Chapter Text
Arthur is king of Camelot. The clothes on his back are fine-spun and richly dyed. His shoes do not have holes in the bottom or soles that are soft and they actually fit his feet. He has hot bathing water again, he does not have to hunt for his food anymore, and he hasn’t seen a live herb since setting foot in the citadel.
Arthur is king of Camelot and his bed is too soft. He’s accustomed to the hard ground underneath him in sleep, and he tosses and turns on the big mattress inside until he takes all of his bed coverings and lays on the rug on the floor of his rooms. Yet, it is still too silent. There are no longer Lancelot’s soft snores in his ear nor Gwaine’s tossing and turning. Arthur, Camelot’s king, is exhausted but sleep still takes all-too-long to find him.
Arthur is king of Camelot and he’s had the time to see what became of her in his absence. It was ugly, he knows now. The citadel has turned into a food bank. He’s offering clemency on taxes; skipping one collection isn’t going to hurt the too-full pockets of the crown.
The castle looks the same as it always did: Merlin and Morgana and Balinor and Hunith managed to repair all of the damage that had been caused with magic.
Arthur already has changed Camelot’s laws and he has been happy to do so. He gave a speech to the people the day after his ascension to the throne that he had penned all on his own. Not a soul, not even Merlin, had read it over before Arthur stood on his balcony, dressed in Camelot reds, and read it out. He’d felt a little dazed but also ready, telling his people that although magic had been what sent them all into this mess, magic had also gotten them out of it. He detailed the courage of the common men who had picked up their swords and followed him through Essetir and Camelot alike, risking life and limb for his mission. Any person, Arthur had told his people, could now become a knight of Camelot in their stead. And, lastly, Arthur had announced his tax break as well as the overall lowering of Camelot’s taxes to slightly below what they had been before his disinheritance.
The people had cheered, and in the next two days, Arthur had a makeshift knighting ceremony in the courtyard, in which the rubble had been moved into piles, chunks of gargoyle stones and pieces of the castle that would be re-used on magicked into something usable.
King Arthur knighted them all one by one.
Sir Balinor, for his strength of character and in magic.
Sir Elyan, for his loyalty of heart and steadfast reliability.
Sir Percival, for his strength of both body and mind.
Sir Lancelot, for his abundant courage and advice.
Sir Gwaine, for his quick wit, used for better or for worse.
And, special recognition was given to Sir Leon, whose cloak Arthur pinned a brooch to. Arthur was proud to give his dear friend the promotion that he deserved to be the official head of the knights and the first member of the king’s guard.
Afterward, they had arranged for a feast, inviting the people of Camelot to come and join in. Kilgharrah— and Arthur still could barely believe it himself, but it was true— had hunted for all of them and brought home several magnificent kills that Cook and all of her minions had spent all day preparing along with a large portion of what was left in the grain storage. Arthur wanted bread, and he was going to get it no matter the cost. Additionally, he invited the common folks to make and bring whatever food they wanted to as well, worried about having enough to feed everybody. To his great delight, the entire city rallied and made a feast more abundant than any Arthur had seen in years, complete with a spontaneous, volunteer band of musicians playing in the courtyard.
So they feasted. They drank. Arthur celebrated the life he still had and the journey he’d taken to get here, got a little bit drunk and danced with Morgana, with Gwen, with Gwaine when he was drunk enough and got spun around by Percival before he laughed so hard he had to sit down for a minute.
Merlin appeared at his elbow, then, dressed in his customary clothes like he was still Arthur’s servant, even holding a pitcher of wine like they had never left this place. The image of him, so identical to that in Arthur’s memory, flashed him back to then, and he pulled Merlin down to sit beside him as they wasted the night in drink, trading stories neither one of them had ever told another before.
Arthur is king of Camelot. He has taken the time to weep for his father’s loss in the dead of night, now that he has had the time to process that it was his hand to do the deed. There was no shame in his grief.
Arthur takes stock of everything before him and sets it straight. Guinevere gets promoted to Steward within a week, and then people stop coming to ask him as many frequent questions. Arthur spends a lot of time talking to his people, to Leon about his insights, to his knights, to his sorcerers about magic and the caveats of the law, to Gaius about how Camelot used to look. And, of course, Arthur spends very much time thinking about Merlin.
