Hear Ye, Hear Ye, all Merthur enjoyers! Join us in December for 25 days of prompts to celebrate our favorite train (carraige?) wreck duo!
Finale blues got you down? Ignore it with our patented Create Your Own Canon coping strategy!
In advent calendar style, I will be releasing each prompt a month early (starting 11/1-11/25) to give you time to prepare! As it is the busy holiday season, don’t worry if you miss a day - late submissions are always welcome!
Use tag #25DaysOfMerthur so I know how to find and reblog your posts! Reblogs will begin on the first official day of the prompt run - 12/1/25! I am on EST, so I will be functioning within that time zone for reblogs/posts
Rules and Guidelines as follows:
⚔️Prompt marathon officially starts on 12/1/25 and goes through 12/25/25.
⚔️ Only posts tagged with #25daysofmerthur will be reblogged.
⚔️ Late posts will be rebloggled through the end of January 2026 sporadically - this is for fun, not to stress! Take your time!
⚔️ No AI usage whatsoever.
⚔️ Any and all media forms accepted! Writing, art, collages, edits, gif sets, claymation, crochet, etc - go wild! Have fun!
⚔️ Writing posts have no minimum or maximum limit, but if your post is lengthy, please use a cut break within your post if it’s longer than two paragraphs.
Guidelines and rules will be updated in this post as needed.
Prompts are already decided, but if you’d like to talk shop, have questions, or simply want to scream about Merthur, you can message me on my personal page @thedeathswish!
The prompt structure is below. Please note for the last four days I will be doing optional longer prompts! (So listed on the image will be one word, while in the description I will have an alternative full line prompt.) They are, however, up to preference - use them as you like!
I will be posting individual pictures with the singular prompts and then - after they’ve all been announced - the full picture with all prompts for you to use in your posts if you’d like!
That should be it. I’m very excited to see what everyone comes up with! Thanks for reading, and I hope this helps fight some of our yearly finale blues!
EDIT: here’s our full prompt list for your convenience!
I end this year with yet another AO3 work participating to the @25daysofmerthur challenge in the shape of a one-shots series.
Day 3: Bitter
A gift for my wonderful reader and friend @tardisbluedragon: this part 3 is still for you, hope your like it!
Not A Coward
(Also available in French: Pas Un Lâche)
Rating: Explicit
Summary:
On their way to the Yule Banquet, Merlin dares call Arthur out on his latest disastrous attempt at revenge for the way the manservant had touched him during the Sunrise Yule Ritual that morning. The cheeky bastard should really learn how to shut his mesmerizing, impertinent mouth. Or maybe Arthur should make him?
*
Or: Merthur Game of Gay Chicken with a touch of Yuletide holidays spirit (part 3).
*
Part 3 of My Yuletide Merthur series, based on the 25 Days of Merthur 2025 Tumblr challenge.
I continue my participation to the @25daysofmerthur challenge in the shape of a one-shots series.
Day 2: Sweet
A gift for my wonderful reader and friend @tardisbluedragon : this part 2 is for you, hope your like it!
Sweet for you
(Also available in French: Tendre pour toi)
Rating: Explicit
Summary:
With regard to Merlin’s retaliation at the Sunrise Yule Ritual, Arthur decides to take revenge during the Yule Banquets preparations which would take place this very night. How far will this game take them?
*
Or: Merthur Game of Gay Chicken with a touch of Yuletide holidays spirit (part 2)
*
Part 2 of My Yuletide Merthur series, based on the 25 Days of Merthur 2025 Tumblr challenge.
(11 days late) Longer version soon to be posted on AO3.
"Temporary? Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
Merlin shot him a glare, but the heat of it was dulled by the sharp flare of pain at his tone.
"I'll have you know it's not a picnic for me either." he snapped, and only then did Arthur seem to realise what he'd said.
His anger quelled somewhat, and his cheeks ruddied. Merlin looked away to glare out the window, because if he kept looking, he might say something stupid.
"Merlin, I... That wasn't what I meant."
"I know perfectly fine what you meant."
Arthur sighed.
"No, you don't. I had... Important plans, I... I didn't mean..."
