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Elador was Earl Balinor’s newest gift from Camelot. A thank-you for taking away the Great Dragon with his dragon-lord powers before it burnt down the Citadel. He had become a Lord under Camelot’s graces back when Merlin was a young boy still frustrating his mother with his cheeky tricks. Balinor had apparently saved the Queen, Ygraine Du Bois, from a wild unicorn that had interrupted her picnic with her son. He remembers the bright eyes glassy with tears and lifting his hand to stop the equine. Balinor often exaggerates, mostly to annoy his wife, that Queen Ygraine had kissed the man’s hand and spent teary eyed words on his nobleness before Uther until the King had given him land and made him a Lord of it.
Balinor hated it. He could hardly take care of their family’s expenses let alone a whole village and a small mansion. Hunith, as always, took it upon herself. She plopped little Merlin into his father’s hands and asked him to rear him while she took house in the office to make Elador a household name. Unsurprisingly, she succeeded. Hunith became close to the nearby Dukes and Earls, getting invited by Ygraine for balls, and Elador’s people loved her. Merlin grew with awe for his mother and love for his father who helped tame his magic and grew the love for knowledge in him.
Then he reached of age. He was fifteen and Camelot called for another ball. Kilgharrah, The Great Dragon, descended on it and breathed fire. Balinor was there and so was Hunith. Merlin had sneaked out to kiss a boy in the dark corners of the palace, distracted only by screaming that lasted for a few minutes before it stopped. He’d went back to the boy. It was only when he returned for dinner, lips swollen and brain only just powering back, that he noticed the big hole on the ceiling.
“Kilgharrah got bored and realised he could create chaos,” Balinor said, fidgeting with a piece of paper, as hid behind his wife who fended off the attention. “I had to call him off.”
“What the fuck?” Merlin ducked his mother’s hand just as instinctively as she had reached behind to swat at him. “What is that paper?”
“It’s land towards Esetir.”
“Does that mean you are part of the King’s counsel now?”
“Well…” Balinor sighed. “Maybe?”
Merlin narrowed his eyes and looked around. King Uther was standing with his family. Someone new had joined. Wearing armour and a bright head of hair. The newcomer looked up and met Merlin’s eyes. Blue like the sky. His father was spot on in describing the prince’s face. Much like his mother’s. Arthur Pendragon had grown from a cowering boy hiding behind his mother’s skirts to a strong-shouldered man. The effect was slightly ruined by Queen Ygraine’s hand coming to snap at his shoulder, making him flinch and pout at her. Merlin felt his lips stretch into a smile.
“Merlin? What are you smiling at?” Hunith’s voice called him back to his family. He shrugged. “Are you that happy to be a knight?”
He froze. “Why would I be a knight?”
Hunith sighed, leaning into Balinor. “For all those big your ears are, you really don’t listen well.”
“Ma, what do you mean by knight?” He grabbed her sleeve and huffed when she shook him off.
“King Uther has accepted you into the ranks of Camelot’s knights. A very high honour. It means you are the King’s citizen. Do you know how nice that is? So, Merlin Emrys, if you put our family’s name to shame, I won’t ever make your favourite soup again.”
“But Ma!” Merlin whined. “I can’t live without your soup.”
“You’re taking the knight thing well,” Balinor muttered, “Considering how lazy you are.”
“Da!” Merlin rolled his eyes. “It’s a knight training! I already have magic; how hard could it be?”
“You’re dead, son.” Balinor took his hand and kissed it. “I hope you won’t come to us in a coffin before the year ends.”
“Wait, a year?!” Merlin wished he could call Kilgharrah back and fly away. He heard a laugh from behind him and turned to find Arthur Pendragon shake under a knight’s hand as it tickled his chin. Maybe it won’t be too bad. “If I make it, can I get your dragon’s tome?”
Balinor looked pained as he nodded. “Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence, Da.” Balinor never separated with his dragon’s tome. Now this was just personal. Forget pretty boys, this was about his pride.
When Balinor and Hunith left, they did not take their son with them. Merlin saw them off with a determined grin that his father took one look at and tutted. He could see Prince Arthur Pendragon’s amused smile from the side of his eyes but he ignored it. If he was to be a knight of Camelot then he had to ensure he was on the good side of its captain. Arthur may be handsome but he knew from castle’s talk that he was a prat. Knowing himself, Merlin would sooner get into a brawl than kiss his royal arse. It was a craft of patience and delicacy—both of which his parents were adamant he lacked and both of which he will prove to them that he is not so lacking of!
“Is this the first time you’re this far from home?” Queen Ygraine asked when the retinue was but a speck of dust on his tunic.
Merlin smiled shyly. “I’ve been plenty far from home but it is the first time I am away from my family though.”
“Aw you poor boy. Don’t worry, my Arthur won’t let you get lonely.” She looked behind her and with a stern smile, nearly threatening, “Will you, Arthur?”
“Of course not, mother.” Arthur turned his raised brows and beautiful lips to Merlin who immediately felt his heart tingle with mischief. “I hope you like exercise.”
“Oh, I’m sure I can find someone.” Merlin winks and hopes that Ygraine is type of woman who doesn’t take offense at suggestive comments.
He shouldn’t have worried. Because it is Ygraine who throws her head back, her pale throat exposed to the sun, as a deep laugh escapes her in regular spurts of joy. Arthur, on the other hand, is looking at Merlin with disapproval. Tutting with his broad shoulder shrugging in disdain.
“Really, Merlin?”
“Why? Jealous?”
“You wish.” Arthur scoffs and turns to his mother, ignoring him completely. “I will go check on Father.”
She wipes joyful tears from her crows-feet and kisses her son’s cheek. Merlin feels his smirk soften at the genuine affection on Arthur’s face before he turns his raised his brows at Merlin and the smirk is right back on. “Don’t be late for practise.”
“Aye, aye, Captain!”
Arthur rolls his eyes before he stalks back into the castle with long strides. A knight joins him, slinging an arm over his shoulder before Arthur pushes him off with a small laugh. Merlin wonders if he is familiar with all his knights and how he can make Arthur pay him more attention. He turns to the Queen with a bright grin. “Your son is a dollop-head!”
“That is a new word,” Ygraine says, grinning back. “But he has a soft heart over that…dollop-headed exterior. Why don’t I show you to your new rooms?”
“What are you cooking up, Your Majesty?” Merlin takes a step back but is pulled closer with a hand on his elbow.
“Oh, don’t be scared, Merlin. Come on now. Let’s get you some rest!”
Merlin swallows down the dread and steels himself. He’s sure whatever the Queen throws at him can be survived. Following her into the castle, Merlin’s eyes trace the stone and the people lining the halls. There aren’t many glamourous details. A few vases of wildflower line the window sills, some taxidermized animal head on a few door-tops, some paintings of old men and women who Merlin figures is the old Kings and Queens of Camelot. It is rather boring.
Ygraine takes him to a secluded section of the castle where Merlin knows the royal family resides. He raises a brow at the Queen but she winks and says, “You’re my special guest.” Merlin shrugs and succumbs to a woman’s scheming, knowing well he can’t escape it. It wasn’t much different from the other room he’d been housed in, save for a big window that faces into the forest. A pretty view with lots of ventilation. Merlin can’t find much fault with that. His things have already been shifted into this room. Ygraine leaves with a final goodbye and promise to dine with her family slipped behind the door before it is shut with a finality that says it was not an invitation but more of an order. The Pendragons sure were fun.
