hello. I'm Daria. I was absent from tumblr for around 7-8 years or so I think. so it's like I'm new again. I still love Lord of the Rings, GOT7, Star Trek, Merlin. also I love Naruto and Good Omens. But I have quite a big heart so there's always a possibility for other loves. haha
Morgana takes Merlin instead of Gwen to the Dark Tower AU
Part 1 (You're here), Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5
(I know I have a lot of AUs pending, but my mind keeps creating new ones, sorry. Also this is QUITE long so you can take it as a christmas present if you like. So Merry Christmas! :D)
I think there are already Merthur fics with this prompt, but I haven’t read one where Morgana’s decision to take Merlin instead of Gwen actually makes sense.
For starters, I don’t believe Morgana would ever consider making Merlin her eternal slave. Yes, she used the forromoh to control him once before, but it’s established that the Mandrake Root’s brainwashing is stronger and practically impossible to undo. I firmly believe Morgana specifically targeted Gwen not only due to her closeness to Arthur, but because she still loved her—in a very twisted way—and wanted to keep her forever. That would never be the case with Merlin. She hates him too much for that. He poisoned her and betrayed her deeply. And, as far as she knows by that point in the series, Merlin is just a clumsy servant, stupidly loyal to Arthur.
So, how do we make it make sense for her to take Merlin instead of Gwen?
The answer is: by accident.
But before we get to that, let's justify the Merthur part. This is a Merthur prompt, after all.
So, after the events of “Another’s Sorrow,” Arthur brings Merlin to a tavern to celebrate their triumph over Odin and the new treaty. Merlin really isn’t in the mood, too worried about Morgana’s next move and the weight of destiny, but that doesn’t stop Arthur from dragging him there. “You’re always at the tavern anyway. Why are you complaining?” the king proclaims.
They both actually start having a good time, which is what Arthur wanted. He’s seen Merlin so down lately, too serious—maybe also feeling a bit guilty for not listening when Merlin had a bad feeling about the mission—so he wanted to make him relax and smile again like he used to. They’re doing great… until they drink a little too much and end up kissing.
Being the mature person he is, Merlin flees afterward. The next day, when Arthur tries to speak about what happened…
Arthur: Merlin, about last—
Merlin: (polishing a breastplate) The laundry’s done, and Cook says the venison is salted. (avoids Arthur’s eyes at all costs)
Arthur’s words die in his throat. Truthfully, he is relieved. The guilt settled in his stomach like a cold stone the moment he woke up. He is a married man. The drunkenness was no excuse. And the fact that it was Merlin—a man, his servant, his friend—sent a whirlwind of confused shame through him. But, If Merlin can pretend it was nothing, then perhaps the dishonorable act can simply… unhappen?
But as weeks pass, the pretense builds a wall between them. The easy insults vanish, replaced by stiff formality or, worse, silence. Jokes fall flat. A mere brush of hands while passing a goblet feels electric. And the chambers become a cage of unsaid things.
One afternoon, Arthur can’t take it anymore so he confronts Merlin.
Merlin: (folding a cloak with robotic precision, his back to Arthur)
Arthur: We can’t keep doing this.
Merlin: (doesn’t turn) Keep doing what, my lord?
Arthur: (voice low and strained) You know exactly what I’m talking about.
Merlin: …
Arthur: That night—
Merlin: It shouldn’t have happened.
Arthur: But it did. And until we talk about it—
Merlin: (finally turns) What is there to talk about? We were drunk. People do stupid things when they’re drunk. Things they don’t really mean.
Arthur falls silent for a moment. Merlin is about to return to his folding, when suddenly Arthur speaks again.
Arthur: (his voice quieter, almost detached) So you didn’t mean it when you said, “I’ve waited so long for this”?
Merlin: (goes very still, the colour draining from his face)
Arthur: (pressing on) Yes, I remember. You also said something… something about me being your destiny. That part is a bit blurry. But you said—
Merlin: (a choked whisper) Stop.
Arthur: I just need to understand. The truth, Merlin. I don’t care if you… fancy men. Honestly, I’d suspected for a while. I mean, you’ve never shown a lasting interest in any woman—
Merlin: (sharp and defensive) I’m into both, if you must catalogue it. Men and women.
Arthur: … Oh.
Merlin: Is that all?
Arthur: No… (sighs) Did you… kiss me… because I just happened to be the closest man—person there? Or…
Merlin: (Stares for a moment, eyes wide, and then a bitter laugh escapes him) So that’s what this is. You don’t want to talk about the kiss. You want to know if I fancy YOU. You need to know if your servant is secretly and pathetically in love with you.
Arthur: Merlin—
Merlin: (voice cracking) You have no right. No right! (leaves)
And things between them get even more awkward after that.
So, when, some days later, the opportunity arises for Gwen to visit her father's grave in the outlying village, Merlin volunteers to accompany her, Elyan, and the other knights in a desperate need for space. A day away from Arthur and the suffocating weight of Camelot's walls feels like a chance to breathe.
