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It starts, as most things in Camelot do, with a bit of magic.
Merlin’s magic, to be precise, but Arthur doesn’t figure that out until later.
He’s too busy riding the easy high of his father surviving a mortal wound, no less shattered by Morgana’s betrayal but all the more sympathetic to the force that had saved him. He’s too busy convincing his father that magic can be used for good, that it can save lives instead of destroy them. He’s too busy reeling from Uther’s sudden declaration to the entire kingdom of Arthur’s arranged marriage to a druid prince that nobody even knows the name of.
Arthur’s a little pissed about that one, but it isn’t like he has a choice.
He’s grateful to Merlin and Gaius for showing him to the sorcerer that saved his father, but as the days grow closer and closer to the matching ceremony, his mood dims considerably.
“I mean, honestly,” Arthur complains, throwing his apple up in the air and catching it. “Is this really necessary? A decree for the legalization of magic, sure, but a marriage?”
He looks over to where Merlin is sitting at the table in his chambers, polishing his armor. “Merlin, are you listening to me?”
“Unfortunately,” Merlin says, but he glances up at Arthur and smirks. “Come on, Arthur, are you telling me you aren’t looking forward to this?”
Arthur levels Merlin with a stare. “Now however did you figure that out?”
“It’s not like you’ve been complaining every day for the past, oh, three months?”
Arthur glares across the room and makes the executive decision to throw his apple at Merlin’s head. He stays quiet to avoid having to unearth the real reason why he’s so against the idea of marrying a druid, or marrying anyone at all—because his heart belongs to someone else, someone who can never have any feelings for him that go beyond the limits of fealty and friendship. Arthur has always understood that any marriage for him will not be for love, but for power; a marriage of strength, of character. A strong match for Camelot’s future. He had accepted early on that he will have to be lucky to marry the person he loves (and the more that he thinks about it, the more frequently that person tends to wear the face of a man), but it feels even worse now that he has someone in his life that he knows his father would never approve of.
Merlin easily dodges the apple that Arthur throws his way, and even as Arthur shoots him a pointed look, he thinks to himself, if you only knew.
☽•☾
“You… saved my life,” Uther says slowly, staring up at the old man from the charcoal maker’s hut. “With magic?”
“Yes, sire,” the old man replies in his grating voice that always sounds a little too familiar. “Will you have my head for it?”
Uther lays there, staring down at his body that is no longer bleeding, at Arthur who is trying to hold back his tears. “No. I suppose I won’t.”
“Father,” Arthur sighs in relief. “Father, see? Not all magic is evil. Some of it is good.”
“Magic itself is good,” the old man says. “The people who use it are the ones who corrupt it.”
“I am in your debt, sorcerer,” Uther rasps, looking up at the old man in a way that Arthur has never seen his father look at a magic user. It’s something like camaraderie, like acceptance. “How can I repay you?”
“Your son knows my price,” the old man grins. “For magic users to no longer live in fear. For Camelot to be a place that celebrates magic, not a place that condemns it.”
“You shall have your price,” Uther forces out, a grim smile on his face. Arthur is too in shock to respond, wondering how his father’s stance has changed so quickly.
“Is he enchanted?” Arthur asks, looking up at the old sorcerer. “Did you make him say this?”
“No, Prince Arthur,” the old man says, a gleam in his eye that Arthur swears he’s seen before. “Maybe he’s just had a change of heart.”
“I swear to you,” Uther starts, sitting up in his bed so he can look the sorcerer in the eye, “I swear to you that no kingdom will look upon Camelot as a place where magic is outlawed ever again. It will be a place of peace. As a gift for saving my life. For helping my son.”
“I will hold you to that promise, King Uther,” the old man replies. “Or this won’t be the last that you see of me.”
☽•☾
The day of the matching ceremony creeps up on Arthur until suddenly he’s awoken at dawn for the preparations. The druids are arriving at midday, and the castle is already bustling with energy by the time Merlin arrives with Arthur’s breakfast.
“I got you all the good stuff from the kitchens,” Merlin proclaims as he closes the door behind him with his foot. “Figured you would want the boost for today.”
Arthur looks at the large plate of all of his favorite foods and feels his stomach lurch. “I don’t think I can eat this.”
Merlin sits down across from him and steals a loaf of bread from the plate. “Tell me again what they’re making you do?”
Arthur sighs. “Once I meet the druid prince and the matching ceremony is done, we have to learn the rituals for the marriage ceremony. Pretty sure it involves some kind of bonding rune we both have to get. Not looking forward to that.”
Merlin hums in response, chewing on a piece of his bread.
“Whatever,” Arthur sighs, looking out the window. “I just hope he’s pretty.”
Merlin swallows and tears off another piece from the loaf, pushing it toward Arthur. “It won’t be that bad. You’re the prince. Besides, there isn’t anyone uglier than you to match you with.”
Arthur scoffs. “Say that again and I’ll use you for target practice.”
He doesn’t mean it, of course—he never does, in the end—but he loves the way Merlin laughs at his meaningless threats. Merlin seems to be doing just fine today, like he isn’t bothered by any of this, and Arthur’s small shreds of hope that Merlin could feel the same fall away. Because either Merlin truly doesn’t care that Arthur is getting married, or he’s just really good at hiding it. And Merlin has never successfully hidden anything from him before, so Arthur knows what the answer is.
It makes his heart even heavier, so he pushes the plate of food toward Merlin. “Here. Eat.”
And for once, Merlin doesn’t say anything back—no sarcastic remark, no idiotic argument—he just picks out the things he wants and eats them, the both of them enjoying a comfortable silence that has only sprouted up through years of stumbling through awkward ones.