The dinner is not as terrible as Merlin thought it would be. Mostly because Arthur is absent and the king’s ward, Morgana, is there to entertain him. She is as witty as she is beautiful. It really is second nature for Merlin to lean closer and flirt. Even though his curiosity wins over not even a minute into the conversation to ask about Arthur. Morgana raises a brow but says the prince is probably with the knights, drinking into the night. Merlin smirks and makes a joke about knights and the bottom of a barrel that makes her laugh into her fist, eyes flashing with mirth.
“You’re a funny one,” she says, caressing his arm and Merlin flushes, looking to the King and Queen who seem immersed in their own private conversation. He can’t help but think it is rather cute, the way the King seemed to melt his frown and put on a genuine smile in the presence of his wife.
“Uther would have been a tyrant if not for her,” Morgana says, leaning close to Merlin in conspiracy. “Do you wish for love like this, Merlin?”
He shrugs. “I’m only fifteen. I think I’d like to enjoy life before settling in.”
Morgana chuckles, patting his hand. “A man after my own heart. I wish you were the prince here instead of Arthur. He is no fun.”
“Oh?” Merlin smiles. “Is he a stuck up, pompous arsehole?”
“He is a stuck up, pompous, noble arsehole. Can’t even hate him properly before it feels like you’re kicking a puppy.”
“Aw, shucks. How can I bully him now?”
“Who is being bullied?” Ygraine cuts in and both Merlin and Morgana springs apart with guilty winces. She gives a stern look at both of them. “No pranks, both of you. Leave poor Arthur alone.”
“What? Oh, Aunt Ygraine, I was just telling Merlin about how Arthur treated young Greg before he left the castle in tears!”
Ygraine chuckles. “Arthur was young and stupid. He got a good scolding from me and I don’t think he’s repeated it. Really, Morgana, you should be more kind to your cousin.”
Morgana rolls her eyes. “His ego doesn’t need more stroking.”
“We have you for that, don’t we?” Ygraine wipes her mouth with a thumb and smiles at Uther. “I will retire early. Sleep calls to me.”
Merlin nearly cringes at the way the King kisses his wife’s hand as if she was a piece of delicate glass before she leaves. The dinner turns awkward a little before Morgana takes initiative to steam through some random talk about the nearby lands to engage Uther. Merlin hurries to finish his dinner and excuses himself before Morgana can drag him into entertaining the King.
He finds himself wandering the castle. Not knowing where he is going to or where his magic is drawing him towards. It has been restless a few days now, his magic. Unable to find an outlet in the stuffy grounds of Camelot which is not as accepting of magic as Elador. Not long after he’s descended the stairs, he reaches the open grounds he knows the knights train in.
Exhaling in the night air, Merlin shrugs off his coat and rolls his sleeves to whisper the simplest of the spells. The one his father had taught him first. The fire blooms in his hand and a simple thought transforms it into a dragon. The flames lick his ear and tickle his hair before it disintegrates into the night air with a wink.
“I’ve never seen magic so…alive.”
Merlin whips around to see Arthur Pendragon standing behind him, awe on his face, the last of the fire painting his hair gold. The darkness falls between them, engulfing them in secrets, as a grin widens Arthur’s lips. For a large boy, he sure was quiet on his feet. Almost magical himself.
“Can you show me that again?” Arthur asks, his eyes earnest.
Who is Merlin to say no? He unfurls his palm and takes a deep breath. Putting a little more effort on his magic to bring forth life. The butterflies flutter over their heads, one of them landing on Arthur’s nose and Merlin feels the skin under his fingers, before it flies away. Arthur’s eyes glow bright under their shimmer and Merlin watches him. To see magic so admired—it was a humble experience. From where he was, Merlin’s magic was a norm. It often made him forget that he was not normal. This potency of magic was not common and Arthur’s awe was a stark reminder of that. Though, for the first time, it did not bring forth a sense of shame. Instead, it filled him with warm wonder at his own magic, the quite pride of making someone else look like that.
“It’s beautiful,” Arthur says, right to his face, making Merlin blush. “I have not seen someone powerful enough to bring illusions so strong into existence without so much as a spell.”
“I’m special,” Merlin says, grinning.
Arthur laughs, reaching forward to touch a nearby butterfly, eyes widening when it stays on his finger. “It’s so life-like.”
“That’s because they are not illusions.”
“Impossible!” Arthur stares at the flock. A little bit scared though Merlin can see the awe outweighs it easily. “How bloody strong are you?”
“The druids think I am some prophesied wizard to bring peace to Albion,” he blurts out and instantly regrets it. Hunith’s voice is stern in his ears. Don’t tell anyone about your destiny, Merlin. “Uh, I mean, it’s just a rumour. I don’t really believe in it.”
Arthur looks at him, brows a little furrowed. He looks cute like that. “With your magic, maybe it’s not as much of a rumour. Why are you here anyway, if your magic is this powerful? You clearly don’t need a knight’s training.”
“You ask that to your father.” Merlin scoffs. Then he shakes his head. “My magic is a bit of a…secret. This power, well, should not exist.”
“Is that why you’re sneaking out in the dead of night to practise magic?” Arthur tilts his head, a smirk forming on his lips. “Then I think you should train with us. Be a knight. It is a good cover for your magic. Who would imagine a powerful wizard to be training for a knight’s position, anyway?”
“I’d rather I didn’t,” Merlin says dryly only to watch Arthur’s smirk turn into a smile. He feels the butterflies walk across Arthur’s soft, silky hair and tingles a little. “You won’t…tell anyone will you?”
“If I did, I should expect your wrath, shouldn’t I?”
“Uh-huh, you should.” Merlin smirks, raising his hand to wiggle his fingers. “My magic can make you into a frog easily.”
Arthur chuckles. “I believe you.” He moves on his feet to a more casual stance as he smiles teasingly. “Now, do you need me to show you to your rooms because you’re lost?”
Merlin huffs. It is mostly for show because he does have a good enough memory to know his way back. But the thought of spending a few moments more with Arthur is enough to pretend to be clueless. “And here I was thinking I’d fooled you.”
“Ha!” Arthur shakes his head, turning on his heels and waving a hand for Merlin to follow. “It takes more than that to fool a prince!”
“Not much for a clotpole, though.”
“What was that?”
“Nothing!” Merlin sings, running to catch up to Arthur who raises a patronising brow at him to which Merlin only smiles innocently until Arthur pulls him away from a pillar’s way with a laugh. “Oh, shut it, dollop-head!”
“Oh, you have such a way with words, Merlin.” Arthur bats his eyes and Merlin, he will defend it with his last breath, only trips because the stones are uneven on the floor. Arthur laughs anyway, using a hand on his elbow to upright Merlin.
Merlin might be a little bit screwed.
The day starts with Arthur coming into his rooms to pour a cup of water on his face. Nearly screaming bloody murder, Merlin darts up in his bed. His magic lashes out a little. He hears a hiss and pries his eyes open to find Arthur shaking out a hand, blood trickling down his ring finger. Merlin feels his insides grow cold—less because he is concerned and more because he genuinely fears Queen Ygraine if she learns he’s harmed her darling son.
