@arthur-rex / arthur-rex.tumblr.com
A King that would not Feel his Crown Too Heavy for Him, Must Wear it Every Day. But if he Think it too Light, He Knoweth Not of what Metal it is Made. ~ Credit to @lespendragons
Independent & Semi-Selective Arthur Pendragon ~ penned by REX
Lancelot du Lac RP blog @incredibly-loyal 💚
Follows back on @silvasabadboy / OOC blog @sparringett
Faramir, The Two Towers
arthur-rex:
The fomorrah twists heavy, immobilising coils around the woman’s neck, fangs latched onto her tanned throat. From his place at the head of the table, Arthur watches on, mildly curious, as the lethal venom is pumped into her body. It turns the mortal’s blue veins black, like a spidery network under her skin, stark and vivid under the glow of candlelight.
She dies in silent agony, watching her son having his youthful years drained out of him by another remorseless predator. Disturbed, Arthur’s gaze flickers from the female to Morgana. His vampire bride has painted her lower face and teeth a deep crimson mask with the boy’s blood. She’s bitten down too hard, ruptured the child’s carotid artery, which always would create such a mess.
Rolling his eyes, Arthur grimaces in distaste as the static laughter of Lilith in his soul fills his head. The Mother of Demons delights in the carnage, and She is not one to give up a chance in tormenting her possessed little King. Drawn to look down the length of the table again, Arthur watches Morgana toss the boy aside.
A gang of older thralls grasp hold of him. Thick hands and even thicker arms find the child’s neck, squeezing hard to keep the blood flowing steadily from the deep gashes left in his neck. Several thralls manage to drink heartily from the convulsing body, before asphyxiation snuffs out the boy’s life for good.
There, there - Arthur, Mother and son. Reunited in death.
Tipping his head back, Arthur sighs as he lounges further in his seat. The echo of Lilith’s words permeates deeper into his skull, until the line blurring the two is breached once more. Well. Morgana seems to be busy doing her own thing (much as she would have done when she was alive) and the thralls begin to scramble over themselves to get closer to her, drawn to her scent. For in her veins lies more of the blood they now so desperately craved. A pure hit. Much better than sponging off each other for the little they had drunk from the wine goblet earlier.
Around Arthur’s arms and thighs a few of the dumber, greedier labourers are beginning to salivate. The vampire lord hums, cracking upon half an eye to watch the rapacious horde gather around. It would only take one small demonstration. Desire for ecstasy is one thing, but there remained yet another stronger emotion, to override the basic impulse.
Offering his wrist to a fit, strapping young man in his early twenties, Arthur beckons him forward, fingers curling in brown hair as the thrall deigns to believe he is being rewarded. Lips mutter thanks and adoration over pale skin, but Arthur does not look at the handsome man in his honest worker’s clothes. He’s busy observing the reactions of the other thralls around him.
“Look at you. You want so much. Immortality. Glory. Love. God’s chosen people...”
Arthur grunts as the thrall at his wrist attempts to bite down, tongue swirling over flesh in anticipation of the heady drink to follow. Except… human teeth cannot pierce the flesh of the Damned.
A bitter smile passes over the Pendragon’s white face.
“You’re nothing but spoilt children.”
The fingers curling in the young man’s hair clench impossibly tight, and with a sharp wrench and audible click - the thrall’s vertebrae are broken.
Lifting the limp carcass up to rest upon his lap, Arthur gazes upon his most unfortunate child, as the other thralls scatter. Truly, he was a beautiful man; chestnut locks framing a strong, masculine face. He might have made for a pretty vampire. But he was still too human for Lilith’s tastes. And nothing infuriated a demon more than the Creator’s love for wretched mankind.
Cowering, the thralls draw further away, the hideous rage and strength of their Master overtaking the desire for his blood. Fear keeps the enraptured followers in line. And yet, still, the desire is unabating, and in desperation, they turn at last to each other, unable to partake in blood, falling instead to kiss and bite and paw at their neighbour, hearts thumping faster and faster with each article of torn clothing.
Arthur takes no notice. Lilith is preoccupied with the dead man in their lap. Tilting the man’s head to one side, as though playing with a doll, the pair of them gaze thoughtfully into wide, unseeing eyes. Would the dead body live again if forcibly given that blood which it craved so badly before? Possibly. But Arthur still bears no desire to share…
Looking up, it is with this thought in mind that the noble vampire spies the ill-placed gesture of the thrall reaching a hand underneath Morgana’s dress.
Time draws to a halt.
Anger erupts within again, although this time, the source is not from Lilith.
The forgotten corpse tumbles out from his lap as Arthur stalks down the length of the table to grasp hold of limbs and physically hurl the interloper half-way across the room. The sound of splintering bone again breaks the stillness as a mortal body smashes into a brick wall. Too strong. Lilith has given Arthur the strength to throw humans around as if they were made of parchment.
“Join you?” Arthur bares his teeth, unduly incensed by his sister’s promiscuous teasing, hands gripping onto Morgana’s upper arms.
