So basically I plan to come up with a whole bunch of ways in which Merlin could reveal his magic. We'll start with a magicwhump! one. The best way to start anything.
This isn't set any time in particular. (Ignore anything in here that contradicts anything in the series. This is totally independent, just as if they are the normal characters being their normal selves. No bewitched Gwen, no Mordred… pretty much discounting all event in series 5.)
This is my first Merlin fic… be gentle… (:
Oh, and feel free to request a reveal scene. I'm open to suggestions!
In this particular one, Morgana has attacked Camelot, and won, taking the surviving knights, Arthur and a couple other familiar faces into the throne room, and chaining them to the ground. Morgana plans to kill them one by one... Yeah, Morgana, real smart.
I, obviously, don't own Merlin. I don't know why I even bother saying that. If i did, this would have been in an episode long ago. (:
Cry for a friend.
A Merlin oneshot by Januscars
"I give you… Arthur Pendragon!"
The was a terrific roar from the surrounding warriors. Morgana held up her arms, spreading them wide, a delighted, manic, insane grin stretching over her face. Arthur looked up at her, pain and fear warring with his pride. He was kneeling in the centre of the throne room, blood dripping down his forehead, and immense manacles binding his wrists together.
He looked down the room, down the long line of knights kneeling in a similar position. Gwen was part of the line as well, he realised. So was Gaius. Not just knights, but those loyal to him as well. Arthur looked to his left. Gwaine sat next to him, bruises blossoming over his face. Merlin crouched next to him, holding a hand over a large gash in his cheek. The heavy iron manacles were cutting into his wrists, and Arthur could see blood dripping down Merlin's sleeve. His servant gave him a weak smile. Stubborn, stupid Merlin. Always positive, unless the situation they were in was actually positive. Then it was just doom and gloom. But now his manservent smiled, rattling his chains a little. Arthur turned back to his sister.
Behind Morgana stood a row of her fellow sorcerers. They wore cowls and cloaks, but hadn't taken much part in the fighting. They stood now, impassive.
Morgana laughed out loud, fiddling with Arthur's crown. Arthur glared at her.
"I'd die before I let you take the throne, Morgana!" He snarled. Morgana laughed.
"Surely that would be counterintuitive, brother. After all, if you die, who's to stop me?"
Arthur seethed. If only he had his sword. He could run her through – it sounded so satisfying. If only.
Morgana bent down in front of him, "I've won, don't you understand? Don't you see? I've won, and there's nothing you can do about it."
Arthur looked into her eyes, seeing the cold. Why had he never seen it before? He should have realised, all those years ago.
Morgana cackled, and stood, "Oh, I'm going to enjoy this, immensely. Arthur Pendragon, This is the time you die."
She spun around to face the line, "Now, who should I kill first?" She said musingly. Her eyes roved along the line.
"Gwen?" Morgana said, stroking Guinevere's cheek in mock caring. Arthur lurched against the manacles, fighting to be free. He yelled his protest to the ceiling, and Morgana's warriors laughed. The sorcerers stood silently. Morgana seemed to consider, and then let go of the Queen, who slumped away from her, fear clear on her face. "No… Not you, not yet, anyway. Hmm… Gaius? Old man, probably welcome death, don't you?" She crooned. Gaius looked into her eyes.
"What happened to the girl I knew?" he asked quietly. Morgana's face twisted in rage, and she slapped him, hard. Gaius was sent reeling. Merlin, unthinkingly, cried out in anger. Morgana turned to face him.
A smile grew on her lips. Arthur felt the blood drain from his face. No.
Morgana crossed the room in three quick strides, grabbing Merlin's neckerchief and hauling him to his feet. Merlin staggered. Arthur strained against his bonds, utter panic contorting his face.
"No, Morgana- " He cried. Morgana laughed.
"Oh, but I want to…" she said, "Merlin has caused me so much trouble, I think it's time I paid him back."
Merlin's face clamped down into a mask of grim determination.
"What, you going to fight me, Morgana?" he asked. Morgana looked at him, incredulously.
"You, fight me? Merlin, what on earth would make you think you could so much as scratch me?"
Arthur cried out in desperation. Merlin smiled.
"Just one thing, Morgana. One little fact you've missed." Merlin said frostily. Morgana stared at him in confusion.
Merlin smiled, and held out his arms.
"My hands aren't chained." He hissed.
Arthur looked down at the floor. Indeed, he realised the iron manacles that had previously chained his servant to the floor were no longer binding his wrists. Had he managed to wriggle out of them? No, he can't have. Arthur remembered seeing Merlin's arms bleeding as the heavy metal cut into his wrists. The manacles were closed, locked and bolted.
