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“How about another celebration?”
It is, what feels like, the hundredth suggestion made today, equally as useless as the rest of them. Arthur appreciates the effort his knights and councillors are putting into this, but it’s the seventh council meeting they have on this specific issue in just three months, and honestly he’s starting to get a little fed up. He understands the importance of it — of course he does; he’s King and very aware of his late father’s shortcomings and mistakes — but they’ve tried just about everything and nothing has worked. He’s never liked giving up, but even he can tell when something is a losing battle.
He sighs, leans back in his chair, and crosses his arms lightly across his chest. “Considering the Witching Festival and the Day of Commemoration haven’t cut it, I doubt another one will,” he says.
“Another formal apology?” Sir Ivor says. Much of the magical community accepted Arthur’s first, many his second, but certain groups do not believe him even by his third formal — and genuine — apology.
“The more times we apologise the less genuine and more desparate it will appear,” Leon states.
“Should we appoint another Court Sorcerer?” Sir Owen asks. “They might think we need more?”
Arthur snorts. “If they’re not happy with the great Emrys in that position it won’t matter who or how many we appoint,” he says. “Besides, Merlin is doing a fantastic job. We don’t need another.”
He strictly ignores the way his closest knights grin and wiggle their eyebrows at him suggestively. They’re behaving rather improper, for a council meeting, but they’ve gone over this many times and even Arthur can admit it’s getting boring. They’ve tried everything they can think of, and even Merlin doesn’t know what the Mages of Chemary want or expect from Arthur. Arthur is close to giving up, to accepting that there will always be those who do not support his rule or believe in him. It’s part of what it means to be King, after all.
Sir Wilfred is interrupted in the middle of another pointless suggestion by the doors opening. Merlin enters through them, his cheeks flushed, and bows his head slightly in apology, which is rather unnecessary; Arthur’s gotten used to him arriving late to meetings, at this point. He has many responsibilities and duties now, many of which do not stick to a neat schedule.
Merlin moves through the Throne Room, the bottom of his robes flowing around and behind his legs in a way that appears just the slightest bit magical. Arthur may not be a fan of never-ending council meetings, but he will never tire of seeing Merlin in his formalwear, in the dark brown — almost black — fabric fitted over his chest and arms and loose from the waist down, with the orange yellow — gold — details running across his chest and down his arms, symbols of magic Arthur doesn’t know and words in a foreign language he doesn’t understand. Merlin looks so startlingly different from the manservant he once was — and somehow, no different at all — that Arthur often struggles to take his eyes off him.
“When you speak of the troll,” Arthur says with an unimpressed raise of his eyebrow.
Merlin grins at him sheepishly as he rounds the table. “Sorry I’m late.”
Arthur waves him off. “You’re here now, that’s what matters.”
Merlin settles into his seat on Arthur’s right, and Arthur catches Gwaine’s eyes where he sits in the chair next to Merlin. There’s a grin on his face that makes a foreboding feeling build in Arthur’s stomach.
Arthur narrows his eyes at him when Gwaine’s grin grows wider.
“I’ve got an idea.”
Arthur can already tell it’s going to be either useless or absurd. Maybe both. But he motions for Gwaine to go on anyway, because it’s not like anyone else has any other ideas.
“So, you need the Mages to believe you really and truly have accepted magic back in Camelot, for good, right?”
Arthur nods.
“And lifting the ban, apologising, appointing a Court Sorcerer, and holding festivals hasn’t helped, has it?”
Arthur rolls his eyes. “Get on with it, will you?”
Gwaine grins again. “They’re not working because they’re not permanent. You could change your mind about any of them at any time and return the ban and continue to persecute those who practice magic without any real consequences,” he says, and Arthur will say he does have a point. Any one of the things he’s done could easily be overturned or undone. “So you need something that will be permanent, because it is permanent in its very nature.”
Arthur raises his eyebrow and nods. He doesn’t quite dare to hope, but Gwaine clearly has something in mind and maybe it won’t be so bad. “What are you thinking?”
Gwaine bends forward over the table like he’s indulging them with a secret, practically leaning against Merlin as he grins at Arthur. “Alright, here’s the plan,” he says conspiratorially, grin turning smug as he looks at Arthur. “You get married. With someone who has magic.”
Arthur just stares at him for a moment as the room grows still and quiet. Absurd it is.
“It doesn’t have to be real,” Gwaine clarifies, leaning back in his seat. “It can be like a.. fake marriage,” he says with a shrug. And would you look at that. Useless too.
