Story for Merlin Big Bang 2012
AUTHOR: Fee Folay
FANDOM: Merlin TV: Written for Merlin Big Bang 2012
TITLE: By the Pricking of My Thumbs…
ARTIST: Enednoviel
CATEGORY/RATING: Slash/Het, N-17
CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS: Arthur & company; Arthur/Merlin, Arthur/Gwen
SUMMARY: It is Arthur Pendragon’s destiny to unite all of Albion, but a reign of such power will not be won without sacrifice and bloodshed. When Morgana uses dark magic to lay a trap for Merlin, she unwittingly aids Merlin in becoming the weapon Arthur needs to defeat his enemies. With Arthur, and all of Camelot, at his mercy, Merlin struggles not to become that which he fears most - a dark sorcerer.
Will Arthur be drawn into a deadly battle with his friend and lover?
Will Merlin ultimately be destroyed by the malice lurking within his soul?
Will Camelot fall to the evil that Morgana has unleashed upon them all?
WARNINGS: dark themes, violence, adultery, non-con, mistreatment of furry critters
Additional Notes and links under the cut.
I am posting but a short selection here at Live Journal. This story will not be posted on LJ in its entirety - simply because it is far too long for this format, and I would have to chop it into numerous pieces. Instead, you will find the complete story posted at Archive of Our Own. If you wish to comment on the story, but are not comfortable with leaving comments on AO3, you may leave them on this post.
See links to complete story below.
By The Pricking of My Thumbs
By the pricking of my thumbs
Something wicked this way comes.
Shakespeare - Macbeth
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
**The End at the Beginning**
They stand side by side, overlooking the valley, the king and his warlock, contemplating the present, seeing the future. In the distance, the fires of the enemy camp send trails of smoke into the sky. Pennants stand out in slashes of bright color across the field, and metal clangs against metal. Horses nicker. Someone barks out an order. Birds, started into flight by the tramp of feet, wheel across the sky. Yet, despite the noise and chaos of an army making ready for war, there is a hushed stillness to the air, as if all the world is holding its breath, awaiting the coming battle.
Into that stillness slice words; sharp, clear, cutting through all pretence, like shards of glass tumbling from a broken pane. “Can you do it?”
A sigh, a whispered truth. “You know I can, My King.” So composed in the face of the gathering storm and the culmination of years of preparation.
So this was the destiny they were born for, the one set for them before they even drew their first breaths? What choice had they ever really had?
“Will you?” Flat, emotionless. An effort made, at least, to withhold judgment. That small mercy twists tightly around Merlin’s heart, binding him far more securely than any oath he might have sworn. As if he could ever deny this man anything.
And unspoken, the silent petition, ‘Will you sell your soul for me?’
“I will,” he breathes, both answering the question voiced and accepting the sacrifice implied. It is not as though he is innocent. He has killed for Arthur before - just never on a scale such as this.
Finally, Arthur pulls his attention away from the sweeping valley and turns to Merlin. The blue eyes are shadowed, haunted with the ghosts of things past and events to come, but the handsome face is steadfast beneath the golden crown, the shoulders squared and determined. The king studies Merlin with the same intensity he does an opponent with whom he is about to battle. Arthur, who approaches everything with straight-forward, blunt honesty, searches deeply - struggling to read Merlin’s heart - seeking weaknesses and truths and the quiet tells others might miss. And those eyes miss little these days. They have learned each other well - perhaps too well. “You understand what I am asking? What it will entail?”
Neither of them needs to speak of the men who will die this day merely because they are on the wrong side of the battle lines. Men who will be unable to stand against the powers of Camelot’s sorcerer and will fall before his magic like sheep lead to slaughter. Men who have families, wives and children who will wait in vain for them to return.
“I understand.” Crisp acceptance. And of the two of them, it is Merlin who truly does understand, who knows just how his magic can burn, like liquid acid, eating from the inside out. How it can destroy, tearing things apart in a whirlwind of energy. How it can kill.
And still Arthur protests, almost as though he feels he must since it appears Merlin will not. “There are too many of them. We can’t…”
Merlin holds up a quelling hand, wishing he could spare Arthur this - could take the burden from him completely. He will do as much as he is able. “I know, Arthur. I’ve always known.”
And yet, there had been a time when the future had seemed such a golden, wondrous thing. But that time has long passed. Now, he sees that the world of men does not allow for perfection, and any destiny on this plane of existence will necessarily be tarnished by human fallibility. “This is my destiny, and yours.”
“Is it?” Pendragon snorts, echoing Merlin’s own thoughts. There is such pain in the king’s eyes, a million small hurts between them. “I wonder. You, the boy who cried over unicorns and knocked himself silly falling out a tree because he was trying to put a baby bird back in the nest?”