Gwen: (riding beside him, worried) Merlin… What happened? Between you and Arthur?
Merlin expected this. Of course they all noticed the sudden distance between him and Arthur.
Merlin:(forcing a casual tone) It’s nothing for you to worry about. Just… a disagreement. King and servant stuff.
Gwen: (doesn’t believe a word of it, but lets it go) Just know you can talk to me. Always.
Merlin nods, a twist of gratitude and sharp guilt knotting in his chest. Gwen has always been a great friend. And there he is, carrying the memory of her husband’s kiss, now finding solace in her kindness. Oh, well. What’s one more secret to bury?
But as they ride, the weight of his deception grows unbearable. She deserves the truth, even if it means she’ll look at him with the hatred he feels he deserves. He will apologize for a lifetime if he has to. He opens his mouth, the confession gathering on his tongue when a sudden hissing slices through the forest calm.
The horses rear, whining in panic. Merlin feels it in his bones. The snakes coiling across the path aren’t natural; they are a summons. Morgana.
Gwaine: (shouts) Run! Run!
Merlin: (taking advantage no one is seeing him, eyes turn gold and the mass of snakes recoil, slithering back into the undergrowth as if called away)
Elyan: (struggling to control his horse) Wait! I think they’re gone!
A cold laugh cuts through the sudden quiet.
Morgana: (steps from behind a great oak, her smile venomous) It seems I have to finish this myself.
Gwen: Morgana!
Morgana: (eyes turn gold) Taefle!
A wave of invisible force slams into them. Knights, Merlin, and Gwen are thrown from their saddles, hitting the forest floor with grunts of pain. Before anyone can rise, Morgana is upon them. She stalks forward, her focus solely on Gwen, and seizes her arm, with a strong grip.
Gwen: (struggles) Let go of me!
Elyan: Gwen!
Leon: My Queen!
Morgana: (eyes turn gold again) Sleep.
The snakes return, their hissing a deadly chorus as they rear to strike the dazed knights.
Merlin: (Pushing himself up, terror for his friends overriding all caution) NO!
This time, there is no subtlety. His eyes burn gold as he extends his hand and a concussive wave of raw power erupts from him, throwing the snakes back into the trees, where they fall, still and harmless.
Everyone—Gwen, Elyan, Gwaine, Percival, Leon and Morgana herself—stare at Merlin in utter, stunned shock.
Merlin: (thinking in panic) They saw. They all saw.
Morgana: (her expression shifts from shock to a dawning, volcanic rage) You… All this time.
Merlin: (shoves his panic down and his hand shoots out again) Ástryce! (eyes turn gold and a bolt of energy strikes Morgana in the chest, throwing her back a step and making her let go of Gwen) Gwen, run! (to the others) All of you, RUN! NOW! I’ll hold her back!
The command shatters their paralysis. Driven by instinct and the sheer shock of the moment, the knights scramble to their feet, ushering a wide-eyed Gwen into the dense forest.
Morgana: (shouts) NO! (lunges to pursue)
Merlin: Forbærne! (a jet of fire sears the ground between Morgana and the fleeing party)
Morgana: (whirls, deflecting the flames with a swift gesture of her own. Her eyes, blazing with hatred and new understanding) Emrys.
Under other circumstances, with a clear mind and the element of surprise, Merlin might have matched her. But his focus is shattered—split between his fleeing friends, the devastating exposure, and the crushing weight of a lifetime of secrets crumbling around him.
So Merlin hesitates for a fatal second.
Morgana did not.
Morgana: Swefe nu!
A blast of magic, amplified by her fury, hits him squarely and he is knocked out.
Morgana approaches the fallen sorcerer slowly, moving like a hunter closing in on a mortally wounded prize. Her fury is a living thing, scorching and vast. The friend who betrayed her with poison. The prophesied doom who thwarted her at every turn. They are one and the same. This clumsy, idiotic servant has been the architect of her every misery. Her hand trembles with the desire to finish him. Her fingers curl, dark energy crackling at her fingertips as she stands over him. One spell and her vengeance will be completed.
But suddenly her gaze sharpens. The raw, screaming urge to kill him begins to cool and twist into something else—something colder and far more insidious. She has lost Gwen. Her chance to possess the one piece of her old light, to keep it caged and forever hers, is gone, fleeing into the woods with those useless knights. But here… here lies a different kind of prize. Not a comfort, but a weapon. Emrys. The most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth. Her destined enemy, helpless at her feet.
A slow, terrible smile touches her lips. Killing him would be a release. A victory, yes, but a finite one. Making him her slave… that is something else entirely. To have his power bent to her will. To have the guardian of the Once and Future King become the instrument of that king’s destruction.
The poetic justice of it is exquisite. The strategic advantage is undeniable.
The crackling energy at her fingertips shifts. The spell for a quick death fades from her mind, replaced by the complex, ancient enchantments of the Dark Tower.
Morgana: (murmurs, voice a silken promise of torment) Oh, Merlin. You’re not going to die today. You’re going to wish you had.
