inspired by this tiktok :) i made the list thinking of all the ways morgana and gwen could have been connected while morgana was in camelot, before she became, well, evil. and safe to say i cried :)
for the @merthurmicrofic prompt frog and my @merlinbingo square forehead kiss | 1233 words
“You’re telling me,” Arthur says, staring at the frog cupped in Leon’s hands, “that that… is Merlin.”
Leon’s expression doesn’t falter. “Yes, Sire.”
The frog— Merlin— ribbits in agreement, somehow managing to sound unimpressed. Who knew that frogs could be so expressive?
“And how, exactly, did my manservant get turned into a frog?”
The knights squirm under Arthur’s gaze— except for Gwaine, because Gwaine is an idiot and, like Merlin, hasn’t yet figured out that Arthur’s title demands some respect. Unlike Merin, Gwaine’s obstinance is far less endearing.
“There was a sorceress,” Gwaine says, unbothered.
Arthur fights the urge to bash him over the head. It’s bad enough that he let Merlin get turned into an amphibian; it’s even worse that he doesn’t care. Gwaine, he decides, is on evening watch for a month, no, a year.
“Unfortunately,” Gwaine continues, while Arthur glares daggers at him, “Merlin is a bit greener than usual. But, the sorceress did tell us how to fix him.”
Arthur glances at the other knights for confirmation.
“She did,” Leon agrees, while Elyan, Lancelot, and Percival all nod beside him.
Arthur almost demands to know why they haven’t done it already, then— but the knights love Merlin; if they could have fixed him already, they would have. There must be something about the cure that made them hesitate— magic? A quest? Whatever it is, Arthur will grant it.
It used to scare him, how he’d do anything for Merlin. Now, it’s a simple fact of life. Arthur would burn the world to the ground if it kept Merlin safe.
“What is it?” he asks, dreading the worst.
“He needs a prince to kiss him,” Leon says.
Arthur’s world goes screeching to a stop.
“That would be you,” Gwaine provides unhelpfully. “Best pucker up, Princess.”
Arthur’s gaze drops to Merlin, in all his froggish glory. Quite frankly, it’s embarrassing that Arthur isn’t horrified at the prospect of kissing Merlin, even like this— which Arthur shouldn’t want to do anyway, because Merlin is an idiot who trips over his own two feet and thinks that he’s been sneaky hiding his magic and calls Arthur names on a daily basis.
“Surely,” Arthur says, looking perhaps a little desperately at the knights, “the sorceress meant that he just needed to be kissed by someone. Not… a prince.”
Even though Arthur spends an almost pathetic amount of time thinking about kissing Merlin, he can’t just lean over and plant one on him. Merlin has never given any indication that he wants to be kissed by Arthur, and it would feel like taking advantage. He doesn’t want to do that to Merlin.
(And there’s a fear, circling about in his head like some sort of ominous bird, that if Arthur kisses Merlin, even for something as innocent as this, Merlin will suddenly realize that Arthur doesn’t quite think of him solely as a friend and will want nothing to do with him. Arthur doesn’t know what he would do, if Merlin left. He’s not sure that he could take it.)
“Alas!” Gwaine presses a hand over his heart dramatically, ignoring the violent slashing gestures Elyan is making and Leon’s oh fuck. “I gave it a valiant effort, but despite my charms—“
Arthur sees red. Or, rather, his mind presents him first with an image of Gwaine kissing his mucus-covered amphibian of a manservant, and then, with an image of Gwaine kissing a very human Merin. The jealousy is nearly blinding, and before Arthur is fully aware of it, he’s advancing on Leon.
“Give me Merlin.”
Leon hands Merlin over without a word.
Merlin shuffles about awkwardly in Arthur’s grasp, somehow managing to look both deeply annoyed and horribly trusting as he looks up at him. It’s easy to picture the expression that he would be wearing if he were human– and that gives Arthur some satisfaction, because surely Gwaine doesn’t know Merlin well enough for that.
Except, Gwaine looks like the cat that got the cream, and that only emboldens Arthur’s recklessness. Before he can think about it, he’s pressing his lips to Merlin’s froggy forehead, and–
There’s a flash of light, and then Merlin, his Merlin, in all his gawkish, gangly glory is standing before him.
Arthur’s lips are still warm against his forehead, and his first thought is, oh. So that’s how it feels, and then the rest of his brain catches up. He jerks back.
For a moment, everything is very, very still. Arthur can feel his face flushing, any quips to diffuse the situation catching in his throat.
Merlin is looking at him with an expression that’s almost disarmed. The tips of his ears are steadily turning pink, and if Arthur weren’t trying to remember how to breathe, he’d find it utterly endearing.
The knights, of course, are no help. They just stand there awkwardly, content to let Arthur suffer. Traitors.
In the end, Merlin is the one to break the silence.
