The Final Trial
Nov. 23rd, 2010 02:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
casualtheatrics2Title: The Final Trial
Rating: 18 (UK), NC17 (US)
Word Count: ~4700
Summary: Every new Knight spends a night in Merlin's bed.
Warnings: Warnings for: dub-con (it’s not always clear that the Knights have consented, although in my head they were all, “YES PLEASE” and jumped on Merlin), major and minor character death, threats of violence, rimming, use of a gag, spanking (with a riding crop, which might be construed as whipping, but sexy not torturous), D/s behaviour (in most situations, Merlin is commanding and controlling each of the knights), come play (a character licks up his own/someone comes in someone else’s face), orgasm denial, blowjobs, anal sex, threesome, and Merlin licks wine off a Knight’s stomach, so food porn, I guess?
Notes: Written for this prompt over at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
kinkme_merlin.
--
When Arthur Pendragon took to the throne in his twenty-sixth year of life, Camelot underwent a profound change.
Initially, the changes were small: new robes for certain members of the court, new titles here and there for loyal Knights, insignificant, unobtrusive changes. Six months into his reign, King Arthur repealed the ban on magic. Seven months into his reign, he appointed his manservant High Sorcerer of Albion. Eight months into his reign, he abolished the laws on marriage - a person could marry whomsoever he or she chose, noble or commoner, man or woman, rich or poor. Nine months into his reign, King Arthur wed Guinevere, the Lady Morgana’s former maid.
Ten months into his reign, King Arthur removed the restrictions on joining the Knights - no longer were the places restricted to those of noble birth, but open to any man who could prove his worth.
Indisputably, attaining the rank of ‘Knight’ in the Court of Camelot was the highest honour a man could hope to achieve, whether he was high- or low-born. And yet to get there required honour, bravery, defiance and a willingness to die for a solitary man - a King, perhaps the greatest of the Kings, but a mere man nevertheless. Men travelled from the furthest corners of Albion to test their mettle in the Camelot Trials.
In polite company, men referred only to the ruthlessness of the rites of initiation a man would undergo to join the Knights, but in private, when they were alone and well into their cups, they traded rumours.
Some men had heard that a man had to surrender to death before being revived again. Others had heard that the final test was against a dragon, who was impossible to defeat. Still more had heard that the rites of initiation involved fighting the greatest warrior himself, and only when you were broken, bleeding and nearly finished, would Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot, smile over you and announce you fit for his service, or toss your worthless carcass to the dogs.
The rumours least believed were those that told of the initiation involving the greatest pain and the greatest pleasure. The more cynical of the men trading tall tales refused to accept that a King would punish and reward you at the same time. The more naive refused to believe that a King who wished to inspire your loyalty would punish you for daring to want to serve him.
And yet, despite these rumours, the men came.
Early each year, from all corners of Albion, even from lands across the seas, men came to try for the honour of calling themselves a Knight of Camelot.
Each year, King Arthur took to his throne, with Queen Guinevere at his left-hand side, and declared the trials open for the month they lasted.
Not all men were successful. Most failed. Many made their way home and struggled to recall the exact nature of the trials they had undergone. The harder they struggle to regain their memories, the more the elusive threads of recall slipped from them. They were left with nothing more than aching limbs and the knowledge that they had failed. Few returned to try again. Those who remained in Camelot, hoping for a place on the Royal Guard instead, found themselves unable to speak of the trials. Powerful magic enfolded the trials, powerful enough to make the hundreds of men keep the content a secret.
Those who passed the initiation rites were few and far between. Some years, no man passed. More often, just one man satisfied Arthur’s demands and proudly joined the Knights of Camelot. Rarely did two men make it together. Three was unheard of, and the mere idea of more...men were laughed out of town for suggesting less ludicrous ideas.
Part of the diffculty with the trials was the King of Camelot. King Arthur Pendragon was not easily pleased. He was not prone to sentimentality and refused to allow young men to rely on familial connections as they might have in years past.
And he insisted on three constants in his trials. Firstly, the weather - it was always good. Secondly, the weaponry - it was always tested by magic, and any weapon found not to adhere to the strict rules of the trial was replaced. And thirdly, the presence of Merlin of Ealdor, Lord Emrys, High Protector of Albion, at his right hand, overseeing the entire initiation process.
For a few men managed to escape the piercing scrutiny of King Arthur, but none could escape the prying, exposing magic of his devoted advisor.
*
When Camelot opened the ranks of its Knights to any man brave enough to try, every man and boy who fancied himself proficient with a sword turned up at the castle to offer his services.
Arthur demanded Leon and Bors, two of his oldest and most loyal knights, take each applicant through his paces. He oversaw each mock-duel and eventually picked the three he considered most capable of his exacting standards. The first young man was exiled in his second month of service for raping a chambermaid who had offered him a glass of wine. The second man was killed in a small skirmish along the border of Cenred’s kingdom, when he ran forward towards enemy magic, instead of away from it. The third man trained hard and took each drill to heart, before returning to his previous Lord and regaining a former position of trust with his new-found knowledge.
Within six months, Arthur had lost three knights. In an fraught council meeting after the third knight had defected, Arthur turned to Merlin and said, “This cannot continue. How are we to select the right men to join the knights?”
Merlin frowned. “I’ve no idea, Sire. Perhaps we should test for the qualities we deem important? Others can be taught, but some must be there from the beginning.”
Arthur could not have agreed more.
*
King Arthur stood on the balcony, surveying the crowd gathered below. “Good people,” he began, his voice ringing out over the square. “Today begins the first trial for the new Knights of Camelot. Your first test is of bravery. You will receive instructions forthwith.”
He swept from the balcony and glanced at Merlin, who as usual walked silent at his right hand. “Have I done the right thing?”
“Always,” Merlin replied.
The knights-novice received the news of their trials with good grace. There would be four tests - of bravery, of loyalty, of cunning and of honour - and three rounds of fighting, using the sword, the mace and the quarterstaff. The tests would be held throughout April, and the winner appointed at the Beltane feast.
*
In the fourth year after Arthur Pendragon became King of Camelot, one man succeeded in the trials. The man was, when he approached the throne, a familiar face. In joy, Arthur leapt from his throne and embraced the man who pulled his helmet off and revealed himself to be Lancelot.
“Lancelot!” Arthur beamed. “Welcome back!” He clapped the swarthy man on the shoulder. He gestured to a servant to take Lancelot’s armour and shield. An arm wrapped around Lancelot’s shoulder, Arthur dragged his newest Knight up to the castle, praising Lancelot’s technique as he went. Gwen followed behind, her eyes never leaving the figure next to her husband.