Time skip. In Camelot.
Arthur: (pacing) No. It can’t be true.
Leon: (voice quiet and steady) We all saw it, sire. His eyes burned gold.
Arthur: Merlin is no sorcerer! (his hand slams on the table, the sound echoing in the chamber) I would know. He cannot keep a secret to save his life.
Except the secret of their kiss, a poisoned voice whispers in his mind. Except the secret of his feelings—or yours. Arthur shuts the thought down violently, clinging to the image of the man he thought he knew.
Gwen: Arthur…(places a gentle hand over his clenched fist)
Arthur: (flinches slightly at her touch, the guilt still fresh. Then insists in utter denial) This is clearly a trick from Morgana! An illusion meant to confuse you, to weaken our resolve!
Gwaine: (leaning against the wall with his arms crossed) Believe it an illusion if you like, princess. Makes no difference to the facts. Merlin’s back there, alone. He used his… whatever it was… to save us, to give us a chance to run. And now Morgana has him.
Arthur: (the frantic energy leaves him all at once, replaced by a cold, dawning horror. Then, he looks up, his face hardening into an expression of pure resolve) Of course we are going. Ready the horses. We leave within the hour.
Time Skip. In the Dark Tower
Morgana did not allow Merlin to wake on the journey. She is not a fool. Her victory in the clearing was mostly due to Merlin’s shock and distraction. She knows that facing a prepared Emrys head-on is a battle she can very well lose.
Luckily, in the panicked retreat, the knights left one of their horses behind. It was a simple matter to hoist Merlin’s unconscious form over its saddle, securing him with rough rope before tethering the beast to her own, so the journey to the tower went smoothly.
Now that she is there, she quickly retrieves a pair of heavy, rune-carved bracelets from a locked iron chest and clamps them around each of Merlin’s wrists. Only then, does she allow herself the next step.
Morgana: (kneels beside him, her voice a silken command) Awace.
Merlin: (eyes fly open, disoriented for a split second, then he spots Morgana and jerks upright, instinct pulling him back)
Morgana: (smiles coldly) Sleep well?
Merlin’s first impulse is to lash out—a spell, a gesture, anything. But as he moves, a leaden weakness floods his limbs, and a cold, biting weight registers on his wrists. He looks down at the dark iron bracelets, his breath catching.
Merlin: (confused) …What?
Morgana: (traces a fingernail over the rune-etched metal) Cold iron. Quite effective, isn’t it? It doesn’t just block magic. It… hungers for it.
Merlin: (a bitter laugh) Very hypocritical of you, to keep such things.
Morgana: (her smile vanishes) No more hypocritical than serving the son of a man who would have you burned for what you are.
Merlin: Arthur is not Uther.
Morgana: (leans in) So? Does he know? Does the golden king know that his precious servant and friend is a sorcerer?
Merlin: …
Morgana: (straightens, her expression shifting to one of pure, scalding contempt) You are pathetic. Hiding your magic for a man who would despise you for it. Betraying, killing your own kin to protect a throne that would see you destroyed. To protect him. All that power… wasted.
Merlin: (meeting her gaze, his voice weary but firm) Spare me the speech, Morgana. I know how this story goes. What will you do to me? Past experience tells me you won't just kill me.
Morgana: (a chilling smile spreads across her face) You are correct. There’s no justice in a quick end for you, Emrys. Not when your suffering can be so much more… useful. (grabs his arm in one swift motion, her nails digging into his skin through his tunic) Stand up.
Merlin: (is hauled to his feet and stumbles, the unnatural weight on his wrists throwing off his balance)
Morgana: I have the perfect room for you.
Without another word, she begins to drag him toward a narrow spiral staircase leading into the oppressive gloom of the tower.
The first few days, Merlin resists. Everytime the voices begin to whisper in the dark, he clings to the solid reality of the cold stone against his back and the biting weight of the iron on his wrists. These are real, he reminds himself. Everything else is Morgana’s poison.
Then the visions come.
Gwaine: (his easy smile twisted into a sneer) All those times I defended you. And you were just lying to my face. Was our friendship a spell, too?
Merlin: (Jerking back as if struck) No! It wasn’t like that at all!
Leon: (with stern disappointment) You served the king. Broke bread at his table. You were a threat sleeping always at his door. Your very existence is treason.
Merlin: (clutching his head) I didn't choose this! I never wanted to lie!
Gwen: (her kind eyes full of tears of betrayal) I called you my friend. I trusted you. And you… you kissed my husband. Was any of it real, Merlin? The laughter, the secrets we shared? Or was I just another piece on your board, a tool to get closer to the king?
Merlin: (a sob wrenching from his throat, his body folding in on itself) I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…
He tries to remind himself they aren’t real. They are fragments of his own fear, given shape by Morgana’s dark magic. But then…
Arthur: (appears, his face a mask of cold, regal revulsion. The look isn’t the fiery anger Merlin has braced for; but a quiet, complete disgust) A sorcerer. All this time. A vile, deceitful creature polluting my court. My father was right.
