#reliquusrex

    Swords clashed, men shouted and Merlin braced himself for the biggest reveal of them all. Morgana knew now somehow, though he was certain Mordred had told her. And it was time for Arthur to know too. Would Arthur even see him up here? He didn’t know. What he did know was that Morgana was spotting Arthur out in the crowd. Her determined eyes prepared for the strike, but Merlin was faster. His eyes glowed as he shouted the spell, the spell that brought down the lightning on his enemies. Morgana was knocked aside and a part of him hoped that the electricity would take care of the rest for him. 

    His gaze locked on Arthur’s and he was certain the other man noticed him now. “Go!” He shouted, even though he knew the king wouldn’t hear him, he could at least read his mouth. Continue the fight was what he was really saying. Breaking the gaze, Merlin spotted Mordred on the ground, running right for Arthur, a blade in his hand. He sensed powerful magic from the blade and he aimed a bolt at the boy. He hated to do it, but he had no other choice. Like Morgana, Mordred had been knocked aside, the sword flew from his hand. His hair was wild with the electricity that had struck him. Merlin let the lightning go from his hands before he hurried down the hill and scooped up the sword before Mordred could get to it. Though the boy just laid there, clearly getting ready to leave them soon. Their eyes met and Mordred mouthed an apology before his eyes closed. Staring at him for a moment longer, Merlin turned and looked for Arthur. The battle was slowing down, he just had to hope that no one else got hurt. 

         ‘ your majesty, i am a not a witch, or some evil sorceress. i have no interest in your father’s politics or seeking revenge for injustice. ‘ and she had seen many injustices at the hands of uther pendragon, predating his treatment of those with magic. after all, that was how she had become half-sister to the king she now faced, though she wasn’t about to reveal that information. ‘ i am a priestess, here to extend the hand of friendship. if you reject it, i will not rain fire upon camelot, i will simply go home. ‘

    The forest is quiet at these dark hours, so quiet she can hear her own heartbeat thudding in her ears – the dagger remains hidden under her cloak for safety, but Morgana knows she doesn’t need it. Not anymore, not since the news of Camelot’s latest change reached her. And she can feel it, in the damp dense air of these woods – magic, flowing freely at last, that of the druids. She inhales deeply, eyes closed, allowing the smell of wet grass and petrichor fill her lungs, and a faint smile appears on her lips. 

    She’s been coming here too often lately, uncertain yet if she could walk through the city gates despite her pardon. There are too many who aren’t ready to forgive or forget, too many who wouldn’t approve of Arthur’s decisions, but for the first time in years her mind is clearer than before. As if she awakened from a particularly terrifying nightmare, and this – this is the part where she is supposed to scream. The part where she is supposed to realize that it was only a dream. Except it wasn’t. 

     He’s forgiven her, it’s all that matters now. And now, when Morgana opens her eyes again and sees the familiar figure behind the trees, it feels like home – not Camelot, not even the freedom she’s given herself a long time ago. Them. But she isn’t the Morgana that left, she is different, evolved. She was nothing but a scared girl back then, and he a prince, and now the future of the kingdom rests upon his shoulders, and she wields the power of the High Priestess. 

@reliquusrex

Sparring practice with the knights, despite taking him away from his more serious duties in the council chambers, never failed to amuse Artorius Pendragon. 

Folding his arms, the elder of the royal twins smiles as he listens to Arthur outline what drills he'll be taking them through this afternoon. 

Today, the knights of Camelot would be practicing with the mace, battleax and broadsword. Arthur wants short intervals of one-on-one fighting, while he observes and critiques each of his knights’ technique. Artorius snorts, fighting to stop the spread of his smile growing any wider. He'd certainly like to see his brother try and lecture him on his... technique. 

Noticing Gwaine nodding off to sleep in the middle of Arthur’s speech, Artorius scowls suddenly. Reaching over, he smacks the other knight hard round the head. “Hey! Pay attention. It’s not tavern time yet, blockhead.” 

At Gwaine's muffled howl, the prince tuts slowly. “Look, I don’t even see why you’re in such a hurry to return to that rat hole of an establishment. You still owe me a drink for that business in Gedref, remember?”

Ignoring the miserable man’s retort that royally rich prats should pay for their own liquor, Artorius chuckles openly, noticing Arthur watching the pair of them.

    “What’s got you looking glum?” Ari asked her twin. With Arthur, it could be anything. His servant could have not done one of his chores or their father could have told him off about something. Or maybe this was something to do with Gwen? No, she was jumping to conclusions. Sitting down at the edge of his bed, Ariana patted the spot next to her. “Stop sulking around the window and talking to me, Arthur.” 

    Even a royal prat deserves some flowers on Valentines Day. Happy Valentines Day, 

Love, Merlin. 

    Short, sweet and it sounded like something they’d still nitpick at each other with. Smiling softly, he sat the note against the flowers and then went on his way to clean the rest of Arthur’s chambers. He might not be his servant anymore, but he knew that Arthur preferred the way he’d done things, even if he hadn’t admitted it.

    No, he had business to do and he couldn’t just stop everything because he was grieving again, for the thousandth time in all those centuries that had passed. He entered the little cafe that he’d built ages ago, walked through glad that it wasn’t yet opened before he entered into the area he called his home. Well, anyone else would thing that. Beyond that lay the other part of his manor, a place that he never allowed anyone else. Merlin hung up his coat and gazed out one of the windows. There lay the lake again, he probably shouldn’t have built that here, but it was the best spot for watching and waiting, as he always did. One day, perhaps one day he wouldn’t have to wait anymore. 

       She steps over a dead knight’s body as if it were a lifeless bag, the edges of her long dress stained with blood. Many of them have fallen in this pathetic quest to protect their king, but none was a fitting match for the magical powers of the High Priestess. Morgana, the little girl she used to be, would have been terrified of this – a neverending nightmare she’s trapped herself inside of, an unquenchable thirst for blood that flows at the feet of Camelot’s throne like a waterfall. The blood of her kind that Uther executed so mercilessly back in his day, and Arthur proved to be no better than his father.

      Their father. She used to be so naive, that little girl, so stupid, so compassionate. But then, who is she to deny her royal origins? As the corset of her dress tightens at a deep breath, a curved smile twists its way onto Morgana’s lips: yes. She is her father’s daughter. And she’s finally made peace with the fact. 

      “Hello, dear brother,” for a second green eyes flash golden and a dagger makes its way through the air, controlled by her powers. It was an easy job, after all, luring him here, disposing of everyone who could have stopped her. But she isn’t that little girl anymore. She isn’t stupid. She knows too well that her victory, frozen in mid-air just inches away from Arthur’s armor-clad chest, is yet far from won. No, killing him is the easy part – she wants him to know. To realize everything she has suffered at the close-minded stubbornness of the Pendragons.