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“Have you ever given anyone a favour?”
“Why, hello to you too, Merlin,” Morgana looked up at him beatifically from where she sat, at a little table on the edge of the garden, a sharp edge in her smile. “How are you today?”
Sitting beside her, Gwen shook her head at him. Morgana tapped her finger on the table, staring at him unblinkingly.
“Hello, Lady Morgana,” Merlin amended. “Guinevere,” he added, greeting the other girl. Gwen only gave him an amused look, raising an exasperated eyebrow at him. “I’m great. How are you? Have you ever given anyone a favour?”
Morgana rolled her eyes at his unsubtle attempt to get the conversation to where he wanted it. “Plenty.” She shrugged. “Why do you ask?”
Before Merlin could reply, Gwen gasped excitedly. “Merlin, is that a favour I see?” She pointed to the little scrap of red fabric Merlin hadn’t even realized was poking out of his pocket.
“No,” he lied, hastily shoving it in deep, so no one else could spot it.
Unfortunately for him, the duo who had spotted it were like sharks that smelled blood in the water. The last thing either of them was going to do was let it go.
“Who is it for?” Morgana asked, practically purring. “You can tell us.”
“We can keep a secret.” Gwen nodded solemnly. “Promise.”
“No one, really, I swear.” Merlin spread out his hands, trying to look the picture of innocence.
Gwen looked put out for a moment, clearly disappointed, but she would’ve bought it. Morgana, on the other hand… she smirked, cocking her head to the side. “Merlin, surely you know me well enough by now to know that I won’t let you leave until you tell us who it’s for.” She pulled on the chair next to her, patting the seat. “Come, sit with us.”
As if her words were a magnetic order, his feet started pulling him towards the table against his will. He slumped into the seat as Morgana smiled at him delightedly, the devious twinkle clear in her eyes.
For her part, Gwen patted him on the shoulder, but made no move to save him from Morgana’s torment. Some friend she was.
“Now, who is it for?”
Don’t say it, Merlin. Don’t tell them who it’s really for. Don’t—
“Sir Leon,” he burst out, mind having gone annoyingly blank.
“Leon?!” the women chorused, the shock blatant on their faces. They turned away from him, looking at each other, as though they were trying to confirm they really had heard the right name.
“Well, don’t waste your time,” Morgana said finally, shaking off her surprise and giving him a look of pure pity. “Leon won’t take it.”
Merlin tried not to bristle at the easy way she dismissed him. He failed. “Why? Because I’m just a servant? Only a noble has the right to give someone a favour? The poor aren’t allowed to cheer someone on?”
It wasn’t as though he cared about giving anyone his favour, he didn’t, so why—
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Morgana waved his complaints away. “It’s not you that’s the problem.”
He stared at her unimpressed. He’d expect Morgana to at least come up with something better than ‘it’s not you, it’s him,’ if she couldn’t just stick with the truth. He was going to tell her so, when Gwen began to nod.
“He’s never taken anyone’s favour from what I recall.”
“What? How can you two be so sure? Do you pay special attention to Sir Leon or something?”
Morgana rolled her eyes. “Of course not, Merlin.”
“It’s because Lady Morgana tried to give him her favour and he rejected it,” Gwen confessed, a wry twist on her lips. Merlin turned to Morgana with wide eyes, expecting her to snap at Gwen, but she only shook her head in deep resignation.
“Why?” was the only thing he could think of saying.
“He claimed it was against the Knight’s code,” she told him matter-of-factly. “We weren’t courting, so he thought accepting my favour would be deeply, deeply,” she repeated, looking into his eyes as seriously as she could, “inappropriate.”
Merlin gaped at her. He’d seen the other lords and ladies of the court exchange favours as easily as they drank their goblets of wine— without question or care from whence it came from. Leon had to have been joking.
Morgana burst into laughter at the expression on his face. “It was insane, of course, but there was no changing his mind. He figured, rightly, that I’d only wanted to give him the favour because I wanted someone else to lose and by accepting such a sentiment, he’d be going against the very code he swore to uphold.”
Okay, Merlin conceded, not entirely wrong. No one wants to be used as a pawn to annoy someone else, even if the whole point of tournaments was wanting one person to win over another. Leon was simply too good for the world, he decided.