Arthur wonders if Gwaine’s an actual idiot, or if he just had too much to drink at the tavern last night. “You do realise I’m the King of Camelot,” he deadpans. “I can’t very well pretend to marry someone and then decide we weren’t made for each other and go our merry ways — which would defeat the whole purpose anyway. If I marry someone, it will be permanent; they will be the second ruler of Camelot until either of us die, and in the case where I die first they will be the monarch of Camelot,” he says with a frown. “I can’t very well go marry a random person with magic just to appease the Mages.”
Gwaine shrugs again, like that isn’t really a problem at all. “So it’ll have to be permanent. That doesn’t mean it has to be real, though.” A smirk turns the corners of his lips upwards. “But I’m sure that will sort itself out. Anyway. Marry someone you think you could stand having at your side for the rest of your life and who you would trust to leave the kingdom with,” the smirk on his face turns devilish, and Arthur isn’t sure he’s going to like the next thing that comes out of Gwaine’s mouth, “like Merlin.”
Arthur is certain his cheeks are turning beat red. “What.”
“What? He’s perfect!” Gwaine says, looking far too satisfied. “You already spend practically all of your time together, he’s got magic and people know that he does, he’s special to the Druids — and what’s to say he isn’t important to the Mages too? — he’s already part of the council, and the people love him.” He throws an arm over Merlin’s shoulders with a cocky grin, as if it’s the most genius plan anyone’s ever come up with. “I really don’t see who would be a better option.”
Arthur gapes at him — and resolutely does not look at Merlin.
“He does have a point, Sire,” Leon says, and Arthur has to do a double take, because surely Leon can’t possibly think that it’s a good idea. Leon is one of the two people Arthur always trusts to be the voice of reason, but here he is, backing Gwaine.
Arthur quickly turns to Gwen in hope of an actual voice of reason, but she just gives him a guilty smile and shrugs. “It’s not a terrible idea.”
Arthur is flabbergasted. How did marrying Merlin suddenly become part of the plan?
He finally dares a glance at Merlin, who is keeping his gaze fixed on the centre of the table. He looks distinctively embarrassed, and while Arthur wouldn’t mind marrying Merlin — who is he kidding; he doesn’t think there’s anyone he would rather marry than Merlin — he can’t force that onto him. He is shouldered with enough responsibility as it is; Arthur can’t force even more on him when he never asked to carry it from the start.
“No,” Arthur says then, determined, turning back towards the table at large. “There must be another way. Or someone else.”
“What have you got against marrying Merlin?” Gwaine asks, scowl bordering on a glare, and it’s at times like these that Arthur is reminded that, if forced to choose, Gwaine wouldn’t pick him. He’s grateful for it, more than offended, that Merlin has friends so wholly loyal to him that they would go against the King.
“It’s not a matter of whether or not I have anything against marrying Merlin,” Arthur states firmly. “But I will not ask him to marry me and become royal consort and King just because I cannot come up with a better bloody solution to a problem that is entirely mine. That is neither fair not kind and I will not force that burden on him.”
Merlin clears his throat from beside him. “I don’t mind.”
Arthur blinks at him in surprise. “You… don’t mind?” he asks, a little dumbfounded. He frowns. “You do realise what it would mean, right? You’d be King of Camelot and married. To me. Until death.”
Merlin finally turns to look at him, a determined spark in his eyes that Arthur has seen a thousand times before. “If it’ll make people truly see that magic is accepted and celebrated in Camelot under your rule, that people who use it do not need to live in fear or be feared by others, that Camelot has a King who recognises and loves all, then I’ll do it in a heartbeat,” he says. His lips twitch into something a little teasing. ”Besides, I’m stuck with you anyway, aren’t I? You know, destiny and all.”
Arthur watches him for a moment. He’s always known Merlin to be selfless and determined and strong and brave, but he never actually thought he’d so willingly give up the chance to wed someone he loves for the sake of the kingdom. Arthur still remembers the speech Merlin gave him about marrying for love instead of for alliance and tradition all those years ago.
But he nods, because Merlin can make his own decisions and Arthur trusts that he will not do anything he does not wish to or believe to be right.
“Alright.” He clears his throat in an attempt to remove the flutter of bats wings in his chest. He turns back to the table and hopes he doesn’t look quite as flustered as he feels. “The suggestion is open for consideration,” he says, and Gwaine looks entirely too smug. “To allow everyone time to thoroughly think it through,” he shoots Merlin a look, “we will end the meeting here today and meet tomorrow morning to discuss it further. Depending on what agreement we come to, we will continue from there. Dismissed.”
Gwen pats his arm as everyone stands up to leave, chatting amongst themselves, and smiles at him kindly. “It’ll be good for the kingdom,” she says. She watches Merlin stand up and turn to Gwaine, and when she’s certain he’s not listening, she leans closer to Arthur and whispers, “And it might be good for you, too.” Her eyes sparkle with mirth, and Arthur quickly averts his gaze. His cheeks burn.
