Of the Unspoken

"Substitution and Submission" Merlin/Arthur NC-17 12/16

2009-12-20T16:24:43Z

Title: Substitution and Submission (AKA The Most Screwed Up Merlin/Arthur Fic Ever)
Pairing: Slash. Merlin/Arthur, Uther/Arthur (implied past dub-con), Gwen/Morgana
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~2.1k of 42k+ so far
Spoilers: Season 1
Warnings: Dark!Merlin, Broken!Arthur, sex (slash, femslash and het), non-con, dub-con, fucked up role-playing, incest, abuse of magic, violence, knife-play, blood-play, secondary character deaths, major character death, suicide, self-harm/cutting, angst, generally disturbing themes. AU as of season 2. Basically as fucked up a fic as I could make it and definitely the most screwed up thing I've ever written. Not for those easily offended.
Summary: Prompt from [info]kinkme_merlin Arthur and Merlin have a really dark, creepy fucked up disturbing relationship. In exactly what way it's fucked up I will leave it up to you but the darker the better. I'm a fan of dark!Merlin in particular so would be happy if he made an appearance but if you want to do something different that's fine."

Part 11

Gwen smiled into the pillow, burying her face in it. Her mistress’s bed is absolutely luxurious. The mattress is soft and the sheets are vanilla white smooth against her chocolate-coloured skin. She could stay in bed all day. Her still sleepy mind wants to giggle at ‘mistress’ and ‘bed’ in the same sentence and her face flushes as she can remember what they did in this very bed last night. Morgana must have slept the whole night through afterwards, Gwen deduces with a mischievous grin. She starts a little when she realises it is already midmorning. Usually she gets up at the crack of dawn, as every good handmaiden should. Morgana wasn’t the only one dead to the world this morning. Morgana who appears to be asleep still, her back to Gwen who can only see the cascade of dark hair popping out from the bunch of sheets. Gwen dresses quietly and gets breakfast, wanting to give her lady a little more time. Just a little more. Often, her lady could not get more than a few hours of sleep at a time without her ‘special dreams’ interrupting her rest.

Usually a light and fitful sleeper, Morgana hasn’t moved. Putting the tray down silently, Gwen thinks about getting her sewing done while watching over Morgana but suddenly the room is quiet, too quiet.

“Lady Morgana?” Gwen approaches quietly and with her hand firmly on one shoulder not wanting to startle her. “It’s me, Gwen. It’s time to wake up, my lady.” She shakes Morgana and her mistress rolls over limply, face ghostly white, lips blue and a thin trickle of something dark coming out of her mouth and staining the white silk of her pillow.

Gwen gasps before managing a scream. “SOMEBODY HELP ME! I NEED A PHYSICIAN! NOW!” Her panicked fingers checks for a pulse. Nothing. She tries tapping Morgana’s face gently. “Morgana? MORGANA!”

A guard rushes in servant boy in tow.

“Gwen?”

“Tell the King and Merlin to come here right now. It’s an emergency. You must hurry.” Gwen manages to thank him even though everything is a blur, like she is trapped underwater.

With the pitter-patter of feet on stones, he runs off.

It is then the shock hits her and she knows that something is not just wrong. Her world has fallen apart and it cannot be fixed. Morgana is dead. Morgana, beautiful Morgana, who had been very much alive and just told her that she loved her merely hours ago would never again be able to say those three words again this side of Avalon. Gwen backs into the breakfast table near the foot of the bed sending food and drink everywhere. Emotions pulse through her like shockwaves. Sorrow. Despair. Hopelessness.

She tries to pull herself together through the tears and the fog of grief. Gwen is on her knees, cleaning up when Arthur and Merlin burst in. The King sees Gwen kneeling on the floor, sobbing hysterically over the pieces of a tiny vase. The wildflowers scattered on the floor looking rather pathetic. Morgana is fast asleep.

“What’s going on?” Arthur rushes over to Gwen. He knows Gwen is not the type to cry over a broken vase but perhaps in light of her condition…

“It’s Morgana,” Gwen says, standing up slowly, trying not to look at Morgana. The body, her mind fills in. Tears stream down from her face even as she tries to mop them away. “I think…I think she’s dead.”

Arthur’s face freezes and he’s climbing into Morgana’s bed in an instant. “Merlin! You have to do something. Gwen? What happened?”

“I d-d-don’t k-know,” Gwen says, trying not to speak clearly. “I just f-f-found her like that. I would have got you sooner if I k-knew something was w-w-rong.” A sob comes out. “Maybe I could have saved her.”

Merlin is already her limp wrist from the other side of the bed. “I’m sorry, Arthur.”

“No!” Arthur says, urgency making his tone sharp. “No!” He cannot accept this. “It’s not, it can’t be. Merlin, can’t you do something? You have to save her!”

“I’m sorry, sire, there is nothing I can do now,” Merlin says, sorrow colouring his voice. “She’s…gone.”

Arthur shakes his head and presses the point. “But isn’t there something only you can do? Like what you did for me?”

Merlin clenches his jaw involuntarily, unable to meet his lover’s gold eyes. “Sire, it isn’t something that she’d want from me, even if I could do it. I don’t have that power anymore.” It’s the truth. He wants to say so much more. Arthur, you do not know what you ask from me.

Arthur doesn’t say anything but his hands ball into trembling fists. He raises his head to stare at Morgana, lying still and lifeless. He takes his gloves off and brushes the hair out of her face with his bare hand. Using the edge of his cape, he wipes her mouth. Satisfied, he then kisses her cold forehead tenderly as if she was merely asleep. Gwen can see his lips moving, mouthing words that Morgana could not, cannot hear. She can feel the grief well up inside her again just as she can see Arthur straightening up stiffly, looking at a point in the distance. He’s using every fibre of his being to hold his emotions in check. A sharp inhale suspiciously like a sniff gives him away.

Merlin is casting spells quietly in the background, two empty bottles in his hand.

“She has been dead for a while,” Merlin notes clinically. “An overdose of sleeping draughts estimated at around late last night.” He’s tucking the sheets around Morgana tightly. She looks like a mummy.

“Gwen, who did this to her? Tell me! I’ll kill them!” Arthur’s flies to his pommel.

She swallows. “No. I mean, no one.” The words hurt. She wants someone to blame too.

“Possible causes of death are accidental or deliberate overdose,” Merlin murmurs.

“I- I have to go,” Arthur says. He sends a guard to ring Camelot’s bells on his way out.

Gwen goes back to clearing the mess. It’s easy, something she’s done without thinking many times. When she’s done, Gwen does not know what else to do. Without Morgana, she’s lost. So she turns to finding Arthur. It seems like the right thing to do. As she had guessed, he’s at the knight’s training grounds. It’s a beautifully sunny day. Completely inappropriate for the mood and Gwen finds herself hating it. It’s so unlike her.

He is throwing knives into a target. If the broken and bleeding knuckles are any indication, he may have been throwing fists at targets too.

As she approaches him, her grief follows her. The last thing she wants to be is a stuttering wreck but right now what she wants seems so insignificant. “I-I’m so s-sorry, sire. I should have-“

“The fault is not yours, Guinevere,” Arthur interrupts Gwen, punctuating his words with vicious throws of his jewelled daggers. “It’s mine. I should have taken care of her better. After my father died, she was my responsibility. I should have known.” He sits down abruptly after this, rubbing the bridge of his nose with bloodstained hands.

“Sire, you’re hurt.” Gwen takes his hand into hers and wraps a handkerchief around the worst of the wounds. This she can fix. This she can do. Arthur sitting there hollow-eyed and ashen-faced – he looked beyond consolation. “You should not blame yourself.”

“I do.”

It’s awkward. She doesn’t know what to say to that. The tears come again and again and she doesn’t think she can ever stop. She’s crying for Morgana and for Arthur. Arthur who is so broken right now that he doesn’t even know it. Something inside her tells Gwen that things will never be the same again from this day forward.

Finally, Arthur comments, “She looked so peaceful… like she could be sleeping.”

Gwen hiccups quietly, managing to squeak, “Yes”, before her voice is stolen away.

Arthur stands woodenly and retrieves the target with the knives sticking out of it. Several have missed the bullseye, embedded at odd angles. He begins yanking the blades out ferociously as if his life depended on it.

“Did she say anything to you about this...?” Arthur asks Gwen desperately.

“No. She had a bad dream last night but she let me stay with her. She went off to get some water and-“ Gwen stops as realisation comes to her. Morgana had planned this. She has planned it all. Gwen swallows hard. “Maybe she didn’t mean to...”

They could hold onto the fantasy but Morgana would have laughed. Arthur laughs for her, a bitter, grating sound. “No, we both know Morgana better than that.” She didn’t do things by halves. “I need to change into mourning clothes. Get on with things.”

She can tell he’s trying not to think about it. Like her. That maybe if she pretends to go on with the day, this terrible thing didn’t happen. That she will wake up with Morgana beside her. But she knows it’s not. This really has happened and it’s not going to be alright. Gwen can’t persuade him to stop, all she can do is offer her assistance. “I’ll come with you.”

“Thank you, Guinevere.”

In his chambers, Arthur starts shedding his clothes methodically. As Gwen takes the mourning robes from his wardrobe, she checks up on him. He looks more vulnerable. Gwen half-expects that he might break down violently. But he doesn’t. He hangs his robe neatly instead. He stands there with his hands out like he’s ready to be sacrificed so she comes up behind him, slipping his hands into the dark sleeves of the mourning tunic.

“Sire,” she says hesitantly as she circles to his front to do up the buttons. When he doesn’t respond, she says, “Arthur.” His eyes are golden, a pale gold and it reminds her of Morgana. Morgana looked like that sometimes when she was frightened. Gwen was sure that it wasn’t just a trick of the light. She lowers her voice, guilt forcing her to take her eyes from his. “Do you think it was because...of me?” Gwen’s hands moved deftly from Arthur’s throat his stomach. Then on her knees to do the buttons down to the ground.

“Don’t be stupid, Guinevere,” Arthur says brusquely, taking her small hands into his large sword-calloused ones and pulling her up. “I can’t say I know what pushed her over the edge but… I know she wouldn’t have wanted you to blame yourself for it.”

Gwen nodded tearfully, lacing up his sleeves through blurry eyes. “She didn’t even leave a note.”

“I think she said everything that she wanted to say,” Arthur says as if he was coming to the conclusion himself. After a long pause, he continues. “The last thing she said to me was goodnight. I can’t help but wonder if she’d… if she’d planned it then. Planned everything. I wonder if I could have said something. That maybe I could have said something more.” Maybe I could have saved her.

Gwen can hear the words even if he does not say them. “She told me she cared for me last night,” Gwen confessed. “I think she said um I think she wanted to say that is I’m not sure but that’s not the say I don’t think she doesn’t-”

“She loves you.” He corrects himself. Raising a hand to hold Gwen’s face, Arthur looked her deep in his eyes. “She loved you. I know she did. Can you understand that? She had me give my word that I would take care of you. I just wish I knew why she did it, why she had to do this. And if she didn’t tell you, I don’t think she told anyone. Morgana’s always had her secrets. She was different.”

“Special,” Gwen adds with a blush.

“Yes, she was.”

“Some part of me still hopes that maybe I’m having a bad dream. That Merlin will be able to fix this and magically make everything better. I don’t know. I’m rambling but I just wish. I’m…It just doesn’t feel like it’s real but it’s all too real.” Gwen’s hands flutter as she struggles to find the words. “It’s like the feelings are there inside me and I can’t control them. I sound so silly. Here I am crying again.”

“I am sorry I cannot be of more comfort,” he says in a formal, detached voice.

“Don’t do this, sire. Arthur, listen to me. Take care of yourself alright? I’ll be fine.” It’s you I’m worried about, she thinks. You’re not letting yourself feel.

“What will you tell the people, my Lord?”

Arthur turns and looks out the window. “The truth,” he answers firmly. “That Lady Morgana had been unwell and passed away suddenly. I must go, Guinevere.”

She bows and lets the lie pass. “Sire.”

Then he’s gone.

"Substitution and Submission" Merlin/Arthur NC-17 11/16

2009-12-11T13:52:27Z

Title: Substitution and Submission (AKA The Most Screwed Up Merlin/Arthur Fic Ever)
Pairing: Slash. Merlin/Arthur, Uther/Arthur (implied past dub-con), Gwen/Morgana
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~3k of 35k+ so far
Spoilers: Season 1
Warnings: Dark!Merlin, Broken!Arthur, sex (slash, femslash and het), non-con, dub-con, fucked up role-playing, incest, abuse of magic, violence, knife-play, blood-play, secondary character deaths, major character death, suicide, self-harm/cutting, angst, generally disturbing themes. AU as of season 2. Basically as fucked up a fic as I could make it and definitely the most screwed up thing I've ever written. Not for those easily offended.
Summary: Prompt from kinkme_merlin Arthur and Merlin have a really dark, creepy fucked up disturbing relationship. In exactly what way it's fucked up I will leave it up to you but the darker the better. I'm a fan of dark!Merlin in particular so would be happy if he made an appearance but if you want to do something different that's fine."

Part 10

As Morgana’s handmaiden for many years, Gwen knew that her lady had quite the temper. It was always best to give her time to cool off. When Morgana had made her mind up, Gwen doubted that anything short of magic would be able to change it. It was also because Morgana had her ‘special dreams’ – the ones that Gwen knew could tell her mistress things that no one else could possibly know – it took someone with courage and conviction to defy the future that destiny insists on.

Gwen thinks on this as she shuffles to the laundry room with practiced ease. There she retrieves Morgana’s oft-worn purple and blue dress so she can fix the frying hem. It was much easier to spin broken threads together or to sew up a splitting seam. Morgana’s new blood-red gown is loose and needs to be taken in. The gown had been tailored using measurements that had been taken only three months ago. Gwen did worried away at her lip as she did the stitches. Just as she finishes the last of the sewing and the sun has dropped in the sky, she goes to the kitchen to bring dinner to her lady.

“I thought you’d be hungry, my lady. I brought you dinner. You skipped tea earlier but I didn’t want to… disturb you. I had the cook save you some of the fruit mince tarts you like.” It is a blatant bribe but Gwen cannot bring herself to care. Morgana deserved the best. The handmaiden is rewarded with a beatific smile.

“Oh Gwen, thank you. You shouldn’t have.”

Morgana stares at Gwen as she sets the tray down. Her maid is putting around like she usually does but the effortlessness of the usual cheerful chatter is missing. She wants to say sorry but it does not come easily to her. She is used to being the one that is wronged.

“I’m sorry if I’ve upset you.” Gwen nods and curtsies. “My lady.”

“Gwen,” Morgana calls, returning to her senses. “Don’t leave.” Wincing at how much it sounded like an order, Morgana tries again. “Please partake of this meal with me Gwen.”

Gwen complies easily and Morgana is ashamed at herself for fearing that her handmaiden would refuse her. For thinking that Gwen would be so petty and cruel.

Gwen is touched as Morgana reaches to hold her hand, her mistress’s blue eyes welling up with emotion. “My lady, please don’t be upset. I’m sorry if I’ve-”

“No Gwen, it is I that should apologise.” Morgana takes a deep breath, composing herself. “I’m…I apologise for my actions earlier today. It was not becoming of a true friend. You know I am proud of you and I support your choices. I should not have made you feel that you could not come to me with this.” Morgana tries not to sound hurt about this because this is about Gwen, not her.

“I didn’t want you to worry, my lady. It wasn’t… what happened was not a reflection of my trust in you. Please don’t think that. Merlin wasn’t sure that it would work. I should have told you. I’m sor-”

A flicker of anger surges in Morgana, perhaps a bit of jealousy but she shoves it down, holding onto her courtly poker face. “Please don’t apologise, Gwen. You were right. I mean, you are right. It is your decision to make. I forgot myself, treating you as if I were entitled. It was never my intention to treat you as if you are my property. Forgive me, Gwen?”

“Of course, my lady.” It is times like these as anguished and heartbreaking that Gwen is reminded of how extraordinary Morgana is. How she would not truly mind being hers. “Don’t worry about it.” Gwen squeezes the pale, delicate hand in hers before letting it go. “Now, my lady, we should eat.”

Morgana nods and smiles faintly before reaching for the cutlery. Her long fingers run over the silver. Something is still on her mind. “I’ve failed to take care of you.” Morgana’s voice quivers at the end of the soft admission and Gwen can read her mistress well. She takes out a clean handkerchief and offers it to her lady. “I’m being so silly. Don’t take notice of me, Gwen, eat.” Morgana wipes at her face delicately. “Now I’ve gone and ruined all the hard work you’ve put in trying to make me look beautiful.”

“No, Lady Morgana, no! You are beautiful. Even more beautiful than beautiful.” Gwen blushes and avoids looking her mistress in the eye. “I don’t even know how to say it. Anyway, you are not being silly. And you haven’t failed me. Not at all, my lady. Don’t think of such things. Please, my lady, don’t weep for me.”

“Oh Gwen. You are too good to me.” Morgana sniffs. “I’ll take care of you. I promise. You’ll not want for anything.”

“You don’t need to, my lady.”

Morgana lifts her head higher and looks Gwen in the eye. As a noblewoman, she has seen many beautiful and handsome people. But at that moment, Morgana could not see anyone as good and as beautiful as Gwen. It made her angry all over at Arthur’s selfishness, taking advantage of Gwen’s generosity. She hated him and Merlin for what they would do to Gwen and she prayed to whatever Gods would listen that Gwen would not be torn apart by her good deed. “I know. I want to. You’ve always taken care of me. Now it’s my turn. I will take care of you. I will protect you.”

Gwen knows that Morgana has just made up her mind and she would not be able to change it. A pleasant warmth spreads through her at Morgana’s protectiveness. “I don’t doubt that, my lady.”

Later that night, Morgana insists that Gwen takes a break instead of reading to her until she falls asleep. “I’ll be alright,” she said confidently though she felt anything but. “You need your rest,” she said more convincingly.

Alone in her room, Morgana lies in the dark wishing for light, any light but the night is relentless. The moon had hidden it’s face yet again. There are no candles in the room, not since she set fire to the curtains a long time ago. It is so dark that it’s like being in a hole underground. She feels the urge to claw at the darkness but resists, laying still under the covers.

“I will get through this,” Morgana whispers to herself. For Gwen.

The watcher is standing at the window, overlooking the courtyard. The knights of Camelot have hauled out a wooden dais with a long stake in the middle. Fear. There is already a crowd gathering there. It’s quite a large crowd. Murmuring. Someone is going to burn.

There is the sound of hooves on cobblestones. All heads turn towards the cage being dragged by two weary draughthorses. The watcher sees a dark-haired girl in clothed in dirty brown rags, the remnants of what used to be a white slip of a dress. The girl is huddled over, her curly hair shorn roughly. Cold. Shame. Betrayal. The watcher sees the girl’s wrists rubbed raw from the iron manacles. The girl’s grubby hands hold to the bars of the cage and she turns her eyes towards the golden prince standing grimly at the balcony.

“Arthur! Arthur, please!”

The crowd gasps, tittering at this scandalous spectacle.

“I didn’t mean to. Please!”

Then the girl turns around, searching for a familiar face. One last chance. Wide, red-rimmed eyes lock onto twin orbs.

The watcher gasps.

They are her own.

Flames lick greedily at the dry wood at her feet and she is burning, burning…

Morgana wakes, flailing in her sheets. Just a nightmare. Just a nightmare. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. She had to remind herself that Uther was no longer alive. They knew she had powers. She was not going to be found out and burnt at the stake. She wants to call out for Gwen but she doesn’t, muffling her screams into the lavender-scented pillows. Gwen needs her rest.

The watcher is standing at a field and there are flames. It’s burning. Possession. Jealousy.

Lancelot comes up from behind Gwen, soot on his face but untouched. “My love,” he says, wrapping her up in his arms. “I’m home.”

“So you are.” Gwen is so happy. Soon, she will have Arthur’s son but she knows one day she will have a family with Lancelot. She loves him.

Merlin is still on the burning field, eyes a fiery orange from the flames. He pulls Arthur into a crushing kiss and the world ignites.

Morgana chokes back a scream, sitting up in the dark. It taunts her. Soot. Ashes. Black. No. She must be strong. For Gwen.

It’s driving her slowly to the edge of insanity. The present flashes by her like the future. Time is endless and never moving, she is trapped by the past and the future. She has nowhere to go. She cannot sleep for she has lost control of her power. She cannot stop using her power for fear of the inevitable. She must know even if she does not want to know. It will end. It must end.

The future is one without her. She cannot see herself past the black curtain.

Only Gwen can see the way that Lady Morgana is no longer herself. Morgana barricades herself in room, insisting that she is ‘just tired’. Sometimes she can hear Morgana pacing, muttering things to herself, holding an unlit, empty lamp with shaking hands. Her lady will accept no help, telling her to rest with a wane smile.

“Perhaps I should stay tonight, my lady?”

“No, Gwen, you’ve done enough for me. You take care of yourself. You need your rest.”

Morgana never says anything about the baby.

On the dawn of the fifth day that Morgana returns her breakfast mostly untouched, Gwen moves next door permanently. When she finds out, Morgana is unhappy.

“I don’t want to disturb your rest, Gwen.”

“It’s more convenient for me, my lady, if you don’t mind too much. My back you know and my ankles are getting a bit swollen,” the dark-skinned maid babbles excuse after excuse, knowing that Morgana will have to give in.

The watcher is standing at the window again, looking into the courtyard. Fear. The dais is there with a tall wooden stake at the centre. She’s too late. The girl is already tied there. The crowd is chanting “Burn, witch, burn!” with gleeful vindictiveness.

The watcher sees the girl in a tattered white underdress. Her cropped hair frizzles up like a mane. She’s blubbering, wailing loudly over the voices condemning her. She cranes her neck towards the King standing impassively by his lover.

“Arthur! Arthur, please!”

The crowd jeers. A whore and a witch, they call her.

“You must believe me! I didn’t! It’s not what you think, please, I’m innocent!”

The crowd laughs louder. Eyes flash gold and the fire is lit with a whoosh.

Then the girl finally looks over to the watcher, betrayal in her eyes.

It’s Gwen. She burns.

Then she’s up with a gasp. Lady Morgana peels the sheets sticking to her, reaching for the towel at her bedside. She mops herself dry as much as she can. Rolling over to the drier side of the bed, Morgana shivers even though she can see through the window that it must be morning already. Or perhaps the afternoon. Her mouth opens and she wants to call Gwen. She could call her without disturbing her. Comfort is so close but she will not give in now. She can get through this. Gwen needs her rest.

Morgana makes up her mind in that moment to confront Merlin to put an end to this. She has to save Gwen somehow.

The warlock waits for her to break the silence. Books hover effortlessly in the air above his head like a moving halo. Sibilant words slip from his tongue and golden dust sweeps the bookshelves. By merely raising his hand, Merlin’s books rearrange themselves in order.

“My Lord,” Morgana forces out in her most respectful tone. She is in Merlin’s territory after all.

“The Lady Morgana.” Merlin nods without bowing. He is of higher rank than her now. “Thought you weren’t going to speak to me or Arthur until the end of time.”

“Trust me, this is the last time.”

He raises an eyebrow so reminiscent of the late Court Physician. Morgana misses him even though he sought to hide her magical abilities from her. She knew that he had been trying to protect her. She suppresses a smile and instead curls her finger around a lock of her hair. Morgana thinks she might just have found her trump card. “The taint on your soul is permanent. Would you sully Arthur?”

“No small talk, my lady?” Merlin spells another set of books to spin in the air again.

“This is not a game, Merlin! I know what you will do to him. Why can’t you just leave him alone? He could have a future with Gwen. Gwen could be his Queen!”

“You’d give up Gwen that easily?” Merlin says. “Interesting.”

“Go to Hell,” Morgana says but Merlin merely chuckles. “Leave him or I’ll- I’ll-” Morgana clenched her fists.

Merlin tilts his head coyly and puts the books back in the shelf just as the golden dust disappears. “Morgana dear, beside the fact that you have nothing to threaten me with do you really think that doing this could make me leave him? Or were you hoping to make him leave me? I’m sorry to disappoint you. I asked him myself not so long ago right before well, you know what happened.”

“You’re lying.”

“See for yourself.”

She does and she sees Arthur kneeling. Arthur bloodied and offering himself to Merlin. Arthur handing Merlin a knife. Arthur… Morgana drops her hand and stumbles back from the warlock. “You hurt him.”

“I did,” Merlin says calmly, looking her right in her eyes.

“You’re going to break him.”

“You’re wrong,” Merlin denies with a shake of his head.

“I’m rarely wrong,” Morgana scoffed.

“No, you’re wrong about this. I might hurt him but I will never, ever break him. It hurts me to hurt him and I cannot break him without breaking myself,” Merlin confesses.

Morgana paced in the small space, tangling her skirts as she trod on the hem in her frustration.

“He doesn’t need you anymore. I am there for him. I’m the one he needs. Even your powers are failing.”

Words couldn’t do anything to her but they could. Words were magic. They could hurt. The words strip Morgana of her armour.

“Oh yes, I know. You have nothing left to offer him. That bothers you doesn’t it? I’m everything he wants. The kingdom is prosperous. You’re going to pass the peak of your beauty and yet no one wants you.”

“This isn’t about you or me,” Morgana spits out. “Could you protect him from yourself Merlin?” Morgana accused.

“Well you certainly can’t,” Merlin laughs cruelly. “As I said. I would never break him. I might hurt him, but I’m not perfect. And you know...he wants it from me, he needs it. It scares you doesn’t it? I think you are scared that if it were down to you, you don’t love him enough to give him what he really needs. You wouldn’t have done what I did for Arthur.”

“You not in love with him. You’re obsessed with him. It’s an obsession. You want to possess him. I know his love for you blinds him but I know the truth. You’re a heartless bastard.”

Merlin doesn’t deny it. “Is that all you have to say?”

“What would Gaius say? He’d be ashamed of you.”

“Perhaps. He trusted me to do the right thing. He might even agree with you. He would ask me what I was thinking and tell me that I shouldn’t have done it and then he’ll give me that look...” A trace of nostalgia crosses Merlin’s face, taking years off him, turning him back into a gangly servant boy. But it is gone when he catches himself.

It is not a battle she can win but she will plead for clemency anyway. She must. “Leave him. Not for my sake but for his. For Arthur.”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t or you won’t?” Morgana says with a bitter sneer.

“I can’t. I truly cannot be parted with him.”

“But if you were to part from him, he can still live?”

“Yes,” Merlin acknowledges easily.

Morgana can sense a ‘but’ coming.

“Knowing Arthur though, it’s a risk don’t you think?”

“What do you mean? He is no coward. He would never-”

“You misunderstand me, my lady. It would ruin everything that he is. He will never be the legend that he will be. Everything that I will help him to be. Without me, he would lose himself.”

“Are you sure that your crown is large enough for your head?”

“We are two sides of the same coin. I brought him back from a place where angels would fear to tread because I cannot exist without him. You really would gamble with destiny?”

There is nothing she can say now. Even if she is loathe to admit it, Morgana knows that Merlin is right. She has seen it. Once. Losing Merlin would kill Arthur. Not physically perhaps but he would fade away, a mere phantom of the glorious King Arthur that destiny would have him be.

Merlin catches her sleeve as she leaves. “I’m truly sorry, Morgana, that you can’t understand the bond that Arthur and I share.” That you’re not a part of is what Morgana hears. Somehow the sincere apology makes it worse. She does not look at him as she walks away from him. Her work here is done. She has failed and there is nothing, nothing at all she can do.

It’s a long week and a half of tense silences until Morgana scrounges up the courage to talk to Arthur. She’s so very tired, hanging onto her existence by sheer tenacity alone. Not much longer now, she thinks. When they were younger, they fell out spectacularly that time when Morgana beat Arthur at sword fighting. They went for months without speaking. She doesn’t think she could do that now. She’s not eleven anymore. So she cleans herself up as much as she can though nothing can hide the purplish bruises under her eyes. Gwen, bless her, has used her excellent seamstress skills to take in her clothes so they do not look like they are falling off her. With a little help of make-up and jewellery, Morgana reclaims her title as the dark beauty of Camelot.

Arthur is leaving against the wall, looking out of the window, looking over his people. The King sees Morgana approach and keeps his face carefully neutral. When she is close enough to touch, Arthur closes his eyes and inhales the scent of lavender and spices. Arthur is relieved to see Morgana even if his pride reminds him that he did nothing wrong. He holds his hand up and recites the litany that he has practiced in his head since she slammed the door in his face. Well not literally in his face but on everything that they had shared since childhood. Of all people, he had thought she would understand. He had his obligations to Camelot as King. “Don’t say it. Merlin didn’t rape me. He’s not evil. He didn’t force Gwen to do anything. He’s not forcing me to do anything. I didn’t force Gwen to do anything either. If that’s what you’re coming to talk to me about, I don’t want to hear it.”

She thinks that the most truthful part is the last part but… “I didn’t come to argue with you, my lord.”

Twenty years ago, Arthur would have held onto his anger. He would have drawn out the argument until his father made him apologise to her. And probably only after his father had made sure he wouldn’t be able to sit properly for a week. Then Arthur had resented his father for assuming that Morgana was right about whatever it was that they were arguing. He hadn’t wanted to be a ‘man’ but then he hadn’t exactly asked to be a prince either. But now, he feels as small as he did then. Arthur can’t stand the animosity between them any longer and he blurts out, “I’m sorry, Morgana. Don’t go.”

His sister gives him a small smile, a perfectly-shaped eyebrow raised. “Arthur. I’ve always wanted the best for you. I was wrong and I’ve caused you stress, for that I am sorry. You are my brother in all but blood and it pains me to think that you will be hurt. I only want to protect you.” She will not be sorry for that and from the look of understanding that Arthur gives her, he knows it too. She had never been good at apologising, having had the privilege of being right more often that not with her sight. This is her second apology in a month. It’s a record.

“Of course. I’m sorry to have been dismissive. I will try to be more understanding. I know it’s not easy to have those dreams. I don’t know where I’d be without your counsel.” He sounds so much like Uther that fateful day. It is one of the few memories of her foster father that she allows herself to revisit sometimes in an unguarded moment. She does not like to dwell on the past.

“You’ll be a great king and a great father. Uther…he would have been very proud of you. I know he would be.”

It’s another magical pregnancy. Perhaps Arthur is too much like his father. Still, Morgana does not mention what Uther might think about the magic or that a servant is carrying the future heir of Camelot or that his son prefers to sleep with his former manservant than all of the princesses in Albion. She does not mention or allude to any of the secrets of the Pendragon family that they have shoved behind the dusty tapestries. For that, Arthur is grateful.

“He’d be proud of you too. You challenge me like you did him. You’ll be a great aunt.”

“Maybe,” Morgana says hesitantly.

“You will be,” Arthur insists. “We’ll be a family. A perfect, happy family.” The family he has always wanted/ A smile lights up his face and Morgana knows that his son will be handsome, like his father. It is something that she feels as if she knows for sure but will never experience.

It’s a sore spot between them but she needs to hear him say it. “You’ll take care of Gwen, won’t you?”

“’Course.” He gives her an incredulous look as if to say who do you are talking to?

“She is…important to me, Arthur. I need you to swear to me that you will.”

He does without hesitation. “I will make things right,” he promises. The blond has enough experience with Morgana to know that if he doesn’t, she would probably curse him. Morgana loves him and he knows that but she can wield a sword with skill. That and she knows his weaknesses.

“I can’t have you coming after me,” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood. “I was thinking of assigning Lancelot to take care of Gwen. As her bodyguard, helper kind of er…you know? Merlin’s accelerated the healing process of his leg but he’s still not up to riding. All that jostling. So Lancelot is going to be grounded from patrol until he feel ups to it. He can watch over Gwen, carry her stuff for her, whatever it is that you have her doing. I’ve already had the guards keep an extra eye on her. What do you think?”

Morgana swallows painfully as her breath catches. “I think,” she says slowly. “I think it’s a great idea. I’m very…glad you are going to have Lancelot take care of her.”

The King furrows his brows as he studies the peculiar expression on his sister’s face. It’s as if Morgana is jealous? Arthur cannot be sure but it’s incredibly similar to the look on his sister’s face when the knight she fancied kissed him instead. It’s probably too soon to ask, Arthur sighs inwardly, women are so complicated. He changes the subject instead. “Do you remember when we were young, I dared you jump into the lake with…”

Morgana lets Arthur tell the stories, interrupting him with comments and some of her own. She lets the memories take her to a time when all she worried about was what dress she should wear to the Spring Dance. She goes with the flow of the conversation and wishes she could have this all the time. Time slips between her fingers like silk. Arthur is happy. His back is to the window. The sun is dipping lower in the horizon and the last of the golden rays bathe him in their light. He is glowing.

They bicker and banter as they used to over dinner. They laugh.

“Everything is alright between us? Morgana?” Arthur is earnest and Morgana graces him with her widest grin.

“Oh, why wouldn’t it be? It’s all going to be alright.”

“I’m glad to hear it. You look tired, Morgana. Perhaps I should let you retire to your chambers to rest?”

“Thank you for your company, Arthur.” Morgana is tired. She accepts this exit gratefully.

“I’m glad to have worked things out between us.”

“As am I. Goodnight Arthur.”

“And to you, Lady Morgana.” Belatedly, Arthur adds, “Sweet dreams.”

“I’m sorry, sire.” The warlock kneels at his King’s feet.

“There is nothing to forgive, Merlin. You’re not my manservant anymore. Get up.”

“I must have your forgiveness, your majesty.”

“Always, my love.”

Merlin rises and Arthur takes him into his arms.

Morgana sits up and weeps. She cannot fight destiny. I’m truly sorry, Morgana, that you can’t understand the bond that Arthur and I share.

Gwen hears the heart-wrenching sobs coming from her mistress’s room and she wakes. Her mistress looks terribly pale by the flickering light of the lamp. “You are distressed, my lady. Let me stay, at least until you fall asleep. Shh, don’t push me away now. It would ease my mind. Allow me. Please.” Morgana finds that she does not have the strength to send her away. Forgive me, Gwen, she thinks.

She manages to croak out, “Thanks.”

“You don’t need to thank me, my lady,” Gwen says, pouring a glass of water for Morgana.

Morgana drinks deeply, soothing her throat. “Please, call me Morgana,” she says, enjoying Gwen’s smile. “You’ve been the best maid that any lady could ask for. You’re best friend I’ve ever had. I’m glad you’re here.” Morgana pulls the covers to invite Gwen in the bed with her. “Come, it’s big enough for both of us.”

Gwen has to suppress a giggle. “Alright.”

The two toss and turn a little to get comfortable. Morgana is propped up by an elbow on a pillow, facing Gwen.

“I want you to know,” Morgana begins, a hand playing with Gwen’s hair, “that you are so… important to me. You’re more than just a servant to me, I wish I could make you my equal. I wish you could be…” mine.

“I know,” Gwen says, tentatively reaching out to touch Morgana’s face. “You are important to me too, Morgana.”

Morgana leans in to kiss Gwen on the lips. Gwen’s lips part to deepen the kiss and they are soft and inviting. It’s a little awkward and the light of the lamp goes out part way through and has to be relit because they kept bumping into each other but it is the best thing Gwen has ever done.

Afterwards, both of them spoon in bed sated and boneless.

“Morgana,” Gwen calls, a blush rising on her cheeks at the intimate address. It would take some getting use to. “Where are you going?”

“To get another drink of water. Don’t worry. I can get it myself. I’ll be fine. You just lie down and rest. I’ll be back in a moment.”

The last thing Gwen can remember before drifting off is Morgana’s lips on her forehead. Gwen thinks that Morgana might have whispered, “love you” before leaving over and blowing the lamp out, but she can’t be sure. Still, she etches the moment into her memory. It’s perfect, like a dream.

Part 12

"Substitution and Submission" Merlin/Arthur NC-17 10/?

2009-12-06T14:23:23Z

Part 9

When sleep takes Arthur, his breathing evens out to slow and steady puffs with the occasional snuffling snore. Merlin marvels at the naked trust Arthur insists on giving him. The glorious and dignified body lies next to him nestled between sheets with dried blood stains. The sealing cuts, various bruises marring Arthur’s skin even as he reaches for his lover in his slumber.

“Me’l’n,” Arthur mumbles, content to press up against the warlock.

If Arthur weren’t mostly asleep, Merlin thinks he might be offended to be called some kind of fruit. But with the sleep tousled hair and the cuddling, Merlin can’t really complain. Merlin sees Arthur’s face, unmarked and guilt twinges in him. Barely whispering, he heals Arthur as much as he could. He watches his magic take away the evidence of skin being broken and he pushes his power into the wounds, willing them not to leave scars.

“Tickles,” Arthur smiled happily.

The dizziness hits the sorcerer again and he is not able to continue. He lays knocked out for a second. The worst has been taken care of. He casts a subtle low-level glamour over the bruises. Then Merlin allows himself to caress Arthur lightly, enjoying his lover’s presence and restored perfection.

When Arthur finally wakes, the King is surprised to find himself strangely unmarked as if it were all a dream. He touches his ribs where the deep cut was. He looks up to meet Merlin’s blue eyes.

“You healed me?” It is half a question, half a statement.

“Unfortunately, the bruises are still there,” Merlin said sheepishly, hand hovering over Arthur’s pale hip.

“Oh.” Arthur rubs the area with a wince.

“I put a glamour on them so you don’t have to explain away any...unusual injuries,” Merlin smirks.

“Why didn’t you tell me you could do this like before?” the blond pouts, thinking for all the times that might have been useful.

Merlin blinks owlishly. “Actually I didn’t really know I could do that. I just kind of wished it really hard.”

Arthur sits up gingerly. “Only because you have freaky powers,” he grumbles, though he negates his statement by nuzzling Merlin’s cheek, seeking a kiss. The brunet obliges him a little stiffly and Arthur feels a bit of disappointment set in.

