I've recently started writing Merlin content, Merthur specifically. I'm new to the fandom (I'm still surprised it's still alive!), so I hope my content is of your liking.
My merthur stories in tumblr:
Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU (All parts and related posts)
Merlin as Arthur's familiar/Arthur's shapeshifter falcon AU (All parts and related posts)
Merlin arrives with a baby in Camelot AU (All parts and related posts)
My merthur stories in AO3:
Leaves Fall, Blood Flows: based on my Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU. Related posts: #Leave Falls Blood Flows.
The Dragonlord's son series: Canon divergence/magic reveal of "The last dragonlord" episode where Kilgharrah kidnaps Merlin after Arthur discovers him doing magic and it spirals from there. Related posts: #The Dragonlord's son series
̶I̶ ̶L̶o̶v̶e̶ ̶Y̶o̶u̶ I Hate You! : transcription of my Morgana takes Merlin instead of Gwen to the Dark Tower AU. Related posts: #̶I̶ ̶L̶o̶v̶e̶ ̶Y̶o̶u̶ I Hate You! COMPLETE ✅️
Merlin, Enchanted (co written with @tansyuduri ): A more darker turn of "A Servant of Two Masters", based on this prompt/ask COMPLETE ✅️
Recover By My Side (co written with @tansyuduri ): based on my prompt Arthur thinks Merlin was raped (but he wasn't). COMPLETE ✅️
From the Grave to the Cradle: Time travel AU where Merlin from 1500 years in the future kidnaps baby Arthur and gives him to a married couple in Ealdor for them to raise as their own. Related posts: #From the Grave to the Cradle CURRENTLY ON PAUSE! ⏸️
Hi, I'm just stopping by to say that you were one of my favorite accounts about Merlin BBC. But suddenly you started writing about a Merlin who was too weak, with damsel-in-distress attitudes, and an Arthur who was always obsessed, didn't care about the laws, was jealous, and possessive, and it's not bad, but suddenly in all your stories it's the same thing: Merlin being courted in front of the whole court, a shameless Arthur, etc.
I definitely can't keep reading your stories. You have amazing ideas, you're very creative, but you always end up with the same cliché, like Merlin acting so out of character, leaving aside all his personality and power, and an Arthur who doesn't even remotely resemble himself. Which is a real shame, because you have some incredible storylines that little by little... They lose their luster because of how you write and develop the characters.
Hi! First of all, thank you for taking the time to write such a thoughtful comment. I genuinely appreciate constructive criticism, and I honestly hadn't realized I was falling into some of the same tropes across multiple stories. It's definitely something I'll keep in mind going forward. That said, I also wanted to explain why some of those patterns exist, because in the context of those particular AUs they weren't meant to be arbitrary.
The Arthurs you're describing are mostly from my Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU and my Morgana takes Merlin instead of Gwen to the Dark Tower AU. In the first AU, Arthur has already lived through losing Merlin. Merlin was turned into a tree, Arthur spent an entire decade grieving him, and then he traveled back in time to the beginning of their story in a desperate attempt to prevent that future. His possessiveness, jealousy, and obsessive behavior aren't intended to be presented as healthy or romantic in themselves. They're trauma responses born from the overwhelming fear of losing Merlin all over again. In the second AU, the only moment I'd really classify as toxic comes after Enchanted Merlin frames Arthur for murdering another king, effectively starting a war. At that point, the entire situation has already spiraled completely out of control. Arthur chains and locks Merlin in a tower because he's terrified Merlin will escape again before he can bring him to the Cauldron of Arianrhod to break the enchantment. It's a desperate decision made under extraordinary circumstances, not something I intended to portray as acceptable behavior under normal circumstances.
As for Merlin, I do recognize that I often end up putting him in danger. That's probably the recurring trope I'm most guilty of. My reasoning has always been that Arthur only ever begins to realise his feelings for Merlin when faced with the possibility of losing him, so many of my stories revolve around that idea. As a result, Merlin gets kidnapped by a dragon, taken by Morgana, cursed by the Sidhe into becoming a tree, chained in cold iron, suffers a rockfall that leaves him with short-term memory loss, etc. My intention has never been to make Merlin weak. He's still immensely powerful in those stories. It's just that the antagonists or forces capable of defeating or restraining him are also exceptionally powerful. Regarding his personality, I'm actually not entirely sure which aspects felt out of character to you. That's the part of your comment I'd be most interested in hearing more about, because I genuinely believed I was staying true to who Merlin is. If you're referring to the moments where he's shyer, blushes, or becomes flustered once he and Arthur are actually together, I always saw that as a fairly natural side of someone entering a romantic relationship for the first time rather than a departure from his character.
In any case, I do understand the broader point you're making. Even if each story has its own in-universe reasons, if a reader notices the same dynamics appearing repeatedly across different AUs, then it can certainly start to feel repetitive. That's valuable feedback, and it's something I'll reflect on in future stories. Thank you again for being honest, and thank you for reading my work for so long. Even if my current writing isn't for you anymore, I'm grateful you gave my stories a chance and that you cared enough to tell me why you've drifted away.
Morgana takes Merlin instead of Gwen to the Dark Tower AU
Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5 , Part 6 , Part 7 , Part 8 , Part 9 , Part 10 , Part 11 , Part 12 , Part 13 , Part 14, Part 15 , Part 16 , Part 17 , Part 18 , Part 19 , Part 20, FINAL PART (You're here)
In the Castle. The Throne Room.
Nobles, knights, and courtiers fill the place, their murmurs echoing off the walls. Morgana stands in chains before the throne, her dress torn and bloodied, her hair wild, her eyes burning with a defiance that even imprisonment cannot extinguish.
Arthur sits on the throne, appearing strong and resolute. Only Merlin, standing at his side, sees beneath the act. The conflict in Arthur's eyes that matches his own. He knows Gwen, gathered among the nobles of the court, is no better. Her hands are clasped tightly before her, her face pale, her jaw set. But they mask it the best they can.
Here, before the court, Morgana cannot be Arthur's sister or Gwen and Merlin's former friend. She is a criminal who must answer for her crimes.
As expected, there are protests when Arthur condemns Morgana to perpetual imprisonment instead of execution.
Lord X: Sire, this is unprecedented! (Gestures at Morgana) She has committed treason, murder, acts of war! By the law, she should die!
Arthur: (his voice calm and measured) And she will die. Slowly and in isolation. With nothing but the weight of her crimes to keep her company. Is that not a fate more fitting than a quick death?
Lord Y: Your Majesty, with all due respect, to spare the life of one who has done so much harm sets a dangerous precedent.
Arthur: (his voice sharp) Nobody questioned my father when he decided to keep the last dragon as a trophy. A literal giant creature that could—and did—cause great destruction once it escaped. (Turns his gaze to Morgana, his expression unreadable) Our enemy is nothing without her magic. Even if she managed to escape, she no longer represents a threat.
He hates himself as he says those words. As if he considered Morgana an object rather than a person. As if he were reducing her to a trophy. But it is better the court considers him ruthless rather than incapable.
His statement has the intended effect. No more protests arise.
Arthur: (gestures to the guards, his voice final) Take her away.
Guards: (grab her arms)
Morgana: (as she is dragged away, struggling violently) You monster! You can't even give me the dignity of a quick death! You're just like your father after all! Parading your enemies like trophies! (Jerks against the guards, her voice cracking with rage) I hope you remember this day! That you could have ended me, but you were too weak to do so! (Her voice rises to a scream) A king that couldn't do what must be done! You think you can just lock me away and forget about me?! I will haunt your dreams! I will poison every happy moment you ever have! You'll never be rid of me!
The guards drag her through the great doors and her screams fade as she is pulled down the corridor toward the dungeons, until only silence remains. Merlin places a hand on Arthur’s shoulder and the king’s tight grip on the armrests of the throne loosens.
The trial is over.
Time skip. In the Main Courtyard. Day.
A pyre stands at the center of the place, Mordred’s funeral pyre. It’s stacked high with wood and draped with a Camelot cape, its red fabric stirring in the breeze. Arthur stands before the pyre, the Knights of the Round Table forming a semicircle behind him—Gwaine, Percival, Leon, Elyan, and others, their faces etched with grief. Gwen stands among them, her hand pressed to her chest. Merlin stands at Arthur's side, his eyes fixed on the flames.
Mordred's body is not there. Arthur had wanted it to be. But Merlin had reminded him that a pyre was the fate people like Mordred had spent his whole life running from. Arthur would not let it be his fate in death. So instead, Mordred's remains rest in a druid grave, buried next to Kara's, as they know he would have wanted.
But he also deserved to be honored as a knight. That is what the symbolic pyre is for.
Arthur: (his voice is steady, but there is a tremor beneath it) He was so young. And yet he achieved more than many who live twice as long.
Merlin: (his voice is thick with tears) I spent years fearing what he would do. (Swallows hard) Lost so much time hating him for being prophesied as your doom. (His voice cracks) And he turned out to be your savior.
Tears fall down his face as he watches the pyre. Mordred's corpse being there or not makes no difference. The grief is strong, the loss too profound. The sword begins to steam in the flames, the leather of the grip blackening, the steel glowing red.
The knights look on, heartbroken. They are mourning the friend they always welcomed. Merlin is mourning the boy he let in too late.
Merlin: (barely a whisper.) Thank you. (Closes his eyes) And I'm sorry.
Suddenly, a shadow passes over them.
A high cry rings out, echoing off the stone walls. They look up.
Aithusa bursts through the clouds
She circles the place, her wings beating frantically, spitting fire into the air. The passersby run away, screaming. The knights go on guard, hands flying to their swords—Elyan especially, who puts himself in front of his sister. But before Aithusa can do any damage, Merlin steps forward.
Merlin: (shouts) Nun de ge dei s'eikein kai emois epe'essin hepesthai!
Aithusa lands, her claws scraping against the cobblestones. She lets out a pained sound, similar to a cry, her head swinging back and forth as if searching for something.
Arthur: (to the knights who were already preparing to attack) It's okay. (Holds up a hand) She is tame.
Merlin crosses to Aithusa immediately, his hands gentle as he strokes her snout. Aithusa leans into his touch, but her distress is palpable. She lets out another cry.
He knows instantly what has her so upset. She is looking for Morgana.
Merlin: (quietly, his voice soothing) Shh. I know. I know. I’m sorry.
Gwaine: (approaches) I'm surprised Morgana didn't use her in Camlann. A fire-breathing beast like that would have given her a great advantage.
Merlin: (his hand resting on Aithusa's snout, his voice careful) Morgana knew I was a dragonlord and that I could have easily stopped Aithusa or even used her against her. It wouldn't have been wise.
The young warlock hates to recognize how strategic Morgana has been.
She didn’t merely take Mordred as a last resort. Aware that Merlin had made use of the Great Dragon against Amata, Morgana chose Camlann—a plain in the narrowest pass of the White Mountains—as the site of battle. Kilgharrah would have been at a disadvantage there. His massive wings would have been hindered by the steep cliffs and narrow passages, and it would have been difficult for him to distinguish which forces belonged to which side.
He also hates to know that Morgana's decision not to bring Aithusa to battle wasn't purely strategic.
Yes, he could have used his dragonlord powers with Aithusa. He doesn't doubt Morgana feared that. But not because she feared a weapon could be used against her. It was because Aithusa is dear to Morgana, just as Morgana is dear to Aithusa. Actually, it surprises Merlin that Aithusa hadn't come looking for Morgana sooner. Maybe Morgana herself somehow restrained her, fearing what would happen to Aithusa if she were to suddenly appear during the war, not wanting to risk Merlin taking Aithusa from her by any chance.
Merlin hates it. Hates knowing that, even at her most desperate, Morgana had been calculating. Hates knowing Morgana hasn't entirely lost her ability to love. Hates knowing in general. Because he gained all that information literally against his will.
Aithusa nuzzles against Merlin's chest, her whimper low and sad. Merlin wraps his arms around her neck, his eyes closing briefly.
Merlin: (his voice is thick with unshed tears) She doesn't understand. (Presses his face into Aithusa's scales) She doesn't understand why Morgana is gone.
And how could he make her understand? Aithusa is too young to comprehend all the evil Morgana has done. To her, Morgana is not Camelot's greatest enemy. To her, Morgana is just the person who was there for her during the peril she suffered under Sarrum. Her friend. Her caregiver. The one who saved her. The one who was there when he wasn't.
Arthur: (approaches, his hand finding Merlin's shoulder) I can see to have a place made for her. Here in the castle grounds. Somewhere safe.
Merlin: (shakes his head) There's no need. (Gives Arthur a small smile) The nearest cave in the woods will suffice. But thank you. (Looks back at Aithusa, his hand still stroking her snout) I'll get her a good cave. And visit her frequently. But I don't know if that will be enough to… (Thinking) to replace Morgana.
Arthur: (takes Merlin's hand, squeezing it gently) We'll find a way to help her.
Merlin looks at him, his king and his love, but also the man who has lost so much to magic—evil sorcerers, creatures like Aithusa—and still finds it in his heart to offer her a place to stay or any form of comfort. He nods, a tear slipping down his cheek.
Aithusa lets out another low whimper, and Merlin turns back to her, his arms wrapping around her neck once more.
The pyre burns on, its flames reaching toward the sky. Somewhere beyond the veil, a young druid and knight is reunited with the girl he loves. And in the courtyard, the living continue to mourn and to heal.
Time skip.
Aithusa doesn't get better.
She keeps crying for Morgana, her mournful calls echoing through the woods. The white dragon paces restlessly in her cave, her wings beating against the stone, her claws scraping deep grooves into the floor. Merlin visits her daily, bringing meat, speaking softly in the dragon tongue, trying to soothe her with his presence and his magic.
But Aithusa doesn't want Merlin. She wants Morgana.
Morgana, meanwhile, fares little better. Imprisonment only sharpens her fury. If she is not taking every opportunity to hurl insults at every guard who passes her cell, or to spit in their faces, she is plotting ways to escape. She searches relentlessly for weaknesses in the dungeon, probing every lock, every routine, every careless movement. Every failed escape attempt only makes her more determined.
The guards grow increasingly wary and exhausted, just as their reports become more alarming, highlighting that Morgana is more violent and unpredictable each day. Arthur grows no less weary reading them. Neither does Merlin. So, inevitably, they start arguing.
In the Royal Chambers.
Merlin: (his voice is sharp, his frustration bleeding through) I told you a normal cell wouldn't hold her forever. (Paces the room, his hands gesturing) She'll end up hurting someone!
Arthur: (tired and defensive) And what will you have me do? Chain her to a wall? Punish her every time she has a tantrum?
Merlin: (stops pacing, facing Arthur) Just move her to the East Tower. She'd have far less direct contact with the guards. Food could be passed through a small hatch. It would be safer for everyone—
Arthur: So you want to reduce her human contact to nothing? How does this make me any different from… (Can't finish the sentence)
Merlin: (his expression softens, he crosses and places a hand on Arthur's arm) You are not Sarrum. He did more than just isolate her. You are not cruel for being cautious, Arthur.
Arthur: (still doubtful, his jaw tight)
Merlin: (sighs, his hand dropping) But if you still think it's too extreme… I thought of something else.
Arthur: Which is?
Merlin: What if we let her see Aithusa?
Arthur: (confused, frowning) How would that work?
Merlin: We can't deny Morgana loves her. It could be a good incentive. We let her see Aithusa once every two weeks and Morgana might… behave if she knows she'll lose the visits if she doesn't.
Arthur: (stares at him) You want to use a dragon as leverage.
Merlin: I know. I hate the idea. But it might work. Besides… (His eyes drift toward the window overlooking the forest) I hate to keep seeing Aithusa so sad. It might help her too.
It is a dangerous gamble, and Arthur knows it. But he also knows how worried about Aithusa Merlin has been. And perhaps… Perhaps giving Morgana something to look forward to will succeed where chains have failed.
Arthur: (a long pause. Then he sighs, his shoulders slumping) Alright.
Time skip.
For two months, it seems to work.
Morgana behaves perfectly. She no longer attacks the guards and stops screaming. Instead, she waits patiently and eagerly for the days when the guards bring her to the large special chamber where she knows Aithusa will be.
The reunions are nothing short of heartwarming. Every time, Morgana falls to her knees, tears streaming down her face, as Aithusa barrels into her. The dragon wraps herself around Morgana, her wings folding around them both, her keening cry a sound of pure joy. Morgana gives a watery laugh and presses her forehead to Aithusa's snout.
Morgana stops being difficult. Aithusa is happy.
Arthur finds himself wondering whether they have finally found a fragile sort of peace.
Then Morgana attempts to escape again.
It happens during one of the visits. Sir Justus enters Morgana's cell for a routine inspection, and she manages to injure him gravely with a weapon she made out of Aithusa's scales—a jagged, sharpened shard, made in secret over weeks of careful work. She stabs him and runs. But the guards catch her at the dungeon entrance. She manages to cut a couple of guards superficially before they disarm her and drag her back, kicking and screaming.
In the Royal Chambers.
Merlin: (enters) Sir Justus is recovering. It was a close call.
Arthur: (sitting on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands) …
Merlin: (steps closer) It's not your fault.
Arthur: You told me this would happen.
Merlin: Yes, and I also gave you the idea to let her see Aithusa. If anyone bears responsibility, it's me.
Arthur: (looks up, eyes tired) It was your idea, but it was my decision. I'm the one that gave her access to her. I practically handed her the scales.
Merlin: (crosses to him, leans down and wraps his arms around Arthur) You are being too hard on yourself as always. (Rests his chin on Arthur's shoulder) You wanted to show her kindness despite everything. That's not a weakness, Arthur. (Pulls away just enough to cradle his face in both hands) But sometimes… people just don't deserve it.
Arthur: …
Merlin: (quietly) What will you do now?
Arthur: (silent for a long moment. Then he straightens, his jaw setting with resolve) I'll move her to the East Tower.
Time skip. In the East Tower.
Morgana doesn't expect to find Merlin among the escorts that move her to her new prison. Not that she doubts Merlin wouldn't miss a chance to revel in her misery. But she knows Arthur doesn't want her anywhere near his precious servant. He surely fought Merlin over this, but in the end, he let him do as he pleased. That's how weak his authority is. He is nothing but a puppet that dances whenever Emrys pulls the strings.
Morgana taunts Merlin all the way up the stairs, wielding her words like a sword, wanting to tear him apart. Her voice is the only weapon she has left to inflict pain. But Merlin remains silent, a few feet in front of her, his back to her, not giving her the satisfaction.
It is not until they arrive at the tower room that Merlin turns. His face is expressionless as his eyes land on her. He holds her gaze for a moment and then his gaze quickly changes to the guards seizing her.
Merlin: (his voice flat) I'll take her inside myself. You can stay outside.
Morgana notices the guards are hesitant. They exchange glances, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of leaving the king's servant alone with the former High Priestess. But in the end, they step back, letting Merlin move her alone inside.
Morgana: (huffs as she is dragged forward) Already giving the king's newest bedwarmer special privileges?
Merlin does not respond. He guides her inside the cold, circular spacious area. There's a single barred window, and a narrow bed. The guards close the heavy iron door behind them.
Merlin: That's your bed. (Points to a sluice in the door) You will receive your meals through here. (Gestures to a simple pot in the corner) And you can do your… necessities there. It's enchanted. It will clean itself—
Morgana: Are you giving me a tour? Shall I be grateful for your generosity?
Merlin: (his face darkens) Perhaps. It's more than you gave me in the Dark Tower.
Morgana: (laughs) So that's what this is. You boasting the irrefutable proof that you're a better person than me. (Her voice rises with contempt) This shitty benevolence you and Arthur perform makes me sick.
Merlin: (moves to the window) You know, this was where Arthur locked me in when I was enchanted.
Morgana: (remembering, incredulous) The too easy to escape room?
Merlin: The first time, yes. It was a room fit for nobility. (His voice softens) He wanted me to be comfortable.
Morgana: (sarcastic) How touching.
Merlin: By the time he caught me again, he had already rebuilt it. He added the bars, strengthened the door, and emptied the room, leaving only the bare minimum. All just to prevent me from escaping again. "I am a slow learner, Merlin. But I do learn." That's what he told me. I added very little changes, really—
Morgana: Will you get to the point before I’m moved to tears by your wonderful story?
Merlin: (moves away from the window) Do you regret it?
Morgana: (scoffs) Everything I did, I would do it again—
Merlin: (his voice sharper) I'm not talking about everything. (Steps closer, his eyes boring into hers) I'm talking about what you did to me.
Morgana: …
Merlin: (his voice drops, raw and vulnerable) Is there any part of your rotted soul that actually feels remorse for magically enslaving me? Just a little? Maybe a remnant of the old Morgana? Something close to the humanity you may have left. I need to know.
Morgana is struck for a moment. Does she regret enchanting Merlin? Yes. Not because it was wrong. She abandoned morality long ago. But she regrets falling for the illusion it gave her. How it made her feel loved and cared for. How it weakened her enough to make her care and love Merlin in return. How it destroyed her after.
But she won't give Merlin the pleasure of knowing that. He has already humiliated her enough.
Morgana: (full of spite) You killed every last bit of it.
The young warlock closes his eyes, just briefly, and then opens them again. There is no disappointment, only certainty. As though her answer merely confirmed what he already knew.
Merlin: Thank you. (Turns toward the door) You just made this easier.
Morgana: Locking me in here?
Merlin: Yes. (Stops in front of the door, giving Morgana his back) Oh, I forgot to tell you. There's another enchantment I added. Besides the pot thing.
Morgana: (mockingly) Oh, did you add a magic bathtub too? You shouldn't have bothered.
Merlin: No. The room… (glances at her over his shoulder) It's sound proof.
Morgana looks at Merlin in confusion. When she is about to ask, why would she need such a spell, something wet lands on her cheek. She touches it instinctively.
It's dark sap.
Slowly she looks upward. The ceiling above her disappears beneath a tangled mass of hanging mandrake roots. Her blood runs cold.
Merlin: Just as Arthur, I'm a slow learner, Morgana. (Turns his face back to the door) But I do learn.
It sinks in all at once. Why the complete isolation. Why Merlin did that initial comparison with the Dark Tower. What the sound proof spell remark means. He is doing to her what she did to him. But worse. Because it is clear Merlin has no intent to come for her at all.
No, Merlin is leaving her here, ensuring that, no matter how loudly she screams, no one will come. He is leaving her here to rot, with her worst fears. Alone.
For a moment she just stares, startled. Then she breaks down laughing hard, hysterical. It is the kind of laugh someone does because the only other options are crying your eyes out or screaming in helpless rage.
Morgana: Congratulations, Emrys! You've become even crueler than I ever was!
Merlin: (opens the door, stepping through it)
Morgana: (her laughter turns to shouting, her voice rising to a raw, desperate scream) You hear me?! CRUELER THAN ME! I HOPE YOU ARE—
Merlin doesn't get to hear the rest. The door closes. Only silence answers.
The young warlock stands with his back against the door, his eyes closed. His hands are shaking. His chest heaves with breaths he didn't realize he was holding. The sound of Morgana's screams is still echoing in his ears.
Guard Egoit: (concerned) Are you alright?
Merlin: (nods, his eyes still closed. Takes a deep breath, then pushes himself off the door)
Guard Angus: (anxious) The king will kill us if he finds out we let you in there with her alone.
Merlin: (opens his eyes, his face suddenly serious) The king doesn't have to know.
Guard Angus: … Understood.
Merlin: (calm, measured) There's little point in keeping guards stationed here. The room is secure. Ensuring her meals are passed through the hatch should suffice.
Guard Egoit: (frowns) Did the king order that?
Merlin: (a soft smile) Naturally. Though if you'd rather interrupt today's council to verify it personally—
Guard Egoit: (quickly) No. No need.
Merlin: (his smile widens, just slightly) Good day, gentlemen. (Bows, then turns and walks away)
The young warlock walks down the stairs, his hands trembling, his heart pounding, and his eyes tormented by what he has just done. As the confusing feelings for Morgana try to overcome him once more—the ghost of Morgana's fingers running through his hair, the warmth of her hugs, the shared laughter in the stone lair they called home—he reminds himself why it was necessary.
