The Once and Future Kings

Merlin raises an unamused eyebrow at him, but before he can open his mouth to retort Arthur is already hastening to add. “I’m only surprised you manage to look so effortlessly good.”

All the words leave Merlin at once, and he’s left staring in complete bewilderment at Arthur. He can feel the blush sitting high on his cheekbones, steadily turning his entire face bright red. After a moment he manages to jostle himself and answer uncertainly.

“Thank you?”

With a satisfied nod, Arthur leaves the topic alone.

Definitely enchanted.

It goes on for days, Arthur behaving so strangely that it takes everything within Merlin not to rush him straight to Gaius. He would, if he wasn’t mortified by the prospect of where that conversation would lead. Yet it’s impossible to ignore the fact that Arthur is acting like a completely different person. Whenever Merlin is in sight he smiles in a way that is somehow both warm and strained, he refuses to respond to Merlin’s teasing, and is complimenting Merlin so much that he’s no longer flattered but just thinks Arthur might be losing his mind. He gives Merlin so little work that he ends up spending most of the day trying to find tasks to do; and when Merlin does a truly abysmal job of cleaning the floors just to see what Arthur will do he doesn’t provide so much as a single insult.

Instead Arthur offers Merlin flowers later that night, which is adorable, but is also so extremely out of character that Merlin doesn’t know what to do. He stares at the blooms sitting on his desk as he goes to sleep and can’t help wondering what inspired Arthur to think of him when he saw roses. It’s when Arthur takes his hand and actually kisses his knuckles that Merlin reaches the end of his tether. He stares aghast at the back of his hand for a moment, torn between extremely flustered at the feeling of Arthur’s lips on him, and being bewildered by having his hand kissed like a lady of the court. Arthur has moved on without acknowledging it, gone to sit on the edge of his mattress and tug his boots on, but Merlin can’t.

“Arthur, stop,” he says, the words slipping out of his mouth abruptly. “Whatever the hell you’re doing, just stop it.”

Arthur blinks, looking first confused and then unsure. “Stop what?”

“The being so nice to me and the flowers and the kissing my hand,” Merlin explains, aware his voice is climbing a little frantically as he continues.

Arthur’s eyebrows twist with worry in a way that makes Merlin want to reach out and thumb them smooth. “Stop… courting you?”

“What?” Merlin jerks horrified at even the suggestion. “No, don’t stop— wait.”

He realises with all the subtlety of a branch to the face, what has been happening for the last few days.

“Arthur,” he begins, unable to help the fondness that soaks through the name like honey into cake. “Are you… trying to court me like a princess? Is that what’s going on?”

Arthur stares at Merlin like he’s the one who’s been acting insane for the last few days and then slowly shrugs.

“I guess so?” He says, like he isn’t really sure himself. Damn it, Merlin loves this fool. “I only know how to do it like this.”

Merlin bites at his lip to try to stifle the grin spreading across his face but it’s a losing battle. He walks over to Arthur, taking his face in his hands gently so he can make sure Arthur is looking at him. He probably doesn’t need to, Arthur’s eyes follow him with reverence all the way across the room. Has he been looking at Merlin like that all this time? He doesn’t know how he never noticed it before.

Arthur’s eyes are wide and blue as he allows Merlin to tip his chin up so they’re looking at each other eye to eye, his face cupped between Merlin’s palms.

“You don’t need to do anything to be with me,” Merlin explains, trying to be as clear as he can so he knows his words won’t get lost in the cracks of Arthur’s childhood. He understands now that Arthur was just trying to love him in the only way he knows. It’s somehow the sweetest thing Merlin has ever heard and the saddest.

“Think of it this way,” he says when Arthur’s eyebrows wrinkle in confusion. “The goal of courting, the way you were taught, is to convince the princess to love you, right?”

Arthur hesitates, but nods slightly between Merlin’s hands. He knows they’re both thinking of Mithian, and how Arthur had been putting so much effort into ensuring that she saw the best sides of him, was treated to the most flattering angles of his personality and kingship. All with the intention of having her agree to marry him. “Yes.”

“Right.” Merlin smiles, leaning in slightly with a cheeky smile. “Well, guess what you simpleton? I already love you.”

He feels the blush on Arthur’s cheeks before he sees it and it’s thrilling to know he can put it there. He watches as Arthur’s lips twitch into a smile, spreading from the right corner and across his face like a butterfly’s wings opening.

“You don’t need to convince me of anything,” Merlin continues. “I don’t want you to be anything but yourself. I’m in love with you. Not the weird, sweet, frankly terrifying stranger you’ve been the last few days.”

Arthur pulls a face around his joy. “Are you saying I’m not sweet?” He asks with a haughty sniff. “No, you’re definitely not. You’re a prat,” Merlin says fondly. “A royal one.”

Arthur snorts, trying to turn his face away so Merlin won’t see the full force of his smile. It doesn’t work, he just turns his grin against Merlin’s palm. They smile at each other, giddy with happiness, and finally, this is what Merlin has been waiting for. He feels like he’s wrapped in sunbeams, warm and flush in golden joy that floats him up amongst the clouds. All he’s ever really wanted is Arthur, exactly as he is.

“You like me insulting you?” Arthur asks, raising his eyebrows in amusement. “You must have some sort of complex.”

Merlin relinquishes his hands from Arthur’s face to instead shove at his shoulder. “Shut up, if I have one, so do you.”

Arthur shakes his head adamantly. “Me? No, can’t possibly.”

“You like when I’m mean to you.” Merlin smirks confidently, leaning down and watching Arthur’s neck turn rose pink.

“What makes you say that?” Arthur still manages to ask even in a wobbly voice.

Merlin grins. “Because you love me.”

It’s still incredible to say it, to even think it is strange but to admit it out loud is even more unbelievable. He watches Arthur’s attempt at a scandalised expression fall into something soft and molten with affection and his heart skips.

“I do,” he murmurs. Merlin doesn’t bother withholding his answering smile, he isn’t sure he has the strength for it.

“So you’ll be normal now?” Merlin asks instead of acknowledging how Arthur’s heartfelt agreement makes his knees feel like they can’t support his weight.

Arthur chuckles and rolls his eyes a little. “Yes, I’ll be normal.”

Merlin nods, pleased, and turns to continue arranging Arthur’s chambers when a hand on his wrist stops him in place. When he turns Arthur has stood up and they’re chest to chest, Merlin’s hand trapped between them.

“I promise to stop being weird,” he swears, looking at Merlin with a somehow shy expression on his face. “But I do want to try doing this properly. Maybe… I could take you on a picnic?”

Merlin wishes he was sitting, his whole body feels like it will puddle onto the floor like gold melted down to make ingots.

“I’d like that,” he answers, and it’s such an understatement he nearly laughs at himself.

~-~-~

Arthur insists that Merlin doesn’t help him set up the picnic. So Merlin waits in his chambers, instructed to join Arthur in the forest at noon. He gets out a book but can’t focus on a word of it, too busy smiling into his hand and trying not to imagine what Arthur could be getting up to. He isn’t sure Arthur has ever done anything remotely close to setting up a picnic before, Merlin is usually the one to arrange it for him.

When he arrives, to his great pleasure, it’s about as much of a disaster as he anticipated.

The blanket is spread across the ground but is so rumpled it looks like Arthur had a wrestling match with it, and lost. There’s a basket at the edge and a strange array of foods laid out on a platter in an even stranger arrangement. Cheese but no bread, and not a knife to be seen, a single small cherry tart, a pile of grapes which are balancing precariously between three slices of meat, and berries, everywhere. Somehow they seem to have found their way to every corner of the blanket and even onto the grass around the picnic. There’s flowers sprinkled around, like Arthur wanted to make the scene more romantic, but for some godforsaken reason the stems are separated from the flower heads.

And standing in the middle of it, Arthur, wearing a sheepish expression and a doting face.

“I tried,” he says, embarrassment obvious in his voice as he gestures to the mess. Merlin is so desperately in love with him he could just about perish.

“It’s horrible,” he tells him honestly, and draws Arthur into a tight hug before he can react poorly. “I love it. I love you.”

He feels Arthur melt against him, pressing his forehead into the side of Merlin’s neck and breathing deeply.

“I have no idea how to arrange a picnic,” Arthur admits sheepishly, a giggle bouncing off his voice like fingers along harp strings.

Merlin pulls away so they’re eye to eye as he says, “I didn’t think there was a chance you would, but I love that you tried.”

Together they tidy things up as much as they can and then settle on the blanket side by side. There isn’t much they can do for the strange selection of food Arthur brought, but they rescue the berries and Merlin slices the cheese for them with flashes of his eyes. He needles Arthur for failing to bring a knife and Arthur does a lacklustre job of defending himself since he has eaten cheese copious times in his lifetime and should know it requires cutting.

“It’s a good thing you’re adorable, or this kind of oversight would be appalling,” Merlin tells him solemnly.

Arthur’s mouth falls open, scandalised. “I am not adorable,” he insists. “I am the king, I can’t be. If anyone is adorable out of the two of us, it’s you.”

Merlin pulls a face. “Powerful sorcerer, remember?”

Arthur snorts. “Powerful or not,” he argues, taking Merlin's arm and jostling it above the two of them, “you’re not changing my mind with these scrawny arms.”

He laughs and wriggles away from Merlin’s well aimed kick at his ankles.

“Wanna fight me to prove it?” Merlin dares, raising his eyebrows pointedly. Arthur has been improving with great strides in their sparring sessions, but he still rarely beats Merlin and they both know it.

Despite that shared knowledge Arthur blows out air from his mouth with nonchalant bluster.

“I could take you apart with one blow.”

Merlin smiles, familiarity tweaking at the back of his mind. “I could take you apart with less than that.”

Arthur blinks, clearly finding the words familiar too, before realisation smooths over his face with a quiet fondness.

“You said that to me when we first met,” he recalls in a nostalgic tone.

“I did.”

Arthur laughs, leaning back on his elbow and tipping his head to the sky. “I tried to take your head off with a mace.”

“And I stopped you using magic,” Merlin replies. He hides his laugh against the rim of his goblet as Arthur’s jaw drops and his head jerks to look at Merlin.

“You cheated!” He accuses, shoving hard at Merlin’s shoulder and nearly making him choke on his juice. Merlin’s laugh reverberates inside his goblet.

“You were going to kill me,” he reminds Arthur pointedly as he places the drink where it’s safer. He grins as Arthur looms over him with a poorly hidden smile.

“I should’ve,” Arthur mutters moodily, that smile still tugging insistently at the right corner of his mouth. “Would've saved me a lot of trouble.”

Merlin hums sarcastically. “Sure it would’ve, because you would have been dead too before the week was out.”

“I would not,” Arthur tries to protest but is stalled by Merlin’s bemused eyebrow raise. “Okay fine that may be true,” he concedes.

Arthur is still so close to him, their chests practically pressing together with every exhale and their noses only inches apart. Merlin’s heart beats with longing, and he wants to move just a little bit forward to span the distance between their lips. He waits, watching as Arthur soaks in the sight of him, flicking between his eyes and his mouth. Arthur is so close that Merlin feels his breath waver against his own cheek. He almost goes to lean forward but before he can Arthur is moving away.

He sits up abruptly with a cough, flushed all the way to the tips of his ears.

“More juice?” He asks, voice slightly off pitch.

Merlin smiles, settling back against the cushions.

“I’d love some.”

~-~-~

As much as he would like it, unfortunately Arthur cannot stay hidden out in the forest with Merlin all day.

His duties as king wait for nothing, not even a new relationship with the man he’s been in love with for years. He returns to the castle after a few hours in Merlin’s company and is immediately whisked into a slew of responsibilities. He holds an audience for two farmers in a very heated dispute over a cow of all things, something which hardly seems worth ending a lovely picnic over, but at least Arthur is grateful his people trust him enough to come to him with their daily grievances.

He is then trapped in yet another session where he desperately tries to assure the council that Nemeth likely won’t retaliate to Arthur’s slighting of Mithian with war. Yes, he is sure he made the right choice. No, he will not reconsider taking Mithian’s hand in marriage. Yes, he is aware of the copious amounts of negotiations that went into the agreement, after all, he was present for all of them. No, he will not reopen the dispute over the lands of Gedref, he offered them to Nemeth in full clarity.

The session takes hours to complete and achieves nothing except convincing Arthur that the desire he has to begin reforming the council is not only fair, but absolutely necessary. He has been thinking on the matter for quite some time, but he can see clearly now that if he has any hope of helping Camelot change as he wants to, the current system is only going to make that impossible. The current council are already reluctant to accept that he won’t be marrying a foreign princess, he doesn’t even want to think on what their reaction would be to suggesting the legalisation of magic.

He’s exhausted by the time he returns to his chambers. He and Merlin spend the evening in quiet company, and Arthur turns his thoughts of the day over in his mind. His plans for the council, his desire to amend the laws of the kingdom, the legalisation of magic. There is one thought that he keeps returning to, albeit far less crucial than the others circling like vultures. It perches on the tip of his tongue, ready to spill out as he watches Merlin snuff out the candles with a golden flick of his eyes.

They wish each other goodnight and Arthur knows this is his last chance.

“I really wanted to kiss you today.” Arthur lobs the admission like a stick, throwing it from his mouth before he can doubt himself or let Merlin leave the room. He watches as Merlin freezes, fingers stalling on the door handle.

“Why didn’t you?” He asks softly and looks back over his shoulder. His expression is somewhere between curiosity and affection, a mix which does strange things to Arthur’s insides.

The reasons are endless. He’s too much of a coward, his heart was beating too quickly to handle Merlin’s proximity. He’s wanted it so badly, for so long, that he feared somehow he would fail and lose it, and Merlin, forever. There are so many reasons he couldn’t possibly list them. All irrational and ridiculous to voice except for one.

“I’m the king,” he says nervously. “I don’t want you doing something just because you think I want it, because you don’t feel like you can say no.”

Merlin’s expression twists into one that is somehow both flabbergasted and extremely disapproving.

“You were worried about taking advantage of me?”

Arthur shrugs defensively, tucking his hands into his armpits tightly so he can’t flail around as he speaks. “It’s hard to deny a king.”

Merlin scoffs loudly, stepping towards Arthur. “Maybe for most people,” he concedes with a pinch of his lips that suggests he thinks it's utterly ludicrous. “But sweet as that is, when have I ever done something just because you wanted it?”

Arthur tries to remember a time when that was the case and when he draws a complete blank, he has to admit that is a more than fair point. Merlin quite often makes a show of doing the very opposite of what Arthur wants.

“Never.”

“And I never will,” Merlin agrees brightly.

Arthur rolls his eyes but it does assuage his fears slightly. It isn’t that he believed Merlin confessed his love simply to appease Arthur, he knew that wasn’t the case, but he had worried about overstepping Merlin’s boundaries. He doesn’t want to push too far too fast, if Merlin isn’t ready.

Merlin seems to see that fear on his face because he sighs and walks the rest of the way over to Arthur.

“Arthur,” the way his mouth handles Arthur’s name makes it sound like the most precious thing in the world and also like he’s somehow insulting him. “I have been in love with you for years. There is nothing I don’t want to do with you.”

The combination of Merlin within arms length and those words falling from his lips is making Arthur’s mind liquid. All his thoughts melt, sloshing giddily inside his head until he can barely keep control of himself. He feels his hands slip to his sides and a flush rise on his cheekbones without his assent but he can hardly bring himself to care. If he thinks for too long about what Merlin means his knees might give out, so instead he focuses upon what is in front of him.

“Then why didn’t you kiss me?” He asks as a last frantic grasp at gaining some sense back. He’s only a pace away from Merlin now and his muscles are thrumming with the urge to remove the space between them.

“Because you’re the king,” Merlin says, like it’s obvious, moving forward to lay his hands on Arthur’s chest. Arthur is half distracted by the warm feeling of Merlin’s hands through his tunic but is still able to grasp just enough clarity to scowl.

“You just said that doesn’t matter,” he reminds Merlin irately. He steps closer again, so Merlin’s hands are almost trapped between their two chests.

“It… doesn’t.”

“So why do I have to be the one to kiss you?” Arthur objects. “You kiss me.”

Merlin shakes his head, a smile twitching at his lips where he’s trying to maintain a solemn expression. He moves his hands to Arthur’s waist, his thumbs gliding over the line of Arthur’s hip bones in a way that makes him feel like he’s going to melt.

“There is no way you’re getting me to do all the work here, you can kiss me,” Merlin grumbles, his voice determined and bold in a way that Arthur adores.

“How much work is it to kiss?” Arthur retorts, smiling as he brings his hands to Merlin’s jaw, feeling his cheeks move into a smile under his fingertips.

“None, so why don’t you just kiss me?”

Merlin’s nose bumps against his, his smile so tantalisingly close that Arthur can feel the huff of Merlin’s laughter against his own mouth.

“Nope, you kiss me,” he argues, although he’s lost the thread of what exactly he’s fighting for.

“Kiss me,” Merlin whispers as Arthur’s eyelashes flutter closed, not willing to let Arthur have the last word.

Arthur isn’t actually sure which one of them ends up closing the short distance between their lips. All he knows is the feeling of Merlin’s lips pressing firm and warm against his, the way the long fingers on his hips tighten slightly as they meet, how Merlin’s jaw tips down just slightly to make it easier for their mouths to fit together.

He’s breathless from the moment Merlin’s mouth presses against his. It’s like Merlin stole all the air from his body, taking it into his own lungs and holding it there. Arthur doesn’t mind, Merlin can have it, whatever he wants, every piece of him if it's what he desires, just as long as Arthur gets to keep doing this. He feels the edge of a smile trying to bloom on Merlin’s mouth where it's pressed to his and he kisses along the slope of his lips. He presses his mouth to the crevice where Merlin’s smile is dimpling into his cheek, and then to his bottom lip, swallowing Merlin’s answering gasp like it’s the only air he’ll ever receive again.

He’d be happy if it was.

Merlin’s hands slide up his body to twist into his hair and Arthur’s stomach swoops. He lets his own fingers trail down Merlin’s neck, feeling the rapid beat of his pulse against the pads before moving to clutch at the back of Merlin’s tunic. He tries to haul him closer but they are already pressed together at every point, their chests and heartbeats meeting, Merlin’s head tipping to slot perfectly to his own.

Arthur has spent the last two years dreaming about this moment. From the very second he realised he was in love with Merlin the one thing he’d wanted was to map Merlin’s mouth with his own. None of his late night romantic musings live up to the astonishing and brilliant reality.

He isn’t sure what he imagined kissing Merlin would be like, he didn’t dare to let himself dream it would become real. What he now knows about the unbelievable reality, is that it is sweet. Merlin’s mouth isn’t forceful or ravenous against his no matter how long he’s been wanting this. He’s gentle and careful, like he wants to feel every press of Arthur’s lips, like he doesn’t want to miss a thing. It’s slow and sliding like honey, golden and shining in the sun as Arthur presses deeper and tastes nothing but intoxicating sweetness and Merlin. God it’s made all that much better by the fact that he is kissing Merlin.

When they draw apart it’s slow, Merlin pulling back reluctantly and Arthur chasing his lips to press parting final pecks there. Merlin laughs breathlessly and Arthur kisses that too.

“I love you,” Merlin says softly as he rests his forehead against Arthur’s. Every place they’re touching feels like it’s on fire, and Arthur would gladly let himself burn at this point if it means he can just stay here. He realises absently that he’s shaking. He doesn’t think he’s ever been touched like this in his life, and it’s so overwhelming it might kill him, but if Merlin moves away he might cry. It’s a strange combination, but Arthur’s already partially addicted to it.

“I love you too,” Arthur answers, and kisses him again. They’re both so caught up in each other that neither of them notices as around their feet, wildflowers bloom.

~-~-~

Arthur’s eye is going to develop a permanent twitch.

He stares down the long table at the council members across from him and does his absolute best to resist the urge to either throttle them or put his head through the wooden panelling.

“I just don’t think it’s appropriate, Sire,” Lord Sagramore sniffs haughtily. “We have procedures for who is allowed into court.”

Arthur feels a groan welling in his throat but he manages to bite it behind his gritted teeth.

“That is my very point,” he reminds them. “There are people who have the skills, the intellect and the devotion to this kingdom to make a difference in our court, but we prevent them from joining our ranks. Why?”

“It is tradition,” another man snaps. “It is what we have done for hundreds of years.”

“Just because something has been done for hundreds of years doesn’t mean that it is right,” Arthur retaliates. Merlin comes forward to refill his goblet and briefly presses his hand to Arthur’s upper spine. The short touch is enough to break some of the tension rippling off Arthur, like he was a stick being bent and Merlin’s hand snapped him into sharp relief. He offers Merlin a tight smile of gratitude but otherwise keeps his attention upon the court.

The hardest part of this entire situation is that Arthur could fix it all rather simply if he wanted to. He could remove the entire court, employ an entirely new one in its place and change the laws himself, but he doesn’t want that. He won’t strangle his kingdom with his rule, he wants to watch it breathe. He doesn’t plan to become the kind of king who forces his kingdom into change, he wants to foster it into a new era, he wants to watch it flourish, and that won’t happen if he wrangles it into submission.

