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“You’ve got to help me.”
Merlin spins round trying to work out where the all too familiar voice is coming from. The banqueting hall is packed to the rafters with revellers, making it hard to see across the room.
“I’m over here, you idiot. Behind you.”
“That’s hardly going to motivate me to do what you want,” Merlin mutters but casually shuffles over to where Arthur is hiding behind a pillar decorated with a selection of fronds and brightly coloured flowers, looking a bit flushed around his ears like he always does after one drink too many or when someone’s complimented him.
“What on earth are you doing?” Merlin asks, not unreasonably in his humble opinion. Arthur, after all, is the king and this evening’s host and should therefore be busy buttering up his allies and potential foes alike instead of lurking guiltily in the shadows like a common criminal.
“What do you think I’m doing here, Merlin, baking a cake, perhaps, or milking a goat?” Arthur flicks a bit of foliage out of the way.
Gwen really has outdone herself this time with the floral decorations.
Merlin pulls a face. “No need to take that tone, I only asked.” He takes a sip of his wine, quite happy to wait Arthur out if needs be. He’s not the one in need of assistance, after all.
“Can you see her?” Arthur asks when it becomes apparent that Merlin isn’t going to say anything more.
“Care to be more specific? There must be about a hundred women here.”
Arthur does that weird thing with his eyebrows. “God, you’re annoying sometimes. Just answer the bloody question.”
“Who,” Merlin says in a patient way, “am I supposed to be looking out for.”
“Sir William’s daughter.”
Merlin shrugs. “I need a bit more to go on that that.”
A Pendragon-red velvet clad arm reaches out and hauls Merlin in closer by the front of his favourite jacket, wine spilling down his sleeve as the glass drops to the floor. “Oi, careful does it, it’ll be murder getting the stains out.”
Arthur dismissed his protests with a wave of his hand. “You’re a bloody sorcerer, just magic it away.”
“Magic it away, he says,” Merlin grumbles. “That’s your answer to everything.”
Arthur narrows his eyes. “Focus, will you. Lady Meredith. Shady side of thirty. Dark hair, brown eyes, a bit snaggle toothed.”
There’s a moment’s silence followed by a slap. “Ow! That hurt. You can’t just go around hitting people like that.”
Arthur’s mouth curls upwards. “I can do whatever I want, I’m the king. And as I’ve told you on countless occasions, there is nothing wrong with my teeth.”
Merlin stays quiet because, well he can’t agree as then Arthur will look all pleased and happy, but actually he does rather like Arthur’s crooked incisor.
“Well, if you’re quite done assaulting me, what’s poor Lady Meredith done to deserve your disdain?”
“Poor Lady Meredith?” Arthur sounds scornful. “Let me tell you there is nothing ‘poor’ about the good Lady Meredith. She’s bloody terrifying, is what she is, dropping unsubtle hints throughout the feast about how she wouldn’t be averse to. Uh. You know.” He makes an odd sort of gesture up close to Merlin’s face.
“Nope.” Merlin is thoroughly entertained. “No idea. Not a clue. Do share.”
Arthur’s blushing now. Not for the first time Merlin is astounded at how a man who looks and sounds the way Arthur does, even if you ignore the fact he’s the most powerful ruler of all the five kingdoms, turns shy and retiring as soon as he’s required to do anything more than politely exchange diplomatic greetings with anyone of the female persuasion.
He shoots Merlin a funny look. “Well you should care if women are going around throwing themselves at me willy nilly.”
“It’s none of my business what you get up to in your spare time.” Merlin’s not often grateful for Uther’s fondness for burning sorcerers but years of having to lie about having magic and being the last dragon lord are standing him in good stead this evening. He’s not even blinking as he says the words.
“Of course it’s your business,” Arthur splutters, looking cross. Merlin takes advantage of Arthur having a conniption to scan their surroundings. Someone fitting Arthur’s less than flattering description is definitely heading their way, an intent expression on her face which doesn’t bode well for Arthur’s short-term future, at the very least.
“Is she wearing a bottle green dress that is showing off all her – er, wares, to best advantage?”