He needs her gone.
Not because she represents a danger. Not for her past crimes. Not even for all the times she almost killed Arthur and how she hurt his friends.
No. It is simply because he cannot live in peace as long as she keeps breathing.
The memories will keep hunting him. The complicated feelings will remain. Her shadow will keep following him in his dreams, in his waking moments, in the quiet spaces between his thoughts. Invading him, as if she still controls his mind, forcing him to carry her everywhere like a parasite under his skin.
He will never be truly free. Not until she is gone.
Merlin was hoping Arthur would kill her. He seemed determined in ending her. When Arthur had his sword pressed against her throat, Merlin had felt a strange, terrible relief. Finally. It will be over. He remembers thinking. She will be gone. I will be free.
But Arthur didn't, in the end. And when Merlin asked why, Arthur confirmed what he already suspected, deep down: Arthur wouldn't kill her. Never will. And for once, Merlin hated the big heart his king possessed.
He swallowed his disappointment, though, and hugged him. It wasn't Arthur's fault. That's just how he is. He knows if he had asked him to do it, Arthur would have, for him. He has proven his love through their peril, and time and time again these past few months. But then Arthur would hate himself for the rest of his life. Merlin couldn't do that to him.
So he decided he had to do the job.
But he couldn't risk Arthur finding out. What would he think of him? For killing his sister only for his own mental stability? Would Arthur forgive him? He doesn't know if his love would go to that extent. And he sure won't risk it.
No, he had to be discreet.
He had to isolate her more. Make sure there were no witnesses. Convincing Arthur to move her to the East Tower wasn't easy. But after the Aithusa visits failed as a method to appease Morgana—as he knew they would—he finally made him agree.
But even that wouldn't be enough. If Morgana were to be suddenly found dead in the East Tower, there would be an investigation.
Therefore, Morgana has to do it herself.
Nobody would investigate a suicide further. It would be tragic, but it would be clean. No questions. No accusations. No one to blame but Morgana herself.
Morgana is a fighter. Has survived and endured far worse than imprisonment. She would never do it, no matter how miserable and humiliating she claims she is now. She will live by the sheer motive of bothering Arthur with her existence.
So he had to make her misery unbearable.
He remembers the Dark Tower. The way time became meaningless, the way the illusions and the voices convinced him he was despised, worthless and unloved. He remembers the fear, the anguish, the loneliness, the desperate need for any human contact, even if it was from the woman who had broken him. If Morgana hadn't appeared as his saviour, as the only person who loved him, the only one he would ever need, he knows he would have given up on life soon after.
So he replicated it. The room that would strip away every last shred of Morgana's will to live.
He reminds himself he didn't do it for revenge. He did it for his freedom. For his peace. For his mental stability.
But perhaps, the latter, he already lost it.
A week later. In the East Tower.
Gaius kneels beside Morgana's body. Arthur keeps his back turned. He cannot make himself look. He already knows the corpse cannot resemble the sister he remembers. The guards only discovered something was wrong when the man delivering her meals noticed the stench seeping beneath the door. By then, decomposition had already begun.
He waits for grief to overwhelm him, but it doesn't. No tears come.
Perhaps he can’t cry because he has been mourning her for years already. After all, the kind-hearted Morgana he knew died long before the prisoner in this tower. Or perhaps, since he doesn't want to associate the image of his beloved sister with the body lying there, his mind refuses to reconcile them altogether.
Behind him, Gaius finishes his examination.
Gaius: (his voice clinical) Cause of death appears to be severe cranial hemorrhaging. It seems she repeatedly struck her head against the wall. (Looks closely) There are also deep scratches across her face, fractures in his hands and several bruises. All self-inflicted. They occurred before the fatal injuries.
The king's mind changes to investigation mode immediately. He doesn’t know if it’s his ability to keep a cool head in hard situations kicking in or if it is merely a defense mechanism taking place. Either way, Arthur's grief immediately retreats behind something far more familiar and manageable: duty.
Arthur: (his voice is steady, though his hands are clasped tightly behind his back) Why would she do that to herself? It's not like her at all.
Gaius: Isolation can break even the strongest minds, Sire.
Arthur: (turns slightly, just enough to glance at Gaius) She endured isolation before. (His voice hardens, just slightly) She never went to these lengths.
Gaius: Perhaps precisely because she had endured it before, she could not endure it again. (Shakes his head slowly) Or the humiliation of being a trophy of war was too much for her pride to bear. But those are only guesses. I can only tell for certain the cause of death, my lord.
Percival: (arrives, his large frame filling the doorway)
Arthur: (orders him, his voice clipped) Help Gaius move the… the corpse.
Percival: Yes, my lord. (Moves forward)
Gaius and Percival cover the body. Neither man speaks. Arthur watches only when Morgana's face disappears beneath the cloth. Then he turns away as they carry her downstairs.
The king begins looking around the room, wanting to clear his mind. The only mattress of the bed is scattered and almost completely torn on the floor, the chamber pot lies overturned in one corner. He spots blood stains on the bars of the window and the walls. He frowns. Something doesn't add up. It is clear she was trying to escape, but this seems very different from her previous escape attempts. It’s like she fought this place.
As Arthur walks, his boot catches something. He bends down and picks it up. It's some sort of root.
No. Mandrake root.
"The ritual used the mandrake root to bring unimaginable terror to the victim."
His heart skips a beat.
Arthur would recognize it anywhere. Since he learned it was used on Merlin and during that period Merlin kept running away from him, he studied it desperately, hoping there was another way to break its hold on Merlin. He spent countless nights in the library, pouring over texts, searching for any alternative. All his research turned out useless, only confirming that the Cauldron of Arianrhod was the only thing powerful enough to break it.
What is this cursed tuber doing here?
Arthur looks at the root in his hands closely. It's small, withered, with some stains of a thick black liquid and bears tiny cuts on its surface. It’s almost as though….
As though it has just been used.
"It seems she repeatedly struck her head against the wall"
“There are also deep scratches across her face, fractures in his hands and several bruises. All self-inflicted.”
"Isolation can break even the strongest minds, Sire."
Arthur quickly looks up in panic, his eyes scanning the ceiling. He remembers Merlin describing the roots hanging from the ceiling inside the Dark Tower. But the ceiling here is empty. Clean. It unsettles him more than it causes him any relief. Because it means the scene was cleaned before he came in. It means the root left behind is a slip-up.
"The rituals of the high priestesses were secret, passed only among their innermost circles."
The last High Priestess was Morgana. There is no one that could have known how to do the ritual, besides her. But her magic was blocked, and even if it wasn't, it is absurd she would do this torment to herself. The Dochraid? No, that creature hated him and made clear her loyalty to Morgana. But it couldn't be anyone else.. Unless…
Unless it was done by someone who suffered it themselves.
“I told you a normal cell wouldn't hold her forever. She'll end up hurting someone!”
“Just move her to the East Tower.”
Moving Morgana here was Merlin's idea. He also insisted on moving her there himself. Something about precaution and needing to close cycles.
Could he… could he really—
Merlin: (at the entrance) Arthur?
The king startles, almost dropping the root, but slips it quickly inside his tunic before turning. His heart pounds against his ribs. He forces his face into neutrality.
Merlin: (frowns, his eyes searching Arthur's face with worry) You were taking too long. (Steps into the room) Are you alright?
Arthur: (forces himself to nod) I… needed a moment. It was not a good sight.
Merlin: (his expression softens with understanding) Gaius told me. (Crosses to Arthur and holds his hand) I'm sorry. I know you still loved her. I did too, despite everything.
The king studies his beloved. Merlin's face is open with concern. His beautiful blue eyes are sincere and loving. His hand is warm and reassuring on Arthur's, grounding him. There is nothing in his expression to suggest he has done anything wrong.
And yet, the root burns against Arthur's chest, hidden in his clothes.
Merlin: Something else is troubling you.
It's not a question. Because Merlin has always known how to read him. He knows him inside out. Just as Arthur knows him… or thought he knew him until just a moment ago.
Merlin: Arthur?
He wants to answer. Wants to ask. Wants to reach into his tunic and pull out the root, to hold it up and—
Arthur: I think… I'm still waiting for it to feel real. I thought I would cry. But I haven't.
Merlin: (squeezes Arthur's hand) Shock does that sometimes. (Smiles) Come. Let's leave this place.
The king lets his manservant lead him out of the room, down the spiral stairs. He looks at Merlin, the man he loves, the man who saved him more times that he can count, the person he not only loves but also trusts with all his heart. But as he does so, the mandrake root presses against his heart with every step.
Time skip. The Training Grounds.
The place is empty, the last of the knights having retired to the castle. The training dummies stand silent in the fading light, their straw bodies pierced with practice swords. Arthur stands in the center of the yard, his sword still in hand, though the training session ended long ago. He watches Egoit and Angus approach, their footsteps tentative, their faces wary. They have been summoned, and neither knight can imagine why the king would call for them at this hour.
Egoit: (stops at a respectful distance) You sent for us, Sire?
Arthur: (his voice is calm, measured, but there is an edge beneath it) You were responsible for the East Tower's security, am I right?
Egoit and Angus: (exchange a glance, then nod) Yes, Sire.
Arthur: (sheathes his sword) I have a few questions regarding Lady Morgana's death. You are not in trouble. I simply wish to clarify the sequence of events.
Egoit and Angus: (straighten instinctively, their hands clasped behind their backs)
Arthur: During your watch… Did either of you hear anything unusual?
Egoit: (frowns) Unusual, Sire?
Arthur: Screaming. Banging. Anything that suggested something was wrong inside the tower.
The knights think for a moment. Then Angus shakes his head.
Angus: No, Sire. Nothing.
Egoit: (nods in agreement) It was unusually quiet, if anything. We had no idea anything had happened until… until the smell.
"Their screams could be heard twenty leagues away."
The king's chest loosens. A breath he didn't realize he was holding escapes him. If no one heard Morgana… perhaps there had been no ritual after all. Perhaps the mandrake root had some other explanation. Perhaps—
But them not hearing anything doesn't make sense either. Morgana destroyed the place. The mattress torn apart. The chamber pot overturned. The scratches and blood stains on the walls and bars. How is it that no one heard anything?
Angus: Though it's not as though we spent much time up there.
Arthur: (his eyes sharpen) What do you mean?
Egoit and Angus: (look puzzled, exchanging another glance)
Egoit: (cautiously) The East Tower wasn't permanently guarded, Sire.
Arthur: (goes perfectly still) It wasn't?
Angus: Your servant informed us that you had changed the orders.
Arthur: (his voice flat) … My servant?
Angus: Merlin, Sire. He told us the tower was secure enough that guards were unnecessary.
Arthur: …
Egoit: (hesitant) That's… that's what you ordered, wasn't it?
Arthur: (forces a smile) Yes. Of course. I'd forgotten. (Turns away) My apologies. That will be all.
Egoit and Angus: (bow) Yes, Sire. (Leave)
The king stands alone in the training yard for a moment more, before retiring to the castle.
Time skip. In the Royal Chambers.
The king sits on the edge of his bed, the mandrake root resting in his palm. He turns it over and over between his fingers, staring at its shriveled shape without truly seeing it. He sees Morgana instead, alone in that tower room, screaming, living her last moments in the worst kind of agony, surrounded by her worst nightmares.
Arthur closes his hand around the root. He thinks of Merlin. Merlin, who insisted she be moved to the East Tower. Merlin, who insisted on escorting her himself. Merlin, who dismissed the guards. Merlin, who lied about an order Arthur never gave.
One coincidence could be dismissed. Four could not.
Arthur closes his hand around the root. He remembers Merlin in the East Tower after Morgana's death. The concern. The warmth. The way he took Arthur's hand and led him away, as if nothing were wrong. Nothing about it felt false. It's true, Merlin in the past has managed to lie to him easily. About his magic. About countless secrets. But after everything had come to light, Arthur slowly learned to recognize the tiny shifts in Merlin's face whenever something wasn't right. And he didn't see them there.
However, now that he recalls it, there was something in the way Merlin spoke to him in that moment too. He can't tell exactly what, because it still felt familiar. Yet, something in Merlin's voice—maybe in the tone, or maybe in the way he delivered the words—sounded slightly off.
He shakes his head. Why is he searching Merlin's mannerisms for answers? He has evidence. The mandrake root. The root that was used to torture Morgana. The root that drove her to madness. The root that killed her.
Arthur closes his eyes, and for a moment he sees Morgana as she was when she arrived at Camelot—young, fierce, full of laughter. Then he sees her in the East Tower as Gaius described: with scratches on her face, fractures in her hands, her skull cracked open against the stone.
Morgana was his sister. She was cruel, she was broken, she was beyond saving, but she was still his sister. And Merlin—
No. It doesn't make sense.
Merlin had told him not killing Morgana was alright. He had comforted him when he couldn't bring himself to kill her in Camlann, and then stood by him in that decision. Why do that and then go ahead and kill her behind his back? And in such a horrible manner?
Vengeance? Retribution? Merlin is not like that… is he?
Arthur pictures Merlin's hands—the ones that wiped away his tears, the ones that held him through grief—and tries to imagine them preparing the Teine Diaga, a ritual of torment on another human being.
And he can't. He just can't.
But the root is real. The evidence is real. And Merlin was the only one who could have done this.
Suddenly, Arthur hears the door opening. He hides the mandrake root in his clothes quickly.
Merlin: (enters, his face tired) I gave Gwen the news. (Crosses to the center of the room) I thought it would be better if she heard it from me.
Arthur: (his voice is careful, measured) How was she?
Merlin: (sighs) Holding together. (A pause) She asked whether Morgana would have a funeral. Even if only a small private one.
Arthur: What did you tell her?
Merlin: I told her that's up to you.
Arthur: (a long pause) Would you want there to be one?
Merlin: (frowns, confused) Why wouldn't I?
Arthur: After everything she did to you…
Merlin: (walks closer) Well, it's like you said. The Morgana who was my friend and the Morgana who hurt me wear the same face. (His voice softens) Gwen wants to say goodbye to the friend she lost. You miss your sister.
Arthur: And you? Do you miss her?
Merlin: (a long pause. His eyes drop to the floor) Yes… But it's complicated. (Looks up, his eyes glistening) Because… (His voice breaks) Can I be honest with you?
Arthur: (his heart aches) Of course. (Thinking) Will he confess?
Merlin: (tears fall) You miss the Morgana she used to be. The one that was good. (Wipes his eyes) Just as Gwen does. And probably as anyone who was ever close to her and knew her like that does. (His voice cracks) I do too. Of course I do but… (Shakes his head.) Is not the only one I miss.
Arthur: (frowns, confused) What do you mean?
Merlin: I also miss the Morgana she became. (Breaks down, sobs wracking his body) The Morgana that tormented us. The one who enchanted me. Because she made me believe she was my friend too.
Arthur: (pushing down any remaining suspicion, rises from the bed and crosses to Merlin, pulling him into his arms) Shh. It's alright
Merlin: (clings to Arthur) It isn't! (His voice cracks) And I hate it! (Sobs against Arthur's shoulder) I hate that my heart still holds love for that version of her.
The king holds his beloved tighter, stroking his hair, but says nothing. There are no words capable of easing that wound.
Merlin: I miss her. (Pulls back just enough to look at Arthur, his face streaked with tears) And I hate that I miss her. It's all so confusing, and infuriating. (His voice drops) That's why in a way… I'm glad she is gone.
Arthur: (stills)
Merlin: (notices the tension and pulls back, filled with guilt) I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. She was your sister. And here I am talking about— (Stops as his hand is pressed against Arthur's chest and feels a lump beneath Arthur's tunic) What is this?
Arthur: (shouts, pulling away) DON'T TOUCH IT!
The king doesn't know what came over him. His panic just raised at the idea of Merlin touching the mandrake root. Which is absurd. First, because according to the research he made, mandrake root has a specific way to be used to work. Second, because if his suspicion is correct, Merlin had already manipulated the fucking root. Yet every instinct in Arthur has screamed the same thing: Keep it away from him. As though merely touching it could corrupt his Merlin all over again.
He tries to think of something to justify his outburst. But nothing comes. Merlin keeps looking at him, confusion still plain on his face. Then it slowly fades and something else replaces it. Recognition. Horror.
Arthur feels his stomach drop. He knows. Merlin knows he found something.
Arthur: Merlin…
The young warlock blinks. Then, unexpectedly, he smiles brightly. Almost playfully.
Merlin: (lightly) Oh, is it a surprise? One of your secret gifts?
Arthur stares at him, his mind racing. He has hidden little presents for Merlin inside his tunic before, yes. Details during their courting phase. Small tokens of affection like a carved wooden figure, a pressed flower, a note folded small. But it doesn't feel like Merlin genuinely believed that is the case.
It feels more like he is trying to give him a way out.
Merlin: (waves a hand) Alright. (Grins) I'll pretend I didn't notice. That way you can still surprise me later.
Arthur just remains stunned. His heart pounds in his chest, the mandrake root burning against his skin.
Merlin: (glances at the window) It's nearly supper. I'll bring us something to eat. (Turns toward the door)
The king watches his beloved go, a war inside him. Part of him wants to let him leave, let the matter die forever. But another part cannot bear unanswered questions.
Arthur: (after a moment, calls out) Merlin.
Merlin: (stops, his hand on the door handle, and turns back, a patient, questioning look on his face) Yes?
It's just then that Arthur realises what had been off with Merlin's voice in the East Tower. That exact same tone. That calmness. He has heard it before. It was the same voice Enchanted Merlin used with him when he was performing. That is the same voice. That is the same exact smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. It’s all there, a measured gentleness carefully displayed to conceal unbearable truths.
The resemblance lasts only an instant. Then it is gone. But a shiver runs through him all the same and Arthur has to force himself to breathe.
Arthur: Tell Gwen… I'll arrange the funeral.
His beloved’s expression softens.This time the smile reaches his eyes.
Merlin: (warmly) She'll be happy to hear that. (Opens the door) I won't be long. (Leaves)
The door closes quietly behind him and Arthur is alone once more. Slowly he removes the mandrake root from beneath his tunic, his hands trembling.
“I'm glad she is gone.”
He walks to the hearth. For a long time he simply stands there. Then he opens his fingers and the root falls into the fire. Arthur watches as the flames consume the cursed thing. The one thing that caused Merlin’s hell and now the only thing tying Merlin to something too terrible to name.
Because if the evidence is gone the act can die with it.
As long as he never glimpses that face, that voice in Merlin again. As long as Merlin never wears that smile. He can live in ignorance.
...
Arthur literally at the end:
In a more serious note, I know this ending turned out to be quite dark and probably wasn't anything as you expected. Again. Please, don't hate me 🙏. They live happily ever after after this, I swear! Traumatized and all, but happy.
Morgana takes Merlin instead of Gwen to the Dark Tower AU
Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5 , Part 6 , Part 7 , Part 8 , Part 9 , Part 10 , Part 11 , Part 12 , Part 13 , Part 14, Part 15 , Part 16 , Part 17 , Part 18 , Part 19 , 20 (You're here), FINAL PART
(A/N: This chapter is LONG. I actually had to split it into two posts, and it's still ridiculously long. It also includes a couple of references to the extra scenes that were added to the AO3 version, so if you're planning on doing a full reread, I'd recommend reading it HERE)
The King’s Castle, Main Square.
Horses stamp and armor clinks as the search party prepares to ride. Arthur is buckling his sword belt. Merlin checks the girth on his mount. The knights secure supplies, their movements brisk and focused.
Suddenly Gwen appears at the foot of the stairs with Elyan.
Merlin and Arthur notice her first as she walks toward them. Gwen is not in her lady's silks, but in a rustic blouse, vest, and worn leather pants. And Elyan is wearing his armor, the one he stopped wearing since the duel with Arthur.
Arthur: (surprised) Guinevere. (Spots his former brother-in-law, even more startled) Elyan. What are you doing here?
Gwen: I'm coming with you.
Elyan: And I'm coming with her. (A dry glance at Arthur) Mostly because I couldn't convince her to stay. (His voice softens, just slightly) And I care about Mordred too.
Arthur: The more knights we have, the better. I'm not opposed to you coming, Elyan, but—
Gwen: You are opposed to me coming.
Merlin: (tries to reason, gentle but firm) There will be battle, Gwen.
Gwen: I'm aware of that.
Arthur: Guinevere, it's not safe for you.
Gwen: Why? Because I'm a lady? (Her voice sharpens) You seem to forget I'm not the queen anymore. (Steps closer) I've gone with you against Morgana before. Why must I stay behind now?
Arthur: (hesitates, then speaks carefully) Because you are more useful here. I don't trust anyone at court with my people the way I trust you.
Gwen: (her eyes narrow) So you're making me what? A temporary regent? (Disbelief creeps into her tone) Is that what this whole "keeping my noble status" was about? To make me still deal with the kingdom as if I were still queen? (Her voice rises) Passing all your responsibilities onto me again?
Arthur: (hurt) Guinevere—
Gwen: No! You don't get to do that! (Her voice cracks) You don't get to leave me behind again, wondering if any of you will ever come back!
The courtyard falls silent. The knights exchange glances, uncomfortable, but understanding. They have all seen that pain before and they all know what caused it.
Merlin watches Gwen's face, sees the fear beneath the anger, and his expression softens. He can't begin to fathom what it was like for her. To bear the weight of an entire kingdom on her own while her loved ones kept riding away, risking their lives, while her marriage was falling apart. As much as he wants to keep her safe, she is right. This is not fair to her.
It is too dangerous to bring her, especially given his renewed knowledge of Morgana. But perhaps it is precisely because of what he knows now that they should bring her.
Arthur: (stares directly into Merlin's eyes for a long moment. Then sighs, resigned, and turns to give orders) Leon. You'll act as regent.
Leon: (straightens, surprised but obedient) Of course, Sire. (Bows and heads back inside without hesitation)
Arthur: (to Gwen) You can use his mount.
Gwen: (relaxes) Thank you.
Merlin: (moves to help her up, offering a hand)
Gwen: (takes it, and as she settles into the saddle, a soft laugh escapes her) Or, really, I should thank you.
Merlin: Don't thank me. (Looks up at her, serious) I'd rather you stay. I hate the thought of you getting hurt. But… (His expression shifts) We may actually have a better chance of defeating Morgana with you.
Gwen: (frowns, confused) What are you saying?
Merlin: Living with her for almost two months… taught me things. She's calculating. There are few things that can destabilize her. (A pause) And you are one of those things, Gwen.
Gwen: (her voice flattens, a familiar ache surfacing) Because she hates me.
Being the object of Morgana's contempt is practically a rule now for anyone close to Camelot's crown. But Gwen has never fully understood why it burns so hot when it comes to her. Why her former dearest friend turned so viciously against her, specifically, when she never did anything to Morgana. Nothing that could justify wanting her death and suffering with such passion. The wound of their fractured friendship still aches. She doesn’t believe it will ever stop hurting.
Merlin: She does. But one thing I've learned about hate… is that it can only exist where there was once love.
Gwen: (blinks, startled) What?
Merlin: (turns to his own horse, swinging up) I might be wrong. (His voice thoughtful, almost distant) But I believe I know.
Gwen: (leans forward in the saddle) Know what?
Merlin: (looks back at her, face unreadable) Why she wanted to take you that day.
The young warlock nudges his horse forward, leaving his confused friend staring after him.
Meanwhile, with Mordred.
Mordred lies in the plain of mountains pass, his head still throbbing where he was struck. He feels soft, tender fingers tracing gently across his face and for one disoriented instant, he lets himself sink into the touch.
Then his vision clears. Morgana is above him.
Mordred: (stirs) Are you going to kill me?
Morgana: (sweetly, still stroking his hair) Oh, no. My quarrel is not with you, Mordred. How could it be? We're of a kind, you and I.
Mordred: (pulls himself to his feet and backs away from her) Never.
Morgana: (studies his armor, her smile thin) You wear the uniform well. But we both know what lies beneath. One of Arthur's knights. A sorcerer.
