You Mentioned In One Of Your Merlin Hcs About How His Magic Doesn't Like Being Repressed And At Times

you mentioned in one of your merlin hcs about how his magic doesn't like being repressed and at times it gets to be really bad and i was like wondering,,, if you would please write something on it-

Ohhhhhhh yeah, yeah! Here ya go:

Merlin knew it was going to bad the second he saw his hand. Black and blistered with a worrying amount of stiffness to it. He swallowed, looking around desperately for a bandage while internally reassuring himself this time would be no different than others.

...it was a lie. It shouldn’t have been, but it was. Merlin could argue that he had dealt with his, uh, issues by himself for years. Well, maybe not years. His mother had always been there. Then there was Gaius... and then Lancelot.

And now nobody. His mother was in Ealdor, Gaius safely tucked away in his quarters, and Lancelot...

He wasn’t going to think about Lancelot right now.

The point was that it was an inopportune time for his body to revolt while out in the middle of the woods with limited medical supplies and absolutely no moral support. He took a long breath. It would be fine. He would be fine. Perhaps he could just wait until everyone was asleep and -

“Merlin!”

Completely, totally, utterly fine.

“I already fed the horses,” Merlin said, hastily wrapping his hand. “And took care of dinner.” He added. Arthur barely looked up from where he was skinning a rabbit, eyes somewhere between distracted and thoughtful.

“Have you - what did you do?” He interrupted himself with a nod towards Merlin’s hand. “You didn’t fall over again did you?” He snorted. Merlin gave what he hoped to be a playful glare.

“I cut it on your - ah,” He gasped, falling forward a bit. Leon appeared from nowhere to steady him. “Javelins.” He managed and another sharp tug of pain radiated through his body. He felt it twist in his chest, moving down his arms and towards his stomach. He tried not to cry out. “Um,” He began. Leon was saying something. “I... might just need to lay down. Tired. Just tired.” He said, giving a shaky laugh. Elyan’s face appeared.

“Merlin?” He asked and the pain momentarily ebbed away. It was then he realized he was surrounded by bewildered knights. “Are you-?”

“Yeah,” he said quickly, “I was just... working late with Gaius last night. Might need a quick nap is all.” He said. Gwaine was staring at him oddly, lips pressed into a thin line as he looked him up and down. “Is that okay?” He asked, turning to Arthur.

“Yeah, go ahead.” He said, waving him away with a note of exasperation, “I’m not sure why I don’t plan for your poor health.” He said lightly though there was a slight purse to his lips. Merlin gave a sneer in return, but it felt a little weak as he stumbled towards the cot he has thrown by the fire.

Then the world turned white... and Lancelot was there.

“Am I dead?” He mumbled, trying to sit up only for a wave of pain to hit, confirming that he was still very much alive. “Ah... no.” He whispered and a hand was on his shoulder while the rest of the world dissolved into whispers.

“Hey. Merlin, what’s happening?” Lancelot asked. Part of the weight on him disappeared. Thank God. He didn’t have to do this alone.

“Again. Shouldn’t have waited.” He mumbled and Lancelot frowned, rubbing the side of his arm consolingly. “Too tired to get rid of it.” He yawned.

“Okay,” Lancelot said, “Let’s fix it. Um, what do we do?” He asked. Merlin gave a sharp jerk as another burning pain jolted through him. There was an irony there to be sure. If he got caught using magic... he burned. If he didn’t use magic.. he still burned.

“What... what you normally do.” Merlin hissed and Lancelot reached forward to wipe some sweat from his brow. “Please. Knife?” He asked. Lancelot winced.

“Knife? What does he mean knife-”

“-what it said!”

“Why didn’t you say something earlier? We should have-”

“-even know what’s causing this.”