The thralls left around the two vampires take their cue, whimpering as they back off; left to fawn and stroke one another in the shadows.
Calming almost immediately at the look on Morgana’s face, Arthur looks down lower at the breasts barely contained within his queen’s dress. The frustrated anger slowly abates, eyebrows pinching finally into a look of distressed need. Morgana... she… she alone matches him in power. She is a vampire of Pendragon blood, like him. Cursed to an existence that gave little pleasure, except when paired with someone else who understood-
“Morgana, please…”
He dares not attempt to remove her dress from her. What Arthur does do, is draw close to her neck, breathing in deeply, yes… she still carries that undercurrent of lavender and honeysuckle. Even though the young, fertile woman has died. She is still his Morgana. Reaching for her jaw, the blood on his queen’s mouth coats his as Arthur closes his eyes, tongue swiping along hers to catch the flavour. The young boy - he tastes of innocence, but there is a small amount of inborn arrogance that otherwise sours the sweetness of the blood. No wonder Morgana didn’t drain him to the last drop. Vampires preferred the purity of goodness.
“Lie with me, lie only with me.”
Lifting his queen up to sit upon the table, Arthur kisses his sister as he moves between her legs. Slowly, the other thralls inch back towards the couple. The Master’s mood has shifted. Desire for blood has turned into desire for something else… and the helplessly enslaved follow their Lord’s lead, tugging off clothes and kissing and biting each other, moaning as loud slaps of skin on skin eventually fill the room.
Amidst the fornication, Arthur takes Morgana’s hand in his, guiding it down to the front of his breeches. He’s only half-erect. A child’s blood could never excite him fully. Lips drenched in red once again press against his sister’s neck, more insistently.
“Let me drink from you, Morgana.” Her brother murmurs softly. Let me harden fully on our blood.
_____
Morgana’s skirt swishes with the movement of her turning to stare at the commotion; she purses her lips for a moment as she mulls over why her brother would do such a thing until it dawns on her that the dead man against the wall was the one who sought to reach beneath her dress.
“Arthur,” she murmurs, her gaze softening as she stares at the vampire, her fingers faintly caressing his furrowed brows and temples. Morgana can’t help but find it thrilling how protective over her he is, how he would never let anything happen to her.
“My love,” she sighs softly, closing her eyes when he draws closer to her, swallowing as his hand trails along her bloody flesh; she indeed should start paying more attention to making less of a mess when having a meal.
She welcomes his kiss and wants to drown in the taste of him coating her tongue. Morgana moves her hand and curls her fingers in his blond hair while he lifts her body onto the table.
“Yes, I will, I will,” She promises ardently, her nose bumping into his in her haste to kiss him again, to have a taste of him once more in her mouth. She exhales into his mouth when he kisses her again, and her free hand moves down to get her skirt out of the way. Arthur does not seem to be in the mood for ripping clothes.
“Arthur, please,” She is the one who is pleading as she arches her hips forward in a desperate attempt to meet his. She licks her lips as he moves her hand down to his trousers. She palms at him while his mouth moves to her neck, her eyes close at the feel of his mouth moving against her tender skin.
“I let you, darling, please… .” She rocks her body again, impatient for what is to come, fingers reaching to untie the front of his breeches.
“I need you.” She breathes, playing with his hair with her other hand before she decides to do something else; she reaches for his hand directing it to her core.
Morgana murmurs his name in a soft tone once again, half-lidded green eyes staring at him, not caring about anything or anybody else at the moment, not when she has Arthur wanting, willing between her legs.
I need you, she says, voice sultry and desperate. If Arthur were still human, the simple sound of her pleading would’ve had his cock hard and pressing into the palm of her hand. But sadly, he is Damned (damned fucking existence that took and took and compelled him at last - to take) and drinking from his victims is now apparently required to achieve a full erection.
I let you, darling, please. Arthur groans, sinking his teeth quickly into Morgana’s neck, holding onto the bodice of her dress as he swallows thickly. The blood of their father warms his throat, sending a rolling wave of fire throughout his undead body. His fingers clench along the slope of her back, as hungry as his mouth, searching for the stitching that holds up her corset. Were Morgana not a vampire (or his sister for that matter) Arthur would tear her apart with his bare hands, submerge himself in her blood and entrails, such is the need of this new supernatural predator within him. As it is, what modicum of self-restraint remains is given to her, and he loosens the ties gently, freeing the piece of whalebone from around her chest and letting it fall upon the table.
Lilith swoons in his ear at the revelation of Morgana’s nudity, and Arthur detaches from her neck, long enough to flush at the sight of her breasts so close to his face. Half-lidded green eyes lock onto his, and Arthur pauses awhile, transfixed by the sight of her wanton beauty. There is something truly dangerous in the seductive gaze of his sister. She is the kind of woman his father always warned him about, the ones that would destroy a kingdom from the inside out.
