SAY NICE THINGS TO PPL

Thank you @rays-of-gold and everyone who got me to 10000 reblogs!

Holy crap 10,000's a lot of reblogs! Thank you all so, so much!!

I think this might be the best post of mine to reach this milestone with lol! It really sums up the entire vibe of this blog!

Thank you all so much, virtual hugs for all of you!!!

Now they get to be on a hot dog roller together! :)

"Why." It slips out of his lips before Arthur's dignity can catch up with his tongue and spare him, at least, this last shame.

Agravaine scoffs. "Your father bartered my sister's life for an heir. He was the mind behind her murder, but you were the hand." A shake of the head. "I'd sooner die than see you on her throne."

There is so much Arthur wants to scream at him. A defense for his father -he loved her-, defense for himself -I was a child-, but he's rendered speechless by the realization that all these months at his court, his uncle had not been on his side for a single day. He's followed plans of this man, he'd killed on his advice, he'd questioned the loyalty of friends who deserved better than that. On a traitor's word, he'd left his walls unprotected as the snake grew inside them.

"You will not get away with-" His heroic, if empty, threats are silenced by the gag that Cenred returns to his mouth, a bored expression on his face.

"We should just kill him and put his head on a spike on the inner wall. That will stop the peasant resistance quick enough."

On his knees in his own hall of ceremonies, Arthur has no idea of the state of the fight outside. He'd ordered his men to surrender, to spare their lives at least, but some refused the order and kept fighting in the streets. And for some forsaken reason the people of Camelot joined them.

When all he can see are streaks of smoke rising in the thin darkness of the evening, shades of orange painting pictures on the ceiling, Arthur can only imagine the carnage that is being consumed in his streets. The mere though pierces through his chest like a spear.

"Let the peasants die if they want," Agravaine waves a hand. "Believe me, I wouldn't mind killing my nephew right now either, but we need to secure this allegiance and his head might be our only way there."

"Yes, Morgause mentioned," Cenred stalks lazily to the long table of the feast he interrupted. He searches among the plates for a piece of dried fruit, then takes off one blood-soaked glove to toss the treat into his mouth. "Why is it that we need this wizard, exactly? I've seen what a single High Priestess can do; I can only imagine what a pair of sisters could achive." Agravaine looks pointedly at Arthur. Cenred rolls his eyes, and gathers for himself another sweet plum. "He's going to be dead in a few hours anyway. What does it matter what he hears?"

"You know it's not the magic that we lack, it's legitimacy," Agravaine seems, at least, as disgusted as Arthur feels. Except, he leans against the table to stare down at his bound and gagged nephew, so maybe not that disgusted.

As long as they're toying with him, at least, they are not toying with Guinevere. That is the one thought that keeps Arthur's spine straight through the humiliation: that his wife was sent to the dungeons with distracted orders, along with other prisoners of lower rank, men and women both, so maybe, just maybe, she could live through this ordeal. If it is Arthur's time, maybe it doesn't have to be hers as well.

"Legitimacy? They are blessed by the Goddess and I am the rightful king," Cenred scoffs.

"Not of Camelot. But fear not, Morgana has the claim to the throne, it is not the succession line that is in question." With the tip of the same dagger he'd used to cut the cape off of Arthur's shoulders, the clothes off his chest and back, leaving him in trousers and linen shirt, Agravaine points to the windows and the screams still rising beyond them, coming muffled into the air of the room. "The prophecies of old are the problem. They still have power over the Old Religion folks. You think the Catha were the only ones who turned on us? You think the druids will be the only to refuse the priestess' call? This is only the beginning."

"The Cathas are a dying breed and the druids have never seen a fight in their lives, who cares on whose side they choose to make their stand?" The fruit's seed is spat on the floor. It echoes against the tall walls and the broken bodies of the soldiers who died trying to save their king. "They will see that we cannot be stopped soon enough, and then-"

"Can we not?" Agravaine interrupts. "It is way too early to make such a bold claim, my lord."

Cenred meets Agravaine's eyes very slowly. He picks a small morsel of cheese, swallows it with lazy abandon and then picks at a piece of something left between his teeth with the nail of his little finger. "This wizard?"

