#bamf merlin

[starealm]

bamf merlin anyone?

[sharedoff]

Hengist has captured Merlin instead

They're going to love you, Merlin had told him.

The crowd outside the cage certainly loves him, would love him both victorious and with his guts spilled — depending on which side they have bet on. The cheers and the boos wash his skin with grime and blood, but they welcome him and love him, nonetheless.

Lancelot tries not to wonder what Merlin would think of him now. Merlin is far away in Camelot, and Lancelot would be long dead before Merlin would think of him, would learn of his fate. The knights didn't love him in the end, so Lancelot settled for someone who would, someone who could use his sword, and that, unfortunately, was only ever someone like Hengist.

Lancelot skips towards the center of the cage and takes in his opponent. The guy is a mountain of a man, and the bloodthirsty crowd goes wild around him. If he wins against that, it's going to be a whole bag of gold, and if not — well, Lancelot wouldn't need to worry about it then.

He throws a last look towards their host to gauge his mood and stops short.

On Hengist's right hand, pale against the opulence of furs and skulls, sits someone who should have been safe and happy in Camelot. Their gazes meet over the rambunctious crowd, and it's the start of the battle that makes Lancelot avert his own, but something vile and shameful spikes his veins as the blue eyes of Hengist's guest keep following him.

But soon, those blue eyes have to leave his mind, for he's moving around the cage, slashing and parrying and pushing — all the usual moves of his favorite dance. He doesn't mind the pain, the blood, the grime; they're all a package deal to what he was born to do, and a twisted sense of belonging fills him while he fights to kill amidst the lowlives' gazes, all while blue eyes still pierce him from high above.

The finishing moves of his dance bring his sword to the man's throat, and he knows what he must do; he has done it before. The sword inches further, grazing the neck in a death's chaste kiss, but the weight on his shoulders makes him look up and meet Merlin's eyes over the hungry crowd that urges him to kill, kill, kill.

Lancelot stays his blade.

It is against the rules of the cage, and maybe Lancelot has allowed this sick place to permeate him, grime and blood long stuck under his fingernails, but he can't fall even lower in Merlin's eyes. He sheathes the sword and doesn't look at the terrified eyes of his opponent, and he leaves the cage behind him. With the hungry crowd booing at him for his bloodless victory, his feet bring him to Hengist.

He tries to look at Merlin only briefly, to not show his interest in front of their host, but what he sees leaves him paralyzed, cold sweat running down the temples and heart beating frantically, like a rabbit in a snare.

What first gets his attention is a bruise, blooming red on Merlin's cheek, right under his eyes, bright with disbelief. He can't look at them, though, as his gaze falls lower to the neck where Merlin's usual neckerchief is missing, some bulky, ugly collar clasped tight around his throat.

While his eyes are fixed on Merlin, he misses Hengist's face going ripe red with anger and him giving a sign to his men.

At once, two thugs step forward, grip him by the shoulders, and push him to his knees. His sword at the hip clinks uselessly against the stone floor. He can't run, there are too many people, and like vultures, they would eat him before he even reaches the cages. He can't run and leave Merlin here.

He stays still on his knees as Hengist spits at him. "There's no mercy in this place, you stupid rat." And again, the hungry crowd shouts and urges for the kill, kill, kill. "You should have known better. I will always have some blood, one way or another."

Hengist gives another signal, and Lancelot hears a thug drawing a dagger, still dirty with another's caked blood, and swallows his fear at the kiss of the blade on his throat. He doesn't want to leave Merlin here alone, but he can't run.

"Wait!" Merlin shouts. His voice is hoarse and weak, and his eyes seem feverish. "Don't kill him. Please."

"Would you look at that," Hengist laughs, and bile reaches Lancelot's throat as the lord's attention shifts to his prisoner. "My pet sorcerer took a liking to you."

Sorcerer. Is it good that Hengist knows about it, would see him as valuable enough to spare? Is it bad? Lancelot doesn't know.

"What's it about, hm?" Hengist watches them. "Is it the way he fought? Would you ask the same for any of my men, pet?"

"No," Merlin answers bluntly, defiance still shining through his features despite everything.

"Then why?" Hengist indulges him, a twisted smile stuck on his face.

