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marguerite_26Return to Part I
PART II
The next few days were a flurry of planning. The excitement, anticipation and nerves of preparing to meet Mordred and Morgana’s army en route was wearing on everyone. Merlin did all that he could, sharpening swords and enchanting armour to withstand minor spells. He found quiet moments to meditate to ensure they would intercept the enemy far from Camelot.
Arthur addressed him as Emrys in public. If anyone recognised him as the prince’s clumsy manservant from years before, they said nothing. They regarded him warily but without much fear; he kept his smile disarming and his magic subtle. Arthur was always near, his hand on Merlin’s neck, his shoulder bumping Merlin’s. It was lovely, if distracting.
On the fourth day of the ride north, Merlin suggested to Arthur they stop and set up camp by midday. They would face Morgana come morning based on the progress both armies had made the day before.
That night, Arthur addressed his knights around the campfire. Merlin kept well back, leaning against a tree in the shadows of the forest, watching. Each knight had a squadron of soldiers to lead, possibly to their deaths, the next day. Arthur was now trying to inspire them, give them focus for them to pass on to his army. As the men formed a circle around him, Arthur took in each face, one by one. Recognition tugged at Merlin then, another group of men, but farmers that time whom Arthur had roused to confidence and eventual victory.
The king was a long way off from that young prince that had inspired the people of Ealdor, but the spirit of his words was the same: fight for your freedom, fight for those back in Camelot that they may live in peace to work and grow crops; fight that you may hold your head proud for the rest of your life that you did all you could for your family and your people.
The knights looked upon him and their faces glowed with respect. Their shoulder back and their chins high, they set off to their troops to pass on the word, the purpose. Arthur shook each of their hands, and when the last had left, he ducked into his tent.
Merlin waited, unsure. Then he pushed off the tree he’d been leaning against. He wasn’t really a part of the army, had no right to be present at their speeches, not yet; he’d let Arthur stand alone. Now, he pushed back the flap of Arthur’s tent and entered. It was quiet, the soft flicker of the lantern casting a orange glow on the canvas. Arthur was hunched over maps, quietly scribbling in his journal. Across his desk lay his new sword. Merlin breathed deeply, appreciating the peaceful moment, despite the flurry of activity as the campsite prepared for the next day’s battle.
"Mordred and Morgana are camped on the northern edge of the forest."
"Are you certain?" Arthur didn’t look up, but his fingers moved along the map, following the line of the forest. "We could move out before dawn and catch them unawares."
Merlin nodded, even though Arthur couldn’t see it. "I’ll give the message to Leon." He paused a moment, letting his gaze trace the stiff line of Arthur’s back. "I’ll leave you to your planning in quiet."
Arthur turned, his brow furrowed. "No. It’s good. It’s nice to have someone... filling the silence." He tossed down his quill and stood.
Merlin's mind flashed, unbidden, to the island, the too, too quiet of the day and the lonely nights that seemed to stretch on indefinitely until he thought he would lose his mind. He understood loneliness well enough, and that being surrounded by people didn’t exclude it. Those nights back in Camelot, before, when he’d sit by the hearth and polish armour while Arthur fiddled about with his pocket knife, those moments were the ones that Merlin had missed the most.
He found a wine skin and poured Arthur a cup, and after a moment one for himself. He took a long drink then began to fumble with the buckles of Arthur’s breastplate as though he had any right to touch him.
Arthur grabbed his wrist, stopping his progress to the left vembrance. "You are not my servant anymore, Merlin."
Merlin smiled, a teasing half grin, like he knew better. "Did I tell you about Marcus and Cook?" he began, his voice low as he slipped from Arthur's hold and worked the next latch. "He was just a tot when I left, and now he’s grown like a weed. Apparently, every morning he would steal the first buns out of the oven. I heard Cook complain about Marcus’ quick hands when I started getting our rations sorted. But right before we left, Cook got him, right good."
Arthur’s eyes were closed, the tension in his shoulders gone slack. But he was listening because he snickered; they both knew Cook's temper well.
"She doused the first buns with pepper." Merlin motioned for Arthur to lift his arms, and he slipped off the hauberk. "She said they were nearly black, and swore she thought he wouldn't touch them. But he must have thought they were poppy seeds because sure enough, he stole three from the first batch the moment she set them to cool. A minute later he was coughing a storm in the hallway. Sir Kay asked him if he'd caught the fever, he was so red."
Arthur couldn’t hide his chuckle as Merlin acted out a choking noise, then they both fell into full-bellied laughter.
When they had stopped, and caught their breath again, Arthur’s hands were at Merlin’s shoulders and he didn’t remember how they ended up standing so close. They were breathing the same air. This, Merlin had missed too. Arthur had always been very physical, hands on his neck, his shoulder, always talking right in Merlin’s face even if it was to call him a dunderhead. And now it made his heart race, as much for the longing of human touch after so long, as for the fact that it was Arthur and no one else ever made his insides squirm in quite the same way.
Merlin could see a smudge of dirt at Arthur’s cheekbone. He lifted his hand to wipe it with his thumb, but Arthur’s hand covered his. The result was his hand cupping Arthur’s jaw, Arthur’s fingers pressed to his.
"I missed you." Arthur held his gaze, his face open and almost pained. "I thought you were dead."
Merlin didn’t know what to say, they hadn’t talked about that. About what Arthur had thought, what they had both been through in those years, the fact that he’d been mourned. It had felt too huge to broach and maybe it was better left unsaid. What mattered was the present and the moment they were sharing right now.
Merlin leaned in until their lips pressed together; Arthur stiffened. Merlin was sure he was going to get shoved back and prepared himself for it, his apology at the ready for having misread Arthur’s intentions. Beneath his hand, he felt a tremor run through Arthur’s jaw. Arthur’s lips softened, opening a fraction, just enough to drag along Merlin’s bottom lip.
"Yeah," he breathed into Arthur’s mouth and deepened the kiss. He wasn’t sure what he expected in those moments he had dared to dream of this, but it had never been like this: Arthur clawing at his hair, making filthy sounds as he licked and bit at Merlin’s mouth. It was dizzying. He clung tighter for balance, as if Arthur would stop him from floating away. Merlin’s magic was rising, simmering under the surface of his skin as if it needed to devour Arthur.
Arthur stepped closer and the hard line of his body fit too well with Merlin’s, hitting all the right places. Merlin could feel himself losing control and backed away with a pang of regret. "We need our sleep. And our energy."
Arthur was flushed, cheeks pink with arousal. He wouldn’t meet Merlin’s eyes.
