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futurepastme · 11 days

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Before the Dawn of Man in Castles Made of Sand

For the past year i've been trying to write my first fic and I barely even started at all, but from time to time I imagine a few scenes that might or not - probably not- be included on the main story and SOMETIMES I write them down anyway I can, as fast as I can. And sometimes I actually take the time to try writing something decent.

So here is a scene that I though of that supposedly is part of the fic I'm writing but will never happen: ≈2.5k words

Three hundred-ish years ago, the first King of Camelot, King Bruta, signed a very detailed peace treaty with the King of Essetir, Éamonn. It wasn’t a ‘now-we-are-buddies’ agreement or a ‘you’re-in-trouble-let-me-help’ agreement, no, it was a ‘keep-our-shit-to-ourselves’ agreement.

Bonded by blood magic, the treaty stated that as long as a descendant of both the original kings set on the throne of their respective kingdoms, no acts of war, military or otherwise, would be allowed between their kingdoms on penalty of the immediate interruption of the lives of the current rulers and all of their living relatives.

A complete ending of the bloodline, with no one left to salvage it in any way.

The treaty was signed by both Kings and any living heirs they had, so as to make sure that the bloodline was completely bounded by the contract.

The magic, though, had an expiration date. It was powerful, ancient magic, but as the seasons change and the days turn to night, magic, too, is frail against the will of time, and as it passes it would slowly fade into nothingness.

It was stated then at the bottom of the contract, just before the fancy signatures with the swirling loops, that when the time should come for the magic to disappear, both Kingdoms’ current rulers should reunite in a meeting for the reinforcement of the spell and a renewal of the contract. ♦

Some would say that Merlin ran out of time. Which was clearly an exaggeration seeing as he still has plenty of time left. No, really, he still had like, at least five hours before things really go to shit. That’s what he thought, anyway.

But some people, well, everybody but Merlin, would say that he ran out of time a week ago, when the announcement was made; or four days ago when the party was ready to leave and Merlin sat on his horse; or even yesterday when they were still outside of the Kingdom, camping for the night.

But no, he definitely still has a few hours. The party still wouldn't even be able to see the castle for another three, and they wouldn’t reach the lower town for another half hour after that.

Merlin was out of time.

He sat on his saddle, restlessly sweating his nerves out. If Arthur could see him, he would order him to stop, ask what is wrong and call him a girl, all in a single phrase. Arthur couldn't see him, though.

If this were a simple hunting trip, Merlin would be by his side, chattering his ears off and completely disregarding every royal protocol ever written in the history of mankind. But this was a Royal Camelot Party led by King Uther himself, which, of course meant that Merlin was far off the back riding along with the rest of the servants of the Royal Household.

Which meant that he could barely even see Arthur’s stupid golden hair, let alone talk to him about anything.

So, the battle plan, now that he still had plenty of time was that he would avoid everything and everyone that has a mouth or ears or eyes, run for Arthur’s assigned chambers, tell him everything without crying at all and then pray that he could leave said chambers alive and sane. And with his heart unscathed.

It is not every day you tell your master, friend and secret crush that not only your existence is illegal in his father’s kingdom, but you are actually royalty yourself. Royalty of the kingdom they were currently at.

So, Merlin was having a great day, and a stressless week.

And it only got better when the knights arrived.

A small party of seven men, dressed in armor very similar-looking to the ones from Camelot, the only apparent difference being the blue capes and the lack of a royal crest on the chest piece, slowly approached, led by an almost completely gray-haired knight with dark eyes and an almost charming smile.

“Welcome to Essetir, your Majesty, Your Highness. I’m Sir Griogair, we are here to safely escort your Majesty and your party to the gates of the keep.” Merlin hastily pulled his hood and sank lower on the saddle.

Griogair was, in Merlin’s opinion, a slimy little man greedy with power, he has loathed the guy since the day he sat foot in Essetir, every hair on his body reacting with the man’s disgusting nature. But of course, ‘bad feeling’ wasn’t a good excuse not to knight the bravest looking guy his father had seen in years. Especially when you are only thirteen and don't know better yet.

He deserved credit, though, for Griogair was, at the time and still, a very handsome man with charms to spare. He had won over almost everyone in the keep within the week, was knighted within the month, and when Merlin left, he was one of the most high-ranked knights of the kingdom.

But now, for the looks of it, and from the few words he managed to hear all the way from the back, Griogair was not only a First Assembly Knight, and a Dragon Rider of the Kingdom, but has snatched for himself the position of War Mage.

That meant that not only the fucker had learnt magic, but it was skilled and powerful enough to be able to qualify for the position and now could use it freely on behalf of the kingdom. It also meant that, when in mission out of the keep, he would be responsible for dealing with the magical creatures and beings that lived within the borders of the kingdom, interfering as necessary.

Also, that meant that the bastard had clearly taken advantage of Merlin’s absence to ensure the one position Merlin could and would have stopped him from getting.

Anger aside, Merlin took a second to recompose himself and to try to identify the other knights that came with Slimy Griogair. He knew his father wouldn’t send a bunch of low-ranking knights to deal with burn-innocents-at-a-pyre-for-fun Uther Pendrasshole and his entourage.

The three knights that rode on the left side of Slimy Griogair he couldn’t see. Actually, he barely couldn’t see the Snake himself, which he was equally parts glad and concerned.

Of the other three knights that he could see, two he failed to recognize.

But at the front, riding almost side by side with Griogair, he caught a glimpse of curly snow-white hair. Sir Llywelyn was by far his closest knight, 5 years older than himself, the man was a true friend and a fierce knight.

Ending his quick inspection of his men, Merlin lowered his head further, letting the hood blind his vision fully and trusting his horse to follow the others. Friend or foe, Llywelyn or Griogair, it didn’t matter, Merlin had to get home unrecognized by either of them or the other knights.

♦

At this point in his life, one would think Merlin was used to things not going as planned. From magical creatures that appear from nowhere to bandit attacks, Merlin’s day never went as he expected since the day he decided to leave home and follow his magic to the great unknown. The great unknown that led to Camelot and to the unending headache that his life became.

You would think that somebody as powerful and as used to ambushes as Merlin would have been able to feel the approach of a huge flying magical creature, but he had better things to worry about then to be attacked by his own dragon.

The betrayal, honestly.

They had been on the road for another hour since his knights joined Camelot’s Party. Merlin still had his head down, but now his hooded cape had a small spell that kept his hoodie from falling unless he wanted it down.

He was bored. Not only far away from Arthur and from Leon, but he still had to ride at George’s side.

The man has been rambling on for hours about all that was known of Essetir culture and servants’ etiquette, which wasn’t much, but he somehow managed to stretch a 3 pages lost-through-time knowledge into a 40-minute-and-still-going monologue, and also somehow made it more boring than the grain reports.

