[Fic] A Bend in the River - for zephre
Title: A Bend in the River
Author: Anonymous
Recipient: zephre
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Merlin, Arthur, Morgana, Gwen, Mordred, Aglain (Merlin/Morgana, OT4)
Warnings: None.
Spoilers: Mostly AU after the 1st Series.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,179
Summary: “The runes are meant to protect you.”
Author's Note: First of all, I would like to thank the Solstice mods for being so amazingly patient with me throughout all of this - these past few months haven’t been the easiest real life wise, and I appreciate their dedication to this project and generous patience with me. Also to my beta, S, and my cheerleader, B, thank you! To zephre - I really hope you enjoy this! I settled on focusing on your first prompt with the Druid tattoos, though it did take a while for the characters to get there.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction - none of this ever happened. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is made from this work. Please observe your local laws with regards to the age-limit and content of this work.
i.
After they save Arthur, the only thing left to do is run.
“Morgana, perhaps we ought to veer west-” Merlin begins, but her eyes blaze and he falls silent.
“Don’t speak to me. I know where we’re going.” She squares her jaw and juts her chin, brushing past him with a stubborn air.
“I suppose I deserved that.” Merlin mutters to Morgana’s retreating back, her green cloak lost in a flurry of snow.
ii.
The night holds a quiet stillness and an aching bitter cold, the chill snuffing out their weak fire. Morgana hasn’t spoken a word to him in the week they’ve trekked on, but Merlin hears her cry out and speak to people who aren’t there in her sleep.
“Look, I didn’t mean to upset you - Gaius thought it would be best if you didn’t know.”
She’s huddled up near the dying embers with her body faced away from him, feigning rest. He can tell by the hunch of her shoulders that she’s heard every word he’s said, but her silence still reigns. Merlin sighs after a long while and tilts his head up towards the stars, imagining somewhere far, far away, Arthur just might be looking at the same ones.
iii.
“How long have you had it? The magic, I mean.”
Merlin blinks, momentarily surprised to hear her voice. The first rays of the sun have touched their road to nowhere, and now she scrutinizes him with eyes he knows have seen many things, both past and future.
“I - I suppose ever since I can remember.” He answers, knowing there is no careful reply. She is silent for a long time, beckoning him to continue walking. Morgana waits until he’s met her stride before speaking, gaze clouded with weariness.
“I’ve always had dreams. They were always of little inconsequential things - I’d see where I had lost my doll, or if a storm was rolling in from the sea.” She pauses, the words not coming easily. “And then I dreamt of my father. I saw him ride out to battle and die. I saw the light fade from his eyes...When I arrived in Camelot, Gaius dismissed it all. He gave me potions and drafts and he lied-”
Morgana’s voice breaks in a cold fury. Merlin doesn’t like the dark shadows he hears there, afraid it might swallow her whole.
“Gaius told me once I would always have a home in Camelot. He lied to me too, but he did it out of protection. Out of love.”
“And you? Why did you lie to me?”
Merlin doesn’t know what to say to justify his own actions - if he had told her, would events have unfurled differently? Would they not be banished from Camelot now, striding towards a fate unknown?
“I kept things from you to keep us safe. That and-” Merlin stops abruptly, struggling with his next words. There is no avoiding the fact his secrecy has hurt her, hurt him and Arthur and Gwen and Camelot. And so he opens his mouth again, this time to tell her a thread of truth through the web of lies. “I was scared - I thought you’d be angry for keeping so much from you. Now I know I was wrong.”
Morgana smiles for the first time in days, and he realizes his apology - admitting he had wronged her for reasons she could understand - was perhaps all she needed.
“Do you really know where we’re going?” Merlin asks, grinning when she laughs.
“No.” She says, sighing wistfully. “I’m just following a dream.”
iv.
Two weeks later, they stumble into a Druid camp shortly after dawn breaks.
An elder awaits them in the glade, a knowing glint to his eye.
“Come.” He says, gesturing them forward. Morgana slips her hand into Merlin’s and the pressure is a steady constant, her lithe fingers brushing against the back of his palm.
“We heard of your plight not long ago. Please, sit by the fire-” The man later introduces himself as Aglain, and offers them refuge for as long as they need. They are given clean clothes and fresh food, promises of a home. And Merlin - despite the welcome feast, despite the warmth in understanding company, despite the reunion between Morgana and Mordred - knows there is only one home for him, and that is miles away.
v.
“The runes are meant to protect you.”