“Shit, are you alright?” Merlin scrambles to his feet and pulls the prince closer to him. The callouses on Arthur’s hand rubbing almost sensually against Merlin’s wrist. He looks up to find an amused look on Arthur’s face. “What’re you smiling at? Your mother will kill me!”
“Oh, that’s what you’re worried about?” Arthur rolls his eyes, taking his hand back and flicking it again. A drop of blood lands on Merlin’s white shirts and he shrieks. “Don’t be suck a girl’s blouse, Merlin.”
A glare only seems to make the blond idiot grin wider as he wipes the hand down Merlin’s shirt. Merlin is stunned into silence as Arthur brandishes his clean hand and says, “The ring just cut in a little. Nothing that will worry my mother. Your shirt might though.”
“You’re such a shit, Your Highness,” Merlin says very seriously, glancing at his blood-stained shirt. The blood shivers a little before it lifts off the shirt and splatters onto Arthur’s who takes a step back as if he was hit. Eyes wide with wonder. “I wonder how you will explain that.”
Arthur looks up with narrowed eyes. Tilts his head as Merlin pushes back wet hair over his head. Red creeping over his ears and eyes slitting as he hums in contemplation. “I think,” he says, smiling crookedly, “You can lend me a shirt and call it even.”
“Why would I do that?” Merlin ducks behind his changing screen and towels off his hair. He can hear Arthur move around and ignores the way his heartbeat trips out of rhythm at the though of Arthur’s broad body filling out his shirts. “This is all your fault!”
A hand darts over the screen and shoves a shirt into Merlin’s face. “Sure, but it was your magic that ruined it!” Arthur laughs as his voice recedes towards the door. “Thanks for the shirt!”
“Arthur!” He is gone when Merlin ducks over the screen and finds the room empty. Sighing, Merlin wonders why he always finds himself in such situations. Does Arthur realise that this is flirting? That this is making Merlin’s heart weaker than it has any right to be? Thick-headed princes and their bullying!
When Merlin does reach the grounds, he is forced to stop when his eyes land on the prince. Arthur is wearing a very familiar blue shirt that stretches over his shoulders and is folded over his elbows. The cloth stretching more as he moves his sword to parry a blow. Merlin swallows and wonders how the rest of the knights can just go about unphased when this man looks like…that. However, as he reminds himself again and again, Merlin is more than his animal brain. Taking a deep breath, he ventured closer to the prince and whistles until Arthur glances at him with a frown. He grins and tuts as if Arthur was a dog he is calling closer.
“Oho!” A voice shouts at Arthur. “Looks like you found yourself a master, Arthur!”
“Shut the fuck up, Gwaine!” Arthur yells, face reddening. Merlin turns to find the man who could make the prince so flustered (he is already planning to take the man to the tavern and make him give tips to well-meaningly bully Arthur) but Arthur comes in his eye-sight and it is a little difficult to focus on anyone else.
“How are you comfortable in that?” Merlin asks, eyeing the cloth. “Only you’d be stupid enough to take the shirt of a bloke who is slenderer than you. Are you sure you’re a prince? I think Uther needs to put Morgana as the heir. She wouldn’t be as stupid as you.”
Arthur scoffs, folding his arms and Merlin wants to scream. “Shut up.” He rolls his eyes to punctuate. “I only took it because it smells so good.”
“…What?”
They stare at each other like two idiots. It is a little amusing to see Arthur flush lightly red as his words catch up to him. Merlin can only gape though because his brain is screeching a little.
“Uh,” Arthur clears his throat and looks away. “Whatever. Forget I said that.”
Not happening. “Sure.”
“Right. Come on.” Arthur turns and flaps a hand to follow. “I’ll show you how things go here. Leon will train with you today.”
“Why not you?” Merlin blurts out as he jogs over to catch up with the prince. For someone shorter than Merlin, he sure walks faster.
Arthur turns amused eyes at him. “I have new squires to train.” He points to fresh looking boys younger than Merlin. Barely teenagers themselves.
“They look too young.”
“That’s why I’m training them.” Arthur smiles wryly. “The others will just intimidate them.”
“You won’t?” Merlin teases. “Especially in that shirt, they will be so scared of your muscles they’ll run!”
Arthur laughs, his nose scrunching and Merlin wished he could touch that skin. Feel the joy for himself. Instead, he allows himself to feel muted pride. “I think they will just find it funny.”
“Oh, now you say that.” Merlin laughs at Arthur’s shove. He looks around then. Sees men and some women. Most of them older than Arthur and him, much into their adulthood. Arthur shouts out Leon’s name. He sees a shaggy-haired man pause his training with a red-haired girl who couldn’t be older than seventeen. Her face splattered with freckles and a tooth missing as she grins at Merlin when their eyes meet.
“Her name is Elena. We call her Red though.” Arthur nods at her as she moves to the shade to cool off. “She is engaged so don’t think of anything funny.”
Merlin scoffs. “You have such a low opinion of me, Arthur.”
“I have no opinion of you.”
“Sure, you say that now.”
“Sire,” Leon says, looking amused at their banter. “Is this the fabled Lord Merlin?”
“Please just call me Merlin. My father is the Lord.”
“That is how hierarchies work, Merlin.” Arthur swats his arm but straightens up and away before Merlin can retaliate. “This is Leon. He will be the one training you, as I said. You’ll meet the other knights, I’m sure. Just don’t get beat up and you’ll be good.”
“I have magic.” Merlin sighs when Arthur glares. “Find, I will be good, Your Highness.”
“Good.” Arthur smiles then, with a pat to Leon’s shoulder, says “He bites. Be careful.”
“Hey!” Merlin scoffs. “I do not,” he assures Leon.
“Alright.” Leon shrugs. “Follow me.”
Merlin watches as Arthur goes to the kids who are waiting patiently near the weapons rack, squinting against the sun. Their narrow shoulders stiffen when Arthur approaches them, his back turned to Merlin’s view. A few moments pass before the kids giggle. One of them blushing under Arthur’s hand ruffling his head. Something gives away in Merlin’s chest.
“Merlin?” Leon calls and he startles. Right, training. Merlin was going to be so good at this. If only just to shut up Arthur’s teasing and maybe, just a little, to impress him. Then, just maybe, he will train Merlin directly.
Does Heaven bring with it the pain of your death? Because Merlin is really feeling the way his muscles are screaming. He hears Leon’s worried chirps and thinks he has not had the fortune to die yet. Someone is looming over him. Blue eyes and blond hair. A pair of beautifully red lips that parts to say, “Oi, cabbage-head, you dead?”
The scriptures promised angel songs and blessed purity. Not whatever this prat was saying. Groaning, Merlin reached a weak arm out, instantly regretting it when a strong hand wraps around his to yank him to his feet. Merlin cries out as his sore muscles creaks and he falls into the warm, firm chest awaiting him.
“Oi!” Arthur says again, his voice deep in his ears.
“This ‘s all y’fault,” Merlin slurs, blinking the sweat now streaming into his eyes instead of his ears. “I hate ya.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you do.” Arthur’s warmth is almost overwhelming but Merlin can only think about how nice it is to be held. The thought is short lived as Arthur moves away, hands on Merlin’s shoulders to prop him up. “For such a big, strong wizard you’re as weak as a flower in a storm.”
