Oneshots, imagines, and ideas, oh my! *discontinued*

Dead!Arthur Imagine

Sup, Lovies. I've brought you something from the depths of hell. Oh, not the real  hell, that's just what I call my brain. But after this, well...You'll probably call it hell too. This is something I wrote a bit ago, published from my phone, and I should be back with a new laptop next week-ish. I've already god ideas for a request I've got, so bear with me.

Someone won the 300 vote, but they haven't responded. If by next week they haven't claimed a prize, the chance will go to the voter before them, enjoy :)

Merlin Imagine

She sighed and stared up at the cloudy sky, tears dripping down her face.

It wasn't supposed to end like this.

Well of course it wasn't. She had unrealistic expectations about everything, which was why he chose her. He chose her. 

King Arthur had many in his personal circle, being that it extended to the round table, but he had a way of making individuals feel special outside of the knights. Merlin, Merlin was a servant. A close, brave servant, more akin to a brother. Gwen, she was a maid. A strong, sharp maid, who became Arthur's best friend. And Y/n? Y/n didn't exactly know who she was to Arthur.

Well, of course she knew. She was his wife. But what was she before? Was she a friend? A sister? A lover? Something like that. It had been real, and fast, and exhilarating. Falling in love was like a long fall into a bottomless pit, it was filled with romance and long conversations and nights of close consideration. She hadn't every expected to hit the bottom so harshly. Merlin told her often that he died brave, and strong, and his last thoughts were of her. But she suspected that Arthur's mind was not on her, and while that didn't bother her, it saddened her further. She wasn't there.

As unconditional as it came to be, Arthur's love relied on what was directly in front of him. And when she was, it was brilliant. When she wasn't, it was colder. And she wasn't there, so it wasn't real, and so she felt like a tragic woman. Loved a man who loved the world so equally and fondly that she couldn't be special enough. That wasn't true, of course. When she was with Arthur she knew she was loved. But when he was away, or she came back from a long trip, the first look he would regard her with was the same he would give anyone. It wasn't until later, when she had a sense of home  to her that he would appreciate her being back.

When he died, the kingdom fell on top of her shoulders. She couldn't fathom how he handled it, and she was grieving too. She carried the royal heir, everything would go perfectly, but she had to handle herself for nineteen years before it could. Many days, she ached to lock herself in her room. Most days she spent running on little sleep. Everyone worried for her terribly, the grieving, exceptionally pregnant queen was running about the castle in a blur.

After the birth of her son, she laid in bed for three solid days. After that, she was swifter than before, but the aching never really went away. Particularly absent from her son's life, he took to calling his wet nurse 'mother' and his mother 'my lady'.  She didn't have the time to grieve over this. She wouldn't let the kingdom's reputation fall.

And it certainly didn't. If anything, it improved. Nobody understood how a widowed mother could be so zealously perfect--but she wasn't. She wasn't a mother, or a widow, or a friend to anyone. She was gravely ill, exhaustion running on her.

At the age of sixteen, Arthur the Second took the throne.

As he grew older, he learned to appreciate his mother, and began gifting her with semi-hollow affection. She could tell easily though, that she was not  loved. Merlin married and lived, as did Gwen, and all of the nights. She stayed put, though, and became a relic. Out of date, useless. She aged horribly, too. At fifty-nine she was a shrew, and at sixty-four she was no longer allowed out of bed.

One day, though, she walked out of the castle. When approached for council, the king gave the hobbling woman a look from a distance. "She is leaving to die, gentlemen. There is nothing we can do for her, nothing here."

She took the trip to her husband's death sight horribly, shambling terribly until she dropped to her knees where the sword still stuck from the ground. Dead flowers lined it, Merlin wouldn't come to replace them for days.

"What a pitiful life it was, my love." She sobbed over the marking. "I should have made you proud, but I ruined all!" As the tears dripped down her old, old face she collapsed at the grave.

"Come home