Title: End Of All Things
Content/Warnings: Violence/Gore, Alternate Universe-Canon, Mind Control, Non-con, Dark Merlin
30 Day OTP Challenge Prompt: Day #11 "dom/sub"
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The fortress of Daobeth had once been a mighty symbol for its kingdom.
And now the vast holds and keeps, as well as the citadel were empty of dying, petrified screams. Crumbling mortars and ashy rocks used for building the very walls saturated in freshly dripping or old blood stains.
Within time, fearful rumors spread of dragons bringing down Daobeth and its king to ruin—and nature took root in the destruction, took it all back.
Spiraling trees rose to the ceilings, growing thick in dark, lust canopy. Craggy hills surfacing from the broken floors, with freshwater streams trickling and running off into the soil. Grey-green moss covering every visible inch of stone around, sweeter-smelling than any blossomed flowers.
Daobeth may have appeared unmanned, but Daobeth needed no men.
The twin-doors creaked open, as if by their own will.
Cenred took a weary step into the primeval forest of a throne room, showing nothing in his expression. His personal-guard clad in boiled leather shuffling after him.
Long and fat wax candles stood tucked against the bark of the trees, melting into pale, hardened pools. The candle's wicks swayed and flickered but never harmed the surrounding greenery. Magic brimmed every end of the throne room, pure and wild, and dangerously prickled his hairs on Cenred's exposed nape.
But he kept his hands lowered to his sides, within easy sight. Away from his favorite double-bladed swords holstered at his back.
"My lord," he mocked-bowed, twirling his hands gaily.
A pair of eyes, blazing like fiery ember, materialized from the shadowy mass.
Atop the tree-twisted, mossy dais, the darkness released out a number of scaly, horned creatures, as they prowled down the jagged steps. The Last Dragonlord emerged from the remnants, smiling thinly as wyvern howled at each other, clawing the earth, prowling and shrieking.
He reclined back on the simple, black-weirwood throne, legs crossed, observing with ancient eyes as Cenred's men huffed nervously and recoiled as one big wyvern flapped its wings menacingly at them.
Merlin addressed the other king, his circlet flashing silver against his temples, "You must have news if you have taken the long journey here."
"I do." Cenred nodded to his men who threw down their prisoner—a muscular stranger gagged and bound, hand and foot. "I bring you the bastard boy of Uther Pendragon." The dented iron of his armour and purplish bruising to one side of the man's face suggested a lost quarrel.
Furious blue eyes met gold, staring back defiantly.
"His name?" Merlin inquired, already pleased.
As Cenred opened his mouth, he waved a hand and magic strangled off Cenred's voice. "I'll hear it from him," the warlock said, pointedly.
While Essetir's king grabbed at his own seizing throat, choking involuntarily and reeling back in shock, Merlin vanished from seating on his throne, corporealizing in front of the grimy, injured prisoner. Glowing eyes blinked and the rag disappeared from his mouth.
"Your name?" Merlin asked him, voice murmurous.
When the man said nothing to him, only kept staring bitterly up at him, Merlin grinned wolfishly. With his sorcery, he grappled around the man's tender, beating heart, without moving a finger, starting to crush.
"Your name."
The man grunted in agony, that precious heart stuttering. "Arthur."
"Your mother?"
"The Lady Vivienne."
"That wasn't so hard," Merlin said, gladdened, rolling a shoulder in preparation. He then relinquished that crippling hold on Arthur's heart, letting the man bend forward, wheezing, yellow hair shielding his eyes.
"All you have to do to stay alive … is that I ask, Arthur Pendragon."
"I'd sooner die," Arthur snarled, his upper lip crusted in blood.
One of the creatures sulking let out a nightmarish sound, right in Arthur's direction, and Merlin growled out a command to silence it. The little wyvern nudged its three, over-sized horns to Merlin's waiting hand, crooning as the Last Dragonlord stroked affectionately along its back ridges.
Cenred fell over loudly, still clutching his throat, gasping in but unable to breathe out. Turning an alarming shade of color, almost violet.
One of his men advanced on Merlin, yelling and drawing his sword. A wyvern looked up, scarlet-glow eyes alert, skidding over and biting onto the guard's wrist. Free-flowing lifeblood splattered onto the ground. More wyvern screeched, picking up the heavy scent of meat and fear.
They pounced on the rest of the men, rushing in, mangling whole chunks from their torsos and chest, feasting and slurping and crunching into bone.