“For such a well-educated prince, you sure suck at metaphors,” Merlin retorts and grins when he hears the knights, apparently surrounding them, laugh. He watches Arthur rolls his eyes and is overcome with sudden embarrassment. So much for impressing this prat. What was Merlin even on at that time? Arthur is probably so sorry for him. He rips himself out of Arthur’s hold and tries not to cry from the way his body screeches with pain.
“You have training tomorrow too. Early in the morning.” Arthur’s smile is almost pitying and Merlin wants to punch him a little. Maybe he can tattle to Morgana and she will press her nails into Arthur’s arm during dinner. His petty thoughts screech when Arthur loops Merlin’s arm over his shoulder. “I’m taking this guy to his rooms before he passes out. See you at lunch,” Arthur says to the people around him before he, not so gently, hauls Merlin away.
“Hey!” Merlin whines. “I’m dying here!”
“When you said you’ve never trained I didn’t expect this level of non-exercise.”
“Not every son of a noble needs to train for a knight.”
“Hm, I suppose.” Arthur slants a grin at him. “If you can’t take it anymore, you’re free to tell my father and return to Elador.”
And not see you anymore? Merlin wishes he was less gullible. Instead, he falls into the trap with eyes wide open and in broad daylight. He scoffs. “You wish. I will beat your arse!”
“Stop wobbling on your feat after three laps on the ground first.”
“Oho, Prince Arthur, you will be so sorry that Leon is training me!”
“Tomorrow onwards, I will be training you.”
Merlin swallows. Silver linings and what not. “Get ready to eat your words.”
Arthur laughs. His eyes squinting and lips growing even redder with mirth. “Walk without support first, then you threaten me!”
“Oi,” Merlin mutters, leaning a little more into the prince who doesn’t even flinch at the extra weight. Prat. “Shut it, dollop-head.”
“You have such a way with your words, Merlin,” Arthur drawls, a call back to last night, winking at him as he hauls him down the hallway to Merlin’s room. “Careful or I might fall for you.”
Heart in his throat, Merlin fights out of Arthur’s hold to wobble into his room on his own. Arthur’s laughter trails after him even when the boy remains out of reach. Merlin flips him the bird just to see Arthur chuckle again before his magic shuts the door at his face. A smile is widening his lips when Arthur shouts out a very rude salutation and a warning to not let the bed eat him before training. Damn bratty princes and their overly charming smiles. The last thing Merlin remembers as he strips out of his clothes and into his bed is the way his heart feels a little bigger between his ribs. Darkness swallows him before his brain can catch up with the obviously bad choice that is Arthur.
Merlin does get better in the next few days. Arthur, though he may be a prat, is a remarkable teacher. He trains Merlin with the boys he’d seen in the first day of his training. They make fast friends and Merlin feels his brain grow very, very far from his heart as fondness threatens to choke him every time Arthur acts all ridiculous with the kids. By the third day, Merlin no longer needs Arthur’s shoulder to even walk back to his room. But they make it a ritual anyway. Laughter and banter filling the space between their fingers as Arthur walks him to his room. Merlin wonders, just a bit, if they closed that space would these teasing moments vanish in the breath between their kisses. He wants it—Lord does he want it—but he would be loath to take a wrong step and lose what he does have.
On the fourth day, Arthur upgrades him from the children and into the knights warm and smelly embrace. They are…a fun lot. Less stuffy than Arthur, at least. They make lewd jokes and get thrown down on their arses by the (awesome) women knights. Merlin, as he already knew, gets along with Gwaine like magic to a wizard. That is to say, Arthur regrets ever letting them meet. As he constantly repeats now, half-way to drunk, leaning against Gwaine as Merlin teases his taste for pickled radishes.
“What’s wrong with pickles radishes? They are very yummy!” Arthur defends again for the tenth time.
Merlin says, for the eleventh, “It’s radishes! They belong in soups!”
Gwaine laughs, for the tenth time, and shakes Arthur along with him. Leon and Lancelot groans from somewhere next to them. The long locks of Gwaine hair almost hides Arthur’s pouting (adorable) face as he leans over it. “Aw, princess, don’t be sad. I like pickled carrots!”
“They are not the same!”
Merlin wants to pull Arthur to him. Wants to hide him under his cloak and kiss his red cheeks. Instead, he watches Arthur pout more and makes doe-eyes at Gwaine who kisses his nose. Merlin’s magic flutters out and breaks a glass. “Shit. Are you hurt?” He brushes away the shards and picks up Arthur’s hand which remain scratch-free.
“Careful, man,” Gwaine mutters even as understanding lines a teasing smile onto his face. He hauls Arthur up and into Merlin’s arms, making them both splutter. “Why don’t you take this fella home? One more drink and he will start crying for his mommy.”
“I am your prince!” Arthur yells into Merlin’s ear. “Such atrocities!”
“I will dump your arse out in the alley if you don’t stop yelling!” Merlin shouts and Arthur gabbles at him, a mocking twist to his face that Merlin can feel against his shoulder. “Say that to my face, you clotpole!”
“Good Lord,” someone groans from behind them and they are wrenched apart. Merlin cries indignantly, his hand fast over Arthur’s wrist. Leon’s stern face looms into their vision. “Behave.”
“Sir, yes, sir!” Merlin grins. “Does that mean I can leave Arthur here and go home?” he says, hand still clutching Arthur like a child gripping their favourite toy.
“It means I will take you both home so you will reach there safely without killing each other.”
“Oh, suits me.” Merlin shrugs and stands up. The world sways a little before it rightens again when his eyes land on Arthur who wobbles even more somehow. “Is he alright?” he whispers, quite loudly if Gwaine’s laughter is anything to go by.
“Take me, Lord,” Leon mutters as he hauls Arthur’s arm over his shoulder and Merlin pouts. He wanted to be the one to take Arthur home. “God, Merlin, don’t cry on me, lad!”
“Who made Merlin cry!” Arthur, somehow, has a knife in his hand and is brandishing it wildly.
Merlin, a little giddy at the prospect of Arthur so prepared to defend Merlin, giggles as he leaned over Leon to bat his eyes at the prince and hoped he hadn’t imagined the way he turned red. “Aw, Arthur, you’d kill someone for me?”
“Uh, um, uhhhhh,” Arthur said, with all the eloquence of a drunk. “Um, yeah, no. Leon take us back to the castle!”
The groan Leon lets out shakes them both but Merlin really doesn’t care. He is overcome with the urge to kiss Arthur under the table. Instead, he lolls his head onto Leon and wonders why his heart choses the worst idiot princes to love while there are perfectly acceptable knights (See: Lancelot, Leon, Percival etc etc) and women, who are much better than the whole male race combined together. There goes his heart beating for the one person who he can’t have. Someone who has also undoubtedly been dropped a few times as a child, the effects of which comes up when he has to interact with people. Really unfortunate for a Prince of Camelot.
Merlin still wanted to kiss him under the table. Hunith was probably guilty of the same crime as Ygraine for not knowing how to hold a baby properly—clearly Merlin’s brain was not in full throttle if he loved Arthur even after all the warnings, even when Morgana existed, or Lancelot, for that matter.
Somehow, they reach Merlin’s room. His mind may have taken leave or he’d fallen asleep in the distance between the tavern and the castle. Leon deposits him on the bed and Merlin blinks his eyes open right when Arthur falls onto him too.
