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“Princess Mithian, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” Arthur asked. He stood in the center of the council chambers, the princess before him, his father behind him, and all of the old council members surrounding him like prey.
Mithian shifted her eyes about the room, briefly landing on her father, King Rodor, before she looked to Arthur again. Her tight smile turned into one too big, one too full of mirth to be real, and she nodded. “Yes, Arthur. I will.”
Arthur crossed the distance between them, matching Mithian’s smile as they embraced. Then, he took out a golden ring with a diamond stone and slipped it onto her index finger.
The applause was deafening as it echoed throughout the chambers, but Arthur hardly heard it. Instead, he saw the rest of his life flash before his eyes. Every feast, every ball, every hunt, every meeting…nothing would change. This was to be Arthur’s life—now and forever.
He would be an ideal king. He would be an ideal prince, with Mithian on his arm. The alliance of two very strong kingdoms. The alliance of two nobles, in marriage, for nothing more than to please their fathers.
How ideal.
Would it ever change?
“Take my hand,” Mithian whispered to Arthur, a grin still painted on her face as she nodded toward the council members.
“What?” Arthur asked dumbly; the volume of the applause had finally stuck him.
“Take it,” Mithian said as they now stood side by side, brushing her hand against Arthur’s.
Arthur took her hand and squeezed it, then brought it up to his chest where he laid his other hand atop it.
Suddenly, Uther’s (for once) bright, happy voice boomed over the applause that had finally begun to die down: “The wedding will be in five days’ time. Sunday, in the Great Hall!”
The applause only grew louder after that, and Uther clapped a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “You are making marvelous strides in your readiness to become king, Arthur,” he leaned in to say. And Arthur heard the words underneath that sentence that his father could not say. I am proud of you.
Later that night, alone in his chambers, his servant George long gone, Arthur wondered something. Was a lifetime of loveless marriage and monotony worth his father’s pride?
It didn’t bother to be thought about much more than that, though, because it had to be .
***
The next morning, Arthur awoke to the slow drawing open of the curtains by George and the smells of sausage and fresh bread, and two words on his mind: four days .
In four days, his life would be cemented. Locked. No room for change.
At what point in the future would Arthur forget which council he was meeting with? At what point would he forget why Camelot was hosting a feast? At what point would the days be completely indistinguishable from the next? It didn’t seem to be that way for Uther yet. Arthur supposed that was a good sign for himself.
“My lord,” George said many minutes later, after Arthur was out of bed and George was tying the strings of his tunic, “I’m afraid I may have some…bothersome news this morning.”
Arthur quirked an eyebrow. Had Mithian spoken to the council? To their fathers? Had she been braver than him? It wouldn’t surprise him if that were the case and she told them what the two of them really think about their marriage. Arthur exhaled lightly. He prayed that the wedding was off.
George still seemed to be waiting to see if he could continue, to which Arthur replied, “Tell me.”
George let go of Arthur’s tied shirt laces and stepped back, standing tall, with his hands behind his back, staring not quite at Arthur’s eyes. The epitome of the perfect “servant”.
“I’m sorry, my lord, but I had to fetch your water today from the pump in the lower town. I do not believe that the water from the pump in the citadel and the one in the lower town have different tastes, but nonetheless if you believe it to be inadequate then I will figure out a way to get you the water that you most desire, sire.”
Arthur could hardly suppress his cackle. The whole thing was utterly stupid, let alone George’s inadvertant rhyme at the end.
George looked up at him, searching Arthur’s face, a concerned crease in his brow. He was serious. Arthur bit his lip to keep from smiling. “That’s quite all right. I suppose I’ll just have to make do.”
George nodded. “Of course, sire. Is there anything else I can do for you this morning or shall I resume my normal duties?”
“You may go.”
George bowed and left the room swiftly. The door closed with a soft click.
A laugh burst out of Arthur. “I’m getting married in four days and George is worried about my water,” he said, reaching for his cup to take a sip. God help him.
***
That afternoon, the citadel was bustling full of maids and servants and farmers and cooks and nobles, all focusing on their preparations for the wedding.
Arthur was dressed in his full princely garb—chain mail, cloak, and even his crown—as he made his way through the corridors to the council chambers for yet another meeting. He was turning a corner when he got a face full of leaves. Yes, leaves.