"Arthur, after this is over–"
"Then what?" Arthur looked up, his face a mixture of anger and confusion. "Where does that leave us? Are you going back?"
Merlin stepped forward, couldn’t help it. He clasped Arthur’s hands and struggled to put everything he was feeling, his devotion, into words. "I’m happy to be your servant until the day I die." He meant it like it a promise but Arthur’s face hardened, furious. Merlin’s breath caught at the intensity of the reaction.
"Fuck." Arthur pounced, reaching up to pull on Merlin’s hair, colliding their mouths together in a brutal kiss. "Don’t you dare say that."
Merlin lost himself in the kiss for a moment, let Arthur drown him in whatever he was feeling. Then Merlin remembered why the words were familiar, when he had said them last, right before his final trip to the Isle of the Blessed. A weight pressed down on his ribs as he began to understand Arthur’s words. He kissed Arthur back, crashing into him like wave hitting the cliff of the island during a storm.
Arthur pulled back, breathless, just far enough to whisper, "Don’t you dare."
"Arthur." Merlin pressed his brow to Arthur’s; they were clutching each other’s hair, clinging. "Arthur, I’m not going anywhere. We have a destiny. And it’s so much more than this. More than just tomorrow."
They held each other, panting like there wasn’t enough air in the tent, in the world. Outside, the camp was settling in for the night: a few knights discussing battle tactics, squires dividing up the rations for the horses, and behind it all there was rhythmic singing of whetstones gliding over swords.
Arthur moved first, loosening his hold on Merlin’s nape. He cleared his throat. "Are you ready for tomorrow?"
"I am." Merlin’s stomach twisted at the lie, but ‘ready as I can possibly be’ didn’t inspire much confidence. Arthur was nervous enough for both of them. "Get some sleep. I’ll tell Leon to be ready before the sun rises."
Arthur nodded, jaw already set, battle-ready again.
Merlin leaned in, placing a soft kiss to Arthur’s forehead before slipping out of the tent. He doubted either of them would get much sleep that night.
~o~
The sword was a thing of beauty in battle. Arthur wielded it with ease, an extension of his arms, powerful and deadly. He watched in awe on his first few strikes as it sliced through shields and snapped opponent swords on contact. He felt indestructible with it in his hands.
The rain began within the first hour of the battle. It was an unnatural, thrashing, punishing rain, stinging their eyes and slowing the feet of the soldiers on both sides. It was not Mordred’s soldiers that worried Arthur, but the beasts. The wargs tore through Camelot’s men, ripping apart every man who was not quick enough to run. Those that stood and fought found their weapons useless.
Arthur searched the crowd. He saw Merlin a few yards away, felling a small griffin in mid-flight. "Emrys!" Arthur shouted through the rain. "The wargs! Can you do anything?"
Merlin looked up, his eyes golden, and he nodded. Arthur saw his mouth form words. He couldn’t make out a sound over the rain, but the air began to heat. Across the field, sword after sword flickered blue as though Merlin was lighting a candelabra. The first knight to notice stared at the sword a moment then attacked a charging warg. His strike sliced the beast in half and the soldiers around him cheered. After that, the men stopped running.
Arthur turned to Merlin and, tight lipped, nodded his approval.
The battle raged on, wet and brutal. Under the thrashing rain, the roar of the beasts and the clink of swords, Merlin muttered a constant stream of magic which Arthur felt more than heard. But it wasn’t enough – they were being inched back, towards the river. Arthur could feel it, the battle slipping away from them. Their numbers dwindled; their conviction drowned in the rain and blood-soaked mud at their feet.
At first, Arthur thought the noise was the storm, the wind picking up, thunder in the distance. Then he heard the first scream.
"Dragon!" Leon cried out, pointing at the sky and directing the archers.
"Hold!" Arthur called to them. "See what it does." He looked across the battlefield to Merlin and found him pale and trembling from the hours of casting spell after spell, not looking like he was ready to take on the dragon should it turn on them. He’d taken a chance in not telling his men about the beast. But fear and confusion the night before a battle – the very idea of a dragon being free in Albion, could have swayed the men’s resolve, shaken their confidence in their leader. Arthur might pay for that decision with his kingdom.
When the dragon roared, the earth trembled beneath Arthur’s feet. A soldier to his left stumbled to the mud. The entire battlefield seemed to pause, a collective moment of panic as the dragon swooped downwards. Arthur’s men were thrown back at the force of its wings, the air like a wind-storm. With a mighty sound, the sky lit with fire and the men on both sides crashed to the earth, covering themselves with shields as best they could.
When the light faded and the sound of the rain was all that remained, Arthur climbed to his feet and stared slack-jawed at the destruction. The battlefield was charred. Fires burned every few yards but they were quickly doused by the rain. Mordred’s army had been decimated, while Camelot’s was left untouched.
"Do you surrender?" Arthur called out into the smoke. As it cleared, a figure stepped forward, tall and slender, unmistakable raven hair dancing, long and wet, in the wind.
Morgana was in breeches, furs and chainmail, looking every bit the warlord she was acting. She looked at Arthur with such hate it made his breath catch and heart ache for the woman he had once loved like a sister.
"Do you surrender?" She raised an eyebrow, her lip curling.
Arthur looked around, Mordred was no where to be seen. He lifted his sword into the air and screamed. "Attack!"
Camelot’s army cried out, rushing forward, pressing in on Mordred's army until they were forced back.
Morgana appeared oblivious. She stalked forward, her eyes pinned to Arthur, her smile manic. "Arthur, Arthur, Arthur."
Arthur lifted his chin and met her gaze. "Morgana."
"Would you like me to kill you slowly, let you think you might win, or make it fast and let you keep your dignity?" Her eyes were wide, almost like those early days of her nightmares, when she panicked for fear of his life. An age had passed since then.
Arthur sighed. "Don’t do this, Morgana." It would be easier if she were sane, if Arthur believed she was acting in her right mind. Then he could run her through and know it was necessary.
She cackled; there was no shred of sanity in the sound. "It's is far too late, King Arthur." She raised her hand and in her palm a ball of fire appeared. Before Arthur could blink, she hurled it toward him.
Arthur dodged and rolled, coming up with his shield at the ready for the next strike. It slammed into him with enough force to knock him off his feet. He'd lost track of Merlin after the dragon attack, and was afraid to call for him now. If Morgana didn't know Merlin was here, there was a better chance of defeating her by keeping her focus solely on Arthur. Assuming Merlin still had magic enough left in him to fight and win against Morgana.