Merlin lets a smirk tug the corner of his mouth; because this he will do for Arthur as well, find a smile in the midst of destruction. “If I do this, I will still rescue baby birds.”
And for a moment, the shadows draw back, and blue eyes are laughing at him. “Will you? And kittens too, I suppose. And every wretched lost cause that comes along.”
“Including you.” But it is only a moment, and Merlin can not hold it. The truth is too heavy, even for him. He ducks his head, feeling like his neck will snap under the burden of this destiny he must carry. “I don’t know. I hope so.”
The hand that falls upon his shoulder is strong and supportive, the voice soft with affection. “So do I.”
Merlin keeps staring at the ground, his attention caught by the dark green leaves and delicate, blue flowers of the small shrub at his feet. Sorcerer’s Violet - how ironic - growing here, a burst of hope and renewal amidst these dark times. He wonders if it will survive the tramp of thousands of feet, the churn of wagon wheels and horses hooves. Not likely. Like all fragile things, it will be ground beneath the weight of war and destiny.
He crouches down, and plucks one of the flowers, turning it lightly in his fingers. A warm breeze gently stirs the grasses and ruffles Merlin’s hair as he gazes out over the field, envisioning a battle that has yet to begin. Maybe, if all that is meant ultimately comes to pass - perhaps there will be a time of peace and prosperity, a time in which fragile things can flourish.
“I think…” he murmurs, straightening, flower twirling in his long fingered grasp, “the next time you see Morgana you should thank her.”
Oh, that gets Arthur’s attention. He turns with a flurry of red robes, and a gloved hand tightens on Excalibur’s hilt with such fierce anger that Merlin hears the leather creak against metal.
“Morgana?” Arthur’s voice has that high pitch he has never truly lost when he is surprised or shocked, the one that harkens back to their first youthful days together. “She is the one who brought us to this! The next time I see that witch I would want nothing more than to put a blade to her throat! Why thank her? After all she has done to you? To us? Why would you say such a thing?”
“In a way, she has helped. Before…” The word hangs between them for a moment, a fulcrum point on their journey together, a crossroads. “Before” and “after” - there was no need to say more. “Before….” Merlin repeats, “this would have been far more difficult. I would have done whatever you asked of me, but it would have hurt. It would have damaged me, and you would have blamed yourself for it.”
Arthur is watching him again, mouth grim. “It won’t damage you now?”
Merlin sighs, crushing the small blue flower in his hand and letting it flutter to the ground. “I am already damaged, Sire. Thanks to Morgana.” The look he gives Arthur is choked with regret, but also resigned. “And she did help forge me into a weapon you can wield.” He holds Arthur’s gaze, willing him to acknowledge the raw verity of his words. “She awoke the darkness within me and set it free, when I would have kept it locked away. She showed me how to embrace it, harnessing and bending it to my will, when I would have denied it. She taught me lessons I had to learn if I am to help you to become ruler of all Albion.” Reaching out, he runs two fingers down the side of Arthur’s face, tracing the line of his cheek and jaw. “I find I am grateful I learned it at her hand and not your own. I am not certain I could have forgiven you for what you would have had to ask of me, and I know you would not have forgiven yourself.”
“Merlin…” Arthur’s hand rises to capture the warlock’s fingers in his own, holding them. His eyes flicker over Merlin’s features as though seeking something, but the confusion in his eyes suggests even he does not know what he is searching for; a boy from Ealdor? The greatest sorcerer the world has ever known? A lover? A fool?
Echoes of the past.
Or promises of the future.
“Go now,” Merlin tells him. “Ready your men. Leave me to my work. And when this day is done, we will both know what the cost must be.” The corner on his mouth lifts and he raises Arthur’s hand to kiss the fingers, letting his lips warm the royal ring of office. “I shall gladly serve you till the day I die, Arthur Pendragon, my king.”
A hand gently cradles the crown of his head, and a rough voice admonishes, “See that this isn’t that day, my warlock.”
Then the light and warmth bleed away as Arthur turns and strides across the field, leaving Merlin alone to face his destiny.
*****
Again, this is only a short passage from a MUCH longer piece. If you are interested in reading the remainder of the story, or checking out more beautiful artwork by Enednoviel, please follow the links below.
Story link: By_the_Pricking_of_My_Thumbs
Art link: Enednoviel's_Art
Author's notes: Writing in an ongoing fandom is always difficult, because events continue to unfold, and what once was canon can quickly shift to AU. So, you might call this one a “Canon-based AU” as it deviates somewhat from the direction the show has chosen to take.
I see a piece of writing as an interaction between author and reader. As a reader, I have always loved digging a little deeper into an author’s psyche. As a writer, I often tend to include informative notes for those readers interested in understanding more about the thought processes behind my writing choices. In the interest of brevity, I will not include such musings here, but if you wish, you can check out my notes at the end of By the Pricking of My Thumbs on AO3.