The wine flowed and the music echoed. The feast to celebrate Lancelot’s appointment to the rank of Knight - a hard won victory for the low-born man - was in full swing when Merlin first noticed Lancelot talking to Gwen. To anyone else, bending low over the Queen’s hand and whispering words against her knuckles looked like a show of subservience and of pledged loyalty. Merlin saw the spark in Lancelot’s eyes, however, and the warmth in Gwen’s.
Arthur was unaware of the tension between his Queen and his newest Knight. But Merlin...Merlin’s job was always to protect.
He hooked a jug of wine from a passing servant, giving her a cheeky smile as he did so, before sweeping over to Lancelot and Gwen. “Lancelot,” Merlin purred. “I want to hear what you’ve been up to. Stop monopolising him, Gwen!” The last was said in a teasing tone of voice, but Gwen stiffed and flushed.
Lancelot looked back longingly at Gwen as Merlin swept him away from the Queen and into a darkened alcove. The wine he poured into their goblets was sharp and slid across his tongue like nectar. They drank and traded conversation until the early hours of the morning, when Merlin felt no shame taking Lancelot, lusty and eager for human contact, back to his chambers.
With the Knight sprawled across the bed naked, Merlin quickly divested himself of his clothes and snagged the oil from the cupboard. Slicking his fingers, he opened Lancelot and fucked into him, raw, brutal strokes that left Lancelot shifting uncomfortably as Merlin drove into him and summoned forth pleasure. Lancelot came with a silent cry, head arching back, but Gwen’s name on his lips.
He wept afterwards. Merlin pretended to sleep and not to hear the other man’s pitiful sniffs, but in the morning, he warned Lancelot, “The Queen has a difficult time being accepted by our people. Luckily, because Arthur loves her so completely, they’re warming up to her. But it’s not easy. It would be foolish for any man to get in the way of that. I do what I can to help, but these are difficult times.”
Lancelot understands, even if the knowledge doesn’t stop his silent tears.
Lancelot came willingly, even desperately, as Merlin took him to bed daily for fifteen months before Lancelot and Guinevere resisted no longer, and ran away to Caerleon’s kingdom together.
*
In the seventh year after Arthur Pendragon became King of Camelot, one man succeeded in the trials. Arthur and Merlin were equally delighted when the man was revealed to be Gwaine.
At the feast, the ladies of the court thronged around King Arthur’s newest Knight, seeking his approval, his desire, his solicitations. Gwaine smiled at them all, talked with them all, and abandoned them all for the left-hand side of Merlin’s bed, for pleasure.
Gwaine’s hands were solid against the expanse of Merlin’s back. Merlin arched his throat and allowed Gwaine to pepper the cords with kisses. “I’ve missed you,” Gwaine murmured, warm and heartfelt.
“I’ve missed you too,” Merlin replied, drawing Gwaine’s lips back to his own. Slicking his fingers with oil, Gwaine found the pucker between Merlin’s cheeks and pressed gently. Merlin opened easily for his Knight, and when Gwaine arched an eyebrow at his lover, Merlin grinned cheekily and said simply, “Magic.”
Gwaine arched over the pale, slender man and thrust into his tight channel. This was worth the trials, worth the wounds gained in battle, worth the years apart. He came in a blinding rush of white and slithered down Merlin’s body to take the head of Merlin’s still fierce erection into his mouth. Merlin moaned and threaded his fingers through Gwaine’s hair.
The next morning, Arthur appointed Gwaine the High Sorcerer’s Champion. Gwaine wore Merlin’s colours in training, in battle, in life, until the day he fell in a minor skirmish along the Western Coast. His body was brought back, draped in the vivid blues and purples of Merlin’s insignia. Arthur only saw his sorcerer weep once, when the funeral pyre was lit.
*
In the ninth year after Arthur Pendragon became King of Camelot, one man succeeded in the trials. Pellinore was the youngest son of a nobleman from the Northern Borders, a nervy young man, barely seventeen, but a warrior nevertheless. Merlin took him to bed to teach him confidence.
Arthur beamed with pride at Pellinore’s success and drew the younger man to his side as they walked to the feast together. Later that night, Merlin approached the young man and whispered in his ear, “I will reward you later.” Merlin didn’t miss the flash of desire that crossed Pellinore’s face, nor the way his pupils widened.
Pellinore’s heartbeat thrummed in his chest, and Merlin could feel the throbbing against his own chest. “Relax,” he whispered and pressed another kiss to the corner of Pellinore’s mouth. He gently guided Pellinore onto the bed, and brushed their mouths together once more, this time with a slick slide of tongue across the roof of Pellinore’s mouth. “What do you want?” he asked, gently. “What do you want? Ask me for it.”
Pellinore stuttered out a request, and Merlin smiled. “Well done,” he praised the younger man, and slithered down the bed to swallow down the other man’s erection. Pellinore eventually croaked out, “That’s not what I asked for.”
Merlin beamed with pride. “You’re learning,” he said cheerfully, and flipped the young man over to lick him out. When Pellinore came with a cry for the third time that night, he flopped exhausted against the mattress. Merlin stroked Pellinore’s sweaty hair back from his face and said, “You must be brave enough to ask for what you want. See how much pleasure it brought you?”
Arthur would often say, after that day and always in private, that Pellinore was Merlin’s greatest success - the young man never hesitated to ask for what he wanted, in battle, in the council, on the training field. When Sir Leon sickened and died in the fifteenth year of King Arthur’s reign, Pellinore approached the throne with a firm and confident step and asked to be appointed to Leon’s role as Seneschal. Arthur agreed.
*
In the tenth year after Arthur Pendragon became King of Camelot, one man succeeded in the trials. Kay was a swarthy, swaggering man, an ex-mercenary, wishing to settle down and become respectable, to marry a nice girl. He was arrogant in his acceptance of his new role as Knight of Camelot, and Merlin took him to bed to teach him humility.
His magic manhandling Kay onto the bed, Merlin used his hands to tie the gag around Kay’s mouth, cutting him off mid-sentence. “What’s that?” Merlin asked, a snarl in his voice. “You’re missing your own feast? Tough.” Merlin rolled back his sleeves and murmuring, “Ongierwan,” Kay’s clothes faded from sight.
Kay let out a cry, a plea for Merlin to touch him, please, anywhere, just touch him, but it was caught by the gag and shoved back down his own throat.