"You will die and the Pendragon legacy will be over." Morgana swept her palms together and raised them upwards. The ground shook, and bits of wood and vines from the field lifted from the ground and flew at Arthur. He swung his sword to bat them away; they crumbled at his blade.
Arthur caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He spun in time to see Mordred directly behind him. His arm rose. A ball of lightening crackled at his fingertips. Arthur knew he was dead the moment he saw the triumph in Mordred's eyes. Then Mordred was flying backwards and Morgana was screaming. Mordred's body hit a tree, falling broken and unmoving to the earth. The ball of magic in his hand fizzled to nothing.
Standing alone in the rain behind them was Merlin. He looked at them, eyes still golden, feral. His hair was wild and his hands still shimmered with magic.
Morgana's screams carried over the rain. The branches and weeds she'd commanded dropped to the earth.
Merlin walked slowly to Mordred and pressed a finger to his neck. "He’s dead, Morgana. It’s over."
"This will never be over," Morgana rasped, tears streaking down her face. "Never." She crossed her arms over her face and faded out of existence with an unnatural, twisting wind.
The battlefield fell into chaos as the creatures conjured by Mordred’s magic fell to the mud. Moments later, the air erupted with shouts of surrender.
~o~
Merlin had stood, trembling in the rain as the field began to be cleaned up, unsure what his part now was. He barely recalled Arthur dragging him way from the bodies, from the blood, and back to the campsite. But they were there now, in Arthur's tent, sweat and mud matting to their hair and covering their faces.
Arthur motioned to an empty chair. "You need to rest. I’ll see to things out there."
Merlin opened his mouth to protest, to say that his mind was numb but his body was on fire, that being still was torture, but Leon popped his head through the tent opening.
"Sire," Leon said and Merlin began to pace the length of the tent. "Mordred's army seems confused. It’s as though they aren’t even sure how they'd arrived onto a battlefield."
"Gather them," Arthur instructed. "Make sure they are not harmed. If they were enchanted to serve Mordred, they may be more than likely to stand with us of their own free will."
"Yes, Sire. We are fine out here. I’ll see to it that the injured are treated as best we can." Leon looked past Arthur to Merlin. "We may need Emrys later."
Arthur shot him a look over his shoulder. "He needs rest."
"Yes, Sire." Leon bowed and left.
The minute Leon was gone, Arthur closed the tent flap and tied it shut. They would not be disturbed again. "Would you stop! You need to rest."
"No!" Merlin ran a hand through his sodden hair. "I can’t. I need—" He growled in frustration because he really didn’t know what he needed.
Mordred had almost completed the dragon’s prophecy. Merlin could still feel the sticky dark hatred in the power, the intensity of the spell he’d incanted. Arthur would’ve been dead in another heartbeat. Without even a conscious thought Merlin had roared, slamming his magic at Mordred. He looked down and found the tips of his fingers still shimmered.
Arthur held his shoulders, forced his gaze upward. "What do you need?"
He’d killed the boy he’d once saved. He'd killed the boy destined to murder Arthur. Elation and guilt choked him.
"Merlin." Arthur’s fingers circled Merlin’s wrists. "Hey. Are you with me here? You need to rest."
"I need—" Merlin pulled Arthur against him, his chest plate digging sharply at Merlin’s collarbone. Merlin pulled him tighter, needing to feel more, anything. He trembled as he pulled Arthur into a kiss. The snaps and buckles of Arthur’s armour all released with an audible click.
"Fuck," Arthur moaned into the kiss.
Merlin’s fingers shook as he tore at Arthur’s clothes, not caring what he must look like, what Arthur must think of him. "I need you."
"You are fevered. God, Merlin." Arthur bit along his neck, dragging his teeth just shy of pain. His fingers curled at Merlin’s waist, clutching tight enough to bruise. "You are like fire."
Merlin could see the shimmer of his skin, growing rather than receding, his magic rising with every touch. On the island he’d used magic until he was spent, waking collapsed on the grass unsure if hours, days, or weeks had passed. It was nothing like this, this feeling of being alive, being beyond alive, like no one had ever been so thoroughly alive before.
It only mattered that Arthur was pulling off his tunic, huffing in annoyance when Merlin wouldn’t stop working off Arthur’s hauberk to lift his own arms.
Merlin licked and sucked everywhere he could find skin.
"I’m filthy." Arthur laughed, tugging at Merlin’s hair as he sucked a bruise behind Arthur’s ear.
Merlin nuzzled the spot and inhaled. "You smell like the earth. The earth is mine to wield." Merlin liked that thought, rolled it around in his head for a moment. He slipped his hand into the back of Arthur’s breeches.
Arthur gasped as Merlin’s fingers teased his cleft then dipped between his arse cheeks.
"Okay?" Merlin breathed, almost silently into Arthur’s ear.
Arthur shivered. "Yes."
Merlin hid his pleased smile at Arthur’s nape and let magic pool at his fingertips. "Arthur, please."
Arthur groaned. "Yes." His back arched and Merlin’s magic seemed to have a mind of its own, creeping along Arthur’s skin. Arthur’s breath was coming in short, rasping gasps as Merlin pressed a finger to his rim and let his magic penetrate Arthur.
Arthur's hips thrust forward, knocking their groins together in a frantic rhythm. He cried a strangled, "Ah!" and shoved Merlin to the mattress. They scrambled with their breeches, shoving them down to their knees before Arthur gave up and tackled Merlin again. Merlin widened his legs as best he could so Arthur could settle between them. He was trapped now with his breeches around his ankles and Arthur kneeling on top of them, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered once Arthur leaned forward, pinning their cocks between their bodies, and began to rock.
Merlin clawed down Arthur's back, feeling the muscles flex with each thrust. He urged Arthur faster, harder, but he could barely move himself. Arthur had to be exhausted, driven by adrenaline and lust alone because the battle had taken everything out of them. He gripped Arthur's arse and squeezed him closer, needing everything Arthur could give him.
Just as Arthur was losing rhythm and Merlin could feel that tingle at his spine that said he was teetering on the edge, he reached lower and pressed a finger, just the tip, into Arthur's body. Arthur arched, crying out, his thrusts going wild and reckless against Merlin.
Merlin held back, only barely. He didn't trust himself, but he let his magic slip free again, pushing gently until it was inside, filling Arthur in every way possible.
Arthur’s eyes widened as he choked out, "Merlin." It was loud, impossibly loud as Merlin filled him up, took him, and claimed him. Merlin half-wondered who might hear, and if he really cared.
