[FIC] Let Us Dare - Part III (Arthur/Merlin; NC-17)

[merlinmusesmod]

Let Us Dare - Part III

--

An hour and a half later, Arthur was drenched in sweat and panting, no longer being able to summon enough energy to even glare at Gwaine, who seemed to be in a similar condition.

“Okay,” Arthur said, calling for a halt. “Okay, you can fight, I give you that. Merlin was right, you’re knight material.”

“I’m honoured, Sire.”

Arthur squinted at him. “You don’t seem too honoured. Do you even want to be a knight?”

Gwaine shrugged, lowering both his sword and dagger. “My father was a knight. I never knew him, but it can’t be that bad.”

Arthur looked up at the sky, begging for patience. He peered at Gwaine curiously. “So why are you doing it, then?”

Gwaine glanced over his shoulder towards the castle, taking his time sheathing his sword. “To help a friend.” When Arthur kept staring at him, Gwaine shrugged and grinned. “What? I don’t have too many.”

Arthur snorted. He had a feeling that, despite first impressions, he was going to like Gwaine quite a lot.

--

Nimueh set off her gambit three days before the coronation. She waited for the last possible moment to maintain plausible deniability and make the impression that she actually wanted to help.

Arthur wasn’t fooled.

“Merlin cannot stand with the prince during the coronation,” Nimueh told the assembled council members. “He has not yet passed his Rite of Vision. As high priestess of the Old Religion, I regret to say that I cannot allow Merlin to speak for magic of the land unless he completes the rite in three days.”

Arthur looked at Geoffrey of Monmouth, who was fumbling with his notes unhappily, and then looked over at Merlin, who was standing with his jaw clenched tightly, his back so painfully straight it might snap.

Arthur suppressed a sigh. He just knew this wasn’t going to end well.

--

Arthur knocked on the half-open door of Merlin’s room and stepped in without waiting for permission.

Merlin was packing. He looked at Arthur over his shoulder for a moment, otherwise ignoring him.

“You’re not seriously thinking of going.”

“Why?” Merlin pushed his bedroll into his bag haphazardly, cursing under his breath when it refused to stay put.

“Well, for one thing, you can’t even pack properly,” Arthur said, batting his hands away and righting the crumpled blanket.

Merlin left him to it, moving to find something on his bookshelf. Arthur watched him with growing concern.

“Merlin, I’ve spoken to Gaius. He says you’re too young to take the rite. No sorcerer under thirty has ever passed. In fact, most of them died.”

“I went to the Forest Temple last night and had a Vision, Arthur,” Merlin said breezily. “Obviously, I’m not too young.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Of course you did. You just never take it easy, do you, Merlin?” He shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. I can’t let you do it, not now.”

Merlin stared at him angrily. “I don’t understand. Do you actually want Nimueh to stand with you?”

“Of course not; don’t be an idiot. If you can’t stand with me, then I’ll stand alone.”

“But you can’t.” Merlin’s tone was filled with earnestness and desperation. “Camelot is a kingdom built on strength and magic. It is the way of things; it has been since before your father conquered it. And you - oh, Arthur. Your reign is supposed to be the Golden Age. Magic must pledge its allegiance to you, and if it’s not through me, then I - then there’s no purpose to me at all.”

“God, Merlin, what utter nonsense,” Arthur snapped. “Your magic has saved my life countless times. It saved the kingdom more times than I can recall. I don’t care what some stupid old hag thinks. You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

“Oh, but I do.”

Merlin was suddenly right in front of him. Arthur blinked. When had he moved so close?

“You don’t understand, do you?” Merlin said with a sad smile. “Arthur, I’ve known you my whole life. You can be a prat sometimes, sure, but I’ve seen you do things - extraordinary things. Your devotion to your people rivals no one. You’re harder on yourself than anyone, yet forgiving of others. You truly are the first knight - in battle, in courage, honour, and generosity. When you lead your men, you’re like a torch, Arthur. They can feel your light, even if they can’t see it. It’s in their hearts.” He bit his lip, paused. “And it’s in mine.

“Arthur, don’t you see? To me, to us, to all of us… you’re everything.”

Arthur’s chest was aching from the breath he forgot to release.

Merlin’s fingers skimmed lightly over his temple, sliding down to the line of his jaw, resting there, warm and gentle.

Reverent.

Arthur dared not breathe.

“You’re everything,” Merlin repeated, voice barely louder than a whisper. “You deserve only the best, and if I’m not it-”

“You are. Of course you are.”

Merlin smiled, ducking his head for a moment. Arthur fought not to bury his face in Merlin’s hair. It was unfair how much he wanted.

“You don’t know that,” Merlin said softly. “I don’t know that. I intend to find out. For you. And if I don’t come back-”

“Stop saying that. You’re not going. I forbid you.”

“-then I’m sorry about this.”

“Merlin, what-?”

For a moment, Arthur thought Merlin was going to kiss him. But then a light whisper ghosted over his temple, and the world went dark and quiet.

--

Arthur came to, feeling as though his head was about to explode. It was dark in the room, and starlight was seeping in through the tall windows.

Gwaine’s face was hovering over Arthur, frowning in the darkness. Merlin was nowhere to be seen.

“Oh God - he left, didn’t he?” Arthur groaned, sitting up clumsily. His whole body ached from lying motionless in an awkward position. “That idiot. I’m going to murder him.”

Gwaine didn’t look happy. “You might want to hurry, then. I fear Merlin has a good head start.”

“Do you know where he went?”

Gwaine shook his head grimly. “No. I only just heard of the quest at all.”

“Right,” Arthur said, thinking quickly. He grabbed Gwaine’s arm. “We need Morgana.”

--

Gwen opened the door to her lady’s chambers, her face drawn with worry.

“Arthur?” She blinked in surprise. “I mean, Sire - this really isn’t a good time, the nightmares are keeping her awake; she’s very weak-”

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said, brushing past her into the room. “This can’t wait.”

“Arthur!” Morgana was sitting up in her bed, knees pulled towards her chest. She was shaking, her eyes bloodshot and wild.

“I’m sorry, Morgana, I’m so, so sorry,” Arthur repeated urgently, sitting beside her and taking her hands in his. “I need to know where Merlin is.”

“No!” She jerked in his grasp reflexively. “You know I can’t See him. Arthur, please don’t make me, please, it hurts so much when I try...”

She was hysterical, desperate, and Arthur’s heart clenched in sympathy and guilt, but he had no choice.

“Morgana, he’s in danger. I don’t trust Nimueh for one second. I have to know what was revealed to Merlin in his Vision.”