It went down really fast

One second, he was on his horse, trying to not listen to George and still stay awake, and the other he was on the ground with an extremely heavy, horse-sized, white dragon licking his face.

The second that his brain took to understand the situation was enough to hell break loose.

Camelot’s knights stood on one side, weapons drawn, ready to kill the beast, while his knights tried to protect Aithusa.

There were shouts and threats from both sides, and stupid Griogair, instead of trying to appease the situation and take the unknown Camelot servant from under the huge magic creature that he should be responsible for, no, he was aggravating the situation even more.

He had to do something, now.

By the time he got back on his feet, both sides were ready to attack each other, Arthur’s arm raised slightly, ready for the first strike.

“Enough” he said, walking to put himself between Arthur and Griogair. His voice was loud and clear. A voice of command and power, a voice he hadn’t used in years. It was the strong voice of someone born to lead legions to war. Camelot’s knights relaxed a little, if by shock or relief he didn’t know, but they kept their stance as Arthur scanned him “I’m fine, no harm done.”

He turned fully toward his knights “Lower your weapons, now.”

The problem was, Merlin was still hooded and Griogair was still an asshole “Is this how Camelot’s servants speak with their superiors?” Stupid said, while grabbing Merlin by his clothes and suspending him in midair.

“Put my servant down. Now.” Arthur commanded, his voice dangerously low and calm.

“The boy might have harmed the dragon, until I say he didn’t, he stays in our custody” Griogair, the idiot that can’t read the room, said.

That’s also when Merlin decided to let his hoodie fall.

He heard a few shocked gasps, and felt more then saw his nights stand down and lower his weapons. But nothing would make him loose the amazing sight of Griogair’s shocked face as he began paling to death. “Put. Me. Down.” He said for Griogair’s ears only.

“Y-your Highness” He dropped Merlin like he burned his hands taking half a step back, Merlin would have fallen but right now he wasn’t the clumsy servant anymore, he was the Crown Prince Merlin Ambrosius of Essetir, trained in combat from a young age, and with a political situation on his hands that could lead to war.

“Forgive me, My Lord. I hadn’t realized we were graced with your illustrious presence” His head in a low bow, but his eyes never leaving Merlin’s.

“Sir Griogair”

“It is really good to have you back, Sire. The people start to talk, you see? Rumors about your death spread, but not me, Sire. I knew better, you see? I told them all; No one in the five Kingdoms have more skill or bravery or the complete…”

“Stop talking”

The amusement Merlin felt when he first saw Sir Griogair’s shocked face had slowly diminished and was long gone. Every second that he stood there, posture straight, facing his knights in his kingdom, with the feeling of the stares of another Royal Household burning his right side; the further away he was from the happy servant he was this morning, and now the phantom weight of his crown started pressing down on his head.

“I’m sure you are aware, Sir Griogair, of my reticence towards you when my father first started rising your rank within the knights”

“I’m sure I more than proved myself, Your Highness. The king himself knows; my position was more than des…”

“I’m not done” Merlin interrupted again. His posture as straight as possible, his head held high.

“I’m aware of the King’s feelings in regards of your person; and I’m sure you somehow proved yourself to him in many occasions, my father wouldn’t reward with higher ranks a man he deemed undeserving.” Griogair has stopped bowing, straightening his body and letting a smile that was meant to be charming form on his face.

“Unfortunately,” Merlin continued “I have yet to see the actions that would grant rewards such as your high ranks, and today you have, at my eyes, failed the crown and your kingdom.” His voice was loud enough to be heard by all of the Camelot’s entourage, even George and the other servants at the back.

“Your Highness, surely I can’t be blamed for the actions of a brainless…”

“What my dragon did is irrelevant, as a knight your actions reflect on the kingdom more than anything Aithusa could possibly do, you carry our colours and is responsible for the safety and well being of every living being inside our borders, not only our citizens and creatures, but our guests as well.”

“Sire! I…” He wasn’t smiling anymore; panic was back on his face.

“Unfortunately, your actions today can’t be left unpunished, and at the absence of the king, I’ll be the one to define such punishment; my decision here will be final and would only be overruled by the King himself.”

“Please… Sire!” He fell to his knees, grabbing the hems of Merlin’s cape.

“I hope you know, Sir Griogair, that despite my personal feelings towards you, I take no pleasure in punishing you, in fact, it saddens me deeply that today I have been proven right.” Merlin truly meant that, like it or hate it, the guy was still his knight, he was still his man. “You will be happy to know that, as Crown Prince, I have not the power to permanently remove your knighthood, as it was granted by the King, however I can suspend it.”

The knights started moving behind Griogair, getting into formation. Two lines with three men each, positioned by rank in a way that put Merlin and Griogair at the center. It was the same position they took when somebody was knighted.

With everybody settled in their positions, Merlin twisted his wrist and raised his finger pointing towards Griogair’s chest.

Now, everybody from the Camelot Entourage has at least once seen a knighting ceremony, and surely, most have seen how it goes when such knighthood is removed. However, none of them has ever seen one to the likes of Essetir’s

As a Kingdom with magic at its throne, Essetir’s knighthood works differently.

The king doesn’t simply stand in a pretty room, says some inspiring words, wave around a fancy sword an BAM! you’re a knight, you may rise.

In summary, the knights are essentially bound, to the crown and to each other, by magic. It isn’t the type of bound that forcefully traps them without escape; they can choose to leave if they so desire. No, the bound is connection. It is brotherhood.

When Merlin twisted his wrist, it activated the bound. Only the King and his direct heir could activate the bound in such a way.

On every Essetir Knight’s, at the right side almost on their shoulders, now set a fist-sized symbol, a shield shaped blue light, with the Ambrosius crest. The same shield now also appeared on Merlin, except his was big enough to cover his chest completely.

The pretty crests weren’t the most impressive thing, though. For when Merling flicked his wrist, his clothes, too, changed. As the Crown Prince of Essetir, the activation of the bound by his hand is considered a matter of state; and as such, his clothes must reflect his position and his rank. That is why now, at the middle of the forest stood a Merlin in expensive looking clothing, a cape matching the ones of the knights, and most importantly, a silver circlet with blue and green gemstones.

End English not my first language

#bbc merlin #merthur #if you squint #merlinfic

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fluffypotatey · 1 year

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Okay so you know how being a royal mistress wasn't actually a title/position (at least, not until 15th century France) and a mistress usually had an official place in court, usually as part of someone's entourage, a governess, etc., so imagine Arthur visiting another kingdom for diplomatic relations and being like, "this is Merlin, my manservant" which is perfectly normal, all kosher, until they see Merlin and Arthur being...well, Merlin and Arthur and they're collectively like, "Ohhh, that's his manservant ;) gotchu fam" and Merlin is innocently oblivious as to why everyone's being so nice to him now whilst Arthur is like "Yeah, good question" *squinty eyes*

bestie imagine them probing Arthur for the deets like "so, your manservant is always by your side? 👀" or "he reads your speeches?" and Arthur is stuck because they're asking him this during dinner and Merlin is right there standing next to him totally oblivious (not for long i feel). like his inner dialogue is literally "are...are they implying...what i think they're implying...no....yes?"