Merlin let out a soft whimper and the noise went silent. Right. He turned and reached for his pack blindly, ignoring the burning in his arms growing more and more demanding.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Lancelot said. Though to who was unclear. Merlin’s brain felt too fuzzy to sort it out. “When he came back with Merlin after the dorocha he gave me the letter. I didn’t know what it was, but my guess is he was talking about whatever this is-”

“Knife.” Merlin said, a bit impatiently. He was so stupid. How could he let it get this bad? Lancelot normally reminded him, but Lancelot was...

He was right here, wasn’t he?

With a stab of relief, his hand curled around the handle of the knife in his bag. Good. Good, he could start then. There was a yelp when he brought it out and suddenly a hand was covering his.

“Let me, okay?” Lancelot said. Merlin flopped to the ground. That was good. He was too tired anyways. An angry buzz followed, “I trust Lancelot, okay?! Even if he is dead.” Lancelot snapped. Merlin frowned in confusion, but the burning held his attention more than the voice. Something touched his arm and he felt his sleeve roll up. Silence followed.

“Holy shit.”

That didn’t... that didn’t sound like Lance... but... he took a deep breath, thoughts wandering. He could imagine how his arms must look by now. Blackened with purple and brown like bruises that covered every inch of skin. He held out his arm impatiently. Nothing happened at first, but then something soft touched him and he could feel the very tip of the knife go in.

Thank God. The release was pretty instant. He glanced over to see black blood trickling down. It wasn’t nearly as deep or long as he normally went with - Lancelot was hesitating for whatever reason - but it worked. The pain began to ebb away as panicked noises rose around him. Lancelot went to the other side to for his other arm.

“Okay, now... um, give me that bottle.” Lancelot said. Merlin groaned. He didn’t want to grab anything. He wanted to sleep. “No,” Lance said, perhaps reading his mind. “Stay awake, Merlin. Drink this.” He said and Merlin opened his mouth. Right. Drinking. Important. He ignored the cuts and grabbed whatever was offered, downing the liquid. It was blessedly cold. The burning subsided even more as he took a few more gulps.

“Thank you.” He murmured. A hand was running through his hair. “Better.” He said. He wasn’t done yet though. Not... not yet. Lancelot would already know that though.

“...hey, um. Merlin? Do you have to go alone?”

Or maybe he didn’t.

“Yeah,” he said and sat up. The world spun. “Yeah. I got it. Stay... stay with the others. Just in case, okay? It only takes a bit.” He promised and staggered up. Hands steadied him.

“I don’t like this at all.” Someone said. Merlin shook his head, trying to focus on the ground in front of him. “Someone needs to go with him. What’s he even doing? I don’t-”

“I don’t mean to be mean... but do any of you seriously think you are closer to Merlin than Lancelot was to question this?” Lancelot said quietly. There was a low murmur. “Merlin,” he said and stepped in front of him. For a moment his form shifted... shifted and... he looked different... “Hey. Don’t take too long, okay?” he said. He nodded. He never took too long. Too many things could happen.

Leaving behind what sounded like a swarm of bees, he walked out deeper into the forest. He wasn’t sure how far he made it, but his body seemed to determine it was far enough because he fell - gagging a bit as he did so - before letting go. It felt kind of like breaking to the surface of water and breathing deeply. The world stop spinning and everything seemed to snap into place all at once. The burning turned into a warmth that burst from his chest to the fingers. He breathed again and this time when he looked around he could see a field of flowers and vines surrounding him.

He smiled a bit. Then he reached out and let his magic burst forth once more, growing a small tree and allowing it to sprout. He stayed out for a few more minutes, growing plants and making butterflies until he couldn’t think of anything other than sleep. He rubbed his eyes, standing up to grimace at the remaining blood on his arms - oddly black like he had smeared ink all over him. After washing it off in a nearby stream he walked back to the camp.

“Merlin!”

Wait. Lancelot was dead. He hadn’t...

With rising panic, he turned to see Gwaine watching him curiously. A few of the other knights were also awake, looking towards the rising sun as they each packed and readied the horses. Arthur paused in looking at his satchel.