Merlin tries to turn away, but the vision follows, filling the cell.
Arthur: And to think that I let you kiss me. That I… for a moment, I actually… (wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, a gesture of profound sickness) It makes me want to peel my own skin off. You are an abomination.
Merlin: (voice a broken whisper, tears cutting tracks through the grime on his face) No… please.
Arthur: (tilts his head, a cruel parody of his familiar, considering expression and then smiles cruelly) I would have you executed. Drawn and quartered in the courtyard for all to see what becomes of sorcerers and traitors. (lets out a low, chilling laugh that echoes unnaturally in the stone room) But seeing you here… like this? Broken in the dark? This is so much better. This is justice. You deserve this. (His laughter grows louder)
Merlin: (a raw, shattered scream tears from his throat)
Time skip.
Being kind to Merlin has been a challenge for Morgana. She pretty much still hates him to guts. But it was the part she needed to play for the enchantment to succeed. The enchantment of the mandrake root doesn't just show the person’s worst fears and dreads; it slowly erodes the soul's foundations, leaving a hollowed-out space desperate to be filled. To succeed, she has to be the one to fill it. She has to become, in Merlin’s broken mind, the only light in an endless dark. It wasn’t easy. Especially because Merlin has been stubborn. For days he turned his face from the food she offered him. Met her gentle words with silence or sharp, weary retorts.
But the Tower soon did its work.
Now, as she kneels beside him, Morgana sees the change. She gently wipes a tear from his cheek with her thumb, her touch deliberately soft. He doesn't flinch. He leans into it, his eyes, red-rimmed and lost, searching her face.
Morgana: (whispers, her voice a silk-covered blade) You’re so alone. They all left you. They hate what you are.
A sob hitches in Merlin’s chest. Then, slowly, as if the movement pains him, his arms come up—not to push her away, but to wrap around her in a desperate, clutching embrace. Morgana freezes for a moment before returning the hug, a vicious triumphal smile forming on her face. Merlin buries his face in her shoulder, his body trembling with silent tears.
Merlin: (mumbles into the fabric of her gown) I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Morgana… for everything. I was a fool. I betrayed you… my own kind… for him.
Morgana: (strokes his hair) Shhh. I know. I forgive you.
Merlin: (pulls back slightly, his gaze clouded with hurt) They never cared. (the hatred in his voice turns palpable) Arthur… he would have killed me. Gwen, the knights… they just pretended. Liars. All of them! (His voice hitches, the hatred momentarily melting into sadness) Though I lied too.
Morgana: (her hand stills for a fraction of a second before resuming its gentle rhythm) No, my dear. You can’t compare lying for your own survival to their lies. Theirs were born of malice. Yours… yours was born of fear. Of a world that would never understand you. (pulls him close again) But you don’t have to be afraid anymore. You don’t have to lie. You’re not alone. You need never be alone again. (cradles his face, forcing his tear-blurred gaze to meet hers) I’m the only one you can trust. I’m all you have left in the world.
Merlin: (nods, his eyes full of trust) I see that now.
Morgana: (smiles victorious and her fingers trail down to the cold iron bracelets) It was wrong to make you suffer. To restrain your magic like that. But you’ve been so courageous. (unlocks the first bracelet, then the second, letting them fall to the stone floor with a heavy thud) Now, we can work together. As equals. To ensure the utter destruction of everything Arthur Pendragon holds dear.
Merlin: (flexes his freed wrists, smiling eagerly, ready to bring Arthur to his doom)
Morgana: (voice low, hungry with anticipation) Now. Show me your power, Emrys. Show me the strength you hid from them.
Merlin nods, his expression turning serious with concentration. He extends a hand toward a crumbling stone sconce on the far wall. His brow furrows. Nothing happens. Confused, he tries again, his focus intensifying. He brings both hands up, palms outward, his lips moving in silent invocation. Nothing. He tries again. And again. But his eyes, wide and desperate, remain blue. Panic begins to edge into his expression, replacing the eagerness.
Morgana: (her smile falters, a sliver of impatience in her tone) What are you waiting for? Do it.
Merlin: (whispering in disbelief) My… my magic. It’s still gone.
Morgana: WHAT?!
In a flash, she is upon him. Her hands clamp onto his shoulders, then his temples, her own magic rushing into him, searching for the apparently still blocked power herself.
She finds it. It’s not suppressed. It’s not restrained. It is walled off. Sealed behind an internal barrier of immense, instinctual will. A final, desperate act of self-preservation enacted not by the broken man before her, but by the last shred of Emrys, in his final sane moments before the darkness took him. A way to protect the world from what he might become.
The realization hits her like a physical blow. She staggers back, releasing him. All her planning, her patience, her performance… for this. For a hollow vessel, a sword with no blade. A raw, furious scream of pure rage tears from her throat.
Morgana: (slams her fist against the stone wall) NO! No, no, NO!
