Work Text:
"Yeah," Merlin started, "no thanks."
The entire court froze.
"I'm... sorry?" The Wicked Villain of the Week™ was flabbergasted from where she sat on the throne. Arthur's throne.
"You had better be ." Merlin scowled. "We've already dealt with our Magical Issue of the Week™ when that snake-horse-chicken monster attacked. Come back in four days."
The sorceress stared blankly at him. The members of the court—excluding the round table—were looking at him like he'd grown a third head. The knights—other than Lancelot, Leon, and Gwaine—were watching in slack-jawed dumbfoundment. Gwaine looked like he was about to jump in even though he had no idea what Merlin was saying. Lancelot most definitely regretted waking up this morning, and Leon was just tired .
Arthur was behind Merlin—who had stepped in front of him when he noticed the sorceress—so he couldn't see his reaction. It wasn't loud , though, so Merlin could only assume that he wasn't mad... yet.
"I don't think you understand what's going on here," the sorceress began when she regained her composure.
"No, I don't think you understand that we have already met this week's quota for magical shit hitting the fan. As I said, come back next week . Or, you know, never, but that's always 'too much to ask' because you people have to take out your rage at Uther on Arthur who, may I point out, is not his own bloody father ."
"Us... people...?"
"Yes!" Merlin threw his hands in the air, exasperated. "People who think that losing a loved one gives them the authority to mercilessly murder and torture others! Spoiler alert , it doesn't! It makes you just as bad as him, if not worse ! At least he was convinced what he was doing was right even if he clearly hit his head eighteen times too many. You, though? You just want to exact revenge. You aren't even avenging your loved ones. You're just a bitter, vengeful witch who ought to know better . What are you, fifty-five, fifty-six?"
"... Forty-eight."
"Oh, complete shocker, being a horrible person ages you prematurely! Still, you're nearly five decades old, and you think this is the way to 'solve' your problems?"
"And what would you know about my 'problems'?" She snapped.
"A whole lot more than you, apparently, considering you can't even do the simplest task of properly targeting the perpetrator of the crime committed against you!"
"Listen to me, boy ," the sorceress sneered. "You are nobody , and you know nothing."
"Well that's just completely wrong," Gwaine muttered. "He's Merlin ."
"You know nothing . I have made it here because destiny dictates that the balance be reset."
"Aaaand, she's done it," Lancelot groused.
"Oh, 'destiny dictates', does it? and who told you that? Certainly not an overgrown cryptic bastard of a lizard, and I highly doubt Taliesin would let you into the Crystal Cave, so who was it? Because I assure you that they were lying."
"Emrys himself told me of my destiny," she proclaimed.
"Oh dear," Lancelot said. " Now she's done it, for sure."
"Of course," Leon said, will breaking. "Of course, she pulled that card. Why wouldn't she pull that card? She's only what, the fourth person this month to do so?"
"Psst," Gwaine stage whispered. "What do you mean?"
Percival attempted to elbow him into silence, but Gwaine just dodged the blow and slid behind him to get closer to the other knights.
Leon met Gwaine's gaze, let out the largest sigh known to man, turned, and walked out of the room. Lancelot pressed his lips together in a grim imitation of stifled laughter—because this wasn't funny, Lancelot! —and shook his head.
Gwaine pouted, put out, and let Percival manhandle him back into his spot.
"You know Emrys?" Merlin asked blankly. " You know Emrys?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do . And He gifted me the power to bring the Pendragons to their knees once and for al—"
"Mm, pretty sure that never happened. Do you usually have delusions this vivid? Have you hit your head lately?" Merlin interrogated, stepping closer, pulling a small light out of thin air to gauge her pupil dilation. "Seems normal... is it genetic, then?"
"Is what genetic?" the sorceress snapped. "Wait—never mind—I don't bloody well care ."
Merlin squinted at her in suspicion. "Anger outbursts, a lack of self-control..."
"Will you just shut up?" she demanded, pulling a stunning display of crackling electricity into her hand. "Emrys Himself blessed me—"
" Blessed you?" Merlin asked. "I don't remember this, did you sneeze, or...?"