He knows that the men his father employed to his court are behind, rooted in tradition and just like Uther, unwilling to be pulled forward. However, that doesn’t mean their perspectives and opinions aren’t valuable. He doesn’t want to completely upturn his kingdom, he wants to carry it onward, and that means allowing room for the men who have served Camelot’s court for decades. Their wisdom is invaluable and something that a new court of young officials could not replicate. Yet their perspective alone will not allow the change he needs. Gaius is the only one who looks entirely at ease and he nods approvingly from where he is sitting, offering Arthur a smile of support

“Think of it this way,” Arthur says before another man can interrupt, “for hundreds of years the knight’s code said that only men of nobility could become knights of Camelot. Now look at the men that we have in our service, their devotion and skill, the incredible feats they perform for our kingdom. Before we changed tradition, they would never have been able to become knights.”

The council shifts with discontent and Arthur can see that he is at least getting under their skin. A few years ago such an argument would have held no weight, but Arthur knows they cannot deny the good the new knights have done for the kingdom. Men like Lancelot, Gwaine, and Elyan, who would never have been permitted knighthood, have performed incredible feats to protect Camelot, and without their aid, none of them, Arthur included, would be ruling Camelot today. All Arthur needs in this meeting is for them to see that there may be merit in amending their ways. The kind of changes he is looking to implement can only be achieved incrementally.

“These men, these knights, they were already in our kingdom but unable to serve,” Arthur continues. “In the same way there are people who would make great advisors, people who can aid us in building a better kingdom.”

Another lord sighs heavily, leaning forward around several other men barricading him from view of Arthur.

“I appreciate your point Sire, but this woman you are suggesting is far more than just a slight step away from the tradition, it is an entire leap.”

“Next you’ll be saying women should be made knights.”

Possibly, Arthur thinks, if they will serve their kingdom well. It would only stoke the flames to say it out loud, that is a conversation for a later day. He won’t achieve any of his goals by hacking at them like an untrained page, he has to build up to the battle, taking them one stroke at a time. He takes a slow breath, letting himself feel the air expand in his lungs and deflate before attempting to speak again. The moment of pause is enough to gather his patience again.

“Guinevere is exactly the kind of person I am describing,” Arthur says calmly. “She has knowledge of the kingdom that we can only dream of, and an irreplaceable understanding of what the people of the lower town want. She has advised me before, and her words proved invaluable. Just because she is not the kind of person tradition allows to join this court, doesn’t mean that her sitting amongst us wouldn’t be of great service to our kingdom.”

The men bustle unhappily, but no one puts forward another word of opposition against Arthur, and that’s all he can ask for today.

“Consider it,” he bids them. “We will discuss it again at a later date.”

~-~-~

“This,” Merlin breaks away from a kiss to say, “isn’t helping me get any work done.”

Arthur has been taking every opportunity to kiss him senseless for the last month. Not that Merlin is complaining. Even if it isn’t the most conducive to him completing any of his responsibilities. This time he managed to snag Merlin’s wrist as he was wandering past the bed, dragging him down on Arthur and into a kiss before he could even catch his breath.

Arthur stares up at him with a disbelieving look, his golden hair flopping around his head like a glowing crown.

“Since when do you care about doing your job?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at Merlin.

Merlin shrugs. “Never a bad time to start.”

Arthur’s expression turns vastly unamused, his hands resting on Merlin’s back squeeze a little pointedly. “Now wouldn’t really be the best time to develop a work ethic,” he says mildly.

Merlin smirks down at him. “Why not? I’m not doing anything important.”

Arthur’s fingers tangle into the back of Merlin’s hair as he draws him in for another kiss. Merlin goes eagerly, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to the feeling of Arthur’s lips against his. How right it feels and also how overwhelming it is every time. He grows breathless after only moments, his heart racing against his sternum just like it is the first time again.

“Arse,” Arthur says as he pulls away, a little dazed but still managing to muster a scowl.

“Prick,” Merlin returns with an easy smile.

Arthur fingers tighten, tugging reproachfully at his hair. “Numbskull.”

“Bonehead.”

“Idiot.”

“Nitwit.” Merlin presses the insult against Arthur’s lips and swallows down Arthur’s huff of laughter like it’s nectar. It’s as honey sweet as if it were.

Arthur draws back only far enough to have space to speak. “Clotpole.”

“That’s—” Merlin tries to say but is interrupted by Arthur kissing him firmly, “still,” another kiss, “my word.”

He yelps as Arthur wraps his arms around him and rolls them so he’s the one over Merlin, his grinning face all Merlin can see. Arthur’s weight pinning him down is solid and secure, his strong arms coming to rest on either side of Merlin’s head, so he’s bracketing him in against the bed. He fruitlessly hopes that Arthur can’t tell how much the manoeuvre affected him, but pressed together as they are, he's sure he can feel his heart pounding against Arthur’s ribcage.

“Yet it suits you perfectly,” Arthur says with a smirk, kissing Merlin soundly before he can retaliate. It works more effectively than he would like it to, turning all his thoughts slightly fuzzy and warm at the edges, until he isn’t sure he remembers what he was meant to be arguing against.

They lose themselves in the slide of their lips, languid and addictive with slow pressing sensations that make Merlin’s heart tremble with pleasure. He never thought there would be a day when he would get to have this, much less have the time to indulge in it, to take his time with it. Arthur kisses in the same way he duels, with passion, fervour, but also with patience and precision. He kisses Merlin like he is determined to take him apart with nothing but the press of their mouths together. He learns all of Merlin’s weak spots and targets them mercilessly, grazing his teeth along Merlin’s bottom lip until he shivers, keeping the kiss slow until Merlin feels insane with the pace, kissing the corners of his mouth until he’s flushed completely red. It’s as though Arthur has made it his mission to learn and commit to memory all the ways he can unravel Merlin with the same dedication he applies to strategy in battle. It drives Merlin insane in the best kind of way.

Merlin is learning Arthur’s favourite things in return. He now knows that he can make Arthur gasp with nothing but his fingers tangled in blond hair and a light tug. He has discovered that Arthur loves nothing more than Merlin kissing him through that gasp, breathing it in like sweet air. He knows that attention to the spot under Arthur’s ear makes him mindless, and that if he grazes his teeth on the corner of his jaw, Arthur keens happily. He knows so much about Arthur, to be given the opportunity to learn more about the man he loves is a treasure he doesn’t take lightly.

Eventually Arthur draws back, only far enough to catch his breath, looking down with a fondness in his eyes that makes Merlin feel liquid. It’s a wonder he doesn’t melt away between the bracket of Arthur’s arms.

“Stay tonight?” Arthur offers.

Merlin is going to die, this is going to be the thing that kills him. He blinks hazily, his mind struggling to grasp onto any thought, still caught in the sensation of Arthur’s lips against his. The idea of staying, of sleeping alongside Arthur, tangled together in each other's arms is so appealing he nearly blurts out a yes before a moment’s thought. Hower, his brain manages to catch itself enough to stall him.

“I can’t,” he says realistically, reaching up to brush an errant strand of Arthur’s hair out of his face. “If I don’t come home Gaius will assume I’ve died.”

Arthur blinks, clearly not expecting that answer, and tips his head at Merlin. “You’ve stayed the night with me before,” he reminds him, clearly thinking of the few nights when Arthur’s fear got the better of him and Merlin spent the night curled in an armchair at his bedside.

Merlin nods sheepishly with a hum of agreement. “And each time I got scolded for letting Gaius worry that I’ve died in a ditch somewhere.”

Arthur’s expression twists into something caught in unsure bemusement, like he isn’t sure whether to laugh or worry. “Is that something Gaius should be concerned about?”

Merlin hesitates and the amusement falls out of Arthur’s expression to be replaced with horror.

“Merlin,” he says, sitting up on his elbows to gape down at him. He really doesn’t move far but Merlin still mourns the loss. He shoves Arthur’s arm until he flops backwards and allows Merlin to clamber back over him, pressing a short reassuring kiss to his lips. Arthur hums into it but doesn’t allow Merlin to distract him for long, pushing at Merlin’s chest until he leans back and Arthur can glare at him. “Is that something I should be concerned about?”

“I mean—” Merlin shrugs, “I told you about the time Morgause left me in chains to die in a forest, right?”

Arthur blinks up at him, and Merlin waits for him to consider the question. He presses an absentminded kiss to Arthur’s cheek, amused at the way his breath catches and he audibly struggles to stay focused.

“I’m honestly not sure,” he admits finally. “Is that terrible?”

“Nah, I told you a lot of stories at once,” Merlin dismisses, continuing the path of kisses along Arthur’s jaw to underneath his ear. He listens to Arthur’s gasp, capturing the sound and bottling it to turn over when he needs it. Arthur makes a strangled sound of agreement, clearly a little too dazed by Merlin’s proximity to fully answer him. “And a lot of them include my near scrapes with death.”

He smiles against Arthur’s skin as he huffs unhappily. “Yes I remember that much.”

Merlin brushes his mouth over Arthur’s jaw to distract him and can’t help smirking against his skin as he hears Arthur stutter over his attempt to speak.

“Uh I just— I just don’t remember all of the specifics,” Arthur mumbles dazedly, his fingers clutching at the hairs that curl on the nape of Merlin’s neck.

“Well,” Merlin says, drawing back. “Your brain is rather small, it can only handle so much information.” He holds his fingers a pea’s distance apart to indicate the miniscule size of Arthur’s brain and watches with delight as Arthur’s jaw drops.

“You’re one to talk,” he gasps, affronted, and shoves Merlin off.

Merlin hits the bed with a giggle, curling on his side to look at Arthur. He’s trying to maintain his stubborn scowl but it’s rendered completely ineffective by the sparkle of mirth in his eyes.

“You’re the worst,” Arthur decides.

“Sure,” Merlin agrees with a shrug, pecking Arthur on the nose and settling against the pillow beside him. It would be so comfortable, so easy, just to stay the night here. He can already feel his eyelids getting heavy, and Arthur’s bed is so warm and soft that the temptation beckons him. Besides, Arthur is here, an enticing heat at Merlin’s side just begging to be embraced.

He’s jolted by Arthur’s knuckles knocking playfully against his forehead.

“I won’t be held responsible for making Gaius think you’re dead,” Arthur says solemnly.

“I thought you wanted me to stay,” Merlin returns with a moody pout, shuffling forward so his and Arthur’s legs are tangled together.

“I do,” Arthur assures him, so genuinely and with such immediate certainty that Merlin’s heart leaps in his chest. “Maybe… you could tell Gaius tomorrow, and then it wouldn’t matter if you stayed.”

Merlin blinks in surprise. It has been a month since they confessed their feelings, a month of learning this new space between them and how they want to fill it. They have kept their new development only between the two of them, leaving themselves a chance to adjust to this sudden change in their own time. Even though part of Merlin had wanted to go running to Gwaine the moment it happened, he hasn’t told anyone, not even Gaius, because he knew that this is something too important to squander on gossip. He and Arthur needed this month to come to terms with what they were traversing together, without any eyes looking in.

This is the first time either of them have mentioned telling someone else, and Merlin’s heart is suddenly beating very fast in his chest. He wonders if Arthur can hear it in the quiet of his chambers, clattering in Merlin’s ribcage. It has been one thing to have Arthur confess to him, and learn to accept that he isn’t in fact living out an elaborate fantasy, but that Arthur’s feelings are very much real. It’s quite another to realise that Arthur wants people to know about those feelings, and loves Merlin enough to make it public, even just outside the two of them.

“You don’t have to,” Arthur clarifies and Merlin realises he’s been silent for too long.

“I want to,” he blurts out quickly, watching the worry on Arthur’s face be outshone by the sunshine glow of his smile. “I really, really want to.”

“Yeah?” Arthur asks nervously, like there’s anything to bloody be unsure about.

Merlin kisses him so soundly that by the time they draw apart they’re both utterly breathless.

“More than anything,” he says firmly and then kisses Arthur again.

He proceeds to tell Gaius the next day over breakfast, and possibly should have done so with a little more tact.

“I told Arthur I’m in love with him,” he says abruptly.

Gaius gasps so sharply that he inhales a spoonful of porridge. Merlin lurches to his feet as Gaius hacks loudly; he coughs and wheezes, thumping a fist to his chest until the oats finally dislodge.

“I’m sorry!” Merlin rubs at Gaius’ back as his coughs turn into a quiet clearing of his throat.

He looks up at Merlin with wide eyes, still slightly watery from suddenly choking.

“You told the king you’re in love with him?” Gaius asks, his eyebrows practically falling off his forehead with how high they’re lifted.

“He loves me too, I should have opened with that,” Merlin adds quickly as he resumes his seat across from Gaius. He smiles sheepishly as Gaius drops his head into his hands. He can only just make out the quiet sounds of the physician pleading the universe for patience.

When Gaius lifts his head Merlin offers him a nervous grin, all teeth and apology for making him choke on his breakfast.

“Let’s begin again,” he suggests.

“I told Arthur I’m in love with him about a month ago,” Merlin explains, skimming over the details but telling Gaius most of what transpired. How he shouted his love in Arthur’s face, the returning confession Arthur handed back to him, tentatively learning their changing relationship over the last month. When he finishes Gaius gets to his feet and draws Merlin into a hug.

“I’m happy for you,” he says warmly, petting Merlin’s hair.

Merlin is struck by a memory of him and Gaius in this position before. Him enveloped in Gaius’ arms sobbing hoarsely about how he loves Arthur, and believing Arthur hated him in return. They’ve come a long way since then.

Gaius draws back to look into Merlin’s eyes, squeezing his shoulders both determinedly and with affection.

“You’re completely sure about this?” He asks. “It isn’t easy to be the king’s consort.”

Merlin smiles brightly. “I’m the most sure I’ve ever been.”

~-~-~

Throughout Arthur’s youth he assumed that magic had always been outlawed in Camelot to an extent. He knew of the Great Purge, and he knew that his father played a large part in the eradication of magic within the borders of the kingdom, but he had thought magic had always been illegal. He had no reason to assume otherwise, his teachings made it clear that sorcery was the worst evil, and no one dared to speak differently lest they appear to support magic. Maybe there would have been whisperings of how life used to be outside the citadel, but to the prince they were carefully cautious of what they said.

Arthur has suspected for some time that his knowledge of magical history is lacking. He has learnt very much over the years. Through Merlin he knows that magic is capable of far more than just violence; it produces mundanities, beautiful displays, simple tricks and even defensive manoeuvres, such uses that Arthur never even knew were possible. Yet he still doesn’t know what magic’s place in Camelot was before his father, and for that Merlin cannot help him. He needs someone who was there.

Gaius reveals more than Arthur ever could have thought to imagine. According to his recount, magic wasn’t just present in Camelot before the purge, it was a part of it. The very foundations of the kingdom were built by magic centuries before. It existed in its streets, in the populace, in the very stones where its blood was spilt. It was even in its court, in the heart of Camelot itself.

“I don’t understand,” Arthur admits. “If magic was such a present part of people’s lives. How could my father have turned the entire kingdom against it?”

Gaius’ lips pinch, the wrinkles around his mouth growing taut. His eyes bow down to the table, like he wishes there were something he could use to distract him. Arthur regrets not holding this conversation in Gaius’ own chambers, if only to set the physician at ease; but instead they are sitting in Arthur’s study, the door to the main chambers closed so that even Merlin can’t overhear.

“I understand you don’t like to talk about what happened in the days of the Purge,” Arthur acknowledges, “but I need to know.”

Gaius’ fingers twitch unsurely. Against the shine of his eyes Arthur can see reflections of the horrors he witnessed, even allowed to happen. He cannot blame Gaius for being reluctant to dredge up the past when he is working tirelessly to atone for his mistakes and improve upon them. Yet it doesn’t change the fact that without the history that his father burnt to nothing but scorch marks and obscurity, Arthur cannot help the kingdom move forward.

He continues. “If I am to change things for the better now, I have to be aware of how things turned for the worst before.”

Finally, the hesitance in Gaius relinquishes. With a sigh, he folds his hands on the table and looks into Arthur’s eyes.

“Your father may not have been a good man, but he was good at controlling his kingdom. He knew what the people most wanted to hear and how to use their desires and fears to spur them into the action he wanted to see.”

Arthur nods. It has been difficult to acknowledge that his father wasn’t a good person. That as much as Arthur was raised to emulate him in every way, to heel and display obedience at any cost, he cannot do that and still follow his own morals. He had to chew himself free of the leash that was tethered to him since his birth. Yet he can acknowledge that for all his faults his father was a skilled king, his power was unquestionable.

“It’s true as I said, that before the Purge magic was accepted in Camelot. Yet it was still unknown to so many people. Camelot was rife with ignorance, and it is wise to fear the minds of ignorant men, they can so easily be turned to hatred. Uther knew it well.” Gaius’ voice begins to dwell in the past, and Arthur can imagine that he is seeing the story Gaius is weaving before his eyes. As if the streets of Camelot are rising on the desk between them and he can witness them just as they had been. “People fear what they don’t know. They questioned constantly what sorcerers were truly capable of. What they would do, if driven to it. The Court Sorcerers should have been there to help guide the king in matters of magic, but instead they were the sole source of information towards the magical populace. They were too busy offering education to have time to actually assist the king. When Uther turned upon them, the people of Camelot were all too willing to join him.”

“Surely some people would have doubted that all magic was dangerous,” Arthur protests. He thinks of witnessing Merlin’s magic and its beauty. The wonder of watching his eyes gleam like stars themself, capturing their light in his own irises. He can’t imagine that every person in Camelot could have missed the wonder magic could hold. “They would have seen it being used domestically.”

Gaius nods. “Some protested,” he reminds Arthur. “Many disagreed with Uther and attempted to speak out. Those people were dealt with swiftly.”

“They were executed?” Arthur asks, terrified to hear the answer.

“Some,” Gaius says carefully. His eyes are distant with memories that Arthur imagines he has kept locked securely for many years. “Most were threatened into silence. Often their family members were killed, rather than the individuals themselves.”

Arthur’s stomach turns. Gaius’ voice carries the burden of all his guilt and grief for the lives lost. Arthur always knew that many sorcerers died in the Purge, he had mourned for them in his own way. At times in his life he had thought it was right, and he has atoned for that as he can. He had never been able to take pride in it as his father had. That many deaths should never be revelled in.

“Most of the kingdom turned against magic quickly,” Gaius says tightly, his grief a noose that Arthur can feel around his own throat as well. “Uther’s attack forced sorcerers into defence, it often turned violent, and the king would use their retaliation as proof of their savagery. Their supposed evil.”

Arthur remembers the lessons that he was reared on. That sorcerers were cruel and malevolent, and that all they cared for was to crush Camelot in their fist. That if Arthur let them they would kill him without a moment’s thought. He remembers how his father had always pointed it out to him when attempts were made on Arthur’s life, as proof that sorcerers would only ever want his death. He had believed it so wholly, and every frantic attempt to kill Arthur had only proven their supposed guilt. Now Arthur sees that lesson for what it really was, poor, frightened and revenge consumed people who were trying to fight back after years of being executed for doing nothing wrong at all.

He understands how the people of Camelot could have been turned against magic, because it happened to him as well. Which means that like him, their opinion can be restored, with the right education.

“It’s a lot to take in,” Gaius says understandingly, reaching over to pat Arthur’s hand paternally. “Are you alright?”

“I will be,” Arthur promises. “I know where to begin now.”

~-~-~

The court of Camelot typically assembles within the council chambers, but Gwen understands today is an exception.

She, and all the other members of the court, new and old, wait outside the courtroom. Conversation is little more than a low hum as people wait in anticipation for Arthur to usher them inside. It feels monumental to be a part of this, the first court of Camelot to include not only noble men, but also women, knights and her, a maid.

Beyond the history they are making, Gwen is thrilled to finally be taking a step for herself, toward her own future. She doesn’t like being a servant in the castle, being tasked with any menial thing that needs doing, and she knows Arthur has noticed that. She never wanted to be a servant. Much like Merlin, her appreciation for her job came not from the work itself but from the bond she forged with Morgana. A relationship that she watched Morgana burn between them as if it were nothing. To lose that, and then begin working amongst every other servant in the castle, not for one particular person but for the citadel itself, is a loss she has never adjusted to.

Ever since Morgana abandoned Camelot for the second time Gwen has felt slightly lost. She doesn’t want to leave, this kingdom is the one place she has ever felt truly at home, but she doesn’t feel like she is doing what she should. She isn’t suited to life as a servant, not without Morgana.

She tried to work in the forge to earn her living, but as much as she enjoys lighting the coals again and has become quite skilled at the craft, it still doesn’t feel like her calling. She loves it, but it is more an homage to her father than a passion of her own. It brings her joy, but it is not what she was destined to do. Her mind has always been where she feels she excels, and she wanted to find some way to help the kingdom and people she cares about with the skills at her disposal, but had no way to utilise them.

She looks at Arthur as he makes his way into the room and can’t help but smile. She may not have been able to find the right path for herself, but he always knew it.

Arthur found something for her that she never would have even considered. He knew what she needed and not only nudged her towards that dream, but carved out a new space in Camelot just for her. She is changing history by just standing in this room. Gwen feels like she’s part of something bigger than herself. She is standing on the precipice of a brand new journey for the kingdom which she gets to lead the march down. She looks around at the knights, her brother, her betrothed, and her friends, and is deeply glad that they are taking this step with her. Her joy rings through her like a chorus of bells reverberating with music from the crown of her hair to the tips of her toes.

Together they are finally acknowledging that the knights who protect this kingdom should have a say in how it is defended. That servants, peasants, those like herself who live among the people, are well equipped to speak on behalf of the kingdom and its desires. She knows Camelot, and she loves it. To have the chance to help, to speak on matters far beyond herself, is something she never dared dream she would have the opportunity to do.