Merlin dresses himself quickly and leaves with a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. “I have to go, love.”

The warlock heads for the lab connected to their chambers and closes the door.

It’s a mess.

He could use his magic to clean up the mess but there is nothing so satisfying as to do it by hand. That way he can be sure of the effort that has been put into the cleaning. Gaius used to have him do it that way so no one would find out but also to instil in him the value of hard work. Or as punishment accompanying the ‘actions have consequences’ lecture. Merlin feels shame cling to him all over again. He’s wiping up the last of the mess, washing his hands wishing he could get the image of the body writhing cutting open his chest, and pulling his own heart out mixed with tasting blood when Gwen comes in.

He had been so deep in his reverie that he is startled.

“Are you alright?”

“Fine.” Merlin answers, then automatically slipping into physician mode. “How’ve you been feeling?”

“Tired. I think it might be a bad case of the nerves or just a bug I caught from eating so much. It’s been so nasty that I’ve thrown up a few times. It’s not that bad but Morgana’s been so worried so I thought I’d slip in while she’s in court and see if I can get a ginger tonic.” She looks embarrassed to even be there, used to taking care of everyone else.

Merlin distractedly hands her a ginger tonic. “Peppermint tea might help as well.” Searching for the label amongst his jars sprawled in the cabinet, Merlin knocks over a tower of books.

“Oh Merlin, let me help you,” Gwen offers helpfully. This is the Merlin she knows and she smiles at his clumsy efforts to help. “I’m glad you’re back and that you’re better.”

“Thanks,” Merlin mumbles. Something clicks in his mind as he works. “Have you been throwing up at night as well?”

“Usually in the morning, it wears off so I don’t have any problem doing my work.”

The warlock cocks his head to the side, remembering what The Reaper said. Not wanting to alarm her with his suspicions, he says vaguely “I might as well you know, check, to save you coming again.”

“Sure,” Gwen agrees easily, catching the drift. She’s relaxed, legs swinging.

The first few times they did this, she was skittish and they both felt awkward. It was a big thing to ask of Gwen, an experimental procedure, with many risks and he didn’t know what to think of her as: a friend, a patient, a mother. He checks it three times so he’s absolutely sure. Merlin is shocked. Gwen is with child. With Arthur’s child. He honestly never thought it would work. Another Pendragon indeed. He had been prepared to carry the child himself using a magical womb if need be. For Arthur, he would.

Gwen notices that he’s taking longer than usual but she doesn’t interrupt him. “Is something wrong, Merlin?”

Merlin’s heart warms at Gwen’s goodness. He can tell that the concern is for him and not for herself because that is the type of woman Gwen is and has always been. He brings his eyes up from her clothed belly, at the fetus forming beneath her dress and he smiles, “Congratulations.”

Gwen returns the smile beatifically. “It worked? You’re sure? I mean of course you are, I just thought you said that it wouldn’t, anyway, it’s just such a surprise.”

“You’re pregnant, yes. About four weeks along.”

“It’s a miracle,” she breathes, wonder in her voice. Merlin had designed this magical pregnancy himself. It would be the first of it’s kind. This child would thus share the characteristics of Arthur, Merlin and Gwen. She strokes her still flat stomach. “I’m so happy for you and Arthur. For us.”

“I’ll have someone tell Arthur the good news.”

Merlin summons a messenger boy. “Tell the King that I have good news about Gwen.”

Gwen practically glows. Even with all the complications the pregnancy will bring. Even if the chance of miscarrying is high, she is happy. Not only is she happy for herself, but is she happy for Merlin and Arthur. Especially Arthur.

When the message is delivered to Arthur, he asks the messenger boy to repeat it as if he could not believe the words. “Good news, you did say?” he asked the boy again. At the nod he receives, the King stands up. “Excuse me, I must attend to this matter,” Arthur smiles stiffly. “Lady Morgana, I will leave the Court in your capable hands.” He takes her hand and kisses it, then leaves.

Though Arthur has changed and he is a good man, Morgana knows something is definitely up when Arthur puts on his cold, stately persona that Morgana has mentally dubbed his Uther impersonation. Morgana quickly excuses herself as well, passing the baton to Sir Leon. She follows Arthur from a discreet distance. From the look on Arthur’s face, she could tell that this was something out of the ordinary is happening but he did not seem excited by this good news. This is what drew her curiosity. Her visions said nothing, beyond danger to Arthur and an impenetrable black curtain. Now here she is, hiding behind pillars and hoping to eavesdrop outside like an errant ward.

Arthur is striding briskly back to the wing where Merlin had left him this morning. ‘Good news’ about Gwen could only mean one thing. It is their secret code words. He is going to be a father. A father. Each step towards his destination like a weight added to his shoulders. He is a warrior, a champion and he knows that he is the youngest king in Albion for centuries. Yet, he does not feel ready. Putting a gloved hand to readjust the crown on his head, the handsome King is reminded of his failure to live up to his father’s expectations so many times in his life. Of the many, many things he has to live up to. Of the things he has yet to do. He knows he should be feeling relieved, he can fulfil his duty to Camelot now. Can he be a good father? Taking a deep breath, Arthur smiles shakily before walking into the soft murmur of voices.

“Guinevere,” Arthur says, kissing her hand reverently. He can sense her radiance and joy and it is contagious. The King thinks that he might feel something akin to hope flutter in him. “This is...wow. I-I don’t know what to say.”
Few things surprise Morgana, as a seer but this, she never saw coming. She stays rooted to the spot, hand over her mouth in shock.

“Congratulations?” her maid says with a light laugh.

Arthur pulls Gwen into a hug. “I cannot express...how much this means to me. To us,” he said, glancing at Merlin. “Thank you for sharing with us this gift. We’re going to be a family.” There is a tone of wonder there. “I know you said you don’t want payment but ask and you shall have it.”

“Your Majesty-”

“It’s definitely Arthur now.” He holds up a hand to stall her protests, the wheels turning in his head. “You’ll have to move all your things in to the castle. I mean you’re over here most of the time. Don’t worry, the house is and will always be yours. I can have someone maintain it. I know it’s closer to your workshop but I’m going to have to speak with the Royal Smith. You mustn’t do any more metal work now.”

“Arthur. I’m with child, not completely useless,” Gwen argues. “The women in the village work hard even when pregnant. Merlin, tell him.”

“Well, Gwen is right,” Merlin says with an apologetic look at Arthur.

“I just want to make sure that you have the best of care. If not for yourself, for the baby,” Arthur says with a stubborn glint of his gold eyes.

“Then listen to me. Lady Morgana has been unwell lately. She needs me. You should trust me to be able to take care of myself. I’ve been taking care of people my whole life. I know what to do.” Arthur’s jaw clenched but Gwen continues mischievously, playing her trump card, “You’re not the one who’s pregnant.”

Arthur glares but caves in. “Fine. But you will promise me that you won’t work too hard. If you need help you’ll... you’ll tell me.”

Gwen smiles triumphantly. “Of course, Arthur.” She softens, placing a hand on his calloused one. “I will do my best to take care of the baby ok? I know the baby is precious but I’ll go crazy if you tell me to lie in bed all day and that won’t be good for the baby. I can manage for now. If it makes you feel better, I won’t do any metal forging anymore but I think I can still manage the armoury and take inventory.”

After a long moment, Arthur closes his eyes and nods. “I’ll announce it straight away with a feast. A really big celebration in honour of this momentous occasion.”

Merlin cuts in regretfully, “I think...it’s safer if we don’t. There was just an attack on your life. I think we should wait a while Arthur. At least until I’m up to full power. Sorry Gwen.”

Morgana has heard enough. She bursts into the room. She goes to slap Arthur but Gwen stops her. “I can’t believe you,” she seethes. The crackle of magic hovers in the tension, a slight shimmer distorting the air. “What have you done to Gwen?”

“Morgana, whatever you heard,” Arthur looks pained. “It’s not what you think.”

“Oh really? So tell me that Gwen is not pregnant because you decided to sow your seed.”

Arthur winces as if she had slapped him. “She is but we didn’t...that is I didn’t...”

“It’s a magical pregnancy,” Merlin explains in a low voice. “Arthur has done nothing dishonourable to Gwen. This child will share characteristics between Gwen, Arthur and I.”

Morgana laughs. “The people will not see it that way. That last time magic went in a pregnancy, it turned out to be a disaster,” she threw a pointed glare at Arthur. “What meddling have you done now for this life, Merlin, kill a daemon child?”

“Don’t talk about matters which you know nothing about, my lady,” Merlin’s eyes change dangerously and for a moment Morgana swears that they were bright red.

“Oh I know all about this. A woman’s value is in her virtue. Gwen will be shamed. Pregnant, out of wedlock and carrying the bastard child of the king? That’s proof you fucked her Arthur. No one is going to believe your immaculate conception story.

Aside putting her in danger, who do you think is going to want her after this?”

“I have done nothing shameful. I have nothing to hide, Morgana,” Arthur retorts.

“Then you are more foolish than I thought. I thought I knew you better than this. You know what they will say.”

“Since when have we let that stop us? People will talk. They always do.”

“Gwen’s reputation will be ruined forever. A lady’s honour is her purity. You are always thinking of yourself. It is Gwen that will have to bear the consequences. People will think her a common whore. No one will want her. I know you can scarcely think of anyone but yourself but this is not being fair to her.”

“Morgana, if you’re insinuating I’d make Gwen suffer for this, you’re wrong,” Arthur said, unwilling to back down. “It doesn’t have to be that way. I’m going to announce it, publicly declare Gwen to be under my protection.”

“Arthur, you can’t-”

“I am King now. I can and I will do as I please, Merlin.”

“Arthur. A mother without a father is an unfortunate but not a dangerous position. A possible heir to the throne is a target. Think about how many attempts there were on your life as the only heir to the throne. Announcing it will put Gwen in more danger, not less.”

Morgana sneers, “I know what you’re doing. You’re stalling, warlock. You don’t want Gwen to have the place you covet, Merlin. Jealousy is such an unattractive look on you.”

Gwen can feel the tension seeping into the room, Merlin’s power humming and Arthur’s hand straying unconsciously to his pommel. “Enough!” she said, raising her voice sharply. All eyes turn to Gwen. Taking a deep breath, she continues, “Please, enough! I can’t stand by and watch everything fall apart… You haven’t asked me what I want! I’m right here and it’s my baby too.” She holds her head up, black straight and she looks taller, almost regal.

Merlin can see that in another lifetime perhaps, Gwen would have been Arthur’s Queen. Merlin cannot stand that thought, even though Gwen is his dearest friend. He shoves down all the dark thoughts as much as possible, focusing instead on Gwen’s words. “This is my honour to bear. I will not put the child in danger. I won’t risk it. Merlin is right.”

“Gwen…” Morgana flounders, a frown marring her forehead. “I wish…”

“Please my lady, do not vex yourself on my behalf. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I didn’t want you to worry about me. I have already agreed to move to the castle. There is nothing the people can do to me. They cannot cast me out from my home. I am safe. This is a gift, given freely. This is what I want. For the love of Albion.” Gwen smoothed the front of her dress. “I will do whatever is necessary to keep the child safe. It doesn’t matter what other people will think. You, all of you, are the people important to me. As long as we know the truth then that is enough for me.”

Morgana is not placated. “I respect your choice Gwen and I do not blame you. I blame Arthur. He will ruin you. Arthur, you selfish bastard. This is what I meant by right and wrong. You can’t just change all the rules to suit yourself. I thought you were better than that.”

“You will not speak to me like that,” Arthur’s temper flares. He advances on her but she does not step back, her gaze steady.
“Or what?” Morgana tilted her chin defiantly. “You’re just like your father.” Adding another jibe, she inclines her head stiffly. “Sire. I will not speak to you at all. As you wish.”

“And I blame you, Merlin, you’ve ruined him. No, don’t even think about it, you’ve done enough.”

Morgana slams the door and storms out in her pompous manner which comes off as majestic. Arthur had always hoped a little vindictively that she might just trip over her skirts but she never did. He wondered if the flair for the dramatic exits went from Uther to her. Morgana had most definitely been Uther’s ward.

Gwen’s predicament has made her decisive. “We still have time before I start to show right? Let’s just leave this for now.”

Arthur is still looking at the door. Merlin is looking guiltily at the floor.

Gwen sighs. “I’ll handle this.”

“Don’t forget your medicine,” Merlin reminds, trying to be helpful.

Gwen gives him a weary smile and goes off to think about how to repair the damage done.

Part 11

[drabble] Wherever You Go, Arthur/Merlin PG

2009-08-16T08:54:24Z

Title: Wherever You Go
Pairing: Slash. Merlin/Arthur
Rating: Barely PG for suggestiveness.
Word Count: 57
Spoilers: Season 1.
Warnings: Drabble. All dialogue. My first go at that too. Sweetness.
Summary: A sweet conversation between Arthur and Merlin.

“Who would have guessed that I’d end up with you, Mer-lin.”

“The dragon told me that our paths lie together, you know.”

“Somehow I don’t think he meant lying in bed together.”

“Maybe not... But you know as well as I do that wherever you go, I go.”

“And you know I wouldn’t be anywhere without you.”

"Substitution and Submission" Merlin/Arthur NC-17 9/?

2009-08-03T14:37:57Z

Title: Substitution and Submission (AKA The Most Screwed Up Merlin/Arthur Fic Ever)
Pairing: Slash. Merlin/Arthur, Uther/Arthur (implied past dub-con), Gwen/Morgana
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2029
Spoilers: Season 1
Warnings: Dark!Merlin, Broken!Arthur, sex (slash, femslash and het), non-con, dub-con, fucked up role-playing, incest, abuse of magic, violence, knife-play, blood-play, secondary character deaths, major character death, suicide, self-harm/cutting, angst, generally disturbing themes. Basically as fucked up a fic as I could make it and definitely the most screwed up thing I've ever written. Not for those easily offended.
Summary: Prompt from kinkme_merlin Arthur and Merlin have a really dark, creepy fucked up disturbing relationship. In exactly what way it's fucked up I will leave it up to you but the darker the better. I'm a fan of dark!Merlin in particular so would be happy if he made an appearance but if you want to do something different that's fine."

AN: Knife-play and blood-play kink. I blame Merlin. He gets kinky ideas. Shorter chapter to finish this arc so I can start a new one :)

Part 8

Merlin turns another page in his book before answering in a calm voice, “Nothing that you should worry about, love.” He takes out a spare piece of parchment and whispers the spell to copy the diagram on the page, hoping Arthur would take the hint.

“I want to know what it is that you are keeping from me.”

“Arthur, it is nothing.” Merlin is skimming through the book with his magic, the pages fanning his face.

“Then tell me,” Arthur growls, striding over to Merlin to grab his slim wrist. The King slams the book shut. “You are keeping something from me. Why don’t you trust me?”

Merlin merely summons another volume with his magic, nonplussed by Arthur’s anger.

Arthur catches the book and flings it away. Gritting his teeth Arthur raises his voice, “Don’t ignore me!” He hauls Merlin up by the collar of his robes, feeling no resistance from the warlock. He knows that Merlin could stop him if he wants to. Then he slams him against the wall and pushes him against the small table at the side. It screeches as it is moved across the floor. “Tell me why, at least. Tell me why,” Arthur yells. Merlin’s silent stare unnerves him. He shoves his lover against the table again and he waits for the crash and clamour as everything falls to the floor. But it never comes.

Merlin’s eyes glow, catching the inkpot, glass paperweight, the books and papers midflight before levitating them harmlessly to his lab. Another flash makes closes the door and the windows glitter with privacy spells. He kisses Arthur hungrily, distracting him by palming him through his breeches. “I love you,” the warlock mumbles against the side of Arthur’s pink lips.

Arthur kisses Merlin back with as much fervour and without waiting for an answer; he fists his hands in the brunet’s tunic. Ripping it open, Arthur trails his finger down his lover’s chest to trace the scar that is like his own. Merlin leans inwards as Arthur splays his fingers over where his heart should be and feels... nothing. Arthur’s fingers press desperately then he takes Merlin’s wrist and feels no pulse.

“What have you done to yourself?” Arthur exclaims as horror overtakes him. “Did you do this to yourself...for me?” The last part is whispered in a choked voice.

Merlin’s lips press into a white line, anger filling him. “Yes. Don’t look at me like that. It is worth it,” he hisses. “I don’t regret anything.”

“No it isn’t.” Arthur shakes his head sadly, his arousal deflating. “Don’t treat your own life so lightly.”

With lightning speed, Merlin reverses their positions. Now it is him, pressing Arthur against the wall. The fire crackles. Bottles of ink rattle. The shelves quiver, books shivering in the force of Merlin’s anger. “Don’t you know how much you’re worth to me? You are worth my life and more and I will not have you doubt it. I am nothing, nothing without you. I would do it again in a heartbeat if I had to.” The irony of the statement does not escape Arthur and he lets out a little laugh. Merlin continues speaking in a harsh whisper into Arthur’s ear so he could feel Merlin’s warm breath bathe his face. “It was a necessary sacrifice. As a King, you should understand this. Sometimes you have to give something up for the greater good.” His lover’s eyes are aglow. Merlin’s display of power and passionate speech leaves Arthur breathless and more than a bit turned on.

“You gave me your heart?” Arthur manages to say, shifting discreetly so that he is not poking Merlin with his erection.

Merlin releases him with an intense look, scrutinising Arthur’s tone and facial expression. “You always had it,” he says, voice deepening with emotion. The warlock will consent to Arthur knowing about his heart but he will do whatever it takes to keep Arthur’s purity. To keep Arthur in the dark to keep him in the light. Merlin would fall so Arthur could stand on his shoulders.

“How...?” Arthur says, biting his lip in confusion.

“Magic,” Merlin says with a smile, his finger on Arthur’s lip, teasing him. “You are my other half. You complete me. There is no question of how. I would do anything for you.”

“It was Hell,” Arthur confesses, allowing himself to accept this gift. “I’m... thankful you saved me.” He hadn’t known how much more he could stand. He had wanted death.

”I’d tear Hell apart to find you,” Merlin vows, deadly serious. “I promise, I will do anything to keep you safe.”

If he were any other, Arthur might have Merlin’s statement as those of someone in love but Arthur knows Merlin is special; there is something about him that he still can’t quite figure out. He marvels at the power glinting in his lover’s eyes and does not question Merlin’s promise.

Merlin backs away from his love, feeling like he has said too much. “You should not let me near you, if you knew the things I’d do for you. I’m dangerous.” The warlock immediately tries to put as much distance between him and the King.

Arthur rolls his eyes. “What is with everyone deciding what they think is best for me? You think I wouldn’t do the same for you? You don’t frighten me.” Arthur refuses to step away even as he can feel the power stirring again in the air. He stands up straighter and tries not to think about the heat pooling in his groin. Lust shining in his eyes, Arthur feels like a pervert and he looks quickly away when he feels his cheeks flush.

Merlin knows then that Arthur doesn’t understand the gravity of the danger that he could be in. That he is in. With a nod of his head, he lifts Arthur into the air so that he is dangling off the ground as if suspended by invisible chains. Completely helpless. Arthur’s legs swing ridiculously like a broken marionette. Merlin’s hand at his throat as if to choke him, his fingers not touching him but Arthur gets the meaning.

“Defend yourself.”

Arthur merely glares at Merlin. “Let me down.”

“Defend yourself,” Merlin repeats, using his magic to unsheathe a dagger hidden in Arthur’s boot.

“You won’t hurt me,” Arthur says confidently, refusing to panic as the knife drifts closer to his exposed throat. Not even when the knife is touching him, making him gasp from the cold metal on his skin. “You won’t hurt me.”

Merlin’s lip twitches in a cruel sneer and the blade nicks his throat ever so slightly. “I could kill you right now.” Arthur can feel the sting of the cut, the blood welling to the surface.

“But you won’t,” the King says with unflinching certainty. He knows if Merlin wanted to, he would have a long time ago. His golden eyes meet his lover’s, brimming with trust and an unspoken plea.

The warlock’s eyes light up and Arthur’s cape flutters to the ground.

The knife starts cutting the laces of his tunic, the buckles of his chain-mail undershirt, the leather ties that hold up his breeches. Merlin is rough, recklessly cutting the garments from his lover with his magic leaving him with nothing but his crown. Arthur knows that he should be afraid. Afraid of Merlin perhaps but instead his stomach is fluttering with a strange desire threatening to spread through him.

Merlin licks his cuts delicately, tasting the metallic tang of blood before whispering a healing spell over each hurt. The warlock repeats this several times, carving shallow shapes into Arthur’s still body, catching the blood with his lips and soothing it away. Arthur closes his eyes as he feels the sting of the cut, followed by the pleasant warmth of magical healing. Finally, Merlin says with a heavy sigh, “You should make me leave you.”

The warlock wills his lover to understand that he cannot say it but should Arthur command him to leave him, he would. Forever. Merlin knows now that he cannot live without Arthur but if Arthur wished to live without him, then he would forfeit his existence. It is a simple equation.

When Arthur shudders, it is not from the cold even though he is naked and powerless. It is the fear that grips his heart, Merlin’s heart he corrects himself, when he tries to imagine life without his lover. He shakes his head. “No. What are you saying? Do you want to leave me?” His voice cracks a little at the end, his lip trembling. Arthur can feel the borrowed heart pounding in his chest and it gets hard to breathe.

A flash of silver and the point of the knife digs in his left shoulder, not quite breaking the skin. “Never. Think. That. Arthur. Never,” Merlin commands, turning the knife over so the cold side brushes the sensitive area just below a rosy nipple.

Arthur groans, sounding pained, he bangs his head against the wall in frustration. He is weightless in Merlin’s magical embrace, his sensations heightened. Merlin is trying to talk to him and he can’t for the life of him stop thinking about sex.

“I would never leave you willingly.”

“Well then why did you-” Then understanding dawns on Arthur and he rounds on Merlin suspiciously. “Were you...are you trying to make me leave you?” “Nothing you can say, or anyone else for that matter, will convince me that you are bad for me.” Arthur continues stubbornly, “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me. I don’t care if people think it’s wrong. It’s none of their business. When it’s just you and me, it feels right. I know its right.” Arthur looks at his lover, daring him to deny him.

The knife presses into Arthur’s skin again until it breaks, blood collecting in small droplets, marring the fair skin. Arthur moans and this time it’s clear that he is not in pain.

“How can you say this is right?” Merlin says. “I’ve tried to hurt you and you...you let me!” Merlin accuses. “How can I trust myself around you?” Merlin covers his face with his hands. “What have I done?” With a blink, he breaks the chains and levitates his lover gently to the ground. Catching the knife deftly by the handle as it falls, Arthur offers it to his lover.

Merlin shies away from the knife.

“I don’t care. I trust you. I want you, dammit.” Arthur pleads desperately, “Can’t you see I want you no matter what? No matter what you do to me, you can’t make me leave you.” Need makes his voice husky and he threads his hands through Merlin’s brown locks, caressing the warlock’s face. He leans him to kiss him but Merlin turns his face away.

“You shouldn’t trust me,” Merlin says brokenly but letting Arthur kiss him, tasting forgiveness in his gentle hands.

“Take it,” Arthur insists, pressing the knife into Merlin’s hands, his gaze not leaving his lover’s. He will prove it to Merlin. He will show him how much he loves him, loves him back. “I trust you,” he repeats. He peers at his lover from lowered lashes and presses his nakedness against him, using his vulnerability to draw out the predator in Merlin.

Even when Merlin takes him roughly on the rug in from of the hearth, when Merlin rakes his nails on Arthur’s back and then presses the tender flesh on the rough walls as he fucks him, when Merlin forces him on his knees hard enough to bruise, even when he cuts a little too deep along his ribs, when Arthur can taste his own blood on Merlin’s lips, even when he can feel cold metal on his groin and his breath hitches and he is truly afraid – even then – Arthur swallows his fear and manages a crooked smile as if to ask if that is all. Pain is merely a means to an end.

Arthur will take anything from Merlin as long as he can have him. He’s not stupid, he knows that there’s a price to pay for everything. But he is not unwilling.

Part 10

"Substitution and Submission" Merlin/Arthur NC-17 8/?

2009-07-29T16:20:24Z

Title: Substitution and Submission (AKA The Most Screwed Up Merlin/Arthur Fic Ever)
Pairing: Slash. Merlin/Arthur, Uther/Arthur (implied past dub-con), Gwen/Morgana
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 4561
Spoilers: Season 1
Warnings: Dark!Merlin, Broken!Arthur, sex (slash, femslash and het), non-con, dub-con, fucked up role-playing, incest, abuse of magic, violence, secondary character deaths, major character death, suicide, self-harm/cutting, angst, generally disturbing themes. Basically as fucked up a fic as I could make it and definitely the most screwed up thing I've ever written. Not for those easily offended.
Summary: Prompt from kinkme_merlin Arthur and Merlin have a really dark, creepy fucked up disturbing relationship. In exactly what way it's fucked up I will leave it up to you but the darker the better. I'm a fan of dark!Merlin in particular so would be happy if he made an appearance but if you want to do something different that's fine.

Part 7

The day after, Merlin feels well enough to get up. The tiredness still clings to him but he no longer feels like he is dragging lead weights every time he moves. The downside is that he feels well enough to try doing magic and whenever he tries to summon the power within him, the room spins in a nauseating swirl as if he were being tossed around in a whirlwind. Merlin ignores the sickness and pushes himself anyway. His breakfast ends up all over the King’s royal bed sheets. For that, Arthur tries to keep him confined to his bed. After he drags the warlock to the physician and had the servants clean up the mess and air the room even though it is an unholy hour in the morning. Merlin narrowly talked Arthur out of getting four knights to carry him to the old physician’s quarters that Lavern uses. Arthur chooses to be a stubborn prat at the worst times, the warlock thought. It wasn’t like Merlin couldn’t make his own anti-emetic.

"You have to let me do something, Arthur, or I'll...”

“You’ll what?” Arthur says teasingly. “Were you going to stamp your foot?”

“I’ll go insane! Arthur. I’m being serious. I've been doing nothing but lie in bed for three days. Let me do something.”

Arthur watches the hustle and bustle of life in the courtyard as he escorts his lover back to their rooms, walking at snail pace. He did not want to tire his lover out – Merlin would never admit to being delicate, he thinks with a smile. “Alright,” he relents, stopping in the shade of a pillar to look Merlin in the eye. “But promise me you won't try to use any magic until Lavern says you can. You must not over exert yourself, Merlin." Arthur can see several courtiers greeting him and he nods regally. “I’ll send someone over to look after you,” Arthur says brightly, pleased with the idea.

“Arthur.” The warlock drags out the second syllable, a frown growing on his forehead.

“I’m being serious,” Arthur parrots back to his lover. “You saved my life. I need to make sure nothing bad happens to you because of...whatever magicky thing you’ve done.” He waves his hand around nonsensically and everyone around them gives him a deferential sort of bow just in case.

Merlin grins. It’s at times like this that he is reminded of the boy Arthur, frank and not yet polished. The raw openness that makes you trust him with your secrets. Continuing to walk, Merlin murmurs in a low voice when they are inside the castle again. “I think my magic...I might have lost it. Like forever, maybe.”

Arthur is about to ask what that is supposed to mean but he catches on quickly. He assumes then that Merlin’s magic must have been the price paid for his life. He quickens his step defensively. “I...I’m sorry.” Though he is not sure exactly what he is apologising for, he knows it was his fault. Arthur wants to tell him he’ll do whatever it takes to get it back but he has no idea how to do such a thing.

“Don’t be,” Merlin says, thinking of Gaius. The late physician who went on his knees and swore to his King that he would no longer practice magic. Gaius, his mentor. The man had been the closest person he’d ever had to a father and a lump sticks in his throat as he realised how much he missed him. How much he missed having someone to go to. Gaius had still respected and maybe even loved Uther even though he had to give magic up. Maybe Gaius had not been born with it but Merlin knows you don’t give something up like that without feeling some deep loss. Magic becomes a part of you – of who you are. It isn’t just a simple matter of turning it off like a tap. Merlin manages to croak out something to fill the void between him and his King. Something to give Arthur hope. “I’ll figure something out. Just be extra careful okay?”

The King nods, turning to leave. He will bury himself in work because he knows how to deal with that. It’s easier than thinking that Merlin could end up resenting him. With his newly acquired eyes, the King could see Merlin’s disappointment at the loss of his powers. He looks lost without it. Arthur supposes that Merlin has never really been without it – not using magic has always been a choice, even when his father had expressly forbidden it under pain of death. A long time ago, Arthur would have laughed if someone told him his clumsy manservant is actually a powerful sorcerer, maybe the most powerful mage in the whole of Albion. Now, he has gotten so used to Merlin’s magic that it would be funny to imagine his lover without it because it is so much a part of him.

Merlin stews in his thoughts as he stirs the tincture he is making. It’s a modification of one of Gaius’ personal recipes. He turns to the other two cauldrons containing a sleeping draught and a wart remover respectively. Almost forgetting, the brunet reaches out his hand to summon the book he left in his room when he remembers himself.

Traditionally, the King’s chambers has several studies, all well-maintained by servants but most of which are never used. Uther certainly never touched the library of magic books that had been kept by his predecessor. Arthur had the volumes of books taken from Camelot’s restricted archives and re-shelved in the King’s personal library as a gesture of his acceptance of Merlin’s magic. It is in the room next to it that Merlin takes up residence, converting it into his private lab. It’s one of the smaller studies but the warlock doesn’t mind. He told Arthur he could magic it bigger if he really wanted to but there is no sense in walking to and from unnecessarily. Like whoever designed the physician’s quarters to be reached by a flight of stairs when most common complaints are joint pain and broken legs from falls. So when Merlin became Court Magician and Court Physician and Arthur’s advisor amongst many other things, Merlin decided it was time to move the physician’s quarters. He had his pick of the castle. One of the perks of being the King’s lover. Merlin also accepted Mordred as his apprentice, leaving the guardian duties to Lavern. The latter had been fairly useful in lightening his load as Court Physician when he hadn’t been busy playing guardian or Druid Elder.

Mordred. Mordred who was no longer alive.

As Merlin went to fetch his book from the library, he wonders if he should go and talk to Lavern again or if he should ait for the Druid Elder to come to him.

“Right, stir counter-clockwise in a figure eight motion until the solution is an opaque blue,” Merlin muttered to himself. He is reminded of how much he relies on magic and he resolves to take it less for granted when it comes back. If. When. When.

Morgana walks in just as he has finished bottling up the medicines, his handwriting scrawled over the white labels.

The warlock is not surprised, merely raising an eyebrow. Morgana is reminded momentarily of the late physician.

“While you’re here, you might as well take the sleeping draught I made for you that we both know you’re not going to take,” Merlin says lightly.

“I didn’t order one,” Morgana says coldly.

Merlin’s full lips curl into a wry smile. “I didn’t say you ordered one. Take it, don’t take it, it’s not my concern. A note: the draught is a new, concentrated formula so don’t drink the whole bottle.” Merlin did not explain that he had to make the draught stronger compensate for his lack of magic. The less anyone knew about his loss of power, the better, Merlin thought.

Morgana eyes the warlock-come-physician with her perfectly painted features. She would refuse it out of principal however she thinks of the worry lines on Gwen’s gentle face and she has made up her mind. Perusing the bottle suspiciously, Morgana takes the solution from Merlin, brushing his cold hands. She can feel it. He is changed somehow. She slips the medicine into the pouch she carries around.

“How is it that he’s alive?” She does not bother with niceties. “I saw him die. He died.”

“Yes. He did.” Merlin smirks with the confidence of one with power, “I bartered with The Reaper for his body and soul. Then I did a Substitution ritual of the Old Religion to bring him back to life.” With precise, even strokes, he chops the Valerian root into neat segments. In a conversational tone, Merlin says, “Mind passing me the honeysuckle just behind you, my lady?”

Morgana snatches the ingredient and then holds it out of reach as the words sink in. “Necromancy? Are you out of your mind? You performed necromancy? That is dark...dark...I don’t even know the word for it...sorcery! How did you even meet The Reaper?”

“I summoned him, of course,” Merlin answers matter-of-factly. “The honeysuckle if you please.”

“You called Hell to you?” Morgana paces in front of Merlin’s workstation, clearly agitated as she shoves the plants on Merlin’s chopping board. “What have you done Merlin?”

Merlin stands back and wipes his hands. In an even tone, he says, “What you asked me to do.” He takes the plant, stripping off the leaves. “If you don’t mind getting your hands dirty, would you put the berries in a bowl?”

“What kind of game are you playing at?” Morgana says hotly, reaching for the stone bowl. The angular movements of her body are marked by her displeasure. “Why are you doing this?”

“Despite what you think of me, and I know you insist on considering me evil, but truly I am not out to play the villain. I did what needed to be done. As to why I’m doing this, I have just lost my apprentice so I’m just doing my job, my lady.”

“I will not stand here to be mocked.” Morgana slams the bowl down, task completed in record time.

“I would not dare to mock you Lady Morgana,” Merlin says respectfully, his eyes lowered.

“You have done magic of the blackest kind, Merlin! It will rot your soul if you haven’t bargained it away already! How much of yourself are you going to give away for Arthur? You are playing with fire. If you don’t care for yourself then think of him. Don’t bring him down with you. Maybe it was destiny. Maybe he was supposed to-”

“Don’t you dare say it. His life is worth everything to me. I will gladly pay the price with my soul if that is what it takes to protect him. I thought you wanted him alive? Or have you changed your mind? You asked me to do everything in my power.” Merlin takes up the knife again, crushing the pile of berries with the flat of his blade.

“But not this. I never thought you would cross this line. I wanted no part in this.”

“You can’t have it both ways.” Merlin explains condescendingly. “Arthur’s alive. He’s here to fulfil his destiny. What more do you want from me?” He grinds the honeysuckle with the mortar and pestle with more force than necessary, refusing to look at her.

“I think the relationship you two have is unhealthy,” Morgana says with her arms crossed, tangling her long sleeves, disapproval evident in her stance.

Merlin puts all the ingredients into the cauldron then pauses. “You want me to leave him,” the warlock states flatly.

“You’ve done black magic. It will destroy you.”

The warlock gives her a challenging look as if to say, so?

“I don’t want Arthur getting hurt because of you.”

Merlin laughs, saying, “You think I’m a bad influence?” as if the idea is completely absurd. He sprinkles some rosemary leaves into the pile then covers the mix. “I would do anything to protect him. I love him and I would never do anything to harm him. The magic I did. It was not what you think. It was love.”

She snorts in disbelief. “You’re an expert on black magic are you now?”

“I know enough.” The implication was that he knew more than her and he could tell she was miffed. “Magic is merely a means to an end. Black magic seeks to destroy. I intend only to love.”

“The road to Hell is paved with good intentions,” Morgana recited to Merlin.

“I don’t regret it. I would do it again in a heartbeat.” He did not need to tell her that magic this strong could not be undone.

“You’re deluded. He wouldn’t have wanted you to do this.”

“Morgana. Morgana,” Merlin said placatingly like he was talking to a young child. “You think you know what he wants. I can give him what he needs.”

“Well maybe you shouldn’t.”

“Why not?” Merlin sounds genuinely confused. “This is my destiny. He completes me. I am happy to give him everything he desires, why would I deny him what he needs?”

“But will he be happy if he finds out you’ve condemned yourself to hell for his sake?”

Merlin grabs Morgana’s wrists in a vice hold, pulling her forward. “You will not divulge the contents of this conversation to Arthur,” he says, each word like a command. She can feel him pressing hard enough to cut off her circulation but not hard enough to bruise.

“He’s not stupid. Everything has a price,” Morgana spits out acidly.

“You must never tell Arthur, do you hear me? I will not make him feel guilty. You will not make him doubt his worth.” Morgana muses that Merlin sounds just like Uther with his certainty of being right. Refusing to listen to anyone else. The extremes in which he go to, to protect Arthur. Arthur protects his Kingdom and Merlin protects him. Arthur is Merlin’s Kingdom. It wasn’t that far of a stretch, after all since Merlin did rule over Arthur, Morgana thinks bitterly.

“I won’t tell him but mark my words, no good will come of this.” She juts out her chin defiantly. “The Substitution ritual. If he dies...”

“I will die, yes.”

This confirms Morgana’s suspicions. “You gave up your immortality for The Reaper?”

Merlin’s blue eyes lock onto Morgana’s. “Yes.”

“What did you give to Arthur then?”

“My heart,” the warlock says with a fond look on his face so innocent that Morgana cannot stand to continue accusing him.

She could not argue that Merlin did not love Arthur because he had proven over and over that he did. How do you say he loves Arthur too much? What if that meant that it was her that was wrong? That she did not love Arthur enough? The unease and fear had wormed its way back into her consciousness again and she struggled to keep it from consuming her. Tugging her flimsy bolero tighter around her body, she is dismayed to find that she had gone to Merlin for answers and came back with more questions.

He’s wants to reach out to him but he can barely move his limbs. The pain is paralysing and he has never felt anything like it, his very nerves resonate with pain.

“Merlin! Help me!” He’s fallen into Hell. He can hear screaming and he realises that it is his own. Arthur is horrified to find that Merlin is there too. Do something, he thinks, save yourself.

But it is clear that Merlin has no magic left and they can do nothing.

The fire keeps burning and he can smell burnt flesh. He is surrounded by sorcerers and they are laughing at him, their eyes ablaze with revenge.

Arthur wakes up with a start, breathing heavily, sheets tangled around his ankles.

One glance at the room tells him Merlin is sleeping fitfully too. The furniture is floating, a crashing orchestra of chests and books.

Merlin’s eyes open and Arthur can see that they are a brilliant gold. The warlock sits up and all the furniture slams to the ground. It’s back.

Arthur gives Merlin a relieved grin, cocking his head to the side.

A wave of his hand and everything is repaired, returning obediently to their rightful places.