Morgana felt suddenly lax in his arms. “That I can tell you,” she whispered. “His Vision was so powerful - every Seer in the kingdom must have felt the echoes last night. And I - I Saw-”

“What?” Arthur clasped her hands in a grip that must have been painful. “Morgana, what did you See?”

Her lips trembled. “He went to the Perilous Lands.”

Arthur blanched. “No.”

Tears rolled down Morgana’s cheeks. “No one has ever come back from there, you know that. Arthur, Arthur, I fear all is lost if you can’t save him. These nightmares, these dreams... They’ve never been so strong. I’m certain that Nimueh is behind them. She wants to drive me mad.” Morgana was trembling. “And she’s succeeding.”

“I’ll take care of that,” Arthur vowed solemnly. “Morgana, I’ll take care of you. I’ll bring Merlin back and everything will be all right. I promise. I promise.”

He glanced back at Gwen, who had obviously been restraining herself by sheer force of will. At the first sign from Arthur, she rushed to the bed, pulling Morgana gently into a soothing embrace.

Arthur exchanged a brief look with Gwaine then turned to leave.

“Arthur,” Morgana called after him. “Seek out the Keeper of the Bridge. He’ll help if you’re honest with him.”

Arthur bowed his thanks, mouthed a ‘take care of her’ at Gwen, and swept from the room, Gwaine at his heels.

--

As Arthur was about to mount his horse, Gwaine laid a hand on his arm.

“Arthur, I’ll go. You can’t leave Camelot now.”

“Watch me.”

Gwaine frowned. “Your coronation is in two days. You know the law; if you’re not there, if anything happens-”

Arthur cut him off. “Then we’ll just have to make sure it doesn’t. Merlin and I will both be back for the ceremony in time.”

Gwaine narrowed his eyes. “You’re risking the future of your kingdom for one man.”

Arthur hopped onto his horse, pulling at the reins. “If you’re coming, you’d better hurry up, Gwaine,” was all he said before breaking into a gallop, rushing out of the castle gates.

--

The Keeper of the Bridge turned out to be a dwarf-like fellow with a nasty smirk.

“So, Courage and Strength have arrived at last,” he drawled by means of greeting, looking up both Arthur and Gwaine in a most infuriating manner. “About time, too. Magic is fading.”

“What do you mean by that?” Arthur snapped. “Where’s Merlin? Is he all right?”

The Keeper squinted at him curiously, seemingly in no hurry to let them pass. “So much concern for one warlock. Why not find another? In your land, they are aplenty.”

“I don’t have time for this.” Arthur stepped towards the bridge. “Please let us through. My friend is in danger; I need to find him. Please. Please.”

The Keeper regarded him for a moment silently, evaluating. At long last he smirked. “Such humility is uncommon in those of royal blood. It’s quite refreshing.” His eyes glinted. “I will let you pass, Arthur Pendragon, if you leave me your most prized possession.”

“What do you mean-” Arthur started, but he already knew the answer wouldn’t be forthcoming.

‘He’ll help if you’re honest,’ Morgana had said.

Arthur’s fingers curled around Excalibur’s hilt reflexively. Merlin said never to let the sword out of his sight, but Merlin was in trouble now and the Keeper’s eyes saw too much, looked too deep. He’d know if Arthur lied.

Gritting his teeth, Arthur pulled the sword out, handing it over. It felt like committing the worst kind of treason.

The Keeper smirked, wrapping his hands around the weapon. Arthur clenched his fists, feeling like a man forced to watch as someone pawed at his wife.

“The price is fair,” the Keeper said. “You have shown yourself an honest man, Arthur Pendragon. You will be rewarded. Your sword will be placed where none but you could wield it. When the time comes, if you’re still deserving, you will have it back.”

“Thank you,” Arthur said, feeling naked and powerless without his trusted weapon. “Now please, can we pass?”

The Keeper stepped out of the way, giving Arthur a mock bow.

Somehow, Arthur didn’t think punching him would be a great idea.

--

They found Merlin about five hours later. He hadn’t managed to get very far into the Perilous Lands, and his five companions might have had something to do with it.

“Slave traders,” Gwaine said in disgust as he and Arthur crouched behind a rock, looking down at the scene below. “That man over there is Jarl. He usually scavenges Cenred’s border. Someone must have paid him handsomely to go this far from home.”

Arthur hardly even heard him. His eyes were glued to Merlin, who was on his knees, bound to a burnt tree carcass, his hands tied before him. His head was bowed, but Arthur could see the gag in his mouth. Blood was trickling down from the corner of his lips, crimson droplets standing out sharply against the pale skin.

The five bandits surrounding him were apparently amusing themselves by throwing stones and dirt at the prisoner. Merlin looked barely conscious.

“Bastards,” Gwaine spat quietly.

Arthur went nearly blind with fury as he watched. Jarl stepped forward and pulled Merlin’s head back roughly, rude fingers grabbing a fistful of the rich dark hair, tugging painfully. Even from a distance, Arthur could feel the heat of Merlin’s glare as Jarl ran his free hand in a mockery of a caress along Merlin’s lips, stretched painfully around the crude gag.

“Dammit!” Gwaine swore. “Why doesn’t he use his magic?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur pushed out through gritted teeth. “But that man will be missing an arm before he dies.”

It was five against two, and Arthur was missing a weapon; it probably called for a bit of strategic thinking but Arthur couldn’t bear it.

With a growl, he sprang forward, rolling over and knocking the first man out before he even finished turning towards the sound. Grabbing the bandit’s sword, Arthur sprang to his feet, launching for Jarl instantly. Gwaine was at his side in the blink of an eye, holding his own against three opponents.

It went down too fast to be satisfying. The bandits were caught completely by surprise and didn’t really have the time to recover before it was all over. Despite his promise, Arthur ran the blade through Jarl’s heart the first chance he got, pushing him off his sword with his foot and wishing he could kill him twice, thrice, a dozen times for every time he laid a finger on Merlin.

Time was short, though, and Arthur was trained too well. He whirled around to find two of Gwaine’s marks already on the ground, unmoving. As Arthur watched, Gwaine knocked the sword from his last opponent’s hand, caught it, and delivered the final blow in the span of one speedy motion. He really was a swordsman like no other.

Barely even nodding at him, Arthur dropped to his knees beside Merlin.

“Merlin. Merlin, can you hear me? Here, let me get this out.” Arthur reached for the gag. “Gwaine, cut these damn ropes off.”

Merlin groaned as Arthur pulled the gag out of his mouth as gently as he could. His bindings came off, as Gwaine sliced through them deftly, and Merlin slumped forwards helplessly. Arthur caught him by the shoulders, looking into his face.

