Fandom Fangirling began as my Torchwood blog - posts and pictures, as well as my own writing. I am also a fan of Star Wars, LOTR, the MCU, and a few other things. My Star Wars blog is gmariam19/More Fandom Fangirling. My favorite book is His Majesty's Dragon by Naomi Novik, so I may post about Temeraire every now and then as well. Recently I have been obsessed with Merlin, which I watched when it first came out and many times since. You can find me at AO3 under gmariam (Torchwood and Merlin) or gmariam19 (Star Wars.)
For @merthurmicrofic | Prompt: Enemy | Word Count: 427 Words | Continuation to this
"Don't do it."
Gwaine's voice cracked across the council chamber before another map could be unrolled.
Arthur looked up slowly.
"I beg your pardon?"
"I said don't." Gwaine strode forward, snatched the map from the table, and threw it into the fire. "Don't make an enemy of Merlin."
The silence that followed was sharp enough to draw blood.
Arthur's jaw tightened.
"He abandoned Camelot."
"No," Gwaine snapped. "Camelot abandoned him."
The room seemed to shrink.
Leon inhaled quietly. Percival looked at the floor. No one moved to stop either of them.
Arthur's eyes hardened.
"He deceived me for years."
"And still spent every one of those years saving your life."
"He lied."
"He survived."
The words landed like blows.
Arthur's hands curled into fists.
"You expect me to simply forgive—"
"I expect you to remember."
Gwaine took another step.
"I remember a servant who never slept because monsters preferred your bedroom. I remember a fool who ran into burning buildings before the knights had even found the door. I remember a man who stood between you and things that would've made seasoned warriors piss themselves."
Arthur's expression didn't soften.
"He wrote that letter to mock me."
"No." Gwaine laughed bitterly. "He wrote it because he thinks you're going to keep hunting him."
"I am."
"I know."
The answer was quiet.
"And that's why I'm here."
Arthur stared.
"You send patrols through villages that still pray for Emrys. You question druids who owe him their lives. You ask people to betray the one man who never betrayed them."
"He betrayed me."
Gwaine slammed both palms onto the council table.
"He gave you everything!"
The shout echoed from the stone walls.
"His freedom. His future. His bloody name. You think this is a hunt?" Gwaine asked. "It isn't. It's revenge dressed up as justice."
"I'm the king."
"And he's the reason you lived long enough to become one."
Arthur's face flushed with anger.
"So what would you have me do?"
Gwaine looked exhausted.
"Stop chasing ghosts."
Arthur laughed once, cold and humourless.
"He says the boy I knew is dead."
Gwaine's expression broke.
"No."
His voice was barely audible.
"He isn't dead."
Arthur frowned.
"Then where is he?"
Gwaine swallowed.
"I don't know."
That hurt more than either of them expected.
"Because every time Merlin had to choose between Emrys and your manservant…"
He looked Arthur directly in the eyes.
"…he buried Merlin a little deeper."
Another silence.
"If you keep hunting him," Gwaine said, "eventually you'll force him to defend himself."
Arthur held his gaze.
"Is that a threat?"
"No."
Gwaine reached for the door.
"It's the last warning you'll ever get from someone who still wants to call you friend."
His hand rested on the latch.
"When you finally find Emrys…"
He didn't turn around.
"…pray to every god that Merlin finds you first."
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For @merthurmicrofic | Prompt: Hunt | Word Count: 329
Arthur,
They tell me you're looking for me.
Your knights have crossed villages I once saved, questioned people whose names you never learned, ridden roads I walked alone. Every rumour becomes another trail. Every shadow becomes another possibility.
I almost admire the effort.
Do you remember when we hunted together?
You always rode. I followed because someone had to notice the broken branches, the bent grass, the frightened birds taking flight. You looked for prey. I looked for signs.
You never understood that difference.
You think a hunt ends when the quarry is cornered.
Mine ended the day I realized Camelot had made me into something that could never go home.
I spent years teaching myself how to disappear. Every lie I told was another footprint erased. Every smile was another false trail. Every "yes, sire" was another layer between the man you knew and the one who survived.
Do you know what's funny?
You spent years wondering how I was always there before disaster struck.
Now you'll spend years wondering why you're always one step behind.
You'll search the forests first because you remember how much I loved them. You'll search Ealdor because you'll think grief drives a man home. You'll search the taverns because Gwaine always found me there. You'll search every place that meant something.