"He has a kind heart. It should not be wasted."

Lancelot looks down, shame piercing that same heart. What value is it if he's here of his own volition, fighting and killing for money? Has Merlin really looked at it, or does he still remember that naive lad from when he first came to Camelot?

"A kind heart?" Hengist laughs with abandon, and his thugs echo him. "And what do you think it's worth? A gold piece a pound? A silver? I'll tell you what it's worth — nothing."

Hengist raises his hand to give another signal for his execution, but Merlin grabs at it. "Don't!" The shackles on his wrists clink with an ugly sound, and Lancelot despairs at the sight. "Don't hurt him. I'll do what you want, just don't hurt him."

Hengist seethes at the touch and grips Merlin's shackled hand with his own, hard, squeezing it until he cries out. Hengist doesn't release him then. He stands up and, his meaty palm still on Merlin, strides purposefully towards the cages, Merlin stumbling after him.

They stop at the entrance, the crowd going silent with curiosity around them. The thugs turn Lancelot around, curious as well, and the dagger grazes his throat at the careless movement.

Hengist puts Merlin's back to him and reaches for one of the heavy keys strung at his neck. He unlocks the shackles and the collar at Merlin's nape, and in one swift movement shoves him brutally into the cage. Merlin crashes hard onto the rough stone, scraping his palms against it.

In front of him stands the cowering form of a giant Lancelot spared, his sword long gone to the vultures outside the cage.

Behind him, the door slams shut, with Hengist leaning against it, and Lancelot can't see the sleazy smile on his face, but he can definitely hear it.

"I'm feeling kind today," and the crowd cackles with him. "I'll give one of you rats another chance."

At these words, the giant stops cowering, and a huge bloody smile shines on his face. His eyes go to the still kneeling form in front of him. Merlin is still panting and coughing and doesn't get up. Lancelot would shout for him to get up, but the dagger presses closer to his neck, and he has to swallow his words lest he soaks them with blood.

"You," Hengist addresses the warlock. "If you lose, or decide to spare him, I'll kill that rat over there," he pauses to let that sink in. The weight of these words falls heavily on Merlin, as he struggles to get up on shaking legs. "Show me what you're worth."

And it is all the signal the giant needs. He surges forward, as if pushed by his chance to stay alive and keep the worthless life Lancelot desperately regrets sparing. He throws himself at Merlin, crushing into him with all his weight, and brings him back down onto the bloody floor.

Lancelot watches, helplessness and misery clawing at his throat worse than any dagger could. He thrashes against his captors, but their iron grip locks him in place, and a heavy fist buries itself deep into his gut, knocking the breath out of him along with all the struggle, and only the sickening nausea remains. He is forced to watch, and he won't blink, won't avert his gaze from whatever happens, because it's the only thing he can do for Merlin, and he should see the consequences of his own actions.

The giant brings his hands to Merlin's neck, pushing into where the collar was just a minute ago, and Merlin lets out a pained and breathless gasp, his own hands going weakly for the giant's. Still, the thug's hands cling to Merlin's neck, like he clings to his own chance to live. There's no regret or shame on the bloody face, only a smile of a man breathing in his freedom.

Merlin's hands fall down. Lancelot's heart skips a beat, and there's a moment of sick triumph on the giant's face before he is suddenly, violently thrown back by an invisible force. The man's massive frame flies easily through the air and crashes into the iron cage with a rattle and a wet, loud crunch of bone. It slides heavily onto the floor and doesn't get up. Blood leaks from his fractured skull in a thick stream, and his lifeless eyes stare wide, frozen in a permanent, glassy gaze of horror directed right at Merlin.

Merlin stands up shakily, his breath fast and gulping, and stares at the body with golden eyes.

Hengist appears at his back and snaps the collar back around his throat, and the sun in Merlin's eyes instantly dies out, giving way to the feverish, dazed blue. Merlin's breath hitches loudly, painfully, and he brings his shaking hands to the collar and then jerks them away, as if burned.

All the while, Hengist laughs amidst the uneasy spectators and leads the sorcerer out by his arm. He nods at Lancelot's captors, and he is set free, and at once he rushes closer, stopping at the edge of the crowd.