#merlin as they're on their back to camelot: what polite nobility!#arthur: yes....*squints at the gifts they offered to him and merlin* too polite....#you see while merlin suffers through weekly bad guys out for arthur's head #arthur suffers through nobility believing he and merlin are having an affair and merlin's the mistress #typically the pattern goes: if they aren't out for blood then they're out for love (as in viewing merthur's life thru rose-tinted glasses)#some even offer arthur advice on the rules with having a mistress and he wishes that he was assassinated right then and there #bbc merlin #merthur #they're idiots your honor #arthur pendragon #merlin emrys #asks #interrupting my sleep queue for this blessed post

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katnissgirlsmakedo · 2 years

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watching bbc merlin was supposed to be a fun show to pass the time and be entertaining while i forced myself to care and learn about stupid arthurian legend so i could eventually enjoy my stupid cassandra clare book series that hasn’t even been written. now fucking look at me. i mean yeah it worked and i’ll enjoy aforementioned book series so much more when it eventually comes out but jesus christ at what cost.

small edit because for some reason randos keep finding this post: this post could not possibly be less about bbc merlin please don’t even like it if you look at it in a bbc merlin way. also i don’t like you. ok peace and love bye

#unsure exactly what cassie meant tho by saying the wicked powers was based around arthurian legend #i mean you want to assume that she’s talking about dru’s little love triangle because that’s obvious #but ash and jamie are like. neither of them could be remotely compared to arthur and lancelot #like MAYBE jamie could be lancelot-esque if you squint but he’s really just not that noble is the thing #like yes kit is shadowhunter king arthur. but what exactly does that entail cassie. does he even get a cool sword #i know that bitch isn’t becoming a king of anything for real so what are we doing #just wanted to make sure everyone knows you think it would be sick if king arthur was bisexual. that’s fair i’d do it too #did cassie watch bbc merlin. i would be shocked if she didn’t she definitely seems like someone who watched bbc merlin #so what’s her game. are kit and ty just really elaborate merthur fanfiction. as well as being sherlock fanfiction #i would give anything to spend an hour in that woman’s head #beth.txt

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onlyonekenobi · 2 years

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tiny sweater wearing comfortable in his sexuality boy and popular sport jock bisexual goon has gotta be one of my favorite tropes for real

#this is about heartstopper this is about wolfstar this is about omgcp #and if you squint ever so slightly. this is about merthur

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inconsistentracoon · 4 months

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New story! Because I have Merlin brainrot preventing me from finishing any other fics.

Merlin escapes from Morgana before she can heal him or implant the Fomorroh, leaving him lost and injured in the middle of the forest. By the time Arthur and Gwaine find him he is sick and exhausted, but on the way back to Camelot he manages reveal something shocking - he knows who the traitor in Camelot is. But will Arthur believe him? And what will he do with this knowledge?

An alternative plot for s4e6 - A Servant of Two Masters, where Merlin doesn't get healed or brainwashed and remembers Agravaine brought him to Morgana. Also the classic magic reveal and Merlin being our favourite self-sacrificing idiot.

#Merlin #Merlin is my new favourite person to hurt #No self-sacrificing sunshine boys are safe from me #Merthur if you squint #Merlin fanfic #Merlin BBC #my fic #racoon writes

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cbk1000 · 7 months

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I'm bored and feeling slightly under the weather, so I decided to post some of the almost 15,000 words I have of a luxury train holiday fic that I started after learning that luxury train holidays were a thing. Why did I write a fic about such a random thing? Because I fell down a rabbit hole of luxury travel videos, discovered luxury trains, and naturally turned those videos into a Merthur fic.

Waverly Station, not to put too fine a point on it, was the most wretched hive of scum and villainy ever to be stolen by the British Empire; though possibly this was because Edinburgh had rained on Arthur, rather prodigiously, whilst he was legging it for the station; possibly because he had been woken, at the hour of No, to catch a train into Scotland; and possibly because he was carrying everything which Morgana owned, over every limb he owned; and consequently hated everyone. The sad fate of the baggage mule was his own: to be flogged, viciously, by a master too precious to carry their own bloody rubbish, through the most wretched of conditions (mizzle), with as little thanks as can be given by a creature throated to give it: and with that especial garnish, which was that he was being hit by Morgana’s voice, rather than a nice little crop, which would have only broken his flesh, and not his spirit.

He was trying to decide in which order to kill them both when he spotted, at the other end of the station, the sculpted dark head, modelled in the image of a wave; though the wave would have blushed to hear it. And beside it, a head similarly coloured, if not similarly coiffed; though he had got it into some order, and not an entirely hideous one. Gwaine nodded; and then Merlin turned round, and showed Arthur the smile he hadn’t seen in two weeks. And he felt it call up from the depths of him an answering smile, though he still hated, in the following order, Morgana; the weather; everyone.

“Should have asked me and Gwaine to carry your stuff. Arthur’s clearly crumbling under the weight of being overestimated,” Merlin said, exchanging cheek kisses with Morgana.

“I just love how funny you are,” Arthur replied, chucking off the various pieces of baggage, and letting them land where they landed.

“Don’t throw my stuff, you absolute knob.”

“Then carry it yourself!” Arthur snapped. “Did you remember your suit?” he asked Merlin, who in a blazer and shirt which appeared, miraculously, not to have got his breakfast, blood, or tea on it, was so uncharacteristically smart that probably he considered himself to be entirely done improving on himself. “You’ll have to wear a proper suit for the formal dinners.” He paused, squinting at him. “Do you have product in your hair?”

Merlin wiggled his eyebrows. “Gwaine helped me with it. Don’t worry; I won’t embarrass you on your posh train.”

“You embarrass me on the Tube.”

“I think that’s just because you feel a heightened sense of shame at having to ride public transportation with the plebian class.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Where are Gwen and Lancelot?”

“Gwen’s in the loo; Lancelot’s gone to look for something to eat. He’s worried the train’s going to serve tiny rich people portions.” Merlin pocketed his hands in his trousers. “Want a coffee?”

“Sure; I could use one, having got up at the arse crack of time this morning,” Arthur said, glaring at Morgana, who as usual was perfectly untroubled by her conduct. He gave Merlin a little slap on the shoulder, and then draped his arm round it, steering him toward Caffé Nero before he could do something unforgivable, like choose Costa. He had enhanced the blazer and hair product with a little aftershave, so that as they were walking, Arthur caught a whiff of something not entirely abhorrent; though his manners, doubtless, would make up for it. If they got him on the train, in the blazer, and no one was very much harmed in the process, that was the most which feeble humanity could expect of God’s capricious mercy. “How’s work?”