And yet Arthur smiles fondly, tongue licking off the blood remaining on his teeth. Such a familiar flavour. Morgana tastes of home. She would always be that comfort to him, no matter how far war or grief or suffering left him empty and devoid of purpose. Discouraging Camelot’s golden boy from every noble ideal he sought to bring to fruition in a harsh, unforgiving world.
If all else failed, he still had her.
Beneath the heavy velvet of Morgana’s dress, his hand is brought to rest upon her pubic mound. Petting her gently there, reassuringly, Arthur strokes his fingers against her lips, coating them with her wetness, before sliding his index inside, thumb pressed against her clit.
“Such a wicked woman to everyone else, but not for me.”
Arthur murmurs quietly. Morgana’s earlier tugging on his hair invites him to slip another finger within her, moving them in and out with a slowly increasing speed. His thumb rubs a circle over her swelling bud, thoughtfully.
“You’re good for me. If only you weren’t my sister, Morgana. We could have done this without being damned.”
Dimly, Arthur can hear the muffled gasping, the high feminine shrieks of the thralls somewhere nearby as they gave into carnal pleasure. A feral grin spreads over the vampire’s face, even if the mirth doesn’t quite reach Arthur’s eyes. Leaning down, he kisses Morgana tenderly, removing his fingers from her heat and replacing them with something thicker. Hips aligning at last, Arthur grunts as instinct takes over, thrusting in hard and deep.
Pure ecstasy rolls over him in a wave. Coming to, Arthur finds himself already moving within Morgana’s tight body in long, deep strokes. Catching her expression, he smirks at her widening eyes. Did the demon in Arthur tell his dear sister now, how much she resembled the vampire’s prior victims? How often the human peasants died half-way through his feeding, drained of blood or else broken internally by the rough usage of their bodies. But not Morgana, she can’t die.
Not anymore.
Pulling himself out, Arthur hushes any complaints she may make, kissing his wife swiftly as he helps her lie further back onto the table, before climbing onto the polished surface himself to be with her.
Many of their mortal children have already spent of themselves, broken wails growing silent in the dim light of the dining hall. Yet the curious nature of thralls draws them back; to gaze in frightful obeyance upon their vampiric parents, locked in their own bout of copulation, desperate for further instruction.
Arthur is not interested in them. Lifting his hips higher and bearing downwards, he grips onto Morgana’s thighs, biting his lip as he re-enters her. Gravity does the rest. Pleasure builds, higher and higher with each smack of skin on skin. Blood seeps from his torn lip, splashing upon Morgana’s face.
From the shadows a small hand appears, hesitantly wiping away the crimson trail from her Mistress’ cheek. Lilette watches Morgana at play, and she is terrified, yet undeniably drawn to the violent spectacle. Arthur grunts, turning his head to behold Morgana’s little blonde maid.
A memory of defiling her mouth surfaces, though Morgana surely would not allow him to do the same now. Not while they are as one. Refocussing, the beast in the man slows the pace, yet continues to thrust in deep, arms wrapping themselves possessively around Morgana’s lower waist and lifting her up into a smothering hug. Mine.
But Lilette won’t be put off. She has drunk from the cup, and she has bonded with her Mistress. She hungers for acceptance too.
Merlin AU where Merlin meets a familiar face. (this is a classic one, i know~)
arthur-rex:
It’s cold, dank and lonely in the dungeons. Arthur’s head hurts from all the rough treatment from Cenred’s guards earlier, so he wastes no time bemoaning the sorry state of his current existence; falling into a dead sleep on the grotty, muck-covered floor, next to his piss bucket.
He might have slept for days. Or maybe a few hours. It’s hard to tell. When he wakes up, it’s not without surprise to find gentle, rather than brutal, arms lifting him up. Cenred’s guards are back, but the manner of their approach this time has Arthur immediately on the backfoot. Why the sudden switch to treating him like royalty?
The pirate prince considers headbutting the man in front and kicking the shins of the one behind - hard enough to give him chance to escape - but then he pauses.
Like Gwen, he hasn’t seen enough of the fortress in which Cenred rules to be able to plan his next steps accordingly. Perhaps a stroll along the corridors with these men would improve matters.
Arthur huffs. “You’re taking me to your leader then, is that it?” Silence reigns, as the guards change the locks on the manacles around his wrists and ankles. Attached to a shorter chain, the prince manages a sardonic smile at the closer of the men.
“Is he good to you, this Pirate King? Or are you also kept on a short leash when he feels like it?”
The guard scowls at that, fist clenching in a manner that made it clear he was happily considering punching the Pendragon brat in the mouth… were it not for his companion placing a heavy hand on his wrist, shaking his head.
Arthur frowns.
He follows the two wordlessly out, climbing the stone steps that led from the dungeon to the lower levels of the palace. As his mind comes to, Arthur gradually becomes aware of the groans of men nearby, labouring somewhere in the caverns branching off from the staircase. Tucked away in the depths of the fortress built into the cliffs, were there slaves digging for precious minerals within the rock? Perhaps Cenred’s family had chanced lucky upon a salt mine in the construction of their ancestral home.