“Today we welcome the new court of Camelot,” Arthur announces, gesturing around at every one of them. The men that have been a part of this court for as long as Gwen’s living memory, the noblewomen who Gwen has served for years who are now able to bring their voice to Camelot’s attention, knights who have been defending their kingdom and can now do so with words as well as swords; and Gwen.

As excited as she is, Gwen feels out of place, stomach rolling with nerves as the people look amongst themselves with pleasant smiles. Some of the older men look unsure about the new additions among them, and there are the notable absences of those who stepped down when it became clear Arthur would not be dissuaded from making changes, but everyone appears eager enough to march forward together. She knows that her nerves are her mind’s making, there are other peasants among the new court, her own brother included, but still she feels like she sticks out. She is a bright green thread while everyone else is red woven together and she can’t help but feel like they all know it.

Her thoughts are drawn to an abrupt halt by Arthur’s approach. He grins, the true smile that creases his eyes like autumn leaves and glows like a shining light.

“Guinevere, would you do me the honour of accompanying me inside?” He asks, holding out his hand for her to place her own. Her nerves settle at once and she can’t help but smile back at him. Arthur knows that his presence at her side is all the endorsement she could need from the rest of the court, proof that she is meant to be here, a clever strategy. Yet more importantly, Gwen thinks that he knows she’s nervous and needs this show of his staunch support in her. He believes that she should be here, he ensured it could happen, the least she can do is believe in his decision.

“It would be my pleasure,” she answers, placing her hand in his and letting him tuck it into the crook of his elbow. Together, they make their way into the newly refurbished council chambers. The sight that greets her takes her breath and runs away with it, stretching her small smile into one that splits across her face.

What was once a simply decorated room, filled with nothing but the crests of Camelot upon the walls and a long stretching table that finished with Uther’s great throne, is almost unrecognisable. The windows have been dressed in magnificent red curtains that warm the space, and the ceiling is painted with a brilliant mural of a golden dragon arching across the sky, it seems to reside over the room like their grand protector, opulent and shining with strength. But what really captures her attention is what sits in the centre of the room. In the place where the rectangular table once stood is a huge round table, much like the one that they found in the castle of the ancient kings, but constructed so largely that fifty people could sit around it. It commands the attention of the room like a king, and every seat around the table is exactly the same.

Gwen turns to look at him and finds a proud smile on his face.

“Equality, above all things,” he says, echoing himself in the past. “I thought it was time we built upon that tradition.”

He guides her to a chair and takes one himself as everyone finds a place. Knights and nobility, wisened court members and newly appointed, all taking their rightful place at once, as equals.

~-~-~

Merlin isn’t sure what he expected from him and Arthur telling their friends of their romance, but he never anticipated them all screaming and then proceeding to rapidly do arithmetics on their fingers.

They’re standing out in the field, having just completed a session at court before Arthur pulled them all aside to share the news. The ruckus caused by the announcement turns heads. Several servants going about business across the field offer them strange looks and Merlin keeps his head low, he hasn’t told any of the other servants yet, but he imagines it will cause quite the hubbub.

Merlin watches, confused, as all of their friends ignore him and Arthur in favour of counting off something and shouting over each other. Even Gwen is in on the madness, although she first punched Arthur’s arm and shouted at him for not telling her. Leon says something about running to his chambers to fetch a parchment but is promptly shut up by the rest of them with insistence they don’t need it. Merlin just wants one of them to be quiet for a moment and explain what’s going on.

“What?” Arthur asks dumbly, articulating exactly how Merlin is feeling. He looks at Merlin for help but all he can offer is an equally perplexed shrug.

“I won!” Gwaine shouts suddenly, throwing his arms in the air and whooping so loudly Merlin jumps. He’s laughing even without fully comprehending what’s happening, endeared by his friend’s and their antics. Everyone else groans as Gwaine begins a truly horrendous victory dance.

“What is going on?” Merlin tries to ask but is completely ignored in favour of Gwaine’s celebration and the complaining of their friends.

“I’m going to be drinking well tonight,” Gwaine cheers with a smug grin lighting up his whole face as he points at Lancelot and shimmies his shoulders until the other man is laughing even around his exaggerated disappointment.

“I really thought it would take longer,” Percival says mournfully as he takes out a small collection of silver pieces and places them into Gwaine’s palm. He is mollified slightly by a dramatic smacking kiss to his cheek from Gwaine.

Merlin squints between them all, muttering and lamenting about his and Arthur’s feelings being obvious and how it shouldn’t have taken so long, and suddenly the revelation hits him.

“Were you betting on us?” He demands suddenly.

At his side Arthur, who up until that moment had seemed more befuddled than Merlin himself felt, lets his mouth drop open as together they look between their treacherous friends, who all shrug and remain entirely unapologetic.

“You knew I was in love with Merlin?” Arthur asks helplessly. Merlin takes his hand in sympathy, but he’s not quite so surprised they knew of his own feelings. He was rather poor at hiding it.

“Oh please,” Elyan says. “I think Geoffrey knew.”

“Merlin was the only one who didn’t know,” Leon adds.

Since Arthur seems too busy being absolutely appalled by the idea of Geoffrey having any interest in his love life, Merlin is the one to continue the conversation.

“What were your bets?” Merlin asks, an idea taking shape in his mind like clay moulding into something recognisable.

“A week from now,” Gwaine beams proudly. “Just before the turn of the season.”

Merlin smirks and bumps his hip against Arthur, who is finally distracted from his horror and is just as quick to seize onto Merlin’s thought.

“Were there any other guesses near yours?” Arthur asks with an air of indifference to his voice that Merlin sees right through.

“Mine,” Elyan answers with a sigh. “My guess passed a few weeks ago.”

Merlin glances at Arthur and is thrilled to see he looks just as amused as Merlin feels. He tips his head, silently offering Arthur the chance to air the revelation. Arthur smirks at him, abandoning Merlin’s hand to instead place his arm over his shoulders and draw the two of them closer together.

“You won in that case,” he says simply to Elyan, leaving space for the ensuing clamour of confusion before continuing. “We confessed a few months ago, we just wanted to have some time to ourselves before we told anyone else.”

Gwen’s jaw drops open and with a screech she descends on Arthur. Merlin ducks away with a laugh, leaving Arthur to her mercy, he might love the clotpole but he isn’t going to take his punches for him.

“What?” Gwaine asks in horrified bewilderment, looking around at all their friends like they might be able to provide answers for him. Rather than answering, Percival just silently takes his silver from Gwaine’s hand and passes it to Elyan instead.

“I knew it!” Elyan cheers, doing his own ridiculous dance of celebration that sends Lancelot into a fit of hysterics. Merlin can’t stop smiling and it seems Arthur is having a similar difficulty now that Gwen has ceased her attack on him.

“We should celebrate,” Leon suggests. “To Elyan’s success.”

“More like all of our freedom from having to witness the most obnoxious pining in existence,” Percival says with a smile. Merlin fails in biting back his guffaw of laughter. Even being the subject of the joke, it’s always difficult not to laugh with Percival, he only chimes in at the most opportune moments.

“Meet at the tavern tonight?” Gwen asks with a smile from where she’s wrapped up in Arthur’s arms.

“Bring me my winnings!” Elyan shouts.

Merlin expects more money and is fully prepared for the rest of their friends to arrive at the tavern with their coin purses in tow. What he isn’t prepared for is Leon heaping a pile of silk sheets onto Elyan’s lap, or Gwen dropping a heavy, elaborate sword onto the table with a clatter.

“What even is this wager?” Arthur asks the question before Merlin has the chance.

The answer comes in a chaotic stream of information that Merlin struggles to follow but has him laughing and chiding them all nonetheless. Gwaine is strangely silent for all of it until Elyan seems to notice this and points at him with such fervour Merlin is worried he’ll take an eye out.

“Oh no you don’t!” He shouts. “I’m not wasting my day of silence on a day that’s already half over. I’m saving that for a rainy day.”

Gwaine laughs loudly, letting out a loud gasp as if he was holding his breath all this time rather than his voice. “Oh thank goodness. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to hold my tongue tonight of all nights.”

Conversation quickly turns to the craftsmanship of Gwen’s sword and Merlin takes the opportunity to slip away. Honestly, he needs to make some friends who aren’t so obsessed with weaponry. He goes inside to fetch him and Arthur each an ale from the barmaid. When he returns, conversation is somehow still on the sword, but Arthur’s attention flicks to Merlin the moment he sets the ale down. He turns to smile up at Merlin, an expression which quickly turns to an eye roll when Merlin hands him Arthur’s own coin purse.

“You can spare the coin, Your Majesty,” Merlin teases. “Now budge up.”

Arthur scoffs but does as Merlin instructs, shifting over on the bench seat so Merlin can slip in beside him and under his outstretched arm.

“You’re going to be insufferable now, aren’t you?” Leon groans, gesturing between them with his own tankard to emphasise his point.

“Ah because their helpless mooning after each other was so much more bearable,” Gwaine says with a grin.

Merlin smacks a loud and dramatic kiss to Arthur’s cheek in retaliation, as Arthur hides his smile behind the rim of his tankard. Their friends chorus a horrified assortment of gags and retching that makes Merlin laugh. It shouldn’t feel so good to be teased by them, yet it makes Merlin radiant with joy. It feels good to have Arthur grab his chin and pull him into a kiss just to make Leon complain about his eyes being defiled; and to sit enwrapped in his warmth and periodically have Gwen roll their eyes with deep fondness at them.

“Listen,” Gwaine says with a wiggling finger under Arthur’s nose. “You better be appreciating what you have.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow, his fingers rubbing circles into Merlin’s shoulder. “Of course I am.”

“I’m just saying.” A coy expression takes Gwaine’s face. “I know you’re getting it good. So just remember, you may have him now, princess, but I had him first.”

Merlin strikes out his foot and is pleased at Gwaine’s loud yelp as he makes contact with his shin. Arthur, who made the mistake of lifting his ale to his lips, almost chokes.

“Pardon?”

Gwaine just winks. Merlin drops his face into his hands.

The night passes in laughter and shouting over each other. The others tell him and Arthur stories of when they were most obvious in their respective feelings, while the two of them try their best not to let the other hear. At one memorable moment Arthur nearly stuffs Merlin entirely under the table to avoid him hearing Gwen’s tale of him lamenting Merlin’s eyes and their specific sparkle. He gets his own revenge much to Merlin’s mortification when Gwaine starts telling tales. Merlin is relieved that Elyan’s impaired hearing means they always need to take the table outside so he can follow the conversation, as at least they aren’t disturbing the other patrons of the tavern with their raucousness. Most of them have meetings the next day so they don’t drink much, excluding Elyan who is apparently making the most of Lancelot’s wager, and Gwaine who is of course keeping up with him. Yet together they manage to keep up a continual cacophony of joy that makes Merlin feel almost like he is drunk on happiness.

Arthur smiles at him, like he just can’t help it. So Merlin kisses him again for the sake of it, for the fact that they can and grins against Arthur’s laughter as their friends jeer at them.

~-~-~

Arthur manages to withhold himself from mentioning anything until the end of the night. He ignores it as they laugh their way through drinks with their friends. He doesn’t mention it as he and Merlin lace their fingers together on the table and his heart pounds with happiness. He drags Merlin to his chambers with a hand on his wrist, not entirely sure why they even bother to pretend Merlin would be returning to Gaius’ chambers when he spends most nights with Arthur anyway. It isn’t until they are preparing for bed when he finally broaches the topic.

“Did you really lay with Gwaine?”

Merlin glances up in surprise, his fingers stalling where they’re unbuckling his boots. He sits up for a moment, scrutinising Arthur like he’s trying to understand why he’s asking. Arthur isn’t entirely sure himself. He might have expected to feel jealous, but he doesn’t feel that way at all. Instead there is something under his skin that he can’t ignore. A heat that has been ignited ever since he first realised he loved Merlin, and then quickly realised he was not as averse to the idea of sexual encounters as he had previously thought. At least not when he isn’t forcing himself to imagine it with women.

“Yeah,” Merlin answers cautiously. “Just the once, when he first came to Camelot.”

Arthur nods, still waiting for that impending jealousy that doesn’t seem to arrive. He feels nothing more than a prickle of dissatisfaction at the idea of Merlin touching someone else, kissing someone else. He doesn’t want Merlin to be with anyone but him, but he knows that Merlin loves him, and he knows that there is no reason to fear Merlin choosing to be with someone other than him. Especially not with Gwaine, his friendship with Merlin is far too strong for that to be of concern. Instead of jealousy, what he feels is nervous, itching inside his chest and down his arms, rising like goose pebble under his skin.

“So you’ve…” he feels absurdly nervous, he never feels this way with Merlin. “You’ve laid with men before?”

“With a few,” Merlin admits. Finally, there’s the spark of jealousy he was waiting for. It ignites hot in Arthur’s belly, and he is torn between wanting to guard Merlin from the rest of the world and being woefully terrified by what this information means for his own ineptitude.

“You haven’t,” Merlin says in a way that isn’t a question, but rather a simple observation, delivered so calmly that if Arthur wasn’t so on edge it might not have even scratched at his nerves. Before he can even begin to get uncomfortable Merlin steps into his space and Arthur’s thoughts blur into something hazy and easier to grapple with. He loops his arms over Arthur’s shoulders and leans close so they’re nose to nose.

“No,” Arthur agrees, taking comfort in Merlin looking at him with such patient, warm understanding. “My father was quite insistent on me waiting until after marriage.”

Merlin snorts. “That sounds like Uther,” he remarks. Arthur is more than a little baffled by how calmly Merlin is responding to the entire situation. “Can’t have any illegitimate royals running around.”

“Unless they’re his own,” Arthur mutters and Merlin seems delighted by the joke. It does something to soften Arthur’s anxiety into something more malleable, welcoming to this conversation no matter how awkward it may be. That also could be due to the pads of Merlin’s fingers toying with the soft hairs at the nape of Arthur’s neck.

“Good news,” Merlin whispers like he’s imparting a great secret upon Arthur. “We won’t have that problem.”

Arthur’s heart skitters in his chest, bouncing between his own ribcage and Merlin’s where they’re resting against each other. He feels warm under his skin, flushed, and is suddenly struck back to the first few days after discovering his feelings where he laid on the floor because the force of those new feelings were too much to handle. Alongside his longing is anxiety, so tightly tangled he isn’t sure he could separate them if he tried. Before he can even try to stuff that feeling away Merlin sees it, and somehow understands.

“We can wait until we’re married if you want,” he says, his hands coming forward to rest against Arthur’s jaw, holding him gently but firmly in place.

Arthur blinks in surprise. “Don’t you want…” he doesn’t know how to finish the sentence but Merlin takes it up with ease.

“Oh no I want,” he promises surely and there is something so hot and longing in his eyes that Arthur feels dizzy with the sight of it. “I wasn’t lying when I said that there is nothing I don’t want to do with you.” He brushes Arthur’s hair out of his face. “But only if and when you want it.”

Arthur has to kiss him for that. The kiss is needy and deep from the moment it begins. So immense that Arthur has to grab at Merlin’s shoulders just to keep himself upright. Merlin pushes forward immediately, opening his mouth under Arthur’s like he’s been waiting all this time just to be kissed by him again. It’s addictive and Arthur is hopelessly drawn to it. When they part they’re both breathless, leaning their foreheads together in an effort just to find the air for their lungs. Merlin giggles a little and Arthur can’t help but kiss the sound as it leaves his mouth.

“What was that for?” Merlin asks once he’s found his voice again.

“I just…” Arthur begins and then feels embarrassment wriggle under his spine like a horde of ants trying to get free.

“Tell me what you’re thinking?” Merlin asks. “Please?”

“It’s ridiculous,” he says, just to put off the inevitable a little longer. Arthur couldn’t deny him if he wanted to. He would seize the skies for Merlin; to tell him what he is thinking is nothing.

“You’re always ridiculous, it’s second nature to you,” Merlin teases and it shouldn’t comfort Arthur to hear the insult, but it does. It could be something to do with Merlin’s proximity to him, or the normalcy of their constant pestering each other, or maybe it's just the gentle affection in Merlin’s eyes. He sighs and digs his fingers into Merlin’s hips reprovingly just to watch him twitch.

“I always thought I would wait until I was married to do… anything,” he explains and Merlin nods. Arthur takes comfort in the way Merlin’s arms loop around his neck again, the weight of them a solid anchor in the trembling turmoil of a vulnerable conversation. He continues, “and that always sounded easy to me, because I never wanted anyone before.”

“Because you thought you had to want women?” Merlin guesses and Arthur pulls a face even though he’s absolutely correct. Merlin chuckles at whatever expression twists Arthur’s mouth and kisses him softly, his lips gentle and lingering in a way that melts the rest of Arthur’s reservations about this conversation.

“I want you,” Arthur admits as they pull apart. The words fall out of him like a breath and he’s helpless to stop them. Merlin makes a wounded sound and drops his head onto Arthur’s shoulder; they're so close together that Arthur can feel the heat of his cheeks against his own neck.

“This is all just very new to me… I need us to go slowly.”

Merlin lifts his head to nod fiercely. “Whatever you need,” he says firmly with a kiss to Arthur’s cheek that makes him flush.

“What I need right now,” Arthur decides. “Is to get you in bed.”

Merlin raises his eyebrows with a grin. “I thought you just said you wanted to take things slow?” He says cheekily.

Arthur flicks him in the ear and is delighted by Merlin’s responding affronted noise.

“In bed to sleep, Merlin.”

All he receives as an answer is a grin and a kiss, and he is helpless to stop himself from grinning in return.

~-~-~

“Absolutely not,” Merlin determines immediately, exactly as Arthur anticipated.

He wraps his arms around Merlin’s waist, drawing him close. Merlin comes with him easily even as he pouts spectacularly, draping his arms over Arthur’s shoulders and letting them rest there like it’s second nature.

“You are the king’s consort,” Arthur tries to argue but Merlin pulls a petulant expression and slumps in Arthur’s arms so he’s forced to hold him upright. “You have to wear nice attire, worthy of your station.”

“There’s nothing wrong with what I wear now” Merlin says grumpily, still leaning heavily on Arthur’s arms.

He raises an eyebrow, trying to decipher whether Merlin is being serious or not. He might be madly in love with Merlin but he has never once lied about the utterly horrific state of his clothes. He knows Merlin can afford better, he just doesn’t think he wants to put in the effort.

“I think you owned this tunic when you first arrived in Camelot,” Arthur says with a pointed tug at the fraying fabric. He watches in amusement as Merlin opens his mouth to argue and then realises that Arthur is right and closes it again.

“What does that matter?” Merlin demands. “It’s served me well.”

“It’s so threadbare I can almost see through it.”

“You don’t want to see under my clothes?” Merlin teases and Arthur doesn’t need a mirror to know he’s flushed. He clears his throat but it does nothing to gather his wits better, if the smirk on Merlin’s face is anything to go by.

“The rest of Camelot doesn’t need to,” he argues, glad that his voice comes out clear and even. Merlin groans and slumps his head against Arthur’s shoulder.

“I don’t want to wear poncy fancy attire like you do,” he grumbles, the words muffled into Arthur’s supposedly poncy tunic.

“Gwen and Lancelot’s wedding is fast approaching,” Arthur reminds him despairingly, running his fingers through Merlin’s hair. “You can’t come dressed in one of your atrocious neckerchiefs.”

Merlin lifts his head with a scowl and Arthur kisses the shape of his frown fondly.

“What’s wrong with my neckerchief?”

“Merlin, it would be an insult to strangle someone with this.” Arthur tugs gently on the back of the horrendous rag Merlin is currently wearing. Merlin looks scandalised and Arthur soothes the insult with a kiss to his cheek.

“Would you just trust me?” He begs. The conversation has lasted at least an hour at this point, on and off, and he’s starting to feel desperate. He loves Merlin in every state, but his clothing is atrocious and he refuses to surrender this argument, they will keep going until Merlin relents. He knows it will happen eventually, it’s only a matter of time. “A few tunics and hosen, nothing more.”

He waits as Merlin glares at him, knowing he’s already won. He had won from the moment he first brought it up to Merlin and they are both fully aware of that fact. As much as Merlin is putting up a fight, Arthur has been giving him clothing for years, some hand me downs, some attire he’d had made for Merlin which he pretended wasn’t. None of it has ever been elaborate, but it’s clothing nonetheless. Arthur may love Merlin, and he does, helplessly, hopelessly, but he refuses to be on Merlin’s arm to Gwen and Lancelot’s wedding in the awful attire he currently wears. He is the king after all, he has to maintain some sense of decorum.

“Fine,” Merlin sighs and Arthur kisses him soundly before he can change his mind.

Merlin proceeds to complain his way through the entire process of being fitted and measured by the royal seamstresses. He pouts and grumbles until he’s finally set loose in the castle and Arthur deals with the actual arranging of the garments. He can’t help but be a little smug when the clothing is finally completed and delivered to his chambers.

“What is that?” Merlin demands as he enters Arthur’s primary chamber and discovers the pile of clothing on Arthur’s table.

“Breakfast,” Arthur deadpans with a roll of his eyes and nudges Merlin towards the garments. “Go on, have a look.”

Merlin approaches the pile of clothing the same way one would proceed towards a snake preparing to strike. He lifts the first tunic doubtfully and his expression quickly falls into something akin to admiration. Arthur hides his smirk behind his hand, knowing it’s far less smug than it should be and more endeared as he watches Merlin run his thumbs over the fabric.