Merlin congratulates himself on finding a suitable form of words that does not in any way belittle Meredith’s ample bosoms, heaving in a remarkably low cut dress that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. A hunted look takes up residence on Arthur’s face. “She might be,” he says, cautiously, “why do you ask?”
Lady Meredith picks up speed as her eyes lock onto her target. “Arthur,” she calls out, loud enough to be heard the next village over, “so this is where you’ve been hiding from me all evening, you naughty man.”
“Merlin,” Arthur says urgently. “Quick, can’t you make her disappear or turn her into a rock? “Do something useful for once in your life.”
Merlin rolls his eyes, offended. “Oh yes, because I’ve never used my magic to, oh I don’t know, do something useful like, hmm…let’s have a think. Ah yes, save your sorry behind from getting thoroughly whipped. How many times would it be now, do you think. Ten? Twenty. A hundred?”
“Merlin.” Arthur’s voice has gone a bit deep and overly posh. “Do shut up.”
“But I’ve barely got started. How about the time…” The rest of the sentence is muffled by a sudden warm press of lips against his and Merlin’s mind can only focus on the way Arthur tightens his grip on Merlin’s waist as if he might try to escape, and how a slick tongue is seeking urgent entrance to his mouth.
Well, he reasons while responding with enthusiasm, it would be terribly rude to refuse.
And. Mm. This evening is definitely not going the way he’d imagined when he’d been dressing earlier.
For one, Arthur had promised faithfully, while rifling through Merlin’s wardrobe in search of something ‘that didn’t look like a dog had been sick on it’, he need only show his face briefly, mingle with the guests, partake of the feast before excusing himself from the speeches. For another, despite a great deal of late night lonely pining, Arthur’s never shown much interest in any engaging in any sort of dalliance with anyone of any persuasion. With Merlin he’s warm and (mostly) respectful and admittedly very territorial. Hot and passionate, not so much. Sadly.
There’s a dramatic throat clearing from somewhere off behind Merlin’s shoulder, followed by a nervous titter of laughter. “Ahem.”
Arthur gives Merlin a warning squeeze that makes Merlin wriggle because it’s tickly, and pulls away. His hand, though, remains resting at the small of his back, burning a hole into his skin.
“My lady, what is it that’s so important you would feel the need to interrupt us?” Arthur manages to sound imperious despite the slight breathlessness of his words.
Eyes flick between Arthur and Merlin, then back again. “Sire, if I’d known the rumours to be true, I would never have been so forward.”
“Aha. Merlin and I? Oh, yes, well.” With Arthur using up the few words in his admittedly limited vocabulary, he pokes Merlin none too gently in a sign he expects him to pick up the baton. Merlin, unwilling to do so, crunches down on Arthur’s foot. It hurts, judging by the intake of breath and narrowed look shot his way. Good, serves him right.
Merlin casts around in his mind for a plausible explanation for why the king would see fit to go around smooching another man when he catches sight of Morgana and Gwen - the latter clutching an exceptionally large bouquet of ferns - bearing down on them.
He fears things are about to go from bad to worse. Sure enough, Morgana glides to a halt and treats them to a smile with too many teeth. “Here you are,” she says. “I was wondering where you two love birds had got to. Lady Meredith, has Arthur been telling you the story of how he wooed Merlin with a hitherto undiscovered talent for poetry?”
Lady Meredith looks intrigued. “Arthur, you dark horse, you. You really must share with us some of your writings.” Beside him Arthur flinches.
“Yes he really must,” Merlin says breezily. Arthur’s grip on him tightens, which is either a sign he wants Merlin to stop talking or to keep going. It’s not entirely clear. Merlin clears his throat. “What Arthur was trying to say,” he says, feeling his way through the conversation the way he does whenever he consults with Kilgharrah, “is that Arthur and I have had – um - an understanding for a while now.”
Arthur flicks a small but pleased smile his way, and for some reason Merlin’s stomach lurches at the sight of it.
Morgana opens her mouth to speak again and Arthur, recognising the danger they’re in, hastily intervenes. “Yes, well, thank you Merlin, for that succinct summing up of our relationship,” he says, and presses a soft kiss to his cheek. Ugh. He wonders if he could get away with conjuring a fireball and setting Arthur’s stupid head on fire.