She paused, as if trying to come up with the right words. “You see, Merlin, Leon is what we call…incredibly dedicated to his job. Trying to give him your favour would be a colossal waste; try someone else. Perhaps Sir Kay?” she suggested.
“I…I meant why did you want to give Sir Leon your favour,” he said dumbly, still trying to fully process Morgana’s story. He’d always known Leon to be beyond chivalrous, but surely, there had to be some limit, didn’t there?
“Oh, that was all Arthur’s fault.”
Merlin tried to wrap his head around that statement. “It was Arthur’s fault that you tried to give Leon a favour?”
“Absolutely,” Morgana replied. “It started like all good things do— with a bet.”
A bet. Merlin was beginning to think it wasn’t so much the Knight’s code that had Leon rejecting Morgana’s favour, as much as it had to do with not wanting to get involved with Arthur and Morgana’s mad schemes.
“It was Arthur’s idea, like always. He’d just gotten his first favour from the horrid nasty toad, what was her name again, Gwen?” She cut herself off frowning to look at Gwen. Gwen bit her lip, falling deep into thought, while Morgana turned back to Merlin.
“Anyway, as I was saying, he was so insufferably smug about it, showing it off for that whole tournament, acting as though the world was at his feet. Then, he had the audacity to tell me that no one would ever accept my favour and that I’d be a fool for even trying to give it to anyone. I couldn’t just take that standing down, now could I? So I marched right down to the fields to give Leon my favour and rub it in Arthur’s smug, arrogant face.”
Gwen snapped her fingers. “It was the Lady Aoife, I remember her. She was the worst.”
Morgana nodded self satisfiedly while Merlin gave Gwen an impressed look. Their entire friendship, it had been Merlin making fun of all the nobles while Gwen put in a little snide word before talking loudly about how they were good people after all.
She blushed as she noticed the look he was giving her, but kept her head held high. “I hate her,” she declared. Morgana grabbed Gwen’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, beaming at Gwen’s brazen show of support before turning towards Merlin.
“The little fool was under the grand delusion that just because Arthur had deigned to accept her favour, it obviously meant that she was going to be crowned the next Queen of Camelot. Probably thought he was going to step off the field of that stupid tournament and propose to her on the spot,” she huffed viciously.
“She’d already made plans about everything she’d do too, once she became Queen,” Gwen added, an uncharacteristically dark expression on her usually sweet face, now gripping Morgana’s hand so tightly her knuckles turned white. Morgana didn’t seem to mind, gently swiping her thumb back and forth along the underside of Gwen’s wrist.
It was only after a few moments, when Gwen didn’t expand any further on her words, clearly lost in the memory, that Morgana jumped in.
“She wanted to make Gwen her maidservant, promising to work her to the bone, as revenge for not siding with her against me. As for myself, she wanted to send me off to the monastery. After all, she couldn’t have an unmarried woman of the right age around Arthur, despite the fact that I wouldn’t touch Arthur with a ten foot lance pole,” she spat, tone growing angrier the more she spoke.
Merlin stared, utterly appalled. He’d known some of the ladies of the court were rather zealous about wanting Arthur, but surely, they knew that antagonizing Morgana wasn’t the way to his heart? And forget Arthur, Uther would never tolerate it. It was as if they wanted to be kicked out of court.
Gwen glowered, nodding before aborting the motion mid movement. “No, wait. That was the Lady Rosalind. Lady Aoife wanted to marry you off to Lord Urien.” Morgana made a sharp inhale of realization, nodding as the memory came back to her.
“Wait, Urien of Gore?” Merlin cut in, trying to remember which one he was from the long list of nobles Arthur routinely threw at him. “Well, that’s not so bad.”
“Only if you think marrying a man forty years my senior is a good thing,” Morgana snapped, sporting an expression that was a mixture of hurt and disgust.
Gwen gave him a withering stare, pulling Morgana’s chair closer to her own so they were pressed together, as if increasing their physical proximity would protect her from Merlin’s idiotic words, before adding, “And even if he hadn’t been, Morgana deserves to make choices about her life, herself.”
At that, Morgana seemed to positively glow, beaming at Gwen, giving her the most adoring look she was capable of. Gwen seemed to respond rather positively, smiling so sweetly back at Morgana, that Merlin could’ve sworn she was made from pure honey.
