[Merlin] A Needle Into A Bug (PG-13, 1541words)
Title: A Needle Into A Bug
Fandom: Merlin
Character/Pairing(s): Guinevere, Merlin, Morgana (background Arthur/Gwen)
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Dark. Post S3, major spoilers for Morgana. Title because that's what I was listening to when I wrote this (Repo soundtrack on repeat, whut).
Summary: Morgana was Guinevere’s best friend until magic turned her eyes gold and corrupted her soul. Merlin is Guinevere’s best friend and his eyes were gold.
You've got smack it
into her skull
(inside her skull)
A needle into a bug
A needle into a bug!
She finds out by accident.
Morgana had once been her best friend, Guinevere remembers bitterly. Strong-willed, beautiful, and kind... and so captivating that Gwen often found herself torn between overwhelming pride and wistful longing. Morgana had truly been the most beautiful in the land, and she was an inspiration with how she stood up against the king for what she believed in and coyly taunted knights and lords with flashes of her skin and temper during feasts and festivals.
Gwen had been there when Morgana challenged Arthur to a sword fight over some silly disagreement when the three of them had been nothing more than children, and remembered barely being able to breathe when the king’s ward (clad in oversized trousers and with her hair tied back so messily that Gwen’s fingers itched to brush through the tangles) had disarmed the prince and held him at sword-point, demanding that he apologize or she would not let him from the fight without a scar he would carry for life.
Morgana’s betrayal hits her hardest when she remembers moments like that, and moments when the two of them had giggled in alcoves over boys and practised dancing together. She remembers late nights and terrible dreams, tears and laughter.
The king may have gone mad from Morgana’s actions, but it is Guinevere who suffers in her mind every time she finds another reminder of the kind girl who dared to challenge the king when she felt he was not fair to his people.
But she moves on. Of course she does. No matter how she felt before and how much her heart longed to break and weep for the loss of her best friend to the corruptive influence of magic, Guinevere moves on.
She has a crown prince to take care of, because that’s who Arthur is now instead of the silly boy who had once snuck frogs into Morgana’s chambers and then tried to lie his way out of punishment from Uther. Arthur is now a grown man and has become as kind and strong-willed as Morgana once was.
She has her brother, and her knights. She continues on because they need her, all of them.
She continues on with her duties, tending to the king and comforting Arthur. She reassures Elyan whenever he thinks that he does not deserve his knighthood, and carries refreshments and salves to the knights when they train. She smiles at Arthur when he needs her smile and tries her hardest not to be too awkward around Lancelot.
She makes sure Merlin remembers to eat at proper times and that Gaius has a helping hand when he needs one.
She remembers the day she found out about Morgana’s magic, and how terrified she was. She remembers green eyes flashing a menacing gold and a chilling fire. She remembers the menacing smiles and the cruelty when Morgana orders the slaughter of innocents.
Guinevere remembers all of this all too clearly in the moment she found out.
What she forgot was how to breathe.
When she enters Gaius’s rooms with a wide smile and a tray of fruits, what she sees is Merlin curled up in the middle of stacks of books, running a finger down a worn page as he studies. And then she sees the laundry doing itself in a corner, Gaius’s mortar and pestle grinding against an unknown herb, the broom sweeping the floor, and a soapy brush scrubbing the inside of the leech tank.
And so much more.
It all looked so innocent, all of them chores that she had seen Merlin do before.
Magic.
She remembers screaming. Her tray clattered onto the ground-- except it didn’t, because Merlin startled at her scream and looked at her, and the tray froze in mid-air, the fruits that had once been in it half tumbled out before they were also frozen.
His eyes were gold.
Morgana’s eyes had turned gold.
Guinevere remembers being flustered over Merlin, remembers his jokes and and remembers kissing him that one time he had almost died. She remembers insecurities being shared in whispers, remembers teaching him how to put on armour and remembers her own exasperation every time Merlin storms into a room without knocking, always so full of energy and in such a rush. If there was anyone that Gwen admired for tenacity and optimism, it was Merlin.