Leon and Gwaine might be labouring in the darkness, for Arthur had not seen them in the dungeons. And Percival had been left presumed dead when he fell overboard during the capture of the Ocean’s Heart. A renewed urge to break free from these lackeys, to find his crew and reclaim his ship steals over the captured prince, but he resists the temptation.
Where is Gwen? She hadn’t been returned to the cell opposite his. What had Cenred done with her?
Feeling the soft nudge in his ribs, Arthur looks forward once more, as the guards bring him up and out of the gloom of the lower levels. There are more visible people milling about here; servants, pirates, old and young. It surprises Arthur how many women there are, clearly of some rank: with bangles of gold and earrings with jewels adorning their faces. Many spot the royal prisoner, glaring upon his visage with open scorn. The Pendragon prince, with his sandy blond hair, is fairly well recognised in the pirate world, being almost as infamous as his father. Uther’s kingdom had extremely few women raised above the rank of servant. Certainly none were allowed to actually sail under a pirate flag. That was bad luck.
Shaking himself free of the stares and mocking whispers, Arthur refocuses on what one the guards is trying to tell him, before the bright white sun of the afternoon hits him full in the face, causing Arthur to squint at the sudden light.
The sounds of the waves crashing against rock far below reaches his ears.
Cenred is waiting for him on the balcony.
____
When Cenred so plainly teased at bringing Arthur up to use as he saw fit–a thought that Gwen shudders at; no matter how little respect she has for a person, no one deserves such a fate as to be used like a toy, and especially not that sort of toy–Gwen didn’t expect he would put his words into action so soon.
It’s only a glimpse as the guards taking her back towards the dungeons pass an open space where multiple paths converge, but she knows those golden locks well enough. Even though it’s been a rare occasion that she’s seen the lad in the brighter light of day, rather than the dim light of a dungeon or her ship’s hold.
Arthur’s too far to hear her if she chose to call out, and she has no intention of doing so. It would do no good for either of them.
She just has to hope for the lad’s safe–well, relatively safe–return to the cell across from hers.
Closer to her destination, however, she catches sight of another familiar face and form.
One she’s nearly ecstatic to see.
Elyan.
He’s dressed similarly to some of the servants she’s passed. Thankfully, she sees no shackles or marks to indicate slavery.
‘I’m here, sister. I’m not the only one, either.’
Gwen keeps her eyes on her brother until she’s nearly passed him.
‘Come find me, Elyan. Tonight. The dungeons. When the guard shifts change.’
He nods, and she nearly heaves a sigh of relief. Elyan’s safe. He’s not the only member of the crew of the Ocean’s Heart who survived. Thank all the spirits of the seas and skies.
She still keeps on the lookout for possible paths towards her joint goals of escape and finding the piece of eight hidden away somewhere within this fortress–it’s here somewhere. She can feel it calling to her. That little fragment of her power. One of the keys to her imprisonment and her salvation.
But all too soon she finds herself back within the barred walls of her cell.
And the Pendragon boy hasn’t yet returned.
The seagulls are crying somewhere overhead. Against his face, the bracing sea wind whips past his loose hair and fringe, causing the faint scar across Arthur’s eye to sting with salt.
Blinking, Arthur snarls at the guard pressing again into the small of his back, pushing him forward.
The balcony carved out of the cliff face is rather grandiose. Spacious enough for a sizable gathering of men and women to stand and gaze out over the open ocean, perhaps to watch the ships of Cenred’s fleet sailing into harbour.
The sight of the sheer expanse of blue horizon has Arthur struck numb for a moment. Freedom. The boundless joy of exploring such a great unknown, tugs at his heart - the same heart as any true-born pirate with a love affair of the sea. A pity, that the landscape of rolling waves is overshadowed by the dark profile of Arthur’s captor, arms folded, standing beside the railing of the balcony.
“Prince Arthur Pendragon. Son of King Uther Pendragon, and sole heir to all waters under his domain. You are a valuable captive.”
King Cenred smiles most fallaciously, turning on his heel as he redirects his gaze from the open waters to the prince before him. The men either side of Arthur remain poised at his shoulders, lightly holding onto his chains.
As if pre-empting a struggle.
Arthur rolls his eyes. It’s been nearly a full day since he last drank clean water, and it shows in the hoarse quality of his voice.
“How strange. My value seemed to be the least of your concern when your men’s fists were landing on my face earlier-”
Cenred cuts in. “Yes, well. Orders once given might not always be carried out in the manner one wishes. You ought to be grateful they didn’t do more with that pretty face of yours.”
Arthur stares at his rival for a long, hard moment. Cenred, it seems, almost blushes under such intense scrutiny, though the threat isn’t withdrawn. Eventually Arthur scowls in distaste, pulling noticeably on his chains.
