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“Dance with me,” Arthur said quietly, holding out a hand.
Merlin frowned. “What?”
“I said, dance with me?”
The music from the great hall was drifting up through the castle, filling the firelit hallways and empty rooms with its rhythm. Downstairs, nobles from all over Albion danced and laughed, the music flowing over them.
Merlin’s head was buzzing from the wine he’d snuck into his own cup, and the subtle flush painted across Arthur’s cheeks spoke of his own intoxication. Gods, it was hard to even look at him, when he looked like this.
In the empty room, with only the moonlight seeping in, Arthur gently reach forward and grabbed Merlin’s hand, pulling him towards his body.
“Arth- I don’t know how to dance,” Merlin argued, but Arthur grinned anyway.
“It’s not that hard.”
Easy for a prince to say, since he’d grown up with dancing lessons and tutors and could probably waltz to a sailor’s shanty.
He guided Merlin’s other arm to his shoulder, and placed his own hand on Merlin’s waist, and he couldn’t help the small, sharp gasp. Then, Arthus started to rock, side to side, very slowly. He pulled Merlin in even closer. “See? You’re a natural.”
Merlin chuckled, as he allowed Arthur to rock his this way and that, allowing himself to relax into his grip and sway with the soft music. He found the rhythm, and eventually they were moving a little more, and Arthur raised their hands, spinning Merlin under his arm. Merlin did the same and Arthur grinned, spinning as well, until he came back to press them together again. It was lovely. It was theirs.
“Arthur?” Merlin asked, Arthur hummed happily. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” he whispered, and pressed with cheek against Merlin’s. Above them, a small vine descended, and when they looked up, a small bundle of mistletoe had appeared. As Arthur stared up at it, Merlin smiled, before he captured Arthur’s lips with his own in a soft, sweet kiss. It was so easy, when it was just the two of them.
No scars, or nightmares, cries of terror and fear of losing. It didn’t matter who Arthur’s father was, or who he was, or that Merlin had magic. All that mattered was this, this magical, new thing that they grew between them. It was like something had finally clicked into place, under that mistletoe, rocking to the distant music.
And it was the most precious thing in the world.