Fetching the riding crop from its usual place on the wall, Merlin trailed it down the lines of Kay’s spine. Kay whimpered and Merlin smiled, cool and controlled. “I overheard you talking to the Lady Maria. Talking about your own prowess, your own successes, what you will achieve in the future. You belong to Camelot now.” Merlin slapped the leather riding crop against Kay’s bare cheeks, and snarled, “Do I need to remind you who is in charge? To whom you owe fealty?”
Kay whimpered and rocked his hips back against the warming leather at the crop’s end. Merlin gave five more strikes, until Kay was hard, and leaking, and desperately straining against his bonds. “Give in,” Merlin whispered in his ear. “Swear your oath again to Arthur and mean it.” He loosened the gag.
Kay gasped out, “I, Kay of Greenthorn, do pledge my life, my sword and my skills to my king, Arthur Pendragon of Camelot. All that I am, I devote to your service - my life, my love, my fight are yours to command.”
Merlin brought the riding crop down hard across Kay’s flanks and said, “Again. Say it again.”
This time, he punctuated each word of Kay’s oath with a sharp crack of the leather against the Knight’s reddened cheeks, until on the final word, Kay spilled himself over onto the bedsheets. Merlin untied the larger man’s hands and feet, and gesturing to the puddle of come, commanded, “Lick it up.”
Kay obeyed. He fought at Arthur’s side, obedient to the last, and stood witness alongside his fellow Knights at the Battle of Camlann. He swore fealty to his King each day and when newer, younger Knights dared to brag of their own achievements, it was Kay who taught them otherwise.
*
In the thirteenth year after Arthur Pendragon became King of Camelot, two men were appointed to the Knights of Camelot. That winter, Camelot warred with Mercia, subduing the enemy and uniting Albion. Two members of the Royal Guard slunk out to the battlefield and fought alongside the Knights of Camelot. Arthur appointed them to the Knights, as a reward for their bravery and patriotism, and cancelled that year’s trials.
Despite the achievement of being Knighted, Percival and Galahad remained headstrong and proud. They submitted to their fellow knights, but with each other, constantly sought supremacy and power over the other.
Merlin summoned them to his chambers when the leaves on the trees turned red and gold. “You need to learn,” he towered over them, sternly, “the strength of numbers.”
With two filthy, wet, open-mouthed kisses, Merlin brought both men to their knees. “Suck him,” he commanded Percival, pointing to Galahad’s erection that was straining against the laces of his breeches. With a glare of disdain at his fellow Knight and a glance laced with lust at his Sorcerer, Percival fumbled with Galahad’s laces and lapped over the engorged head.
Merlin sat back in his chair, palming his erection through his robes. He watched as Percival carefully took the whole head into his mouth. “Galahad, return the favour.” He smiled with satisfaction as Galahad unlaced Percival’s breeches and shifted to reach the other man’s neglected arousal.
Merlin reached for Galahad’s hand and slicked the other man’s fingers with oil. “Press into him,” Merlin instructed. “His tight hole. Rub your finger against it and push into him. Firmly.” He heard Percival’s gasp as Galahad’s finger slid in, up to the base. Merlin stroked cool fingers against Percival’s flushed cheek and murmured, “Relax.” He guided Galahad through a second finger, a third and eventually, his own cock, maintaining a rhythmic stroke across Percival’s cheek and a murmur of “You’re doing so well, so brave, doing so well,” until Galahad tilted his hips and brushed against the spot inside Percival that made him see stars and coat them both with come.
Three more thrusts and Galahad was yelling his completion into his pillow. Merlin sat back and palmed leisurely at his own arousal. There was time enough to teach them. For now, though...he beckoned Galahad forward and with his free hand, tilted the Knight’s face towards the firelight. His orgasm clutched tightly at his gut, catching him off guard. He pointed the tip of his dick at Galahad and spurted long white strings of come across the man’s upturned face. Percival followed shortly afterwards for a second time, simply watching his fellow Knight and the High Sorcerer perform.
*
In the fifteenth year after Arthur Pendragon became King of Camelot, one man succeeded in the trials. Erec of Mercia was hot-headed, young and impatient, sweeping through his trials with the ferocity of fire. He won the trials, and despite Merlin’s reservations about him, seemed genuinely pleased to have been the successful one.
Stopping Erec in the corridor on their way to the celebratory feast, Merlin made him an offer. “You may have a reward. What would you like?”
Erec did not hesitate. “I have heard, my Lord Emrys, that a night with you is the making of the man. Of the Knight. I would have this.”
Merlin nodded thoughtfully and said, “When would you have it?”
“Tonight, my Lord Emrys,” Erec’s reply was swift and precise. Merlin agreed. A reward was, after all, a reward.
Later, as his mouth pushed against Merlin’s and his tongue entangled the wizard’s, Merlin walked him slowly back into his chambers. It took little to arouse the new Knight - the gentle brush of Merlin’s fingers over the thick length that twitched beneath his legs had Erec gasping for Merlin’s fist, mouth, arse.
Naked and twisting against silken sheets, Erec reached for the oil with one hand and Merlin’s finger’s with the other. Merlin permitted the Knight to slick his fingers, but when Erec pushed his fist towards the puckered flesh between his cheeks, Merlin paused. He stroked his oiled fingers over the pucker briefly, before cupping Erec’s sac. He summoned the length of silk he had prepared for this moment, and tightened it around Erec’s erection. Gasping, Erec looked down. “What’s that for?” he asked, stupidly.
“You will learn,” Merlin said coolly, “to wait.” Merlin tightened the strip of silk around the base of Erec’s cock, and waited for the younger man to stop writhing in desire. “Patience is a virtue,” Merlin reminded the young man, climbing off the bed and walking to get a glass of wine. His oiled palm slipped on the jug, and it was only his quick magic that prevented a pool of wine from sliding across the floor and into their clothes.
Unhurriedly, Merlin opened his chamber door and summoned a maid. “Could I have some more wine, please?” he asked her politely. She nodded with a cheerful smile and hurried away.
Erec was fisting his cock, the strip of silk abandoned next to him. Merlin scowled and his eyes flashed golden. The silk wrapped itself around the base of Erec’s erection, the ends melding together to make it immovable without magic, or a sharp blade.
Erec moaned, “I was close!”
“I know,” Merlin replied, a wicked smirk playing across his lips. “But guess what? I’m not, and this is a shared experience. Don’t be selfish. Wait for me.”