It’s midnight blue, made of a simple but well crafted linen that ripples in his hands. Arthur instructed the seamstresses to keep any embellishments simple and unobtrusive, and they have chosen a silver lining that curls on the lapels of the tunic and the cuffs of the sleeves. Merlin hesitates and then peers through the rest of the pile. They’re all of a similar make, unassuming designs in shades of blue, mauve, tyrian purple and a red that was a self indulgent choice on Arthur’s behalf.

“Alright this one is too extravagant,” Merlin says in a voice that suggests he’s trying to be grumpy but can’t quite make it work. He lifts up the coat that Arthur had tailored for him. It is more elaborate than the rest of the garments, though still not as embellished as the clothing that typically adorns Arthur. The torso is a velvet blue, with puffed silken shoulders, lacing that trails up the sleeves and gold coloured buttons up the centre seam. Arthur’s mouth is a little dry just at the idea of Merlin wearing it.

“It’s for special occasions,” he explains, tipping his head fondly at Merlin as he throws a disgruntled expression over his shoulder. “For example, our best friends’ wedding?”

Merlin grumbles but does at least concede the point by setting the coat down again, running his finger over the velvet like he can’t quite believe it’s real.

Merlin’s eyes finally catch on a small pile to the side of the tunics. “What are those?”

“Also for you,” Arthur says, sliding over the square fabrics, each silken with simple embroidery around the edge. “Neckerchiefs,” he explains when Merlin only stares wide eyed at them. He knows that Merlin feels most comfortable with his neck covered, not least of all because of the scar that runs along the back of his neck from where Gaius had to remove a beast from him. His ratty rags have to go, but he would never make Merlin reimagine his style entirely. Even if he would prefer to see Merlin’s collarbones at all hours of the day. He wants him to dress more to his station, not to change.

“I don’t know what to say,” Merlin murmurs quietly.

“You could start with, you were right,” Arthur suggests in a teasing tone, wrapping his arms around Merlin’s waist and hooking his chin over his shoulder so they’re looking at the square of fabric in Merlin’s fingers together. “You’re so smart, Arthur, I should have trusted you all along,” Arthur mimics Merlin’s voice terribly just to feel the way his chest trembles as he tries not to laugh.

“That doesn’t sound like something I would say,” Merlin mutters, turning around in Arthur’s grip so they’re face to face.

Their close proximity allows Arthur to see the thin ring of gold around Merlin’s irises that he discovered a few months ago. They’re a small reminder of the power Merlin holds within him, so indistinguishable from Merlin himself that it is easy to miss. He’s magical, even when he’s performing no enchantment.

“Oh Arthur you’re so brilliant and handsome and you know me so well,” Arthur continues impersonating Merlin, thrilled when Merlin decides to shut him up using his own mouth. He hums happily into the kiss, trying to chase it when Merlin leans back after only a short moment.

“I suppose that might be true,” Merlin admits, running his knuckles over Arthur’s jaw in a way that makes Arthur’s breath tremble.

“Which part?” He asks shakily.

“All of it.”

Merlin kisses him again, and in it Arthur can feel the thank you that Merlin won’t say out loud. That would mean truly admitting Arthur was right, and he’s far too stubborn for that. The thought shouldn’t fill Arthur with such affection he feels like floating to the ceiling but there it is. He smiles into Merlin’s kiss and lets himself feel utterly enamoured.

Their first kiss had been sweet and addictive, but since then Arthur has come to learn that while Merlin can kiss sweetly, he also kisses like he has something to prove. He presses deep into Arthur’s mouth, firm and demanding until Arthur’s knees weaken. He sags into Merlin’s arms, letting him tip him back slightly so the inch of height Merlin has on him is further pronounced. Months of Merlin’s lips on his, and he still isn’t used to the dizzying rush of it. Arthur isn’t sure he ever will be.

“You got me a red tunic,” Merlin says smugly when they draw apart. His eyes twinkle with mischievous cheek as he smirks down at Arthur, like he knows exactly how much Arthur has longed to decorate him in Camelot’s colours and prove just who he is loved by.

Instead of answering Arthur grabs him by his stupid ears and hauls him into another kiss.

~-~-~

Merlin climbs into Arthur’s bed and sighs happily, sagging back against the plush mattress. Even after so many nights spent in Arthur’s company he still isn’t used to such a luxurious comfort, but he’s beginning to resent his own bed on the admittedly rare nights he returns to Gaius’ chambers.

He watches as Arthur shucks off his tunic and dumps it unceremoniously on the floor. He glares at Arthur from his position buried amongst the lavish amount of pillows.

“Don’t leave that there,” he warns. “Put it in the wash basket where it belongs.”

Arthur smirks and makes no move to retrieve the abandoned tunic. “That’s your job,” he reminds Merlin. He climbs onto the bed and balances himself over Merlin, so he’s smiling smugly down the line of his straight nose, tantalisingly close but not yet leaning in.

As the spring nights are getting warmer Arthur has taken to sleeping in only his breeches. The sight is hardly surprising to Merlin anymore, he’s seen Arthur unclothed almost every day since his first in Camelot, but it’s another thing altogether to have all that warm skin pressed up against him, and to spend the night circled in Arthur’s bare arms. It’s still enough to make Merlin’s mouth a bit dry with Arthur engulfing him like this.

He shoves his desire aside to continue the conversation but does curl his fingers around Arthur’s wrists where they’re bracketing around his head.

“You’re lucky you’re gorgeous,” he says solemnly, “or I wouldn’t let you get away with such horrid manners.”

Arthur lifts an eyebrow pompously. “You don’t let me get away with anything, Merlin. I’m the king.”

Merlin shrugs. Arthur being the king has certainly never monitored his behaviour before, it matters even less now that he has Arthur’s favour so firmly wound around his finger.

“So what?”

As expected Arthur lets out a sigh that is more fondness than exasperation. “The treason that falls from your lips is—”

“— Attractive?” Merlin interrupts to suggest. “Swoon worthy? Your favourite thing about me?”

Arthur’s expression falls into a smile that is all endearment as Merlin talks and Merlin feels it curling in his stomach like the warm luxurious flames of a freshly lit campfire.

“Something like that,” Arthur mutters and leans down to kiss Merlin before he can even open his mouth to respond. Merlin’s hands are quick to curl around Arthur’s jaw, drawing him in and encouraging the kiss to turn deep and gasping in moments. He loves the way Arthur turns pliant under his touch, melting into him until he can’t hold himself up anymore and the weight of his body is pressed on Merlin’s. He loves knowing that it's him that has this effect on Arthur, that he can make him shiver with just his hands trailing down the lines of his shoulder blades and gripping tight to the strong bulk of his shoulders.

“I’m serious about the tunic,” Merlin whispers into Arthur’s mouth. “I’m not picking it up for you.”

“Uh huh,” Arthur intones disbelievingly and brackets Merlin more firmly against the pillows.

This time it’s Arthur’s hands turn to explore and they move along Merlin’s body in a way that steals the breath from Merlin’s lungs. His palms trail down Merlin’s arms, smoothing over his tunic, leaving paths of heat in their wake. He touches reverently to Merlin’s chest, his waist, the divots of his hips, everywhere his hands fall seems to become molten. Merlin feels like he is becoming nothing but liquid heat under Arthur’s ministrations.

Arthur’s hands slip under his tunic, and Merlin’s heart leaps as Arthur’s thumbs smooth over the plane of his trembling stomach. Arthur draws back from the kiss as Merlin’s breath hitches.

“Is this okay?” He asks, caution making his voice quiet and gentle.

“Yes,” Merlin laughs breathlessly and continues to stumble out a list of affirmatives so quickly it makes Arthur laugh too.

“Shut up and kiss me,” Merlin grumbles, pleased when Arthur does exactly as he asks. When Arthur tugs gently at Merlin’s tunic he happily shifts to help him divulge Merlin of the garment. It falls to the floor but Merlin doesn’t hear it, his every sense is consumed by the sight of Arthur’s eyes fixed upon him. He’s looking at him like he’s a marvel, lips caught in a half smile like he can’t believe he’s allowed to even look upon Merlin and he’s treasuring the opportunity. His eyes follow the line of every scar on Merlin’s body and track the dips and rises of Merlin’s muscles.

Merlin isn’t a particularly insecure person. His body isn’t toned like a knight’s but he has enough muscles to get him by. He’s skinny and tall, but it’s certainly never turned away men before. He isn’t ashamed of his scars, they’re proof of what he’s conquered, but he also knows they aren’t exactly flattering. He’s indifferent to them now, they simply are a fact of his body.

The way Arthur is looking at him now makes him feel entirely beautiful in a way he never has before.

Arthur’s fingers trail down his side almost absently, like he needs to feel Merlin’s muscles trembling under the calloused pads.

“You’re so…” Arthur breathes and then kisses Merlin instead of completing the sentence, but he doesn’t need to. Merlin feels it in the desperate way he presses into Merlin, the love that is pressed into the spaces between them. I love you, Merlin thinks and he tastes it on Arthur’s tongue in answer.

The kiss breaks but Arthur’s lips don’t leave him, they graze along his cheek and press kisses down the line of his throat. Merlin makes a broken longing sound as Arthur’s mouth opens over his Adam’s apple. His hands flutter over Arthur’s shoulders, unsure where to grip to ground himself when he’s sure he’s moments away from floating.

Arthur makes a distressed sound. “Your damn collarbones,” he groans in a desperate voice that strikes a match deep within Merlin. He presses his open mouth to the jut of said collarbones and Merlin can’t help the gasp that escapes him.

“Christ Arthur.” He grabs at Arthur’s hair almost for purchase and feels the huff of Arthur’s amusement against his skin.

Arthur’s lips move down, exploring Merlin’s body like a traveller adventuring across new terrain. He kisses along the line of Merlin’s collarbone and follows the path to the muscle of his shoulder. His mouth grazes the jagged scar that begins at the top of Merlin’s chest. It’s a strange sensation, but a pleasant one, Merlin’s fingers tighten on Arthur’s hair as he moves along the line of the scar. He follows its path over Merlin’s torso, pausing as it crosses the mottled flesh that Nimueh burned at the centre of Merlin’s sternum.

“I wish I could have protected you from this,” Arthur whispers, so soft it is like he is saying it to himself rather than Merlin. As if Merlin is hearing his quiet regrets, the ones not meant to be shared but kept tight to the chest.

“I was protecting you,” he answers. He gentles his touch on Arthur’s head, smoothing his fingers over the spun gold. Arthur’s eyes flick up to him, burning with devotion and love that Merlin knows are reflected in his own.

Arthur bends his head and kisses Merlin’s chest, right in the centre of the twisted scar and Merlin’s breath rushes from his lungs all at once. He doesn’t have much sensation where the burn mottled his skin, only the memories of the pain he experienced that day years ago, but it hardly matters. He feels the gentle brush of Arthur’s lips like lightning striking the dry wood of his body, it cracks him open and electrifies him. Arthur lingers there for a moment, pressing kisses to the edge of the wound, along the worst of the burn, to the twisted mess of where a bandit’s blade tore the already ruined flesh. He adores it as if it is something to worship.

When Arthur finally moves on, Merlin is dizzy with desire. He’s no stranger to this kind of intimacy, he shouldn’t feel weak and flustered, like it is his first time falling into bed with someone. But this is Arthur. It’s rendered completely different just from the fact that it’s Arthur’s lips upon him, undoing him like deft fingers untying the drawstrings of Merlin’s whole body.

His own interest is stirring and he can feel Arthur’s as well where he is pressed against him, but that isn’t what this is about. This is just Arthur mapping Merlin and he does so with the reverence of a cartographer. Arthur touches him like all he wants, all he needs, is just to be touching him. Merlin breathes and lets Arthur explore, lets him traverse the plains and valleys of Merlin’s body. When Arthur’s mouth drags along the line of the scar on his forearm he practically keens. When he returns again to his collarbones Merlin weakly jokes about Arthur having an obsession with them and Arthur just hums. The vibration feels like it will shake Merlin into tiny pieces.

Arthur never dips below Merlin’s navel but his hands are hot against his hips and Merlin doesn’t need more than that. He just wants Arthur, in any capacity, in every form and way and space. Arthur smiles against his stomach because Merlin had giggled from the ticklish sensation, and Merlin thinks that tonight this is all they both need.

~-~-~

Lancelot hears Merlin enter the room from where his head is between his knees. There’s a silence, where he assumes his friend is staring at him, and then Merlin’s warmth is at his side as he shuffles to sit beside him.

“That seems like a reasonable reaction,” Merlin remarks, like he can see nothing strange about Lancelot holding his head between his legs and trembling only moments before his wedding begins.

“I’m going to be sick,” Lancelot answers weakly. He would be embarrassed, were he admitting this to anyone else, but Merlin knows him better than most.

One of Merlin’s hands comes to fall on his back, rubbing a soothing pattern up and down his spine until the urge to vomit over the grass eases into a simple stomach cramp.

“I know it isn’t cold feet,” Merlin says knowingly and Lancelot is hit by a wave of gratitude that he understands these things so easily. “So what’s going on?”

“I love her so much,” Lancelot despairs and though his voice trembles it's only with the force of that emotion rippling through him. “I want this so much that I’m terrified, does that make sense?”

Lancelot has loved and lost so much that for a time he started to doubt whether it was a good thing to love at all. He left Gwen because he thought he would ruin her, and because he truly did not believe he could give her the love she deserved. He lost his parents when he was only a babe, and his uncle when he was fourteen, and then so many people from his village when it was later attacked just before his arrival in Camelot. He had felt for a time like he was cursed, that if he let someone into his heart he would inevitably hurt them. He believes better than that now. Gwen has helped him see that he is not doomed, and that he does not doom those he loves in return. Merlin has helped him realise that too, and Arthur, and each of his friends in turn. He is lucky to have them all and to know that how deeply he cares for them is reflected back at him in a perfect mirror. At times however it is still frightening to acknowledge how much love he feels.

This is part of that he knows, but also different. It isn’t really fear but simply love itself, so strong it feels like a hurricane ready to sweep him into the sky. He loves Gwen, and he is excited to have the chance to spend the rest of his life with her. After all they have endured with and for each other, this is the least of what they deserve, and it is so thrilling it feels like it is too much to handle.

Merlin snorts. “That makes too much sense,” he answers vaguely. Lancelot turns his head and raises his eyebrows in a silent bid to continue. He and Merlin have always been kindred spirits in their love, their experience with it. Merlin may have waited longer for the culmination of that love, but if there is any person who would understand the torrential expanse of Lancelot’s emotions right now, it is Merlin.

“I nearly fainted when Arthur said he loved me too,” Merlin tells him, in a voice that is a clear invitation for Lancelot to laugh. He begins to smile and bolstered, Merlin continues. “I was so overwhelmed by joy that I started shaking. He hugged me and I nearly exploded, if I was getting married…” Merlin shrugs and gestures to Lancelot’s current predicament, his head still resting on his knees and his hands tucked by his feet. “I’d be in a similar position.”

“I’m sure this will be you eventually,” Lancelot answers confidently, watching the bright flush of Merlin’s cheeks in response to his words.

“Ease up there,” Merlin says. “Your marriage first.”

Lancelot is struck with another wave of joy, but this time instead of making his stomach flip nauseatingly he feels it zip through him like he is dry tinder struck by a flash of lightning. The smile that breaks across his face makes Merlin laugh again.

“Smitten fool,” he murmurs fondly, and claps Lancelot hard on the back. “Come on, you’ve got the girl of your dreams to marry.”

He stands on wobbly legs, his heart fluttering in his chest like a bird preparing to take flight for the first time. Behind them he can hear the murmuring sounds of their guests gathering in the garden. They chose to host a small affair for the ceremony itself, with only their closest friends and family and a larger feast organised by Arthur after the fact. Lancelot is glad they did so, he feels nervous enough without the pressure of a crowd’s attention upon him, and this is a moment he only wants to share with the people he loves most.

Merlin leads Lancelot to the front of their small gathering and their friends' smiling faces watching him eases away the last of Lancelot’s nerves. He can hardly believe that he is here, finally able to marry the woman he has loved since the moment he saw her. He still remembers the day that Merlin led him to her cottage, and the way the door had swung open. He was awestruck from the moment he first laid eyes on her. Her skin was warm and glowed in contrast to the soft pink of her dress, and her dark hair was twisted messily into a bun that allowed Lancelot to see the curve of her jaw. A dumb man could have known she was a beautiful woman, but what struck Lancelot at the time was the effortlessness of that beauty. The moment she smiled was when he first fell in love with her.

It was like experiencing the sight of a rose after a lifetime of only seeing daisies. Every man or woman he had ever admired before paled in comparison to her. He still thinks that now. He could be in a room of the most beautiful people and still find her the easiest to admire, the most wonderful.

As she is led towards him now he feels like he is seeing her for the first time again. He is once again struck with that awe of the most stunning woman shocking him with her presence. The air gusts out of him at once, his heart skips and dances in his chest. He falls in love.

The front pieces of her hair are pinned back out of her face, her curls floating like angel’s wings down her back. She’s wearing her best dress, a pink bodice and bunched skirt decorated with her own embroidery in green thread. Lancelot has always admired the garment on her, but then again, he would find her beautiful in nothing but a sack. As she comes closer he can see the way her eyes glitter with excitement and how her smile keeps growing on her face like it's uncontainable. Her fingers are clenched on Elyan’s arm as he leads her to Lancelot’s side. Lancelot wonders if like him she feels like she needs to be tied down so she won’t go flying into the heavens with the force of her elation.

When she’s close enough they seize each other’s hands, her calloused fingertips squeeze tightly around his palms. He squeezes back.

The wedding itself passes in a daze of happiness, like he’s spinning with joy and is left only with the giddy memories left behind. He clings to the sensation of Gwen’s hand in his, to the lilt of her voice as she promises herself to him, and the wobble of his own vow to honour and love her for all time. It’s the easiest thing he has ever sworn, simpler even than his vow to protect Camelot.

He has loved Gwen for every second that he has known her, and he cannot wait to love her for every moment to come.

~-~-~

Gwen is so happy she doesn’t know how to even behave. She feels fit to burst, like her joy is brimming within her and ready to overflow in a fit of giggles or a jig of glee, she can barely move, stunned into stillness by how incredible she feels. She stands in the midst of the feast, now transforming into a dance as people leave their food behind to instead mingle and draw partners onto the floor.

She watches her new husband as he throws his head back and laughs at whatever Merlin whispered in his ear. She can hardly keep her eyes off him, it is like her gaze has been stitched to his. Even when they are drawn apart to mingle and talk with the people who have gathered to celebrate their union they still manage to find each other with their eyes. Gwen smiles when he looks over as if sensing her watching him and his entire face brightens until he’s practically shining. They have no need for candles in this room, her love could light the entire castle with a smile like that.

Gwen has been to dances in the main square where everyone rushes in a circle, laughing and weaving their bodies through each other like they’re crafting a tapestry. She’s also attended balls, where she serves wine to those nobles who are parched from their twirling in perfect synchrony. This is nothing like either of those instances, it is an affair filled with nobility, yet also with people like her. It is like they are blending worlds together, the one Gwen has lived and the one she has observed, finally meeting in the centre.

Naturally Lancelot dances with her first, they spin their way through the first few pieces of music. The smile on her face is a perfect pair to his, and when they tire she kisses him sweetly on the lips. Elyan takes her hand next, and they sway without much rhythm. It's always been hard to fall into step with each other, so for tonight they just grin and hold onto what they have now.

When the song ends Elyan draws her into a tight hug and whispers only loudly enough for her to hear. “Father would be so proud.”

Tears sting her eyes as she looks into his warm face. “He’d be proud of you too,” she tells him honestly. It wasn’t always easy for Elyan to earn their father’s pride. Love was simple, Tom overflowed with it, but her brother and father could never see eye to eye. Tom wanted them to make safe choices while Elyan was determined to make the right ones.

“Tonight is about you,” Elyan deflects, but she sees the sparkle of gratitude in his dark eyes and that’s enough.

She’s only just slumped into a chair when a palm extends in front of her. She looks up and sees Arthur smiling fondly down at her, his hand waiting for her to take and his body bowed over at the hips.

“May I have this dance, my Lady?”

It strikes her suddenly that for the first time the title is actually appropriate. Earlier in the evening, right after the ceremony came to a close Arthur stole her and Lancelot away to offer them a gift.

“It’s a piece of land,” he explained as Lancelot read over the parchment with quick eyes. He handed it to Gwen when he was done but she was far too dizzy with shock to take in the words. “It isn’t much,” Arthur assured them. “Just enough to build a small estate, not even for people to live on the land, but it would mean you would officially be Lord Lancelot and Lady Guinevere… if you’d like. Of course you don’t need the titles to be officials in court, but I thought you might like them anyway.”

Gwen looked at his nervous expression, and the state of his stumbling words and realised that he was truly worried about their reaction. He wanted to do something kind for them but was so frightened of getting it wrong.

She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him tightly to her. They were so closely entwined she felt his huff of laughter against the side of her head. His arms were warm and solid, and not for the first time she was pleasantly surprised by how natural he made the embrace feel.

“Thank you,” she said intently, squeezing him impossibly tighter.

“It’s my honour,” Arthur promised.

She meets his eyes now, using her new title with a warmth that crackles like a hearth lit on a cool winter evening. She takes his hand without a moment’s hesitation, letting him pull her out into the throngs of people dancing again. The music is an upbeat jilting tune and Arthur immediately throws her into a spin that makes her laugh wildly.