It is Mordred’s young voice speaking through the tent flaps when Merlin returns from his tutelage with Aglain, his soft voice insistent. Morgana is smiling that soft grin she saves only for the boy, her eyes gentle.
“Merlin-” Morgana greets, gathering her cloak about her and rising in greeting. Merlin narrows his eyes in thought, certain something is different about her - another scrutinization reveals ink twined on her wrists, more dark pattern hidden behind her clasp.
“What are-” Merlin begins, but Mordred halts him with a look.
“Protective spells. Blessings, Emrys.” The boy says, his eyes dark with mistrust. Morgana places a hand gently on his shoulder, pulling back the hem of her cloak to show Merlin the spells spilt across her skin.
“It’s a simple enough procedure.” Morgana tells him, smoothing a hand over her collarbone - a gesture which makes Merlin’s heart race far too quickly. Her fingertips reach for him and he doesn’t pull away, her softly spoken words tracing an ancient language across the taut skin of his forearm. Mordred slips out of the tent and suddenly it is just the two of them, the two of them and Morgana’s lilting tone binding promises, a history across the plains of his body.
vi.
The months tumble by and Aglain trains them both vigorously, teaching the Druidic art of sorcery to Merlin and healing to Morgana.
“I’ll never be able to remove poison as Aglain does.” She sighs one day near the vernal equinox, the spring day finding them both near the river. Merlin stretches on the grass, skidding a stone across the clear surface.
“You will. It takes time, like most things.” He tells her, watching as she leans over the stream and touches the surface gently. The water treads around her fingertips and flows steadily beneath her palms, bending into some near-forgotten image. Morgana closes her eyes and the water twists, the ripple blossoming into a flickering vision of Camelot. The scene fades and flowers dash into view, curls and a bright, regal smile. The grin dissolves into a sea of swords, a rounded table and a man standing in the light, shining like the sun -
Morgana’s focus shatters and a wave tears through the pool, her eyelids fluttering open again.
“I see such awful things sometimes.” She murmurs and Merlin shifts closer, catching her hand in his own. “But then I see Gwen and Arthur, and somehow everything is all right again.”
Her voice wavers and she raises Merlin’s ink laced hand, pressing it to her lips. The heat of her body is close and he leans against her touch, stopping his fingers just short of her cheek.
“One day we will return to Camelot.” Morgana says, the back of her eyelids dancing with dragons and destiny. “I swear to you.”
vii.
The morning after Beltane, Morgana wakes with certainty of what she has seen.
“Merlin.” She hisses to her side, the warlock still sound asleep at her side. He has to be shaken twice before his eyes fly open, still hazy with sleep. Morgana can hardly blame him - The feast was a mighty celebration and left them both weary.
“Uther is dead. His health did what I could not. Arthur is king.”
The tent is still with silence while Merlin stares at Morgana’s wide eyes and wet cheeks, thoughts only of Arthur - Arthur is king.
“You’re sure?” He asks her hoarsely. Morgana nods again, brushing the tears from her face.
“Yes.” She says, a smile finally breaking through. “And he has great need of us now.”
viii.
Parting with the Druids is not easy, but they leave on good terms. The look in Mordred’s eyes is even a little fond as he embraces Merlin farewell, seeming to forgive him for stealing Morgana away. Aglain is only proud of his two students, giving with him the community’s best wishes to the new king of Camelot.
“Should he seek to return magic to the land,” Aglain tells them. “He will have our allegiance.”
The look on Morgana’s face makes Merlin feel as though Arthur will do just that, and so they leave with the blessings of the wood people behind them.
“Merlin-” Morgana says, sharp-eyed and alert on the second week when they pass a lake that looks awfully familiar to him. “Arthur will be a grand king, which means he is in need of a grand sword.”
He weaves her fingers through hers and sees what she has - the sword that has been resting at the bottom of those depths for a year is ready now for use. A small barge is there without question, and Morgana beckons him forward. They are able to both sit comfortably, magic propelling them to the center of Avalon. When a seaweed bathed hand rises from the depths with the blade in hand, Merlin reaches until he grasps the hilt. The boat tips with his leaned weight and Morgana laughs, pulling him back by the fabric of his shirt.
“You’ll soak us through.” She murmurs, but he isn’t worrying about the water anymore. The sun is rising and splintering its light through the ancient trees and mist around them, the sky streaked with rays of the purest gold. Somehow he tumbles into her arms, magic on her lips and magic on her skin. The sword between them shines with the prospect of the future, all of Merlin’s uncertainly of what will be sliding away into the dawn.
ix.
They return to Camelot at dusk, autumn fresh in the air.