Their hips stuttered at a frantic pace, bound in magic and lust and sweat, until they cried out with their completion, one toppling on the edge of the other.
They stared at each other a moment, as their heart rates evened out and the afterglow began to fade. Merlin ached, not sure if he could ever move again. Arthur looked just as drained.
"I really am filthy now." Arthur tried to lift himself off, only to collapse again. "Could you… do something."
Merlin snickered into Arthur’s bare shoulder, pressing his lips to the salty skin. "Too tired," he muttered, and clung a little tighter, not ready to let the moment go.
"Merlin."
With a grunt, Merlin waved his hand and whispered a spell. It wasn't much, but it got them as clean as a wet cloth might.
"Thank you." Arthur kissed him, unhurried and sloppy, until Merlin was breathless all over again. They took their time getting dressed, only to flop back onto the mattress and catch a nap, curled around each other.
~o~
Arthur woke alone.
The moon lit the remains of the battlefield where a few bodies remained, waiting until morning to be moved. The injured were back at the campsite; Leon would have seen to that.
But Merlin hadn’t gone to heal the sick. Arthur found him gathering the last few branches for a funeral pyre. Mordred's body was laid out on top, his hood covering his face.
"He was worth saving then," Merlin whispered, likely more to himself than to Arthur. "He didn't have to become filled with so much hate."
Arthur put a hand on Merlin's shoulder, but said nothing.
"I will never understand."
"Perhaps you aren't meant to." Arthur tightened his grip. "It's over."
Merlin sniffled, wiping his cheeks with his sleeve, then without hesitation, holding out his hand, he said, "Forbearn."
They watched Mordred’s body burn until the winds changed and the smoke became too much. As they turned, Merlin looked to the sky. Above them, the silhouette of the great dragon blocked the light of the moon.
Moments later, it landed in their path.
Merlin stepped forward, fearless, and Arthur had to suppress the urge to pull him back. "Thank you," Merlin said.
The dragon's head bobbed in what had to be a nod, then it turned to the pyre, still burning in the distance. "You’ve created your own destiny now, young warlock."
"Things are as they should be. Unknown."
The dragon lifted up. "Unknown to you, perhaps," it said, smug. It bowed first to Merlin and then to Arthur. "Together, you will be great."
It took off in a flurry of wind and dirt; they rushed to cover their faces. Arthur wondered if he’d ever encounter the beast again.
They made their way back to camp. Arthur had to see to the prisoners and make decisions that would change the course of many men’s lives. Merlin had to see to the sick and save all those he could, mourn those he could not.
They stopped for a moment, just at the rise of the hill.
Arthur looked out at the lands before him, all of Albion sprawled out at his feet. Beside him, Merlin smiled and nodded, and Arthur took his hand.
~fin~
The next few days were a flurry of planning. The excitement, anticipation and nerves of preparing to meet Mordred and Morgana’s army en route was wearing on everyone. Merlin did all that he could, sharpening swords and enchanting armour to withstand minor spells. He found quiet moments to meditate to ensure they would intercept the enemy far from Camelot.
Arthur addressed him as Emrys in public. If anyone recognised him as the prince’s clumsy manservant from years before, they said nothing. They regarded him warily but without much fear; he kept his smile disarming and his magic subtle. Arthur was always near, his hand on Merlin’s neck, his shoulder bumping Merlin’s. It was lovely, if distracting.
On the fourth day of the ride north, Merlin suggested to Arthur they stop and set up camp by midday. They would face Morgana come morning based on the progress both armies had made the day before.
That night, Arthur addressed his knights around the campfire. Merlin kept well back, leaning against a tree in the shadows of the forest, watching. Each knight had a squadron of soldiers to lead, possibly to their deaths, the next day. Arthur was now trying to inspire them, give them focus for them to pass on to his army. As the men formed a circle around him, Arthur took in each face, one by one. Recognition tugged at Merlin then, another group of men, but farmers that time whom Arthur had roused to confidence and eventual victory.
The king was a long way off from that young prince that had inspired the people of Ealdor, but the spirit of his words was the same: fight for your freedom, fight for those back in Camelot that they may live in peace to work and grow crops; fight that you may hold your head proud for the rest of your life that you did all you could for your family and your people.
The knights looked upon him and their faces glowed with respect. Their shoulder back and their chins high, they set off to their troops to pass on the word, the purpose. Arthur shook each of their hands, and when the last had left, he ducked into his tent.
Merlin waited, unsure. Then he pushed off the tree he’d been leaning against. He wasn’t really a part of the army, had no right to be present at their speeches, not yet; he’d let Arthur stand alone. Now, he pushed back the flap of Arthur’s tent and entered. It was quiet, the soft flicker of the lantern casting a orange glow on the canvas. Arthur was hunched over maps, quietly scribbling in his journal. Across his desk lay his new sword. Merlin breathed deeply, appreciating the peaceful moment, despite the flurry of activity as the campsite prepared for the next day’s battle.
"Mordred and Morgana are camped on the northern edge of the forest."
"Are you certain?" Arthur didn’t look up, but his fingers moved along the map, following the line of the forest. "We could move out before dawn and catch them unawares."
Merlin nodded, even though Arthur couldn’t see it. "I’ll give the message to Leon." He paused a moment, letting his gaze trace the stiff line of Arthur’s back. "I’ll leave you to your planning in quiet."
Arthur turned, his brow furrowed. "No. It’s good. It’s nice to have someone... filling the silence." He tossed down his quill and stood.
Merlin's mind flashed, unbidden, to the island, the too, too quiet of the day and the lonely nights that seemed to stretch on indefinitely until he thought he would lose his mind. He understood loneliness well enough, and that being surrounded by people didn’t exclude it. Those nights back in Camelot, before, when he’d sit by the hearth and polish armour while Arthur fiddled about with his pocket knife, those moments were the ones that Merlin had missed the most.
He found a wine skin and poured Arthur a cup, and after a moment one for himself. He took a long drink then began to fumble with the buckles of Arthur’s breastplate as though he had any right to touch him.
Arthur grabbed his wrist, stopping his progress to the left vembrance. "You are not my servant anymore, Merlin."
Merlin smiled, a teasing half grin, like he knew better. "Did I tell you about Marcus and Cook?" he began, his voice low as he slipped from Arthur's hold and worked the next latch. "He was just a tot when I left, and now he’s grown like a weed. Apparently, every morning he would steal the first buns out of the oven. I heard Cook complain about Marcus’ quick hands when I started getting our rations sorted. But right before we left, Cook got him, right good."