“Like arse,” Merlin said, paying for their coffees, and handing Arthur his. “I think they would have asked me to push off my holiday, except they know I’m a biter. And not just the sexy kind.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Just something to consider, a luxury train holiday with a spa and 24 hour steward service might be the place to consider not being a totally classless knob who talks about his sexual preferences in public.”

“The train has a spa?!”

Arthur ignored that. “You didn’t answer about the suit.”

“Yes, I packed the suit we FaceTimed about.”

“Nice to know you can occasionally conjure up enough sense to listen to me,” Arthur said, sipping from his coffee, and looking across the platforms to where Gwen had now joined Morgana and Gwaine, and the women were talking with their heads close together, and laughing, whilst Gwaine arranged himself for the admiring masses.

“Sometimes I wish he weren’t so straight,” Merlin said, cocking his head a little to one side, and drinking from his coffee. “Just a little bit gay; that’s all I’m asking for.”

“Gwaine?” Arthur sputtered, choking on his coffee. “Why on earth?”

“Because he’s the fittest man I know.”

“Of everyone you know, Gwaine is the fittest.”

“No, I didn’t say everyone, I said of the men I know. I would never say fittest of everyone I know, when Morgana’s right there.”

Arthur stepped on his foot, and got the maddening dimples which told him that Merlin was being trying for the sheer and unadulterated pleasure of it; though he made up for it, marginally, by stepping out from underneath Arthur’s arm, so that he could have a proper look at him, the measuring appraisal of a (not terribly) discerning bisexual, who was not so simple, at least, as to not notice that Arthur was practically the pinnacle of attractiveness, in regular shirt and trousers; and in a proper jacket was planting his flag at the peak of it. “You look ok, though,” Merlin said, tweaking one of his lapels a little.

Arthur cuffed him across the back of the head. “Ok.”

“Yeah. For a total arsehole.”

Lancelot had returned, and Arthur and Merlin were cordially punching one another, when the Royal Scotsman arrived, and Gwen gave a little squeal, and leapt up holding two very reasonable bags, whilst Morgana and entourage looked at Arthur expectantly.

“I am not hauling all that on the bloody train. You could have asked yourself at any point, ‘Do I need my entire closet for a week-long holiday?’ and come to a sane conclusion, but you didn’t,” Arthur said; and so having stated his piece, hauled his own rucksack over his shoulder, forsaking hers.

They were piped aboard the train, a rather troublesome portent, Arthur felt; all week people would be making noise which they felt to be music, whilst he was trying to work or read or bathe; whilst it was his right to exist with the Highlands of Scotland, doing their piece to be stunning, whilst he did his. He had his luggage taken, and was shown through into the Observation Car, which was kitted out like a lounge with armchairs and sofas, and a small balcony for watching the stars. Merlin, true to his complete lack of noticeable decorum, said, “Holy shit.” There was a decent carpet underfoot, the colour of wine; and the wood panelling was the same as he had seen in hotels of distinction. There was the bar at the end of the car, which he would need, once Morgana boarded with the Luggage, having got Gwaine to do the hauling for her, and still feeling that Arthur owed her his time and lumbar spine.

“Why did you book us a double, you weirdo?” Merlin asked when they were taken to their cabin, having shouldered ahead of Arthur, to get a look at it first, before Arthur could spoil his first impressions, by being, as Merlin put it, ‘a poncey indifferent bastard.’

“I didn’t. It’s a twin.”

“Looks like a double bed to me.”

“What?” Arthur cried, and pushed him out of the doorway.

Merlin, contrary to all that was sane, or expected, was right: there was the one lone bed, lovely but singular. They had made it up with a little tartan duvet in the spirit of their culture, as if that would make up for the insult. “We’re supposed to have a twin room.”

“I’m sorry, sir, this is the room.” This from the liveried employee who had shown them to the cabin, and was now realising he had done something, inadvertently, to anger the kind of patron who could drop twenty-six thousand pounds on an eight-day holiday. Merlin pinched him. “It’s fine,” he reassured the man, dimpling at him.

“It’s not fine!” Arthur cried.

“Yes, it is. If you don’t have any other rooms, and I’m assuming you don’t, otherwise you would have said so immediately, as soon as he started turning all red in the face, we can manage. He’s not the worst thing I’ve woken up to,” Merlin said, and dimpled again, this time in a way that made Arthur coincidentally sweat.

“You didn’t have to be a knob to him,” Merlin said when the man had left, tossing his blazer over the armchair.

“I wasn’t a knob to him, he mucked up my booking!”

“He didn’t muck up your booking, and put your tits back on. I think we can survive sharing a double bed for a week. I don’t know what you’re complaining about, anyway. You’re the one who snores.”

“I do not snore,” Arthur said, outraged. “You’ll have to sleep in the armchair.”

“I’m not sleeping in the armchair.”

“Well--on the floor, then. I’m sure there’s extra bedding to be got.”

“I’m not sleeping in the armchair, or on the floor; if you’ve got a problem sharing, you’re free to kip on either one,” Merlin said, as if it were settled; and now began, with every appearance of serenity, to begin unloading his bag, into the loo, and all over the writing table and bed, as if he were entitled to the calm dispersal of his belongings, whilst Arthur was stood in the centre of the cabin, clutching at his bag, and staring. The bed was an ordinary double; no giant of its kind, but a mere representative, with no girth but the girth to accommodate them, just. Doubles were for couples who didn’t mind mingling their breath and their limbs and their--other limbs. And now he would have to share, with Merlin’s aftershave and thighs, the romantic space in the spirit of platonicness. Already Merlin had sprawled out on it, demonstrating how it was to be, for seven nights, for Arthur’s personal bubble. Already he had taken off his shoes and blazer, and put his fitted trousers all over Arthur’s bed, as if it were decent, or sensible, or respectable, to take off any clothes whatsoever, in that close, warm space in which they would have to violate the edicts of platonic accord.

“So all week, I’m to have your elbow in my ribs, and just deal with it?” Arthur demanded, still clutching at the bag on his shoulder.

“Yeah, and probably my morning wood too, but I wouldn’t worry about it; if our friendship can get past your personality, it can get past anything.”

Gwen poked her head in the door. “Hello! They’re serving afternoon tea soon.” She stopped, and looked at Merlin on the bed, and looked at Arthur, not on the bed, because he was in possession of common decency. “Why have you got a double?”

“I dunno. Apparently Arthur and I are on our honeymoon,” Merlin said, scrolling through his mobile with his thumb without looking up.

“I booked a twin,” Arthur repeated, loudly but uselessly, in the face of Merlin’s indifference, and Gwen’s eyebrow. She was giving him a Look, very capitalised. It was Arthur’s unfortunate but not unexpected cross to bear; he was one of those unlucky blokes who had got some miscreants, instead of those decent, ordinary folk of common friendship; though he had expected better from Gwen.