“Oi, watch it, dollophead!” came a deep voice from behind them. “You’ll ruin my garland.”
Suddenly, the pile of green garland was lowered and Arthur was met with the face of a pale young man. He had black hair, blue eyes and the prettiest face he’d ever seen. Arthur cleared his throat. It’d probably be best not to engage in this conversation.
“Excuse me,” Arthur said, stepping to the side and beginning his confident stride to the council chambers again.
“No, uh-uh, you can’t get out of it that easily. Look what your stupid face did to my garland!” the young man exclaimed, gesturing to a patch of maple leaves and baby’s breath that had fallen to the ground.
Arthur just gaped. “You can’t talk to me like that,” he said, turning around to face the man again. He watched the man’s eyes flick up to his crown.
Realization dawned on him. “Ohh,” the young man said, “so you’re Arthur. Prince Prat.”
“I’m—who are you ?” Arthur asked. Surely Camelot wouldn’t have a servant so…outspoken.
“I’m Merlin,” Merlin said, as if it were obvious. Arthur just stared.
Merlin rolled his eyes. “I’m the florist. For the wedding on Sunday?”
Arthur nodded. “Right. Was there nobody else for the job? We should’ve gone with them instead.”
Merlin huffed. “Yeah. Then you’d be ruining their garlands instead of mine .”
“Is this how you were always taught to talk to your prince?”
“You’re not my prince.”
“You’re in Camelot.” Who else would be his prince?
“Only for a few days. I’m realizing now that I shouldn’t have taken this job.”
“Well, it’s a bit too late for that, isn’t it?”
“And now I have to do with this ruined garland,” Merlin muttered.
“For goodness sake, it’s not ruined,” Arthur said, exasperated, as he picked the bundle of leaves off the floor. He pushed it back into its space in the garland and sent Merlin a dazzling grin. “There. Good as new.”
Except they were closer than they just were. And neither of them had broken eye contact with each other. Arthur watched as Merlin’s lips parted infinitesimally and the features on his face softened.
“Good as new,” Merlin repeated.
“Right, well, I’ve got a meeting to go to,” Arthur said, looking away and dissolving the moment.
“Yes. Yeah, and I have garlands to hang.”
Arthur walked past Merlin towards the council chambers. As he went, he heard Merlin call after him, “Don’t be a dollophead, Arthur!”
Arthur found that he couldn’t stop smiling.
***
Later that day, Arthur was in his chambers, finally with a moment to himself.
Arthur always believed that at some point in his life something would change. Something or someone would come along and he would get to do what he felt was right. Something would happen and he wouldn’t feel so alone.
Everyday of his life he’s spent it trying to be the perfect prince, trying to win the affections of his father, trying to be a good leader of his knights, trying to be strong and courageous, and learning that he had to do many things for the sake of the kingdom. He’s made his father proud with his proposal to Mithian, yes, but…
When would he get to do something for himself?
With his engagement to Mithian, the life he’d been living only appeared to continue. Nothing would change. Nobody would come along, Arthur would never have a friend. He would have citizens, and knights, and a father-king and a wife, but that is all. He must accept his life for what it will be and stop hoping for change. He must be strong.
Arthur sighed, turning away from the window when there was a knock on his door. “Enter,” he said, coming around to the dining table. Was it Mithian already? They were supposed to have dinner tonight, but Arthur didn’t think it was that time yet.
“Oh, these are your chambers,” a voice said, entering. Merlin.
“What are you doing here?”
Merlin gestured with his arms. They were stuffed full of flower bouquets. “I’m putting one in every room. Do you have a vase?”
Arthur, already forgetting to remind Merlin about politeness and titles, merely went to his cupboard to fetch a vase. “Here,” he said, setting it on the table.
“Thanks,” Merlin said. He shifted his other bouquets into one arm, untied a bouquet and set it in the vase. The flowers filled out perfectly into the glass. There were tall red roses, shorter white lilies, yellow and white daisies, and greenery to fill the rest of it. They were beautiful.
Arthur ducked his head to smell a rose. “Wow,” he breathed.
“Are roses your favorite too?”
Arthur looked up. “What?”
“Roses are my favorite. You like them too?”
Arthur had never thought about it. He’d never been asked what his favorite flower was. “Yes,” he said. “They’re beautiful.”
“You should see me and Mum’s place back home. Roses are everywhere ,” Merlin said. As he spoke, his small smile grew even bigger.