And every place that meant something stopped being home the day I left it.
You could search every kingdom from Albion to the sea.
You could question every druid, every dragonlord, every old woman who remembers my name.
You could fill the roads with red cloaks until the earth forgets the color of grass.
You still wouldn't find me.
Because you are hunting the boy who polished your armour, argued over your neckerchief, tripped over his own feet, and smiled every time you laughed.
He died long before I ever walked away.
The man writing this letter is merely what remained.
This is adorable. And I definitely think Temeraire in the 21st century would be absolutely fascinated with modern technology - and smart enough to not only use it, but use it for advancing his cause! :)
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Merlin doesn't remember why he awoke. There was a reason, he was sure, to not follow the voice he heard. The same reason why he and Arthur were in these woods for the first place, his purpose slipping like gossamer from his fingers.
But now reason fades away as he sees Arthur standing by the water's edge. He turns to Merlin, wearing just his breeches and a white tunic, feet bare in the earth. Even under the pale moonlight, his skin shines golden. His lips curve into a soft smile, the way they only do when there's no one else around.
"Merlin," he says softly. Merlin's eyes track the bob of his throat as Arthur speaks. "Come here."
"What are you doing?" Merlin asks, but he's already obeying, caught in his sun's orbit. Arthur's smile grows as Merlin approaches, and he holds out a hand, beckoning.
"I want to show you something."
Merlin frowns. What on earth could Arthur want to show him, in the middle of the night, deep in the woods? What on earth are they doing here—?
"Oh, don't give me that face," Arthur teases, and catches Merlin's wrist as soon as he's within reach. A hand curls around his skin, hot like a brand. "Just trust me."
"Arthur," Merlin tries again, his mouth going dry. He swallows, like there's something sticky clogged in his throat. "What are you—"
"I know what you want, Merlin," Arthur says. "I know how you look at me."
Merlin doesn't breathe.
"It's alright," Arthur continues. One hand raises to gently trace Merlin's cheekbone. "I want it, too."
Something shudders under Merlin's skin. It must be desire. It must be a want so deep that it's making him feel sick. Like when you've starved for so long a full meal makes you ill.
"Kiss me, Merlin," Arthur whispers. Begging. And Merlin can't resist the temptation.
His mouth falls on Arthur's with a groan, raising his hands to cup around Arthur's nape. Arthur's mouth opens easily under his, tongue swiping hot over his bottom lip, a sigh shared as a singular breath. Arthur's hands wrap around both of Merlin's wrists, like he's afraid Merlin will flee. As if he ever could.
Arthur takes a step back, and Merlin follows, wanting, needing. The slick sounds of mouth on mouth are intoxicating. He nips at Arthur's lips and Arthur responds with an moan, only trapping Merlin further.
Another step, and something cold and wet laps at Merlin's feet. But how could he care when Arthur is so warm, like starlight in his hands?
The kiss breaks, but before Merlin can muster a complaint Arthur is pulling him even closer, fisting his hands in Merlin's tunic. "Shhh," Arthur murmurs, and a tongue roughly drags up the side of Merlin's neck. Merlin whines, clinging to Arthur.
Heavy tendrils of damp creep up from Merlin's knees, to his hips, to his waist. Arthur latches his teeth onto Merlin's throat and Merlin can't help but beg, his tongue loose like he'd just drank through the kingdom's cellar. He falls limply into Arthur's hold, his strength leaving him.
Arthur can have all of him. Arthur can have whatever he wants.
"So delicious," Arthur hisses, and Merlin gasps with marvelous pain as Arthur's teeth dig into his collarbone. His head spins and eyes blur. "You'll feed me so well."
The sounds of the water wash all other noises away. Like footsteps on the riverbank, or the furious shouting of Merlin's name.
Arthur fists his hand into Merlin's hair, and pulls back. Merlin cries out, still arching into Arthur's hold. He grabs at Arthur, tries to hold him closer, cold scales catching at his fingers. "You're too late," Arthur says, eyes silted and yellow. "He's mine now."
"Merlin-!"
And then the siren captures Merlin's mouth again, and drags him down, down, into the depths. And Merlin lets him.