Mordred: He knows what I am. He has accepted me. Everyone has.
Morgana: (laughs softly, pityingly) No. They tolerate you. Arthur and his people are hateful and ignorant toward all things magic. But you are useful, so he keeps you. (Steps closer) You are nothing but a tool, Mordred. A weapon to be aimed and discarded.
Mordred: (sharply) Are you really going to lecture me about using people as tools? You who bewitched a man and made him your slave?
The young druid believes he sees a flicker of something almost like hurt crossing her face. But it happens so fast it might as well be a product of his imagination, because she soon tips her head back and cackles. The chilling sound is charged with the kind of mania and cruelty that belongs to someone with zero remorse for what they've done. It disturbs Mordred deeply, but he does his best to not let it show.
Mordred: You're a hypocrite, Morgana.
Morgana: (her composure snaps back, voice sharp) That traitor pretended to be someone he wasn't. He did nothing while his kind burned. And I'm the hypocrite? At least I was always true to myself. I confronted my enemies face to face. He did it from the shadows. He couldn't even tell you he hated you to your face.
Mordred: Emrys doesn't—
Morgana: Oh, please. You can't tell me you never noticed how much he dislikes you.
The young druid closes his mouth. He did notice. That time Merlin made him trip in the forest as a child, so the knights would catch him is still fresh in his mind. But he had been foolish then, collaborating with Alvarr, a vengeful sorcerer who only welcomed him for his gift. When he and Merlin saw each other again years later, he intended to work for Morgana, following the memory of the kind woman she used to be, rather than sharing her cause. He almost joined her. But then he opened his eyes and joined Arthur's knights instead. He found his path, his real purpose. But he understood that didn't erase his past. He wasn't surprised Merlin wasn't fond of him. It was only recently that he'd earned Merlin's trust.
Mordred: He had his reasons. He trusts me now.
Morgana: (scoffs) Keep telling yourself that.
Mordred: (his voice rises) He does!
Morgana: Let's say it's true. You never wonder why he distrusted you so deeply?
Mordred: Because I wanted to work for you.
Morgana: (shakes her head, slow and deliberate) Wrong. (Steps closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper) It was because of a prophecy.
Mordred: (his eyes widen) A… prophecy?
Meanwhile. In the Forest.
Arthur: (frowns, guiding his horse closer to Merlin) What prophecy?
Merlin: (quietly, his gaze fixed ahead) There's a prophecy that says… Mordred is destined to kill you.
Gwen: That cannot be! Mordred is good. He's loyal to Arthur.
Merlin: (nods) I know. (Looks down, embarrassment coloring his voice) I had my reservations for a while. Longer than I should have. (Meets Arthur's eyes) But he's proved himself. I don't believe he would do it.
Gwaine: Well, we know Morgana doesn't need people to be willing.
Merlin: (accidentally makes his horse stumble, almost falling)
Gwaine: (quickly, guilt flashing across his face) Oh, I didn't mean to say that so lightly. I—
Merlin: (recovers) No, it's alright. (Sighs) I don't think Morgana would resort to that. At least, not right away. She believes the prophecy means Mordred will join her side on his own. She was willing to wait for him to come to her. (A pause) Though she's clearly grown impatient.
Percival: So there's a possibility she might… force him?
Merlin: She is still fond of him. (His voice softens, almost reluctant) She told me that herself. She won't want to hurt him. She'll try to convince him to join her side first. (His jaw hardens) But yes, that fondness might not be enough to save him for long if he keeps refusing.
Arthur moves his horse closer to his Merlin and puts a hand on his shoulder. He knows Merlin doesn't like recalling these memories. The conflicted ones where Morgana made slavery feel like care and friendship. Merlin glances at him and gives him a small, grateful smile.
Merlin: (to Arthur, quietly) I'm fine. (Turns serious again, addressing the group) She might opt to bewitch Mordred, but even the simplest mind control enchantments or spells take time to be cast properly. We have time.
They urge their horses forward and the search party presses deeper into the woods.
Back with Mordred and Morgana.
Mordred: (quietly, almost to himself) Well… that explains a lot of things.
The revelation is a relief rather than a heartbreaking realisation. Now he knows why Merlin was so wary and distrustful of him. If there were a prophecy that said someone would kill the person he loved most, Mordred suspects he would be hateful toward that person too. Knowing the length of what Arthur means to Merlin now, he is surprised he wasn't killed by Merlin on the spot.
Morgana: (sweetly, approaching him) Don't you see? (Cups his face with one hand, her touch almost maternal) We were always meant to work together.
The young druid makes an effort not to flinch or pull away abruptly. He knows how powerful and dangerous Morgana is. He has seen her ruthlessness first-hand. But something about this performative kindness is somehow scarier.
Perhaps because it doesn't feel performative at all.
Morgana: (her voice softens, sounding wounded) I was hurt when you betrayed me. You literally stabbed me in the back. But even then, I couldn't stop caring for you. (Her thumb brushes his cheek) After all, you are young and impressionable. I don't blame you for falling for Arthur's speech. (Her voice hardens, just slightly) But you have to understand. Arthur can speak all he wants about being honorable and accepting magic users into his kingdom, but Uther did so too, in the past. The people of magic will never be truly safe until one of them sits on the throne. Someone who will protect them. Someone like me.
The way she touches him and looks at him reminds Mordred of the past. Of how she used to caress his hair when he was a child, how she looked at him with so much love and compassion. Those same feelings that used to fill her heart once before it turned to stone. But there is also a tint of madness in her eyes. A glint of desperation. As if he were her last hope, her final thread to sanity. Her hair, more matted and mangled than he's ever seen it, does nothing to conceal the wildness beneath her apparently gentle expression. He wonders when she last bothered to care for it. Or for herself at all.
Morgana: (steps back, spreading her arms) So I forgive you. For everything. (Looks at him expectantly, smiling) If you swear loyalty to me, we can work together again. What do you say?
He has to give Morgana credit. Her tender smile and her inviting arms are almost fooling. Not only does she seem to genuinely love him, but she looks vulnerable. Like she might break if he rejects her. But he knows better than to fall for her manipulation. He won't be her tool.
Mordred: My loyalty is to Emrys and to Arthur.
Sure enough, Morgana's features harden, all warmth draining from her face and turning utterly to ice. Mordred shivers despite himself, taking an involuntary step back.
Morgana: You'll come to your senses. I know you will. (Sighs) But I can't wait for you to see reason anymore, Mordred. I'm running out of time. (Her voice drops) So I've taken my measures.
Mordred: (fear flickers across his face) Are you going to enchant me too?
Morgana: (with a sweet chilling tone, smiling) Of course not. I told you. I know you'll see reason eventually. There's no need for such a drastic measure. (Her smile sharpens, turning cruel) However, I have something to make you… collaborative. Or rather someone.
Mordred: (frowns) What?
Morgana: (calling out over her shoulder.) You can come out now, sweetie. (Turns back to Mordred) I'm sure you remember her.
From behind a cluster of rocks and bushes, a figure emerges. A slender girl with chestnut curls and dark blue eyes. An unforgettable face Mordred thought he would only get to see in dreams since they parted ways.
Kara: (quietly, a soft smile lighting her face) I missed you.
Mordred: (his voice cracks in disbelief and longing) … Kara?
Meanhwile, in Morgana's Lair.
The place is cold and hollow. The search party spreads out, footsteps echoing in the place.
Elyan: (sheaths his sword) It's empty.
Gwaine: (emerges from a side passage) Same here.
Merlin: It was to be expected. She knows I know this place. (Glances around, jaw tight) She must have moved long ago.
Gwen: (moves closer to Arthur and whispers, worried) He doesn't look well.
Arthur: (whispers back, his eyes not leaving Merlin) He lived here.
The young warlock picks up a broken hairbrush from the floor, turning it over in his hands. His expression encompasses nostalgia, grief and conflict, before settling into careful neutrality.
Merlin: (thinking, reminding himself) Not real.
Arthur: (approaches him) You can wait outside.
Merlin: (shakes his head, not looking up) If anyone can find a clue of where she could be it's me.
Percival: (emerges from a shadowed corner, holding a few items) I found this. (Hands Arthur a compass and a couple of folded maps) They have some scribbles. Might give us a trace.
Merlin: (takes them from Arthur's hands before Arthur can examine them) No, these were for her previous plan. (Taps the maps) When she allied herself with Amata to invade Camelot. (Holds up the compass) And she… she gifted me this. (His voice tightens) She put a tracker spell on it so I would be able to find her in the woods for our encounters. That's how I was able to find her when I escaped from the East Tower.
Arthur: (a flash of old frustration) I knew I should have searched you more thoughtfully. (Then, hope) But that's perfect! We can find her with this.
Merlin: (shakes his head) A tracker spell needs to be renewed every few weeks. (Tosses the compass aside, frustrated) This hasn't been touched in months and it's broken. (Stares at the discarded compass for a moment, something clicking behind his eyes) A tracker spell… (His gaze snaps to the hairbrush still in his other hand) A trace! (Spins and runs)
Arthur and Gwen: (exchange a glance, then hurry after him)
The young warlock stops in front of a shallow stone basin he knows too well. It has a strange dark water within.
Merlin: Here it is.
Gwen: (peering at the basin, uneasy) What is this?
Arthur: (recognises it from Merlin’s books) A scrying fount. (Looks at Merlin) You know how to scry?
Merlin: Never could master the art. But I've seen Morgana doing it for months. I can try.
Without waiting for permission, Merlin reaches for the dagger at Arthur's belt and pulls it free. Before Arthur can react, he slices his palm.
Arthur: (snatches the dagger back, horrified) What are you doing?!
Merlin: (already turning to the fount, blood welling in his hand) The fount needs the user's blood. (Lets the first drops fall into the dark water) That's how she did it at least.
Arthur: She used your blood?!
Merlin: No. Her blood.
Arthur: This much blood?
Merlin: (glances down at his hand, then back at the fount, sheepish) I may have overdone it.
Arthur: Merlin!
Merlin: Will you stop? (Holds the bleeding hand over the water) I'm trying to scry.
Arthur: (exasperated, drags a hand down his face)
Merlin pulls a few strands of hair from the broken brush—Morgana's hair—and holds them over the fount. More blood drips into the water, mixing with the dark liquid.
Merlin: (closes his eyes in concentration) Diegol cnytte, gewitte me yst. (His eyes snap open, golden and blazing)
The water begins to glow. Soft at first, then brighter, until an image shimmers into view on its surface, clear and sharp.
Gwen: (gasps, her hand flying to her mouth) It's Morgana. And Mordred!
Arthur: (leans closer, trying to read the surroundings) Where is that?
Merlin: (his eyes still glowing, voice distant) Camlann.
Very far away. In The Disir's Cave.
The Three Women: (in unison) 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.
Woman 1: (turns to the others) Will the change in fate be enough to avoid the Catha Prophecy?
Woman 2: (shakes her head) The prophecy was divined hundreds of years before the reign of Arthur Pendragon.
Woman 3: But nothing is truly written in stone.
Woman 1: (nods, solemn) Let us hope it is enough.
Time skip. In Camlann.
The plain stretches wide and grey beneath a heavy sky. Arthur, Merlin, Gwen, and the knights arrive with an army at their backs. Rows of soldiers and banners snapping in the cold wind. Arthur goes to the front, Merlin at his side.
Arthur: (scans the empty pass ahead) She's not here. Maybe she left.
Merlin: (his gaze fixed on some distant point, voice hollow) No… (Swallows) She's here.
A distant sound rises. The rhythmic clank of armor, and the march of footsteps. Over the ridge, Morgana appears, her own Saxon army spreading behind her like a dark tide. She is in the front, her eyes scanning the opposing ranks until they find Merlin. A smile curves her lips.
Morgana: (calls out, fondly) Hello, my dear. It's been long.
Merlin: (tenses)
Arthur: (notices, and shouts, furious) Morgana!
Morgana: (her gaze takes in each of them in turn, still smiling, almost amused) Arthur. Merlin. (Her voice trembles almost imperceptibly on the next name) Gwen. (Quickly turns back to Arthur) What a surprise.
Arthur: Until you finally show yourself. You have no idea how long I've been tracking you.
Morgana: Me too. I would have kept wandering aimlessly… (Her gaze drifts back to Merlin, her smile deepening) if it weren't for him. (Tilts her head) Did you bring your precious king on a silver platter to me because you missed me?
Arthur: Stop talking to him! Your business is with me.
Morgana: It's with all of you. With everyone who ever did us harm.
Arthur: (his voice rises) Us? Are you still going to pretend this war is for nothing but your own gain? That you are not dragging people to die for your own personal revenge? And how dare you speak of harm after what you've done!
Morgana: You mean stealing your little plaything?
Arthur: (his hand flies to his sword, about to move forward)
Merlin: (lifts a hand in front of Arthur, giving him a look)
Morgana: I believe I'm not the one making things personal. Don't you agree, dear?
Arthur: You—
Merlin: Don't. Remember why you are here. (Turns his gaze toward Morgana, voice level) Hello, Morgana.
Surprise flickers across Morgana's face. There is no fury in Merlin's tone. No hatred in his eyes. Instead, there is a mix of profound pain and some sort of… softness. Almost as if he still maintained the old affection her dear—his enchanted version had for her. A feeling like mourning. Perhaps longing.
No. She realizes with burning fury. It's pity. The bastard is pitying her.
Morgana: (forces a mock smirk, though her eyes glitter with rage) Not going to call me ‘my lady’ now?
Merlin: (ignores the taunt, his gaze drifting past her) I don't remember your army being this small. (Looks back at her) You've lost followers. Haven't you?
Morgana: (her smirk tightens)
Merlin: You know why? Because your war is unfounded. People of magic are free in Camelot now. (Gestures to the ranks behind him) We outnumber you by a long shot. That's why you took Mordred. You're desperate.
Morgana: (her composure snaps back into place and smiles, innocently) Mordred?
Arthur: We know you have him. Release him. This doesn't have to end in more bloodshed.
Oh, but how Arthur wants it to end in bloodshed. He wants to make Morgana pay for every ounce of pain she put his beloved through. Every time he recalls what Merlin told him about his captivity in the Dark Tower, remembers Merlin sobbing in his arms after the enchantment was broken in The Cauldron, the state Merlin was in after the market incident, all the nights he had to comfort him after a nightmare, his blood boils, and he is filled with the most vicious rage.
Morgana did not only "steal him" as she states, as if she had merely stolen a toy. No. She tortured him, stripped him of his autonomy and made him think he was utterly unloved and loathed by everyone else who wasn't her. So even while enchanted and believing himself happy by Morgana's side, Merlin kept suffering.
He wants to make her cry a thousand tears of blood for every tear Merlin wept. But he is not Morgana. He won't rush into battle out of his own thirst for vengeance. There is more than just his life at stake here. Beginning with Mordred.
Morgana: I would. But I can't exactly release him when he is here of his own accord. (Calls out over her shoulder) Right, Mordred?
Mordred: (appears from behind her, stepping forward calmly. His face is unreadable) Yes, my Queen.
A collective gasp ripples through Arthur's knights.
Arthur: (his voice cracks with disbelief) What have you done to him?
Mordred: (meets Arthur's eyes steadily) Nothing was done to me. (Steps closer to Morgana's side) I was blind. (His voice hardens) Morgana made me see. Camelot will never be a safe place for us with you on the throne.
Arthur: You don't really believe that.
Mordred: (his eyes narrow) Really? (Takes a step forward) You attacked my druid camp. You led that ambush. (His voice drops) That wasn't Uther's doing, though it was easy to pretend it was. That was you. You saved me, but you also condemned me. (Louder to the ranks behind him) Condemned us all. How am I supposed to trust a king like that?
The king remains silent, though hurt flashes across his face. The way Mordred waves the accusation reminds him of how Merlin, while enchanted, used past events to justify his hatred toward him. The words don't land as hard as Merlin's did, like a blade between his ribs, twisting. But they still wound.
He is more worried than upset, though. Knowing what Merlin endured, he almost wishes Mordred had truly betrayed him of his own volition. Because if not, that means he failed to protect yet another person he cares about.
Morgana: (smiling at Merlin, almost sweetly) It's just as you said, Emrys. Sooner or later, this would happen.
Before, Merlin would have believed it. That Mordred's betrayal was just a matter of time. There would be no doubt that this was the turning point of the prophecy. But now he doesn't think of prophecies or destiny. He thinks of Mordred. How he, even with his motives and voice so convincing, could change sides so quickly. It didn't make sense. Could Morgana have enchanted him already? He lets his magic reach out, scanning for anything off, anything unnatural, but finds nothing.
Morgana: (to Arthur) Anything else left to say, before I put your head on a spike for the crows to feast on your eyes.
Arthur: (bitterly) I used to lie to myself. Telling myself you could still be redeemed somehow. (Shakes his head slowly) But now I know you can't. (His voice turns cold) You're corrupted from within. Not because you are a sorceress. I long since proven I don’t share my father’s beliefs on magic. But because there’s no residue of humanity in you. You are a monster, Morgana. And you chose to be one.
Morgana's smile vanishes. For a heartbeat, Arthur thinks he sees something flickering behind her eyes—hurt, perhaps, or fury—before her expression smooths into icy stillness.
Morgana: Monster you say. (Lifts her chin) We'll see who the histories call monster when this is over. (Lifts her hand, giving a signal to her army)
Arthur: (lifts his sword and shouts) On me!
Camelot's army charge at the Saxons. The Saxons charge back. The battle begins.
A selected group of knights—Elyan leading them—pulls Gwen out of the fray as the rest surge forward. They escort her to a sheltered outcrop overlooking the chaos.
Elyan: That was too dangerous. Why did you go to the front?
Gwen: (her gaze fixed on the distant clash) I needed to see her.
Elyan: (hesitates, then nods) Stay here.
He turns and runs back into the battle, sword already swinging.
Gwen waits a moment, watching him disappear into the press of bodies. Then, slowly, she pulls a small poppet made of straw from beneath her tunic. She stares at it, her thumb brushing its featureless face and the only strand of real hair on it's head.
Gwen: (sighs, clutching it tighter) I hope this works.
Meanwhile, on the battlefield.
Arthur cuts down Saxons with brutal efficiency. He slashes one, flips another over his back, hits a third as he sprints past, cuts a fourth down from behind. Blood sprays across his armor. He doesn't slow.
Beside him, Merlin fights with magic, throwing Saxons back with a flash of gold, blocking attacks aimed at Arthur, sending enemy soldiers crumpling to the ground with a flick of his fingers.
It's the first time Arthur has truly watched Merlin use magic in combat. He always knew Merlin was powerful, but seeing it now—the ease, the precision, the full force—is something else entirely. If he weren't so focused on bringing Morgana down, he knows he'd be mesmerized. Merlin looks more in his element than ever, sure and fierce.
But Arthur is. Not just focused, but determined. He is done with the memory of the Morgana he once knew. This Morgana won't stop causing harm to the people he loves until she is gone. And he will make sure she leaves this world for good.
Arthur: (dodges an axe swing and kicks the attacker in the chest) Where is Morgana? (Cuts down another Saxon leaping at Merlin from behind) She was at the front. Why would she hide?
Merlin: (deflecting a blow with a shimmer of light) Look at the Saxons coming our way. (Gestures with his chin) What are they doing?
Arthur: (his eyes narrow. Then realises) They're trying to pull us apart.
Merlin: She knows she won't be able to lay a hand on you while I'm near. (His eyes flash, and three Saxons fly backward) I'm the only one who rivals her power.
Arthur: (roars as he slashes another Saxon) Fucking coward!
Merlin stays silent. Morgana may be many things, but coward is not one of them. If she is not attacking them directly, it is because she has some other tactic planned. A surprise attack or an ugly move.
They push forward, carving a path through the chaos. Then Arthur spots Morgana, fleeing down a narrow passage between rocky outcroppings.
Arthur: (points) There!
They break away from the main battle, chasing her into the gully. She disappears around a bend. Arthur and Merlin round the corner. There's no sign of her.
Arthur: Where—
Mordred: (steps out from behind a boulder, his sword raised)
Arthur and Merlin freeze. Mordred stands before them, his face pale, his eyes hollow. The Morgana they saw was probably an illusion to lead them into this trap.
Arthur: (holding up a hand, voice calm) Put it down. (Takes a slow step forward) We don't want to hurt you.
Mordred: I can't say the same.
Merlin: (studying Mordred's face, searching) The Fomorroh. It must be that. I can't find another explanation.
Mordred: I am not enchanted!
Arthur: (notices Mordred's hand—the one gripping the sword—trembling) No. (His voice softens) You're scared.
Mordred: (shouts) I'll kill you! (His eyes are wild, desperate) It's my destiny. You shall die at my hand.
Arthur: (lowers his sword, spreads his arms) Do it.
The young druid raises the blade. His arm shakes. He stares at Arthur—at the king who saved him, who gave him a place, who trusted him.
He can't.
Merlin: (steps forward) I made the mistake of trusting a prophecy before trusting a person's heart. (Meets Mordred's eyes) I won't do it again. You are good, Mordred. I know you are good. (Takes another step) Please. Tell us what's happening.
The sword dips.
Mordred: (his voice breaks) I'm sorry. (Tears spill down his cheeks) I have no choice. (Swallows hard) She has her.
Arthur: Who?
Mordred: (with raw, desperate pain) Kara. (His voice drops to a whisper) She is to me… what Merlin is to you.
Arthur: (understanding dawns on his face) I see.
Merlin: (puts himself between Mordred and Arthur, stepping closer, gentle) We'll find a way to save her. I promise.
Mordred: (sobs, the sword trembling in his grip)
Merlin: (closes the distance and carefully takes the sword from Mordred's hands) There.
Mordred: (collapses into Merlin, hugging him fiercely, shaking) I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
Mordred: (pulls back just enough to look at Merlin, tears still streaming) No… I'm really sorry. (His eyes flash gold) Forþ fleoge!
With a surge of magic, Mordred throws Merlin backward. Merlin crashes into the far wall and crumples to the ground.
Arthur: Merlin!
Mordred: (raises his hand, eyes blazing) Gewican ge stanas!
The ground shudders. Boulders dislodge from the cliffs above, crashing down between Arthur and Merlin and cutting them off from each other, leaving Arthur in the narrow passage with Mordred alone.
Even before the rumble fades, Mordred picks up his sword from where Merlin dropped it. His hand is steady now. He turns to face Arthur, lifts his blade and lunges. Arthur parries and steel meets steel.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the rockfall.
Merlin stirs, sitting with his back against the wall. His head throbs terribly, a dull spike of pain behind his eyes. Dust fills his lungs, making each breath a rasping struggle. He probably has a concussion, but he doesn't care. He has to get up. He has to protect Arthur!
The world refuses to focus and his limbs feel made of lead. He fights to keep his eyes open, to push himself up. But just as the world is beginning to steady a blast of magic slams into Merlin's chest.
A scream tears from his throat, ripped out of him by the force of the impact. Before he can recover, a second slash of magic strikes his right shoulder. He feels something crack, and his arm hangs useless.
He doesn't need to see to know who it is.
Morgana: (steps in front of him) It hurts to be betrayed by a friend, doesn't it? (Raises her hand) Don't worry. (Her eyes blaze) It won't be the only thing that hurts.
Back with Arthur and Mordred
Arthur knows how Mordred fights. He trained him. That is how he knows Mordred's main advantage is his speed. The druid boy is young and smaller than other men in his knightage, and Arthur taught him how to use that in his favor. So now, as Mordred darts around him, he is quick. He forces Arthur to move faster than he is comfortable to block each strike just in time before it can cut him down.
But just as Arthur knows Mordred's strengths, he also knows his weaknesses. Mordred duels quickly, yes, but when he thinks too much, he tends to pull back, as if afraid his sword might do too much damage. When he is overcome with emotion, however, that hesitance leaves, but then he forgets to protect his flank and attacks more than he defends.
