#and albion of course
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I'll Let You Have a Bite
Maxwell couldn’t see the man up in the tree. He couldn’t see much of anything, not ever since he lost his eyes. Yet, the presence of Magic – which he could usually feel permeating and infusing every inch of the world around him – had a suspiciously human-silhouette-shaped hole torn into it. And Maxwell could tell what – or who that meant by now.
“Albion.”
“Maxy! Dear, what a surprise it is to see ya!” Albion drawled out, taking a loud bite out of something crunchy and juicy.
“You are in my backyard. Can’t be that much of a surprise. And do not call me that,” Maxwell replied, keeping his voice flat and trying not to let his annoyance seep into it.
Albion laughed softly, bringing the something to his lips again – which Maxwell couldn’t help but notice was gushing with Magic. Magic wholly distinct from that all around them, only similar to one thing Maxwell has ever felt before.
Albion exclaimed, “Smart boy. I knew you’d sense it right away.” He continued, asking sweetly, “Tell me, what d’ya feel when you look at it, dear?” In reply, Maxwell merely did his best to point his eyeless gaze at Albion, who - with a chuckle - added, “Oh, you know what I mean. Sorry Maxy.” Maxwell scowled in response – but focused on Albion’s snack. It seemed to be in the shape of an apple, and most of its Magic was gathered along its outer edges. The Magic itself felt oddly mixed. Maxwell was taught that everything in the world was either infused with Magic – no matter the intensity – or it wasn’t. Yet the apple felt like a coalescence of the two, both devoid of Magic yet brimming with it, projecting it outward. Much like Maxwell’s own flesh was.
Maxwell’s features tugged into a frown, and he flexed his jaw in thought. "I sense... something. Something I don't understand. However, I can hardly think it is very special, if you're here bothering me about it. And eating it with such an... appetite," he said matter-of-factly, though a slight sneer – further denoting his last point – did grace his face. Albion made a loud sound with his mouth in response, (poorly) imitating a buzzer. “Not quite, my dearest Max, ‘tis something very special – an Epli."
“And that is...?”
“An Iðun’s apple – they're quite legendary. I had expected Erin to have told you a hundred times over by now.”
“She’s hasn't had much of a taste for mythology these days. And we haven’t talked in a while anyway.”
“Ah, right. The drama. The point is, these are very sought-after. They’re said to have kept 'em Norse “Gods” youthful," Albion said before scoffing and taking yet another bite.
“And you’re explaining your beauty plan to me... why exactly?”
“Figured you’d want a bite.”
“May I?” Maxwell asked inquisitively, raising an eyebrow.
Albion burst out laughing. “That looks creepy as all fuck, honey...” he said, before sobering up and turning his voice serious, “Seriously, don’t do that. That shit is scary. You need eyes.”
“Are you going to answer my question?”
“So impatient.”
Annoyedly, Maxwell held out his hand and stared at where he hoped Albion’s eyes were. He was heavily considering wiggling his eyebrows again for good measure. Albion’s response was a hum, as if in mock thought – before he spoke up, “I’ll let you have a bite if you let me have one.”
Maxwell startled and retracted his hand, but Albion continued – the levity in his voice slowly dropping, “You can tell it’s just like you, can’t you? You’ve got enough Hexstarved blood to sense it. You play dumb, but you’re a smart, smart boy.”
“Once again, what is the point of this?”
Albion spoke again, and Maxwell could hear the smile return to his voice, “Epli are very expensive, Maxwell. They are made with the processed flesh and blood of your kind. You’re not careful enough, you know? Half-breeds like you are oh, so rare. And after what your father did to you,” Maxwell tensed, “you are especially unique. Which means that there are plenty of people who will want a taste. And we certainly don’t want that happening.”
Maxwell growled through gritted teeth, “People like you?” Albion retorted, “Exactly like me.” A hungry intensity oozing and dripping off his every word. Suddenly, the gap in Magic – indicating where Albion was – moved swiftly. Maxwell just barely didn’t flinch as the void appeared right in front of him – less empty than it felt before. He felt Albion’s hot, sweet breath on his face. His hand immediately darted to Albion’s grasp, snatching the Epli out of his hand. “It isn’t of much use to you, anyway. We both know old age is not what you have to fear.” Albion whispered, and any trace of him – of his absence of Magic – disappeared. Maxwell could feel his own Magic festering and buzzing at his fingertips painfully as it started flowing into that loathsome apple, which had been growing heavier in his hand ever since he grabbed it. A golden nugget, shaped much like the eaten-around core of an apple, dropped into the soft grass silently.
#Maxwell my dear#if it weren't for you who would suffer so#and albion of course#my flesh eating son#Magic drug reveal#1 out of 15 Magic drugs unlocked#also yeah I am not great at writing dialogue in case you haven't noticed#writing#creative fiction#fantasy#urban fantasy#disabled oc#aspiring writer#aspiring author#writeblr#prose#my prose#my writing#signed; fa
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arthur (prince of camelot) still has to study under a tutor bc yknow uther wants him to be very intelligent before becoming king or something bc its super important idk idc anyways merlin is doing chores in his chambers while arthur is squinting at a book and merlin eventually caves and asks him what he’s reading and arthur gruffly explains that its a collection of stories from greece that make absolutely no sense so merlin asks him to read them outloud to him. arthur of course teases him and calls him an idiot and asks how he could possibly help but does as he’s asked and reads the stories to merlin as he does his chores. merlin (being crushed under the weight of destiny and tormented by the prophecies that kilgharrah spews) understands the stories almost immediately and gets all excited and starts rambling about them with arthur. arthur is glad to have someone who understands so he can give something that reflects a hint of understanding to his tutor who accepts it and moves onto the next unit of education.
the thing is, arthur finds more stories in camelot’s library and brings them up to his room to read them aloud to merlin under the guise of completing his studies but really he just wants to watch as merlin’s eyes gleam when he understands whats happening and listen to him ramble on and on about them bc he’s gay. the stories stick with merlin though and he realizes that they’re cautionary tales, that the heroes who were told too much of their future doomed themself to fulfill them - that them fighting the prophecies led to their completion. merlin takes it to heart and gives a big “fuck you” to kilgharrah before forging his own fate and helping morgana with her magic and handing out an olive branch to mordred and now everyone can live happily and peacefully in an albion teeming with magic.
#merlin and arthur are of course at each others side in the end#merlin is curled up with arthur in their bed and says a silent thank you to his king for saving him#arthur returns the sentiment wholeheartedly#bbc merlin#merlin emrys#arthur pendragon#merthur#fic idea#fanfic#fanfiction#headcanon#hc#head canon#merthur prompt#i have my own hc of fate vs destiny in bbc merlin and i like to incorporate that into everything i write#but then i realize that not everyone thinks that way lmao#i like to think that destiny is unavoidable. merlin and arthur are destined to form albion and lead it together#i think fate is like a fragile version of destiny#i think most people are tied to fate and will follow what they are fated to do unless those who arent tied down by fate change course#like i hc that seers are able to see the potential future of what is to happen should they not interfere#and the goddess leaves it up to them to choose. so like seers arent tied down by fate and can change the course of history#since merlin is literally magic incarnate i also think he isnt tied down by fate and can act to change things#kilgharrah told merlin the prophecy that would result in the dragon getting free and ending the pendragon line#and since merlin never got close w like any druids or magic users. no one told him the inner workings of fate vs destiny#so he listened to the dragons warnings dooming him to fulfill the prophecy that brought about one of the worst possible futures#bc the dragon was salty about his whole species being eradicated by uther and vowed to destroy the pendragon line#omg im ranting okay post over thank you and good night
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All of the McAllistairs love so deeply, and that is exactly what's wrong with them and also what redeems them and yes this includes Priscilla.