Gwen meets them with a cry for joy and hugs that would mend even the hardest of hearts, but Arthur greets them with a stunned silence. The throne room is quiet save for the din of Merlin’s rapidly beating heart, the four of them standing there, waiting for the king to speak. When he finally does, Merlin knows all is forgiven - Uther’s banishment, his sorcery, the secrets - the past melts away behind Arthur’s smile and gruff tone, tears in his eyes despite his words.
“Well,” He says, rising from his seat and advancing forward. “I suppose I’m pleased to see you two back again.”
Morgana laughs when he sweeps her up into a close embrace, and a grin digs deep into Merlin’s cheeks.
“Once a prat,” Merlin says, his voice breaking with what he knows is love. He holds out Excalibur’s hilt for Arthur to take, and the king does. “Always a prat.”
The blade brightens the room with an earthly glow, extending to even the darkest corners. Arthur envelops Merlin into his arms, his steady pulse pulling him into the light.
x.
Somehow, they all end up in bed.
“What’s this?” Gwen murmurs, her hand tracing circles over Morgana’s neck as she eases off the seer’s cloak, the clasp falling gently. Morgana meets her fingers and smiles, guiding her soft digits over the runes.
“Spells, my lady. Blessings.” Morgana answers, laughing when Guinevere’s cheeks tinge pink.
“I’m not a lady, Morgana.”
“No, but you are a queen.” Arthur interrupts fondly, breaking away from Merlin’s grasp briefly to drop a kiss to her forehead. His brow furrows at the sight of the tattoo splayed over Morgana’s skin, a questioning look rising on his features.
“Magic?” He asks. Merlin nods and lets his own cloak free and peels off the tunic beneath, black ink on his arm woven like roots to a tree. Arthur reaches out hesitantly, letting his hand skim over the symbols written in a language he can’t understand.
“You won’t leave us again.” Arthur says, the statement more of a command than a request. The power beneath Merlin’s skin hums and sings as Arthur presses his lips to the runes on his shoulder, Morgana’s magic rising to meet it. The sun sets around the room and leaves all four of them bathed in the moon’s rays, the gleam spilling over the bed covers. Gwen laughs and he can feel her sweet breath on his cheek, Morgana’s hand clasped in his, and Arthur - Arthur is everywhere. He closes his eyes against their light, and looses himself to the bright future.
Author: Anonymous
Recipient: zephre
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Merlin, Arthur, Morgana, Gwen, Mordred, Aglain (Merlin/Morgana, OT4)
Warnings: None.
Spoilers: Mostly AU after the 1st Series.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,179
Summary: “The runes are meant to protect you.”
Author's Note: First of all, I would like to thank the Solstice mods for being so amazingly patient with me throughout all of this - these past few months haven’t been the easiest real life wise, and I appreciate their dedication to this project and generous patience with me. Also to my beta, S, and my cheerleader, B, thank you! To zephre - I really hope you enjoy this! I settled on focusing on your first prompt with the Druid tattoos, though it did take a while for the characters to get there.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction - none of this ever happened. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is made from this work. Please observe your local laws with regards to the age-limit and content of this work.
i.
After they save Arthur, the only thing left to do is run.
“Morgana, perhaps we ought to veer west-” Merlin begins, but her eyes blaze and he falls silent.
“Don’t speak to me. I know where we’re going.” She squares her jaw and juts her chin, brushing past him with a stubborn air.
“I suppose I deserved that.” Merlin mutters to Morgana’s retreating back, her green cloak lost in a flurry of snow.
ii.
The night holds a quiet stillness and an aching bitter cold, the chill snuffing out their weak fire. Morgana hasn’t spoken a word to him in the week they’ve trekked on, but Merlin hears her cry out and speak to people who aren’t there in her sleep.
“Look, I didn’t mean to upset you - Gaius thought it would be best if you didn’t know.”
She’s huddled up near the dying embers with her body faced away from him, feigning rest. He can tell by the hunch of her shoulders that she’s heard every word he’s said, but her silence still reigns. Merlin sighs after a long while and tilts his head up towards the stars, imagining somewhere far, far away, Arthur just might be looking at the same ones.
iii.
“How long have you had it? The magic, I mean.”
Merlin blinks, momentarily surprised to hear her voice. The first rays of the sun have touched their road to nowhere, and now she scrutinizes him with eyes he knows have seen many things, both past and future.
“I - I suppose ever since I can remember.” He answers, knowing there is no careful reply. She is silent for a long time, beckoning him to continue walking. Morgana waits until he’s met her stride before speaking, gaze clouded with weariness.
