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    "“Emrys,” said Gaius, raising the Eyebrow of Disappointment and flicking his gaze to where Merlin stood behind Arthur’s chair. “That is who you wish to have as your court sorcerer.”

    Arthur nodded gravely, every eye in the council meeting upon him. “Camelot is dangerously close to division even now that sorcery is legal. We need someone who will unite us all, and I cannot settle for less. I’ll send riders out at first light chasing rumours and follow up any promising leads we have myself.”

    He looked so beautiful when he said it, every inch the king, with the sunlight through the windows turning him gold. His voice had taken on that richness that sometimes infused Arthur’s words – that for the good of the kingdom voice, that let it be so voice, the voice that Merlin had come to understand meant another brick laid on the road to Albion.

    Unfortunately, that voice had been co-opted for a fucking farce."

    Or - In which magic is legal and Merlin is still lying for reasons that are absolutely, totally 100% valid and have nothing to do with his love for Arthur

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    03 Dec 2022

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    Arthur opened his eyes a minute later to the sight of seven magpies streaking across the top of the clearing, their shapes dark against the white clouds and the muted grey of the sky. He tried to remember what it was that seven magpies meant—he'd had a nurse who had sung the rhyme to him as a child—but couldn't.

    Arthur wakes up somewhere he doesn't recognise, but where he clearly belongs.

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    02 Dec 2022

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    First, there is the rage, like nothing Arthur has ever known. It’s hot, hotter than anything, hotter than the kitchen ovens and the blacksmith’s forge and dragon’s breath. It fills him to the brim and carries on, washing over him in waves that scald, and, as Arthur looks around him at the carnage, the man at its centre, he has no idea how he is ever meant to let go of it.

    “I can explain,” Merlin says, his eyes still blazing as he kneels there, charred by the fires he lit, blood on his hands. So much blood. “Arthur, sire, please, I can explain.”

    First, there is the rage, and then there is a knife at Merlin’s throat.

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    02 Dec 2022

  4. Public Bookmark *

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    When Merlin first hears that Arthur has been betrothed, his ribs pull inwards with an odd little hitch, and he only allows himself a second—which he needs in order to coordinate spinning in place without falling on his face—before he’s running to Arthur’s chambers.

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    02 Dec 2022

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    Considering Arthur's future wife will be chosen less for compatibility than for her political value, Merlin may be the only marriage he'll have that won't end in bloodshed or a great deal of fortifying wine.

    Language:
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    01 Dec 2022