I started a one-shot about modern day Arthur meeting Merlin, only Merlin doesn't have his memories of their past together and Arthur does. It's going well and will probably be more than a one-shot as I have a lot more to go - they're still running into each other at Tesco and haven't had coffee yet. The Merthurmicrofic prompt for return has sort of exploded into much more, but it felt like such a neat idea to explore that I had to run with it, and I'm happy with it so far and the potential as it continues. Here is the opening section, where Arthur first meets Merlin. Hopefully it won't take too long to finish - thanks for reading!
It’s late on a Friday night, and Arthur Pendragon is tired, hungry, and annoyed. Tired after a long day of working too hard for too long, hungry from missing lunch and dinner because of that work, and annoyed by everything else about his sad, sorry life. All he wants to do now is go home, pour himself several glasses of wine, and marathon The Lord of the Rings all weekend, preferably without leaving his flat; he only needs the wine and maybe some food to go with it.
Arthur likes his job, he does. Or he used to. Now he questions it more and more each day. He likes his coworkers, though, and his friends and his family, even his sister. But so much has changed recently, and he desperately needs time to reset, to sleep and eat and think. To consider his place in the world and maybe reconsider his life choices. To process the memories that returned unexpectedly three months ago, leaving him sick for days as he tried to understand and accept another life lived and lost over a thousand years in the past.
Arthur had taken three days off while his head pounded and then threw himself back into work. It didn’t help as he wondered more and more if he was doing the right thing with this life, for the right reasons. He had moved house as another poor coping mechanism, thinking it would be a fresh start, but it wasn’t. His flat is still empty and cold, his job is still unsatisfying, and Arthur feels more confused and alone than ever.
The local Tesco Express is unusually crowded that night, and Arthur almost gives up. He could simply order takeaway all weekend and not worry about small things like whether he has eggs for breakfast or milk for tea. He doesn’t really need any bog roll, does he? Or biscuits for a fourteen-hour binge watch of the greatest fantasy story ever told?
He’s walking down the aisle, staring at the meager contents of his basket and contemplating putting it all back, when he walks hard into someone standing in front of biscuits. The dark-haired man stumbles and drops his basket, and Arthur can’t help but roll his eyes, even though Arthur was the one who clearly wasn’t looking where he was going and is definitely at fault.
“Sorry,” he says peevishly, stepping over various items on the floor so he doesn’t crush them. “Didn’t see you.”
“Obviously,” the other man mutters as he bends down to pick up his groceries, and there is something familiar about the voice. “No need to worry about us plebians going about our day.”
“No need to be rude about it,” Arthur snaps. “I said I was sorry.”
“Barely,” the man snaps back as he throws a bag of crisps back into his basket. “Clotpole.”
Arthur stops cold, shakes his head. No, it couldn’t be. Could it? He turns around, dreading the disappointment. But as the man rises to his feet, Arthur meets familiar blue eyes under a mop of dark hair. The same smile, the same ears. The same confused tilt of the head as the man raises a questioning eyebrow.
“All right, mate?”
Arthur is staring and can’t help it. Nor can he help it when he steps forward, dropping his basket to the floor. He reaches out, and the other man watches in confusion as Arthur puts his arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. Gods, he’s been searching for months, how is it possible?
“Merlin,” he whispers, burying his head in the crook of the other man’s neck and breathing deep. He’s never been one to cry happy tears and he’s not about to start now, but oh, is he close. He’s felt so alone for three months, with no one from his life in Camelot to talk to. And now he’s found Merlin.
Only the other man stiffens, then takes a step backwards, away from Arthur. The look on his face is wary, bordering on alarmed.
“Sorry, do I know you?” Merlin asks. His rich baritone fills Arthur’s heart with memories of all their arguments, all their fireside talks, all their teasing and insults. But Merlin’s face is still cautious and confused.
“Merlin, it’s me! Arthur!” He reaches out once more. Merlin takes another step back, and now his eyes harden, his face shuttering as he shakes his head.
“Sorry,” he says. “I don’t recognize you. Are you sure you have the right Merlin?”
Arthur rolls his eyes. “Really, how many Merlins are there in the world now?”
“2,412 in the UK alone,” Merlin replies. “Perhaps you should try running them all down in the Tesco aisle.”