He doesn’t get as many chances to talk to Merlin as he might like, because the man is busy. Merlin has to repair the castle and draft the magic laws that he and Arthur discuss so he has something to bring to their daily Camelot Magic meeting over dinner. Merlin has also been trying to send out messages to the druids in order to establish some sort of relations with them on behalf of Camelot. Additionally, he and Morgana have started to go through the vaults to catalogue how many of the artifacts there really are missing.
Arthur is sure Merlin is doing a wonderful job at all of it, but it means his own time with Merlin is limited, split between holding court and solving disputes, reshaping Camelot’s knights, coming up with a re-training of Camelot’s guards schedule with Lancelot and Leon, going over Camelot’s laws with Geoffrey to see if there are any more that he needs to abolish or revise since he no longer trusts his father’s judgement about these things, meeting with the nobles that wish to complain to him or just catch up, sending out invites to treat with other countries based on his new kingship to go over their current agreements, and issuing re-trials and releases for the people accused of sorcery currently in the dungeon along with those being tortured by Sigan.
However, despite having all of this to do, Arthur gets up in the middle of the night when an idea hits him. He has not yet had Merlin’s Court Sorcerer ceremony, and although he could have done it when he inducted the knights, selfishly Arthur was not ready. He knows that Merlin wouldn’t have thought any worse of him, nor even cared at all really at the lack of pomp and circumstance, nevertheless Arthur wanted it for him, so he held off.
So, Arthur has an idea so monumental and huge that he has to light several candles from the fires in his rooms and sketch out what his mind made him picture. He sees Merlin dressed in billowing robes befitting of his station, gold thread stitched into the sides for decoration and with a staff much more appropriate for the all-powerful Emrys than some appropriated piece of wood from the Sidhe.
When Arthur finishes the sketches, he goes to bed with a smile on his face, and for the first time since returning to Camelot, he sleeps on his bed.
It takes Arthur two more days to track down the time to take his sketches to Morgana and Gwen, and Arthur hasn’t looked at them since he put the pen down in the candlelight. But both Gwen and Morgana make time for him and his serious meeting.
He announces, “I need your counsel on a matter of great importance.”
Gwen and Morgana look at each other, and Arthur can see excitement livening up their faces, sparkling in Morgana’s eyes and dwelling in Gwen’s dimples. It makes Arthur glad to see that the many challenges they have faced thus far have not led them to despair when yet another crosses their desks.
“Is this about Merlin?” Morgana asks.
Arthur is glad that he doesn’t have to explain any further, and says, “Yes!” He slams down the sketches he made onto the table and pleads, “I need your help to make this ceremonial outfit for him.”
He sees the two women trade another glance, much of their enthusiasm now gone for reasons he knows not. Did they not want to help him do something for Merlin?
Gwen picks up his sketches and frowns at them. “Arthur, did you draw these yourself?”
Not recalling what exactly the sketches look like, Arthur isn’t sure whether he wants to claim them or not.
Apparently the question was rather more rhetorical, because Gwen continues, “I would love to help with this, but unfortunately I don’t think it would be the best use of my— of both of our time, actually.” She waves the sketches back and forth between herself and Morgana, who snatches them once they are in her range.
After looking them over, she snorts. “Especially for robes so ugly. Arthur, this is a nice gesture, but you have absolutely no sense of style. Look, here.” She puts the sketches down on the table and points to where Arthur has written some notes about the hem of the robes and sewing larger gemstones on as the buttons.
“This is gaudy, Arthur. Gemstones as buttons and gold thread? And what color did you say this whole thing was, purple? ”
Arthur blushes a little bit. Maybe all that had been on his mind at the time was how Merlin should have the full favor of the crown and if that’s what his sleep-addled brain had come up with as the best solution, then at least he had tried.
“Well what would you do then, Morgana? If you obviously know so much more about fashion than I do.” Arthur snatches back the sketches. If she’s going to be mean, then she does not deserve to keep them.
Morgana flicks him a lazy look. “Leave it up to Guinevere and I. We’ll talk to the royal tailor and have something made up for you that will make Merlin shine.”
“Oh we will now?” Gwen comments, but she rolls her eyes fondly enough, so Arthur thinks he’s going to be set on that front.