Arthur gave a frustrated groan, almost a growl. Merlin swallowed down the urge to placate him.
"Y'know, you have no idea how hard-"
"No?" Merlin shot back, not caring to hear the rest of that particular sentence.
"You're being a brat."
"You're being a prat. What else is new?"
That time, it really was a growl, short and low and angry. Merlin didn't flinch, though it had taken him years to master the skill. He knew how infuriating that was to those who wanted to put him in his place.
"I can't deal with you when you're like this."
Arthur gave up when Merlin said nothing, and stormed out of the room. Merlin had to clamp his teeth shut hard to stop the horrifyingly weak sound the barb had triggered. He resigned himself to the small satisfaction that if Arthur wanted back into their room, he'd have to convince Merlin to let him in. He'd left his keycard on the desk.
Merlin shook himself. He'd have a shower, watch terrible television, and order room service for all his meals. That would exhaust his options for entertainment, given the deep snow that had them stuck in this inadequately prepared little inn. And so close to the village, too. Where all their bloody friends were, together, having a grand old time because they'd been smart enough to make their reservations early.
To Arthur's credit, his joining them had been very last minute, and as such his only real option had been to share Merlin's twin room. Merlin had put off booking, and so there had been nothing left within his budget by the time he'd gotten round to it.
Arthur was lucky that Merlin was so charitable, really. Sleeping on the couch in Morgana's suite, knowing she and Leon were in the bed mere feet away had been his only other option.
Merlin shivered as he peeled off his layers and practically fell into the tub in his haste to get under the warm spray. The water helped, somewhat. It soothed muscle and mind, and the strong floral soap cleared the frustrated notes of Arthur's scent from his nose.
He stayed until the water began to cool, wrapped himself in fresh pyjamas and his duvet - no point in proper clothes with nowhere to go - and twisted the dial on the little radiator. The inn could bill Arthur for it if they liked. Merlin was tired of being cold.
Arthur didn't show until hours after dark, when Merlin was half asleep with a mug of hot chocolate. The knock on the door was tentative, and Merlin felt the last of his waning ire disappear.
When he opened the door, Arthur looked at him sheepishly.
"Just come in, you moron."
The blonde's face lit. Merlin cursed the lifelong curl of affection in his chest that his stupid face always revived.
Arthur hummed as the warmth of the room enveloped him, and sank onto his bed with a groan.
Merlin crawled back into his own nest, and watched him.
"Have fun, wandering the halls?" he poked, when Arthur didn't speak.
"Oh, loads. Swam in the pool, hit the tennis courts, took a riding lesson."
Merlin snorted, and Arthur turned his face to look at him.
"I'm sorry, you know."
Merlin looked away, the marshmallows in his mug suddenly fascinating.
"I am. I know you think I'm only here because there's a business opportunity, but I really have missed you guys. I was looking forward to your exhibition."
Merlin hummed noncommittally. Arthur sighed, and fell silent again.
Merlin had been trying his best not to think about his presentation, the one he was supposed to give on his landscape paintings at the eclectic little gallery in this teeny little village in the middle of nowhere. It was his first real breakthrough, the very first place besides his Uncle's community centre that had chosen to give him a chance of getting into the art world.
And now he was stuck a mere mile from his goal, snowed in during an unseasonably harsh storm. It simply wasn't fair. Adding a frustrated Alpha to the mix wasn't fair either, and neither was the gnawing suspicion that Arthur would not have made it at all if his father hadn't found some way to claw money from the ski resort nearby.
The room already smelt of Arthur, no matter that his friend had been wearing patches constantly. The room was small, and they'd already been there a night. He dreaded to think of the morning, how unfairly pleasant the air would smell when he couldn't even open the window to clear it.
And then of course, as if the universe weren't done piling misfortune on him, the TV flickered, the sound distorted, and the power went out.
Fantastic. He hauled the duvet higher, smothering his nest to keep in the heat. It wouldn't take long for the radiator's work to be undone as the night crept in. And he hated the bloody cold.
"Fuck sake."
Across the pitch black of the room, he heard Arthur shuffle. With any other Alpha, Merlin might have felt a little claustrophobic. With Arthur... He felt safe in the darkness. He couldn't see him, but he listened to the sound of feet on carpet, fabric rustling, the bedsprings greeting him.