When Erec made to fist his arousal again regardless of Merlin’s warnings, the High Sorcerer unhurriedly withdrew more strips of silk from under the pillow, this time wider and thicker. Wrapping Erec’s wrists together with the red length of silk, Merlin used the blue to fasten his hands loosely to the headboard. “You will learn patience,” Merlin insisted, and Erec moaned in frustration.
At that moment, a knock at the door sounded. It was the maid returned with the wine Merlin had requested. He exchanged his empty jug for the full one and smiled at her. “Thank you.”
When they were alone a few minutes later, Merlin poured a trickle of wine into Erec’s mouth, before licking it out again. Erec whimpered, but said nothing. Repeating the trick with other interesting dips in Erec’s anatomy still elicited no verbal response - despite the obvious and valiant twitch of his erection when Merlin slurped the wine from the hollow of Erec’s hip.
Eventually, when Erec controlled his writhing and the lusty noises issuing from his mouth, Merlin whispered a word at the silk which disintegrated in a heartbeat, slid his mouth over the head of Erec’s arousal and sucked down the Knight’s come as Erec came with barely a flicker of Merlin’s tongue.
“Patience is indeed a virtue,” Erec gasped and reached with his now freed hands for Merlin’s arousal.
*
In the nineteenth year after Arthur Pendragon became King of Camelot, one man succeeded in the trials. Gareth was young, virile, and Merlin thought there will be little he had to teach Gareth, until he overheard Gareth talking to a lady of the court at the feast. “Of course I was going to beat Daigan! He must be twenty years older than me! Slow on his feet, too.”
Merlin summoned Gareth for a moment’s conversation. Once he had seen the scorn cross Gareth’s face once, he could not miss it when he asked Gareth for his time. “Certainly, my Lord High Sorcerer,” Gareth replied, smiling warmly, but his nose crinkled in distaste at Merlin’s appearance. The wine, however, loosened the younger man quickly, and soon Merlin was licking the taste of it out of the mouth of the younger Knight.
In his chambers, he gestured for Gareth to lie on his back, but Gareth protested. “Surely, my Lord, you would prefer to lie down. I will do the work.”
“Do not doubt,” Merlin said kindly, “that I cannot take my pleasure in you,” and the years melted away from his face, so he was the fresh-faced manservant of years before. He whispered, “Hlinap” and Gareth was thrown backwards on to the bed. Merlin reached for the oil and slicked his fingers.
“I can and I will take my pleasure,” he smirked and slid two fingers into Gareth’s greedy arse. Gareth sighed with desire. Scissoring his fingers, Merlin slid his digits in and out of Gareth’s grasping hole. He lowered his mouth to Gareth’s straining erection and lapped at the drop of precome forming at the slit. It tasted bitter, slightly sharp, and Merlin moaned and suckled harder, as he crooked his fingers to find the spot that made Gareth scream out his pleasure. When Gareth was ready, Merlin withdrew his fingers and lined up his cock. “Lie back and think of Camelot,” he mocked, and thrust into Gareth.
When Gareth reached completion, he was gasping for breath and covered in sweat. Merlin merely breathed a shade deeper than normal. “You understand now, young Knight?” Merlin asked, his face turning back to its older shape.
Gareth nodded, and reached for Merlin. “I do. Again?” Merlin was happy to comply.
*
In the twentieth year after Arthur Pendragon became King of Camelot, Merlin takes one final Knight to his bed. The Knight is not of Camelot, but of the Bloodguard - appointed to protect Morgana Le Fey as she sweeps across Arthur’s kingdom to this, the final battle. Mordred is tall now, still thin, but battle-scarred. It has been some years since he took up with Morgana and Morgause, running across the plains to join them in their stolen palace. Merlin barely recognises the young man whom he first laid eyes on when Morgana was still loyal to Camelot.
You’ve let me down, Emrys. Mordred’s voice echoes inside Merlin’s head. I expected more from you.
Merlin pulls off Mordred’s cock with a soft pop, and looks up. “I expected more from you,” he remarks, and sinks his mouth back over the crown of Mordred’s erection. Mordred lets out a soft, bitten-off sigh.
When Merlin opens Mordred with quick, slick touches and slides inside him, Mordred laughs coldly in Merlin’s ear. “You think this will stop me, Merlin, from taking his life tomorrow?”
“To hurt him would hurt me,” Merlin reminds the younger man, and tilts his hips to catch that sweet spot that makes Mordred thrash with pleasure. Merlin slips away in the early hours of the morning, leaving Mordred sprawled and sated across his bedroll.
He watches in horror, helpless from the far side of the battlefield, as Mordred slips the knife in between Arthur’s chainmail and stops his heart. Arthur cries out in pain, and drops to his knees. Mordred steps back, proud and victorious, the young pretender to the throne. Morgana, the Kingmaker, hisses in Merlin’s ear. “Bed my lover again and I will punish you till the end of time.”
Merlin takes Arthur’s body to Freya, who helps Merlin arrange him in the small black boat. Arthur leans up and kisses Merlin’s cheek. “You who were my most loyal warrior,” he murmurs, “thank you.” Arthur slips into unconsciousness as Freya glides the boat out over the lake towards Avalon.
“I’ll bring him back,” she calls towards the shore, an empty promise, but Merlin is already gone.
~the end~
Rating: 18 (UK), NC17 (US)
Word Count: ~4700
Summary: Every new Knight spends a night in Merlin's bed.
Warnings: Warnings for: dub-con (it’s not always clear that the Knights have consented, although in my head they were all, “YES PLEASE” and jumped on Merlin), major and minor character death, threats of violence, rimming, use of a gag, spanking (with a riding crop, which might be construed as whipping, but sexy not torturous), D/s behaviour (in most situations, Merlin is commanding and controlling each of the knights), come play (a character licks up his own/someone comes in someone else’s face), orgasm denial, blowjobs, anal sex, threesome, and Merlin licks wine off a Knight’s stomach, so food porn, I guess?
Notes: Written for this prompt over at
kinkme_merlin.--
When Arthur Pendragon took to the throne in his twenty-sixth year of life, Camelot underwent a profound change.
Initially, the changes were small: new robes for certain members of the court, new titles here and there for loyal Knights, insignificant, unobtrusive changes. Six months into his reign, King Arthur repealed the ban on magic. Seven months into his reign, he appointed his manservant High Sorcerer of Albion. Eight months into his reign, he abolished the laws on marriage - a person could marry whomsoever he or she chose, noble or commoner, man or woman, rich or poor. Nine months into his reign, King Arthur wed Guinevere, the Lady Morgana’s former maid.