Loving someone so much that you bring them back to life, willing to fight death itself just to have them with you again; loving someone so much you can't bear life without them so you do anything, no matter how brutal, to keep them with you, disregarding even their wishes and keeping them with you by force; loving someone so much you dedicate a religion to them, even run them for mayor even though they can't speak; loving someone so much that you're willing to die for them, sacrificing your own young life full of potential in order to give them what they want.
The difference is perhaps not the type of love but the type of people they are. It all depends on if they the person they love as an object or not, listen to what they want, and of course it's so easy to objectify someone who is also literally an object.
The all-consuming love that each McAllister feels causes them to do things that are both terrible and noble and I love that so much. The thing that stops the cycle is the thing that begun it
#Of course you can argue that it's not really love of you disregard someone's feelings#you can replace love with infatuation#Ya know maybe it is different kinds of love and not just different people#Dolls of new Albion#Shaperaverse
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Properly back now
"Raven King" by beesants
Now the Funeral's done, can we get on with enjoying and appreciating Michaelmas-tide, Equinoctal, and associated Harvest rhythms please?
( I'm not just saying that because it' s my birthday next week!)
#cold albion#of course like or not#coronation is another mythic thing#so gods know when they're gonna do that#charles is not my king but he and all this are bellwethers
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had friend christmas today and it was very lovely. now I am rather tipsy and listening to the libertines and thinking about how much I love them x
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Fantasy Names III
Aithne (f)
Elderic (m)
Minne (f)
Valira (f)
Isidor (m)
Marabella (f)
Albion (f/m)
Gloriana (f)
Sakura (f)
Wolfram (m)
Azahara (f)
Neizan (m)
Malasintha (f)
Sonora (f)
Zabel (m)
Rosamunde (f)
Jamilian (m)
Sybella (f)
Alamea (f)
Gael (m)
Tamar (f)
Kamilla (f)
Burr (m)
Alias (m)
Emmeline (f)
Kuno (m)
Rosella (f)
Maura (f)
Iker (m)
Hemma (f)
Disclaimer: You can, of course, use any name you like for any genre of story. Some of these names are from actual mythology, some of them I just liked as names in a fantasy story.
More names!
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Ok, I don't really post here, but there's a Merlin AU idea that's been rattling around in my skull like it's a pinball machine and I need to get it out, so here we go:
Imagine an AU where Balinor doesn't die and banishes Kilgarrah before sneaking away so Uther doesn't catch him and can't put his newfound son in danger. Of course, both he and Merlin are heartbroken about having to be separated again after just finding each other, but they work out a way to keep in touch and occasionally meet in secret.
And this is all well and good, and everything in the show just kinda proceeds as normal up until about season 4, where we have the knights of the round table well-established in Camelot.
It'd make sense that after a few years of travelling around with Kilgarrah, Balinor would be pretty well-known and well-feared throughout all the five kingdoms as "that dragonlord who escaped the purge and now travels around on the back of a giant dragon", and people all over Albion are kinda terrified of the guy.
Rumors say that he never smiles, that he can kill a man in a split second without even utterring a spell, and can decimate kingdoms with the dragon under his total command. That makes for a formidable figure!
And then one day, Balinor is trying to sneak into Camelot to visit his son (he heard Merlin got hit by a dorocha and wants to make sure he's ok!), and the knights see him and freak out because holy shit that's one of the deadliest guys in Albion!
They're in a tense standoff, with Balinor threatening to call down the dragon on them if they don't let him through. The knights are all ready to give their lives to at least buy the people in the castle time to evacuate, when suddenly Merlin and Arthur make it to the standoff. Arthur immediately starts strategizing with his knights on how they're going to negociate with the sorcerer in an attempt to make sure that they aren't all slaughtered.
Meanwhile, Merlin just laughs and pushes through the rows of knights blocking Balinor's path to the castle. The knights, being very fond of Merlin and not wanting to see their kind little friend be brutally murdered by one of the most terrifying men in exsistence, are trying to grab Merlin and pull him back to safety or shouting at him to get back, but Merlin manages to avoid them as he walks up to Balinor.
For a horrifying moment, the knights and Arthur think that Merlin is about to sacrifice himself for them, but Merlin breaks into a huge grin, yells "Dad!", and runs right into Balinor's arms.
(Merlin and Balinor reason that now that Arthur's king, they might as well start easing him into some of Merlin's less shocking secrets)
And even more shockingly to the knights, Balinor hugs him back, asking Merlin all about how he's been doing, how are his studies under Gaius, etc etc.
And all of the knights just bluescreen. Because the math isn't mathing on this one. Hunith + Balinor = MERLIN?! Does not compute.
They're all pondering how could someone as joyful, friendly, and kind as Merlin be the spawn of a terrifying man like Balinor?? They just cannot comprehend it. The manservant who they all know and love came from this sorcerer who's name is synonymous with the threat of death and destruction??
They're all jolted back to reality however when Balinor asks Merlin if he wants to come back to Balinor's newly-renovated stronghold in the mountains (that's only accessable by riding a dragon) to learn more about one day becoming a dragonlord. And suddenly, the knight understand why Balinor's here. He wants to kidnap Merlin from them and twist him into a terrifying sorcerer to carry on Balinor's legacy!
It all basically dissolves into a long game of high-stakes tug-of-war between Balinor and the knights + Arthur, and Merlin's just enjoying spending time with his father and his friends.
Balinor will just casually crash one of their quests while riding Kilgarrah and "kidnap" Merlin while the knights fight to keep Merlin with them.
Balinor eventually gives Merlin Aithusa so he can get practice raising dragons, and the knights see it as some evil scheme to make Merlin betray Camelot and attack it from within, but damn it Merlin's already adopted the damn thing so now they're stuck with a baby dragon.
IDK if I'd ever write a fic about it since I'm pretty busy writing another fic rn, but I thought that it was a funny idea to throw out there!
PS: if anyone wants to read my current project, where I'm giving Sir Leon more anxiety with each chapter after a kinda-botched magic reveal on Merlin's part (and Merlin may or may not be an eldritch god), feel free to check it out here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54027337/chapters/136771564
Thank you all for sticking with my incoherent rambling! :D I hope you have a great day/night!
Also, please let me know if you guys wants to hear more of the ideas that pinball around in my head!
#bbc merlin#merlin#balinor#merlin bbc#arthur pendragon#merlin au#protective arthur#protective knights
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*Avalon*
Arthur: it's cruel, isn't it? For him to tell me about his magic in that final moment. I never had the time to adjust... To pay him back...
Sidhe: You are here now, Arthur Pendragon. The prophecy has been fulfilled
Arthur: of course it has been. So, how long do I have to wait before he comes here?
Sidhe: oh, no, Arthur Pendragon. Emrys is Immortal, he cannot join us. It is you who will return to earth.
Arthur:... Wait, seriously? When? Can I go now? I have so much to tell him!
Sidhe: don't be ridiculous. You won't be coming back to that traitor, you moron. Your destiny was to unite Albion and have Emrys watch over you until he cannot bear to live without you
Arthur: I beg your pardon?
Sidhe: Emrys is a powerful god. He has once betrayed us to protect humanity, to protect those foolish mortals from what they deserve. Their realm will one day be hours, but with Emrys guarding it, we have no chance to take over. That is, until one of our leaders came up with the idea of you.
Arthur: me? The IDEA of me?