As he’s tilting his head to one side to better weigh up the various merits of setting Arthur alight, Merlin spots the moment Arthur has an idea strike him. This fills Merlin with misgivings. He knows that look. It’s the one that usually precedes half-baked plans that end with torture and fights and nights spent in cold dungeons. But surely not even Arthur would be so bold as to do something wildly inappropriate in front of half a dozen witnesses just for the sake of quenching Lady Meredith’s ardour?
Actually, scratch that. He definitely would.
Merlin turns to try and convey silently through a combination of raised eyebrows and pursed lips that Arthur had better be thinking very carefully about his life choices if he wants to keep all his appendages intact. Arthur’s eyes linger on Merlin’s lips and desire thrums through his veins as he’s swept into Arthur’s arms.
A slightly awkward embrace ensues as they try to work out which arm goes where. In the confusion, Merlin’s thigh ends up pressing in between Arthur’s legs, and Arthur accidentally bears down on it hard. Vaguely, in the background Merlin thinks he hears a hushed, “I told you so.”
“What do you think you’re playing at,” Merlin manages to whisper between smooches. “Have you entirely lost your mind? They’ll have you confined to chambers for being mentally unfit to reign, and Morgana will succeed you as Queen if you carry on like this.”
“If you can still talk so much, clearly I’m not doing this right,” Arthur whispers back and then silences Merlin’s protest with a far more confident kiss that wipes Merlin’s mind free of all else other than how it good it feels. Arthur really is an excellent kisser. Merlin parks this for now; he can analyse it later, right before he has the complete meltdown he can feel building in his brain.
Eventually, Arthur breaks away and Merlin’s mouth tries to follow him; he makes a little noise of complaint. Arthur’s lips are even redder and plumper than usual, a wet shine on them. Merlin takes a moment to admire them, before cutting his gaze away to where Lady Meredith is studying them both, an unreadable expression on her face.
Some silent message passes between Arthur and Meredith. “My Lady.” He nods at her. “I’m sure you will be the first to wish us happy.” She nods in return, and turns away. Merlin feels a large warm hand take him by the crook of his elbow and he’s dragged ruthlessly away.
“Come Merlin, it’s time we danced.”
“Um. She’s gone, Arthur, you can drop the charade now.” Ignoring his faint noises of complaint, Arthur shifts his hand so it’s circling his waist, forcing his way through the crowd. “What on earth are you thinking of – I can’t dance, I’ve two left feet. Put me down, you’re making a right scene. Arthur, everyone’s looking at us.”
Arthur looks delighted. “Let them. Now just follow my lead and try not to crush my toes. My foot’s still hurting from your earlier display.”
“If anyone’s going to trample all over someone else, I’d hazard it wouldn’t be me.”
“Are you saying I’m fat?” Merlin’s twirled around and he catches glimpses of people clapping along. Leon looks bemused.
“If the cap fits.”
They do several brisk turns of the hall, and then Merlin finds himself, giddy and out of breath, being ushered away and out to the terrace beyond. It’s a cloudless sky filled with a thousand stars and a full moon. Gwen missed a trick not scattering the ground with rose petals when decorating the castle, because that’s all that’s needed to create a fairy tale world of romance.
Arthur looks flushed and more than a little embarrassed now the adrenalin rush is fading, and steps away, chest heaving.
Merlin knows they need to talk now or Arthur, skittish as a new born foal, will shut this conversation down with little to no chance of it ever being reopened. Merlin tilts his head to trace the stars because it’s easier to do this if he’s not looking at Arthur. “So. Do you want to tell me what the hell you’re playing at. Because if you’re messing with me, I swear I’m going to turn you into a toad.”
Arthur’s cheeks turn a pale pink. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Merlin lowers his head. “Well let’s see. How about we start with the fact you kissed me. Twice. Twice, Arthur.”
Arthur’s gaze flits across Merlin’s face before it drops to the floor. “I panicked a bit,” he confesses quietly. Now that Merlin can believe, even if hurt prickles within him. Of course that would be the only reason Arthur would wish to kiss him. “But I didn’t think you’d mind too badly.”