“And who knows,” Merlin mumbles around a bite of bread, “maybe you could grow to love him. Whoever he is.”
Arthur highly doubts that, but he hums in response anyway.
Merlin pushes himself up from the chair. “Your bath should be ready. I’ll bring it up.”
“Try to keep it warm this time,” Arthur chides. He adjusts in his seat as Merlin leaves, staring down at the half-empty breakfast tray. Now that he’s alone, he manages to force himself to eat a few bites of fruit and cheese before undressing for the bath. Bathing in front of Merlin is always something he has to prepare for, especially when he’s sore and tired and allows Merlin to do the washing for him. Feeling Merlin’s hands in his hair, on his tense shoulders and neck, washing down his body… Merlin has to have noticed the few times that his enjoyment gets a little physical, but Arthur tries not to dwell on it. It’s just something that you see when you’re the prince’s manservant—just because Arthur looks into it a little too hard doesn’t mean that Merlin does too.
He pushes the thoughts out of his mind when he hears his door push open again, only the small changing screen keeping him hidden.
“All right,” Merlin says as he and another servant set the bath down loudly, water sloshing out onto the floor. Arthur rolls his eyes fondly from behind the screen. He hears the other servant leave and close the door behind them, and he’s grateful for the privacy. “Come on, Arthur. Let’s get you ready for the ceremony.”
“Merlin,” Arthur says quietly. From behind the screen, it’s easier to voice his true emotions. He’s never been very good at it in the light. “I don’t want to do this.”
There’s a pause where nothing is audible but the sound of their breathing. These real moments between them are rare, but Arthur cherishes them all the same.
“I know you don’t,” Merlin replies. “But…”
“But I don’t have a choice,” Arthur finishes for him. “I never have.”
Merlin is standing close enough now that Arthur can hear him swallow on the other side of the screen. “No, you haven’t. But this is your duty to Camelot’s future, Arthur. It’s always been your duty, and the fact that it’s for the good of all of Camelot’s citizens should mean something to you.”
“It does,” Arthur responds. “I just wish…”
I just wish it could be different. I wish it could be you.
Arthur sighs. “Never mind. Just forget it.”
“Arthur—”
He walks out from behind the screen and climbs into the bath, and the moment is over as soon as it begins. That’s one of the things that Arthur appreciates about Merlin: he pushes back against Arthur on almost everything, but he knows when Arthur really needs him to let it go.
“It could be worse, I guess,” Arthur says, watching Merlin fish out Arthur’s new ceremonial clothes from his wardrobe. “At least I’m not marrying a troll.”
Merlin looks back at him and smiles. “No, but the druid will be.”
Arthur cups his hands and splashes water at Merlin, his face lighting up and his heart racing at the sound of Merlin’s laugh as he jumps out of the way. Arthur isn’t sure exactly when he fell so hard for this idiot and his gorgeous laugh, but he’s sure of the fact that whoever his druid fiancé is, the depth of Arthur’s feelings won’t even come close.
☽•☾
Arthur stands at the head of the great hall, his father by his side and the prince regent crown upon his head. His knight's cloak is draped elegantly around his shoulders and his tunic and trousers laden with intricate gold threading fall softly against his skin. The druids are arriving, and Arthur had wanted to greet them on the steps to the castle, but his father had insisted on sending the knights to welcome them instead. Arthur feels sick to his stomach with nerves, something he never feels even when in the most dangerous of battles, and he makes eye contact with Merlin who is standing off to the side with the rest of the servants and mouths, save me.
Merlin smirks and mouths back, no way.
Merlin is in the ceremonial servant’s garb, all reds and blues and purples, and Arthur hadn’t made him wear the feathered hat this time around but he thinks now that maybe he should have.
He would look way less distracting, for starters.
He hears as the druids arrive into the courtyard, not on horses but on foot, and the room is suddenly charged with a new energy. His father nudges his shoulder and smiles when Arthur looks over, his eyes crinkling at the sides. It isn’t a look that Arthur is used to on his father, and he knows that there are things his father has done that Arthur will never truly be able to forgive him for, but he smiles back all the same. This is a step in the right direction as much as Arthur wishes there could be some other way.
He gathers himself and stands taller as he hears the party near the doors to the great hall, and when the doors push open to reveal their guests, Arthur’s eyes immediately start searching for the prince among them. All of the druids are dressed the same, their dark cloaks shimmering with inlays that don’t look like thread and their feet bare against the stone. He spares a glance over at Merlin to see him staring in awe along with the rest of the servants, the midday sunlight catching his eyes and making them glow gold for just a moment.
“Camelot welcomes you,” Uther greets, bowing his head slightly as the druids make their way down the hall. “We acknowledge that we have not been accepting of your kind in the past, but we are now home to all who choose to reside—I’m sorry, what—what is going on—”
And Arthur watches as, almost as if in slow motion, the druids turn sharply and fall to their knees in front of Merlin.
“Emrys,” one of the druids says, and his voice booms throughout the hall. “We are honored to be in your presence and to offer your hand to the prince regent of Camelot.”
“I’m sorry, there must be a mistake.” Uther furrows his brows. “That is my son’s manservant.”
“This is Emrys, the most powerful sorcerer who will ever walk the earth. It is our deepest honor to be able to offer his hand to your son.”
“Merlin?” Arthur asks, looking across the hall. Merlin looks the palest and the smallest Arthur has ever seen him. He looks like a scared animal that knows it’s about to be trapped, and that’s when it clicks for Arthur that no part of this is a joke. None of it. “Merlin, what are they talking about?”