Taking a deep breath, Merlin concentrates on their surroundings. The King’s chambers. Arthur is beside him, alive. They’re back and they’re safe. He needs to know this is not a dream. Merlin kisses Arthur needily and they slide into place, hips, chests, thighs touching. Hands tug roughly at each others hair, lips tasting hungrily. Arthur reaches down between them and rubs their erections together.

“It felt so real,” he pants between thrusts, pleasure wearing away at his inhibitions, allowing him to admit that he might have been afraid.

“It was just a dream,” Merlin reassures, needing to convince himself. He steadies his voice, “Just a dream, no more.” With a mischievous flash of his eyes, the oil flies into his hand. “Need you.”

Arthur mumbles his consent into Merlin’s collarbone, licking the salt of sweat and sucking at the delicate flesh there.

Afterward, Arthur can barely keep his eyes open. He can feel the scrawny body of Merlin pressed up against him and he is glad things are back to the way they were. He is thankful, somewhat selfishly, that Merlin has his magic to protect them both. Finally able to feel safe again, he falls asleep with Merlin’s arms wrapped around him.

The morning after, when Arthur is gone, the warlock unleashes a dark curse on both Bayard and Urien. Merlin is not much worried about black magic anymore. He tells himself that it’s for Arthur’s protection and he feels the tentacles of guilt loosen its hold on him. It is a noble cause after all.

Magic returned to him, Merlin feels more like himself although he can’t explain it. He gets his concoctions whipped up in record time so he is able to attend court sessions with Arthur. The brunet does not want to let his King out of his sight.

The warlock also notes that Morgana seems rather uncomfortable in his presence and is treating Merlin like the plague going so far as to avoid diplomatic meetings unless they are absolutely necessary. She looks more ghastly than ever, fatigue tearing her beauty from her.

Inevitably, Arthur suspects that there is more to his miraculous survival. Merlin and him, their relationship, it’s different. They’ve always needed each other but now the need is more pronounced, even primal. They have sex more than ever. Arthur isn’t complaining but it’s not the exactly conducive to discussion. If he had to guess, they are avoiding talking about it. It is so much easier to hold each other and forget.

Arthur wants to know the price. The curiosity gnaws at him like hunger. As a king, knowledge is rarely denied to him and it is difficult for him not to demand to know. There is something about knowing that he could use his power but choosing not to. Arthur had promised his then manservant when they got together that they would be equals because he did not want to be served by an inferior. Arthur is an honourable man. Even though he had to bite his tongue to keep it from betraying him, he trusts Merlin to tell him in his own time.

“The relationship you two have is dangerous...and dysfunctional.” Morgana said to Arthur on one of his visits to her. She knows that she is treading on thin ice when it comes to this topic but could not hold it back any long. On the nights that she is sure she is dreaming, she sees Merlin rape him. It is hard to tell the darkness of her dreams from the darkness of the night.

Arthur merely sighs, fiddling with the quill in his hand. “It’s not dysfunctional. It’s just...different. It’s destiny. I’ve never felt so complete, Morgana. I don’t expect you to understand. I just wish you’d stop doing this.”

Morgana wonders if they practiced this or if they are both caught up in this delusion. The “it’s destiny” epithet is the cure-all to all Arthur and Merlin related ailments.

“He saved my life. Are you saying he shouldn’t have?” Arthur says accusingly, twisting the ring around his finger as he paused between signing the parchments in front of him.

She could see that it came at a terrible cost. It will destroy Merlin and then Merlin will destroy Arthur. It is not a matter of chance. In every single case of using dark magic that has been recorded – and she has looked it up – it has never turned out well. The Substitution Ritual is an obscure one and she could find very little information on it except for the fact that the donator usually is not the same as the enchanter. Because the ritual is fatal. By all rights, Merlin should not be alive. Neither should Arthur really. Still, she is compelled to defend Arthur’s life. “Of course not,” she says vehemently. “I’m glad you’re alive. You’re a great king.” She drips the wax on the completed treaties and seals them for him.

“Then what’s the problem?”

After a long silence she says gently, “I don’t think he’s good for you.”

“He loves me, Morgana.” He spreads his hands helplessly. His eyes, his golden eyes, so much like Merlin’s beg her to understand.

But do you love him, she thinks. The words spring to mind on the tip of her tongue. Morgana wants to shatter that illusion yet she cannot. If he doesn’t love Merlin then what could she do? And if he does, he would not listen to her over him anyway. She was twice damned. Finally, she says, “I don’t think love is supposed to be like that.”

His anger is not unexpected but the force of it is still cruel. Arthur stands, drawing himself up to his full height. “Says who? You?”

Morgana looks away, wincing.

“This is a relationship between me and him. You have to stop meddling. Why can’t you just be happy for me?”

“I can’t help what I see. I try. Really I’m trying. I just worry about you.”

“Then try harder.” Arthur snaps, not softening to Morgana’s plea like he usually does. “Stop trying to judge us by how you think we should be. This is how we are, Morgana. You don’t understand. What do you want me to do? Is there anything you really want to say or are we just going to go over this again?” He paces, crossing his arms. “Well?” he demands.

Spitefully, cursing Merlin inwardly for coming between them, she spits it out. “You have a scar on your chest, right over where your heart is. Merlin has an identical one. Have you ever asked him about it?”

Arthur is surprised but then he knows he shouldn’t be. “He’ll tell me when he is ready,” he says confidently, masking his anxiety with the smoothness of a King. “So he did magical surgery to save my life, its old news.”

“Have you noticed he doesn’t have a heartbeat?”

Arthur narrows his golden eyes. “And that makes him evil?”

She can tell he’s just all the more determined to defend his lover now. She cannot win by hurting him. “I’m not blaming you. It wasn’t easy growing up with a king as a father.” Choosing her words carefully, “I just think you’ve always been looking for someone to take care of you.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow at the change in her demeanour. “Your point, Morgana? It sounds like you’re just as messed up as I am then,” he says bluntly.

“Even with love - there is still a right and wrong, Arthur. I thought you should know.” She can’t say any more. He’s her brother and he doesn’t deserve to have her insecurities piled on him. This is the gulf that she will never be able to cross. As much as she wants to save him, she knows that sometimes you can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved. She can only tell him of the dangers that may come to pass, hope that he will be able to avoid them and save himself.

Arthur thanks her sarcastically and leaves, his cape billowing behind him. Though she knows it’s not his intention, with every step, his boots echo ominously in the hallway: she cannot help but think that he is abandoning her.

The door to the king’s chambers opens with a bang, startling Merlin from his reading. Arthur storms in, clearly troubled.

“I have been waiting for you to tell me because I trust you and I wanted to give you time but I think I deserve to know. What are you keeping from me, Merlin?”

Part 9

"Substitution and Submission" Merlin/Arthur NC-17 7/?

2009-07-25T14:51:07Z

Title: Substitution.and Submission (AKA The Most Screwed Up Merlin/Arthur Fic Ever)
Pairing: Slash. Merlin/Arthur, Uther/Arthur (implied past dub-con), Gwen/Morgana
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 4404
Spoilers: Season 1
Warnings: Dark!Merlin, Broken!Arthur, sex (slash, femslash and het), non-con, dub-con, fucked up role-playing, incest, abuse of magic, violence, secondary character deaths, major character death, suicide, self-harm/cutting, angst, generally disturbing themes. Basically as fucked up a fic as I could make it and definitely the most screwed up thing I've ever written. Not for those easily offended.
Summary: Prompt from kinkme_merlin Arthur and Merlin have a really dark, creepy fucked up disturbing relationship. In exactly what way it's fucked up I will leave it up to you but the darker the better. I'm a fan of dark!Merlin in particular so would be happy if he made an appearance but if you want to do something different that's fine.

Part 6

Merlin wastes no time. Without looking at Lancelot, the warlock trusts the knight as he did that first time just beyond Uther’s courts. “You must not tell Arthur of this.” Taking up Lancelot’s dagger again, he parts his robes, tearing his sleeping tunic to reveal bare skin. This would be easier if he could use a strong pain relief spell but he cannot risk magical exhaustion before the Substitution Ritual is complete. The warlock knows that he is down to his last reserves, exhaustion is clawing at him. The forest they are in has been flattened into a wasteland, there are no more elements to draw magic from. Merlin braces himself for the sharp pain and makes a precise incision in his chest while chanting the ancient tongue. We are two as one, only whole when together. I give you my heart. The handle of the dagger is becoming slick with his sweat and blood. Groaning, Merlin sticks his hand into his chest, trying not to feel sick as the pain and blood-loss hits him. He reaches in and carefully extricates his own heart, beating and bloodied and places it painstakingly into Arthur’s chest, closing it up with his magic. He is glad that his magic requires few incantations because he can barely force the words out, his vision blurring around the edges. From henceforth, I will live for you and only you. He completes the ritual by sealing both their wounds. The warlock has bound himself to Arthur’s life forever but he would not have had it any other way. And just like that Arthur is back to life, Merlin’s heart beating beneath his palm. With an accomplished smile on his face, Merlin knows no more.

Lancelot is shocked. He is not sure what has just been done but he knows that it is something unnatural, something miraculous and...intimate. Merlin’s body is slumped over Arthur’s one. What is he supposed to do now? Are they both...? The knight waits, using his trust in Merlin as a shield, fending off the doubt that whatever thing Merlin has just done may have failed. Merlin cannot fail.

Arthur comes to first with a shock of dark hair tickling his nose.

Lancelot notices that Arthur’s eyes are no longer blue. They are gold, like Merlin’s when he is doing magic.

The last thing the King can remember is painpainmerlinhelpmepleasekillmepainohgodpain and now the sun is in his eye. The sun? Arthur realises that he is completely naked with a bloody Merlin on top. In the middle of what looks like a war zone. If it weren’t for the fact that he is sure that he’s died, he would be mortified that he might have had sex with Merlin after a battle while Lancelot stood guard. But Merlin is on top of him, cold and not moving.

“Merlin!” Arthur croaks. “Merlin!”

Strength returning to him, he sits up on a pile of stones. It’s not very comfortable. The rough edges of the rock are digging into his skin. Arthur can feel Merlin’s pulse, very weak and about to leave. Merlin’s front is soaked with blood. Arthur tears at the clothing, searching for the wound. “Lancelot, what happened? What did he do?”

The knight shakes his head and tries to help his King. He rummages through Merlin’s pack and finds a blanket, wrapping the King in it. Arthur’s hands search in vain but he cannot find a wound. Arthur spies the cut along Merlin’s chest and feels for Merlin’s heart. It is not beating. Though he was never apprenticed to a physician’s tutelage, Arthur knows that this is not a good sign.

“No, no, you can’t be death, you idiot, you can’t be dead, I love you,” Arthur rambles, feeling tears prickle at his eyes.

Arthur’s front is covered with blood and he does not care. How is it that Merlin is dead? He looks at Merlin’s chest, did he see it? Did it just...? He wants a few more beats. Yes, his lover is breathing. The ever so slight rise and fall of Merlin’s chest, undoes the tight knot of tension inside Arthur. He does not think that he has ever been so glad to hear his warlock breathe.

“He’s going to be alright,” Arthur breathed in relief as the colour slowly returned to his lover’s cheeks. Merlin’s lips, less blue, his body regaining warm with agonising sluggishness. Arthur kisses him softly, feeling the life stir bit by bit.

Wincing, Arthur pulled back his hand and slapped Merlin on the cheek sharply. “Come on, wake up sleeping beauty, wake up.” He slapped him again, a flash of guilt crossing his mind as he sees bright red flare on the pale skin. “Merlin! Wake up!”

His former manservant groaned.

“Merlin!” Arthur exclaimed happily.

“Arrrrrfurrrrrrr,” Merlin slurred. “You. You... alive,” he smiled like an idiot.

“It’s not me you should be worried about.”

“I saved your life...you prat.”

Arthur ignores the familiar insult. “But how?”

“Magic.” Merlin breathed feeling the sweet air enter his lungs, each word becoming easier. “You hit me.”

“You fainted!”

“Saving you. Why couldn’t you have... done the... kiss of life thing?” Merlin groused. His legs felt like jelly.

“Save your breath. Can you get up?”

“I might need some help,” Merlin admits. He feels utterly exhausted, boneless. The magic usually swirling in his blood is muted. It feels like it has left him. He wants to try to do magic but his head is pounding and he feels so tired. He wonders what it would be like to live a life without magic. Like everyone else.

Arthur carries him, wrapping the blanket around the both of them. “Lancelot, are you alright?” Arthur asks when he notes Lancelot is leaning heavily on his left leg.

“I’ll be fine, Sire.”

“Well make sure you get your leg checked out by Gaius when we’re back. Round everyone up and give me our inventory.”

They had three fatalities and as far as Arthur knew, it was three too many for his life. Mordred had been killed by Urien. Kay and Dagonet had mysteriously vanished. There was no sign of them having ever existed.

Caradoc surprisingly had only been stunned. He appeared to be in good health. Constantine and Gareth had managed to get away so the carriage was still available for use. Arthur is glad now that there is a carriage so he does not have to jostle Merlin on the way back. Lancelot will join them since he has a broken leg. It is decided that Constantine will ride ahead to Camelot on Philippe to procure mounts for Gareth and Caradoc.

With a whistle, Arthur’s horse returns, alone.

Merlin barely hears any of these instructions, fatigue catching up with him. With Arthur resting beneath him like a pillow, Merlin drifts off with Arthur’s heartbeat as his lullaby.

Fire. Burning. Arthur is lost. He cannot save Arthur. Arthur. Dead. Suffering.

“Merlin.”

“Merlin!” Arthur is shaking him. The warlock opens an eye blearily. “You were...we’re there,” he says changing the topic. They can deal with this later.

Arthur bundles himself together with Merlin, trapping the warmth between them and preserving his modesty.

“I can walk.”

“I’m carrying you.” Merlin lets him, too worn out to protest.

Arthur emerges with Merlin in his arms, greeted by several knights bearing stretchers, the acting physician, Morgana and Gwen.

Arthur has a blanket wrapped around him but Morgana can see his bare feet peeking from underneath. He looks relieved but strangely vulnerable without his finery. He is not wearing a crown but yet she knows without a doubt that he is the King. Arthur has always this aura which people described as him being born to be a king. Though Morgana would say that it is arrogance, it is also the confidence of a leader. Morgana feels the weight of guilt and worry ease a little in seeing her brother. She had not been sure that he would return. She has to pinch herself to make sure that this is really real – she’s not dreaming. Arthur has returned to them, safetly, all is well. But then she realises the figure he must be carrying must be Merlin. Abandoning all thought, she flies into action. “Arthur. You’re al...alright!” You’re alive. “Is he?” She gestures at the bundle in his arms. The acting physician, Lavern, takes this as his cue to try and move Merlin to the stretcher.

Gwen runs to Arthur, hands covering her mouth, worry working its way into her face. “Merlin?"

Arthur lets his lover answer. “I’m fine. Just tired.” Merlin lifts his head and gives a little wave and summons a lop-sided smile. Arthur wants to hold on to his bundle. He doesn’t want to let Merlin go but he knows it’s irrational. Struggling against himself, he lowers Merlin on the stretcher manned by the guards and drops to put a kiss on his lover’s sweaty forehead.

Arthur meets the physician soberly, the weight of Mordred’s death on his mind. “I’m sorry, Lavern.”

Lavern thanks him privately using his telepathy, focusing on the task. “How may I help you, Sire?”

“I’m fine. I can walk.” Before Morgana can protest, he says, “Lancelot has a broken leg.”

“Your eyes, Sire!” Gwen notices as Arthur straightens up fully.

“Arthur?” Morgana looked at Arthur with concern. “Is it really you?”

“Of course it’s me.” Arthur answers as if it is a ridiculous question although Morgana can hear the defensive edge in his tone. “What about my eyes?”

Gwen looks in askance at Morgana. Morgana puts a gentle hand on his arm, “You don’t know?”

Arthur pulls out of her grasp. “Know what? Spit it out, Morgana.”

“They’re golden.” Like Merlin’s.

“Oh.”

It suits him, oddly. The gold to his eyes only brings out the halo of Arthur’s hair and his fair complexion.

Arthur snaps Morgana out of her staring by tilting his head towards Lancelot behind them. The knight hobbles out and Gwen rushes to hug Lancelot awkwardly, pulling his arm over her shoulder to become his human crutch. “Lancelot! I’m glad you’re safe. Your horse came back without a rider. We were so worried for you.” Gwen’s cheeks colour when she reaslises she’s spoken before her lady. “I mean well I speak for myself. Not that I’m saying that everyone...”

Merlin chuckles softly. Everyone is glad to be able to laugh, glad that they can share in this moment they thought they would never have.

The unflappable and courageous Lancelot is blushing fiercely as Gwen helps him onto the stretcher.

The King sends a purposeful look at Morgana as they begin to migrate to the physician’s rooms.“Did you?” he starts, settling into the routine of returning. This is a dance that they are familiar with.

Morgana summaries the last two days dutifully, reporting, “Constantine arrived with Caradoc and Kay just a few hours earlier. I sent them off because I think you’d let them rest instead of waiting for your debrief. I already know about...about what happened. Everything is fine. Camelot will prosper another day. Stay with Merlin. I can take care of everything for another day.” She might not approve exactly but she knows Arthur. He’s her brother and she cannot bring herself to deny him this. Not after she almost lost him. Begrudgingly, she admits that Merlin did save Arthur so the warlock deserves a little more from her.

For once, Arthur doesn’t argue. “Thanks.”

“I should have asked this earlier, why aren’t you wearing anything? What happened to your crown?” Morgana raises an eyebrow at Arthur. Camelot’s king is walking around like a common beggar.

“Long story. Oh and Morgana, you look terrible so you should get some beauty sleep when you can. God knows you need it.”

Morgana catches his meaning. Arthur-speak for I am worried about you too so you should get some rest. “Says the man who looks more like a pauper right now.” She sweeps away feeling more energised than she has been in a week despite the lack of sleep.

Arthur meets Gwen’s eyes and she nods thoughtfully before following in her mistress’s wake.

Arthur curls up with Merlin, watching his lover sleep. The acting physician had checked up on Merlin citing magical depletion and exhaustion but no other injuries. Arthur’s intuition tells him that there is more but Lavern is clearly keeping his silence. As King, he could order Lavern to divulge everything to him but he has learnt that sometimes it is best to let people reveal their secrets in their own time. Merlin would tell him when he is ready. His lover had promised him.

Arthur is no fool. He knows that he died. He could feel himself dying, being ripped apart. He had wanted to die. Wincing at the memory, Arthur looks over at his lover, sure that Merlin has paid a price for his life yet again. It is my destiny to protect you, Merlin had said to him. The words echo around in his head. For a moment, Arthur utterly despises Merlin for doing this to him. Every man dies. It is wrong to be different, it is unnatural. In the same moment, Arthur forgives Merlin, grateful that he is alive. After the Questing Beast incident, Arthur had confronted the warlock: my life is not worth more than yours, you should not have done this. Merlin had yelled at him, not caring that he was the Crown Prince of Camelot. How could I stand by and let you die knowing that I could have done something? What would you have done in my place? Arthur could not admit it then, but he knew he would have done the same. Arthur could not stop being angry, nor could he apologise but he did grab the dark head of hair and pressed his lips firmly against his manservant’s.

“I hear you made a break for it with Merlin,” Morgana said in a hushed voice, careful not to disturb Merlin’s rest. Arthur motions her over to the table so they can talk. His eye remains on his lover, guarding his sleep.

“Morgana,” Arthur greets her. “I thought he’d be more comfortable here.”

Morgana runs her hands over the dusty tomes of books Merlin discarded on the desk before they left, her expression softening. “You’re really ok?”

“Not a scratch on me. I feel great actually. Lavern said I was in fine health. It’s Merlin I’m worried about.”

“And your eyes? Will they stay that way?”

“Yeah. I think it’s a permanent side-effect of Merlin’s magic. He must have used it all up. Lavern thinks he might be magically depleted but we don’t know if it’s going to stay that way. That is, if he has any magic left in him,” Arthur says quietly. He fiddles with a quill, getting ink smudges on his fingers.

Morgana takes the quill from him, placing her hands over his. “It’s not your fault.”

Arthur sighs, running his thumb over the back of her dainty hands. “I know. It’s just...I can’t help feeling bad about it.”

Morgana lets it go, turning to business. “I’ve commissioned another crown for you. I’ve notified Dagonet’s brother and Kay’s parents already.”

“Thank you.” Arthur hopes that Morgana knows that he’s not just thanking her for her work. Arthur goes over to the decanter in the corner. “Some wine?”

“Yes, please.”

They raise a goblet to each other in a silent toast.

Morgana drains the wine. “Court is in the middle of talks about raising taxes. I can attend for you again tomorrow if you like?”

Arthur debates whether to stay with Merlin but Merlin is only sleeping. As much as he wants to stay with Merlin, Arthur will not shirk his responsibilities. One of the things his father has taught him is that a King may have many things he might want to do for himself but a great King put his people above himself. “No I’m back and I’m fine. This is my duty. You don’t look like you’ve had much rest since the last time I saw you.”

“But...” Morgana’s blue eyes flicker over to where the warlock is resting.

“Is merely resting. You should take a day off tomorrow. You’ve had a hard week.”

“Thank you,” her shoulders slump a little, now that she is eased of her burdens.

“No, thank you Morgana. I’m glad I have you to help take care of things for me.”

“You sure this is really you Arthur?” she teases good-naturedly. “It’s good to have you back.”

Merlin sleeps through the night, mercifully, and through most of the next day. He vaguely remembers Arthur talking to him, holding him but he is not sure if that is a figment of his imagination.

When Merlin wakes up, Lavern is at his side, the back of his palm on his forehead. “How are you feeling?”

“A little better. Still tired and my head hurts a bit. What time is it?” Merlin rubs the gummy feeling from his eyelids.

“Late afternoon.” Anticipating his next question, Lavern says, “Arthur will be back soon.” Handing over a tiny amber bottle, Lavern added. “Here is a solution for your headache, it should help a bit.”

Merlin eyes the solution suspiciously then takes it with a sigh, wishing he could make his headache go away. It has been a long time since he has resorted to using any of his own medicines.

"It's your own recipe," Lavern says with a smile. "When you've recovered enough energy, then you can try using magic."

“I don’t think I can do magic anymore. When I try to do anything, I just feel dizzy.”

“It could just be your magical core is exhausted. It is still early days yet. You should rest as much as possible to allow your body time to recover,” the druid physician says soothingly, ever the guardian.

The physician falls silent, smoothing invisible wrinkles in his robe repeatedly before gathering enough courage to ask. “If I may inqure...”

Though dread the inevitable question, Merlin waves his hand in assent. “Go ahead.”

“My...Mordred. How did he...? Was he in pain?”

“Mordred was protecting the King. I tried to save him but Urien had already attacked him. He did not suffer. It was very quick.” Merlin says, glossing over the grisly details. Lavern did not need to hear everything. It would do no good. “I wish...I’m sorry for your loss.”

Lavern listened with rapture, overwhelmed. “Thank you. He is...was my brother’s son. He would have been great.”

“Yes, he would have,” Merlin agrees mournfully. He closes his eyes and tries to lose himself in sleep so he can pretend he can’t hear the sniffling coming from the druid. Merlin wishes he could have done more and if he could, he would have saved Mordred. He feels the druid’s sorrow, guilt reminding him that Arthur is alive because of Mordred’s sacrifice. The warlock can’t bring himself to be sorry for that.

It is dinnertime when Merlin gets up again. Arthur is poring over some contracts in the corner of the room. Merlin has grown accustomed to the scratch of the quill followed by the occasional thump of a seal being stamped.

“You should have woken me.”

“But it is so fun to watch you drool all over my pillow.”

“I don’t drool!” Merlin flushed, sitting up. “I was so worried about you.”

Arthur peels his cape from him and lies down next to his lover. “I was worried about me too,” he says with a mischievous smirk.

“I’ve missed you.”

“Me too.” Arthur’s expression is serious. He reaches over to cup Merlin’s face in his calloused hands.

Merlin chokes a little as he says, “I could have lost you.”

“You’d find me again.” Arthur is looking at him with so much faith, his newly acquired golden eyes glistening with emotion.

“I thought I’d lose you forever. I was so scared,” Merlin says hesitantly, voice unsteady. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Bringing Merlin’s forehead to his so he can feel his lover’s warmth breath tickling his cheeks, Arthur kisses Merlin softly. “I’m right here.” He nips Merlin’s lower lip affectionately, then tweaks a large ear.

“Prat,” Merlin mutters.

Arthur wants to know how is it that he is alive, what Merlin did, how they came to be right here now but he doesn’t want to ruin the moment. This moment that had almost slipped through his fingers. So Arthur holds onto Merlin.

“Make love to me,” Merlin whispers, mouthing Arthur’s ear.

The future is uncertain. The magic in his blood still feels muted and he doesn’t know if he will ever do magic again. He had given up his immortality for Arthur because he knew that he would not want to live it all without Arthur anyway. He doesn’t know how long before something else happens and someone tries to take Arthur from him again. Merlin pushes these thoughts away as Arthur splays himself, the warlock’s eyes widening to take in his lover’s beauty. Arthur never looks away from Merlin’s face, impaling himself on his lover. This moment is theirs.

The watcher is in Camelot once again. The scene is familiar. The watcher knows exactly what will happen and yet hopes that perhaps this time it will be different. The King’s chambers. Need. Betrayal. Fear. Power. Submission. The watcher can hear the sounds of struggling. The curtains around the bed have been drawn closed.

“Merlin, please, you’re hurting me. Please. Stop it. Merlin! Let me go now. I order you. Let. Me. Go.”

At first Arthur is angry. With the righteous indignation of a wronged king, he threatens, fights with all his might but it makes no difference. Brute force and sheer strength of will cannot overpower magic.

“It doesn’t have to be like this.” Pleas fall on deaf ears and golden eyes. Broken phrases spill from bloodied lips.

“I love you.”

Finally, Arthur is resigned. The watcher sees into his mind and he sees himself. It is not Arthur on the bed. It is not Merlin doing this to him. They are not making love. This is not happening.

“I’m so sorry, Arthur. This is for your own good,” Merlin whispers to a motionless body on the bed.

Morgana is no longer sure of herself. Did she really see it? Or is it just in her mind? Would Merlin really rape Arthur? He loves Arthur. He saved Arthur. She has to warn Arthur but no, he would not listen to her. He doesn’t believe her. Maybe she is wrong. She was wrong last time. Arthur is not dead. He is alive. Doubt seeps in her, refusing to let her go. If she is wrong, then her powers are diminishing...she will become useless. It frightens her even more than the dreams and she is filled with shame at this thought. She should not be so selfish. It is Arthur she should be worrying about, not herself.

“My lady? Did you have a dream?” Gwen’s warm hand is on her shoulder. Her voice is clear, not groggy, a testament to her repeated experiences with Morgana’s nocturnal disturbances.

Morgana hides her face away from her maid. “It’s nothing, Gwen. I’m sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep.”

The night after, she sends Gwen away the night after to let her rest. She will not become a burden. She will bear this trial on her own. That night she is alone and she sees darkness. She couldn't move, she couldn't breathe while the dark suffocated her. Cursing herself for all the times she’s wished her ability away, she thinks the Gods must be punishing her now for her ungratefulness. For the first time in her life, Morgana goes to sleep hoping that she’ll have a dream, even a bad dream. She could not bear the darkness again.

Part 8

"Substitution and Submission" Merlin/Arthur NC-17 6/?

2009-07-21T17:18:26Z

Title: Substitution.and Submission (AKA The Most Screwed Up Merlin/Arthur Fic Ever)
Pairing: Slash. Merlin/Arthur, Uther/Arthur (implied past dub-con), Gwen/Morgana
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2183
Spoilers: Season 1
Warnings: Dark!Merlin, Broken!Arthur, sex (slash, femslash and het), non-con, dub-con, fucked up role-playing, incest, abuse of magic, violence, secondary character deaths, major character death, suicide, self-harm/cutting, angst, generally disturbing themes. Basically as fucked up a fic as I could make it and definitely the most screwed up thing I've ever written. Not for those easily offended.
Summary: Prompt from kinkme_merlin Arthur and Merlin have a really dark, creepy fucked up disturbing relationship. In exactly what way it's fucked up I will leave it up to you but the darker the better. I'm a fan of dark!Merlin in particular so would be happy if he made an appearance but if you want to do something different that's fine.

AN: Apologies for shorter chapter but I'm trying to keep from being too evil m(__)m even as Dark!Merlin emerges and has a bit of fun. Also my formatting leaves something to be desired so I will make up a masterpost as soon as I can.

Part 5

Lancelot had been trying to lead a horse to Arthur but the animal must have sensed the magical disturbance. As the ball of light approached, it bolted, the reins slipping out of Lancelot’s hands. Then his own steed threw him and he lost his balance along with his consciousness. He came to with the light surrounding the clearing and saw the lance strike Arthur. Lancelot had never seen anything as horrifying. Later, he would wish he could forget that moment as it taunted him in his dreams.

Dragging his broken leg, Lancelot reached the clearing when he heard Merlin’s warning. He could not help but want to alleviate his King’s pain despite the risk of injury to himself, never having felt so useless. A lesser man might have judged Arthur’s lover for not doing anything but Lancelot can only imagine the pain the warlock must feel, probably not unlike the knight’s own confusing jumble of emotions but multiplied exponentially.

The King is dead. How is that possible? Arthur his friend. Arthur the Greatest King Albion has ever had. Arthur the Invincible. How was it that he survived so many death threats as a prince only to die before his reign had truly begun? How was Albion to have her Golden Age without her King? Arthur is dead. Lancelot feels numb. It cannot be true. This is an illusion. Something of evil magic. Arthur could have disappeared without a trace. It simply cannot be true.

“Lancelot!” Merlin called, interrupting the Knight’s rationalising. “We must make haste if I am to revive Arthur.”

He cannot trust himself to speak, his lips move but he cannot find the words. Perhaps Merlin has been driven mad with grief. There is no body to heal let alone revive. Perhaps the loss of Arthur has stolen Albion’s sanity.

The warlock does not wait for a response or acknowledgement in his urgency. “Lancelot. Do you trust me?” He spoke distinctively as if each word is a sentence in itself.

The knight nods, accustomed to waiting for instruction.

“Help me gather some stones. Make sure I am not disturbed for any reason, do you understand me?”

Lancelot clears his throat, raking sweat-soaked strands of hair from his face. “What...what are you going to do?”

“It is best that you don’t know,” Merlin answers with a grim look, feet already moving, wasting no time.

Lancelot nods again, limping off.

Using the stones, Merlin sets up an altar with black candles on the place where Arthur had fallen. Gently, he places the scarce remains of Arthur into a wooden chest decorated with ornate scribblings of runes. Nimble fingers unearth a golden chalice from his tattered leather pack.

“Knife, Lancelot. Please,” Merlin orders, dropping to his knees.

Lancelot wrenches the dagger from his belt and dutifully hands it over.

The chalice is placed at the centre of the stone altar, the candles burning with a spicy scent. Merlin slices his palm stoically, filling the goblet with his blood. The warlock starts chanting in that foreign, sibilant tongue. At first nothing happens and then Lancelot feels it. The earth itself is shaking. The elements roar. The very particles in the air are vibrating with power. Merlin’s power, Lancelot notes with awe. This is not the stuttering, doubting warlock who enchanted Lancelot’s weapon but a powerful mage commanding the universe with his outpouring of warlock had come into his power with Arthur’s Kingship but no one had known what that actually meant. Merlin is calling the very divinities to him. Magic is humming from the land, escaping in streams of blinding light. There will be no need to go to the Isle of the Blessed, no, he summons the ultimate place to wager life and death. All the power that he had withheld at Arthur’s death now rushes to him. The fabric of reality tears with a crack and time is distorted – bending to the young warlock’s will. In a split second, Lancelot sees himself happily married and he’s a father and she’s beautiful. He wishes he could stay there forever. He sees the thread of destiny gripped in Merlin’s hands as this wonderful paradise is taken from him, the warlock forcing Time to obey his commands. Reality shifts again and there is huge fire burning, consuming everything.

The knight is surprised that he can even breathe with the oppressive force of the heat. Lancelot startles as he realises that the world is on fire. He is standing in the fire and it’s hot. He can feel the prickle of sweat on the back of his neck and under his armour but it’s not burning him. It is not possible for him to be alive in this furnace but he is, standing there between this realm and the reality he knew. Lancelot feels both fearful and amazed at Merlin’s display. If Merlin has to, Lancelot does not doubt that he would destroy the earth to find Arthur. Perhaps he would crush the universe itself and sift through the debris in the hope of recovering the tiniest fragment of Arthur. Even if it takes the whole of eternity, the warlock would piece him together molecule by molecule. Lancelot feels humbled in the shadow of Merlin’s devotion for Arthur. The flames licked harmlessly at his armour, crackling in his ears. His vision is blurry, the heat creating a mirage of sorts.

There is a woman with ruby eyes. She is wearing a red dress, torn to strips, revealing her pale skin. She is not beautiful, not compared to her, Lancelot thinks.

“This isn’t like you, blood traitor,” Nimueh taunts, her attention focused on the lanky warlock. “You thought I was evil? You have summoned the very daemons of Hades. This is magic of the darkest nature.” She releases a full-throated laugh. “You are worse than me, Merlin.” She watched the mage’s face carefully, seeing if she could make him stumble.

“I should have known you’d become a daemon, witch. Get me The Reaper, I am not here to make deals with you,” Merlin dismisses her taunting with a single-minded purpose. Nimueh is useless to him. He does not care. He feels nothing. He cares only for Arthur and Arthur has been taken from him.

“Very well.” She would have all of eternity to taunt him. The former priestess raises her delicate hands to lift up a column of fire.

“Wait here, Lancelot,” Merlin commands. “You will not be able to see Him.” You are too pure of heart. The warlock lets the knight assume that it is his lack of magic, he wants to keep Lancelot innocent of this place so that he will never have to experience the taint of knowledge, never be seduced by this darkness and never thirst to possess that which should not be his.

“You summon The Reaper, Merlin Emrys of Ealdor,” the faceless figure intoned in a deep, thundering voice.

“I do,” Merlin says, without bowing to the tall, hooded figure. The warlock’s pose is casual, as if he were not bargaining with the devil himself but simply bantering with a common acquaintance.

“Insolent mortal. How is it you do not fear me? You dare to presume you can summon me at your whim without consequence? ”

Merlin smiles, meeting the figure with confidence. “My greatest fear has already seized me,” he says honestly. “I come bearing a gift.”

“Is that so? You come with a bribe? Have you not come to save your King? You would lie to The Reaper?”

“Ah. The Reaper would not fall for such shallow deception. I speak the truth.”

The Reaper is intrigued, blackened fingers steepling in contemplation. “So you do not deny my charges against you? Speaking truth in a den of lies? There is something about you mortal that I cannot yet identify.”

“So I have been told,” Merlin rejoins nostalgically.

“Tell me, how would you save him?”

“I respectfully ask that you do not collect Arthur’s body and soul that I might salvage the vessels.”

“For necromancy? Such dark magic.” The Reaper howled with amusement, a grating gravely sound. “Assuming that I grant your request, your soul will be mine for eternity.”

“Dark magic can be defined as magic used for ill intent. I only intend to love. If I be damned by this, I do so with conviction.”

“Well said,” The Reaper nods, his ragged black robes not moving a stitch as if they were only illusionary garments. He is impressed. “Unfortunately, I cannot even if I do not wish to keep the damaged parts. I have been promised this Pendragon’s soul. A blood magic claim by another.”

“Who?” The warlock’s eyes narrow, lips flattening into a thin line.

“Vengeful are we?” The Reaper chucked.

“I merely wish to know the name of my enemy that I might bestow my gifts upon them,” Merlin says with beguiling meekness, eyes aglow.

“Very well.” The Reaper is never one for keeping peace. He hopes chaos will come from this. “Adrianne of Nador.”

“You are very gracious, Master Reaper,” Merlin acknowledges, a grin spreading between his jug-like ears. “Will you consider my request regarding Arthur Pendragon?” Merlin is no fool. He will not be caught again in the same noose. He will leave no doubt as to the terms of this deal.

The Reaper is amused, toying with the stubborn man in front of him. “He is already dead, therefore, he is mine.”

“No. He belongs to me.” Merlin says this with such passion and certainty that it empowers him.

“You speak as if you had such authority over him,” The Reaper snorts with condescension. “What of your claim to him, mortal?”

“A mere mortal would not have been able to summon you,” Merlin hedges. How could he explain that Arthur completes him? That he needed Arthur? That he loves Arthur? There could be no words that describe his purpose. Protecting Arthur is his duty. Without Arthur, his existence is worth nothing.

“Indeed, clever one. So you are Immortal?”

“Son of a Daemon,” Merlin smirked. “Overlord Daemon, Asmodeus the Incubus, Archdemon of Lust.”

The Reaper rumbled with astonishment. “Son of Asmodeus? What a welcome surprise, Prodigal One. I need not explain the cost for Arthur Pendragon’s body and soul. Because he is dead and has been passed into my realm, your life will not suffice. You must offer something more. This bargain once it is entered into cannot be broken or changed.”

“Indeed.” Merlin is careful to add, “I will offer from myself. Not from anyone else.”

“Now, there is no need to be so noble. There is an alternative... another Pendragon.” If Merlin is surprised, he does not show it. Doggedly, he barters for Arthur.

“No, I will not take from another. Arthur would be devastated. He’d never forgive me.”

“Not if he doesn’t know,” The Reaper said temptingly. “Mortals are such fickle beings.”

“Perhaps, but I will keep my promise to him.”

“Such an irrational, mortal mindset for an immortal being. You insist on adhering to your mortal morals despite the taint on your soul. Fascinating.” The Reaper pauses, then spoke again. “Very well, I will allow you to reclaim him.”