“Where is home?” Arthur asked before he could think better about it.
“Over the border, in Essetir. A small village called Ealdor?”
Arthur shook his head.
“Yeah, most people haven’t heard of it. A few fields, a couple of cows, but it’s…”
“Home,” Arthur finished.
Merlin nodded.
Arthur thought he could stare into those eyes forever.
He quickly shook himself. “How—um—how did you manage to become the florist for…Camelot’s ‘royal wedding’?”
“Do you know Gaius?”
“Of course.”
“I’m his grand-nephew.”
“You’re…what?”
Merlin smiled at Arthur’s expression. “He’s my mum’s uncle. Gaius told me about a wedding and the obvious need for a florist to decorate, so I rode here as soon as I could. Though, I didn’t realize the wedding was for Camelot’s biggest prat, but it’s good fun.”
Arthur huffed. “You still think I’m a prat, then.”
Merlin shrugged, chuckling.
“Oh, you’ve got—” Arthur came closer to Merlin and brushed something off his shoulder. At Merlin’s questioning look, he said, “Pollen.”
Merlin nodded. Arthur kept his hand on his shoulder, feeling his warmth through his jacket and tunic. His thumb rubbed a small circle there.
“Arthur, is dinner there or shall I send someone to fetch it from the…kitchens?” Mithian suddenly asked, appearing in the open doorway.
Arthur’s hand flew back to his side and he took a step back. Though, based on Mithian’s calculating eyes, he may have been too late.
“Princess. Uh—this is Merlin, the florist for our wedding. He was just dropping off some flowers.” Arthur bobbed his head toward Merlin, trying to get him to take the hint.
“Uh—right, yes, my lady, I was.” Merlin bowed awkwardly, trying not to let the bouquets slip out of his grip. “I will…” Merlin glanced at Arthur’s suddenly closed off face, “...just be on my way then.” He kept his head low as he opened the door and left.
“I’ll send someone to fetch our dinners,” Mithian said plainly, disappearing outside for a moment.
A little while later, as they both sat down to eat, Mithian spoke again. “There is much to discuss about the union of our two kingdoms, Arthur. Treatises, visits, our enemies…”
“Yes,” Arthur agreed, shoveling peas into his mouth.
“I know neither of us are particularly happy about this marriage, but we must remind ourselves about what it will do to help our kingdoms, to unite them this way, in peace.”
But not united in love , Arthur thought bitterly. “Yes,” he said again.
“How it will help our fathers achieve their aims.”
“Yes.”
“Have you anything else to say?” she said, an edge to her voice.
Arthur took a sip of his wine and apologized. For the rest of dinner, he conversed with Mithian about everything he always talked about: the kingdom, peace, strategy, military, diplomacy. On and on and on. Never about the beautiful roses sitting in front of them.
***
Three days. In three days, Arthur will be married. Although, it was already Friday evening, so it was more like two days. Arthur fidgeted with his mother’s ring on his pinkie finger as he strolled through the empty corridors. He had hoped he’d see Merlin today. No such luck.
The castle was beginning to tuck into bed for the night. Arthur, having had a seemingly endless dinner with Uther, King Rodor, and Mithian meant that he was all too glad to let George get him ready for bed. But as soon as he had snuffed out the candles and left, Arthur sat up, pulled his knit stockings on, and slipped out of his chambers.
He pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked a door, climbing the long spiral staircase it opened to.
He turned left, right, took another set of stairs, turned left, took another set of stairs, turned right, and opened the door that led outside, to the top of a disused battlement. It was Arthur’s special hideout, and had been since he was a child, running away to the battlement to cry when he felt useless and broken and like he’d never be good enough for the kingdom, for his king, his father.
He remembered when he was just ten, coming to his hideout and curling into his knees, sobbing, after he asked his father when he’d get to make a friend. Uther had snorted and said that Pendragons don’t have friends, only citizens, allies, and enemies, and that he’d better get used to the loneliness because it will be there for the rest of his life. “You will never have friends, Arthur, good kings never do, and you must keep to yourself that which will not benefit Camelot.”
As Arthur stared at a corner of the battlement, he could almost see his younger self there, crying over his father’s words. He wished he could tell himself that it got better, but here he was, retreating away to the same hideout two nights before his wedding. What was he going to do? Was there even a way out?
