Merlin Oneshots

The Raven's Revival

Four months, three days, eighteen hours - not that Arthur is counting or anything.  Had anyone asked anyone in Camelot, they all agreed on one simple thing; Uther had to step down or die or just be gone.

But why? 

He killed Merlin.  The raven who lit up rooms with his smile.  The bearer of blue eyes that spoke hope and love.  The fair, freckled man who saved Arthur, the knights, animals, and even Uther sometimes.

Merlin's crime?  There was none besides a random act of hatred.  Uther knew not of Merlin's gifts, his destiny, or the love between the manservant and prince, just spite.

Had Uther looked, even spared a glance, he would have seen the fair gold that melted in the warlock's eyes.   He would have seen the faint whisps of golden tendrils reaching into the earth and air.  He would have seen the gold surrounding jewelry and stone-encrusted swords given to Arthur and his knights, protecting them all from harm.  Had he simply observed, then he would have seen Merlin's nature - inexplicable kindness.

All Uther did when Merlin died was enter Arthur's chamber with the manservant and stab him.  Clean, quick, and simple.  Then the door opened.

Arthur stood in shock, his eyes meeting Merlin's as he shouted for guards and pulled his sword to his father's throat.

Gaius could do nothing, not even magic would stop Merlin's death. 

The kingdom mourned, even Morgana was disheartened, she hated Merlin, but she only wanted him out of the way, not dead.  Hells, she even returned to Camelot to make peace with a grieving Arthur and unrepentant father.

Four months, three days, eighteen hours later, Camelot nearly fell.  Somehow, King Lot raised a strong enough army to attack now that Uther was out of the picture. 

Morgana was nearly out of energy, constantly working protective spells.

Arthur had a sizable wound to his left arm and a broken rib.

Gaius and Guinivere were nearly out of bandages and water and medicine.

It should have been the end.  So the few left began to pray and cry and hope that something would hear their lament and send aid, no matter the form.

No one knows how, or why, or what really happened as Lot stormed the Great Hall where Arthur, Morgana, and the ever-loyal Knights of the Round Table stood, all they knew was the tables turned. 

Perhaps it was the energy rushing back into the world in golden waves, warm and peaceful-like.  Perhaps it was the roar of the dragons, rolling over the hills.  Maybe it was the way the halls of Camelot pieced themselves back together from the damages of war.  But maybe, just maybe, it was magic.

The doors to the Great Hall began to swing open, slowly and surely, creaking and moaning at the agonizingly slow pace.  It was silent in the hall except for the slow, comical clapping coming from the stranger.

The voice held true as it spoke, "Well done you lot, forcing Destiny's hand and the like.  Making her wait for four months, three days, and eighteen hours to correct a stupid decision though, you could have done it sooner."  The knights were frozen, Morgana was curious, and Arthur, poor Arthur's heart stopped.  "Now, I'll give you to the count of ten to make your decision to leave peacefully or to leave in a casket."  The threat rolled off the man's tongue like honey, not in the aloof manner the physique of the man suggested.

As the count started, swords hit the ground, the few who remained were given a glance of the glowing irises of the man before submitting.  At ten, only one fool in the whole of Camelot remained.  Lot.

The man dealt with Lot efficiently, by teleporting him to the dungeons - not that the other foreigners had to know he was alive - before teleporting the mortified soldiers back to Escetir.

At the instant the invaders were gone, Arthur went to hug the raven, who melted into the embrace for dear life - like he was literally all that mattered - which Arthur was.

Soon after, Albion was formed, and Merlin and Arthur got their happy ever after.