Up close, Merlin looks even worse now. His skin shines with sweat, and he wheezes with each breath, and a new bruise blooms under the metal collar. It was put there by another's hands, but those as well may be Lancelot's own. Lancelot yearns to close the distance and to rip away the damn collar which must be hurting him somehow, to plead forgiveness for his mistake Merlin had to pay for, to take him away from Hengist.

He stays, rooted to the spot, afraid of making another mistake. Merlin doesn't look at him.

Hengist reaches for a bag at his belt and throws it at Lancelot. He catches it on a reflex, and the gold burns his hands.

"For the entertainment," Hengist comments and watches him before once again shifting his attention to the prisoner. He grabs the sorcerer by the collar, dirty nails biting into the skin. "You truly think that guy's heart is kind?" Someone from the crowd laughs on reflex but quickly shuts up at Hengist's annoyed glare. "That rat kills just like anyone does. All for a bag of gold."

The statement punches him in the gut and once again knocks all air and struggle out of him. It's the truth, and it settles heavy on his shoulders, a perfect fit. It's the truth, and it flays at his chest, reaching toward his heart with each bloody memory, each murder. It's the truth, and Lancelot looks down in shame, not wishing to see Merlin's disappointed look, not deserving of the blood on Merlin's hands.

It's no matter. By the time he finds the courage to look up, both Hengist and Merlin are gone.