Arthur turned his gaze back to Merlin. A suspicion, welling in his chest, in his heart. No. can't be. No.
But it was. Merlin reached up a hand, and his eyes glowed a brilliant gold.
"That's my king you're threatening," He said in a voice – a terrible, angry voice. Arthur reeled. The power in that voice, words spoken with such sincrity, depth and timbre. Where was his manservant now? This wasn't the Merlin he knew. This was a Merlin who knew what he was doing. Who was prepared to die. A terrible, cold, angry Merlin.
Morgana gave a shriek, and was blasted backwards by the force of the spell. Merlin raised his hands to the ceiling, and then brought them down with a shout. The bonds that held the knights fell to the floor- some snapped, some whole and intact. There was a startled pause.
"Arthur!" Merlin screamed, ripping a sword from a startled warrior and throwing it to him. Arthur caught it on instinct, terror and disbelief warring. No. Magic? Merlin, a sorcerer? A traitor?
But he had no time for such thoughts, as one of the armour-clad men bounded to face him. He quickly blocked a stroke, and shoved the man backwards. He ripped the sword from his hand and threw it to Gwaine, before taking the man out. More warriors were there, trying to stop him, but Arthur cut them down mechanically. There was Merlin, ducking and trying to desperately protect himself as Morgana, up and about, spat spells at him with a screech. Merlin, it seemed, was doing more than just fighting Morgana. Arthur saw him duck and flick his hand upwards, with a foreign shout, sending one of the men trying to attack Gwen into the wall. Leon, nearly overcome, found two of the warriors leaping at him fall to the ground screaming, holding onto hands that had apparently been burnt by their own swords. Gwaine was fighting his way toward Merlin, who was fending off magical and physical attacks.
The sorcerers at the back of the room were taking no part. Morgana was screaming at them to help, but to no avail.
Gwaine. Thick, drunken, loyal Gwaine. Didn't care about magic. Why should he? He concentrated on the facts: his friend was in danger. He struck his way through the roiling mass of bodies and flailing swords. Merlin saw him coming, ducking a particularly vicious spell from Morgana that hit one of her own warriors, and sent him up in a burst of fire. Merlin countered, sending part of the roof crashing down on her. She leaped out of the way, and disappeared in a cloud of smoke, and a spike of magic. Merlin spun around, ducking numerous attacks.
Gwaine put his back to Merlin, helping him ward off the warriors. Merlin glanced behind him.
"Thanks," he grunted, and then pulled Gwaine to the side as a wave of men tried to break their way past the two of them. Merlin dropped to one knee, and held out his hands. His head whipped up, and eyes glowed.
"STOP!" came a loud shriek from behind him. Gwaine whipped around, followed closely by Merlin. Morgana stood behind them, panting heavily. Blood dripped down a cut on her forehead, and she held a cruel, vicious knife to Arthur's neck. Merlin leapt forward with a cry of anger, but Morgana made as if to slit the King's throat, and Merlin staggered backwards. Morgana laughed, breathlessly.
"Who would have known?" She asked, "Brave little Merlin, a traitor?" She laughed wildly, "I am a high priestess, You cannot match me, you, just a little serving boy who's learned a couple little spells." Morgana hissed. She watched Merlin carefully. He drew himself up to his full height.
"Perhaps you should call me by my real name, Morgana." Merlin said in a soft voice. Morgana cocked her head to the side.
"Excuse me?" She said, incredulously. Merlin stared at her, anger building. He felt the magic in him building, that pure rage drawing more magic than he had ever used, from the very bones of his being. He raised a hand, a soft light glowing around it.
"Emrys." Merlin hissed, "Maybe you should call me Emrys."
Morgana staggered. Arthur was dragged back with her, stumbling, feeling the knife press against his throat. He looked at his manservant through blurred eyes. Merlin looked dark, somehow. As if that proclamation, whatever it was, carried so much weight. Merlin turned his glance on to Arthur. His eyes were hard and cold, but they softened slightly as they rested on the King.
Sorry, Arthur, said Merlin's voice in his head, I'm sorry.
Arthur gaped at him. He shook his head slightly.
Goodbye, said the voice.
Merlin's eyes glowed, brighter and stronger than before. The knife was ripped from its position against Arthur's throat, as Morgana staggered backwards. But Merlin wasn't finished. He raised his hand, palm upwards, and the tips of the fingers glowed.
"No," Morgana hissed, "You wouldn't."
"I'd die to save Camelot and my King, Morgana, you knew that." Merlin said, "I always would."