“Shouldn’t you be dancing with your official consort?” Gwen teases as he pulls her back to him, moving them into something more organised.

He makes a dismissive sound. “I can dance with Merlin whenever I like. I’ll spare myself for a while longer before he trods on my toes.”

Despite his words Gwen watches as Arthur’s eyes find Merlin in the crowd. He’s giggling with Gwaine in the corner, looking very becoming in his blue velvet jacket and new trousers. A white silk kerchief is tied around his neck. She admires the way Arthur’s smile turns slightly softer, like a candle’s wax under a flame, just at the sight of his love.

“I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” she pouts to distract herself from the feeling of the many eyes upon them. The entire night she has been watched intently, as the bride it is hardly a surprise that she has garnered most of the attention, but dancing with the king as she is, it seems as though every head is turning her way. Arthur ignores the watchful gazes with the kind of practice only someone who grew up with this kind of attention upon him can possess.

“It’s been months since we told you,” Arthur says despairingly. “When will you forgive me?”

“Considering I listened to you moon and pine over Merlin for years, and I wasn’t the first person you told?” She raises an eyebrow accusingly and watches Arthur squirm sheepishly. “I’m going to lord it over you for a few more months yet.”

Arthur makes a face that suggests he would like to protest but knows he has no leg to stand on, and instead twirls her until she’s wheezing with laughter.

~-~-~

Merlin spends Gwen and Lancelot’s wedding giggling with his friends, eating far more than is advisable, trying not to cry over the sight of his friends happily married and, eventually, dancing with Arthur.

“Everyone is staring at us,” Merlin mutters unhappily into Arthur’s shoulder.

He can hear the smirk in Arthur’s voice when he answers. “They’re probably trying to work out how one person can misstep so many times in a simple waltz.”

Merlin stomps on Arthur’s toes on purpose this time.

“They’re probably judging me for my gaudy jacket,” he decides, even though they both know the real reason everyone is watching them. “I look ridiculous.”

It isn’t true. The jacket fits him brilliantly, and the vivid midnight blue of the velvet makes his eyes gleam in a way Merlin hadn’t known was possible. Still admitting that out loud would be conceding Arthur was right, and that’s something Merlin will never do.

Arthur doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead he presses his lips to the shell of Merlin’s ear where he knows it’s sensitive and murmurs, “you look handsome,” in a low voice. Merlin stumbles and steps on Arthur’s foot again without meaning to. He doesn’t apologise on principal. Especially not when he can feel the rumble of Arthur’s chuckle in his chest.

Merlin draws back to scowl at Arthur’s smug face. It’s more difficult than he would like not to smile when meeting Arthur’s glittering eyes but he just about manages it.

“Maybe we should get you dance lessons,” Arthur mocks, making a great show of avoiding Merlin’s feet as they step in time together.

“You’re an arse,” Merlin responds decisively. “No, you’re worse. You’re a donkey’s arse. The arse of an ass.”

Arthur snorts and it’s upsettingly becoming.

He leans in and presses a kiss to Merlin’s lips. It’s chaste, nothing but the sweet and short meeting of their mouths, but it still makes Merlin’s heart flutter. It is disconcerting to have so many people watching him, to be gawked at by nobles he’s served for the last seven years and certainly never noticed him before. But it’s worth it for this, to be able to be with Arthur openly. He has loved Arthur for years in secret, it’s wonderful to finally be able to do it where everyone can see them.

“I love you,” Arthur says warmly, still so close that Merlin can feel the words parting the air between them.

“I love you too,” Merlin admits easily, trying to put upon an air of reluctance about the whole thing, as though his love for Arthur isn’t one of the simplest parts of him.

“Even when I’m an arse?”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Especially then.”

~-~-~

Life can only go smoothly for so long before a dark force would eventually rear its snarling head.

Morgana is still out there somewhere, having never been recovered in the wreckage of her last assault on the castle, and they have heard whispers of her travels across the lands. Faint murmurs of plotting, of her scouring in search of something dangerous and unknown, and gathering forces for her cause. Their kingdom still has enemies out there, they may be growing fewer as Arthur’s strength and power becomes known, but they remain nonetheless. They cannot afford to grow complacent even in their era of peace. Merlin knows that, as does Arthur, and so even in their new period of joy they are careful to remain cautious.

Still, Merlin isn’t ready for the knife in his stomach.

At first he almost doesn’t react, too stunned by the shock of pain dug under his ribcage to do much more than stumble. It is Gwen who screams, grabbing at Merlin and staunching the bleeding as Lancelot rushes forward to incapacitate the assassin. Merlin’s hand comes up to touch the wound and he finds it hot and sticky. The initial pain was a surprise but now that he’s looking at the sight of his own blood against the skin of his fingers he feels the true ache.

Every shift is agony, moving the blade inside him until his vision is clouded with white that threatens to consume his vision entirely. The wound is only in his stomach but he seems to feel it everywhere, throbbing at the base of his skull, crackling along the lines of every rib in his chest. He could swear that the blade is scraping along his spine, shaving it down with every breath he dares to take. He tries to steady his breaths but they seem pierced by the blade, unable to be inhaled or exhaled while the knife is impaling him.

He needs the knife out, now. Any notion of sense has fled his mind, he just needs this devastating pain to cease. Merlin whimpers as he tries to grasp the hilt to remove it and Gwen stops him.

“Careful,” she urges him. Her tears shine in the evening light. They had been having such a good night too. Merlin mourns the stew he won’t be able to share with her and Lancelot and the peaceful evening they would have had together.

His hands tremble as he grabs at her wrist, trying to steady himself. The pain is unbearable now, spreading like a plague through his body, bruising his bones and making his muscles cold. He tries to curl on himself, anything to relieve the intrusion from his body, but there is no escape.

His vision is blotted with black, like spots of ink falling into his eyes. He can only see part of Gwen’s face, but it’s enough to recognise the true terror there. He feels weaker than he has in a long time, like it has been months since he last slept, like his whole body has aged a hundred years. He trembles and is only half aware of his legs giving in and dropping him to the ground.

His magic is clustering around the blade still dug deep into his torso, like it is trying to reject it from his body. It doesn’t help stop the agony which is so immense that even breathing is a labour. Every breath that he dares to take blinds him, like he is being battered over the head by some invisible force. The sensation is hot, like his blood is alcohol and the blade is a flame that burnt it alight, starting a fire that ravages through his body, wild and scorching his very sinew to ash.

“Focus on me,” Gwen begs and her voice is thick with tears. She says something else but it is lost in the pain pounding at Merlin’s eardrums. He knows somehow that the pain is wrong, maybe something Gaius told him once, his thoughts are too thick to truly grasp and remember, like tar they stick to the inside of his skull and refuse to be drawn forth. The agony is spreading now instead of being concentrated around the intruding blade but in his shoulders, his lungs, behind his eyes. He could swear that the pain should be centralised on the dagger plunged into him, rather than everywhere, encompassing every fibre of him. It shouldn’t be hurtling throughout his whole body, yet his twitching nerves feel like they are being torn in every part of him.

“I love you,” Merlin slurs, in case he doesn’t get the chance. Gwen sobs loudly, and shakes her head, her hands are trembling against his stomach as she tries to catch his blood. “Tell Arthur the same.”

Merlin doesn’t even get to hear her reply, as darkness topples him into its endless depth.

~-~-~

“Where is he?” Arthur shouts, throwing Gaius’ door open and flying into the room. His heart feels like it is going to beat its way right out of his chest. It thumps wildly inside like it might split his ribs and skin open on its way out of him.

Gaius shushes him, moving about the room like a bird unsure where it is safe to land. As always he manages to still look controlled even with Merlin half dead on the cot, but Arthur doesn’t think he has ever seen the physician so pale. In any other situation he might take the time to comfort him, but instead Arthur runs to Merlin’s side. His skin is a sickly shade of white, like a lily just before it passes its time and begins to wilt. He is drenched with sweat and with every breath he shivers slightly; it reminds Arthur of the scene that met him when Merlin drank poison for him. They had barely been friends at the time, and yet he had been forced to watch Merlin swallow down a death meant for Arthur, just to keep him safe. Before today Arthur would have called that day the most frightening experience of his life, but looking at Merlin now he thinks that his younger self didn’t even know how terrifying life could become. To lose Merlin then would have been devastating, as he was the only person who cared about Arthur, but to live without him now would be like trying to go on without air.

“What happened?” Arthur rasps, clinging to Merlin’s hand. It is hot and sticky with sweat despite the way shudders wrack his body every few minutes.

“He was stabbed with a dagger forged in an emulsion of enchanted nightshade,” Gaius explains as he brings over a bowl of tincture and begins to rub it into Merlin’s chest. His eyes are intense and focused upon his ward, rather than Arthur, as he speaks. “Potently poisonous and fatal to almost anyone. I should think it is only the strength of Merlin’s magic that allowed him to survive.”

Arthur’s throat closes for a moment and he has to lower his head to keep his dinner from hurling.

“Will he be okay?” He asks in a weak voice. He sounds as wrecked as he feels, like he has been shredded into pieces and it is only sheer will keeping his words and body together.

Gaius looks at him then, and offers Arthur a meagre smile, tight with his continuing fear but sure. “Miraculously, yes. An ordinary man could never have survived it, but Merlin has always been extraordinary.”

Arthur’s relief is blinding, a tunnel that shaves his entire world into just the sight of Merlin’s ribs rising and falling under the bandages. He will survive.

“Thank god,” he whispers. He lifts Merlin’s hand to his lips and kisses the clammy knuckles reverently.

The sudden alleviation of his terror is like a wave crashing through his body, scouring everything else away and stripping his skeleton to the simple raw sensation of relief. All he can do is cling to Merlin and hope he isn’t also swept away in the wave of desperate gratitude. Tears sting his eyes and burn at the back of his throat. He fervently wishes just to hear Merlin’s voice and to know that he is alive, but to know that he will recover is enough for now. It is more than he could dream of.

“Who did this?” Arthur demands once the shock of his relief has crashed through him. The words swim through the tears brimming inside him, created by both gratitude and terror that hasn’t yet let go of him yet.

“Odin,” Leon’s voice says from the doorway. Arthur looks over and sees both Leon and Elyan entering. Both of their faces are taut with fear but they manage to maintain a semblance of professionalism nonetheless. Arthur imagines that is the only reason Gwaine isn’t here, like him, he is too unable to separate his love for Merlin from what needs to be done.

In Leon’s hands is an ornate dagger Arthur doesn’t recognise, and he brings it forth for the king to see. Arthur doesn’t move from Merlin’s side but he inspects the blade in Leon’s grasp. On the hilt of the small dagger is indeed Odin’s family crest, embossed upon the pommel for any man to see.

“Why would he claim this assault?” Elyan asks. “Surely a reckless attack reflects poorly on the kingdom?”

Arthur shakes his head, tears stinging as they gather in the corners of his eyes. “He would want me to know it was him who took Merlin from me.”

He hollowly explains the faults of his youth, the young son of Odin whose life he took before his time. The revenge the king of Estrangor has sought ever since, and how it has led to him now trying to take the most important person from Arthur. As he speaks he lifts Merlin’s hand to his forehead, holding his thumb to his ever beating pulse to remind himself he still lives.

Far too close. Any less power inside him and Merlin may have been killed today, gone forever. All for the crime of being Arthur’s most beloved. It makes Arthur’s stomach feel weak, that just loving Merlin is enough to put him in danger. A younger him might have blamed himself, believed this was his fault, but instead the anger inside him finds Odin as its target. How dare he try to take Merlin from him? Arthur has done nothing wrong in finding someone to truly love, it is only Odin’s quest for revenge that has endangered Merlin.

Arthur smooths black hair off Merlin’s forehead, watching over his sleeping face for nearly a week until he finally wakes. Day by day his skin grows healthier, although he doesn’t lose the scrunched pain gathered between his eyebrows. Arthur sits vigil at his side, only leaving when he has no other choice; no one disparages his decision. Finally, after nearly ten days of suffering at the enchanted poison’s cruel hand, Merlin stirs.

His breathing shifts first, then his nose scrunching and wiggling, and finally his eyes lethargically blink open. Arthur’s name leaves his lips in a rasping voice, like he’s calling for him despite being no louder than a whisper. Arthur answers his call without a moment of hesitation.

“I’m right here,” he assures Merlin, squeezing his hand and coming to lean over him in the hopes Merlin won’t try to move. Of course just to be contrary Merlin attempts anyway, hissing when his shifting pulls at the still fresh wound in his stomach.

“Ouch,” Merlin intones deadpan and drops his head back into the pillows.

“Ouch indeed,” Arthur teases around the ache of relief in his throat. Merlin still looks like he wants to get up and try moving again, so Arthur traps him between his hands, moving his fingers softly over the planes of Merlin’s face. “You scared us.”

“I thought I was going to die,” Merlin admits in a tight voice that shows just how scared he was.

“So did I.” Arthur swallows thickly, running his thumb along the soft skin under Merlin’s eye. “It was a poisoned dagger, Odin’s doing.”

“Eye for an eye, lover for a son?”

“Something like that.”

They stare at each other for a long moment. Each taking a chance to just breathe and slowly take relief from the fact that Merlin is still here, still able to take those breaths and share them with Arthur. It is something Arthur swears not to take for granted from this moment and onwards.

“Never do that to me again,” he orders, his words firm but he knows mellowed by the way brushes his thumbs over Merlin’s temples and runs his knuckles along the line of his jaw.

Merlin snorts and thankfully settles under Arthur’s soothing.

“Next time someone tries to stab me in a marketplace, I’ll tell them you said not to.”

Arthur smiles easier than he has in over a week. “See that you do.”

~-~-~

It takes Merlin a number of weeks to recover from his near brush with death, but eventually life returns to normalcy again. Just as they cannot expect to always remain entirely safe, neither can they live in a state of fear at all times. Merlin heals completely and goes back to work and to annoying Arthur. Meanwhile Arthur is still king, and has many duties to attend to, which unfortunately don’t come to a close just because there was an attempt on Merlin’s life.

He goes back to his endless meetings, trying to find a way to bring magic back to the land, and receives visits from lords all around the kingdom to report the state of their estates. Beyond important duties there are the tedious ones, like approving upcoming entertainment for feasts and getting his damn portrait painted.

It is a boring process that Arthur has never enjoyed, largely involving a lot of sitting still and staring at nothing, getting lost in his own thoughts and wearing his most stiff and decorative clothes for hours at a time. When he was a child he had found it even harder to bear and the agony was usually followed by a punishing lecture from his father for being difficult about the whole thing. Now it’s just the boredom that gets to him, but it doesn’t make them any less necessary.

He’s only had a few painted since Merlin arrived at Camelot, but his presence does make sitting as the artist painstakingly documents his face easier to bear. Arthur listens with a smile as Merlin tells him ridiculous stories to try to make him laugh and move. He rambles about Gaius’ latest medical endeavours and the dinner Gwen cooked for them the night before and his plans to go into the lower town to buy some bread, with a promise to bring a guard this time. It’s all mundane and ordinary, yet Arthur finds himself enthralled anyway, and the hours of stillness manage to pass relatively smoothly.

When he’s set free he and Merlin return to Arthur’s chambers side by side.

“If I never had to sit for another portrait it would be too soon,” Arthur complains bitterly as he lets Merlin through the door.

“Ah but then we wouldn’t have excellent works of art like that one of you in the Western corridor,” Merlin returns with a blithe smile.

Arthur scowls at him as he shrugs off his cape and throws it across one of the sitting room chairs. The portrait of him in the Western corridor was done when he was eighteen summers old, and the artist had decided to depict Arthur astride a horse. It was possibly meant to make him appear strong, but he really just looks like someone shoved a stick straight up his arse.

“I hate that one,” he grumbles. Then sighs in relief as he pops open the button around his throat and is able to freely breathe for the first time in hours.

Merlin smirks. “I dunno, I think you look dashing.”

He’s certain that Merlin is teasing him but it doesn’t stop the compliment from flushing his cheeks, something that Merlin observes with a cheeky smile.

“You’re blushing,” Merlin informs him proudly.

“Shut up,” Arthur grumbles, crowding Merlin against the nearest post of his bed. Merlin doesn’t seem particularly penitent for teasing Arthur as he loops his arms over Arthur’s shoulders and presses a short kiss to his lips.

“You won’t be so smug when it’s your turn to get your portrait done,” Arthur reminds him. He gets treated to watching the proud expression slip from Merlin’s face.

“I’m not getting a portrait done,” he says in a truly horrified tone.

“You will,” Arthur corrects. “When we’re married you’ll be a royal, and royals get portraits.”

Merlin’s mouth is hanging open aghast and Arthur kisses the slope of his cheek in delighted amusement as he waits for Merlin to collect himself.

“So sure I’ll say yes?” Merlin eventually asks, evidently to distract from the topic of portraiture but Arthur allows it.

He raises a disapproving eyebrow at Merlin. Someone who didn’t know him as well might miss the amusement gathering at the edges of his lips trying desperately to spread into a full smile, but not Arthur.

“So sure I’ll be the one to propose?” Arthur counters with a reproving pinch to Merlin’s hipbone.

Merlin actually considers this for a moment, his fingers tapping absently at the top of Arthur’s spine where it cradles his skull. “I think you have to be,” he says thoughtfully. “I’m not sure that I can welcome myself into the royal family.”

Arthur is honestly distracted by the idea that Merlin has thought enough about the prospect of them marrying to know Arthur is the one who needs to propose. The thought is so inconceivably good that it takes up all the space in his mind and leaves him with nothing left to answer Merlin. He makes a sort of choked noise and watches a smile spread across Merlin’s face.

“Disappointed?” Merlin suggests, leaning in as much as he can with Arthur still pressing him back against the bedpost. “Were you hoping to see me on my knees for you?”

Arthur feels a familiar jolt of pure heat rush through him. It warms his whole body, tingling in his fingertips and coiling hot and hungry in his stomach. Usually he would feel it and leave it to cool into something more temperate and manageable, at least while he was not yet ready to chase the fervour and risk getting burnt. However, none of the fear that usually chases on the passion’s heels arrives, all he feels is longing and desire, as tempting and enticing as the lap of water on a sweltering day. Today, he wants to follow the sensation and see where it takes him.

Arthur leans closer himself, until his words graze against the shell of Merlin’s ear the way he knows Merlin likes. “And if I was?”

Merlin draws back so quickly that only Arthur’s quick reflexes stop him from smacking his head against the bedpost. “Seriously?”

“Maybe not that right now but… I want you, if you want?”

He can’t help smiling at the way Merlin’s own grin stretches across his face.

“If I want,” Merlin repeats with an incredulous note to his voice that suggests he thinks even the idea there is doubt in Merlin’s desire is ridiculous.

Arthur gasps as Merlin’s hand drops to the small of his back and presses so he is encouraged to step even closer. They’re pressed together from shoulder to hip and Arthur can feel the evidence of Merlin’s interest beginning to stir.

“You want this? Now?”

“Please,” Arthur murmurs, tipping his chin ever so slightly so the agreement and plea is given in the form of a brushing kiss.

It’s strange. Merlin has undone Arthur’s breeches countless times before, but it feels different this time. His skilled fingers are familiarly quick with the laces and sure as they draw the fabric down over Arthur’s hips. Yet the hunger warming his eyes as he admires the skin beneath is different. The longing smile that bows his lips has Arthur feeling breathless as he’s stripped to just his smallclothes. It feels new and exciting, the kind of wild sensation he wants to take the hand of and run with. So he does.

He grabs Merlin by the hips and reels him in before he can move towards the bed, kissing him hot and open mouthed. He can taste the excitement in Merlin’s kiss, like sparks skittering between their tongues. Merlin's fingers grip at his shoulders, caught between shoving Arthur towards the mattress and clinging to him so he can’t move even an inch away. As they kiss Arthur’s fingers stray to the lacings of Merlin’s breeches; he can feel Merlin’s arousal against his knuckles, and he eagerly swallows Merlin’s shocked gasp, pleased with the sweet taste of it in his mouth.

He’s quickly distracted.

“What the hell is wrong with these,” Arthur grumbles unhappily as the laces tangle around his fingers and with each other in bizarre ways. Merlin laughs and bats his hands away to try to fix the problem Arthur created.

“I should’ve known you’d be useless at this,” Merlin teases as he works to unknot the worst of the tangle. Arthur isn’t actually sure how he got them so muddled.

“It isn’t my fault,” Arthur protests. “Your breeches are overly complicated.”

Merlin snorts and it should be an unflattering sound but it isn’t. It just isn’t when it’s Merlin. It only makes Arthur want to draw the laugh out of him again and again and again.

“They’re normal breeches.” He lets them fall to the floor and Arthur drinks in the sight of his legs and then more of him as he pulls his tunic and smalls off too.

“They’re not, they’re complicated,” Arthur insists as he pulls off the last of his own clothing.

Merlin shoves his chest so he topples back onto the mattress and then clambers over him. Arthur’s heart is fluttering within him like the fast moving feathers of a bird’s wings and like them he feels like he could soar. He smiles against Merlin’s mouth as soon as he leans in.

He hadn’t known what to imagine when it came to finally experiencing this. When he was young his father had told him in no uncertain terms that he could never chase pleasure with a woman. That for him, a prince and someday king, his touch must be confined to marriage. He had found that easy to reconcile in his mind, as he had never craved pleasure the way others seemed to. He didn’t know what he could want, so he wanted nothing at all. He didn’t think of pleasure at all. Until Merlin.

