(on AO3 here)
(prequel which will help make sense of this ficlet here)
set right after 113: Le Morte d’Arthur
* * *
“I hate you,” Merlin said raggedly into Arthur’s shoulder. “I hate you and I’ve lost everything I love because of you.”
Arthur didn’t stop caressing Merlin’s hair, nor did he let his breathing quicken to reflect the thundering of his heart or the wetness in his eyes.
“I wish I’d never met you. I never wanted this destiny, I never wanted to be the other side of your coin.”
Arthur opened his mouth to respond—maybe to agree, or to apologise, or to console—but Merlin carried on:
“I’ve saved your life more times than you know, and you’ll only ever think of me as your blundering, stupid, incompetent servant, and now I don’t have a mother because of you.”
No, Arthur wanted to say. Merlin is everything to him; he can’t fathom a life without Merlin’s endearing, charming mishaps anymore, any moments that he spends away from Merlin he aches until their reunion. No, Arthur views Merlin as the sole person in his life to genuinely care for him, and sometimes the thought of being the recipient of such undying devotion is too much to bear so he has to tease and taunt and jibe until the overflow in his chest settles down.
“No,” Arthur said. “You’re braver than anyone I know. The bravest.”
Merlin’s voice cracked in another sob.
Arthur had had the time to come to terms with the fact that magic had been a sizeable part of his life for the best part of a year. That his manservant—his friend—was more powerful than everyone in the castle combined but still chose to exchange his own life for Arthur’s without a second thought. Arthur didn’t know what to do. Arthur didn’t think he deserved it; not for a moment did he believe he had done anything to warrant Merlin’s loyalty, regardless of whatever their future was supposed to hold.
Merlin’s clammy hand grasped Arthur’s own tightly and dragged it upwards. Arthur watched, heart in his throat, as Merlin touched Arthur’s fingers to his lips in wet, messy kisses, mouth glancing over his knuckles and the back of his hand. Merlin turned it over to suckle the inside of Arthur’s wrist—right over his pulse point—and then kissed his palm and licked the tender skin between his thumb and his forefinger, finally drawing the tips of Arthur’s fingers into his mouth before releasing him with another shivering sniffle and burying his nose in the hollow between Arthur’s collarbones.
“Don’t leave me,” Merlin whispered, eyelashes brushing tears into Arthur’s skin, clutching desperately at Arthur. “Don’t leave me, don’t leave me, don’t hate me.”
Arthur gently rolled them over, crushing Merlin beneath his weight and in his arms, covering every inch of Merlin with himself, brushing his cheek against Merlin’s ear and trying his hardest to imprint his presence into Merlin. Merlin’s trembling calmed almost immediately; he quietened and slid his hands under Arthur’s shirt, ran them up his back and pressed Arthur impossibly closer, entangling their legs, crushing Arthur in return.
“Sleep,” Arthur said, mouth sweeping over the pinna of Merlin’s ear.
Merlin’s eyes fluttered closed. He breathed, and breathed.
Arthur breathed with him.
Tag: ato wrote
Solace
set right after 113: Le Morte d’Arthur
* * *
She died as dawn broke, before Merlin even woke up.
Gaius tried to shield Merlin from the sight of his own dead mother on the floor. He couldn’t, in the end. Merlin was to know the terrible mischief of the Old Religion one way or another.
Arthur might have woken, he might have returned to full health, he might have started kicking his knights about again. Merlin didn’t know, lost as he lay where Hunith had long after he and Gaius and Gwen returned from the cremation ground, carrying her ashes in a silver urn—the best Gaius could afford with his pay.
Merlin’s senses were all dead. Not even grief or guilt were allowed entry into his heart. He lay on the floor, then in his bed, for days on end, staring blankly at the ceiling and holding the hand of whoever it was dropping by every evening to sit with him, thinking about what he could have done, what he couldn’t have done, whether it was even possible to bring someone back from the dead, whether Arthur was good enough… Whether the comparison was even justified—thinking about revenge and the dragon, shutting out the voices in his head.
But on the fourth day the hand-holder spoke, and Merlin was shocked from his numbness by Arthur’s voice gently telling him, “I’m sorry.”
Merlin turned slowly to see the prince staring at him, clutching Merlin’s fingers tightly in his fist.
“My life was unworthy of being exchanged for hers,” Arthur said, small and timid. “Gaius told me you tried to sacrifice yourself and were deceived.”
Merlin rubbed his thumb slowly over Arthur’s knuckles, surprised at the warmth and sparks rushing into his body from the point of contact. He swallowed the bile in his throat and looked back at Arthur.
“I know what it’s like not to have a mother,” Arthur ventured again, when Merlin didn’t say a word but simply kept observing the blue of his eyes. “But I cannot imagine the agony of losing her the way you did.”