Morgana leapt forward, spitting spells at his face. Merlin blocked them all with consummate ease. He pulled his hands behind his head, and Morgana was sent flying - towards him.
He grabbed her by the wrists, and sent her flying into the wall. A group of warriors surged forward, but he mowed them down with a flick of his hands.
If only it could have ended there.
But suddenly Morgana was at his side –without taking a step. They stood, face to face for a second.
"Merlin?" Arthur cried out, fear filling his voice.
There was a burst of light, a scream from Morgana, and a yell of pain from Merlin, as she swung the cruel knife-blade into his chest. Arthur staggered forward, but the blast of light that flew from Merlin's hands threw him, and all of the knights backwards into the walls.
Arthur raised his head. The room was silent. Dust was settling. No-one was standing – wait, someone was.
He stood in the middle of the room, head swaying. Next to Arthur, Gwaine raised his head, staggering to his feet.
Merlin turned to look at them. Pain and anger and sadness, all crowded for a position on his face.
"Arthur?" he whispered, but it sounded as loud as a shout in the empty room.
Then he swayed and fell, landing with a solid thump on the floor.
Arthur leapt towards him. In the shock and horror of the moment, he forgot. He forgot? No, he ignored, ignored the magic. This wasn't Merlin an evil sorcerer. This was Merlin, his Merlin, dying on the floor. Arthur knew, no matter what he'd done, he was still Merlin, the bumbling, stupid, clumsy, but the undoubtedly wise Merlin. Gwaine was by his side, similar thoughts in his head. Percival was staggering towards the felled servant, horror on his face. Gaius was sprinting – sprinting- towards him, but Arthur reached Merlin before the others could. He threw himself to his knees beside his prone friend. Blood was spilling over the floor. No, god, no.
Arthur grabbed him bodily, and lifted him from the ground. Merlin's head lolled, his eyes rolled back in his head. He was still breathing.
Arthur looked across at Morgana. Pale, still. He knew she was dead, instinctively.
Arthur looked back down at his manservant. Deathly white, bloodied. Small, suddenly he seemed so small. Arthur put his hand over the knife hilt still buried in the warlock's chest. Bright silver among blood red.
Gwaine was whispering something behind him, he could hear Merlin's name in there, but all other words were blocked out. Merlin… Merlin?
"Merlin?" he whispered. There was no response. No, this couldn't be happening. This was Merlin. Merlin. A sorcerer, yes. But Arthur couldn't be angry at him now – not now, not with him dying in his arms. If Merlin woke, and got better, perhaps then Arthur could be angry. Perhaps then Arthur could scream at him, punish him, throw him in the dungeons or something. But not now, now Arthur couldn't see a sorcerer and traitor in his arms, he could just see Merlin.
"Come on Merlin," he whispered, gathering the man to his chest, tears finally spilling from beneath his eyelids.
"No, damn you, you… clotpole. I don't care, do you understand? I. Don't. care. You can't die, do you hear me? You're Merlin, and I don't care what else you are, that's it. You are Merlin, and you are bloody well going to wake up. Right now, you hear me? Right now." There was a small cough next to him, and he looked back at Merlin's face. His eyes were open, responding to the king's words. They were glazed, but his slowly failing mind was fixed on Arthur.
"N…" he tried to speak. Arthur grabbed his hands, and placed them over the terrible wound.
"Come one Merlin, you can do it. I don't care, you understand me?" Arthur shook him roughly, "Don't you dare lie there and let yourself die, don't you dare."
Merlin raised his arms from over the wound. Arthur shook his head, pressing them back on. Merlin could heal himself, couldn't he? Of course he could.
But Merlin slipped his hands out from under Arthur's shaking fingers.
"Remember-" he finally managed to choke out. His hands clapped Arthur's temples, and his eyes suddenly glowed gold, a brilliant, pure gold. Arthur's neck arched, and suddenly images were flashing in his head.
Memories. Merlin, magic at his fingertips, pulling Arthur backwards from the veil. Merlin, mind boiling, pulling him back from countless attacks. Merlin, stepping forward, "I'd die to save Camelot and my King-"
Arthur screamed, a long, god-awful, devastated scream. The man in his arms was no longer breathing.
"No, come on Merlin, come on, don't do this to me, not now-"
A soft, firm hand pushed him to the side.
One of the Sorcerers. Morgana's followers. He was lying, stomach open to the world from a stab wound in that first initial push, which he and his fellows had joined. There was sadness in his eyes. Arthur stared wildly at him.
"You cry?' the man whispered. He looked at the near-dead servant, "You cry over a sorcerer?"
Arthur met his gaze. Steady. Suddenly calm with certainty.
"I cry over a friend." He said firmly.