The realisation that he loved Merlin was followed quickly by several other revelations. That he not only was in love with Merlin but wanted him, that he had always wanted other men but hadn't known what to envision. The desire that he had been waiting for finally caught up to him, and for the first time he imagined finding his own pleasure with another person.

When Arthur had allowed himself to picture this moment actually occurring with Merlin, he hadn’t known what it would be like. He had feared that he would fail in some way. Merlin might expect him to perform in a way he didn’t know, or he might be disappointed with Arthur in contrast to other men he had laid with. He worried that it would be a formal affair, courteous and pleasurable, yes, but separate somehow from who they are.

The reality is laughter pressed into each other’s mouths. It is the sight of Merlin’s eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as Arthur reaches down. It is Merlin touching him in return and giggling when Arthur’s hand falls still at the sudden thrill of the sensation against him. He hadn’t known this could hold so much laughter, but it’s so right he isn’t sure how he could have imagined it otherwise.

“Useless,” Merlin teases fondly, and the word is gentle with affection rather than mean spirited. His hand moves slowly over Arthur and the love in his eyes is like melted gold as he watches the reactions to his ministrations.

Arthur opens his mouth, meaning to retort in some way, but all that leaves him is a breathless chuckle and Merlin’s name. He watches the smile it draws across Merlin’s lips and can’t even be embarrassed.

Merlin was the first person to really welcome Arthur’s touch. He made Arthur feel like he could reach for him just for the sake of it, just because he wanted to. He has always nudged Arthur with his elbows, toyed with his hair, bumped their shoulders together, until it felt normal for Arthur to do the same. He let him realise how much he wanted the warmth of another person, and how much he longed for the feeling of being held. He once believed that touching Merlin didn’t mean anything, but that was never true. It meant everything.

When he was younger he didn’t understand that something being easy didn’t mean it wasn’t important. Merlin has always made touch easy, and this may be a new sensation, but that feeling is the same.

It feels easy to reach out, to learn the velvet sensations of Merlin’s skin under the palm of his hand. Their hands roam each other, drawing patterns over their bodies, seeking more and more. Arthur smiles as he brushes his fingers over Merlin’s stomach and watches him tremble. He admires the way Merlin’s head tips back when Arthur finds a rhythm he likes. He reaches the peak of his pleasure and crests over it with Merlin’s name pressed to his lover’s shoulder. Then he watches in awe as Merlin follows with a gasping laugh on his lips and gold washing his eyes.

Everything around Arthur’s rooms begins to lift and float, as if leaves caught on a gentle breeze. Arthur giggles a little at the sight of it, his joy rippling through him like a brook tumbling through the forest.

“Why are you laughing?” Merlin nips grouchily at Arthur’s jaw, clearly unwilling to lift his head yet.

“How you managed to keep your magic a secret is a mystery to me,” Arthur says fondly, running his fingers through Merlin’s hair as he comes down.

Merlin lifts his head with a perplexed frown, reddening when like Arthur he sees the objects of the chambers dancing in the air. Arthur admires the way his flush rises up his chest and neck.

“That hasn’t happened in a long time,” Merlin admits as he lowers everything to its rightful place again. Arthur feels oddly proud of himself.

“Don’t go getting a big head,” Merlin mutters with such an endeared quality to his voice that Arthur can’t help but grin smugly. “It’s only because I love you so much that it’s stupid.”

Arthur beams and nudges his nose against Merlin’s. “We can be stupid together.”

They kiss, but it’s more like pressing their smiles together. It’s odd, and messy, and perfect, and Arthur has never been happier.

~-~-~

Merlin looks up, already on his way to smiling as Gwaine bounces into the room singing his name out loudly. Gaius lifts his head with a bemused eyebrow raise but otherwise goes on with his work. He’s well used to Gwaine interrupting the peace at any moment of the day.

“I thought you might wanna go grab a bite to eat?” Gwaine suggests.

Merlin grimaces. “I would but I’ve gotta go and grab some herbs for Gaius.” He lifts the satchel in his hands higher to show that he was only moments away from leaving.

“I would set you free of the responsibility but I can’t fetch them myself. My hips aren’t what they used to be,” Gaius says apologetically.

“Not at all!” Gwaine waves away Gaius’ concern with blasé ease. He throws Gaius a smile that is immediately replicated by the old physician. They’ve always gotten along well, but Merlin has noticed that their fondness for each other only seems to have grown since being imprisoned by Morgana.

Gwaine turns back to Merlin. “I’ll join you for your walk if you like?”

“I’d love that.”

They set off together, Merlin walking at a leisurely pace and Gwaine marching along beside him, gesticulating wildly as he tells Merlin the tales of the week. Mostly involving Percival and sheets.

“You don’t have to tell me everything,” Merlin reminds Gwaine after a particularly lewd detail. He’s not sure he’s going to be able to look Percival in the eye tomorrow.

Gwaine shrugs loosely. “It’s trading information. I tell you about me and Perce now, and I expect you to come running to me the moment his Majesty falls into bed with you.”

Merlin bites at his cheek in a vain attempt to hide his blush from Gwaine but his friend sees his flustered expression before he can reign it in.

“Shut up,” he gasps, staggering back with a hand clutched in false modesty. “You can’t be serious.”

“A few nights ago,” Merlin confesses, feeling heat creep up the back of his neck.

“So that’s why I felt the earth tremble,” Gwaine says sagely. “History was being made.”

Merlin snorts and stalks ahead briskly. His mortification is hot in his ribcage but the smile on his face is wide which is only encouraging Gwaine as he bounds beside Merlin.

“It isn’t that big of a deal,” he protests weakly. It’s a shameful lie, he hasn’t stopped thinking about the feeling of Arthur since the moment they fell together. It feels like something beautifully inevitable finally coming to fruition.

The expression Gwaine directs at him expresses the full extent of how much he disagrees.

“You have literally been in love with this man as long as I have known you,” Gwaine reminds him. “You finally shacked up with him and you’re trying to convince me it’s not a big deal?”

Merlin buries his head in his hands with an agonised groan but Gwaine doesn’t relent. “How was it? Be honest this time.”

He makes a pitiful sound into his palms. “It was amazing,” he admits woefully as he lifts his head. He can’t help his mind recalling the feeling of Arthur’s hands on him, the way his eyes had glimmered as he watched Merlin, like he was the greatest thing he had ever seen.

Gwaine whoops, seizing Merlin by the shoulders and jostling him around like a limp doll. “Yeah it was!” He cheers with such genuine excitement it makes Merlin’s cheek ache from the force of his smile. “Now give me details.”

“You don’t need details,” Merlin protests.

Gwaine ignores him as he holds his two index fingers together and then proceeds to move them apart slowly, as if measuring a short distance. Or something else. “Say when,” he instructs.

A bark of laughter splutters past Merlin’s lips and he shoves Gwaine so hard he almost goes staggering into a bush.

“You’re depraved,” he chastises as he does his best to stifle his grin.

Gwaine just shrugs as he recovers from nearly falling headlong into the shrubbery. “Guilty.”

For all his embarrassment Merlin can’t help being glad that Gwaine pokes this kind of information out of him. He’s spent too many years keeping secrets and he has never enjoyed lying, no matter how good at it he may be. All his secrets are becoming hard to keep track of, and Gwaine has always been the kind of friend to not allow him to bear a burden alone for long. Merlin can’t wait for the day he can tell him about his magic and have that final secret be aired out between them.

Gwaine wraps an arm around Merlin’s shoulders, squeezing him tight to his side.

“Seriously though, I’m happy for you,” he says far more genuinely than any of the sentences before it. His voice is a warm light, a beacon that Merlin has taken comfort in ever since he met Gwaine.

Merlin grins and leans into Gwaine’s side. “Yeah I am too.”

~-~-~

“If you think any harder I’m worried you’ll get hurt,” Merlin says as he curls into Arthur’s side. His thumb smoothes over the line of Arthur’s brow like he’s trying to press away the worried creases. “Your brain isn’t used to the effort.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “My brain is perfectly capable, thank you,” he retorts with a snooty huff.

He watches the corners of Merlin’s lips twitch towards a smile before he recovers his expression and wrinkles his nose. “What’s bothering you?”

“It’s the court session today,” he sighs. His head is already aching just recalling the meeting, which had dragged for hours longer than it had meant to and involved so much shouting over the Round Table Arthur was sure some of the members would have hoarse voices come tomorrow. No matter how hard he tries it feels like they are getting nowhere, like trying to push a rock up a muddy hill and slipping in place. “We aren’t any closer to changing the laws on magic. The councillors won’t be reasoned with.”

“You’ll get through to them,” Merlin assures him confidently, without even a pause. He smiles at Arthur and he is so trusting that it gathers as a lump of affection in Arthur’s throat.

Arthur isn’t so sure. He had always known that getting the council’s approval to reinstate magic into Camelot would be difficult, but he hadn’t anticipated just how resistant they would be to his reasoning. The men who were once in Uther’s court will barely even hear a word of it. The first challenge has been trying to get them to even consider the topic for discussion, much less hear out his arguments. To an extent Arthur understands, they are the men who helped begin the Purge, who advocated for it and still believe in its righteousness. He has had many men leave the council because of the changes he is making, and those are to far more minor things like the shape of the court and restrictions on who are able to be knights. Magic is a whole other conversation, one that they are not willing to hold.

He’s grateful to have his friends within the court, so that at least he isn’t fighting the battle alone. Elyan and Gwaine are his most staunch allies, and their support is slowly drawing others to see Arthur’s perspective. Lancelot and Percival support in quieter ways, forging individual conversations with the members of court who refuse to listen to the broader discussions, and Arthur is beginning to see change; that he can’t deny. Gwen and Leon’s perspectives have already transformed, just as Arthur’s did when he learnt of Merlin’s magic, but the older wisened councillors are harder to convince. He knows that they will eventually conquer this hurdle, but he doesn’t know how, and he hates that it still seems entirely out of reach.

Every day Arthur is having the same conversations. He feels caught in time, as if each morning he wakes and the same day begins again.He tries to explain the unjustness of the law, the benefit to not only the kingdom but the people in changing it, the good it will do; but his words fall on deaf ears. He has only just managed to scrabble together enough votes to begin the process, but he knows they can’t leap into instigating it without getting more officials on board and forging a plan.

“It’s already been over two seasons since I told you things would change,” Arthur says softly, his guilt a sour tinge at the edge of his words. “I want to make things better for you.”

“You already are.” Merlin kisses Arthur’s shoulder. “These things take time. It won’t work unless you do it carefully, and I have a rather vested interest in it working out.”

Arthur laughs quietly. “I suppose.”

He doesn’t feel convinced. He feels like he is failing Merlin in some way. Since drawing Excalibur from the stone he feels more confident that he is doing the right thing as king, but it’s still hard sometimes when even with all his power he cannot do the right thing for those he loves most. Then there is Morgana, she has risen again after her assault on Camelot and it seems that she is gathering forces. The rumours rumbling over the kingdom that she is building a magical army are doing nothing to help convince the council that magic is not inherently dangerous, but instead of gathering fear it only makes Arthur more sure that if they don’t act soon he is making it far easier for Morgana to claim followers. He cannot blame people of magic for failing to trust him when thus far he has done nothing to set himself apart from his father. They have to act, and yet still he is stuck.

Merlin’s fingertips on his temples force Arthur to turn his head. The bed is a comforting place to have this conversation, it makes it feel more private, an intimate space that is only for the two of them. Merlin presses his forehead against Arthur’s, so they’re both going a little bit cross eyed in an effort to maintain eye contact.

“I believe in you,” he says firmly. “The fact that you’re even working to pass this law is more than I ever dared to dream.”

“It was destined,” Arthur says a little bitterly. He cannot take credit for what was always meant to be.

Merlin draws a way just enough to shake his head.

“Destiny is nothing but words in time. It is you that is making it reality.”

“And you are the reason I am able to,” Arthur reminds him.

Without Merlin he never would have seen the changes he is making to Camelot. He would have been killed a hundred times over, or been lost in the same prejudice that his father succumbed to. He might never have learnt to be better, and there is nothing Arthur can ever do to repay the good Merlin has done for him. He’ll try anyway.

Merlin kisses Arthur soundly and then raps his knuckles against the side of his head.

“Now come on, let's talk of something more pleasant so your poor brain doesn’t melt.”

Arthur decides to ignore the insult, glad for the idea of a distraction. “What do you suggest we talk about?”

“Tell me something nice about me,” Merlin suggests. He blankets his head on his own arm so he and Arthur are lying curled facing each other, like hands cupping.

“You don’t need to hear something nice about yourself,” Arthur protests all for show. “If your head gets any more inflated you’ll topple right over.”

“Arse,” Merlin mutters and Arthur grins.

“What do you want to know?”

Arthur can already feel his discontented mind settling, like Merlin is the soothing hand his skittish thoughts need to finally be contented. His body sinks more comfortably into the mattress, his heart settles to a steady rhythm. Arthur ignores the ever quieter voice of his father at the back of his mind telling him that he should not rely so much upon one person. He is doing nothing wrong.

Merlin smiles. “Tell me when you fell in love with me.”

“When I fell in love, or when I realised my feelings?” Arthur confirms as he tips his head back against the pillows.

Merlin makes an inquisitive noise and rolls over so he’s draped on his front over Arthur’s body. Arthur makes a vague sound of protest to keep up appearance more than anything. He loves the feeling of Merlin’s weight pressed against him, like a blanket of his touch.

“Are the answers that different?”

Arthur snorts. “By years.”

Merlin blinks at him, curiosity obvious in his wide eyes.

“Both then.”

So Arthur tells him. How he probably fell for Merlin the moment he met him, already enthralled with his every motion and the way he spoke his mind to Arthur. The way he found himself being drawn into Merlin’s orbit, and how he just wanted to be around him at all times. He misinterpreted every feeling at the time, as excitement, irritation, entertainment, all true to an extent but all missing the key. Now Arthur looks back with clear eyes and sees how enamoured he truly was. He tells Merlin that he thinks he fell in love when Merlin drank poison for him, but that he didn’t realise it until he was first embraced in Merlin’s arms.

“That can’t be right,” Merlin objects. “We must have hugged before then.”

“No, that was definitely the first time,” Arthur says certainly. He grazes his knuckles up and down the line of Merlin’s jaw as they talk, enjoying the feeling of his stubble scraping against his hand and the way it draws a smile from those beautiful lips. “Believe me, it sent me into quite the crisis.”

Merlin’s smile turns a little proud at the edges. “I can’t believe I hugged you and made you realise you were attracted to men.”

Arthur snorts. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Much too late,” Merlin says with a faux solemnity.

Arthur kisses him before he can start bolstering his ego any more. Which admittedly, is possibly not the greatest way of encouraging Merlin not to be so smug, but he hardly cares. He loves Merlin at his most insolent.

“When did you realise you loved me then?”

Merlin takes a moment to answer, and at first Arthur thinks it’s because he’s still dazed from their kiss. He has come to learn that if he kisses Merlin in certain ways it takes him entire moments to return to his mind. Arthur won’t deny that it is doing things to his own pride to know Merlin enjoys kissing him so much his thoughts get lost in it completely. However this time he realises that Merlin is not so much struggling to find his thoughts, but caught in them. He bumps his knuckles against Merlin’s cheek until he smiles and looks more clearly at Arthur.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Arthur promises even as his curiosity clatters inside his head.

Merlin shakes his head and rests his cheek against Arthur’s chest. “It was the day with Morgause,” he says in a quiet voice. “When you met your mother.”

Ah. Arthur sees now why Merlin hesitated before divulging. They don’t hide things from each other anymore, they don’t avoid telling each other thoughts just because they’re hard, but that is still one of the memories that is hardest for them to reconcile. Arthur has forgiven Merlin for lying to him, and he understands why he did, but it’s hard to forget it entirely. His mother is a sensitive wound over his heart that will never heal entirely, and he doesn’t know how to not feel a low stirring of frustration when he remembers that Merlin took his only time with her from him for years. He lets himself feel it, but puts it aside. Merlin was only doing what he thought was right.

He focuses instead on the other details of the day.

“That was years ago,” he whispers with no small amount of wonder. Merlin has alluded over the past months together that he has loved Arthur for quite some time, but he didn’t realise it was so very long.

Merlin smiles a little, wobbly and nervous even still. “I’m aware.”

Arthur curls his fingers in the strands of Merlin’s hair, stroking through it to help him relax. He knows now that Merlin takes a lot of comfort in Arthur’s closeness. It’s something they share.

“That day, you told me that you didn’t believe every person of magic could be evil,” Merlin recalls. There is still something tense in his voice; like when Arthur has a muscle that is pulling in combat, not yet hurting but tight in warning. He doesn’t understand what would be causing that tension in Merlin.

There are so many days that Merlin could have recalled as the day he fell for Arthur. So many that have slipped from Arthur’s mind, lost in the sands of time, but this one he can recall in perfect detail. He pauses, hand still in Merlin’s hair. He remembers the moment that Merlin is referencing, how at the time, his views on magic had been wavering unsurely in the face of all the good he had seen. He also remembers with a sudden sickened understanding, what followed.

“But you changed my mind,” Arthur realises.

“I did,” Merlin agrees quietly. His cheek is still pillowed against Arthur, so he can see his eyes clearly as they glimmer with tears. Arthur’s heart aches, both with guilt that is years late and with grief for Merlin who was forced to turn someone he loved against himself. Arthur is ashamed to realise that he often forgets that Merlin did not only warp the memory of his mother, but turned Arthur against magic entirely for many years to come.

Arthur pulls Merlin up into a bruising kiss. He struggles with words, but he tries to communicate everything he fails to say into the movements of his lips. I’m sorry, he kisses. Merlin gasps against his mouth, clinging to him tightly, like Arthur is the only thing that is keeping him from being torn away. When they draw apart, panting and breathless, Arthur sees understanding in the glisten of Merlin’s eyes.

“I love you,” Arthur professes, not just to Merlin who is here with him, but the younger version of him who couldn’t know it yet.

Merlin echoes him shakily, his thumbs touching the corners of Arthur’s lips like he wants to feel the shape of the words leaving Arthur.

“I love you,” Arthur says again, because Merlin can never hear it enough times. He will say it again and again until he has said it as often as he has breathed, and then more. “I love your eyes, and your smile. I love your stupid ears.” Merlin chuckles weakly but doesn’t interrupt, staring at Arthur with wonder in his eyes that only makes Arthur adore him more. “I love how passionate you are, and how clever you can sometimes prove to be. I love how you always tell me when I’m being stupid.”

He ghosts his fingers over Merlin’s cheekbone and says clearly and with fervour. “I love your magic.”

He can’t say that he has always loved it in the same way that he has always loved Merlin. They would both know it was a lie. But he has learnt to adore it, to revel in the power of what Merlin can do and to love the way it flows through him. He no longer fears what Merlin is capable of, he has learnt to appreciate it. He waits in eager anticipation of seeing all the things Merlin is able to do, the small domestic spells, the powerful blows his magic can deal, the surges of emotion that reveal themselves in the form of enchantments. Arthur loves it all.

A small sound leaves the back of Merlin’s throat, somehow wounded and longing at once. He kisses Arthur again rather than answering him, and in the firm drag of his lips Arthur feels everything that Merlin is unable to put words to. He understands the unspoken almost better than if Merlin had said out loud. He can taste his gratitude against the ache of everything he endured for years.

Arthur has the wound of his mother over his heart, and Merlin has all that he bore for the sake of Camelot. He doesn’t know if he can ever truly relieve Merlin of all the hurt that has been dealt to him over the last years, but Arthur wants to try. If reminding Merlin that he truly loves his power can help alleviate some of that pain, then Arthur will say it every day.

“Show me something,” Arthur bids him breathlessly, and so Merlin does. He makes Arthur’s quill dance on the tabletop and he weaves pictures out of strings of light. They fall asleep entwined in each other with a ceiling of Merlin’s stars draped over their bed.

~-~-~

It takes Merlin weeks to convince Arthur to come to Ealdor with him.

The king of Camelot can be stubborn and self sacrificing at the best of times, but caught in the political throngs of lawmaking as he has been he is deeply reluctant to leave his kingdom. Merlin has been able to see for over a month the toll that constant leadership is taking on Arthur, it sits in obvious lines under his eyes and around his mouth, and it worries Merlin to no end. He knows better than anyone that Arthur’s sleep has been suffering as he frets over the council’s reluctance to change their ways and develop a plan for the return of magic. Yet still Arthur won’t hear any of his and Gwen’s attempts to persuade him to rest.

Eventually Merlin has to call in for reinforcement.

“My mother wrote,” he tells Arthur as he folds his breeches.

Arthur hums absently, clearly only half listening as he devotes himself to a document Geoffrey managed to find on the original role of magic in Camelot’s courts. The fact that it survived the Purge is a miracle none of them are taking for granted.

“How is she?” He asks with his eyes still on the parchment.

“She’s well, she was hoping we would come to visit. Actually she seemed to want to see you more than anything, her own son is apparently an afterthought.”

Merlin tries to keep his voice as innocent as possible, and if he were talking to anyone but Arthur he might have gotten away with it. As it is, Arthur sees right through him, lifting his head with a suspicious glare on his face.

“Are you really using your own mother to try to convince me to step away from my work?” He raises a challenging eyebrow.

Merlin abandons Arthur’s unfolded clothing and comes into the separate little chamber where Arthur’s desk resides. He rests his hip against Arthur’s desk, leaning low so his face is mere inches from Arthur’s.