Arthur had helped him find the perfect balance between caution and heat. He can see Mordred trying to keep those lessons in mind as they duel. But the young knight is also fighting with all his might for the girl he loves. Which means he is lost to passion, whether he wants to be or not. Soon, there are lapses in Mordred's defense. Arthur strikes out with his boot, hitting Mordred in the back of the heel. Mordred’s leg buckles and he hits the ground.
Arthur: (pointing Excalibur at him) Enough!
Suddenly, a scream echoes in the narrow passage. A voice he knows too well.
Arthur: (shouts, worried) Merlin!
He turns to the wall separating them, just for a second. It is all Mordred needs. He lashes out with his leg and rolls. Arthur stumbles back, grunting in pain, and that offers Mordred just enough time to haul himself to his feet.
Mordred: (sword raised, tears streaming) Your battle is with me!
The druid boy throws himself at Arthur with a strangled scream. But Arthur shoves Excalibur into his sword's path and, with unexpected force, pushes until he presses the young knight against the nearest wall. In a swift movement, Mordred's sword clatters to the ground and Excalibur is at Mordred's throat.
Arthur: (breathing hard, voice low and threatening) Lift those rocks. Now.
Back with Merlin and Morgana.
Before Merlin can even recover from the blow, an invisible force clamps around his throat. He claws at the air, at his own neck, trying to draw breath that won't come. His vision darkens at the edges.
Morgana: (strolling closer, her voice cold) I was a fool for not killing you that day. Though I'll admit it was fun, having you like a dog following me around. (Her voice hardens) Now your king will die, and you can do nothing to stop it.
Merlin's struggles grow weaker. His lungs burn. His dislocated arm hangs like a dead weight at his side. Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth.
Morgana: (releasing the pressure just enough for him to gasp) Any last words?
Merlin: (sucks in a ragged breath and begs, his cracked voice barely a whisper) Please… My lady.
Morgana: (her eyes widen, her face twisting, something seeping through her cold mask)
Merlin: (his eyes suddenly flash gold)
A blast of magic sends Morgana flying backward. She hits the wall opposite him hard and crumples to the ground.
Meanwhile, with Mordred and Arthur.
Mordred: (crying, pinned against the wall) I can't. It took all my power just to make the rockfall. I don't know how to lift it.
Arthur: If this is another act—
Mordred: It is not! I just wanted to keep him from interfering. (His voice breaks) I never meant to hurt him.
The king sighs. The tension in his shoulders eases, just slightly. He looks at the young man before him. Not an enemy, not a traitor, just a boy caught between love and fear. The same boy he saved as a child and then welcomed and took under his wing. He cannot hate him, even if he wants to. But he cannot let him get in his way either.
Arthur: I can't deal with you. (Shakes his head) I understand you have someone you love. (His jaw tightens) But so do I. (Lifts Excalibur to strike Mordred with the pommel)
Mordred: (eyes widen in horror) NO!
The young druid grabs Arthur and moves him abruptly and desperately, swapping their positions. Suddenly Arthur is pressed against the wall where Mordred had been. He thinks Mordred is about to attack and quickly positions himself to strike.
Then he sees it.
The point of a sword protruding from Mordred's stomach.
Behind Mordred stands a young brunette girl, her blue eyes wide open in indescribable terror and dismay, her hands still gripping the hilt of the sword that Mordred had dropped. She pulls the blade out in panic, as if that could rewind time and erase her mistake. But instead, blood spills and soaks through Mordred's armor.
For friend will murder friend.
Mordred: (turns slowly, a soft, broken smile on his face) Ka…ra.
Kara: (drops the sword, her hands flying to her mouth) No… (Stumbles back, shaking her head) No, no, no, no!
Mordred: (reaches for her, his hand trembling)
Kara: (catches him and falls to the ground with him, cradling him in her arms) It was not for you! (Tears stream down her face, falling onto his) It was not for you!
Mordred: (tries to speak, but blood gurgles in his throat. His hand finds hers and grips it weakly)
Kara: (smoothing his hair back, her voice breaking) Mordred. Mordred!
Mordred: (his eyes find Kara's one last time, reflecting love, forgiveness, peace… just before going completely still)
Kara lets out a shattered scream that seems to mix with another in the sky. The king remains frozen. He cannot move. Cannot speak. Cannot breathe. He just watches Kara as she clutches Mordred tighter, her sobs filling the narrow passage. His chest heaves and his heart pounds in his ears, drowning out everything but the sound of her weeping.
Then, slowly, his mind begins to process what his eyes have seen. Mordred just saved him from a mortal blow. The girl—Kara—meant to kill Arthur. That sword was meant for him. And Mordred stepped into its path without hesitation. And now he is dead.
Arthur's heart aches as if someone has reached into his chest and squeezed it until it crushed. Yet his mind refuses to accept it. The child he saved from Uther's pyre. The boy he trained in the courtyard, teaching him to hold a sword, to believe in something greater than himself. The knight he trusted to guard his back, to stand beside his friends, to fight for Camelot. The druid who believed in him, who helped him get Merlin back when all hope seemed lost, who saw him as more than just his father's son and chose to follow him. The friend he owed so much to.
The friend he failed to save.
No. No, he can't be gone. Not Mordred. Not like this. Not when he still has so much to live for.
He barely notices when Kara turns to him. Her face is swollen with tears, her eyes red-rimmed and wild. She looks at him and her expression shifts from grieve to fear. It takes a moment for Arthur to realize that he is still frozen in an attack position, his sword raised as if ready to strike.
Kara: (grabs the bloody sword from the ground) I won't die by your hand! (Lifts the blade to her neck)
Arthur: (lowers his sword quickly and reaches out, shouting) No! Wait—
Too late. Kara draws the blade across her own throat in a quick, savage motion.
The sword falls from her grip and clatters on the stones. Blood sprays, splattering across the rock, and she crumples. Her body lands beside Mordred's, her head coming to rest against his shoulder, her eyes staring at nothing as her blood pools with his.
Arthur looks at Mordred's still face. Then at Kara's. Reality finally strikes him. He sinks to his knees and screams.
Simultaneously. With Merlin and Morgana.
Morgana: (sore, scrambles to her feet) Is that all you've got? (Stalks toward him) I expected more from you, Emrys.
Merlin: (coughs blood, barely able to stay upright)
Morgana: (raises her hand) You cannot stop me now. (Snarls) Forbaerne! Ácwele!
Nothing happens.
Merlin: (his coughs turn into a ragged, exhausted sigh of relief)
Morgana: (louder, desperate) Forbaerne! Ácwele!
Again, nothing.
Merlin: You were… saying?
Morgana: (looks at her hands and then back at him in horrified realization) What did you do to me?
Merlin: You shouldn't have… left your… hairbrush… behind.
Merlin would like to say he feels nothing but satisfaction as he watches Morgana unravel and scream in horror and rage, clawing at her chest, her face, the air itself as if she could physically grasp her missing magic. He has done this to her before, during her second invasion of Camelot, though only temporarily and briefly, just enough so Arthur could take the citadel back. He smiled then when the poppet enchantment worked and even regretted that he couldn't make it last longer.
Now, however, there is a pang of pain in his heart instead as he watches her. Because now he knows how it feels to have your magic blocked, taken from you. And—gods forgive him—his treacherous mind keeps recalling some of the memories of his enchanted self with Morgana fondly. How Morgana comforted him during that period he believed his magic was gone. How she wrapped her arms around him and whispered sweet nothings every time the feeling of the absence became too much. He almost wishes he didn't have to come to these lengths. It is too cruel.
But Morgana is not one to fight honorably. She took Mordred. She led Merlin and Arthur away from the battle. She pulled them apart on purpose. She attacked him by surprise when he was unable to defend himself. So he may feel bad, but he is not sorry. Not when Morgana has done far crueler things. Not when she made him her slave for months, poisoning his memories, twisting his love for Arthur and everyone into hatred and fear.
No. She doesn't get to make him feel sorry.
There is a difference between the poppet he used then and the poppet he is using now though. The first one had very specific instructions on when and where to be placed to work, and it had no lasting connection to Morgana. But this poppet—the one he let Gwen carry, the one stitched with Morgana's own hair—has a direct connection to her. So Morgana's magic is blocked indefinitely. And she knows it.
Morgana: (grabs a rock from the ground, hefting it) I don't need magic to kill you!
Merlin: (aware of his weak state) You don't… (Coughs and spits blood) but that… won't give you… your magic… back.
Morgana: (raises the rock, trembling with rage) Undo it.
Merlin: It's over… Your followers… won't follow… a magicless… High Priestess.
Morgana: (roars) UNDO IT!
Merlin: You… lost!
Suddenly, an agonized scream echoes through the passage. Arthur's scream. It tears through the air like a blade. Merlin's heart stops.
Morgana: (a slow, cruel smile spreads across her face) Seems you sang victory too soon.
Merlin: (whispers) Arthur…
Merlin panics. Arthur never screams like that. Arthur grunts or curses when he is hurt or wounded. Arthur does not scream. Which means on the other side of that rockfall, Arthur is not only in danger. He is either being tortured beyond endurance, or he is—
Morgana: (savoring the words) In the end, Mordred fulfilled his destiny. Arthur just died at his hand.
The world stops. His vision blurs, not from pain or from blood loss, but from something far worse that cracks through his chest like a fist through glass and leaves him bleeding and empty. No. It can’t be. His heart races so fast and hard it feels like it will break right through his ribs, pounding like a stubborn hammer against unyielding stone. No, no, no, no, no—
Merlin: (tries to scream, to move, anything, but his body is too weak) Arthur. Arthur!
Morgana: He is gone, Emrys. Your precious king. Your beloved. And you were not there to save him.
The words strike him worse than the spell blows she inflicted. They rip through him like daggers, tearing through the walls of his skin, leaving him flayed and raw and lashing with agony. Not being there in time to save Arthur, to protect him, has always been his worst nightmare. He has nearly lost him so many times that it has become a constant fear hanging above his head. But he has always reached Arthur in time. Always. He can't be late this time. Arthur is literally a few meters away. Just on the other side of those rocks. Arthur can't be—Merlin can still—
Merlin: (tears streaming down his face, his voice cracking) No… (Shakes his head, refusing to accept it) No.
Morgana: (smirks wickedly, raising the rock high above her head) Die, Emrys. Knowing you failed!
She brings the rock down with all her strength—
But just before impact, it slips from her hand.
Morgana: (stares at her empty palm, confused) What?
She looks up. The rock floats beside her, as if caught in mid-air by an invisible hand. A sudden light makes her turn back. In front of her, Merlin's eyes burn gold, but it is not the usual flickering glow of conjuring a spell. No, they burn like two suns. The air around them crackles and the ground trembles.
Morgana: (her voice small) Merlin?
She barely has time to react when a blinding blast of golden light explodes outward.
Simultaneously. With Arthur.
The king closes the young knight's eyes. Like this, Mordred almost looks as if he is just sleeping, his features relaxed, at peace.
Arthur: (holds Mordred's still body close, tears falling onto Mordred's blood-soaked armor) I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
Arthur is not a stranger to men dying for him in battle. He has buried many along the years. It is a feeling that never stops aching, but at some point it simply had to become bearable. So he learned to keep himself together. To remain stoic as a brother in arms is found dead and his body is carried away for a proper funeral.
Yet he cannot keep himself together now. No matter how much he tries, he cannot stop his tears.
Maybe it is because he knew Mordred since he was a boy… and he was still a boy when he died. Maybe it is because of the unfairness of it all. How Mordred was forced to try to kill him to save the girl he loved, only to die at that same girl's hand. Or maybe it is because he saw in Mordred a young version of Merlin. Someone born different, desperate for acceptance, for a place to belong.
No matter how many amends he made, he could never give back to Merlin all those years he was blind and made him live in fear, hiding who he was. But he thought he could do right by Mordred. Give him the trust and the place that Merlin didn’t have from the beginning. But now that is impossible. He failed Mordred just as he failed—
Wait.
Merlin! He is still on the other side of the rockfall! Alone. Probably hurt. Possibly—
No. He refuses to even finish that thought.
Arthur composes himself with a shuddering breath. He wipes his face with the back of his hand, smearing blood and tears across his cheek, and he gives one last look at Mordred's face before settling him gently back on the ground.
Arthur: (his voice hardens with resolve) Your death won't be in vain, Mordred. I vow that.
Yes. Let fury consume him once more. He knows who is to blame for this. The same person who took Merlin and made Arthur miserable for months. The same person who has brought nothing but death and suffering to everyone he loves. Let rage give him the strength he needs to climb this bloody rock wall and to wield his sword with deadly efficiency. And Morgana had better hope he finds his beloved alive, because if he doesn't, if she has taken Merlin from him too, he will show her exactly how like his father he can be.
The king starts climbing the mound of stones. He remembers the one time a similar obstacle kept him from Merlin before in the Valley of the Fallen Kings. He tried to climb then too, desperate to get to him, but he gave up too easily, thinking he could rescue him later. And he did find him days later, covered in mud and alive. But unknown to him, that single decision almost cost him Merlin. He won't leave him this time. Not again. Not ever.
The climb is treacherous. The stones are loose, shifting under his weight. Some tumble down with a clatter. His arms protest, muscles screaming from the exertion. But Arthur does not stop. He could climb even when holding an enchanted Merlin, even with a dislocated arm. There is no force that can stop him when it comes to his beloved. He has risked his kingdom, his reputation, his own life for Merlin. He has reached Merlin through madness, through enchantment, through death itself. A pile of rocks will not be what keeps him from reaching him.
He is halfway up when the ground trembles.
The rocks beneath him groan, shifting with a deep, resonant rumble. Dust rains down, coating his hair, his armor. Arthur grips a jutting stone, steadying himself. But the tremor intensifies. A deep vibration shakes the stones loose beneath his feet, sending them cascading down.
He glances with horror as Mordred and Kara's corpses end up buried underneath.
Arthur: (shouting, his voice raw with desperation.) NO! (Clings to the rock face, heart pounding) Merlin!
The ground quakes again. His grip falters. One hand slips, then the other, and he inevitably ends up falling backwards, the stones rushing past him.
Is this really how he will die? Buried alive? Not getting to see the man he loves at least one last time?
Just as he thinks he is going to crash to the ground, he stops.
Everything stops.
He opens his eyes just to find himself suspended in the air, just like several rocks around him. As if time itself has frozen. A golden light surrounds everything, casting strange shadows on the stone walls.
Arthur: What…?
Before he can process more, he and the rocks are lifted, drifting upward like leaves caught in a gentle current. He looks around frantically, trying to make sense of the chaos. He is hovering over the passage now. Lightning splits the sky above.
Then he spots him.
Merlin.
He is floating in the middle of it all, his eyes blazing an incandescent burning gold. Magic emanates from him like a living thing, shimmering around him in waves that seem to pulse with every heartbeat. The power crackles through every part of his being, visible even to Arthur's non-magical eyes.
Arthur: (his breath catches, his voice barely a whisper) Merlin…
He looks like a god. Arthur cannot find another way to describe him. He cannot help but stare, dazed for a moment at the beauty of him, at the power that radiates from his body, as if his soul itself is burning brighter than the sun.
Then Merlin screams.
It is an agonized sound, unnaturally amplified, so loud Arthur has to cover his ears. It tears through the air, through the stones, through Arthur's very bones. The rocks around him begin to disintegrate, turning to dust mid-air. Thunder and lightning strike with more force and more rocks reduce to nothing. It is as if Merlin wants to destroy everything around him in his pain.
But his voice cannot be heard among all the chaos. And Merlin keeps screaming, furious, broken and lost. Desperately, Arthur starts to swim through the golden force. The power presses against him, resisting his every movement. But he manages to move forward, in a slow, struggling manner.
Arthur: MERLIN!
The king pushes harder. And, with a final desperate lunge, he extends a hand and his fingers manage to close around Merlin's wrist.
The contact is electric, a jolt that travels up his arm and into his chest. The golden light around them flickers and Merlin's screaming stops, cut off mid-cry, his blazing eyes finally focusing on Arthur.
Merlin: (whispers, his voice cracked) Arthur…?
Arthur: (nods frantically) Yes. I'm here. (Pulls himself closer, ignoring the golden energy around them) I'm here.
The warlock breaks down. He finishes to close the distance between them and collapses into his king’s arms, sobbing. He holds onto Arthur for dear life, his fingers digging into the king's armor as if Arthur might vanish if he lets go. Arthur hugs him just as tightly, crushing him against his chest, burying his face in Merlin's hair.
Merlin: (trembling violently, his voice muffled against Arthur's shoulder) I heard you scream. I thought… (Chokes on a sob) I thought I'd lost you.
Tears stream down Arthur's face now as well. That has been his fear too. Impression after impression, he hadn't let it sink in until now. But now it strikes him with force. Merlin is here. His beloved is Alive. The world is right again.
Arthur: (reverently) Merlin.
As if the sound of his name—spoken in that particular way only Arthur does—were a spell, the aura around them dissolves progressively. The golden light fades. The rocks that survived the disintegration and were still suspended in mid-air drift gently back to the ground. The thunder and lightning recede, and the sky begins to clear.
They float back down together, Arthur's arms still wrapped tightly around Merlin. When they reach the ground, Arthur's knees buckle, relief flooding through him so powerfully that he can no longer stand. He sinks to the ground, Merlin following, still in his arms. When he cups Merlin's face to examine him further, the golden light has faded from Merlin's eyes, replaced by the familiar, characteristic blue, still wet with tears.
Arthur kisses him once. Then again. And again. Until the desperate ache crushing his heart begins to loosen.
Arthur: (pulls away, just enough to see his face) Are you okay?
Merlin: (a watery laugh) I should be asking you that! (His voice catches) Why did you scream like that? Did Mordred—
Arthur: (his jaw tightens) He is dead.
Merlin: (his eyes widen) You…
Arthur: (shakes his head quickly, pushing down the grief rekindling in his chest) No, it wasn't me. I'll give you the details later. (Checks him frantically) First, tell me where you're injured. You're covered in blood.
The young warlock shakes out of his shock from learning about Mordred's death and forces himself to focus on the question. He'll ask later, he’ll grieve later. Now his Arthur seems to need reassurance with desperate urgency, as if he feared Merlin could drop dead too at any moment. He would call it an exaggeration, if he hadn't truly been close to death moments before.
Merlin: I’m okay, it's just my… arm? (Notices he can move it again. Then notices his wounds are gone) Oh. I think I cured myself. I don’t know how. I suck at healing magic. But I have no injuries anymore.
Arthur: (sighs in relief and cups Merlin's face again, still worried) What happened back there? Why did you—
Merlin: Morgana.
Arthur: (frowns, his grip tightening) She was there with you?
Before Merlin can answer, Percival and Gwaine appear, breathless and bloodied but alive.
Gwaine: (relief flooding his voice) There you are. Thank the gods.
Percival: We feared you may not have survived. But it seems the battle is won.
Merlin: (blinks, confused) What?
Gwaine: (grins, though exhaustion shows in his eyes) Morgana's forces retreated. (Spreads his arms) We won.
Merlin: (disbelief in his voice) We… we did it?
Percival: I wouldn't give us so much credit. (Gestures vaguely at the sky and the destruction) Yes, we had the advantage, but it was really the earthquake and the sudden lightning that made them flee.
The young warlock flushes, looking down. Not that he isn't happy his sudden lash-out of magic helped. But he didn't plan it, much less control it. He didn't even know he could do such display. He could have seriously hurt them. Gods, he could have hurt Arthur! Before guilt can begin to surface, Arthur speaks again.
Arthur: Where is Morgana?
Merlin: (quietly, his voice troubled) I'm not sure. (Thinking) Did I kill her during my outburst?
Gwaine: Some of our men saw her flee the battle too.
Merlin: (a long, heavy sigh) So she is still alive.
The relief that had softened the king’s features moments before hardens into something cold and determined. He stands, helping Merlin up gently, but when he turns to the knights, his voice is steel.
Arthur: Tell me where she was last seen. We can still trace her.
He knows. He just knows that, whatever happened on the other side of that rockfall, Morgana had tried to take Merlin from him again. It doesn't matter that she didn't succeed. The fact that she would try, the idea that she would dare attempt to do that again, makes fury and fear surge through Arthur like wildfire. Because he knows she will keep trying. She will keep doing it until the end of time like it is a twisted sadic game to her.
She will… unless he annihilates her off the face of the earth.
Meanwhile. In a War Tent.
Gwen: (finishes bandaging an injured knight) Rest now. You've done your part.
The knight murmurs his thanks, his eyes already fluttering closed. The former Queen rises, wipes her hands on her tunic, and steps outside to see what remains of the battle from the outcrop where she has taken refuge.
The sky is grey, still heavy with the remnants of the storm that had erupted during the battle. Below, the field is scattered with bodies, both Camelot's and Saxon's. A few fires still smolder.
Sir Justus: (arrives, breathless, and bows) Your majes—My lady. The battle is won. The Saxons are in full retreat. They're making for the hills. (Gestures toward the distant treeline) Two hundred men were dispatched to drive our advantage home.
Gwen: And Arthur? I mean, the king. How is he? And Merlin. My brother—
Sir Justus: No news still. But we'll keep looking. There were more fallen on their side than ours. They should be alright, my lady.
Gwen: (nods, though her hands are clasped tightly in front of her) Thank you for informing me.
Sir Justus: (bows)
Gwen: There's no need for that.
Sir Justus: (straightens, meeting her eyes with quiet sincerity) I know you are not our queen anymore. But…you still are, in our hearts, my lady.
Gwen: (smiles softly, a slight blush coloring her cheeks) Thank you. (Inclines her head) You may leave.
Sir Justus: (bows once more, then turns and strides away)
Gwen lets out a slow breath and reaches into her tunic, pulling out the small poppet Merlin gave her. She knew Merlin's spell worked the moment the poppet glowed. They weren't sure it would. This type of magic, according to what her friend told her, is very complex, almost crossing the thin line into dark magic, just barely bordering it. But if Merlin managed to put the spell on Morgana, then he must be okay. And, in consequence, Arthur must be too. She must believe that. She wishes she had something that could assure her the same about Elyan.
Gwen tucks the poppet back into her tunic and turns to scan the battlefield once more. Her eyes trace the distant shapes of soldiers, the scattered banners, the smoke rising from the edges of the field.
Then she catches a glimpse of something. A figure in the distance. Moving along the edge of the treeline, half-hidden by shadow and rock, but she clearly makes out a black dress and dark long hair.
Gwen: (her breath catches, her eyes widening) Morgana?
Meanwhile. With Morgana.
Morgana stops running to take a breath. Her chest heaves, and her legs tremble beneath her, threatening to give out. The black dress she wears is torn and dirtied, the fabric clinging to her sweat-slicked skin. Blood—some hers, some not—streaks her arms and stains her hands.
She stumbles to a halt behind a cluster of rocks, pressing her back against the cold stone. Even in her exhaustion, her chest quivers and every breath trembles in her throat. She presses her palms against the rock, her nails scraping against the stone, forcing herself to remain quiet.
But she wants to scream. She wants to scream until her throat tears open, until blood pours from her mouth and she stains the world red with her agony.
Emrys defeated her. Again. And she had to flee like a coward to save herself. The humiliation burns hotter than any wound.
Merlin's power is like nothing she has ever witnessed. A force of nature that had erupted from him like a volcano, sweeping aside everything in its path. And she, who had once been a powerful High Priestess, had been utterly helpless against it, because her magic was blocked. How is that fair?
Her magic. Gone.
The thought is a poison in her veins. She clenches her fists, her nails biting into her palms. Emrys, the so-called embodiment of magic itself, the great protector, turned her away rather than helping her when she most needed it. Then he cuts her away from the very extension of her being—of any magic user—and he dares to call himself the saviour of magic.
She had spent years honing her abilities, fought and sacrificed so much to gain her power. All that effort, only to have it stripped away by the very man she had once called a friend. The same man that, even after his big betrayal, she had taken into her confidence once more. Had comforted him. Had loved him enough to want him at her side again.
And he had repaid her with this.