"A fraud, most likely," Agravaine shakes his head. "Claims the throne of First of the Dragonlords, but everybody knows Uther put an end to that kind long ago. Still, rumours have spread and now many of the magical creature believe him to be the mythical Emrys. The greatest sorcerer to ever walk the Earth. The right hand to the king of prophecies."

"If you truly think him a fraud, then why do you suppose we need an allegiance with him? I cannot understand this. Why cannot Morgause and Morgana just kill him?"

"A fraud on our side is better than the true thing in hiding. So long as Emrys doesn't side with us, we will meet opposition from those who interpret it as his hostility. We need his support, if we are to turn all of magic against Camelot." Then, because Cenred arches a brow dauntly at him, Agravaine scoffs. "Furthermore, there is no hint as to who this person could be, or where. This is our chance for a meeting, and we must open it with a tempting offer, just in case."

"Ah," Cenred turns back to the table, taps his finger on the wood a couple times as he surveyed the spread of goods. He chooses a cup from a knight' seat - Gwaine's, Arthur's head scream, and good knows if the knight is still alive to reclaim it one day - and pours himself from a pitcher. Rich dark wine fills the goblet to the brim. Agravaine rolls his eyes at the big mouthful the king takes. "And how exactly are we supposed to recognise this great wizard?" Cenred says, licking his lips from stray drops.

Agravaine's face twists in barely contained disgust. "Well, he's going to walk in here and demand the prince of Camelot's head for himself, for one. Morgana sent word through the grapevine, that the prize is his to claime. How hard can it be to discern him, then?"

"I was merely thinking about all the times I've seen Morgana disfigure herself into an old crone, or Morgause turn her own appearance into someone else's." Cenred's steps are measured and quiet as he walks the table's edge from the sides to the center, to where Agravaine waits in front of the seats of honor. "It seems disingenuous to assume that, what, he's going to be old and decrepit and wear robes and a white beard? A staff, perhaps? Maybe a raven on his shoulder too, for flavour?"

When Cenred stops, he's just at Arthur's side and looks down on him with a pensive look. The goblet is still in his hand, and the king takes another sip. Arthur strains against his bonds, but he just as successful as another piece of cattle auctioned in the market.

"With all due respect, milord, what are you insinuating?" Agravaine asks, though there's not much respect in his tone of voice.

"Indulge me in a bit of thought." Cenred turns suddenly from Arthur, stands right in front of Agravaine. "Say this wizard is not a fraud at all. Say he is the Emrys of legends, and say that the Catha, the druids, the water sprites and the fae - all those who refused our call were right and he is not happy about this whole matter at all-," he gestures once, wide, with the arm holding the cup to the bloodied room, the scenery outside the windows, the kneeling king at last, "-how are we to know that he's not going to simply walk in here disguised as, say, a soldier? A servant? A noble, perhaps; someone above all suspicions?"

"How dare you." Agravaine has stiffened, clearly at the end of his rope, turning away from Arthur to face the other king instead, where Cenred has moved to his side now. "You accuse me of being an imposter?! I have the lady Morgana's protective sigil right here with me!"

It strikes Arthur all of a sudden, now that he stares at Cenred's calculating profile as he faces off his uncle, that he'd never seen a man of royal blood stepping into a room silently, much less unnoticed. When the attack was started, Agravaine had been sitting at his side, had waited for the perfect moment to point a dagger at Guinevere's throat and force Arthur into stillness; but Cenred, he must have been outside leading the charge, must have been with his men, and he must have entered from the main doors right at Arthur's back, right in Agravaine's face.

Yet, no matter how much he thinks about it, Arthur cannot remember the exact moment when Cenred joined them.

Agravaine has pulled out what looks like a twisted rendition of a druidic rune, and holds it dangling from his hand for the king to examine. It is made of three twigs from petrified trees, tied in a triangular shape with animal sinew and smeared with a thick, heavy substance of dark brown shade, crystalised.

Cenred looks at it with an arched brow and picks it delicately between two fingers to turn it this and that way. "So this is why nothing worked," he says.