“I’m not using her, she genuinely wants to see you,” he answers honestly. Ever since Merlin wrote telling her of his and Arthur’s developing romance she has been desperate to see the king again. “If it happens to also involve you taking a break that’s an added bonus.”

Arthur’s eyes narrow but his hand comes to rest against the bone of Merlin’s wrist where it’s sitting on his desk so he can’t be too annoyed.

“Come on,” Merlin leans heavily on the words. “You haven’t been back to Ealdor since we were on the run.”

Merlin has only returned the once since then as well, to retrieve Aithusa and bring her back home. He spent a few days with his mother, but it still feels like too long since he last saw her. He wouldn’t mind a journey back to the village, and as he said, if it happens to mean Arthur gets some rest then that’s an extra reward he won’t pass up.

“I can’t leave now,” Arthur tries to protest, as he has every time Merlin has attempted this conversation for the last few months. Merlin has allowed it until now, but he has to draw the line somewhere. “Nothing is going to be impacted by you taking a week to rest,” Merlin insists, keeping his voice firm. “If anything, clearing your head might allow you to think easier.”

Arthur argues some more, he’s too stubborn to give in without a fight, Merlin knows that better than anyone, but eventually he does relent. Merlin had been relying on Arthur’s rearing of chivalry competing against his naturally stubborn nature, and that it did. He can’t stand the idea of upsetting Hunith, his lover’s mother, and eventually he concedes that the kingdom won’t crumble if he steps away for a few days.

They set off within the week, just the two of them and a few knights to ensure Arthur’s safety. When they arrive in Ealdor his mother pulls Merlin into a hug before he has even properly dismounted his horse. He laughs as his foot gets stuck in his stirrup and he nearly sends them both stumbling but doesn’t let go. Ealdor may no longer be his home, but nothing makes him feel as settled as his mother’s arms around him. If he weren’t sure that his magic came from his father’s side, he might be convinced that she was the one with enchanting abilities.

“Well don’t you look dashing,” she says as she draws away, a twinkle of affection and amusement in her eyes as she takes in his new attire. “These are lovely,” she admires, rubbing the fabric of his tunic between her thumb and forefinger.

“Why did you have to say that?” Merlin whines. “He’s going to be insufferable now.”

Arthur bounds over with a huge grin from where he was passing off their steeds to the knights. “I’m glad someone appreciates my excellent taste.”

“I’ll tell you where to shove your excellent taste,” Merlin mutters under his breath, not quite softly enough for his mother not to catch the words.

“Merlin,” she chastises and Merlin smiles sheepishly. As with Gaius, he knows his mother is far more bothered by Merlin’s appalling manners towards the royal family than both he and Arthur are. He’s not going to correct his behaviour but he at least has the grace to be a little apologetic in front of her.

“Why wouldn’t you like these clothes?” Hunith asks disbelievingly, appraising Merlin up and down. He’s wearing one of the blue tunics Arthur had made for him, a thick linen embroidered with small golden swirls along the cuffs. As Merlin does in fact actually like the ensemble, he can do nothing but shrug. He’s not in the business of letting Arthur know he’s right.

“There was nothing wrong with my old ones,” Merlin says petulantly, sticking his nose in the air.

“Yes there was and you know it,” Arthur interjects with a fond smile. “You just don’t want to admit I’m right.” Since he’s correct on both accounts — much as Merlin was fond of his old tunics, he can’t deny that the ones Arthur had tailored for him are much more fetching, and more comfortable — Merlin stays moodily silent. Arthur still smirks like he’s won something. His mother smiles between the two of them, perfectly content to just watch them bicker.

“I didn’t get a chance to properly greet you,” Arthur realises abruptly, taking Hunith’s hand and delivering a kiss upon it. “It’s lovely to see you again.”

Hunith laughs fondly and pats Arthur’s cheek. “Oh you’re such a charmer,” she tells him in the same endeared tone she uses with Merlin when he does something sweet. She draws him into a tight hug that still seems to take Arthur by surprise.

“I’ve missed you both,” his mother says, patting first Arthur’s cheek then Merlin’s. He blinks back the instinctive tears that jump to his eyes when he sees the startled expression on Arthur’s face.

“I missed you too,” Merlin kisses his mother on the cheek, giving Arthur time to collect himself.

“Even if you don’t write nearly enough,” his mother chides.

~-~-~

“He’s such a good boy,” Hunith compliments as both she and Merlin watch Arthur where he’s hacking at firewood. What Arthur lacks in practice, he makes up for in sheer strength, his knight’s training coming in handy as he sends the axe down on the logs. His muscles flex with every blow, and his skin is shining in the setting sunlight. Merlin’s actually a little grateful for the distraction, if he watches Arthur at the task any longer he’ll grow far more interested than would be comfortable in front of his mother.

“He is,” Merlin agrees because Arthur isn’t there to tease him to death about it. “I really love him.”

“Oh I know,” his mother laughs, patting his hand. “You’ve always looked at him like he’s more incredible than the sun itself.”

Merlin flushes but doesn’t deny it. He knows that his feelings for Arthur are practically written across his face at any moment, he’s only surprised Arthur himself didn’t notice.

“He looks at you the same way,” she observes mildly. “I’ve waited a long few years for you to both be ready to know it.”

Merlin looks over at Arthur. A smile is already drawing across his face as he realises how equally obvious they have been. Their friends and now his mother, all simply waiting fondly for the inevitable.

“He makes you happy,” his mother continues. When Merlin glances over he finds her also watching Arthur with a small smile upon her face, as if like Merlin, she can see upon Arthur all the good things in the world. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted; for you to be happy.”

“I was happy even before we loved each other,” Merlin tells her. It’s true, he may have suffered in agony, and fought impossible battles that felt like they would be the end of him. He may have been living in secrecy and hiding who he truly was. Yet through it all, Camelot, his friends, his life there, being at Arthur’s side, it all made him truly happy. That happiness has just been extended now.

Hunith smiles and returns her gaze to Merlin. “Well, even happier than the last time you both visited.”

“Well we were on the run,” Merlin teases. His mother shoves at his shoulder affectionately, laughing when he makes a great show of pretending her gentle push is enough to tip him over.

~-~-~

That night he and Arthur curl on the floor of his mother’s cottage, cushioned only by their bedrolls and thin pillows. It’s strange to have Arthur here, the king of Camelot, preparing to sleep on the floor where Merlin spent his childhood; but it’s a pleasant strangeness. As they lay side by side Merlin feels as though he can see all his memories stacked atop each other. Himself as a child falling asleep to the familiar sounds of his mother’s breathing, him as an adolescent giggling with Will and trying not to make too much noise, he and Arthur the year they met, lying with their heads at each other’s feet.

Even then Merlin remembers taking comfort in the warmth of Arthur at his side. He had liked the feeling of Arthur next to him, knowing that he would be there through the night, even if he hadn’t understood why at the time. Now instead of lying in opposite directions they are curled facing each other, although not tangled as they do in Arthur’s bed as the stone isn’t particularly forgiving of their spines. Unlike that time all those years ago, Merlin understands now why Arthur’s presence makes sleep more comfortable.

Arthur’s fingers trail along the slope of his cheek, blindly mapping the planes of Merlin’s face like he’s trying to see Merlin through their careful movements. Merlin lets his eyes flutter closed, revelling in the sensation of being so observed even in darkness.

“You know I used to dream of running away?” Arthur whispers, his words soft as though he’s afraid to disturb the quiet cocoon of night.

“Really?” Merlin asks without opening his eyes. He can feel sleep beginning to swaddle him into its arms, drawing him closer as Arthur’s fingers stroke along the slope of his nose and the dip of his cupid’s bow.

Arthur hums. “I dreamed we would go somewhere where I wouldn't be king. No responsibilities, no pressure. Just the two of us.”

“When was this?”

Merlin is surprised Arthur never mentioned it to him. Although maybe if he had they would have realised their feelings were reciprocated far sooner.

There’s a shifting sound in the dark where Merlin imagines Arthur is shrugging. “When we first came to Ealdor? Not long after that.”

Merlin chuckles under his breath but still sinks closer to sleep. “It took you how long to realise you were in love with me?”

“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur mutters and Merlin can hear the eye roll in his voice.

He smiles and the pads of Arthur’s thumbs trace the shape of it before pressing a kiss where his fingers had been.

“Do you still dream about that?” Merlin asks when they draw apart, resting his brow against Arthur’s. The room is almost silent as Arthur considers, it’s far quieter here than in Camelot and so Merlin can hear Arthur’s every breath. If he strains then he can catch murmurs of night creatures moving in the forest and the wind whistling through the crops in the distance, but other than that it is just the two of them. It feels as though they are the only two things in the entire world. Merlin wonders if that is the appeal of Arthur’s dream, the two of them completely untouched by the rest of the universe.

“No,” Arthur says eventually. “It isn’t easy being king, the pressures are still as difficult to bear, but I’m happy. I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Now I dream of the future… of our future.”

Merlin’s skin warms and he knows Arthur will be able to feel it under his still moving touch over Merlin’s face.

“Sap,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to Arthur’s wrist as his hands move to stroke along Merlin’s forehead and follow the shape of his cheekbones.

They trail into silence and Merlin sinks into the ground, letting sleep lead him deeper into its fog. He listens to the gentle rise and fall of Arthur’s breath, letting it sooth him like a lullaby. He’s almost entirely fallen asleep when Arthur speaks again.

“Merlin?”

He grunts to let Arthur know he’s listening, practically still half soaked in sleep as he tries to stay awake long enough to hear what Arthur has to say.

“There is one thing about the future we’ve never really discussed,” he says, voice a little strained with awkwardness. That strange tone is enough to at least wake Merlin up slightly.

“As king I need to produce an heir.”

Merlin’s eyes fly open. He can’t see Arthur in the darkness but he can imagine his nervous smile. In any other situation Merlin might fear that this was Arthur’s strange way of ending their courtship, but with Arthur’s hand still resting against his sternum he figures he doesn’t really have need for concern.

“Look, I might be a powerful sorcerer but even I’m not powerful enough to produce a child out of thin air,” Merlin says, just in case Arthur isn’t aware. He wraps an arm around Arthur’s waist and can feel the low rumble of him laughing against his forearm.

“I know that,” Arthur assures him, and it’s obvious he’s smiling even though Merlin can only barely see the outline of his silhouette. “I’m just saying that being a father is not really optional for me, or you as a result.”

Merlin settles again, wriggling forward so he can press his forehead into Arthur’s neck. He can feel all the muscles in Arthur’s body loosen at his closeness, like all he needed was the feeling of Merlin against him to relax.

“That’s fine. I always wanted to be a father someday,” Merlin promises. “Doesn’t mean we can make a child. You might be aware but I lack the necessary parts.”

Arthur laughs into his hair. “Really? I never would have noticed.”

Something in Arthur’s tone changes, tightening like the muscles of a neck straining under the pressure of a hand. “They don’t need to be my blood.”

“Don’t they?” Merlin asks with a frown. He had assumed that Camelot’s throne could only be passed through Arthur’s bloodline, but Arthur shakes his head.

“Leon told me,” he explains. “The line of succession to the throne depends on claims of kinship, not blood. I was next in line to my father because I was named rightful heir, and was his next of kin. It is typically passed through the bloodline but so long as I name our child my kin and the heir to the throne, they will inherit it as though they were my blood. That is why I have the first claim to the throne, not Morgana.”

Our child. Merlin tries not to be distracted by the thrill at hearing the words leave Arthur’s lips. Their shared future and life is so clear he can practically picture it, but he can’t let himself become swept away by the joyous image Arthur is presenting. Merlin understands now why Arthur’s voice became strained when he mentioned the law. As good as it is for them and their ability to produce an heir for the throne, it means that all the effort went to by his father to continue the Pendragon bloodline was for nothing. His mother didn’t have to die.

“My father assumed it was necessary to be by blood,” Arthur confirms Merlin’s thoughts before he even says a word. “I would have too, if it weren’t for…”

“Us needing another option?” Merlin suggests, weakly trying to bring a smile to Arthur’s face. He can feel against his forehead that it works.

“Exactly.”

Merlin can still hear the tension in Arthur’s voice as much as he tries to maintain levity. He doesn’t need to see Arthur to read him, he would know Arthur’s every facet even with all his senses stripped away. He draws back so he can deliver a gentle kiss to Arthur’s brow.

“We can’t change what happened in the past,” he says, no longer simply quiet because of the blanket of night but because these words should be gentle and cautious. He feels Arthur shift uncertainly in his arms but he doesn’t draw away, if anything he moves closer, like he can’t possibly be near enough to Merlin even encircled in him as he is. “For all your father’s mistakes I’m glad for this one. I’m glad for anything that brought you into this world, and your mother would say the same.”

She did say the same. They both remember it, and though that memory is one that is painful to them both for vastly different reasons, it’s important to recall now. He doesn’t so much hear Arthur’s abrupt exhale as feel it against his skin.

“She didn’t deserve to die,” Arthur says weakly. His breath wavers where it is hitting Merlin’s neck, like he’s struggling with tears that threaten to come.

“No,” Merlin agrees, “but you deserved to live.”

~-~-~

“Would you like to help me bake some bread to eat with dinner?”

Hunith smiles patiently at him as Arthur fights the urge to look over his shoulder and see if Merlin has returned.

“I’ve never baked before,” he says dumbly, unsure how else to answer. He wants so badly for Hunith to like him and he’s suddenly terrified he’s going to find a way to ruin her bread.

She only smiles at him with the same fond expression Merlin must have inherited from her.

“No,” she laughs. “I can’t imagine you would have.”

She tips her head toward the flour sitting atop her kitchen counter.

“Would you like to try?”

There is no trace of pressure upon her face, only a gentle enthusiasm to show him something he’s never done before. Arthur doubts Hunith is capable of concealing some cruelty in her actions, she seems to do things simply out of kindness and goodwill. This isn’t a test for him that he might fail. As nervous as he feels at the prospect of disappointing her, he knows she doesn’t expect anything of him at all.

“I’d like that,” he eventually manages.

So Hunith takes Arthur through the process of baking bread for the first time in his life. She’s exceedingly patient with him as she talks through the process of mixing the dough and kneading it to the right consistency. When Arthur makes mistakes she just laughs kindly and shows him the proper way. At first Arthur needles at being told he’s wrong, but he soon finds he likes the process. Hunith is never cruel when correcting him and the way she encourages him when he gets something right settles any nerves Arthur might have left about the process.

“You’re good for him,” she says after a while, when Arthur has the heels of his hands in the dough and is slowly kneading it. “For Merlin.”

“Oh I don’t know,” Arthur blushes. He watches the dough moving under his hands in a half hearted attempt to hide his smile as it spreads across his face. He feels warm with the praise, like he’s a fireplace and Hunith’s words are the spark that lit the hearth.

“You are,” she insists. “You always have been.”

Arthur isn’t sure that’s true. He knows he makes Merlin happy now, just as Merlin makes him happy in return, but he has been the cause of so much pain for Merlin. The scars that litter his body, the battles he fought in secret, and the danger he faced all in Arthur’s name. Not even mentioning Arthur’s own shortcomings. He knows that at times he has made Merlin’s life worse, not better. Hunith must see whatever doubt passes over his face because she shakes her head emphatically and leans forward so Arthur is encouraged to look into her strong eyes.

“You never saw him growing up here,” she reminds him. “He was always so different. He had all this joy, passion, and energy that had nowhere to go. It was too much for such a small village. He couldn’t fit in and he felt shamed for it.”

The hazed edges of a memory come to Arthur, of Merlin telling him something very similar when they first came to Ealdor. That he was too difficult to handle for Ealdor’s simple and calm ways, and that he left in pursuit of somewhere he could fit in. Arthur vaguely remembers Merlin saying he wasn’t sure if he had found it yet.

“I didn’t want him to leave of course, I would have gladly kept him at my side his entire life,” Hunith says with a far off look. Arthur wonders if she is seeing Merlin as a boy, cheeky as he imagines he would have been. “But he deserved to find somewhere that would love him for being himself, as I do.”

Arthur nods, allowing her to take the dough from him and twist it into flat loaves. She smiles at him and Arthur returns it easily. Her sentiment is one he can readily agree with, and he’s glad to think that Merlin might have found that for himself in Camelot. The kingdom has always been Arthur’s home, but Merlin built it into his own, and that seems far more precious.

“When I saw him with you I knew he had finally found that place.”

Arthur’s throat catches. His heart lurching as he realises that Hunith believes he is that home for Merlin, not Camelot. To his great mortification he can feel tears rising in his throat. He doesn’t know whether he wants to bury himself so he is never witnessed again or stay and bask in her motherly affection, and the two conflicting desires clash inside him until he feels almost sick. He’s elated he realises, but in a way that feels like pressing down hard on the wound his mother left him with her death. He’s never really had a mother look at him the way Hunith is now, like she’s proud.

“He is that for me too,” he chokes out. Merlin has always been the safest place for Arthur, the one person he can be true with. He can’t put voice to any more than that, he doesn’t have the words for it, but Hunith smiles like she understands and pats his hand affectionately.

“I know,” she says. “I’m glad you have each other.”

~-~-~

As soon as they return from Ealdor Merlin loses Arthur to the storm of court procedure once more. Merlin doesn’t complain though, as Arthur no longer looks like he might keel over at any moment; the shadows under his eyes have finally cleared and his smile is easy to draw out of him once more. Besides, it would be remiss of Merlin to put up any kind of fuss when Arthur’s time is mostly spent on trying to reintroduce magic into Camelot.

Between that and reforms of taxation, renewed and newly forged alliances with neighbouring kingdoms and a new court system, Merlin and Arthur’s lives seem to consist almost entirely of court sessions. Merlin hardly thinks they’re worth dressing up for anymore, but of course Arthur disagrees.

He had been particularly adamant about Merlin wearing one of his nicest new tunics today. Though Merlin put up a token show of reluctance they both knew he would give in to Arthur’s persuasion. Especially since it tended to include kissing Merlin to distraction even when Merlin insisted that wouldn’t work this time. Now here he stands dressed in a tunic that he has to concede is a very becoming shade of purple.

Instead of listening to the boredom of court proceedings, Merlin watches Arthur. He commands the attention of the room with perfect ease. Though his voice never lifts above a measured, even tone, it is clear and cool, and it carries around the courtroom so that each person can follow his every word. He too is wearing finer clothes than his usual attire, donning a sleek cream coat that compliments his figure and a fur lined cape that stretches from his shoulders to the floor. His head bears a rather hefty crown but he hardly needs it, his kingship is carried simply in the reverence of the room as they listen to him.

Gaius knocks Merlin with his shoulder. “Pay attention,” he says under his breath. Merlin doesn’t ask how the physician knows he wasn’t listening and just does as he instructs.

“Today is a day of change in our kingdom,” Arthur announces with pride carrying his voice upwards. He tilts his head towards the sky so that his crown gleams in the light. “For too long we have been allowing our fear and anger to hamper our chance at progress. We have been stuck behind walls of prejudice and misunderstanding that have stopped our kingdom from reaching its potential, and in doing so, have hurt people who depend upon us.”

Arthur’s words thrum with unparalleled strength. It is clear why it is his destiny that is written in time by the quill of fate. No other man could hold the mantle so gracefully. He makes it seem natural, not as though he is living in the shadow of his destiny but like he is making it bend to his desire. His words are the things of legends. It is so easy to imagine him being remembered for all time when he is like this.

“No person in this kingdom should live in fear. No person should be forced to hide who they are.” Arthur’s eyes find Merlin’s, holding his gaze in a firm embrace. There’s a small smile curling at his lips, like a flower bud whose petals are just beginning to bloom. Merlin is a bird about to fly for the first time, he feels the terrifying swoop of his belly, the frightened anticipation of knowing whatever comes next determines if he crashes or soars. He offers Arthur a shaky smile, unsure, but also somehow knowing exactly what Arthur will say next.

“As of today, the practice of magic, sorcery and enchantments will once more be legal in the lands of Camelot.”

Merlin’s breath leaves him at once. He feels like he’s caught in a daydream, something he has envisioned so many times that it is worn like a well loved tunic. He waits to blink and return to reality but his heart thuds, once, again and again, and still the moment continues. He is here and this is real. He can hear applause like waves crashing in the distance, and the pounding of his heart in his chest is so loud it is like drums inside his skull. He could be far above this room, dancing on clouds like he’s light as air, he wouldn’t know the difference.

It is only Gaius’ hand on his shoulder that returns him to his body. He turns and sees the physician’s warm smile, his eyes twinkling like stars, his tears gathering like their glistening light.

“Gaius,” is all Merlin is capable of saying before his mentor draws him into a warm hug.

“I know, my boy,” he says softly. “I know.”

His knees are trembling, like a butterfly’s wings fluttering in a desperate attempt to keep him aloft. He feels like a strong breeze could knock him over, but yet like he could take on the worst dangers and not even face a scratch. He can’t stop smiling, he’s dancing on air, and all he wants is to get to Arthur.

He moves through the crowd, all chattering about the new revelation. Merlin only just catches snatches of their conversations, some pleased, some nervous but glad, some unsure, they coast over him like water gliding off feathers. He smiles and nods where people try to stop him but otherwise keeps moving closer to Arthur’s side. He practically collides with Arthur when they finally reach each other. They embrace like a supernova, and Merlin knows he’s in a room filled with people and he should try to be more conspicuous about his relief, but he doesn’t care.