Arthur’s eyes were closed, the tension in his shoulders gone slack. But he was listening because he snickered; they both knew Cook's temper well.
"She doused the first buns with pepper." Merlin motioned for Arthur to lift his arms, and he slipped off the hauberk. "She said they were nearly black, and swore she thought he wouldn't touch them. But he must have thought they were poppy seeds because sure enough, he stole three from the first batch the moment she set them to cool. A minute later he was coughing a storm in the hallway. Sir Kay asked him if he'd caught the fever, he was so red."
Arthur couldn’t hide his chuckle as Merlin acted out a choking noise, then they both fell into full-bellied laughter.
When they had stopped, and caught their breath again, Arthur’s hands were at Merlin’s shoulders and he didn’t remember how they ended up standing so close. They were breathing the same air. This, Merlin had missed too. Arthur had always been very physical, hands on his neck, his shoulder, always talking right in Merlin’s face even if it was to call him a dunderhead. And now it made his heart race, as much for the longing of human touch after so long, as for the fact that it was Arthur and no one else ever made his insides squirm in quite the same way.
Merlin could see a smudge of dirt at Arthur’s cheekbone. He lifted his hand to wipe it with his thumb, but Arthur’s hand covered his. The result was his hand cupping Arthur’s jaw, Arthur’s fingers pressed to his.
"I missed you." Arthur held his gaze, his face open and almost pained. "I thought you were dead."
Merlin didn’t know what to say, they hadn’t talked about that. About what Arthur had thought, what they had both been through in those years, the fact that he’d been mourned. It had felt too huge to broach and maybe it was better left unsaid. What mattered was the present and the moment they were sharing right now.
Merlin leaned in until their lips pressed together; Arthur stiffened. Merlin was sure he was going to get shoved back and prepared himself for it, his apology at the ready for having misread Arthur’s intentions. Beneath his hand, he felt a tremor run through Arthur’s jaw. Arthur’s lips softened, opening a fraction, just enough to drag along Merlin’s bottom lip.
"Yeah," he breathed into Arthur’s mouth and deepened the kiss. He wasn’t sure what he expected in those moments he had dared to dream of this, but it had never been like this: Arthur clawing at his hair, making filthy sounds as he licked and bit at Merlin’s mouth. It was dizzying. He clung tighter for balance, as if Arthur would stop him from floating away. Merlin’s magic was rising, simmering under the surface of his skin as if it needed to devour Arthur.
Arthur stepped closer and the hard line of his body fit too well with Merlin’s, hitting all the right places. Merlin could feel himself losing control and backed away with a pang of regret. "We need our sleep. And our energy."
Arthur was flushed, cheeks pink with arousal. He wouldn’t meet Merlin’s eyes.
"Arthur, after this is over–"
"Then what?" Arthur looked up, his face a mixture of anger and confusion. "Where does that leave us? Are you going back?"
Merlin stepped forward, couldn’t help it. He clasped Arthur’s hands and struggled to put everything he was feeling, his devotion, into words. "I’m happy to be your servant until the day I die." He meant it like it a promise but Arthur’s face hardened, furious. Merlin’s breath caught at the intensity of the reaction.
"Fuck." Arthur pounced, reaching up to pull on Merlin’s hair, colliding their mouths together in a brutal kiss. "Don’t you dare say that."
Merlin lost himself in the kiss for a moment, let Arthur drown him in whatever he was feeling. Then Merlin remembered why the words were familiar, when he had said them last, right before his final trip to the Isle of the Blessed. A weight pressed down on his ribs as he began to understand Arthur’s words. He kissed Arthur back, crashing into him like wave hitting the cliff of the island during a storm.
Arthur pulled back, breathless, just far enough to whisper, "Don’t you dare."
"Arthur." Merlin pressed his brow to Arthur’s; they were clutching each other’s hair, clinging. "Arthur, I’m not going anywhere. We have a destiny. And it’s so much more than this. More than just tomorrow."
They held each other, panting like there wasn’t enough air in the tent, in the world. Outside, the camp was settling in for the night: a few knights discussing battle tactics, squires dividing up the rations for the horses, and behind it all there was rhythmic singing of whetstones gliding over swords.
Arthur moved first, loosening his hold on Merlin’s nape. He cleared his throat. "Are you ready for tomorrow?"
"I am." Merlin’s stomach twisted at the lie, but ‘ready as I can possibly be’ didn’t inspire much confidence. Arthur was nervous enough for both of them. "Get some sleep. I’ll tell Leon to be ready before the sun rises."
Arthur nodded, jaw already set, battle-ready again.
Merlin leaned in, placing a soft kiss to Arthur’s forehead before slipping out of the tent. He doubted either of them would get much sleep that night.
The sword was a thing of beauty in battle. Arthur wielded it with ease, an extension of his arms, powerful and deadly. He watched in awe on his first few strikes as it sliced through shields and snapped opponent swords on contact. He felt indestructible with it in his hands.
The rain began within the first hour of the battle. It was an unnatural, thrashing, punishing rain, stinging their eyes and slowing the feet of the soldiers on both sides. It was not Mordred’s soldiers that worried Arthur, but the beasts. The wargs tore through Camelot’s men, ripping apart every man who was not quick enough to run. Those that stood and fought found their weapons useless.
Arthur searched the crowd. He saw Merlin a few yards away, felling a small griffin in mid-flight. "Emrys!" Arthur shouted through the rain. "The wargs! Can you do anything?"
Merlin looked up, his eyes golden, and he nodded. Arthur saw his mouth form words. He couldn’t make out a sound over the rain, but the air began to heat. Across the field, sword after sword flickered blue as though Merlin was lighting a candelabra. The first knight to notice stared at the sword a moment then attacked a charging warg. His strike sliced the beast in half and the soldiers around him cheered. After that, the men stopped running.
Arthur turned to Merlin and, tight lipped, nodded his approval.
The battle raged on, wet and brutal. Under the thrashing rain, the roar of the beasts and the clink of swords, Merlin muttered a constant stream of magic which Arthur felt more than heard. But it wasn’t enough – they were being inched back, towards the river. Arthur could feel it, the battle slipping away from them. Their numbers dwindled; their conviction drowned in the rain and blood-soaked mud at their feet.
At first, Arthur thought the noise was the storm, the wind picking up, thunder in the distance. Then he heard the first scream.
"Dragon!" Leon cried out, pointing at the sky and directing the archers.