Arthur purses his lips to bite back another retort. It is so easy to fall back into old patterns, but something is off. Does Merlin really not remember him? His face shows no sign of teasing, no indication he recognizes Arthur at all. Arthur feels something in his chest tighten, and he takes a deep breath to relax his sudden fear that something has gone wrong. He tries to smile, though it must look forced because Merlin smirks in that way Arthur remembers from so long ago whenever he did something the other man could see right through.
“I’m sorry,” Arthur apologizes once more, and this time he means it. The last thing he wants to do is frighten Merlin when he’s finally found him. “It’s just that you look very much like someone I once knew, a long time ago. A good friend. Someone named—”
“Let me guess – Merlin?” Arthur nods, then realizes he’s been had when Merlin grins. “I’m afraid I don’t remember meeting you, and I don’t remember any friends named…” He trails off, obviously waiting for Arthur to finish the sentence.
“Arthur,” he offers quickly. “My name is Arthur.” He holds out his hand, but Merlin shakes his head in easy dismissal. Arthur tries not to let his disappoint show at both the lack of recognition and the rejection.
“I’d say it was nice to meet you, Arthur, but you did run me over in Tesco.” He shrugs ruefully. “I hope you find your friend, though. Good night.” He turns and starts to walk away, but after a moment of frozen panic, Arthur calls out.
“Wait!” He grabs his basket and follows, not sure what to say, what to do. He can’t lose Merlin, not now, after finally finding him. “Please – do you want to get a coffee?” he blurts out.
Merlin turns around with an exasperated look on his face, which Arthur remembers well. “It’s a bit late for coffee.”
“Tea, then?” Arthur continues, heedless of the embarrassment he can feel creeping up the back of his neck. “A quick pint?”
“Sorry,” Merlin says. “I can’t. Besides, you should probably look for your Merlin. Good night,” he says again, pointedly, and this time he strides away quickly, before Arthur can say or do anything but stare after him.
“Tough one, mate,” a man in a long brown trench coat offers as he walks by. “Better luck next time.”
Arthur doesn’t know if there will be a next time. After three months of looking in vain for someone, anyone, from Camelot—of waiting and searching and despairing—he’s finally found Merlin, in the most unlikely of times and places. Arthur had not expected to run into his former manservant in his local Tesco Express, tired and hungry at the end of a long day.
And he had certainly not expected Merlin to have no memory of him.
I know it's been a while, but I finally posted the next chapter of my story...
Destiny Rising - Chapter 9
I've just about caught up to myself and am definitely slowing down - I thought I'd write forward while I posted what I finished but life had other plans, of course. Motivation is also low so I started a one shot based on my last drabble to sort of inspire/kick myself into continuing this one. I have big plans for it, probably too big, with some hints in this chapter, but I plan to continue. I've probably been reading too much Merthur on AO3 and should put down my iPad and write more! Thanks for reading, though - enjoy!
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Arthur had not expected to run into his former manservant in the local Tesco Express. And he had certainly not expected Merlin to have no memory of him.
It had been heartbreaking, seeing the complete lack of recognition in the other man’s eyes slowly turn to wariness. Arthur had quickly backed off, apologizing for mistaking Merlin for someone else. He’d offered to buy him a coffee nearby, but Merlin had shaken his head, suggesting Arthur find his friend instead. At least he’d been smiling.
Which meant when Arthur saw him there again, he was able to make a joke and received another smile in return. After four smiles, Merlin agreed to have coffee with him—but still had no memory of their life together in Camelot.
One coffee turned into regular meetings, into dinner, into their first kiss. But there was no big magical revelation—Merlin did not remember him, and everyday Arthur wondered why, what had happened to him, how he could help Merlin remember who he had been.
Arthur had returned, but Merlin had not.
An idea I've been thinking about recently for a one-shot: Arthur returns, but Merlin has no memory of him. Not sure if he recovers, either. Though I definitely tend toward happy endings, I also like the idea of them still having a happy ending without Merlin recovering his memories. But then, typing this post just gave me an idea for a nice little twist so who knows what will happen now! If I even write it. It was fun trying it out for my first microfic, though! Thanks for reading!
I vividly remember staying up late 13 years ago to watch the final episode of Merlin, pirated here in the US since we had to wait six months otherwise. Thank you Daily Motion for allowing me to spend Christmas Eve sobbing in the basement while Arthur died and a piece of Merlin died with him.
Thirteen years later I finally joined the fandom, started writing fic, and continue to wonder where the hell the season six modern day reboot is.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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