However, when he asks when he’ll get to see mockups, both Gwen and Morgana glare at him.
“I’m sorry Arthur, but from what your drawings had to say… it’s probably better if you stay out of this one,” Gwen says, but at least she looks sorry about it, unlike Morgana, who is grinning so wickedly that Arthur isn’t sure that he likes where this is headed. A picture in his mind appears of Merlin showing up in one of Morgana’s infamous scandalous dresses, which after a moment becomes a little less ridiculous than initially intended, and so Arthur banishes the thought from his head.
When he eyes Morgana to ensure she does not pull a trick like that, though, her expression falls into placidity faster than an eye’s blink. Although Arthur’s suspicions are not entirely diminished, he has enough faith in Gwen to let the two women go along with their days, after confirming with a mite of embarrassment that that was the only matter he wished to bring up with them at the current moment.
That night, when Arthur is trying to sleep again, he finds that he cannot even more than usual. Instead of trying to lay back on the floor, Arthur hopes that he can go for a short walk to clear his mind.
However, instead of being truly alone for a chance to clear his thoughts, two of the night guards follow behind Arthur once he turns out of the corridors containing his chambers. It is only their duty, but their presence feels stifling enough that Arthur turns around to them with a pained smile.
“Gentlemen,” Arthur tries, but unfortunately Acton and Ripley know him well enough to not buy his excuses, fixing Arthur with flat gazes. Arthur sighs, and turns around to continue walking.
The only place he’ll be able to be alone at this time of night is on the battlements, where Ripley and Acton will stand guard outside. He hurries on his way there, around corridors and up staircases, ultimately breezing through the battlement doors with nothing more than the hope he will be alone.
He isn’t.
But, considering that the other soul up here looking at the moon is Merlin, Arthur is more than alright with it. The warlock turns to look at him, his loud feet and hurried nature more than enough to alert him to Arthur’s presence.
“Arthur,” Merlin says like he’s surprised, and maybe he is. The two of them have not had a moment alone of value since… well. It has been since Arthur promised Merlin the title of Court Sorcerer, which he sealed with a kiss.
“Merlin,” Arthur replies with a nod. “Fancy seeing you here so late. Did you have trouble sleeping?”
Merlin raises an eyebrow. “Don’t project your reasons for being out here on me.”
Arthur laughs at the quip a little harder than he normally might, the lack of sleep he has been getting affecting his brain’s capacity to function normally.
Smiling at Arthur’s reaction, the warlock adds, “I was just looking at Camelot, really. It’s been really nice to be home.”
“Yes, it is.” Arthur knows how Merlin feels, but takes a moment himself to survey the land below him. He can see all the way to the lower town’s edge with the generous wedge of the moon shining brightly in the sky along with all of the night’s stars. Arthur’s gaze flits over the familiar rooftops and contours of the castle, and he feels such a love for it all that his heart is sure to burst.
After he takes it all in, Arthur looks back to Merlin, who is still letting his eyes wander outward. the air between them feels quiet and intimate, and Arthur risks taking a step closer to Merlin, allowing their arms to brush up next to each other.
Merlin is warm, the heat of his skin radiating through his own jacket and Arthur’s alike. Arthur can’t help but stare at Merlin. The side profile of his face is extremely becoming in the moonlight, and Arthur wonders what he will look like in the robes that Gwen and Morgana are going to make for him. In that moment, he sees purple and gold, understated but classy. Lots of small fiddly buttons. His mother’s crest fastens a cloak closed over his shoulders.
It’s breathtaking, and Arthur can’t stop the noise of the sudden inhale he makes.
Merlin looks over at him curiously, his eyes growing wide when he sees Arthur’s expression. His face rocks in a little bit, but he takes a small step away, putting more distance between them.
“Arthur?” He asks.
Arthur tries to stay in the moment. “Yes, Merlin. What is it?”
A hesitancy crosses Merlin’s face before he smooths it out. He looks Arthur in the eyes the whole time though, never hiding a single thought. “Might I ask why you’ve knighted everyone else, given everyone else a job… but me?”