"Hold!" Arthur called to them. "See what it does." He looked across the battlefield to Merlin and found him pale and trembling from the hours of casting spell after spell, not looking like he was ready to take on the dragon should it turn on them. He’d taken a chance in not telling his men about the beast. But fear and confusion the night before a battle – the very idea of a dragon being free in Albion, could have swayed the men’s resolve, shaken their confidence in their leader. Arthur might pay for that decision with his kingdom.
When the dragon roared, the earth trembled beneath Arthur’s feet. A soldier to his left stumbled to the mud. The entire battlefield seemed to pause, a collective moment of panic as the dragon swooped downwards. Arthur’s men were thrown back at the force of its wings, the air like a wind-storm. With a mighty sound, the sky lit with fire and the men on both sides crashed to the earth, covering themselves with shields as best they could.
When the light faded and the sound of the rain was all that remained, Arthur climbed to his feet and stared slack-jawed at the destruction. The battlefield was charred. Fires burned every few yards but they were quickly doused by the rain. Mordred’s army had been decimated, while Camelot’s was left untouched.
"Do you surrender?" Arthur called out into the smoke. As it cleared, a figure stepped forward, tall and slender, unmistakable raven hair dancing, long and wet, in the wind.
Morgana was in breeches, furs and chainmail, looking every bit the warlord she was acting. She looked at Arthur with such hate it made his breath catch and heart ache for the woman he had once loved like a sister.
"Do you surrender?" She raised an eyebrow, her lip curling.
Arthur looked around, Mordred was no where to be seen. He lifted his sword into the air and screamed. "Attack!"
Camelot’s army cried out, rushing forward, pressing in on Mordred's army until they were forced back.
Morgana appeared oblivious. She stalked forward, her eyes pinned to Arthur, her smile manic. "Arthur, Arthur, Arthur."
Arthur lifted his chin and met her gaze. "Morgana."
"Would you like me to kill you slowly, let you think you might win, or make it fast and let you keep your dignity?" Her eyes were wide, almost like those early days of her nightmares, when she panicked for fear of his life. An age had passed since then.
Arthur sighed. "Don’t do this, Morgana." It would be easier if she were sane, if Arthur believed she was acting in her right mind. Then he could run her through and know it was necessary.
She cackled; there was no shred of sanity in the sound. "It's is far too late, King Arthur." She raised her hand and in her palm a ball of fire appeared. Before Arthur could blink, she hurled it toward him.
Arthur dodged and rolled, coming up with his shield at the ready for the next strike. It slammed into him with enough force to knock him off his feet. He'd lost track of Merlin after the dragon attack, and was afraid to call for him now. If Morgana didn't know Merlin was here, there was a better chance of defeating her by keeping her focus solely on Arthur. Assuming Merlin still had magic enough left in him to fight and win against Morgana.
"You will die and the Pendragon legacy will be over." Morgana swept her palms together and raised them upwards. The ground shook, and bits of wood and vines from the field lifted from the ground and flew at Arthur. He swung his sword to bat them away; they crumbled at his blade.
Arthur caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He spun in time to see Mordred directly behind him. His arm rose. A ball of lightening crackled at his fingertips. Arthur knew he was dead the moment he saw the triumph in Mordred's eyes. Then Mordred was flying backwards and Morgana was screaming. Mordred's body hit a tree, falling broken and unmoving to the earth. The ball of magic in his hand fizzled to nothing.
Standing alone in the rain behind them was Merlin. He looked at them, eyes still golden, feral. His hair was wild and his hands still shimmered with magic.
Morgana's screams carried over the rain. The branches and weeds she'd commanded dropped to the earth.
Merlin walked slowly to Mordred and pressed a finger to his neck. "He’s dead, Morgana. It’s over."
"This will never be over," Morgana rasped, tears streaking down her face. "Never." She crossed her arms over her face and faded out of existence with an unnatural, twisting wind.
The battlefield fell into chaos as the creatures conjured by Mordred’s magic fell to the mud. Moments later, the air erupted with shouts of surrender.
Merlin had stood, trembling in the rain as the field began to be cleaned up, unsure what his part now was. He barely recalled Arthur dragging him way from the bodies, from the blood, and back to the campsite. But they were there now, in Arthur's tent, sweat and mud matting to their hair and covering their faces.
Arthur motioned to an empty chair. "You need to rest. I’ll see to things out there."
Merlin opened his mouth to protest, to say that his mind was numb but his body was on fire, that being still was torture, but Leon popped his head through the tent opening.
"Sire," Leon said and Merlin began to pace the length of the tent. "Mordred's army seems confused. It’s as though they aren’t even sure how they'd arrived onto a battlefield."
"Gather them," Arthur instructed. "Make sure they are not harmed. If they were enchanted to serve Mordred, they may be more than likely to stand with us of their own free will."
"Yes, Sire. We are fine out here. I’ll see to it that the injured are treated as best we can." Leon looked past Arthur to Merlin. "We may need Emrys later."
Arthur shot him a look over his shoulder. "He needs rest."
"Yes, Sire." Leon bowed and left.
The minute Leon was gone, Arthur closed the tent flap and tied it shut. They would not be disturbed again. "Would you stop! You need to rest."
"No!" Merlin ran a hand through his sodden hair. "I can’t. I need—" He growled in frustration because he really didn’t know what he needed.
Mordred had almost completed the dragon’s prophecy. Merlin could still feel the sticky dark hatred in the power, the intensity of the spell he’d incanted. Arthur would’ve been dead in another heartbeat. Without even a conscious thought Merlin had roared, slamming his magic at Mordred. He looked down and found the tips of his fingers still shimmered.
Arthur held his shoulders, forced his gaze upward. "What do you need?"
He’d killed the boy he’d once saved. He'd killed the boy destined to murder Arthur. Elation and guilt choked him.
"Merlin." Arthur’s fingers circled Merlin’s wrists. "Hey. Are you with me here? You need to rest."
"I need—" Merlin pulled Arthur against him, his chest plate digging sharply at Merlin’s collarbone. Merlin pulled him tighter, needing to feel more, anything. He trembled as he pulled Arthur into a kiss. The snaps and buckles of Arthur’s armour all released with an audible click.
"Fuck," Arthur moaned into the kiss.
Merlin’s fingers shook as he tore at Arthur’s clothes, not caring what he must look like, what Arthur must think of him. "I need you."
"You are fevered. God, Merlin." Arthur bit along his neck, dragging his teeth just shy of pain. His fingers curled at Merlin’s waist, clutching tight enough to bruise. "You are like fire."