“Is this some sort of prank?” Uther asks, and a hint of his old wrath seeps through into his tone, breaks through the cracks in his mask. “That is a servant, that is an idiot farm boy—”
“Merlin?” Arthur repeats desperately. “Explain what’s going on right now.”
“I didn’t—Arthur, I didn’t know—”
“Explain yourself!” Uther shouts, staring Merlin down with an icy glare. “What is this?”
Arthur watches as Merlin’s face hardens, as he stands up just a little straighter. As his eyes flash gold again, but not from the sun, and as every single inlaid torch in the walls bursts into flame all at once. No spell is uttered, no hand movements are made. Just Merlin and his glowing eyes, the eyes of a sorcerer.
“I am Emrys,” he says, and it rings louder in Arthur’s ears than anything else ever has. “I have magic.”
Arthur stands there in shock just processing Merlin’s words as the entire hall around him erupts into chaos. He hears his father start to yell, something about spies and betrayal and other things that Arthur knows just can’t be true, and he finally understands enough to push his way through the crowd.
“Merlin,” Arthur says once he gets close enough to be heard, “Merlin, just tell me what’s going on.”
“I didn’t know, I swear,” Merlin answers, and his eyes are wild, almost like he’s wary. Like he’s scared. “Arthur, they didn’t tell me, I didn’t know—”
“How could you not know? How could you not—and why didn’t you ever—”
“Silence!”
Uther’s voice booms throughout the hall and a hush falls quickly after. He walks forward slowly to the group of druids. “You’re sure that this man is the—the sorcerer you speak of?”
“Without a doubt, sire,” one of the druids replies. Arthur can’t ever quite tell which one is speaking. It always sounds like all of them at once. “He is prophesied to stand beside your son on the throne of Camelot.”
Uther doesn’t say anything at first, and Arthur’s heart beats faster every second. This is what he has wanted, what he has been secretly hoping for, but not like this. Not in a world where Merlin has been lying to him since they met, in a world where Merlin can do powerful magic and decides to clean Arthur’s sweat-soaked armour instead.
After a long, suffering silence, Uther finally speaks. “Then it is done. They shall be married for the good of Camelot.”
Arthur had expected applause at the official announcement, but the hall fills only with hushed whispers. He has been facing away from Merlin to watch his father, but Arthur turns back now and aches at the sunken look on Merlin’s face.
“I’m sorry, Arthur,” he says, but he won’t meet Arthur’s eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
Arthur doesn’t have a reply. He’s wedged between so many emotions that it’s hard to choose one to actually act on; he can’t decide if he’s happy or angry, if he feels bad for Merlin or wants to punch him. He realizes that Merlin could probably decimate him in a fight now that it’s legal for him to actually try, so maybe punching him isn’t the best idea, but that doesn’t keep Arthur from wanting to do it.
“You look like you want to punch me.”
Arthur grits his teeth. “I kind of do.”
“Nothing new, then.” The corner of Merlin’s mouth twitches up. “I guess I deserve it this time.”
“No,” Arthur sighs, rubbing his eyes. He notices that most of the people have filed out of the hall, leaving a handful of the druids and his father talking in hushed tones. It leaves him and Merlin alone standing against the wall, close enough to touch if he just reaches out. Arthur isn’t sure if he’s allowed to. “No, you don’t.”
Merlin finally looks him in the eye, and Arthur thinks he looks hopeful now. It hurts to think that Merlin would ever be afraid of him when they’ve been so close for so long, when Arthur has shared things with him that he hasn’t ever told to anyone else. When he had promised himself to not keep secrets from Merlin and had assumed that his manservant would do the same. He feels his anger rising up again; his anger at Merlin for taking advantage of him, his anger at his father for setting this up in the first place, his anger at himself for not figuring Merlin out sooner. For not figuring it out at all.
“Arthur, I—”
“Leave me.”
Merlin’s face falls. “What?”
Arthur looks away. “Just do it, Merlin. Please.”
Merlin’s shoulder hits Arthur’s as he stalks away, and Arthur stares out the large windows for a long time before he grabs a decorative vase and throws it hard against the wall. It’s just him and his father in the hall, then, and his father says nothing as Arthur stares at the shards on the ground and walks away, out of the room and all the way to his chambers. He dismisses the guards and locks himself inside.
The servants walking by his door occasionally hear a clanging or shattering noise, but they ignore it and hurry past.
☽•☾
When Arthur emerges in time for the celebratory feast, he’s significantly more calm. He had foolishly expected Merlin to show up to help dress him, but he had obviously been greeted by another servant who helped him into his dinner clothes. They’re similar to the ones he had worn to the matching ceremony minus the cloak and jacket, and as he’s escorted by guards to the dining hall, he can’t feel anything but stiff and uncomfortable.
Seeing Merlin in his druid ceremonial robes makes up for that a little bit though.
They’re stunning shades of blue and purple, the fabric shifting colors in the light underneath silver thread work in the shape of what Arthur thinks could be runes. He has a single band crown on his head made of silver leaves and branches, and Arthur can’t breathe. He’s thought about Merlin as a prince before, about the two of them meeting under different circumstances and having the chance to court, but his imagination hasn’t come anywhere close to the real thing.
Arthur sits down directly across from Merlin at the head of the table, and he can tell that Merlin is trying not to notice. “I think I like the feathered hat better.”
Merlin looks up at him, and Arthur is suddenly struck by how blue his eyes are. “I still hate you for making me wear that.”
Arthur smirks. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“It was and you know it.”