“Merlin, are you all right? Merlin. Talk to me, dammit. Merlin.”

Merlin nodded finally, the movement weak and groggy. “What are you doing here?” he whispered hoarsely.

Gwaine was already holding a waterskin to his lips, and Merlin drank gratefully, every gulp strained.

Still shaking with anger, Arthur reached for his knife to cut the ropes binding Merlin’s wrists. To his surprise, Merlin jerked away from him awkwardly, his limbs still asleep, panic flashing across his eyes.

Something clenched tight in Arthur’s chest at the sight.

“Merlin, you idiot.” He was barely able to find his voice. Merlin had never recoiled from him in his life. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Merlin just shook his head vehemently. “No, Arthur, no, don’t - wait!”

Arthur yelped, the knife cracking in his hand, a sharp stab of heat cutting through him the moment he touched the ropes. Merlin cried out sharply, tensing all over, before biting hard on his raw lips to muffle the sound.

“What the hell?” Gwaine stared.

Breathing heavily, obviously in pain, Merlin managed, “The rope... dvimerit threads... to block my magic. They had a net, too.” He pulled his legs from under himself with a groan, slumping against the tree, cradling his bound wrists to his chest. “No blade will cut these. Unless-” His eyes searched Arthur’s belt. “Arthur, where’s Excalibur?”

Arthur threw away the useless knife and stared at him guiltily.

Merlin blinked. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

His hand trembling slightly, Arthur reached to wipe the blood off Merlin’s chin, and said nothing.

--

Their progress towards the remains of the Fisher King’s castle was painfully slow. Arthur walked ahead, clearing the path, and left Gwaine to look after Merlin, who had a couple of cracked ribs and was covered in cuts and bruises all over.

Merlin’s magic was tied as tightly as his swollen wrists were, preventing him from healing. Though, truth be told, Merlin had never been much of a healer anyway, Arthur thought grimly. For all his love of peace, Merlin’s Gifts spoke of his great potential as a battle mage first and foremost, though Merlin always denied it.

Gwaine had one hand on the small of Merlin’s back and another on his elbow, steering him along. Merlin bit his lips against the pain whenever he stumbled, but walked stubbornly on. He wasn’t mad at Arthur for giving up Excalibur, but he was mad at Arthur for coming at all.

Arthur was mad at Merlin, too. The idiot had outright refused to abort his quest in view of his condition. How Merlin was going to lift the curse off the entire realm of the Fisher King while being barely alive and cut off from his magic, Arthur had no idea. He drew the line, though, when Merlin ordered him, forgetting his place yet again, to go back home and ‘get crowned, for goodness’ sake.’

If Gwaine hadn’t been there to interrupt their shouting match, they’d probably have still been at it.

They were nearly at the castle’s gates when the wyverns attacked them.

Arthur and Gwaine pushed Merlin back without so much as a glance at each other, ignoring his protests.

“Stop!” Merlin yelled. “Stop before you hurt them; they’d never listen to me if you do!”

“Merlin, stay out of the way!” Arthur barked.

But Merlin had never been good at following orders. Arthur thought that having his magic stripped from him would make him less careless, but clearly Merlin was too far gone to see sense.

He ducked under Gwaine’s sword and jumped away from Arthur’s reach, meeting the descending creatures head on.

“Merlin - the hell are you doing?” Gwaine bellowed as Arthur roared wordlessly, torn between the urge to protect Merlin or to kill him.

Ignoring them both, Merlin threw his head back and shouted in the deep, guttural tongue of the Old Religion. The wyverns were now surrounding Merlin, circling him and huffing menacingly as he continued speaking to them in a voice that seemed to be coming straight from the underworld.

Every instinct in Arthur screamed at him to strike before the beasts changed their minds. Beside him, Gwaine’s sword was quivering in sympathy. Merlin was still talking.

After what seemed like an eternity, the wyverns visibly hesitated before, one by one, they headed back into the skies.

Arthur stared. “But I thought - Merlin, your father is still alive. I thought you’d only become a Dragonlord when he died?”

Merlin slumped tiredly, leaning heavily against Gwaine, who’d jumped to his side.

“No, you’re right,” Merlin confirmed, wincing as he brought his bound wrists to his chest. “I couldn’t order them to do anything, but I could talk to them.” He glanced back at the black dots in the sky and shrugged awkwardly. “I guess they listened.”

“That was stupid; they could have bitten your head off,” Gwaine grumbled, wrapping a cautious arm around Merlin’s shoulders, staring at him with reproach. “Though I’ll be damned if it wasn’t incredibly brave, too.”

Merlin smiled at him, before ducking his head.

Arthur turned away abruptly, something dark and ugly churning in his stomach. “If you’re done making eyes at each other, we have a quest to fulfil.”

He didn’t bother waiting for them as he stomped inside the castle.

--

The search of the castle was slow and fruitless.

“You know, it would be more helpful if we knew what we’re looking for,” Arthur grumbled. Merlin tried his best to conceal his condition, but he was steadily fading, as if he needed magic to sustain him. Seeing him struggle did nothing to improve Arthur’s mood.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin muttered, leaning against the wall for a moment of respite. “This part of the Vision wasn’t really clear.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Is it ever? God, Merlin, you’re shaking.”

“I’m fine,” Merlin said instantly, pushing himself off the wall.

He looked feverish, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on his temples. Arthur had to suppress the urge to reach out and wipe it for him. Merlin’s lips were pressed together in a stubborn line, and Arthur knew better than to argue with him. He knew all too well what it felt like to be exhausted and hurting to the point where a single look of sympathy could undo you.

He’d allow Merlin his dignity for as long as Arthur could bear it. Looking at him now, it was all Arthur could do not to sweep Merlin into his arms and carry him.

“I think we’d better split,” he said aloud, glancing around the gloomy halls. “Cover more ground. Gwaine?”

“Agreed.” The knight nodded. “I’ll check the East wing.”

His footsteps faded rapidly, as if the old castle was swallowing them. Arthur rubbed his forehead tiredly.

“Come along, Merlin. There has to be an answer somewhere.”

They walked along the dark gallery, checking all the archways and corners, but the only thing they found was devastation and abandonment.

“Look.” Arthur pointed at a half-opened door. “Looks like a throne room.”

It was. It was also completely empty, except for a massive, ancient chair in the middle of it, carved from some dark, stone-like wood Arthur had never seen before. Curious, he reached out to touch it.

“Arthur, no!” Merlin shouted, but it was too late.

The moment Arthur’s palm touched the chair, he was sucked forward, thrown into the seat by unknown forces, his arms and legs pinned down and held in place by luminous, unyielding restraints.