Merlin could see the shimmer of his skin, growing rather than receding, his magic rising with every touch. On the island he’d used magic until he was spent, waking collapsed on the grass unsure if hours, days, or weeks had passed. It was nothing like this, this feeling of being alive, being beyond alive, like no one had ever been so thoroughly alive before.
It only mattered that Arthur was pulling off his tunic, huffing in annoyance when Merlin wouldn’t stop working off Arthur’s hauberk to lift his own arms.
Merlin licked and sucked everywhere he could find skin.
"I’m filthy." Arthur laughed, tugging at Merlin’s hair as he sucked a bruise behind Arthur’s ear.
Merlin nuzzled the spot and inhaled. "You smell like the earth. The earth is mine to wield." Merlin liked that thought, rolled it around in his head for a moment. He slipped his hand into the back of Arthur’s breeches.
Arthur gasped as Merlin’s fingers teased his cleft then dipped between his arse cheeks.
"Okay?" Merlin breathed, almost silently into Arthur’s ear.
Arthur shivered. "Yes."
Merlin hid his pleased smile at Arthur’s nape and let magic pool at his fingertips. "Arthur, please."
Arthur groaned. "Yes." His back arched and Merlin’s magic seemed to have a mind of its own, creeping along Arthur’s skin. Arthur’s breath was coming in short, rasping gasps as Merlin pressed a finger to his rim and let his magic penetrate Arthur.
Arthur's hips thrust forward, knocking their groins together in a frantic rhythm. He cried a strangled, "Ah!" and shoved Merlin to the mattress. They scrambled with their breeches, shoving them down to their knees before Arthur gave up and tackled Merlin again. Merlin widened his legs as best he could so Arthur could settle between them. He was trapped now with his breeches around his ankles and Arthur kneeling on top of them, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered once Arthur leaned forward, pinning their cocks between their bodies, and began to rock.
Merlin clawed down Arthur's back, feeling the muscles flex with each thrust. He urged Arthur faster, harder, but he could barely move himself. Arthur had to be exhausted, driven by adrenaline and lust alone because the battle had taken everything out of them. He gripped Arthur's arse and squeezed him closer, needing everything Arthur could give him.
Just as Arthur was losing rhythm and Merlin could feel that tingle at his spine that said he was teetering on the edge, he reached lower and pressed a finger, just the tip, into Arthur's body. Arthur arched, crying out, his thrusts going wild and reckless against Merlin.
Merlin held back, only barely. He didn't trust himself, but he let his magic slip free again, pushing gently until it was inside, filling Arthur in every way possible.
Arthur’s eyes widened as he choked out, "Merlin." It was loud, impossibly loud as Merlin filled him up, took him, and claimed him. Merlin half-wondered who might hear, and if he really cared.
Their hips stuttered at a frantic pace, bound in magic and lust and sweat, until they cried out with their completion, one toppling on the edge of the other.
They stared at each other a moment, as their heart rates evened out and the afterglow began to fade. Merlin ached, not sure if he could ever move again. Arthur looked just as drained.
"I really am filthy now." Arthur tried to lift himself off, only to collapse again. "Could you… do something."
Merlin snickered into Arthur’s bare shoulder, pressing his lips to the salty skin. "Too tired," he muttered, and clung a little tighter, not ready to let the moment go.
"Merlin."
With a grunt, Merlin waved his hand and whispered a spell. It wasn't much, but it got them as clean as a wet cloth might.
"Thank you." Arthur kissed him, unhurried and sloppy, until Merlin was breathless all over again. They took their time getting dressed, only to flop back onto the mattress and catch a nap, curled around each other.
Arthur woke alone.
The moon lit the remains of the battlefield where a few bodies remained, waiting until morning to be moved. The injured were back at the campsite; Leon would have seen to that.
But Merlin hadn’t gone to heal the sick. Arthur found him gathering the last few branches for a funeral pyre. Mordred's body was laid out on top, his hood covering his face.
"He was worth saving then," Merlin whispered, likely more to himself than to Arthur. "He didn't have to become filled with so much hate."
Arthur put a hand on Merlin's shoulder, but said nothing.
"I will never understand."
"Perhaps you aren't meant to." Arthur tightened his grip. "It's over."
Merlin sniffled, wiping his cheeks with his sleeve, then without hesitation, holding out his hand, he said, "Forbearn."
They watched Mordred’s body burn until the winds changed and the smoke became too much. As they turned, Merlin looked to the sky. Above them, the silhouette of the great dragon blocked the light of the moon.
Moments later, it landed in their path.
Merlin stepped forward, fearless, and Arthur had to suppress the urge to pull him back. "Thank you," Merlin said.
The dragon's head bobbed in what had to be a nod, then it turned to the pyre, still burning in the distance. "You’ve created your own destiny now, young warlock."
"Things are as they should be. Unknown."
The dragon lifted up. "Unknown to you, perhaps," it said, smug. It bowed first to Merlin and then to Arthur. "Together, you will be great."
It took off in a flurry of wind and dirt; they rushed to cover their faces. Arthur wondered if he’d ever encounter the beast again.
They made their way back to camp. Arthur had to see to the prisoners and make decisions that would change the course of many men’s lives. Merlin had to see to the sick and save all those he could, mourn those he could not.
They stopped for a moment, just at the rise of the hill.
Arthur looked out at the lands before him, all of Albion sprawled out at his feet. Beside him, Merlin smiled and nodded, and Arthur took his hand.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2011-06-03 11:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-04 03:19 am (UTC)Merlin breaking that destiny of Mordred killing Arthur was awesome to write, ngl.
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Date: 2011-06-04 12:57 am (UTC)♥
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Date: 2011-06-04 03:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-04 01:11 am (UTC)<3
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Date: 2011-06-04 03:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-04 01:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-04 03:25 am (UTC)awe! what a lovely description! Yes, definitely what I was hope for.
Like what was once rote was now living knowledge, and just as uncertain as life.
Yes. Their story is so tragic that it was nice to give them a blank slate, twist things just enough to give some knew chances and see how things play out. I'm so thrilled it worked for you. :)
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Date: 2011-06-04 01:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-04 03:29 am (UTC)how they've both come into their power and are meeting as equals but also as friends seeing each other for the first time in years
Thank you! I was really hoping the 'meeting as equals' rang through in this because it felt important, through the whole thing that they were equal in all things.
(I love Gaius and Merlin moments... no way I could leave that out!)