The servants come by with the first round of food for the future couple and their guests, an assortment of lords, ladies, knights, and druids alike. Arthur has always hated ceremonial dinners, and this one is no different. He and Merlin don’t talk to each other much; Merlin is too busy being interrogated by an already-drunk Lord about how he can possibly be marrying a prince as a servant, but Merlin shuts him up with a flash of gold and a spilled goblet of wine down his front. Arthur wishes he could laugh about it, but seeing Merlin do magic still sits a bit wrong in his stomach.
When Merlin casually meets his eyes after, Arthur sees that he can tell.
As the night goes on, Arthur reaches for his goblet to take a long drink of wine more and more so he can hide the way he’s staring. The candlelight makes Merlin’s cheekbones even sharper and the crown in his hair even brighter, and Arthur isn’t sure how he’s supposed to survive being married to Merlin without being able to love him.
Arthur is through his third goblet of wine before he notices that he’s more than a bit drunk, but he still waves over a servant to ask for another.
“Going at it a little hard, aren’t we?”
Arthur looks up as the servant pours the wine. “I’m the prince, Merlin. I… I can do what I want.”
“Yeah, absolutely not,” Merlin says, smiling at the servant as she walks away and then quickly reaching for Arthur’s goblet. “No more wine for you.”
Arthur’s reflexes are faster than Merlin’s, though, so he grabs the goblet out of Merlin’s hands as quickly as he had taken it away, bringing it to his lips. “What did I say, I can do what I… Merlin!”
Merlin throws his head back and laughs as Arthur looks down into his wine to find water instead.
“Right, okay, laugh it up,” Arthur grumbles, setting his goblet down in front of him. “It’s a joke, it’s all a joke—”
“Whoa, Arthur, slow down.” Arthur feels the way Merlin is staring at him, the way Merlin’s eyes burn into his skin in a way that isn’t magical at all. “That was a joke, but this isn’t.”
“Isn’t it?”
Arthur hears a chair scrape across the floor that’s quickly followed by Merlin’s hands under his shoulders, lifting him out of his seat.
“Come on, up you go.”
“I can do it myself, Merlin.”
Arthur tries to stand up and promptly stumbles over nothing, swaying over into Merlin’s waiting arms.
Merlin grins. “You sure about that?”
“Shut up,” Arthur glares. He lets Merlin lead him out of the hall with a few suggestive winks to the people sending them looks, and the walls of the castle went in and out of focus around him as Merlin helps him to his chambers.
“This… this isn’t your job anymore,” Arthur slurs as Merlin pushes open the doors to his chambers.
“I dunno,” Merlin replies softly, sitting Arthur down on his bed. “It kind of is.”
“Ah.” Arthur looks down at his hands so he doesn’t have to see the look on Merlin’s face. “Husband.”
And he can sense that they’re about to have another moment, which is more than Arthur can take right now, but he also senses that like everything else, he doesn’t have much of a choice. Merlin is pushy like that, and it’s one of the reasons that Arthur respects him so much, but he wishes that right now, Merlin will just leave it alone.
“Arthur, look—”
“It’s fine, Merlin.”
Arthur hears Merlin swallow. “No. No, it’s not.”
“It is—”
“No. Let me finish.”
Arthur sits there quietly, waiting to get so devastatingly rejected in a way that only Merlin can make so sweet.
“Look, we have to make this work. I know you don’t want any of this to be happening, but we have to at least be civil about it. You don’t want me, and that’s fine, that’s—that’s fine—”
Arthur slowly moves his head up so he can meet Merlin’s gaze, and he immediately wishes that he hadn’t. Merlin is crying, like—like he thinks that Arthur will make him run, make him hurt or make him pay for something that’s out of his hands. And Arthur gets angry sometimes but he will never, he will never send Merlin away for anything.
Except he kind of had, hadn’t he? God, he’s too drunk for this.
“Arthur, I just… I wish I could fix this for you.”
“Merlin,” Arthur says with some effort, “it’s okay. I think.”
Merlin barks out a laugh. “You think?”
“Yes, I think,” Arthur hisses. “I’m just trying to—but I—the wine—”
“I could fix that for you,” Merlin says, hushed. “I could, you know. Make you sober.”
It’s instant, the way that Arthur recoils.
Merlin huffs, his eyes going cold. “Or I won’t.”
Arthur lets out a shaky breath. “Look, it’s just going to take me some time—”
“How much time, Arthur?” Merlin snaps. His jaw is set in the way that means he isn’t going to back down, and Arthur hates that he knows Merlin well enough to read him. “The wedding is in two weeks. You know that there’s magic in that ceremony, right? You know that we have to practice the runes and the incantations, that I have to actually do magic in order for this to happen. The whole damn thing is magic, Arthur, that’s the whole point—”
“I know what the bloody point is, Merlin!” Arthur shouts, cutting Merlin off. Merlin flinches back, either startled or threatened, and Arthur hates both. He stares down at the floor in shame. “I just didn’t think that it would be you.”
Merlin doesn’t say anything, so Arthur continues. “The whole thing, it’s... it’s different now. Because it’s you.”
There’s a silence, then, one of the longest and most agonizing of Arthur’s life. He doesn’t dare look at Merlin’s face, at what emotions his confession has stirred in Merlin’s chest. He wants all of this to go back to normal, back before there were wedding ceremonies and secret sorcerers and it had just been he and Merlin, existing in each other’s spaces in a way that had been all too easy to justify.
“Right.” Merlin clears his throat, and Arthur can hear that he’s crying. “I’ll just leave, then. Again.”