“No!” Merlin yelled again, anger and fear transforming his face into something dark and powerful. “Let him go! This is my quest, not his! You can’t do this! Take me instead!”

Arthur had half a mind to ask Merlin what the hell he was babbling about, but, at that moment, a most peculiar sensation washed over him.

Suddenly, he could hear his heart beating fast and steady in his chest, every beat echoing through his whole body, sending off a pulse of energy. Again and again, with sharp, quivering aftershocks - his heart was pumping not blood but something else, something even more vital, and it was sending it away, outside Arthur’s body, along the lines of the magical ropes restraining him and into the dark throne.

“No,” Arthur muttered, dizzy, as if he was losing blood. “What-?”

Merlin was frantic. He rushed to the door, probably to call Gwaine, but the massive door-leaves shut in his face, throwing him back.

“I have waited a long time for this, Emrys.” A croaky, ancient voice echoed under the crumbling ceiling. “And what a gift you have brought me.”

Merlin whirled around and Arthur managed to turn his head. The man who stood to his left now hadn’t been there a moment ago. This was, Arthur realised with abject horror, the Fisher King himself, and he was a vision. Time had drained him of strength, washed away his colour, but his magical powers were clearly still intact.

“Let him go,” Merlin half-pleaded, half-ordered. “The curse - it needs life force to be lifted, doesn’t it?”

Which explained why Arthur was feeling weaker by the moment.

The Fisher King laughed. “A curse? There was no curse. I created this throne to collect the power of my land.”

Merlin’s eyes widened in horror. “You drained your own land? All the people, the plants - everything? Why?”

The Fisher King squinted at him scornfully. “Are you naïve or stupid? A life of immortality is worth every sacrifice.”

“It wasn’t a sacrifice - it was murder! And now you’re killing him!”

“He is strong and powerful, the Promised Prince.” Arthur cringed at the look of hunger on the ancient face. “He will sustain me for a long time, Emrys. And when there’s nothing left of him, it will be your turn.”

Hands and feet tingling with cold, Arthur found it harder and harder to breathe, but he jerked in his restraints, pulling at them stubbornly.

“Merlin, don’t be an idiot,” he uttered with difficulty. “Get the hell out of here.”

Merlin’s eyes snapped to meet his own, even as Arthur’s voice left him. Silently, he begged Merlin to hear what he could no longer say.

Promised to protect you. It’s always been you. Run. Run, Merlin. Save yourself. Take care of my kingdom. Run. I’ll try to hold on as long as I can. Give you time. Hurry.

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, MERLIN, RUN!

Something rumbled in the air between them, like a peal of thunder breaking over a silent field. An enormous surge of power rolled across the room, shaking the walls, rattling the broken windows, until finally coiling tightly around Merlin.

“No!” the Fisher King protested, alarmed. “Your magic is bound. You can’t-”

Arthur watched, helpless and fascinated, as Merlin’s eyes flared familiar gold, more intense than Arthur had ever seen them. Merlin’s silhouette was vibrating, shivering, the energy building up in him making him glow all over. The ropes on his wrists became red-hot and smoking, clearly burning his skin. Merlin blinked, and they burst into flames, making him yell and stagger - and then his hands were free.

He straightened up, roaring, unfolding swift and furious like a god of vengeance. Raw, blunt, untamed magic burst out of him in a devastating wave.

The Fisher King didn’t even have time to defend himself before being torn to pieces by the onslaught of power Merlin seemed to be unable to control.

The restraints of the throne fell off abruptly. Arthur, still dizzy, dazed by the sudden rush of energy flowing back into him, threw himself out of the chair barely in time. Under Merlin’s furious gaze, it exploded with a deafening sound, unleashing the life of the whole realm held prisoner by the Fisher King’s enchantment.

The room disappeared in a burst of white light. Though dazzling, it was also soft, warm, and happy. Arthur felt himself drifting, cradled gently by wave after wave of grateful, sentient sparks of colour twirling everywhere around him. Blue and red and golden, purple and silver, emerald and teal - the lights danced around him, talking to him in words he couldn’t understand, rejoicing in their freedom. Arthur smiled and smiled and smiled, and felt everything: every blade of grass growing, every flower blooming, every bird surging into the sky to meet the sun.

The Fisher King’s realm was restored, and the curse was no more.

--

Arthur came to probably only moments later, but he felt as though centuries had passed. He pushed himself off the floor and looked around, still disoriented. At the other side of the room a slim, broken figure was lying on a pile of debris, barely breathing.

“Merlin!”

Arthur rushed to him and turned him around gently, cradling his head. Merlin looked terrible, lifeless and spent, his wrists covered in angry burns, his eyes sunken deep, his lips void of colour.

“Merlin,” Arthur breathed. “Merlin, please. Not now. Please, please, God, not now.”

Merlin’s lashes fluttered faintly, and Arthur let out a sigh of relief as two familiar slivers of blue were revealed. Merlin stared up at him, blinking. A smile began to curve hesitantly on his lips, colour gradually seeping back into his features.

“You never listen, do you?” Arthur half-laughed, half-choked, holding him close. “God, Merlin, how did you do that?”

Merlin licked his lips, shaking his head gingerly. “I didn’t do anything.” He coughed as Arthur helped him sit up, reluctant to let go of him. “You did.”

Arthur pushed the fringe out of Merlin’s face, not even trying to resist. His fingers tangled in Merlin’s hair, lingering. “What did I-”

“Gave your life for mine, you stupid, stupid man. The throne was never designed to take what was freely given.”

Arthur stared at the angry red and black stripes curling up Merlin’s arms and swallowed. Burns like those would scar unless Gaius saw to them soon. Merlin would be half-sick from the pain once the adrenaline wore off.

“But you - you were bound, and your magic-”

Merlin shrugged, a smile lurking shyly in the corners of his mouth.

“It didn’t like seeing you on the brink of death,” he confessed, staring at the floor. “I couldn’t reach it, no matter how I tried, but when I saw you dying in that chair, it was-” He shook his head, searching for words. “It was like something broke inside of me. Then all I saw was fire.”

Arthur watched him, worried. “How are you feeling now?”

Merlin grimaced. “Beat. Sore.” He flicked his wrist, wincing, and the broken pieces of glass collected into an overgrown icicle. Merlin grinned wryly. “Normal. Ow.” He flinched, pressing an arm around his ribcage.

“I can see that,” Arthur said dryly. He stood up, bent over, and carefully gripped Merlin’s waist. “Come on, up. Gently, now.”

Merlin hissed through gritted teeth but pushed up to his feet, paling as he straightened to full height. He looked nauseated, and he was swaying.