“I always knew you disapproved of my father, but that is... a low way of seeking revenge. It won’t get you any closer to what you want either. So let us speak plainly. Where are my crew? What have you done with them; Leon, Gwaine, Lancelot, Gwen-”
“Ah, Gwen, yes. Your prisoner...”
Stepping closer, the Pirate King spares a glance at the two guards either side Arthur. The chains attached to the Pendragon’s wrists snap taut, matching the tension applied by Arthur’s tugging. Cenred nods approvingly.
“It is interesting to me that you bring up her name amongst your most beloved crew mates. Isn’t she the Pendragons’ pretty trophy captive? The exotic whore your father has kept under lock and key from the days we both were young pirate princes?”
“Gwen is-”
“-Remarkably tolerant of you.”
The switch in tone of voice is noticeable. Arthur refrains from disclosing what he was about to say, eyes narrowing in suspicion as Cenred invades his personal space. The dark eyes sweep over his figure, almost as if looking for a chink in the armour.
“Dare I say it, she seems even... fond of you.”
Silence, but for the sound of the waves crashing far below. Cenred smirks, placing a hand on Arthur’s chest. Beneath his palm, the beating of a heart quickens. Cenred leans in casually, voice silky-soft.
“I know. The son of King Uther himself. Most peculiar for her to find something about you worth defending, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Whatever hold you think you have over her, or on me, it’s not what you think.”
Arthur’s voice is subdued. He sounds tired.
“What is it you want, Cenred?”
The Pirate King scoffs. The nerve of Uther’s brat, not to address him with the appropriate titles! But perhaps since they are both royals, he could let this slide. His fist curls into the sun-bleached fabric of Arthur’s fraying shirt.
“What I want, Arthur, is a trade. Your men can go free, all of them! In exchange, I want you to officially surrender the girl to me. I want her to witness you and your crew sailing away and leaving her behind. I’m sure you can agree to such generous terms.”
Arthur exhales slowly, shaking his head.
“Gwen? You really want me to just... leave her with you?”
Suspicion creeps into blue eyes. “Even if she were, hypothetically, not only a prisoner but such a... valued member of my crew. Why?”
Arthur remembers vaguely the whispering surrounding the enslaved pirate woman, during the time when her capture was new. Uther hosted many high-profile gatherings, oddly coinciding with the event, mainly to impress his shadowy new friend, the enigmatic pirate Kilgharrah. Something about the way that old rogue’s eyes flashed - as gold as the false teeth in his mouth - whenever Gwen was mentioned, always did creep the young Arthur out a bit.
“That’s none of your concern. Gwen remains in my fortress, while you and your crewmates go free. Do we have a deal or not, Arthur Pendragon?”
Arthur glances down at the hand extended before him.
The chains are given more slack, and Arthur moves forward... past Cenred’s hand. He goes to stand near the edge of the balcony.
The sea breeze is felt much stronger here. Far below, sea waves churn around rock, though, there seems to be a clear stretch of water free of the undercurrent that might suck in and drown a swimmer. Arthur files away such knowledge for later.
“How can I trust you, Cenred? You’re the pirate who stabbed his own father in the back.” Arthur sighs. He can sense his rival bristling with anger at the insult.
The Pendragon sets his jaw.
“Bring my crew to me, here. Unharmed and well. Then I will reconsider your generous offer.”
~~
Arthur groans as Cenred’s men all but throw him back into his cell. At least he lands on his ass. The pirate prince is not sure he could take another blow to his head.
Struggling upright, he spits out a mixture of blood and other, less pleasant secretions, from his mouth.
Back in their cells, just as they started, though Gwen appears at least a bit better handled. Arthur quells the urge to retch. The guards, seemingly satisfied, leave the two again in the encroaching darkness.
Arthur struggles to remain conscious.
Breathing shallowly, he casts a glance in Gwen’s direction. What she must make of him in this state, Arthur really hasn’t a clue - but he is determined to share with her his discovery before his strength gives out.
“Tomorrow. On the balcony. All of us in one place. A trade... We can. Escape.”
𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕙𝕦𝕣 𝕩 𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕘𝕒𝕟𝕒 | {𝕗𝕒𝕞𝕚𝕝𝕪 𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕖} [𝕤.𝕝. 𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕚𝕝𝕖𝕣 𝕚𝕚]
summary: she knows it is wrong, and yet morgana cannot help but fancy her brother.
yes, here i am, having made yet another trailer for my fic. hope you enjoy, and if you haven't read the story, i hope this at least intrigues you into checking it out. -jo ❣
He could sense that this was something big; that the bond tying him to Arthur connected them more closely than he’d imagined.
Upon the Winter Solstice A Moment Like Eternity,
Creeps.
Here at the tale’s roots, I live A violin of vast longing A melody to awaken The Earth with its song.
The Way of the Sun (x)
collab with @arthur-rex
~ Merlin/Game of Thrones crossover fic ~
Summary: The one who wears the Crown of Camelot rules over all of Albion. But when the High King grows too gluttonous on power, allegiances will shatter and Houses will go to war. You’d best have dragons to survive the winter...