Suddenly, Arthur feels like an incompetent fool. He didn’t really think too hard about what Merlin would think of waiting on his investiture to Court Sorcerer, but evidently it has been taking a toll on Merlin to see Arthur’s promise go unfulfilled.
Arthur reaches out to bridge the gap between them and takes Merlin’s hand, calling back to their positions in the alcove. Merlin’s cheeks go a little pink in the light, so Arthur takes it as a good sign.
“I haven’t forgotten about you, Merlin,” Arthur says. He scrambles for a moment, trying to come up with the right words for the situation to best express himself. “You see, Court Sorcerer is a very important position. And I’ve found my sorcerer, who I believe is most fitting for the court. I just want to give him something worthy of himself. I’m waiting for the court to be fitting of the sorcerer.”
He squeezes Merlin’s hand at the speech, feeling a little stupid and shy, but it’s worthwhile for the way that he can watch a slow, bright smile shine across Merlin’s face like the daybreak has come early.
Wait. The daybreak has not come early, but Merlin is glowing , a golden yellow glow emanating from his skin. Merlin squeezes Arthur’s hand back, and Arthur can just tell that his warlock is feeling so many things all at the same time right now that he cannot find the words to express them.
Not wanting Merlin to feel self-conscious about the glowing, Arthur decides not to mention it and instead continues to take in Merlin’s splendor.
Instead, he begins to tell Merlin a story from his youth, one that Merlin has never heard before. They will stay here and speak until they tire, until Merlin’s ecstatic glow fades away, until Arthur’s throat is too dry to continue to talk, their hands entwined the whole time. And when they must go, they will sleep until the sun comes up bright and early in the morrow, continuing to work for Camelot.
King Arthur has a lot to look forward to and a lot to reflect on. This is just one moment of many that he will embrace and relish on his path through the rest of it all.
Having actually competent people in charge of Camelot when he’s gone is such an absolute blessing. It’s such a relief that he can trust Gwen to ensure that things are kept in order and that the knights and guard will be ready and well-trained for any and all threats that may come up. Trusting his Round Table makes leaving Camelot easier as he knows he’ll have a home to come back to— that isn’t dying of starvation or burning in the Great Dragon’s fire— when they return from Essetir. It pains Arthur that they had to leave Camelot so soon after reclaiming it, however, with new leadership comes new responsibilities to other sovereign and vassal states.
Before the Great Dragon left to Hunith and Balinor’s new ranch built on the land seized from Balinor’s family during the Great Purge, Arthur spoke with him. This infuriated Merlin, of course, as the wisdom he obtained was marginally less cryptic than the young Dragonlord’s. Kilgharrah confirmed Arthur that it is his destiny, with Merlin’s assistance, to unite the land of Albion as its Once and Future King.
This, however , seemed more along the lines of a lifelong timeline, yet it has already begun. Since Cenred and Morgause’s passing, the only clear ruler of Essetir is a nobleman Lot, who doesn’t have the reputation or means to control the land that was ravaged under Cenred’s reign for so long. Essetir’s council of lords did not trust his judgement enough to be its king, despite the fact that he could be a strong figurehead for the land. Arthur, on the other hand, did not try to become Essetir’s intended sovereign, but their exceedingly long jaunts in the kingdom had indeed paid off as having Mountmend and Ealdor apparently gave one a reputation.
He had expected to have to broker a peace with the people of Essetir who he guessed would be ready to declare war on his already weakened homeland as recompense for Cenred’s death, which was pleasantly not the case. Kept under Cenred and later Morgause’s heels for so long, the council of lords was more than happy to hear that their former sovereign was dead at the hand of a beloved foreigner as none of them had the guts to do it themselves. Instead of a bloodbath, they received a feast and a place at the table as they drafted the nation’s future. During the meeting, they came to the agreement that Lot would serve as the Ambassador to Camelot and the noblemen would swear fealty to Arthur as their liege lord.
While the state would largely be run internally and in a hands-off manner, the Ambassador would ensure that all intended legislative, financial, and judicial changes had been consented to by both Arthur’s court and Essetir’s own. In time, changes to help fully incorporate the kingdoms such as a common currency and stronger road systems would be enacted, but Arthur had to focus his efforts on rebuilding Camelot which was much worse for wear.