Sidhe: yes. You were made from our magic in exchange for your mothers life. Emrys has left our realm and we will not let him cross the threshold. Once your loss has broken him, we will invade, and YOU will ensure that we do not fail.
Arthur: you want to break him?
Sidhe: it will only Take a few millenia. Earth will soon be hours.
Arthur: you mean, I'm your hostage
Sidhe: yes.
#bbc merlin#merlin#merthur#concept#this is kinda doctor who ish#like#avalon is alien tech#merlin may or may not be part timelord in my head#welp
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Actually, wait I want to talk more about the matches the Featherington sisters managed to make for themselves.
So there's a quote I heard a while back that you want your kids to do better for themselves than what you did. Portia while she probably did well for herself socially by what we can infer with marrying up by marrying a baron we also know she was never happy in her marriage. Nor from what we have been shown has she ever really known romantic love. The most love we have seen from Portia is a maternal type of love towards her daughters but even that we have been shown is jaded more than likely due to her experiences from society. We also know she places survival above any emotion, of her daughters, herself, and in a weird way the barony too. Every time we hear her talking about marriage we rarely, if at all, hear her bring up love.
I think Portia succeeded in a way with her daughters ending up better than she did in their marriages. The men her daughters married were not the ideal type she would have ever imagined for them or hoped, but they are also all men her daughters needed to make their lives better. Her daughters are secured like Portia wanted, but they're also happy, and we know at least two are in love. (I'm withholding on prudank until I see them some more) Emotionally they're in a better place than Portia was during her marriage.
In season 1 Daphne said that the first sister married sets the tone for the other sisters and I think we can hold that true for the Featherington sisters.
Philippa was the first one married when she married Mr. Albion Finch. A man who wasn't quite the catch socially even though he is part of the ton but also a man who adores his wife and loves her. We see this trend continue with her sisters.
We should have known that Prudence wouldn't see the altar with Jack Featheringotn, outside of that weird thing he tried with Portia, Jack Featherington did not fit the Feathrington groom mold. Mr. Harry Dankworth, a man who looks like pure sunshine and just happy to be there will definitely be a better match for Prudence. Feel like he can soften her more jaded edges.
Then of course we got Mr. Colin Bridgeton, who we have seen without even having or realizing his romantic interests in Penelope craves her attention, and wants to be like the man she believes him to be. They both are going to push each other to be better versions of themselves and learn to love all parts of one another.
The Featherington sisters' road to marriage isn't quite as grandly dramatic as the Bridgertons. Penelope's being an exception but she's marrying a Bridgerton so there's no escaping that fate. But all their marriages are sweet, happy, and loving, something I feel like each one of them needed.
#bridgerton#polin#philippa x albion#philippa x finch#prudank#prudence x dankworth#prudence x harry#penelope featherington#philippa featherington#prudence featherington
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Arthur stumbles upon the dragon purely by happenstance, but by gods is the beast a chatty thing. It goes on and on about destiny, Albion, peace, and Arthur’s favorite part how the once and future king (himself) and his fated other half (Emrys) are two halves of the same coin, and everything will become clear when they realize this. Then the beast tells Arthur that Emrys not only has magic, but is magic, and Arthur’s head begins spinning—not with fairy tale romance where he gets swept off his feet as he’d been imagining moments before—but how anyone could have magic and not be evil.
‘Merlin could do it,’ he thinks wistfully, his unrequited crush upon his manservant rearing its ugly head even as he contemplates his soulmate.
He’s pulled from his daydream by said crush ambling clumsily into the cavern, gaping wildly, and then blurting out, “I can explain!”
The dragon laughs. “I already have, Emrys.”
And Arthur’s head starts spinning again. He pushes himself off the ground, takes a single step toward Merlin, and pulls himself back as a landslide of realization clobbers him like a thousand stones. “You knew?”
Merlin looks completely broken when he says, “I didn’t want anything to change between us.” I didn’t want you to have to choose between me or your father.
Arthur’s heart aches. Tears burn behind his eyes. “Of course,” he bites out, but all he can think, is what kind of man can’t be loved by his own destiny? What kind of monster must he be?
Things do change. Merlin’s stiffer. Arthur’s quieter. The dragon beneath the castle becomes one of Arthur’s closest confidants even if it speaks in riddles and leaves Arthur’s clothes smelling so strongly of smoke even his father notices.
“I’m sorry,” Merlin whispers one night as the smell of Kilgarrah’s sulfurous smoke fills his nostrils as he prepares Arthur for bed. He misses the smell of Arthur’s sweat, and the combination of leather and grease that clings to his armor. He misses the way Arthur used to look at him, joke with him, befriend him before he knew about the magic. “I’m sorry I’m like this.”
I’m sorry I’m me, Arthur thinks as he silently raises his arms to let Merlin drop a sleep shirt over his head. He only grunts in response.
Months pass, and as the ground thaws so do Merlin and Arthur, because though he may speak as clearly as a mud puddle Kilgarrah isn’t wrong: one cannot truly hate that which makes it whole. Arthur clings to Kilgarrah’s promises. One day. One day. Hopefully one day soon.
And the day comes in late summer when Merlin’s nearly skewered by a bandit while he and Arthur are on a hunt. Arthur’s checking him obsessively for any signs that the blood on him is actually his, while Merlin swats at his hands insisting he’s fine.
“Why wouldn’t you use your magic!?” Arthur screeches shoving Merlin’s hands out of the way so he can look over every inch of him.
“So I could be burnt upon a pyre? No thanks.” Merlin manages to push himself free of Arthur and stalk away.
“We’re meant to marry one day. We’re two sides of a coin, soulmates. Do you truly think me so monstrous?”
Merlin’s eyes are big as eggs. “What? Married? Soulmates?”
“What do you think Kilgarrah meant?”
“He’s an overgrown lizard!” Merlin shouts suddenly feeling too warm and too confined despite the mild weather and endless amounts of fresh air. “That…He…Is that what two sides of the same coin means?” He’s pacing the meadow, ignoring the dead bandits scattered in the tall grass. “I’m sorry, Arthur, I am. I…I don’t think you’re a monster, and I’m sorry you have to choose between your father and I. I’m—“
Arthur sees something then in the way Merlin tugs at his hair, eyes full of concern when they swing toward Arthur. Fools, Kilgarrah had called them, and fools they absolutely were.
“There’s no choice,” Arthur murmurs, sidling up to Merlin to take his hand. “It’s you. It was you before I knew of our fate and your gifts, and it’ll be you no matter what stands in the way.”
#this got long but I’m not willing to flesh it out into a full fic either#they’re idiots in love#of course that’s what Kilgarrah meant#they’re just too foolish to realize it#Arthur and Kilgarrah should have a long chat about love destiny and marriage#bbc merlin#merthur#arthur pendragon#merlin#merlin bbc#fanfic#merlin emrys#merlin fanfic#ITHVmerthurficlet
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In which Melrin and the Knights are sitting around the campfire and Sir Percival is in charge of the story telling...
Percival: They call him...Emrys
Lancelot: *glances at Merlin*
Merin: *chokes on his soup*
Arthur: It's alright Merlin no need to be scared, Emrys doesn't actually exists
Percival: The Druids say, he was born from mortals in the time of the great purge, from a dragonlord who saught shelter and from a woman with a heart of gold. A child born from a love that could never be. The tripple goddess took pity on her peoples and gathered the lost magic of the dead felled by the Butcher King -sorry Arthur.
Arthur: *waves his hand for him to continue*
Merlin: *trying to catch Lancelot's eye and get him to change topics*
Lancelot: *looks at Merlin and nods* What happened next Perc?