The crowd disperses, finally sated with their bloody meal, and the dirty bag of gold burns a hole through his hands and falls down on the floor.

~~~

ch 1/3. I'm posting it on ao3 as well ✍️

[gertrudethegardenia]

"There you are," states Arthur unnecessarily as he barges into his own room. "Where have you been? As my manservant you're expected attend any feast I'm attending and serve my wine."

It's not long after midnight, the feast should probably have continued up until the early hours of the morning but an assassination on the Prince's life was hardly a usual occurrence and so they must've retired early. Merlin had managed to slip away unnoticed after the Kings announcement needing some time to himself to process his predicament. He'd ended up bumping into Gwen, who'd looked at him with pity in her eyes and rather than lead him back to the feast had brought him here. To the Prince's chambers, because this was where he would be working if he wanted to stay in Camelot.

It seemed a few hours away from the feast had done nothing to assuage his anger, the way the Prince had just barged in hadn't helped. Merlin took a deep breath, tamping down on the tingle in his fingertips that ached to come out and sew Arthur's lips shut where he was still talking.

"Merlin?" The Prince stops finally realising that Merlin hasn't moved a muscle since he'd walked in. He takes a few steps closer to Merlin and waves a hand in front of his face. "Hello? Merlin? Anyone there?"

He sounds irritated now, but it's nowhere near the rage Merlin feels boiling inside him.Arthur makes a movement to knock on his head and Merlin, quick as a viper grabs hold of his wrist so hard he can nearly feel the bones beneath creaking under the pressure.

Arthur's face turns red, good."What-" he chokes out, trying to extract his hand, but Merlin holds fast.

Merlin knows he looks weak, compared to the knights that scattered the town and castle who need to duck when walking through some passageway and who's shoulders barely fit inside their tunics, thick and burly as they are. He knows he looks scrawny and small compared to the man in front of him, in a way that comes from several winters of malnourishment which this man had never known.

He often uses it to his avantage, likes that people underestimate him and goes out of his way to encourage it even.(That fight in the square had never been fair, Merlin could've taken the Prince down with a single thought if he'd wanted.) But he is strong, not many see it from the way he wraps himself in loose fabrics for this purpose entirely and, surprised as he is, Merlin has the upper hand on Arthur.

"Let me make one thing clear Arthur Pendragon," growls Merlin, taking an inordinate amount of satisfaction in the minute flinch it gets out of the prince before he juts his chin out, staring into Merlins eyes. Good, Merlin wanted him to understand exactly what he was saying.

"Your father may have assigned me as your manservant, and I will, out of respect to a ruler in a foreign kingdom agree to carry out such duties for as long as I am in Camelot if it means I am welcome here. But I am a physicians apprentice first and foremost. My duty is to the ill and injured, as such it will take precedence over you. Whether you are to go days without a manservant is a fact your father should have considered before he assigned a complete stranger to you. And," Merlin takes a deep breath through his nose, his next words come out ice cold. "Do not think even for one second you have any power over me. I walked into Camelot a free man and I will walk out of it a free man."

The man in front of him gapes, Merlin knows that he's probably never had someone speak to him in such a way. "You, you can't talk to me like that. I am the Prince." He says, finally finding his words, bland as they may be.

"I am not of your people, I am not beholden to your king. You are not my Prince." replies simply Merlin.

[transcendental-butimmental]

@25daysofmerthur Dec 13th: Free

(7 days late again)

The trees were almost spinning around him by the time Merlin stopped running. He folded over, heaving in air as his lungs complained at their mistreatment. His throat was raw from his escape, and he was sure he'd never run so fast for so far in his life.

Guilt was burning him alive to have left, but he's had very little choice in the matter. With nothing to drop on their heads but the tunnel roof, and too many witnesses in too cramped a space, he'd had to fight his way out without being caught using Magic. And flee.

He was almost positive the men who'd given chase had only done so very briefly, but he couldn't risk being wrong. Considering the numbers, killing would have been easier than subduing, so there was a very good chance that his friends had been captured.

Although Gwaine... He prayed Gwaine had not died from the blow Merlin had seen dealt him. Had not been killed by the blow meant for Merlin. He had no time to think of the alternative. Not if he wanted to gather his wits and hatch a plan.

it burned anyway, guilty and fierce and something close to desperate. He cursed out loud the stupid secrets. He cursed the laws. He cursed Uther and the damage he'd done, the poisonous hatred he'd taught his son. He cursed himself, for not pushing Arthur more, for not fighting for Magic.

When his breathing steadied, he searched for water. He couldn't think with this pounding in his head. As he hunted, he thought of the distance to Camelot. He could go home, declare to the court what had happened, beg them to send aid.

But he'd seen the looks from the newest members of the court, heard the very barest of whispers of ambition. No. Arthur was working to oust those lords already, for of course Merlin had relayed what he'd heard, had voices his suspicions, and Arthur, dear Arthur, had listened to his thin gossip, and had sought his own intelligence on the subject.