Merlin winced. “No, sorry, of course not. Just comparatively sounded better and I’d forgotten who he was…” he trailed off realizing that didn’t make things any better. “I’m really sorry,” he apologized again, as sincerely as he could.
The sentiment clearly reached Gwen and Morgana because the angry expressions on their faces softened. “No harm done,” Morgana waved him away.
“So, what did you do?”
“Nothing.” Morgana shrugged. Merlin cocked his head, unable to believe that for even a moment.
“Arthur— I mean, Prince Arthur, did all the work for us.” Gwen beamed.
“The looks on their faces when Arthur barely recognized them after the tournaments was a sight to treasure. I wish you could’ve seen it, Merlin,” Morgana said giddily, the memory still bringing pure joy to her face.
“I’m just glad it hasn’t happened in a while,” Gwen confessed. “Those ladies don’t just look down on Morgana, but they make everyone in the castle’s lives miserable. It’s nothing against Arthur, but I genuinely hope no one ever gives him a favour again.”
“Agreed; we’re all better off for it.” Morgana sighed contentedly, leaning into Gwen’s shoulder. Gwen immediately wrapped her arm around Morgana, bringing her in closer, her head resting on Gwen’s collarbone, right below her chin.
Merlin laughed weakly. “Of course. Neither one of you deserve having to deal with any of that; Arthur not getting any favours seems like a small price to pay.”
“You’re sweet, Merlin.” Morgana smiled at him, a real one this time.
Merlin simply smiled back at her before a thought occurred to him. “So, did Arthur win the bet?”
Gwen snorted before stifling herself, a hand raised to her mouth, eyes wide in alarm. Morgana tugged her hand down, lacing their fingers together, pure amusement flickering over her. “Why do you think that?”
Merlin suddenly felt wrong-footed, the smirk on Morgana’s face making him want to reevaluate things. “Because Sir Leon didn’t take your favour?”
Morgana lifted a hand in a make-shift shrug. “So? I just gave it to Sir Owain. Problem solved. I suggest you do the same. Sir Kay for example.”
“You’re really pushing Sir Kay,” Merlin observed.
“He’s a good knight: strong, clever, and kind to the servants to boot. And of course, after Arthur, he’s the one most likely to win. If you want to pick someone to root for, he’s probably your best option.”
“Uhhh.” Merlin stood up from the table, tripping over his feet as he tried to back away. Morgana instinctively pulled herself away from Gwen to grab a hold of his arm, just in time to keep him from toppling over and crashing into them.
“That’s all you really have to do, Merlin. Just offer it, I’m certain they’ll accept,” she said softly before letting him go.
“Don’t be afraid, Merlin,” Gwen cheered him on. “Other than Leon, none of the other knights would ever refuse your favour. Well, except maybe Arthur, but it’s not like you’re trying to give your favour to him, so you’ll be fine. Just be confident! Believe in yourself!”
Merlin was doomed.
Morgana gave a soft laugh, before languidly pressing herself back into Gwen. “Good luck, Merlin.”
This time, he took her words for the dismissal they were and hightailed it out of there.
Confession time?
The favour was never meant for Leon. But then, Merlin, you’re asking, who was the favour for?
Well, the favour was for Arthur. Why? Because Merlin’s an idiot, that’s why. What had he been thinking? Maybe he really did have a mental affliction like Gaius always said.
It’s not like he wanted to give Arthur a favour. He was practically duty-bound, obliged as his servant to make sure that Arthur was in the best possible condition before going to fight in a tournament with the best of the best.
That’s ridiculous, Merlin, you say. What does a favour have to do with his fighting ability?
Well, you see, it all started like this:
They’d been trying to leave the fields, after a hard day’s training, when three young ladies came running towards them, clamouring for their attention. Arthur had looked smugly at Merlin before stepping forward, only for the ladies in question to walk right past him.
Merlin bit his fist to keep from laughing. Arthur scowled at him, distractedly watching over his shoulder to see exactly who the girls had been going for.
They all stopped before a very startled Sir Bedivere, who nearly dropped his sword on his foot when they tapped him on the shoulder.
Wiping the sweat off his face, he gave them a charming smile. “Ladies, how may I be of service?”
The tallest one ducked her head, blushing. “The three of us…we have admired you for a very long time, Sir Bedivere.”