“I’ve always had dreams. They were always of little inconsequential things - I’d see where I had lost my doll, or if a storm was rolling in from the sea.” She pauses, the words not coming easily. “And then I dreamt of my father. I saw him ride out to battle and die. I saw the light fade from his eyes...When I arrived in Camelot, Gaius dismissed it all. He gave me potions and drafts and he lied-”
Morgana’s voice breaks in a cold fury. Merlin doesn’t like the dark shadows he hears there, afraid it might swallow her whole.
“Gaius told me once I would always have a home in Camelot. He lied to me too, but he did it out of protection. Out of love.”
“And you? Why did you lie to me?”
Merlin doesn’t know what to say to justify his own actions - if he had told her, would events have unfurled differently? Would they not be banished from Camelot now, striding towards a fate unknown?
“I kept things from you to keep us safe. That and-” Merlin stops abruptly, struggling with his next words. There is no avoiding the fact his secrecy has hurt her, hurt him and Arthur and Gwen and Camelot. And so he opens his mouth again, this time to tell her a thread of truth through the web of lies. “I was scared - I thought you’d be angry for keeping so much from you. Now I know I was wrong.”
Morgana smiles for the first time in days, and he realizes his apology - admitting he had wronged her for reasons she could understand - was perhaps all she needed.
“Do you really know where we’re going?” Merlin asks, grinning when she laughs.
“No.” She says, sighing wistfully. “I’m just following a dream.”
iv.
Two weeks later, they stumble into a Druid camp shortly after dawn breaks.
An elder awaits them in the glade, a knowing glint to his eye.
“Come.” He says, gesturing them forward. Morgana slips her hand into Merlin’s and the pressure is a steady constant, her lithe fingers brushing against the back of his palm.
“We heard of your plight not long ago. Please, sit by the fire-” The man later introduces himself as Aglain, and offers them refuge for as long as they need. They are given clean clothes and fresh food, promises of a home. And Merlin - despite the welcome feast, despite the warmth in understanding company, despite the reunion between Morgana and Mordred - knows there is only one home for him, and that is miles away.
v.
“The runes are meant to protect you.”
It is Mordred’s young voice speaking through the tent flaps when Merlin returns from his tutelage with Aglain, his soft voice insistent. Morgana is smiling that soft grin she saves only for the boy, her eyes gentle.
“Merlin-” Morgana greets, gathering her cloak about her and rising in greeting. Merlin narrows his eyes in thought, certain something is different about her - another scrutinization reveals ink twined on her wrists, more dark pattern hidden behind her clasp.
“What are-” Merlin begins, but Mordred halts him with a look.
“Protective spells. Blessings, Emrys.” The boy says, his eyes dark with mistrust. Morgana places a hand gently on his shoulder, pulling back the hem of her cloak to show Merlin the spells spilt across her skin.
“It’s a simple enough procedure.” Morgana tells him, smoothing a hand over her collarbone - a gesture which makes Merlin’s heart race far too quickly. Her fingertips reach for him and he doesn’t pull away, her softly spoken words tracing an ancient language across the taut skin of his forearm. Mordred slips out of the tent and suddenly it is just the two of them, the two of them and Morgana’s lilting tone binding promises, a history across the plains of his body.
vi.
The months tumble by and Aglain trains them both vigorously, teaching the Druidic art of sorcery to Merlin and healing to Morgana.
“I’ll never be able to remove poison as Aglain does.” She sighs one day near the vernal equinox, the spring day finding them both near the river. Merlin stretches on the grass, skidding a stone across the clear surface.
“You will. It takes time, like most things.” He tells her, watching as she leans over the stream and touches the surface gently. The water treads around her fingertips and flows steadily beneath her palms, bending into some near-forgotten image. Morgana closes her eyes and the water twists, the ripple blossoming into a flickering vision of Camelot. The scene fades and flowers dash into view, curls and a bright, regal smile. The grin dissolves into a sea of swords, a rounded table and a man standing in the light, shining like the sun -
Morgana’s focus shatters and a wave tears through the pool, her eyelids fluttering open again.
“I see such awful things sometimes.” She murmurs and Merlin shifts closer, catching her hand in his own. “But then I see Gwen and Arthur, and somehow everything is all right again.”
Her voice wavers and she raises Merlin’s ink laced hand, pressing it to her lips. The heat of her body is close and he leans against her touch, stopping his fingers just short of her cheek.
“One day we will return to Camelot.” Morgana says, the back of her eyelids dancing with dragons and destiny. “I swear to you.”
vii.