Merlin was kind and strong-willed, his wide grins just as breath-taking as Morgana’s coy smiles had been. Merlin was her best friend.
He was as unrelenting with Arthur as Morgana had been with Uther, daring to speak against everything he thought was unfair.
Guinevere wasn’t stupid. She had grown up in a kingdom taught that magic was evil and corruptive, but she had grown up with Morgana and had always held out hope that perhaps magic could be a wonderful thing. After all, unicorns existed. They couldn’t be evil.
But Morgana could not have possibly been evil. Not her beautiful, kind Morgana. In the end, it had been magic that turned Morgana evil, because Guinevere knew that Morgana had been kind and good before her brush with magic. She knew it with all her heart.
Morgana’s betrayal nearly broke her. It broke the king, and had left Arthur to clean up the mess than had been left of Camelot.
This, she knew, this would break Arthur.
A moment later, and everything crashed to the ground: the laundry, the broom, the brush, the tray and the fruits. Merlin’s blue eyes were wide, so very wide as he stared at her with his face so white she thought he would pass out from lack of blood.
“Gwen,” he breathed.
It didn’t matter what Morgana had done, Guinevere knew that she would never be able to hate her. It didn’t matter if Morgana’s heart had turned harder than stone and it didn’t matter that she tried to kill her, had tried to kill Arthur, had imprisoned people wrongfully and then turned to kill innocents. Guinevere would always love her. But the betrayal meant that everything had changed for her. No longer was she a mere maidservant to the king’s ward.
So many more people depended on her now. Her brother was a knight. Arthur loved her. She was needed to care for Uther. She was a lady of the court now, bolstered by her brother’s valour and Arthur’s choice.
No matter how much she loved Morgana, she would have lovingly poisoned her knowing that it would keep Camelot safe from the evils of her magic.
Morgana had been the sweetest soul Guinevere had known. Merlin was the same.
Another long moment of silence between them before she forced a smile, watching his features closely. In his own way, Merlin was just as beautiful as Morgana with the same dark hair and pale skin.
She would never have suspected Morgana of sorcery.
She would never have suspected Merlin of sorcery.
She really should have known.
“Merlin,” her voice shakes and she has to clench her hands to ensure that they don’t tremble against her will. “Was there something you needed to tell me?”
His eyes were so very wide (wide and blue. Blue blueblue.) and she watched as he swallowed nervously, never blinking and never taking his eyes off her. He was so expressive in his fear (just like Morgana had been every time she knew she was going to get caught, every time she knew she would be in trouble) that Gwen loved him just a little more for that bit of honesty.
Even if it wasn’t really honest.
Then he looks so guilty. And Morgana has never looked guilty like that, because she always felt she did what was right by her own moral standards. He looked so guilty and so lost and Guinevere remembered the first time Merlin and Arthur had gotten into a fight and she had sat with him while he ranted about how utterly terrible it was to have to put up with such a spoilt prat. She had put enough of that rant together to understand that Merlin hadn’t blamed Arthur, but rather felt bad for his own part in the argument.
Merlin was a sorcerer.
Merlin was her best friend, and she couldn’t help but love him.
“Gwen,” Merlin repeats and takes a shaky breath of his own, still so pale and so guilty. “I-- there’s-- you know. It’s not what it looks like.”
And Guinevere smiles, even though her heart longed to break and weep. She picks up her tray again, picks up the fruits, and then picks up a knife from Gaius’s table to cut the food with.
They are good people, she knows. Good, kind, and pure souls.
“Tell me.” She says simply as she goes to sit next to Merlin and his books. She is a lady now, and Merlin deserves more than an overreaction.
He looks so relieved, and stumbles over his own words in a verbal deluge trying to tell her everything. Between his words, she catches warlock, dragonlord, and please don’t tell Arthur. She is Merlin’s best friend, after all, and he wanted to tell her for years.
Years, she thinks numbly. He’s had magic longer than Morgana had.