Another lady, in a green dress, nodded her head. “We know how you’re the most capable knight in all the land!”
Arthur’s jaw dropped. Merlin couldn’t even blame him. The slight to him notwithstanding, Bedivere had been consistently late to practice and sloppy in his footwork to boot. Not exactly what Merlin would call the height of competency.
“We have come to ask if you would honor one of us by wearing our favour?” the chestnut-haired one blurted out.
Bedivere dropped to one knee, smoothly taking her hand in his and pressing a kiss to the back of it. “My ladies, you honor me greatly, but how am I to pick one amongst you?”
The trio exchanged glances. “What do you mean?” Tall One ventured finally.
“You are all of equal beauty and grace, elegance and radiance. How can a mere mortal such as I be expected to choose amongst goddesses like yourselves?”
Predictably, the three turned bright red at Bedivere’s words. “T-then, would you wear all of our favours?” Green Dress stuttered out.
Bedivere smiled slowly. “If my ladies are alright with it…”
The other two nodded immediately, their eyes shining.
Merlin rolled his eyes at the whole performance. He turned to Arthur, expecting him to share his exasperation, but Arthur was firmly looking at the scene, face imperceptible.
“Then I shall wear your favours with pride. I thank you all for your support.” He stood and bowed deeply to them. Straightening, he smirked over at Arthur and Merlin, winking at them before swaggering off.
The trio squealed loudly before rushing off, not bothering to pay a second glance at their prince.
Merlin couldn’t help but let out an incredulous laugh. When Arthur’s eyes jumped towards him sharply, he shrugged as if to say, well, that just happened. It was far from the most outrageous thing they’d seen happen on the fields, but no less amusing.
He nudged Arthur’s shoulder, expecting them to get on their way, but Arthur remained pensively rooted to the spot.
“Arthur?”
“What?”
“Let’s go?”
Arthur gave a stiff nod, still looking as though he were miles away. There was an uneasy silence between them as they made the short trek to Arthur’s chambers.
“I thought knights were all about chivalry,” Merlin snarked, keeping his tone light and breezy. Usually, that would prompt Arthur to begin an hour long tirade on duty and how the knight’s code ensured the knights all behaved with impeccable gallantry, not that Merlin would know anything about valor or courtesy.
This time, Arthur doesn’t even so much as blink at the bait Merlin had laid out so clearly for him.
Merlin didn’t like to brag, but he thought he knew Arthur pretty well by now. Still, he’d never seen him quite like this and Merlin was finding that he didn’t like it.
“Come on, are you jealous?”
Arthur’s head snapped up and he stared at Merlin in disbelief. “Jealous of what?” There was a dangerous edge in his voice, warning Merlin to leave it alone. But of course, Merlin could do no such thing.
“That all the ladies prefer Bedivere over you, their prince, obviously.” He shrugged, giving Arthur a cheeky smile when he glared at him.
“No, Merlin, I am not jealous,” Arthur sneered, crossing his arms across his chest.
“It’s okay,” Merlin said placatingly. “I’m sure someone will turn up to give you a favour too.”
“I wouldn’t want them to.” Arthur shook his head.
Merlin didn’t believe that one for a second. Not when Arthur was pouting petulantly like a child who had been snubbed by its peers.
“Would you ever give anyone your favour?”
Merlin stumbled, managing to catch himself just in time before he went crashing to the ground. Jerking his head up, he looked at Arthur incredulously, but Arthur was resolutely keeping his eyes in the opposite direction.
“I…” Merlin didn’t know what to say. “I’ve never thought about it,” he said honestly.
That made Arthur pause. “Never?” he repeated, voice carefully neutral.
He shrugged helplessly. “It didn’t even occur to me that I could give someone a favour.” Something niggled at the back of his mind and he gave Arthur a once over. “When was the last time you got one? I don’t remember it happening while I’ve been here.”
Arthur stiffened. “Never you mind. You still need to muck out my stables, polish my armour, wash my tunic, and repair my shield. Oh, and get my bath ready, I want to wash before dinner.”
He didn’t bother waiting for an answer, striding off as Merlin gaped at his back.
Merlin wasn’t an idiot; he knew what that meant.
Poor Arthur had never received a favour. No wonder he was so down in the dumps. It couldn’t be easy as prince to be passed over for your knights again and again.
But maybe, just maybe, he could fix that.