Merlin: *mouths* traitor
Percival: Well, the babe was born with the lost magic of Albion coursing through his veins. A God in his own right. He can level any kingdom with a thought, create or destroy armies with the snap of his fingers.
Arthur: See Merlin? If he existed, I doubt "The Butcher King's" kingdom would still exist. *satisfied smirk at Merlin's pale face*
Percival: Ah you see Emrys was not born without purpose Arthur. He is the guardian of the Once and Future King. A King destined to usher a golden age of prosperity and unite the land of Albion under a banner of peace.
Gwaine: Sooo how would we know who this Emrys is? What if Arthur is that King?
Arthur: Whilst I appreciate the praise Gwaine, it's a children's story meant to scare people like Merlin. It can't possibly be true.
Percival: Well there is a way to test it... it is said that Emrys will respond to any prayer spoken sincerely by the Once and Future King.
Gwaine: Go on Arthur, try it *winks*
Merlin: I really don't think this is a good idea.
Leon: I agree with Merlin here, summoning a dangerous sorcerer is a bad idea...
Gwaine: We're not summoning him, just pray for something harmless, he can't refuse it right? So why not try? Or are you worried you're not this great King? *wiggles eyebrows*
Arthur: *growls* Fine. *closes eyes* As I sit here now I pray to Emrys to...uh...give Gwaine an apple.
Merlin: *Magics an apple infront of gwaine*
Arthur: *opens eyes* What? Why's everyone looking at me like that? *sees apple*...oh
Leon: Merlin...?
Merlin: *high pitched squeek* yeh?
Percival: I saw it too.
Gwaine: And me.
Arthur: What? What is it? I command you as the King of Camelot to tell me what the bloody hell is going on.
Leon: It's Merlin sire. His eyes... They blazed gold at your prayer...
Arthur: *laughing hysterically* Good one Leon.
*silence*
Arthur: You're serious? Yo- you mean Mer- *turns to Merlin, eyes fixed on his* As I sit here today, I pray to Emrys to sharpen my sword.
Merlin: *Eyes blaze gold*
*Arthur's sword unsheathes itself and starts sharpening itself mid-air*
Merlin: Um...tada? *jazz hands*
Elyan: *comes back from gathering firewood* So what was Percy's story about today?
(Inspired by this tumblr post:
)
#arthur pendragon#bbc merlin#merlin#incorrect merlin quotes#god merlin#incorrect quotes#sir percival#sir leon#sir lancelot#sir gwaine#sir elyan
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post magic reveal, post magic ban lifted, arthur gets to see merlin in all his glory and somehow falls deeper in love with him than he ever thought possible. merlin who is free and accepted and loved and ecstatic by it all, but there's that thought lingering in the back of his mind that only half of their destiny has been fulfilled. magic has returned to camelot but albion is still fractured in many different kingdoms, many of which are still holding onto the hate that uther spread which is seeping into the very fabric of the earth itself. druids and magic users and even magic creatures are still persecuted all across the realm and yeah camelot opened her arms to them but not everyone trusts it (justifiably).
arthur who is choking on the sheer amount of love he has for merlin and promising himself that he'll tell merlin, he'll confess, even if he feelings aren't reciprocated. merlin will know. merlin who has been chewing on an idea for some time now and is planning on bringing it up to arthur. its night as merlin is dressing arthur for bed and they're both quiet and tense. they break at the same time and end up speaking over one another. arthur allows merlin to go first since his nerves are eating away at him. then merlin speaks of leaving.
arthur feels his nerves rot and decay and fall into a bottomless pit. merlin is rambling about how every magical being in albion is still being targeting by various kingdoms and as the prophesied emrys, magic incarnate, druid king, should he not be doing more to help? he doesn't want to leave arthur's side, but he does want to help his people. he's seen only a fraction of the atrocities committed against them and he wishes to protect them, give them somewhere completely safe, a kingdom of magic so to speak. he promises that he'll only be gone for as long as it takes to establish a kingdom (a year? two? three?) but he promises to write and visit often...as long as arthur gives him permission and allows him to leave his service for the time being.
arthur of course agrees, half unhappy about it but completely understanding. surely, out of everyone, he is the one who can understand the weight of responsibility weighing on merlin's shoulders. he mentions that merlin will need someone with experience wearing the crown to guide him. plus, balance. merlin was always there for arthur, guiding him on how to be a better man, a great king, someone worthy of the praise he constantly spewed. it's only right that arthur gets to return that by helping merlin establish a safe haven and home for his people. and politically, camelot being the first kingdom to recognize merlin's and establish some trade agreement or treaty with them will strengthen merlin's kingdom's status and send a message that camelot stands with magic.
merlin smiles wide and asks what arthur was going to say. the king hesitates before biting his tongue and requesting that merlin bring up the honey cakes that had been prepared earlier that night. two of them. since merlin was no longer in his service, he didn't have to stand by and watch arthur eat - not that he ever did, the idiot loved to steal his food. shamelessly!! he never even tried to hide it. they both sat at the table in his chambers until late in the night, nibbling away at the sweets, chasing it down with wine, and chatting away.
arthur wasn't able to confess, but it did not change his feelings. if anything, merlin's heart and the decision he made only added fuel to the raging inferno of love and devotion within arthur. he knows that merlin will keep in contact and will return to his side one day. he gets through the tough days/nights by rereading merlin's letters and imagining seeing him again in royal garb and donning a crown.
#when they finally wed it completely solidifies that camelot is a safe space for magical beings#camelot and whatever name merlin settled on for his kingdom sort of merge together with the marriage as well#which is only the beginning to the prophesied unified albion that they were meant to build together#i just think that merlin shouldve built something for his people#like theyre being prosecuted at every turn#theres no safe place for any of them to reside#theyre always looking over their shoulder#merlin aka emrys aka magic itself should've looked out for his people#his devotion to arthur got in the way of that tho which ig is romantic but also like bro. cmon now.#plus king merlin>>>>#bbc merlin#merlin emrys#arthur pendragon#merthur#angst sort of#its a happy ending if you read my tags LMAO#fic ideas#fanfic#fanfiction#headcanon#head canon#hc
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RWRB is the Merlin Reincarnation we all needed and now I can't stop thinking about it and I'm obsessed, someone help.
True king of Albion is back, still fighting to serve his people and keep his love.
And of course the prince falls in love first, he's been waiting thousands of years.
#red white & royal blue#red white and royal blue#rwrb#alex claremont diaz#henry fox mountchristen windsor#merlin#bbc merthur#merthur#merlin x arthur#arthur pendragon#This is absolutely insane#Someone stop me but also write me at least 20 fics on this#What do you mean it unhinged?? You think I don't know?
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Any more love spell or fake dating fic recs for merthur? :)
love spell
Kiss Me Now (Kiss Me Forever) by pendragonally (@pendragon-ally)
When is a love spell not a love spell? When it’s just Arthur trying (and failing) to express his feelings— not that Merlin knows this, of course. Figuring it out leads to more than one revelation.
~~~
technically not a love spell fic, but also,, like merlin i was also firmly on the oh yeah he's enchanted camp dhfadjlhk so im counting it
2. Book Of Love by messandahalf (@messandahalf10)
Arthur has just lifted the ban on magic, and despite having Merlin around to answer his questions, he decides to try to do some research on his own. Books on magic are scarce in the castle, so he digs around in the library alone one night. What he ends up reading has some… interesting consequences.
~~~
love spell makes arthur obsess over his true love. hmmm wonder who that is
3. Call It True Love by orphan_account
Arthur falls under the effects of a love potion. Merlin has a headache.
