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Merlin burst into the king’s chambers, elbowing his way through the door and curtains, arms laden with several rolls of fresh scrolls.
“Sorry, sorry! I know I’m late but you won’t believe what Elyan and Gwaine were-“
He stopped in his tracks at the sight of Arthur at his writing desk, head buried in a mess of parchment papers that he very frequently seemed to run out of. Smiling to himself, Merlin tiptoed over.
He knew that Arthur was very tense about handling a particularly sensitive issue with the King of Mercia; he had spent many a sleepless nights preparing for his side of the issue, writing and re-writing letters which he would ultimately discard, frustrated.
Which is why Merlin was most surprised when he peeped into the mess of papers and saw, not attempts at a diplomatic speech, but a bunch of seemingly haphazard lines scrawled onto them in black ink.
Carefully, he extracted one sheet from under Arthur’s tousled head, only to find a crude drawing of his favourite horse. Merlin could tell, for Arthur had drawn the nasty battle scar that the horse had suffered on its head long ago.
As his eyes scanned the rest of the sheets, he saw an assortment of sketches: Gwen in her tulip garden, the Round Table, a deserted campsite on some riverbank, and much smaller, the Lake of Avalon.
Merlin’s heart skipped a beat, not because of the surprising precision of Arthur’s sketches (or the fact that he was any good at this stuff at all), but because of one particular sketch that caught his eye. It was trapped under the king’s arms but from what Merlin could make of it, he was the subject of it. In it, he was outlined against the backdrop of an old, oddly familiar brick wall or something. Curious to see the whole picture now, he dumped the load of scrolls in his hand onto an empty chair and tugged at the drawing- gentle at first, but soon turned insistent.
Disturbed from his sleep, Arthur jolted awake with a grunt. Merlin took this opportunity to grab at the sheet. In it was Merlin standing near his cottage at Ealdor, in apparent conversation with someone inside the cottage. A little distance away stood Arthur, leaning against the wall, head tipped towards Merlin. Arthur hadn’t quite finished the sketch yet; he hadn’t drawn the facial expressions yet but Merlin had a pretty good idea of what it would be.
Merlin felt his face stretch into a wide grin. Right then, Arthur finally caught up to what Merlin had stumbled upon and, blushing furiously, snatched the sheet away.
Merlin began laughing.
“Arthur Pendragon! I had no idea-”
“Shut up, Merlin,” the king grumbled, crumpling up all the other half-made sketches and swatting away Merlin’s prying hands.
“Arthur, stop! Let me see those. You know, they aren’t half bad… I’d almost say you have some semblance of an actual talent,” he giggled.
“How on earth would you know? You haven’t got a single talented bone in your body,” Arthur retorted.
“I do too!”
“Oh yeah? Like what?”
“Like my mag-“
“And don’t say magic because that’s not a talent, it’s a part of you.”
Merlin shrugged, a hint of a smile on his lips.
“And you, by the way,” Arthur continued, “Were supposed to get me some fresh parchment.”
“Yes, I see they are being put to good use here,” Merlin chuckled as Arthur rolled his eyes, “And I did get them, but you messed up everything on the desk and now I’ll have to sort through it all.”
“Good. Do it.”
“Oh I’m not in the mood…”
“Merlin-“
“I’ve got places to be, not all of us can afford to spend our day doodling- oof!”
Merlin’s prattle was suddenly cut short when, without warning, Arthur lunged at him, toppling them both to the floor. He struggled, but Arthur very easily overpowered him, pinning both his arms above his head.
“Arthur! What the hell?!”
But Arthur only smirked and tugged Merlin’s tunic off. Merlin shivered as he felt the cold ground against his back, but the next moment, he found himself manoeuvred onto his stomach, with Arthur straddling him. Merlin tilted his head back to see what on earth Arthur was up to; he saw him reach for his ink stand and quill.
It was only when he felt the gentle prick of the inky quill on his bare back did he realize, Arthur was painting onto his skin.
“Oh, so I’m your parchment paper now, eh?” he quipped, giving up on trying to get a peek at whatever Arthur was painting.
“Shh.”
“C’mon now, Arthur, what are you drawing?”
“A part of me.”
Puzzled, Merlin fell quiet. Arthur was unnaturally silent, intently focussed on his task. The cosy quietude between them, the slow, smooth strokes of the quill and Arthur’s fingers occasionally brushing over his back slowly lulled Merlin into a doze.
“Done!”
Merlin’s eyes sprang open reluctantly. He twisted his head and saw Arthur, still straddling him, wearing an expression of utter satisfaction so endearing, he wished he could paint that. But for now, he locked it into his memories.
“Well? Are you going to tell me what it is?”
Arthur gave him a shy smile and shook his head. Then, he got up abruptly and fished about for a fresh, clean paper and, bending over Merlin, pressed it onto his back. He held it in place for a few moments before carefully peeling it off to study it.
Merlin sat up facing Arthur, who looked conflicted for a moment before his face finally cleared up. He gave Merlin a dazzling smile and beckoned him over to look at the imprint.
A crude circle covered most of the space. In it was a sun cross, and right in the middle of the cross was a distinctive bird that Merlin had only seen once before.
Ygrainne’s sigil.
“Wow… It’s beautiful, Arthur.”
Arthur glanced at him and smiled. When he spoke, his voice was a hushed whisper.
“I find sketching relieves me. I gave up attempting to draw my mother, I cannot quite remember her. Every time, I have failed. Every time I am disappointed. But now…”
He traced a finger lightly over Merlin’s back.
“This feels just right.”
Merlin felt his eyes well up. He pressed a soft kiss into the young king’s hair, who bowed gratefully to lean against Merlin’s forehead.
“You know, you do her proud every day, Arthur. And all of Camelot too. I really wish you would believe that.”
Arthur nodded slightly, letting out a low breath.
“Anyway,” he cleared his throat, a hint of humour returning to his voice, “I believe I have conclusively proven myself as the only man of talent, between the two of us.”
Merlin grinned, a twinkle in his eye.
“I can juggle, remember?”
“OH yes! I have been meaning to ask you, how the hell did you do that?!”
Merlin only shrugged.
Arthur’s eyebrows shot up.
“You used magic, didn’t you?”
“I absolutely did not!” Merlin replied, indignant.
“Prove it.”
“Sure, let me just get two eggs. I could use your head for the third.”
“MERLIN!”