Merlin downed the last of his tepid hot chocolate, fumbled for the bedside table to put it away, and slunk further under his quilt. With nothing more to do, he lay listening to the sounds of Arthur breathing, and tried not to pretend that their scents were mingling for any particular reason.
"What does that mean?" the warlock cries, his hands clutching tight to the unconscious King in his arms, "What do you mean, forever?"
The creature looks down the long, narrow beak at him, kneeling on the moss, and Merlin would swear it almost seemed saddened.
"Forever means forever, young warlock. Without the cure, he will not return to you."
"But he lives! I can feel his heart beating!"
The creature leans to one side, one long taloned foot brushing against the heel of the other.
"Thirteen days, it will beat. And on the fourteenth morn, will it stop."
"What's the cure? At least tell me that!"
One large yellow eye blinks slowly.
"You alone possess that knowledge."
And with nothing further, not even a glance as Merlin makes a wounded noise, it takes flight and rises out of sight.
Merlin hauls the dead weight of his King onto his horse, ties the reins of his own to the saddle, and journeys them both bath to Camelot as fast as he dares. He has no time to waste, for fourteen days is longer than it would take to search every book on Magic he possesses, and that's if the answer is in them.
The sun has barely risen, but Merlin stretches in the vast expanse of space around him, feeling the lingering warmth on the sheet with a brush of his fingers. Listening, he can just make out the hum of the new kettle in the kitchen, and then - as if summoned - the low sizzle of oil in a pan. He stretches again, lazy and luxurious, before rising. Throwing on the closest t-shirt to hand, he pads out of his bedroom to lean against the hallway arch.
Arthur stands in the kitchen like a risen God; bare-chested, hair gloriously sleep-mussed, his skin caramel against the deep green of his pyjama trousers.
The golden butter of the sunlight is fracturing through the high kitchen window and streaming over his head like a halo. Merlin's heart pulses hard against his ribs as he takes in the sight. Arthur shifts the frying pan over the gas flame, and hums softly under his breath. It isn't until the kettle clicks off that he turns just enough to fetch it that he spots Merlin.
His crooked grin makes Merlin's knees weak. Heart unfurls in his chest, and without a word, his feet are moving. Arthur's broad arm hooks him, pulling him flush against his side as a gentle kiss is pressed against his jaw. Merlin is used to aching in his abdomen, but with Arthur here, alive and breathing and warm against his flank, it's a new ache. No longer mournful, blistering, longing. It's the ache of a heart too small for the depth of his joy, and that is a pleasant change.
"Tea?" Arthur murmurs, as if the answer will be different than it was yesterday, or the day before, or last month, or any of the other 1,273 days that Arthur has been alive again.
Merlin dips his face in answer, pressing kisses along the rise of Arthur's cheekbone. The stubble tickles his face, and Arthur shifts just so, to capture Merlin's lips with his own.
They kiss languidly, these days. Desperately sometimes too, but not like it was at first; a crashing of mouths, a race against the fear of being separated again. They've begun to believe in the future again, and they have time.
Arthur's hands find Merlin's hair, the small of his back. Fingertips write sonnets against his skin, and Merlin flicks down the heat of the hob as he caresses a ballad into the nape of his love's neck.
They part as they began; slowly, softly, smiling.
"Good morning," Merlin breathes, his forehead resting against the blonde's temple.
"Is now." Arthur murmurs back, "Kettle's hot."
Merlin hums, but neither moves. They stay there, together, for a moment longer. It's easier, to part now, knowing they will reunite again.
@25daysofmerthur Dec 14th: Alone
(11 days late AND sad to boot, I'm sorry)
Merlin laid in the snow on the peak of the hill, forgoing the lights and the carolers and the village square bustling with the beginning of Christmas Eve festivities. He laid, instead, within the cold grasp of the snowy hill, melting through wool and denim and soaking into his skin. Above him, undulled by light pollution, the heavens shone. He'd been waiting for lifetimes already, steadily keeping faith, steadily trudging through the days and decades. Each year, he performed this meagre pillgrimage, to stare upon the skies for reassurance. Arthur would be dead 1,500 years when next the sun set.