“My Master.” With a reverent tone, Merlin invokes his true name and the ancient magic which would seal this covenant. “I, Merlin Emrys of Ealdor, willingly offer The Reaper my soul in exchange for the body and soul of Arthur Pendragon of Camelot. I these vessels that he may fulfil his destiny as long as his life shall be.” This is a vow of the solemnest kind, soul-binding and eternal. There is no boom of thunder or dramatic explosions but Merlin knows that he will think on this moment again in the years of suffering ahead. It will sustain him through his never-ending torment.

“Daemon child,” The Reaper addressed Merlin with an almost sympathetic edge. “You have given up your place with the immortals for this mortal. I cannot understand your reasoning. You would trade a thousand lifetimes to have but one with this being?”

“I have said this before and I will say it again: his life is worth a hundred of mine. One lifetime with Arthur is worth all the lives that I could live.” Without him, I am doomed to an existence which shall never be whole. A hell in itself.

The Reaper sounded unconvinced but he replies, “If you insist. I will await your return gladly.” For The Reaper, Merlin will return soon. Years are but seconds to him. For Merlin, he hopes that it will be long before he graces this realm again.

Merlin merely nods and prepares himself to be reunited with Arthur. Eyes glowing, the flames melt away and reality, space, time races by him until he can smell the pungent spice of the candles. The altar is in front of him again except the wooden chest is no longer there. It has been replaced by a familiar figure with flaxen hair, limbs askew.

Arthur.

Naked as the day he was born, bleached, bloodless, with a gaping hole where his heart should be.

Part 7

"Substitution and Submission" Merlin/Arthur NC-17 5/?

2009-07-18T16:29:27Z

Title: Substitution.and Submission (AKA The Most Screwed Up Merlin/Arthur Fic Ever)
Pairing: Slash. Merlin/Arthur, Uther/Arthur (implied past dub-con), Gwen/Morgana (sort of, pre-slash)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 4826
Spoilers: Season 1
Warnings: Dark!Merlin, Broken!Arthur, sex (slash, femslash and het), non-con, dub-con, fucked up role-playing, incest, abuse of magic, violence, secondary character deaths, major character death, suicide, self-harm/cutting, angst, generally disturbing themes. Basically as fucked up a fic as I could make it and definitely the most screwed up thing I've ever written. Not for those easily offended.
Summary: Prompt from kinkme_merlin Arthur and Merlin have a really dark, creepy fucked up disturbing relationship. In exactly what way it's fucked up I will leave it up to you but the darker the better. I'm a fan of dark!Merlin in particular so would be happy if he made an appearance but if you want to do something different that's fine.

A/N: Warnings have been amended. You might want to check it out if you're queasy about what other objectionable material I can include in this fic.

Part 4

They leave with little fanfare in the grey blanket of first light. Arthur entrusts his Kingdom to Sir Galehaut and Morgana without much fretting, he had utter confidence that both were more than capable. He noted, with some unease, that his sister still looks tired and fragile as if a great gust of wind could sweep her off her feet. Arthur would wish he did not have to add this extra burden on her but he had long since abandoned such regrets. If the golden-haired man had to name regrets even in his young life, he would not be a King. He knows his duty and Morgana knows hers. She farewells him with a feeble smile. Kissing him on both cheeks before she let him go, she felt like Judas.

The Camelot party are on their way without a hitch even as the sun climbs to its perch. Merlin is glad they are arriving as an official royal party instead of merely a King’s representative; he could nap in the carriage. The warlock knows Arthur disliked being carried around as a maiden but even he could understand that riding for two days with minimal rest would leave him too exhausted to keep up with the diplomatic verbal dancing and fully appreciate the festivities. Plus this was as much of a show as anything. Arthur was born a King but his charm made him a natural performer. Merlin spends most of his time awake going through defensive spells. Arthur tunes out the muttering of magical nonsense and checks up on their progress, ever the watchful Knight. Mordred rides up front with the knights ready to signal Merlin with his telepathic speech. Now a teenaged boy, he had made quick friends in the knights to Merlin’s surprise. Merlin supposed the mutual appreciation of King Arthur is an irresistible bonding item. The knights Sirs Lancelot, Caradoc, Constantine, Gareth, Kay and Dagonet had already been briefed by the warlock. Dressing as Arthur, Constantine had agreed to be the decoy.

“He doesn’t look like me,” Arthur complained. “Plus the royal carriage is trailing behind Constantine. Wouldn’t anyone just assume I’m in the carriage?”

“The point is to confuse the attacker or more likely attackers, Sire,” Merlin huffs, injecting as much derision into the title as possible. “It was hard enough this morning to get your horse to accept Constantine as his mount.”

“Philippe knows his master,” Arthur preens, practically levitating with pride.

“Yeah, he is as picky as you are.”

“What is that supposed to mean? Why are you acting like a maiden with her monthly lady part problems?”

The brunet jutted his jaw out stubbornly. “I am not.”

“You look like you’re riding to a funeral. Cheer up, it’s just a wedding celebration. I thought you said you liked holidays,” Arthur said chirpily, pulling the curtains back. “Anyway, you don’t even have to wear the great feathered hat now.”

Merlin bites his tongue to keep from ruining Arthur’s good mood. He forces a smile at Arthur before returning to his arsenal of enchantments. The warlock spends most of the journal consulting his book. Arthur decides that sleeping is better than trying to talk to Merlin when he’s like this. He figures if it worked with Morgana, it should totally work with Merlin.

The first night in Mercia passes peacefully in the former manservant’s opinion, aside from Arthur’s moaning. “Why didn’t you think to bring along a manservant or something? Even the Knights are allowed to bring squires...”

“You didn’t pack my favourite doublet? I hope you remembered my ceremonial gear...”

“I wonder if you can use your magic to summon my doublet.”

Merlin wonders if it counts as treason to summon a gag of some sort so he can shut Arthur up. Knowing Camelot’s archaic rules, it probably is a crime written somewhere in the archives. It’s not actually the whinging that is doing him in, though Merlin thinks he is reaching his wit’s ends with that also, it is that the King seems entirely unconcerned about his own safety. Arthur, the King who is also a Prat, or the Prat who is also King.

“I wish you’d worry just a little more about the fact that you might only have days to live,” Merlin said bitterly, finally cracking with the stress and Arthur’s incessant complaints.

Arthur stops rifling through the trunk. He gives Merlin his most disarming smile. “All the more reason to enjoy the time I have left with you.” Despite his light tone, Merlin can see that the King of Camelot is completely serious. The warlock feels his resolve weakening in the face of Arthur’s inextinguishable cheer.

“It’s not that I don’t care,” Arthur said, meeting his lover’s angry eyes. “I do, I really do. But I never let that stop me from doing my duty. I’m not going to let it stop me this time either. I trust you, Merlin. With my life.” He encloses Merlin in his embrace, one hand on his lover’s chest, feeling the steady heartbeat of the warlock pulsing beneath his fingers.

With Arthur’s warm arms around him, Merlin found that he couldn’t stay angry.

In Camelot, Lady Morgana is roaming the empty halls of the castle, a pale spectre, eyes unseeing.

Gwen startles awake in Morgana’s bed and instantly knows that she is alone. She calls the guards, keeping the panic from her voice. Focus Gwen, she tells herself. “Where is Lady Morgana?”

“The Lady Morgana is taking a stroll in the gardens.”

Gwen rifles through the closet for Morgana’s fur wrap. Throwing a thick cloak over her sleeping shift, Gwen hurries outside to find Morgana. She spots her across the courtyard, packing back and forth with a lamp.

“Lady Morgana?”

Morgana is focused on her pacing. Muttering under her breath. The candle flickers unsteadily and the moonlight gives Morgana’s features an ashen hue. She is wearing a flimsy thing without a cloak.

“Lady Morgana!“

Her handmaiden’s sharp cry breaks the spell. “Gwen?” Morgana blinks as her maid drapes the wrap about her.

“You’ll catch your death without a cloak!” Gwen admonishes. “I think you should come back to bed, my lady. You have a long day tomorrow.”

“I cannot rest,” Morgana says tonelessly. “I don’t want to see him die again.”

“I wish you would ask for a sleeping draught, my lady.” Gwen takes the lamp from Morgana, using the light to examine her mistress’s condition. “Your lips are turning blue. You’ll wear yourself out like this.”

“I can’t, Gwen. I don’t know what to do. I have to know,” Morgana said, rubbing warm into her frigid hands. “I need to see. He’s going to die. He’s going to die.” She repeats the mantra over and over as her maid guides her gently back to bed.

The dream is a little different but the outcome is the same. All that is left is a wasteland, ashes blowing in the wind. Lumps of metal glint in the debris. Is it Arthur’s sword, his chain mail, his crown? Where has he gone?

Gwen feels a stab of guilt lance through her as she hears Morgana wake up with a soft gasp, immediately sick into the vase of wildflowers by her bedside. She covers her lady’s bony fingers with her own dark-skinned digits, rough from work. Her mistress immediate clutches her hand tightly.

“I’ll send for a maid to fetch some water, my lady,” Gwen says, injecting as much comfort in her voice as she can. “I won’t leave you, alright?” She kissed Morgana on the forehead and smoothed out the covers with her left hand, determined not to let her lady go.

At the wedding celebrations, Arthur struts around like peacock and Merlin tries not to laugh at his haughty act. He even fluffs his hair as he hovers around Merlin, keen to make sure that they make a good impression. Merlin lost track of the names ages ago and settles for a smile and a nod.

“You idiot! That was the Queen of Genovia!” Arthur hisses when Merlin bollocks it up by doing the wrong gesture. Apparently you have kiss the Queen on both hands instead of just one. Merlin might have called her ‘Your Highness’ by accident but he thinks he covered it up pretty well with a subtly-timed cough even though the Queen sniffed haughtily.

“Thought she looked kind of familiar.”

Arthur sighed in that put upon way. “Do try to get it right this time. This is General Urien’s brother, he’s a Captain so don’t...do anything that will get your head chopped off.” He strode up confidently, back straight and crimson cape flowing behind him. “I’m King Arthur of Camelot and this is Merlin, pleased to meet you.”

“I’m Captain Bajorn and this is my wife, Lady Masala. Pleased to meet you also, Your Majesties.”

“Um...I’m not uh...well I’m not like Art- I’m not a King,” Merlin said wondering if it would be worse to masquerade as a Camelot noble or whether it would be rude to correct the host’s brother. He decides the former is worse since misleading the host’s brother may lead to potential humiliation tha may or may not end up with his head being on the chopping block.

“I apologise, I assumed wrongly. How should I address you?”

“Merlin will do.” The warlock spares a glance at Arthur. Right, he stuffed it up? Arthur has his palm on his forehead and he’s not sure what that means.

“Well...Merlin. I’ve heard many interesting things about you.”

“You have? Good things I hope.” Merlin figures that either Arthur’s formal robes have an itchy collar or Arthur is trying to tell him to stop talking. Luckily, Captain Bajorn does not seem to mind Merlin’s lack of finesse in social pleasantries.

The dinner was embarrassing. Merlin kept having to explain that he was not actually a Queen, Consort or noble anything. Why yes he does have a penis and could they please not ask about that. Merlin decided that nobles were actually quite nosy in their own polite way. He was going to have to get Arthur to teach him how to say “Mind your own damn business” in a really nice, poncy way. Merlin has the unenviable task of trying to explain what it is that he does for Arthur (avoiding of course any potentially embarrassing subjects). Officially he is an advisor. The warlock does not have a title – actually he’s kind of still Arthur’s manservant. He thinks with all the times he’s saved Arthur’s life he should at least have the title of something rather spectacular.

It was even more awkward when Nadorian Captain Saavik and Lieutenant Garrulean congratulated Merlin on his ‘unconventional engagement’ during the after dinner drinks and said something about being “proud that we have such brothers-in-arms”. Even Arthur choked a little on his wine with that comment. He left Merlin with a friendly pat on the back, citing the need to discuss something with Emperor Wang. Prat, Merlin curses silently as Arthur abandons him. The brunet warlock tries to hide himself in a corner somewhere but unfortunately red is a rather noticeable colour and people keep trying to talk to him.

Arthur is currently engaged in a lively discussion with the newly wedded bride and groom didn’t seem too inclined on helping him out. Maybe he was put out that everyone seemed more interested in his choice of partner than him, Merlin thought ruefully. Later, Arthur would claim with a smirk that he was trying to be considerate by drawing less attention to their relationship,

So when the representative of another hard to pronounce Kingdom greet him as a “Queen”, Merlin corrects them with an awkward grin. He figures that if he makes it sound like a joke, they might not be as prone to be offended. Merlin has come to expect an apology or perhaps a stumble in the conversation and then a hasty exit but Lord Marcus gives him a knowing wink. The nobleman has a deep tan, his smile crinkling the crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes.

“Been getting that a lot, Merlin?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“There’s no need to do that, really. Call me Mark.”

Merlin likes him immediately, clasping Mark’s hand warmly. “Mark it is.”

“Pardon me for my intrusion, but I understand that you are not noble-born?”

“It’s fine.” Merlin sipped at his wine, tasting berries and spices. “It’s true, I’m not. I can’t see why everyone would think I look like Kingly material,” Merlin waves his hands around vaguely, not sounding at all like the village idiot.

In a conspiratorial low voice, Mark leaned towards Merlin close enough so that the warlock could smell the tangerine that the Lord must have been eating. “I am a Lord by marriage to my Lady. I know how it feels to be out of place.” He gives the brunet a sympathetic glance before continuing. “I have heard of your great powers Merlin and let me tell you, you are more useful to your King than a wife. The reason why the other nobles keep mistaking you for nobility is because of your presence beside your King at the high table negates everything else. Even now, the way he looks at you...”

The warlock gulped some more wine to cover the flush rising to his cheeks. Is it that obvious? “H-He does?”

“Oh yes, Merlin. Let’s say between you and me, if he announces a betrothal right now, no one would raise any objection. I doubt there would be anyone that’s surprised. Nadorians are quite supportive of your relationship and General Urien is here. You do know that your King taking you here is as good as saying you are his Consort?”

Feeling like the wine has got to his head, Merlin squeaked gracelessly, “Betrothal? Oh?”

“You are not his wife no but you are more than that. King Arthur’s equal in power, in every way. It is an exception honour, Merlin. I think a few of the queens might even be a little envious.”

That would explain why all the females seem to hate me, Merlin though. It really is all Arthur’s fault.

Whispering into the warlock’s ear, Mark said, “Tell me, does the King allow you to top him?”

At this Merlin’s eyes pop out and he thinks he might have spat out a little of his drink. He dabbles quickly at the front of his Pendragon tunic with as much refinement as he can muster. The warlock is careful not to wish too hard for the ground to swallow him up in case his wish magic activates.

“You have more power than you think, Merlin. Trust me, even if you get on your knees for him – you have him by the balls.” Mark winks at Merlin again before squeezing the warlock’s forearm firmly. “Do not be shamed by this power. You are a god amongst mere mortals and if your King has not told you this, he is a fool.” The Lord walks off to mingle with the others again and Merlin is left alone. He motions for the serving girl to top up his wine, resisting the urge to grab the pitcher himself and top up everyone’s wine around him. Right, you’re not a manservant anymore, Merlin, get a hold on yourself, he told himself.

Merlin grips his goblet casually even as he feels the magic coming from the cup. Someone has activated the poison but there are so many people in the room it would be impossible to know who it was. It is so powerful he can detect it even without needing to look. Still, it’s laughable. He could feel the power of the spelled poison. What a foolish move, he thought. I’m not so daft that I would sit there and let myself be poisoned. The warlock vanishes the drink with a sleight of hand, pretending to drink it. It’s a trick he did with Will a long time ago and he wished he could tell him that it actually did come in handy.

The former manservant summons the same servant girl again with a smile. “Please tell the host the wine prepared for me was most....exquisite and that I enjoyed it immensely.” It’s a slow acting poison so he deduces that they are not going to strike right away. He doesn’t dwell on this, concerned only for the safety of his lover. Looking around, Merlin located Arthur easily. He’s had a lot of practice with finding Arthur.

“There you are Merlin.” Arthur says. To the untrained eye, the King of Camelot looks only slightly mussed but Merlin knows him well enough to know that he is at least tipsy, approaching intoxication.

“Arthur, I think you’ve had enough.”

“Mer-lin. You always ruin the fun. Come on, let’s enjoy the night. Nothing’s happened, has it?”

Merlin decides that Arthur doesn’t need to know now plus, nothing did happen. Technically. “No, but I’m not going to wait for something to happen,” Merlin says determinedly. Giving the newly wedded couple his congratulations on his way out as per custom, Merlin excused Arthur and himself.

In the privacy of their rooms, Merlin says indignantly, “You have no idea how many times I had to explain to a noble such and such that no we are not or have not got married and no I am not your wife.”

“Well you are a girl, Merlin. Morgana is more of a man than you are,” Arthur said, slipping the heavy cape from his shoulders.

“If you keep going on like that I’m going to tell her that you missed her terribly... and hey I’m more powerful than you.”

“Only because I let you.”

Merlin throws himself at Arthur at this comment and they tussle as if they were boys again. Without magic or much strength at all, Arthur gains the upper hand easily. Merlin is highly susceptible to being tickled and one well-placed poke in the side leaves him squirming and breathless. The King only stumbles slightly as he gathers his laughing lover across his back, carrying him to their bed.

Gwen only wishes that she could hear Morgana laugh. It has been so long since she’s seen Morgana really happy.

“I can’t bear to see it anymore.” Lady Morgana’s eyes are red and puffy, framed by dark shadows.

The dark-skinned maid strokes her mistress’s back softly, hoping to lend her some strength.

“You don’t have to be here Gwen, you’ll be tired tomorrow. I’ll be...I’ll manage.”

“I know.” But I want to. “I couldn’t leave you like this.” Helplessness wells inside the maid and she pushes it away, focusing on running her fingers softly through her Lady’s hair. Gwen picks up a brush.

“Why don’t I braid your hair?” Gwen says with deliberate optimism.

“Thank you, Gwen,” Morgana says with feeling. “You’re the best companion a lady could ask for.”

The two ladies settle into a comfortable silence. Gwen decides on an intricate woven style, completely with a delicate laced net and streaming ribbons. It’s a style that she has not attempted on Morgana since she was a young teenage girl and she soon finds herself settling into the rhythmic weaving, reminiscing with Morgana.

“Do you remember Sir Elton?” They both laugh at the memory. Gwen tries to keep this memory in her mind, the beautiful sound of her lady’s laughter. The way her eyes twinkled in the candlelight. The way Morgana’s face regained a bit of her colour. It is not hard to see then why her beauty is unrivalled throughout the Kingdom.

Finally, when it is done, Morgana looks refreshed.

“You look beautiful, my lady. As always.”

“Only because you make me so.”

Then Morgana insists that they play dress up for a while and Gwen relents, allowing her mistress to don her finery on her. They dance merrily as two beautiful ladies and Morgana lets herself forget that Gwen is her handmaiden and that they can be something more than the positions that they were born to fulfil.

Sometime after Morgana is holding the lamp, exhausted but unable, unwilling to succumb. Gwen has dressed in one of Morgana’s spare sleeping gowns, enjoying the feel of the luxurious silk on her skin. Keep it, Morgana had said.

“I’m scared to fall asleep, Gwen.”

Judging from the weariness scarring Morgana once again, Gwen deduces that her lady wishes to walk in the cold to force herself to keep away.

“I’ll stay up with you.” She will hold the lamp to light Morgana’s path and she will guard over her lady’s steps to ensure that she will not stumble to strike her heel against a stone. Gwen will pace the world a thousand times if she has to – for Morgana, for her King, for Camelot’s sake.

Arthur wakes up with Merlin next to him, sitting hunched over another tome, mumbling about another spell. The blond-haired man groaned. “My head. Oh my head.”

“The dragon told me that I was to be your protector, not your hangover remedy,” Merlin grouses but he takes the pain from Arthur anyway.

The King notices that his adviser is in a better mood. “You love me.”

“That’s why I need you alert okay? I can’t lose you.”

“I’ll be fine. Did you finally found what you were looking for?”

The warlock gives Arthur a tight grin, “Yes. Be careful, Arthur.”

“Always.”

“Now go get dressed. I’ve already fixed everything for us so we’re good to go. I just need to go talk to Lancelot.”

Merlin finds Lancelot getting the weapons ready. Mordred and Dagonet are sharing a joke. The warlock spares no words, “Same deal. Constantine please get in your ‘King Arthur’ gear and Lancelot if you could give me everyone’s weapons, I’ll charm them again before we go. Remember: Arthur is not to be left unattended at any time.”

Senses on high alert, his magic sweeping the area for hostile magic-users, Merlin is vigilant as they move towards Camelot. The closer they are to home, the closer they are to safety or perhaps danger. Merlin wishes premonitions could be a bit more exact. Morgana’s memory tells him that they will be attacked soon but they have a timeframe of two days and two days is a long time to be waiting.

At the stopover, King Arthur does not cease being a prat and Merlin feels tempted to put him over his knee and spank him until his ass is as red as his cape. “I’m wearing my mail and you have the knights surround the perimeter. I think I can go do my business on my own.”

“I’m not leaving you unattended.”

“Mer-lin. I’m not taking anyone with me...that’s- that’s...private!” Arthur spluttered indignantly. The knights back off, leaving Merlin to deal with the fallout. Why do I always get the bad jobs? Merlin thought.

Merlin rolls his eyes and follows his King. “I’m not taking any chances. Really, sire, I would have thought you’d have no problem with exhibitionism.”

The King glares. “I can’t go with you standing so near. It’s making me nervous.”

The warlock ignores him, leaning against the nearest tree trunk.

“Merlin. I really can’t go like that and I need to...”

Merlin takes three steps away.

“Can you not...look?”

“Arthur, it’s nothing I haven’t seen.”

“But this is private.”

“If you need to go, then go,” Merlin said. “Do you want to get caught out in the woods with your pants down?”

Arthur blanched. “But...”

“Close your eyes and pretend I’m not there, Arthur,” Merlin growled.

It seems to take forever but Arthur is finally able to go. Merlin helpfully levitates a leaf towards him, which Arthur snatches. After he’s done, he stomps away towards his tent, deliberately not looking at Merlin.

Nothing happens. It is twilight. They’ve pass the time that it should have happened with the warlock extremely jumpy throughout dinner. The knights could barely eat. Arthur found the whole suspenseful atmosphere off-putting and was in a foul mood. Though Merlin doesn’t want anything bad to happened, he keeps expecting something to happen and its worse waiting and not knowing. Arthur insists if they can’t travel then they should at least get some rest.

Merlin sleeps with an arm draped protectively over Arthur, sleeping in mail. He will not let himself be reprieved until they are safely in Camelot but he is glad that they have cheated fate. Even if for a little while. He commands himself to stay awake but the warm of Arthur’s body and the exhaustion of being alert has drained his energy. He shuts his eyes and the world falls away from him.

Unfortunately, the sweet oblivion of sleep is interrupted by the pained cry in his psyche, “EMRYS! HELP!”

“Mordred!” Merlin jerks himself awake, jostling Arthur. “Constantine, get Arthur away!” The plan is put into action at once. ‘Arthur’ is to be bundled off in the carriage with Sir Gareth, hopefully to lead off the attacker. Arthur, must be hidden while in the tent, until Merlin can defeat the attacker. The warlock takes a sweep of magic but he cannot sense any uses in the vicinity. Something is wrong.

Merlin exist the tent to see Mordred being strangled by Urien. General Urien turns to the warlock, his eyes red. He’s possessed, Merlin thought. Clearly there was no time to exorcise him or to scry for the controller.

“Release him or die!” Merlin threatens, hoping that Urien’s controller will not call him on the bluff. He needs to buy time and distract Urien from Arthur but it would be wrong to kill an innocent if he is under the influence of a spell.

Urien talks in a female voice, “You can not stop me!” With a snap, Urien kills Mordred.

Merlin casts a killing spell and Urien falls, slumping over Mordred, laughing in a voice that is not his.

The warlock has no time to mourn his dead apprentice. The spot of blue light is approaching. Merlin realises his mistake belatedly. Perhaps it was not twilight but the power of the spell that lit up the area. Or perhaps this is destiny.

Lancelot is on the ground and the light is speeding towards Arthur, just like the memory. Merlin casts spells at the lance but they fail. Predictably so. Arthur runs but the lance is clearly magical, its trajectory does not suffer from gravity, nor do objects obstruct it’s path.

One of his knights, Caradoc, runs at the lance. It runs through him, right through him. The knight freezes, stunned but there is no wound. His mouth stays open, frozen. Arthur is horrified, standing there.

“Run, you idiot!” Merlin screams in the midst of a jumble of spells but the lance curves, honing in on Arthur as he stands there.

It pieces through Arthur just as he saw it. But it is even worse being there now, smelling the burning. Arthur bites his lip, twitching, eyes rolling white and then the lance vanishes, leaving a gaping hole in Arthur’s chest. Keeling over, the shrill screeching starts. The King’s voice is so warped by the agony that it doesn’t even sound like him. He’s calling for Merlin. The two knights, Dagonet and Kay, have their swords raised but there is nothing to attack. They move to touch him, comfort him somehow as Arthur lay twisting on the ground.

“Don’t touch him or attack the magic, it’ll rebound,” Merlin warns. He needs to end this now so Arthur won’t have to suffer. He knows that it’ll be useless to throw the killing curse but he tries it anyway and he strains to reabsorb the power back into himself. Sweat drips into the warlock’s eyes as he struggled, calling on the elements to feed his magical core. Standing unsteadily, Merlin forces himself to hold back. He cannot save his love now. Depleting himself of his magical reserves would not bring Arthur back.

Arthur is crying tears of red, blood coming out from his mouth. His chain mail is burning red hot, starting to melt, searing into his skin. His features are dissolving and he can’t speak but his fingers twitch in Merlin’s direction. For a moment, Merlin hates himself for being relieved that Arthur is no longer able to talk. Maybe he could close his eyes and turn away. Maybe he can pretend he doesn’t know the pleas that are falling from the cracked lips. Maybe he would not have to watch his world fall apart.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin says, standing there with his fists clenched tightly, aching to touch Arthur. To take the pain away. He is not the desperate figure in Morgana’s dream but he is not himself. From whose eyes is he seeing? Is this Morgana’s memory? It this his? Reality slips from him. “I’m sorry, Arthur.” The powerful warlock does not let himself cry as his lover disintegrates slowly before his eyes.

Part 5

"Substitution and Submission" Merlin/Arthur NC-17 4/?

2009-07-16T16:53:47Z

Title: Substitution.and Submission (AKA The Most Screwed Up Merlin/Arthur Fic Ever)
Pairing: Slash. Merlin/Arthur, Uther/Arthur (implied past dub-con)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3265
Spoilers: Season 1
Warnings: Dark!Merlin, Broken!Arthur, non-con, dub-con, fucked up role-playing, incest, abuse of magic, violence, secondary character deaths, suicide, self-harm/cutting, generally disturbing themes. Basically as fucked up a fic as I could make it and definitely the most screwed up thing I've ever written. Not for those easily offended.
Summary: Prompt from kinkme_merlin Arthur and Merlin have a really dark, creepy fucked up disturbing relationship. In exactly what way it's fucked up I will leave it up to you but the darker the better. I'm a fan of dark!Merlin in particular so would be happy if he made an appearance but if you want to do something different that's fine.

Part 3

Tonight, the watcher is not in Camelot. Something has changed. The threads of destiny have shifted; a new pattern is being woven into the tapestry of the future. The shimmer of the vision flickers ominously. The images surge like an army at the enemy’s gate and the watcher is pushed forward, unable to resist the tide of premonition.

A golden-haired figure exits from a garishly red tent. It is definitely not inconspicuous with the forest surroundings. Who else but Arthur would call attention to himself in these woods? The watcher scoffs in derision. From the conversation, the watcher surmises that King Bayard’s son, the Crown Prince Cedryck, is to marry a Nadorian Princess and the Camelot troops are escorting Arthur and his adviser to attend the celebrations.

There is a flurry of activity as the party is greeted amongst a host of kingdoms. Banners fluttered in the hall with all the colours of the rainbow. The wedding celebration is full of pomp as begets two royal kingdoms uniting their futures together. The Camelot parties unpack without a remarkable incident. The watcher waits patiently, apprehensively.

Suspicion. Danger. Death? The watchers sees a body. Red. Blood? A cape?

A goblet of red wine. An attempt on Merlin’s life. The watcher observes indifferently. Merlin is powerful. The watcher feels certain that Merlin is not the target and strains to see more. What will happen next? Will King Arthur be safe? Knowledge is vital. The images are blurry but the watcher presses onwards.

The celebrations end and Bayard thanks Arthur personally. Merlin is by his side. The watcher’s breath is baited, awaiting treachery but it does not come. Relief.

Happiness. Contentment. Arthur and Merlin. Love. The watcher cannot turn away. Is it over? No. The watcher must see this to the end.

A flash of metal. A knife in the dark? No, an arrow of some sort perhaps? It is only when it emerges from its hiding place, when it’s too late that the watcher is able to identify the lance as it gracefully executed its trajectory, glowing a soft blue hue. Arthur. It speeds through the clearing, racing towards Arthur’s heart. It rips through Merlin’s protective shield, dissolving it in golden shards. The King has a surprised look on his face before he falls to his knees, hands grappling with the shaft buried in him. The blue light envelops his body and an ear-splitting noise assaults the party. It’s Arthur, shrieking in agony as he is burned alive, skewered through like a boar on a spit. His hand reaches out to Merlin, pleading but the warlock cannot break the torturous black magic despite him throwing numerous bright yellow orbs at it. Everyone who tries to interfere with the spell only has it rebound upon them. There are two knights dead on the forest floor. In a burst of desperation, Merlin sends a concentrated crackle of energy at Arthur. It merely bounces harmlessly from the incandescent blue flames back towards him and the warlock has to use all his remaining power to keep it from killing himself. The watcher is rooted to the spot as Merlin rips every ounce of magic from the elements around him to try to save his lover.

Arthur’s suffering is prolonged magically, his heart no longer beats and the lance has vanished but he feels the fire burning him, taking his body apart atom by atom. Even when all that is left of Arthur is a mess of ashes and molten metal, the watcher can still hear him screaming, crying, pleading to be delivered from this Hell.

Morgana no longer wakes up screaming. She has seen Arthur die before her eyes many times as a prince but this is the first time she has seen him die as a King. The first time she has seen Merlin fail to rescue Arthur. She takes a deep breath as she loosens the sleeping gown sticking to her, the sweat cooling on her body. The window is wide open and she is cold.

It is the darkest time of the night yet and Lady Morgana is awake. She lies in bed and pulls the sheets up as if the warmth could cover her night terrors, wishing she was not alone. When Arthur dies again the next night she knows for certain that Arthur will die. She has seen it.

Morgana is at a loss as to what to do. She would seek out Merlin but already knows that he fails to protect Arthur. Who else can she go to? She decides to wait until Gwen arrives in the morning, surely Arthur will not run out of Camelot for at least another day.

Gwen arrives with breakfast mid-morning, setting it on the table with practiced effortlessness. Years have not changed her much, except she is wearing a dark purple pinafore over her white underdress instead of her usual bright colours.

“Have you eaten, Gwen?”

“No, not yet, my lady.”

“Well join me,” Morgana pulls out a chair for Gwen so they could eat together. “I insist. Plus you know that there is more than enough for me.”

Gwen bows. “If you wish, my lady.”

“I do.” Morgana playfully wipes a smudge of soot away from her neck. Her servant flushes self-consciously, wiping her hands in her pinafore.

“I’m sorry, my lady, I was just checking up on the weapons this morning so-”

“Oh don’t worry Gwen. I’ve had you for years,” Morgana says with a fond smile. “I’m not going to care if you have a bit of dirt on you. It’s not going to kill me. Are you enjoying your time at the ‘smith?”

“Yes. It’s really fun. Thank you for letting me take the job.”

“Nonsense, Gwen. Even Arthur can see that you’re good with forging. I’m glad you can help the Royal Blacksmith. He speaks highly of you.”

“My lady is too kind. I regret that it’s not something a lady’s handmaiden should be seen doing,” Gwen admits.

“Yeah well I doubt that your job will cause a stir in the court. I’m sure if people are going to gossip about anyone, it’ll be Arthur’s love life. You know they all want to know about how he’s going to have his heir,” Morgana laughs lightly, giving Gwen a mischievous nudge with her elbow.

Gwen simply says, “Arthur is a good king.”

“Yes, he is,” Morgana agrees solemnly. She picks at her fruit delicately, offering some to Gwen.

“Gwen?”

“My lady?” Gwen said, holding the grape without eating it.

“How many times do I have to ask you to call me Morgana?”

“A few thousand, my lady?” Gwen said ducking her head. It is a habit ingrained in her and this conversation is comfortingly familiar.

Morgana smiles at the ease of their chatter despite the differences between them. “I had a bad dream. It was one of those dreams.”

“Do you need me to fetch Merlin for you?” Gwen eases on the formalities a little, sensing that Morgana needs her as a friend right now.

“I don’t know what to do Gwen. I saw a magical spear or lance of some sort shatter Merlin’s magic shield. I saw...I saw Arthur die again.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“What should I do Gwen? I know Arthur wouldn’t take this seriously. I don’t know who to go to.”

“Perhaps you should tell Merlin?”

“But what if even Merlin isn’t enough to save Arthur?”

“Don’t worry, my Lady. Let Merlin worry about that. If it’s anything, you know he’d do anything to protect Arthur’s life,” Gwen said reassuringly, though a look of concern crosses her face and her hand unconsciously drops to her stomach.

Morgana approaches Merlin calmly with the aloofness and authority of royal upbringing. She is no longer the young maid that was hysterical, rushing in front of Arthur’s knight to hold onto her brother’s arm, begging him not to go out on his suicidal mission. Then, she had been as good as gagged by Uther’s ban on magic and she could not say how she had known what was yet to come to pass.

It’s different now. She lifts her chin up and says coldly, “Merlin, I wish to speak with you.”

Merlin smiles congenially though Morgana feels that he is mocking her. “What can I do for you, my Lady Morgana?”

“I saw him die.” She does not have to say who died or how. Had circumstances been different, perhaps she could be more grateful that she does not need to explain to the Court Mage about magical gifts and their cursed side-effects.

She notices that he stiffens slightly and fully turns to face her. Yes, she has his attention now. He would never make light of his lover’s death nor does he underestimate her power as a Seer. It has been a long time since she has been more powerful than he is and she smiles a little at it but she does not prolong his waiting. The warlock is shimmering ever so slightly with the thrum of magic.

“Arthur is to be invited to a celebration between Bayard’s and Urien’s kingdoms as their progenies wed. You will have no trouble getting to Mercia. At the celebration, there is a possible attempt on your life-”

Merlin waves it away, unconcerned. “Arthur?” he presses with urgency, tension marring his features.

Morgana rolls her eyes. “You survive, just in case you want to know.” She hurries on. “I don’t know when but both of you definitely make it out of the celebrations safely. It is on the way back to Camelot that Arthur is attacked. I didn’t see who did it but it’s someone who knows magic. It’s something like a lance or a spear with blue fire.”

Merlin is concentrating intensely and he gives the tiniest of nods.

She gives him a questioning glance.

“I am familiar with that spell,” he explains.

She braces herself, steadying her voice for the next part even through she is a little reassured by Merlin’s admission. “It goes through your magical shield and Arthur’s heart. But he doesn’t die. The magic sustains his life as it drains it away slowly. The spear vanishes.” She cannot deny it gives her some pleasure to tell Merlin that he is not all powerful, to take him down a notch but she would never gamble with Arthur’s life. She ends it there because she doesn’t want to recall the way she heard him scream, his hair drenched with sweat, crying what looks like blood.

He senses her reluctance, anguish written in his eyes. He brings his fist to his mouth and she sees the old Merlin, the manservant to the Prince, uncertain of himself. “You are sure it goes through my shield?”

Normally she would jibe him for his arrogance but she can tell that the warlock is troubled. “Yes. The shield disperses with golden cracks.”

The way he pales makes her realise that she must have given the correct answer.

“If I may, my Lady...may I see?” Merlin asks hesitantly. “Please,” he adds. He needs to see for himself. He needs to know. He can feel the power crackling at his finger tips and he urges himself to hold on but he knew that if she refused he would-

She pauses but only a beat after she agreed. This is not for Merlin but for Arthur. Biting her lip, she consents, “Alright.”

The warlock stretches his hand towards her face and she has to use all her royal training to keep from flinching.

Then she lowers her mental shields and he is there with her inside her mind. She closes her eyes but she cannot stop the images being summoned to the forefront of her mind. She has to watch him die that slow death again. She knows what it must feel like to want to kill someone you love to end their pain. Each moment alive is another moment of torture. If Morgana has to keep watching the memory, she thinks she might be driven to kill Arthur herself.

She gives him what he wants even though she is not sure he deserves it. “Take it.” There is no point in hiding it now; her face is wet with tears. It only hurts a little and then it is gone. But it does not relieve her much. She knows that if it is to come to pass, it will haunt her again.

“Thank you, my Lady. Morgana,” Merlin says gratefully.

She doesn’t have to ask really but she wants to hear him say it. If it is anyone that is powerful, it is Merlin. “You have to save him. He still has so much to do. You must do everything in your power to save him. Promise me.”

Merlin does not think that Morgana knows what she is truly asking but he promises anyway. With a soft glow of his eyes, her headache is lifted from her and he bows to her like he used to before leaving.

The alliance between the two kingdoms had been tenuous ever since The Poisoned Chalice Incident even though it had been years since it happened. King Arthur thought it best if he attended as a gesture of faith between them. While Bayard had mostly given up his grudge, Arthur could understand if this was a test of Camelot’s accessibility as an ally.

“I will go with half a dozen knights and Merlin. Will that alleviate your concerns, Lord Reading?”

“Of course, Your Majesty. I am merely concerned for your safety.”