The position as Essetir’s sovereign isn’t unwelcome, but in all honesty, the vindication is the most satisfying part of the whole situation. There are truly few things more refreshing than watching all those fucking knights who spent days upon days trying to murder them have to swear their fealty. The looks on some of their faces were truly to die for, and should any of them have ideas of making that so, he is well protected by those he holds dear.
Thankfully, after several days of politicking and discussion, the terms of agreement were settled on and the treaty was signed, which meant they could return to Ealdor and home from there. While Arthur doesn’t wish to be too hasty in his return to Camelot, he cannot help but be antsy at the thought of what is to come: Merlin’s investiture as Court Sorcerer. Arthur had promised himself and his people that they would waste neither time nor finance on unneeded ceremonies and tournaments as the kingdom rebuilds, but he is allowing one small exception for Merlin’s sake. Merlin is far too humble to want a big deal to be made out of his new role, but he deserved all the fanfare of a royal coronation where Camelot would be made fully aware of the worth his warlock kept hidden from the kingdom for so long.
Knighting ceremonies and fealty swearing are important, yet routine; ceremonies; investing a Court Sorcerer into the highest echelon of Camelot’s ranks after years of oppression and annihilation of magical peoples is a once in a lifetime one. Thus, Gwen is making the preparations as they speak to get the robes and he had not designed with her and Morgana’s aid commissioned from a local seamstress and the matching staff created by one of the druids’ finest artisans. The Court needed to prove that magic was once again a welcome and cherished presence in their borders, so there are clearly no selfish motivations about this ordeal in the slightest.
However, they first need to finish assisting Hunith with moving out of her hut and pick up Sir Balinor in the process so that they can return for the surprise ceremony. They’re also planning on retrieving Alice from her home and bringing her back to Camelot as a surprise for Gaius, as they, just like Hunith and Balinor, can finally be together again despite the time that’s passed because of the Great Purge. The rest of their trip isn’t so much ‘royal necessity’ as it is Arthur’s desire to care for his parents by choice and hopefully, in time, by law. When he had mentioned returning to Ealdor to do so as part of the itinerary, Merlin’s face lit up for one of the few times since they returned to Camelot, which meant they had to go without question. The poor man had been caught up in endless council meetings with Morgana and his father dedicated to the forming of Camelot’s magical policy, and Arthur had sat in on far too many of them to know they both needed a break. Leon, of course, is chaperoning the Essetir royal tour and Ealdor outing as the king’s guard, but why Morgana and Gwaine are so insistent on joining for the express purpose of visiting Ealdor is beyond him.
However, the answer to his inquiry becomes abundantly clear as soon as they arrive in the town, staring face to face with a monument that had not been there before. And it is not some plaque or stone assemblage to sneer at, no it’s made of hunter green marble with flecks of black and golden accents throughout. The likeness is almost uncanny as he sees himself and Merlin standing back to back as they wield Excalibur and an onate staff respectively. If the presence of this very exorbitant statue in their honor was not already concerning, one minor detail sticks like a needle in Arthur’s brain. As opposed to ceremonial garb, their statue versions don similar garb to what they’d scrounged together for the final confrontation with Sigan-Uther, so they would fully look like folk heroes would it not be for the coronets atop both their heads. It’s not that it isn’t flattering and wanted, as his feelings toward implications are quite the opposite actually, but he can’t bear to look Merlin in the eye right now, lest he see the embarrassing shade of red that Arthur has turned.
However, the blush forming quickly turns to minor rage when he sees the smug looks upon Gwaine and Morgana’s faces that all but gives away that they are responsible for erecting said statue. Not quite sure what else to say, the question, “What is this?” falls from his disbelieving lips.
“Can’t you read the plaque, Princess?” Gwaine tuts and Arthur supposes that’s fair as he hadn’t noticed the plaque at the statue’s base on first glance. Thus, he reads the inscription:
Here lies the site of Emrys’s birth and his Once and Future King’s temporary residence to honor the heralds of a new age.
Placing his hands behind his head in a nonchalance that Arthur all but wishes to strangle from him for, Gwaine states, “You should have been here when we unveiled it last week, it was quite the sight.”