1,500 years he'd waited, 1,500 times he'd laid upon the hill in Winter's grip, to ask the stars for the strength to make it to the next. In two hours, he would get slowly to his feet again and descend again, comforted just enough by the stars' steady presence. He would return to his home, scratch the ears of the faithful hound that lay on the rug before the wood-stove, and make tea for one. He would retire to bed, and lay in the warm hold of his duvet, listening to the fading sounds of the people outside, and feel the night slip into Christmas, alone as ever.
This is my official participation to the @25daysofmerthur challenge in a shape of a one-shot series.
Day 1: Yule
A gift for my wonderful reader and friend @tardisbluedragon (who just finished watching the Merlin TV show today for the first time, the pain is real, bear with us <3)
Yule be mine
Available in French: here
Rating: Explicit
Summary:
Arthur starts a very dangerous game on the eve of the Sunrise Yule Ritual. One Merlin tacitly takes on. It all goes to hell from there.
*
Or: Merthur Game of Gay Chicken with a touch of Yuletide holidays spirit.
*
Part 1 of My Yuletide Merthur series, based on the @25daysofmerthur Tumblr challenge.
This can easily be read as a one-shot but more parts will follow!
With not a trace of deference, the warlock returned the glare his King shot him, and gently flicked the fingers of one hand. The remaining men attacking their camp dropped soundlessly to the dirt.
Silence fell upon the band from Camelot. King Arthur was red in the face as he wiped down his blade and sheathed it. His men followed suit.
"So that resolves it then," the warlock hummed almost pleasantly as he began picking over the dead to reach his pack, "point to me."
"What!? No, you don't get to just-"
Merlin turned to him with one eyebrow arched into his hairline, amusement on his lips.
"I thought you a man of honour, my lord. Are you rescinding your challenge?"
Arthur spluttered. The knights watched on, the very picture of solemn. Or close enough.
"Merlin."
"Arthur. A tally, was it not? Mine outstrips your own. Are you saying that you won't pay your debt?"
The King's jaw set. His face was stony. The others waited, breath bated, as the two most powerful men in Albion stared each other down.
And the King submitted, to the only man in Albion who could make him.
"Fine. But next time, there will be clearer rules."
Merlin grinned cheekily and returned to his task.
"The rules were plenty clear, Sire. It's not my fault that you still believe a blade can beat me."
Arthur grumbled and swore, but the warlock seemed none the wiser, cheerfully setting about building a fire as the unfortunate bandits were hauled from the clearing by the others.
A week off sounded nice. Not that he'd get the whole week, Camelot would fall into disarray if he did. And there were only so many servants left who would believe they could handle Arthur's duties.
No, Merlin would have a nice day off, and go from there. A tidy little resolution to their bet, and a good knock of the King's inflated ego.
The trees were almost spinning around him by the time Merlin stopped running. He folded over, heaving in air as his lungs complained at their mistreatment. His throat was raw from his escape, and he was sure he'd never run so fast for so far in his life.
Guilt was burning him alive to have left, but he's had very little choice in the matter. With nothing to drop on their heads but the tunnel roof, and too many witnesses in too cramped a space, he'd had to fight his way out without being caught using Magic. And flee.
He was almost positive the men who'd given chase had only done so very briefly, but he couldn't risk being wrong. Considering the numbers, killing would have been easier than subduing, so there was a very good chance that his friends had been captured.
Although Gwaine... He prayed Gwaine had not died from the blow Merlin had seen dealt him. Had not been killed by the blow meant for Merlin. He had no time to think of the alternative. Not if he wanted to gather his wits and hatch a plan.
it burned anyway, guilty and fierce and something close to desperate. He cursed out loud the stupid secrets. He cursed the laws. He cursed Uther and the damage he'd done, the poisonous hatred he'd taught his son. He cursed himself, for not pushing Arthur more, for not fighting for Magic.
When his breathing steadied, he searched for water. He couldn't think with this pounding in his head. As he hunted, he thought of the distance to Camelot. He could go home, declare to the court what had happened, beg them to send aid.