“Anyway,” she said, still giving him the odd Look, “are you coming down for tea? We’re in the first dining car.”

“In a minute,” Arthur said, unloading his bag, by the satisfactory method of smacking Merlin in the face with it.

“Ow!”

“Arthur,” Gwen scolded gently, and was gone, leaving him in that strange shrunken space, where before had existed a normal-sized room; even a rather kingly one, for a train. He felt there was a sort of odd pressure round him. He felt already that he had the awareness of Merlin, before he had Merlin--his close, stifling body, in the bed, that was--the close, stifling presence, offensive if not downright repulsive; anyway, he was quite plagued, quite unsurprisingly, as he had been, all their long and troublesome friendship.

“Get up; we’re going for tea,” he said, poking Merlin in the side, and getting a yelp out of him.

They watched Edinburgh and the Castle vanishing beyond the windows from the dining car, whilst Lancelot ate an alarming number of canapes, and Gwen warned him, in the roundabout way of innuendo, by someone who actually knew how to make it, that he oughtn't to be too full, for the sake of--of dinner.

“And dessert,” Merlin said, in a dining car full of blazers and cocktail dresses, in a tone which specified, clearly and resoundingly, that he was not referring to a nice little jelly or sorbet.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to embarrass me on my posh train?” Arthur asked, kicking him in the shin.

“Technically I embarrassed Gwen,” Merlin pointed out, shovelling one of the canapes into his mouth. “What are we doing tonight?” he asked, like an animal, through the canape, rather than after it.

“Drinking, I think,” Gwaine replied.

“There aren’t any excursions today,” Morgana said. “We’re getting off tomorrow at Glenfinnan, but tonight you’re free to do whatever you like, till dinner. Have some drinks, watch the scenery, break in your double bed.” She smirked at him.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “For the last time, I. Booked. A Twin.”

“He just missed me, is all,” Merlin said, turning on him a smirk almost as bothersome as Morgana’s.

“I don’t see how,” she said, sipping her tea. “I’m sure he has a little doll made of your hair that he sleeps with every night.”

“Yeah, but it just can’t live up to the real thing,” Merlin replied, ruffling it.

“I wish you’d never met. Or been born,” Arthur said pleasantly.

“Merlin, why don’t you give your bride a proper seeing-to in your double bed? He’s getting tetchy again.”

“Piss off,” Arthur said, and went to find, in the arms of some champagne, solace from the bitter reality of his genetics.

#featuring: and there was only one bed #fic #merthur #preview #writing

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poisonedfate · 2 months

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Maybe no. 3 with merthur possibly set in Ealdor but that's up yo you <3

hello!! this was SO fun to write, i almost didn't want to stop!!! do have to admit i didn't read over it properly, so i'm sorry if there are any mistakes.

prompt: "Could you be happy, here, with me?"

send me prompts

"We should head back," Merlin said, voice barely above a whisper. Arthur gave him a glance, one that would usually mean something along the lines of Are you really telling me what to do?, but as Merlin turned his head, he saw that the prince's expression was far from what he had expected. There was something in Arthur's eyes that he couldn't quite name. Merlin worried it was pity, even though he had tried to make it clear that he didn't seek it. "Don't look at me like that," he spoke up before he could even think it through. "Like what?" Arthur replied in an instant, offended. Merlin could swear there was something short of hurt in his face, only for a second.

He wasn't sure how to answer that. They had stopped walking, a field to their right, the village houses just about visible in front of them. Soon, they'd be wrapped in darkness, the sun sinking lower and lower, sky coloured with pale shades of orange between the usual blueish grey. Merlin didn't want to name it pity, not to Arthur's face, Arthur, who had decided to help him despite everything else. Especially, because he wasn't sure it was pity anyway, so he said the only thing he could think of: "Like that." Arthur sighed, stepping away from him and sitting down on the ground, back against the wooden fence. Merlin threw a confused eyebrow at him, but the prince just faintly tipped his head to the left of him in response. He stood for a second longer, before deciding not to fight whatever it was that Arthur had in mind, sitting down next to him, far enough so he could cross his legs without bumping into the other. "Don't get me wrong," Merlin began, annoyance already creeping into Arthur's features, "this is great, who doesn't love some nature bonding time, but isn't your noble...behind too precious for this or something?" he squinted at Arthur, as if genuinely curious. "I've slept in the woods!" the prince exclaimed, making Merlin bite back a laugh. "Yes, sire, but that was out of necessity, noble duty and all, but this? Well, this is just an act of defiance," he mused. Arthur laughed, somewhat surprised, hand pushing against his shoulder, as Merlin himself broke into a laugh too. They settled into a comfortable silence after that, watching the colours above them change, and how the calm wind moved the field into a peaceful rhythm. It was after Merlin had stared in the direction of the village perhaps for too long, when Arthur spoke again: "Could you be happy here?" There must've been something sorrowful in his face, as the prince quickly added: "After we've made sure it's safe here again, of course, after- once everyone is alright." Merlin looked away then, plucking at the grass. "I don't know. I left- I left for a reason, and I, um, miss it but.." he inhaled, attempting to keep his voice steady, "who'd take care of you if I wasn't there," a small smile tugged at his lips. Arthur smiled too, though his was not much happier than Merlin's own. The sudden touch almost made Merlin jump, as the prince took hold of his hand, the one still playing with the grass. He took it into his own, tracing the lines of his palm with his fingers. "Could you be happy, here, with me?" Arthur asked quietly, like he wasn't sure he even wanted the other to hear it. Merlin's eyes snapped up, but this time, it was Arthur who wouldn't look at him. "Could you be happy here?" he finally answered with a question, unsure. Arthur gave a humourless laugh at that. "Maybe," he replied after a beat of silence, still as quiet as before, catching Merlin's eyes. He knew it could never happen, knew it wasn't really something Arthur was asking for, but he also knew that the other was looking for an answer, even if it wasn't about this. "I'd be happy with you," he whispered.

#thank you so so so much for asking!!!!!!#kisses #q's #ask game #merthur

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fandomfaeofveryfewf4cks · 4 months

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5 times Merlin got Arthur a good Christmas present and 1 time Arthur got Merlin the best Christmas present

Contains: temporary angst, banter, merthur, banter, mentioned argwen (not end game),banter, no smut, banter, Christmas Carol levels of effort applied to the happy ending, banter

ao3: 5 times Merlin got Arthur a good Christmas present and 1 time Arthur got Merlin the best Christmas present

The Start of a tradition

"MERlin."

Merlin sighs at the clear sign of an unavoidable list of chores or ribbing he's about to get.

"Yes, sire." He turns to see Arthur peeking out from behind the changing curtain, shirtless, of course, before he steps out and starts strutting over. He grabs Merlin by the shoulder and says as he drags him behind the curtain, "What is this?"

"Ah, that." Merlin notes.