Or at least, that’s what Merlin had thought before his little chat with Morgana. Now it just seemed as though the girls had finally managed to scare people away from giving Arthur favours. Not that he could blame them after hearing the stories that he had.
Only problem was that Arthur probably knew nothing about it. And it made all the more sense why he was so disappointed about his knights getting favours while he stayed empty handed. To go from getting favours all the time to not at all…Arthur was probably wondering what had changed and if he’d done something to offend the ladies of court.
Merlin stared down at the neckerchief he’d repurposed.
Yeah, that had been a bad idea. Merlin endeavoured to put it behind him, stuffing it deep into his pockets, doing his best to forget that it ever existed.
Merlin startled as the door to Arthur’s chambers banged open. He turned to see Arthur stomping his way inside, throwing a particularly ferocious scowl towards Merlin.
He couldn’t quite pay close attention to that because he was too busy focusing on all the clothes that were now scattered on the floor.
“I just folded those,” he whispered morosely, bending down to pick up the tunic at his feet. Glaring up at Arthur, he shook his head. “You prat, can’t you enter a room like a normal person?”
“I am the Prince of Camelot. Nothing I do is like a normal person,” Arthur sneered back.
Going through the motions, Merlin folded as he spoke, “Right. Forgot that dollopheads aren’t allowed to act normally. I’d forgotten.”
“Those were on the floor,” Arthur said.
“Yes, very good, Sire! You can see,” Merlin complimented brightly.
“Idiot, what are you folding them again for then? You have to wash them before putting them back into the cupboard.”
“Arthur. They were just on the floor.”
“The filthy floor.”
Merlin’s mouth opened in outage. “Filthy?! I just washed it an hour ago!”
“And that’s plenty of time for dirt and dust to gather,” Arthur patronized. “You’d best get to washing. And once you’re done with that, I need my spare armor polished, the stables mucked, my crossbow needs oiling, and you should take the spare swords down to the blacksmith. They need sharpening.”
Merlin stared at Arthur. “How do you expect me to finish all that before the tournament? And why do you need all that stuff done for the spare weaponry anyways? You won’t need it any time soon!”
“I’m in a tournament, Merlin. You have to prepare for contingencies,” Arthur said, shaking his head at him. “As for not being able to finish in time… I suppose you’ll just have to miss the tournament then, won’t you?” He shrugged at him, sauntering over to his desk and falling into his chair.
“But I have to help you put on your armour!” Merlin objected.
Arthur waved him away. “I’ll get one of the squires to do it. You just do what you’re told.”
Merlin had gone still from sheer rage. A squire? And how exactly did Arthur think Merlin was going to be able to make sure his armour was in peak condition with a squire checking it over?
And besides, every single tournament Arthur had ever been in, someone or the other had tried killing him in it! Merlin couldn’t just trust Arthur to keep himself safe! He wouldn’t even notice he was in danger!
No, Merlin had to be there.
“What is your problem?” he demanded. “Every other tournament, you’ve practically forced me to be there but now you don’t want me there?” he seethed.
“I am the prince, Merlin. I don’t answer to you,” Arthur’s voice was clipped, shoulders tense, his gaze darting at Merlin before looking away again.
Merlin huffed exasperatedly. “Come on, clotpole. You’re the one who always complains about squires not being able to dress you right.”
“They need to learn somehow.”
“But is a tournament, where you’re already stressed, really the best time for it? Best I take care of it,” he cajoled.
Arthur’s eyes flicked over to Merlin, studying him silently. Merlin stood still, trying not to fidget while Arthur figured out…whatever it was that he was trying to figure out. “And that’s what you really want?” he finally asked. “To serve me?”
“Always,” Merlin couldn’t help but let the word slip out. He scrambled to come up with some kind of sequitur, an insult that would put them back onto normal footing. “I mean—”
Arthur didn’t let him finish, a mocking sneer on his lips. “You’re fully dedicated to your duties, is that right? Nothing else that has your attention then?”
What? What was that supposed to mean? Merlin stared at Arthur, all wide eyes and open jawed, as he continued scowling at Merlin. “As if I have the time!” Merlin shot back. “What with your endless list of chores.”
Arthur gave a low sarcastic hum. “I’m sure,” he drawled.