Ten months into his reign, King Arthur removed the restrictions on joining the Knights - no longer were the places restricted to those of noble birth, but open to any man who could prove his worth.
Indisputably, attaining the rank of ‘Knight’ in the Court of Camelot was the highest honour a man could hope to achieve, whether he was high- or low-born. And yet to get there required honour, bravery, defiance and a willingness to die for a solitary man - a King, perhaps the greatest of the Kings, but a mere man nevertheless. Men travelled from the furthest corners of Albion to test their mettle in the Camelot Trials.
In polite company, men referred only to the ruthlessness of the rites of initiation a man would undergo to join the Knights, but in private, when they were alone and well into their cups, they traded rumours.
Some men had heard that a man had to surrender to death before being revived again. Others had heard that the final test was against a dragon, who was impossible to defeat. Still more had heard that the rites of initiation involved fighting the greatest warrior himself, and only when you were broken, bleeding and nearly finished, would Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot, smile over you and announce you fit for his service, or toss your worthless carcass to the dogs.
The rumours least believed were those that told of the initiation involving the greatest pain and the greatest pleasure. The more cynical of the men trading tall tales refused to accept that a King would punish and reward you at the same time. The more naive refused to believe that a King who wished to inspire your loyalty would punish you for daring to want to serve him.
And yet, despite these rumours, the men came.
Early each year, from all corners of Albion, even from lands across the seas, men came to try for the honour of calling themselves a Knight of Camelot.
Each year, King Arthur took to his throne, with Queen Guinevere at his left-hand side, and declared the trials open for the month they lasted.
Not all men were successful. Most failed. Many made their way home and struggled to recall the exact nature of the trials they had undergone. The harder they struggle to regain their memories, the more the elusive threads of recall slipped from them. They were left with nothing more than aching limbs and the knowledge that they had failed. Few returned to try again. Those who remained in Camelot, hoping for a place on the Royal Guard instead, found themselves unable to speak of the trials. Powerful magic enfolded the trials, powerful enough to make the hundreds of men keep the content a secret.
Those who passed the initiation rites were few and far between. Some years, no man passed. More often, just one man satisfied Arthur’s demands and proudly joined the Knights of Camelot. Rarely did two men make it together. Three was unheard of, and the mere idea of more...men were laughed out of town for suggesting less ludicrous ideas.
Part of the diffculty with the trials was the King of Camelot. King Arthur Pendragon was not easily pleased. He was not prone to sentimentality and refused to allow young men to rely on familial connections as they might have in years past.
And he insisted on three constants in his trials. Firstly, the weather - it was always good. Secondly, the weaponry - it was always tested by magic, and any weapon found not to adhere to the strict rules of the trial was replaced. And thirdly, the presence of Merlin of Ealdor, Lord Emrys, High Protector of Albion, at his right hand, overseeing the entire initiation process.
For a few men managed to escape the piercing scrutiny of King Arthur, but none could escape the prying, exposing magic of his devoted advisor.
*
When Camelot opened the ranks of its Knights to any man brave enough to try, every man and boy who fancied himself proficient with a sword turned up at the castle to offer his services.
Arthur demanded Leon and Bors, two of his oldest and most loyal knights, take each applicant through his paces. He oversaw each mock-duel and eventually picked the three he considered most capable of his exacting standards. The first young man was exiled in his second month of service for raping a chambermaid who had offered him a glass of wine. The second man was killed in a small skirmish along the border of Cenred’s kingdom, when he ran forward towards enemy magic, instead of away from it. The third man trained hard and took each drill to heart, before returning to his previous Lord and regaining a former position of trust with his new-found knowledge.
Within six months, Arthur had lost three knights. In an fraught council meeting after the third knight had defected, Arthur turned to Merlin and said, “This cannot continue. How are we to select the right men to join the knights?”
Merlin frowned. “I’ve no idea, Sire. Perhaps we should test for the qualities we deem important? Others can be taught, but some must be there from the beginning.”
Arthur could not have agreed more.
*
King Arthur stood on the balcony, surveying the crowd gathered below. “Good people,” he began, his voice ringing out over the square. “Today begins the first trial for the new Knights of Camelot. Your first test is of bravery. You will receive instructions forthwith.”
He swept from the balcony and glanced at Merlin, who as usual walked silent at his right hand. “Have I done the right thing?”
“Always,” Merlin replied.
The knights-novice received the news of their trials with good grace. There would be four tests - of bravery, of loyalty, of cunning and of honour - and three rounds of fighting, using the sword, the mace and the quarterstaff. The tests would be held throughout April, and the winner appointed at the Beltane feast.
*
In the fourth year after Arthur Pendragon became King of Camelot, one man succeeded in the trials. The man was, when he approached the throne, a familiar face. In joy, Arthur leapt from his throne and embraced the man who pulled his helmet off and revealed himself to be Lancelot.
“Lancelot!” Arthur beamed. “Welcome back!” He clapped the swarthy man on the shoulder. He gestured to a servant to take Lancelot’s armour and shield. An arm wrapped around Lancelot’s shoulder, Arthur dragged his newest Knight up to the castle, praising Lancelot’s technique as he went. Gwen followed behind, her eyes never leaving the figure next to her husband.
The wine flowed and the music echoed. The feast to celebrate Lancelot’s appointment to the rank of Knight - a hard won victory for the low-born man - was in full swing when Merlin first noticed Lancelot talking to Gwen. To anyone else, bending low over the Queen’s hand and whispering words against her knuckles looked like a show of subservience and of pledged loyalty. Merlin saw the spark in Lancelot’s eyes, however, and the warmth in Gwen’s.
Arthur was unaware of the tension between his Queen and his newest Knight. But Merlin...Merlin’s job was always to protect.
He hooked a jug of wine from a passing servant, giving her a cheeky smile as he did so, before sweeping over to Lancelot and Gwen. “Lancelot,” Merlin purred. “I want to hear what you’ve been up to. Stop monopolising him, Gwen!” The last was said in a teasing tone of voice, but Gwen stiffed and flushed.
Lancelot looked back longingly at Gwen as Merlin swept him away from the Queen and into a darkened alcove. The wine he poured into their goblets was sharp and slid across his tongue like nectar. They drank and traded conversation until the early hours of the morning, when Merlin felt no shame taking Lancelot, lusty and eager for human contact, back to his chambers.