“To be stuck with Merlin for the rest of my life?” He scoffs. “I’m sure it’ll do wonders.”
Gwen chuckles and squeezes his arm, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Stop being so difficult. You can’t fool me,” she says quietly and grins. Arthur knows he can’t, never could.
He sighs. “I didn’t want it to happen like this,” he admits quietly, standing up. He lends her his hand and she stands up, checking his hip with hers. It comes easy, these quiet gestures of affection, even years after they decided they were better suited as friends. There’s a comfort to it, that Arthur can’t properly express his gratitude for.
“It’s not too late to ask him properly,” she says, grinning.
Arthur stares at her like she’s just sprouted a second head.
She rolls her eyes at him. “You’re impossible,” she says, exasperated fondness in her voice.
“And I will always appreciate your council,” he says, and he means it. Giving her a place on the council, even without the status of a noble, might be one of the best decisions he’s made. She speaks for the people, knows what they wish and feel and need better than Arthur could ever hope to, no matter how he tries. And her pressence is reassuring and comforting in a way few things are.
She glares playfully at him. “Then perhaps you should consider listening to it?”
“I don’t have a clue what you mean.”
She punches him lightly in the arm and then she leaves, too busy attending to her duties to spend time uselessly trying to talk sense into Arthur — because that is what she’s trying to do, what she has been trying to do for years. Arthur may be good at listening when it comes to matters of the state, but he’s afraid he’s too dumb to listen when it comes to matters of the heart.
“Merlin, I really want you to think carefully about this,” Arthur says that evening, because while Merlin might not do things he does not wish to, he’s still a bit of an idiot and Arthur wouldn’t put it past him to forget to actually think it through.
Merlin rolls his eyes at him from where he’s folding Arthur’s clothes — because despite all the other duties he’s been shouldered with, he won’t let anyone else be Arthur’s servant. “I have, Arthur.” He crosses his arms over his chest, a tunic hanging limply from his hand. “Are you sure this isn’t about you having something against marrying me?” he asks.
Arthur huffs. “Yes. I already said so.”
“I don’t want to take the opportunity to marry someone you love from you,” Merlin continues, like Arthur didn’t speak at all. There’s the slightest pinch to his brow.
Arthur waves him off. “You’re not,” he says, and he isn’t sure he wants Merlin to pick up on the implications of that. But then, maybe he does.
Merlin gives him a skeptical look. “We both know you’d sacrifice yourself, in any way, if it meant the best for Camelot. Why shouldn’t I assume that’s what you’re doing here too?”
“Because I’m not,” Arthur says. “I don’t exactly have any marriages or potential consorts lying around, do I? But this isn’t about me; it’s about you.” He leans back in his chair. “You’ll get additional duties to the ones you already have, and you’ll undergo endless scrutiny from nobles and the people alike.” He pauses. “You won’t be able to change your mind; you’ll be stuck with me until the end of our days, and if I die you will be King of Camelot. I don’t want to burden you with all that if it’s not something you’re absolutely certain you are willing to carry.”
Merlin gives him a lopsided grin. “I already write half of your speeches, I’m part of the council, I help make new laws and change old ones. I already get insults and the occasional fruit thrown at me on the street by people who have yet to accept magic or revere the ways of your father,” he says. “What are a few more things to add to the list?”
Arthur watches him for a moment, but there isn’t a bit of uncertainty in his features. “You’re alright with marrying me?” he asks. “With being tied to me until death?”
Merlin’s smile softens. “I have no plans on leaving,” he says, reassuringly, gently. “Married or not, it’s by your side I belong.”
Arthur’s heart swells, but he’s still not quite learnt how to deal with emotions or express them eloquently — just another of the many wonderful things his father’s legacy has gifted him — and so he says, “I knew making you Court Sorcerer would come in handy one day.” He is promptly hit in the face with a flying pillow.
Arthur didn’t actually think he’d ever stand in front of the people of Camelot with Merlin by his side, announcing their marriage — wish, perhaps, but never think. It’s a warm summers day, and the courtyard is milling with people. Merlin fidgets beside him, nervous but not quite as anxious as the day Arthur announced the ban on magic lifted and made him Court Sorcerer.
“You ready?” Arthur asks, corner of his mouth tilting upwards. “This is your last chance to back out.”
Merlin turns his gaze from the crowd to lock it with Arthur’s, determined glint in his eyes. “Never,” he says. “I’m ready. Remember your speech?”