~~~
adfhjkhfd poor lancelot
fake relationship
I Want Love, I Want Us, I Want Peace by InkThroughHerVeins (@ink-through-her-veins)
The Queens of Albion throw a ball every year for noble families to introduce their eligible sons and daughters. Except Camelot doesn’t officially have a queen. So, Arthur makes Merlin help with the planning.
Written for Merthur Week 2022. Each chapter uses one day’s prompts.
~~~
merlin being queen before even being queen!!!
2. For You, For Me by Camelots_Daffodil (@camelots-daffodil)
Merlin and Arthur are taken captive by a slaver with slightly deranged tendencies, and in order to save Merlin's life, Arthur claims that he is his consort. Their captor decides he wants to test the strength of Arthur's love for his supposed consort.
Written for Merlin Bingo 2022: Misunderstandings
~~~
fake relationship for a cause!!
3. Charting Stars On A Stained Glass Ceiling by mornmeril (@mornmeril)
Merlin leads a relatively content life - or as content as is possible under the rule of a magic-hating King. When the arrogant son of said magic-hating King starts becoming a regular at his coffee shop, Merlin is a little puzzled. When said Prince prat then proceeds to ingest a love potion on Merlin's watch that results in him having to move into the Royal Palace as Prince Arthur's (fake) boyfriend, Merlin wonders which deity he has angered. Things only get more complicated from there.
“Welcome to The Drip and Grind, what can I get for you?"
“The same thing I always have,” Prince Arthur says, sounding vaguely disdainful and unbearably posh. “One would think you’d remember my order by now."
Merlin scowls. He remembers His Haughtiness’ order perfectly well, but sees no reason to inflate an already unbearably large ego.
“You’re not my only customer,” Merlin keeps his voice coolly polite; barely.
“You realise that’s not the proper way to address me?”
And is that a smirk at the corner of the stupid prat’s, stupidly gorgeous mouth?
“Apologies, your High-and-Mightiness. Now do you think you can tell me your order or must I divine it from my crystal ball?”
~~~
excellent, spectacular, life changing, loml
#merthur#bbc merlin#merlin fic#merlin x arthur#merlin#merthur fluff#merthur fanfiction#merthur fic#merthur fanfic#merthur fic rec#merthur fic recs#jealous arthur#jealous!arthur#love potion au#fake/pretend relationship
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You are my hero for using the phrase 'perfidious Albion' in your tags. What is the French obsession with Alexandrine meter?
:) Well it's just that for a very long time France considered the 12-syllable verse known as the alexandrine to be the pinnacle of versification. For your poetry or play to be considered high literature it had to be in alexandrines (I was recently reading an English jstor article about translations of Shakespeare in the early 19th century and it went “[French translator] prefers to translate in verse, which means, of course, in alexandrines.” Of course!) We've moved on now and they’re out of style, but we’re still secretly fond of them I think. We were held hostage by alexandrines for so long a lot of French people still have a Stockholm-syndrome preference for their specific flow over other kinds of poetic metre.
They left a strong legacy in our language too—a lot of French sayings / proverbs are alexandrine verses because they’re excerpts from classical theatre and poetry (e.g. “A vaincre sans péril on triomphe sans gloire” from Corneille; “La raison du plus fort est toujours la meilleure” from La Fontaine; “Qui veut voyager loin ménage sa monture” from Racine; “Chassez le naturel, il revient au galop” from Destouches, “Vingt fois sur le métier remettez votre ouvrage” from Boileau...)
The alexandrine had a long golden age, from the Classicists to the Parnassians (mid-17th to late 19th century)—the Romantics in between were advocating for a kind of “free verse” but it still meant alexandrines and pretty rigid ones at that! (Victor Hugo’s “J’ai disloqué ce grand niais d’alexandrin” was subversive—but it’s still an alexandrine.) Their verse was only considered rebellious because it ignored some of the many rules that went into a perfect classical alexandrine (e.g. no overflow, 4 rests per line, rhyme purity must be respected when it comes to mute consonants, no liaison between the last word of an alexandrine and the first word of the next, the hemistiches of two successive alexandrines mustn’t rhyme, no prepositions or other tool words at the end of a hemistich, etc. etc.)
Then in the 19th century we liberated ourselves from the tyranny of the alexandrine after Verlaine shot them dead (insert Rimbaud joke) by doing things like placing the caesura on the 3rd syllable of a 5-syllable word (“WTF”—Racine) or ending an alexandrine in the middle of a word and treating the first half of the truncated word like a legit rhyme, which made all the Classicists roll over in their grave.
I really like alexandrines personally! I admit they can sound plodding after a while especially with classical rhymes, but they have such a soothing flow. I also love that they are often French at its Frenchest. By which I mean, there are some gorgeous alexandrines that are genuinely the French language at its best and most graceful, and then you have those that can’t help but highlight how absurd our syntax can get.
My favourite types of alexandrines are the ones with a diaeresis in each hemistich because saying them normally feels like walking down the street, while saying them as an alexandrine feels like doing a figure skating routine (e.g. in Racine, “La nation chérie a violé sa foi”); the ones with an AB-BA structure (“Et le fuyant sans cesse incessamment le suit”), the ones with a ternary structure (“Je suis le ténébreux, le veuf, l’inconsolé”, “Je renonce à la Grèce, à Sparte, à ton empire”) and the ones where 1 word sprawls over an entire hemistich (“Voluptueusement dans cette paix profonde...”).
The worst alexandrines imo are the ones that force you to acknowledge how many tiny grammatical bricks are involved in the building of a French sentence. Orally we tend to squish them together so we can forget about them but the merciless alexandrine will demand that you mortify yourself pronouncing all of them, e.g. “O nuit, qu’est-ce que c’est que ces guerriers livides ?” (thank you Victor Hugo for this ignominy) (<- here’s an alexandrine), or “Si ce que je te dis ne se dit pas ainsi”... “Ce que je te (...) ne se” is a horrible succession of words by poetical standards but wait I’ve got worse!
Tu m’as pris mon trésor et t’étonnes tout bas
De ce que je ne te le redemande pas
“De ce que je ne te le”—see? French at its Frenchest.
#ask#language tag#(french speakers tell me your favourite alexandrine if you have one!)#ce dernier couplet provient d'un livre sur la poésie de hugo qui m'a surtout marquée parce qu'à un moment#l'auteur consacre plusieurs pages à citer des vers dont le contenu terre à terre contraste ridiculement avec#la grandiloquence inévitable de l'alexandrin#et c'est vrai que certains sonnaient plus comme une réplique de trissotin qu'un vers de la légende des siècles#mais quand même t'écris un bouquin sur victor hugo et tu décides de passer 20 pages à lui mettre la honte
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'The druids mentioned a Quercetum is ailing: a blight of some kind.'
'Sounds painful,' Gwaine said from where he and Elyan rode behind them, the tack jingling in rhythm to the horses' steady pace. 'Do they need an ointment or something?'
Merlin snorted. 'A Quercetum is a grove of oak trees. I don't think one of Gaius' creams will do much good. It needs me and Arthur to set things right.'
------
When Arthur assists Merlin in a magical ritual, he realises just how much could truly be his, if he only had the courage to ask for it.
Read on Ao3, or hit "keep reading" below!
Of Root and Sea and Sky
Arthur Pendragon watched the man who rode the pretty bay mare at his side, his seat confident and steady after years in the saddle. Merlin sat straight and at ease, his clothes suitable for travel but far more fine than his baggy servant things. A dark coat of soft leather fit across his shoulders, showing off his narrow frame and the subtle strength that lay within it. The blue tunic beneath, Arthur had noticed as they departed that morning, matched his eyes. Tight breeches clad his thighs, no longer threadbare at the knees and hems, but sturdy and perfectly tailored.