“Ugh,” Merlin groaned and pushed Arthur away who whined before he buried his face in the pillow and falls asleep. He wondered if Arthur would suffocate and die. Leon, with the same concern probably, propped the boy onto his back, a little away from Merlin. The space was instantly despised but Merlin’s body was not willing to close it. It felt like his skin was wilting. “’eon?”
“Yeah?” Leon’s face was closer now, a tired sort of fondness lining his eyes. “I’m too tired to bring Arthur to his room. Sleep well.”
“Oh, ugh. Goo’ ‘ight.”
“Bye, Merlin.” Leon’s exit was punched by a sharp snore from Arthur.
Merlin turned and blinked at the blond head that had turned towards him. The red lips and fair skin. The little scar below his eyebrow that Merlin wanted to kiss from the moment he’d seen it. He blinked. Forgot to open his eyes and fell asleep. An ache in his bones that was less about the alcohol and more about the desire to hold Arthur close when he was finally close enough to do so but restricted by the fear of losing Arthur’s friendship. Perhaps sleep will ease it.
Morning comes with an empty bed and an emptier stomach that growls Merlin out of the former. He manages to munch through dry bread some kind soul had left on his table and hopes the sun would simply explode. End this misery for once and for all. It doesn’t but the door slams open to bring in Arthur who looks fresh as a daisy. The sound nearly explodes Merlin’s head but the pain doesn’t abate. Not even having the decency to look like he has a headache, Arthur grins at him.
“Arsehole,” Merlin says and watches Arthur raise his brows as he sits on the table before him. “Why are you looking normal?”
“The Pendragons don’t get hungover.” Arthur grinned. Merlin wished the intense hatred for lucky, rich bastards was enough to overcome the yearning to kiss that mouth. “I’ve given everyone time off.”
“No training?”
“No training.”
“…what’s the catch?”
Arthur laughed, his throat exposed. Merlin wound his fingers tight around the bread and chewed more aggressively. “I though we could have an adventure.”
“You didn’t think of my headache?”
“Gaius has a hangover remedy.”
“You should have started with that, clotpole!”
“Shush. Eat first or that will taste even more nasty.”
Merlin grumbled and rolled his eyes a few more time as he ate through. Ignoring the way Arthur looked at him as if he was a particularly interesting knife or a war map. His magic slithered out almost on its own mind to bring forth butterflies. Half to release the pent-up energy within him and half to watch the fascination blooming on Arthur’s face as the butterflies draw to it. This space between them sacred. A temple to their friendship and the secrets of Merlin’s feelings, one that crumbles with Merlin’s food disappearing and Arthur guiding him to Gaius’ rooms.
One nasty drink that makes Merlin want to claw out his tongue later, Arthur is taking him to the stables and into the forest. He has yet to tell him what and where they were going to do. But Merlin would follow Arthur to the Lake of Avalon where the fey rests. But for appearances sake, Merlin trails insults and banter behind them like their flowing capes while they chase each other, horses whining and hissing at their childish joy.
They reach a cave outside which Arthur decides to finally rest their poor horses. He hops down and gestures Merlin to step away too. His face shifts from the general mirth they’d sported so far to a serious note.
“Arthur? What is going on?” Merlin asks, drawing closer to his friends and laying a hand on his shoulder. “What is in this cave?”
“Gaius says this is where the antidote for all the poisons lies.” Arthur turns to smile at Merlin. “Someone has poisoned the lower town’s well and they can’t find a cure.”
“What? When did this happen?” Merlin had not seen any influx of people in search of Gaius’ medicines nor seen the old man running out of the castle faster than his age should allow him to. The King and Queen had also looked normal yesterday at dinner.
“Today morning. There is a physician in the lower town, you see, and she is quite skilled but she sent a messenger to Gaius that none of her cure was working. No cause could be found.” Arthur swallows, guilt clearly weighing on his shoulders. “Two children already died in these hours.”
“Why didn’t you say something?” Merlin gently scuffed his head.
“I didn’t know how to…” Arthur shook his head as he stepped closer to the cave. “We were drinking and celebrating last night while children were poisoned by—something! I’m their Prince and I woke up to find my people were in trouble. My father heard of it and he didn’t do anything other than asking Gaius to go check. He seemed so…unbothered.”
“So, you decided to risk your life in search of a possible cure-for-all in a cave in the middle of no-where?” Merlin admired this boy who was twice the ruler as his father but he could be so fucking reckless.
Arthur turned to glare at him, shoving away the hand Merlin reached out for him. He must have seen the hurt on Merlin’s face because he shrank into himself, ducking guiltily. “I didn’t want to worry you,” he said, “that’s why I was normal before.”
Merlin bit his lip, seeing Arthur’s frail shoulders and stubborn eyes that stared at the cave as if he’d storm in without Merlin. “Arthur?” He waited until Arthur’s eyes turned to him, the firmness melting to show the vulnerability a sixteen-year-old boy with too much responsibility on him would have. The fear and the determination.
“I would not have said no.”
A great gust of relief seems to knock him down a little. Arthur grins at him a little. Crooked teeth flashing shyly. “Yeah?”
“Yes.” Merlin smiled and reached closer to hold that precious face in his hands. “Even though you’re the stupidest prat in the history of prat-y princes.”
Laughter flows out between them. Arthur’s head tilting and Merlin’s hands following in their reluctance to let go of that joy. He grins as Arthur taps their foreheads together before moving away, a piece of his heart left in the hollow of Arthur’s throat. “Let’s go get that antidote and save your people.”
Arthur’s shoulders straighten as he draws his sword, the metal making a sharp noise as it rubs against the chainmail. Merlin swallows down his apprehension and calls a flame to his hand that bobs away from his palm and into the cave’s mouth. The light flickers as it advances, the boys following its blue path, showing moss on the walls and worms in the crevices. Merlin wrinkles his nose at the damp smell but keeps his eyes on Arthur as they walk. Inside, time bends. They walk forever before Arthur stops. Taking his eyes off the strange plant growth on the walls, Merlin makes a questioning sound at Arthur’s sword, raised against the brightness of Merlin’s magic fire.
Wetness draws his eyes down. Water laps at his feet, soaking into their boots and stockings. Merlin looks up to find the rivulets seeps into a small lake. How convenient it is that there is a small platform in the middle of it, with a cluster of beautiful pink and white flowers blooming out of the rock?
“I suppose that is the cure?” Merlin whispers, muscling his way to stand beside Arthur who is looking around, assessing a threat or a way to go closer, before he turns to Merlin with a hopeful smile. “Come on, let’s go closer.”
Arthur stops him with a hand on his arm. “Wait. We don’t know if there any wards.”
“Oh, right.” Merlin closes his eyes and sends a thrill on his magic around. The ground glows golden and Arthur’s mouth parts in a gasp. Merlin sees amazement blooming beautifully on his face. The flower couldn’t even compete. Clearing his throat, Merlin turns to see no runes highlighted. “No wards.”
“The all-powerful cure is just there, then?” Scepticism colours Arthur’s words. The grip on his sword tightens as he takes an unsure step forward. “I have a bad feeling.”
Merlin swallows. “I guess we have to go there and find out.”
They reach as far as the rock and Merlin ventures an unsure hand to touch the petals before Arthur can stop him to do it himself. Then Merlin blinks and he is thrown to the other side of the cave. Water splashing all over him. His head aches terribly. Arthur is screaming.