Arthur rubs at his temples. “Merlin, wait—”
“Goodnight, Arthur.” Merlin opens his chamber doors and steps halfway out, turning around to bid him one last adieu. “Try not to choke on your own vomit.”
Now that Arthur is alone, it doesn’t seem like such a bad idea.
☽•☾
Arthur wakes to a pounding headache and a cup of water on his bedside table that he isn’t sure how ended up there. He drinks it down quickly, the water soothing to his throat but not so much to his head. He tries to remember what happened after the dinner last night, but it comes back to him in bits and pieces instead of as one cohesive memory. When his new manservant walks in, Arthur figures it must have been him.
He lets the boy dress him and fetch his food from the kitchens, but it all feels wrong. The boy is all too ready to do his job, and Arthur had thought he would be elated, but instead he sends the boy away once his breakfast tray is in front of him. Picking up a piece of fruit, Arthur eats in silence for the first time since before he met Merlin, and he isn’t sure how much of it he can take before he starts to tear his own hair out.
Merlin makes him want to tear his own hair out too, but in an entirely different way.
Arthur is halfway through his breakfast when there’s a soft knock on his door.
“Enter,” he says quietly, grateful for a distraction.
His door swings open and Merlin is on the other side of it, dressed in a decorated robe with a corded necklace around his throat. The swift feeling of otherness to it catches Arthur off guard, but he recovers quickly.
“Since when do you knock?”
“Prat,” Merlin teases. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay after last night.”
“I’m fine. I don’t remember much, but my head hurts like I got knocked out.” Arthur scrunches his nose up. “How much did I drink?”
“Enough,” Merlin replies, sitting down across from him at the small table. Arthur swears there’s something off about him, but he brushes it off as still being hungover. “Too much. Be glad you don’t remember it.”
Arthur shrugs, picking more at his food and eating it slowly. He and Merlin sit in silence, but unlike the previous morning, it’s tense and uncomfortable. Arthur feels like he should say something, like Merlin wants him to say something, but for the life of him, Arthur doesn’t know what it should be.
He finishes the last of his breakfast save for an apple core and Merlin grabs the empty platter, both of them staring at the silver tray as he freezes with it in his hands.
“I thought you would be ecstatic to be out of a job,” Arthur says. As soon as it’s out of his mouth, it feels like the wrong thing to say.
Merlin presses his lips together. “Old habits, I guess.”
Merlin pushes his chair out and stands up with the empty tray, Arthur’s eyes following his hands as he carefully picks up the water pitcher and balances it on the silver surface.
“You don’t have to, you know,” Arthur assures him, watching as Merlin reaches in front of him to grab his fork and add it to the pile.
“It’s okay,” Merlin replies, trying to balance the tray precariously on one hand. He’s dropped it a number of times before, and Arthur prepares himself for the violent clanging sound it will make when it hits the floor. “I want to.”
Arthur stares as he keeps struggling with the platter, rearranging the water pitcher and the apple core in a futile attempt to make them stay where they are.
“It makes it feel more normal, doesn’t it?”
Arthur doesn’t know how to say that none of this feels normal, that it will never feel normal, that having to share a bed with the person you love shouldn’t make you feel angry and hurt and afraid.
The platter clangs to the floor, and Arthur jumps up out of his chair. “For god’s sake, Merlin, why don’t you just use magic?”
Merlin stares at him. “Because every time I do, you look at me like you hate me.”
“I don’t hate you, Merlin,” Arthur says a little too easily. “You’re an absolute idiot sometimes, but I don’t hate you.”
And apparently Merlin takes that as a challenge, leaving the tray and pitcher on the floor and stepping back. Arthur watches as Merlin stretches his hand out and mutters an incantation in a language too old for Arthur to decipher, his eyes lighting up the most brilliant gold that rivals all of the riches that Arthur could ever want. The tray and pitcher fly up into the air and settle perfectly together, the fork laying itself down and the apple core setting itself upright onto the tray and staying there.
Merlin’s golden eyes flick over to stare Arthur down, and Arthur feels weak. “Prove it.”
Want and heat pool in Arthur’s abdomen.
That’s new.
“Merlin,” he says, taking steady but hesitant steps toward his former manservant. His fiancé. “I don’t hate you.”
The gold in Merlin’s eyes dims away until they’re back to steady blue, the tray still floating in the air. Merlin smiles in a way that looks like a secret, some inside joke that Arthur doesn’t know the story to. It looks sad, and Arthur barely hears Merlin mumble a reply of, “I guess that’s close enough.”
His melancholy demeanor vanishes as quickly as it came, and Merlin gives him a forced smile instead, big and confident in a way that’s all too revealing. “Well, I guess that’s settled, then. I’ll see you later, Arthur.”
“Where are you going?” Arthur asks dumbly, not used to Merlin having things to do other than be with him or at the tavern. He realizes now that Merlin probably wasn’t ever at the tavern, that he was doing secret magic things behind Arthur’s back, and that realization stings just a little bit.
“To practice the marriage rune with the druids. I thought I knew it already just from some of the books I’ve read, but we have to use a different one.”
Arthur furrows his brows. “What? Why?”
Merlin quickly looks down at the ground, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile before falling again. “Because we need the one for duty, and I only knew the one for love.”
And Arthur feels like someone has dropped a colossal weight onto his chest, squeezing out his breath and holding down his limbs, rendering him speechless and incapacitated. That settles it, then, that settles it, nothing about this is related to love whatsoever, and Arthur struggles to find the words that he feels like are being crushed and silenced inside his heart.
“Oh.”
Merlin’s head lifts up, a quizzical look on his face. “Were you... expecting something else? We’re using the marriage rune for duty, right?”