“ You said you were on a diplomatic mission,” Merlin, who looks as if he’s seen several ghosts, scolds Gwaine. Arthur nods in agreement and tries to not spend too much time comparing real Merlin and marble Merlin’s jawlines and imagining Merlin in a coronet like that on the statue. No! He is still annoyed about this.
“It was,” Morgana says, cutting Gwaine off before he can comment any further. “The druids created it as a gift, we only meant to assist in choosing the erection site. Think of it as a joint-decision signifying our good faith and partnership.” Her face is mischief-laced and her smile rehearsed the entire time and Arthur questions if it would have been better if the Essetir nobles had disembowelled him instead.
Before Arthur can chastise them further or question why the hell the druids felt that this was an ideal gift to begin with, he lightly shoves Merlin in the direction of Hunith’s hut so as to avoid the curious crowd forming. This is meant to be the relaxing part of this whole ordeal and as much as he loves the people of Ealdor he does not wish to field gratitude right now or any further questions regarding the town square monument referring to Arthur in the possessive as it relates to Merlin. Thankfully, they are able to get inside without much fanfare where Hunith already has a home-cooked meal prepared at the table and Arthur allows himself to breathe.
The next morning, Arthur awakes with the sun to some of the best sleep he’s gotten in a long while and for a brief moment feels as if he has been transported back to last spring where this was his everyday as opposed to a momentary getaway. It’s isn’t all joyous though, as nostalgia and mourning peppers the visit they all know will be their last. While Gwaine and Morgana assist Hunith with packing all the supplies the new home will need, Arthur solicits Merlin’s assistance in preparing oatcakes for breakfast with the remnants of the perishables and flavoring them with herbs for good measure. While they cook, there’s a lightness and levity that Arthur has missed between them amidst all their bureaucratic responsibilities. They roughouse a bit more than usual, feeling allowed to do so after being out of the watchful eye of professionalism, which is a pleasantry outside of the distressingly growing number of oats on the ground that will need to be cleaned later.
As Arthur keeps trying to sample the oatcake batter to see if they need to season it with more rosemary, Merlin tries to side-step him and continues stirring the mixture with a vigor. As he does so, some of it flies out of the bowl to lightly spatter their clothing and some of Merlin’s face. When it does so, the sorcerer wordlessly scolds Arthur with a frown, before reverting his gaze to the breakfast at hand.
Endeared by Merlin’s all-too-serious attitude, Arthur makes plans of his own as he steps away from the counter into Merlin’s personal space with a confidence and tilts Merlin’s face away from the batter and to where he wishes it. Taking a breath to gather the remaining courage he needs, Arthur brushes the stray batter away from Merlin’s cheek, feeling his heart jump as his warlock leans into the caress. Merlin’s bright eyes flutter shut as he almost inaudibly hums in contentment, prompting Arthur to drag his thumb southward where a fleck of batter rests near Merlin’s lips. Letting the touch linger, he grazes them with a loving care.
It’s as good a moment as any for him to finally release those inhibitions that he has been carefully maintaining for all this time. He doesn’t know when he’ll next get another private moment with Merlin like this, let alone that feels so quintessentially them despite the changes they've undergone since they first cooked together in this hut. Bracing himself, Arthur begins to lean in to kiss Merlin when he’s halted by Hunith calling her son’s name and the subsequent shock of several cabinets flinging open and Merlin’s now-wide golden eyes.
The warlock weakly smiles while avoiding Arthur’s gaze as he takes a step away. Arthur opens his lips to speak but Merlin quickly shouts, “Coming, Mother!” as the plates in the cabinets and in the wash basin fling towards them in a barrage before neatly lying themselves in a tidy stack on the counter.
“Merlin, I—”
“—Need to help pack,” Merlin stammers out, shoving the bowl of batter into Arthur’s arms and taking the plate stack into his own. Each time Arthur endeavors to get Merlin to look at him, his eyes flash gold elsewhere as they dart around to add bowls to his little collection. “Finish preparing breakfast, will you?”
“You really shouldn’t be ordering your king around,” Arthur says in a huff as he rests his back against the counter and pours the oatcake batter onto the pan. “Let alone on his day off,” is also added for good measure.
“Right, of course,” Merlin says, rolling his eyes as he makes his way towards the door. Over his shoulder, he tosses, “Can you please finish preparing breakfast, my lord ?”