With the Knight sprawled across the bed naked, Merlin quickly divested himself of his clothes and snagged the oil from the cupboard. Slicking his fingers, he opened Lancelot and fucked into him, raw, brutal strokes that left Lancelot shifting uncomfortably as Merlin drove into him and summoned forth pleasure. Lancelot came with a silent cry, head arching back, but Gwen’s name on his lips.
He wept afterwards. Merlin pretended to sleep and not to hear the other man’s pitiful sniffs, but in the morning, he warned Lancelot, “The Queen has a difficult time being accepted by our people. Luckily, because Arthur loves her so completely, they’re warming up to her. But it’s not easy. It would be foolish for any man to get in the way of that. I do what I can to help, but these are difficult times.”
Lancelot understands, even if the knowledge doesn’t stop his silent tears.
Lancelot came willingly, even desperately, as Merlin took him to bed daily for fifteen months before Lancelot and Guinevere resisted no longer, and ran away to Caerleon’s kingdom together.
*
In the seventh year after Arthur Pendragon became King of Camelot, one man succeeded in the trials. Arthur and Merlin were equally delighted when the man was revealed to be Gwaine.
At the feast, the ladies of the court thronged around King Arthur’s newest Knight, seeking his approval, his desire, his solicitations. Gwaine smiled at them all, talked with them all, and abandoned them all for the left-hand side of Merlin’s bed, for pleasure.
Gwaine’s hands were solid against the expanse of Merlin’s back. Merlin arched his throat and allowed Gwaine to pepper the cords with kisses. “I’ve missed you,” Gwaine murmured, warm and heartfelt.
“I’ve missed you too,” Merlin replied, drawing Gwaine’s lips back to his own. Slicking his fingers with oil, Gwaine found the pucker between Merlin’s cheeks and pressed gently. Merlin opened easily for his Knight, and when Gwaine arched an eyebrow at his lover, Merlin grinned cheekily and said simply, “Magic.”
Gwaine arched over the pale, slender man and thrust into his tight channel. This was worth the trials, worth the wounds gained in battle, worth the years apart. He came in a blinding rush of white and slithered down Merlin’s body to take the head of Merlin’s still fierce erection into his mouth. Merlin moaned and threaded his fingers through Gwaine’s hair.
The next morning, Arthur appointed Gwaine the High Sorcerer’s Champion. Gwaine wore Merlin’s colours in training, in battle, in life, until the day he fell in a minor skirmish along the Western Coast. His body was brought back, draped in the vivid blues and purples of Merlin’s insignia. Arthur only saw his sorcerer weep once, when the funeral pyre was lit.
*
In the ninth year after Arthur Pendragon became King of Camelot, one man succeeded in the trials. Pellinore was the youngest son of a nobleman from the Northern Borders, a nervy young man, barely seventeen, but a warrior nevertheless. Merlin took him to bed to teach him confidence.
Arthur beamed with pride at Pellinore’s success and drew the younger man to his side as they walked to the feast together. Later that night, Merlin approached the young man and whispered in his ear, “I will reward you later.” Merlin didn’t miss the flash of desire that crossed Pellinore’s face, nor the way his pupils widened.
Pellinore’s heartbeat thrummed in his chest, and Merlin could feel the throbbing against his own chest. “Relax,” he whispered and pressed another kiss to the corner of Pellinore’s mouth. He gently guided Pellinore onto the bed, and brushed their mouths together once more, this time with a slick slide of tongue across the roof of Pellinore’s mouth. “What do you want?” he asked, gently. “What do you want? Ask me for it.”
Pellinore stuttered out a request, and Merlin smiled. “Well done,” he praised the younger man, and slithered down the bed to swallow down the other man’s erection. Pellinore eventually croaked out, “That’s not what I asked for.”
Merlin beamed with pride. “You’re learning,” he said cheerfully, and flipped the young man over to lick him out. When Pellinore came with a cry for the third time that night, he flopped exhausted against the mattress. Merlin stroked Pellinore’s sweaty hair back from his face and said, “You must be brave enough to ask for what you want. See how much pleasure it brought you?”
Arthur would often say, after that day and always in private, that Pellinore was Merlin’s greatest success - the young man never hesitated to ask for what he wanted, in battle, in the council, on the training field. When Sir Leon sickened and died in the fifteenth year of King Arthur’s reign, Pellinore approached the throne with a firm and confident step and asked to be appointed to Leon’s role as Seneschal. Arthur agreed.
*
In the tenth year after Arthur Pendragon became King of Camelot, one man succeeded in the trials. Kay was a swarthy, swaggering man, an ex-mercenary, wishing to settle down and become respectable, to marry a nice girl. He was arrogant in his acceptance of his new role as Knight of Camelot, and Merlin took him to bed to teach him humility.
His magic manhandling Kay onto the bed, Merlin used his hands to tie the gag around Kay’s mouth, cutting him off mid-sentence. “What’s that?” Merlin asked, a snarl in his voice. “You’re missing your own feast? Tough.” Merlin rolled back his sleeves and murmuring, “Ongierwan,” Kay’s clothes faded from sight.
Kay let out a cry, a plea for Merlin to touch him, please, anywhere, just touch him, but it was caught by the gag and shoved back down his own throat.
Fetching the riding crop from its usual place on the wall, Merlin trailed it down the lines of Kay’s spine. Kay whimpered and Merlin smiled, cool and controlled. “I overheard you talking to the Lady Maria. Talking about your own prowess, your own successes, what you will achieve in the future. You belong to Camelot now.” Merlin slapped the leather riding crop against Kay’s bare cheeks, and snarled, “Do I need to remind you who is in charge? To whom you owe fealty?”
Kay whimpered and rocked his hips back against the warming leather at the crop’s end. Merlin gave five more strikes, until Kay was hard, and leaking, and desperately straining against his bonds. “Give in,” Merlin whispered in his ear. “Swear your oath again to Arthur and mean it.” He loosened the gag.
Kay gasped out, “I, Kay of Greenthorn, do pledge my life, my sword and my skills to my king, Arthur Pendragon of Camelot. All that I am, I devote to your service - my life, my love, my fight are yours to command.”
Merlin brought the riding crop down hard across Kay’s flanks and said, “Again. Say it again.”
This time, he punctuated each word of Kay’s oath with a sharp crack of the leather against the Knight’s reddened cheeks, until on the final word, Kay spilled himself over onto the bedsheets. Merlin untied the larger man’s hands and feet, and gesturing to the puddle of come, commanded, “Lick it up.”