Was Arthur implying he was lying? Merlin had never felt more offended. He had plenty to lie about, he wouldn’t lie where there was no cause for it!
“I don’t! Is it really so hard to believe I want to be there to do my job?”
“Oh, I know exactly why you want to be there,” Arthur snarled back, the fury he’d been holding back so well Merlin hadn’t even noticed it, now lining every inch of him. “And I won’t allow it!”
“Care to enlighten me?” Merlin spread out his hands, incensed himself.
Arthur sprang from his seat, rounding the table to crowd into Merlin’s personal space.
The sudden proximity made Merlin’s throat go dry. He stood there completely motionless as Arthur grabbed his coat to pull him in closer, so close that he could feel Arthur’s breath on his skin.
His head felt foggy. Licking his lips, Merlin tried to remember how to form words. “Arth—” he’d barely begun saying when Arthur released him, triumphantly shaking a scrap of fabric in his face.
“This, Merlin, this is why you want to go to the tournament so badly, now isn’t it?” he accused.
Merlin felt dazed and confused. It took a moment for Arthur’s words to register; he was still reeling from the loss of having him in his arms. Then another moment to see that the fabric Arthur was holding was a dark red piece of cloth.
Merlin’s neckerchief.
The one he’d intended on using as a favour…for Arthur.
“Answer me,” Arthur demanded coolly, eyes raging fire.
Merlin swallowed, the pit in his stomach opening gleefully. “How did you know?” he whispered.
“I’m the Prince, Merlin. You should have known better than to try to hide something from me,” Arthur told him gravely. “One way or another, I always find out.”
He hadn’t thought it possible, but his heart managed to sink further at Arthur’s words. “I see. I apologize, Sire.”
“I trust I won’t see any hint of this again?” Arthur glowered, shaking the neckerchief in his fist for good measure.
Merlin shook his head mutely. “Forgive me, my lord, I was presumptuous. I know better now.”
Arthur gave him a satisfied nod. “As long as you understand.”
Merlin bowed his head, holding out his hand. He expected Arthur to dump it on him as quickly as possible, considering how disgusted he was by the very idea of having to receive it, but his hand remained empty.
Hurt gave way to anger. He jerked his head up to see Arthur staring at the neckerchief, a strange expression on his face.
“Do you mind?” Merlin spat, reaching out to snatch his neckerchief back.
Inexplicably, Arthur pulled back, his grip tightening on the neckerchief. “You’re awfully eager to have it back,” Arthur scowled.
“If you don’t want it, I’m not going to let you have it!”
“Oh no, why would you want me to have it, you’d rather it go to any other knight in Camelot!”
With a cry of pure frustration, Merlin launched himself at Arthur, intent on getting his neckerchief back. Arthur was similarly motivated to not let Merlin have his neckerchief back.
They ended up tussling on the ground like children, rolling back and forth as they each tried to pull the fabric away from the other. Arthur, the brute, managed to gain the upper hand, tossing one leg over his and pinning Merlin to the floor.
They breathed heavily as Arthur looked down at him, an almost manic light in his eyes. “What was that?”
“What was what?”
“What you said!”
“I didn’t say anything!”
“Merlin!” Arthur frustratedly leaned in a little closer, strands of golden hair dangling between them. Merlin’s breath caught, it made the blue of his eyes seem so much brighter, piercing and dazzling as they peered into his.
Merlin licked his lips, his throat suddenly feeling dry. He was trying his best to focus on anything but Arthur, not that he was making it easy. The weight of him lying atop of him was warm and steady, his heat seeping through his clothes and into his very bones. The way every shift of his hips made Merlin’s stomach twist with anticipation and longing.
“I don’t know what you want me to say.” He tipped his head back as he spoke, trying to avoid looking down Arthur’s obscenely low cut tunic, that was showing off a lovely expanse of skin that he’d—
Merlin cut off that line of thinking. It wasn’t going to do him any favours.
Arthur’s grip tightened on Merlin’s wrists, other hand grasping his chin pulling his head back down. Merlin found blue eyes staring at him so intently, he felt as though he was swimming in them.
“You don’t want me to have your favour,” Arthur told him severely.
Merlin could hardly concentrate, so dazed with the scent of steel and faint hints of the thyme that he put in Arthur’s soap that he could smell wafting off of Arthur’s skin, his hand on Merlin’s face, that it took him a moment to comprehend what Arthur was saying. “Hang on, you’re the one who doesn’t want it!”
