Chapter Text
And we'll hold on/
For the rest of our lives/
We don't have to figure out/
What hasn't happened yet/
Through whatever whirls around us/
I won't let you forget/
You're my lover
- 'My Lover', Birdtalker
~~~
King Arthur was powerful, rich, handsome, and when not involved in some battle or another, he wanted for nothing. All across the land, he was praised for his intelligence and aptitude for ruling Camelot. Those who were not him wanted to be him. Or, they at the very least, wanted to be within his circle.
This included King Cenred of Essetir.
“Yet another invitation?” Arthur sighed and leaned back in his chair. His sister, and closest confidante, Morgana sat across from him, sipping the ale he grew tired of earlier. “He had peace with my father, why go through the trouble of keeping it with me if I have no reason to question him?”
Morgana skimmed the letter once more, her green eyes looking for any evidence of insult, “He might be hiding something and is making a very dumb play.”
“Doubtful. He’s arrogant and impertinent, but he’s no fool.”
“Then, he probably just wants to be closer allies. He and Uther had less peace than they did…an understanding.”
Arthur played with the chunk of wax seal that he tore off when fiddling with the letter himself, it had begun to stain his finger Essetir Blue, “His kingdom is hardly a land I’d consider vacationing to. Magic is free now, so it can’t be to convince me of abolishing more laws.”
“What if it’s to add laws?”
“Why would Cenred want that?”
His sister set the goblet down and leaned forward, “Think about it. It’s not like he’s exactly lax with his laws surrounding magic. They’re allowed to live as long as they obey. Essetir sorcerers usually end up in the army or seeking refuge somewhere else.”
“Then, we should make it clear Camelot won’t roll over on its belly the moment some king claims to be better.”
“I’m also curious about his consort,” Morgana folds the letter and studies the royal seal (or what’s left of it). “He said his King Consort would enjoy having guests to entertain. I’ve heard so little about him, yet his presence always looms over the conversation when he’s brought up. The Court loves gossiping about mysterious people, and I’m disappointed that the most people can say about the Consort of Essetir is ‘Oh, him? He mostly just shows up, looks pretty on Cenred’s arm, and smiles when addressed’.”
“Sounds like a boring mystery.”
“Would you rather hunt for ghosts?”
“And how would that be any different from you investigating Cenred’s Consort, who, from what I’m hearing, is so unremarkable not even the gossips bother to spread stories.” Arthur was getting tired, and now he had a week’s worth of traveling to start planning if he wanted to accept Cendred’s invitation and get there before summer’s end.
“Well, I haven’t met him, but I’ve never known anyone who could both dazzle a room with good conversation and seem as if he were hardly there at all.”
~~~
The Heart of Essitir was drastically different from the outlands.
Arthur had his doubts about coming when he passed village after village, roads muddied with rain and damp straw barely helping. When a wheel of their carriage got stuck and they were delayed two hours, he grimaced at his caked boots and was glad his cape was tucked away in a chest on the carriage behind them.
Morgana had watched from her seat inside, studying Arthur help the driver along with a handful of knights push the carriage, with a bored expression, “At least we know their lands are fertile.”
The city was bustling with vendors, children laughing, women in long skirts, and men with broad shoulders.
King Cenred seems to be doing well for himself. Arthur is almost annoyed that he, to all appearances, was only invited because the older king wanted to show off.
By the time they arrived at the castle, which may be bigger than the one he lives in, Arthur just wanted to skip dinner and sleep.
But Cenred had other plans.
A row of servants was waiting for them at the doors. When the carriage doors opened Arthur and Morgana stepped out to a dozen servants bowing and curtseying to them before a handful silently taking their luggage and disappear into the castle.
King Cenred’s laugh can be heard from around the corner before he walks into view. He was tall, taller than Arthur remembers from all those years ago when his father first met the then-young king.
What catches his attention is the slender hand grasping Cenred’s inner elbow. The long arm was covered in the deep blue doublet the man wore, which brought out his eyes. Those eyes focused on Arthur when they finally stopped in front and all Arthur could focus on was the thick lashes surrounding the pools of lapis.
He could feel his mouth go dry and the blood in his hands felt as if it were vibrating with anticipation.
“I want to thank you for coming,” King Cenred’s voice brings Arthur out of his thoughts. “My consort and I are both honored to have such a powerful ally with us.”