The sight had a detrimental effect on Arthur's composure, and he'd had to tear his gaze away more than once since they'd set out from the citadel.
'Where are we going?' he asked, proud that he managed to keep his voice steady. Now was not the time to be caught mooning over Merlin. He could not tell when the unfortunate admiration had begun; only that it had been years. It had grown since their first meeting, unacknowledged as they seemed to careen from one calamity to the next. It was something Arthur had learned to live with: not just the lust that glowed in the pit of his belly, but the love that threatened to bloom in the caverns of his heart.
He was fortunate to call Merlin his friend. He had resigned himself, long ago, to the realisation that anything more was nothing but a fantasy.
'The druids mentioned a Quercetum is ailing: a blight of some kind.'
'Sounds painful,' Gwaine said from where he and Elyan rode behind them, the tack jingling in rhythm to the horses' steady pace. 'Do they need an ointment or something?'
Merlin snorted. 'A Quercetum is a grove of oak trees. I don't think one of Gaius' creams will do much good. It needs me and Arthur to set things right.'
That, at least, Arthur understood. After his father had succumbed to a blade in battle and Arthur became king, Merlin had spent long evenings drinking wine with him in front of the fire and explaining the ancient connection between the throne, the magic and the land itself. They sustained each other, the rule of a kingdom going far deeper than the crown upon someone's brow.
In the days before the Purge, magic had been an integral part of every realm in Albion. A mere twenty-five years without it had sent many lands plunging into poverty and conflict. The earth withered, and the corruption his father had railed against found a home in the hearts of ruthless men.
Slowly, that damage was starting to heal, and it was something that could only be achieved by a ruler who took his vows seriously and a sorcerer who used his power well.
One of his first acts as king was to overturn Uther's laws. He had done it for the good of his kingdom, of course, but if he were honest, there had been more pressing, personal reasons to make it legal once more. He cast aside tyranny for Morgana and Merlin, neither of whom deserved to live in fear.
He still remembered, sometimes, how pale they had been when they confessed to him – terrified. In that moment, Arthur's character had been tested. The balance could have gone either way. He could have fallen back on everything his father had told him, leaning into the safe foundation of prejudice, or he could have tipped forward into a future of possibility, one that led his realm into a golden age as the wounds of the past began to fade.
To his shame, it had not been an easy choice, but in the end, he had placed himself firmly on the side of sorcery. Now, more than a year later, Camelot flourished with a new kind of peace.
'Anything we should know?' Elyan asked, raising his voice to be heard as they left the road, guiding the horses through last year's leaf-litter. It rustled as they picked their way through the boles of the trees, following Merlin's lead.
'Not really. It shouldn't take long, but these are holy places to the druids. Swords should be set down outside the edge of the grove. There's a good chance the magic will hide us from your line of sight. Don't interfere. Not unless I call for you, or you'll throw the whole thing off and we'll have to start again.'
Arthur hid a smile to hear the calm authority in Merlin's voice. It shouldn't surprise him. Even as a servant he'd had a way of speaking sometimes that gave others no choice but to listen. Now, with magic legal once more and its study permitted, Merlin only grew stronger and more knowledgeable of his abilities.
And with each passing day, Arthur found it easier to accept the druids' claims. He looked at Merlin and could well believe it when they said that he was the strongest warlock to walk the earth – and the nearest thing the magical community had to a king of their own.
And Merlin was his: his court sorcerer and his closest friend. Perhaps that was why Arthur had not spoken of the way he felt. One by one, so many of his excuses had fallen away, revealing the fear that lay at the heart of his silence. In truth, he had far too much to lose, and so he held his tongue and let his longing flourish unheeded.
A huff from Hengroen broke into his thoughts, and Arthur frowned, focusing once more on their surroundings. At first, he could not understand what had made his gelding tense, but before long he noticed the smell in the air: sweet, dry rot and arid earth. It was out of place in the lush, flourishing woods, tickling at the back of his throat and stirring some prickling, instinctive awareness to life. He was not like Merlin. He could not tap into the living world all around him and hear its hum, but he could detect that something was amiss. His kingdom bore a wound, and he could not leave it to fester.
'Gods.' Gwaine's curse was low and sympathetic as they brought their horses to a halt, staring. The oaks stood in a cluster, occupying a broad clearing amidst the more slender pines. Yet where Arthur would have expected to see tender young leaves, there were instead withered branches. Strong trunks were bleached bone-white except for where dark blisters pocked the bark, and more than one large branch had fallen from the stark canopy to lie, twisted and ruined, upon the ground.
'What happened?' Elyan breathed, sounding devastated. 'What could do this?'
'That's what we're here to find out,' Merlin promised. 'You two stay here. Arthur and I will need to be in the middle of the trees to work out what's caused this and set it right.'
'Be careful. Don't do anything I wouldn't do.'
Arthur threw a glare in Gwaine's direction, but it softened the moment he got a look at his face. There was no customary leer, and the joking tone in his voice had fallen flat, dragged down by his concern. He and Elyan were more lax with protocol than Leon, but they still took their duties seriously. While they may understand that they needed to keep watch from a distance, that didn't mean they were comfortable having either Arthur or Merlin out of their sight.
'We'll be all right,' he promised as he slipped out of the saddle, the leaves rustling under his boots as he unstrapped his scabbard and set his sword aside. 'Merlin knows what he's doing.'
'Course he does,' Gwaine replied, all unapologetic confidence as he dismounted, stopping at Arthur's side and lowering his voice. 'He'll blast anyone who tries to harm a hair on your head. Just – Be careful, yeah? Watch his back?'
Arthur clapped a hand on Gwaine's shoulder. 'Always.'
Elyan took Hengroen's reins, promising to tend the horses as Merlin jerked his chin towards the grove: a wordless invitation. Each rustling footstep left the knights further behind, their weapons drawn and at rest, ready to fight any danger that made itself known.
'They'll be all right,' Merlin murmured, resting his palm against one of the ailing oaks.
'The trees?'
'No. Well, yes. I meant Gwaine and Elyan.'
'There's plenty of dangers that lurk in the woods,' Arthur pointed out.
'But nothing they can't handle. Besides, I put a up a ward as soon as we entered the forest. It covers more than a mile. If anything crosses it meaning us harm, we'll know about it.'
Arthur's heart fluttered, and he stepped closer, bumping his shoulders and grinning as Merlin nudged him back. He shouldn't be surprised about the wards. Merlin had been feral about protecting the people he called his friends, right from the start. These days, he made sure they were safe without apology, weaving stunning magic as if it were as easy as breathing, and it warmed Arthur through from soul to skin.
'So, what exactly are we doing?' he asked, peering up at the sad remnants of the trees. 'Can you really fix this?'
Merlin's long fingers grabbed the sleeve of Arthur's jacket, tugging him towards the centre of the grove. 'Remember what I said about how, once, rulers of their kingdoms were tied to the land? How they can act as conduits?'
Arthur suspected he knew where this was going. 'You plan to use me in the spell, don't you?'
'Not... exactly.'
Merlin stopped, turning to face him, and in his expression, there were subtle hints of that same old pain that had come to the fore whenever Arthur, in his uncertain past, had twitched away from Merlin's magic. It had happened more often than he'd like to admit, back when he had first confessed. His father's teachings were hard to shake, and Arthur had needed time to learn there was nothing to fear. Not when it was Merlin who wielded the power.