"I know your brain is the size of a pickled egg, Merlin, but surely there was enough room to store an adequate amount of vocabulary to describe all the unusual things you get up to for when you get caught doing them."

The unusual thing in this particular instance was the pile of assorted items wrapped in some of Arthur's old shirts.

"Well," Merlin replied, "you know that holiday Christmas?"

"I've heard of it," Arthur replies with raised eyebrows, awaiting what he's sure will be an entertaining explanation if not an original one.

"Well, it is a tradition to give gifts to people on this holiday, and there are a number of kind, hardworking people I know who I thought might enjoy a little festive token of my appreciation for them."

"And you decided to hide them in my chambers?"

"Well, Gaius has a habit of popping into my room unannounced and you've been in council meetings all day, so I figured this was a good place to wrap and store them for a bit until I could find an effective way of sneaking them into a good hiding spot."

"Mmhm. And the shirts?"

"Well, it's a shame to waste good paper when there's more reusable and decorative material at hand."

"I see. Well, ignoring your complete disregard for whose chambers these are and whose shirts those are, I suppose it is a rather thoughtful thing to do for the recipients of those gifts."

If Merlin, wasn't mistaken, Arthur may have just complimented him. How peculiar. "Thank you, sire."

"Especially since you typically have no thoughts at all."

"Of course, sire," Merlin said with minimum sincerity (which, in this case, is less than none).

"And in the case of the surprise being spoilt for me already, you can go ahead and give me my present now."

Arthur had that look on his face like he had set up Merlin to get in trouble, not that Merlin ever needed help getting into trouble.

"Your present?"

Arthur pouted comedically. "Don't tell me you forgot to get me one."

"Well, to be fair, I did say I only got gifts for kind and hardworking people."

Arthur then had his most shocked trying-not-to-smile-face break free. That was one of Merlin's favorites.

"But as a matter of fact, I did get you something."

Arthur suddenly looked skeptical. "Really?"

"Yes." He walks over to the laundry basket he had brought up earlier with Arthur's freshly cleaned clothes, and dug around for two socks, which he proceded to ball up haphazardly and place in Arthur's hands before stepping away with an exaggerated bow.

Arthur quirked his lips and squinted his eyes the way he does when Merlin calls him a word he doesn't know. Another one of Merlin's favorite looks that Arthur does. "Gee, thanks."

"You're welcome," Merlin says gleefully. "Shall I finish getting you ready for bed, sire?"

Arthur sighs and rolls his eyes fondly as he walks over to where Merlin has started turning down the sheets.

"You know, gifts are usually something one does not already own," he says as he lays part of the way down.

"Well, I thought it would be a nice reminder to appreciate what you already have, sire." Merlin said with a cheeky smirk as they stared into each others eyes, closer than they really ought to be. Merlin breaks eye-contact first and gives the covers a last pat before extinguishing all the candles except the one immediately by Arthur's bedside, which Arthur will blow out when he's ready.

"Good night, Arthur. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Merlin." Arthur says with an exasperated sigh. Merlin shuts the door on his way out and Arthur lays his head down to feel something hard underneath his pillow.

"Ow! What the?!" He shoots up and yanks the pillow away, to find a small box.

He picked it up and saw there was a note that said "For the best dollophead one could ever have the misfourtune of working for." Arthur huffed out a laugh. He opened the box to find it was an assortment of Arthur's favorite sweets. Some of them he hadn't had since he was a child. He remembers telling Merlin about it to prove him wrong when he complained about Arthur having no concept of what makes a sweet actually good.

Arthur smiled to himself. He put the box on his bedside table, tucked the note safely in the bottom of the drawer, and blew out the candle.

2. Penny for your thoughts?

Arthur sat at his desk and pressed his hands to his face, letting out the most exhausted breath of air he'd held all day. He still had three speeches to write for various holiday events in the coming week and a plan for food rations to draw up and later present to the council. He'd already had a long morning of training. It seemed he was now in for a long afternoon.

Suddenly a tray with three scrolls on it was plopped down in front of him with a loud clatter. He looks up into a familiar smiling face. "Hello Merlin."

"Your royal highness."

"What are these?" He asks as Merlin turns to get started on dusting, if you could call his version of it that.

"Drafts for your speeches this week. I'm sure you'll find them quite well-written."

Arthur did his best to contain his surprise. "Oh, you didn't trust that I could write them myself, then?"

"I just had a feeling you were going to ask me to write them, like you always do. Besides, I couldn't bare to let all those people die from boredom by letting you be in charge of what'd come out of your mouth."

"I resent that," albeit halfheartedly, Arthur notes to himself.

Suddenly, a paperweight fell off his desk. Strange, his arm wasn't anywhere near it. He bent over and picked it up. As he did, he heard the sound of something being open and shut. He looked up, but nothing seemed out of place.

"Did you hear that?" Arthur asked.

"Hear what?" Merlin asked back.

"That sound. I could've sworn I heard something."

Merlin gave him a look that told Arthur he didn't believe him. One of his least favorite looks from his manservant. "I think you're just tired, sire. Now, if you'll excuse me. I need to help Gaius with some potions and you have speeches to look over. I'll be back later."

And then Merlin was gone. Arthur looked at the scrolls before him and decided to get things over with. He opened one up and it didn't take long before he found one of the 'jokes' Merlin likes to throw in that would never be appropriate to say as a drunk in the local tavern, let alone as a future king addressing his subjects. Most of the speech was fine, but he certainly wasn't going to refer to himself as "His royal highness, Prince Cabbage Head," nor speak the plans he apparently has to give his manservant a year off.

He can't help but smile to himself as he opened a drawer to retrieve a quill for adding in the things he'd actually say in these places, which he always has to do. He never crosses out Merlin's jokes, though.

He opens the drawer and notices there's something in it that wasn't there before. It was wrapped in one of his old shirts. He picks it up, takes the shirt off of it and sees it's a journal. Nothing anywhere near as extravagant as he's used to. On the first page, is an inscription that reads

"With the face of a toad,

and the voice of a donkey,

here's a place to come up with better jokes,

Because yours are a bit wonky.

Merry Christmas Dollop-head."

He turns another page to find a somewhat poor drawing of a donkey with the face of a toad.

He thinks of the nights when he and Merlin would be sat by a fire on a trip. The calm of the night and the way the firelight cast everything from the tree branches to Merlin's cheekbones in warm shadows would often move him to write a few words of poetry on a scrap of paper.

Merlin is the only person he'd ever admitted to about his hobby. Or rather, the only person who'd found out despite Arthur's best efforts. And he always ribs him about it. Yet, Merlin is the only person Arthur trusts to read his poems without being genuinely unkind about their quality...or even just their existence. Granted there are some poems he wouldn't let anyone read, including Merlin. Especially Merlin.

This notebook would hereafter come with Arthur on trips as often as Merlin would.