Merlin: (flinching, his voice a frightened whimper) Please, don’t hurt yourself, my lady! I’m so sorry… I’m useless. I don’t know what happened to it. (stares at his own hands as if they’d betrayed him) Where has it gone?
Morgana whirls, her chest heaving, her gaze burning with impotent fury. She storms to the narrow window, seeking an outlet for her rage in the desolate landscape below.
And then she sees them. A small, determined party of riders closing in on the tower’s base. Arthur and the knights. Coming for Merlin.
For a moment, she is just startled. She hadn’t expected them to come so soon. Focused solely on enchanting Merlin, she hasn’t prepared the traps, trusting naively Emrys’ power would be enough to get rid of them all. Then her mind, always sharpest when cornered, begins to race. Merlin is still Arthur’s manservant. The one who dresses him, arms him. The person the king trusts most, besides his wife. And cares for him enough to come to his rescue himself. The knights also trust Merlin implicitly. Gwen, the queen, loves him like a brother. Even without magic, Merlin is the key to the very heart of Camelot. A slow, predatory calm settles over her. Then she turns from the window to Merlin, her expression smoothing into one of grave, conspiratorial urgency.
Morgana: I’ll tell you what happened. Your precious magic… Arthur blocked it.
Merlin: (eyes widen in surprise and betrayal) What?! Why?
Morgana: To make you suffer. To punish you for what you are, and to ensure you could never turn your power against him.
The enchantment of the Tower does its final, insidious work. The lie, planted in the fertile soil of Merlin’s broken trust, takes immediate and unquestioning root.
Merlin: (his face crumples, a fresh wave of agony washing over him) After everything I’ve done for him… he did this to me. How? How could he even do such a thing?
Morgana: With magic. You know how hypocritical the Pendragons are. They condemn sorcery from their thrones, only to use it in the shadows when it serves them. Now do you see? Now do you understand why I had to bring you here? Why I had to save you from his deception? (seizes his hands, her grip firm) Listen to me, Merlin. They are coming. Right now. To retrieve you.
Merlin: (a spark of his old defiance flashes) No! I won’t go back! I hate them! I never want to see them again!
Morgana: (with a slow, calculating smile) I know. But they don’t know that. They still believe you are their loyal, foolish Merlin. And if you play the part… if you go back with them, we might still have a chance.
An understanding dawns on Merlin’s face, and his despair hardens into a cold, focused determination.
Merlin: (his voice utterly devoid of its former warmth) What do I do?
Time skip.
They had just set foot inside the tower's gloom when a deep, groaning shudder ran through the ancient stone. Dust rains from the ceiling. A crack spiderwebs up the wall beside the entrance.
A clear trap. The wisest decision would’ve been to fall back, to regroup outside the killing zone, the knights forming a protective shield around their king.
It is not what happens.
Instead, Arthur runs further in. He becomes a man possessed, breaking down every rotting door in his path. He leaves the knights—whose sworn duty is to form a wall around him—scrambling in his wake as mortar dust fills the air and the very foundations groan. Nothing else matters but to find Merlin.
Arthur: (shouting desperately) Merlin! MERLIN!
He bursts into a small, high cell as a chunk of the ceiling crashes down behind him. And there, in the chaos, he finds him.
Merlin is slumped against the wall, his hands bound above him by heavy chains. He seems smaller, as if the ordeal has physically shrunk him, and so exhausted he seems unable to bear its own weight any longer. But when he lifts his head and looks at Arthur he smiles brightly.
Merlin: (gasps, fragile with disbelief and hope) Arthur?
Arthur is across the room in three strides, his hands coming up to cradle Merlin’s face, to feel the solid, living reality of him.
Arthur: (his voice breaks, thick with relief and terror) I’m here. I’m here. (eyes scan the bindings, his jaw tightening as another tremor rocks the tower) I’ll get you out.
Drawing his sword, Arthur brings the pommel down on the chains with a clang that rings above the din of collapsing stone. Again. And again.
Merlin: (voice weak but urgent) Leave me! Get out!
Arthur: NO!
With a final, grating shriek of tortured metal, the chain snaps. Merlin slumps forward, his strength utterly spent, and falls into Arthur's waiting arms. For a moment, they simply stay there, Arthur holding him, Merlin clinging back with a desperate, bruising tightness. Arthur hugs him back just as fiercely, one hand cradling the back of Merlin's head.
There is no time for more. Another tremor shakes the tower, a slab of masonry crashing down where Arthur stood moments before. Gently but firmly, Arthur shifts, pulling Merlin's arm around his shoulders, taking his full weight.
Arthur: (commands, his voice rough but steady) Lean on me. Just keep moving
Together, they hobble through the shuddering, nightmare corridors—Arthur half-carrying, half-dragging him, Merlin stumbling but moving. And finally, they burst into the cold, clear air, the final, thunderous groans of the Dark Tower collapsing in on itself behind them. Every crash of stone is a reminder of how close death has been.