His eyes snapped to the divine beauty whose arm was looped into Cenred’s. This is the mysterious consort? Arthur can finally understand why he leaves such a mark on everyone.
The King Consort bows his head forward, locks of darkness enshrouding his snowy face, “My name is Merlin. Please, do not hesitate to let any of us know if you require something,” He rises and meets Arthur’s eyes once more, before sliding to Morgana’s. “No request is too small when coming from a friend.”
Servants began splitting up their group to show them to their rooms. They placed Morgana and Arthur in the same hall, though. Merlin ensured they’d be able to see the sunset every night from their windows.
“He called us friends,” Morgana mused while walking beside Arthur. “How intriguing.”
Arthur was aware of the maid just feet in front of them, her short heels clicking, and back set straight as she led the guests through the winding halls. “We ought to be grateful for such a warm welcome after the long trip.”
His sister rolled her eyes, “I’m only saying he seems to be...so entrusting. Never struck me as the type Cenred would go for.”
“We should keep our assumptions to ourselves, Morgana. Their relationship and happiness have nothing to do with us.”
Morgana seems to find something in his words funny, but she doesn’t offer any explanation as to why she was cackling.
~~~
There was a suffocating silence during dinner. The silverware clinking against the plates were ear-piercing, and Arthur felt rolls of anger every time Cenred accidentally slurped his wine. He couldn’t help but stare. Stare at Cenred and Merlin. Stare at Merlin with Cenred. Every once in a while, the King will reach for Merlin’s hand, and the other man will grasp it softly, smile softly, and look at Cenred softly.
It was like there were invisible fuzzes of cotton covering Merlin, and although Arthur has perfect eyesight, the man sitting across from him is blurry.
“So, Arthur, how are things in Camelot?” Cenred looks away from Merlin, and to the young king.
Arthur politely wipes his lip with a napkin, “Very well, thank you. We just opened our lands to magical refugees.”
“And the citizens aren’t pushing back?”
“They are discouraged from it. I got more pushback from some older advisors, but the ones unwilling to acclimate were free to leave. Individually, someone can refuse to aid them, but as a whole, we won’t turn anyone away.”
Cenred didn’t seem impressed, but when Arthur gazed at Merlin again, he received an approving smile.
For the first time during dinner, Merlin’s eyes flicked to his King, analyzing the uncomfortable air, and opened his mouth, “I think it’s wonderful. You can’t change someone’s beliefs, but changing the laws can force them to behave.”
Morgana raised her glass, “Very true.”
~~~
Summer rains and thunderstorms kept Arthur awake. He stared out his window and viewed the city below. It would look empty if not for the few windowsills lit up with candles.
Growing bored, he decided to familiarize himself with the castle.
Only a couple of servants were still about, mostly tending to late-night chores that couldn’t get done earlier. Arthur nodded as he passed them, but enjoyed the silence.
That is until he heard whispering coming from a room just up ahead. The door was ajar and spilling orange light. He paused before letting his curiosity get the best of him and lingered outside the doorway.
“You need to be more careful,” A soft voice came out. It held more worry than scolding.
After a beat of silence, “No one needs to worry about me.”
He knew that voice. It was the consort, Merlin.
Without much thought, he lightly raps his knuckles against the wood and peaks his head inside. There, Merlin, still in his day clothes, was leaning against a table while a maid held his hand palm-up. She was gently cleaning a bright red scrape with a wet cloth.
They froze, the maid looking wide-eyed at Merlin. The man only tilts his head and smiles, “A bit late for you to be out, considering your travels.”
Arthur hesitantly stepped into the room, not wanting to intrude. In the small kitchen he walked into, he thought he’d find some scullery maids to speak to about Cenred and the kingdom. Instead, he awkwardly scratches at his neck, “The storm is making it a bit difficult to sleep.”
“Scared of thunder, King Arthur?”
It takes Arthur a few moments to realize Merlin is teasing him. He should be irritated, but he only chuckles, “No. The humidity. It sticks to everything and makes it too uncomfortable for me to sleep.”
Merlin nods and looks back to the maid, who is now wrapping his hand in thin bandages. He never corrected his posture from the relaxed tilt against the kitchen table, and his uninjured hand is pressed to the top for stability.