But he'd seen the looks from the newest members of the court, heard the very barest of whispers of ambition. No. Arthur was working to oust those lords already, for of course Merlin had relayed what he'd heard, had voices his suspicions, and Arthur, dear Arthur, had listened to his thin gossip, and had sought his own intelligence on the subject.
So no, he would not add fuel to those secret wishings, lest they form true plots. Not while Arthur and their friends suffered, no doubt, under captivity.
No. Merlin had to deal with this himself. Which would have to mean magic. Or...
He was too far from Camelot to seek the books and potions to slip into the skin of another, or pose as a more powerful sorcerer. So this would have to do.
Merlin found a vast enough clearing, raised his palms and his face to the evening sky, and thundered.
~•~
Aithusa arrived first, growing nicely, her previously sickly, albino hide tinged with deep blues and silvers. She reared her head and roared and snapped when she landed, pounding at the moss upon the ground. It took but a word to soothe her, and she let him approach.
He ran his hand along her snout. She was young, still, and had been all but abandoned as a dragonling. After a moment, she leaned into the touch of his palm, and chirruped.
"The three of us have work to do." Merlin murmured, raising his eyes when the sky darkened overhead.
"Young warlock."
His voice almost shook the earth, and Merlin felt it deep in his fibres. Kilgarrah landed with a grace ill-fitting. Merlin inclined his head, and the great dragon did the same. The new morning sunlight turned his scales into burnished gold.
It was pathetically easy, truly, and Merlin would later relish the simplicity. The descended upon the tunnels, Aithusa eager to lay waste under his command. Kilgarrah stormed above, gouged great holes in the tunnel ceiling, shaking the ground with his claws and the great bass of his roaring. Aithusa led Merlin, serpentine, into the mouth of the tunnel even as the hollering reached them from within. Eyes blazing, Merlin allowed Kilgarrah's work to fill the tunnel with the tremors of a cave in, his palms directing the falling stone and dirt to pass over the two of them.
The very first of them had no idea what hit them, and no time to think on it. Aithusa opened her maw with a gleeful yowl and bathed them in blinding blue flame, pouncing like a playful cat giving chase. The confusion swift consumed the bandits, those fleeing tangling with those trying to escape.
Aithusa roared and screeched, and the narrow corridor became a kiln. Those who were lucky were floored by the falling ceiling before Authusa could reach them. Those unlucky were burned alive, their screams cut short by the sheer heat of her fire.
The unluckiest roasted steadily behind the others, missed by debris and cooked alive within the bottleneck. Merlin made sure his magic would go unnoticed, bathed in the shadows as he kept them from burial.
A dragon killed the bandits, he would spin to his King, they must have taken over her lair. Merlin had hidden, and come to search for survivors upon her leave.
No trace of magic would be seen, no evidence of sorcery for them to question. As he bid a fonder farewell to the dragons than he'd expect; Aithusa rubbing once against his flank like a loyal hound before she leapt into the air, Kilgarrah tipping his head in plain amusement as he commented on Merlin's unorthodox approach to his Destiny. Merlin watched them fly, safe in the knowledge that the iron cells he'd felt below them were untouched.
It didn't stop him rushing, didn't stem the tide of fierce worry as he picked through the ruins of the tunnel, as he searched the pockets of cremated men for keys. He flung open the door at the end, tripping in his haste and almost tumbling down the steep steps hewn unevenly from the stone.
No light reached this far, so back up he went, to find a torch he could light without witnesses. And down, the dark steps, the long corridor, the turning, and there!
A row of shadowed cells, shoddily cut, sharp iron bars, and behind the doors, the dorms of his favourite people in the world.
He gave a shout, not wholly for show, to find them alive.
"Merlin!"
Arthur, Arthur, there near the end, with his hands curled tight around the bars, and grinning at him with such relief that Merlin felt his knees wobble.
"Oh thank the Gods!"
"You're alright!"
"So good to see you!"
"Hell, you're a sight for sore eyes!"
"Merlin! You got out!"
Merlin beamed, feeling such a rush right then, to be reunited with them. Barely a day, he had waited in the clearing for the dragons, but it had felt a lifetime without these six, good men. His heart swelled, as he fumbled with the keys, opening Percival's cell, for he was the closest.
