Chapter Text
Arthur weaves through the crowd, pushing away bodies that cling too close and drape themselves over him, shrugging off grasping hands trying to pull him into yet another dance, flinching away from mouths that breathe wine-sweetened words into his ears. The ballroom is a hot, crowded mess, all sweat and limbs and loud, raucous laughter – the laughter of a hundred or so nobles, free for one glorious night from the trappings of decorum, politics, societal convention. It’s completely wild, in other words, and it’s quickly become far too much for Arthur to handle. Whose brilliant idea was this party, anyway?
Oh. Right.
He makes for the door to the courtyard, desperate for some fresh air. The cool night is an immediate relief as he steps outside, the muffled music and soft moonlight a reprieve from the whirlwind of colors and lights and sounds he just left behind. For a while he just stands there, gazing into the deep blue sky, counting stars and constellations. There are others in the courtyard, tucked away in the corners, chatting on benches, but for once they all let him be. Tonight, an ornate, golden mask hides the King of Camelot from his people, his allies, his enemies, everyone. No one wants anything from him, no one feels the need to be overly polite to him, no one hides their true intentions from him.
For that, at least, Arthur is grateful. Even if other aspects of his idea are not as he envisioned them. For one thing, he thinks, watching a couple of servants mill around, offering food and drink to the other escaped partygoers, he misses Merlin’s company. At other balls and galas and functions, Merlin would always be there, at his side, poking fun at the nobility or sharing gossip he picked up from the other servants, or just generally lightening Arthur’s mood. He’s here somewhere tonight, probably inside with most of the other servants. But of course, the enchanted masks are doing their job perfectly, and Arthur hasn’t seen him all night.
“Drink, sir?” comes a voice at his shoulder, interrupting his thoughts. He spins around to find a servant – a very handsome servant, some small part of his mind whispers – proffering a tray of clear goblets filled with some golden liquid.
The man raises an eyebrow at him over the simple blue cloth band tied around the top half of his face. His eyes match his mask, Arthur thinks, then wonders why he thought that.
“You definitely look like you could use one.”
Arthur frowns. “Do you know who you’re talking to?”
“No. Is that not the point?”
“No. I mean – yes,” Arthur huffs, “that is the point. But the masks don’t keep you from knowing when you’re addressing nobility. Which I hope, for your sake, you’re usually more polite about.”
The man shrugs, plucking a drink from the tray and holding it out to Arthur. “Sure. But we commoners should get to have some fun tonight, don’t you think?”
“Hmm. I suppose.” Arthur accepts the goblet, takes a careful sip. Something like warm honey slides down his throat, burning a little on the way down.
“Good, yes?” The man takes another goblet from his tray and takes a sip.
“You’re not supposed” – Arthur starts to say, then stops himself. He was the one who insisted the servants be given enchanted masks to wear as well. The man deserves to enjoy himself for one night.
The man tilts his head back a bit to take another long sip, and Arthur stares at the moonlit arch of his neck, watches his throat bob as he swallows the mead.
“We hardly ever get to taste this stuff. Just carry it around until our arms hurt, usually.” The man grins. “I’m having a great time. Are you?”
“Aren’t you supposed to be inside?”
“Oh, fuck no. It’s a nightmare in there,” the man shudders. “The nobles are going wild. Whose bloody brilliant idea was it to have all the guests be anonymous?”
Mine, Arthur thinks, but he can’t say that. He of all people should commit to not giving himself away, even if he’s tired of the concept already. “The King’s, of course,” he says instead.
“Of course,” the man repeats, “I know. I have to say, I admire the man’s vision, even if the execution turned out to be…” he gestures at the doors to the ballroom behind them, “chaotic.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, it’s nice, isn’t it? Turning the traditional Suitor’s Ball on its head like that. Instead of a night spent making political alliances, he’s out there somewhere trying to make a genuine love connection.” He looks over his shoulder, back toward the ballroom, sounding almost wistful.
“I’m glad you – I mean,” Arthur clears his throat, “I’m sure the King would be glad to know –
“Hey,” the man interrupts, “if we’re going to keep talking, why don’t we go somewhere I can put my tray down?”
Arthur notices the tray on his arm beginning to tremble dangerously, the contents of the goblets rippling. He hadn’t planned on having this conversation, much less continuing it, but something about the man compels him to say, “Of course, my apologies. Let’s go over there.” He points to an unoccupied bench under one of the ballroom windows.
“Wow, an apology,” the man murmurs as he starts toward the bench, Arthur trailing behind him. “A genuine apology from a noble. What a night!”
“Shut up,” Arthur hears himself say, and the man laughs.
“That’s more like it.”
The man sets his tray on the bench, and they sit down beside it, only inches apart, close enough that Arthur can feel the heat radiating from his body.
“Anyway,” the man turns slightly to face Arthur, and their knees touch. “You were saying?”
