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The soul-bond thrummed like a second heartbeat the moment he touched Merlin’s face.
Arthur let out a breath of relief. Their staff had reassured him everything had been fine while he was gone, but the banquet had kept him for over three hours and these days, when it came to not seeing Merlin, it was three hours too long.
On the sofa, Merlin hadn’t stirred from his touch, still fast asleep under the blankets. He looked peaceful, features smooth and serene in the dim lights of the sunroom. The sight would have comforted Arthur, but another surge of worry soon appeared when he glanced at the side table, where a tray of sandwiches and tea laid almost untouched.
Arthur combed his fingers through the soft strands of Merlin’s hair. “Merlin.”
Merlin shifted, sighing long and heavy the way he always did upon waking up. He blinked slowly for a few moments, then gave Arthur a tired smile.
“Hey, stupid,” Merlin whispered.
“Hi, idiot,” Arthur replied, brushing a kiss at the corner of his lips. “I thought we said you’d go to bed?”
“I’ve been in bed all week,” Merlin grumbled. “And I like it here. It feels like you.”
“And our rooms don’t?”
“’s different.”
Arthur smiled. “So you keep telling me.”
The conservatory was, in many ways, their own little haven. Half greenhouse and half sunroom, it was the product of much hard work from them both: Arthur with its design and construction, Merlin with the curation and caring of all the plant life that inhabited the space, his magic permeating the air and seeping deep into the soil of every receptacle, every herb bed.
They would go largely undisturbed as long as they were here, and it wasn’t all thanks to the sagacity of their household staff. Merlin had once confessed that, aside from the other charms and wards that had been placed on the conservatory, he had also included a little spell that would discourage anyone with minor requests from entering. The arcane nature of the magic hadn’t been explained to Arthur, but he found it incredible nonetheless, as he usually did with all things related to Merlin.
Taking full advantage of this little edge that Merlin had given them, Arthur would often bring his court documents here to work in the sunroom, while Merlin tended to the adjacent greenhouse. They would spend the entire afternoon like that, alternating between working separately and drifting to the other’s side. Then at night when Arthur took Merlin to bed and kissed the perfect expanse of his body, the bright, clean notes of eucalyptus and juniper would still be there for him to breathe in.
“We should still get you back to the house,” Arthur said, stroking Merlin’s nape. “It’s getting late.”
“In a bit,” Merlin said, one hand reaching out and pulling Arthur close, until Merlin could curl into his chest.
Arthur wound an arm around his slim frame and held him tightly, savouring his familiar scent and trying not to worry again about how delicate Merlin felt under the blankets. He’d lost too much weight since the ritual.
“You look handsome, by the way,” Merlin commented with a smile, pulling back to smooth a hand over Arthur’s dinner jacket. “Very princely.”
“I’ve got mud on my shoes and pants on the way here,” Arthur said. “George will have that pinched look on his face again.”
Merlin chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’ve taught the launderers a spell.” His thumb stroked over Arthur’s temple. “How was tonight?”
Arthur lifted a shoulder. “Fine.”
“Right,” Merlin said. “How was it really?”
Arthur sighed, shifting into a more comfortable position on the floor. “They keep congratulating me. Those council members.”
“On what?”
“What do you think?”
Merlin looked at him with a little frown, then his face cleared and his lips quirked. “Ah.”
“Yes.”
“Well, it was a success.”
“It wasn’t their place to celebrate,” Arthur said. “But I suppose they must be so pleased with themselves, getting to flaunt your powers like that. They’re hatching plans already, I’m sure, to parade you around as soon as you’re well again, like you’re some sort of prized cow.”
Merlin hummed. “I’m not worried. They can’t force me into anything.”
“They certainly think they can, the same way they did with the ritual.”
“Then they’re fools,” Merlin said. “Performing the ritual was my choice, you know that. Those councillors simply gave me enough reasons to deem it worth the risk.”
Arthur shook his head. “It wasn’t—”
“Yes, it was,” Merlin said firmly. “It secured our engagement, and it’s already doing wonders for the native ecosystem. Morgana said so herself.”
“I very much doubt it was the well-being of Camelot’s native ecosystem that made the Royal Council pressure you into doing it,” Arthur said bitterly. “Nor was it the rubbish they spewed about proving your fealty to the Crown.”
Merlin smiled. “No, it wasn’t. But it made for one hell of an excuse and they knew that.”
“They took advantage of your kindness. They knew how much you cared for the natural world—”
“Not as much as I care for you,” Merlin said, holding Arthur’s face in his hands and looking at him with seriousness. “And I would gladly do it again, if that was what it took for us to be together.”
“Merlin—”
“I mean it, Arthur.”
Arthur leaned in to bury his face into Merlin’s neck. Sometimes, Merlin’s love for him was heart-breaking.
“I just wish they weren’t so callous and hypocritical about it,” Arthur mumbled. “Acting like they’ve always been on our side when they’ve only been thinking of themselves.”