He sighed, tilting his head back to look at the bright stars.
“Fancy seeing you here.”
Arthur flinched hard, hand shooting to the hilt of his sword that wasn’t there—he was in his night clothes after all. He squinted, trying to make out a figure to his right. But he’d recognize that voice anywhere.
“Merlin?”
Merlin waved his hand; he was sitting with his back against the stone wall that overlooked the city. “Over here.”
“How did you even get up here?” Arthur asked, taking a seat beside him. “Some of the doors are locked.”
“Oh, you know,” Merlin shrugged, “it’s just a part of my charm.” He grinned at Arthur and bumped their shoulders together.
Arthur chuckled.
“What are you doing up here?” Merlin asked.
“Uh, nothing. Just came to think, I guess.”
“What about?”
“The wedding,” Arthur said before he could stop himself.
“Are you excited?”
“Honestly?”
“Of course.”
“I’m terrified, Merlin. I don’t know what I’m going to do.” The words fell softly into the cool night air.
“What do you mean? Do you not—love her?”
“We don’t love each other. The only reason I proposed was because my father made me. I should’ve stood up to him; there’s no way out of it now.”
“She doesn’t make you happy?” Merlin asked.
Arthur shrugged. “Not in the way I always imagined my partner would. She’s nice enough, though, I suppose.”
Merlin hummed in thought. He pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his head on top, looking at Arthur. The moonlight reflected into his open blue eyes. “So what does make you happy?”
Arthur couldn’t stop staring at him, couldn’t stop thinking that here Merlin was again, asking him questions that no one ever has before, that Arthur has never thought of before. What makes him happy?
“I don’t know,” Arthur said, tearing his eyes away from Merlin. “But that doesn’t matter. I have a duty to my kingdom.”
“Arthur,” Merlin said, “you don’t have to—”
Arthur stood up, feeling the walls close back around his heart against his will. “It’s late anyways,” he said, “I need to get some sleep. Busy day tomorrow.”
“Arthur,” Merlin called again, but Arthur walked on and didn’t stop until he was back in his chambers, safe from the questions that made him rethink his whole life.
***
Arthur spent Saturday morning pointedly not thinking about Merlin or his questions, and instead visiting the lower town and personally inviting many of the merchants and shopkeepers to the wedding.
Arthur always loved visiting the lower town and speaking with his citizens, getting to hear their own thoughts and ideas, and sharing in their excitement of living in a thriving Camelot, and the whole excursion served as a breath of much needed fresh air for Arthur.
So much so that afterwards, back in the castle and making his way to his chambers, Arthur almost missed the call of his name from a nearby alcove.
“What?” Arthur whispered to himself, backing up and looking down another corridor.
“Arthur?” Merlin’s voice cracked. Arthur followed it to a small alcove. There he was, on the ground, back slumped against the wall, legs outstretched in front of him, and he was holding his wrist.
“What happened?” Arthur asked, crouching down. He took Merlin’s wrist into his own hands. A thin cut stretched only a few inches across Merlin’s wrist, and it had drawn blood. Instinctively, he untied Merlin’s neckerchief and tied it over his wrist.
Merlin’s eyes were shut and his skin was sweaty and pale. Something else had to be wrong—a mere cut wouldn’t cause such a reaction.
“What happened, Merlin? Stay awake, please.” Arthur pressed the back of his hand to Merlin’s forehead. It was warm.
Merlin’s eyes cracked open and he blearily looked at Arthur. “I scratched myself…on a—garland. It’s poisonous if it touches…’n open wound.”
Arthur’s heart lurched. “We need to get you to Gaius.” He’d been poisoned. He’d been poisoned. He’d been poisoned.
“I—tried. Got lost. Too dizzy…” he said, eyes slipping shut again.
“No, come on, I’m going to help you.” Arthur put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder and another underneath his arm as he tried to pull him up. Merlin gasped out in pain. His eyes screwed up tight and he had a fist in the fabric of Arthur’s jacket.
He gasped again and nearly bumped his head on the wall.
“What is it? What is it?” Arthur asked urgently. This was a different kind of pain.
“Ah—my leg—cramp.”
“Which one?”
“L—left.”
“Here?” Arthur asked, gingerly placing his hand under Merlin’s calf.