“So instead of behaving like a normal person and just gently letting Meredith down you decide to get yourself off the hook by snogging the Court Sorcerer. Who happens to be me, a man, in case you’d not noticed. Not a woman.” He gestures towards his own chest. “Yup. Definitely not a woman. In which case I can only believe that you’re ill and taken leave of your senses. Here…”
Arthur bats away his hand as Merlin tries to check to see whether he has a temperature or not. “Get off me,” he says irritably. And: “Of course I know you’re a man. I’m not blind, Merlin.” And: “It’s not like you didn’t know how I felt about you, I haven’t exactly kept it a secret.”
Merlin’s head spins.
“What did you just say?”
“You heard me.”
“I heard you but none of it made any sense because you said you have feelings for me, which is a blatant mistruth. You don’t even like men. You barely tolerate me.
“What rubbish, of course I do,” Arthur insists. “I just don’t like to wear my heart on my sleeve.”
Merlin’s incredulous. “Since I’ve known you, you’ve never shown the slightest bit of interest in any visiting royalty or nobility or me, come to that. Oh no,” a horrifying thought enters his mind, “would anyone have done tonight and it just so happened I was on hand?”
Arthur goes stiff. “I don’t go around offering court positions to just anyone, Merlin. If that wasn’t a clear declaration of my feelings for you, I don’t know what more you need. Honestly. Sometimes I think you’re deliberately obtuse.”
Merlin fixes him with a penetrating stare. “Obtuse? Obtuse.” He can hear his voice rising. “That was three months ago, you pillock. How on earth was I supposed to know why you were making me the Court Sorcerer, I’m a warlock, not a bloody mind reader. Why couldn’t you just tell me, you know, with words. Those honey and lavender cakes I love. Or a bunch of flowers, like a normal person would.”
“I thought it was romantic, courting you like that” Arthur grumbles. “But clearly my chivalric gesture was completely wasted on you.” He shoots Merlin a look. “And it’s not like you’d win any prizes for making a romantic overture unless insulting someone is your way of flirting.”
Actually it is. When he says this some of the tension drains from Arthur’s shoulders and there’s that familiar quirk of the corner of his mouth. “Really Merlin, Dollop Head’s a term of endearment? I thought you were more creative than that.”
“Yeah well, next time you’re thinking about propositioning me, use words – any words - instead of assuming I know what’s rattling around that empty skull of yours.”
They’re busy closing the gap between them, grinning, when the doors are suddenly flung open. They jump apart but Morgana’s too busy shouting “I’ve found them,” to someone in the corridor to notice. “There you are! You’re supposed to be giving the after dinner speech, not mooning after Merlin.”
If looks could kill, Morgana would be buried fathoms deep. “I can have you thrown in the dungeons, you know.”
Morgana scoffs. “I’d like to see you try. I’d be free in five seconds flat and you’ll be ridding your bed of worms for the next year. Still, now you’ve finally got up the courage to formally ask Merlin out, Gwen owes me a full body massage and breakfast in bed.”
“Get out of here,” Arthur says, shuddering at what his sister gets up to in her spare time. “I’ll join you shortly.” Waiting until the door is firmly closed, he swallows hard, fidgeting with the silver ring he always wears. “Do I need to spell things out more clearly?”
Merlin looks at this golden lion of a man he loves. “Not if you’re sure you want it, this. Us, and you’re not just covering your back?” He takes another step closer until he can count the individual lashes lining Arthur’s darkening eyes.
“I think you already know the answer to that, Merlin.”
The gleam in Arthur’s eyes promise all sorts of danger, and fuels Merlin with the courage needed to close the gap between them. “You know,” he says, his hands spanning Arthur’s waist, “you could just have asked me out. Instead of outing yourself to the entire court and half the kingdom’s population.”
Arthur smiles, the smug one he has for when things are all going his way. “I’ve never been a man to do thing by halves. Once I’m in it’s all or nothing.”
Merlin’s hands inch their way inside Arthur’s shirt, his skin velvet soft and warm and solid. “I’m going to hold you to that.”
“I’d be worried if you didn’t.” And then Arthur gathers Merlin to him and throws him into a deep dip. Their third kiss is definitely the best.