3. Two Turtle Doves And a Little Wooden Bird

Arthur was currently preparing to face his worse nightmare. Dancing. In public, no less.

Every year, the five kingdoms held a winter ball to celebrate another year of peace and prosperity as well as to show that they would be ready and willing to aid and provide for one another in times of need, such as in the winter when food is scarce and travel is difficult.

This year, Camelot was hosting, which Merlin loved because it meant they didn't have to trek through the snow for days on end. He also loved it because part of this sacred tradition was for the hosts to start the ball with a dance.

Therefore, Merlin was getting the wonderful opportunity to watch Arthur prance around in frilly clothes. Finally, he gets payback for that stupid hat.

However, he enters Arthur's chambers to find him nervously practicing the steps, looking like he's going to throw up.

Okay, maybe payback is going to have to wait.

"You alright, Arthur?"

Arthur snaps his eyes to Merlin like he's just had an epiphany.

"Merlin!"

"Yes, that is my name. Woah!"

Merlin suddenly found himself getting dragged to the center of the room, Arthur circling him like he's checking the quality of a horse. This is strange, even by Merlin's standards. "Arthur?"

Arthur suddenly stops, his hands gesturing pointedly and his face looking like he's about to make Merlin do one of his least favorite chores. "I need you to help me practice for the First Dance. I only have a few days left to practice it and you're feminine enough to make a half-decent dance partner."

Merlin was certain he heard that wrong. "Come again?"

Arthur huffs annoyedly. "I need you to dance with me so that I don't make a fool out of myself in front of all the five kingdoms during the first Winter Ball where I'll be presenting myself as king."

"Ah." Merlin should've known. Every "first" Arthur has gone through as king so far has led to him being a huge ball of nervous energy. Merlin couldn't blame him. He knows perfectly well how much the weight of the land can take a toll on one's shoulders. And he's known Arthur long enough to understand the toll it's taken on him, in particular.

"Arthur, I'm sure you'll do fine. Besides, you have days to perfect the dance and you'll have Gwen to help keep you in time with the music."

"Or to be humiliated by her oaf of a husband. I've already shoveled so much responsibility on her by making her queen; a queen half the council disapproves of solely for the circumstances of her birth. I can't ask her to make up for all my short-comings on top of everything else. I need to be as much someone for her to rely on as she is someone I rely on."

To say it's rare for Arthur to be emotionally vulnerable is an understatement of great and prophetic proportions. This is always where Merlin needs to tread carefully.

"Gwen knew what she was getting into when she married you. She knew you were a leader of one of the greatest kingdoms in the world. She knew you are constantly having to talk your way into the minds and hearts of your fellow leaders, the council members with dated views on what is good and just, and even your own people, many of whom are used to your father's way of doing things, if not supportive of them.

Arthur settles a bit, though still with a tightness to his shoulders and stress in his eyes.

"She knew she would gain an immense amount of responsibility and have her honor and capabilities picked at viciously. She knew she would have to get used to protocols and traditions of which there are thousands to learn about and keep in mind at all times.

"She also knew she'd have you at her side. She knows you love her and would do anything to ensure her happiness and well-being. She knows if there is anything she can't handle, which you and I both know is not a very long list,"

He got a small smile and hum of agreement out of Arthur for that.

"She knows she can come to you for anything. She does rely on you, Arthur. As much as you rely on her, and you know why?"

Arthur's eyes light up with hopeful curiousity.

"Because you've already proven to her that she can. You continue to prove it every day."

It's true. Merlin has seen how a touch of his hand calms Gwen when the crowds or the sternness of the council gets too overwhelming. He's seen how one shared look from either of them can change the other's scared expression to battle-ready. They were both born to be leaders. Putting them together only made them each more powerful and the kingdom more secure.

"She also married you knowing you couldn't dance for the life of you, so I really wouldn't worry about disappointing her there. I'm sure her expectations aren't that high."

A laugh burst out of Arthur at that. He'd barely had stopped laughing by the time he said "Thank you Merlin."

Merlin smiled back at him, then looked away as though considering something. "You know...Here." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small wooden carving of a bird, similar looking to the bird that is engraved on his mother's sigil. Very similar, indeed.

"I have a carving of a dragon, one of the few things I ever received from my father. Whenever, I hold it, I feel protected. Hopeful. Like I am more... capable and strong than I sometimes... feel I am."

Merlin takes a moment to swallow and gather the words he'll say next. Being emotionally vulnerable isn't all too easy for him either.

"It's also just something of a good luck charm. I just sort of figured, if you ever felt like you needed an extra bit of luck, it might be nice to have something to remind you of your own strengths. The things that make you a good king, a good husband, a good son. A good friend."

He looks Arthur in the eyes when he says this.

"You truly are destined for great things Arthur. You have everything you need within yourself to continue being a great king. And you don't have to do everything on your own. You have people who care about you. People who trust you and who will never judge you for whatever missteps you may make because they know you're only human. And that you're true-hearted enough to set things right when you need to. The people who matter will never abandon you for something as small as not satisfying the impossible standards of stuffy old farts."

"You know, you really shouldn't insult them like that," Arthur comments.

"Fine, I'll insult them even more creatively, then."

Arthur rolls his eyes. They land on the steadfast gaze of Merlin's, as strong in hue as they are in character.

Merlin holds out the small wooden bird. Arthur takes it and observes it. The detail on the wings. The familiarity of the shape. The smooth texture. He quickly glances up at Merlin before saying "You made this yourself?"

"I did." he answers softly.

"So wood-carving is one of those hidden talents you're always going on about, huh."

They smirk at one another, knowingly.

"One among many."

"I'm sure."

They're silent for a moment longer before there's a knock on the door and a guard reminds them of a meeting Arthur is being summoned for.

A few days later, the ball would take place and Arthur would actually have fun dancing with Gwen. He also, would only trip once, totally on purpose, to make Gwen smile amusedly, which she does. After a few dances, however, he's had enough. Gwen had too, and she goes to make charming conversation with their guests for a while, occasionally taking a break to converse with her ladies in waiting, many of whom, she's been friends with since before she was queen.

Arthur makes pleasant small talk with everyone as much as he can, but it is exhausting. He tries to get away so that he can banter with Merlin and just breathe, just to calm down a bit. He can't though. Everyone wants to talk to him and the room is so full of people dancing and milling about that he can't even see where Merlin is. He reaches a hand casually into his pocket and takes hold of the wooden token Merlin had given him. He thinks of what Merlin said. About his father, about their friends, about hope and strength.

Arthur will never tell Merlin this, but he truly must be a genius, because that little bird really did end up making him feel better.

4. Practice Makes Perfect

Arthur holds Excalibur in his hands. It truly is a magnificent sword. If ever there was a blade to convince you a legend was real, it was this one.

Still, Arthur has a hard time believing Merlin was being entirely truthful about the whole thing. He watches as Merlin speaks with some of the villagers. There really was a lot to do. Still, there was something he wanted to do that he didn't want to risk losing the chance to do.