“Merlin-”

“‘mfine,” Merlin managed. “You can let go now.”

Except Arthur didn’t want to, and he couldn’t help remembering that Merlin had never once told Gwaine to let go.

Speaking of-

“What the hell happened here?” Gwaine demanded, bursting in through the doors. “Who shook the bloody castle?”

Merlin stretched his lips in a parody of a smile and tried to wave at Gwaine, but his knees buckled, and he would have ended up sprawled on the floor if Arthur hadn’t caught him.

“Right,” Arthur said, not feeling smug at all when Merlin had to sling an arm around his shoulders for support, clinging to Arthur as if he were a lifeline. “Time to go home. Don’t know about you two, but I have a coronation to attend in the morning.”

He half-helped half-carried Merlin down the stairs, refusing Gwaine’s offer to lend a hand even though, despite appearances, Merlin wasn’t exactly a lightweight.

The sun was shining as it set, the grass green and soft under their feet where nothing but dust and rubbles used to be. Merlin was slumped, warm and sharp-angled, against Arthur’s side. Arthur smiled softly all the way to Camelot’s border.

--

Arthur never admitted to being nervous, but he had thrown up twice before his first tournament. He had always thought that the coronation would be ten times worse, but, as it turned out, there was no room left for jitters of any kind.

On their way back from the Perilous Lands, they had only stopped once to give water to the horses, and yet they were very nearly late for the ceremony. Arthur was far more concerned with the way Merlin looked green and ready to faint as they rushed through Camelot’s courtyard.

They were immediately surrounded by knights and servants, who ushered Arthur into a chamber next to the Great Hall where his mother and the councilmen were waiting for him impatiently. As far as Arthur could tell, Merlin was swept off somewhere in his wake, but he couldn’t see him, no matter how much Arthur craned his neck to look.

Arthur was then distracted by Morgana, who pulled him into a tight embrace, whispering, “She fled the castle, Arthur. Nimueh fled!”

It was a relief to see Morgana back on her feet and not in pain, but when Arthur tried to get her to call Gaius, they were separated by the commotion.

Arthur was ushered into a corner behind a hastily erected screen. There were so many people around him, trying to tidy him up, change his clothes, or wash his face, that Arthur had a hard time concentrating on giving Leon the right order regarding immediately dispatching patrols on magical lookout. Leon was nodding as if he actually understood, and then Geoffrey of Monmouth, who proceeded to meticulously recite all the vows and steps of the upcoming ceremony, stole Arthur’s attention.

Upon catching a glimpse of Merlin, Arthur tuned out the droning tones automatically. He was standing at the other side of the room with a group of Druids, who seemed decidedly displeased. By the looks of it, the leader was reading Merlin the riot act. Arthur gritted his teeth, because couldn’t the idiot see that Merlin was swaying on his feet? Had everyone in the whole bloody castle gone blind?

Suddenly, Lancelot was there, looking impeccable and stunning in his full knight’s regalia.

Arthur grabbed his arm. “Get Gaius in here, would you?”

Lancelot frowned. “Arthur, I really don’t think there’s time-”

“Sire, you need to listen to me,” Geoffrey interrupted, frowning. “The fifth vow would be to protect and-”

Someone pressed down on his shoulders and Arthur stiffened instinctively until he realised it was Gwen. She glared at him, armed with three hair brushes at once. “Please keep still, Sire.”

“Sire, we’ve been checking the borders ever since Nimueh - are you sure you wish to-”

“-it is important that you do not change the order when naming your predecessors-”

“Can someone get His Highness another cloak?”

“No, not that sword, you stupid boy, go and get the ceremonial sword-”

“Would you like a glass of wine for your throat, Sire?”

“-and the seventh vow starts with-”

Arthur had had enough.

“EVERYBODY SHUT UP!”

At once a dead silence fell over the crowded chamber as everyone stared at Arthur in shock. It was incredibly satisfying.

“Thank you,” he said, glowering at them. “Now, you all need to listen to me. Merlin has been badly hurt, and if I don’t see the court physician checking him out in the next five minutes, I swear to God, you all have another thing coming.”

Someone gasped, and Arthur realised belatedly that Hunith and Balinor were also there - he had invited them personally to the coronation months back. There was a look of fear on Hunith’s face now.

That was also the exact moment when Arthur finally caught Merlin’s gaze. Perfect.

“His Highness is exaggerating, Mum,” Merlin said, glaring daggers at Arthur. “I’m fine.”

“No, His Highness really is not, Merlin,” Arthur intoned dryly, still too loud in the silent room. “And you’re not fine. I will not have you collapse and ruin the whole ceremony because you’re too damn stubborn for your own good. Lancelot, please, get Gaius.”

“Right away, my Lord.” Lancelot bowed, doing a poor job of hiding a smirk, and was off without another word.

“That’ll be quite enough, Guinevere,” Arthur said, his tone marginally calmer now, as he stepped away from Gwen’s ministrations. “Thank you.”

She curtsied. “Sire.”

“And Geoffrey, I appreciate your dedication, I really do, but you’ve had me memorising these vows for years, and if I haven’t by now, it’s likely I never will.”

Geoffrey seemed scandalised, but bowed reluctantly and headed for the Great Hall.

Arthur was finally able to take a breath, as the general level of noise in the room rose once again, albeit quieter than before. Ygraine walked over to him, her face a mixture of reproach and amusement.

Arthur blushed. “I’m sorry, Mother,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to shout, but they just wouldn’t listen.”

She looked up at him critically. “Arthur, you know I don’t condone rudeness, particularly in those of nobility. The higher your station, the more possibilities there are to abuse your power. Remember, you’re the servant of your people as much as they are yours.”

Arthur bowed his head. “I know.”

Ygraine smiled. “Look at me. You’re about to be crowned King, and here I am teaching you manners.”

Arthur grinned back sheepishly, taking her hands in his gently and lifting them to his lips. “I hope you never stop.” He pressed a kiss to each hand, overcome with affection. “And I am sorry. But it’s a long ceremony, and Merlin-”

“Yes.” Ygraine smiled slyly. “Merlin. You’d avert the end of the world if it saved him a headache, wouldn’t you?”

Arthur spluttered. “What?”

Ygraine peered at him in surprise. “You deny it?” She tilted her head pensively. “Arthur, you are my son. I know you better than anyone. Your temper is your father’s gift, but you are much better at controlling it than he ever was.” She bit her lip, smirking. “Except for the times when Merlin is hurt, upset, in danger, or not here.”