"What-"

Arthur sees them both only by the side but that is still enough to see Cenred's eye glow gold, a brief second before Agravaine's talisman breaks off the leather string in his hand. It falls right into the cup and the wine explodes in burst of flames.

Agravaine shouts and falls back two steps. The cup is left to drop on the floor, and Arthur watches it clang against the stone floor only to spill nothing but dark, dry ashes.

The doors open to let inside an endless stream of soldiers in Essetir's colors. Cenred points to Agravaine, "Treason! The snake du Bois turns on us! Seize him!"

It is a useless endeavour, Agravaine's attempt at swaying the soldiers by turning the accusations on the men's king. Arthur watches that knowledge dawn quickly on his uncle's face, and soon the man has a sword in hand and is fighting for his life.

Just as soon, he feels a tug on his shirt and he chokes into coughs as he's dragged to his feet. "Cover me," Cenred orders his men as they let him through. "This prisoner belongs to the High Priestess. Don't let the traitor get him!"

Arthur tries to see - wants to see - the moment Agravaine is overcome by the enemies, but he can only be dragged backwards so far before he starts losing his balance. When he's forced to turn to follow after his captor, he tries to understand what's happening by hearing alone. There is a lot of screeches of metal and grunts of men, but nothing more.

They are in the hallway in a second.

Cenred doesn't take him to the end of it. Instead, halfway through, he pushes against a tapestry on the wall and all but tosses Arthur through the servants door hidden behind.

He should fight, Arthur thinks distractedly; try to get free, at the very least. For what, though? The castle is overrun, he doesn't know where his knights are, his wife is still a prisoner. This man, whoever he might be underneath the face of Essetir's king, has taken him from Agravaine's hands and that is more help than he'd expected to receive, so soon after this last betrayal.

He also seems to know the layout of his castle almost better than Arthur himself. He takes turns without hesitation, navigates the labyrinth of the easement passages with ease, knows when to tread quietly for they are passing by occupied rooms and when to hurry in a quick run to gain advantage on those who must be looking for them.

At one point, Arthur hears Cenred's voice, but it is beyond a wall and it souds absolutely enraged.

This Cenred doesn't seem to notice, too focused ahead of himself.

Arthur hasn't truly used this passages in a long time - ever since he was a boy trying to evade his tutors -, but he figures out their path with the landmarks he can, until Cenred stops by a door and turns to meet his eyes with a mistrustful look. "This will be much easier if you have your hands free," he says, and Arthur tenses all muscles when he hears a horse's neigh. "Can I trust you not to stab me in the back?"

As efficiently as he'd gagged him, this Cenred frees his mouth. Arthur spits dust and saliva at his feet, and glares, but nods stiffly.

"Very reassuring." Still, the man walks around him. A sound of blade against leather, then blade against rope, then suddenly Arthur is free.

The temptation to turn and punch is strong, but he holds himself back. Instead, he grabs Cenred by the wrist when the man reaches for the door. "I can't leave," he declares. "My people-"

"What, you really think it's just peasants fighting out there?" The sorcerer shakes his head somewhat pityingly. The urge to punch him grows stronger. "Your knights never made it to the dungeons. They should have ensured a safe route for you and your queen, by now."

"Camelot-"

"-is lost. There is nothing you can do now. Go, find shelter and regroup. You have allies that will help you retake your throne, but you need to live to save your people from the shadow of Morgana's tyranny."

The man - Arthur thinks, for a second, he sees the dark eyes of Cenred turn blue before they flare in gold - makes a quick gesture of the hand, and several thuds sound off from behind the door. When he pushes it open, brazenly, Arthur finds six soldiers of Agravaine lying on the ground. Their horses, saddled and ready, huff at the new arrivals but none screeches in alarm; they just stand meekly where they are.

Bridles are offered to him. Arthur takes them hesitantly. "Go," he hears, from the back he watches running to the door of the stables. "I will try and help as I can, but you must be quick."

There is not much to say to that, so he climbs on the horse. Cenred grabs the handle of the stable doors and meets his eyes for a confirmation. "Is it true?" Arthur cannot help but ask. "Are you Emrys, and do you oppose Morgana?"

