The first time Arthur sees it – really, truly sees it – isn’t in battle. It isn’t in falling branches and the way the very trees seem to part for Merlin’s power. It is in a clearing, bustling with life and joy and hope.
“Emrys,” the Druid leader greets, bowing his head. “Welcome.”
“It is Merlin, Iseldir, please.” Merlin wraps his hand around the Druid’s forearm, insistent and familiar in ways Arthur hadn’t known. Iseldir smiles, and it is an impish expression Arthur wonders if all magic users share.
“Of course, my Lord.” Merlin’s groaning is ignored, as Iseldir looks to Conwenna, now. “My Lady Rhiain.”
“Iseldir, you held me as a teething toddler. I think we are beyond those formalities.” She rolls her eyes, pulling the Druid into a warm hug, as he chuckles. “You may get off easy from the Great Emrys, but my brother and I balance one another out for a reason.”
Sparks flash at her fingertips, but Iseldir doesn’t even glance at them, as he moves to greet Morgana. Arthur should probably question the familiarity his sister has with the druids, but his eyes are drawn instead to Merlin.
Emrys.
The most powerful warlock to ever walk the earth, the embodiment of magic itself, crouched in the dirt and conjuring butterflies to circle enchanted children’s heads, casting circlets of blossoms onto their brows.
It is then Arthur finally sees his friend. Sees how he creates life from nothing, just to see a child smile. A butterfly is not valuable, really, but any other sorcerer would consider this energy he cannot afford to lose.
For Merlin, it is barely a snap of his fingers away. For Merlin, it is nothing more than part of nature, and thus part of him. Iseldir is watching him, when he finally tears his gaze away from Merlin, and there is a fond, almost-proud smile on the Druid’s face.
“Finally seeing him, your Majesty?” he asks, in place of greeting the young king. Arthur can only nod, dumbly, watching as the children glance away from Merlin to pull Morgana into their circle, greeting her with the familiarity of a sister lost; as one of the shyer among them tugs on Wenna’s skirts and asks if she really can ride unicorns (and what is his life if that’s a question he honestly doesn’t know the answer to?).
“I’m not sure. I have been blind a long time,” Arthur admits, finally. Iseldir smiles at him, again, and this expression can only be described as proud.
“Perhaps nearsighted, but not as blind as your father wished you.”
Merlin (personal design obv) doing their alchemy stuff
This was actually meant to be fully colored and have a proper background, but the idea of coloring something with a more complex lighting (aka two ligh sources) was a bit too intimidating (↼_↼ )
I'm a big fan of spirals and such, so I like to think my Merlin's magic has lots of swirly patterns
I may have forgotten to update you guys on my latest story. Sorry. But hey, brightside, you have about two hours worth of reading to catch up on. It is still a work in progress.
Characters: It's... it's everyone at this point plus the OCs
Summary: Merlin attempts to take his own life, but instead sets in motion a series of events the gods did not plan for. The gods are now scrambling to force a new prophecy. Faces from the past and present blur together as Merlin tries to save the world he wanted to leave.
Warning: Read the tags and the notes for trigger warnings.
No beta, I die like Arthur. (Seriously DO NOT offer your services)
If you read, please consider leaving a review or two letting me know what you think of the story. I love getting feedback from you guys