She hopes his beloved king really met his end in that passage, that Mordred accomplished his destiny. It is the only triumph she can cling to, her last strike against Emrys. The only justice that could compensate for what she now endures. If Arthur is dead, if the prophecy has been fulfilled, then she can still find some small victory in the ashes.
Morgana: (thinking, clinging to the thought like a lifeline) Arthur must be dead. Mordred killed him. The prophecy finally came true. Arthur is dead.
But even as she thinks it, doubt gnaws at her. She has been wrong before. And Merlin—Emrys—has always found a way to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. What if the king of Camelot still lives?
Arthur.
A new anger surges. How is he always given everything? He does not only sit on the throne that should be hers. He is not only given riches and praises with so much as smiling. He also stole from her the people who should have stood by her, who should have been her allies and friends. People that claimed to love her and betrayed her to take his side. It is because of him that she was shunned from Camelot, alone, with no one to love her.
So Arthur Pendragon must be dead. The world cannot be this unfair.
She will wait. Without a king and with no successors, Camelot will fall on its own eventually. She will get her magic back somehow. And when the kingdom is at its weakest, she will take over again. She will take what is rightfully hers. What the world owes her.
Morgana pulls out a dagger she stole from one of the corpses on her way there. A sword would have been better, but it will have to serve her as self-defense for now. She hides the dagger again in her clothes and pushes herself upright. She must find shelter. Must regroup. Must find a way to undo what Emrys has done to her.
She takes a step and freezes. A figure stands at the edge of the treeline, half-hidden by shadow. But Morgana would recognise that shape anywhere.
Guinevere.
Morgana's breath catches. For a moment, the old wounds—the betrayal, the loss of the one person she always loved, never stopped loving—flare open. But then the rage returns, hotter than before.
Morgana: (her voice is cold, but there's a tremor beneath it) You.
Gwen: (steps forward, her face pale but resolute) Morgana.
Morgana: (her lips curl into a bitter smile) You should have stayed back in the citadel, my Lady.
Gwen: I'm not here to fight. No one has followed me.
Morgana: Grave mistake on your part.
Gwen: Please. I just want to talk.
Morgana: (scoffs) What is there to talk about?
Gwen: Why do you hate me?
Morgana: Do you want a list?
Gwen: (frustration breaking through) Yes! I don't know what I did for you to hate me this much. You tried to kill me multiple times in horrible ways. You even made me cheat on Arthur with that enchanted bracelet—
Morgana: I didn't force you into anything. (Steps closer) You always had a weakness for Lancelot. You have a weakness for many men. (Her voice drops) But you never had a weakness for me.
Gwen: I had. (Her voice breaks) You were my friend. You never made me feel like a mere servant.
Morgana: (a bitter laugh) And yet you chose Merlin. Lancelot. Arthur. All of them over me.
Gwen: That isn't true! I never put them before you.
Morgana: Of course you did. (Takes another step closer) You thought I didn't know. That I didn't notice. No. I always did. I only pretended. I adapted to you. (Begins to circle Gwen, her voice taking on a venomous quality) When Merlin arrived, didn't you run after him with the eyes of a lovesick maiden? (Laughs) Too bad you weren't to his liking. Ah, but then Lancelot came along, and he was interested in you. But he left. He abandoned you. And then you felt worthless. Because the men you were interested in always leave you.
Gwen: Stop.
Morgana: And then you wanted to prove them wrong, didn't you? That you were worth more. That's why you felt happy and flattered when Arthur laid eyes on you. That a prince would be interested in your humble self must have been exciting, but also terrifying, right? Not even a simple servant, not even an aspiring knight, would choose you, so why would Arthur? (Stops in front of Gwen, her face inches away) But you were still ambitious. And you encouraged him while feigning false modesty. "We can't be together, Arthur. You're a prince and I'm a servant," but you still kept looking at him, still attended every meeting. You never respected yourself or your status. (A cruel smile) Ah, but I suppose I'm to blame for that last part. Because, as you said, you never felt like a mere servant by my side.
Gwen: (a tear slips down her cheek) Is that what you really think of me? That I'm ambitious? A tramp?
Morgana: (smiles) Exactly. (Leans in) You know, even Merlin agreed with me. He called you 'easy'.
Gwen: You had bewitched him. He never—
Morgana: (laughs) Oh, of course not consciously. But in his subconscious… who knows? The mandrake root doesn't alter a person's very essence. It only distorts their memories. That's why, despite all the hatred Merlin claimed to feel for Arthur, he was generally unable to harm him irreversibly. (Her smile widens) So how can you be completely sure that Merlin never thought that about you?
Gwen: (her voice breaks, but holds her ground) You seek to hurt me. To hurt us all. (Takes a shaky breath) But I still don't understand why. Please, Morgana… all I want is a reason. However absurd and invalid it may seem… I need to know when I lost you.
For a moment, Gwen catches a glimmer of something other than hatred in Morgana's eyes. Pain? Longing? Then it is gone, swallowed by the loath she is familiar with.
Morgana: (snarls) Stop pretending you care! Stop pretending it hurt you to lose me! That's what I detest most about you. That you pretend to be a good person. That you ever cared. That you ever loved me even a quarter as much as I loved you.
Gwen: (crying openly now) What makes you believe that? What did I ever do to you?
Morgana: (shouts) You betrayed me! (Her face twists with anguish) You left me for Arthur!
Gwen: (shakes her head, confused and desperate) That doesn't make sense! (Throws her hands up) I know it was you who framed me to Uther. I saw you then. I saw your face. How you smiled. You wanted me executed. That was long before I married Arthur. We were barely even trying!
Morgana: Oh, but I knew then. I saw it. Your betrayal. Your abandonment. Your hypocrisy. I saw how you would plunge a dagger into my back and another into my heart.
Gwen: What are you— (slowly, a realization dawns) Your dreams… They were actually visions, weren't they? And you saw me in them.
She remembers it now with more clarity. When Morgana had told her something similar, between clashes of swords: "It's not what you did, it's what you're destined to do!" The words hadn't made sense then, and the memory of her former friend trying to slay her so viciously was so painful, she didn't dwell on them.
Gwen: What did you see me doing exactly?
Morgana: Betraying me.
Gwen: I never betrayed you, Morgana.
Morgana: (her voice rises again) You did! (Jabs a finger at Gwen) You married Arthur. You became queen.
Gwen: …
Morgana: (her voice drops, bitter and cold) And all for what? (Gestures at Gwen's clothes) You no longer have a husband or a crown. You deserve it. It's the only thing I'm glad about.
Silence.
Gwen: (incredulous) You condemned me for something that hadn't even happened yet. And it wasn't even something that hurt you. (Her eyes search Morgana's face) Tell me, Morgana, how did my marriage to Arthur betray our friendship? Just because you aspired to be queen? Because you sought to usurp the throne and expected me to help you? To be your lady?
Morgana: No. Because I needed you by my side. But you would have preferred to be with Arthur, Merlin, Lancelot—anyone—rather than with me. (Takes a shuddering breath) You never understood. You never truly saw me. (A tear slips down her cheek) I loved you so much. I could have burned this kingdom to the ground for you, just as Merlin would have for Arthur. And still, in none of the possible futures, would you have chosen me. Even now, when one of them is dead and the other two have betrayed you… you're still on their side.
Gwen: (slowly, the pieces finally clicking into place) You loved me… Like Merlin loves Arthur.
Silence.
Gwen: (laughs bitterly, brokenly) Really? That's your explanation? Your motive? (Her voice rises, cracking with disbelief) The reason you hurt me is because I didn't realize your feelings? Do you think that's justification? (Her voice sharpens) You think that justifies all the evil you've done? The people you killed? The people you hurt? And you ask me why I would choose Arthur and Merlin over you? Over the woman who tried to kill me multiple times out of spite? Who tormented me, who manipulated and enslaved my best friend? (Her voice rises to a shout) If that is really how you treat the person you supposedly love, yes, Morgana, I would choose them over you a thousand times over!
Suddenly, Morgana moves and presses Gwen against a tree, one hand pinning her shoulder, the other raising the dagger to her throat.
Morgana: Is that so? Reunite with your precious Arthur then.
Gwen's eyes widen. Her hands fly up, gripping Morgana's wrist, trying to push the blade away. But Morgana is stronger, fueled by rage, desperation and years of unspoken pain.
Gwen: (whispers) Morgana…
The blade trembles against Gwen's throat. Morgana should kill her. If anyone has any right over Gwen's life, it is Morgana. Gwen was her confidante, her friend, her maidservant, her greatest love. If she can't have her in life, then no one will!
Then why does her hand keep hesitating?
Morgana has been close to killing Gwen many times. But none of those attempts were by her own hand directly. She framed her so Uther would execute her. She knocked her out for the dorocha to find her. She turned her into a deer to be hunted by another.
The only time she almost killed her directly was when she had a sword pointed at Gwen. She was enraged then, that her plans were tattered again. There was no hesitation when she disarmed Gwen, but it took her several seconds to find the strength to strike the final blow. A blow that was stopped by Emrys. And as she dragged herself out, though cursing Emrys and her bad luck, part of her couldn't help but feel relieved that she was stopped.
But no one and nothing is stopping her now.
Gwen's hands tremble against Morgana's wrist. Tears stream down her face, but she does not close her eyes. She holds Morgana's gaze, as composed as she can. As if she had accepted her fate and refused to give her assassin the satisfaction of seeing her falling apart in her last moments. It infuriates Morgana that Gwen wants to act all dignified, that she is not begging for her life. But Morgana is not sure if seeing Gwen in that state would make things easier or worse for her.
The blade presses closer. A thin line of blood appears at Gwen's throat. Her brain, that knows better, screams at Morgana to finish it. To end the source of her pain. Isn't this what she wanted? And what a better way to get back at Emrys than making him lose his beloved and his dear friend all in the same day?
But her foolish heart evokes memories, clings to the could-have-beens, and whispers of a possible reality where Gwen had chosen her. She remembers Gwen's bright melodic laugh. Remembers the way Gwen's hand felt in hers when she was frightened in those dark nights when her visions tormented her. Remembers the soft, almost reverent way Gwen would say her name.
Morgana had fallen prey to her heart's desires before. That was what drove her to try the Teine Diaga on Gwen. To make her love her. To make her stay.
Maybe… maybe she could still try… maybe—
No.
Her magic is gone. Emrys made sure of that. And even if Morgana somehow could, even if she found a way, she already experienced magically induced love and loyalty before. It didn't end well for her.
Gwen will never love her willingly. She has made that abundantly clear, time and time again. She will never choose her.
Then Morgana must make her bear the consequences of that decision.
Morgana: (her eyes water, her voice barely a whisper) Goodbye.
Just as she is about to thrust, the steel in her hand burns her.
Morgana drops the dagger with a sharp cry, clutching her hand to her chest. The weapon lies on the ground, glowing with the characteristic orange of heated iron.
She is just recovering when she feels the point of a blade at her back. She freezes and turns slowly. There is Arthur. Still very much alive. Emrys at his side, her forever doom. And the knights, Percival and Gwaine, behind them.
Morgana: (a bitter, broken laugh escapes her) Of course. Of course you survived.
Just like that Morgana learns, the fates will never favor her. The world will always be unfair.
Arthur: (his voice is ice) Step away from my ex-wife. Now.
Morgana reluctantly does, hating with every part of her being his choice of words. As if he were rubbing in her face that, even though he is no longer married to Gwen, that she belongs to him.
Arthur: (without looking away from Morgana) Guinevere. Step back.
Gwen moves quickly, pressing a hand to her throat, her eyes still fixed on Morgana. She moves to stand beside Merlin, who reaches out to steady her.
Merlin: (his voice is soft, concerned) Are you alright?
Gwen: (nods, but is still pretty shaken)
Merlin: (pulls her into a hug)
Arthur: (kicks the dagger on the ground away with his foot and sheathes his sword) It's over, Morgana.
Morgana: (laughs mockingly) Oh, please. You won't do anything to me. You're too noble for that. Or really, that's what you tell yourself to not admit you simply don't have the guts—
Arthur: (shoves her hard)
Morgana: (stumbles backward and falls to the ground)
Gwen: (aghast) Arthur!
Arthur: (grabs Morgana by the collar, lifting her off the ground) Wanna bet?
Gwen: (steps forward, pulling away from Merlin's hug) Arthur, wait! She has her magic blocked. She's defenseless!
Arthur: I know. (His grip tightens) I don't care.
Morgana: (hits him with her head)
Arthur: (stumbles backwards, releasing her, his hand flying to his head)
Morgana: (sees her chance and lunges for his sword)
Arthur: (grabs her wrist before she can do it and twists her arm)
Morgana: (screams, but frees herself in a movement and punches him in the face)
Arthur: (punches her back)
Gwen: (shouts, her voice cracking) Why is nobody stopping this?! (Turns to Merlin, desperate) Merlin!
Merlin: (stares, frozen, in complete shock)
Arthur: (manages to grab Morgana by the wrists and shoves her against the nearest tree) You took him from me! (His grip tightens, bruising) Toyed with his head! You enslaved him! Made him believe I hated him! And not satisfied with that. (Shakes her) You almost took him from me again!
Morgana: (struggling against his grip, blood staining her teeth) Oh, poor Arthur! The great king, so in love with his little servant that he got married to another. (Her voice rises) You betrayed Gwen—your wife—with her best friend! And you dare call yourself morally superior? If I'm evil it is merely because I'm your sister.
Arthur: I'm nothing like you! And are you really going to compare an act of infidelity with the pain you caused! Not only to Merlin. Mordred. Guinevere. Why is it that you always want to take everything from me?
Morgana: You took everything from me! My throne! My kingdom! My future!
Arthur: They were never yours to take!
Morgana: Right, because you are the good benevolent king. The knight in shining armour. Everything and everyone must always belong to you!
Arthur: People are not possessions!
Morgana: (a cruel smile curves her lips) Oh, but he belonged to me. For three months, he was all mine. And that eats you, doesn't it?
Arthur: (his face twists with fury)
Morgana: I do regret it though. I shouldn't have enchanted him. No, I should have killed him when I had the chance so you would experience the pain I feel!
Arthur: (screams in rage and unsheathes his sword in one fluid movement, pressing it to Morgana's throat)
Gwen: (screams, lunging forward) NO!
Merlin: (holds her back, his arms locking around her, his face pale, his eyes wide)
The sword moves with finality and Morgana's eyes close.
For brother will slaughter brother.
Morgana opens her eyes.
The sword is pressed against the skin of her neck, blood spills, but is still not deep enough to kill. Arthur holds the hilt, his body trembling, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He stares at the blade then at Morgana.
Arthur: (thinking) Why? Why can't I…
But he knows. He knows exactly why.
Because despite everything Morgana has done. Despite all the atrocities she committed. Despite the deaths, the suffering she has inflicted… He still loves her. In the final moment, he looked at her and could only see his sister. The girl who arrived at Camelot when he was seven and grew up alongside him. The girl who laughed with him in the corridors, who he practiced swordplay with in his childhood, who argued with him about justice, who comforted him when their father was cold and distant. The girl who was kind and compassionate.
Arthur cannot kill her. He cannot kill his sister.
That doesn't mean he will forgive her.
Arthur: (sheaths his sword, staggering back) Seize her.
Gwaine and Percival move forward, grabbing Morgana by the arms. She resists to no avail, her struggles are weak, her strength gone, and then fixes her gaze on Arthur.
Morgana: I knew you couldn't do it. (laughs, but it's hollow) Always the merciful, righteous king. (Spits at his feet) I bet you feel so fucking benevolent, don't you? (Her voice rises, cracking with contempt) A fucking coward, that's what you are!
Arthur: I'm not benevolent, Morgana. If anything, I believe death is a way too merciful fate for you. (Gestures to the knights) Take her to Camelot to face trial. Chain her well. Don't underestimate her just because she is magicless.
As they drag her away, Morgana looks back at Gwen and Merlin. Her lips part, as if she wants to say something, but no words come. Whatever she wanted to say dies in her throat.
Time skip. In the War Tent.
When Arthur, Merlin, and Gwen return to the tent, Elyan is there. He is battered—his armor dented, a gash across his forehead, his left arm wrapped in a bloodied sling—but he is alive. He rises from the camp stool Gaius had forced him into the moment he sees them, his eyes finding his sister. Gwen lets out a half sob, half laugh as she runs to him and they collide in the middle of the tent, their arms wrapping around each other with desperate strength.
Elyan: I didn’t find you. I thought—
Gwen: Me too. (Pulls back just enough to look at him, her hands cupping his face) You're hurt.
Elyan: (a weak, tired smile) It's nothing.
Arthur watches them, a soft smile touching his lips. He is genuinely happy for them, grateful that Elyan survived, grateful that Gwen has her brother back. But there is sadness in his eyes too. That is the sibling relationship that was severed from him. The one he will never get.
The king slips out of the tent to give them privacy, his servant following him. His beloved moves to stand beside him, his shoulder brushing his own. Merlin has been strangely quiet since Morgana's capture, but he doesn't need to say anything. His presence is enough to be an anchor in the storm of Arthur's churning thoughts.
Merlin: Is it true what you said?
Arthur: (turns, startled out of his reverie) Uhm?
Merlin: That you are not executing Morgana because death would be too merciful.
Arthur: (a long pause) I would like to say it is. But no. It is not out of mercy either. I'm not that good. I just… can't do it.
Merlin: Because you still care about her.
Arthur: (looks down with shame)
Merlin: (steps closer) That's not a bad thing, Arthur.
The king doesn't know if the words get to him, or simply because it is Merlin who says them. But the accumulation of everything is suddenly too much. Great, heaving sobs tear through him without warning. It takes him a moment to realize he is crying.
Merlin: (pulls him into a tight embrace, one hand cradling the back of Arthur's head) It's alright. It's alright.
Arthur: (broken) I'm sorry.
The king isn't sure what he is apologizing for. For crying. For not being strong enough to kill the cause of his beloved's martyrdom. For still loving Morgana. For still mourning what could have been. For still wishing things had been different. Or everything all at once. But Merlin doesn't ask. He just holds him, as if he understands without needing words.
They stand there, wrapped in each other, in the quiet of the camp. The war is won. But as the wind carries the scent of smoke and blood, and the weight of loss feels heavier than ever, victory doesn't feel like a victory at all.
...
Please don't kill me! Mordred's death hurt me just as much as it hurt you. 😭
But loss is part of war, and some part of the prophecy had to come true.
I'm finally putting the finishing touches on the last part/chapter of my Morgana takes Merlin instead of Gwen to the Dark Tower AU (FINALLY!). I literally have just one scene left to write.
Out of curiosity, I checked the word count AND IT'S 19,780 WORDS! WTF! 😂 No wonder this chapter alone has taken me almost two months to finish (And the confrontation with Morgana takes most of it). So this is officially the longest chapter I've ever written.
Anyway, I just wanted to let you all know that I'm still alive, and the final part of the story will be published very soon. ❤️
Morgana takes Merlin instead of Gwen to the Dark Tower AU
Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5 , Part 6 , Part 7 , Part 8 , Part 9 , Part 10 , Part 11 , Part 12 , Part 13 , Part 14, Part 15 , Part 16 , Part 17 , Part 18 , Part 19 (You're here) , Part 20 , FINAL PART
Gwen and Elyan's new residence.
For Merlin, recovering naturality with Gwen hasn't been an easy road. Overcoming the awkwardness between them, his own guilt, has been a slow, careful process. But they both make an effort, refusing to lose their friendship. As they eat at Gwen's new home, Merlin can't say they are back as they used to be. But they are getting there.
However, today Merlin didn't just come to pass the time.
Gwen: What?
Merlin: Morgana told me herself. The bracelet Shade Lancelot gave you made you cheat. I'm sorry I'm only telling you now. The memory just came to me two nights ago.
Being able to clear Lancelot's name had been a big relief. Arthur had been glad when Merlin told him, thankful that the noblest of his knights and a great friend had never really betrayed him. The knights had felt similarly, though they were also ashamed they hadn't realized for themselves. But for Gwen, that knowledge hadn't changed much. Lancelot not being Lancelot didn't erase her mistake. It just made her a fool who fell for Morgana's trap. And Merlin could see that.
This piece of information, however, does change things.
Merlin expects Gwen to be instantly relieved. Happy, even. But she remains silent, thoughtful.
Merlin: Gwen?
Gwen: Is that exactly what Morgana told you? That if it weren't for the bracelet, I wouldn't have fallen for Lancelot again?
Merlin: (a flicker of hesitation) Yes.
Gwen: I want complete honesty Merlin. What exactly did the bracelet do?
Merlin: (carefully) She said… it awakened what was already there.
Gwen: You mean my feelings.
Merlin: Yes. But the choice to act on them wasn't yours! The enchantment pushed you past your own will.
Gwen: So… like you when you drank at the tavern that day.
Merlin: (stiffens) That's—That's hardly the same!
Gwen: How? Your feelings for Arthur were already there, weren't they? And the alcohol made you act on them. Just as the bracelet did with my feelings for Lancelot.
Merlin: (opens his mouth and closes it)
Gwen: (a sad smile) You wanted to lift a burden. And you have. Knowing it wasn't entirely my choice… that helps. More than you know. (A pause) But I won't pretend I was completely innocent. Something did stir in me when I saw Lancelot was back. Way before he gave me the bracelet.
Merlin: Gwen…
Gwen: Have you told anyone else?
Merlin: (shakes his head) I thought you deserved to know first.
Gwen: Good. Don't tell anyone else.
Merlin: (startled) What? But—
Gwen: There's no need to open an old wound over this. I know now I wasn't the fool I thought I was. For me, that's enough. (squeezes his hand and smiles sincerely) Thank you.
Merlin: (smiles) You're remarkable, you know that?
Gwen: (laughs) Oh, I know.
A knock at the door. A maidservant enters, followed by Gwaine and Percival.
Maidservant: Forgive me, my lady. These gentlemen came to retrieve… The king’s manservant.
Gwaine: (sweeping in with a dramatic bow) Your favourite escort has arrived.
Merlin: (instantly flushes to his ears and covers his face) Ugh. He has to stop doing this. What part of 'discreet' does he not understand?
Percival: Mate, you were kidnapped, then you had an attack in the market. These measures are understandable.
Merlin: (drops his hands, indignant) I'm not weak. I'm the most powerful sorcerer—
Gwaine: To ever walk the earth, yeah, yeah. You can tell us all about it while we walk.
Merlin: (sighs, and turns to Gwen) See you soon.
Gwen: I'll hold you to that.
Gwaine throws an arm around Merlin's shoulders, ignoring the glare he receives, and steers him toward the door, Percival following. Gwen watches them go, a genuine smile warming her face.
Time skip. Outside The Summer fortress.
The king has been cracking his skull trying to prepare his first date with Merlin. It's proven quite difficult, because it's Merlin who normally helps him with these things. Merlin organized his dates with Gwen, suggested romantic gestures, made everything run smoothly. Now Arthur is on his own.
He thought of a hunting trip, but Merlin hates hunting. He thought of a picnic, but he already did that with Gwen, and Merlin knew it. That might not go over well. After much agonizing thinking, he finally settled on this.
Arthur and Merlin arrive on horseback, Gwaine and Percival trailing behind. The fortress rises before them, elegant and secluded. They dismount.
Merlin: (squinting up at it) Is this a fortress?
Arthur: A summer fortress, yes. (A bit nervous) Do you like it?
Merlin: (confused, thinking) Since when does Arthur ask my opinion about a rock structure? (Says) It looks… nice?
Arthur: (visibly relieved) Good. Great.
Merlin: (frowns, worry creeping in) Is there a problem? Has something happened in the area? Is that why you were so rushed to come?
Arthur: No, not at all. I just… wanted to be here. With you.
Merlin: Why?
Arthur: (a beat) Merlin. A summer fortress is usually used by the king to take a rest from court. Or to hold… small private meetings.
Merlin: (stares at him blankly)
Arthur: You know. Because it's secluded. And… private.
Merlin: (still staring) You… need to discuss something very privately?
Gwaine: (to Percival in a loud whisper) Is he serious?
Percival: (equally loud whisper) Shh.