"Merlin!"

Merlin immediately looks his way, excuses himself from the people he was talking to, and walks over.

Arthur reaches into his pocket and before Merlin can get a word out, shoves his old sword into his hands, much to Merlin's annoyance.

"Is polishing your sword really a priority right now, Arthur? I thought we-"

"That's not my sword."

"What?" Merlin blinked at him.

"That's not my sword. This is," he says, grasping the hilt of Excalibur.

Merlin looked delightfully flabbergasted.

"That's your sword." he continues.

"Arthur, you know I'm rubbish with sword-fighting. What am I supposed to do with this?"

"You're supposed to hit people with it. Preferably enemies. Consider it your Christmas present this year."

Merlin was flailing his mouth open and closed like a dying fish. Arthur told him as such.

"Arthur," Merlin called as he followed Arthur, who was resolutely walking away. He stammers for words. "Why your sword?"

"Practice makes perfect. Or, in your case, it ought to at least make you able to fight something bigger than an ant without getting knocked on your bottom. Besides, It's a practical gift. Don't I always get you practical gifts?"

"Yes, warm clothes and books, things I use regularly. But I hardly use a sword on a regular basis. It's not that I'm not grateful, don't get me wrong, but I just want to understand, why the change in routine?"

Arthur stops and looks at Merlin, then at the sword that he's had for quite some time. It was one of his favorites. Well-balanced, easy to wield, and not too flashy. Excalibur was clearly symbolic enough to justify the gold inlay and engravings, making it quite clear that this was not just a king's sword, but the king's sword. Arthur could feel that this sword was meant to be in his hands. Nonetheless, "That sword has served me well, Merlin. Even if your skillsets are lacking, and I worry for the safety of yourself and those around you when you have any sort of weapon in your hands, we're going to need all the help we can get now. And I trust that sword to be the most helpful to you in battle. So just take it."

He looks at Merlin intensely, making it clear that he won't back down.

Merlin sees this, and gives in with a nod. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Later, after they get back home and finally have time to rest, Arthur will find a new journal wrapped up for him; He had filled the last one and, evidently, Merlin had noticed, which wasn't very surprising.

This time, the inscription reads,

"Even if my skillsets are lacking,

Yes, I remember that slight.

Stop telling me I'm slacking,

I can still beat you with words if not in a sword fight.

Merry Christmas Clot-pole."

5. I'm Sorry

It was the first Christmas without Arthur. Merlin did as he often did these days, and visited the lake. He kneels by the edge, feeling the cold mud soak through the knees of his trousers, which he found vaguely comforting.

"It's that time of year again," He speaks aloud. "I've had the hardest time thinking of what to give you."

"When you gave me your sword, you told me you trusted it to be the most helpful to me in battle. I had given you a sword that I had hoped would be most helpful to you in battle. In the end we probably would've been better off if we'd have swapped, I think."

"I went through your journals the other day. I found...some poems, that sort of explained why you were always hesitant to let me so much as glance at the damn things, when I'd already seen a number of your other poems. I must admit, I feel like a fool for...well, for a lot of things. For my part in turning Morgana into a monster. For pushing Mordred to her. For not telling you about my magic sooner..."

"For not telling you-" He's near sobbing now, his tears falling to wet the ground even further.

"For not telling you everything. For all the mistakes I made. For not being able to save you."

"I'm sure, if you were here, you'd be underwhelmed at my choice of gift for you, but I truly think it's the best I can do."

"...I'm sorry, Arthur. That's my gift to you. I'm just sorry, for telling you 'there could be no place for magic in Camelot.' I'm sorry for the lies and the secrets. I'm sorry for letting you go anywhere near that battlefield. I'm sorry."

"I'm so sorry."

+1. All I Want For Christmas Is You

Merlin would visit the lakeside every year, sometimes for a very long while, sometimes for just a few moments. Eventually, he'd barely find the strength to stop by at all.

Several hundred years after that, he'd get a job as a mail carrier, with a route that goes right by the lake. He walks that route now, in the winter cold and pauses for a breath. He doesn't look. He knows it's there. He knows he's not there. Not yet. Possibly not ever, at this point.

He continues along his route, as he has done over and over again, and will continue to do so over and over again until something forces him to change his habits as things do over and over again.

Until then, he keeps walking.

On this particular day, however, he must have been due for something to change again because something catches his eyes and ears. He hears the splash of water. He sees a glint of something shiny rising out of the lake. His heart stops. He drops his bag. He runs. His joints ache. He de-ages himself as he runs, so he can get to the lake faster. He gets there. He gets there and sees a fully armored, soaking wet, King Arthur of Camelot standing before him. They lock eyes. Arthur says his name and Merlin barely keeps from knocking him back into the water as he hugs him. Arthur hugs him back just as fiercely.

One year later, Arthur and Merlin will stand together in their house that stands somewhere close enough to the city that they can easily visit many of their reincarnated friends, who'd found wonderful lives for themselves in this new modern world(including Gwen and Lance, who had already been married for two years by the time everyone's memories came back), but far enough out that they can be left alone when they wish it.

It turns out that everyone aside from Arthur had been born into this new time and had new lives. When Arthur came back, they all regained their memories, and were all happy to see one another (mostly). Morgana and Mordred would each have a number of very long discussions with everyone. Over time apologies from all parties would be accepted.

In the meantime, Arthur and Merlin would be together, talking with each other, healing together, loving one another. Soon enough another Christmas is right around the corner and Arthur says, "I may need help finding a gift for you. I truly can't fathom how one can buy things with that same small card over and over and over. Not to mention the fact that your money is basically invisible now. It's ridiculous."

Merlin chuckles as he lays his head against Arthur's shoulder, the two of them sitting on the couch together as Merlin introduces him to the masterpiece that is "Monty Python and the Holy Grail."

After a moment of thought, he responds "Honestly, I don't think you need to get me anything ever again. You came back. That's all I've wanted for the longest time."

Arthur hugs him more tightly at that. Then he says "You're not getting out of me getting you a gift, by being all sappy."

"And you're not getting out of learning about modern currency by being cute."

"But you admit I'm cute."

"I didn't say that."

"Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did!"

"No, I didn't!"

They quickly end up wrestling each other until they've fully rolled off the couch and soon, it turns into a giggling mess of kisses and holding onto each other for dear life.

Even though he tried his best, Arthur has never been the best at picking out gifts for people. But in Merlin's book, nobody could ever beat the gift he got him that year. Nothing would ever top reuniting with the love of his life and finally living happily ever after.

#bbc merlin #merlin bbc #merlin x arthur #merlin/arthur #merthur #5 plus 1 #fanfic #fanfiction #christmas gifts #the number of headcannons I've shoved into this fic holy fuck #merry christmas #happy holidays #christmas fic

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