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When Arthur returns from his deathbed a near 1500 years later, there’s a great many things that are different from the world he knew before. And through it all, despite Merlin at his side once again, something still feels like it’s missing. He can feel it deep at his core.
Perhaps an integral part of himself, but definitely one for Merlin.
So one day he finally asks: “What’s become of magic in our world?”
“…. Magic is gone.”
Once upon a time Arthur never thought he would dread such a phrase. But hearing it now and seeing the world without it, he now understood — more than ever — just how important magic was to the very nature of things. Without it the world was just… more empty than it should’ve been. He could feel it in the wind as it blew through his hair and the cool waters of a lake as it was absorbed across his skin.
Merlin goes on to explain that when Arthur died, a part of Merlin died with him. “The most important part, it seems…” Despite being unable to die, without his magic Merlin has grown weaker and sicker. Always in pain; always ill; always tired — never able to ease any of it with the sweet release of death.
“But…” Arthur said, “I’ve returned.”
The two slowly come to the realization that with Arthur’s return, magic was slowly returning to the lands with him.
As Merlin relearns his strength and power, the two fight to keep people and creatures of magic from being taken by those who want to study it; and strive to unite the lands once again as Arthur should have done hundreds of years ago.
It just got pointed out to me that Merlin should be a lightweight
And Arthur wouldn’t be expecting him to be one
Some thoughts on that so far (maybe more later now that I have something new to ruminate on):
• Arthur watching Merlin closely to make sure he doesn’t get absolutely sloshed, is satisfied when Merlin only has one drink, is completely unprepared for drunk Merlin
• Arthur watching Merlin only have one drink and getting drunk/tipsy, obviously Merlin who practically lives at the tavern wouldn’t be affected by one drink, he must’ve been poisoned!! Arthur proceeds to be on a warpath
• Arthur almost accidentally giving Merlin liver failure cause he gets him a really strong drink(s) and Merlin feels pressured to drink it
• Arthur seeing Merlin accidentally get shitfaced and Merlin does not know how to take care of himself while drunk, so Arthur ends up deciding that Merlin spends so much at the tavern because he’s bad at getting home while drunk, so Arthur makes it his new mission to escort Merlin from the tavern every time he’s there
posting a merlin drabble here that i’ll never finish. arthur’s pov — sorry if this doesn’t make sense !! i’ve been staring at it for too long :)
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— and all my tears have been used up (on another love, another love)
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you look at him, and tremble with the weight it takes to keep secrets together.
you are a prince. you are used to secrets. secrets that are vital, that hide bodies of villages, arms of troops, and the beating heart of your city. secrets that mean, if exposed, you could lose everything your ancestors have worked for overnight. a beating heart, gone, in the blink of an eye.
but his secret, oh — his secret would destroy not your kingdom, but your world as you know it (with him in it.) and you can’t live with that. you know you can’t. and you don’t want to find out what it would be like to have to.
so you keep moving, and you stay blind, and pretend, and hope and hope and hope, that above all, he will stay safe. (that he will stay with you.)
——————
however, some part of you is always mad at him. you’ll look over and see his face, split in half with a grin, and get unbearably, irrationally angry. you’ll snap, and throw insults, and cut with your words, if not your actions — and you’ve never known why.
(you know why. it’s fear.)
——————
leon points it out to you one day, easy, simple, quick as breathing.
he tells you that you never seem to smile. and that shakes your mind.
you ask, confused and caught off guard, why he points it out. he shrugs, leaning on his staff, and stares off at your servant, your merlin, who is mock-battling with some kids. (and when have you ever not thought of him as yours? just as you know you’re his.)
“you haven’t smiled since we were children.” he holds up his hand, as if to stave off protests you’re already forming. “oh, you’ll grin, and you’ll smirk, but it’s sardonic. like you don’t truly find the humor in it; humor that everyone else seems to see.” he hums. “you’re jaded, a little bit.”
you immediately get defensive, the heat of your anger rising, as your throat tightens and almost chokes you up, strangely.
he shrugs again before you can answer, tilting his head towards your servant (your friend.) “but you smile when you’re with him.”
you sit back, dumbfounded, and remarkably exposed. (oh.)
——————
you think later that night, once you finally have some time to yourself, and realize that you can’t remember what your face looks like when it’s smiling. you haven’t felt laughter, or humor — let alone joy, not truly, for years — and you abruptly remember something your father said, once.
“joy is for peasants. it’s the only thing they can afford. it’s common, and it’s cheap — and as kings, as rulers, we have no use for something so easily obtained.”
you didn’t smile in his presence again, after that.
and that decision, one you can’t even remember making, has followed you up until now.
(until him.)
——————
you understand why you’re so angry, now. it’s not because joy is cheap, (like your father once claimed,) or below you, (like you were once taught.) it’s because for you, joy is rare — and you don’t know what it’s like.
you, a king, a prince, (a man, a boy, a kid,) don’t know what it’s like to feel joy. to feel … happy.
and then he came along, and burst into your life, with abhorrent manners and mismatched outfits (and a humble kind of wisdom you’ve never seen,) and shows you that something like happiness is there, and it is possible.
and you are scared.
you, who backs down at nothing. you, who has fought dragons, who has stared down the queen of the north, who bested knights at the age of five. you, who gained your father’s approval. (you, who has fought for the right to live since birth.) you sit back, and you realize, you are deeply, deeply scared.
and then you’re angry, and full of a white-hot rage, and then touch your face and feel tears slipping free without your consent. and you think you’re grieving, because you were never taught things that so many others seem to just know.
and you, you are the one who doesn’t know something so simple, so crucial. you don’t know what it’s like to feel, and you think, that’s unfair.
you also think distantly you’d rather face another dragon, or a horde of them. it’d be easier. those, at least you know how to face.
you don’t know how to fight an enemy, one without a body, or arms, or legs — one that is nothing more than just a feeling, a shadow, a futile grasp at something you don’t even know how to understand.