The shattered and subsequently magically-repaired dishware is arguably no fault of Arthur’s when he retorts, “My Court Sorcerer should know I prefer ‘sire’ by now.”
Some things never change; Merlin, despite being the world’s most powerful sorcerer, is still clumsy as ever and Arthur, despite being Albion’s preeminent sovereign, is hopelessly besotted with him. It is all rather confusing how Merlin could look deeply into his eyes and swear fealty with more conviction and love than an entire army could muster and speak of the world that they are to build together without hesitation, yet cannot handle the Arthur’s affection and attention in trying to court him.
Merlin is a commoner, yet he should still understand the purpose of a House Sigil, which Arthur could make abundantly clear if his warlock dared to ask. Thus, he wouldn’t display the de Bois one on his belt so unabashedly unless he feels something similar in that regard, wouldn’t he? It all seems as clear as day that they should be together yet Merlin still falters whenever Arthur has the strength to overcome that which would make him do the same.
It pains him, but Arthur consents to merely shower him in affection and regard as to give his beloved all the time he needs. Now that Camelot has been reclaimed, they have all the time in the world —aside from, well, everything else— to figure it all out. Besides, the druids prophecies had not been proven wrong yet, and the statue must have them both donned in coronets for a reason. In the statue, Merlin also was wielding a rather elegant new staff that only Morgana would be pretentious enough to design, so perhaps the answers would lie back home. He prays to the Triple Goddess that they do, otherwise he’s in for a long-suffering reign, at least in this regard.
Upon seeing Gwen’s ‘surprise’ for Arthur, he’s not sure if he takes back or will double down on his statement that he’s glad to have competent people in charge of Camelot. All the preparations for the investiture are ready, there’s no doubt about that but she had truly decided to go above and beyond in another regard that he’s wrestling with his feelings over: moving Merlin’s bedchambers.
Arthur was well aware there was going to be an issue with bed scarcity when they returned to Camelot simply because Merlin was too kind a person to not give up his chambers to Alice upon her arrival. While they searched for a suitable alternative, he would offer up staying with him to Merlin as the bed is large enough and they’d slept in much closer quarters before sans issue. It would have been a foolproof plan if Gwen hadn’t already known Merlin like the back of her hand and found a solution to a problem before it even arose. However, he had selfishly been hoping it would be an issue and is only slightly annoyed about it.
Then again, he expected Merlin to be placed in some quarters near the library or his former ones and not into the royal suite right next to Arthur’s with a door that was not there before installed in-between. Apparently, Gwen and Merlin’s parents found a way to improve upon the destroyed wall between the rooms caused by their little invasion. Not only that, but the former suite used for visiting royals has been completely revamped; overly gaudy and unneeded furniture has been pared down to make things more cozy and it contains a small study area and kitchenette to better suit the new inhabitant’s needs. Gwen had gone above and beyond with preparing the place and he can’t help but be dazzled by her efficiency and care to detail, which is evidence enough he made the right choice of Steward.
When Merlin sees the suite, he’s a bit overtaken with emotion, so much so that the still young plants that Gwen had placed in the room for decoration bloom into a slew of carnations. Running his hand across the bookshelves full of pertinent aritfacts and tomes and the locked display boxes with reclaimed magical artifacts for study, Arthur can see the tears start to well in Merlin’s eyes. He runs over to embrace Gwen, who is beaming with pride at the positive reaction to the work she’s done.
“This is really too much, Gwen,” Merlin says as he squeezes her tightly. “Thank you.”
“You know, nothing’s too much for you, Merlin,” she says with a nod as she releases him. “I hope you can find everything, I had the staff try to preserve things the best they could.”
“He couldn’t find anything in there before, what makes you think he can now?” Arthur retorts obstinately. He’s a bit proud of the comment too, that is, before he sees Merlin’s eyes flash gold, the wardrobe whip open, and has to subsequently dodge a boot being hurled at him.
“What was that, Arthur?” Merlin tuts, eliciting a laugh from Gwen.
Arthur lightly shoves Merlin for the physical assault, and puts an arm around Gwen’s shoulders to pull her into a side-hug. “I said Gwen did a lovely job with the place, didn’t she?” As Merlin rolls his eyes and goes to finagle with the display boxes to see what is contained therein, Arthur takes the opportunity to whisper to her, “Thank you for everything, truly. But was the choice of chambers and the door really necessary?”