Coming soon on AO3 ✨
“I need you to know that no matter what happens, it was worth it to me. Being with you, loving you. It was all worth it.”
— Jenny Han, We’ll always have summer
high priestess but high as in weed
Ok but what else was she gonna do all day on the woods?
( various dialogue prompts for all your medieval / fantasy / d&d inspired threads and aus! feel free to change how you seem fit. )
Bed hair never looked so appealing.
“Bend down Merlin, suck that Merlin”
“Take it from behind Merlin, let me do it again Merlin”
“On the throne, Merlin. Ride it faster, Merlin.”
“Take it off, Merlin. Do it slower, Merlin.”
“Tell me how good it feels, Merlin. Swallow that, Merlin.”
“Go ride me like a cowgirl, Merlin. Moan my name, Merlin.”
“Save a cowboy, Merlin. Ride me, Merlin.”
“Swallow it, Merlin. Let me fill you up, Merlin.”
“Grasp the handle, Merlin. Buff my sword, Merlin.”
“Take it, Merlin. All the way, Merlin.”
“Kiss me, Merlin. Call me your Prince Charming, Merlin.”
”Take off your scarf, Merlin. And everything else, Merlin.”
“Pretend you’re a wizard, Merlin. Enchant me, Merlin.”
“Draw me like one of your French girls, Merlin. Make me feel like the king of the world, Merlin.”
“Do this, Merlin. Do that, Merlin. Do ME, Merlin.”
“Be a good boy, Merlin. Ride me on the throne, Merlin.”
(for bossy bitch Arthurs)
#6
Now, this was my most successful video and the one I'm more proud of. I love the relationship between Giuliano and Lorenzo and their story (although it was no news to me that it was not going to end up well, given that as Italian I had studied the Medici history at school) broke my heart. I'm still trying to get over it and I doubt I'll ever manage to
@storitale & @thelonewendwater
Artorius and Arthur Pendragon brother dynamics... have a precedent.
Artorius smiles, stroking a thumb over the back of Gwen’s palm in turn. Truly, he could not have wanted for a better partner. The Lady Smith spoke with grace and good sense. Growing up as an entitled prince, Artorius would once have not thought it possible for a commoner such as she to have obtained wisdom. Intellect, study and opportunity apparently were not the only indicators of a well-rounded mind. Guinevere, the blacksmith’s daughter, will be a magnificent Queen.
He nods in tacit agreement as she puts forward her arguments. Sarrum is nothing more than a bully, using provocation to try and force a violent confrontation on their borders. While some of Artorius’ war council might want their new King to react to a challenge like that with matched aggression, Artorius is wondering whether there might be a better way. Certainly, short-term action taken against either of the prisoners to make a political statement could spiral into creating new divisions within Camelot.
Artorius sighs, shaking his head.
“Don’t worry, I have no intention of bowing to pressure from either side. Executing my sister or my father solves nothing. Not in the long run. I will not have Camelot devolve to populist acts of vengeance, not while we are in the midst of changing our nation’s constitution. My father’s court are still learning the way I choose to do things will be different to what they are used to. In any case, I have the support of Sir Geoffrey, Sir Thomas, and the majority of the Lords on this matter. I know their mind; they do not want war… not if it threatens their lands and ownership of their serfs. The ones that are pushing for conflict are fast losing support with their inflammatory rhetoric.”
Pausing, Artorius gaze flickers over to his brother and the Court Sorcerer.
Just as Gwen had noticed, the pair of them had become rather more… carefree and loving around each other. Arthur seemed to have found joy in the magic in a way that Artorius might struggle with, to his dying day. But what Artorius is moved by, is the sight of happy friends and family. It is a powerful alliance. The leader of Camelot’s knights and the figurehead of those with magic. The King nods, coming to a decision. The current peace between the peoples of Camelot may have been won via stealth and a bloodless coup, but it would have to be defended publicly, if it is going to last.
There was a simple way of demonstrating that.
“You know… I see no reason why I should muster armies for an extended military campaign, when I would rather see the city prepare for a royal wedding instead. You could join us, brother? The laws have been changed. There is nothing to stop you and Merlin from making your relationship officially recognised. I can think of no greater gesture of solidarity with our allies, nor a single act that could piss off our detractors more. Besides, it’s clear as day to everyone in the court now those rumours between you two were right all along.”
Artorius tips his head forward, eyebrows raised in that way he used for softly antagonising his twin in their youth. Whether Merlin or Arthur would deny it, their love for each other had grown ever more obvious, emboldened by the legislative changes no doubt. It pleased Artorius no end that he could provide that for his brother. Especially after the years of Arthur being made to feel inferior and overlooked by father when they both were princes. Never again would Artorius give reason for Arthur to run away from home like that.
