Chapter Text
"Your Grace!"
Arlin's voice echoes as he chases you down down the halls of your own tower. You swiftly weave past the countless decorations of gifted vases, ornate statues, and potted plants that make for obstacles. Just where did all of this come from anyways?
"I wish you would take this more seriously!" Arlin pants, waving around a paper with MARRIAGE underlined multiple times. Despite his lesser athleticism to yours, you forget he's used to chasing around swift, unruly children and various Knights who attempt to slip out of their assignments… Now, his years of experience is being used on you. "It's been nearly a month since you've been engaged, I implore you to take this much more seriously than you have in the past!"
He says under his breath: "Though it might be a struggle for you."
"I heard that!" You shout, slipping into another lounging room where various servants are cleaning.
"If you could hear that then you can most definitely hear me calling for you!"
There goes that wonderful excuse you had. You could've gotten away with it too by saying you simply didn't hear Arlin's booming voice every time he saw you in sight.
Speaking of which… He's gaining speed. Arlin's face is red and sweaty but he shows no signs of slowing down. You can't help but grin from ear to ear at the ridiculous situation you've found yourself in. A Sovereign being chased by their own advisor? Goodness, how childish.
Just as you're about to make a sharp turn, something tugs on your robes rather harshly from behind. Tripping you over the floor where you slide forward from the sheer lack of friction. You blink, dazed from the sudden fall, and your reflection blinks right at you.
Huh, they've polished down the floors.
"Your Grace." Alwena's sharp, exasperated voice cuts through your wandering thoughts.
Ah. That would make sense.
You turn around, flopping your back onto the floor and up at Alwena, blinking as innocently as you can.
She does not look impressed.
Arlin comes shortly from behind her, steps slowing down as he comes around to where you're laid on the floor. There's sweat dripping from his eyebrows, wiped down by his sleeve as he bends over to place his hands on his knees.
"Your Grace," He begins again. Voice strained. "Please, for the love of the Gods, listen to me."
"—And listen well, Your Grace." Alwena adds in.
"We must begin planning out the logistics for your marriage! Which includes the process of courtship, sending out letters and carefully planned gifts, inviting Arthur Pendragon down to Brizh for the marriage itself, and negotiating— well, everything that comes with conjoining two very big kingdoms with one another."
"Can't you just take care of all of that?" You sigh, crossing your arms over your chest to stare past the judging gazes of Alwena and Arlin combined and into the wall where the banner of Bretania hangs.
It's not as if you hated the idea of marriage, it's simply added on so much more work. In between your daily audience, your assignments to your Knights, and managing the constant stress of whining of various factions, you haven't exactly had the free time to do anything.
"No, because I'm not the one marrying Arthur." Arlin shakes his head in disappointment. "Must I remind you who proposed? This is entirely your fault, Your Grace, and please get off the floor."
Alwena offers her help to heave you off the floor, dusting you off as you slump over in weariness.
"Yes, well. I didn't expect it to be this much paperwork. I thought we'd simply marry and be off on our merry way."
"Perhaps if you were both not Sovereigns of your respective Empires. But being in power changes things." Arlin pats your back sympathetically before shoving a quill and paper into your hands.
"Now. I've already drafted out the entire process. All you must do is follow the careful steps I've provided and you'll be fine."
"Wait… Wait. What exactly must I be doing?"
"Simple. You must begin writing your courtship letter to his highness to initiate the continuation of your intent to marry. Please, nothing too… vulgar. These letters will likely be archived and read by future generations."
"But Arthur already knows I wish to marry him." You protest as Arlin herds you towards the direction of your study room. "Why must I write it down? He's already heard my intent twice."
"And leaving physical proof will only assure him and his council even more, your Grace." Alwena continues on, bringing various writing utensils along with her.
Arlin sits you down in front of your table, lighting a lamp and patting your back even more.
"I believe in your Grace to make the appropriate decisions for this kingdom, you've already led us this far."
Alwena stands by the door, bowing her head in goodbye as Arlin closes the door.
Leaving you alone.
Right.
You look down on your parchment paper and the various tools strewn about the table in slight despair.
To my most darling, dearest, most wonderful fiance,
I just can't wait to call you my husband. Is that too forward of me? I don't care.
Everyday without you only makes my heart ache more. I miss your steady presence. Your blinding light. How I wish you were by my side so I can tease you even more. That wonderful flush on your face when you get nervous just gets me all—
"Your Grace."
"Yes, Arlin?"
"Please. Rewrite this."
"Ah, so you've read the letter."
"I evidently have to."
To His Majesty The King of The Angelor Empire,
Arthur, I write this letter with great excitement if not also a slight bit of exasperation. It seems, to no one's surprise, that our marriage is the new hot topic. As such, my advisor has been insistent on expediting the process— hence the creation of this letter.
Ah, but really, what's the rush. We have the rest of our lives promised to each other after all. Stay rest assured in my devotion to our holy union. Even if I seem, as my advisor says, 'unenthusiastic'.
"Your Grace, please avoid bringing me up quite so often in your private letters to the King."
"But why? You're a big part of this marriage, Arlin."
"…"
Before I continue on lamenting our tedious work, l have to ask: Would you come down to Brizh for an extended stay?
I'd love to introduce you to my famed Round Table. My Knights would now be yours as well, it would do them good to be better acquainted and for you to know their strengths and unique skills.
I eagerly await for you reply back. I have sent my fastest Knight to you, please don't mind his griffin.
Yours, for eternity,
"—The Sovereign of Bretania."
Merlin finishes with a flourish, rolling the parchment paper and placing it into Arthur's waiting hand. There's an amused smile on the King's face as he thumbs the corner of the letter, ignoring his own mage's unimpressed reaction.
The Sovereign…
Ridiculous, unpredictable, bold and sometimes even foolish.
Yet they've won Arthur over anyways.
"Your Majesty, what will be your decision?" Merlin asks. His arms carefully placed behind his back, attentive as always.
Camelot's audience hall is empty. There are no clamoring voices or lines of people waiting for his council. Only himself and his most trusted, no one else to judge what may seem like a moment of weakness or perceived escape from his duties.
A journey to Brizh without the tense expectation of war and silent fear for all the people that may be caught up in it. A journey that may even be celebrated. Yes, he wouldn't mind that at all.
"We should make our way there before the first winter winds come." He decides, placing the scroll delicately into the folds of his clothes. He stands up with a swiftness not appropriate for his station. One might even call it excitement.
"Oh and Merlin?" He pauses at the door, turning behind to look to his friend.
"Yes, Your Majesty?"
"Please prepare a list of courtship gifts to be brought along for my spouse."