“Duly appreciated, Lord Reading. Now, any other objections? No? Good. Lancelot will be in charge of the knights as usual and the Lady Morgana can take of the diplomatic matters. Merlin’s apprentice, Mordred, will be the Court Magician and Physician for the time being. Alright, Court dismissed for the day.”

“Where were you?”

Merlin looks up from his thick tome as he sits reading cross-legged on the bed. “I was speaking with Lady Morgana.”

Joining his lover on the bed, Arthur raised his brows. “Is she alright? I named her my replacement.”

“She will be, it’s alright.” Merlin changed the topic before Arthur could ask what they spoke of. “So what happened in Court today?”

“Well we spent most of the afternoon determining tariffs with Genovia. Then in the afternoon a messenger arrived from Mercia with a wedding invitation so we’re going to have to go.”

Merlin’s heart stopped and dropped to his stomach. He felt like the Questing beast had bit Arthur all over again. “What?”

“I know you hate these things but I promise it won’t be that bad. It’s just a wedding. Bayard’s son is to wed that’s all. I want to keep the peace between us so I’ll go. I need to know if they are going to band up together to rise against Camelot. Plus we should keep an eye on the diplomatic matters, they could get ugly fast. We need to be prepared.”

“I doubt it. I don’t think you should go. Bayard’s son is Crown Prince but he’s marrying Urien’s daughter. Both current rulers are still in good health therefore, if nothing goes wrong, we should still have some time before they ascend to power.”

“I suppose but you know that Bayard could appoint him as King before...wait, wait...how did you know Cedryck is marrying Urien’s daughter?”

“Magic remember?” Merlin grins, teasing his lover. His wide smile has the intended effect, dazzling Arthur.

Arthur narrows his eyes suspiciously but lets it go. “Why don’t you want me to go?”

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea. Who are you taking? Maybe we should send a representative. You should stay. You haven’t even been on the throne for two months.”

“Half a dozen will do, don’t you think? I have you anyway,” Arthur answers confidently. “I have to be there in person or Bayard will see that as an insult. It’s a diplomatic thing. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Maybe I do and I just think protecting you is more important.”

“Merlin,” Arthur began in a softer tone, reaching out to the brunet. “You can’t-”

“Fine,” Merlin cuts in. “Take a dozen knights. Maybe I should take Mordred with me too.”

“There is something you’re not telling me.” Arthur folds his arms, setting his jaw stubbornly in that way that exudes 'I’m the King so you must obey me'. It has never worked with Merlin. “Tell me.”

Merlin snaps the book shut, exhaling heavily. “I have reason to believe that you are being lead into a trap by either Bayard or Urien or both. Who knows. Is that enough reason for you?”

Arthur seems relieved. “Well that’s nothing new. You’re upset about a death threat?”

“Maybe you should be upset. You might die Arthur!” Merlin said. Arthur’s nonchalance agitated him.

Arthur is nonplussed. “Why should I be? I have you remember? Plus, I’m hurt you have so little faith in my abilities.” At Merlin’s stern look he said, “Look I’ll be careful okay? But if I let every death threat worry me, I’d never get anything done. I have a duty to my people.”

Merlin wanted to say it wasn’t any death threat but, “I still think you shouldn’t go. You are important to this kingdom.” And to me.

“Is this Merlin the advisor or Merlin my lover?” Arthur challenges.

“Depends if it’s Arthur the King or Arthur the Prat I’m in love with?” Merlin shot back.

There was a tense moment. Arthur knew it wouldn’t do any good to order Merlin but he was tempted to. Arthur still isn’t used to being refused anything by anyone. Merlin truly is something different. Arthur thinks that Merlin must be good for him because then at least he will never expect anything to be easier – even in the most personal parts of his life. Arthur thinks his father might have appreciated the irony of this.

“As I was saying, I don’t think you should go but if you do, take a dozen.”

“We can’t afford to leave the Kingdom so unguarded. That might be the chance they are waiting for. Whoever ‘they’ are.”

“Or they might just be waiting for the chance to get rid of you,” Merlin couldn’t help adding. “Take Lancelot and Mordred,” the warlock said in a commanding, Uther-like tone. Arthur would have been amused if they weren’t arguing.

“Alright. I’ll take Lancelot and Mordred. But then who will take their place?”

“Mordred’s guardian knows enough about healing and magic to take my place instead of Mordred and Galehaut can take Lancelot’s place,” Merlin replies, thinking quickly.

Arthur could not find fault with his lover’s choices but he gives Merlin a pointed look. “You promised that you wouldn’t keep anything from me. You wouldn’t lie to me would you?”

“Of course not,” Merlin lies smoothly. If it was to protect you, yes. But he knew Arthur would not understand. It is for Arthur’s own good. “Trust me, I’m a terrible liar remember?” Merlin says convincingly, leaning in for a kiss.

Arthur wants the lie more than the truth. If he were to think deeply then he would remember that Merlin is actually a terribly good liar. His lover managed to keep his magic a secret from him and if he had not seen him before his own eyes that one time, he would have never believed it. Still, he meets Merlin’s soft, inviting lips with his own. He doesn’t question when Merlin leaves him alone for the night, lugging the enormous book with him.

Part 5

In This Life, Spock/Uhura, PG 2/2

2009-07-15T09:01:09Z

Title: In This Life - This life Again
Pairing: Spock Prime/Kirk Prime, Nu!Spock/Uhura
Rating: PG
Word count: 2017
Warning: Brief, non-explicit mentions of Spock Prime/Kirk Prime slash. Kissing of the Vulcan and human variety. Spock/Uhura. Also random 'Heroes' reference. (Sylar totally sounds like it could be a Vulcan name D:)
Summary: The aftermath of 'In This Life'. Spock must explain to Uhura the choice he has made.

When Uhura asked to speak with him about a certain Ambassador on Vulcan II, Spock was not surprised. It was what he would have done after all. If Kirk really meant so much to his other self, if he really was his t’hy’la – his counterpart would not have relied on convincing his younger self. No, Spock Prime must have had a contingency plan. He only hoped that his counterpart was as chivalrous as he and would keep his word in the end.

Gesturing Lieutenant Uhura to the privacy of his quarters, Uhura waited until the door slid shut before speaking. It was clear that she was agitated. Yet it did appear that she had trouble articulating what was on her mind. Normally he did not gesture when speaking but he spread his palms out facing her in the human gesture of surrender. “I believe you have indicated that you have something of importance that you wished to speak to me about.”

It was all the permission that Uhura needed to speak freely and she unleashed her fury. Once she might have been wary of his status as Commander and First Officer but she knew Spock enough to know when he was being himself and when he was hiding behind the Vulcan facade. “I don’t believe this. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“In regards to?”

“Will you even tell me the truth?” Before he could answer, she said hotly, “No, don’t give me that bullshit about ‘Vulcans cannot lie’. I’m asking you to tell me the truth Spock.”

“Of course, Nyota,” Spock said agreeably. He did not understand the reason for her anger considering he had yet to do something wrong. He came to the conclusion that she must be mistaken in her assumption of his guilt. A situation which must be rectified. “Do you wish for us to mindmeld?”

Nyota seemed taken aback. As a xenolinguist, she knew well the implications of the question. Putting her hands on her hips she said, “Is this a...Are you taunting me?”

Spock was puzzled, eyebrows knitted tightly. “I do not understand. My request was not formulated to increase your ire rather it was to placate it.” The only sign of Spock’s frustration was the stiffness of his jaw. “You accuse me of lying therefore I offer the option of a mindmeld in which you can be assure that I cannot lie. It is the most logical solution.”

“Fine. Do it. “ She said out of gritted teeth.

Spock was concerned, uncomfortable with the idea. “You must relax Nyota or it may be...painful.” When she did not cease her frown as he placed his fingers on her psi points to link them, he stopped again. “Please,” he said awkwardly, unused to having to coax someone. “I know you are displeased with me but I have no desire to hurt you.”

Nyota smoothed lines out of her face and took a deep breath. When he could see that she was calm, he linked them together saying, “My mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts.” It took a while for him to adjust to her mind, a flurry of emotions hitting him. Anger. Frustration. Fear. Hurt. Betrayal. He had to quickly re-establish his mind shields and it took all his control not to delve into her mind and try to sooth out the kinks in her psyche. No, Nyota would not appreciate that right now. Spock took note of this alternative. In the future perhaps. Right now he had to focus on Uhura. Her mind version of herself was obviously unhappy, her hands were crossed tightly over her chest. He could not help but feel that even in her displeasure, she was a pleasure to watch. Her dark skin glowed in his mindscape of her, glistening softly like an otherworldly being.

However, Nyota’s determined inquisition interrupted his thoughts. She was projecting very strongly her need to know the truth. Spock would have preferred to leave some of his privacy shields in place but he knew that she would perceive it as hiding the truth so he dropped all his defences, hoping to appease her. He could deal with embarrassment. He could not deal with losing her. His Vulcan pride and modesty would have to compromise for her human needs. Still, he acquiesced without complaint because he knew that this was right. It would be alright between them.

“Is it true you can only have one bondmate at any one time?”

“Yes.” He was expecting questions about his alternate self so this took him by surprise.

“We’ll get to that, Spock,” she snapped, not caring that she was rudely probing his mind. “And once you’ve touched their mind you know for sure?”

“Yes.”

Uhura was obviously upset at his responses and he wanted to know why but he did not want to push into her mind. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would have understood. When were you going to tell me about your t’hy’la? ”

“I did not feel that it was necessary nor relevant to divulge the details of my, that is my counterpart’s, bondmate to you,” Spock let his confusion filter through.

Her mind’s voice raised in volume. “So you didn’t think it was relevant that you are just toying around with me?”

“I do not understand, Nyota.” Seeing her increasing distress, he decided that they needed to confirm that they were indeed using the same frame of reference. “You are referring to meeting my counterpart, Ambassador Sylar or as he revealed to you Ambassador Spock?”

“No...yes!”

Spock felt himself raise an eyebrow, his mindscape matching that of his physical body. “I am assuming that he told you about the personal nature of his relationship with Captain Kirk.”

“Yes. He said ‘you’ were, are intimate.” The latter part was said with waves of emotion, mostly hurt and longing. Finally, Spock understood. Nyota believed that he would abandon her for Kirk. Perhaps he thought that he was using the relationship as a fabrication until he could be intimate with his Captain.

“That would be correct. And you are assuming by what Sylar said that I will also be intimate with this Captain Kirk?” He refused to refer to Sylar as himself as he felt that Spock Prime was a separate self. He did not have the same experiences or the same memories. After all is it not the very essence of how you remember yourself which makes you?

“You are saying ‘you’ lied to me?”

“I’m saying my other self may have implied some truths that may be misleading.”

Nyota was ever the scholar, she was curious. “Tell me about your alternate self then.”

“I know you refer to him as me and my alternate self and indeed he is my counterpart but he is not me,” Spock said emphatically. “He is me from another timeline. He has had experiences that I’ve had but he has also had experiences I have not had. Those circumstances alone mark us as entirely different individuals.”

“So you share the same heritage and genetic makeup and some circumstances of upbringing but not others?” Uhura said, working it out in her mind.

“Correct. Particularly in regard...in regard to my mother.”

“I’m sorry about that Spock,” Uhura said gently.

He could feel the sincerity of her statement and he touched his mind to hers, feeling a spark jump. She gasped a little, her projection of herself flickering a little as she juggled her corporeal and mental forms.

“Thank you.”

Their minds touched for a little longer, but Spock could feel that she was still pondering over what he said. “So let me get this straight. You have an alternate self from another timeline who is you but not really you who was and is kind of still in love with the Captain James T. Kirk of his timeline but you, er, Ambassador Sylar is trying to convince me that your one true love is this Captain Kirk also. But you’re telling me now that you are not like Sylar, because things have changed and that you’re er in..you...you’re with me,” she finished lamely.

“I am in love with you, Nyota, yes.” Spock was amused at the way she was working this out, accepting that Sylar and him were both same and different. He could feel the heat of her mind flush with embarrassment that he had said the words so plainly. In the privacy of their minds, he did not mind revealing personal thoughts, even emotions, as a mindmeld is the utmost demonstration of intimacy for a Vulcan when both minds are completely unshielded.

“But, Sylar said that you had to touch your t’hy’la’s mind to know for sure and you have not touched mine,” Nyota said with disappointment colouring her mind’s voice. “Not until now.”

Spock gave a slight nod to acknowledge her statement. “No, not until now. But you misunderstand, Nyota. Please let me explain.” With the mind link in place, he was prepared for this. It felt right for him to tell her of his affection for her. He had thought she would have known that his volunteering to meld with her was a sign of his trust and vulnerability in her presence. He would not miss the chance to reaffirm his commitment to their courtship. “A mindmeld is one way to know beyond doubt that one is your bondmate. However, the act of offering a mindmeld with one’s mind completely open to another’s is often sufficient evidence of trust. It is not the act of melding that is significant but the implication that one would entrust the very essence of your self to be revealed to another. Lying is not a factor – there is no need to lie with someone who accepts your very being. With you, I did not need to know, as you stated ‘for sure’, to know that I wanted to bond with you.” He could feel her astonishment and affection for him through their linked minds. Now, he knew most certainly that Uhura was indeed his t’hy’la.

Uhura cocked her head sideways with a little smile. “Isn’t that...illogical?”

“Perhaps. But I am human too,” Spock conceded. With Uhura, he did not mind being human. “It would be dishonest, even more illogical, for me to deny my human heritage.” Spock wanted to chase away even the faintest shadows of doubt in her mind. “I have chosen you since the beginning of our courtship and I chose you, Nyota Uhura as my bondmate. My t’hy’la. It is not a matter of options for me. There is no other. I cannot speak for my other self but this Spock belongs with you. That Spock, he can see no other for him because his Captain Kirk is his bondmate in his universe and perhaps in every universe. That is the way I am with you. If I had to live this life over, I have and always will choose you.”

“Oh Spock,” Uhura said, feeling herself tear up. “I’m so sorry.”

Spock let the intensity of the mindmeld fade a little, withdrawing from deep inside the mindscape so he could see her face. Tenderly, Spock wiped her tears away. “Do not be upset, Nyota. There is no need to apologise.”

She wiped more tears away with the back of her hand and smiled. “Don’t worry, I’m happy. I’m really happy.” Uhura’s hand ghosted the side of Spock’s face, touching him hesitantly, feeling the warmth of his skin against hers. “You’re blushing,” she said with amusement. “I’m sorry I doubted you.”

“No,” Spock said, leaning into her touch slightly, his hand covering hers. He entwined their fingers together as she opened her hand for a Vulcan kiss. “I am sorry that you did not know how much you meant to me, my t’hy’la.”

She leaned her forehead against his, her chocolate skin contrasting against his pale complexion. She could feel the intensity of the bond magnify, tingling as their minds were drawn together. “I love you too, Spock,” she said, sending him all the love she had for him as she kissed him.

Written for FF.Net user Oberon 7.

[drabbles] Fifty Moments of Truth, Merlin/Will, PG13

2009-07-13T16:58:18Z

Title: Fifty Moments of Truth
Pairing: Merlin/Will, Merlin/Arthur pre-slash
Rating: PG-13/M
Word count: 1183
Spoilers: 1.10 The Moment of Truth.
Warning: Merlin/Will SLASH. Arthur/Merlin pre-slash. Angst. Some sexuality. Non-explicit violence.
Summary: Will had always known Merlin was special. He had loved his best friend since he was five and he knew that nothing would ever change that. Claimed at 1sentence challenge (50 themes, 1 sentence. Using theme set: Epsilon.)

#01 – Motion

Though Will was only five, when he saw the motion, the slip of Merlin’s hand, he knew it meant that Merlin was a special kind of person.

#02 – Cool

“Do that again, it’s actually pretty cool,” Will said to Merlin, watching his best friend glow with pride.

#03 – Young

They were young and hopeful so they promised each other, “We’ll be best friends forever.”

#04 – Last

Will had been coming first in the race but he ran back for Merlin anyway so he wouldn’t have to bear the shame of being last alone.

#05 – Wrong

“They’re wrong what they said about magic,” Will muttered darkly with his split lip, “you’re not a bad person.”

#06 – Gentle

Merlin kissed Will gently on his mouth, minding his injuries, murmuring “You shouldn’t have done that” even as he whispered a healing spell.

#07 – One

If Will had known that it would be his last kiss from Merlin, he would have asked for more than “one last kiss”.

#08 – Thousand

Will lay with his face in the pillow and counted backward from a thousand until he was sure that he wasn’t going to cry: he did not miss Merlin.

#09 – King

Merlin had often wondered if he hated the King because he took Will’s father from him or more because he made Will into this bitter, broken boy.

#10 – Learn

When Merlin left, Will finally learnt that everyone he cared for, everyone he loved, would always leave him in the end.

#11 – Blur

Will’s life was a blur, life was boring without his best friend.

#12 – Wait

Will knew he would come back.

#13 – Change

Something about him had changed, he saw in his best friend a man – a man that he had always loved.

#14 – Command

When Will saw the way Arthur commanded Merlin, he knew that Arthur had no idea how powerful his manservant was.

#15 – Hold

Merlin held Will’s hand as he twitched on the table as if he could hold onto his lover’s life for a little longer.

#16 – Need

“Don’t leave me” were the words that Will wanted to say but could not.

#17 – Vision

Will could see it so clearly in his mind: Arthur was going to be a great King and Merlin belonged at his side.

#18 – Attention

He saw Kanan aim the crossbow out of the corner of his eye and jumped without a thought.

#19 – Soul

Will stared deep into Merlin’s eyes at age five and knew that he would never find a soul that could understand him as well as the dark-haired boy in front of him.

#20 – Picture

With every stuttered word, Will could form the picture and it went something like this: Merlin, his scrawny best friend, was being picked on by the Baldryck the Bully and he saw red.

#21 – Fool

“You stupid idiot! You decided to take Baldryck and his gang on because he called me a ‘freaky bastard’?” Merlin said angrily though Will could see he was grateful and just a little pleased.

#22 – Mad

Will had been angry when he saw Merlin back in Ealdor as if everything between was okay, as if he’d never left but he could not deny that he was glad that his best friend was back.

#23 – Child

“We’re not children anymore, Will, I have to fight this,” Merlin said with the wisdom of an old man.

#24 – Now

The word spilled out of his mouth “Face it Merlin, you’re living a lie just like you were here” but what Will meant was “Where do we stand now?”

#25 – Shadow

“I am nothing compared to your Prince,” Will said but Merlin responded sincerely, “He is not you.”

#26 – Goodbye

He could not bear to say goodbye.

#27 – Hide

Will hid his concern under the layers of scorn and sarcasm.

#28 – Fortune

Whether it was fortune or fate, Will had been there and he took the blame for Merlin.

#29 – Safe

Will was sorry for all the things that he did not tell Merlin that he could never say now but he did not regret what he’d done – Merlin would be safe and that was all that mattered.

#30 – Ghost

Sometimes, Merlin swears he can hear Will’s voice in his head, telling him that he loves him and that he misses him too.

#31 – Book

As Merlin flipped though the pages of the magic book, he would remember his little experiments with Will, his best friend’s laughter still ringing in his ears.

#32 – Eye

Will doesn’t even remember what caused the fight but he had ended it because he couldn’t stand the way Merlin’s lip trembled, a tear escaping from his eye.

#33 – Never

Will never wanted to see Merlin leave him again so he knew he had to make sure that he would go first.

#34 – Sing

With his best friend at his side, Merlin called to the magic singing in his veins – he felt complete.

#35 – Sudden

“No! Arthur and I...we’re not like that,” Merlin said with an embarrassed flush and it's all Will needs to hear before he crushes his lips possessively against Merlin’s.

#36 – Stop

“I don’t care if the future king of Albion will hear us, don’t you dare stop,” Will said, wrapping his legs around Merlin’s slim waist.

#37 – Time

Even though it got him his first flogging he was thirteen, Will never stopped covering up for Merlin’s magic.

#38 – Wash

Merlin washed the blood from Will’s back tenderly, his throat hoarse with emotion, “It was my fault, Will, I’m so sorry.”

#39 – Torn

It killed him to know that if he used his magic, maybe, he could have saved Will but he’ll never know now.

#40 - History

“Will and I had... a history,” Merlin finally admitted to Arthur.

#41 – Power

“You have the power to end this whole thing with Kanan, but you won’t,” Will accused the young warlock.

#42 – Bother

He would not admit it but deep down, Will was more bothered by the fact that Merlin was so attached to Arthur’s opinion of him.

#43 – God

“You could be a God if you wanted to be,” Will said, planting a kiss to his lover’s sleeping forehead.

#44 – Wall

Will pressed Merlin against the wall, warm solid flesh against his, reminding him that this was not a dream.

#45 – Naked

He lay naked next to him, still breathing heavily, “I’ve missed this.”

#46 – Drive

Will had reached the borders of Ealdor but he did not care for survival any more, he had to be where Merlin was.

#47 – Harm

“I don’t expect you to understand,” Merlin had said then looked away, missing the flash of hurt etched across his best friend’s face.

#48 – Precious

Merlin chose his words carefully, knowing that these may be his last words to Will, “Don’t be scared, I love you.”

#49 – Hunger

Will held out his bowl of food to Merlin, “Here, I’ve already eaten.”

#50 – Believe

Merlin knows that his best friend and lover will be alright, that Will has gone to a better place but the tears still come.

[drabble] In Every Way, ?/Arthur M

2009-07-13T14:13:20Z

Title: In Every Way
Pairing: Implied Morgana/Uther, Morgana/Arthur - scroll to reveal
Rating: M
Word count: 87
Warning: Incestish. Sexuality - het. Drabble.
Spoilers: 1x11 To Kill the King
Summary: She is his secret and secret keeper.

Arthur is spellbound at her caresses. He lets her push him into bed with her straddling him, tearing his clothes off. She takes him in her mouth the way he likes it and then he loses all comprehension.

They never say anything. This is their secret. She is his secret and secret keeper. She promised that she would never tell his father.

“You’re a better man than your father. I meant it in every way,” Morgana says, admiring Arthur’s manhood one last time before leaving his chambers.

[original poetry] Bad News

2009-07-10T11:09:22Z

You spare a thought or two
fleeting platitudes
for the unfortunate soul
who hears The Bad News -
they have the big C
or that they are going to die
sooner than they had expected
or that they are not
together anymore
broken up
or that they will lose
someone something
somewhere sometime
soon
or their loved one has left
this world forever.

Do not fault me for
not saying the right things
or offering to help
as I try to digest this
coarse fibrous matter
churning it over in
my mind-stomach
taking it in slowly
as I go on with my day.

When it hits me,
in the midst of
what is now insignificant -
I think
ohholyshitohmygod.
Things are going
to be different now.

If fate dares
to conspire
to steal me
from my rightful place
at your side,
I will think of you
- and endure your loss -
so that you will wait long
to join me in peace.

Understanding, Arthur/Morgana M 1/1

2009-07-09T13:51:31Z

Title: Understanding
Pairing: Uther/Morgana, Uther/Arthur, Morgana/Arthur (future!sex) - scroll to reveal
Rating: M
Word count: 3673
Warning: Non con, incest, sexuality - slash and het. Non-explicit sex, only very brief. Some profanity. Disturbing themes.
Summary: A terrible secret brings Morgana and Arthur together. Arthur understands Morgana more than she thinks.

This story is dedicated to The Fake Apollo. Thanks for encouraging me to continue writing. I hope you find this story to your satisfaction.

It was another boring banquet. They feasted so often it wasn’t really a cause for celebration. Every time a lord or lady arrived, every time a sorcerer or sorceress was executed, every birthday and on and on it went. Tonight they are celebrating the arrival of Lord Durnhelm. If it weren’t the fact that it would be unladylike to do so, Morgana would get as drunk as the Knights. Or maybe even more so. Why not? Why should the men get all the fun? There were some things she wouldn’t mind putting out of her mind for a while in the happy haze of wine.

“So beautiful”, he whispers into her ear before readjusting his crown and leaving her in the dark, bruised and broken.

Instead, Morgana sat there with her face impassive, still and beautiful like a statue that belonged to the castle. Uther always liked it when she was dressed up and here she is in a beautiful dress, fully covered but sheer at just the right parts. It accentuated her slim form, making her irresistible. She saw the way Lord Durnhelm cast his gaze at her but she regretted that he could never have her. Someone had her already, she knew grimly, unable to forget the bars of her invisible prison – longing to be free.

For a Lord, Durnhelm was exceptionally well-mannered. He had modestly indulged as it would be a diplomatic offense for him to abstain at his own feast but he wasn’t intoxicated. He has his full attention on her. He was not inclined to showing off his fighting prowess or his riches. Morgana discovered that he is a charming conversation partner after Uther had stopped capitalising her conversation and retired for the night. She felt sorry for him. The poor Lord was caught between an invisible crossfire and he didn’t even know there was a battle going on. She wished that maybe she could accompany Lord Durnhelm for a moonlit walk but it wasn’t worth the risk. Not if he found out.

“If I may be so bold to ask my Lady Morgana, will you allow me the privilege of escorting you back to you chambers to retire for the night? It must have been a long day for you,” Lord Durnhelm said with a hopeful smile.

“Thank you, Knight Durnhelm, you have been a most gracious guest tonight. I’m afraid that I have something to discuss with Arthur about the court tomorrow. I should accompany Arthur to make sure he does not lose his way,” Morgana laughed, lying smoothly and trying to make a joke of it. From here she could see Arthur swaying slightly, obviously trying to hide it, but he was standing a few feet from her, holding the wall. Or was the wall holding him?

“Of course, my Lady, I understand.” There was not a hint of sarcasm or bitterness in Durnhelm’s tone and Morgana really was sorry that she could not be more responsive to his attentions. The noble kissed her hand, wished her goodnight and then bowed and retreated quietly.

Morgana smoothed out the wrinkles in her skirt, downing the last of the wine. She looked over at Arthur and sighed. He was intoxicated again. She could tell “Arthur,” she said commandingly, “Come on, let’s go.” She bent his arm for him and grabbed it. “You idiot,” she mumbled under her breath so that only he could hear, “If your father hears about you...”

Arthur seemed to straighten up almost instantly and swivelled around to look at her like he had just woken up from a deep sleep. “Morgana?”

“Yes, it’s me,” Morgana said in a biting tone however her grip on his waist was gentle and she guided him as he tried not to weave in the corridors leading to their chambers. In the moonlight, she could see that the crown had tousled his golden hair. His face was waxen and his eyes were flat but he was still the handsome crown prince that all the ladies wanted. The tiredness lining his body showed the cracks in his icy facade. On a closer look, Arthur looked slightly gaunt. Morgana sighed and wished that he would take care of himself better instead of relying on others to take care of him.

Arthur stepped on her dress twice and she admonished him but she was not truly angry. Arthur was arrogant and spoilt and irritating but she knew him well enough to know that he had a lot on his shoulders. Uther pressured him mercilessly, more of a king than a father so Arthur was as good as an orphan. To sit on a throne was to carry all the burdens of the kingdom and she did not envy Arthur. She pitied him. Not that she would let him know, it would hurt his masculine pride. Oh if the people knew that their prince was just a boy who tried his best to please a demanding father, what would they think then?

Morgana had been so lost in her thoughts that she barely realised it when she reached their wing. It was deserted. She could call up Gwen or Merlin but they had been given leave for tonight. No, she could handle this. She smirked. Usually the man was supposed to take the lady to her chambers first. She steered Arthur towards his own bed.

He resisted, his body locking up, stiff. “Almost there, Arthur,” she huffed. “Help me.” She tried to guide him with one hand, pulling up the hem of her flowing skirts with the other.

With Morgana’s verbal prompt, Arthur regained his step and nudged her towards her chamber, gentlemanly even in his inebriation. Morgana understood and started to head towards her chamber relieved that he was not leaning as heavily on her.

“I know why you won’t let anyone touch you,” he said suddenly in a quiet voice when they were at her doorway. He leant against it casually though Morgana could see that he was still feeling the effects of the wine.

Morgana thought she should humour him. “Pray tell, Prince Arthur.” She rolled her eyes as she headed for the privacy screen in the corner of the room. There was a long silence as she helped herself out of the elaborate, silk gown and the layered skirts. She slipped on a plain cotton long-sleeved nightdress. It was cold tonight and there was no point in putting on a flimsy slip. She hated those anyway.

She’s interrupted by Arthur’s voice. Quiet but authoritative. She thought he’d left. “I’ve seen the way he lusts after you.”

“Who? You’d know all about lust wouldn’t you, Arthur?” Morgana responded, shuffling back into Arthur’s view.

Arthur stared at her intensely, “Don’t.” She could see the blueness of his eyes even in dim light from the window. “Don’t play games with me.”

Morgana ignored him, undoing her hair at the dresser. Ringlets of hair descended on her shoulders.

“You can’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.” She could see him clenching and unclenching his fists, his jaw set stubbornly. “Like it didn’t happen.”

She sighed loudly, picking the jewelled pins out of her dark hair and scattering them on the wooden table with more force than was necessary. Turning to him, she said flatly, “You’re drunk, Arthur. Just go.” Then she softened, “Go to sleep.”

“He fucks you at night,” Arthur said crudely.

Morgana hardened and said in her steeliest tones, slashing at her brother with her words like a sword. “I don’t know what you’re on about.” But even she could hear the slight waver, the trace of doubt.

“Stop pretending. Ignorance doesn’t become you, Morgana. Don’t act all innocent.” Arthur pulled his handsome face into a hurtful sneer. “You’re not, are you?”

“Get out,” Morgana ordered. “GET OUT!” she screamed, shoving him with as much force as possible but she barely moved him. She threw her hairbrush at him and it hit him but he doesn’t even defend himself. There was a hysterical edge to her tone. She felt her tenuous control crack, the wine singing in her blood. She hoped that it was only them left in the wing and that all the servants had gone. She didn’t want anyone to gossip about this. “You. Don’t. Know. What. You’re. Talking. About,” she breathed slowly, trying to regain her calm.

Arthur turns his back on her then, disgusted. “I do,” he insisted with a bitter laugh. “Father dearest of course,” he said into the corridor, not even looking at her so she couldn’t see his expression.

She was shocked. Beyond shocked. Then she too laughed in the same hollow, mirthless way he did. “Very funny,” she said. “You’re so sick, Arthur.” She watched him as she went to close the door to her chambers. To end this horrible night. To turn a new page and try to forget this madness.

He’s holding her down and she’s struggling but she can’t break free of his grip. He pushes into her, smothering her lips with his.

“Sick is the right word,” Arthur half-turned to respond to her. She had to strain to hear him and when she looked at him now, he’s different. He had that pained look etched into him, like he’d been defeated in a tournament. The moonlight cast a grey net around him and he ages so much. He looked older than his father and bags sagged from his eyes, accentuated by the shadows. “You know however many sleep tonics you take, you can’t stop the nightmares. The nightmares are real and it’s like you’re awake but you’re not in control of your body. You start to lose track of when you sleep and when it’s real but it doesn’t matter. You can’t tell anyone and sometimes you don’t know if it’s actually happened or it’s all in your mind. That’s what it’s like. You never get any rest from it.”

For a moment, Morgana was angry, thinking that he was mocking her again. But his slumped figure haunted her and she knew that this was one of the times that he is being sincere. She doesn’t know how he knows, but he does know even if it pained him to admit the King he is loyal to is...dishonourable. The least she could do now was to hand the victory to him, maybe then, he would feel better about it. “Arthur,” she said uncertainly before he turned away again. She’d been hoping for someone to share her pain with and she has found it, on the most unlikely night of nights with the most unlikely person in her mind. She hopes that he will remember so maybe they will be able to find this connection again but she also hoped that maybe he’d be too drunk to remember. Then she could pretend this was just another night. “You were right,” she said with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “It is sick.” And then it hit her. If Arthur knows, who else knows? Did he tell someone? Does everyone know? She cursed herself for having been so careless. Uther...if he knew...

Arthur must have anticipated her panic, seeing her face pale even more. He walked the distance between them and squeezed one of her shoulders reassuringly. “No one else knows. It is not your fault. Your secret is safe with me.”

“Then how? How do you know?” Morgana was instantly curious. How could he know that it was not her fault? Arthur did not even seem to be shocked. Arthur was always loyal to Uther, loyal to a fault. How could he sound so calm when he was insinuating that Uther was to blame?

“I know you.”

Morgana scoffed but she wondered if Arthur was more observant than she gave him credit for. He would make a good king. For the first time, she was glad that he was going to be a king one day. Even if he was Uther Pendragon’s son. Even if this was Arthur the spoiled brat of a prince she was referring to.

“I sleep in the same wing after all,” he added pointedly.

Then she realised it made perfect sense. He might have been able to hear Uther then.

She nodded numbly and threw her slim arms around him to embrace him goodnight. It was unusual for them both to be so affectionate but then tonight is different and she acknowledges that. It is when she has Arthur fully enclosed within her arms, when she can feel his breath on her cheek, when she can feel the warmth emanating from him that she whispered in his ear, “Liar.”

He stiffened and his eyes snapped immediately to hers, his face inches away. His calmness was leaving him, she could see the tension flooding back in.

She saw it so clearly in her mind, like one of her special dreams.

He yanks the shaggy golden locks and forces the Arthur onto his knees. Later, he grinds the angelic face roughly into the mattress, grunting with satisfaction. “So beautiful,” he hisses into Arthur’s ear, teeth grazing the sensitive shell. “Like your mother.”

“You,” she began.

“No.” Fear and dread showed in his eyes. It was not something she would ever associate with a Pendragon. More like the beasts they were so fond of hunting. But he has the unmistakeable look of the hunted, like he wanted to flee. “Please, Morgana.” His eyes pleaded for him and Morgana felt a strange pull to protect him. Arthur never pleaded with her before because he said that a King never begs.

But she could not resist snatching the veil off when she was so close to the truth. He hurt her tonight she justifies lamely in her mind. But more importantly, she wanted no she needed insurance. A lady needs to protect herself. This knowledge, this shame could ruin her forever. “He did it to you too,” Morgana blurted out before she can stop it.

The look on his face horrified her even more than the images she saw in her mind. She felt like she had taken the spear through herself and plunged it into him also. She felt cold, like her blood was running out of her. A bloody bond between them indeed.

Arthur is left gaping, breathing heavily like it took all the breath out of him to gather himself. He tried to deny it but it was too late. He pushed Morgana away and headed for his room. The silence was so much more damning than words.

“Wait, Arthur!”

The hands are rough and yet he lets him. Uther doesn’t have to force him anymore.

He does not stop at her call, instead he increased his pace. He was the one pretending to be deaf now.

Morgana knows she just broke through his walls. Broke him. Her conscience would not allow her to just leave him like that. So wrapping her arms around her to shield her from the chill, she made the decision to go after him. She could only hope that he was too distracted, too distraught to lock his door.

She closed the door behind her but he was not facing her.

Arthur had taken his crown off gently, slowly undressing as if he was not awake. His fingers fumbled with the elaborate lacing of his ceremonial tunic, in his haste to get it off, he ripped it. It broke his trance and he was violently shredding his tunic now, tearing his sword off his hip and not even bothering with the leggings as he collapsed into bed with his hands covering his face. Morgana sat on the edge of the huge bed, with her hand resting softly on his shoulder as he curled up into a tight ball. What could she say to him to make him feel better? What can you say in such a fucked up situation? I’m sorry your father raped you like he raped me? I’m sorry I found out?

His voice sounded hoarse when he finally spoke again. “Sorry.”

Who would have thought Arthur Pendragon would admit he was wrong? A week or even a day ago, she might have paid to hear this but now, Morgana only felt sorrow at this admission. “Me too,” she said, tracing circles into his back. He seemed so small now, beside her. So young again.

“I can’t tell anyone. I want someone else to understand,” Arthur explained painfully. He spoke slowly, unsure of himself perhaps for the first time in a long time. “I mean not that I wanted someone to be hurt,” he added quickly. “But it was like...”

“You didn’t want to be alone,” Morgana finished for him. She struggled to find the words too but she understands now. The pain, the sorrow, the secrecy. She almost choked with it all. “All those times, I could hear his footsteps and thought, hoped that it wouldn’t be tonight that he wouldn’t...want...it was you.” It seemed like a question and a confession of the darkest kind. Yet Morgana felt guilty about feeling a release with the pain. Like something had been lifted from her and she hoped that Arthur could feel it too.

Perhaps he did because he rolled over, giving her more room. Morgana took it for the invitation it was. Pendragons, she thought, they don’t say it in as much words as they do it. A flash of shame burned in her for putting him in the same category as his father. No, he is not his father. He is Arthur and he is her brother. Perhaps the only one who could understand the pain that she went though. Is going through. Because he has it too.

As she slips down next to him, in the warmth where he lay before, she had a sudden horrible thought of Uther being there. But she banished it. He’s going hunting tomorrow. He won’t come for me. Or Arthur, she thought protectively.

Arthur is facing her now, his face clenched in misery.

She grabbed his free hand, shifting to try and get comfortable. “How can you stand it? All those ladies...” she trailed off. She knew she wasn’t making much sense.

He swallowed loudly. He understood exactly what she was talking about. He is known for attracting the ladies and it was easy. The men too, he thought with a shudder. But it meant nothing to him. He just wanted to forget. He knows it’s a selfish thing but he doesn’t think he has enough of himself to share around anymore. He tries to lighten the heaviness that had fallen between him and Morgana, “How can you stand being alone? Not letting anyone touch you...”

She jerks defensively and he squeezed her hand to let her know that he was not making fun of her. He had been so desperate.

“Uther,” they both said quietly, reaching the conclusion in mutual agreement. It was all that they could do to let go of that terrible secret.

“We cope differently I guess,” Morgana stated blandly but she felt her walls cracking too and she didn’t know how long she can continue going on like this. But at least, maybe, it’ll get easier now, she hoped.