"What is it that's so hard to understand about hurry-" Cenred glares at him. "That is what the druids call me, and I less oppose Morgana than I serve you."

Something tugs at Arthur's chest, a boiling in his blood that smells like a battlefield after victory. "Why," he asks, even though something in his bones screams that it's true and right and owed to him, yes.

Cenred's whole face softens lightly, years shaved off him for a second. "Because you will be the greatest king of all, and I will do anything in my power to see it happen."

"Must be a lot of power, if you're such a great wizard."

"Technically, a warlock."

"Yet you cannot give me back my castle right now, because-?"

A flash of disbelief runs across the man's face, then it's Cenred's face again, twisted in annoyed mask. "Oh, just get going, you-"

He pulls the door open mid-sentence. Arthur sees the soldiers outside that stop on their tracks at the gesture, sees the recognition on their faces, and instinct takes over.

His heels find the horse's flanks and they are running, flying past Cenred as he gets shrouded in shadows, and they are in the courtyard, then past the inner gates, then past the middle ones. He's in the lower town faster than any regular animal oughts to be able to run and then, in a second he's surrounded by red.

Bright, rich, powerful, familiar red.

"Sire!" Leon shouts as he brings his horse up to Arthur's side. "This way."

Percival closes ranks behind them, shielding Arthur from any possible stray arrows aimed at his back. At the last gates, Elyan and Gwaine are fighting tooth and nails to keep Cenred's men from reaching the argans and raise the bridge. When they see their companions arriving, Elyan manages to get on his horse, grab Gwaine by an arm to pull him up as well, and they are all off.

They are on safe ground outside of Camelot when, with a creak, the iron bars of the gate come crashing down on their own, and the elevating bridge lifts of its own accord, closing all the way up in spite of the voices ordering to lower it down again.

Arthur's blood keeps pumping into his ears, making rumbles of his knights' voices, until they reach the forest edge and he sees it. A single horse, with a single knight in crimson cape, and sitting astride, still in the blue dress of the feast, Guinevere.

She shakes in her seat, but Lancelot is quicker and, rather than letting her jump down and run their way, he pushes his horse in a gallop to meet them.

Arthur is freezing and in shame. He dares not imagine how many bruises and cuts, how much blood, is on his person to make Guinevere - who has seen many a terrible thing - sob that way. He reaches a hand out and finds hers and the world settles in his skin again.

Camelot is not lost, the wind sings as it ruffles his hair. The earth growls in every thud of hoof against the forest floor, your rule doesn't end today. There is fire in his chest and it promises vengeance. For some reason, his mind keeps picturing lake waters for a safe rest.

"Are we all-" he cannot find it in himself, to finish the question.

Leon is prompt to answer nonetheless. "No, Sire. When we were freed from the dungeons, so were many others. We left all wounded and simple soldiers under Gaius' charge, to find a safe place to hide in the forest. They wait for us at the caves by Lake Avalon."

"Let's go, then." For a moment, he hesitates. Decades old fear clumps his throat with mud. He thinks, truly with belief, that he's going to let it die.

Then, he meets Lancelot's eyes above Guinevere's hair, and many a memory of loyalty, care and friendship submerge him. "When you split-" he asks, to all of them but to him above others, "-did you see...?"

Leon's horse huffs nervously under his rider's command. "Sire, it was chaos. It all happened so quickly, and our priority was you-"

"I saw him," Lancelot says. "Merlin was just ahead of us, with the soldiers of the front line. He was among those that broke free first. He joined Gaius in evacuating as many as possible, I'm sure."

Too sure. Too quick to reply. His horse uneasy under the clenching of his thighs.

Arthur nods, though he doesn't relax much. "Good," he says. To a degree, he might even mean it.

He's still thinking about it, though, as they run through the forest, in spite of the dark, headed to the lake.

About how the warlock got into the castle unnoticed, when the real Cenred was out there for all his people to see. How demurely he'd moved in the Hall, almost unnoticed even in plain sight. How all the serving passages had been known to him like the back of his hand.