Merlin nodded, squirming. He was trying to relax the muscle but Arthur could tell it wasn’t working. He had had many cramps like this, especially when he was a teenager and had just finished a particularly rough training session. Gaius had called those cramps something funny, like charlie horses, and he always massaged them away with his magic-like fingers.
“Hold on, Merlin.” Arthur rolled Merlin’s pant leg up to his knee and slowly began to massage his calf. Almost immediately, Merlin sighed and relaxed. “There you go,” Arthur said. “Just breathe.”
Arthur kept working at Merlin’s calf, up and down, methodologically, not letting himself think about the fact that his fingers were on Merlin’s skin and instead focused on getting Merlin’s breathing to return to normal.
“Do you think you can stand?” Arthur asked, once Merlin’s breathing was normal and Arthur pulled his pant leg back down.
Merlin opened his eyes again and shut them immediately. “Everything’s spinning,” he whispered.
“That’s okay,” Arthur soothed. “We’re just going to get you up and go to Gaius’, and you can lean on me the whole time. Okay?”
Merlin nodded.
Slowly, he got Merlin into an upright position. He put his arm around Merlin’s waist and held him close, and Merlin wrapped his arm around Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur took Merlin’s other hand in front to help stabilize them more. Then, they slowly walked to Gaius’.
He’d been poisoned.
Gaius had to have the antidote. He had to.
***
Gaius had the antidote. Apparently, many farmers would also get scratched by this particular plant and come to him seeking a remedy. Arthur had never felt more relieved.
The rest of the day, Arthur spent it split between meetings and wedding plans and sneaking off to go check on Merlin.
Gaius gave him odd sorts of looks whenever he spotted him at Merlin’s bedside, but besides that they rarely spoke, him being too busy with his patients. Arthur was secretly glad of that.
He had just finished another dinner with Mithian, King Rodor, and Uther, when he decided to be brave. Sat at Merlin’s bedside, he held his hand.
Arthur was drifting off to sleep when Merlin stirred.
“Arthur?” he asked, his voice gravelly from sleep.
“Hey,” Arthur said, “are you feeling better?”
Merlin looked around the room, taking stock of himself, and nodded. He looked at Arthur. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”
“You’re not dizzy?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Merlin nodded, and Arthur saw his eyes flick down to see their hands together. Arthur quickly took his back and apologized.
Merlin just shook his head. “No, no, it’s…”
“What?”
“Well, I just—shouldn’t you be spending the night before your wedding with your future wife?”
Arthur’s heart sunk to his feet. He shot out of his seat. “Yeah, of course. I am, I just wanted to check that you were all right first. That’s actually—I should be meeting with Mithian now, so. I’ll just…see you around.”
Merlin chewed on his lower lip. “See you around.”
***
Arthur was getting married today. In a few short hours, he would be married, his future officially fated.
Before he was even out of bed, his stomach ached with uneasiness and nerves. He managed to eat an apple and a small piece of bread, but after that even water sounded unappetizing. Nonetheless, he stared at the beautiful flowers on his table while he ate, wondering how they still looked as healthy and vibrant as the day Merlin brought them to him.
As he stood for George to dress him, Arthur mulled through his thoughts. There were so many, too many, that he thought he might spiral out of control. You can’t have a breakdown here, you can’t have a breakdown here , he told himself. That would have to wait until tonight when he could disappear to his hideout.
Will I even get a chance to? The celebrations will go well into the night, and then Mithian might want us to…share the bed for the night.
There was a soft clap on Arthur’s shoulder, but it was just George trying to smooth a wrinkle out.
All of Arthur’s life, Uther had told him what his future would look like. A king, a wife, citizens, allies, enemies. No friends. A king must practice great self-control. But somewhere deep down, Arthur never understood his father. Why can’t a king have friends? Or a prince, for that matter. Surely friends would be loyal to a king in a way that normal townspeople weren’t. They would come to know him and accept him for the man that he was, not just for his crown or his title. And the same goes for a partner; someone for Arthur to love; someone that loves Arthur. Why does he have to marry for the good of the kingdom? If he married for love, couldn’t that also benefit the kingdom?
It was too late now. Everything had been decided. Arthur had proposed. The wedding had been planned. Treatises have been decided. Garlands have been hung.
George had just finished buckling Arthur’s sword belt when Uther entered. George slipped away so quietly Arthur barely even noticed. As Uther crossed the floor to meet him, Arthur caught a look at himself in the mirror.