Down the line he went, answering their questions with his fantastical story, talking of fire and screaming and a great beast who flew away afterwards.
At last, they stood, thumping his back and grinning at him and for a moment, the weight of everything just lifted from his shoulders. For what could possibly come their way that they couldn't defeat? What enemy, what fate, could possibly break them, when they were all together like that?
As they made their way out, picking over dead men and retrieving their loyal weapons, Merlin felt buoyant. His King strode beside him, Excalibur in hand, and his gaze on Merlin as though he believed he'd disappear if it weren't.
Merlin bumped their elbows together as they left the rotten place behind them, and Arthur grabbed his arm and squeezed, just for a second, and their eyes gave reassurances their tongues were too afraid to.
Merlin had, a long time ago, come to the conclusion that his Destiny was too great for him alone to bear. But that night, as they made camp, seven pieces of a whole working in tandem, he realised that together, that Destiny was not quite so daunting.
It’s day 20 of our 25 days of merthur fest! Here’s a refresher for you below!
If I missed your post, don’t hesitate to send me a message. Also, I will be checking the tag intermittently after the 25th with any late submissions! Happy creating!
Arthur fought hard against the bruising grip on his arms, but it was useless. He took what pride he could in the fact it took three of them to hold him in place. Four, when they tried to haul him away.
He writhed and roared, but even he could not overpower four small giants of men. From the sounds that reached his ears, his men were faring slightly better. From what little he'd managed to see, in the dim light of the tunnels they'd been drawn into, the bandits his men were up against weren't nearly as hulking. Percival was broader than most of them.
It made sense, of course. What kind of idiot would put his strongest on mere Knights when they had a King to restrain? It angered him, regardless. His men needed him, and here he was, being practically carried like a tantrumming child.
He hoped his men could fight them off. He hoped they'd get away.
He was thrust unceremoniously into a dank cell, and the door clanged shut on him so violently it rang around the hollowed out stone long after his captors had left. It wasn't long before he was joined, the cell next to him opened, a rather worse for wear Gwaine dumped onto the poor excuse for a cot. Elyan on his other side, barely conscious himself but yelling profanities even as he was locked in.
Not long after, Lancelot and Leon, frog-marched in with bloodied faces and exhausted eyes.
Arthur prayed in the quiet after, that left Percival. Perhaps he'd gotten away, perhaps he'd overpowered his own attackers. Arthur so hoped he'd gotten out. Had gotten Merlin out.
It was one thing for his men, trained and knighted, to be captured with him. Merlin had not even a sword on him. What were the chances that these men would care if a peasant escaped?
Arthur hoped Merlin had used his sense for once and escaped in the commotion. The longer the wait, the more the hopes grew.
And fell, like a stone in his gut, when the sound of footsteps returned. Percival, unconscious, dragged with his boots scraping the dirt floor of the pithy corridor. He was dropped in a cell at the end, and the bandits receded once more, leaving a devastating silence in their wake.
A new dread took hold. Why capture a servant when you've captured a King?
Arthur's chest constricted. Prisoners were, by their very lives, a commodity. They had value, not least for ransom. And no peasant was worth a ransom. It had become very difficult to breath the moment the thought came to him. He waited, for the bandits to return with Merlin, to have chased him into the forest, to have found him and hauled him back before he could alert Camelot.
Time stretched on and the shadows grew as the torches on the walls began to die. It could have been hours before Arthur could force his paralysed tongue to finally speak. He hoped his men would attribute the weakness in his voice to injury.
"Do any of you know what became of Merlin?"
" 'lost sight of 'm 'n th sc'ffle."
Gwaine, whom Arthur had thought unconscious, slurred, and then spat upon the floor of his cell.
"I didn't see." said Elyan quietly, as though the same thought had occured to him as had occured to Arthur.
Further lack of answers from Leon and Lancelot. And Percival was no closer to conscious than he had been when he was locked in his cell.
Arthur sat, in the foul-smelling damp of his dim cell, in the awful silence of his men, and tried to believe that Merlin had gotten out.