He thinks of words spoken in the chaos of fight, a promise of greatness that rang true and well-known, repeated and committed to memory. He thinks that the last word the man spoke his way, the last address he used after my lord, sire and king, might have been another, much-used title of his.

A Cenred who was younger, a Cenred with blue eyes, glowering and scoffing and uttering, "prat."

If he's to be found, miracolously, among the refugees when no one else caught sight of hide or tail of him during the fight, Merlin - technically, his servant - will have some explaining to do that Arthur has all intention of drawing out of him.

Submitted by ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral

Hello everyone! You all remember how I said I was working on something special to celebrate some tumblr milestones? Well, my surprise project is finished!

To celebrate both reaching 500 (500! holy cow!) followers and my 100th post, I decided to challenge myself! So, I joined @merlin-fic-server's Tournament of Champions, a challenge for Merlin fic writers, fan artists, and podfic makers! The challenge for writers that I chose was to write a new 10k fic based on a randomly generated prompt in 24 hours.

I've never participated in anything like this before, but it felt nice to challenge myself! The result is a fic both fits with the usual themes of my stories (like characters getting put in ridiculous situations), but it's also different from anything I've ever written before, feeling a bit more grounded than my usual silly writing.

So, I'd like to thank you all! I never could have imagined that this blog would bring me and so many people so much joy, and I wouldn't have been inspired to challenge myself if it wasn't for you support! You all have been amazing to me, and I'm looking forward to sharing more of my unhinged ramblings with this fandom!

For now, I hope you all enjoy this little experiment of mine! I'll see you all next time! :D

In celebration of Merlin once again trending for no reason:

Now they're in the microwave together!

I'm sure Arthur's metal armor will be fine in there. :)

Loved the “Arthur misunderstands what a warlock is" au! I completely get it if you’re done with that one and want to move on to the next idea, but I’d be very curious to read how the rest react to finding out how wrong they were? Perhaps some guilt as Arthur realises what he forced Merlin to do? But again, completely get it if you’re done! Thank you for sharing to begin with!

Thank you so much! I'll probably revisit the "Arthur misunderstands what a warlock is" au later on to write the aftermath of Arthur's terrible misunderstanding. It might be a while before I get to it since I have a lot of other au ideas that I want to share, but I will do a part 3 for that au eventually! In the meanwhile, I can say that Arthur is definitely having a rough time with his guilt, but also questioning why Merlin went along with it in the first place. I imagine that conversation would go something like this:

"If you thought that I was some soul eating beast, why the hell would you sacrifice prisoners?! Why would you do something so horrible for someone you saw as a monster?"

"Because you're still you, Merlin! And even when I believed such awful things about warlocks, I couldn't see you as anything but the kind-hearted fool who's the strongest man I know but still cries when he sees a baby deer! Despite everything, I couldn't see you as anything other than my closest friends, and I didn't want to lose you to some terrible hunger when I knew that I could provide for you, however horrible the method was!"

But Arthur's also feeling incredibly guilty that he had also abused Merlin's complete trust in him that way. What did it say about how deeply Merlin trusted Arthur if, from Merlin's perspective, Arthur had randomly commanded him to kill two men, to bloody his own hands, for no given reason, and Merlin still did as Arthur asked. Merlin would go to such lengths simply because Arthur commanded it, and wasn't that just an awful thing for Arthur to think about?

I'll end this for now, but this au will return (after I've posted a couple of new au ideas)!

Thanks for the question! :D

Ohhhhh, I like this!!

Merlin ensures that Arthur stays alive long enough to become king because he may be a complete prat, but he makes Gwen happy so he has to keep him in one piece for the sake of his bestie!

I'd imagine that Merlin just straight-up kills Uther in season 3, when Uther's thrown Gwen in the dungeons when he found out about her relationship with Arthur.

Uther is trying to kill Merlin's bestie and Queen? Bam, Uther's dead, and now Arthur can fulfill his true destiny as Gwen's himbo trophy husband.

Merlin AU where Merlin is told that Guinevere is the Once and Future Queen, the Savior of Albion, etc.