“I,” Arthur stutters, breaking himself out of his spiral. “I mean, yes. Obviously.” No, anything but that, Merlin, I need you to love me. I need you to stay. “That’s fine. You can go.”
So Merlin leaves wordlessly, the tray floating out behind him as he skips away down the corridor, and Arthur once again feels so many things that he can’t name them or act on them. Merlin has a habit of doing that to him, he realizes—rendering him confused or speechless or breathless with want. It’s dangerous the more he thinks about it, about how much of a liability Merlin makes himself into.
Arthur supposes that Merlin can protect him now though, if he needs to. He doesn’t like the idea, but it’s something he can fall back on.
The days go by, Merlin holed away with the druids preparing for the ceremony and Arthur out on the training grounds with his knights as often as he can get away with. Part of it is that he just needs the distraction, but the other part is that he processes things better when he can hit something about it.
He runs himself ragged until there are only three days left until the ceremony, and Arthur hasn’t seen Merlin since the morning in his chambers when he made the tray float in midair. It’s been quiet without him, and even though they’ve been going back and forth between fighting and being fine, Arthur can’t handle any more of it.
He stalks across the castle to the room where the druids are practicing with Merlin. The door is open slightly, and Arthur just catches the last of an incantation before he leans in and sees Merlin’s eyes flash quickly back to blue. His gut twists, but he fights through it, determined to be okay with this. He and Merlin are going to be married after all, and he owes it to Merlin to at least try. He owes it to himself, too, but that’s not his main reason.
He watches as Merlin picks up a bowl and dips a brush into it, his elegant hands using it to mark out a rune on a wooden board. Once he finishes the last stroke and mutters some more words, it turns orange and glows, and Arthur is taken aback by the way that he wants to know what that will be like on his skin. It’s like Merlin is branding him as his own, and the thought should not be making Arthur feel butterflies in his stomach like some sort of girl.
Arthur eventually clears his throat and Merlin looks up in surprise, setting down the bowl and making his way over to the open door. Merlin has changed just in these last few weeks; he carries himself differently now, has a more regal air about him that Arthur can only relate to because it was taught to him. It comes to Merlin naturally, and it’s a good look on him. Arthur would rather die than tell him that.
Merlin gazes at Arthur warily, his demeanor reserved. “You never come down here.”
The question in his statement is easily heard. “I need you,” Arthur says, then tacks on, “for something.”
“...Okay?”
Now that Arthur is here, he doesn’t know what exactly he needs Merlin for. He had just stormed down here out of a need to be close to him, but now he doesn’t have an excuse. He’s always needed an excuse to need Merlin, and there’s no better one now than ‘future husband’, but it doesn’t feel right. It feels like he’s tarnishing Merlin’s honor.
Arthur falls back onto the only thing he can think of and finds that surprisingly, he wants to do it. “I wanted to… apologize.”
Merlin’s eyebrows go up, a barking laugh forcing its way out of his throat. “Really? You, apologize?”
“Just let me do it.”
Merlin folds his arms, his mouth twisting up into a teasing smile. He looks truly magical then, like a faerie that lives to play tricks and be dangerously beautiful. Arthur wants to strangle him. “Let’s hear it then.”
“I’ve been reacting badly to your—your magic. It’s not something you can change, and I’m sorry for making you feel like you couldn’t come to me about it.” Merlin’s eyes slowly turn from light and teasing to disbelief, and Arthur finds it in himself to keep going. “There have just been so many times where I’ve watched magic hurt my people—and when the sorcerer did the magic over my father, I half thought he was about to kill him—”
“That was me.”
Arthur’s brain goes blank. “I—sorry, say that again?”
“The sorcerer was me. You know, in disguise. I thought you would have… figured that out by now.”
Arthur has never liked his anger. He doesn’t like the way it makes him act, the things it makes him say, the way it makes him treat people. It twists up in him like a sword going through his gut, digging around until he has no choice but to scream from the way it fills him up. Arthur doesn’t like his anger, but this time. This time he feels like it’s justified.
“God, Merlin, how many more lies until you’re finally out of them?”
“I thought this was an apology,” Merlin spits.
“Not until you tell me the truth.”
“Are you joking?” Merlin laughs, cold and detached. “Do you know how many times I’ve saved your royal ass? When you’ve been gallivanting who-knows-where with whichever princess catches your eye, I’ve been turning bandits and assassins away from Camelot. I’ve risked my life almost every day for the last five years saving someone who would never do the same, and you can’t even have the decency to thank me for it—”
“You think I wouldn’t risk my life to save yours?”
Merlin laughs, a sad and wicked sound. “Arthur, I was your servant. Why would you?”
“The first month I knew you, I almost died in a cave trying to save your life! I would have, if it wasn’t for that light...”
Arthur pauses. Feels his anger and awe rise higher at how much he doesn’t know, how many times Merlin has tried to save him, has been forced to save him. God, there’s no way that light was a coincidence, is there?
Is there?
“That was you too, wasn’t it? The light that guided me out.”
Merlin glares at him, his eyes on fire with fury. “Yes, Arthur. Even while I was dying, I was saving you. Don’t you get it? Everything I do is for you. Everything.” Merlin’s shoulders sag, and he’s suddenly carrying the weight of everything he’s kept secret, everything he’s done that Arthur can’t even begin to guess at.
Merlin’s voice is clear, but his body language conveys a deep pain. “I am always the light that guides you out.”
Arthur can’t stop himself from asking. “Why?”
Merlin grits his teeth. “You know why.”
“No, Merlin,” Arthur says, more confused than ever. “I don’t.” He once again feels like there’s something he should be saying, something he should be picking up on but he’s not.