Merlin blinks away…blood? Shit, is he bleeding? His vision is slightly blurry as he clambers onto his knees. The water before him is red and Merlin is suddenly scared that it is not his. That Arthur is injured or bleeding or dead. But he blinks and the red drops seem to drip from his nose. Oh, thank the Triple Goddess. He looks up just in time to see a translucent woman, her hair knotted and ghostly dress torn to reveal her legs, take Arthur’s sword from him and lift to pierce the kneeling prince through his heart.
Merlin screams, raises a hand, and his magic complies. The spirt or ghost or whatever she is, looks up in surprise, as if she didn’t expect Merlin to be alive. Arthur looks up too, his face shattered with relief. There are tears in his red eyes that widen when the entire cave glows golden. Merlin can feel exhaustion sharpen his bones as the spirit screams, sword dropping from her hand and onto Arthur’s who quickly snatches it by the hilt mid-air to swing over her neck. When the glow abates, she is gone and Arthur is kneeling before Merlin.
“Hey, hey!” Arthur’s voice echoes in his ears before it fades.
The world feels muted. The water is cold under his thighs and everything feels like it is spinning and spinning. Merlin can’t even see anything. It is too dark. His nose is tucked into something warm that smells like lavender and blood. There are hands on his neck, face, hair. Lips on his temple, mouthing a prayer to it. Darkness envelopes him before he parse out any injuries on Arthur.
The world when Merlin comes back to it is less damp and smelly than when he had left it. Light filters through his eyelids and Merlin rolls onto his side to escape it. A sharp pain pulls at his ribs and before he can regret rolling over, strong hands put him back on his back.
“Merlin? Darling?” He can recognise his mother’s voice anywhere. It is enough to make him blink back into reality. Slitting his eyes open, Merlin meets his mother’s worried ones. “Oh, Goddess bless you, Merlin!”
“Ma?” he croaks and tries to move his body but it remains stubborn in making him feel too much pain. “Why—am I—Elador?” Words are too much of a hassle to form but he hopes his mother can understand him.
“Gaius treated you the best he could.” Hunith smiles, tracing a soft, gentle hand through his hair and Merlin melts into the affection. “You weren’t waking up though and by the time we to Camelot, he said you were stable enough to take home if we wanted it. Your father was so worried and he knew our Druids here would help you better.”
“How…long?”
“A week.” Hunith’s eyes well up with tears as she buries kiss into his cheeks, tears dropping into Merlin’s ear. He feels like an arsehole for making his mother cry. “We thought we’d lost you.”
“No.” Merlin clenches his eyes closed and swallows against his dry throat. The memories are coming back to him, little by little. Camelot’s dying people, Arthur’s painful expression and his anger at his father, a cave, flowers whose petals curled delicately with promise, and a vengeful spirit. Arthur’s tears.
“Merlin? Open your mouth, I got you some water.” The cool liquid feels like a blessing on his throat. His body aches everywhere but his mind was coming back into order. He wished he could comfort his mother more but tiredness was already draping heavily over him.
“Ma?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Arthur?”
A pause. “He is fine, darling. Just a little scratched up.” Another pause. Merlin closes his eyes against the relief welling inside him. “He said he will miss you.”
The yearning that takes over him is enough to push Merlin’s eyes open. “I want…see him.”
Hunith smiles softly. “I’m sure you will. Soon. Go to sleep, dear.” Her words don’t finish before Merlin drops into the warm embrace of unconsciousness.
It takes three weeks before Merlin can walk without his ribs protesting. He learned that in the spirit’s throwing him away, he’d broken two ribs and an arm. There was a little bleeding in his head that the Druids magic had healed first. He’d been under Gaius’ treatment before he was taken back to Elador. Arthur had not visited him since. Hadn’t even written a letter to see if he was alive. Balinor did inform him, on the second week of his recovery, that Uther had written to ask his health. He’d also mentioned, off-handedly while they were having dinner that night, that Merlin was an official knight. Merlin doesn’t ask for an explanation but he can guess.
Only if that didn’t hurt him so. Now he won’t even have an excuse to go to Camelot. He was not longer a knight-in-training. Maybe not even Arthur’s friend anymore. Clearly, he hadn’t asked after Merlin so of course Arthur doesn’t care enough. He wished it didn’t leave him so bitter. Hell, he didn’t even feel angry. He just wanted to see Arthur again. Demand to talk, to make him laugh, to do anything that would close this horrible distance between them.
Instead, he heals and resumes his duties a Lord’s son. He argues with his parents, makes up with them, eats well, teases servants’ children and entertains them with magic. He ends up spending more time with the Druids and learning healing magic. Reads more about myth and goes with his father to talk with Kilgharrah, the Great Dragon, who had returned from his travel during Merlin’s absence.
“Has the young King forsaken his warlock?” Kilgharrah asks when Merlin goes to him the fourth week Merlin is back home. His arm is healed and his ribs sore. But he can walk without help and function without drawing pitying gazes.
“Uther?” Merlin picks away at the grass on his feet. The dragon’s with and riddles were a good distraction from the doubts and yearning that swirls within Merlin like a storm every time he even thinks about Camelot and its prince, which is almost always when he has time alone with his thoughts.
“No. The Once and Future King, Arthur Pendragon.”
Merlin stares at the dragon. “What the hell are you on?”
“You must be aware of the prophecy? I am sure Balinor will have told you.” Kilgharrah yawned.
“I know of the prophecy!” Merlin scoffed. “But Arthur? As the Once and Future King, no way!”
“You’re meant to be his warlock, too. You are aware of your power to know that, at least?”
“I’m not his anything,” Merlin mutters, a little viciously, his magic reflecting his frustration as it burns the grass around his feet. “Fuck!”
“Not for lack of wanting, I see.”
“Oh, fuck off!” Merlin growls, his heart thumping. “A prat like him won’t be that prophesied King!”
Kilgharrah chuckles, blowing steam through his nose to ruffle Merlin. “Believe what you may, young warlock. The truth will find you even if you don’t want to find it. Destiny is rarely wrong.”
“Whatever,” Merlin mutters as he stalks away. In his heart, he knows that, if anyone can be the Once and Future King, it would be Arthur with his stupidly noble heart. Even if he was bit of a prat. Merlin has half a mind to just ask Kilgharrah for a lift to Camelot just so he can punch Arthur. Or kiss him. Shaking his head at his own thoughts, Merlin goes to sulk in his rooms.
Two months into the rift between Camelot and Elador’s wards, Merlin finally gets a letter. He has even forgotten about why there was a rift in the first place—or so he pretends. He is fully healed and busy with helping his parents run the estates. He’d like to lie that he’d forgotten about any feelings he’d had for a certain prince too. Though that pretence falls through when the letter is brought to him by a servant whose curiosity is very obvious as she tells him it from Camelot.
Merlin is on his feet and taking the paper before she can even blink. The handwriting is painfully familiar. The beautiful calligraphy that has always contrasted the brash, stupidly noble personality of Arthur Pendragon. Merlin swallows down the fear and excitement that clashes horribly in his stomach.
“Dismissed,” he mutters and closes the door on the servant’s face before she can needle for more information. He slithers down onto the floor and opens the letter with shaking fingers.
Dear Merlin, it reads. The words blur for a moment before Merlin takes a deep breath, steels himself, and blinks away the moisture. He soldiers on. He was a knight, goddamn it!