Merlin dropped his gaze, then, unable to accept Arthur’s sympathy. He wrenched his fingers out of Arthur’s hand and pushed it away. The message was clear.
“No,” Arthur said, getting to his feet. “You’re my friend, you saved my life and suffered an incomprehensible loss for it. I owe you a debt for life, and I could never leave you to hurt alone.”
Merlin watched with some confusion as Arthur bent to tug off his boots. Arthur straightened and placed a knee on the edge of the bed.
“Budge up,” he said.
Merlin shuffled backwards, still mute. Arthur got on the bed and lay down beside Merlin with some difficulty; the bed was small and they were now both cramped for space, but right then Arthur gathered Merlin into his arms and rested Merlin’s head on his neck, petting Merlin’s hair carefully, and whispered, “I’m sorry.
“Hunith’s life was worth a hundred of mine.”
And Merlin didn’t argue, not as he started trembling and heaving with sobs into Arthur’s fancy clothes, grasping at the fabric and wishing dearly he were safe in his mother’s arms instead.
I’m a huge fan of yours – I don’t know if you’re taking prompts rn, but I guess I could just try? idk. The prompt would be “Snow, trickling stream, hayloft”
here you go ❤
Yet Another Sylvan Reverie
In which Arthur outs himself as the worst farmer in Albion and Merlin loves him too much to do anything about it.
(on AO3 here)
* * *
“That’s not where you — good lord, Arthur,” Merlin sighs. Arthur’s appalling agricultural practices are going to make them the laughing stock of the entire village. “The snow’ll melt long before —”
“It’ll keep through the night,” Arthur argues, peering down at Merlin from the edge of the hayloft. The dirt smeared across his chin is adorably rustic; Merlin does his very best to resist smiling at the sight. “And in the morning, it’ll melt directly into the troughs — a trickling stream of freshwater for the horses.” Arthur fancies himself not only a yeoman, but an engineer, too. Merlin would’ve disabused his lover of that notion long ago but the wild cheer on Arthur’s face, present ever since he rushed Merlin out of Camelot in the dead of night, is too precious to sully.
“Haylofts are for storing hay, they’d’ve been called snowlofts otherwise.”
“We haven’t got hay to store yet. I’m only being clever.”
“You’re bored out of your mind, you mean,” Merlin calls. “Come down, love, it’s nearly evening. Dinner’s ready.”
Arthur is silent for a minute. “Up for a roll in the hayloft after?” He grins.
“Can’t believe you thought you needed to ask,” Merlin answers, grinning back.
the side effects of sobriety
Arthur knows Merlin loves him.
a 100w drabble for a kind anon.
(on AO3 here.)
* * *
Arthur knows Merlin loves him. He’s as sure of it as he is that Morgana and Leon are dallying with each other. Even surer of it than his right to the throne.
Merlin keeps confirming it each time he downs a tankard of the Rising Sun’s ale, after all. One whiff of a barmaid’s apron and Merlin goes off like a firework.
“I bloody adore you, you big-headed prat,” Merlin will shout. “Let’s snog.”
“When you’re clear-headed tomorrow, sweetheart,” Arthur will reply, hopeful each time.
“Promise?” The utter joy on Merlin’s face is so —
“Promise.”
But Merlin never asks sober.
his mouth tastes of wine and the fire in an autumn-soaked room
and when you feel his mouth curving into a smile against yours, you think maybe he won’t kill you when he finds out (he’ll find out and if he doesn’t you’ll tell him)
the gaping space in between your ribs that ached so long is overflowing with the scent of his sweat and the lavender oil you sneaked into his bath this morning
he’s drunk on this, this joy neither of you thought you could have, and making promises you don’t believe he can possibly keep
always—always be my fishwife of a servant, merlin
you want to retort so your mouth parts but he’s there and he’s kissing you again, opportunist prince that he is, closing your eyes with gentle thumbs
but you open them and he’s just a memory you’ve been trying to forget for one thousand five hundred fourteen point eight two six years
whilst clinging to that one kiss so desperately that you’re sure your heart is made of him and is dead just like him.
i will wait for you
until my bones turn to dust
or i regain you
merlin, about arthur (via merlinwyllt)
i know you
i know you
i know you
i know you
i know you!{{it’s all part of my charm.}}
i don’t, i don’t, i don’t
i don’t
i don’t
i don’t
i don’t
Call It Even
2300 words, Merlin/Arthur
https://archiveofourown.org/works/15463299
Summary: In which Arthur must apologise properly for the whole Valiant fiasco and has it in for another knight (innocent this time). Turns out there does exist such an affliction as ‘love at first sight but I hated you but it was actually just UST and now I can’t not have you in my life’.
(written for the Merlin Canon Fest 2018, episode 102: Valiant)
34, 3???
for the ship and a number thingy could you maybe do 20? for merthur? maybe? please? <3
https://archiveofourown.org/works/15881430
I hope you like it!! ❤
merlin 