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hope someone on here enjoyed !! sorry for the abrupt ending :// someday i’ll learn how to post using the tumblr format but today is not that day <33
(title: another love by tom odell)
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• character credits belong to bbc and bbc’s merlin. all works enclosed are solely my own, and are purely fictional and meant for the enjoyment of the reader. please do not repost, republish, or steal my works without explicit permission, otherwise you will be blocked and reported. ty !! •
in a closed council meeting w no servants (merlin as court sorcerer and next to arthur), arthur starts talking about how he thinks they shouldn’t called servants “servants” because he thinks it’s offensive/derogatory etc. and proposes they call them assistants because that’s what they do; assist.
“with all due respect, my lord,” merlin’s hard stare focused on the king, “that’s bullshit.”
“excuse me?” arthur, shocked by merlin’s comment, but more so by his language. he’d never heard merlin curse in their ten years of knowing each other.
“maybe you’ve forgotten, but i was a servant. your servant.”
“… yes, i’m aware.”
“servants do everything for their masters and more. we are below every other person living in this castle, we have to do whatever anyone tells us to do. we don’t assist. assistance implies we help with a task you are already working on. servitude means we do what we are told, no questions asked, no objections-“
“present company excluded,” merlin hears arthur mutter under his breath and fixes his glare back to his king.
“with only help offered by the occasional kind servant who has no urgent chores. which is very, very rare. we do the work for everyone in the castle, almost never sleep more than a few hours, before waking earlier than everyone else and do it all over again. we sleep even less if we have two jobs and also take care of secret, magical threats to the kingdom and its king.
“so no. we do not assist. we are not assistants. we serve. as servants.”
merlin catches his breath as he glanced around the table, everyone’s expressions ranging from annoyed to shocked to guilty and contemplative.
arthur absorbs every single detail that merlin had revealed. he felt impossibly guilty that not only did merlin do so much for him with no recognition and no rest, but that merlin had spoken as if he was still a servant. did he still feel that way? did people still treat him that way?
“so,” arthur begins quietly, resolving to speak to merlin about that later, “what would you suggest we do instead?”
merlin considers his question for a moment, finally calm after reliving his struggles of the last decade.
“make their lives easier,” merlin catches the confused faces of the council members. “hire more servants so you can give everyone days off without shortages and the chores won’t be spread so thin, increase wages slightly, the crown can afford it without tax increase,” at this, merlin makes sure he looks arthur and all the stuck-up noblemen in the eye.
“but most importantly,” merlin ensures he has everyone’s attention so his voice is truly heard. “be kind and protect them. servants do everything the nobles cannot, this castle would not stand without them. servants cannot protect themselves from visiting noblemen and women whose views are different from camelots. our servants happiness and safety should always be a priority.”
finally, merlin meets arthur’s gaze once again. he expects shock or maybe even anger, but all he sees is pride and adoration.
“it seems we all have a lot to think about,” arthur speaks like a king and merlin is enchanted (ironic). “council is dismissed.”
later, arthur asks merlin about his time as a servant, why he spoke as if he still was one, how people treated him now, etc
and if a few months later, the servants in the castle were happier than ever, well, everyone else was happier because of it.
—
aka merlin gets to be a bamf and school nobles on class issues while arthur is in awe
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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sometimes I remind myself that merlin bbc exists and go insane about it so
I think there’s so much potential in Merlin’s immortality, but, like, in a body horror way. He dies a lot and doesn’t realize it until the end, he has so much scars and physical reminders, he’s used to extreme pain and his body is a mess. But make it more. Go deeper.
He finds out he can’t die and now he stops trying to stay alive. Why would he? He thinks his body dispensable. He gets stabbed in the chest and then just uses the sword to hit back. There’s a giant hole inside his ribs. He doesn’t care. The pain is familiar and meaningless, at this point.
He gets annoyed that the process of dying and coming back to life takes so much time. There’s no grief anymore, no pain, no reaction to the trauma. It’s an unfortunate side effect: death.
His body needs to stay workable, however, so it mends itself. The holes from being run through with a swords, the lost pieces of meat or even whole limbs — the body grows back. Fast and disgustingly, with magic doing a brief mending of it, but never enough, always leaving scars in memory of it. Bone and meat are grown, and then skin. It’s fast and ugly, and he feels the process. He doesn’t care. At one point, he’s used to it enough so he doesn’t understand why the visuals of it make others afraid and sick and shocked.
By all mechanics, he is a monster. Unkillable and rageful and merciless at times, but one that holds the power of a god. And, maybe, he hears prayers told by those who believe in Emrys, and he answers them in the same quantities as he murders his believers — the violent ones, the treasonous ones — and he is both a god of hope and a fear bringing monster.
In all ways, physical and mental and moral, he forgets humanity — it is forced from him; and forced, and forced, and forced, and there’s just too little left. It’s just too impossible to save.
And maybe then, with his body holding all the history of his battles as a map, with his mind half lost, his true essence gets revealed, and he is burned.
Right to the bones. From which his magic builds him a new body, cell by cell. More of a ghost than a living person. Dead more than alive. A creature that’s only marginally human.
A god. A monster.
And this is still not enough to stop his belief — his servitude to his king.
"It consists of King Arthur and his Queen Guinevere.
The Knights of the Round Table, Sir Leon, Sir Lancelot, Sir Gwaine, Sir Elyan, and Sir Percival.
And Merlin.
They’d already died."
I FINALLY HAVE POSTED A FANFIC
Its just a simple oneshot, but you'll hate it none-the-less.