Kay obeyed. He fought at Arthur’s side, obedient to the last, and stood witness alongside his fellow Knights at the Battle of Camlann. He swore fealty to his King each day and when newer, younger Knights dared to brag of their own achievements, it was Kay who taught them otherwise.
*
In the thirteenth year after Arthur Pendragon became King of Camelot, two men were appointed to the Knights of Camelot. That winter, Camelot warred with Mercia, subduing the enemy and uniting Albion. Two members of the Royal Guard slunk out to the battlefield and fought alongside the Knights of Camelot. Arthur appointed them to the Knights, as a reward for their bravery and patriotism, and cancelled that year’s trials.
Despite the achievement of being Knighted, Percival and Galahad remained headstrong and proud. They submitted to their fellow knights, but with each other, constantly sought supremacy and power over the other.
Merlin summoned them to his chambers when the leaves on the trees turned red and gold. “You need to learn,” he towered over them, sternly, “the strength of numbers.”
With two filthy, wet, open-mouthed kisses, Merlin brought both men to their knees. “Suck him,” he commanded Percival, pointing to Galahad’s erection that was straining against the laces of his breeches. With a glare of disdain at his fellow Knight and a glance laced with lust at his Sorcerer, Percival fumbled with Galahad’s laces and lapped over the engorged head.
Merlin sat back in his chair, palming his erection through his robes. He watched as Percival carefully took the whole head into his mouth. “Galahad, return the favour.” He smiled with satisfaction as Galahad unlaced Percival’s breeches and shifted to reach the other man’s neglected arousal.
Merlin reached for Galahad’s hand and slicked the other man’s fingers with oil. “Press into him,” Merlin instructed. “His tight hole. Rub your finger against it and push into him. Firmly.” He heard Percival’s gasp as Galahad’s finger slid in, up to the base. Merlin stroked cool fingers against Percival’s flushed cheek and murmured, “Relax.” He guided Galahad through a second finger, a third and eventually, his own cock, maintaining a rhythmic stroke across Percival’s cheek and a murmur of “You’re doing so well, so brave, doing so well,” until Galahad tilted his hips and brushed against the spot inside Percival that made him see stars and coat them both with come.
Three more thrusts and Galahad was yelling his completion into his pillow. Merlin sat back and palmed leisurely at his own arousal. There was time enough to teach them. For now, though...he beckoned Galahad forward and with his free hand, tilted the Knight’s face towards the firelight. His orgasm clutched tightly at his gut, catching him off guard. He pointed the tip of his dick at Galahad and spurted long white strings of come across the man’s upturned face. Percival followed shortly afterwards for a second time, simply watching his fellow Knight and the High Sorcerer perform.
*
In the fifteenth year after Arthur Pendragon became King of Camelot, one man succeeded in the trials. Erec of Mercia was hot-headed, young and impatient, sweeping through his trials with the ferocity of fire. He won the trials, and despite Merlin’s reservations about him, seemed genuinely pleased to have been the successful one.
Stopping Erec in the corridor on their way to the celebratory feast, Merlin made him an offer. “You may have a reward. What would you like?”
Erec did not hesitate. “I have heard, my Lord Emrys, that a night with you is the making of the man. Of the Knight. I would have this.”
Merlin nodded thoughtfully and said, “When would you have it?”
“Tonight, my Lord Emrys,” Erec’s reply was swift and precise. Merlin agreed. A reward was, after all, a reward.
Later, as his mouth pushed against Merlin’s and his tongue entangled the wizard’s, Merlin walked him slowly back into his chambers. It took little to arouse the new Knight - the gentle brush of Merlin’s fingers over the thick length that twitched beneath his legs had Erec gasping for Merlin’s fist, mouth, arse.
Naked and twisting against silken sheets, Erec reached for the oil with one hand and Merlin’s finger’s with the other. Merlin permitted the Knight to slick his fingers, but when Erec pushed his fist towards the puckered flesh between his cheeks, Merlin paused. He stroked his oiled fingers over the pucker briefly, before cupping Erec’s sac. He summoned the length of silk he had prepared for this moment, and tightened it around Erec’s erection. Gasping, Erec looked down. “What’s that for?” he asked, stupidly.
“You will learn,” Merlin said coolly, “to wait.” Merlin tightened the strip of silk around the base of Erec’s cock, and waited for the younger man to stop writhing in desire. “Patience is a virtue,” Merlin reminded the young man, climbing off the bed and walking to get a glass of wine. His oiled palm slipped on the jug, and it was only his quick magic that prevented a pool of wine from sliding across the floor and into their clothes.
Unhurriedly, Merlin opened his chamber door and summoned a maid. “Could I have some more wine, please?” he asked her politely. She nodded with a cheerful smile and hurried away.
Erec was fisting his cock, the strip of silk abandoned next to him. Merlin scowled and his eyes flashed golden. The silk wrapped itself around the base of Erec’s erection, the ends melding together to make it immovable without magic, or a sharp blade.
Erec moaned, “I was close!”
“I know,” Merlin replied, a wicked smirk playing across his lips. “But guess what? I’m not, and this is a shared experience. Don’t be selfish. Wait for me.”
When Erec made to fist his arousal again regardless of Merlin’s warnings, the High Sorcerer unhurriedly withdrew more strips of silk from under the pillow, this time wider and thicker. Wrapping Erec’s wrists together with the red length of silk, Merlin used the blue to fasten his hands loosely to the headboard. “You will learn patience,” Merlin insisted, and Erec moaned in frustration.
At that moment, a knock at the door sounded. It was the maid returned with the wine Merlin had requested. He exchanged his empty jug for the full one and smiled at her. “Thank you.”
When they were alone a few minutes later, Merlin poured a trickle of wine into Erec’s mouth, before licking it out again. Erec whimpered, but said nothing. Repeating the trick with other interesting dips in Erec’s anatomy still elicited no verbal response - despite the obvious and valiant twitch of his erection when Merlin slurped the wine from the hollow of Erec’s hip.
Eventually, when Erec controlled his writhing and the lusty noises issuing from his mouth, Merlin whispered a word at the silk which disintegrated in a heartbeat, slid his mouth over the head of Erec’s arousal and sucked down the Knight’s come as Erec came with barely a flicker of Merlin’s tongue.
“Patience is indeed a virtue,” Erec gasped and reached with his now freed hands for Merlin’s arousal.