“I don’t-”

“It’s all right.” Ygraine squeezed his hand. “To be honest, on some level, I have known we were headed for this moment since you were five and force-fed him all your desserts.” She patted his cheek fondly. “I hate to break it to you, Arthur, but you don’t share well.”

“That’s just-”

“I am glad of this. At the very least it’ll save us the trouble of having to deal with some spoiled, bratty princess for a queen.”

“Mother!” Arthur hissed, flustered. “What are you saying?”

She frowned slightly. “Being coy really is an unattractive quality in a man, Arthur. You’re in love with Merlin, are you not?”

His cheeks burning, Arthur barely whispered, “… Yes. But - I can’t just - what about the kingdom? An heir?”

Ygraine shrugged delicately, seemingly unconcerned. “Arthur, an unhappy king doesn’t make for a strong leader. Politics are important, but personal happiness of a monarch should not be underestimated. Just look at the Fisher King. How do you think his story started?”

Arthur just blinked.

“And as for an heir” - Ygraine glanced at someone over Arthur’s shoulder - “I’m certain your sister can ensure the continuation of the Pendragon line.”

Arthur gasped. Ygraine smiled wryly. “Oh, yes, I know about Morgana. A woman always knows. And anyway, Arthur, you more than any other person alive should know that the traditional way of having children isn’t the only way. Just look in the mirror.”

Reeling, completely speechless, Arthur could only stare at her in astonishment. The queen was smiling indulgently, in the way of mothers everywhere when they watched their child figure out right from wrong without help for the very first time.

Arthur glanced towards the door through which Merlin had left some minutes ago. “But… What if he doesn’t want it?”

Ygraine laughed softly and shook her head. “That, you’ll have to find out for yourself.”

--

The ceremony went without a hitch. Perhaps Arthur wasn’t dressed in his finest clothes, but few could tell the difference. Arthur did not forget one word of his oaths, to the obvious (and a little insulting) relief of Geoffrey of Monmouth. The crown weighed heavy and uncomfortable on Arthur’s head, and he jutted his chin forwards and up instinctively, reminding himself that he’d have to get used to it.

Merlin was the first to go on one knee before him, pledging the allegiance of magic to the crown. Much to Arthur’s relief, he seemed better by leaps and bounds, albeit still far too pale. But his eyes were fierce and loyal as he gazed up at Arthur, the ritual words falling smoothly from his lips, his magic flowing freely through him and curling around Arthur like a beam of sunlight.

Merlin should never be on his knees, though, not like this, and Arthur could hardly wait to jerk him upright, clasping his arm for a moment too long, gripping his shoulder tightly with his free hand. Merlin smiled at him, and Arthur had to remind himself that the ceremony had only just begun and that he couldn’t leave just yet, dragging Merlin with him.

He had to listen, flanked by Merlin and soon after Lancelot, to the oaths delivered by the knights, citizens and freemen, merchants and craftsmen, soldiers and serfs.

It seemed endless - and then Arthur was swept into a celebratory procession across the town, during which Merlin managed to disappear into the crowd. Arthur didn’t know if he was more relieved that Merlin (hopefully) was dragged off to get some much-needed rest or worried that yet another of the ‘only Merlin‘ kind of incidents had taken place while he wasn’t looking. Arthur spent the better part of the day with his people, then back with his councilmen, and then it was time to prepare for the feast.

Arthur had never liked to be pampered by servants, and having four people attend to his bath and four more help him dress was grating on his nerves. He gritted his teeth not to snap at them, and ultimately didn’t, because his ceremonial clothes were more than elaborate and it wouldn’t do for the newly crowned king to appear wrapped haphazardly in gold and crimson.

The feast was a magnificent once-in-a-lifetime event, with tables being assembled in the Great Hall and several nearby chambers. The servants took shifts so that everyone to enjoy the delicious meal; the musicians were invited from all over the land and abroad, while numerous honourable guests showed off their finery - waves of silk and velvet spiked with gold and jewels.

Merlin was among those seated with Arthur at the main table - sitting right next to him, in fact - but, with the constant flood of toasts and speeches, Arthur didn’t have much time to even eat, let alone talk to him. Later, as the formality of the evening had finally been won over by the copious amounts of wine and mead and people began to mingle chaotically, Arthur had once again lost track of his wayward best friend.

At one point, he saw Merlin dancing with Morgana, eliciting gasps and sighs from the guests at the picturesque pair they made. For his part, Arthur smirked into his goblet. Merlin made a picture all right, but Arthur was certain that his newly discovered prowess with dance steps had less to do with a sudden onslaught of a previously uncommon grace and more with the fact that unfortunate things tended to happen to people who stepped on Morgana’s dresses. It was gratifying to know that Merlin wasn’t that far beyond the healthy self-preservation instinct after all.

Merlin was dressed for the occasion, too. Forest green and shades of blue - he wore the colours of the land he loved so much, and they suited him incredibly well. Opposite Morgana, who was a sensation in purple and carmine, he looked like her fairy brother who’d taken human form for a night.

Arthur lost him for a while after that, distracted by the Mercian ambassador. When Arthur saw Merlin next, he was laughing at something Percival had said. Gwaine was at his side, one arm slung heavily over Merlin’s shoulders, the gesture easily proprietary and obviously raising no objections.

Arthur clenched his teeth and looked away. Enough was enough. He owed himself to get a straightforward answer, because it wasn’t only about his own mental health anymore. With a distressed ruler, the whole kingdom was in danger.

Or something like that.

It was hours, though, before Arthur could finally escape the clutches of his happily drunk subjects and reach his blessedly empty rooms. It was so late that it was probably early, and perhaps the wise thing to do would have been to talk to Merlin in the morning instead of summoning him to the king’s chambers in the middle of the night. But Arthur didn’t think he could get any sleep tonight, and a mean part of him saw no reason for Merlin not to suffer with him.

“Why is it so dark in here?” Merlin said, appearing in the doorway and squinting at the two lonely candles set on Arthur’s table. “Do you want me to-”

“No.” Arthur shook his head. “Might as well let my eyes rest. And really, Merlin. I would have at least thought that this” - he touched the crown he had only just taken off - “would give you some respect.”

Merlin smiled as he padded slowly towards Arthur, gliding rather than walking. Arthur swallowed.

“I’m so sorry, Your Majesty,” Merlin purred, and bowed. “Is this better?”

Arthur snorted. Merlin never had learned how to bow - always bending his back, never lowering his eyes.

“Could you help me with this?” Arthur asked, indicating the clasps on his ceremonial jacket.

Merlin rolled his eyes, but stepped forward obediently. “You called me here in the middle of the night so that I’d help you undress? Only you, Arthur.” Merlin’s deft fingers started releasing the tricky clasps, skimming over Arthur’s chest. “Where’s your manservant?”