“By heart,” Arthur says. He spent half the night awake memorising the script Merlin and he wrote over the past few days, and the words added when Merlin wasn’t looking. He would know them in his sleep.
He turns towards the crowd, waiting for the murmur of conversation to die down before he addresses them. “People of Camelot. For decades, my father prosecuted and feared and unjustly killed those who used or held magic within them. He spoke of the evils of magic and the corruption of those who practiced and had faith in it, and would not rest until magic was banished and eradicated from the lands of Camelot. He did this not out of rational thinking or for the good of the people, nor because he truly understood the nature of magic. He did it out of hatred, out of spite. Out of fear. And before I came to know better, I carried on his legacy, something for which I will never be able to apologise enough.
“But today, and for three years passed, magic is accepted and cherished as part of the land and the people of Camelot. No one will, for as long as I am King and as long as my legacy shall live on, be persecuted, hated, or feared because of their magic and their gifts. You are the equal of those of us who do not have magic, you are loved, and I will not allow you to be treated unjustly.
“I wish with all my heart that one day, all the people of this kingdom will believe and feel that what I say is true, but I understand your distrust and your hesitance. To some of you, I have not made myself trustworthy, and that is no one’s fault but my own. I understand that it must be difficult to be ruled by someone who has never stood in your shoes, who has never experienced the horrors you have faced. You deserve someone who understands, truly, what it means and has meant to have magic.” He pauses, and smiles. “Therefore, today, it is with great pride and honour that I announce that in a fortnight, you will have a king with magic, and man and magic will be united through the most binding and virtuous bond there is.” He turns to Merlin and grabs his hand, intertwining their fingers when Merlin grins at him. He turns back to the crowd, lifting their linked hands for the whole kingdom to see.
“Merlin is magic itself, the great Emrys of the Druids. And he is my destiny, has been since the day we both met. He is the bravest and most loyal man I have ever known, and there is no one I would rather marry.”
In the corner of his eye, he sees Merlin turn to him in surprise at the — heartfelt and entirely genuine — addition. Arthur stressed all night about whether or not to add it, but he needed both his people and Merlin to know that Arthur truly is not marrying Merlin simply for the convenience of it, even if that’s what initiated the whole thing. That Arthur is happy to marry Merlin.
“Through our marriage I hope I can show that I love no one less because of the gifts and magic they possess. No person is more worthy of understanding and appreciation than those who have had to live in hiding and in fear, in their own homes, amongst their friends and family. In a fortnight, you will have a king who understands you, a king who knows what you’ve gone through, a king who has suffered the same. A king who has and always will make me a better person, a better leader, a better king. And I promise, that I will work until my dying breath to ensure I deserve the forgiveness I’ve already been given and to earn it from those who do not deem me worthy. You are all my people, our people, and you are cherished for who you are, with or without magic. It is time Camelot has leaders who will do everything in their might to ensure that man and magic live in harmony, because we are all of this world and we are one.” He raises Merlin and his hands towards the sky. “For the love of Camelot!”
The roar of the crowd and the clapping and the cheers are more than he could ever have hoped to receive, and he hopes, with all his being, that the people believe him. That, with time, he can make amends for the sins of his father and for his own. That the people of Camelot may prosper and live in peace, and that those who once lived in fear will no longer feel the need to hide.
He turns to Merlin when he squeezes his hand. Merlin is looking at him with a wide, teary smile, and there’s so much pride and love and fondness in his eyes that it makes Arthur’s breath get caught in his throat. All he can do is grin back at him.
Arranging a wedding is.. a lot more work than Arthur expected it to be. When he was to marry Elena, their fathers stood for most of the organising and it was simultaneously spontaneous and pre-planned enough that there wasn’t very much to do in the few days before the wedding. This time, though, is an entirely different thing.
Once they’ve announced the marriage, they need to spread the information to the rest of Camelot, to allied kingdoms, and to the Druids and other magical communities. Once that’s done, they need to figure out how the wedding should take place; it should be traditional, yes, but there’s also the need — and want — to incorporate the customs of magical communities in the ceremony. Arthur is endlessly grateful of Mordred’s Druid roots and the fact that he actually knows what a wedding amongst Druids looks like, because despite being the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth, Merlin is completely clueless, and Arthur isn’t much better off. And then they need to actually prepare for it, decorating not only the castle but the whole of the lower town, ensuring there is room and food for visiting guests from far and wide, and arranging for the feasts and banquets and celebrations that will follow.
There’s so much to do that Arthur barely gets any time to himself, nevertheless time to spend alone with Merlin, and he’s to be his husband. Needless to say, it is a relief when the day finally arrives and the ceremony itself goes smoothly and without a hitch.