“Then you should get better at looking,” Merlin seethes. “I haven’t exactly been hiding it.”
He turns around and swiftly walks back into the room, throwing his hand behind him and making the door slam shut.
Arthur stands in the hallway feeling like he just missed something really big, but he has absolutely no idea what it is.
☽•☾
It’s the day before the ceremony, and Arthur would rather be anywhere else than entertaining royalty from all five kingdoms while sitting at the head of the table across from Merlin.
They haven’t spoken, and it doesn’t look like either of them is going to remedy that—Arthur hasn’t actually seen Merlin’s face all night—but that doesn’t stop the festivities around them from forcing the topic of conversation to their relationship.
It reminds Arthur too much of that first night, of the wine and the words he stumbled over trying to make things right and just making them worse. It reminds him of the way Merlin had said duty, like he’d hated the shape of it in his mouth, and Arthur wonders how awful he must really be if Merlin can’t even think of marrying him just for the sake of his kingdom.
Their kingdom, as it’s about to be.
Arthur goes to bed that night not nearly drunk enough, glaring at his marriage outfit where it’s carefully draped across his changing screen. If he has to marry Merlin for duty, then so be it. He would rather have Merlin at arm’s length that not have him at all.
His sleep is restless, Arthur waking up to punch his pillow and angrily readjust his covers a few too many times to be brushed off as just a bad night. His stomach clashes and knots together, the motion of it making him feel sick, and he isn’t sure how much of it is from nerves and how much of it is from the act of keeping himself inside.
He’s awake when his room starts to lighten with the dawn and his new servant knocks lightly on his door, right on time in the way that Arthur is never prepared for. He eats his breakfast alone, grumbling to himself the way that always got him in trouble with his father, but he’s done caring about it. He’s only able to eat a few bites before his stomach threatens to push it all back up, and Arthur thinks it’s because there’s no room in his body for anything else besides the ache of longing that expands up into his chest.
His servant returns to dress him, and Arthur’s movements are difficult, like he’s wading through chest-deep water with his boots stuck in the mud. His hands are shaking but he tries to hide it, and he’s grateful for the discretion his servant awards him by not commenting on it. They haven’t said very many words to each other since he’s been in the position. Arthur isn’t sure he knows the boy’s name.
“You’re ready, sire,” the boy speaks softly, smoothing down the front of his coat and stepping back. “Will there be anything else?”
“No,” Arthur says, sounding far away even to himself. “You’re dismissed.”
He doesn’t see the boy leave but he hears the door open and shut, and Arthur has to sit down on the edge of his bed to steady his breathing.
It only feels like a few minutes later when his door bursts back open.
“I said you’re dismissed.”
“Arthur.”
Arthur looks up at the voice that has always sounded like home.
“Merlin?”
“We need to talk.”
Arthur looks off to Merlin’s left. “I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to be here.”
Merlin stalks toward him, his ceremonial robes swishing out behind him. He looks beautiful, his silver leaf crown twinkling in the morning light. Arthur loves him. “I don’t care.”
Merlin stops in front of him, his shoulders set in the determined way that Merlin only does when he needs people to listen. Arthur has ignored him too many times now when he’s been like this, so he sighs and looks up into Merlin’s eyes. “Why are you here?”
“Because I can’t marry you.”
Cold, empty feeling dumps through Arthur’s veins. “What?”
“Not like this, I can’t. I can’t keep lying to you, and I can’t pretend that all of this is okay when it’s not. Arthur, how on earth did you think this was going to work? We can’t just ignore this, we—we can’t. I’ve been in love with you for ages and we’re both fooling ourselves if we think we can just—”
“Wait, you’re in love with me?”
Arthur’s heart breaks open as Merlin slowly nods.
“Merlin,” Arthur replies, and it comes out strangled and scared. “Merlin?”
“I thought you knew,” Merlin says quietly. “I thought we just weren’t talking about it.”
“No,” Arthur says, swallowing hard and trying to slow his racing heart. Merlin is in love with him. Merlin is in love with him? “I didn’t know. Otherwise I would have done something about it.”
“Something?” Merlin huffs out a laugh, runs his hand that’s adorned with crystal rings through his hair before remembering the crown that sits there. Clearly he isn’t used to it. “Like ban me from the kingdom?”
Arthur waits until Merlin is looking at him again. He wants to scream his feelings to Merlin, wants to make sure that this man in front of him knows how much he’s appreciated, how much he is loved. But Arthur has never been one for words, always choosing actions and physical ways to express himself instead, and now he seems at a loss for both. “No, Merlin,” he whispers, his throat catching. “Not like that.”
“Oh.”
Arthur forces himself to look away, the rapid pace of his heart betraying his reserved facade. He doesn’t hear Merlin move until he feels Merlin’s hand touch his face, brush gentle on his cheek.
Merlin stares into his eyes, into Arthur’s very soul, and he must find it worthy. “Would you have done something like this?”
Merlin leans in, closing the gap to kiss him, and Arthur meets him halfway.
The knots in Arthur’s stomach finally relax as he feels Merlin’s lips against his own. It’s a quiet and clean kiss, both of them wholly unbelieving in the reality of it, and Arthur doesn’t realize his hand is in Merlin’s hair until he feels the soft curls against his palm. Kissing a woman has never felt like this, this push and pull of emotion that feels good enough to be the result of spellwork. Of magic.
This one is all Merlin, though, and Arthur is certain in that knowledge. He can feel it in his heart.