'If I can pour the spell into the land through you, it will have more strength and precision. This' – He gestured at the trees around them – 'is caused by a corruption in the natural magic of the earth. I can cleanse it without you, probably. You don't have to do anything you don't want to. It's just that it would be easier if –'
'Merlin.' Arthur reached out, grabbing his hands and holding on, bringing the rush of words to a halt. He wished he could ease those scars of uncertainty that lingered still, not in his own heart, but in Merlin's. He had spent far too much of his life hiding what he was. Too many years had passed where he had heard, time and again, that magic was something monstrous, and Arthur hated to see him apologising for what he could do. As if his power was a curse, rather than a blessing. 'Of course I'll help you. Just tell me what I need to do.'
Merlin's grin was bright and infectious, showing his dimples and making his eyes gleam, yet he still gave Arthur a probing sort of look. 'Are you sure? I mean it. There are other ways.'
'You're the one who has been harping on at me about how king and kingdom are connected. Besides, I want to help.' He looked at the trees, stark and suffering, and saw nothing more than a cry for mercy.
Perhaps they were not important to the people within Camelot's walls, but there was more to his realm than the souls sheltered in the citadel. The druids had started to creep back in, tremulous and uncertain, but with growing confidence. This was their land, too, and he would not deprive them of assistance simply because of his father's old prejudices. 'You said this was a sacred place. Why? What makes it special?'
Merlin looked up at the window of blue sky above them, criss-crossed by the bare, skeletal branches. 'Oak is supposed to have a lot of magical properties. Different groves have different qualities. Some are meant to imbue strength to those who seek shelter beneath their boughs. Others offer wisdom. This one is a Sōþfæstnes.'' The word rolled of his tongue, comforting to Arthur's ear for all that he didn't understand it. 'A place of honesty. The druids use them for ceremonies and meetings. They believe you can't utter a lie when in one of these. They're used for handfastings, too, so that people know the vows are genuine.'
'Are they right?' Arthur was still not sure where the druids and magic came together. There was a whole system of belief that he knew very little about. It was part of the reason Merlin kept reminding him that he was not a druid himself. He had power, but not the culture that the druids valued so highly.
'I don't know.' Merlin shrugged. 'In a way, I don't think it matters. The druids believe it's important, so it's worth fixing. Besides, it would be a shame to see these trees die.'
That, Arthur could agree with: on both counts. 'Where do you need me?'
He watched as Merlin closed his eyes, his body falling motionless as a sudden, playful wind swirled the leaves around them. Arthur did not know what he was looking for, but it seemed he found it as he reached for Arthur again, guiding him to a spot that looked like any other. 'Hold my hands, and relax. This might feel a bit strange, but it won't hurt you. If you want me to stop, just say.'
That last part was added in a firmer tone, as if Merlin knew full well that Arthur wouldn't back down, even if his instincts were screaming at him to retreat. It was enough to make Arthur shoot a quick, imperious look in his direction, trying to hide the flutter of trepidation that stirred deep in his gut.
He'd seen Merlin perform magic before. He had stood on the periphery as he wrought his enchantments, revelling in the warm-sunlight sensation. Yet despite all his talk about the importance of the realm's ruler to the balance, Merlin had never invited him to be a participant. He'd always worked alone.
Now, as he watched those blue eyes flare bright, brazen gold, Arthur felt a new world open up within him. It started softly, like the breath of a summer breeze, gradually filling his senses. He could hear the steady hum of life throughout the woods; could sense the birds on swift wing or taking their perch, the dart of deer and the slippery chill of water as it seeped through the roots. The rich, heady perfume in the air intensified, and he could feel the pull and ebb of sap across his skin, sticky and vibrant.
Yet there was more. Hidden within those details there was a sense of something vast and ageless: a slow, steady beat like the pulse of the earth itself, resonating up through the bones of the world. Magic flowed there, pooling and diverging, collecting in knots only to disperse once more: an eternal lightning storm miles beneath his feet.
Yet where they stood, the light had turned thin and frail, its thick branches ebbing to threads as it choked and stuttered. Here, the magic had fallen out of balance. Arthur could feel how it threatened to drain away entirely. It had retreated deep, deep down, leaving the oak trees withered husks of their former selves.
'Ready?' Merlin asked, his voice little more than a whisper.
Arthur focused on the man before him. Seeing the world through the lens of magic, Merlin was like the sun, so bright his outline was almost lost. Yet Arthur could feel his heat and life: the warmth of a hearth and the cold splash of water on a sweltering day. He was helpless to do anything but shift closer, pressing near to the interface of that power as if he had been starved for it since the day he was born.
'Ready,' he managed, his voice little more than a rasp that faded to nothing as all that light poured through him and into the earth beneath his feet.
He had expected it to feel overwhelming, a surging tide threatening to eradicate every facet of his being. He had anticipated a struggle to contain it and feared being lost in its surge. He had never thought it could be like this: soft and brimming with love.
It did not smash through him, but whispered down his thighs and filled his chest with its glow. It rushed down to his feet and stirred the fine hairs on his arms into shivering awareness. Each breath tasted sweet, and as the magic reached out through him, he felt the tattered remnants of it in the earth stretch back, curving towards him like seedlings seeking the sun.
He watched them, not with his eyes, which had slipped shut in pleasure as Merlin's power filled him to the brim. Instead, it was as if it were the essence of himself that observed the world. Something deeper than skin and bone, intimately connected in ways he had never imagined. He bore witness to the magic's struggles to thrive once more, and he urged it on with the race of his heart and the mute cries of his being. He lost his breath, somewhere in the tumult of it all, until he felt that his own fate had aligned with the oak trees around him – that in this moment he would triumph or perish, and one was just as likely as the other.
And then, a single strand, as delicate as spider-silk, brushed against the plunging roots, and power surged up through the earth.
Arthur reeled as it exploded through him, his grip tightening fretfully around Merlin's hands. Yet there was no pain. It was euphoria and ecstasy: heat in his blood and the pit of his belly. Every part of him felt alive, tingling and pulsing as the darkness was washed away. It was like sunlight after the longest night, chasing off the shadows and bringing the warm touch of life in its wake.
Distantly, he heard the trees creak, their bark swelling as sap moved once more, sluggish at first, and then with growing urgency. The ground beneath his feet shifted as the roots shook of their rot, and overhead there was an ongoing susurrus as the magic rushed across the bare branches, doing the work of a season in a moment to shade them with a canopy of emerald green.
Yet there was something tenuous about it, and Arthur drew in a shuddering breath as he felt what he had to do. Merlin had provided the power. He had poured it through Arthur's skin and bones and blood, but it was up to him to anchor it in place. Without him, while the grove may not die, it would always struggle to thrive. The land would bear the scar, but with Arthur's influence, it could be healed in its entirety.
His lips parted, a question trembling on the tip of his tongue, but he did not need to speak a word. Merlin's magic was like his hands, strong and capable. It ran up his arms and curved around his shoulder, cupped his jaw and rested over his heart. And with it, silent but sure, came the knowledge of what he needed to do.
There was no incantation to utter – no grand spell to tie everything in place. Through the oaths he had taken and the crown he wore, he and the kingdom were one. All he had to do was accept the magic, and the land would welcome it in turn.
Once, it would have been impossible. Fear had been his foundation, and his father's words were nothing less than poison dripped in his ear. All his life, he had been told of the evils of sorcery, and yet, thanks to Merlin and Morgana, he knew his beliefs were flawed.