At the end of it all, they share a kiss that doesn’t feel very pretend at all.
Things don’t change much, after the wedding. Arthur isn’t sure why he expected them to.
Merlin still sleeps in the Court Sorcerer’s chambers, they still banter and bicker (like an old married couple, Arthur notes with amusement), and besides keeping up the married act during feasts and banquets and other public events, it’s really not much different from their relationship before. Except the looks shared in private, the lingering touches, the fact that Arthur can’t stop thinking about kissing Merlin again. And a thousand times more after that.
He thought he pined a lot before the wedding, but now he knows that was nothing, in comparison. He wants Merlin in his bed at night, not down the corridor. He wants to kiss Merlin in the secret of his chambers and not just fleetingly in public. He wants their marriage to be for love and not just convenience. And he wants Merlin to want that too, thinks, sometimes, that he does. It’s in the way Merlin looks at him when he doesn’t think Arthur notices; the way Merlin’s hands stay on Arthur’s shoulders, his arms, his hands, just the slightest too long to mean nothing; the way Merlin catches himself leaning in for a kiss when they’re alone and there’s no one to play pretend for.
It’s a little over a month after the wedding, and they’re in Arthur’s chambers. Merlin rambles on about some menial magical matter that Arthur genuinely barely understands despite trying his hardest, and it’s late and Arthur is comfortable and aching all at the same time. Because he knows that once Merlin’s ramblings about important things are over, he’ll start talking about something else, and then suddenly it’ll be too late for him to stay, and he’ll linger, anyway, before he finally leaves, shooting Arthur a look just before he closes the door. A look that Arthur thinks asks him to tell Merlin not to leave.
And Arthur doesn’t want that; he wants Merlin not just to linger, he wants him to stay.
“Merlin,” he says, interrupting Merlin mid-sentence.
Merlin shoots him an annoyed look but sits down on the chair beside Arthur when Arthur motions for him to. “What?”
Arthur purses his lips. “This… marriage, of ours,” he starts. He’s not entirely sure how to continue; he’s about to spill his heart, the secret he’s carried for years, and he doesn’t know if he’s ready for it. But then, he doesn’t think he can go another day without Merlin knowing.
Merlin frowns at him. “Yes?”
Arthur swallows the lump in his throat. Best to just get it out there, even if the words are sloppy. Merlin will understand anyway, he always does. “I know it’s meant to be fake, pretend, not ‘real’,” he says with a vague wave of his hand, and Merlin’s eyebrows furrow together further. “But it’s not,” he pauses, “to me. It doesn’t feel pretend. I don’t want it to be pretend.” He lets his hand hover over Merlin’s for a moment, placing it on top of Merlin’s hand when Merlin doesn’t pull away, and squeezes his fingers. “I want to act like you are my husband as much in the secrecy of my chambers, with no watching eyes, as I do when we’re standing in front of the entire kingdom.” His lips twitch with amusement, but it’s a little bittersweet. “At this point I think I’m pretending more when we’re alone than when we’re not, and to be honest, it’s becoming rather tedious.”
Merlin turns his hand under Arthur’s and tangles their fingers. There’s a smile on his face, warm and fond and just the slightest bit wet. “Then stop pretending,” he says quietly. “I didn’t marry you only for the sake of the Mages or magic, you know.” He grins. “There were far more selfish reasons behind my decision, too.”
Arthur lets a smile spread across his face. “Oh? Such as?”
Merlin rolls his eyes. “Oh I don’t know, maybe the fact that I love you, am in love with you, and have been for as long as I can remember? Dollophead,” he says. His smile softens. “Because I’ve wanted to marry you since long before you were King, long before the ban on magic was lifted, long before I ever thought it would be possible. Oh, don’t give me that look! Why did you think I gave that whole speech about marrying for love?”
Arthur laughs and it rumbles in his chest. “Trying to ruin Camelot’s alliances for your own benefit, were you?”
Merlin just grins. “Oh, and I also wanted to marry you because it means that now you can’t pull the ‘I’m the King, you can’t tell me what to do’ card,” he adds, cheekily. “Because guess what?” He leans closer, close enough that Arthur can see the flecks of gold in his eyes that he doesn’t think anyone else notices. “Now I’m the King too, and I can tell you what to do as much as I like.”
“Feel good, does it?”
Merlin hums. “Very. So, as King, I order you to kiss me.”
Arthur’s free hand finds Merlin’s cheek, his thumb brushing across his cheekbone. “Well, it is the King’s orders,” he says, amused, and then he kisses him.
Arthur will never admit it out loud, but sometimes Gwaine actually has some pretty good ideas.