The kiss ends when Merlin pulls away from him, resting his forehead against Arthur’s and breathing heavily. Arthur feels dizzy, his breath coming both too shallow and too deep all at once. But Merlin has always been attached to dichotomies—both too loud and too quiet, too brash and too level-headed, too close and altogether not close enough.
“Yes,” Arthur breathes out against Merlin’s lips, finally able to answer his question. “I would have done something like that.”
Merlin’s face breaks out into a smile and he starts laughing, that bright, happy laugh that Arthur almost never gets to hear. He has no choice but to laugh along with Merlin, with this sorcerer that he can’t stand but also can’t ever get enough of. He laughs even harder and pulls Merlin into his chest, toppling them over onto Arthur’s bed so Merlin is over top of him, laughing into the crook of his neck.
“You’re such an idiot,” Merlin chastises, the sound muffled where it presses into his skin. “How long?”
“I don’t know,” Arthur answers honestly. “I didn’t realize what it was at first, but you were always different. I had the knights, the servants, the princesses… and then I had you.”
The look in Merlin’s eyes is soft and watery as he leans in to place another kiss on Arthur’s lips, just as sweet as the first one, and Arthur realizes that he gets to have this for the rest of his life. For once, he gets what he wants. What he chooses. A happy ending, all by accident, unless fate and destiny had some sort of hand in it. Arthur isn’t sure he believes in destiny, but he’ll believe in anything if it explains how much he loves Merlin, how strongly he needs to hold him and how desperately he can never let go.
“I love you,” Arthur says, and he can feel the weight on his shoulders melting and sliding warm down his spine.
Merlin laughs, and Arthur will never get tired of it. “Of course you do.”
“Ass,” Arthur replies, smirking at Merlin when he lets out an exaggerated gasp.
“Clotpole.”
“You little—”
A harsh knock sounds on the door, interrupting their bubble of happiness. “Sire, they’re ready for you in the great hall.”
“Thank you,” Arthur says loud enough for the guard to hear. “I’ll be out shortly.”
“We’re still looking for Merlin. Let us know if you see him.”
Merlin giggles next to him, running a hand through Arthur’s hair that shouldn’t feel as good as it does.
“So,” Merlin starts, looking thoughtful. “Am I pretty enough for your standard?”
Arthur grins, in awe of Merlin, of everything he is. “You are the standard.”
“Now I feel bad about calling you a troll.”
They laugh and kiss until the guard comes pounding on the door for the second time, the both of them getting up and adjusting each other’s clothes.
“Come on, Arthur,” Merlin says, soft and warm. Like home. “Let’s go get married.”
And for the first time in almost a half a year, Arthur is ecstatic at the thought.
☽•☾
Arthur pulls up the sleeve of his jacket in front of the packed hall as Merlin mixes the ink, the ink that will settle into his skin and mark him as Merlin’s, that will mark Merlin as his.
“Emrys,” the druid officiant calls, “perform the spell to activate the ink.”
Arthur listens to the elegant and guttural words from the language of the Old Religion, watches as Merlin’s eyes turn gold and for the first time, he feels wonder instead of apprehension. The brush is dipped into the bowl and then the surprisingly cool ink is being spread across his skin, gliding in intricate patterns across his forearm as Merlin’s long fingers hold his wrist gently.
“Hey, Merlin,” Arthur whispers, a flash of cold dread cutting through his gut. “You’re giving me the rune for love, right?”
“They’re almost the same,” Merlin whispers back, still working gently on the length of Arthur’s arm. “The rune for love just has a line connecting the inner design to the outer one. To show that the heart is bonded as well as the mind.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
Merlin just gives him a devilish smile.
But as Arthur watches Merlin draw the line that connects the two flowing shapes together, he feels something inside of himself click into place. He knows that it’s all in his head since Merlin hasn’t actually done the binding magic yet, but the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes it’s not all in his head, that it might be all in his heart instead.
Merlin finishes painting the rune onto Arthur and starts doing it on himself, his right arm to Arthur’s left. It’s a much quicker process since Merlin is used to doing it on his own body, and Arthur wishes he had magic so he could have painted the rune onto Merlin’s skin.
The druid officiant looks surprised when he sees the rune for what it is, but he says nothing. Instead, he motions for Merlin to begin the bonding ritual, and the two of them turn toward each other.
“Repeat after me,” Merlin says for only their ears. “It’s not that difficult.”
Merlin speaks in the deep language of the Old Religion and Arthur does his best to replicate it, the words feeling foreign and comforting on his tongue all at once. He knows his father is probably incredibly uncomfortable despite the fact that he arranged this in the first place, but Arthur, for once in his life, doesn’t give a damn what his father thinks.
Arthur speaks the final words and suddenly his arm is on fire, the rune burning itself into his skin and solidifying the partnership, solidifying Camelot as a safe place for magic users and solidifying Arthur as the husband of Emrys, the most powerful druid who will ever walk the earth.
To Arthur, he’ll always just be Merlin.
The druid officiant speaks. “Nature has blessed this bond, and now it cannot be broken. Prince Emrys and Prince Arthur, step forth and face your people as two halves of a whole.”
“Two sides of a coin,” Merlin mumbles, and Arthur will have to ask about it later.
For now, he turns to their audience who is cheering and clapping, the servants looking especially excited as Merlin waves at them. He knows that having a druid husband will bring all sorts of enemies to Camelot’s doors, but as long as Arthur has Merlin next to him, he knows that they can conquer anything.
“I didn’t say it before,” Merlin speaks just loud enough for the two of them to hear, “but I love you too, you know.”
Arthur smirks, but it’s more like a private smile for only Merlin to see. “Of course you do.”