Merlin: (still clutching Arthur’s arm for support) You came… alone?
Gwaine: (brushes dust from his tunic as he and the other knights close in around them) No, he pretty much abandoned us in there. Charged ahead like a bull.
Merlin: (face lits up) Gwaine! (lets go of Arthur and moves to hug the knight, who returns the embrace with a hearty clap on the back) Leon! Percival! Elyan! (greets each in turn)
Arthur feels a strange, sharp twist in his chest—something hot and unpleasant he doesn't care to name. He watches as Merlin, who has just been clinging to him as a lifeline, now shares his affection with others.
Merlin: (his voice still shaky with wonder) You all came for me?
Leon: Why do you seem so surprised? (his expression shifts, the memory dawning) Oh… (falls silent, his eyes flicking uncertainly to Arthur)
Right. The magic. In the sheer terror of the rescue, Arthur forgot about it. The sight of Merlin in chains burned everything else away. But now, with Merlin safe and the impossible confession hanging in the air, reality comes crashing back. The fear isn't gone, but it is dwarfed by a more profound realization: he can not lose this man. Not to a tower, and not to a law.
Arthur: (stepping forward, his voice carefully neutral) Merlin. My knights… they saw something. When Morgana ambushed you. If you… if you had magic. You don’t have to hide. Not from me. Not now.
Merlin: (looks at Arthur, then at the knights, his brow furrowing in perfect, believable confusion) Me? Having magic? Where did you get that idea?
A beat of stunned silence.
Percival: (utterly baffled) We saw you. Your eyes… they were gold. You threw the snakes back with… with magic.
Merlin: (shakes his head, a small, helpless gesture) I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t use magic at all. I couldn’t have.
Gwaine: (softer now, leaning in) Merlin, mate, you don’t have to lie. It’s us. We won’t do anything to you. We saw it.
Merlin: (his expression turns earnest, pleading) But I’m telling the truth. I don’t have magic. I’m not a sorcerer.
Arthur watches him, sees the clear confusion in his eyes. The tension that has coiled in his gut since Leon first spoke in the council chamber suddenly unspools into a wave of dizzying, vertiginous relief.
Arthur: (words rushed out, eager, absolving) It seems… it seems I was right. (looks at his knights, his authority returning, clinging to the simpler reality) It was an illusion. A trick from Morgana to turn us against each other. She must have made you see it.
The knights exchange glances. Leon’s jaw is tight; Percival’s brow furrowed in confusion. Gwaine stares at the ground, scuffing the dirt with his boot. They have seen it. The raw, golden power, the force that saved them. An illusion that vivid, that potent, seems… unlikely. Their loyalty to Merlin wars with the evidence of their own eyes.
Merlin: (noticing their hesitation, his voice trembles) You… you didn’t really believe it. Did you? (Tears well in his eyes, looking betrayed.) I’m not. I swear to you, on my mother’s life, I am not what you think.
The direct appeal, the raw hurt, is a masterstroke. It bypasses their logic and goes straight to their hearts.
Gwaine: (immediately, stepping forward) No, Merlin. Hey, look at me. (places a firm hand on Merlin’s shoulder) Of course we believe you. We’re just… rattled. It’s been a long day.
Leon: (nods, his stern expression softening into one of protective resolve) He’s right. You are our friend. If you give us your word, then that is the truth we stand by.
Arthur watches the exchange, his own relief now mingling with a pang of something else—a twinge of inadequacy. Gwaine and Leon offered the immediate comfort, and silenced the doubt with brotherly certainty. He, the king, only offered a theory. He clears his throat, the need to reclaim the moment, to be the one Merlin looks to, suddenly urgent.
Arthur: (his voice firm, leaving no room for further discussion) Then it’s settled. We’re all in agreement. Merlin is no sorcerer. (meets Merlin’s tear-filled gaze, offering a small, reassuring nod) Now, let’s get you home.
Time skip.
Merlin can't believe it has been so easy.
As they ride back to Camelot, the towers of the castle growing on the horizon, he replays Morgana’s final instructions.
“They might believe you got your magic back, so when they ask, deny it at all cost. They must believe you are still the simpleton Arthur turned you into. They’ll try to trick you for sure. Try to make you believe you are safe to tell. Don’t be bought by their lies again.”
Now, with cold clarity, he sees the proof of her wisdom in every glance thrown his way. Their faces are masks of concern, but now he can see the lie beneath. Gwaine’s easy grin is a bit too wide, Leon’s assessing gaze a fraction too long. They are watching him, waiting for a slip.
And Arthur… the look of sheer, unguarded relief on Arthur’s face when Merlin tearfully denied his magic. It wasn’t a relief that his friend was safe from persecution. It was a relief at knowing the weapon remains disarmed. That the abomination was confirmed to be gone. The magic he took from me, Merlin thinks, the betrayal a fresh, hot wound. He stole my very nature and was glad to see it gone.