And he's like "yeah that checks out. She's the greatest. But how's she gonna get on the throne since she's a commoner?"

And Kilgarrah says that she's going to have to marry Arthur and he's like "Really?! That idiot? Ugh fine"

Merlin still has to save Arthur's life occasionally and he's always muttering "do it for Gwen. Just til she's on the throne. Then I can let him die. Maybe I'll kill him myself"

Hello everyone! Part 2 of Merlin refuses to leave Camelot after a magic reveal won the latest poll, so here we go! I hope you all enjoy this continuation! :D

NOTE: You can find part one here.

Without further ado, onto the story!

For the first time in what must have been several years, Arthur recalled the dolls that Morgana used to play with when she first moved into the castle.

They were well-made dolls, crafted with fine cloth and neat stitching, but they were also well-worn from Morgana carrying them around with her, hugging them close for comfort wherever she went in the unfamiliar castle.

Arthur could remember scoffing at Morgana when he had seen her playing with the dolls in her new room, imagining names and lives for each of them and moving them around to play out whatever story she wished.

If his memories served correctly, Arthur believed that that was one of the first fights he got into with Morgana, after he had taunted and teased her for playing with those dolls. He had called it a stupid little game, only fit for girls.

As he watched Merlin Emrys go about his days exactly as he had for the past ten years, acting for all intents and purposes like nothing had changed at all and that he was just an ordinary human servant, Arthur was disturbingly reminded of Morgana playing with her dolls, moving them around this way and that and having complete control over their lives, their very reality. The irony of the comparison wasn't lost of Arthur either, given how many times he had also teased Merlin about being a girl.

Perhaps this was a part of Emrys's grand plan? To get back at Arthur for all of the humiliation he endured at the hands of the ignorant king by turning the king and all his people into little more than dolls, forced to play along with his fantasy of being a regular servant lest they also be struck down by his rage, their souls tossed aside like broken little ragdolls?

If that truly were the case, then this punishment was far lighter than what Arthur deserved. He had hunted down and slaughtered Emrys's followers, burned his temples, and had demeaned the god of magic himself for nearly ten years by somehow missing the fact that his manservant was secretly a god the whole time, and his punishment was to simply continue on as if everything was the same?

No, that couldn't possibly be the case. Emrys's forgiveness might extend enough such that Arthur wasn't immediately struck down for his hubris, but he had to have some other punishment in store for Camelot. But now, the question remained: what punishment would the god of magic levy upon the kingdom that had so greatly disrespected him, and could Arthur spare his people from the divine wrath that he had brought down on them?

As Arthur sat at his seat at the round table, feeling the full weight of Emrys's gaze on his back, he made a solemn vow to himself: whatever retribution, whatever wrath that Emrys wished to rain down upon the people of Camelot, Arthur would shoulder it all. This was his duty as king.

But, to Arthur's dismay, no matter how many times he pleaded with Merlin Emrys to spare his people, the god never obliged, simply giving Arthur a menacing smile and setting out his clothes for the day, dressing Arthur up like a helpless doll.

Arthur couldn't even get away from Emrys long enough to convene with his knights and form a plan of attack against the god of magic holding their home hostage. Nothing that Arthur did was outside of Emrys's sight, and any attempt at resistance was snuffed out before it could even begin.

(Arthur couldn't help but think about how Merlin's constant presence was a comfort, before... before the truth.)

The only time when Arthur got any privacy from Emrys was at night, when he was able to climb into bed and stay up late into the night wracking his brain for any strategy, any way to persuade Emrys that might protect his kingdom.

But the next morning, after a restless night that bore no new ideas to beat Emrys with, the god would burst through the doors of the royal chambers with a tray of breakfast in hand. And, like every morning since that damned battle at Camlann, Arthur would leap out of bed, sword in hand, only to be disarmed and sat down at his desk with little more than a flash of gold in Merlin's Emrys's eyes. Pushed around like a ragdoll.

After dozens of mornings like this, over a month of feeling powerless and useless, Arthur had had enough. His already too-short patience had run dry, and in his frustration, he made a stupid, foolish mistake. The kind of mistake Merlin- before- would have chastised him for and then have gently guided him towards the better solution.

