Finally got a graphics tablet and I LOVE it. No more drawing with a mouse. So I decided to deepen my obsession with BBC Merlin. I imagine this is Arthur mid-battle after someone threatens his manservant 😝
Let loose the hounds of war. Let the dreadfire of the last priestess rain down from angry skies. For brother will slaughter brother, for friend will murder friend, as the great horn sounds a cold dawn at Camlann. The prophets do not lie. There Arthur will meet his end, upon that mighty plain.
last fall after i finally watched merlin for the first time and lost my whole mind, merthur microfic was one of the first communities i found and joined. i picked a prompt and actually finished a writing project for the first time in years (and something for a fandom for the first time since like 2013). it was just a silly little reincarnation story that i wrote bc i couldn’t stop thinking about how merthur’s dynamic would shift and the ways arthur would struggle (specifically with language) after he popped out of avalon. then i unintentionally wrote three more
anyway all that to say, i recently polished up the ones just hanging out on my tumblr and compiled them into a series on ao3. if you’re interested, you can find any or all of them here:
fantastic. i love it. i posted this after my wife said it yesterday and as i was doing it i was like "this can't be an original thought. as soon as i hit post someone's going to say 'you stole this from a tweet from 2014' and i'll say 'no, i stole it from my beautiful wife.'"
for @merthurmicrofic ︱"enemy" ︱1190 words ︱also filling @merlinbingo square "arthur's chambers"
a special thanks to @haloud for helping put together this plot bunny
tw: off-screen attempted sexual assault
It was with no small amount of satisfaction that Arthur returned from Whitespire two days earlier than expected. The assignment to check on Camelot's northernmost outpost mid-January had been a punishment in all but name, and Arthur was happy to have it over with. All for daring to suggest during a council meeting that if Camelot's knights raided their subjects' homes searching for evidence of sorcery and found none, perhaps they could compensate the damage to property and means of livelihood. Mouths were fed with spinning wheels and yokes, after all. And when Arthur had dared argue the point instead of silencing at the first sign of his father's displeasure, well. He was shortly ordered thereafter to ride out to Whitespire, and anyone he took along would be punished as if they had directly defied the king.
But now that was past him and Arthur sighed with exhaustion as he entered his chambers, not caring that he tracked sleet inside. His cloak was soaked, his fingers numb from the winter storm that raged outside. Just short of a blizzard, but not by much.
A sharp bang made Arthur jump, and he turned to see Merlin burst into his chambers and close the door quickly behind him. Excellent, this saved Arthur the trouble of finding him. Merlin made the best fires, with the kind of warmth that filled the entire room, and if Arthur was lucky he could convince Merlin to indulge with him in a different kind of warmth as well. "Perfect timing Merlin, I'm freezing—"
Merlin startled like a frightened rabbit. He spun and pressed himself against the door, fingers splayed flat against the wood. His lips parted, but no sound came out save breathless pants.
Arthur took him in. His tunic was wrinkled, torn along the neckline, and the scrap of fabric Merlin called a neckerchief was conspicuously absent. On that pale neck Arthur saw a mark of familiar red, for he knew all too well the way Merlin's skin quickly turned pink when laved at with lips and teeth. But the most damning evidence was the way Merlin's wide eyes trembled with a fear Arthur had never seen him bear before.
His blood turned as cold as the howling winds outside.
"What happened." There was no sound save for Merlin's shallow breathing. "Merlin, what happened? Who did this?"
Still no response. Arthur's hands shook, his heart pounding as if in the midst of battle. He took two quick steps forward, and then saw Merlin's eyes squeeze shut as he tried to flatten himself against the door behind him.
Arthur went perfectly, utterly, still. "Okay, just— just come here and sit down. Please." He prayed Merlin heard it was a plea, not an order.
But then Merlin's eyes opened, and while he still said nothing, he obeyed. Arthur fought the urge to pull the chair out for Merlin, instead holding himself with a white-knuckled restraint to remain in place. Merlin folded his arms over his chest, and Arthur's chest ached to see how he was trembling. "Didn't— didn't think you were back yet," Merlin whispered.
"Rode through the night to beat the storm." Arthur was desperate to keep him talking, for some hint of direction. "Merlin, I—"
Now it was his turn to close his eyes, shuddering. He could no more calm himself than could a dog once it caught the scent of its hunt. "You— you don't have to say anything, alright? I'll— I'll go deal with this." He would have his answers, one way or another. He would turn the castle upside down until he learned who had— who had laid their hands— who had violated—
It didn't matter. Arthur would solve it. And then he would either cast them out for the storm to take them, or he would throw down his gauntlet and duel as was his right. It was fortunate he hadn't even removed his armor and sword yet, so this could be dealt with all the quicker.
But when he took a step towards the door Merlin lunged at him, grabbing onto his arm. "Arthur, no, stop, you can't—"
"Can't?" Arthur sputtered incredulously. "I bloody well can."
Merlin shook his head frantically. "You need to listen, you don't understand—"
"I don't need to understand," Arthur seethed. "I've seen enough. I don't care what you have to tell me or what you've done to think this is justified, I am the Prince, and there is no one in this castle who will not answer to me—"
Arthur's mouth slammed shut. He realized, at the same time Merlin's eyes dropped down, that there was only one person whose authority superseded Arthur's. A person who would be bold enough to allow or even encourage the abuse of a servant, even when Camelot law prohibited it. A person who could breathe new law for any infraction that displeased him.
He was so foolish to not foresee this. So prideful to think his father's attention would be focused on Arthur's growing confidence and proclivity to challenge, and not the man that had grown steadily closer to his side. Had dumbly relied on Uther's practice of turning a blind eye to whomever Arthur chose to bed as long as it resulted in no bastards or undue favor. Had lied to himself, calling it mutual convenient pleasure, and nothing more.
Arthur had tasted that lie until he could swallow it no longer, and had resolved to do something about it before he was unexpectedly dispatched to Whitespire. And here lay the price of his folly.
He let out a slow, even breath. "Alright. Alright, Merlin. Just stay here, and catch your breath. I'll be back."
"No—"
"He will want to know I've returned," Arthur said, keeping his voice as steady as he could manage. He slowly put his hand over Merlin's where it clutched at his arm, and squeezed gently when he saw Merlin did not pull away. "I will inform him that I've completed the assignment without incident. That is all. Go ahead and make a fire, and I'll return with some food and water." He pried Merlin's fingers from his arm, soft, holding onto them like he would to help a lady off of her horse. "Bar the door behind me. When I return, I'll give three knocks, so you'll know it's me."
Arthur waited for further protest, but after a strained pause Merlin nodded. His trembling had subsided. Arthur dropped his hand. And then, finding he regretted it, leaned in to press his lips to Merlin's forehead, cradling the back of his head as he did so.
He had never touched Merlin like this outside the cover of arousal, but found it a sweet taste he immediately craved. Arthur pulled back regretfully. "I'll be back," he echoed, hoping Merlin could hear the promise in his words.
Then he turned away before he could grow any more heartsick. His armor was still cold from the winter storm, sword still dutifully sheathed by his side.
Uther Pendragon did not know what it meant to be his son's enemy, but in the coming months, he would learn.
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