Arthur brought her hand near the light and pushed her sleeve up gently, revealing the ugly purple bruises on her wrist that she had hidden at the banquet with an ornate bracelet. A present from Uther she thought ironically. “You still fight him,” he commented with a note of admiration and perhaps sadness.

Morgana wondered what would be worse – to find a matching bruise on his wrist or to find none at all? Icy veins of fear ran through her. She read the defeat in Arthur’s eyes. He must have stopped fighting. She wanted to tell him to fight, fight with her, fight for her but she cannot. It is perhaps the first time she thinks Arthur might be even more broken than she is, that he has suffered longer and that he is better at hiding his injuries. She wondered maybe if there are bruises that only she can see on him or inside him. She knew so very well that sometimes injuries leave no visible marks and those can hurt the most.

“You’re still brave,” she said when she can’t think of anything else to say. She stroked his face with her hand. She could feel his shoulders trembling, him gritting his teeth, his hand squeezing hers so tightly it hurt. “It’ll be alright,” she lied, with the confidence you would to a comfort a child. Or perhaps a grieving friend. She knows it’s a lie but it is one she would have wanted to hear, the one she had always wished that someone would say to her so she could believe it just for that moment, that yes, everything will be ok in the morning. She refrained from saying anything for a long time, just rubbing circles with the thumb of her hand, stroking his hair, his face, holding his hand.

Sometime between a second and eternity, Arthur buried his face in her shoulder and his carefully shielded emotions shattered like a lance piercing through chain mail.

Perhaps someday, they will find solace in each other. Even love. Perhaps he will lay with her forever and they will not have to face the world alone again. Perhaps they will free themselves from the chains that bind them. Perhaps she will not be broken and him defeated but they both emerge from the debris, an allied victory. Perhaps she will lay a kiss to his forehead, keeping her eyes on him as she undressed him. Perhaps he will gaze on her with tenderness as he cherishes her like no other.

Perhaps.

But for now, Morgana holds Arthur tightly as he sobs quietly in the privacy of his chambers. She does not know if it is his tears that fall on her face or perhaps they are her own. They are safe. They can rest, knowing that there is another in the world that understands how much this means.

Poetic Cycles, Spock/Uhura G 1/1

2009-07-08T16:05:38Z

Title: Poetic Cycles
Pairing: Sarek/Amanda, Spock/Uhura
Rating: G
Word count: 2785
Warning/Disclaimer: I tried to be as cannon as possible with Lady Amanda but I've taken some liberties movie-style. Spock/Uhura. I understand that some people really don't like this pairing so you have been warned! Literary references. Both poems ('Work Without Hope' and 'Desire') are by Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Total lack of kink sorry.
Summary: Spock witnesses an intimate moment between his mother and father concerning a book of Terran poetry. The way Spock is with Uhura now - it's poetic. Response to st_xi_kink prompt: "Would someone draw a parallel from this poem [Work Without Hope] to Scotty, Bones, or even Spock! Well anyone really just ah-would someone write a response to this?"

Sometimes, as she veiled herself from the scorching rays of the hot Vulcan sun, Amanda missed being on Earth. It was midday and while she was used to the dry heat, it was not advisable for her to venture outside. The best times for her to be outside were during the early hours of the morning and in twilight, the sky adorned with a dusky pink glow. Kept inside in the radiance of the day, it left her feeling restless, imprisoned and lonely. Her thoughts would inevitable drift to her time on Earth, having been outside in at noon, basking in the warmth of the sun. She knew she could truthfully say that she was the only one on Vulcan who felt that way and it was a sobering thought.

Nevertheless, the Lady Amanda would not regret falling in love with Sarek. Though he only showed emotion in the privacy of their quarters and was entirely logical almost to a fault – he undoubtedly cared for her in his own stilted way. She had learnt to look for signs of his affection in the most discreet of gestures and to listen closely, not to the words he said but the ones he did not feel he have to say. Her union with Sarek had been trying but it had bore them the miraculous gift of a son. She knew it was not easy for Spock to be half-human and half-Vulcan. At least she could say that there was an entire planet full of people like her. He was really unique, the only Human-Vulcan hybrid in existence. She did not care that people felt that he was deficient. He would always be perfect to her in every way and she was proud of him. She made sure to reinforce this to him even though he assured her he did not need ‘such human comforts’.

While Spock was at school and Sarek was in discussion with the Federation Council, she was left in the compound and everything was quiet. Too quiet. Amanda did not have many possessions from Earth but Sarek had allowed her a wide array of literary works from Earth. After all they were of ‘educational value’ and could serve as ‘cultural resources’. Amanda knew that Sarek had meant that he wanted to her to feel comfortable with her human heritage. He was willing to compromise for her too because he knew that sacrifices that she had to make for him.

At times like this, when was alone, Amanda would read passages of Terran classics aloud. Part of it was to fill the silence. Part of it was to ensure that she kept up with Terran languages. Part of it was to transport herself back in a world that was different, green and lush. A place where emotions were as important as breathing and everything was about feeling. Where life was not about the most logical way to live but about the passion and vivacity of living. These personal imaginative retreats gave Amanda time to get in touch with her humanity without it being a hindrance. It was not easy to be human on Vulcan. She let the words soak into her like sinking into a relaxing bath.

“All nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair—
The bees are stirring—birds are on the wing—
And Winter, slumbering in the open air,
Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring!
And I, the while, the sole unbusy thing,
Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.”

One of the things she missed most is the sound of poetry. Poetry in Vulcan was like winter. Vulcans stayed away from it. There was barely any rain let alone snow as Vulcan was a desert planet. She asked Sarek about this peculiar ...lacking in Vulcan culture and he patiently explained to her that Vulcans did not use poetic language as it obscured the clarity of meaning. Any Vulcan poetry pre-dated Surak and is studied for historical purposes. Aesthetics of language were unimportant. Amanda could have argued for the uses of aesthetics but she had learnt to accept the differences between their cultures. This was one of the things they had agreed to disagree on. It was logical after all.

Still, Amanda misses the vivid language of poetry. As a professor of xenolinguistics and a love of xenoliterature, the sensuous images of poetry fed her intellectual hunger. Vulcans could not be more opposite to poetry with its emotive qualities and tendency for superfluous detail.

“Yet well I ken the banks where amaranths blow,
Have traced the fount whence streams of nectar flow.
Bloom, O ye amaranths! bloom for whom ye may,
For me ye bloom not! Glide, rich streams, away!”

She can recall the first time Sarek gives her a bouquet of flowers almost with the eidetic texture of a Vulcan mind. She had genuinely been surprised at his gesture but she wisely refrained from insulting him by calling it heartfelt or anything emotive.

He had held the bunch of red roses behind his back citing twentieth century romantic films. “I believe humans make this gesture in courtship,” he said, explaining his actions with one eyebrow raised in bewilderment. “I hope you will find these to your satisfaction.” Amanda tried not to be amused at the vexed look on his face. With much prompting, he admitted that the symbolism of the act of giving flowers knowing that they will die eluded his understanding. Flowers on Vulcan were rare and to cut them would be illogical, he reasoned. Though he understood they were more abundant on Earth, he still believed it “appears to be a waste of resources”. Amanda had told him it was the thought that counts and then went on to explain the human adage.

Even now Sarek preferred to give her potted plants because they are more practical since freshly cut flowers do not last. Especially not with the hot atmosphere of Vulcan. Amanda lamented that most of the Earth varieties wilt quickly and must be kept in the temperature regulated greenhouse that Sarek had commissioned for her benefit.

“With lips unbrighten'd, wreathless brow, I stroll:
And would you learn the spells that drowse my soul?”

It took three months into their courtship before their hands touched. Both had been careful to avoid accidental brushes of fingers. Amanda had known that Vulcans were very particular about hand contact since the hands were erogenous zones and Vulcans were touch telepaths. She respected his customs, knowing that he would touch her when he was ready.

During one of their customary strolls in the evening, she finally gathered up her courage and confessed that she was in love with him. His features rearranged themselves in an expression that she would come to recognise as surprise. “I do not find your emotions objectionable” he had said. The wonder of a warm hand on hers told her that he loves her too.

Amanda smiled fondly at the memory then she turned back to her book to finish the poem. She was surprised as a familiar, soft voice joined her.

“Work without Hope draws nectar in a sieve,
And Hope without an object cannot live.”

Sarek was leaning on their plain doorway, face as impassive as ever. “Work without Hope by Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 1825,” he recited dutifully.

Amanda felt embarrassment creep to her cheeks. With his memory, he would think he had married a sentimental fool. “I was just practicing the intonation of my native tongue.”

“Quite logical. Please excuse my interruption, my wife.”

“No, not at all, my husband. You’re welcome.” She paused thoughtfully, “I didn’t expect you back so soon. Is something wrong?” Instantly, she was worried. “Is it Spock?”

“Do not worry my wife, the council merely adjourned early today because Ambassador Suket has other matters to tend to.”

“I see.” Gesturing awkwardly to the book, she said, “I remember that was the first poem we shared.”

Sarek knew that his wife was stating the obvious but he didn’t say so. “Indeed,” he agreed patiently.

Amanda knew that Sarek couldn’t say what he needed to say, his Vulcan pride would not permit him to. Yet he stood awkwardly at the door, undecided, unable to leave. She extends an olive branch to him, with a soft, affectionate glance. “If it will not impede on your work, would you like to join me?” She slides another chair over, a physical gesture of invitation.

“I would find the experience enlightening.” He sat with Amanda for the whole afternoon, listening to her read and when prompted, read to his wife. His t’hy’la.

As Sarek read, he noticed Amanda’s lay her hand softly by his stomach, where his Vulcan heart was. The beats, much faster than a human heart, felt like a hummingbird’s thrum. A smile lay at the edge of her lips. It never ceased to amuse and amaze her that he was so different yet to similar to her. Sarek did not prevent her from this strange gesture, deeming it conducive to reinforcing his wife’s understanding of Vulcan physiology.

With her free hand, Amanda turns to one of her favourite poems in the entire anthology. She looked expectantly at Sarek and he indulged her, speaking fluently in Terran English without a hint of an accent.

“Where true Love burns Desire is Love's pure flame,” he began.

“It is the reflex of our earthly frame.”

“That takes its meaning from the nobler part.”

“And but translates the language of the heart,” she finished, closing her eyes and savouring the moment.

In her lifetime, not once will he be able to say to her the three words she wished she could hear most from him. She never stopped wanting, waiting, hoping but Amanda knew that you cannot always get what you want and sometimes you had to settle for what’s close enough. She would settle for this moment then.

Later when Spock came home from school, he sees his parents in the sitting room together reading a book of romantic poetry by a Terran poet. His curiosity leads him to eavesdrop even though he knows that it is impolite to do so. His father is reading ridiculously romantic phrases to his mother in his neutral tones. Spock could not think of any purpose such literature could serve or his father’s recitation of such nonsense.

Still, Spock did not disturb them. He would recall this memory with much confusion and when he was older, with fondness. His mother and father sat close together, their bodies angled towards each other though they were barely touching. The only sign of his father’s affection for his mother is that their fingers are loosely entwined. Quietly he retreated up the stairs. It never ceased to puzzle him how illogical his father could be around his mother. But recalling again the look on his mother’s face, so open and content – Spock was glad.

Cadet Uhura had just finished marking the papers for Commander Spock. She had gotten them marked ahead of schedule to ensure that she could be free to assist with Commander Spock’s presentation later in the afternoon. They had only recently decided to begin ‘courting’ one another and though he had said that she was welcome in his office, she still felt a little out of place and out of her depth. She was a Cadet and he was a Commander. Not to mention intellectual capacity and Vulcan strength. In his absence, she wondered if she might put the papers on his desk and return later. He was probably fixing up the holoprojector for the presentation, she mused. However, she was curious about his office. When she put the bundle of pads down, she noticed that Spock had a book. An actual book, not a data padd open to on his desk. Curiosity won out and she decided she would stay. Just to have a quick glance. She was not surprised that the Commander had Terran literature. After all, she had seen Alice in Wonderland on one of his bookshelves a while back. She did want to know what he had been reading.

Uhura perused the book in her hands, turning it over with reverence. It was a slim anthology of Coleridge’s poems. On the inside cover was a name marked in pen ‘Amanda Grayson’. His mother, she realised. She felt a little guilty for touching it like she had witnessed something private.

“Cadet Uhura.”

“Commander Spock!” Uhura exclaimed putting the volume down quickly, retreating from his desk. “I’m sorry, I was just curious...”

“I see you have found my Terran literature. I appreciate Earth’s cultural history and am trying to gain knowledge about classical poetry.” He spoke with his hands behind his back, voice even.

It sounded like a perfectly logical explanation but Uhura was not a xenolinguistics student for nothing. Perhaps it was the brief moment when he averted his gaze as he spoke. There was something about the way Spock had said it that made her look at him expectantly.

After a long pause, Spock relented. “This volume of poetry was my mother’s. That poem you read was the first of many that she shared with my father.”

Uhura did not comment as she did not know what to say. She did not want to ruin the moment. She knew that Spock had recently begun to see her in a different light, beyond that of his assistant but he rarely shared anything about himself. Vulcans were intensely private beings.

“Are you familiar with the work of this Terran poet?”

Uhura furrows her eyebrows as she recalled Samuel Taylor Coleridge from her History of Human Linguistics class that she took while she was still a junior. “Um, I have read his work before but a long time ago,” she admitted with a blush to her chocolate-coloured cheeks. One of her hands immediately went to twirl her ponytail but she suppressed the very human desire to fidget.

“I see. And what is your analysis of this sample of Coleridge’s work?”

Uhura began listing the qualities, analysing the components of the work in her head as if translating the language of the work. “Structurally, it is written as a sonnet, a fourteen line poem, though not in its traditional, conventional form. The poetic cycle is very similar to it nonetheless with most of the content developed in the first twelve lines and the last two lines presenting the overall theme to the reader.”

“Which is?” he prompted, ever the instructor.

“It is impossible to draw nectar through a sieve... so one must work with hope. And hope must have a purpose.” She smiled as she figured out the puzzle. “Thus work must have a purpose.” She tilted her head with a small, hesitant smile. “I’m sure that Vulcans would agree with that logic.”

“You are correct in all aspects,” Spock acknowledged.

Uhura flushed anew with his praise, slightly ducking her head.

“You are very astute. You detected a connection between this piece of Terran poetry and Vulcan philosophy which my mother also observed. She said that hope, an emotion, is what completes the purpose, being logic. Hence logic combined with emotion ‘gets work done’,” Spock said, his eyes twinkling with mirth. He said looked at the Cadet with emotion as he said this, letting his guard down momentarily and letting his gaze speak the words that he could not yet say. You are my purpose. I need you.

Nyota understood what he meant anyway beaming at him. “Your mother is a wise woman.”

“Indeed. She studied xenolinguistics.” Like you. Spock wanted to tell her that she was beautiful. He wanted to tell her all about his mother. He wanted to reach out to her, to close the gap between them. His human hormones flowed through his copper green blood-

Spock tensed. He had revealed too much of his emotions, his feelings. It was too soon and he had forgotten himself.

Nyota could see his impassive expression sliding back into place, his hand dropping down beside him. She swallowed her disappointment, remembering her promise. Uhura had said that she would be happy with whatever he could give her. Today, this was as far as he was willing to go. It would never be easy, dating the only human-Vulcan hybrid in existence but she knew it would be worth it.

“Let’s go get some work done then.” Uhura deliberately infused a light tone in her speech, letting him know that she was pleased. Thank you for sharing this with me.

He nodded with a grateful glance. Spock and Uhura headed off down the corridor with matching strides, the bud of a companionship which would blossom in time.

AN: To my surprise, this poem was a challenging one to tackle! I thought adding another poem into it made it easier. Hadn't planned on making it another Coleridge one but 'Desire' had worked pretty well so I kept it that way. I almost gave up because it was just not coming. Anyway, hope you enjoyed it :)

"Substitution and Submission" Merlin/Arthur NC-17 3/?

2009-07-06T11:40:39Z

Title: Substitution.and Submission (AKA The Most Screwed Up Merlin/Arthur Fic Ever)
Pairing: Slash. Merlin/Arthur, Uther/Arthur (implied past dub-con)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 5821
Spoilers: up to 1.07 The Gates of Avalon.
Warnings: Dark!Merlin, Broken!Arthur, non-con, dub-con, fucked up role-playing, incest, abuse of magic, violence, secondary character deaths, suicide, self-harm/cutting, generally disturbing themes. Basically as fucked up a fic as I could make it and definitely the most screwed up thing I've ever written. Not for those easily offended.
Summary: Prompt from kinkme_merlin Arthur and Merlin have a really dark, creepy fucked up disturbing relationship. In exactly what way it's fucked up I will leave it up to you but the darker the better. I'm a fan of dark!Merlin in particular so would be happy if he made an appearance but if you want to do something different that's fine.

Part 2

After they make love in the beauty of the awakening dawn, Merlin drapes a long black tunic on his king’s bare shoulders. Mourning clothes. It is custom to wear them for a month after the passing of the member of a royal family. They made sure most of the skin was covered down to the ground with a single row of buttons down the front. The sleeves had to be laced individually as well. Still, Arthur enjoyed the dressing ritual. It is rare that Merlin is needed for dressing duties after all. Arthur loves it way Merlin’s fingers brush lightly against his skin. It reminds Arthur of the way they used to be. Back when Arthur did not have the weight of the kingdom on his shoulders and Merlin was his bumbling manservant with what his father labelled a ‘grave mental affliction’.

If it weren’t for the fact that missing a meeting is a great diplomatic insult and could potentially start a war, Merlin and Arthur might have risked being late to the meeting. But responsibility called to Arthur and Merlin, flushed and flustered, nodded his understanding to his King.

“I’m going to need a couple of minutes,” Merlin said a little unsteadily. His glare dared Arthur to make fun of him.

Arthur merely winked over his shoulder and shut the door behind him.

Arthur spends a long day at the court with Merlin at his side, bargaining with General Urien of Nador. Urien is wearing a full suit of armour even though they were not in battle. He is a broad-shouldered man, taller than Arthur and his hair just beginning to turn grey. He has none of the youthfulness that Arthur possesses; instead his face seemed permanently schooled into a severe kind of grimace. A gold sash adorns him with his military honours and a ceremonial cape on his shoulders offsets the hostility of the armour. But the large broadsword belted at his waist gave him the appearance of aggression. Merlin told Arthur to let him keep it as a gesture of faith from Camelot. He was confident that if it were necessary, he could protect Arthur with his magic. Arthur scowled at the suggestion that he could not defend himself.

Merlin did not usually attend to courts unless Arthur was hosting guests, preferring to practice magic and heal the sick. When the young warlock is at court, he rarely speaks. It is clear that Merlin at least publicly defers to Arthur’s experience in diplomacy and politics. Merlin has found that this makes his presence less intimidating and his desire is to protect Arthur and his reign. He would not undermine his rule. Where lesser individuals may find the arrangement restrictive and insulting, Merlin knows it is Arthur who was born to be a king: not only a king, but a great king. It reminds Merlin that thought he is powerful he is only one side of the coin. He needs Arthur.

After two days of frustratingly slow and fruitless negotiations with General Urien, Merlin’s patience grows thin and he tries not to sigh or let his attentions waver. He is glad he is not a King. He grits his teeth and wonders if he could get away with making it rain indoors...

When everyone stands to leave, leaving Arthur seated, Merlin takes this as his cue to leave as well. Merlin stands and topples over the chair loudly. He starts to apologise but Arthur tells him to stay.

A look of displeasure crosses General Urien’s face and he addresses Merlin for the first time since the introductions.

“Your advisor too...Merlin is it? I hope you will not take offence if I request to speak with King Arthur privately?”

Merlin nods in agreement, relieved to be given an excuse to be free from the negotiations. He is about to summon the guards from outside the door, planning to surreptitiously cast a surveillance spell when Arthur interrupts stiffly.

“Anything you wish to say can be said in front of my advisor,” Arthur’s voice was decidedly firm.

Merlin blinks owlishly and smiles apologetically at Lord Urien who looks rather affronted at his Arthur’s denial of his polite request. The warlock wonders if this is some political power game that he’s missing or some kind of tradition being revoked. Either way he does not see his presence is necessary either as a bodyguard or overseeing the treaty about trading. The guards could come to replace him. “It’s alright...” Merlin slips into informality. “I mean with all due respect, your Majesty, I take no offence-”

Arthur eyes bore holes nailed him into place. “Anything Lord Urien wishes to say to me, he can say in your presence,” he says, establishing Merlin as his equal. “Merlin is my most trusted advisor, General Urien,” Arthur says with fierce conviction. “I assure you that anything you say here between the three of us will remain in the strictest confidence.”

Merlin thinks he might have to talk to Arthur about being over-protective. Really, he didn’t mind being sent away from some talk on trading as long as he kept the protective spell on Arthur but he righted his chair anyway and sat down without looking at the two men who seem to be locked in some sort of staring contest.

“Very well, your Majesty,” General Urien conceded. “Please accept my apologies, Merlin.” The General extended his hand towards Merlin who shook it firmly.

“None taken, General.” Merlin turns a friendly smile to Arthur and Arthur can not help but return it, however inappropriate it is. Merlin’s cheer is contagious and even General Urien’s countenance affected. His fierce frown was now a confused looking expression between a smile and a wince. It looked rather uncomfortable, Arthur thought, trying to suppress his amusement.

With his next words, Arthur breaks with formality and tradition directly in a way his father never would have. “Let’s put all our cards on the table shall we, General? Something on your mind? Speak your mind freely. And since we are speaking in privacy, I propose that we drop these titles. I believe you are a reasonable and military-minded man so, if you have no objections, let us talk as comrades.”

From his experience of both on and off field matters, Merlin has observed that Arthur’s intuition is excellent. He has a way of being blunt but honest that makes people trust him way more than Uther and his unctuous platitudes. Arthur may be less agreeable at times but he would go with you all the way. It inspired men to lay down their lives for him. The King’s bluntness cuts through the room like a sword. The General seems taken aback at Arthur’s charm. “I am in agreement, my Lord uh...”

“Arthur.” Then with deliberate poise, Arthur waves a hand to summon for some wine and a platter.

“Arthur,” the General amends congenially. “As a matter of fact, you have observed correctly that there is something on my mind. It is not related to our current trade agreements. I have a proposal for you which I hope will not offend you.”

“Go on,” Arthur said with interest, leaning forward.

“I am aware of your...unique household and ruling arrangement. I have a solution of sorts for you.” With a wary glance at the warlock, Urien continued, “To clarify, I have four daughters. The eldest is already married to Admiral Telos but you can have your choice of any of the remaining girls. The youngest, Carys, is seven. Elaine is fifteen and Adrianne is seventeen. An agreement between us will ensure that the...encounter will produce an heir for you. Discreetly, of course. I hope that we will have your blessing.” he added the last bit with a nervous nod towards Merlin.

Arthur seemed too shocked to respond. He’s gaping like a fish.

Merlin drank his cup of wine in one go and went to pour more for himself, sloshing the liquid in his haste. He kept his eyes studiously trained on the dark red liquid. He did not want to think about anyone else with Arthur. The warlock hoped that Arthur trusts him enough to not give in. He leaned over to grip Arthur on the shoulder. He supposed it could be interpreted as a possessive touch but he did not care. Arthur was his.

Urien plunged onwards, “Forgive me, Merlin. I am sure that you only have Arthur’s best interests at heart and I assure you that this proposition comes with the deepest of respect for your position as the King’s Consort.”

Arthur thought they’d been subtle enough but apparently Merlin is clearly his Consort in all but name. Denying it now would be stupid and a blatant show of dishonesty to a potential ally. Arthur sipped his wine, gathering his thoughts carefully. “You mean to make one of your daughter’s er, my wife?”

The General releases a full-bellied laugh. “If that is what you wish,” he chuckles, slapping the table jovially. Noting that neither of his hosts is laughing, he composes himself. “I apologise for my jest. I meant to propose one of my daughters as your mistress, Arthur. I am quite aware that your heart is already taken.” He spreads his palms in a placating manner.

“My mistress?” Arthur winced with the word, trying not to let his disdain for the idea filter through. The girls are young and they deserve more but even Arthur knows it is not his place to say such a thing.

“It would be her honour to do so. You are of course free to take more than one of my daughters if you are worried that she will not bear you a son. This is the traditional solution for warriors with unconventional proclivities in Nador.”

Morgana would have a fit if she ever heard about this, Arthur thought. “I thank you for your...generous offer Urien.”

Merlin felt his throat tighten and had to focus on the green ball of magic threatening to unleash. He tightened his grip on Arthur’s shoulder and deepened his breathing, reciting calming mantras in his head.

“But I cannot accept this now.”

General Urien seemed puzzled.

Running a hand through his hair to search for the right words, Arthur continued rambling excuses, “Especially not at this time. As you can see, I’m still in mourning. Such a discussion now would be inappropriate when my father is barely cold in his grave. Surely you understand.”

“Of course,” Urien agreed smoothly. “Perhaps you wish to think on this for the future?”

“Nor do I intend to accept in the future. Please wish your daughters every happiness and sent my best regards to them all.”

Urien furrowed his brows. “I hope I have not offended you, your Majesty.”

“No, you have not.” Arthur exhaled heavily, finally explaining, “I have already made arrangements. I apologise that I did not make this clearer but your offer was unexpected and took me off guard.”

“Of course, Arthur, I will prepare my party to leave tonight. The trade negotiations you offered on the first day are sufficient. If you will have them sent to my room, I shall sign them. I apologise for holding up your progress but you did not respond to the traditional gestures.” Urien waves off the apology Arthur is undoubtedly forming. “I am glad we spoke plainly so we had no misunderstandings between us.” He stands with the rasp of metal on metal, a signal that the meeting is over.

Arthur nods and then stood to give a shallow bow to the General. “I appreciate your generosity and your hand of friendship to Camelot. Travel safely, General Urien. Camelot will welcome you again.”

With a stiff metallic clang, the General clasped a fist over his heart in a traditional salute to comrades. “I am grateful for your service.” He marched off with one last knowing look at Merlin’s hand on Arthur’s shoulder that makes the warlock’s spine tingle defensively.

When it is just the King and his sorcerer again, Arthur lets out a sigh of relief. Arthur thinks that his father might have been proud of him, being able to pull of such a facade of confidence. He is willing to bet that his father never had to deal with such unusual proposals but then again his father would not have fallen for a former servant. Even if that former servant was now practically the most powerful sorcerer in the kingdom. Arthur still feels his father’s absence keenly but he is a King now and he has to be strong.

Merlin is not known as Arthur’s ‘cunningman’ for nothing. He uses his grip on the King’s shoulder to give him an affectionate squeeze. Now that they are in private, Merlin draws his lover into a warm embrace. The brunet leans his forehead against Arthur’s, not caring about the golden crown digging into his brow. “Don’t worry Arthur. I’ll take care of everything for you. Just trust me.”

Arthur feels the tension leech away from him. It surprises him how easily the answer comes to him. “I do.” With his back to the table, he pulls Merlin on top of him, parting his thighs to allow the warlock easy access. Merlin’s eyes flash and the king’s black tunic is hitched up to his waist, Merlin’s fingers pushing his tights down. When the warlock’s hands delicately curl around Arthur’s shaft and strokes him, the blond throws his head back in ecstasy.

The warlock crackles with magic and the room is completely sealed and soundproofed. The room pulses with Merlin’s power and his eyes turn from golden and briefly flickers into the hypnotic emerald that Arthur has only seen once before. “Mine,” Merlin whispers possessively, taking Arthur in his mouth.

Later, if Arthur sees the handprint-shaped bruises on his hips and the bit marks adorning his neck and chest, he smiles and wears them gladly like medals.

With the negotiations and Urien’s Farewell Feast at an end, Merlin insists that his King should take a break. “You shouldn’t overwork yourself. You’re scheduled for drills with the knights today. You know Lancelot is more than capable of handling it.”

“It’s not Lancelot or the knights I’m worried about. I have a duty to my people Merlin.”

“I think we should spend some time together, just relaxing, that kind of thing.”

“We do everything together.” Arthur raises an eyebrow at Merlin’s pout but he can feel his heart weakening behind his iron armour.

Merlin gives Arthur a pleading and Arthur gives in. It is surprising how some things don’t change. This is how they ended up in the woods, having a picnic in the middle of nowhere. It’s been a long time since Arthur has worried about evil creatures in the woods or bandits – between his sword skills and Merlin’s magic, they have everything covered. It is a companionship which makes Arthur feel fulfilled and he is glad to be away from the court even if he feels a little guilty shirking off. His father would have never done such a thing but his father is not here right now.

“Arthur,” Merlin cuts into his gloomy thoughts with a cheerful exuberance. “C’mon. Even kings should be allowed time off. Let’s just enjoy this?” He knows better than to ask Arthur not to be king for a day. That would be like asking Arthur to forget his name so he settles for trying to get Arthur to be just Arthur when they are alone.

Arthur lets Merlin’s happiness wash over him as they eat. He notices the light set on Merlin as it filters through the trees. And people say his hair is a like a halo in the sun. He thinks it shines so much more clearly around Merlin and it suits him better.

Then the warlock brings out some luscious cherries with sweet honey. “Feed me,” Merlin says mischievously. He pops a cherry on his tongue, slowly swirling it around. As he nibbles into the dark red flesh, the juices stain his lips a vivid red.

“You know, I’m the King. You’re supposed to feed me.” Arthur takes a cherry from the bowl to prove his point.

“Mmmm,” Merlin mumbles around another cheery. He dips it into the honey first, licking it with a sinful sensuousness. The syrup runs down his chin, he takes one sticky finger and trails it down his own skin before sucking the digit off with a wet pop.

Arthur would say to his former manservant that he is actually making a mess and that it’s rude to play with food. He really would say it but he knows the bulge in his trousers would give evidence to the contrary. Arthur can barely wrap his mind around the fact that Merlin’s lips are practically caressing the cherry before eating it. Arthur almost chokes on his mouthful for fruit. He can smell Merlin’s breath: sweet and fruity and irresistible. Arthur reminds himself that he’s a warrior and he won’t give in so easily. He counterattacks. Covering the cherry generously in the sticky syrup, Arthur puts the cherry in his mouth, not quite biting into it, intending to pass it onto his lover.

Merlin catches on quickly. His face is in front of Arthur’s as he delicately catches the fruit from the King’s lips, letting the juice spill onto his own red lips. Arthur is completely fixated by the sight of Merlin stripping the fruit down to the seed, the warlock’s long fingers dripping with sugary juices. Arthur licks the juice from those fingers then quietly, calculatingly, he puts another cherry into his mouth and they do this slow dance again. Merlin eats and Arthur slowly cleans him up. Sometimes, Arthur licks the juice from the corner of Merlin’s mouth as it escapes, his tongue following the trail upwards, tasting the tarty sweetness of the fruit from Merlin’s lips as they tangle in a kiss.

With each cherry disappearing from the bowl, Arthur feels victorious. It reminds him that Merlin may be the one taking from him but Arthur is the one that feeds him.

It is Merlin’s habit to collect herbs in the morning for his alchemy experiments and for making medicines. He still enjoys the art of science even though he could use his magic. There is just something fulfilling about doing it by hand, putting work into making something.

Arthur’s mornings are either spent in court, trade and border negotiations, giving audience to those that request it or training knights. It is tedious work. Sometimes he yearns for the adventures he used to have but peace is hard to come by so he cherishes the dullness. On the rare day that there are no audiences requested, Arthur spends the time resting. He still enjoyed a good ride and a stroll but ever since he has become king, it is difficult to wander around without either Merlin or the guards for protection so privacy was a valuable commodity. He prefers to spend the time he has in privacy even if it meant he had to sequester himself in the dark and draughty King’s chambers. Because it was so big, the fireplace constantly needed to be stroked to maintain the level of warmth that Arthur liked. Merlin’s magical fire was the only thing that really kept it warm enough but not too warm – just right.

Arthur is lounging in bed with the covers over him for warmth. It is nearing lunch time and Arthur has not bothered to dress yet, clad only in sleeping shorts.

There is a knock on his door and a chambermaid entered, she averts her eyes respectfully though Arthur could see her eyes widen at his state of undress. He almost smirked but he thinks that might be conduct unbecoming of a king. He’s starting to think like his father.

“Your Majesty, the Lady Morgana wishes to speak to you.”

“Send her right in. Oh and tend to the fire will you?” The chambermaid hurries to comply with his order.

Morgana enters with a rustle of expensive silk. Jewels dangled from her ears and bangles droop from her slim wrists. She does not bat an immaculately painted eye at his state, though her gaze lingers on the healing bite marks on her brother. There is a particularly spectacular mark on his collarbone, almost clear enough for her to see the ridges of teeth. Bruises peeked out at the top of his low-slung shorts. She thinks she can see another mark on his inner thigh but she can’t be sure in the dim light.

He notices her gaze wander and the air of disdain that she projects so easily. “Well Morgana, what brings you here?”

“Jealous that I’m getting more action than you?”

She doesn’t jump at the bait like she used to. “I see things you know.” She is solemn and pale and Arthur is not sure if she’s always been that ghostly looking. She looks grey and gaunt like she’s wasting away.

Despite their bickering and differences in opinion, Arthur does care. “I know,” he says soberly. “Have they been bothering you? Perhaps I could ask Merlin to... to do whatever it is he does?” he gestures vaguely.

She laughs a brittle laugh. “Yes, they are bothering me. I see what he does to you.” Arthur suddenly feels self-conscious and cold goes to don a silken robe. As he turns, Morgana sees the scratches on his back and more bruises where Merlin slammed him onto the table and tries not to let it awaken the memories dormant inside her. She knows exactly how they got there and it’s knowledge that she shouldn’t know. It’s unnatural. It’s too intimate. This is why she rooms on the other wing of the castle now, to avoid the morning after awkwardness. Though she attends Arthur’s courts like she used to attend Uther’s, it is clear she is not needed. It is only because she still has more experience than Merlin with diplomacy that she is included. Soon, she fears she will be of no use. Her dreams tell her useless things that Arthur and Merlin do not wish her to know.

It’s an argument that they’ve had before and it rarely ends well. Arthur stiffens, drawing himself up to his full height. “It’s nothing that I don’t want him to. I’m fine.” He tightens the sash around his waist. “You said you’d let this go, Morgana.”

“I know.” Morgana puts her hand to her mouth, lip trembling. Arthur hopes she isn’t going to cry because he doesn’t know what to do. She is convinced that Merlin is doing bad things to him and he doesn’t know what to say about that. Short of admitting that he is perverted that is and he is adamant he will not give his adopted sister any more fodder against him.

“I know you don’t agree and I’m sorry you have to see some of the things you see. There’s no need to worry though. It’s not anything terrible. Don’t be such a prude,” Arthur says with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood.

Morgana cannot hold it in any more, she has to tell him. She has been trying to keep it inside her for a while but if she doesn’t tell Arthur, she knows she’ll regret it. “I’m not being a prude! It’s different this time. Arthur, please, you have to believe me. I...I saw him rape you.”

Arthur laughs. “Morgana,” he says with condescending assurance. “You really don’t have to worry about me.” He is a little nervous, wondering exactly how much she sees but he can’t bring himself to ask. It’s too weird. “I don’t really want to talk about it. Remember that first time? It’s probably nothing.” He is a little freaked out. He doesn’t have any rape fantasies that he knows of so for Morgana to see that... he doesn’t want to know. This is utterly humiliating, Arthur thought with a groan. The first time Merlin had rough sex with him, Morgana had seen it and that had lead to an unnecessary intervention which left everyone mentally scarred for weeks. The moment Morgana flinches, Arthur knows he should not have bought it up. “I know you’re just trying to take care of me but what happens between me and Merlin does not concern you.”

It still stings. Morgana turns on her brother. “Is there something you want to tell me? Look Arthur, maybe you do need help and it’s okay to ask for help. You don’t have to do it all on your own.”

“I thank you for your concern. Really. I’m touched.” Arthur blushes. “Morgana, I’ll say this once and this is never going to leave the room. Merlin hasn’t done anything to me that I haven’t requested of him. That’s all you need to know. I don’t want to disturb your sleep with all this...this...whatever. I told you to take the sleeping draughts. I have Merlin and yes I know what you’re going to say about that but I’m not helpless without him alright? I can take care of myself. You can stop worrying about me. I think your need some rest. You should take better care of yourself.”

“You are,” she insisted. Her bangles and bracelets jingled as she crossed her arms.

“I’m what?”

“You are helpless against magic. You’re just as helpless as everyone else if Merlin chooses to unleash his power on Camelot.” Morgana stares at her brother pointedly in the way that she knows Arthur hates because she’s right.

“Merlin wouldn’t do that.”

“But what if he didn’t mean to? What if he loses control? What if he goes too far?” With you. The words for unspoken but Arthur understood her implication.

“I trust him and you should also.” Arthur says icily. He cannot see Merlin like that. Like the evil things that his father spoke of. No, Merlin is nothing like that. “Morgana, I know it’s been difficult lately but I think it’s affecting you. I...I miss him too. I know he was like a father to you, as he was to me. Maybe not always the easiest person to be around,” Arthur clears his throat nervously, “but it hasn’t been the same without him.” Arthur reaches out to his adopted sister and she accepts his embrace, not caring that it will mess up her meticulously arranged finery. “Maybe you should talk to someone about it. You’re not coping.” This is how I cope. He’s hoping she’ll understand and leave this be. He does not want to choose between his sister and his lover.

She doesn’t deny the charge. Morgana is tired. The dreams have kept her up and consumed her waking hours. She doesn’t want to argue. She wants to believe that everything will be fine and that it’s all a misunderstanding. Yet, she knows she is not wrong. She may have misinterpreted the nature of the dream but it will occur like it did that time and this realisation frightens her. But though she has not been proven wrong in her dreams, she also knows that Arthur is destined to be a great king. He cannot be a great king and be broken she reasons so – she lays aside her pride and her caution and hopes.