“You arse,” he gasps into Arthur’s neck. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Arthur says, grinning as they draw apart only just far enough to see each other’s faces.

“I love you,” Merlin says because he can’t find the words he needs. Thank you, you’re incredible, I can’t believe you did this. They’re all lacklustre compared to the true force of everything Merlin is feeling. He wants to kiss Arthur so badly it feels like his whole body is being dragged by a magnetic force towards him. He can feel it, tugging from the centre of his chest to Arthur, always to Arthur.

He knows that this is a moment of unbelievable revelation, and that Arthur should stay here. He knows that the nobles and court officials filling this room will want to speak with the king, to clarify in this time of massive upheaval. He knows they should stay, but still he leans in so his words brush against Arthur’s hair.

“Your chambers?” He suggests quietly, knowing he shouldn’t but wanting it anyway, doing it anyway. Every inch between him and Arthur feels like wasted space. He is aware of every point their bodies are touching, and every point where they aren’t and all the places between where Merlin wants them to be. He has hoped for this moment for years and now all he wants is to celebrate it with the one person he loves most.

Merlin is so close to Arthur that he can feel his ribs hitch and the soft huff of his sudden exhale. He can hear the way his throat clicks as he swallows shakily.

“Yeah,” Arthur agrees. “Yeah let’s go.”

~-~-~

They trip through Arthur’s door, their hands clamouring over each other. Arthur doesn’t feel like he can get enough of the feeling of Merlin’s body, like his hands can’t possibly adventure over the landscape of him enough.

As soon as they make it over the door’s threshold Merlin is shoving him so that Arthur staggers back into the wall, his lips chasing Arthur’s like he can’t stand to be apart from him. Arthur feels the same. Even as Merlin pushes Arthur into stone and crushes their mouths back together, he cradles the back of Arthur’s skull. Arthur thinks it’s always been like that, Merlin’s loving hands cradling him in his palms and keeping him from harm even when Arthur was unaware of it. Now everyone can know, and that thought is a thrum of excitement that hums under their skin. Arthur can feel it gathering, like the friction of lightning beginning to converge in the clouds, about to strike.

I love you. He feels Merlin whisper the words into the kiss, mumbling them against Arthur’s mouth without breaking them apart. I love you, I love you, I love you. Even with Merlin pressed up against him, their bodies lined together from hip to chest, Arthur doesn’t feel close enough. He can’t possibly get close enough.

He bites at Merlin’s bottom lip and draws it out, forcing Merlin to take a panting pause.

“I want you,” Arthur gasps hotly, punctuating every word with its own individual kiss. His hands trail down, following the path of Merlin’s spine and below.

“Anything,” Merlin whispers, kissing the corner of Arthur’s mouth and up the rounded apple of his cheek. “I just want to be with you.”

Arthur wants. He feels like a plucked string of a lute, thrumming with desire that reverberates through him. He cannot possibly have enough of Merlin, cannot give enough of himself, but he wants to try. He has never felt so desperate, his skin feels like it’s burning and only Merlin’s hands will soothe that ache. His longing tugs from the centre of him, hurtling him towards Merlin at a fervent pace. The depth of his desire is like a drop, pulling him towards it and daring him to leap. Usually it feels cavernous, too frightening to chance the fall; but today he wants to dive.

“I want everything,” Arthur confesses, drawing back only just far enough to meet Merlin’s eyes. He can tell Merlin understands his meaning by the way his eyes widen. “I want everything with you.”

“Are you certain?” Merlin asks, his hands slowing to be sure before he continues. Arthur feels them hovering just over his spine like they’re fire itself, the proximity of them practically a searing heat near his desperate skin.

“I have never wanted anything more,” Arthur tells him honestly, leaning forward to capture Merlin’s lips again. They fall into the kiss head first, gasping and warm and addictive all at once.

They stumble backwards towards the bed, never separating for more than a moment even as they devoid themselves of their clothing. Arthur has finally learnt his way around the laces of Merlin’s breeches, and he’s quite proud of himself for it every time he successfully draws them away so he can reach the warm pale skin underneath.

“What do I do?” He asks as Merlin tips him back against the pillows and wriggles away just far enough to retrieve oil.

“You just lie there and let me do all the work,” Merlin answers, his smile turns cheeky in a way that immediately soothes any nerves that might have been beginning to crawl over Arthur’s skin. “It’ll come naturally to you.”

Arthur snorts as Merlin presses a kiss to the side of his knee. The laughter quickly turns to a gasp as Merlin’s lips stray down, over the inside of his thigh and beyond.

It feels right to be sharing this with Merlin now. Vulnerability is not something that has ever been comfortable for Arthur. He fears being left unguarded, was taught to protect himself and his feelings with the fiercest armour from childhood.

For Arthur it has always been easier to be open with Merlin than anyone else. He has a knack for making Arthur feel safe, teasing and prodding at him until even his most well kept secrets feel almost simple to share. Merlin sets him at ease, offers a different sort of armour, one that shields Arthur from the world so he can safely lower his defences.

It took him a long time to realise that he does the same thing for Merlin. He knows that even if Merlin displays it differently, he is shielded from the world as well. While Arthur is guarded with his emotions and his truest feelings, Merlin has to defend the deep truths of himself.

Arthur was taught that he could never trust someone else, that he had to be staunch and defensive with the most vulnerable parts of himself. Merlin was taught the same, that his magic, the rawest part of him, could be entrusted with nobody. Not even his closest companions. He found a way to share himself with Arthur anyway, in every form he could and then entirely. Together they have learned to hold nothing back from one another, this feels like realising that into the physical.

He loves that he can place himself entirely in Merlin’s hands and know he’ll be safe there. He is a beloved harp in the grasp of a well trained musician. Merlin knows exactly how to play his strings, his deft fingers moving over him swiftly and surely. He makes a melody of Arthur, he makes him beautiful and cherished under his ministrations and Arthur loves it.

Arthur loses himself in the sensations. In hands and lips, skin and teeth, warmth and smiles, so many smiles. He stores every grin he can feel against his jawline, every curve of Merlin’s mouth that grazes against his own. He places them carefully inside his mind, pressing them like flowers to store for eternity and to revel at their wondrous beauty. He laughs when Merlin’s moving hands tickle against his skin, he nips at Merlin’s ear when he refuses to move. He gasps when Merlin pushes forward and he loves that this is only for him.

Today might mean that Merlin no longer has to hide himself, but Arthur is still the only one who gets to see this side of him. This right here is just for them.

Their pleasure meets its peak together. Merlin slumps forward against Arthur’s chest as they settle back down, panting and gasping for air.

“I love you,” Arthur kisses Merlin’s sweaty temple and receives a kiss to his chin in answer. Presumably the only place Merlin can reach without moving.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” Merlin giggles. “You insane prick.”

Arthur grins at the ceiling. He cards his fingers through Merlin’s sweaty hair, enjoying the way it stays sticking in the air after his ministrations.

“I thought it would be a nice surprise.”

Merlin’s giggles are like soft caresses against his collarbone. Arthur understands the feeling, that bubbling happiness that is so huge he can’t even contain it. The point of Merlin’s nose nuzzles closer to him, as he burrows deeper into Arthur’s arms.

“I can tell Gwen,” Merlin says in a voice that is so filled with wonder it sounds like a bottled dream spilling from his lips. “I can tell anyone.”

“You can tell everyone,” Arthur whispers gently, smiling as Merlin sits up just enough to look at him. His eyes are wild with excitement, his hair still half stuck in the air and his face flushed from what they were doing, and his smile is practically sparkling with glee, all from Arthur.

It’s an incredibly rewarding thought.

~-~-~

Merlin can tell anyone he likes about his magic.

The thought is still enough to make him giddy, inspiring the inane desire to dance his way through the castle. He can hardly convince himself to wait. He’s tempted to just rush through the castle shouting it at the top of his lungs, just to prove that no one can do a thing about it. He could stand on the South Tower, magnify his voice and tell the entire kingdom if he liked, he would still get to return that night to Arthur’s chambers, he would still be able to remain in his home.

As soon as the morning dawns Merlin leaps from bed, kissing a half asleep Arthur on the forehead before hurrying out of the room and castle. He can’t hold his excitement in for a moment longer, he rushes through the castle and the lower town, practically sprinting. Now that he can be free, he doesn’t want to lie for a second longer. He has hated it, since the moment he first trapped his secrets on his tongue like heavy chains, he has felt the weight of them every moment since.

Lancelot opens the door when Merlin knocks rapidly, and the knowing smile that bends his lips the moment he sees him only makes the excitement bubbling in Merlin grow.

“Merlin!” Gwen shouts happily, throwing her arms around his neck and squeezing tightly. “We weren’t expecting you! What brings you over so early?”

“I have something I’d like to tell you,” Merlin says at once. He can’t possibly hold it inside himself for a moment longer, his whole body feels like it is humming with energy, and he isn’t sure if it's his magic begging for release or just his own exuberance to finally be able to talk about it.

Gwen nods encouragingly, an obviously curious furrow between her eyebrows but otherwise unperturbed by his strange behaviour.

“I’ve wanted to tell you for some time, and I hope you’ll understand why I couldn’t, and why I didn’t,” Merlin divulges.

He can feel Lancelot’s gaze from the corner of the room, and the quiet support of his friend helps to ease his nerves. Gwen is practically his sister, and while Merlin has wanted to tell her the truth about himself for quite some time, it’s entirely different to be doing it. He knows she has been supporting Arthur through legalising magic, taking time to come to terms with the idea of it and with Arthur, Elyan and Lancelot’s encouragement quickly coming to understand that magic isn’t dangerous, people are. Just as it had been difficult for Arthur, it took time for her to accept that Morgana was not turned to cruelty by her magic, but that it was her own paranoia and fear that stole her away from them. Merlin knows that Gwen understands that now. There is almost no fear in her reaction to his magic, but still he wavers.

“It’s easier to show you,” he decides. On a slow exhale he lays his hand down upon the floor and lets his magic spread across the surface. It seeks the earth like a stream finally reconnecting with the river, like returning itself to like. The bits of soil and mud that have managed to traipse their way into the house gather under his power and from them all flowers spring to life. Between Merlin’s fingers a white daisy curls its way up his hand, twining itself to him like a child climbing.

“Oh Merlin,” Gwen gasps as she understands and then her whole body crashes into Merlin’s in an enveloping hug. Merlin yelps with laughter as she knocks him backwards, pulling the daisy with them. They hit the ground with a thunk but Merlin ignores the bruising of the floor and tightens his arms around Gwen’s waist.

“I’m so sorry you couldn’t tell me,” Gwen says tightly and though Merlin can’t see her face where it is buried in his neck, he feels the regretful sorrow pouring from her.

“I’m just glad to tell you now,” Merlin admits as she draws away in a flail of limbs. “I never wanted to hide it from you.”

Gwen’s eyes are sparkling with surprise and amazement as she looks at him. Merlin wonders what she felt when she watched his eyes shine with gold.

“When did you learn?” She asks.

Merlin shakes his head and tucks the white daisy behind her ear, smiling when it makes her laugh joyfully.

“I was born with it,” he admits.

“Merlin,” she says again and pulls him into another bruising hug.

Telling each of his friends is just as rewarding, although different every time. Elyan and Percival are both proud and supportive in equal measures, giving him tight hugs that make Gwen’s seem positively weak in strength. Merlin’s ribs are going to be bruised for weeks at this rate. Leon has to sit down, shock turning him almost the shade of snow, but he promises Merlin that he’s only surprised, not afraid. Merlin doesn’t hold it against him, he grew up a nobleman in Camelot’s borders after all; like Gwen and Arthur all he’s ever known is to fear magic, and like them he’s come a long way in changing his own views.

Gwaine is largely offended that Merlin thought he didn’t know.

“I thought we were in a shared agreement that I knew, and you knew that I knew!” He exclaims, half laughing. He throws his gauntlets aside and starts unstrapping his chestplate, but all his attention remains on Merlin.

“Well I didn’t know!”

“I told you that I’d keep all of your secrets,” Gwaine reminds him exasperatedly. “I said that to you multiple times! I just thought we weren’t talking about it because it was, you know, illegal and punishable by death.”

Merlin snorts and catches the breastplate Gwaine chucks over to him. “I thought you were talking about my feelings for Arthur!”

“I was!” Now that he’s unarmoured Gwaine throws his arm around Merlin and pulls him into a rough hug that is more ruffling Merlin’s hair than anything else. “I was also talking about your magic.”

Merlin laughs and shoves Gwaine off, following him out of the armoury and into the halls of the castle. He resists the urge to tell Gwaine not to say magic so loud, or to end the conversation now that people are milling past them. His instincts to keep his magic completely silenced are difficult to relinquish even knowing he’s safe now. He thinks it’s still going to be a long time before he feels entirely at ease being open with it.

“How did you even know?” Merlin demands. “I certainly didn’t tell you. I would remember that.”

Gwaine directs him with a deeply unimpressed look. “That little man on the bridge called you Magic right in front of my face,” he reminds Merlin.

“I didn’t think you heard that,” Merlin admits sheepishly.

Gwaine makes a loud affronted noise and shoves Merlin so hard he nearly trips into the wall.

“How stupid do you think I am?”

They’re both grinning as he rights himself, and Merlin has never felt freer in his life.

~-~-~

Merlin will do absolutely anything for Arthur. But he is not wearing this stupid hat.

“Oh come on,” Arthur says, wiggling it in front of Merlin's face like that might entice him.

“Absolutely not,” Merlin insists. “That thing is horrendous.”

The hat in question is a deep blue, conical in Arthur’s hands and almost a foot tall. It’s covered in stars stitched with silver thread that smatter the entire structure.

“It’s not that bad,” Arthur argues, a laugh rumbling in his voice that gives his entire innocent act away. He makes another attempt to stuff the thing onto Merlin’s head which is rebuffed by Merlin’s slapping hand.

“It’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen,” he protests.

“It will suit you perfectly then,” Arthur says smugly and then kisses Merlin’s squawk of betrayal right out of his mouth. It’s the type of deep kiss that Arthur knows turns Merlin to absolute mush, the arse, so any retort that Merlin might have wanted to say smears into a haze in his mind. Merlin hums and sways right into Arthur’s space, letting himself be drawn into his lover’s arms without much of a protest. He still has just enough cognisance to notice a strange brushing sensation against the top of his hair and he shoves Arthur just in time to stop him from getting the blasted hat on him.

“Betrayal!” He shrieks.

“Come on Merlin!” Arthur tries again, the mischievous grin on his face dazzling and boyish. “It’s the official attire of the Court Sorcerer.”

“Oh no you don’t.” Merlin points a threatening finger under Arthur’s nose. “You’re not fooling me with that rubbish again.”

“What’re you gonna do?” Arthur goads, creeping closer with the hat ready to pounce and jam onto Merlin’s poor innocent hair.

“I’ll hex you,” Merlin warns. “Give it five minutes, I’ll be the Court Sorcerer and no one can say a thing.”

“It would still be treason,” Arthur reminds him with a roll of his eyes. There’s a twinkle in Arthur’s eye as he says it, that excited glimmer that always appears on his face when he remembers all the changes he’s been able to make to the kingdom. The position that Merlin will soon fill one of the newest. It’s almost enough to distract Merlin from his mission to avoid having to wear a stupid hat — that he knows is not part of the official attire — to the most important event of his life.

Merlin kicks Arthur’s ankle when he tries to pounce on him, but Arthur moves quickly, spinning him around and locking him under his arm. Merlin drives his elbow back into Arthur’s stomach and grins when he hears a satisfying oof in answer. Satisfaction aside, unfortunately the assault isn’t enough to convince Arthur to drop him, and one handed he begins attempting to wrestle the cone onto Merlin’s head.

“Drop me you absolute pile of dung!” Merlin shouts and laughs wildly as Arthur tugs him closer with his headlock. He goes ignored as Arthur nips playfully at his ear.

A restrained cough makes them spring apart like children caught in the midst of wrongdoing. George stands at the door, the expression twitching at his face suggesting he is as displeased as they are to be the one to have found them in their tousle.

“My Lords,” he says tightly. “The people are ready for you.”

Merlin’s too embarrassed to bother correcting George on the title for him. He coughs into his fist in a weak attempt to hide his smile and nods hurriedly.

“We’ll be right there,” Arthur assures the man with a tight smile.

George offers Arthur a low bow and with a disdainful flick of his eyes in Merlin’s direction stalks out of the room. Merlin has gone from suspecting George might not like him to being outright sure of it. Arthur suspects it’s because the man probably would have gotten Merlin’s job years earlier if it weren’t for him fulfilling the position, and now he’s gone and convinced Arthur to fall in love with him, placing him in an even better standing. Hardly choices Merlin made consciously but fair reasons to dislike him he supposes.

“That was your fault,” Merlin grumbles once George has left the room. Arthur smiles unapologetically and presses a short kiss to Merlin’s lips. He wishes that wasn’t so damn effective at making Merlin forgive him, but alas, he’s weak spined and knows it.

Arthur leaves first, going to take his place at the front of the throne room to await Merlin’s arrival. Merlin knows that on the other side of the door there are hundreds of people eagerly anticipating his entrance. This is the first time in nearly three decades that Camelot will once again have a Court Sorcerer. After years of the position being vacant and of people like him being slaughtered and executed for simply existing, it’s an incredible step to be taking. Merlin’s presence in court will allow him to make sure that the laws continue to work with sorcerers, and that there are systems in place to ensure magic exists safely in Camelot. It’s an immense responsibility, but it’s one Merlin will gladly fulfil.

A blare of trumpets announces Merlin’s entrance into the great hall, which is terrifying of its own right. Every head in the room turns to look at him and he is half tempted to turn on his heel and rush back out. He’s faced far more frightening obstacles than this, but there is something about the number of people watching him and knowing that it is him who is receiving this honour that is petrifying. He makes himself take a wobbling step forward. He’s spent so many years being unknown, fading into obscurity except for the people who matter. He makes friends without trouble and can draw smiles from people with ease, but then he goes on his way and most of the time isn’t spared a thought. He fights incredible battles with his power, conquering and surviving, but the people he battles never know who he is, or if they do they never live long enough for it to matter. It’s entirely different to have so many people actually witnessing him.

As he walks he makes himself pay attention to the faces that matter. Servants in the castle who have become friends over the years, the nobility who have been kindest to him, his friends who are all glimmering with pride like a sky of stars. He meets Gaius’ eyes and then his mother’s, who travelled from Ealdor just to see him achieve this moment, and smiles at the way they both glow with matching parental warmth. He knows that without their support, he never would be where he is today.

Finally, unable to take looking over the crowd any longer, he lets his eyes stray to Arthur. He’s smiling at Merlin with the kind of affection that stretches far beyond being proud of this achievement. It is obvious just from the gentle curve of his lips and the creases in his eyes that he is truly eager for this moment, that he wants nothing more than to offer Merlin this. Merlin stops at the foot of the dias and smiles back at his lover. His nerves are still quaking but it’s easier to bear in the embrace of Arthur’s eyes upon him.

“Today we restore the position of Court Sorcerer to its rightful place in Camelot’s council,” Arthur announces. His voice carries with ease around the room, so that even the servants at the farthest point of the chamber would be able to hear him. “With this, we ensure that within this kingdom, all people of magic are treated with the dignity they deserve.”

Arthur looked over the crowd as he spoke, but now his eyes return to Merlin. “Will you take a knee?”

Merlin does as he instructs but offers Arthur a wink as he descends, enjoying the huff of amusement Arthur has to press between his lips and the slight pink that flushes his cheeks.

“Merlin of Ealdor, son of Hunith and Balinor, and last of the Dragonlords, do you swear to remain loyal to this kingdom forevermore? To protect and defend it with all your strength and power?”

He looks up at Arthur, the love of his life. Today he makes a pledge to Camelot, their kingdom, their home, but someday he will pledge himself to Arthur. This day is not about the two of them, but about the kingdom they were destined to build and are finally seeing to fruition. Still, it feels right to be looking into his eyes as he speaks.

“I swear it solemnly,” he promises, and the softness in Arthur’s eyes turns molten.

Arthur helps Merlin to his feet, his fingers lingering just that bit longer against Merlin’s like a promise. In front of such a crowd it’s the most affection he can offer, and Merlin soaks it up like dry earth taking in the rain.

“I announce, Merlin, Court Sorcerer of Camelot!”

Notes:

cw // there are three mild smut scenes in this chapter - it is quite clear when these scenes are beginning if that is something you wish to skip just skip to the scene break following that point (marked by ~-~-~)
this was probably my favourite chapter to write, i hope it was as enjoyable for you guys to read as it was for me to write !!!
the wait is going to be a bit longer before the next chapter (i know sorry) but this is just so that me and my editor can get everything ready for the final season, and hopefully we will be increasing posting time back every to 2 weeks for season 5, so i promise it will be worth it
the next chapter will post on the merlin anniversary, so christmas day for Australia or christmas eve for basically everywhere else !!! i will see you all then for the beginning of season 5 !!!
in the meantime here is my oafk playlist for your listening enjoyment - it's in chronological order and is my magnum opus playlist
love you all !!!

Notes:

im on tiktok (tjmcharg123) if you'd like updates and regular content about OAFK, twitter (crystalskiess) and tumblr (crystalskiess) if you wanna check me out there, i'd love to hear from you!
there is also a discord server if you want other people to talk about this fic and merlin with !! linked here
please leave a comment and/or kudos !! they make my entire life, and i would love to know what you're thinking so far !!!

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