Arthur studies him. His pale hands jutting out of the dark sleeves, and his endless legs clad in an expensive black leather that hugs his frame tight. Almost too tight. His face is full of sharp angles, but Arthur has only seen muted emotions cross it for such a piercing face.
“I’m notoriously clumsy,” Merlin glances at him and squeezes the maid’s hand in thanks, before gesturing for her to leave. Once the door closes, he turns fully to Arthur, his ebony hair highlighted with stars from the fire burning in the hearth behind him. “Always sporting some bump or bruise.”
Arthur wasn’t going to ask, out of respect of privacy, but since Merlin invited him into the conversation, he asked, “Why are you in here instead of calling someone to your room?”
Merlin seemed taken aback, but he schools his expression quickly, “I couldn’t sleep, and I didn’t want to keep Cenred awake, so I decided to wander and listen to the rain. Ended up slipping on a wet step, and Argenta was close by.”
The blond man hums, “Scared of thunder, Consort Merlin?”
He had meant to be funny, and make the beautiful man laugh by mimicking his own words. But Merlin only furrows his brows and turns to look into the fire, “Three years, and I’m still not used to that title.”
Arthur’s hands clench and unclench at his sides. This was a man he just met — he has no idea how to comfort those close to him, so he was hopeless with strangers. He does the next best thing, and stares at Merlin’s back, “May I ask how you met Cenred?”
Merlin doesn’t move from in front of the fire, “When I was a boy, I heard stories of Prince Cenred and his father, collecting magic-users all over the land. I must’ve been just about to turn nineteen when Cenred was crowned. He went on a tour of the kingdom to celebrate, and soon I saw a parade of knights with capes that made the road look like a river. We thought he’d skip Ealdor, given how small and poor we were.”
“I didn’t know you were a peasant.”
“Most prefer to not talk about it, to avoid any discomfort. Or, it’s all they talk about when too many nobles are crowded in one room. Power in numbers and all that.”
Arthur thinks to the nobility within his own court and grimaces, “I’m sorry.”
“No use in worrying about things I can’t change,” Merlin shrugs, “Wouldn’t change.”
“So, it was love at first sight or something?”
“Hardly. I was terrified. It didn’t take long for someone from the village to out me as a sorcerer.”
Arthur freezes. He was used to magic because of Morgana, and now many citizens performing in the streets is fairly normal, but years of fear-mongering are hard to wash away. He also knows sorcerers in Essetir are often enslaved into the army or sent elsewhere to make money however their master sees fit.
“I was brought to Cenred, and kept thinking, ‘If I have to, I’ll make sure to die before ever stepping foot onto the battlefield.’. He took one look at me and...ensured I would come back with him, into a life of luxury.”
Considering he could’ve just been another body on a hill, Arthur sighs, “It seems like you traded for the better. Rough linen is now smooth silk and you’ll never starve during winter.”
Merlin gives him a curious look, “There’s a story of a peasant girl who caught the attention of a rich merchant. He gave her an embroidered handkerchief, but she refused his hand in marriage. He came back the next month with a prize-winning mare. She was grateful, but still refused to marry him. He learned that she loved flowers, and offered a deal: If he could find a way to make sure her precious flowers never die, she’ll marry him. She agreed. He went to a witch and she gave him a potion. When he visited the girl, he made her show him her favorite flower. She presented a chrysanthemum. He let a single drop of the potion fall onto it, and it turned into heavy gold. The girl sobbed but went away with the merchant because of their deal. When the tears wouldn’t stop, he yelled, ‘What is there to be sad about? The flower will never wither!’. The girl only said ‘It was the most wondrous when it was simply a flower.’”
Arthur was confused and wasn’t sure what Merlin was expecting from him. So, he said nothing.
Merlin finally turns with a smile on his face, “I apologize. The late hour is getting to me. I’m truly appreciative to Cenred, and love him dearly.” When Arthur still doesn’t speak, he adds, “I suggest you also try to get some sleep.”
“O-of course,” It’s unlike Arthur to stutter, but his mind has never felt so blank. He watches Merlins form walk away and disappear behind the creaking kitchen door.
This trip is starting to feel like a mistake, but he can’t help his urge to stay. It’s like seeing mold in fruit and despite knowing the fruit has got rotten, he’s compelled to smell it anyway.
He just needs to figure out who the mold is in this situation.