The morning after Beltane, Morgana wakes with certainty of what she has seen.
“Merlin.” She hisses to her side, the warlock still sound asleep at her side. He has to be shaken twice before his eyes fly open, still hazy with sleep. Morgana can hardly blame him - The feast was a mighty celebration and left them both weary.
“Uther is dead. His health did what I could not. Arthur is king.”
The tent is still with silence while Merlin stares at Morgana’s wide eyes and wet cheeks, thoughts only of Arthur - Arthur is king.
“You’re sure?” He asks her hoarsely. Morgana nods again, brushing the tears from her face.
“Yes.” She says, a smile finally breaking through. “And he has great need of us now.”
viii.
Parting with the Druids is not easy, but they leave on good terms. The look in Mordred’s eyes is even a little fond as he embraces Merlin farewell, seeming to forgive him for stealing Morgana away. Aglain is only proud of his two students, giving with him the community’s best wishes to the new king of Camelot.
“Should he seek to return magic to the land,” Aglain tells them. “He will have our allegiance.”
The look on Morgana’s face makes Merlin feel as though Arthur will do just that, and so they leave with the blessings of the wood people behind them.
“Merlin-” Morgana says, sharp-eyed and alert on the second week when they pass a lake that looks awfully familiar to him. “Arthur will be a grand king, which means he is in need of a grand sword.”
He weaves her fingers through hers and sees what she has - the sword that has been resting at the bottom of those depths for a year is ready now for use. A small barge is there without question, and Morgana beckons him forward. They are able to both sit comfortably, magic propelling them to the center of Avalon. When a seaweed bathed hand rises from the depths with the blade in hand, Merlin reaches until he grasps the hilt. The boat tips with his leaned weight and Morgana laughs, pulling him back by the fabric of his shirt.
“You’ll soak us through.” She murmurs, but he isn’t worrying about the water anymore. The sun is rising and splintering its light through the ancient trees and mist around them, the sky streaked with rays of the purest gold. Somehow he tumbles into her arms, magic on her lips and magic on her skin. The sword between them shines with the prospect of the future, all of Merlin’s uncertainly of what will be sliding away into the dawn.
ix.
They return to Camelot at dusk, autumn fresh in the air.
Gwen meets them with a cry for joy and hugs that would mend even the hardest of hearts, but Arthur greets them with a stunned silence. The throne room is quiet save for the din of Merlin’s rapidly beating heart, the four of them standing there, waiting for the king to speak. When he finally does, Merlin knows all is forgiven - Uther’s banishment, his sorcery, the secrets - the past melts away behind Arthur’s smile and gruff tone, tears in his eyes despite his words.
“Well,” He says, rising from his seat and advancing forward. “I suppose I’m pleased to see you two back again.”
Morgana laughs when he sweeps her up into a close embrace, and a grin digs deep into Merlin’s cheeks.
“Once a prat,” Merlin says, his voice breaking with what he knows is love. He holds out Excalibur’s hilt for Arthur to take, and the king does. “Always a prat.”
The blade brightens the room with an earthly glow, extending to even the darkest corners. Arthur envelops Merlin into his arms, his steady pulse pulling him into the light.
x.
Somehow, they all end up in bed.
“What’s this?” Gwen murmurs, her hand tracing circles over Morgana’s neck as she eases off the seer’s cloak, the clasp falling gently. Morgana meets her fingers and smiles, guiding her soft digits over the runes.
“Spells, my lady. Blessings.” Morgana answers, laughing when Guinevere’s cheeks tinge pink.
“I’m not a lady, Morgana.”
“No, but you are a queen.” Arthur interrupts fondly, breaking away from Merlin’s grasp briefly to drop a kiss to her forehead. His brow furrows at the sight of the tattoo splayed over Morgana’s skin, a questioning look rising on his features.
“Magic?” He asks. Merlin nods and lets his own cloak free and peels off the tunic beneath, black ink on his arm woven like roots to a tree. Arthur reaches out hesitantly, letting his hand skim over the symbols written in a language he can’t understand.
“You won’t leave us again.” Arthur says, the statement more of a command than a request. The power beneath Merlin’s skin hums and sings as Arthur presses his lips to the runes on his shoulder, Morgana’s magic rising to meet it. The sun sets around the room and leaves all four of them bathed in the moon’s rays, the gleam spilling over the bed covers. Gwen laughs and he can feel her sweet breath on his cheek, Morgana’s hand clasped in his, and Arthur - Arthur is everywhere. He closes his eyes against their light, and looses himself to the bright future.