I am writing this in the hopes that you will forgive me for my silence these past days. I was weighed down by the guilt of nearly having killed you for my selfish reasons. I had begged your mother to write to me once before she left with you. I knew she was angry and did not appreciate me endangering you. I was afraid that any letter I write to you will not be looked at favourably. I won’t expect you to be happy with me either. I am sure you must hate me a little for putting you in harms way. I can only say I am terribly sorry. I’ve been drafting this letter for the past month and it is only now I find courage to send it to you. Your mother had written to me last week to tell you were well and that she had heard the news.
What news? Merlin frowns and looks out his window as he tries to recall anything his mother might have said about Camelot or Arthur. Though he’d more absent-minded during dinners these days, he still would have paid attention if his parents were talking about Arthur. But his memory fails him. He continues to read.
I am sure you must have heard of my marriage to Princesses Mithian. My father believes it is time I wed since I am already seventeen and man enough to take over the throne. But, Merlin? I don’t want this marriage. I am sure I must have been very obvious with my affections. Your mother surely knew for she wrote that she was sad to hear about the marriage knowing I loved her son.
Tears were flowing down Merlin’s cheeks. He had lost Arthur before he could even find him. Now he was telling Merlin that he was in love with him? When he was to be promised to another person?
I know it is too cowardly of me to write to you about this. But I cannot find strength in me to hear your rejection. I just wanted to let you know and hope that you will not continue to hate me. You were my best friend, Merlin, of course I came to love you. I am truly sorry I ruined our friendship with my recklessness.
I wish you the best with your life, Merlin. I hope you find true happiness.
Yours,
Arthur Pendragon.
He doesn’t know how he reached his father’s study but the letter is still clutched in his hand when Balinor looks up with a startled expression. Taking in Merlin’s tear-streaked face as he frowns with worry. “Merling? What—”
“Arthur is getting married?”
“Oh.” Balinor lowered his eyes, shoulders rounding. “Yes. Uther invited us.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Hunith enters then, her eyes widened. She’d heard the conversation then. Regret fills her face as she clutches Merlin’s arm. “I know Arthur loves you, but he also hurt you. He was your friend and I didn’t want you to hate him more.”
“What makes you think that?” Merlin shouted, taking his arm away to pace the floor liked a caged tiger. “I love him, Ma! I—He—ugh!” He pockets the letter and hopes that it will remain unharmed. His shoes get the worst of his glare.
“Oh.” Balinor is in front of him now, clutching his shoulders tightly. “You looked so angry whenever his name came up. We just assumed you did not like him anymore.”
“I was angry because he didn’t write to me. Didn’t visit me. I was angry because,” Merlin swallows, voice breaking, “because I missed him so much and I—couldn’t do anything.”
“Oh, darling,” Hunith coos, resting her head on his arm. “We’re so sorry.”
Balinor clears his throat, looking determined. “Take Kilgharrah.”
“What?” Merlin blinks at his father.
“Take Kilgharrah. Go to Camelot. You boys need to talk. Arthur won’t find happiness in this marriage and you would be miserable without him. Talk to him. I will follow to talk to Uther.”
“What? Uther? Why!”
“Let us adults handle that, alright?” Hunith smiles at him. “Go to your boy.”
Merlin feels his eyes well with tears again and hides it in his father’s shoulder. He smiles at his mother who strokes her hand over his face, kissing his cheek. Merlin draws away from his father. “Thank you.”
“Go.” They giggle as Merlin turns on his feet and runs. Kilgharrah is already waiting on the courtyard and laughs at his eagerness to climb on. “Young warlock,” he says, “ready to realise your destiny?”
“If it’s Arthur, then I always will be.” Merlin can only hold onto his heart and the letter as they fly over the clouds and lands. He had a good feeling about this.
The people of Camelot are predictably shocked at the presence of a dragon. Merlin winces at the shrieks and scolds Kilgharrah for laughing at their fear. The dragon pauses to set a small shrub on fire before ducking over the castle to settle on one of its tall towers. Merlin hurries to douse it before people start rebelling against sorcery.
“You can leave now,” Merlin says once his wobbly legs have found purchase on the stone ground. He scowls at Kilgharrah’s scoff. “What?”
“You’re not my master, yet, young warlock. You can be polite.”
“Oh, great dragon of Avalon, please get off Camelot’s castle before it breaks under your glorious weight. Again.” Merlin even bows down to a knee with great reverence. The lizard does knock him into his arse when he swooshes into the sky with a whoop. Merlin rolls his eyes and waves a hand to set off the fire on his cape.
“Merlin?”
He turns to find Lancelot and Leon, holding their swords in a tight grip and faces pale with confusion. “Oh! Hi, guys! Where can I find Arthur?”
“What the—” Lance laughs and strides forward to hug him. The sword just misses Merlin’s ribs. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re alright.”
“Why the fuck did you not write to us?!” Leon swathes his thick, gloved hand over Merlin’s shoulder who doesn’t quite manage to duck.
Blinking away the dark spots, Merlin grins brightly. “Sorry. I thought Arthur hated me so I was being petty.”
“Oh, Lord.” Lancelot rolls his eyes to second Leon’s tone. “You’re both fucking idiots.”
“Hey,” Merlin pouts and peers over Leon’s shoulder to find more guards who seem confused as they look around. “Oh. Sorry about the dragon, lads! I had urgent business!” he calls.
“It’s all right. You can tell the King there is no threat,” Leon says, wiping a hand through hair with a tired sigh. He turns to Merlin with a grin. “Heard about the wedding, did you?”
“Yeah. Thought now would be a good time to crash it.”
“Finally pulled your head out of arse, have you?” Lancelot asks, punching his shoulder lightly. “The prince was inconsolable, I must say, after you left.”
“Oh.” Merlin grins at his feet before he straightens up. His legs have stopped shaking and his heart’s thundering was drowning out his other senses. “So, Arthur?”
“In his rooms.” Leon glances at Lancelot and they shrug at each other, the latter frowning.
“What?”
“Uh, well. Princesses Mithian is visiting.”
“In his rooms?”
“They are engaged to be married.”
“I’m too late, aren’t I?” Merlin sighs, dragging a hand over his face. “Fuck.”
“Late for what?” An achingly familiar voice asks.
Merlin’s head shoots up. There is that familiar golden head, with startled blue eyes widened to reveal the secrets of the universe (or at least the man who is in the centre of Merlin’s universe). Behind him is a girl no older than fourteen, clutching Arthur’s wrist and peering at Merlin with curiosity.
“Arthur,” he says, taking a step back. “That is…”
“Princess Mithian.” Arthur smiles at the woman and it breaks Merlin when he looks up at him and the smile vanishes. Replaced by a nervous air that shivers between them. “What are you doing here? Are you…alright?”
“Can we talk?” Merlin blurts out. “Like…alone?”
“Oh.” Arthur looks around. Guards, knights, Princess. He sighs. “Leon, tell no one to enter my rooms till I allow.”
“Yes, sire.” Leon smiles encouragingly at Merlin. “Lead the way.”
Merlin follows Arthur with his knees feeling like they will give up any time now. He breathes against the rising panic. That Arthur’s feeling had changed between when he wrote the letter and when Merlin read it. He’d seen the affection in the smile Arthur gave to Mithian. What if Arthur was committed to her?