FANDOM: Merlin TV: Written for Merlin Big Bang 2012
TITLE: By the Pricking of My Thumbs…
ARTIST: Enednoviel
CATEGORY/RATING: Slash/Het, N-17
CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS: Arthur & company; Arthur/Merlin, Arthur/Gwen
SUMMARY: It is Arthur Pendragon’s destiny to unite all of Albion, but a reign of such power will not be won without sacrifice and bloodshed. When Morgana uses dark magic to lay a trap for Merlin, she unwittingly aids Merlin in becoming the weapon Arthur needs to defeat his enemies. With Arthur, and all of Camelot, at his mercy, Merlin struggles not to become that which he fears most - a dark sorcerer.
Will Arthur be drawn into a deadly battle with his friend and lover?
Will Merlin ultimately be destroyed by the malice lurking within his soul?
Will Camelot fall to the evil that Morgana has unleashed upon them all?
WARNINGS: dark themes, violence, adultery, non-con, mistreatment of furry critters
Additional Notes and links under the cut.
I am posting but a short selection here at Live Journal. This story will not be posted on LJ in its entirety - simply because it is far too long for this format, and I would have to chop it into numerous pieces. Instead, you will find the complete story posted at Archive of Our Own. If you wish to comment on the story, but are not comfortable with leaving comments on AO3, you may leave them on this post.
See links to complete story below.
By The Pricking of My Thumbs
By the pricking of my thumbs
Something wicked this way comes.
Shakespeare - Macbeth
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
**The End at the Beginning**
They stand side by side, overlooking the valley, the king and his warlock, contemplating the present, seeing the future. In the distance, the fires of the enemy camp send trails of smoke into the sky. Pennants stand out in slashes of bright color across the field, and metal clangs against metal. Horses nicker. Someone barks out an order. Birds, started into flight by the tramp of feet, wheel across the sky. Yet, despite the noise and chaos of an army making ready for war, there is a hushed stillness to the air, as if all the world is holding its breath, awaiting the coming battle.
Into that stillness slice words; sharp, clear, cutting through all pretence, like shards of glass tumbling from a broken pane. “Can you do it?”
A sigh, a whispered truth. “You know I can, My King.” So composed in the face of the gathering storm and the culmination of years of preparation.
So this was the destiny they were born for, the one set for them before they even drew their first breaths? What choice had they ever really had?
“Will you?” Flat, emotionless. An effort made, at least, to withhold judgment. That small mercy twists tightly around Merlin’s heart, binding him far more securely than any oath he might have sworn. As if he could ever deny this man anything.
And unspoken, the silent petition, ‘Will you sell your soul for me?’
“I will,” he breathes, both answering the question voiced and accepting the sacrifice implied. It is not as though he is innocent. He has killed for Arthur before - just never on a scale such as this.
Finally, Arthur pulls his attention away from the sweeping valley and turns to Merlin. The blue eyes are shadowed, haunted with the ghosts of things past and events to come, but the handsome face is steadfast beneath the golden crown, the shoulders squared and determined. The king studies Merlin with the same intensity he does an opponent with whom he is about to battle. Arthur, who approaches everything with straight-forward, blunt honesty, searches deeply - struggling to read Merlin’s heart - seeking weaknesses and truths and the quiet tells others might miss. And those eyes miss little these days. They have learned each other well - perhaps too well. “You understand what I am asking? What it will entail?”
Neither of them needs to speak of the men who will die this day merely because they are on the wrong side of the battle lines. Men who will be unable to stand against the powers of Camelot’s sorcerer and will fall before his magic like sheep lead to slaughter. Men who have families, wives and children who will wait in vain for them to return.
“I understand.” Crisp acceptance. And of the two of them, it is Merlin who truly does understand, who knows just how his magic can burn, like liquid acid, eating from the inside out. How it can destroy, tearing things apart in a whirlwind of energy. How it can kill.
And still Arthur protests, almost as though he feels he must since it appears Merlin will not. “There are too many of them. We can’t…”
Merlin holds up a quelling hand, wishing he could spare Arthur this - could take the burden from him completely. He will do as much as he is able. “I know, Arthur. I’ve always known.”
And yet, there had been a time when the future had seemed such a golden, wondrous thing. But that time has long passed. Now, he sees that the world of men does not allow for perfection, and any destiny on this plane of existence will necessarily be tarnished by human fallibility. “This is my destiny, and yours.”
“Is it?” Pendragon snorts, echoing Merlin’s own thoughts. There is such pain in the king’s eyes, a million small hurts between them. “I wonder. You, the boy who cried over unicorns and knocked himself silly falling out a tree because he was trying to put a baby bird back in the nest?”
Merlin lets a smirk tug the corner of his mouth; because this he will do for Arthur as well, find a smile in the midst of destruction. “If I do this, I will still rescue baby birds.”
