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  1. Rec *

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    He has known the turned back of each he once trusted to protect him, the creeping understanding of sweet eyes he would never again see. He has known the slow, small death of starvation, and the aching, gasping death of sudden pain. He has known the ire of the eyes of men and walked in ruins laid to waste by creatures older than their names. He has known the gaze of Emrys turned on him in hate and loathing with a length of steel streaking for his throat. He has known fear greater than this.

    And so he moves, in spite of his terror.

    As the others clash about to rally or flee, he rides to his king. He hoists the man’s armored form onto the saddle with a strength born of desperation and climbs up behind him, electricity spurring through his motions. He kicks his mare, and she needs no further encouragement.

    They run.

     

    Merlin and Mordred and Prophecy, Oh my!

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    02 Apr 2026

  2. Rec *

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    But he had to, he had to, whatever they said of his father and whatever shame he felt in so marring his legacy. The deaths could not continue. Magic was not so rare as the nobility wanted to believe. At least a third of Camelot’s population were sorcerers, or had the capability to become so, an absurd number for a kingdom that steadily lost such kinds to execution and magical attacks. It was as though magic was being called here, centered in his kingdom, and he could not fight it any longer.

    The Disir had given him a choice, and he stood by his answer. He’d gone in alone before them and left with a new vow.

    Magic would be free, and Arthur would honor its gods.

     

    "The Disir" rewrite

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    13 Mar 2026

  3. Rec *

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    07 Mar 2026

  4. Rec *

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    He stares up, confused why this one is denying his nature. He tilts his head, “Are you not a god?”

    Merlin blinks, and then a moment later is doubled over with laughter, until he has to sit down with him on the grass and clutch his side, nearly crying. “Me?” He sputters, “Oh, tell that to Arthur, he’d love that.” He giggles again, grinning as if they’re sharing some fond joke.

    Lancelot stares, then shakes his head. A trickster god, perhaps? But no, that light… it could only come from the highest of sources, not a simple spirit or fae.

    “What makes you think I’m a god anyways?”

    “You look human, but here,” he motions to the center of his own chest, “there is something else. Something more. It is small, but dense and bright beyond what my eyes could register. Gold or white or lightning-blue, trapped in tight vibrations. It is a god’s light, and pure.”

    Merlin swallows, looking away as he digests this, “I…that’s not me. You must be mistaken, my friend. My mother was a mortal woman and I bleed like any other.”

     

    The Darkest Hour retelling with god!Merlin

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    16 Feb 2026

  5. Rec *

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    "Having been near you all these years, I am not unaware of the goings on of court, or the way you nobles like to do things.” He gives a half smile at that but doesn’t convince himself of his own humor, “I also know… that when a new king comes to power, he inherits his predecessor’s information network. His spies.”

    Arthur leans back, folding his arms and narrowing his eyes, “That’s true, Merlin. I’ve been expecting whomever my father’s last spymaster was to come to me for days now. Do you know who it is?”

    Don’t fidget. Don’t shift your weight. Goddess take you, Merlin, stand still. He clears his throat, “It was Gaius for a long time.”

    The young king relaxes an imperceptible amount, and nods, “He’d have access to everyone, from villager to noble, and friendly relationships with most. Who is it now?”

    Merlin stares at him, then spreads his palms helplessly, “Me.”

     

    Merlin is Camelot’s spymaster and must reveal himself as such to Arthur when he becomes king.

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    16 Feb 2026