Guinevere smiles brokenly and fingers the knife in her hand.
Fandom: Merlin
Character/Pairing(s): Guinevere, Merlin, Morgana (background Arthur/Gwen)
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Dark. Post S3, major spoilers for Morgana. Title because that's what I was listening to when I wrote this (Repo soundtrack on repeat, whut).
Summary: Morgana was Guinevere’s best friend until magic turned her eyes gold and corrupted her soul. Merlin is Guinevere’s best friend and his eyes were gold.
You've got smack it
into her skull
(inside her skull)
A needle into a bug
A needle into a bug!
She finds out by accident.
Morgana had once been her best friend, Guinevere remembers bitterly. Strong-willed, beautiful, and kind... and so captivating that Gwen often found herself torn between overwhelming pride and wistful longing. Morgana had truly been the most beautiful in the land, and she was an inspiration with how she stood up against the king for what she believed in and coyly taunted knights and lords with flashes of her skin and temper during feasts and festivals.
Gwen had been there when Morgana challenged Arthur to a sword fight over some silly disagreement when the three of them had been nothing more than children, and remembered barely being able to breathe when the king’s ward (clad in oversized trousers and with her hair tied back so messily that Gwen’s fingers itched to brush through the tangles) had disarmed the prince and held him at sword-point, demanding that he apologize or she would not let him from the fight without a scar he would carry for life.
Morgana’s betrayal hits her hardest when she remembers moments like that, and moments when the two of them had giggled in alcoves over boys and practised dancing together. She remembers late nights and terrible dreams, tears and laughter.
The king may have gone mad from Morgana’s actions, but it is Guinevere who suffers in her mind every time she finds another reminder of the kind girl who dared to challenge the king when she felt he was not fair to his people.
But she moves on. Of course she does. No matter how she felt before and how much her heart longed to break and weep for the loss of her best friend to the corruptive influence of magic, Guinevere moves on.
She has a crown prince to take care of, because that’s who Arthur is now instead of the silly boy who had once snuck frogs into Morgana’s chambers and then tried to lie his way out of punishment from Uther. Arthur is now a grown man and has become as kind and strong-willed as Morgana once was.
She has her brother, and her knights. She continues on because they need her, all of them.
She continues on with her duties, tending to the king and comforting Arthur. She reassures Elyan whenever he thinks that he does not deserve his knighthood, and carries refreshments and salves to the knights when they train. She smiles at Arthur when he needs her smile and tries her hardest not to be too awkward around Lancelot.
She makes sure Merlin remembers to eat at proper times and that Gaius has a helping hand when he needs one.
She remembers the day she found out about Morgana’s magic, and how terrified she was. She remembers green eyes flashing a menacing gold and a chilling fire. She remembers the menacing smiles and the cruelty when Morgana orders the slaughter of innocents.
Guinevere remembers all of this all too clearly in the moment she found out.
What she forgot was how to breathe.
When she enters Gaius’s rooms with a wide smile and a tray of fruits, what she sees is Merlin curled up in the middle of stacks of books, running a finger down a worn page as he studies. And then she sees the laundry doing itself in a corner, Gaius’s mortar and pestle grinding against an unknown herb, the broom sweeping the floor, and a soapy brush scrubbing the inside of the leech tank.
And so much more.
It all looked so innocent, all of them chores that she had seen Merlin do before.
Magic.
She remembers screaming. Her tray clattered onto the ground-- except it didn’t, because Merlin startled at her scream and looked at her, and the tray froze in mid-air, the fruits that had once been in it half tumbled out before they were also frozen.
His eyes were gold.
Morgana’s eyes had turned gold.
Guinevere remembers being flustered over Merlin, remembers his jokes and and remembers kissing him that one time he had almost died. She remembers insecurities being shared in whispers, remembers teaching him how to put on armour and remembers her own exasperation every time Merlin storms into a room without knocking, always so full of energy and in such a rush. If there was anyone that Gwen admired for tenacity and optimism, it was Merlin.
