appears on Arthur’s face the moment they find him.

“Merlin!”

Merlin’s knees give out. His name through Arthur’s lips has sounded *exactly* right - righter than in any memory Merlin has relied on to live on hanging onto. And it hurts. The shame, and guilt - to realize he had forgotten *this* too? It shouldn’t have been possible - to have something so dear going misformed; a pale, withered, incomplete, erroneous copy, so far from the original that its truth has disintegrated? Oh yes, it hurts.

And Merlin’s fingers dig; hard, deep into the sand. He cannot reach out. He longs for; he *aches* to - both physically and emotionnally. But he cannot. As long as it’s only his eyes and ears that are deceived, then he can pretend it is true…

Merlin starts to cry. He can’t help it; he cries - as he hasn’t cried since, well, all those years ago: silent tears endlessly streaming down his face, unabached, treacherous; and Merlin hates them - hates the way they blur his vision when he has to - HAS TO - *see*. He is powerless to stop them though.

It is *blinding*.

Merlin has tried, so hard, to keep remembering, to NOT forget. But his memories, even sustained with his magic, have so obviously failed him; haven’t done Arthur any justice at all. Merlin has forgotten so, SO much; and being proven just how much he has actually forgotten slices through him like a knife. The exact darker shade of Arthur’s blond hair when wet. The exact way Arthur stands and moves. The exact sharpness of Arthur’s features - his nose, his cheeckbones, his jawline. The exact shape of that smile - that particular, undeniably fond smile following his name Merlin has used to live for and from. Guilt slashes through him again. How could he have *forgotten* the exact shape of *that* smile; the most precious to him amongst the myriad of each and every of Arthur’s smiles?

But then Merlin collapses, instead of cheering with him - he has thought him gone for good? And Arthur suddenly feels like there is still after all a gaping aching wound on his body; but this one deep in his chest, and of his own making. He owes Merlin *everything*, doesn’t he? Yet he has hurt him - and so very severely. Despite it, though, Merlin obviously still cares for him; and so very much… His own behaviour puts Arthur to shame. So. Arthur hadn’t had the time nor the strength to plainly apologize before. But he has now; and he won’t run away from the words that he needs to say - and even more important, that Merlin needs to hear…

Arthur is now rushing through the water towards him - so fierce!, so strong!; alive and well!? His smile is gone though; replaced by worry - because of Merlin’s tears, no doubt: yet another reason to hate them then…

And then Arthur is plopping down in front of him, out of breath; and Merlin gets proof again of just how much he had forgotten - the exact colours and depths of Arthur’s eyes! There is now a fragile smile back on Arthur’s face - a soothing smile, meant only for Merlin’s sake; and it’s going to break Merlin’s heart, no doubt.

III. (MERLIN POV)

“I’m fine, Merlin. I’m fine.”

And not only the voice is perfect, but the language is the one Merlin hasn’t heard for over a millenium…

“Arthur?” is all Merlin can let out - no more than a somewhat hiccuped whisper as he still has no breath, no voice, to start with; but an obvious plea coming from the depths of his soul. A world of wonder, and longing, and ache, and disbelief, and hope - because no matter what, Merlin can’t help but want; can’t help but hope - in those two syllabs that own his heart. Magic *does* exist, after all; and Merlin would give it all - all the magic he possesses, all his pain, all his hopes, everything - for this vision to turn real.

Arthur’s already fragile smile falters: “Don’t you remember, Merlin. No man is worth your tears.” The reproach is nothing but badly fake though, and Arthur’s voice somehow breaks as it ends: “Especially not me.”

And then suddenly - and so quickly Merlin doesn’t register any of it before it has actually happened, and so it is too late for him to move backwards to prevent it from happening - Arthur brings his hands on Merlin’s face, gloved fingers brushing his tears away under his eyes - and Merlin can *feel* them!?

Merlin is lost; lost in what he sees, lost in what he hears, and lost in what he feels. Can this be true? Can it truly be true?

But then Arthur starts speaking again - rushed out words leaving Merlin stunned.

“I apologize, Merlin. The way I reacted- (sigh) I deserve all the names you’ve ever called me and more. I’m thick, and dumb, and *such* an idiot, and a complete dollophead, and a cabbage head, and a prat, and a royal *ass*, and I still don’t know what a clotpole exactly is but I’m certain I am the definition for one indeed too. I may have seen anyone with magic turning against me; but I should never have doubted *you*, Merlin.”

Merlin just cannot believe what he’s hearing. It’s everything he has ever wanted to hear; everything he has ever hoped to hear - so how can it be real?

“But more than anything, I think, I’m sorry because I should have known, Merlin. I called you a liar; looked at you like you had betrayed me. But you’ve told it. You actually shouted it for everyone to hear; and I believe you nearly told it to me, privately, at least once, and presumably more… But I just didn’t want to hear it, did I? So I’m sorry I was such a coward; a *coward*, Merlin. And I’m so sorry, and so ashamed - and honestly I really can’t blame you for not trusting me to understand: because you were right; and it guts me, Merlin.”

Merlin shakes his head, about to interject - real or not just cannot matter anymore; not when Arthur’s gaze is boring into his very core, pleading and honest and full of a guilt Merlin just can’t bear to witness: “Arthur-”

Arthur silences him though, cutting him off by shaking him once by the shoulders: “But what counts is that I know, now, Merlin. Your magic is not only part of who you are; it also makes you who you are. And I will trust it; because I trust *you*. You must believe- No, let me rephrase this before you obey me again - because you *always* obey me, don’t you Merlin; even when whatever I say in anger or despair isn’t intended nor meant to be an order; and I’ve done it so often, haven’t I… ‘Do not put me into that position again’? 'Tell me it’s gone’? (AN) So. Can you believe me; Merlin? It’s not an order; I definitely do not deserve to give you any order at all to start with anyway. And you don’t even have to forgive me; you shouldn’t forgive me. But please, at least, can you b-”

“Of course I believe you. And there is nothing to forgive, Arthur. Nothing.” Merlin half shouts, ancient words flowing instinctively, head skaking 'no’ for emphasis, bringing his hands up to Arthur’s wrists and pushing downwards, keeping Arthur’s hands in place on his shoulders. If this is a waking dream then Merlin never wants to leave it. This is solid enough, real enough, for the rest of his maybe neverending life. “You’re here. You’re well. That’s all that matters, Arthur; I swear that’s all that has ever mattered to me.”

Arthur holds his gaze for a long, long time; as if waiting for Merlin’s clear eyes to betray his words. And when he finally seems confident enough that they are indeed genuine, he whispers, but it sounds like a pledge: “And you’re here, Merlin, and you’re *you*; and I swear that’s all that will matter to me from now on.”

AN: Tiny quote from my Body Swap fic; sorry, I just couldn’t NOT put it there, it just FITS…

(Also, just imagine they speak in old brittonic… but please don’t expect me to write it? sorry?)

#merthur #merlin #bbc merlin #merthur fic #bbcmerlin #the once and future fic #fic #fanfic #text #my own two spells #@clone-number-1

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