“Does he makes you happy?” Morgana says in a wavering voice, blinking away the stinging in her eyes.

“Yes,” Arthur says with a blinding smile.

Before he realises it, it is the end of the month of mourning for his father. Already. Arthur should wearing his Pendragon red tunic but he doesn’t feel ready to put his mourning clothes away. He’s gotten used to Merlin dressing him again. It’s nice to have an excuse for his first month of official kingship. Any mistakes he has made could be excused because he’s emotionally compromised from grief. Now without this buffer, Arthur feels like he has to stride into court naked.

Arthur is more aware of his father’s absence than he’d admit. His father could fully understand what it was like to be a king. There are things that even Merlin would not understand that he knew his father had suffered though. Arthur knows that it is a lonely place on the throne. When you are the highest authority in the land, the only place to go is downwards. Everyone could be your enemy, so it is difficult to know who to trust if at all. Arthur knows his Court is loyal to him but even in their sympathetic gazes, he’s still trying to move out of his father’s shadow. When he sees that the job of the day is to renew contracts, contracts signed in the familiar flourish of his father’s hand with the Uther Pendragon seal next to it, he knows it’s going to be a long day.

As the young warlock strode into the room with his robe splattered with alchemy ingredients, Merlin could feel the tension rolling off Arthur without activating his telepathy. Arthur is snapping at the servant to draw him a bath, a warmer one this time he growled, and the servant scurried away from the King much like they used to from Uther. A fact that Arthur is aware of and is probably increasing Arthur’s ire, Merlin notes.

Merlin comes up behind his lover and starts massaging the kinks in his shoulders. “You miss him.” It hurts a little to admit but it is obvious to Merlin that he is not enough. At least not for the moment. Arthur needs Uther. He needs more time to find closure. Merlin feels a twinge of guilt but he doesn’t regret protecting Arthur.

Arthur doesn’t say anything but the way he turned to look at his former manservant speaks volumes. His baby blue eyes are wide and uncertain. Merlin sees him as a prince all over again, trying to hide his insecurities and loneliness behind the crown of privilege. “I never got to tell him...” Arthur turns away with a sharp inhale of the chilled night air. Merlin waves his hand at the fire and the room is instantly warmer.

“I’m sure he knows,” Merlin murmurs comfortingly, resuming his massage. He kneaded the hard knots in the blond’s back, willing them to undo.

“That feels good. Mmm,” Arthur says, changing the topic. It is a while before he speaks again, thoughts collapsing into a jumble. “It’s not that...I...I am born to be like this...I just... I don’t know what to do without him sometimes. I want him to...I wanted him to be there you know?” Arthur lets out a long shuddering breath and bows his head, letting his blond hair fall into his eyes. “I always thought he’d hate the way I’d rule,” Arthur chuckled without humour. Then, finally, he says what he’s been trying to say all along, “I don’t think I’m ready.”

“That’s okay.”

“Please,” Arthur says, his voice roughly shaping the word that he rarely uses. “You’re the only one I trust with this. I need your help.”

Arthur is asking him to understand. Asking him to do whatever he needs to help him get over this. “I’ll help you,” Merlin says lightly, without the slightest hint of hesitation. The young warlock squeezes his lover’s hand, feeling the familiar calluses on his King’s palms.

In silent agreement, Merlin removes his circlet and places it on the bedside table. Merlin wastes no time, he finds the bundle of clothes stashed at the back of the closet. Arthur puts his crown down and exchanges it for Merlin’s. Then he walks out without another glance at his lover. He has to do this now before he loses his nerve.

He spends what feels like an eternity waiting nervously outside. This ‘reality’ feels so real. It’s funny how comfortable he has become as a crown prince that being a king feels odd to him. The responsibility is still there but it is different. He doesn’t feel so...old and weary.

“Arthur,” he hears his father call.

As Arthur entered, it doesn’t matter that he is still dressed as a king. He’s back to being sixteen and his father is waiting for him in the large bed that he’s become familiar with.

Arthur looks nervously at the windows and the door. Even as Uther, Merlin indulges him. Magic crackles at the edges of the windows and the door. No doubt they are powerful privacy spells. He has no time to be distracted by Merlin’s magic because Merlin is there and...his father is there. Right there before his eyes as if he never left at all. It feels so right.

“Come Arthur, the night is young. I want us to enjoy our time together.” His father is smiling. Though Arthur would recall the night with some guilt, it was one of the happiest times he had with his father. He had told Arthur that he was proud of him.

“Father,” Arthur says reverently. He goes over to the bed willingly.

As Arthur takes him into his mouth, Merlin is happy. It is a powerful feeling to be able to give and take at the same time. He imagines that’s what being a king must feel like. He knows that while he is Uther, Arthur would never refuse him anything. From Uther’s memories, Merlin surmises that the thought of refusing his father never crossed Arthur’s mind. Merlin finds that he likes being Uther, with power so readily at his fingertips. Uther would be horrified to find himself so bound with magic. When he feels the magic surge through him at the memory of Uther’s silent screams, the victory is all the sweeter.

Arthur sees the smile cross Merlin’s face and it breaks loose the floodgates of his self-control. He’s mumbling, stumbling over his words as he’s trying to say everything he wishes he could have said but didn’t get to. He’s sorry, he’s so sorry that he wasn’t there and he would have if he could have but he knows that he would have understood. The tears come but Uther is stroking his hair telling him over and over again how much he loves him, how proud he is of him and how precious he is to him. At the back of his mind, Arthur knows his father cannot be here right now, he’s gone but Merlin silences him with I love you, I love you son and Arthur lets the wave of contentedness carry him away. He lets himself believe.

It gives him a hunger that just touching cannot sate. With frantic force, Arthur strips Merlin and Merlin strips Arthur and then they are just themselves again. They are Arthur and Merlin, two halves of a soul.

“Merlin,” Arthur says, reaffirming his identity.

“Yes,” Merlin says. “I love you, Arthur.”

At his name, Arthur comes, seed spilling into Merlin. His father loves him. Merlin loves him. Arthur is complete.

Part 4

In This Life, Spock/Uhura, G 1/2

2009-07-05T14:07:43Z

Title: In This Life
Pairing: Spock Prime/Kirk Prime, Nu!Spock/Uhura
Rating: G
Word count: 2041
Warning: Brief, non-explicit mentions of Spock Prime/Kirk Prime slash. Total lack of kink sorry.
Summary: Spock finds himself choosing between the life he has lived and the live he has yet to live, between his own choices and those of Spock Prime. Response to st_xi_kink prompt: "This grief is crowned with consolation."

The mission was simple. The Enterprise was to deliver supplies to Vulcan II, docking for approximately one Terran week to oversee the development of the new Vulcan Colony. Spock was to offer his help in the scientific department particularly in regard to the reconstruction of architecture and replication of significant cultural artifacts.

It was not the mission that concerned him. The mission was logical. However, Spock had conscientiously avoided his alternate self. This was illogical and difficult but he managed to do it.

Instead, he occupied his social company with those of his crew, in particular Uhura and attempted to reconcile with his father. Not that Sarek would admit to as irrational and emotional response as bearing a grudge but the tension between them had not diminished. Spock stood by the decision he made and he would not rescind his StarFleet position. Yet he knew that with the destruction of their home planet, now was not the time for them to deny their familial connection. Now that his mother was no longer alive to mediate between them.

He knew that Spock Prime was seeking him. His counterpart was not inconspicuous about why he sought his younger self: the Ambassador wanted to talk to him about his relationship with the Jim Kirk of his timeline. But Spock did not know what to say to his alternate self regarding this matter. He found it awkward when the Ambassador spoke of His Jim and Your Jim. He obviously felt that such informality with the Captain was appropriate and Spock did not know how to disabuse him of the notion.

Spock would concede that he felt an uncomfortable longing, a human emotion he would identify as ... jealousy. He was envious of his alternate self. After all, his counterpart was able to spend much of his lifetime with his mother. Time he thought he would have too. He did not have to witness his mother disappear in front of him. For this, Spock still blamed himself. And if Spock Prime was part of himself, part of him felt it was only logical to blame him as well. Why could he not have come back to help himself? All of his reasoning now went beyond logic but he found that he could not put it aside. If asked, he would say he had no particular emotion for Spock Prime because Vulcans do not express such illogical predilections. However, he knew that he did dislike his counterpart.

Another reason that Spock was avoiding the Ambassador Spock even via electronic transmission was that he liked to ask him about Your Jim. It was obvious that his counterpart had a close friendship and respect for Kirk, regardless of which timeline he was in. The Ambassador did not seem disturbed that this Captain Kirk was not from his timeline. Perhaps he did not care. But the fondness was apparently and the grief. It was too soon still from his loss and he did not want to see that in his own eyes. His mother’s eyes that would appear untouched even by age. He was surprised that he looked even more human as he aged.

“Because you needed each other. I could not deprive you of the revelation of all that you could accomplish together, of a friendship that will define you both in ways you cannot yet realize. “

James T. Kirk was his captain and Spock respected him. It was a begrudging respect borne of his rank at first but Spock had come to understand that this human did have extraordinary innovative thinking even if he was completely inconsistent. Spock felt that Ambassador Spock was too forceful in trying to put them together. Spock mused that the Ambassador could be called the human equivalent of a ‘matchmaker’. It was as if he wanted to vicariously project his future onto him. His elder counterpart assumed that he could understand him because he was him but that was not entirely true. Spock understood that he and Spock Prime had exactly the same biological make-up but the circumstances of their lives were different. His own counterpart’s meddling had ensured that it would be irreversibly so. So things had changed in the most unprecedented way. Spock did not have the self-assurance that his counterpart developed, nor the confidence of his own ability to play with timelines. He wondered how the Ambassador came to be so. Rather, standing next to the Ambassador only reminded him of how much more...incomplete broken he was. As illogical as that may be.

Spock surmised that the human adage was true. You cannot run from your past. Spock Prime would find him and his own pattern of avoidance was behaviour unbecoming of a Vulcan. Since today was his last day present on Vulcan II and he departed in thirteen point nine minutes, he expected that any moment now his counterpart would turn up.

His counterpoint did not disappoint.

“Commander Spock,” the elderly Vulcan greeted calmly.

Spock inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Ambassador Spock.”

The elder Vulcan’s lips quirked upwards at the corners and it was obvious he found their current situation amusing. “You can be very difficult to locate, Commander.”

“I apologise,” Spock said in clipped tones. “I have been otherwise occupied.”

“Of course. I too apologise if I have made you uncomfortable in seeking you. That was not my intention.”

Spock merely nodded. “How may I be of assistance to you, Ambassador?”

“I wish to explain some matters of great personal importance,” the Ambassador began in a low voice though the hangar in which they were standing was empty. “I have been trying to tell you that the captain Jim of my timeline was my t’hy’la. This is why I have been what you might deem...interfering. You must forgive me because even though your Jim is not of my timeline, I can feel similarities in him. It is as if the bond is bought alive with his presence. You will experience something so great, if you will only bond with him. You will have so many great adventures together. I wish to ensure that you will not miss out on so great a blessing. Please, promise me, no, promise yourself this.” The Ambassador seemed overcome with emotion, the words jumbling in a show of human vulnerability.

Spock knew what the Ambassador was asking and he sympathised with his counterpart. He imagined if he were to lose Uhura he would be emotionally compromised to that state in which his counterpart found himself in. Still. “You ask too much of me, Ambassador,” he said. This news, thought he had suspected it, was still a shock. His counterpart had lost his t’hy’la. The pain was unthinkable, unimaginable. “Forgive me, I...I cannot.”

“You must,” the elder Vulcan insisted. “I understand that you feel that you have found companionship with Uhura but I know, even if I seem emotionally compromised, I know in my heart that you are not meant to be with her. I know that it is right to be with Jim. I beg you. Forgive me this but you must bond with Jim.”

The half-Vulcan in front of him seemed to age visibly even though Spock knew that this was impossible. Spock noted that his counterpart’s hair was gracefully streaked with silver even though he had few wrinkles. He supposed that was why humans thought his counterpart looked very wise. Yet his elder counterpart seemed burdened with sorrow, eyes filling with unshed tears. Spock turned his gaze away, staring at his Star Fleet issue boots. “Then you must forgive me for my decision, Ambassador. You advised me to put aside logic and do what feels right to me. I choose to remain with Lieutenant Uhura. This is what feels right to me.”

The older Vulcan insisted, “Know that you cannot avoid destiny. He and you are destined to be. It is your destiny to be at Jim’s side.”

Spock looked at his counterpart with renewed conviction, troubled but unable to give in. He could not bond with Jim, not when Uhura was his. That did not feel right to him. He did not want to terminate his relationship with her. Being with the human female was his choice to make, not anyone else’s even if the person requesting this of him was himself from another timeline. “Perhaps it is so,” he conceded. “If events occur to be thus I shall not contest it. However, it is my belief that we are living parallel universes. We are and we are not the same. In your universe, you chose to be with Captain Kirk. But in this life, I choose to be with Lieutenant Uhura.”

“I am not saying that she is any less worthy a candidate but she is not who completes you.” An edge of desperation had filtered into the elder Vulcan’s speech, distorting his usually calm tones.

“Ambassador Spock,” Spock spoke his own name to catch his counterpart’s attention. “With all due respect, Captain Kirk will not mean any less to me because I wish to bond with Uhura. I serve him as my captain. You yourself said that the course of destiny has already changed then it is only...logical that other aspects may be different. ”

“Duly noted. Then is it not logical to walk in the same ways as the past simply because we can know what glories that will bring? To take advice from someone who has walked this path before? It is an illogical risk. To borrow from the human analogy, you will regret the road not taken. ”

“I take your words into my consideration but I am afraid you will not be able to convince me. I can only make one choice. I can only have one t'hy'la. I choose not to be logical, Ambassador. I willing take the risk of regret because I feel that the alternate loss will be greater. Please consider that this may be the right path for me now, in this life, in light of everything that has changed. This is what feels right to me.” He emphasised that latter part, hoping that his counterpart would understand. He did not want to dispute over the issue of his counterpart’s t’hy’la – it would be disrespectful. He knew that Uhura accepted him for who he was despite what he felt, despite what he didn’t feel. Even in the greatest time of need when he was emotionally compromised, she had not abandoned him. He did not care that he had no logical reason, Uhura was right for him. Spock had not met anyone else like her that stirred his emotions so and in such a pleasant way. She was not afraid of him even though she had seen him misuse his strength against his captain. His captain who had forgiven him even with all the foibles of the humans. It was no secret that Jim could incite emotion out of him as well and Jim was an incredible individual. But Uhura...his Nyota...was beyond words.

“I understand. I accept that this Uhura has qualities which are attractive to you. Your defense of your decision was sound. I will respect your decision. And I will accept Uhura is your...your t’hy’la.” It is clear that the elder Vulcan found the admission difficult but Spock is grateful that he does not ask more of him. “My best wishes to you.”

Spock can hear the disappointment and grief colouring the Ambassador’s voice and though it is for different reasons, Spock knows that they are sharing the same emotions. This grief is crowned with consolation, he thought, at least the Ambassador will be able to see his t’hy’la live a second time. And Spock has his life ahead of him. He needs to make his own choices as he always had. He still has so much more to gain from this life.

“And to you, Ambassador. I hope you find peace,” Spock says sincerely, spreading his fingers in the traditional hand salute. He watched the Ambassador with a mixture of relief and sadness as the elder Vulcan retreated to the new Vulcan colony. Spock does not let himself grieve for too long. He has a ship to catch, a Captain to serve and his bond mate to love. They were waiting for him.

Part 2: The Aftermath - This Life Again

Psychosis and Fortune Cookies, Kirk/McCoy, PG 1/1

2009-07-02T17:43:18Z

Title: Psychosis and Fortune Cookies
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy, McCoy/Wife (past), Kirk/Gaila (past)
Rating: PG
Word count: 1963
Warning: Profanity. Kirk/McCoy pre-slash. Kissing. Sexual references.
Summary: Dr McCoy is going crazy. For Jim. Over Captain Jim Kirk. His best friend who is completely oblivious. Response to st_xi_kink prompt: "It is the most unhappy people who most fear change." -Mignon McLaughlin

AN: This pairing grows on me.

Dr McCoy is scared. He is losing touch with reality, having trouble sleeping and eating, problems with organising his thoughts. He is also finding it difficult to associate with people, well okay, he admits that it is more one person but that one person kind of sort of means the world to him. Even if that is precisely the cause of his problems right now. He is also seeing, hearing and feeling things. Clarification, he suspects that the object of his very misguided affections seems to be returning said feelings. According to his vast medical knowledge, these symptoms lead to the diagnosis of psychosis. Or more accurately: being completely head over StarFleet issue boots in love with one Captain James T. Kirk. Bones would pick psychosis any day.

Which leads him to drug of choice. Alcohol. His usual cure-all. He wants to get shitfaced so he doesn’t have to think about falling in love again and getting hurt. Except for the fact that his pain-in-the-ass-best-friend-he-is-NOT-in-love-with is bored and leaning in his doorway.

“C’mon. Booooooooooooooooones.”

“Alright, alright, Goddammit Jim, just stop your whining. I’m coming.” The resulting smile from his Captain is so bright that it throws Bones off for a second. Or two. Bones distracts himself with swearing under his breath. He throws a warning look at his best friend. “But we’re getting take out ok? I am not in the mood to be at some noisy restaurant surrounded by your adoring fan girls. I really do not feel like listening to you get prepositioned by Admiral Pike. If he asks you to give him a blowjob again I will seriously cut his dick off. You know I can do it too. I need brain bleach.” Bones pretends to shudder but really he did not need to hear that dirty conversation coming from a generally respected superior. He thinks all that respect went down the drain the moment Pike tried his version of sexy talk. Maybe all that time on the Romulan ship fucked with his brain. Possibly literally. You never know about Romulans. Kinky bastards.

“Geez, Bones take a chill pill. It was just that once, okay twice but I was just comforting him.” Jim gives his Chief Medical Officer a pleading look that clearly said ‘I am so not innocent but it’s still not my fault. Honest.’

“Manwhore,” Bones says grumpily but with no bite.

Jim smiles as if it is a compliment. “You love me anyway.”

Bones rolls his eyes and mutters, “Yeah, right.” He can’t deny it but no, he does not think Jim’s smile is sexy. He’s only going crazy.

They ordered takeout at a well-known Chinese place opposite from StarFleet headquarters where The Enterprise was is currently docked for repairs. The streets are quiet at this hour, it’s getting late. The two men pass by several nightclubs with loud music as they stroll back towards Bones’ quarters.

On the way back they run into a burly guy. Literally. Well to be fair, it wasn’t really their fault. The guy deliberately tried to ram his best friend in the shoulder sending him stumbling into Bones. “Aren’t you a great couple?”

Bones automatically puts an arm across Jim’s chest to hold him back from starting a fight but Jim, surprisingly, doesn’t take the bait.

His Captain merely holds onto Bones hand to lower it and he doesn’t let go. Jim gives the burly guy a cold glance. “So? Gotta problem, Cupcake?”

The guy snickers and spits on the ground in front of them but he backs off.

McCoy sighs. He’s relieved. He didn’t know what StarFleet would do if their newest star captain was arrested for brawling in the streets. “Trouble just finds you anywhere.” He notices that Jim hasn’t let go like it is completely normal for them to hold hands so Bones decides not to say anything. It’s not because he likes the feel of Jim’s calloused hands in his, warm and reassuring.

They keep walking like that until they hit Bones saw his best friend glance longingly in the direction of The Garden of Venus and his heart breaks a little. Not that hearts can actually break because they are made of muscle but the saying is true, Bones thinks morosely.

“Wanna grab a drink before we head back? Hang out at the club like the good old days?”

Bones remembers the good old days alright. He had a thing for Jim for as long as he could remember but Jim never seemed to notice. Their room had a streaming trail of women – it was like living in a brothel. No, Jim would never have him. He’s tried moving on. It didn’t work out well but what could he do? McCoy snatches his hand away from his best friend and answers a little more gruffly than usual. “No Jim, can’t you keep it in your pants for an hour or two? Why’d you drag me out if you just want to look at some boobies?”

Jim opens his mouth, looking genuinely hurt. He closes his mouth and jams his hands into his pockets without another word. His jaw is set with determination. Bones has seen that look before. The night before he finally beat the Kobayashi Maru test.

McCoy sighs a little more as they are back inside his quarters. Fuck, dinner was going to be awkward now.

Jim offers to get his own. “Go ahead,” Bones waves him away. He checks his console for new about the Andorian flu vaccines he ordered. It’s flashing and there’s a message. But it’s from his ex. His day gets better and better.

He pushes the button and his once wife’s voice fills the silence. She hadn’t even bothered to send a video transmission. Probably hadn’t wanted to see his face. “Leonard. You said you could be around this weekend? Don’t take this the wrong way but I’d rather you didn’t drop by. Look, Joanna’s just settled in. She wouldn’t call Ashley her Daddy up until last week. Seeing you would just upset her and she’s going to be asking for you every night again. Don’t make a big deal out of this okay? It’s not about you. I just want what’s best for her and I think it would be better if you could just give us some space right now. (A sigh). I’ve got to go now. See you when you’re back?”

Bones laughs bitterly at the message. He knew what his ex-wife was doing. She was trying to cut him out of Joanna’s life. She’d already taken everything from him, now she didn’t want him to see his daughter.

“What a bitch,” Jim says with a low whistle, blowing over the top of his beer. He hands one to his friend then settles down onto the old couch. Jim seems to have forgiven him for now.

Bones feels honour bound even now to defend his ex-wife’s good name. Except he can’t bring himself to. He agrees with the sentiment. Bones expertly twists the top off and takes a swig letting the cool liquid sooth him. He runs his hands through his dark hair and paces back and forth. “Fuck.”

“I’m sorry Bones,” Jim says sincerely. He picks up the chopsticks and digs in. “Anything I can do?”

“Not really,” Bones replies dully. He isn’t hungry anymore.

Waving his chopsticks around, Jim has a contemplative look on his face. “You know, I could hack her address for you and then we could both drop in for a surprise visit say at lunch on the weekend.” Jim accidentally drops some egg foo on Bones table. “Oops.” He picks it up and eats it.

The doctor in Bones grimaces and leans heavily on the wall. “Jesus, Kirk, you don’t know what’s been there.”

Jim gives Bones a suggestive look. “Are you saying that you’ve done something dirty on or to your table? Kinky.”

Bones plays along and pretends to think. “Well there was the time when I tested out fecal matter...”

Jim blanches and chokes on a mouthful of sprouts.

“I’m kidding. But seriously you should be careful.”

“Five second rule.”

Bones doesn’t even bother arguing. Been there, done that.

Jim gestures towards Bones’ container of noodles. “Well if you’re not going to eat that, I’ll help myself.” In between mouthfuls of food, Jim manages to say, “So what do you think of my plan?”

Bones skulls down his bottle of beer and goes to drag the whole pack into the room. “Save it, Jim. I don’t want to make trouble. I can wait.”

“For over a year?” Jim quips.

Damn, Jim had to go for the jugular. “I have to.” It’s not like he would leave Jim. No, that’s not even an option.

“No you don’t.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“It’s not that hard.” Jim has that look in his eyes like he’s welcoming the challenge and all Bones has to do is say yes.

“Just drop it,” Bones says with a tone of finality but even to his own ears, he knows he sounds more than a bit desperate. He can’t stand to have Jim here in his room, giving him hope. He doesn’t want to have everything fall down on him like a house of cards.

“So,” Jim drawls, putting down the container to reach for a fortune cookie. “Let’s get drunk?” He cracks the cookie with his teeth and barely glances at the slip of paper before stuffing it in his pocket.

This, Bones can agree on. “Yep.”

So they both decide to get wasted, moving onto the stronger stuff, both migrating to the couch. They’re doing shots while sitting side by side on the battered couch, talking about unimportant things. Life on the ship. Getting the flu shots. StarFleet uniforms. Klingons.

It’s when Bones feels pleasantly buzzed that Jim moves onto something important. Bones knew Jim well enough that he is actually a chatty drunk when you caught him at the right time. Captain James T. Kirk under the influence is the same as giving him a truth potion. Most of the time when Jim talks about his feelings, he is drunk. Like after Jim failed the Kobayashi Maru test. It had meant a lot more to him than a test. It was after hearing Jim out between watching his best friend get pissed and holding the future captain’s head as he puked his guts out that Bones decided to help him.

Speaking of which, the young, blond-haired Captain is leaning on his shoulder. Bones knows he’s definitely not sober. He feels hyperaware of Jim’s presence. He can hear Jim’s every breath. He can almost imagine his heart beating beneath a muscled chest. The steady thump-thump that he has heard before. If he closed his eyes, he could even imagine- Damn. This is not good.

The Captain seems totally oblivious. He is steadily burrowing his way into his best friend’s neck.

“Jim,” Bones growls. He doesn’t want the moment to end but his best friend is also one of the planet, scratch that, the universe’s biggest teases. He is sure that he won’t be able to control himself and then they’d land in an embarrassing situation.

“Gaila died,” Jim says suddenly.

Bones’ thought fly out of the gutter. “I know,” he says sombrely. He wonders if Jim really had a thing for the Orion. He had been with her longer than any other girl.

“I mean I was thinking, I can’t even remember the last thing I said to her. One day we’re cadets and we’re just talking and laughing you know? And then, the shit hits the fan and she’s just...gone. ” Jim is aware he’s rambling but he has to keep going. “I didn’t think...I thought we’d all be safe. I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense but I just didn’t think I’d lose anyone I’d know at least. That it wouldn’t be so...personal. I don’t want it to be like that, Bones.”

Jim sounds so fucking miserable and Bones doesn’t know what to do except pour him another shot. He puts his arm around his Captain, trying to find the perfect words. “You can’t save everyone,” Bones says wearily. It’s similar to what he told him a long time ago but Jim had refused. He didn’t believe in no-win scenarios. Except there is no way to cheat death. Bones, mercifully, doesn’t say this. He lets Jim have his moment.

“No, you don’t understand.” Jim gulps down another shot with a noisy slurp. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

When Bones takes a good look at his Captain, he looks more vulnerable than he has in years. He is biting hard on his lip, nose and eyes slightly red-rimmed as if he is struggling to hold back tears. “I...I don’t want it to be like that for us.”

Bones exhales loudly. Shit. He doesn’t know how to deal with this. “Goddammit Jim, I’m a doctor not a miracle worker.” He couldn’t promise the world to Jim. Even if he wanted to. Right now, he would give everything he had AND his bones if it meant Jim didn’t have to be so unhappy. Bones knew how much his best friend prided himself on being able to be the good guy. The one who could do the impossible. He knew it was because Jim had to. He didn’t have an easy life. He always had to be extraordinary. Bones softens his tone when he feels Jim tremble next to him and bury his face in his shirt. “But I’ll do everything I can to keep you alive alright?” Bones shifts to pull Jim in his lap. “Are you sniffing me?” he says incredulously.

Jim mumbles a response.

“You better not puke on me,” Bones warns but he’s slightly pleased. Though he thinks he might be going crazy again.

Jim mumbles again, his words vibrating against Bones’ stomach. It’s a little intimate and Bones tries not to get turned on.

“No regrets,” Jim says more clearly.

“No regrets,” Bones echoes in contentment. Jim is melting happily against him and he finds that he doesn’t mind being treated like furniture. It feels surprisingly good. Right even. It is then Bones suspects that Jim is the cause but also the cure. It would be so like him to be that exceptional. Some kind of weird autoimmune disease. Bones snorts at the thought.

Slowly, Jim sits up without untangling himself from his Medical Officer. “You know it is the most unhappy people who most fear change. I think what we need is some change.”

McCoy looks at his best friend in the eyes and tries not to say what he’s thinking ie that Jim has gone off his nuts. No. Don’t think about Jim’s nuts, Bones berates himself. He forces himself to say something. “Right. That’s pretty deep.”

Just as McCoy thinks he should pour himself another drink to top the night off, Jim grabs him clumsily by the face and kisses him. Bones mouth opens in shock and Jim’s tongue is darting in. Jim’s hands cradle his head and he’s deepening the kiss. Bones can taste liquor and Chinese food and oh god it’s Jim. His Captain.

Finally, Jim breaks off the kiss and pulls out a slip of paper from his cookie. There’s a shit-eating grin on his face though his eyes betray him. Bones can tell he’s a little scared and a little excited too. “Want to know your lucky numbers as well?” Jim says slightly breathlessly.

Bones blinks. What the fuck? “Why did you kiss me?” Bones is careful to sound curious and not angry. Certainly not like he wants Jim to kiss him again.

“I thought it was time for a change,” Jim says innocently but his hand is trailing up his Medical Officer’s leg in a manner that is definitely not innocent.

What the fuck, Bones thinks. My Captain is crazy. I’m going crazy. Jim’s breathing in his ear and saying all sort of dirty things. So Bones stops thinking and just lets himself go. With Kirk beside him, like this, he thinks he’s gonna be okay.

Cheated Hearts, Peter/Susan, PG13 3/4

2009-07-02T14:40:42Z

Title: Cheated Hearts
Pairing: Peter/Susan INCEST.
Rating: PG13
Word count: 903
Warning: Based on the movie. Adult themes. Incest and sexual references.
Summary: Peter and Susan are playing cards, trying to put the past behind them. But they struggle to simply play the game. Italics are thoughts. Part 3 of the PeterSusan quartet. Set a week after Always and before Choices

The four monarchs sat at the large table. Peter and Susan sat next to each other facing Edmund and Lucy on the other side. Lucy giggled as she held her cards in her hand.

“Stop it. You’re flashing your cards to everyone,” Edmund said. True to his title, he was often fair even when playing games. He rolled his eyes at the ‘be-nice-to-your-sister’ look Peter gave him.

“I don’t feel like playing anymore. I want to get a cookie. I’m hungry,” Lucy pouted. She put her cards face down on the polished wooden table and slid off her chair.

“But that’s going to wreck our game! It’s not fair! Anyway, I haven’t had a cookie yet this week, you’re always eating them all,” Edmund protested. He put his cards down and had a devious look on his face. Then he said, “Race ya! Last one there is a rotten egg and first one gets the cookie!”

“Edmund!” Peter admonished but Edmund ran off with Lucy after him.

Susan rolled her eyes. “Just let them be. Sometimes I think Lucy quite enjoys the attention Edmund gives her.”

“He’s horrid to her!” Peter exclaimed.

“No, you just have a soft spot for her. She can take care of herself you know,” Susan said matter of factly. “Two Aces.” She slid two cards across the table into the centre pile.

“He needs to learn to treat her like a lady.” Peter ignored Susan’s roll of her eyes. “Um…um…three Kings.”

Susan raised her eyebrow. “Cheat.”

Peter groaned and lifted up the cards, revealing a diamond three, a jack of hearts and a king of clubs. He took the large centre stack and began to shuffle the cards back into his own pile.

“You’re just terrible at this Peter,” Susan said with an exaggerated sigh.

“How did you tell?” Peter said, furrowing his brow in confusion.

“Peter, Peter. You’re so…” Susan laughed. Gullible. Handsome. Obvious…lovable?

He leant forward unconsciously. “I’m so what?” Peter asked, curious to know what Susan thought of him.

Susan looked up and stared into the depths of Peter’s eyes. Blue eyes met identical blue. Suddenly, she looked away. “It’s your turn, Peter.”

Peter glances at the cards uselessly in his hand. He’s stumbling, struggling to find where he was. He wanted to call her by her name. Talk to her. Ask her if she was suffering like he was. But instead he mumbled something like two fours and avoided her gaze.

“Two Jokers.” Susan’s voice was shaky. For the first time in the game, she sounded uncertain.

There was a long pause. The two eldest Pevensie siblings stare intently at the cards, boring holes into them. Desperately refraining from repeating that moment but not enough to withdraw. Peter knew. He knew Susan better than anyone else in all of Narnia. He knew that she must feel something for him – they had shared souls once not so long ago.

“Susan.”

Susan dropped her gaze to the two cards on the table, pretending that she hadn’t heard her brother call her in that tender tone.

“Susan!” Once more, more urgently but just as lovingly.

“It’s your call,” Susan said coldly. She did not want to see the look of hurt or disappointment on her brother’s face. Sweet Peter.

Peter stared at her sister in disbelief. Her beautiful face betrayed nothing. It was a pale mask of indifference. “Cheat,” he said.

Susan tried not to hear the hurt in her brother’s voice. She couldn’t really remember what cards she put down as distracted as she was. She went to flip them but Peter’s hand closed over her.

“Su…please. Please don’t do this to me. Don’t shut me out. Please,” Peter said. He could feel his eyes prickly with emotion.

“Stop it. This isn’t a game Pete. You know we can’t,” Susan said dully. She felt like she was reciting a phrase in her head. She tried to distance herself from it, trying to keep from crying. “I don’t want to play with you. You must let me leave you.” Susan stood to leave but Peter held her hand, preventing her from leaving.

“Release me Peter Pevensie!” Susan commanded sharply.

Peter obeys, flinching at the tone. Susan hardened her heart so that she would not crumble at his pain. “What would Aslan say?” She leaves before his presence could become her undoing. He affected her so deeply. She wished she could comfort him but she could not – she could not tempt him. She already tainted his innocence. She could not take his goodness.

His face falls in his hands and he lets a bitter cry escape his lips. Peter sobs silently, the tears falling onto the table. He held the cards tightly crushing them in his hand. As he released his pain, a pair of crumpled cards fluttered to the ground.

It was the King and Queen of Hearts.

Two Jokers.

Always, Peter/Susan, PG13 2/4

2009-07-02T14:27:23Z

Title: Always
Pairing: Peter/Susan INCEST.
Rating: PG13
Word count: 1963
Warning: Based on the movie. Adult themes. Incest and sexual references. Song fic.
Summary: Some things may change between Peter and Susan but there are some things that are always true. The two eldest siblings discuss their relationship. Peter/Susan. Warning: References to incest but it comes with a twist. Song fic – “White Flag” by Dido. Part 2 of the PeterSusan quartet. Set a week after Surrendering and before Cheated Hearts.

I know you think that I shouldn't still love you,
Or tell you that.
But if I didn't say it, well I'd still have felt it
where's the sense in that?

The two elder siblings were arguing. They were standing in the moonlight, the silvery light falling around them. They were at the balcony, Narnia at their feet yet all was not right with the world. The world for the two eldest siblings was like a sinking ship. The dark waves lapped at them as they fought to stay afloat.

"I love you." Peter caressed Susan's supple hand. He rubbed his fingers, hardened with calluses from swordfighting, slowly across her smooth palepalm.

“I will not give in to this!” Susan wrenched her hand out of Peter’s soft grip. “It’s wrong! What we have between us…it’s not right.”

“I know Susan.” But love isn’t wrong, he disagreed inwardly. Peter did not reached for his sister again. His lips could still feel the brush of hers lips on his. Her sweet breath in his face. It would haunt him.

I promise I'm not trying to make your life harder
Or return to where we were

“You’re my brother,” Susan said. “My brother. I shouldn’t be feeling these things towards you. It’s all wrong. It’s not…logical.”

“Love isn’t logical,” Peter said quietly. “But if that is how you feel, I shall desist…”

“You know very well how I feel towards you Peter,” his sister snapped. “You know that I love you.” Susan had always known that she loved her brother. Without a doubt. Perhaps more than she should but she knew that she could never hate him.

I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be

“Don’t be angry at me Susan,” Peter pleaded. His blue eyes glistened with innocence.

“I’m not angry at you.” Susan paced in frustration. The shimmer of her blue silk dress rustled softly as she walked back and forth. “I’m angry at myself. I…I shouldn’t want more.”

“It’s okay,” Peter whispered. “I am willing. Susan, listen to me.” Peter puts him hand on her arm. “Stop.”

Susan obeyed reluctantly.

“Susan…I’d give you the world to make you happy. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t give to you,” Peter said softly. What I mean is, I would give you my heart, my everything, he added mentally.

She raised her gaze from the dark night to the warm gaze of her brother. Susan knew what her brother was saying. He was always so selfless. “Peter, you can’t mean that,” Susan said flatly.

“I do,” Peter pledged earnestly. “I mean it with all my heart. I just want you to be happy…” Peter slowly stroked Susan’s arm. She shivered but she did not move away. “…even at the cost of my own happiness.”

Susan knew that he wasn’t lying. Peter had always been a terrible liar. He had never been able to deceive her. Oh Peter, she thought. She did not know what to say.

The cool night breeze blew her hair in her face and Peter reached up to brush her hair back, tucking the chocolate brown lock behind her delicate ear. “You don’t have to say anything. It’s alright.” He leant over to kiss her on the forehead.

She moved away. “It’s not alright Peter. It’s not. It’s wrong.” She wrapped her arms around her and shuddered.

I know I left too much mess and
destruction to come back again
And I caused nothing but trouble
I understand if you can't talk to me again

He recoiled from her. Peter took his cloak off and offeredit to her. “Take it, you’re cold.” She made no move to take it from him. Cautiously, he moved behind her with the intention of putting it around her shoulders but she slapped his hand away sharply.

It stung. Not so much his hand. She was shutting him out. Rejecting him. He bowed his head in defeat. You win Susan, he thought. “Do you want me to leave?”

“Yes. Go.” Susan shut her eyes. She didn’t want to face this or talk about it right now. She bit her lip.

Peter sighed. “Goodnight Susan,” he said hoarsely. His voice was thick with emotions. He would not push his sister, not matter how strong his feelings for her were.

And if you live by the rules of "it's over"
then I'm sure that that makes sense

She could hear his quiet footsteps as he slowly walked away from her, melting into the shadows behind her. Susan opened her eyes. On the balcony railing was his cloak. He had left it out for her.

Susan turned around. “Peter?” she asked the darkness.

And when we meet
Which I'm sure we will
All that was there
Will be there still

“Yeah?” His reply was tinged hope. Maybe she’ll give in, he allowed himself to hope. Maybe.