“Er,” Arthur thinks back, distracted by the point where the man’s knee meets his, “I was just saying that the King would probably be glad to know you appreciate his plan.”
“Well, I’ll never tell him that,” the man chuckles. “But I would tell him if I could that I’m not sure he thought this through. I mean, it’s completely mad in there, isn’t it? I assume that’s why you’re out here.”
“Yeah,” Arthur sighs, running a hand through his hair. He was supposed to be in there, in the thick of the madness, trying to find himself a partner. He’d invited all the nobles of Camelot and the neighboring kingdoms for that express purpose. Instead, he was out here, chatting with a pretty servant. His father must be turning in his grave.
“If I had to guess,” he says carefully, “I would think the King wanted people to have an opportunity to really get to know each other, to connect with each other, without politics and centuries-old feuds and rules of decorum and such getting in the way. He’d want to get to know the people in his court, the people governing the neighboring kingdoms, as people, for who they are, not for who they’re supposed to be.”
That was the idea, anyway, hence the enchanted masks that make people anonymous to one another. He doesn’t know exactly how the enchantment works – he’d have to ask Merlin about it tomorrow – only that it would break at dawn, and that it had been at work on him all night.
He takes in this man sitting beside him, the curly dark hair, the high cheekbones, the long limbs. He can see and register each of those features individually, but his mind refuses to put them together, to add them up and make a person he might recognize. Nor does the voice bring up any memories of anyone he knows, not the smile, not the laugh, not the crystal blue eyes, nothing. He’d only know who he was talking to if the man were to reveal his name or some other bit of personal information that Arthur can connect him to.
It's a brilliant piece of magic, and right now that magic is keeping Arthur's mind from forming any thought other than this man is incredibly attractive, and sitting very close to me right now.
“You seem to really know the King’s mind.” The man gives him a sly grin.
“Of course not,” Arthur adds hastily, “I just mean that, were I in his position – which I don’t envy him for, I mean imagine being in charge of an entire kingdom – I would want the same thing, I think.”
“You would?” The man sounds surprised.
“I would,” Arthur repeats firmly. Tradition dictated that the Suitor’s Ball be held to give members of the royal family the opportunity to find themselves partners that would strengthen the kingdom, to forge strategic alliances and to scope out enemies. Arthur wasn’t keen on being a very traditional King.
“I don’t think very many nobles would agree with you, or the King,” the man continues. “Even if they’re having fun in there tonight, letting loose and all that, I’m sure once dawn breaks and they remember where they are and who they’re talking to, most of them will want to pretend tonight never happened.” He gives Arthur a look as he says this, like he’s trying to puzzle something out.
“I just think that kingdoms and alliances are stronger when forged in trust and genuine friendship, rather than political convenience. And marriage even more so. Political convenience is fleeting, unstable, always shifting, right? But love, true love, is a solid foundation. It’s rare, but if you can find it… well, you can build all kinds of beautiful things.” He’s bursting to tell this man about his sister, who abdicated the throne and married a commoner, her best friend of many years, but he stops himself, again, from revealing too much.
Although, he thinks, when the sun comes up, he may just have to find this man and tell him everything.
It’s probably the mead that’s making him think such things.
“Sorry,” he says instead, “if I’m talking your ear off. I normally don’t get to share this much of myself with… well, anyone.”
“Neither do I,” the man murmurs. “And I agree. With everything you said, I mean. And I must say…”
He shifts closer, suddenly only a breath away from Arthur. Arthur’s mouth goes dry, but he doesn’t move away.
“I find your passionate conviction extremely attractive,” the man purrs.
Arthur glances at the abandoned tray of drinks beside him. “How many of those have you had tonight?”
The man shrugs. “Not so much that I’m no longer clearheaded, but enough to make me bold.”
“Bold enough to – to,” Arthur can’t think of a delicate way to say it.
“To pin a handsome nobleman up against a wall and kiss him senseless,” the man puts it bluntly, “if said nobleman would like that, of course.”
Arthur laughs, incredulous. “I hope for your sake you’re not so… forward with the nobles you serve.”
“Well, the noble I serve is an idiot. He often needs me to bluntly tell him so.”
“You’ve got quite a mouth on you, don’t you?”
“Would you like to see what else my mouth can do?”
Arthur chokes.
The man looks up at Arthur – through long lashes, Arthur suddenly notices – with hunger and the slightest hesitation in his eyes.
“This was not part of the plan,” Arthur mutters to himself.
“What was that?”
“I, er, nothing, I” – Arthur stammers, feeling heat rise in his cheeks. The man says nothing, just waits patiently for him to continue, his face still only inches away. All Arthur has to do is lean in closer, and –
Oh, fuck it.
“I said that corner over there looks empty.”
The man gives him a blinding grin, wastes no time in taking his hand and leading him into the shadow of a pillar, and Arthur’s night takes a turn for the better.