He supposed he looked rather regal, with his polished chain mail and red cloak around his shoulders, bearing the Pendragon crest. His crown sat uncomfortably on his head.
He looked regal, shoulders back and head high just as he was taught. But he felt like his ten year old self. He wanted to be a coward. He wanted to hide from today. To shut his eyes and pretend it wasn’t happening. That this day wouldn’t mark the rest of his life.
“Look at you, Arthur,” Uther said with a rare smile. “How do you feel?”
Arthur forced a polite smile. “My stomach’s in knots.”
Uther chuckled. “I was just the same.”
“You were?”
“Yes. I was so excited I could hardly stay still to finish my breakfast,” he said. “I know you had your reservations about this marriage at first, but I’m so glad to see that you’ve accepted it.”
Arthur squinted. Excited? Uther thought he was excited? Arthur may not yet know what makes him happy, but he knows that it is not this marriage.
Then, another thought occurred to Arthur: Had his father ever really known him? Arthur’s stomach flipped again. Best not to dwell on that thought.
Uther put his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “I know I don’t say it often, but I’m proud of you, Arthur.” He patted his shoulder.
Arthur tried to take a deep breath. “Th—thank you, father.”
Uther nodded. “You must be going, yes? I’ll see you in the Great Hall. Have you seen it yet?” At Arthur’s shaken head, he continued. “It looks beautiful. The florist did a wonderful job.”
Merlin , Arthur’s mind automatically supplied.
Arthur nodded again to his father, and then Uther was leaving, and Arthur couldn’t get himself to stop thinking about that man. The florist. Merlin.
“What makes you happy?”
***
The Great Hall did look beautiful. The only problem was that every garland that Arthur saw, every bouquet of flowers, he knew Merlin had made it. Merlin made Arthur’s wedding look beautiful. Merlin made such beautiful things.
As Arthur walked slowly down the aisle, he tried to search the audience for a brown jacket and an unruly thatch of black hair, but with no luck. And then he was standing in front of Lord Geoffry of Monmouth, staring down the aisle as Mithian walked in a beautiful white silken dress, a harp and a trumpet playing a slow, harmonious melody. She held a bouquet of pink roses in her hands.
“Roses are my favorite. You like them too?”
“You should see me and Mum’s place back home. Roses are everywhere .”
Soon enough, Mithian was right in front of him, a pleasant, soft smile on her face as Arthur took her hands. He knew he had to. Arthur watched as she passed her bouquet to a nearby servant.
“Lords, ladies, and gentlemen of Camelot,” Geoffry began, “today we bear witness to the union of Princess Mithian of Nemeth to Prince Arthur Pendragon of Camelot.”
Arthur gulped. He took a deep breath, but it stuttered on the way in. Mithian looked at him with a narrowed brow. A silent question. Arthur shook his head infinitesimally and forced his lips into a smile.
Geoffry continued on, but Arthur didn’t hear a word of what he said.
“We have to do this,” Mithian whispered, so quiet Arthur almost thought he had read her lips. Arthur nodded, but he tore his eyes away from her and looked out into the audience.
“What makes you happy?”
There! Arthur saw Merlin, standing in the back. He breathed a sigh of relief. Merlin had been poisoned yesterday. But he was okay. He was alive and healthy and here.
“Arthur?” Geoffry asked.
“Oh, hmm?”
The old man’s eyebrows were high on his forehead. “Uh—shall I repeat it again?”
Arthur nodded. This was it. This was really it. The realization struck him hard. He was about to marry Mithian. He would spend the rest of his life with her. This was his wedding . And he had thought he could get out of it.
He still didn’t listen to Geoffry, and instead realized that one day he would be expected to produce an heir. Or rather, it would be expected of him for Mithian to produce an heir. And the cycle would continue.
This does not make Arthur happy. And, contrary to what Arthur had been taught his whole life, his happiness was important, wasn’t it?
Merlin seemed to think so.
This marriage was not what Arthur wanted.
Someday, he would have to stand up for himself.
“Arthur?” Geoffry asked again.
Arthur looked at Merlin. He couldn’t see very well from this far away, but he could see his red neckerchief and his soft hair and—him. That was all he needed.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered to Mithian. He squeezed her hands. “Please forgive me.” He stared into her brown eyes and was surprised with how much kindness and understanding he saw there.
