It's Destiny.

Riding. Gods, how he hated riding. If there was one thing that would ruin the servant's day, it was bloody well riding. And here they were. Of course, it wasn't that Merlin had anything against horses -- they were sweet, gentle creatures, when given the correct care. But sitting on top of them for half a day was not only unfair on the animals, but uncomfortable for he himself. Shooting a sidewards glance at Arthur, he grumbled under his breath, chewing the inside of his cheek. "We could've at least split the baggage..."

Merlin cursed under his breath, knee-deep in horse dung, as he shovelled; it appeared almost endless. Admitting temporary defeat, the young warlock propped himself up with the handle of his spade, glancing over at the entrance, and, more importantly, the figure standing within it. Forcing a smile onto his lips, he called over to them, exhaustion seeping through as he spoke. “I’m just a little bit busy at the moment, so whatever it is that you’re here for, I’m afraid it’s going to have to wait.”

Merlin cursed under his breath, knee-deep in horse dung, as he shovelled; it appeared almost endless. Admitting temporary defeat, the young warlock propped himself up with the handle of his spade, glancing over at the entrance, and, more importantly, the figure standing within it. Forcing a smile onto his lips, he called over to them, exhaustion seeping through as he spoke. "I'm just a little bit busy at the moment, so whatever it is that you're here for, I'm afraid it's going to have to wait."

No... No, his eyes must be deceiving him... There was no other way. But, surely, as Merlin trudged past the thicket of brambles, the (ridiculously manly) basket of flowers in his grip, fell to the forest floor. There, mere metres before him, was Freya. The woman he'd watched die all those years ago, the woman he'd forced himself to say goodbye to, after trying so hard not to fall head over heels in love with her. "I... It... How is it you still look so beautiful?" It was all he had to say, and, to be honest, the most prominent question on his mind right now. She looked so undamaged, untainted, untouched... As perfect as before.

"King Uther, your Majesty -- I heard there was a matter of great importance, and I was required at once... How may I aid you, Sire?"

when i make a starter i want you to respond — don’t be scared, i don’t bite. my muse, on the other hand…

if i say “message me if you’d like to plot" i mean it — i want to plot with you guys, seriously

if i say my askbox is open to roleplays i mean it’s open to roleplays