So no, he would not add fuel to those secret wishings, lest they form true plots. Not while Arthur and their friends suffered, no doubt, under captivity.

No. Merlin had to deal with this himself. Which would have to mean magic. Or...

He was too far from Camelot to seek the books and potions to slip into the skin of another, or pose as a more powerful sorcerer. So this would have to do.

Merlin found a vast enough clearing, raised his palms and his face to the evening sky, and thundered.

~•~

Aithusa arrived first, growing nicely, her previously sickly, albino hide tinged with deep blues and silvers. She reared her head and roared and snapped when she landed,  pounding at the moss upon the ground. It took but a word to soothe her, and she let him approach.

He ran his hand along her snout. She was young, still, and had been all but abandoned as a dragonling. After a moment, she leaned into the touch of his palm, and chirruped.

"The three of us have work to do." Merlin murmured, raising his eyes when the sky darkened overhead.

"Young warlock."

His voice almost shook the earth, and Merlin felt it deep in his fibres. Kilgarrah landed with a grace ill-fitting. Merlin inclined his head, and the great dragon did the same. The new morning sunlight turned his scales into burnished gold.

It was pathetically easy, truly, and Merlin would later relish the simplicity. The descended upon the tunnels, Aithusa eager to lay waste under his command. Kilgarrah stormed above, gouged great holes in the tunnel ceiling, shaking the ground with his claws and the great bass of his roaring. Aithusa led Merlin, serpentine, into the mouth of the tunnel even as the hollering reached them from within. Eyes blazing, Merlin allowed Kilgarrah's work to fill the tunnel with the tremors of a cave in, his palms directing the falling stone and dirt to pass over the two of them. 

The very first of them had no idea what hit them, and no time to think on it. Aithusa opened her maw with a gleeful yowl and bathed them in blinding blue flame, pouncing like a playful cat giving chase. The confusion swift consumed the bandits, those fleeing tangling with those trying to escape.

Aithusa roared and screeched, and the narrow corridor became a kiln. Those who were lucky were floored by the falling ceiling before Authusa could reach them. Those unlucky were burned alive, their screams cut short by the sheer heat of her fire.

The unluckiest roasted steadily behind the others, missed by debris and cooked alive within the bottleneck. Merlin made sure his magic would go unnoticed, bathed in the shadows as he kept them from burial.

A dragon killed the bandits, he would spin to his King, they must have taken over her lair. Merlin had hidden, and come to search for survivors upon her leave.

No trace of magic would be seen, no evidence of sorcery for them to question. As he bid a fonder farewell to the dragons than he'd expect; Aithusa rubbing once against his flank like a loyal hound before she leapt into the air, Kilgarrah tipping his head in plain amusement as he commented on Merlin's unorthodox approach to his Destiny. Merlin watched them fly, safe in the knowledge that the iron cells he'd felt below them were untouched.

It didn't stop him rushing, didn't stem the tide of fierce worry as he picked through the ruins of the tunnel, as he searched the pockets of cremated men for keys. He flung open the door at the end, tripping in his haste and almost tumbling down the steep steps hewn unevenly from the stone.

No light reached this far, so back up he went, to find a torch he could light without witnesses. And down, the dark steps, the long corridor, the turning, and there!

A row of shadowed cells, shoddily cut, sharp iron bars, and behind the doors,  the dorms of his favourite people in the world.

He gave a shout, not wholly for show, to find them alive.

"Merlin!"

Arthur, Arthur, there near the end, with his hands curled tight around the bars, and grinning at him with such relief that Merlin felt his knees wobble.

"Oh thank the Gods!"

"You're alright!"

"So good to see you!"

"Hell, you're a sight for sore eyes!"

"Merlin! You got out!"

Merlin beamed, feeling such a rush right then, to be reunited with them. Barely a day, he had waited in the clearing for the dragons, but it had felt a lifetime without these six, good men. His heart swelled, as he fumbled with the keys, opening Percival's cell, for he was the closest.

Down the line he went, answering their questions with his fantastical story, talking of fire and screaming and a great beast who flew away afterwards.

At last, they stood, thumping his back and grinning at him and for a moment, the weight of everything just lifted from his shoulders. For what could possibly come their way that they couldn't defeat? What enemy, what fate, could possibly break them, when they were all together like that?

As they made their way out, picking over dead men and retrieving their loyal weapons, Merlin felt buoyant. His King strode beside him, Excalibur in hand, and his gaze on Merlin as though he believed he'd disappear if it weren't.

Merlin bumped their elbows together as they left the rotten place behind them, and Arthur grabbed his arm and squeezed, just for a second, and their eyes gave reassurances their tongues were too afraid to.

Merlin had, a long time ago, come to the conclusion that his Destiny was too great for him alone to bear. But that night, as they made camp, seven pieces of a whole working in tandem, he realised that together, that Destiny was not quite so daunting.

[cynthia39100]

Snippet of my A Servant of Two Masters fix-it AU fic WIP

To fill "I hurt you" square on my Merlin Bingo card (because I already got a mini card I want a black out!!!)