Things are different now. Uther is deposed. Tolerance and mutual respect for all people in Camelot has been re-established. And it’s not as if Artorius is proving to be as power-hungry a King as his father might have wanted. As the twins had already found out: a Crown could be shared… particularly when the faces wearing it were so similar.
Picking up a goblet, Artorius takes a long drink. The future. It almost teased the King with its possibilities. The words of Agravaine at court that morning though, they continue to put doubt in his mind. You are strong, your Majesty, like your father. But you cannot rule a kingdom with your heart.
Behind that counsel, quiet and insidious, lay his father’s warning: When they betray you I will be waiting, my son.
Artorius sets down the cup.
“Hm. Sarrum’s raiders prowling our borders… while irksome, they do pose a threat to the peace. Alright, here’s what I think we should do. Arthur, would you send a small detachment of your knights to the villages reporting the disturbance? That Sir Gwaine, and the big fellow he likes to hang around with, they seem like the type to enjoy a challenge? You said you met them both in the wilderness, so I believe they are capable of leading men undercover. Merlin, you should send some of your people to accompany them. Have them cast spells to conceal their presence from Sarrum’s warriors. Together, the knights and the druids can dissuade these invaders from continuing their meddling, perhaps even teach them a lesson? I don’t want bloodshed. War is not my goal, but I don’t want the people either to feel their King is neither willing nor able to protect them.”
Looking around the table at the three faces gazing at him, Artorius nods to check their understanding. In this, they are all of them going to play a part. King, future Queen, Prince Regent and Court Sorcerer. They would shape the future of Camelot, together.
Artorius nods once more.
“In the meantime… I will make overtures for Sarrum to visit us in Camelot. We can discuss our evolving ties between kingdoms over the negotiating table rather than out on a battlefield.”
Guinevere was certain she could feel the heat of Merlin’s cheeks from here. Artorius was bold to suggest a marriage between the two of them, but it was bound to happen at some point anyway. If Arthur’s sly smirk was anything to go by, at any rate. Neither of them would be able to see him taking Merlin’s hand under the table to squeeze in an effort to calm him down.
“I have no doubt the people would be overjoyed at a second wedding. Perhaps such a thing will be arranged. I expect your halls will be filled to the brim with Druid’s that day, brother.”
There was a note of teasing, more directed at Merlin than anything else. She noticed Arthur jolt suddenly as Merlin must’ve stomped on his foot. Arthur looked like he was ready to tell him off if not for the look that Gwen had given the two men.
“Enough of that now, and anyway, Artorius is right. Another wedding would be much welcomed. But in your due time, alright?” She didn’t want either herself or Artorius taking away a potential proposal from either of the two men. Though she had a feeling if Merlin had his way, there wouldn’t be a wedding. He didn’t seem to enjoy being in the spotlight much, but Gwen hoped Arthur would be able to convince him otherwise. They both deserved the chance to be happy and Artorius had made sure they would be able to be. No one could stop them and no one could try, though some in the council might not approve. They didn’t have the final say. Artorius would and so would she once they were wed.
“That is an excellent plan, Artorius. Merlin and I will see to that everything is arranged,” Arthur said, while Guinevere nodding in approval.
She could see Merlin was more serious again, taking interest in the topic at hand. Artorius was proving to be quite the leader, arranging this so that there wouldn’t be any war. It would work, it had to and it was her turn to take Artorius’s hand under the table to squeeze it.
“Yes, I am sure we can come to some agreement with Sarrum while you two are tending to his men. In secret, it is a clever plan, Artorius. Sarrum will not see it coming and his men will be enticed to leave. I have a feeling Merlin alone could scare them off without a single tear shed.” He gave an embarrassed chuckle at her statement and she smiled gently over at him. “Sarrum does not approve of magic, yes? Perhaps we can convince him otherwise that we can work alongside him without there being any harm to him or his people with magic. It took us time to get here, it will take him time as well.”
And hopefully he would get over the idea of taking their land, because there would be fighting over that if it came down to it. All of them hear would fight to their last breath for Camelot. Though Guinevere hoped it didn’t have to come to that.
“Perhaps we could use Morgana and her own womanly charms to entice Sarrum,” Guinevere suggested, the idea having occurred to her while they spoke. Sarrum might be against Morgana, but she was a beautiful woman and anyone would want a chance with her, particularly a King. Gwen feared Morgana would not be pleased to be used as a bargaining chip of sorts, but she could be one way to get Sarrum on their side.
“Just … give it some thought, alright? It could put Morgana to some use and prove that she’s on our side now.” Who knew, maybe all Sarrum really would want in the end was a new Queen of his own.
When they were all finished with their meal, Arthur and Merlin retired to Arthur’s chambers and Guinevere joined Artorius in his. She really should go to her own, but ever since they had shared a night, she felt like spending more time with him. Even more so with a potential war on the horizon. Though Artorius wanted to prevent that from happening, it was hard telling what would become of their future. And anyway, she’d already told her father earlier in that day that she would be away that evening.