Arthur looked taken aback, the shock enough to have him staggering back. Privately, Merlin mourned the loss of warmth, picking himself up off the floor, staring at Arthur warily.
“How could I want something that isn’t intended for me?” Arthur finally asked, looking as though it were torturing him to get the words out.
It was Merlin’s turn to be baffled; he stared dumbly at Arthur. “But it is for you,” was all he could manage to get out.
Arthur shook his head. “No, Morgana said—”
And suddenly, it all became crystal clear.
Merlin groaned. “Oh, she told you it was for Leon, didn’t she?”
He gave Merlin a dirty look at that. “She said Kay, actually. So it’s for Leon?” The words were punctuated with a snarl.
“No, you clotpole.” Merlin rolled his eyes exasperatedly, waving a hand at him. “I just told her it was for Leon. Can’t believe she went and told you about it.” Actually, Merlin could. It was just like Morgana to spill the beans so she could mess with Arthur.
“Leon would never accept your favour,” Arthur scoffed. “He doesn’t take anyone’s favour.” Then he narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “And where does Kay come into this?”
Merlin threw his hands in the air. “He doesn’t!”
“Morgana said—”
“Because l said Leon! And she knows he doesn’t take anyone’s favour!”
“But it wasn’t for Leon?” Arthur checked.
Merlin wordlessly shook his head.
“And it’s not for Kay.”
“No, Arthur.”
Seriously, what was it with him and Morgana going on and on about Sir Kay?
“It’s for me,” Arthur said.
Merlin’s eyes snapped up to meet his. Arthur was looking at him in a quiet sort of awe, like he couldn’t believe his own ears.
“Yes, it is,” Merlin heard himself say. His heart thudded in his chest as he waited for Arthur’s reaction.
“I…” Arthur looked lost, holding the favour up in between them. “Why me?”
Blood rushed to his face, ears hot, Merlin swallowed thickly. “Does it matter?”
“It does.”
The way Arthur was watching him, Merlin couldn’t quite name the emotion that was running across his face, but it bolstered something inside of him. He clenched and unclenched his hands, taking an unconscious step forwards. And then another, and then another.
Arthur matched him step for step, until they were standing close enough to touch. Merlin had no idea what he was doing, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. Not when Arthur was looking at him like that.
Like he’d never seen Merlin before. Like he never wanted Merlin to leave.
Merlin’s hands shook as he raised them, one hand wrapping around Arthur’s fist to take his neckerchief back, the other on Arthur’s face. He stayed motionless like that, waiting for Arthur to make his choice.
Something soft and fierce warred in Arthur’s eyes. Slowly, carefully, as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to, Arthur leaned forward.
Merlin couldn’t hold himself back after that, surging forward to meet Arthur. Their lips met, lightly, barely brushing together before Merlin pulled back. He didn’t get very far; Arthur wrapped his free hand in the collar of Merlin’s jacket, hauling him back to him.
“Been waiting for this for so long,” Arthur muttered against his mouth. Merlin made a noise, a whining sort of moan, pressing his lips against Arthur’s more intently to shut him up. He didn’t have the brain power to listen to Arthur talk when they were like this.
His hand slipped from Arthur’s cheek to around his neck, the desperate need to pull him in closer driving him. Arthur seemed just as intent, licking into Merlin’s mouth for all that he was worth. Merlin could’ve stayed in that moment forever, just him and Arthur finally getting their hearts’ desire.
They finally broke apart after what both seemed like an eternity and no time at all, greedily sucking in air. Arthur slowly untangled himself from Merlin’s clothes, hands coming up to tenderly cup his face, his fingers playfully tugging at his ears.
Merlin couldn’t suppress the shiver that went down his spine at that. Arthur grinned wickedly, his sharp eyes noting the reaction instantly. He pulled Merlin into another kiss, this one soft and gentle, barely any pressure at all, but no less intense.
This time, when Arthur pulled away, he pressed their foreheads together, tugging his hand from Merlin’s grip. Puzzled, Merlin let go, only for Arthur to take his hand instead, something scratchy tickling his palm.
He looked over to find that he was holding onto his neckerchief.
“Would you give it to me?” Arthur whispered.