But Merlin wasn't here. He was gone, perhaps he never even existed and was just a lie the whole time, and Arthur was stuck with an unpredictable and dangerous god in his place.

Namely, an unpredictable and dangerous god whose head Arthur had just thrown a platter at with all of his might in a fit of rage.

Oh no.

Arthur's heart dropped to his gut as Emrys, with an irritated huff, froze the platter in midair and the reality of what he just did came crashing down on him, making his knees weak with horror.

His only method of keeping his people safe was by keeping Emrys appeased enough to limit whatever punishment he had in store for the kingdom to only Arthur himself, and Arthur had almost just hit him in the head with a platter!

Arthur opened his mouth to beg and plead for his people's safety, kingly pride be damned in the face of his entire kingdom being wiped out by divine wrath because of a stupid mistake that Arthur himself made, but was cut off by a sound that once made his chest bloom with warmth, but now only brought dread.

Laughter. Merlin Emrys was laughing at him. Was the god of magic truly so excited about finally smiting the king that had humiliated him for almost a decade that he would laugh about it?

... On second thought, the laughter made sense. For what felt like the hundredth time in the past month, Arthur braced himself for the agony of being struck down by divine wrath, certain that this time he had finally crossed the line and that Emrys would put an end to him here and now.

"Oh Arthur, you really never change, do you? Always such a prat no matter what."

Merlin Emrys shook his head, laughing and smiling all the while, much to Arthur's bewilderment. What was he playing at?!

Suddenly, Arthur's feelings of hurt and betrayal welled up alongside his frustration, and his mouth moved before his brain could register it.

"At least I haven't changed. The same cannot be said for everyone."

Emrys's eyes widened at his words, looking shocked and, surprisingly, hurt. But why would a god care about what a king that he was holding hostage thought about him?

"But I haven't. I haven't changed at all, Arthur, it's only your perception of me that has changed. I've always been... this. And I'm happy with my life as it is, and I don't want it to change.

Don't you see? That's why I'm still here, why I'm doing all of this. I don't want anything to change."

Merlin looked at him earnestly, as if pleading with Arthur to hear him. It was strange, thinking about a god looking at him, a mortal man, pleadingly.

But, if this was truly all he wanted? To live out his life as Merlin the manservant, and not the all-powerful Emrys?

While Arthur certainly couldn't understand it, if treating Emrys as his servant would be what kept the god of magic's wrath at bay, then Arthur would play along and pretend for as long as he needed to.

For everyone's sake.

Arthur gave Emrys Merlin a strained smile as his new plan to ensure his kingdom's survival formed in his mind.

"In that case, why don't you get my armor and weapons ready for training later today, Merlin? We've got a long day ahead of us."

As Merlin gave him a familiar bright smile, Arthur prayed to any gods who weren't Emrys that he hadn't just made a deadly mistake.

And that's all for this au for now! I hope you all enjoyed Arthur's POV! Please let me know if you would like to see a continuation of this au!

And, as always, thank you for reading through my ramblings! :D

Also, a big thank you to everyone who showed support on this au! I'll try to tag you all here:

@obsessionrepression @transteddyd @merthurogies @dontknowanythingohwell @scuttlingsleipnir

@auroraboringaliceinwonderland @thedollopheadofcamelot @starlight-kestrel @iron-niffler @rainbowsmagicandshit

@linotheghost @sugar-coated-prat-dragon @archiveofcamelot @elementalpirate4 @anemwevieam

@spekulatiusmuffin @theintrovertedintrovert @esoulix @wheneverfeasible @auldsusie

In case anyone was wondering about the context, this was 100% Leon reporting to the Round Table about these very important misleading statistics while Mr. Magics Georg himself stood right behind him!

"The average citizen of Camelot has committed treason" factoid is actualy just a statistical error. The average citizen of Camelot has never committed treason against the crown. Magics Georg, who commits treason every single second by simply existing, is an outlier adn should not be counted.

Gwen isn't even mad because she knows how it is when you give Merlin a lil' smooch on reflex.