Premise: basically a serious version of that episode, particularly the assassination part.

Word count: 637

-------------------------------------

The moment Arthur stopped breathing, Merlin was freed from the constraints of the Fomorrah—with the most horrific reality laying before his eyes. 

The cry he let out was raw and inhumane, shaking the castle to its core. The windows shivered, and the walls wailed. The world was a blur before his eyes, splashed with gold and red. Arthur and blood. He did it. His hand, and his magic, pushing the iron blade into Arthur’s gut. 

Why didn’t Arthur kill him? He’d had him at sword tip, and yet. 

Arthur couldn’t die. Not here, not ever. Merlin blindly threw himself at Arthur’s side, ignoring the blood on the floor that soaked through his breeches, and the bile welling up his throat. He pressed his hand on the horrendous opening on Arthur’s stomach. The blood flow had slowed, for the heart had stopped pumping. Merlin choked out a sob. He didn’t let emotion hinder his movement, however. He let it run free, dragging the magic with it. He didn’t think how awful he was at healing magic, or how little healing spells he remembered. It was only Arthur, whom he allowed to occupy his mind right this moment.

He set free his power. He prayed, no, demanded his magic to do his bidding. He shouted to whatever power of destiny that’s watching to listen, to do something for once and fucking save him. 

Something burst out in the room and for a moment Merlin couldn’t see. He didn’t quite notice. He just poured and poured. The air was condensed, trembling, with a force dangling at the border of the forbidden. Distantly, Merlin seemed to sense motions. Someone intruded into the room. There was yelling, and hands grabbing his arm, trying to pull him away. Away from Arthur—

“Get away from him!” Merlin growled. His eyes burned brighter. The pressure on his arms disappeared. He didn’t bother checking where it went. 

He couldn’t tell how much time had passed before the blinding light gradually died down. He blinked a few times, trying to get rid of the shadows in his eyes. His head was pounding and he felt like throwing up. Arthur hadn’t moved. Merlin looked up, trying to see if Arthur’s face was any less pale than previous.

“Arthur, wake up,” he whispered. His voice was so hoarse he almost didn’t recognize. He cupped Arthur’s face in his hands, trying and failing to make out Arthur’s breathing with his foggy eyes and ringing ears.

“Arthur. Don’t just lie there. I’m sorry I… I hurt you. There are so many things… I’m sure you have a lot to shout at me. I’ll take it. I promise. Anything you’ve got. Just, wake up… please…”

It took a few more ragged apologies and some fallen tears for Merlin to remember the tactic of taking pulse. It took even longer for him to find it. First he was startled by the blood stain on Arthur’s face, and after some panic moments realised that it was from his own hand that had been pressing at Arthur’s wound. Then he had to squeeze out the remanent of his magic to wipe it off before he dared put his fingers on Arthur’s throat. The flashback of Arthur choking by the Fomorrah’s—his—magic, didn’t help.

He couldn’t completely quell the trembling of his fingers and it made him want to scream when he couldn’t find a pulse for seemingly forever. But finally, finally he sensed a weak jolt. He couldn’t breathe. He thought it was his imagination, but it came again. He choked out a wet laugh. Suddenly the tension dissipated from his body and he was exhausted. He leaned in to check on Arthur’s skin colour and the wound, but the world started spinning. He crumpled upon Arthur’s limp body, and lost his consciousness.

[merlinmylove]

What if Arthur witnessed Merlin in his element?

Hiding behind a pillar, Arthur sees him stand off with a would he assailant.

Merlin, in his usual servant rags, dirty knees and sweaty fringe, is commanding the person to leave Camelot at once, or else die at his hands.

The man laughs, and Arthur fears for Merlin’s life. He’s about to enter the room to help him when a shouting match begins, and before he can comprehend what had happened, Merlin has snapped the man’s neck with a swift flick of his wrist.

Merlin didn’t even blink, let alone utter a spell, but his eyes glowed like fire in the night.

The man lies dead on the floor, as Merlin leans over him and whispers dangerously into the dead man’s ear “no one harms my king”

Merlin flees the scene, but not before expertly creating the illusion of an accident. The poor man must’ve fallen of a ladder, certainly it could not be murder.

Arthur is too stunned to speak. He stays still, hiding, while tears burn in his eyes, chest heaving.

Merlin. A murderer. Merlin. A sorcerer.

Merlin. The most loyal man he’s ever known.

Arthur runs.

[ur1maginaryf13nd]

Thoughts on finale and episode 12 of Merlin rewatch;

- episode 12, nothing to me lol it's a good stepping stone for me but as I've seen all these before it's kind of meh, not one I'd rewatch again. Though it is important to see Morgana's first evil feelings bloom, but she still keeps her good side on so that's good.

- as for the finale, I KEEP FORGETTING ABOUT IT-

I always see this episode mentioned and I'm like, 'what was that one??' whoops-

- it's a drama plot one and these ones always make me anxious.

- AND YES IM CRYING AT MERLIN SAYING GOODBYE TO ARTHUR

- the amount of soul swapping, for lack of a better word, is wild everyone is trying to sacrifice themselves and you know what? Good for them lol

- Also leave Hunith alone she ain't do nothing!!

- BAMF Merlin, he killed that shit (literally)!

[ace-does-writing]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Another @merlinbingo fill!

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon

Word count: 7,673

Tile m2: BAMF Merlin