“It’s okay, Arthur. Go,” she said.
Arthur squeezed her hands once more before he let go and promptly left the Great Hall.
***
The sun shone down over Arthur’s hideout, casting long shadows on the ground of the battlements. It was breezy and warm, and calm—so much unlike the buzzing anxiety that filled the Great Hall.
Arthur took his crown off and leaned on one of the battlements, his face in his hands.
His father will be furious.
His people will be upset.
All of Nemeth will be upset.
Gods, what has he just done? He let everybody down. And for what? Himself? Arthur groaned.
He was so selfish. He was so selfish that he left his own wedding , and now all of those treatises and everyone who came to visit were just—and “what makes him happy?” What a load of rubbish that—
“Arthur?”
Arthur turned around.
Merlin stood by the door, his presence immediately calming. The warm morning sunlight lit up one side of his face, while the other was in soft shadow.
“Did anyone follow you up?” Arthur heard himself asking.
Merlin shook his head and crossed the distance between them. “Uther is still searching the first floor. Nobody saw me come up here.”
“Oh. Good.” Arthur nodded stiffly. He still couldn’t believe what he’d done.
Merlin spoke softly, “I think it’s a good thing, you know. You deserve to be happy.”
“Maybe.”
“You do .”
“Or maybe I’m just too much of a coward to do what my kingdom needs done. I’ve disappointed my people, my father, Nem—”
“You can’t mean that. Arthur, you’ve got to get it through that thick skull of yours,” Here, Merlin smiled, while Arthur rolled his eyes and smiled back, “that a happy king makes for a stronger kingdom than an unhappy one. No matter who you marry or…not.”
It was, oddly enough, the insult said with a smile that fully made Arthur realize.
“I figured it out,” he said.
“Figured what out?”
“You once asked what makes me happy. I know now.”
Arthur stared into Merlin’s bright eyes and said, “You.”
“Me?” Merlin asked, adorably confused.
Arthur slowly began to step into Merlin’s space. “Can I kiss you?”
Merlin started to back up with every advancing step of Arthur’s. “Can you—” Merlin started to say, but then his back hit the stone wall.
Arthur was already so close. He brushed their noses together, waiting for—
“Yes,” Merlin said, nearly reverent.
Arthur closed the gap.
It was like the moment when he’d try to start a fire, but the flints wouldn’t work. Weak sparks would fly off onto the tinder, but it wouldn’t be enough. So he’d keep trying, over and over and over, and then suddenly, almost out of nowhere—sparks, strong ones, and the fire catches immediately, rippling up the wood and roaring and crackling and yes .
The kiss was slow and soft, but all Arthur could feel were the sparks. His hands cupped Merlin’s jaw while Merlin’s hands held onto his waist.
They parted a moment later to breathe, their foreheads pressed together.
“I'm going home to Ealdor soon,” Merlin whispered.
Arthur shook his head. “You can’t. You have to stay.”
“Where would I live? What would I do?”
“You’d be the florist that you are, of course. And I do think that Gaius has a spare room.” Arthur smiled.
Before Merlin responded, he kissed Arthur’s smile. “Do you really think I could do that?” he asked, now wearing a small smile of his own.
“Please, Merlin.”
“I suppose it might be fun to live in Camelot.” Arthur pulled away a bit to better see Merlin’s face. He was frowning.
“What’s wrong?”
“What about Uther?”
Arthur let out a silent breath of relief. “Well,” he said, “I’d like to court you, but it might be best to make sure he doesn’t find out about that.”
“You’d like to court me?”
“Who do you take me for, Merlin? Of course I want to court you.” You make me happy , Arthur’s mind supplied. He kissed Merlin’s cheek to help prove his point. He would be doing that a lot now.
Arthur only saw the grin on Merlin’s face for a second before his arms were thrown around him.
“You’re amazing, you dollophead,” Merlin said. “Yes. I’ll stay here.”
Arthur only hugged Merlin tighter, smiling into his shoulder.
***
Of course, Arthur ran out on his own wedding, so there were consequences to deal with—conversations to have. Thank goodness Uther made them private. Well, mostly private.
The next day, Arthur stood in the center of the council chambers, facing Uther, King Rodor, and Princess Mithian. Though, he was feeling quite a bit stronger than he probably should’ve been. Before he left, Merlin had held his face, kissed him, and told him he could do it.