Morgana had been the one to show him the human face of sorcery – to bring the issue closer to home in a way Arthur had always secretly feared, but it was the man in front of him who had taken the time to teach him. He had shown Arthur that, in the right hands, magic was a gift. He had challenged his belief that it corrupted those who wielded it, because if there was anyone who Arthur truly believed was incorruptible, it was Merlin himself.
Yet it was also by his gentle explanations that Arthur came to understand that magic was far more than a mere tool. It was a natural force, like the winds or the tides: an essential part of the world that Uther had sought to strip away. To decry its nature was like shouting at clouds, utterly pointless.
And it was thanks to that quiet tutelage – to long nights in front of the fire and Merlin's steady, low voice explaining everything – that he was able to peel aside the lingering veils of his doubts and open himself to the power seeking admittance.
It was... indescribable. A falling star blazing through him, threatening to burn him up even as it chased off every last shadow. Each breath felt painfully inadequate, as if nothing as simple as air could keep him alive. His head spun and his muscles shook, his blood surging as his heart hammered fit to burst, driven wild with elation.
For one, fragile moment, he could feel his kingdom within him. Its rivers were his veins, its mountains his ribs and the valleys the spaces in between. He could sense the blaze of life and the tender cradle of death as existence unfurled through him, and he revelled and mourned in equal measure.
At last, when he thought he could bear it no more, the frothing tide began to recede, draining from him with a lingering caress that stalled the breath in his lungs. Every inch of his skin felt hot and aware, his flesh too tight across his bones. He came back to himself in increments, no longer standing toe-to-toe with Merlin, but slumped in his arms, that surprisingly broad chest holding him up as he sagged against him. His nose was buried in the hollow under Merlin's jaw, and one hand smoothed up and down his spine, coaxing him through it.
'You with me?' Merlin asked, his voice deep and rough. 'Sorry. I should have warned you it's a bit intense.'
Arthur managed a huff of agreement. He felt wonderfully drunk, warm and care-free. His senses echoed and blurred, so that for a moment he was able to enjoy the feeling of the sun on leaves he didn't have and the rich, dark earth between his roots. Gradually, even that dimmed from his awareness, binding him once more in the constraints of his human frame.
Yet there, on the very edge of his hearing, no louder than a breath of a breeze, there was a voice, soft and musical, whispering in his ear.
A truth, our dearest King, in thanks for what you have done for us: he guards his heart well, but he would be yours, if you would have him. He loves you, as you love him.
Arthur blinked, barely daring to believe his ears. At any other time, he might have written it off as the cries of his stupid, desperate heart, but Merlin himself had said that this stand of trees was a place for honesty: one where the truth found its way into the light.
'Arthur? Are you all right?' Merlin's hand was gentle as he cupped his jaw, lifting his chin so that he could look into his eyes.
He swallowed, feeling shockingly naked beneath the weight of Merlin's gaze. There, caught up in that bottomless blue, was everything he had never dared to acknowledge: tenderness, concern and a deep, abiding well of emotion that Arthur felt in kind.
He could feel the pressure of his choice before him – a split path that his life could take. On the one hand, he could retreat back to known territory: the realm of friendship, hard won and deeply cherished. Yet at the end of that road, he could see the end of them. One day the court would force him to claim a queen, and it would be duty, rather than distance, that steadily eroded what lay between him and Merlin.
Or, in this precious moment, he could reach for what he wanted: a life together and a love shared. Something he had thought impossible and still barely dared to hope for.
'Arthur?'
'I'm okay.' He flexed his grip where it was caught in the leather coat, the hide smooth like butter beneath his touch. 'I – I –' His voice hitched, tangled in the briar of his uncertainty. His courage – so dependable on a battlefield – threatened to abandon him, and he swallowed hard, pursing his lips. 'I'm okay.'
'What did you hear?'
He blinked, his gaze darting back to Merlin's in surprise. His hand still cradled Arthur's cheek, soft and careful, as if he were something precious. His body was a firm stretch of heat all down Arthur's front, and his heart thrummed, crying out for more.
After a breathless eternity of indecision, Arthur reached up, grasping Merlin's wrist. He turned his face to brush a kiss – butterfly-light, tremulous and desperate – against his palm. Merlin deserved so much more, and yet in that moment, it was all Arthur dared to offer him.
He heard the quiet gasp stutter past Merlin's lips, but he did not dare look at him. It felt as if he were awaiting judgement, the ecstasy of freedom or the horror of execution. He braced himself for Merlin to make his retreat, excuses on the tip of his tongue.
Instead, Merlin's free hand splayed across the small of Arthur's back, urging him close until they were nose-to-nose, their shared breath whispering between them. His voice was little more than a cracked murmur, laced with raw desperation as he repeated his question. 'What did you hear, Arthur?'
He shivered from head to foot, lost beneath his own, inevitable surrender. 'That you love me,' he managed, swallowing hard as he dredged up the words and laid himself bare. 'That you love me as I love you.'
The kiss scorched him, Merlin's mouth hot over his own as every inch of him sparked to life. It was no sweet, chaste brush of lips, yet nor was it restrained to wanton desire. There was devotion writ in the pressure of Merlin's lips and the stroke of his tongue. It was engraved in the strength of his arm around Arthur's waist, and he surrendered himself to it, clutching Merlin to him. Want and need, love and desire all battled for the upper hand, and Arthur was lost all over again, not to magic, but to Merlin.
He kissed him as if he would die without it. One hand gripped gently in that dark hair, the other crept beneath his jacket to clutch at his tunic, eager and desperate, fearful even now that this was some sort of figment that would vanish with the morning light, as so many of his dreams had done in the past. Yet not such cruel twist of fate found them. Instead, they kissed until they were breathless with it, shaking in each other's arms as years' worth of emotion finally revealed itself.
The only thing that stopped him from rutting himself blind against Merlin's thigh, right there in a grove of sacred oak trees, was the knowledge that Gwaine and Elyan were waiting for them back at the horses. It would only be so long before their knights came looking. As it was, while they might not get an eyeful, they would still find them both flushed, their mouths swollen and their clothes in disarray.
A regretful groan caught in his throat as he eased off, his kisses turning shallow and scattered. Try as he might, he could not pull himself away, and he stayed there, safe in the circle of Merlin's arms as they rested their brows together.
'Clotpole,' Merlin breathed, sounding unbearably fond. 'How could you not know I love you too?'
'You never said anything,' Arthur pointed out, deciding he had to defend himself, at least in that respect. 'You're never normally shy about telling the world how you feel.'
'It took you four years to acknowledge we were friends,' Merlin replied. 'I thought anything else might make you break out in hives.' He grinned, that bright, dazzling smile that Arthur loved so much. A moment later it softened, and Arthur looked into that face and wondered how he could possibly have missed it. Merlin's heart was right there for the taking: Arthur's, if he wanted it.
And he did.
Easing back, he held out his hand, feeling as if he were asking so much more as one word slipped free of him. 'Home?'
Merlin's blue eyes sparkled as if he had heard everything Arthur didn't say. The promises he made and the hopes he carried in his raw and bloody heart. Yet he did not hesitate or turn away. He met Arthur head on, unflinching, as if nothing could stop him seizing the future before them.
Those long fingers brushed against his palm before entwining with his own, and in his answer, there was the subtle glimmer of a promise. 'Home.'
As they departed, shoulder-to-shoulder and hand-in-hand, the trees ruffled their leaves and whispered their truths. One day soon, the two men would return, and there beneath the bower they would be hand-fasted to one another, their devotion absolute. Camelot would have no queen, but two kings to rule side-by-side in quiet triumph and eternal love.
And never would it falter.
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