Arthur: (pinches the bridge of his nose) Merlin. I brought you to a secluded fortress. Just the two of us. With no court, no responsibilities. (Looks at Merlin meaningfully) For an extended period of time.
Merlin: (keeps staring, still not getting it) … Right.
Gwaine: (unable to contain himself) Mate. He wants to spend time alone with you. (Gestures wildly between them) Just the two of you. Alone. It's a date!
Merlin: (eyes go wide) WHAT?!
Percival: Yeah. Very romantic, right?
Merlin: (wheels on Arthur, scandalized) Why didn't you tell me we were having our first date?!
Arthur: (taken aback) I thought it would be a nice surprise?
Merlin: Surprise?! (Gestures at himself, at his plain servant's clothes) You gave me no time to prepare! I could have dressed better! This is our first date, goddammit!
Arthur: (stares at him for a moment, then a slow grin spreads across his face) You're worried about your clothes?
Merlin: (flustered) Of course I'm worried about my clothes! This is important! I may not have luxury clothes like you, but I definitely have better garments than this (Jabs a finger at his tunic) and I would have worn them if I'd known—I'm not a girl!!
Arthur: (holds up his hands, still grinning) I didn't say anything!
Merlin: But you thought it! And don't you dare laugh. I'm actually angry!
Arthur: (warmly, placing a hand on Merlin's shoulder) You look handsome in anything you wear.
Merlin: (swats the hand away) Don't. Don't you dare apply your prince charming voice on me. It won't work.
Arthur: (delighted) I have a prince charming voice?
Merlin: (splutters) It’s not—it's just—Ugh! (grabs his pack from his horse and storms toward the fortress entrance)
Gwaine: Uh… I believe your date is not starting well.
Arthur: It will pass.
Percival: (doubtful) I don't know, Sire. He seemed genuinely upset.
Arthur: What are you two still doing here anyway? Go make guard!
Gwaine: (saluting lazily) Guarding the village, got it. (Nudges his horse) Come on, Perce. Let's leave His Royal Romanticness to his date.
Percival: (already turning his horse) Good luck, Sire. (Thinking) You'll need it.
Inside The Summer Fortress
Arthur enters. Merlin is hunched over his backpack, rifling through its contents with increasing frustration.
Arthur: (approaching) What are you doing?
Merlin: (not looking up) Looking for something decent to wear. Which I obviously don't have, because someone didn't mention we were going on our first date.
Arthur: You're still upset about that?
Merlin: (finally looks up, exasperated) So you get to make a good impression, but I don't? I look like I've been traveling for hours!
Arthur: We did travel for hours.
Merlin: That's not the point!
Arthur: (steps closer, wrapping his arms around Merlin from behind, pressing a kiss to his neck) Merlin. You are perfect just the way you are—
Merlin: (pulls away, stepping out of the embrace) No. I'm not in the mood.
Arthur: (thinking) Alright. He's really upset. (Says carefully) I can lend you some of my clothes. If you want.
Merlin: (pauses) You brought extra clothes?
Arthur: Yes.
Merlin: (lifts an eyebrow) Why?
Arthur: Well, this is a special occasion. I wanted to be… prepared.
Merlin: (stares at him, his eyebrow climbing higher)
Arthur: Okay. I see the problem now.
Merlin: (crosses his arms) Don't say.
Arthur: (takes a step closer) I'm sorry. I was so focused on making this perfect for you that I didn't think about how it would feel to be surprised. You're right. You deserved to prepare too.
Merlin: (some of the tension leaves his shoulders and murmurs) I wanted to look nice for you.
Arthur: You do look nice. (Holds up a hand before Merlin can argue) But I understand that's not the point. (Moves to his own pack, pulling out a folded tunic) Here. You can put this on.
The young warlock takes it, running his fingers over the fine fabric. It's soft, deep blue, with subtle silver embroidery at the collar. He's never worn something so rich before and suddenly it feels… inadequate.
Merlin: No. (Tries to hand it back) It's yours. I can't.
Arthur: (pushes it back toward him) Yes, you can. Now go change.
Merlin: Really. I was making a fuss out of nothing—
Arthur: It wasn't nothing—
Merlin: We're not even the same size—
Arthur: Merlin, I was an idiot and I screwed up. So let me fix it. Okay? Go change.
Merlin: (smiles) Only because you admitted you are an idiot so fervently. (Takes the clothes)
Merlin disappears into another room. Arthur sits on a couch, listening to the rustle of fabric, a warmth spreading through his chest.
When Merlin emerges, Arthur's breath catches. The tunic doesn’t quite fit, a bit loose on Merlin, but somehow it looks better than it ever did on Arthur. The color brings out Merlin’s eyes, and without the travel dust and worn fabric, Merlin looks… radiant. But there's something else. Something about Merlin wearing his clothes that sends a very different kind of heat through Arthur's veins.
Merlin: (uncomfortable, looking down at himself) It's big on me.
Arthur: …
Merlin: (looks up) Arthur?
Arthur: (snaps out of his daze, feeling heat creep up his neck) I—I'll go change too.
Merlin: Oh, okay. Let me get your—
Arthur: NO! (Composes himself) I mean… you're not my servant now. You're my date. I can manage on my own. (Grabs his pack and rushes out)
Merlin: (stares after him with a confused frown)
Time skip.
Merlin and Arthur sit at a beautifully set table. Food and drinks are artfully arranged. Everything is perfect. Merlin can see that Arthur really made an effort. The flowers, the meal. All clearly designed to impress, to romance, to show.
He should be happy.
But he can't enjoy it. Because he can't stop thinking about how loose the clothes are on him.
It's ridiculous, and he knows it. He's being petty and ungrateful and stupid. But there was a time when this tunic would have fit him perfectly. Before the tower. Before days without food, without water. Days in which he lost the muscle it took him years to build.
He's not exactly skinny now. He's regained some of what he lost, thanks to Gaius's careful feeding and weeks of rest. But it's still less than he used to have. And every time he looks down at the gaping fabric at his shoulders, at the way it hangs instead of fits, he remembers. He remembers the cold. The hunger. The way his body started eating itself just to keep him alive.
And it's frustrating. Because he's never been one to care about his looks. He's tripped through Camelot in oversized neckerchiefs and patched trousers for years without a second thought. But now he can't stop thinking about how ridiculous he must look.
Arthur is talking—about the food, about the fortress, about something—but Merlin's attention keeps drifting back to that one, terrible thought.
Arthur: (sets down his fork) Merlin? You've barely touched your drink.
Merlin: (startles) What? (Looks down at his full glass, then takes a hurried sip) Oh. It's good.
Arthur: (concerned) What is it? Is the food not good? I can have something else prepared—
Merlin: No, no, the food is wonderful. Everything is wonderful. (Forces a smile) Really. You did an amazing job.
Arthur: Then what's wrong?
Merlin: Nothing is wrong.
Arthur: Is this because of the clothes?
Merlin: (wincing) No.
Arthur: I thought we were past that.
Merlin: We are.
Arthur: Well, clearly not, because you're still upset.
Merlin: (voice rising) I'm not upset!
Arthur: You may have been good at lying before, but now you're terrible at it.
Merlin: Will you please just let it go?!
Arthur: (raises his voice too) No! You hiding things from me, and me doing nothing when I noticed something was wrong is what caused a bridge between us before.
Merlin: I just want to enjoy our date!
Arthur: Me too! But we won't be able to if you don't tell me what's wrong.
Merlin: Oh, you want to know what's wrong?
Arthur: Yes!
Merlin: What's wrong is that today, of all days, I wanted to feel like me. (His voice shakes) The me I was before Morgana fucked me up. With my own clothes, that actually fit. That made me look like myself. (Gestures at the tunic) And instead, I'm wearing your clothes looking like a child playing dress-up!
Arthur: …
Merlin: (his anger deflates, leaving only shame) I'm sorry. (Looks down) I know I'm being ungrateful and rude. I'm ruining everything, and you worked so hard for this. (His voice breaks) I'm sorry.
Arthur: (quickly rounds the table) No. Hey. (Cups Merlin's face) It's alright. If it's really that important to you, I'll have your clothes brought.
Merlin: (looking up, hopeful) Really?
Arthur: (smiles warmly) Really. (Leans in, pressing a chaste kiss to Merlin's lips) But just for the record, you don't look like a child. (His voice drops, eyes darkening slightly) Actually, the last thing I think when I see you in my clothes is that you look like a child.
Merlin: (hits Arthur's arm)
Arthur: (laughs softly, catching Merlin's hand and pressing a kiss to his knuckles) And you are not ruining anything. We have at least two more weeks to enjoy ourselves here.
Merlin: I'm sorry—
Arthur: Don't. (Presses another kiss to Merlin's forehead) I'll send someone for your clothes. Okay? I'll be right back. (Leaves)
Time skip. Outside the Summer Fortress.
Gwaine: You want me to do what?!
Arthur: Bring Merlin's best clothes from his room.
Gwaine: (gesturing wildly) That's a day's ride from here!
Arthur: Well, you'd better get going, then.
Gwaine: Why not Percival?
Arthur: Because he has the size of two people, and I like him more. (Claps Gwaine on the shoulder) So go. Now.
Gwaine: (offended) You like him more?!
Arthur: (already walking away) I'll expect you back by tomorrow morning. (Goes back inside)
Time skip. The Summer Fortress’ Gardens. Sunset.
After the failed dinner, Arthur decides to opt for something simpler. A relaxed stroll in the gardens seems safe. An open space, fresh air. Nothing that can trigger bad memories of Merlin's ordeal like he stupidly did moments before.
He's aware he's been hard on himself. There was no way he could have known something as mundane as clothes would send Merlin spiraling. But…
"I hate you! You've brought nothing but disgrace and suffering into my life!"
The enchanted Merlin's words still echo sometimes. Arthur doesn't want to be the cause of pain to his beloved. Not ever again.
But what was supposed to be a relaxing stroll has turned into an impromptu herbology lesson. Because apparently, the garden is full of unique plants, and Merlin has decided this is the perfect moment to collect a botanical library.
Merlin: (delighted, crouching by a cluster of purple flowers) Foxglove! (Starts carefully picking them)
Arthur: You're making it very hard not to call you a girl right now.
Merlin: (Matter-of-factly) For your information, if used correctly, this plant is good for the heart.
Arthur: And if used incorrectly?
Merlin: It kills you.
Arthur: …
Merlin: (spotting something else, gasps) You have to be kidding me. Dwale? (Scrambles toward another patch) Who on earth made this garden?
Arthur: (thinking) He has no right looking this cute while collecting plants. (Says) What's this one's properties?
Merlin: (examining the plant) Mostly sedative. You know, pain relief, muscle relaxation—
Arthur: (reaches out, curious, about to pluck a dark berry)
Merlin: (slaps his hand)
Arthur: Ow!
Merlin: And they can be poisonous too.
Arthur: (rubs his hand, then laughs) Are you sure you don't just want to poison me?
Merlin: (his face falls)
Arthur: (realizing, horrified) Fuck. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I—
Merlin: No, it's okay. (Sets down the herbs, turning to face Arthur fully) Actually… I've been thinking about all those times I tried to kill you. And I've made my peace with it.
Arthur: (surprised) Really?
Merlin: Yes. Because I realized something. Even enchanted, I was never able to go through with it. Not really. I deliberately made a poison that kills slowly. That gave Gaius time to counteract it. Every time I tried to shoot you with an arrow, I failed. When you were climbing for your life on that mountain, I pulled Mordred away from the edge instead of pushing him, which would've been more effective. It’s like I was subconsciously sabotaging myself. And the one time I was close—when I almost cut your throat—(His voice catches, but he pushes on) I stopped. I came back, even if just for an instant. And that gave you time to knock me out.
Arthur: Merlin…
Merlin: (his eyes glistening) So no. I don't want to poison you. I never did. Not even when I thought I did.
Arthur crosses the distance between them in one step and pulls Merlin into a fierce embrace. Merlin melts into it, his face buried in Arthur's shoulder, his body finally relaxing after holding that weight for so long.
Arthur: Have I told you how much I love you?
Merlin: Multiple times.
Arthur: (pulls back just enough to meet his eyes, a soft, wondering smile) And yet you manage to beat me at love declarations without saying the words.
Merlin: (laughs softly) It's a gift.
Arthur: No, I can't let you win. So… (Pulls away and takes out a small book from his pocket) I brought this.
Merlin: (reads the title) A book of poetry?
Arthur: Yes. I'll recite you some.
Merlin: You said poetry was for love-struck girls.
Arthur: It's also for love-struck boys. Very manly boys.
Merlin: (lifts an eyebrow, skeptical)
Arthur: (a little desperate) I'm trying to be romantic here, Merlin. Humor me.
Merlin rolls his eyes, but he sinks onto the grass, settling in with anticipation. Arthur sits beside him, opens the book, and clears his throat with exaggerated importance.
Arthur: (reading) "My lady fair, with golden hair, whose gentle smile outshines the dawn—" (Stops abruptly) Eh… This one's about a girl.
Merlin: Sharp as always, my lord.
Arthur: Shut up. (Flips the page) "Her eyes are wells of summer light, her hair a river in the night—" (Scowls) Still a she. (Flips another page) "No jewel nor rose could ever compare to she whose beauty—" Goddamnit. (Flips again, faster now)
Merlin: (chuckles) Arthur. Poems are normally for knights to give to ladies. I doubt you're going to find one dedicated to a man.
Arthur: (flipping frantically) Wait— (Stops, a smile spreading) I've got one. (Reads, slower now, with more care) "I love thee not for what you seem, nor for the shape that others see. But for the quiet, constant flame that burns unseen, yet steadies me."
Merlin: (in awe) That was… actually beautiful.
Arthur: (sighs, closing the book) And yet it doesn't begin to explain how I feel. (Sets the book aside)
Merlin: (holds his hand) Use your words, then. I don't need elegant poetry or whatever you nobles do to court ladies. (Squeezes Arthur's hand) I just want you.
Arthur: (looks at him for a long moment, gathering himself) That's it. (Swallows) You never cared about my crown. About me being prince or king. (His thumb traces circles on Merlin's knuckles) You are one of the few people who actually sees me. Not as a title. Not as a symbol. Not as something to be used or feared or impressed. Just… as a man. Just… Arthur.
Merlin: (softly) Because that's who you are.
Arthur: And I would rather be that man—just that man—with you… than be a king without you. (A small, wondering laugh) I'd be happy as a farmer, Merlin. By your side. Just… with you.
Merlin: (chuckles softly) Yeah, right. You'd last a week before you started organizing the village militia.
Arthur: (grins) Maybe. But I'd still have you. (His voice softens) Because I am more myself when you are near. (A pause) And at the same time, I want to be that person you see when you look at me. The one you believe in. The one you put all your hope in. I want to be deserving of your love, your faith, because whoever is blessed with such things from you… (lifts their joined hands, pressing them to his chest, over his heart) Has already gained the world. You are my world.
Merlin: (stares at him, eyes shining) Arthur…
Arthur: (a shaky smile) I told you I'd beat you.
Merlin: (laughs) You idiot.
He pulls Arthur into a kiss, warm and fierce. When they finally break apart, foreheads resting together, they are both smiling, breathless.
Merlin: (dazed) Wow…
Arthur: (just as dazed) I feel like I'm… floating.
Merlin: Yeah… wait. (Looks down, eyes widening) We are!
They are, in fact, a few inches above the ground, just before gravity remembers them and they drop back down with a soft thud and a simultaneous yelp.
Arthur: (scrambling upright, looking around wildly) What the hell was that?! Is this garden cursed?
Merlin: (still on the ground, face red) Eh… No. (Sits up slowly, avoiding Arthur's eyes) I… I did it.
Arthur: (confused, turning to face him fully) Why? Did you mean to?
Merlin: (sheepish, tugging at a blade of grass) Well… it wasn't conscious. It's just…
Arthur: (sits back down beside him) What?
Merlin: My magic tends to act on its own when my feelings are… strong. (Risks a glance up, then quickly looks away again) It hasn't happened since I was a child. I learned to control it. But…
Arthur: But?
Merlin: I guess I was… too happy?
Arthur: …
Merlin: (sighs) Yeah, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you—
Arthur: (laughs)
Merlin: What are you—? Don't laugh!
Arthur: (keeps laughing)
Merlin: It's not funny!
Arthur: (waving a hand, trying to catch his breath) No, no. You misunderstand me. I'm not laughing at you.
Merlin: It seems like you are.
Arthur: (grins) No, I just didn't know my kisses were so good they literally made you float.
Merlin: Oh, don't go growing a big head!
Arthur: (smug) You could say our kisses are magical.
Merlin: (grabs a handful of grass and throws it at his face)
Arthur: (sputters, then grins) Oh, it's on. (Scoops up his own handful and throws it back)
What follows is a brief, ridiculous grass fight—laughter, scrambling, grass in hair and down shirts—until they both collapse back onto the ground, breathless and grinning.
They lay there in comfortable silence, side by side, shoulders touching. At some point, Merlin reaches out and levitates the purple foxglove flowers he'd picked earlier toward him. He begins to weave them together, fingers working with surprising delicacy.
Arthur: (watching him, fond) What girly thing are you doing now?
Merlin: (not looking up, a small smile playing on his lips) You're not the only one who wants to do romantic gestures.
Arthur: (surprised, warmth spreading through his chest) That's… for me?
Merlin: (nods, continuing his craft)
Arthur: Using the flowers from my garden?
Merlin: (glancing up) You mean like you reciting poems from other people?
Arthur: (snorts) Fair enough. (Watches more closely) That's not how you make a bouquet, though.
Merlin: (rolls his eyes) It's not a bouquet.
Arthur: (squints) A… hoop?
Merlin: (finishes the last twist) No. (Sits up) There. Get up.
Arthur: (sits up, curious)
Merlin: (reaches out and places the woven circlet on Arthur's head) It's a crown!
Arthur: (his hand comes up to touch it, his face flushing deeply, then stammers) You are… such a girl.
Merlin: If you don't like it, give it back.(Reaches out for it)
Arthur: (pulls back, one hand protecting the crown) No. It's mine now.
And between more laughter and teasing, the last light of sunset fades into twilight, and the first stars begin to appear.
Time skip. The Summer Fortress’ Royal Chambers. Night.
Arthur and Merlin enter. The room is beautifully arranged with soft lighting, fresh flowers, and a large bed with luxurious linens.
Merlin: (taking it in) Wow.
Arthur: (nervous) Do you like it?
Merlin: It's lovely.
Arthur: (smiles, relieved)
Merlin: (glancing around) Is this my room or your room?
Arthur: (blushes, rubbing the back of his neck) Uh… I didn't prepare another room. I was hoping we could…
Merlin: …Oh. (Eyes widen) OH!
Arthur: But I can sleep on the sofa if you—
Merlin: No, no! Don't be absurd. We've done this before.
Arthur: (blushes more deeply) It is true.
Merlin: More than once, in fact.
Arthur: (frowns, confused) No, just once.
Merlin: Arthur, we've done it several times.
Arthur: I think I would remember that.
Merlin: (offended) You've forgotten already of all the times we snuck into each other's beds at night?
Arthur: …
Arthur: Oh. You're talking about sleeping.
Merlin: (blinking) Yes. What did you think I was talking about?
Arthur: (too quickly, face now crimson) Exactly that. Of course. Sleeping. What else would I be talking about? (Coughs and grabs a pillow, avoiding Merlin’s eyes) I'll take this side.
Merlin just nods. He's not innocent. He knows exactly what Arthur meant. And honestly, he should have guessed—given the secluded romantic location—that Arthur brought him here with expectations. He'd mock Arthur for his clumsy attempt at covering, if it weren't for the fact that he himself is a wreck of nervousness and anticipation.
The first time they were intimate—if you could call it that—Merlin wasn't in his right mind. The circumstances were desperate, born of fear and the need to feel real. It was meaningful, yes, but it wasn't… this. A quiet night in a soft bed, both of them fully present and choosing each other.
He wants this time to be perfect. Special. He wants to be good for Arthur. The problem is he doesn't exactly have… experience.
Okay, he didn't stay a virgin by choice, just to be clear. It's just that between serving Arthur, deflecting magical threats, handling Gaius's chores, and saving the kingdom on a weekly basis, there was never time for that. It definitely wasn't for lack of desire. He might have been hopelessly in love with Arthur for years, but that didn't mean he didn't have eyes to appreciate other people.
There was that one time he started something with one of Gwen's maidservants. It never progressed past flirting, and by the time it was close to developing into something more, she ran away, because apparently she turned out to be a spy. Gwaine once suggested he just go to a brothel, but Merlin's not a casual sex person. He needs to bond with someone first, not love necessarily, but to have a genuine sentimental connection.
So yeah. This would be his first actual time. And it's exciting as much as it is terrifying.
Already in his undergarments, the young warlock sits on the edge of the bed, suddenly acutely aware of every movement he makes. Arthur is on the other side, pretending to fluff a pillow with great concentration.
Merlin: (thinking, as he watches Arthur get comfortable) I should probably make a move… Yes! I'm not a shy person. I can take initiative. (Says) Arthur.
Arthur: (turns) Yes?
Merlin: … Goodnight. (Covers himself with the blanket, thinking) Coward.
Arthur: (sighs and blows out the last candle)
They lie in the dark, each close to the edge of their respective sides, backs turned. An uncomfortable silence settles, both dealing with a warmth that has nothing to do with the weather.
Merlin: Why are you lying so far away from me?
Arthur: You're the one who moved away.
Merlin: No, I just like this spot.
Arthur: Well, I like this spot too.
Merlin: Fine!
Arthur: Fine!
Silence.
Arthur: (yanks the blanket)
Merlin: (yelps) You're taking all the cover!
Arthur: The cover is huge!
Merlin: And somehow you manage to take all of it!
Arthur: Maybe if you weren't literally on the edge—
Merlin: You're the one on the edge! (Shuffles to the center of the bed) See? I'm not remotely close to the edge.
Arthur: (shuffles too) Me neither.
Merlin: You just moved!
Arthur: You did too!
Merlin: No, you're the one putting distance between us!
Arthur: I was respecting your distance!
Merlin: I don't want any distance!
Silence.
Merlin's heart hammers. He can feel the warmth of Arthur's body now, their chests almost touching, the heat of him bleeding through the thin fabric of their shirts. Then, slowly, a hand snakes under his shirt and places itself flat against his waist. Arthur's lips are a breath away from Merlin's. So close that Merlin can feel the shape of each word before he speaks.
Arthur: (low, barely a whisper) What do you want, Merlin?
Merlin: (voice small, but steady) I want… I want you to stop pretending you don't know what I want.
For a heartbeat, nothing moves. Then they both close the distance between them and kiss. It is not careful. It is the collision of two people who have been holding themselves back for too long, and now they can’t even remember why they were holding themselves back in the first place.
Merlin's hands find Arthur's shoulders, then his hair, then the warm skin of his back. Arthur's hand on his waist slides around to the small of his back, pulling him closer and closer, until there is no space left between them. When they finally break apart, gasping, foreheads pressed together, they are trembling.
Arthur: (voice rough, thumb tracing circles on Merlin's hip) Are you sure?
Merlin: (nods quickly) I’ve waited so long for this.
It is all the confirmation Arthur needs. He kisses Merlin again, slower, deeper. The only sounds are soft breaths and the rustle of sheets. Then Arthur grows bolder. He rolls Merlin onto his back and settles over him, his hands more exploring, his kisses more impatient. Merlin is not left behind. He arches up into him without thinking and musters the courage to slip his hand between Arthur's skin and his breeches, making Arthur let out a low groan that turns Merlin on more, if possible.
They practically yank each other's shirts away. The fabric lands somewhere on the floor, forgotten. He can barely make out Arthur’s shape in the dark. Merlin wishes he could see him.
Suddenly little soft golden floating lights appear in the room, drifting up from nowhere like tiny suspended stars.
Arthur: (grins) Merlin?
Merlin: (flushes furiously) Do not say a word.