Arthur shrugged, careful not to let his breath stutter. Merlin’s proximity wasn’t helping his tenuous grip. “He never seems to be around, does he? You want the job?”

Merlin let out a chuckle. “So that you’d have legitimate grounds to push me around all day? No thanks.”

“I do have legitimate grounds to push you around all day, Merlin. I’m your king.”

Merlin’s eyes flew up to meet his for a moment, mischief evident in the teasing flutter of eyelashes. “Yes, Sire.”

He pushed the jacket off of Arthur’s shoulders, letting it fall to the floor, and made to step back, but Arthur caught him by the waist before he knew what he was doing. Even in the sparse light, there was no mistaking the flush spreading across Merlin’s insanely sharp cheekbones.

“Arthur?”

For several long, drawn out moments, Arthur could do little but look at him, drowning almost literally in the startled glint of his eyes, mesmerised by the uncertainty of the parted lips, so very close to his own.

“I’m bad at this,” Arthur muttered, sad, as his fingers slid along the back of Merlin’s neck, curling in his hair. Merlin let out a soft gasp and Arthur closed his eyes for a moment. “You’re - Merlin, I - you-”

“Did you see Lancelot dance with Gwen?” Merlin blurted out in a slurring, panicked rush of words. “Turned quite a few heads, those two, and then there was Morgana. I’d watch out if I were Leon; I think she’s on a mission and-”

“Merlin?”

“… Yeah?”

“Is you babbling right now a sign that you’re too drunk to make conscious decisions?”

Merlin swallowed. “N-no. I barely had a glass all night.”

“Are you in love with Gwaine?”

“What? No. Why on earth would you think-”

“Then do you - are you-”

Arthur would never know if Merlin took pity on him or if it was an act of desperation fuelled by his own feelings, but, before Arthur could embarrass himself any further, Merlin leaned in and kissed him, short and scared, right on the mouth.

And that was it, Arthur thought as he stared into terrified blue eyes, pupils blown so wide they seemed black.

“I’m sorry.” Merlin moved ineffectually, trying to twist out of Arthur’s arms. “You really need to let me go, Arthur, or I’ll - I’ll - I can’t control it-”

“By all means” - Arthur didn’t even try to fight his grin - “don’t.”

Merlin managed to make some kind of startled noise before Arthur covered his lips with his own.

Merlin whimpered into the kiss, all but falling into Arthur, hands sliding up along his back, gripping a little too tightly. Arthur couldn’t waste time for niceties - he wanted too much, had wanted for too long, and if the stuttering, gasping sounds Merlin was making were any indication, he wasn’t alone in his feelings.

The kiss turned frantic. Arthur pulled Merlin flush against him, trapping Merlin’s thigh between his own, and yes, it felt incredible. Holding Merlin like this, his lithe, slender body vibrating with energy, pushing and pressing against Arthur, as if driven by a will of its own - it was everything he’d ever dreamed of and more, so much more.

Merlin gasped as Arthur sank his teeth into his lower lip, sucking hard. Arthur seized the moment to make the kiss even deeper, heat rising from where their groins were pressed together, hips sliding and rolling, seeking out mindless pleasure in a way that at another time would have been embarrassing.

“Is this a one-off thing?” Merlin breathed, sounding husky and drunk. Arthur groaned, sucking a bruise into his neck. “Because I don’t think we should - Arthur, I don’t think I - oh, Gods - don’t think I can, if-”

Arthur nipped at Merlin’s exposed collarbone, licking into the hollow of his throat, coaxing a delicious shiver out of him. “This isn’t a one-off.”

“Oh,” Merlin gasped. “Well. Good.”

Arthur lifted his head, staring at Merlin. His eyes were half-lidded with arousal yet still worried somehow, cheeks dusted with a delicate blush that made Arthur ache, lips dark and swollen, black hair all over the place, begging to be touched, pulled, and ruffled every which way. He was breathing hard, and Arthur wanted him, his whole body shaking with it. For a moment, he was scared of what he might do if he let himself go.

Merlin’s eyes widened and Arthur saw his own realisation and fear staring back at him. And then Merlin went pliant in his arms, pink tongue darting out to lick his lips, hips shifting to the side just so, because Merlin was a horrible tease and apparently liked to play with fire.

Arthur growled, smashing their lips together again. He walked Merlin back towards the bed and pushed him down none too gently. Merlin, that insufferable, insane, fearless creature, had the gall to laugh.

Arthur straddled him, pinning his wrists above his head and nuzzling at his jawline before sucking an earlobe into his mouth. Merlin’s laughter died with a hiss like a blown candle. He bucked up, pushing against Arthur’s weight, squirming and rubbing himself against the length of the body pressing him down.

Arthur groaned and instinctively ground down, hard; it was so good, criminally good - just lying there locked together, hardly even moving. It felt almost too good, too much in mere moments, and when Merlin’s teeth grazed Arthur’s chin, slick tongue teasing the sensitive line of the barely-there stubble, Arthur lost what little control he had.

He crushed Merlin’s lips with deep, heated, desperate kisses, too much teeth and tongue and hands clawing at each other and scraping clothes to get to skin, hips jerking and stuttering in selfish need to rip more pleasure from one another sooner, faster, right bloody now.

Merlin flipped them over, straddling Arthur’s thighs, a firm hand on his chest held him down, and it was all Arthur could do not to pounce on him. Merlin looked wrecked, wanton; the smirk stretching his lips was lust incarnate. Arthur gulped, watching through the desperate haze of arousal as Merlin pulled his tunic over his head slowly before throwing it away.

Then Arthur could do nothing but stare, forgetting to breathe completely, because oh, not all the runes had been temporary; the remaining inky patterns nearly made Arthur forget his own name.

They started curling artfully around Merlin’s nipples, two strings of letters and symbols twisting and turning like grape vines. They met and twined over Merlin’s solar plexus, streaming down to carefully dip into his navel and then snake lower, lower still, hinting at something that made Arthur gasp. He reached out mindlessly, head void of thoughts and consciousness itself, hands trembling with scalding, oppressing want.

Merlin rose up on his knees, swiftly undoing the laces of his breeches, pushing them down just enough to reveal a proud, fierce-looking dragon stretching its wings just above Merlin’s cock.

Arthur felt as if something had exploded inside his brain, making him blind and deaf but for the wild, feral roar that filled his whole being, tearing at him from the inside. The tattoo burned before his eyes, and for the longest time he lost all awareness of the world around him. There were distant sounds of ripping clothes, gasps and moans seeping in from afar, slurping wet noises filling his ears without really penetrating, the creak of the bed being but a faint echo.