Merlin wavered on the threshold, uncertain whether to knock. He could smell it already, not yet overwhelming but stronger than yesterday. Eventually his King would have to accept that he needed to rest. Take a few days, locked away, and deal with it.
Preferably, Merlin would be invited to stay after last time. He was sure he could help prevent such a thing from happening again.
"Are you going to stand there all day?"
Merlin sighed. Arthur's nose was powerful, but with his heightened senses, it was even more so. He pushed open the door, slipping in and closing it quickly behind him.
Arthur was pacing in front of the window, and even the clean scent of the breeze couldn't really lift the dense stench of the room.
"Sire." Merlin greeted, lowering his chin a little at the look in Arthur's eye.
"Where have you been?"
Merlin bit back the answer, because it wasn't going to help him.
"You're late." Arthur added, his voice mollified slightly by Merlin's deference.
"I'm sorry, my lord."
"Hm."
Merlin waited, keeping his eyes down until something changed. He debated simply risking it and pointing out the obvious. Unpleasant as the response would be.
While he was stood, indecisive, Arthur heaved a sigh, and the tension in the air lessened.
"Alright. I get it. You know decorum when it suits."
Oh, a pleasant surprise! Arthur was in a good mood. Merlin lifted his head slowly, amusement tugging at his mouth. Arthur rolled his eyes and twisted his mouth out of what looked like a growing smirk. He was still pacing.
Merlin watched him, relaxing a little but making no move. Arthur would have to decide when he could. Move too fast, and he'd trigger a chase. Move in the wrong direction, and he'd anger the beast.
So Merlin waited.
Eventually Arthur slowed, and rolled his shoulders, and then - with visible effort - he stopped. He waved a hand at Merlin, and the manservant stepped forward to help him undress. A simple murmured word over the water in the tub, and steam curled, heady in the thick air.
"It's approaching again." Arthur said after some time, when Merlin was raking soapy hands through his hair.
"Yes, sire."
Arthur sighed, twitching under Merlin's touch as he brushed over a particularly sensitive spot. Merlin had learned quickly where not to scrub too hard, where to avoid contact with his nails. The first month into Arthur's new... condition, he had washed the King as he always did. Before either of them had known about the change in sensitivity.
That had been an incredibly awkward encounter.
"It truly is loathsome."
Merlin sighed in sympathy.
"I know. But until Gaius and I can find..."
Well, it didn't really need saying, and this close to the new moon, his King probably didn't care to hear it, either.
Arthur stayed quiet, brooding sullenly, and Merlin carefully rinsed the soap from his hair. He stood when he was done, rubbing at the ache in the small of his back. Arthur would stay til the water grew tepid, so Merlin busied himself with coaxing the fire proper and setting out sleep clothes, and folding down the bedclothes. Despite the oils in the bath and the spices in the soaps, the smell in the grew grew heavier and muskier.
"Will you..."
"Yes, sire. Shall I go now, or get you settled first?"
Arthur hesitated, but Merlin waited patiently, watching his face from the corner of his eye. He knew before he spoke what the answer would be, the slumping of his shoulders under the cooling water.
"Best go now."
Merlin didn't hesitate. Bit down any humour that might have risen. Arthur's voice had lost its fire, and he sounded resigned and almost woeful.
The potion, of course, was ready and waiting, so Merlin truly hadn't been gone long. Yet by the time he got back, the guards posted outside the King's chambers were gone. Worry curled in his gut as he approached the door, listening intently. Had Arthur dismissed them early? Or had someone somehow made it into the heart of the castle while he was gone?
Adrenaline tingling in his fingers, Merlin debated knocking before turning the handle instead, intent on surprising the enemy, should there be one.
There wasn't.
The bathtub was empty, the sleeping clothes gone.
"My lord?"
His tentative call was answered with a low, aggravated sound. Ah. So he'd been right. The time was closer than Arthur would like to believe.
He stepped slowly into the room, the snuck of the closing door lost under the crackling of the fire. Arthur had retired already, sitting against the headboard with one hand clenched in the bedsheet, and one with knuckles pressed hard against his temple. He flexed the former when Merlin drew near, demanding, impatient for the potion that would grant him some relief.