Arthur: I wasn't going to. (Pulls Merlin down into another kiss) I was just going to enjoy the view.
Arthur's hand moves down Merlin's side, grasps his breeches, and pulls them down with one hand. Merlin swallows, but soon does the same, with the same ritual slowness. They stare for a moment, just admiring. There is no fabric keeping them apart now.
Arthur: You are beautiful.
Merlin: You are… not so bad.
Arthur: (chuckles, but then his expression turns serious) I… I need something. (Reaches over to the bedside table and picks up a little glass bottle. He holds it up, suddenly shy) This is for—
Merlin: (quickly) I know what it is for.
Arthur: (eyes wide, surprised with a flicker of jealousy) You've done this before?!
Merlin: No! But I'm not innocent. As Gaius's apprentice, sometimes we had to tend to patients in the brothels in the lower town. And not all prostitutes are women, you know. And they… talk. (Thinking) And I did my own research as well, but I'm not going to tell you that.
Arthur: (relief softening his features, then a slow smile spreads across his face) So… you haven't…
Merlin: (groans, covering his face) Oh, for Gods' sake. No, I haven't.
Arthur: (chuckles softly and pulls Merlin’s hands away from his face) It's okay. Neither have I. With men I mean.
Merlin: Yeah, I figured that part out.
Arthur: So… (kisses him) We are learning together.
Arthur pours a small amount of oil into his palm, warming it between his hands. The golden lights cast soft shadows on the walls, illuminating the flush on their skin. When Arthur touches him there, a single finger pressing carefully inward, Merlin's body tenses, his breath catching in his throat. His hands fly to Arthur's shoulders, gripping tight.
Arthur: (worried, though his eyes are almost dark with desire) Are you alright?
Merlin: (nods frantically, voice breathless) I'm fine. Just… (Meets Arthur's gaze, his own eyes pleading) Kiss me.
Arthur obeys. He leans down and captures Merlin's mouth with his own. Merlin melts into the kiss, his body gradually relaxing. As Arthur deepens the kiss, his finger moves again. Then a second one joins, perhaps too abruptly. Merlin gasps against his mouth, a sound caught between surprise, pain, and something else entirely.
Arthur: (pulls back, guilt flashing across his face) I'm sorry—I didn't mean to—
Arthur tries to stretch him slowly and gently. But between the messy clash of lips and the unsteadiness of his own nerves, his fingers aren't precisely steady. Then, as he crooks them just so, Merlin screams.
Arthur: (fear cutting through the haze) Did I hurt you? (Starts to pull back)
Merlin: (grabs his wrist, holding him in place) No. Don't you dare. (His eyes are wild, desperate, wanting) Do it again.
Arthur stares at him for a heartbeat—at the flush on his chest, the glisten of sweat on his collarbone, the need in his eyes—and something in him unravels. Arthur curls his fingers again, watching Merlin's face. This time, Merlin doesn't scream. He moans and his hips buck forward of their own accord. Arthur’s length hardens at the sight.
Arthur: (voice thick) Like that?
Merlin: (barely able to speak) Yes. Gods, yes.
The golden lights burn brighter. Arthur can only take it as a good sign, and somehow, knowing he is provoking this—this unleashed magic reaction—only increases his arousal. He could come just from this, Merlin writhing and moaning for him with nothing but the movement of his fingers.
That cannot happen, though. It would be rather embarrassing. He withdraws his fingers slowly and reaches for the oil again. However, Merlin stops him, grabbing the bottle, looking at him intently.
Merlin: Can I?
Arthur: (stares for a moment, then nods, swallowing hard)
Merlin pours oil into his palm, just as Arthur did. Then he reaches down and wraps his fingers around Arthur's length, stroking slowly, experimentally. Arthur's breath hitches, his forehead pressing against Merlin's.
Arthur: (voice ragged) Merlin…
Merlin: (watches his face intently) Like this?
Arthur: (nods frantically, unable to form words)
Merlin leans in and kisses him while his hand works. Arthur groans into his mouth, his hips bucking forward of their own accord. The pressure builds, the heat coiling low in his belly.
Arthur: (pulling back, gasping) If you keep going, I'm not going to last.
Merlin: (his eyes glint with mischief and he strokes him faster)
Arthur: Merlin! (grabs Merlin's wrists and pushes him down onto the mattress, pinning him) You little shit.
Merlin: (chuckles)
Arthur: (looks him up and down with want) I want to be inside you. So bad.
Merlin: (turned on, open his legs wide) What are you waiting for?
Arthur positions himself between Merlin's legs. He pauses, looking down at the man beneath him—his beloved, his Merlin. Then he presses forward, slowly.
Merlin gasps, mouth wide open. The golden lights flicker wildly. Arthur moans loudly—the pressure around him is delicious—but even in his ecstasy, he worries. Merlin's face is contorted, and the lights won't stop flickering.
Arthur: (strained, barely holding himself still) Merlin—
Merlin: If you stop or ask if I'm alright one more time, Arthur, I'm going to kill you. I swear.
So Arthur continues, pressing deeper, inch by agonizing inch, watching Merlin's face the whole time. When he is fully seated inside him, when they are finally, finally joined, they both let out a sound—half gasp, half cry. Merlin's nails scratch down Arthur's back as Arthur drops his weight, face buried in the crook of Merlin's neck.
When Arthur lifts his head again, Merlin's eyes are filled with tears. The lights are not just flickering now, but throwing random, disorganized sparks.
Arthur: (labored breathing, fighting every instinct to move) I really think… I should ask now.
Merlin: (some tears fall, voice watery) I might… need a moment.
Arthur: (kisses his cheeks gently, cleaning the tears with his lips) Does it hurt that much?
Merlin: (shakes his head) No. I mean… a little. But it's not just that. It's everything. So many feelings at once, and I… (His voice breaks) I'm so happy. (A tear slips down his cheek) I love you.
Arthur: (kisses the tear away, then Merlin's lips, soft and reverent) I love you too. (Takes a deep breath, forcing his hips to stay still, though every nerve in his body is screaming) Tell me when you are ready.
They stay like that for a moment. Merlin's breathing slowly evens out and the lights settle into a soft, steady glow.
Merlin: (quietly) Okay.
Arthur: (needing confirmation) Okay?
Merlin: (nods, wrapping his legs around Arthur's waist) Move.
Arthur does. He lowers his head, bending down to kiss Merlin tenderly, and then he withdraws and thrusts inside again with a small, slow movement. Merlin's head falls back against the pillow, mouth open, eyes fluttering shut, and his thighs squeeze Arthur's hips tighter.
Arthur: (voice low) Look at me.
Merlin opens his eyes, and Arthur enters him again. Merlin cries, both in pain and pleasure. Soon the movement of Arthur's body against his turns more rhythmic. Merlin moans, the pain suppressed now by the wonderful, burning sensation of Arthur filling him, stretching him, hitting him right on that spot. Arthur grips Merlin's body and presses his lips to his skin as if he couldn't get enough, groaning at the feeling of Merlin's walls closing tighter around him. The lights pulse with each of Arthur's thrusts, brightening and dimming like a shared breath.
Arthur: (voice wrecked) You feel… (Can't finish the sentence)
Merlin: (hands gripping Arthur's shoulders, then his back, then anything he can reach) Arthur.
When Merlin says his name like that—moaning, almost breathless—the pace quickens. The room fills with the sound of skin on skin, of moans only muffled occasionally by kisses and whispered names. Merlin meets him thrust for thrust, his body finally adapting to the rhythm. The lights burn brighter.
Then Merlin cries out, his back arching off the bed, and the lights shatter into a thousand tiny stars that rain down on them.
Arthur: (thrusting deeper, faster, chasing his own release) Merlin—I'm—
Merlin: (clutching him, nails biting into his shoulders) Inside. Please.
The sounds coming from Arthur's throat grow louder until, finally, he buries himself one last time, moaning and trembling on top of Merlin. Merlin holds him through it until Arthur collapses on him, boneless and breathless.
The stars fade slowly, one by one, until only a soft golden glow remains.
Arthur: That was…
Merlin: (smiling) Yeah.
Arthur: (lifts his head, looking down at Merlin) Are you alright?
Merlin: (laughs weakly) I'm more than alright. (Kisses Arthur softly) I'm yours.
Arthur's throat tightens. He kisses Merlin tenderly and then carefully pulls out, settling beside him and pulling him close.
Arthur: (against his hair) And I'm yours.
They lie there tangled together, as the last of the golden lights flickers and fades.
Time skip. The next day. Morning.
Arthur opens his eyes to the beautiful sight of Merlin in his arms.
Morning light filters through the curtains, catching the edges of Merlin's dark hair and the soft curve of his cheek. He's still asleep, his breathing slow and even, his face relaxed in a way Arthur has rarely seen since the Tower. No tension. No worry. No nightmares. Just peace.
Arthur watches him for a long moment, not daring to move, afraid he might wake him. Or worse, that this might be a dream. But Merlin's weight is solid against his chest, his skin warm beneath Arthur's palm, and Arthur can feel his heartbeat, slow and steady.
Last night happened. Merlin is really here with him.
He thinks of all the mornings he woke up alone in his chambers, greeted only by the formal, quiet servant of the day. Then, during the desperation of the search, by glimpses of a Merlin who despised him. He never lost hope, never gave up the idea of getting his Merlin back. But he never let himself imagine this. Never let himself hope for this. Not only having Merlin by his side again, but having him in his bed after making love, so utterly and completely his.
And yet here he is. Here they are. And Arthur has never felt so blessed in his life.
Arthur lifts his free hand, fingers brushing a strand of hair from Merlin's forehead. Merlin stirs slightly, a soft murmur escaping his lips, but doesn't wake. Arthur smiles.
Arthur: (whispers) Hi.
Merlin shifts again, and this time his eyes flutter open, first hazy, then focusing, then widening as he takes in Arthur's face.
Merlin: (voice thick with sleep, a slow smile spreading) Hi.
Arthur: Rise and shine, lazy daisy.
Merlin: (chuckles softly) My words.
Arthur: And they fit you perfectly. (Kisses Merlin's forehead)
Merlin: (makes a move to get up and winces, his hand going to his lower back)
Arthur: (grin widening) Sore?
Merlin: (groans) Shut up. It's your fault. (Shifts, trying to find a comfortable position) Ugh. Is it always like this?
Arthur: (recalling his limited experience with Gwen) The first time, yeah. And the second… and maybe also the third.
Merlin: (throwing an arm over his eyes) Forget it. I'm not letting you touch me again, you brute.
Arthur: (leans closer, voice low and amused) I didn't hear you complaining last night. In fact, if I remember correctly, you were the one asking me not to stop—
Merlin: (face burning) Shut up!
Arthur: (chuckles and presses another kiss to his temple) Don't move. I'll take care of you.
He kisses Merlin again before swinging his legs out of bed. Merlin sinks back into the pillows, watching him through half-closed eyes as Arthur crosses to the trunk where Arthur left their things.
Arthur rummages for a cloth. His fingers brush fabric, then something cold and metallic. He frowns, pulling it out.
The padded chains. The ones he made for Merlin. The ones that bound his wrists during the journey to the Cauldron.
Arthur: (staring at them) What…? (Holds them up)
These shouldn't be here. They should be at the bottom of that sacred lake, or lost somewhere in the mountain pass.
Arthur: (calling over his shoulder, confused) Merlin?
Merlin: (from the bed, drowsy) Hm?
Arthur: Do you know how this got here?
A beat of silence. Arthur turns. Merlin's face has gone crimson from his cheeks to his ears to his neck.
Merlin: Um…
Arthur: (walking back to the bed, chains dangling from his hand) I could have sworn we left these behind at the Cauldron.
Merlin: (looks anywhere but at Arthur) Yeah, but I… (Mumbles) picked them up and put them in my pack.
Arthur: (stops beside the bed) …
Merlin: I can explain.
Arthur: (sits on the edge of the bed, leaving the chains next to him) I'm listening.
Merlin: They… give me comfort.
Arthur: (blinks) The chains I used to restrain you when you were enchanted give you comfort?
Merlin: I know, I know. It sounds crazy but… (finally looks at Arthur) You had them made for me.
Arthur: (stares at him) You're joking.
Merlin: I'm really not. (Reaches out, fingers brushing the padded lining) I mean, they're padded and everything. You took the time to measure them and line them with leather so they wouldn't chafe.
Arthur: Yes, to literally chain you and lock you up! That's not exactly romantic.
Merlin: (a small, vulnerable smile) I know, but… even when you were locking me up, you were still thinking about my wellbeing. So… I don't know. It felt special. In a way.
Arthur: …
Merlin: (looks down) Yeah, yeah, it's weird.
Arthur: (reaches out, tilting Merlin's chin up gently) It's not weird. Just… curious. (His thumb brushes Merlin's cheek) I thought these things would bother you once you were back to yourself—remind you of things you'd rather forget. I'm glad it isn't the case. (Leans closer, voice softening, his hands dropping to rest on Merlin's wrists) At the time, I really didn't want to hurt you. You were already suffering enough. I tried to keep you safe and as comfortable as possible—
Merlin: You did. You really did.
Arthur: (smiles, grateful and relieved) Good to know that. (Glances at the chains, then back at Merlin) That said, if this is special to you, there's no problem with you keeping it. (His expression turns mischievous and leans in) In fact… we could even use it for other things.
Merlin: (looking at him, genuinely lost) Oh, well. I suppose it would be useful for immobilizing a murderer. Or for leading criminals to the dungeons without risk of escape. (Frowns) But you can use any other chains for that. (Grabs the padded chains possessively) These are mine.
Arthur: (bursts out laughing)
Merlin: (offended) What? I simply don't see the point of using my handcuffs to restrain criminals!
Arthur: (wipes away a tear) Sure, we could do that. (Grins) Although I was thinking more about chaining my adorable, innocent servant to the bed.
Merlin: (eyes go wide. Mouth opens. No sound comes out)
Arthur: (chuckles) I'm joking! (A pause) … But if you want to, I'm not joking.
Merlin: (grabs a pillow and throws it at him)
Arthur: (catches the pillow, laughing)
The king tosses the chains back into the trunk and returns with a cloth and a cup of water, and takes care of his beloved as promised.
Later, they have breakfast in bed—talking, laughing, stealing bites from each other's plates—as the morning stretches warm and golden around them. Nothing could take them from their little bubble of happiness.
Until the door slams open.
Gwaine: (bursts in, breathless) Sire! There you— (Stops dead, taking in the scene before him: Arthur in nothing but his breeches and Merlin wrapped in the king's shirt) … are.
Arthur: (snaps, face flushing with fury) Don't you know how to knock?!
Merlin: (adjusts Arthur's shirt on him, face burning)
Gwaine: (a grin spreading despite his urgency) Oh, you really don't waste time.
Arthur: (warns) Gwaine.
Gwaine: Right. I brought—
Arthur: Merlin's clothes.
Gwaine: Uh. No, but—
Arthur: (incredulous, gesturing wildly) You have to be kidding me. That's the very reason I sent you!
Gwaine: Yes, but then I was informed—
Arthur: (rises from the bed) I don't care what matters of state you learned. I asked for two weeks off for a reason. I gave you one task—
Gwaine: (rises his voice) Mordred is missing!
Arthur: (freezes) … What?
Gwaine: He disappeared while on patrol. Three days ago. No one knew until yesterday because his unit was ambushed. Three knights wounded, one dead. (Swallows) And witnesses claim to have seen him be taken by—
Merlin: (face drained of all color, voice hollow, eyes too knowing) Morgana.
And just like that, their little bubble bursts.
...
Sorry for the delay! As you can probably tell, the Merthur date ended up being much longer than I expected. So much so that I had to push the rest of what I’d planned into a next part.
The final part (this time for real!) will focus on Morgana’s fate.
"Merlin Enchanted AU FINAL" is the WIP for the last part of my Morgana takes Merlin instead of Gwen to the Dark Tower AU on Tumblr or, as it’s called on AO3, ̶I̶ ̶L̶o̶v̶e̶ ̶Y̶o̶u̶ I Hate You!
It’s taking me forever because there’s a lot to cover: Gwen and Merlin rebuilding their friendship, Merlin and Arthur’s first date, and Morgana’s fate. Right now I’m especially stuck on the date scene. I keep writing and rewriting it because it has to be cute and romantic, but also coherent and not too perfect. These two are chaotic and dealing with a lot of trauma, so… yeah, I’m trying to strike the right balance.
If anyone wants to send asks about any of my WIPs here: WIP Tag Game , please feel free. I’d love to talk about them!
Hi again! As promised, here’s the poll to decide which scene of my Morgana takes Merlin instead of Gwen to the Dark Tower AU will be turned into fanart ✨
Thank you so much for all your suggestions 😊.
The requested scenes are:
1. Merlin watches Arthur and Gwen:
2. Morgana hugs Enchanted Merlin:
3. Arthur and Enchanted Merlin struggle:
4. Merlin’s magic stops Enchanted Merlin:
5. Enchanted Merlin and Gwen:
6. Arthur chains Enchanted Merlin:
7. Arthur convinces Enchanted Merlin:
8. Merlin is back:
Which moment would you like to see illustrated?
Merlin watches Arthur and Gwen
Morgana hugs Enchanted Merlin
Arthur and Enchanted Merlin struggle
Merlin’s magic stops Enchanted Merlin
Enchanted Merlin and Gwen
Arthur chains Enchanted Merlin
Arthur convinces Enchanted Merlin
Merlin is back
Voting ended onMar 25
Vote for your favorite, and feel free to share in the comments about why it deserves to win.
I’m really excited to see which one comes out on top!
Rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous and tag as many people as you have WIPs. People send an ask with the title that most intrigues them, then you post a snippet or tell them something about it! :)
My WIPs consist of Merthur fics (BBC Merlin) and my original play scripts (I'm a theater kid!). The last ones are in spanish cause that's my first language, but I can translate them for you if you are interested.
Merthur Fics WIPs:
Merlin Enchanted AU FINAL
Tomorrow
Protecting The Dragonlord's Son
Chapter 4: Valiant
My original scripts WIP:
Amistades en pandemia (Friendships During COVID)
Cuando pienses en volver (When You Think About Coming Back)
Hi, everybody! I’m still working on the final part of my Morgana takes Merlin instead of Gwen to the Dark Tower AU. I'm sorry it’s taking so long, but I really want to get it right.
On a related note, my beta (and best friend) found an artist within my budget, so I’m thinking of commissioning a piece of fanart for the story. The problem is… I’m incredibly indecisive about which scene to choose. There are just too many good options: Enchanted Merlin almost cutting Arthur’s throat, Enchanted Merlin revealing Arthur’s infidelity to Gwen, Arthur chaining Enchanted Merlin in the East Tower, Arthur convincing Merlin to enter the cauldron, and so on.
So, since I can’t decide, I thought I’d leave it up to you. What scene would you most like to see illustrated? It can be one of the ones I mentioned or any other moment you’d love to see brought to life. I’ll take the most suggested ones and put them into a poll!
"Morgana turned evil because of Merlin", "If Merlin hadn't poisoned her..." , "If Merlin hadn't betrayed her—BULLSHIT
Morgana had already conspired to kill Uther way before Merlin did what he did. Twice.
I do believe if Merlin had told her about his magic, she would have felt less alone. Maybe it would have changed things. Or maybe not, because Morgana had this extreme mindset since always.
And I don’t know about you but "My friend betrayed me" doesn’t seem enough excuse to turn against everyone the way she did. People like Uther deserved her hatred? Yes. But what about Gwen? She never did anything to her and decided she was the enemy due to a vision. That was enough to throw their friendship away and torment her. At least Merlin doubted the prophecies about Morgana becoming evil. Meanwhile, Morgana decided to hate Gwen for something she hadn’t even done yet without a second thought.
I'm not saying Morgana’s suffering is not valid. Or that Merlin didn't make mistakes (hell, he did plenty). But people portraying her merely as a victim, and blaming Merlin entirely is just wrong.
Morgana’s actions and decisions were her own, just as Merlin's. She is not less responsable for them because she suffered.
Morgana takes Merlin instead of Gwen to the Dark Tower AU
Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5 , Part 6 , Part 7 , Part 8 , Part 9 , Part 10 , Part 11 , Part 12 , Part 13 , Part 14, Part 15 , Part 16 , Part 17 , Part 18 (You're here) , Part 19 , Part 20 , FINAL PART
Merlin wakes slowly, the kind of waking that drifts up from deep sleep. For a long, blissful moment, there is nothing but the comfort of soft linen beneath him and the distant echo of a wonderful dream. He smiles, still half-lost in it.
Then his mind clicks into place.
He's in Arthur's bed. Memory returns in a rush. His own voice, begging. Arthur's hands. The things he said. The things he did.
It wasn’t a dream.
Heat floods his face. He presses his eyes shut. What must Arthur think of him now? Throwing himself at him like that, pleading, begging. Offering himself up like some… some tavern whore! He wants to crawl under the bed and never emerge.
He hears a soft rustle of parchment. Arthur is at his desk, quill in hand, brows furrowed over some document. He looks tired, but there's a softness to his features that Merlin has never seen before. Like he is at peace, almost. Then Arthur glances up, and the weariness on his face lifts.
Arthur: (setting down the quill, rising immediately) You're awake. (Crosses the room in three strides, sitting on the edge of the bed) How are you feeling?
Merlin: (can't meet his eyes) Uh?
Arthur: Does the… world make sense again?
Merlin: No, it doesn’t.
Arthur: (frowns, worried) Do you still feel stunned? Disoriented?
Merlin: I wish I did.
Arthur: (not quite understanding, but pressing on) Well, I told Gaius what happened, so—
Merlin: (bolts upright, eyes wide) WHAT?!
Arthur: (startled) Yes, he needed to know.
Merlin: Why would he ever need to know about any of this?!
Arthur: To prevent another attack! If it happens again, we'll know what to do!
Merlin: …
Merlin: Oh. You were talking about… what happened in the market.
Arthur: Yes. What else did you think I was— (realises) Oh.
Merlin: (yanks the covers over his head)
Arthur: (a soft, amused chuckle) Merlin, of course I wasn't going to tell him that.
Merlin: (muffled) Don't. Shut up. Not a word. I want to die.
Arthur: (his smile fades and pulls the covers down, his heart squeezing) Do you regret it?
Merlin: Yes—I mean, no. (Hides his face in a pillow) I don't know.
Arthur: (removes the pillow) Merlin, it’s alright. Stop hiding.
Merlin: I can't. I feel so embarrassed. (Presses his hands to his burning cheeks) I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—I wasn't thinking clearly. I'm not usually like that, I swear!
Arthur: You have nothing to apologize for.
Merlin: Yes, I do. I took advantage of you. And I was so desperate and pathetic and—
Arthur: No, Merlin. (Catches Merlin's hands, lowering them from his face) You were scared. You were clinging to the only thing that felt real. On the contrary, I took advantage of you.
Merlin: (sits up) No, I did!
Arthur: No, I did.
Merlin: (louder) I DID! I didn't even take care of you!
Arthur: (blinks) What?
Merlin: You were so good, and I just… (His voice drops to a mortified mumble) fell asleep.
Arthur: (stares at him for a beat, then laughs)
Merlin: It's not funny!
Arthur: It's a little funny.
Merlin: It is not!
Arthur: (his laughter subsides into a tender smile. Then reaches out, cupping Merlin's face in both hands) Do you think I did any of that because I expected something in return?
Merlin: (hesitates) Well…
Arthur: I wanted to comfort you. For you to feel safe and real again. I wanted you to know, beyond any doubt, that you are loved. That I love you.
Merlin: (stares at him, moved)
Arthur: But I'd be lying if I said I only had selfless reasons. I also wanted you. I wanted to pleasure you. To touch you. To watch you. If you think I got nothing from this, you are seriously mistaken. (Leaning in, his lips brushing Merlin's ear) Having you writhing and moaning for me… (Lets out a low, appreciative hum) It was a very rewarding visual spectacle.
Merlin: (shoves him hard, but a reluctant smile tugs at his lips) Ass.
Arthur: (smiles back, warmly, his eyes soft)
Merlin: I can’t believe this is real.