Shit, shit, shit-

Elyan put a hand on Arthur’s arm and whispered something to him. Arthur frowned, but gave a small nod before turning away. Merlin wasn’t sure what that meant so he looked back at Gwaine with what he hoped wasn’t guilty eyes.

“You good?” He asked, walking up to him. He grabbed Merlin’s arms to look at them solemnly.

“Um, yes.” Merlin answered and rubbed the back of his neck, “What... exactly happened?” He asked. Gwaine grimaced before digging into his pocket.

“Well, you scared the shit out of everyone mainly. You were kind of like a zombie. Called us Lancelot a few times. You know, typical stuff that would freak people out.” He reasoned and pulled out a piece of parchment. “Luckily, I had instructions.” He explained. Merlin frowned but accepted it. The page looked worn - ink slightly dulled over time but still legible despite being hastily written.

Gwaine, the first line read.

I hope that, for once in your life, you listened to me when I asked you to wait until you returned to Camelot to read this. Also, do us all a favor and keep this on hand. You may have a lot of questions, but I need you to trust me on this one particular topic. The topic being Merlin.

There are many things that are kept strictly between Merlin and me. Seeing as you’re his best friend and I’ll soon be dead... I think I should let you in on one of those things. I can’t explain everything - I would never betray his trust completely - but I do know him well and know he isn’t someone to particularly seek out help. At least once a month (sometimes more) Merlin gets... sick. Really sick. His skin bruises from his chest to his fingertips, his blood becomes black and burns him from the inside, and mind is completely out of working order. It’s a unique condition that could kill him if he waits too long to deal with it.

Expect him to wait too long to deal with it.

When it inevitably happens, the first thing you need to do is (very) carefully bleed him out a bit. It’ll clear his head a bit to do what he needs to get done. Honey and crushed peppermint with yarrow also helps. Ask Gaius (and only Gaius) to make you some to have on hand. Say I asked you to get it and he’ll know what you mean.

Now - and this is the most important part - when he is conscious enough to deal with the rest himself do not follow him. It’s strange, I know. Consider this a dying wish of sorts. Leave him alone and make sure nobody else goes after him. No matter how bad he may seem or how worried you are... just make sure he gets twenty minutes to himself.

Lastly, to Merlin... when this happens, I know Gwaine will probably hand you this letter as an explanation for how he knew how to help out. Hi. It’s me. Hopefully, I haven’t given away too much of what you were concerned about. If I may offer you some advice... just accept some help. Maybe let Gwaine in on everything. Or don’t. That’s up to you. Just try your best not to do this completely alone. There’s really no reason for it.

Good luck,

Lancelot

Merlin stared. He blinked a few times. Then reread it... and reread again. Slowly, he looked up at Gwaine. There was a long pause before Gwaine gave a small wave.

“So... I won’t ask questions,” he said and grimaced in the direction of the others, “Leon is too polite to ask. Elyan is too smart to ask. Percival... well,” he smiled fondly, “Percival is also too polite to ask. Arthur though?” He said and gave a slight shrug. “Yeah. You should have seen his face at the black blood.”

Merlin paused.

“I... have a blood disorder.” He said slowly. Gwaine looked at him. “Thank you though. Um, sorry Lancelot stuck you with that-”

“Are you kidding?” Gwaine snorted and reached up to put a hand on his shoulder, “Him calling me your best friend was the best. I couldn’t show anyone this letter for so long!” He snorted and squeezed tightly, “And I’m glad I could help you. Even if I’m wildly confused and pretty sure you’re cursed rather than dealing with a blood disorder.” He said and let go. “And don’t worry, I’ll keep Arthur off your - oh, hey.” He said when Merlin shoved his hand off and pulled him into a hug. “Nice.” He decided. Merlin snorted.

“Thank you,” he repeated more genuine this time. “I... one day I’ll explain it all to you.” He said a bit slower. Gwaine shrugged.

“Whatever you want. Just try not to die and I’ll be happy.”

Merlin wasn’t sure what he expected. Dear or alive... his friends somehow kept looking out for him.