A slow smile spread over his face. “I don’t know,” he replied cheekily. Arthur stiffened, ready to pull back and Merlin tightened his grip. “Am I allowed to come to the tournament now?”
Arthur stared at him in disbelief, indignation crossing his face. “You!”
Merlin kissed him again before he could start ranting. Arthur melted against him, anger entirely forgotten as he focused on exploring Merlin’s mouth further. Merlin thought he could get used to this, stumbling backwards, utterly entwined with Arthur.
“There you go.” Merlin stepped back to admire his handiwork. “You’re all set!”
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Arthur asked, the ridiculous combination of exasperation and fondness on his face. Merlin had a feeling he was going to be getting that look a lot in his future. He couldn’t be more excited.
Giving Arthur a look over, he noted all the pieces were in the right spots, cape over his shoulders, sword in its sheath, and helmet in hand. He cocked his head to the side. “I don’t think so?”
“Don’t I get a favour for good luck?” Arthur smirked.
Merlin blinked at him, eyes wide. “Wait, you really, I mean—”
“Yes, really.” Arthur stepped forward, taking Merlin’s hand in his. Without breaking eye contact, Arthur kissed his fingertips. “I may not be able to court you openly, but I will wear your favour with pride. If you let me, that is.”
How could Merlin do anything but kiss Arthur after that?
It still sent a rush through his chest, fishing out the favour from his pocket and tying it securely around Arthur’s arm.
“Win for me,” he commanded, almost giddy with joy.
Arthur dipped his head, amusement dancing in his eyes. “As you wish.”
Merlin stumbled out of Arthur’s tent, to give Arthur a moment to prepare, heart still close to bursting.
“There you are,” a voice called out from behind him. Merlin turned to see Morgana and Gwen coming up behind him.
“Hello, my Lady, Gwen,” Merlin greeted readily.
There was an amused twinkle in Morgana’s eyes as she smiled at him. “Hello, Merlin.” Gwen simply reached out to give him a gentle squeeze on the shoulder.
“Come sit with us,” Morgana invited.
He threw a panicked glance back towards Arthur’s tent. “Oh, I shouldn’t…Arthur might need something,” he tried.
“Nonsense,” she said, holding onto his arm to steer him towards the stands. “He can make do without you.” Her grip was like a vice as she pulled him along; there was no getting out of it. With one last look at the grounds, he let himself be pulled away.
They’d just sat down in the stands, when Morgana turned to him mischievously. “How did Sir Leon take your favour then?”
“Or did you listen to us and give it to Sir Kay?” Gwen teased.
Merlin looked at her in betrayal. Morgana making fun of him was expected, but Gwen? He couldn’t believe her. She grinned at him, gently squeezing his arm, and he rolled his eyes.
“Neither of them.” He scowled at both of them. “Now hush, it’s starting.” He ignored the way they stifled their laughter, concentrating on the field.
Arthur stepped out first, searching the area, until his eyes landed on Merlin. He smirked up at him triumphantly, throwing him a quick wink before allowing one of the squires to pull off his cape, so the fight could commence. All Merlin could do was beam at Arthur, on the edge of his seat, cheering for him with all his heart.
Morgana laughed next to him, making him freeze mid-shout. “The favour was never for Leon, was it?”
While Merlin’s first instinct was to deny it, his gaze caught on Arthur, the sun glinting off his armour making him look positively radiant. The words died on his tongue; he was utterly mesmerized with the way Arthur almost seemed to glide with his sword.
“No, it wasn’t,” he agreed, unable to look away from Arthur.
“I knew it,” Morgana murmured. “About time you two finally figured it out.”
His ears burned remembering how it was Morgana’s meddling that got them there. “Me too,” he couldn’t help but mumble. He caught a satisfied smile making its way onto Morgana’s face but his attention was quickly stolen away with a loud clanging from the field.
Arthur had pushed his opponent to the ground, disarming them with ease. He’d won. The crowd roared in approval, raucous applause thundering in the air. Merlin jumped to his feet, intent on showing Arthur his full support.
Arthur caught his gaze, raising his sword high in the air. Everyone in the stands followed suit, giving Arthur standing ovations of their own, Merlin beaming with pride.
On Arthur’s arm, the tail ends of Merlin’s neckerchief, a deep Camelot red, fluttered in the wind.