“I don’t want to live a lie any more.” Susan felt like she was confessing. Like those times when their mother used to take them to the confessionals at the church down the road. “I don’t want to hide this…thing between us.” Susan stared at the mosaic tiles on the ground, pondering the confusion of the pattern.

Peter took a few steps towards his sister. His face was still half hidden in the shadows. “Su,” he began. Her head snapped up. This was his special nickname for her and he rarely used it. “We don’t have to hide it.”

I'll let it pass
And hold my tongue
And you will think
That I've moved on...

“No, Peter,” Susan said. A tear escapes. I love him too much and because I love him, I will let him go, she thought. “We could never be together. Not like that. I couldn’t live with it.”

Peter felt disappointment flood him. “But what about the last week? The kiss?” he found himself stammering. “Didn’t it mean anything to you? It meant so much to me.” Susan, I beg you, his eyes implored her.

She couldn’t answer the question. If she had told him how much he meant to her, Susan knew that she would never be able to refuse him. “Don’t beg me, Peter.” Susan stared at the darkness around her, the pale moonlight on her face. “I’m not worthy of your begging. I won’t give in.” Can’t you see I’m protecting you Peter? Susan beseeched silently. I’m protecting you from myself.

Peter held his tongue. What is there to say? He knew that anything he said now would just push her away from him and that wasthe last thing he wanted. He was going to do the hardest thing in his life, that is, to walk away instead of fighting for what he believed in. That was what he had always believed in:that you should always stand up for what you are truly passionate about. But this time, fighting would solve nothing, it would only make things worse. He approached the darkness of the corridor again.

She could hear his footsteps behind her. They grew softer with each step. Each step away from Susan. More tears escaped the prison of her lashes. The cold bit at her arms. The inky night threatened to engulf her. Only the moonlight illuminated the balcony like a ray of hope.

Peter faced his sister in the dark and said in his low voice, “I will always love you Su. Even if it is from a distance, I will always love you.”

I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be

Susan twisted around so that she was talking to the darkness that engulfed him. Susan knew that she could not stop him from loving her but she could not succumb. “You’ll always be my brother. Nothing will change that Peter.”

But always just a brother, he observed mournfully. Peter couldn’t deny that he had wanted to be more than just a brother to Susan. He wanted to be her special someone. He wanted to be hers.

“It’s all I have to give.” Susan gave him a sorrowful look. I hope I can live with myself, Susan tells herself.

The eldest Pevensie sibling noded, even though Susan cannot see him. He had accepted her decision. He would not try to change her mind. “Then it’s enough,” Peter choked out. He knew that he would take anything. Anything was better than nothing.

Susan knew that it wasn’t enough but she couldn’t give in. She refused to be the one to stain her brother, to make him impure by the sin of incest. She couldn’t do that to him. Not to Peter the Magnificent. He was Magnificent, yes, she agreed silently.

Peter walked away with unshedtears in his eyes. He walked away but not before looking back. He saw his sister shivering in the cold yet she was more beautiful and more alluring than ever. He could see her hair blowing in the cold night wind. He could remember the way the moonlight made her silk dress shine. She had looked every bit an angel.

It is late at night. Peter knows that he should be asleep. Instead, he is standing in his sister’s bedroom. In the forbidden place of his desires. Ever since that fateful night. He watches her sleep. He longs to kiss her, caress her but he resists. Some nights, he wonders what could have been.

I will go down with this ship

Susan pretends that it had never happened. That they never had feelings for each other. But Peter can’t forget it. He couldn’t. He knows that she still loves him. Susan had been avoiding him for months now. That was how Peter knew that she still has feelings for him, because being around him hurt her too much. Just like her presence could be so intoxicating and soothing at the same time.

And I won't put my hands up and surrender

Peter stands in the shadows of Susan’s room and listens to her light breaths. He can see dried tears on Susan’s face. It pains him to know that he couldn’t hold her and wipe those tears away like he had done once.

“I love you, Susan Pevensie. Always,” he whispers.

Susan seemed to smile in her sleep.

There will be no white flag above my door

Unknown to her, he would stay, sometimes longer than others but he made sure that he was gone before dawn could catch him. She left him more refreshed than any sleep could. She was his solace. Peter would come to her room again the next night and the night after and every night after that. He would sit. Wanting...Wishing...Waiting...

I'm in love and always will be

Part 3 of the PeterSusan quartet: Cheated Hearts

Surrendering, Peter/Susan, PG13 1/4

2009-07-02T14:22:09Z

Title: Surrendering
Pairing: Peter/Susan INCEST.
Rating: PG13
Word count: 1616
Warning: Based on the movie. Adult themes. Incest and sexual references.
Summary: Susan wrestles with Peter and ends upwrestling with herself. Part 1 of the PeterSusan quartet. Set a week before Always.

Peter and Susan were having a week off. It was Susan’s idea. After all, they had been working solidly as monarchs for three years now. The kingdom was quiet and Narnia was at peace.

Peter looked at the beautiful green fields that surrounded them. The sun was drenching them in its golden rays. However, the High King found himself unable to concentrate on the beauty of the place. He was still puzzling over the diplomatic negotiations that he had postponed until the beginning of next week. What if this had harmed the political situation and reduced the chances of a favourable diplomatic outcome? A frown started to spread over Peter’s pale, handsome face.

Susan glanced over at Peter. She playfully smacks him on the arm. “Hey, stop worrying. Narnia will be alright without you. It’s only seven days.” She smiled. “Don’t worry.” She smoothed his forehead with her slender fingers and leans over to kiss the offending area. “I like it when you smile.”

Her older brother obliged her sweet request. He pushed all worries away and focused on his sister. His beautiful and gentle sister. Peter studied her pretty complexion and felt a flutter in his heart. She’s my sister, he thought lovingly and despairingly at the same time.

Suddenly a mischievous twinkle ignited in her alluring hazel eyes. Before Peter could react, Susan launched herself at him. She took him by surprise and it was this force that pushed him to the ground. Susan tickled her brother under her and was pleased to hear his musical merriment. Susan’s hair had fallen in her face and reached up to brush it away. Peter took advantage of her distraction. With a grin, he flipped his sister over with one arm and she lay compliant beneath him.

“I win, Su,” Peter beamed. Su was his pet nickname for her when he was sure they were alone. “Do you yield?”

Susan raised her eyebrows and pushed with all her might. The two siblings started to roll on the field. Long skirts tangled with white shirts and grey trousers. The long grass parted around them like the Red Sea. Peter grunted. Susan was actually quite strong now, she was fit to be a warrior in her own right. My grown up sister, Peter thought fondly. His musing was brought to a stop when Susan elbowed him and straddled him. Her legs were parted, her long layers of skirt pinning him down.

“Ah Peter, beaten by a girl?” Susan teased.

Peter chuckled. “No way!” In answer, he reached up to tickle the lithe body above him. Susan squealed in laughter and squirmed on his hips.

“Stop it Peter! You’re cheating!” Susan giggled. She reached out to grab his hands. She managed to hold them down on either side of Peter’s blonde locks. Sapphire blue eyes locked with hazelnut brown. The two eldest Pevensie siblings were now panting from the physical activity.

Peter gazed up at his sister. His eyes held no trace of fear. He completely trusted his sister. Susan knew that he could throw her off if he wanted to. Peter was the High King of Narnia but he was also known to be fairly adept as a warrior. His sword fighting skills were formidable.

“Do you, High King of Narnia, surrender to me?” Susan said in a mock serious tone as if she were in a tournament.

Peter stuck his tongue out. “Or else?” Peter asked defiantly. “What will you do to me?” He knows that she would never hurt him. She could never hurt him. Susan was the most gentle person that he had ever known.

Susan just held his slim wrists, restraining him. Yet Peter was not struggling. He lay still underneath her. She knew that he could push her over if he wanted to but he didn’t. She was surprised that he hadn’t already flipped her. She squeezes his wrists. She could feel his pulse racing. Susan felt confused.

“No. I, High King of Narnia, will refuse to submit to you, Queen Susan…” There was a pause and he smiled innocently. “But I, Peter Pevensie agrees to surrender to you, my darling Su.” Yes, I shall give you anything you want that is within my power to give, he promised. I will give you anything and everything.

Susan was stunned at her older brother’s words. The implications were huge. This was just a game right? Susan felt herself longing for Peter. It’s wrong, she told herself. His darling Su. She sighed inwardly at the warmth that spread in her heart. Right now, she wanted to be his darling forever. She releases his wrists. They were slightly red from her grip. She had unknowingly tightened her grip as she fought with herself. Susan winced inwardly at her own handiwork. She lifted them to her mouth and kissed the sore skin.

“I’m sorry Peter. Why didn’t you tell me I was hurting you?” Susan looked at her brother with sorrowful eyes. “You know that I would never try to hurt you brother? I didn’t mean to…”

Peter hadn’t noticed before. “I’m fine,” he laughs. “It’s nothing.” It was because of this that Peter knows that Susan would never hurt him. “I’m not afraid.” He answered the unspoken question. Peter wasn’t afraid of wanting more.

Susan looked into his eyes and understood. Peter wasn’t referring to his wrists. “It’s immoral Peter,” she whispered. She makes a move to get off him but he holds her hands and pulls him towards her. Their faces are inches apart.

“I love you Susan. It doesn’t matter. Remember what you told me yesterday? You told me that I should enjoy life more and live everyday like it was your last. It reminded me of Dad.” Peter’s eyes mist over. Peter was usually the strong one. Susan knew that he had tended to avoid talking about their father because Peter was the one closest to him. It had hit Peter the hardest when their father was drafted into the war – but he had never told Susan that. He didn’t need to. Susan found him sitting alone in the dark dampness of the air raid shelter. She didn’t say anything. Susan had sat and cried with him. She held him until his incoherent sobs subsided. Then she wiped his face with her handkerchief and held his hand as they walked back to the house in the dark. “It was the same thing you told me as we were walking from the shelter that night.”

Susan nodded in encouragement. She knew what he meant. The week that their father had been drafted. The week before their father left to fight in the war.

Peter stared into the eyes of Susan, the windows to her gentle soul. They gave him the strength to continue. He could see her support and faith in him. “You told me to spend the little remaining time with Dad as if it were his last and not to waste anymore time brooding over his drafting. You told me to tell him how I admired him…because I might never get to tell him again but to tell him I such a way that it would show that I believed he would come back. I asked you how I could do that and you said simply, ‘Hug him and tell him that you love him.’ Su, you always knew what to do.”

The barriers were fell. Peter saw that Susan’s eyes were filled with sincere care, concern and love. A kind of love both knew was forbidden. Beyond that of a brother and a sister. So much more.

“I don’t know what to do about this.” Susan sat up straight and turned away. “Let go, Peter,” she said tiredly. “I don’t want to play anymore.”

Peter refused to liberate her small wrists. He pulled her to him and in the shock of the moment, she collapsed against him. Her brown hair now laid under his chin. Peter kissed her head. Then he left go of her and wrapped his arms around her. “No Susan. You let go.”

Susan was reluctant. Peter could feel her body tense against his and he could see her trying to struggle.

“Just for this week. For me Su.” Peter pleaded. Like this is the last week of my life, Peter thought. I would want to spend it with you. “I love you.”

Susan surrendered. She pulled Peter so that they were side by side and then she kissed him. She let herself get caught up in the passion of moment. She let Peter’s hands roam her body. She allowed herself to respond to his feather light touches. She kissed him back. Again and again. She gave him an unforgettable memory, a kiss so tender and prolonged that he was left gasping for breath. Gasping for more. She was his life, his breath and pulse. She was free.

Just for the week. Peter could pretend, surrender to this fantasy. He could feel like he was in heaven with an angel. Just for the week, she surrendered.

Part 2 of the PeterSusan quartet: Always

A Heavy Price

2009-07-01T07:49:55Z

Title: A Heavy Price
Pairing: None.
Rating: PG
Word count: 484 total
Warning: Drabbles. Some Arthur angst.
Spoilers: 1.09 Excalibur
Summary: One life for another? It's not that simple. Three drabbles on Gaius, Uther and Arthur.

Unjust

Whenever he treats the young prince, Gaius is reminded of the price of Arthur’s existence. A life for a life. He wants to shake Arthur and berate him for being so careless with a life that was bought so dearly.

It was tragic that the king lost his queen and Arthur his mother and Gaius knows more than anyone that the Pendragon family suffers. He doesn’t begrudge them this but after the Great Purge everyone knew what it was like to lose someone. Sympathy turned to fear turned to bitterness. Everyone suffers.

The physician thought if Uther knew his son’s pain, he would not treat him so harshly. Gaius lies for His Highness, Arthur made his swear an oath. Like father, like son. Arthur’s wrists are heavily bandaged from this month’s second mishap, a training accident. Gaius knows better but though it’s unjust, it is not his place to judge the King.

Precious

On his deathbed, Uther regretted that Arthur would never know exactly how precious he was to him. He did not want Arthur to have to shoulder the terrible guilt that he had to live with every single day.

A life for a life. Yes, Uther had not known that the use of magic would exact such a heavy price. It had taken more than one life in his opinion. When Igraine’s life had been lost – Uther lost what remaining part of himself that wanted to live. Instead he wasted his energy seeking revenge on everything magical. Killing the precious bits of time he had left with his son on a quest to recover what was lost forever. Hoping that each sorry soul quashed would somehow fill the hollow in his chest. It was never enough.

He will join her soon.

He really is sorry. Arthur deserved so much more from him and he had nothing to offer.

Orphan

Uther was a king, not a father. Arthur may have had many privileges as a prince but he would have thrown it all away to have known what it was like to have parents.To have a father that did not expect the kingdom of him and to have had a mother to turn to.

Arthur knows that when his father looks at him, he sees the last vestiges of his mother in his features. Whenever Uther looks at him with that pained expression, Arthur would have died if it could bring her back to him.

To everyone, he is a prince. To Gaius, hope. To his knights, a leader.

To Merlin, he is a friend. Arthur. Just Arthur. His life is his own.

When he recalls his father’s words again - You are too precious to me. You are worth more to me than anything I know, more than this entire Kingdom, more than my own life - Arthur thinks he can begin to forgive his father.

Conscious Dreaming, Kirk/Spock, PG, 1/1

2009-06-30T14:41:20Z

Title: Conscious Dreaming (AKA 5 Times Jim invaded Spock’s dreams and the 1 time he didn’t have to)
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Bit of profanity. Nudity. Crude jokes. Sexual references but no graphic sex. Slash of the Kirk/Spock variety. Actually more pre-slash than anything.
Summary: Response to two st_xi_kink prompts on the same page

combined with permission of the anons: "Vulcans have very logical dreams, as they have trained themselves to for many years. Spock's are usually about his experiments, and that sort of thing. And then he meets Jim Kirk, and suddenly his dreams are less logical and more sexual." and "Kirk has or gains the ability to invade other people's dreams at his will, and takes full advantage of it. Kirk/Spock preferred, but not necessary. Just get Kirk with someone through sexy dreams and dream pranks."

AN: Even made it into a 5+1! Hope this is as you hoped it would be :)

1. It started out harmless. Really. Kirk had been rescued in the nick of time before he was offered up as a virgin sacrifice for some Cardassian dream God. Kirk is tired but unable to sink into the oblivion of sleep. Ever since the mission he feels a tingly kind of fuzziness with fatigue – like being awake but not. The closest he can describe it is like... the conscious dreaming that Vulcans supposedly have. It kind of freaks him out. He thought it was adrenaline so he tried working out before sleeping. He tried tiring himself out by wanking. All he got was a bad chafe. So he tries the old counting trick, you know where you try to bore yourself to sleep. He figures out he has to run out of intergalactic boobies to count at some point. At some point the boobies fade into green penises and if he squints really really hard he can see Spock (of all the people he could dream about) amongst the pile of cocks. He groans inwardly when he realises he must be dreaming about his First Officer and work? Sure Spock isn’t bad looking but it’s still a bit of a blow to his playboy ego. He would much prefer to be dreaming up an orgy with Gaila and her friends...or at least Spock could be doing something interesting.

Unfortunately Spock is fully clothed and watching his console. Even without looking Kirk knows that he’s going through the Nexus equation experiment that the Vulcan had told him about a few days ago when Kirk tried to strike up a conversation. It’s so normal that it could be real but...

The last thing he remembers is going to sleep. Kirk pinches himself. Nope, no pain. He’s definitely dreaming. Except he knows it. Odd.

Spock hasn’t turned around like he usually has so yet so Kirk yells, “Spock!”

Spock startles almost imperceptibly but Kirk knows him well enough to know that he just gave his First Officer the Vulcan version of the heebiejeebies. Wow, I must be dreaming because I managed to sneak up on Mr Stealth Vulcan. “Captain, how did you find me here?”

“Here? What do you mean?” Kirk feigns ignorance. “It’s my ship.”

Spock raises an eyebrow. “It is the ship that StarFleet has assigned to you, yes. However, I was referring to the parameters of this particular projection of space in my mind. I believe that you have managed to exert a Vulcan-like control over the period of rest you term ‘sleep’ in which humans typically experience emotional fantasies and nocturnal emissions of your subconscious mind. Vulcans have the ability to control our dreams to a certain extent. In addition to gaining this ability, you seem to be penetrating my slumber logistics.”

Jim has to struggle to withhold his amusement from Spock. Using long words is kind of sexy but Jim would not admit it. “You mean to say I am controlling my dreams and that I, uh, invaded your dreams?”

“Yes. That is correct.”

“Well if I invaded your dream then...does that means I have superpowers?” A smile began to spread across Jim’s face.

Spock quirks a slanted eyebrow. “Presumably, that may be possible in this realm. You would have to test your hypothesis of course.”

“Okay...” Jim closes his eyes and thinks really hard. When he opens his eyes, he is pleased at his success.

Spock is wearing a sparkly pink version of his Science Officer uniform.

His First Officer does not seem to find the sight quite as amusing, judging from the sterner than usual look on his face. Jim giggled.

Spock glared. “Are you satisfied with your juvenile experiments?”

Another puff and Spock is wearing a matching pink tutu. Spock’s dark eyes bore into his Captain’s and Jim wondered fleetingly if he could be strangled to death in his dreams. He stopped the thought before it could get too kinky.

“Alright alright!” Jim concedes hastily and changes it back but not before noticing his First Officer has great legs. Smooth, pale skin- Get a grip Jim, he told himself.

“Since you have proven you hypothesis, Captain, will you leave me to complete my work?”

Kirk takes a few seconds to think just to annoy Spock and then agrees easily, “Sure, Spock.” He leaves with a shit-eating grin on his face.

When Spock returns to his experiment results, all he can see is a grainy music video. It appeared to be from the twentieth century. A human singer. The tune is frightfully catchy and...irritating. Spock tells himself that he does not feel irritation because that is an emotion. He is merely concerned about the rate of his experiments.

No matter what he does, he can’t reset the program. Spock tries to call for Captain Jim but he seems unavailable . Spock settles for learning the words to the song. Perhaps it is a test of some sort?

“We’re no strangers to love,
You know the rules and so do I.
A full commitment’s what I’m thinking of,
You wouldn’t get this from any other guy...”

2. The next night Jim appears quietly. Spock is examining at the large palm plants in the terrarium. His gaze is intent on the data padd sitting on a stand and one hand is on his chin in a very human gesture. Jim thinks of making himself invisible and then he sneaks around behind his First Officer. Superpowers are great. I’m just testing out my awesome x-ray vision, I’m not checking out Spock’s ass at all. Though it is a good ass.

Kirk decides to announce his presence by coming up behind him and pinching that ass.

Spock jumps and turns around but he cannot see his Captain.

Jim can see that his Science Officer’s brilliant mind is practically going overdrive at estimating the chances that he a) imagined it, b) really felt someone commit a lewd act, c) abandon logic and blame Jim?

Kirk lets Spock settle into his work for a few minutes before striking again. This time, Spock growls, “Captain Kirk, you will stop this...illogical behaviour. Show yourself.”

Kirk giggles and he is visible. His hand reaches out for Spock’s ass again and normally, his First Officer would be faster than him but this is his dream so he’s able to dodge the counterattack easily.

Spock attempts to nerve pinch him but it doesn’t work. Instead Kirk charges him and straddles him, pinning his arms down easily with one hand.

“Wow, I’m powerful.” Jim flexes his free hand with a low whistle.

“It is only logical since you are controlling this realm.” Spock notices that his Captain has an expression on his face which he understands to be contentment. Fascinating, he thought, the Captain enjoys my presence?

“It’s because I’m badass.”

Spock has learnt that sometimes it’s easier to give in to humans and their illogical impulses than to argue. In this situation, he can see no harm in doing so. In fact, it may grant him a six point nine per cent chance of being released sooner. “As you wish, Captain.”

“This is a dream. We’re not working. Call me Jim.”

Spock hesitates. “Jim.”

Jim feels so pleased that he is momentarily distracted. “Uh yes? Something you want?”

“Would you mind getting off me?”

Jim starts. “Oh, of course.”

There’s an awkward silence.

“I have work to do.”

“C’mon it’s just dreams. Let’s have fun.” Jim wriggles his hips in an obscene manner and thrusts in the direction of Spock. As he leaves an unsettled Spock, he notices that First Officer blushes more vividly in his dreams and he knows he did not imagine it.

3. The night after Spock is planning a detailed transmission to StarFleet about their last mission. Kirk watches him for a while before getting bored. He had to admit that it was funny seeing his First Officer try to explain why they had to show Kirk’s old sex tapes to the Cardassians (to inform them that their sacrifice was impure). Spock-speak sanitises the fiasco so much that even Kirk does not feel embarrassed but like some sort of hero. Which he is of course. However, he does not want to hear about himself having to be rescued like some damsel -n-distress thank you very much.

So Jim decides to liven up the recording with some porn.

Spock immediately spins around to look at his Captain. Jim has put on an almost convincing ‘who me?’ look. Almost. “Captain, this is inappropriate material to be viewing on StarFleet consoles. You should not be in possession of such lewd sexual footage.”

“Relax, Spock. These are not StarFleet consoles. They’re Spock-head consoles,” Jim chuckles. “Besides it’s not my porn. It’s Chekov’s. I just...borrowed it.”

Spock makes a mental note to himself that he should confiscate such inappropriate material from Ensign Chekov.

His Captain interrupts his musings. “You know I can take your clothes off,” Kirk threatens mischievously.

The proud Vulcan does not grace his threat with a reply.

“But since you won’t, I will.”

Spock is too shocked to stop his Captain.

Stripper music starts running in the background and the scene fades out to a private nightclub booth. Jim’s favourite. Jim starts walking towards Spock, moving his hips to the beat. He starts lifting his shirt off slowly before flinging it behind him. Then in one fluid movement, he’s on his knees in front of Spock with his fly undone. Slowly as he gets up, he peels the StarFleet issue slacks off, stepping out of them. He locks eyes with his First Officer as he stands only in his underwear.

Spock looks as if he wants to run but the room doesn’t open anywhere else. He does not voice any objections to the display though. Jim can see that Spock is aroused.

Jim puts Spock’s hands in his waistband and kisses Spock, surprised that Spock is returning the kiss. Jim isn’t a seasoned playboy for nothing. He can tell that he’s about to hit Spock’s boundaries so he withdraws gracefully. “See you later, Spock.”

Spock is left breathing heavily, trying to centre himself. He blames the overwhelming amount of stimulus and lack of control in Jim’s dream-realm for his emotional response. He does not harbour romantic affections for his Captain. Yes, it was only a logical biological response to Jim’s advances towards him.

4. Spock decides that he needs to spend the next dream meditating to keep his emotions under control. It is going well and he seems to be able to block out the captain’s interfering presence.

The Vulcan has already decided that he should ask Jim politely to refrain from corrupting his dreams with sexual perversions. Yet his human half acknowledges that it is not an explicit denial of the activities, which could be rescheduled at a more appropriate context. Spock feels control slipping from him as he is reminded of the images he saw yesterday. Naked bodies. Sex. Jim. Naked Jim. Eidetic memory can be a curse.

“Hmmmmmmmmmmmmm,” Kirk hums loudly. Spock opens one eye to see Kirk sitting cross-legged opposite him in the candle light. Completely naked. Kirk looks up from his pose then he winks at Spock. “Hummmm. Hummmmmmm.”

It takes all of Surak’s teaching for Spock to stay completely still.

Jim can see Spock’s face twitching as he’s trying not to respond.

The Captain continues to make obscene noises and Spock cannot concentrate on the meditation. “Captain,” he says in a warning tone. Spock gives up all pretence of focus and opens his eyes.

Jim is stretched out in an impossibly flexible pose. “Yes, Spock?”

Spock finds himself at a loss for words again. It seems to be a frequent occurrence in his Captain’s company. He takes a deep breath. Calm. No emotion. “Do you mind returning to your own room?”

“No, but I like yours better.”

Spock does not know why he feels pleased at his Captain’s words. Then he suppresses the emotion again. He needs to find his calm, yes.

“If you insist,” Kirk agrees but wriggles his ass on the way out. “Night, Spock,” he says with a wink over his shoulder.

Spock spends the whole of his sleep meditating. He feels much more relieved afterwards even though he wakes up with jizz in his pants for the fourth morning in a row.

5. Spock decides that he’ll be human. The human saying is “to fight fire with fire”. So the logical response is to respond like a human. He has already tried the Vulcan technique of meditation. This time, he will sleep. Surely the boredom of that activity would cause Kirk to desist. Though a small small part of Spock is hoping that Jim won’t. In fact, he is almost counting on it. Spock finds challenging situations satisfactory to his mindset even if they are occasionally stressful.

Spock focuses on sleeping, keeping his breathing even and it works like a charm. He is almost disappointed.

Then he feels it. He can feel Kirk’s eyes on him. Kirk is next to him, touching him. Chastely so far. Spock lets Jim continue, enjoying the human’s presence. If he lets himself, he can almost feel the feather light touches.

Jim is curious. Spock appears to be asleep this time. He looks so human like that. I wonder what he wears to sleep. Slowly, Jim tries to peek under the sheets.

Spock sits up and yanks the sheet up. He is in Jim’s bed. A bedside lamp lights up the room in a soft glow. There are various earth artefacts around the room. Well this is Jim’s dream-real, it is only logical he tells himself. Though he cannot logically explain why his heart rate increased exponentially at the revelation of his location. “May I inquire as to what you are doing, Cap- Jim?”

“I knew you weren’t really asleep!” Jim says to cover up his surprise. “Um...I wanted to see what you wear to sleep?” Jim squeaked out. Damn, that sounded so girly, he berates himself.

“Though it is a personal preference, you could have asked,” Spock says simply. Humans are so confusing sometimes. “As to your question, I am not currently wearing any garments.”

Jim laughs. “Oh my God. You sleep naked Spock! That’s naughty!” Another round of laughter, then Jim says, “I would have thought you’d have a thing for Starfleet regulation pjs.”

Spock is confused. He thinks that Kirk’s behaviour though odd, he can understand why females find his smile irresistible. Jim’s laughter has a certain charisma to it. Spock files that information away. “I had not thought this would be a source of fascination and amusement to you. They are in the process of being laundered.”

“Don’t you have spares?”

“They are being laundered,” Spock repeats patiently.

Jim has this look and then he absolutely howls with laughter mumbling something about wet dreams. Spock does not know what this ‘wet dreams’ mean, he assumes that it is a human medical condition. He resolves to ask Doctor McCoy when he has the time.

“Sorry.” Spock notes that the Captain does not sound apologetic but he finds that he does not mind.

“An apology for my garments is unwarranted and unnecessary.”

“So...”

Spock looks at Jim expectantly.

“What do you want to do?” Jim asks.

The words fly out of Spock’s mouth before he can take them back. It’s automatic. “What can I do to get you to leave me in peace?”

Jim’s enthusiastic grin wanes at the words. Luckily for Spock, Jim is persistent. “I don’t believe that’s what you want.”

“I do not think this is appropriate.”

“Really? But you didn’t deny what I said.”

Spock inclined his head ever so slightly. “Vulcans do not lie.”

Jim cocks his head sideways with a smirk. “But they can lie in bed?”

“Captain I was referring to the usage of the word ‘lie’ as a noun, not the verb. In the context-”

“Whatever.” Now it is Jim’s turn to look at his First Officer with an expectant look in his eyes.

“What do you want Captain?”

Jim exhales heavily before plunging in. “You. I want to be with you.”

The Vulcan gives the human a long look. He supposes that Jim has many characteristics that even Vulcans would find attractive. He was attracted to the man and it is clear that Jim finds him attractive. He thinks may as well try being human. With the human. Yes, that is only logical.

“The passcode to my quarters are one-three-three-seven-sixty-nine-delta.”

Kirk whoops.

+1. The door slides open quietly. Not that Jim thought Spock would lie to him but still, he didn’t really expect that the passcode would work. For a moment, he had really been afraid that it was just a dream and nothing more. “Spock?” Jim says hesitantly into the dark. Maybe Spock won’t answer then what would he do?

“Here, Captain.” Spock’s voice is quiet, over in the corner of the room. He reaches over to strike a match and a candle is lit.

Jim navigates slowly around in the dim room hoping he won’t knock something over and break it. He manages to find the bed.

Jim knows that here Spock has the power and he could totally kick him out. Heck, he could kick his ass while he’s at it. So Jim decides to err on the side of caution and hovers near the bed, waiting for Spock to set the tone.

Spock hesitantly shifts sideways to make more room on the left side of the bed. Jim knows that this gesture coming from Spock is an invitation. As close to giving permission anyway.

Jim grins and slides into the bed next to his First Officer, feeling the warmth of the room and of the Vulcan body. Wow, he’s really naked. Jim tries to hide his giggle. “This is so much better.” The smoky smell of the candle is kind of romantic.

“I am glad you find this arrangement satisfactory.” Spock blows out the flame.

That night, they both go to sleep in peace.

And if they are both late for their shift next morning because Jim wanted to give Spock an early morning blow job, the crew does not complain. Everyone has had the same dream of the annoying love song five nights in a row. They could do with a break too.

"Substitution and Submission" Merlin/Arthur NC-17 2/?

2009-06-25T16:21:37Z

Title: Substitution.and Submission (AKA The Most Screwed Up Merlin/Arthur Fic Ever)
Pairing: Slash. Merlin/Arthur, Uther/Arthur (implied past dub-con)
Rating: NC-17 (rating upped for this chapter)
Word Count: 1392
Spoilers: up to 1.07 The Gates of Avalon. That's all I've watched.
Warnings: Dark!Merlin, Broken!Arthur, non-con, dub-con, fucked up role-playing, incest, abuse of magic, violence, secondary character deaths, suicide, self-harm/cutting, generally disturbing themes. Basically as fucked up a fic as I could make it and definitely the most screwed up thing I've ever written. Not for those easily offended.
Summary: Prompt from kinkme_merlin Arthur and Merlin have a really dark, creepy fucked up disturbing relationship. In exactly what way it's fucked up I will leave it up to you but the darker the better. I'm a fan of dark!Merlin in particular so would be happy if he made an appearance but if you want to do something different that's fine.

Part 1

The blond haired man lies nervously on the four poster bed. He had never been worried about not knowing what his father expected of him. No, it was perfectly clear even in this informal setting, what his father had wanted from him. Arthur only feared that he was a disappointment. So every time Uther summoned him, guilt and excitement would lance though him. He wanted a chance to prove to his father that he could be the very best son. In every way. No matter what the cost.

Arthur gapes a little as Merlin strode regally into his father’s chambers, it’s now their chambers, but to him it will always remind him a little too much of the late king. Merlin looks the perfect picture of Uther, perhaps a young Uther. The father that he will never see again this side of the Gates of Avalon. Merlin is wearing the signature Pendragon red robe with the silver chain clasp. The chain mail tunic. The black leather gloves. The only thing that is noticeably Merlin’s is the crown on his head. He is wearing Arthur’s and, of course, Arthur is wearing his father’s crown.

Merlin strides confidently towards the new king, pushing him towards the bed straight away. “Arthur, you’ve kept me waiting all day,” Merlin growls, just like his father used to. It’s not as practiced and the idea of Merlin as dominating is laughable and a little frightening. It’s such a start contrast to the Merlin he knows best – his bumbling manservant. Arthur supposes that Merlin just doesn’t use his magic to intimidate people even if he could.

With a flare of golden eyes that Uther would have despised, Merlin summons up silk ties. They would hold Arthur in place but not mark him. Arthur was a prince after all. With incredible gentleness, Arthur’s hands are tied to the bed posts.

Arthur wets his lips nervously, unsure of what to expect. It feels so surreal. He has no choice but to submit.

Merlin-as-Uther is kissing him wetly, palming his bulge, enjoying the way Arthur-his-son whimpers and struggles. Uther had liked to play power games. Arthur wonders idly how exactly Merlin knows all this but thinks and trusts in his lover’s magic. If he needed to know, he’d tell him.

“Shhh, my boy,” Merlin-as-Uther says with the slightest edge of warning. It’s a command.

Arthur bites the inside of his cheek to keep silent as Merlin-his-father takes a knife out of his belt. He sucks in a breath. It is as he expects, the cold metal of the knife briefly kisses his skin as the tunic is cut from his body. Then he feels caresses. A sudden pinch to a rosy nipple makes him gasp and moan.

“You want this, don’t you Arthur?”

It’s when Merlin cups his face firmly and repeats the question that Arthur knows he’s supposed to reply. What is he supposed to say? He supposes he knows the lines of this script so well so he doesn’t know why he is panicking. Perhaps it’s just because it still feel slightly uncomfortable. Different. He’s aware that it’s Merlin. Merlin is his father. Merlin is pretending to be his father. In bed.

“Of course, my Lord,” Arthur says obediently, the way he had been trained.

Merlin narrowed his eyes as he felt the slightest hesitation. “Arthur? Are you loyal to me?” The unspoken question hangs between them: Do you trust me?

Arthur does.. “Always, my Lord.”

The grip on his face tightens, not enough to bruise, but Merlin tilts Arthur’s face forcefully so that they are looking deep into each other eyes.

“And only me?”

Facing his lover, he cannot lie. It doesn’t matter if it is his father or Merlin. It doesn’t even make sense. Yet, the answer would be the same. “And only you.”

Then the warlock’s eyes flare a brilliant gold and Arthur’s hands are free.

When the blond makes no moves, Merlin prompts, “Arthur, do not keep me waiting!” It is delivered in a suitably demanding tone that kings have when they talk. It is familiar to Arthur and he is comforted by it.

“Merlin! Wait! Do want us to...to...” Arthur is not sure how to say it. Is he playing the part of himself as his father’s son or Merlin’s lover? Is there a difference there?

A look of regal disdain crosses Merlin’s face that would have made Uther proud. The blond hastens on, “He...um he had me service him... but he and I didn’t...” Arthur gestures inarticulately. He didn’t like to say ‘my father’ – it sounded too perverted. Feeling his cheeks flush with embarrassment, the new king clarifies, “He didn’t penetrate me.”

Merlin clears his throat with a curious look.

“Nor I him.”

This is the only time Merlin breaks out of the role. The brunet leans over to kiss Arthur reassuringly on the lips, before rolling them over so Arthur was on top. “All I ask is that you make me feel like a King.”

Arthur inclines his head to acknowledge his lover’s request and then he kisses the side of Merlin’s neck. His father didn’t like to be undressed so he did not attempt to undress Merlin. He merely unclasped the cape so he would be more comfortable. Then the blond ran his hand down the length of the chest and closed his eyes ever so briefly. The feeling was familiar to him. He had done this not so long again. Calloused fingers travelled down a steel path until it finally reached the ornate belt with the Pendragon crest on the buckle. He undid this also and pushed the thigh length mail aside so he could gain access to the pants. Without looking upwards, Arthur undid the laces deftly with his teeth then warmed his hands with his breath before pulling the straining penis out with the required reverence. Arthur carefully positions the clothing so it would not chafe uncomfortably while trying to remind himself it’s Uther. Not Merlin. Uther. Uther. Uther. But he’s doing this for Merlin. He’d do anything for Merlin. Would he have done anything for his father? Arthur is trying really hard not to compare but he suspects that Merlin knows. Maybe this is why they are doing this. Maybe Merlin was right. This is his chance to prove to his lover that he loves him. That isn’t so wrong.

Merlin is growing impatient. Arthur is just staring at his penis and the thought that his lover might be comparing him, irritates him. “Arthur?”

“Hmm, yes Merlin?” Arthur replies distractedly, looking up and realising his mistake a little too late.

The blow snaps his head sideways. The gloved hand that struck him stings more than he remembered. Yet Arthur trusts Merlin not to really hurt him or leave any visible marks on him.

“What did you call me?” Merlin’s forehead is furrowed and the wording is oh so much like his father.

There would have been no point in denying it. “I’m sorry, father,” Arthur says painfully. He holds himself stoically, expecting a second blow as punishment. ‘Uther’ would have been ruthless and Merlin delivers a swift backhand that Arthur accepts without flinching. Still he can tell the use of the familial title has abated ‘Uther’s’ anger if only slightly.

Merlin grabs Arthur by his hair not enough to pull it out but enough to hurt. “Arthur, look at me. You will obey me. You will be loyal to me.”

“Only you, my Lord,” he repeated before lowering his head to Merlin’s crotch. Arthur performs perfectly; swallowing every drop of his lover’s cum. Merlin is uncharacteristically quiet. Like Uther, Arthur’s mind reminds him. Always Uther.

When they are done, Merlin says the words as he always wished his father would say but rarely did, “You make me so happy son, I’m proud of you.” Though Merlin is only pretending to be his father, he plays the part perfectly. Arthur feels the power shift between them with fearful accuracy. It is exactly like he wanted it.

With those words, Arthur feels absolved. He is inexplicably happy.

They both take their clothes off and they go to sleep. He is relieved when he wakes up, it’s just Arthur and Merlin again. Merlin wants to make love to him and Arthur complies gladly and they don’t have to talk about it.

Part 3