*
In the nineteenth year after Arthur Pendragon became King of Camelot, one man succeeded in the trials. Gareth was young, virile, and Merlin thought there will be little he had to teach Gareth, until he overheard Gareth talking to a lady of the court at the feast. “Of course I was going to beat Daigan! He must be twenty years older than me! Slow on his feet, too.”
Merlin summoned Gareth for a moment’s conversation. Once he had seen the scorn cross Gareth’s face once, he could not miss it when he asked Gareth for his time. “Certainly, my Lord High Sorcerer,” Gareth replied, smiling warmly, but his nose crinkled in distaste at Merlin’s appearance. The wine, however, loosened the younger man quickly, and soon Merlin was licking the taste of it out of the mouth of the younger Knight.
In his chambers, he gestured for Gareth to lie on his back, but Gareth protested. “Surely, my Lord, you would prefer to lie down. I will do the work.”
“Do not doubt,” Merlin said kindly, “that I cannot take my pleasure in you,” and the years melted away from his face, so he was the fresh-faced manservant of years before. He whispered, “Hlinap” and Gareth was thrown backwards on to the bed. Merlin reached for the oil and slicked his fingers.
“I can and I will take my pleasure,” he smirked and slid two fingers into Gareth’s greedy arse. Gareth sighed with desire. Scissoring his fingers, Merlin slid his digits in and out of Gareth’s grasping hole. He lowered his mouth to Gareth’s straining erection and lapped at the drop of precome forming at the slit. It tasted bitter, slightly sharp, and Merlin moaned and suckled harder, as he crooked his fingers to find the spot that made Gareth scream out his pleasure. When Gareth was ready, Merlin withdrew his fingers and lined up his cock. “Lie back and think of Camelot,” he mocked, and thrust into Gareth.
When Gareth reached completion, he was gasping for breath and covered in sweat. Merlin merely breathed a shade deeper than normal. “You understand now, young Knight?” Merlin asked, his face turning back to its older shape.
Gareth nodded, and reached for Merlin. “I do. Again?” Merlin was happy to comply.
*
In the twentieth year after Arthur Pendragon became King of Camelot, Merlin takes one final Knight to his bed. The Knight is not of Camelot, but of the Bloodguard - appointed to protect Morgana Le Fey as she sweeps across Arthur’s kingdom to this, the final battle. Mordred is tall now, still thin, but battle-scarred. It has been some years since he took up with Morgana and Morgause, running across the plains to join them in their stolen palace. Merlin barely recognises the young man whom he first laid eyes on when Morgana was still loyal to Camelot.
You’ve let me down, Emrys. Mordred’s voice echoes inside Merlin’s head. I expected more from you.
Merlin pulls off Mordred’s cock with a soft pop, and looks up. “I expected more from you,” he remarks, and sinks his mouth back over the crown of Mordred’s erection. Mordred lets out a soft, bitten-off sigh.
When Merlin opens Mordred with quick, slick touches and slides inside him, Mordred laughs coldly in Merlin’s ear. “You think this will stop me, Merlin, from taking his life tomorrow?”
“To hurt him would hurt me,” Merlin reminds the younger man, and tilts his hips to catch that sweet spot that makes Mordred thrash with pleasure. Merlin slips away in the early hours of the morning, leaving Mordred sprawled and sated across his bedroll.
He watches in horror, helpless from the far side of the battlefield, as Mordred slips the knife in between Arthur’s chainmail and stops his heart. Arthur cries out in pain, and drops to his knees. Mordred steps back, proud and victorious, the young pretender to the throne. Morgana, the Kingmaker, hisses in Merlin’s ear. “Bed my lover again and I will punish you till the end of time.”
Merlin takes Arthur’s body to Freya, who helps Merlin arrange him in the small black boat. Arthur leans up and kisses Merlin’s cheek. “You who were my most loyal warrior,” he murmurs, “thank you.” Arthur slips into unconsciousness as Freya glides the boat out over the lake towards Avalon.
“I’ll bring him back,” she calls towards the shore, an empty promise, but Merlin is already gone.
~the end~
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-11-23 02:54 pm (UTC)I'll be back later today when I've ... y'know. Devoured the &%#$#@!! out of this. You should maybe hold onto something, love. :D
no subject
Date: 2010-11-23 03:06 pm (UTC)LOL!
no subject
Date: 2010-11-23 05:27 pm (UTC)Oh, you've killed me. And I have to say, my favorite 'lesson' was the humility that Merlin taught Kay. OH YES. MERLLLINNNNN, omg.
I loved this very much; I don't think anyone else could have written it with the same panache as you have. It was perfectly hot, and Fierce!Merlin was very very NGHH.
The end made me kind of weepy, but well. MAYBE MERLIN SHOULD COME OVER AND TEACH ME HOW TO BE HAPPY AGAIN, YES? Yes. I think he should.
♥
no subject
Date: 2010-11-24 01:31 am (UTC)Merlin is coming over to teach you to be happy RIGHT NOW, although also to mop up your tears from the ending. His neckerchief is freshly pressed for this purpose...
no subject
Date: 2010-11-23 03:08 pm (UTC)The Gwaine/Merlin kinda broke my heart, too, but I freaking *loved* this on the meme, even though I don't think I commented. I left it up for several days and re-read!! *eg*
no subject
Date: 2010-11-23 03:15 pm (UTC)I wanted Gwaine/Merlin in there, because hello? Hot men alert! But I also didn't want it to be the focus of the fic, so I had to break my own heart and have Gwaine die.
I'm so glad you enjoyed this!
no subject
Date: 2010-11-23 03:17 pm (UTC)And yes, I know all about those darn brain-
suckinggrabbing prompts! :Dno subject
Date: 2010-11-23 03:40 pm (UTC)Epically narrated like legends unfolding with each new paragraph and well I guess they were, weren't they?!
no subject
Date: 2010-11-23 03:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-23 06:09 pm (UTC)OK, so you killed off Sir Leon (noooo!) and Gwaine and made me cry at the end, but this was super hot.
You know you rock, right?
no subject
Date: 2010-11-24 01:33 am (UTC)Sadly, death is a part of life, and if it's any consolation, Merlin and Arthur totally wept for like a week after Leon's death, and Gwaine got his portrait on the wall of the council chamber as a shining example of what a Knight should be.
no subject
Date: 2010-11-23 10:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-24 01:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-25 03:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-28 04:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-25 03:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-08 11:27 pm (UTC)Thank you very much for this.
no subject
Date: 2011-05-23 11:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-24 03:34 pm (UTC)