“Hey.”
Looking up at nervous blue eyes, Merlin startled back into his senses. They were standing in front of the familiar door of Arthur’s chamber. “Oh. Um.”
“Come on. Leon will make sure we’re not disturbed.”
“Right.” Merlin follows Arthur and is suddenly reminded of following that same royal back into a cave where everything went wrong. He breathes against the tide of apprehension that threatens to choke him and waits for Arthur to turn to him.
“You got the letter.” It is a statement. Arthur’s fingers are tight around his sword.
“Yes.” Merlin exhales. Now or never. “I love you, too. Have for a long time. Since, well, since I started training with you, I guess.”
Arthur’s breath escapes him in a punched-out gasp. Face breaking into such a vulnerable expression, Merlin has to physically retrain himself. Nails digging deep into his palm and stinging. “Why didn’t you say something?” Arthur whispers.
“And lose you?” He cannot stop himself from taking a step forward. Merlin’s heart tightens when Arthur’s face splits open to spill out such a strong yearning that it is but a mirror to Merlin’s own. “Arthur…tell me you haven’t changed.”
“It was you who changed!”
Merlin steps back at the loud words that slap his chest. It aches. “What?”
“You never wrote to me! It was only your mother’s words that assured me that you weren’t dead.” Arthur slithers down on the floor, his knees giving up, to burry his face in his hands. “I thought you were dead, you fucking arsehole!”
“Oh.” How can Merlin ever resist not cradling that fragile boy he loves so much.
“God, I hate you,” Arthur says, clutching back. His face pressed to Merlin’s neck and breaths painting the swath of skin in irregular strokes. “You’re such a fucking—”
“I know.” Merlin hugs him closer and buries his tears in golden locks. “Am I late, Arthur?”
“No.” Pulling away to reveal reddened eyes on a determined face, Arthur takes Merlin’s face in his hands. “No. I—No. I am—I still love you. Even though you broke my heart.”
“I’m sorry,” the whispers slip out and Merlin bites his lips. He can’t help but say, “I love you, too.”
“Oh, hell,” Arthur whispers, leaning their foreheads together. “Now are you too chicken to kiss me too? Do you want someone to kiss me before you—”
Merlin shuts his stupid mouth with the clumsiest kiss in his entire life. He’s had his fair share of kisses and fumbling with boys and girls. But Lord knows that this one is his worst and best kiss. They grapple at each other, tugging at hair and clothes, fighting to see who will clamber onto whose lap for the addicting proximity. Merlin hits his knee on the leg of Arthur’s bed but ignores it in favour of kissing down Arthur’s neck, grinding into the firm thigh beneath him. Arthur groans and Merlin kisses him again. Deep and slightly filthy.
“Fuck, Merlin,” Arthur gasps, pulling him away by his collar. “Slow down! We haven’t, shit, finished talking.”
Merlin groans. “Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“Fine.” Out of petulance, Merlin stays right where he is on Arthur’s lap. Biting back a smug smile at the annoyance that flashes on his prince’s face even as he squirms a little. “Talk.”
“I need to tell father I don’t want to marry Princess Mithian.”
“Oh.” Merlin swallows, hands bunching onto Arthur’s sleeves. “Why did you agree in the first place? I didn’t think you’re interested in a girl so young.”
“I’m not!” Arthur scoffs, hands tightening around Merlin’s waist. A stark reminder of just how strong he is and Merlin really should not be thinking about that when they are having a serious conversation. “Focus, Merlin.”
“You’re very distracting.”
“You can sit on the floor.”
“No.”
Arthur laughs. Merlin had missed that sound so much he can’t help but lean forward to kiss it. Take the noise into his own mouth and savour it. Arthur moans and changes the taste of it. Merlin might be in danger of addiction.
“Oh, God, you’re a dollop-head,” Arthur gasps as he rips his mouth away, putting a palm over Merlin’s mouth. “Insatiable little idiot.”
“Who you calling little? And dollop-head is my word!” Merlin bites Arthur’s fingers as it attempts to cover his mouth again.
Arthur slaps his arm. “Behave!”
“Hey!” Merlin ducks to kiss his nose and watches Arthur wrinkle it adorably. “You didn’t answer my question.”
Arthur rolls his eyes but settles to lean against the bed. His eyes have lost their redness but exhaustion lines dark circles under them. Merlin traces the fragile skin with his fingers and feels Arthur’s voice vibrate under it. “She was to be wed to King Lot. He is an old man and known for taking children as his wives and concubines. Mithian’s father asked my father for a favour, I didn’t want to endanger her.”
“You’re so selfless.” Merlin smiles bitterly. “It’s annoying.”
“I—” Arthur swallows. “Will it be too selfish? This? Us?”
“Do you want it to be?”
“You know I do,” he whispers, taking Merlin’s hand and kissing it. “But Mithian—”
“I will go to war with King Lot if it means I can love you openly, Arthur.”
Arthur’s eyes shine, a crooked smile emerging from the depths of his frown. “Really?”
“Yes.” Merlin chuckles. “I have a dragon and magic. King Lot won’t last a day. He won’t touch Mithian and Uther will get his marriage.”
“Are you…Merlin, is this a proposal?”
“Will you say yes?”
Arthur laughs, tugging their head together. “Court me properly first.”
Merlin kisses him once, twice. “Let’s go talk to Uther.”
In the end, King Uther doesn’t seem surprised to find the young Lord of Elador holding hands with his son. He laughs at Merlin’s declaration of going to war with King Lot for Mithian’s safety. The Queen Ygraine pats her husband’s arm as she looks at the boys fondly. She gives them her blessings first and the first to cheer is, surprisingly, Mithian. She is, as Merlin learns later, a willing recipient of Arthur’s bemoaning of Merlin’s betrayal and much more ambitious to end up a young wife of a young prince.
In the end, Merlin gets to see Mithian off to her home. King Lot settled with money and cattle for now. He courts Arthur for two long years and gets to learn how to be in love for the first time. Splitting time between Elador and Camelot as he makes a new home. Through grief and joy and anger, Merlin sticks with Arthur. Learns to love and forgive. He earns his knighthood this time the old-fashioned way and is knighted under Arthur’s sword.
In the end, Uther blesses their marriage when they turn nineteen. Arthur drinks himself into an embarrassed dance in their wedding night and Merlin vows to never forget it. They make a mess of their marriage bed and gets cat-called by every single guard and teased by the knights for the next three months. Merlin moves to Camelot for good. Morgana becomes his sister and confidant. He holds her through her heartbreaks and gives her over to the man she chooses to marry. Arthur cries and Merlin kisses away the tears as they dance with her. Uther and Ygraine, much, much later, passes away in old age, as happy parents and grandparents.
In the end, Merlin is sixty and still in love with his husband. They are fair rulers and good fathers to their little infantry of adopted children and dragon babies that Kilgharrah spoils rotten with rides and tricks. They are happy and proud and satisfied with life. Their family close to their heart and their heart close to their land.
In the end, Merlin finds his destiny with the man whom his heart belongs to.
TheSeaThesea Thu 13 Nov 2025 03:28AM UTC
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MortalWithALaptop Thu 13 Nov 2025 03:50AM UTC
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falterfreundin Sun 23 Nov 2025 01:32PM UTC
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MortalWithALaptop Mon 24 Nov 2025 02:02AM UTC
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