♥
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Date: 2011-06-04 02:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-04 03:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-04 02:56 am (UTC)You are a goddess and I thank you for sharing such a wonderful fic. <3
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Date: 2011-06-04 03:34 am (UTC)YAY! I'm glad you liked that bit with the meditation, idek but it felt right to have Arthur just sitting, waiting for him to be done. And that battle! gah. so hard to write battlefield scenes. *swears them off forever* I so glad it didn't send you to sleep. :)
I'm thrilled you liked it, and thank you to the excellent comment.
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Date: 2011-06-04 03:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-04 03:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-04 03:27 am (UTC)I really, really loved this self-assured, yet still the same guy version of Merlin. AW, creating their own destiny! It's like the ultimate fix-it.
My favorite part was Arthur being started at hearing someone call him by name again. Oh man, my heart.
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Date: 2011-06-04 03:42 am (UTC)Thank you so much. I'm thrilled that you liked this AU, and this Merlin and that he can across as recognisable while still being self-assured. :)
My favorite part was Arthur being started at hearing someone call him by name again.
!!! awe! what a lovely thing to strike you. thanks for letting me know. :)
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2011-06-04 03:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-05 03:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-04 04:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-05 03:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-04 05:13 am (UTC)What an interesting idea. It seems like something that could have happened, if only. It still plays with and into the legend, but you've made it into something totally your own. The original is tragic, so it's so good to see you give the boys the kind of destiny they deserve, and a chance to be happy.
You told an amazing story, wielding your words so that we get this sense of everything that's going on and going down, but aren't bogged down. I adore your writing.
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Date: 2011-06-05 04:42 pm (UTC)I can't thank you enough for all your supportive comments. ♥
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Date: 2011-06-04 05:37 am (UTC)It is seldom that I have had the great privilege to say to anyone how proud I am of them but this is truly such an occasion. I have known and read your work for years, even having beta'd some of your earliest efforts.
But what you have written here is an altogether different creature. You have truly come into your own as a writer. Yes, using the characters from another source to be sure, but bringing to the story a clarity and depth of feeling that the original lacks. This story in particular is a tale of deeply felt human emotion and the unfolding of a relationship over an arc of time and it is seamless.
Everything about this story rings true. The magic is alive and the characters
are richly coloured and three dimensional. The pace,scene-setting and uncanny sense of atmosphere are flawless. The story is imaginative and satisfying as ever and in the end no one can doubt what remains. This is a love story in the very truest sense in that it is love tested and true. Seldom is it captured as beautifully as you've done here!
You have become a truly great writer! I can't thank you enough for sharing your enormous talents with us all.
Peace,
Bubba
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Date: 2011-06-05 04:48 pm (UTC)Your comment really means the world to me, honestly. Such a lovely heartfelt thing to say. Writing is such a journey, your voice changes, your style changes over time and I'm honoured that you've kept reading over the years (across at least three fandoms).
Most of all, I'm glad this felt believable and alive to you. All I can ever hope is to take that stuff that is so clear in my head (that I believe) and try to get a few readers to see it that way too. Thanks for taking the time to leave such a lovely comment. *hugs*
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2011-06-04 05:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-05 04:52 pm (UTC)I'm so glad you liked it. :)
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Date: 2011-06-04 09:06 am (UTC)Arthur looked out at the lands before him, all of Albion sprawled out at his feet. Beside him, Merlin smiled and nodded, and Arthur took his hand.
I loved this ending - and so their epic begins!
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Date: 2011-06-05 05:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-04 09:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-05 05:05 pm (UTC)heh. sex+magic will never get old. :)
Thanks so much, sweetie. I'm so happy this fic worked for you.
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Date: 2011-06-04 10:06 am (UTC)I love your stories. *_*
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Date: 2011-06-05 05:06 pm (UTC)<3
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Date: 2011-06-04 12:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-05 05:10 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2011-06-04 12:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-05 05:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-04 03:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-05 06:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-04 07:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-05 06:37 pm (UTC)I really like thinking about Morgana's choices vs. extenuated circumstances. S1 and S2 I was a bit obsessed with what would happen if Merlin told Morgana and supported her. I really thought they were going down the 'insane and then evil' root (which I like much better than suddenly consumed by hate they are instantly evil.)
She played 'weak and crazy' much better than 'evil and evil' lol.
anyway.... I'm really glad you liked this!!! <3 Thank you for the comment.
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Date: 2011-06-04 09:39 pm (UTC)Such a brilliant canon fic! I wish their future was really unknown. Sometimes I get really depressed about things to happen in this show, thanks God for the fandom!
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Date: 2011-06-06 07:03 pm (UTC)I'm thrilled this worked for you. I love the idea of possibilities with these two. I mean, if Merlin really has to work so hard all the time to keep Arthur alive, then Mordred killing him after he unites Albion is clearly not set in stone. Right? Right? It works that way in my mind at least. :)
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Date: 2011-06-05 02:37 am (UTC)The sexytimes... dear LORD Maggie. FUCK that was hot, I could feel Merlin's need for Arthur there, and Merlin's magic all OVER Arthur like that.
Rewriting destiny. I love this verse and this version of the story. It has an epic, beautiful feel and I feel honored that this is what you did for me.
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Date: 2011-06-07 11:41 pm (UTC)I don't often write Merlin 'powerful' well.. not like this at least. It was so much fun and I'm so pleased you requested that. Such a great challenge.
Thank you so much for this lovely comment. I'm head over heels that you GOT what I was trying to do with everything. *beams more*
*twirls you*
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2011-06-05 04:24 pm (UTC)Wouldn't it be nice if we could wipe the slate clean back to then and have it go forward like this instead?
*happy sigh*
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Date: 2011-06-07 11:45 pm (UTC)Wouldn't it be nice if we could wipe the slate clean back to then and have it go forward like this instead?
ah, man... I would love to see anything to change up canon - just stir thing around and make the legend something unknown rather than this looming doom/destiny.
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Date: 2011-06-05 04:48 pm (UTC)I really, really love this. Maybe because it's AU from the end of series one, but it reads like old school Merlin fic to me, which makes me unbelievably happy. Arthur's reaction to Merlin's "I'm happy to be your servant" line was wonderful, especially mixed with Merlin's initial incomprehension.
Lovely ♥
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Date: 2011-06-07 11:49 pm (UTC)it reads like old school Merlin fic to me, which makes me unbelievably happy
SQUEE!!! That's exactly what I was hoping for. I wanted this to feel like it was 'old,' written without the influence of S2/S3.