The memory of having to embrace them— to throw his arms around Arthur and lean into his supportive grip, to hug Gwaine, to accept Leon’s firm clasp—makes his skin crawl. He had to hug the people who had celebrated his mutilation. Had to smile at the man who looked at him with utter disgust and hatred in that tower. Who laughed at his suffering. Who actually despises him.
But he won’t have to pretend much longer. Soon, his true queen would take her rightful place on the throne. Morgana, his savior, his lady. And these smiling liars, this false king who broke him and called it salvation… they will be gone for good.
Arthur will be gone for good.
The thought brings a serene calm to his heart as he rides through the gates of the city he is destined to destroy from within. So he keeps his eyes wide, his smile grateful, and his hatred perfectly, patiently hidden.
I never got how past TOS every Star Trek writer seems to treat the Prime Directive as some sort of sacred edict rather than the anti imperialist screed it actually is. TOS was made in the Cold War where Russia, the USA, and other countries were basically playing tug of war with smaller countries to their detriment, so writer Gene L. Coon came up with the idea that Starfleet should not do that, that civilizations should be allowed to develop on their own without being used as catspaws by more powerful entities.
The problem is that somewhere along the line this got lost and it turned into “these people are all going to die but saving them would violate the Prime Directive”. Like yeah you should save people from dying, just don’t do it in a way that makes them your client state!
One of them is a present from my mom, and I absolutely can't get rid of it. Because it's sentimental for me because I cherish everything my mom gets me.
There are some expensive books I spent my hard earned money on. And I'm broke. It's painful to think about letting them go down the drain. But sko it's painful to see his name on them.
I made this blog to talk about language because I find it fun and fascinating, so while I'm not thrilled to acknowledge 431 any more than I have to, there's really hilarious shit happening in this scene and the people need to know.
So, the first fucking thing we hear outta Katsuki's mouth is this:
"Jeez, why the hell do I gotta be Deku's private little chauffeur!"
There are a few ways you could translate this. It's an indignant complaint with some rudeness, but comparatively mild for Katsuki. Some people might rephrase this to something more like "why do I gotta drive Deku's ass around" but I'm keeping the original, possessive grammar of デクのアッシー (Deku no asshii) because I think it highlights an important implication.
Sooooo... the word Katsuki uses here アッシー (asshii) is uniquely loaded slang.
Jisho.org
This term originates from Japan's bubble economy era of the late 80s and saw continued use through the 90s. During the economic bubble, the unemployment rate was very low; the related increased presence of women in the workplace led to a cultural perspective that women were gaining social power and financial independence.
From this new social dynamic emerged several terms:
Asshii-kun, Messhii-kun, and Mitsugu-kun.
English Journal, written by University of Kitakyuushuu linguistics professor Anne Crescini
There's also the lesser known Tsunagu-kun, who hooks up electronics for a woman, and Keep-kun, a "backup boyfriend" for when a woman's preferred partner dumps her.
A couple Japanese websites I looked at talked about luxury vehicles gaining in popularity during this time, so Asshii-kun are associated with expensive sports cars, something Katsuki is probably referencing since his car is fancy as fuck!
It's not a well known term anymore, to the point that I saw a number of jpn fans joking about having to look up what it means, haha. Katsuki's dialogue often has interesting, unusual word choices, and of course, reigning queen of up-to-date slang Camie teased him about his delinquent shtick being "out of fashion"!
In that journal article, Crescini explores English terms which roughly convey the same meaning as asshii. I've used google translate here to show you what is written, so let's take a look!
O--oh.
Oh.
fdkjslhsmh;lkshm;
LISTEN I WAS TRYING TO BE FUCKING EMPIRICAL AND SHIT
oh. is that right.
yeah
yeah he is
FYI shiri ni shikarareru of course carries the implication of a man being dominated or bossed around by his wife.
Now, on social media, I saw people (likely in their 40s and 50s) using the term jokingly to describe having to chauffeur someone around for errands. It was mostly men talking about their wives, but there were a couple instances of it being used for friends and family members. It definitely has the energy of "being forced to drive someone around without getting anything in return."
But notice that Katsuki voices this complaint about Izuku specifically, even though Kirishima is also in the car. Like yeah, he yells about Kirishima threatening to scratch his car, but he doesn't fucking call himself Kirishima's asshii!
He could have used a plural "you" pronoun or even pluralized Izuku's name with Deku-tachi to make it "Deku and the people with him," but no, it's "Deku's asshii."
Tell me, Kacchan, when it comes to Izuku, are you hoping to get something in return?
"If somebody'd just said the words 'I wanna surpass Dynamight,' I'd have taken 'em."
"You ain't gonna give up teaching?"
date me date me date me fucking do hero work with ME Izuku be a hero with ME
[sigh...]
"Man, you got dumped, huh, Bakugou!!"
Listen. My jaw dropped when I saw Kirishima say this.
Weblio (google translated)
This definition specifies "amorous feelings of being in love" (恋愛感情). I'm not joking when I say I've almost exclusively heard this word used for rejected confessions or couples breaking up.