Merlin was slowly sinking into darkness, a soft, warm darkness. it felt so good, so natural, why couldn't he just let go? That would be so, so easy...
"I don't care, do you understand? I. Don't. care. You can't die, do you hear me? You're Merlin, and I don't care what else you are, that's it. You are Merlin, and you are bloody well going to wake up. Right now, you hear me? Right now."
Merlin heard that echo in his head. The rush of memories he had given to Arthur was the last of his strength. The very last, he thought. The magic he had used against Morgana had weakened him, terribly. It took every once of his strength to hold on for this long. Why didn't he just let go? It would be so much easier, wouldn't it? Just to let go?
Another voice in his head, a deep, booming, shouting.
It was the Great Dragon, he could feel the creature screaming in his head. Sadness, fear? Was he scared for him? He coudl feel the dragon's pain. He cared. He cared. Merlin wanted to say something to comfort him, something to be remembered by. But he couldn't even open his eyes now.
"You cry over a sorcerer?"
Merlin heard the voice faintly. He was slipping over the edge. He was letting go. It was so peaceful.
"I cry over a friend."
"A friend, my friend," the voice came closer to him, growing softer. he could vaguely feel a face pressed against his, but he felt disconnected from his own body. Arthur...
Oh god, he couldn't do it. In that instant, he knew he couldn't let go. Not now, not here. There was so much to say, so many apologies, accusals, friendships to reform. Arthur didn't care? He still cared, about Merlin. He still cared, and that was enough. Merlin felt a rush of strength- but how? He had -
Suddenly he knew. The dragon - The dragon was pouring energy into Merlin's body. He could hear Kilgharrah's roar in his ears, a painful, heart-wrenching cry. He felt the magic in him pulse, very slightly. But enough.
Merlin pushed himself back fromt the edge. It hurt, it hurt, god it hurt. Suddenly he was flailing back in a world of light and noise, and he sucked in a great, deep breath. The face pressed against his paused. Arthur.
Merlin shoved himself away from Arthur in a screaming heap, suddenly aware of the lancing pain in his chest. He had dragged himself back to the world of the living, but now he had to fight to stay in it. Blood was pouring through his cupped hands, and he screamed at the ceiling. A hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him backwards. Arthur was there, holding Merlin's hands over the wound, pleading with him to heal it. Pleading, Arthur was pleading. Merlin coughed, feeling his tenuous hold on life slip again. He took a deep breath. He could see faces pressing down around him, urging him to hold on, to do it, to heal himself. Arthur, Gwaine, Percival, Gaius, Gwen - they were all around him, and none looked hostile. They all cared.
His eyes rolled up in his head, eyes glowing a deep gold. No words came with it, it was just instinct. That carnal instinct to survive. He need to live. His magic was working for him. His energy was being added to by Kilgharrah, energy that coupled with his magic. He could do it, he could.
Arthur was bordering on the brink of collapse.
Merlin was shaking on the floor, eyes rolled up in his head, convulsing under his own hands. His eyes were glowing a fierce bright light, but the breathing in his ragged chest was gasping, choking. His hands, like claws, were clenching around the knife hilt. He pulled it from his body, slowly, inexorably, gasping in pain, that flow of magic shuddering as he did so. The blade, slippery with blood, clattered to the floor. Arthur bent over him, tear streaming down his face, and put his own hands over Merlin's. Their eyes met, and suddenly, that look of despair of Merlin's face vanished. The gold brightened, forming an almost solid incandescence in the eyes of his friend. Merlin's back arched, and he let loose a cry.
Then it was all over. Merlin fell back against the smooth stone of the hall. Blood was still running through his fingers, but it had slowed to a trickle. He was coughing, and blood was coming up with it.
His eyes met Arthur, and he slumped back, exhausted.
"Ow." he said, almost musingly. Arthur felt like crying, but found himself laughing. Gwen hugged him fiercely, but he pried her loose and scooped Merlin up in a crushing hug. The warlock put his lips to Arthur's ear.
"You don't care?"
"Yes," Arthur said firmly, "I do care. I am astonished and hurt, and I wish you'd told me... But, god help me, I don't care, not right now."
They sat, a small group among a host of dead bodies, crying and laughing over a sorcerer...?
Over a friend.
A/N: hope you liked it! I'm not entirely happy with it, but I'll post it anyway. I've never posted a Merlin Fic before, this should be interesting.
Please, any prompts for reveals would be appreciated, and hopefully written. I'm all ears!
And, of course, please review. First Merlin fic, so, I'll say it again, please don't be too harsh (;
See you... soon? I don't know. I've got other fics at the moment, so might be a while. See you then!