Merlin Microfic

for @merlinmicrofic prompt "alchemy"

for @merlinmicrofic prompt "Beltane"

for @merlinmicrofic prompts "alchemy" and "who did this?"

Arthur stares at the dilapidated storefront. It's hard to believe the man he's been searching for could be living here. Leon places a warm hand on his shoulder. "There are still two more names." Arthur carefully does not flinch. He gives Leon a glance. There's a bemused smile lingering on his lips, but all Arthur can see are three arrows sticking out of his chest, his throat slit. Even in his death, he hadn't let go of his sword. A loyal knight to the end. "Merlin Wyllt could be the one," Arthur says, averting his eyes. The memory is not as easy to shake. "Wait here." He crosses the street and pushes open the door. Surprisingly, it doesn't fall off the hinges. A floral scent obscures herbs and something acrid. Magic. The insidious power behind alchemy and sorcery. It had taken everything from Arthur. And yet it had also given him a chance. Footsteps creak along the floor and Arthur looks over to see a younger man entering the room. This must be Merlin. Disappointment curdles inside Arthur's chest—blue eyes. "Hello. Can I help you, friend?" "Do you sell healing potions here?" Arthur asks. Even if the eyes don't match, there's still one more thing to check. "Sure. What can you tell me about the injury?" "The… injury?" "Yes," Merlin replies, impatience creeping into his tone. "Size, location, depth, time since occurrence. The weapon used would also be helpful." Arthur blinks. Every alchemist he's tested so far just gave him a potion and sent him on his way. "Don't you have a standard-grade potion?" "Standard grade." The alchemist scoffs disdainfully. "Complete nonsense. Every injury and person is unique! How could one potion work the same on two different people?" Arthur considers his options for a moment, then says, "How about… two inches long, forearm, not cutting through muscle? The timing…" He pulls out a dagger from his belt and sweeps it across his forearm without hesitation. "Now." "What the fuck!" the alchemist shrieks. "Why the fuck—" Even as he curses, he pulls out three blue vials and mixes them with practiced familiarity. Merlin shakes it three times and then his eyes flare gold. Arthur freezes, memories of the battlefield crashing over him. Swords clang against armor. Lightning splits the sky. His blood roars in his ears as Emrys approaches him and pours the liquid over Arthur's forearm. The cut seals without a lingering trace. But Arthur pays it no mind. He's lost in the sensation of Emrys' magic. It's like the ocean. Wild and fathomless. There is nothing else like it in this world. "Don't you ever do that again!" the alchemist who will kill him in ten years scolds him hotly. It would be easy to kill him now. But… his power had been enough to win Morgana the crown and war. She had found him first then, but now Arthur has reached him first. He won't squander this chance. This time, the crown will be his.

@merlinmicrofic

you hurt me our yearning a slow crawl of deaths and I would not wish to be hale

Merlin saw him on the cusp in the corner of his eye. The steady beat of ballroom music between them when the setting might've been called the exact anthesis of such places of high society.  It was almost a bit ridiculous how easy it was to rise through the ranks of society now. It made Merlin feel a bone-deep exhaustion that flowed down to his marrow, really. 

Morgana did much travelling in those days. Running, it was more accurately described. - Her dogged steps and the lures of the wind that she took up halfheartedly with that exhausted kind of greed. 

@merlinmicrofic

But all Morgana hears is surrender.

I. Command “Merlin. Come here.” Merlin’s heart sank at the words. “Yes, my lord?” “What… is this.” Arthur’s hand appeared around the changing screen, wielding a pale blue tunic. “Did you forget how to wear it? Your arms go through the holes—” The tunic landed across Merlin’s face. He pulled it away with a huff to see Arthur before him, chest bare—hair tousled—eyes rather startling in the sunlight— “You’re staring, Merlin,” Arthur drawled.

“Queen Guinevere,” Morgana drawled, looking down at the shackled monarch. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said with some regret. Crossing the room, a trickle of magic disarmed the chains, almost tearing them apart in her haste. 

"int. a modern bedroom - sunrise" on AO3