Merlin was kind and strong-willed, his wide grins just as breath-taking as Morgana’s coy smiles had been. Merlin was her best friend.
He was as unrelenting with Arthur as Morgana had been with Uther, daring to speak against everything he thought was unfair.
Guinevere wasn’t stupid. She had grown up in a kingdom taught that magic was evil and corruptive, but she had grown up with Morgana and had always held out hope that perhaps magic could be a wonderful thing. After all, unicorns existed. They couldn’t be evil.
But Morgana could not have possibly been evil. Not her beautiful, kind Morgana. In the end, it had been magic that turned Morgana evil, because Guinevere knew that Morgana had been kind and good before her brush with magic. She knew it with all her heart.
Morgana’s betrayal nearly broke her. It broke the king, and had left Arthur to clean up the mess than had been left of Camelot.
This, she knew, this would break Arthur.
A moment later, and everything crashed to the ground: the laundry, the broom, the brush, the tray and the fruits. Merlin’s blue eyes were wide, so very wide as he stared at her with his face so white she thought he would pass out from lack of blood.
“Gwen,” he breathed.
It didn’t matter what Morgana had done, Guinevere knew that she would never be able to hate her. It didn’t matter if Morgana’s heart had turned harder than stone and it didn’t matter that she tried to kill her, had tried to kill Arthur, had imprisoned people wrongfully and then turned to kill innocents. Guinevere would always love her. But the betrayal meant that everything had changed for her. No longer was she a mere maidservant to the king’s ward.
So many more people depended on her now. Her brother was a knight. Arthur loved her. She was needed to care for Uther. She was a lady of the court now, bolstered by her brother’s valour and Arthur’s choice.
No matter how much she loved Morgana, she would have lovingly poisoned her knowing that it would keep Camelot safe from the evils of her magic.
Morgana had been the sweetest soul Guinevere had known. Merlin was the same.
Another long moment of silence between them before she forced a smile, watching his features closely. In his own way, Merlin was just as beautiful as Morgana with the same dark hair and pale skin.
She would never have suspected Morgana of sorcery.
She would never have suspected Merlin of sorcery.
She really should have known.
“Merlin,” her voice shakes and she has to clench her hands to ensure that they don’t tremble against her will. “Was there something you needed to tell me?”
His eyes were so very wide (wide and blue. Blue blueblue.) and she watched as he swallowed nervously, never blinking and never taking his eyes off her. He was so expressive in his fear (just like Morgana had been every time she knew she was going to get caught, every time she knew she would be in trouble) that Gwen loved him just a little more for that bit of honesty.
Even if it wasn’t really honest.
Then he looks so guilty. And Morgana has never looked guilty like that, because she always felt she did what was right by her own moral standards. He looked so guilty and so lost and Guinevere remembered the first time Merlin and Arthur had gotten into a fight and she had sat with him while he ranted about how utterly terrible it was to have to put up with such a spoilt prat. She had put enough of that rant together to understand that Merlin hadn’t blamed Arthur, but rather felt bad for his own part in the argument.
Merlin was a sorcerer.
Merlin was her best friend, and she couldn’t help but love him.
“Gwen,” Merlin repeats and takes a shaky breath of his own, still so pale and so guilty. “I-- there’s-- you know. It’s not what it looks like.”
And Guinevere smiles, even though her heart longed to break and weep. She picks up her tray again, picks up the fruits, and then picks up a knife from Gaius’s table to cut the food with.
They are good people, she knows. Good, kind, and pure souls.
“Tell me.” She says simply as she goes to sit next to Merlin and his books. She is a lady now, and Merlin deserves more than an overreaction.
He looks so relieved, and stumbles over his own words in a verbal deluge trying to tell her everything. Between his words, she catches warlock, dragonlord, and please don’t tell Arthur. She is Merlin’s best friend, after all, and he wanted to tell her for years.
Years, she thinks numbly. He’s had magic longer than Morgana had.
Guinevere smiles brokenly and fingers the knife in her hand.