" Emrys Himself blessed me ," she began again, "with the power of the skies so that I could perform my duty. Step aside, mortal , or you will only have yourself to blame for what comes next."
"Pretty sure I would still have you to blame considering, you know, you're the one who wants to attack us . Besides, how on earth would he 'bless you with the power of the skies'? Elemental magic is one of the cornerstones of any self-respecting sorcerer's training. Storms fall into that category ."
"You know not of what you speak," she claimed, only to get cut off by Merlin again .
"Prettttty sure I do, considering one of us is spouting pure fiction and it isn't me. Yeah, storms are difficult to produce , but it's ridiculous to think that the only way one could create one is by being 'blessed' by another sorcerer."
"There you go, showing your ignorance," she huffed haughtily. "Emrys isn't 'another sorcerer' , as you so blandly put it. He is a God, He is Magic Itself. Only He has true reign over the heavens, seas, and earth."
"Still not buying it," Merlin said, only to pause when Mordred interrupted him with a cough.
Emrys , Mordred began stiffly, she isn't entirely wrong. Only gatherings of three or more high priestesses are able to alter the weather.
Merlin stared at Mordred, brows furrowed. "Are you sure? It isn't even that hard, look!" Merlin pointed at the window, where the hot August sun vanished behind a torrential downpour.
Several alarmed yelps echoed through the castle, and Merlin winced, letting the sky fall back to its natural state of being.
" See?"
Emrys ... Mordred said. What is simple for you—what you could do in the cradle—is beyond the imagination of most sorcerers who spend their entire lives studying the craft.
"Okay, why is Merlin suddenly having a one-sided argument with Mordred?" Gwaine asked. "Seriously, is nobody else questioning this?"
"And aren't there other matters at hand?" Lancelot added meaningfully.
Merlin sighed, "Seriously, this whole worship thing is getting so out of hand. As I was saying," Merlin straightened up, plastering on a fake smile. "Would you please be so kind as to escort yourself out and come back another day?"
The sorceress was deathly pale where she stood, having risen from the throne when she started sniping at Merlin. Well, when he started sniping at her , but... semantics.
"M-my lord," she breathed out, falling to her knees.
"Ugh, I just said that this is getting out of hand! Stand up and go away . I haven't slept in—" Merlin paused, counting on his fingers seemingly at random, "I haven't slept in eighty-three hours! Do you have any idea how much work it is cleaning up after this prat even without people like you coming and trying to assassinate him?"
"No, my lord," the sorceress said meekly.
Merlin had to fight the urge to mock her and parrot her answer back at her. Instead, he took a deep breath, so still that he was practically shaking with the effort to keep himself calm, and said, "So please, get. out!"
The sorceress fled past them.
"And please do me the favor of telling everyone not to kill this idiot of a king! " Merlin yelled at her retreating figure. "He is under my protection, and you don't want to test me."
The second that he was sure she was gone, Merlin pulled over an empty seat and collapsed in it, muttering nonsensically under his breath.
After a good ten, fifteen seconds of complete silence, Gwaine started whistling and clapping, and some—not Lancelot, nor Mordred—of the other knights joined in cheering.
They didn't really know what was going on.
Merlin didn't really know what was going on.
Arthur was stuck standing where he'd been when they first entered the room, blinking blankly at Merlin's now-sound-asleep figure.
"Alright," he said after a good, long while, turning towards his knights. "None of you seem terribly surprised by what my manservant just said."
"No, sire," Lancelot agreed.
"So tell me why none of you saw fit to inform me of this?" Arthur asked, his hushed voice lessening the affect of his demand.
"It wasn't our place to say," one knight peeped out.
"It's Merlin ," another said, as if that explained anything .
"Honestly, I thought you knew..."
"You thought I knew? You thought I knew , and I was letting this go on?!"
"Sire," Lancelot said, voice firm. "Merlin would never betray you."
Arthur froze, opened his mouth, closed it, blinked, and opened it again. "What does Merlin's loyalty have to do with anything?"
"So you would kill a man for saving your life?"
"No, of course not!" Arthur sputtered. "What on earth does any of this have to do with the fact that Merlin hasn't slept in over three days‽"