Japanese Stack Exchange question, "Can フラれて be used in any non-romantic sense?"
The Japanese example sentence describes a business proposal being immediately rejected. The comedy here is inherently tied to the verb being used for romantic rejection, like someone saying "I applied for a promotion, but those fickle hiring managers went and broke my heart."
Even if you aren't literally suggesting romantic love, the association makes it sound over the top and dramatic.
Kirishima is drawing attention to how serious and emotionally invested Katsuki is in making this offer and affectionately teasing him for it. Note that he doesn't just use the simple past tense for this verb (フラれた), which would have sounded direct and not particularly sympathetic. He's using a [verb] + shimau construction (further contracted as slang to "-chimatta") which makes it a "regrettable" outcome, like an "aww man!"
You can add that construction to any verb and it would sound funny/sympathetic, so he could have phrased it differently:
断られちまった ("You got turned down," common word used for all kinds of rejection)
拒められちまった ("You got denied," used for romantic, platonic, and familial relationships)
撥ね付けられちまった ("You got totally rejected," used for when someone coldly or flatly rejects an offer or request)
撃沈しちまった ("You got shot down," uses battleship sinking imagery for failure in daily life, business ventures, romance, hopes and dreams, etc.)
轟沈しちまった ("You got crushed," similar to above, but more severe and instantaneous sinking: instant kill, KO, torpedoed, etc.)
The last few in particular are very dramatic and humorous, so they would work well if Kirishima wanted to joke about the speed or bluntness of Izuku's refusal.
BUT NO.
DUDE USED THE VERB SPECIFICALLY ASSOCIATED WITH ROMANTIC REJECTION, which centers the feelings of heartbreak and disappointment.
He is commiserating with Katsuki for "putting his heart on the line" and getting the cold shoulder, and then he fucking wingmans for Katsuki by spelling it all out to Izuku!!
You can say all you want "it's just lighthearted banter, they're joking!" Sure. You're right, this is a funny scene.
But the joke is that Izuku is a cute girl Katsuki keeps trying (and failing) to woo. That he's taking advantage of Katsuki's feelings for him and stringing him along.
The joke is that Katsuki wants Izuku at his hero agency so bad, the rejection is essentially on the level of getting dumped or having your love confession rejected.
The joke is that Izuku is completely oblivious when it comes to love.
oh interesting doesn't that sound familiar
LITERALLY EVERYBODY KNOWS THIS NERD WOULDN'T NOTICE LOVE IF IT PUNCHED HIM IN THE FACE
'cause Katsuki already tried that one
But I will say, for all Katsuki's complaints, the problem is obviously not a lack of reciprocation. The problem is that Izuku doesn't recognize what Katsuki feels for him. He doesn't get what Katsuki is trying to express to him. He can't answer honestly if he doesn't even understand the question.
The comedic parts of MHA are often wrapped up in important plot points and messages. Sure, it's funny, but why does that mean we're supposed to dismiss it?
Also, Kirishima says this:
"Midoriya sure is dense when it comes to these things."
その辺 (sono hen) is a perfectly ordinary phrase for "that area," "that topic," "in that regard," or "around there," and I wouldn't think anything of it if not for this next bit:
"On that note, what about you guys?"
They are talking about the Class B students who started dating, and Sero uses the same phrase to ask whether Jirou and Kaminari are a couple. Again, this isn't unusual, and if these moments were separated by whole chapters, it would not read as notable in any way. その辺 is a common enough phrase that it's not something you could pin down as a "thematic phrase" or anything like that.
But the repetition struck me. Sero could have said, そういえば (speaking of which, now that you mention it, on that subject), this is a very common sentence starter, but he also could have said things like 付き合ってといえば (speaking of dating) to be more specific.
In this conversation, その辺 is framed as the topic of dating or romance by the preceding remarks. Meanwhile, the "topic" Kirishima suggests Izuku is thickheaded about is only really defined by his own previous comment...
which framed Katsuki's rejection as romantic heartbreak.
anyway
here's the funniest translation of Katsuki's asshii comment I could think of:
"Jeez, why do I gotta be Deku's vehicular bitch boy!"
angsty kacchan is fine but i want kacchan to don the metaphorical revenge dress and respond to the “rejection” by showing deku everything he’s missing. do post-battle interviews with reporters he never used to entertain before, with his mask off and eyeliner smeared and muscles bulging through the tears in his uniform. find a sidekick or two with that “gonna surpass you” energy and bring them along when he guest lectures for deku’s class. maybe even spar with them, soaring around the training grounds with the same fierce grin that hasn’t changed since he was sixteen, while deku watches at a safe distance with his students. break top 5 in the hero rankings before the end of the year. let the paparazzi snap photos of him out and about, arm-in-arm with camie or eating soba with shouto, looking fine as hell.
kacchan doesn’t give up on what he wants, and he will secure his absolute victory. being in his twenties has changed nothing about his drive to succeed, except the tactics available to him. deku doesn’t know what’s about to hit him.
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