“I think my feet are still webbed,” he blurts out, and Arthur stares at him. He fidgets a bit, blush deepening. “That is— we should probably— you know— properly.”
Arthur’s brain is slow to respond. Merlin wants Arthur to kiss him properly. On the lips? Is that what he means by properly? Why would Merlin want Arthur to–?
Oh, Arthur realizes. The revelation nearly plows him over. Merlin cares for Arthur, perhaps the same way Arthur does for him, and he wants to be able to kiss Arthur, too.
Merlin, it seems, has taken Arthur’s dumbstruck expression as a no, and begins quickly backpedaling, “Or not, and you can just condemn me to a life of webbed feet and I’ll be even more clumsy and I already am and probably trip over something and die—“
Arthur grabs the collar of Merlin’s jacket and pulls him close, sending their mouths crashing together.
Despite the force with which it starts, once Merlin realizes what’s happening and begins to reciprocate, they both seem to melt into it. It’s familiar in a way Arthur never would have expected for a fist kiss— but of course it is. He knows Merlin better than anyone, and in turn, is known by Merlin better than anyone. How could it not be like coming home?
When they pull apart, Arthur’s heart is thudding against his ribcage. He feels alive in a new, vibrant way. It’s as though the very blood in his veins is singing.
Across from him, there is gold fading from Merlin’s eyes. If Arthur cared to look, he’s sure that he’d find proof of what must have been accidental magic somewhere in the room, but he cares more about how stunning Merlin is like this, flushed and looking at him like that.
Arthur wants to kiss him again.
“I think your tongue might still be a bit froggish,” he says, a bit breathlessly. “We should… investigate that.”
“Absolutely,” Merlin agrees, nodding.
“Oh, god,” Leon says.
“What, you’re not staying for the show?” Gwaine asks.
“That’s disgusting, Gwaine,” Elyan says.
Arthur thinks that the knights start to file out, Gwaine probably complaining and making lewd comments the whole way, but he’s not really sure. He’s too busy confirming that while Merlin’s tongue is, in fact, not particularly frog-like, he can do really interesting things with it that make Arthur go weak in the knees.
Yeah. They might be, erm, curse breaking for quite a while.
Canon era | Arthur POV | Post-first-time morning | tender
They’d slept in shamelessly. But there had been a feast last night, and what was the point of being king if you couldn’t let yourself sprawl in bed the morning after a night of public revelry?
Arthur watched the strands of hair—black as a raven’s wing—catch the sunlight. He lingered over Merlin’s lips, still slightly swollen and softly pink, and fought the temptation to trace a finger along those sharp cheekbones. Because he could. Now he was allowed everything.
How many times had he stopped himself—measured his words, careful and cautious, afraid his eyes would betray the truth, afraid an ill-timed touch would give away his desires…
He had always restrained himself with the thought that later he would regret it. That they both would.
But now his chest felt light, warm, easy. Looking into those blue eyes glittering with happiness, still a little sleepy; catching the faint flush on Merlin’s cheeks; watching his slender finger draw intricate patterns on the muscular chest of his king—Arthur regretted only one thing:
KEEP IT SECRET | 1. Margaret Atwood, Power Politics: Poems; 2. Unknown gifmaker, The Hobbit; 3. Unknown gifmaker, BBC Merlin. 4. Sigmund Freud; 5. Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner; 6. Marya Hornbacher, Waiting; 7. Ursula K. Le Guin; 8. Franz Kafka; 9. Liv Ullmann, Changing; 10. The Girl and the Nine-Headed Dragon [Traditional Mongolian story]; 11. Marina Tsvetaeva, Letter to Vera Zvagyntseva, February 1920; 12. @merlin-gifs, BBC Merlin. Additional quotes from BBC Merlin. For @merthurmicrofic + @merlinbingo.
I'll always maintain the belief that Arthur was the Chosen One not because of the prophecy, but because Merlin Chose Him over and over again, every time.
UTHER for @merlinbingo | 1. It lingers for your whole life, Katie Maria; 2. Cut, Catherine Lacey; 3. Greek mythology, source unknown; 4. East of Eden, John Steinbeck; 5. The Hours, Michael Cunningham; 6. Accountability, Beyoncé; 7. Succession, Jesse Armstrong; 8. Descended from Dreamers, Li-Young Lee; 9. Thoughts of a stray iii, @dvoyd; 10. Unknown; 11. Unknown; 12. Forgive Me, Leonard Peacock, Matthew Quick; 13. Someday I’ll Love Ocean Vuong, Ocean Vuong; 14. Walking to Martha's Vineyard, Franz Wright; 15. The Sun is also a Star, Nicola Yoon; 16. All the Red, Desdemona; 17. Weetzie Bat, Francesca Lia Block; 18. Unknown; 19. Blood Ties, Kjartan Isak; 20. The Hurting Kind, Ada Limón.
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