Arthur: (his smile falters, concern in his eyes)
Merlin: No, no—not like that! I'm pretty sane right now. I think. (Sighs) I mean… I still can't believe that this happened. That you… That you love me.
Arthur: (relief floods his features, then a mischievous grin) Well, if you want, I can do it again. To convince you.
Merlin: (hits him)
Arthur: Really, whenever you need it. I have no problem with repeated demonstrations. In fact, I insist on thorough confirmation of my feelings.
Merlin: (blushes furiously) Shut up! (Discreetly pulls a pillow into his lap)
A knock on the door. The young warlock startles, scrambling off the bed in an instant, putting distance between himself and the king. A servant enters, who professionally ignores Merlin's presence and his disheveled state.
Servant: Your bath, Sire.
Arthur: (nods) Bring it in.
Merlin stands awkwardly to the side as servants file in, preparing the tub, and guilt settles in his stomach. That's supposed to be his job! Instead, he's been sleeping in the king's bed. And before that, he spent days resting in his own room because of the chill. Days when Arthur had to manage without him, when other servants had to pick up his slack, because the king's manservant was too weak to serve. As if abandoning Arthur these past three months hasn’t been enough. Rationally, Merlin knows he needed the rest. And the attack in the market was out of his control. But he can't shake the feeling that he's failing in his duty. That he's been neglecting Arthur.
The servants finish and leave. Merlin immediately moves to the tub, dipping his hand in.
Merlin: It's not hot enough.
Arthur: No one can get the temperature right like you.
Merlin: (murmurs, eyes flashing gold) Onhǽte þá wæter.
The water shimmers and steam rises more thickly.
Arthur: (chuckles softly) And now I know why.
Merlin: (blushes deeper, ducking his head, his ears burning)
Arthur: (noticing, amused) Wait. Are you getting flustered over heating water?
Merlin: (mumbles) I'm still not used to it. Using magic. With you watching.
The king's expression softens, understanding dawning. Merlin has hidden such a fundamental part of himself for so long. After the denial, after the betrayal, Arthur spent weeks hating himself for never making Merlin feel safe enough to tell the truth. Merlin won't say it, but Arthur knows that, beneath the years of secrets, was the fear that Arthur would reject him.
He has accepted magic now. He has come to realize it isn't the evil, corrupting force his father preached. But years of blind prejudice cannot be undone in months. Months when Merlin wasn't even present. And Arthur doesn’t want Merlin to even consider he could reject any part of him again.
Arthur: Would you show me more?
Merlin: (his head snaps back up, eyes going wide)
Arthur: I've been reading. Your book of magic. You had interesting notes in there. Gaius showed me a couple of simple spells. But I'd like to learn more. From you.
Merlin: (stares at him for a long moment, then his face breaks into a smile, eyes glistening) I'd love that.
A comfortable silence settles between them. Then Merlin shifts, glancing toward the door.
Merlin: I'll fetch your dinner.
Arthur: (frowns slightly) Oh, you don't have to—
Merlin: I have to. It's literally my job. I'm your servant.
Arthur: And you literally just had an attack. You need rest.
Merlin: I've done nothing but rest since I got here. I'm fetching your dinner while you bathe.
Arthur: I told you, you're more than a servant to me.
Merlin: (a soft, genuine smile) Yeah. I'm pretty aware of that. Believe me. But I'm still your servant. I'm fetching your dinner.
Arthur: But—
Merlin: (aggressively) Let me fetch your dinner!
Arthur: (stunned into silence for a moment, then smiles, raising his hands in surrender) … Alright. Go fetch my dinner.
Merlin: (nods, satisfied, and turns toward the door)
Arthur: Merlin.
Merlin: (turns back)
Arthur: (mischievously) Want to bathe with me?
Merlin: (red spreads from his cheeks to his ears to his neck)
Arthur: (laughs, delighted)
Merlin: Arthur!
Arthur: (grinning) I'm joking. (A pause) But if you want to, I'm not joking.
Merlin: (grappling for composure) You are still a royal ass. (Goes to the door)
Arthur: (catches his arm) Merlin.
Merlin: (turns, exasperated) What?!
The king suddenly pulls his servant close and kisses him. It's soft and warm and lingers just long enough to steal Merlin's breath. When Arthur pulls back, Merlin's exasperation has melted into something dazed and wondering.
Arthur: (against his lips) I love you.
Merlin: (softly, stammering) I—I love you too. (And flees)
Arthur watches him go, chuckling softly. Making Merlin blush is definitely his new favourite hobby.
Time skip.
Gwaine and Leon are the first to check on Merlin after he's recovered. They fill in the gaps—how frantic Arthur was, the way he had nearly torn the citadel apart searching, and how bad Merlin looked when they found him in the bakery. Then Percival encounters him, and Gwen, who weren't there but were told, and also ask if he is okay. They all offer their reassurances, and their comforting presence is a balm Merlin didn't know he needed.
And then, unexpectedly, Elyan checks on him too.
Merlin: (surprised) I thought you hated me.
Elyan: I don't hate you. (Sighs) Am I incredibly angry at you still? Yes. But I don't hate you.
Merlin: I am really sorry—
Elyan: (holds up a hand) Stop. Just… don't disappear again, alright? The kingdom can't handle it. (A pause) I can't handle it.
A small smile forms in Merlin's face. It's moments like this that make him wonder how he could ever have seen his friends as the cruel, hateful people the enchantment painted in his mind.
Just when he thinks he's done crying, his mother arrives. Merlin clutches to her like he hasn't done in years. He feels like a little boy again, safe in her arms.
Hunith: (her voice thick with tears) I knew something was wrong when you stopped writing to me. Then Gaius came to Ealdor with the king to tell me everything, and I was so scared for you. (Holds him tighter) Arthur assured me he knew how to cure you, that he was using every resource to find you, but I still—
Merlin: (muffled against her shoulder) I know. I'm sorry I worried you.
Hunith: (pulls back, cupping his face with one hand) It wasn't your fault. My boy, my son, being controlled like that. (Her voice breaks) And I wasn't even there. If something had happened to you…
Merlin: I'm fine now, Mum. (Hesitates, a lump forming in his throat) Besides, it's better you weren't there. My thoughts about you when I was enchanted… they weren't nice. I said and did so many awful things. (His voice breaks) If you had received even just an ounce of that hate, I would never have forgiven myself.
Hunith: (her eyes fill with fresh tears) You think I don't know my own son? (Pulls him close again) Nothing you said or did while enchanted could ever make me believe any different of you. You hear me? Nothing.
In the doorway, through the door left ajar, Arthur watches. A soft smile touches his lips. He turns to leave, not wanting to intrude on this private moment. But Hunith, over her son's shoulder, catches a glimpse of him before he slips away.
Later, when Merlin has composed himself and Hunith has wiped her own tears, she studies her son with a new, knowing look.
Hunith: Is there something else I should know?
Merlin: (confused) Uh?
Hunith: Arthur is a benevolent man. I knew that since the day he came to Ealdor to defend us from those bandits, all those years ago. I knew your bond was strong. But… Call it a mother's feeling. Perhaps there's more than benevolence and friendship between you now.
Merlin: (blushes furiously) Mom!
Hunith: (a knowing smile) Oh. So there is.
Merlin: You don't seem surprised.
Hunith: As I said, I know my son. The way you wrote about him in your letters… (Chuckles softly) You weren't exactly discreet.
Merlin: (groaning, covering his face) Oh, gods.
Hunith: I suspected Arthur's feelings more recently. (Her voice softens) When he came to tell me about your enchantment, about the danger you were in… he looked devastatingly hollow. With how terrible he seemed, I feared he was going to tell me you were dead. (A pause) And now, seeing him today, he looks… complete. And the way he looks at you, Merlin. He isn't subtle. Either of you.
Merlin: (lowers his hands) Is it… okay? With you?
Hunith: Are you happy?
Merlin: (a genuine, radiant smile) More than ever.
Hunith: Then I am happy for you. (Reaches out, squeezing his hand) That's all I've ever wanted. For you to be happy. (A pause, her brow furrowing slightly) Though I must ask. Does the queen—?
Merlin: Gwen and him are divorcing.
Hunith: (her eyes go wide) …Oh.
Merlin: (rushing on) Which is confidential information, so I really shouldn't have told you. But I don't want you to think Arthur is playing with me, or that this is something sordid. He really does love me. And I… I love him too.
His mother is silent for a long moment, processing. Then she pulls him into another fierce hug.
Hunith: That’s all I need to know.
Time skip. The Council Chambers.
When the king and queen present their divorce papers in the council, their voices are calm and measured. They give no more information than necessary: no mention of kisses or complications, no blame assigned. Simply that the love that once united them has run its course. They do not expect the court to be so distraught. Murmurs ripple through the chamber. A few voices rise in protest. Even the most conservative nobles—those who had always looked askance at Gwen's origins—are upset. Now they speak of the queen's wisdom, her fairness, her steady hand. They argue that dissolving this union would be a grave mistake.
Arthur is genuinely pleased they recognize Guinevere’s value. But deep down, he knows it goes beyond that. He is acutely aware he was not a great king while Merlin was enchanted. Months spent on search parties rather than the throne. A war he nearly caused. Now, watching the court's reaction, he understands exactly how badly he failed. They are not just finally appreciating Gwen; they are terrified of what happens if Arthur rules alone. Because they genuinely believe that without her, the kingdom would have fallen apart. He might feel offended that they distrust his abilities. But he kind of brought this reputation on himself.
Arthur and Gwen remain firm in their decision. However, the king ensures his former queen retains her noble status and a permanent place at court, arguing that she earned that and more through her service to the kingdom. That takes Guinevere by surprise. She cannot argue, however, as the nobles rush to accept after Arthur declares he intends to listen to her counsel more than any of theirs.
And, of course, Gwen confronts him after the council ends.
Gwen: You didn't discuss any of this with me.
Arthur: You gave me no choice. You rejected every asset I tried to give you in the divorce.
Gwen: I don't need compensation, Arthur.
Arthur: It's not about compensation. It's about what you deserve. I thought I'd have to fight the court to give it to you. But even they agree.
Gwen: (frustrated) Well, what if I don't want it? What if I just want to be a simple maidservant again?
Arthur: If that's what you truly wanted, I'd let you be. But I know it's not. Because I know you, Guinevere. There's a reason you're so beloved by the common people. You think like them. You understand their needs better than anyone at court. You give them a voice. I'm aware you weren't always happy with your duties as queen. But being able to help them? That has always brought you joy. You can't tell me otherwise.
Gwen: (her expression softens) You did pay attention.
Arthur: I always did.
Gwen: (smiles) You know, before everything, you were actually a decent husband.
Arthur: (a wry smile) Just decent?
Gwen: (chuckles softly) Alright. More than decent. (A pause) You're also a good king. You made mistakes. Terrible ones. But you're good.
Arthur: The court doesn't seem to think that anymore.
Gwen: Now they're resentful of your recent failures, rather than remembering all your previous achievements. Give them time. They'll remember.
To ensure Gwen's status, Arthur places some lands in Elyan's name. As expected, his former brother-in-law refuses to accept anything from him out of pride, out of lingering anger and out of stubborn refusal to be bought. But Arthur makes him see reason, arguing, calmly and persistently, that it's for Gwen's sake more than anything. That she deserves security, and that Elyan is the only one she'll accept it from. So Elyan reluctantly accepts. The look he gives Arthur says the feud is not over. But it also says, for now, he will stand aside, which Arthur sees as progress.
Time skip. In Merlin's Chambers (The King’s Antechambers).
Since Merlin spoke to Gaius about his attack in the market, and they identified the trigger, measures have been taken. His friends carefully avoid the words "dear" and "my lady" in his presence. Arthur has been close to banning them from the entire kingdom. An edict Merlin had to talk him out of with considerable effort. But Merlin knows the healing must come from within. With Gaius's help, he's learning that words only have the power he gives them. Morgana used those words to control him, yes, but he can take that power back. He will take it back.
The nightmares, however, persist.
Each night, memories surface. Sometimes it's the torture in the tower. The cold, the darkness, the endless parade of beloved faces turned cruel. Sometimes it's the moments he tried to kill Arthur, the savage joy he felt, the horror that follows waking. But curiously, the worst dreams are not the ones where he suffers or causes suffering. The worst are the ones where he's simply... with her.
And that night is no exception.
There in his dream, Merlin's head rests in Morgana's lap, content and warm. Her fingers stroke through his hair, slow and fond.
Morgana: (laughs lightly, amused) You really told her that?
Merlin: (smiling up at her, basking in her approval) I said nothing that wasn't true. It's an insult that she, of all people, is queen when that right belongs only to you.
Morgana: Arthur needed someone of lower status at his side. Someone who wouldn't make him feel inferior.
Merlin: And easy.
Morgana: (her hand stills) …What?
Merlin: She did cheat on him before the wedding. With Lancelot. I know it wasn't really him, but she didn't know that. (With a sneer) And she had the nerve to act offended when I mentioned her past. She even slapped me.
Morgana: …
Merlin: (sitting up slightly, concerned) My lady?
Morgana: (unexpectedly gentle) Gwen is many things. A lowly peasant girl. A traitor to her station. (A pause) But she is not a whore, my dear. She just has… a simple soul.
Merlin: (frowns) But she cheated. It was her choice.
Morgana: Not entirely. That was my doing as well. Lancelot gave her an enchanted bracelet. One I gave him.
Merlin: So… she didn't want to?
Morgana: (a sad smile) No, the bracelet awakened her deepest desires. The want was already there; the enchantment merely made her act on them. (A flicker of something vulnerable crosses her face) I knew she wouldn't cheat on Arthur regardless of her having any lingering feelings for Lancelot. She is too loyal for that. (Her voice hardens, but beneath it, there's pain) But she chooses poorly who to give that loyalty to.
Merlin: (vehemently) I will always be loyal to you, my lady.
Morgana: (her smile returns, soft and genuine, and resumes stroking his hair) I know you will.
The young warlock wakes with a gasp. His hand flies to his chest, feeling his heart hammering against his ribs. The warmth of her touch still lingers on his skin like a phantom limb. The memory of her voice, her laugh, her kindness. He sits up, pressing his palms to his eyes.
Merlin: (thinking) It wasn't real. It wasn't me. She was using me.
But the dream didn't feel like using. It felt like belonging. It felt like being seen, being valued, being loved by someone who, in that moment, meant everything to him. And that, more than any torture, is what truly haunts him.
A soft knock. The door opens, and the king slips in.
Arthur: (his face etched with concern) I heard you. Another nightmare?
Merlin: (lowering his hands, attempting a wan smile) I wasn't that loud.
Arthur: I have a light sleep.
Merlin: We both know that's a lie. (Sighs) You can't sleep, can you?
Arthur: …No.
The young warlock was reluctant at first when Arthur offered him this new room. It's better than his old one and it's closer to Arthur. But he feared rumors. Arthur promptly calmed him, pointing out that as his personal manservant, he should have moved into the king's antechambers long ago anyway. The kisses he used to "convince" him also helped.
Now, while sleeping in the room next to Arthur's has its romantic advantages, Merlin knows it has served them more by helping them both sleep better through the night. Arthur wakes less from his own nightmares when he knows Merlin is near. Merlin surfaces less often from his when he can hear Arthur breathing through the wall.
Merlin: (pats the bed) Come here.
The king crosses the room, lies down, and pulls his beloved into his arms. Merlin snuggles against him, breathing in the familiar scent.
Arthur: (murmuring against his hair) I'm here. You're here.
Merlin: I know. I know. (A pause) Could you… stroke my hair?
Arthur: (confused by the request, but complying immediately) Sure.
Merlin: (murmurs, eyes closing) I want the touch to go away.
The king tenses for a moment, but his hand continues its gentle rhythm, fingers threading through dark hair with infinite care.
Arthur: (carefully) Merlin… I have to ask you something. But it's okay if you don't want to answer.
Merlin: (eyes still closed) What?
Arthur: Did Sarrum… (Swallows) Did he do something to you? While you were pretending to be Adalira?
Merlin: (shakes his head) It never went beyond what you witnessed. It was awful, but it never… passed that.
Arthur: (deeply relieved, but still worried) Still, it must have been—
Merlin: It's not about Sarrum. I still feel disgust every time I remember those days with him. But I'm not especially traumatized by it. I definitely don't regret killing him the way I did while enchanted. He deserved every bit of it.
Arthur: …Oh.
Merlin: It's Morgana.
Arthur: (his hand stills) She… touched you?
Merlin: Not in the way you're thinking.
Arthur: Hit you?
Merlin: No. (Sighs) It's complicated. You wouldn't understand.
Arthur: Try me.
Merlin: (pauses, gathering himself) If she had been aggressive, mean to me… it would be easier. If she had just hurt me, just tortured me… But she wasn't. She was nice. She acted like she cared for me. Like I mattered to her. Like we were friends, like we were before, when she was kind and compassionate. (A tear slips down his cheek) I actually felt… valued at her side. Loved.
Arthur: (his jaw tightens, but he says nothing)
Merlin: (his voice breaks) And then I remember all the things she made me do. And everything becomes a lie, because it was a lie, and I know that. I know she was using me. I know none of it was real. But it still hurts. (More tears fall) And I hate that. Because it means part of me misses her. Misses what I thought we had. And that's so, so messed up. I don't understand why I'm like this. But it almost feels like—
Arthur: Like losing her all over again.
Merlin: (startled, looks up)…Yes.
Arthur: It's not bad that you miss the old Morgana. I miss her too. She was good, once. Fierce and brilliant and so full of light. And at some point, that just… changed.
Merlin: (guilty) I changed her. I poisoned her. If I hadn't—
Arthur: I know. Gaius told me.
Merlin: (flinches, waiting for the accusation)
Arthur: But I think you're putting too much on yourself. She betrayed us first. It was her decision to ally herself with Morgause. Her choice to plot against Camelot, to hurt people.
Merlin: I confessed to her while enchanted why I did what I did. She was surprised. She didn't know Morgause was using her as the vessel.
Arthur: That might be true. But you didn't know that at the time. And even if she didn't know she was the vessel, there's no way she couldn't have known Morgause was behind the spell, behind the attack. And she still chose to say nothing. She still chose to stand with her. So don't say you changed her. She had already changed by then.
Merlin: (silent for a long moment, letting the words settle. Then quietly) You… you've thought about this for a while, haven't you?
Arthur: (smiles sadly) I've had time to think about a lot of things. (Sighs) The point is, maybe I'll never fully understand why she changed the way she did. Maybe I'll never know if things could have been different. But I still want to hold on to the good memories I have of her. You can do the same. (His voice softens) The Morgana who was your friend and the woman who hurt you wear the same face, but they are not the same person. So it's okay to mourn the one you lost. Even while you hate what she became.
Merlin stares at him and in that moment, with a sudden clarity, he understands. This is not just Arthur being wise. This is not just Arthur offering comfort. This is Arthur speaking from experience. From a place of having loved his sister and having lost her. Of having grieved her for years while she still breathed. He was wrong to think Arthur wouldn't understand. Arthur understands better than anyone could.
Without a word, Merlin presses himself closer, hiding his face in the warmth of Arthur's neck, his tears soaking Arthur's skin. Arthur's arms tighten around him, one hand resuming its steady movement in Merlin's hair, the other pressing flat against his back, anchoring him to the present, to this moment, to them. And they lie there in the darkness. Holding each other as lovers, yes, but also sharing the weight of grief for a woman—a sister, a friend—they both loved and lost.
Arthur: (barely a whisper) I've got you.
Merlin: (hums, eyes fluttering closed) I've got you too.
Time skip. In the Burial Vaults.
The air is cool, thick with the scent of stone and old incense. Merlin walks beside Arthur, his footsteps echoing in the place.
Merlin: I know I told you we should be discreet, but I think there are better places for a first date than this.
Arthur: (a small, private smile) We'll have our first date elsewhere. I just… wanted to show you something first.
Merlin: In the Burial Vaults? (eyes Arthur with mock suspicion) Are you sure you just don’t want to kill me and hide my body?
Arthur: (stops before a simple, elegant tomb) Here it is.
Merlin: Oh. A tomb. Great.
Arthur: Read the inscription.
Merlin: (rolls his eyes and starts reading) Here rest Lord… (Freezes) Lord Balinor Ambrosius. (Turns to Arthur, eyes wide and already glistening) Arthur…
Arthur: Go on.
The young warlock steps forward, trembling. His hand reaches out, fingers brushing the cold stone. A choked sound escapes him.
Merlin: You actually did it.
Arthur: I promised I would.
Of course Merlin remembers. He was enchanted when Arthur made that promise. His poisoned mind hadn't believed him, convinced it was just another cruel lie, another manipulation in the narrative Morgana had crafted for him. But Arthur has kept every promise. "I'll legalize magic again"—and he did. "I will let you kill me"—and he stupidly did. And now "I'll see that your father has a knight's burial" and here it stands. Solid. Real. Done.
This shouldn't be a shock. Merlin knows Arthur is a man true to his word. But still, the proof of it, standing here before him, touching the stone that marks his father's final rest is…
Arthur: His name was cleared. And his title, restored. (A pause) I know it's not much. But he deserved to at least rest with honor.
Merlin: It’s everything. (turning to him, tears spilling over) When did you—How could you even—I didn't even remember where…
Arthur: I'm the king, remember? I just ordered his remains found and brought here.
Merlin: (stunned) From Essetir?
Arthur: We're on good terms with King Lot. (Shrugs, as if moving a body across kingdoms is a small thing) It wasn't a problem.
Merlin: (lifts an eyebrow, incredulous) Really?
Arthur: (a pause) Well… no.
Merlin: (crosses his arms)
Arthur: But hardly any king will dare deny me anything now. Though the situation with Sarrum and Adalira was cleared up, the reputation of being a murderous tyrant who kills neighboring kings still kind of… lingers. So I may have… taken advantage of it. A bit.
Merlin: (stares at him. Then a watery incredulous laugh escapes him) You used your damaged reputation to intimidate a king into giving up my father's body.
Arthur: (grinning) I prefer to think of it as persuasive negotiation.
Merlin: (shaking his head, still laughing through his tears) You're ridiculous.
Arthur: (steps closer, his voice softening) I'm in love.
Merlin looks at him. At this man—this impossible, wonderful, infuriating man—who has climbed mountains, risked his kingdom, his very life, for him. Who has kept every promise. Who has used even his ruined reputation to give Merlin something precious.
"I love you. I'll spend the rest of my life showing it to you. If you let me."
In an impulse born from the soul, the young warlock closes the distance and pulls his king into a kiss.
Merlin: (pulling back just enough to speak, his forehead resting against Arthur's) You are so cheesy. (Gives Arthur the most beautiful smile) I love you too. Thank you.
Arthur: You do realize we are in front of your father, right?
Merlin: (shoves him)
Arthur laughs, pulling Merlin back into his arms. Merlin goes willingly, still laughing, still crying, still feeling everything all at once.
And somewhere, in whatever realm comes after, Balinor Ambrosius watches his son—happy, loved, free—and smiles.
HIII!! I just finished reading your dragonlords son seriesss and im just wondering if you will still continue the storyyyy 🥹 because i really really really really love your story and the cliffhanger at the end makes me wanna sobbbb 😭😭😭 i just love your story very much and i ilove how you write arthur and merlin dynamic 😭 ALSOOO I LOVE HUMORRRRR!!
im not rushing you or anything but if you can answer meee that would mean a lotttt!! thankssss and have my lots of love for your ficsss 🫶🏻🥰
HII! Thank you so much for your words! 🤧💕 It really means a lot. And I'm glad you are enjoying the series.
Of course I will continue it, don’t worry. This habit I have of writing new merthur stories while having other merthur stories on going has kind of backfired on me 😅.
Once I finish my Morgana takes Merlin instead of Gwen to the Dark Tower AU ( ̶I̶ ̶L̶o̶v̶e̶ ̶Y̶o̶u̶ I Hate You! in AO3 ) That’s the first fic I will get back on ;)