Merlin rounded the bed, and handed it over. Arthur tore the stopper out with his teeth, downing it like a parched man seeking water. While they awaited the ease it should bring, Merlin silently arranged the frankly excessive amount of new cushions and pillows Arthur had sourced for dealing with his condition.
"Will there be anything else, Sire?" Merlin asked softly, when he'd done all he could really do to help, "Would you like the curtains drawn?"
Arthur often did, for although it wouldn't help anything, he hated to watch the rising of the moon.
The King shook his head, his face a taut set of lines and his jaw clenched hard. Merlin waited for any further orders, but Arthur kept his eyes tight closed. He would risk the King's ire, to wait until he was sure the potion was helping. It seemed to be taking its time this month.
Eventually, Arthur released a harsh, ragged breath, and his face relaxed minutely. Merlin felt his own rush of relief. He decided against placing a soothing hand on Arthur's arm, for he was far too close for that kind of contact. Instead, he made his way quietly to the door with a measured pace so as to not disturb him.
His hand was on the door when the blonde spoke.
"Wait."
Merlin turned his head, but Arthur hadn't moved. Wasn't even looking at him.
"Sire?"
Arthur shook his head sharply again. Merlin bit his tongue. And waited. All the waiting, he'd never have guessed would necessary when first they'd realised exactly what had bitten the King on their hunt so many months ago.
It seemed he was forever learning new horrors.
Arthur's breaths were sharp and rapid. But eventually, he opened his eyes and met Merlin's gaze. Blue eyes narrowed, already ringed in red. Tonight, then. Tomorrow at the latest. Merlin turned to face him fully, lowering his head to one side.
"You... Last time. You said."
His words came hissed through clenched teeth, but Merlin understood.
"It still stands." he answered quietly.
Arthur said nothing, continuing to watch him, looking desperately indecisive. Merlin pulled up a reassuring smile and met his eyes properly.
The moment stretched between them, an eternity, a coin spinning on the table top as he awaited it falling. Awaited the decision that would come.
Arthur nodded sharply. Merlin smiled and paced back over, pulling up a seat beside the bed and offering his palm. Arthur latched onto it fast, done with Indecision.
When the moon rose full, and Arthur howled in agony as his bones reformed, Merlin stroked soothing little lines into his skin. When the almost golden creature lay upon the coverlet, panting hard from the aftershocks of the transformation, Merlin grinned at him.
It was an easy decision to escort him outside, to take off with him through the forest under the moonlight. It was only a shame that none of the horses would allow themselves near, as Merlin watched the lithe hulk of wolf race.
Still, though he couldn't keep up, when the beast returned, he walked beside him on the way back to the castle. The golden wolf seemed an entirely different creature to the one last month, who'd torn up Arthur's chambers and split down the door, who'd scared the serving staff half to death.
This creature was almost docile, leaning against Merlin's legs after hours of running, following him through the halls of the castle as if he were tame.
Merlin hesitated once he'd returned him to his chamber, set upon by a baleful blue gaze when he made to leave.
Arthur chose to say nothing when he found himself half atop Merlin's sleeping form the next morning. His rooms were intact, he felt rested and not at all on edge.
Merlin has lost track of the years. He drifts from day to day, the last one feeling more suffocating than the last. He lives a lonely life, stalked by pain and grief. He stopped making friends a long time ago – it was too painful to see them grow old and die without him. He saw wars raging, people starving, suffering, dying. He lost sight of what it was all for, what he was waiting for… who he was waiting for. But there was always something pulling him along, urging him forward.
He walks down the road now, his tatty bag with his few possessions inside hitting against his hip as he walks. Every few years, he’d find his way back to this place, to Avalon. Something always brought him back. It was futile trying to go against his destiny, the one that intertwined him so closely to Arthur.
He stops for a moment, feeling a rush of emotions take over him. Walking alone across the planet for over a thousand years, and still the presence of the Tor and the history made all that time ago is still enough to stop him in his tracks. He sucks in a deep breath, recomposing himself before holding his head high once again, and carries on walking.
He’ll wait for as long as it takes. He’ll wait for forever if he has to.