“You did well,” Gwen said as she walked over to her fiancé. Normally he would have a servant tending to him, helping him undress for the evening and bathe. She could help with that, that was, if he let her help.
Guinevere stepped closer to him and gestured her hands in a, lift your arms, gesture so that she could help him with his clothing. “Your plan will work. With Merlin’s magic and Arthur’s knights, Sarrum’s men won’t see them coming. Quite literally too, thanks to your plan.”
Once she had his top clothes off, Gwen leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his mouth.
“D’you want me to call for your servant to get a bath going? Or are you ready to just go to sleep tonight without it instead?”
Hearing Guinevere shut down the two other men from their ‘old married couple’ squabbling is always rather amusing. Chuckling quietly, Artorius watches Arthur struggle not to tell off his wayward lover for stomping on his foot.
At least he and Gwen moved more in sync than Arthur and Merlin. Though if Gwen ever did decide one day to physically chastise him, Artorius is not sure he’d mind it terribly. Turn the other cheek, and all that.
“That is an excellent plan, Artorius. Merlin and I will see to that everything is arranged.”
Artorius nods, still smiling in that cocky manner as he fixes Arthur with a daring look. Better get proposing soon, brother. Gwen and I are not going to drag our heels over our own nuptials whilst waiting for you two to get serious. The time is now. The legislation has been changed, and if it is going to carry any weight amongst the people, then it needed a very public and high profile wedding, demonstrating that the reintegration of the magical community within Camelot is in full effect.
How else did Uther ensure his anti-magic stance was upheld and enforced so thoroughly? He moved fast once the original laws protecting the rights of those with magic were repealed. And Artorius is Uther’s son. So he will move equally as fast to undo the damages of the Purges.
Keeping his silence as Gwen continues, the King has to wonder if his beloved fiancée was aware of Merlin having magic before he was. Before Arthur broke the news to his brother, Artorius had been completely oblivious, not expecting to find magic so far within Camelot’s halls. Certainly not under Uther’s very nose.
Without a single tear shed, indeed? Artorius frowns, wondering how Gwen imagines Merlin will bring Sarrum’s forces to heel. Personally. Artorius had imagined a few well-placed scare tactics. Magic used mischievously in ways to make Sarum’s raiders lose their minds and question their wisdom in attacking a kingdom that openly allowed magic to be used once more... that was the angle the King expected the Court Sorcerer to take. But really, it would be down to the decisions Merlin made, as well as Sir Gwaine and Sir Percival. Arthur could brief his own knights on their task.
As Morgana’s name is raised in the discussion, Artorius’ mood instantly sours. He doesn’t have to say anything. It’s obvious in the way the King’s expression changes; lips curled back into a silent snarl and nose wrinkled in disgust. He does not trust Morgana to save his or anyone’s life. Certainly none of those whom he cared for. And to send her out to woo and entice Sarrum into adopting a more lenient stance on magic himself? Artorius frowns. Either Sarrum would kill her (not a bad option) or he would fully align himself with Morgana, and then the witch would influence Sarrum to attack Camelot once more, only this time with her leading his armies covertly from a new position of power. Artorius knows how these games are played. He certainly doesn’t share the overbearing optimism of his brother. They were both raised very differently.
“I will think about it.” Artorius mentions quietly, as Gwen looks to him for his approval. It pains him to find disagreement with her, but he won’t mention his doubts in front of Arthur and Merlin. He loves Gwen too much for that.
Later on in their chambers, the King sits on the bed silently while Gwen wanders around fussing over him. She beckons him to lift his arms and he does. He allows her to do whatever she likes, and sighs when she kisses him softly on the mouth. Closing his eyes for moment, Artorius imagines a world where wars and family vendettas are a thing of the past. His brother, Arthur, certainly believes in such a world. But which of the two of them, would bring such a world into being? Perhaps they needed each other to achieve such a dream.
“No, Gwen. I don’t need Lorenzo’s services this evening. Why would I? I have my future wife to tend to my every waking need.”
Laughing softly, Artorius loops an arm around the Lady Smith’s waist, pulling her down to lie onto the bedcovers beside him. Waiting for her to settle, he sits up on his side after a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Tell me, what is it I am missing? You and Arthur and Merlin continue to show such faith in Morgana. That she’ll somehow be able to change her ways. After all she did to us...”
His eyes gaze steadily into hers.
“Arthur seems to think it was Morgause’s corrupting influence that led her down that path. But I’m not convinced Morgana herself didn’t enjoy doing those bad things. That’s the difference, Gwen. That’s why I fear Morgana won’t change. She liked giving the order to send undead armies into Camelot. She didn’t care about the number of innocent people killed. She relished having her guards execute civilians by crossbow. I held onto my guilt for past transgressions, in the days when I... when I followed Uther’s lead. But I don’t think my sister has regretted a single thing she’s ever done. Which means, she’ll do it again. The first chance she gets to taste true power again... she’ll react accordingly.”