“Considering you are content enough with it despite probably not being willing to ask me yourself?” Gwen says with a knowing look on her face. “Completely.”
Arthur rolls his eyes at Gwen and lets her go, knowing he has not the means to continue this discussion without it turning into an impassioned discussion about the nature of his feelings for said object of them right there. It’s not as if he isn’t going to make them known to Merlin, it’s just utterly less romantic if they are delivered in an argument over propriety and castle geography. And Merlin deserves so much more than that.
“I’ll take my leave, but you both ought to rest, given our day tomorrow,” Gwen calls as she makes her way to the door.
“We’ll try. Thank you again, Gwen,” Merlin says with a smile as he levitates a small bouquet of the now-in-bloom pink carnations over to her as she goes.
Once she closes the door, Arthur leans up against the doorframe in between their respective rooms with a frown. “So, where are my flowers?”
“Clotpole,” Merlin says with a snort as levitates the thrown-shoe back to the still-open wardrobe. From where Arthur stands, he can see all of Merlin’s usual garments hanging up —which are fashion crimes they still do need to do something about— but a stint of plush purple drapes longer and looks much more expensive than the rest. Oh.
“Arthur?” Merlin asks with a hint of confusion in his voice as he takes out the ceremonial robes from the furniture piece. “Care to tell me what these are?”
Arthur, honestly, isn’t quite sure because they surely are nothing near his original designs, but they are more well-suited to the sorcerer than he could have possibly imagined. As he envisioned on the battlements, the robes look sharp and the gold cording that ornaments the bodice, sleeve-cuffs, and hem is done in an elegant and tasteful way. On the hanger still in the closet, he can see a black cloak with parallel purple cording done up with a golden clasp, embossed with the de Bois sigil. They are perfect.
“Robes,” Arthur states, trying his best to fully form the words that do not come at the thought of Merlin donning those garments. “For your investiture ceremony,” he elaborates when he realises his first answer is lacking.
“I thought you said the sorcerer was already befitting of the court,” Merlin says, narrowing his gaze as he runs a hand over the rich fabric in his hands and approaches Arthur.
“He is— You are! But, I want the entirety of Albion to know it,” Arthur blurts out, which elicits a smile from his warlock. He believes his face to be as red as Merlin’s is turning when he continues, “I believe that these will be rather becoming on you, should you choose to wear them tomorrow.”
“The ceremony is tomorrow ?” Merlin asks with an incredulity that pulls him from his trace for but a moment.
“How else were we supposed to keep it a secret? You would have been far too self-sacrificing to let us do this for you if you caught wind of it, considering all that’s going on.” Arthur states, imploringly, to try and quell Merlin’s newfound nerves. Thankful that this sort of casual affection has become increasingly common between then, he takes one of Merlin’s hands in his and gives it a squeeze to further drive home his intent. “We wanted— I wanted— this to be special, so will you please show up tomorrow lest all Gwen’s work go to waste.”
“Yes,” Merlin says, beaming back at Arthur, which he quickly returns. After one last squeeze, Merlin lets go of Arthur’s hand and adds, “But only because of Gwen.”
“Of course,” Arthur says, shaking his head with a smile on his face. From the other side of the doorframe, he calls back, “Sleep well, Merlin.”
“Goodnight, Arthur,” Merlin says softly, before closing the door between them. Before they broke eye contact, Arthur could have sworn he saw Merlin’s eyes flicker gold, which is all but confirmed when a small bouquet of light and dark red carnations slips through as the door shuts.
Arthur reaches down and picks up the flowers reverently. He hadn’t really expected Merlin to give them to him; he never had before.
Looking into the wood of the door unseeingly, Arthur breaks into a smile, clutching the flowers close to his chest.
There is more than enough hope for them, Arthur knows it. He can’t wait to live the hope through and see it come to fruition. He sees himself, years and years down the line with flowers just like this from his warlock, his Court Sorcerer, his regent by his side.
And eventually, Arthur thinks as he puts the flowers into a vase at his bedside, they’ll both be on the same side of that door when it closes.