"If it is what you wish," Merlin said, ignoring the stench of death. "But you are now my guest. Lady Vivienne was one of my apprentices, and it would dishonor her memory to kill you heedlessly."
Arthur held back a flinch as the other man materialized a dagger and cut his ropes. He massaged the numbness away, glancing distrustfully as Merlin aided him to his feet.
Cenred, the only one who got away, now able to breath, sat away from them. But still not foolish enough to draw his weapons.
"You will come to me of your own desire… " Merlin lowered his voice, eyes fading to human blue, as if offering a different man. "… or you won't."
"I won't," Arthur repeated in monotone.
He stared right into Merlin's thoughtful frown. Challenging. Immovable. Unafraid. Merlin found him to be the man who was Vivienne and Uther's son to be exactly what he should be.
And who should be at Merlin's side—a consort, his ally, his other half.
But not yet. Not just yet. He needed persuasion.
With the tiniest push of magic, Arthur's mind and his worries went blissfully vacant. Merlin clasped his face, examining him relaxing. "Maybe later," he considered, taking Arthur's hand into his. Merlin walked the daze-eyed man up the dais of his throne, as if guiding him.
"You a well, Cenred."
He seated back onto the black-weirwood throne, pulling Arthur between his opened legs and working apart his lacings. Arthur's prick remained flaccid, even to the lightest touches as Merlin's fingers swept over it, testing its reaction.
"Kneel for me, Arthur."
The warlock turned Arthur around as he went obediently to his knees. Merlin urged his hips back to him, pushing Arthur's trousers off the swell of his ass and exhibiting the tight, shy furl of his entrance. His thumbs rubbed gently into it, eliciting a soft groan. Merlin smiled contently to it, peeling Arthur's cheeks open and whispering the incantation.
Cenred, who had followed closely behind them on jagged steps, braced him as Merlin said, smile widening, "Take out your cock—now don't be like that. I'm sure it is a fine cock."
The other king scowled on instinct, but didn't argue, going for his belt.
He opened like a woman, leaking copiously and a decent fit from the magic's tricky spell as Merlin plunged inside, riding Arthur's warmth. Arthur's hands slapped noisily to moss-stone ground, managing to support himself up. His lips smeared against the rosy, bulbous head of Cenred's prick.
"Have him if you desire it," Merlin said coolly, even as he jerked roughly to Arthur's naked buttocks, bare and dirtied nails scraping down them.
But the air buzzed around them, with lust, with scorching power and heat.
Cenred hesitated, jaw set, hearing Arthur's low, dazed moans.
"He doesn't know he's here," Merlin explained, slowing his pace. He grabbed the back of Arthur's yellow hair, displaying him. The steel-bright of Arthur's eyes made thin, blue rinds by his overblown pupils. Pink mouth slackened open and gaze unfocused. "Caught in his head and far, far away from here."
Merlin let Arthur's head drop limply. "And you still refuse?" he asked, skeptically.
"I wouldn't believe in denying you the pleasure of your spoils," Cenred said hoarsely, lips tensing into a half-smile as he belted his trousers.
"Never thought I'd see the day, Cenred." Merlin chuckled darkly, eyes returning to glow-color. "Mm, I have seen many of them… " He rested his hands to the outsides of Arthur's quaking thighs, petting him. Arthur cried out low, submissive as Merlin's next thrust into him knocked him forward, grinding Arthur's knees. Merlin undulated his hips, moaning in approval as those inner muscles squeezed around him.
"You mount woman like second nature. You believed them to be the weaker sex. You are wrong." He told Cenred, eyeing him. "My wyvern are all female, deeply territorial, strong. They have eaten your guard alive."
Merlin's breathing sucked in audibly, his climax sharp and dizzying. Forgetting everything else, he pulled Arthur's muscled, lax body to him, spurting hot and deep.
"Gods, he's beautiful," Merlin said, truly amazed, feeling his hands up Arthur's warm back, pushing under the fabric of his tunic. "Like a dream."
And all his.
"Leave now," he ordered, almost sighing.
Needing no more motivation other than his further safety, Cenred fled the Last Dragonlord's throne-room. He avoided the melted candles and snapping beast-jaws of wyvern hissing at him attempting to vanish past twin-doors.
No gods of Albion could help them get rid of this monster.
And certainly none could help the Pendragon bastard now.
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