So in the council chambers, Arthur stood up straight, made eye-contact, and apologized.
King Rodor was frustrated, and wisely so. Arthur knew how much effort he and Uther had put into their drafted treatises. He was frustrated and annoyed, but he understood why Arthur didn’t go through with it, and he didn’t take it out on him.
Rodor and Mithian left the council chambers soon after to prepare for their journey back to Nemeth.
Once Uther was without an audience, he approached Arthur with swift steps and a foreboding frown. Arthur forced himself not to back away. He internally braced himself for the slap he knew would be coming.
“I’m ashamed of you, Arthur,” was all he said.
Arthur lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry, father.”
“You made a fool of me, and of this kingdom. I hope you’re happy,” he grit out. Uther turned around and walked back to his throne. “Go,” he said. “Get out of my sight.”
“It’ll be okay, Arthur. You did the right thing.”
Arthur held onto Merlin’s words from that morning as he left. He had to believe it. He did the right thing. It’ll be okay.
I am happy , Arthur thought with a laugh as he walked down a corridor. He could almost try to imagine Uther had said that bit truthfully, with no bitter sarcasm followed by a demand to leave. Merlin makes me happy.
“Arthur,” Mithian called.
Arthur turned as Mithian came to meet him. “Princess, you must believe me when I say how sorry I am, but I—”
“No, not that. I don’t care about that, Arthur, it’s all right. I was just curious if…if maybe…”
Mithian was never this hesitant with her words. “What?” Arthur asked.
“Well, it—it’s Merlin, isn’t it? The florist?”
Arthur could feel his heartbeat pick up. Nobody was supposed to know about them. How did she find out? Did anybody else know? How—
Mithian seemed to sense Arthur’s panic. “It’s okay, Arthur,” she said, and that immediately helped calm him down. “You don’t have to say anything. I don’t know how, but…it seems like Merlin can see a different Arthur than the rest of us. The true one, perhaps.”
“I—uh—”
“It’s all right. I must be going. But Arthur, if he makes you happy, then you hold him close to your heart and never let go. Right?”
Arthur nodded, suddenly struck dumb.
“Goodbye, then.” She kissed Arthur’s cheek. Before he knew it, she was gone.
***
Five years later
The warm spring sun spilled into Arthur’s chambers as it rose above the horizon. A ray of sunlight shone on Arthur’s face, and he slowly awoke. He opened his eyes and took stock of his room. It was rare for him to be the first one awake.
“Merlin.” Arthur prodded, a grin already showing on his face with absolutely no sign that it would disappear anytime soon. Definitely not today. “Merlin.” He prodded again at the shoulders of the warm lump that were buried under blankets, face tucked in low at Arthur’s side.
Merlin stirred then, peeking his head out of his cocoon, a soft smile already on his lips. “Morning,” he said, voice gruff from sleep.
Arthur laughed. Merlin sounded so casual, as if today wasn’t their wedding day.
“Morning,” Arthur repeated, his eyes full of amusement. He pressed a kiss to Merlin’s forehead and Merlin shuffled up so that they were face to face. “Are you ready for today?”
“‘Course,” Merlin said. He kissed Arthur’s lips. “I just hope Daegal is.”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “Your apprentice is doing fine, Merlin. Have you seen the Great Hall lately? The garlands are beautiful, the flowers are beautiful, it looks amazing .”
“Hmm. I suppose you’re right.” He snuggled up even closer to Arthur (if that were possible) and laid his head on his shoulder, arm around Arthur’s bare, warm front.
Suddenly, dozens and dozens of roses were above their heads—white, red, pink, purple—free floating in the air.
Arthur stroked Merlin’s shoulder and kissed his hair; he couldn’t help it. “And what are all those for?” he asked with a sly smile.
“Need more flowers,” Merlin mumbled. His eyes lifted to meet Arthur’s, and Arthur watched them turn gold. Dozens more roses, this time all in bouquets, surrounded their bed. “Special day.”
“I love you,” Arthur said, because he simply couldn’t contain himself any longer this morning.
“I love you too,” Merlin said. “And I’m sort of glad you almost got married that one time. It brought us together.”
“It brought us together,” Arthur repeated. And I am not going to let go , he thought, tickling Merlin’s nose with a rose petal and listening to his hiccupping laugh. Never.