And for a moment, the shadows draw back, and blue eyes are laughing at him. “Will you? And kittens too, I suppose. And every wretched lost cause that comes along.”
“Including you.” But it is only a moment, and Merlin can not hold it. The truth is too heavy, even for him. He ducks his head, feeling like his neck will snap under the burden of this destiny he must carry. “I don’t know. I hope so.”
The hand that falls upon his shoulder is strong and supportive, the voice soft with affection. “So do I.”
Merlin keeps staring at the ground, his attention caught by the dark green leaves and delicate, blue flowers of the small shrub at his feet. Sorcerer’s Violet - how ironic - growing here, a burst of hope and renewal amidst these dark times. He wonders if it will survive the tramp of thousands of feet, the churn of wagon wheels and horses hooves. Not likely. Like all fragile things, it will be ground beneath the weight of war and destiny.
He crouches down, and plucks one of the flowers, turning it lightly in his fingers. A warm breeze gently stirs the grasses and ruffles Merlin’s hair as he gazes out over the field, envisioning a battle that has yet to begin. Maybe, if all that is meant ultimately comes to pass - perhaps there will be a time of peace and prosperity, a time in which fragile things can flourish.
“I think…” he murmurs, straightening, flower twirling in his long fingered grasp, “the next time you see Morgana you should thank her.”
Oh, that gets Arthur’s attention. He turns with a flurry of red robes, and a gloved hand tightens on Excalibur’s hilt with such fierce anger that Merlin hears the leather creak against metal.
“Morgana?” Arthur’s voice has that high pitch he has never truly lost when he is surprised or shocked, the one that harkens back to their first youthful days together. “She is the one who brought us to this! The next time I see that witch I would want nothing more than to put a blade to her throat! Why thank her? After all she has done to you? To us? Why would you say such a thing?”
“In a way, she has helped. Before…” The word hangs between them for a moment, a fulcrum point on their journey together, a crossroads. “Before” and “after” - there was no need to say more. “Before….” Merlin repeats, “this would have been far more difficult. I would have done whatever you asked of me, but it would have hurt. It would have damaged me, and you would have blamed yourself for it.”
Arthur is watching him again, mouth grim. “It won’t damage you now?”
Merlin sighs, crushing the small blue flower in his hand and letting it flutter to the ground. “I am already damaged, Sire. Thanks to Morgana.” The look he gives Arthur is choked with regret, but also resigned. “And she did help forge me into a weapon you can wield.” He holds Arthur’s gaze, willing him to acknowledge the raw verity of his words. “She awoke the darkness within me and set it free, when I would have kept it locked away. She showed me how to embrace it, harnessing and bending it to my will, when I would have denied it. She taught me lessons I had to learn if I am to help you to become ruler of all Albion.” Reaching out, he runs two fingers down the side of Arthur’s face, tracing the line of his cheek and jaw. “I find I am grateful I learned it at her hand and not your own. I am not certain I could have forgiven you for what you would have had to ask of me, and I know you would not have forgiven yourself.”
“Merlin…” Arthur’s hand rises to capture the warlock’s fingers in his own, holding them. His eyes flicker over Merlin’s features as though seeking something, but the confusion in his eyes suggests even he does not know what he is searching for; a boy from Ealdor? The greatest sorcerer the world has ever known? A lover? A fool?
Echoes of the past.
Or promises of the future.
“Go now,” Merlin tells him. “Ready your men. Leave me to my work. And when this day is done, we will both know what the cost must be.” The corner on his mouth lifts and he raises Arthur’s hand to kiss the fingers, letting his lips warm the royal ring of office. “I shall gladly serve you till the day I die, Arthur Pendragon, my king.”
A hand gently cradles the crown of his head, and a rough voice admonishes, “See that this isn’t that day, my warlock.”
Then the light and warmth bleed away as Arthur turns and strides across the field, leaving Merlin alone to face his destiny.
*****
Again, this is only a short passage from a MUCH longer piece. If you are interested in reading the remainder of the story, or checking out more beautiful artwork by Enednoviel, please follow the links below.
Story link: By_the_Pricking_of_My_Thumbs
Art link: Enednoviel's_Art
Author's notes: Writing in an ongoing fandom is always difficult, because events continue to unfold, and what once was canon can quickly shift to AU. So, you might call this one a “Canon-based AU” as it deviates somewhat from the direction the show has chosen to take.
I see a piece of writing as an interaction between author and reader. As a reader, I have always loved digging a little deeper into an author’s psyche. As a writer, I often tend to include informative notes for those readers interested in understanding more about the thought processes behind my writing choices. In the interest of brevity, I will not include such musings here, but if you wish, you can check out my notes at the end of By the Pricking of My Thumbs on AO3.