Merlin nodded, caressing Arthur’s nape. “I know.”
Their simpering words at the banquet had boiled Arthur’s blood like nothing else.
“… nothing short of a miracle, Your Royal Highness …”
“… magnificent power from our future Prince Consort …”
“… scarcely remember what the Black Woods looked like before, we ought to rename it now …”
“… bright future for House of Pendragon, indeed …”
He had smiled and thanked them all, of course, despite wanting nothing more than to kick their teeth in. He very well might have done, if it hadn’t been for Mordred and Leon, who had kept close to him from the beginning. In Arthur’s stead, Leon had smoothly handled most of the wretched chit-chat, while the worst of the sycophants, the ones that had overtly crossed a line, had had to suffer Mordred’s vicious rebukes before scurrying away with a stuttered bow.
Deep down, Arthur knew that the congratulatory words hadn’t been all for show, that many of those men and women had been truly elated by the overnight revitalization of the Black Woods. But even now he could hardly forget the way those same people had, mere weeks ago, looked at Merlin with contempt and prejudice; nor could Arthur look at the pictures of the now-lush forest—splashed across the news—without being reminded of what the ritual had cost Merlin.
The memories were clear as day. Merlin, falling limp on the still-shimmering forest floor as blood dripped from his nose. His blue eyes hazy, tingeing gold from the exorbitant amount of magic he had just poured into the earth. His reed-thin voice murmuring Arthur’s name before he’d lost all consciousness. The soul-bond thundering in panic at the climax of the spell, right before plummeting to a pulse so faint Arthur had thought it had been snapped completely…
He'd been near-crazed with grief when Merlin’s eyes had slipped shut, clutching at his body and begging him to wake up as tears had streamed from his eyes. The guards had had to tear him away while Gaius and Morgana had rushed to examine Merlin, who would not stir for the next two days.
Arthur tightened his hold of Merlin as he recalled the unending forty-eight hours he’d spent at Merlin’s bedside, holding his cold, pale hand and staring at his sleeping form like the rise and fall of his chest might have stopped at any moment.
“Hey,” Merlin said, separating them and touching Arthur’s cheek. “Don’t look like that. I’m right here, and I’m okay.”
“You could barely walk from here to the house without feeling faint.”
“Just a bit sluggish right now, that’s all. I’ll be back to normal in no time, I promise.” He kissed Arthur lightly.
Arthur pressed in closer and reattached their lips, wanting—needing—more of his warmth. Merlin’s arm circled his neck as they both eased into the well-worn give and take of their kiss.
This was not something he could lose, Arthur thought, and prayed he would never come so close ever again.
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he mumbled once they had pulled apart. “Any chance you’ll let Morgana come see you tomorrow?”
Merlin tutted. “The High Priestess is busy, Arthur. She has more important things to do than check on a stable patient for the third time this week.”
“Gaius, then. Or one of their staff. I’m fairly certain Morgana has at least a dozen minions all vying for her favour.”
Merlin chuckled. “I feel fine, honest. Now stop turning me into a broken record and get in here. I want to cuddle.”
“And we can’t do that in bed because…?”
“I’m comfortable here. I don’t want to move.”
“You’ll have to move eventually. It’s almost nine, Merlin.”
“Come cuddle with me and I’ll eat that sandwich.”
Arthur paused. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“Add that cup of tea and you’ve got yourself a deal.”
Merlin rolled his eyes. “Fine.”
They manoeuvred themselves slowly, so as not to trigger the vertigo that had been plaguing Merlin since he’d come to after the ritual. In the end, Merlin settled on top of Arthur with his head pillowed on Arthur’s chest. The blankets were thankfully big enough for them both and Arthur carefully tucked the materials around his fiancé, feeling the soul-bond purr in contentment. He smiled and kissed the crown of Merlin’s head.
“Thirty minutes, then we go back to our rooms.”
“Shall I conjure up a timer?” Merlin asked. “Or do you only need that in writing?”
“Now there’s an idea…”
“Arthur.”
Arthur chuckled.
Merlin reached for the book on the table. “Read to me.”
“You’ll fall asleep.”
“No, I won’t,” Merlin argued, but his stifled yawn was painfully obvious.
Arthur sighed, vaguely aware that he was spoiling Merlin rotten. “All right.”
He grabbed the book – a copy of “Dragons of Albion,” as Merlin snuggled further into their make-shift cocoon with a happy little hum, dark lashes fluttering close.
Arthur couldn’t help it—he laid another kiss on Merlin’s forehead. Definitely spoiling him rotten.
“Ready?”
“Mm…”
“Fifth-century Western Europe,” Arthur read, skating a languid hand to and fro on Merlin’s back, “saw a resurgence of Great Dragons, the most prominent three of which were sired during the infamous Twin Storms that had ravaged across the North Sea…”