Merlin was all Arthur knew at that moment, his universe narrowing down to moving with Merlin, in Merlin, his every sense being filled by Merlin, overcome with him. Merlin’s hands scratching down Arthur’s back viciously, the pulse in his neck fluttering trustingly under Arthur’s lips, legs spread wide, knees urging Arthur on and on, further, deeper, demanding an impossible, inhuman rhythm as Merlin fisted a handful of Arthur’s hair and jerked him up into a desperate, hungry kiss, insatiable and wild.

It was a rush to completion, frenetic and crude, but something had to give before the unbearable build up of suspense could be broken. Merlin latched onto Arthur’s jaw, open-mouthed and wet, fingers greedy and rude in his hair, at the small of his back. The litany of ‘ArthurArthurArhurArthurArthur’ hit Arthur’s senses, drawing out reserves he didn’t think he had left, and he pounded harder into Merlin, teeth clenched tight, arms shaking with tension.

Merlin keened, too far gone to do anything but hold on, and came with a startled gasp that would have been a shout if he hadn’t lost his voice. Gold burst from under his lashes as he spasmed around Arthur, pulling him under vengefully. For the longest moment, they could do little but cling to each other, shattered and shattering, falling and twirling, bound together by ecstasy in a tight ball of mind-ripping pleasure without beginning or end.

It felt like ages before Arthur opened his eyes. He was lying sprawled on his back, Merlin warm and boneless against his side, fingers idly teasing the hair on Arthur’s chest. Sensing the change, Merlin propped himself up on his elbow, peering down at Arthur, and smiled.

“Welcome back,” Merlin murmured before leaning over and kissing the tip of Arthur’s nose sweetly.

Arthur blinked. “What...” He cleared his throat and tried again. “What was that? It’s never been like this before. Was - was that a spell?”

Merlin snorted. Then, seeing Arthur’s pout, actually laughed, the sound husky and raw, his whole body moving with it.

Arthur nudged him. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, Arthur.” Merlin planted a fond kiss on his cheek and Arthur almost purred, but caught himself at the last moment. “Only you.”

“What about me?”

“You - this. It’s been years. Do you have any idea how long I’ve been - I never thought you’d ever look at me that way. Then finally, when I lost all hope, you summon me here out of the blue, shag me within an inch of my life without so much as a warning, and then have the nerve to ask me if I put you under a spell.” Merlin shook his head, still laughing. “Just, seriously. You alone.”

Arthur lifted his hand to cup Merlin’s face gently, kneading at his cheekbone with curious fingers. “Years?”

Merlin, unbelievably, blushed, even as he turned his head to kiss Arthur’s palm. “I’ve wanted you like this since you hit your growth spurt,” he confessed bashfully. “And I think I’ve been in love with you since I learned to say your name.”

Arthur sucked in a breath. “Merlin...”

Merlin’s eyes met his briefly before Merlin bent his neck and kissed him, long and sweet, a leisurely slide of lips.

“I’m not exactly Percival,” Merlin muttered. “Or Lancelot. And you’re - you. I never hoped-”

Arthur wrapped his arms around him securely, fighting for control. If he gripped any tighter, he feared he might break something. “You’re beautiful,” he breathed into Merlin’s ear. “God, Merlin, you’ve no idea, do you?”

Merlin made a vague noise, lips pressing, hot and hopeful, to Arthur’s shoulder.

“I summoned you, because I wanted to talk,” Arthur told him softly. “To tell you that there will be no princesses and no queen; that I wish to share my kingdom with you because I - well, because the thought of losing you makes me physically ill.”

Merlin froze, staring down at him. “You wish to-” he choked.

Arthur ran his fingers down Merlin’s spine soothingly. “Very much. It’s all I could think about ever since you came back.”

“Arthur,” Merlin managed, his voice still not entirely there. “The kingdom is… kind of a lot. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather-”

Arthur cupped his face, holding his eyes. “It’s you or no one. I’ve waited long enough, Merlin. I’d rather it was you.”

Merlin kissed him, hot and messy and whimpering a little, disbelief and happiness stripping him of any finesse. Arthur rolled them over, slotting a leg between Merlin’s, rocking gently. Merlin groaned.

Arthur buried his face in Merlin’s neck and breathed in deeply, closing his eyes. “I’m in love with you.”

Merlin shuddered in response, gathering Arthur close. “Yeah?”

Arthur lifted his head up, grinning. Merlin was watching him through half-lidded eyes; his expression so full of shy, hopeful joy that Arthur could barely stand it. “Yeah.”

Merlin laughed quietly, unable to contain it. Arthur’s heart seized as he looked, a sweet, tugging kind of pain that he knew he’d never stop feeling. He nuzzled his way up Merlin’s throat until he could nibble at the ridiculously firm line of his jaw and kiss Merlin’s smile.

Merlin prodded him gently. “All this - when you wanted to talk?”

Arthur huffed out a laugh. “Yes. But then you had to go and brand yourself - with my family crest no less. I’m only human, Merlin. What did you expect?”

Merlin went suddenly very quiet beneath him. “You like it?”

Arthur leaned back slightly and traced the black pattern with his fingers, teasing Merlin into a shiver. “I love it,” he breathed, sliding down to replace his fingers with his tongue. “It means you’re mine.” Arthur licked a stripe from Merlin’s navel to the dragon, biting down very gently.

Merlin hissed, bucking up reflexively. “Thought of you as they chanted,” he confessed, relaxing under Arthur’s soothing hand. “Didn’t know this would appear, but I felt - I felt - like a ringed bird, one of those hunting things you keep, and I - oh gods, Arthur, I loved it.”

Arthur kissed the quivering ink, rubbed his face against Merlin’s taut stomach - just kissing and nuzzling, unable to reign in the rush of possessive tenderness that came over him. Merlin’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling gently.

Arthur went up willingly, snuggling close, too tired to do anything but kiss. “I’ll get you a ring,” he muttered against Merlin’s lips. “If you want one.”

Merlin smiled vaguely, tracing Arthur’s eyebrows with his finger. His eyes were deep and troubled again. “Arthur, are you certain about this? It’s not too late to-”

“Merlin,” Arthur interrupted, even as his eyes were drooping closed.

Merlin sighed. “Shut up?”

Arthur grinned into his shoulder. “You guessed it.”

--

A few short hours later, they were woken up by Morris. He had finally found his way back to his master’s chambers only to be dismissed on the spot, but not before he’d made out that there were two bodies huddled under the coverlet and it wasn’t just his hangover talking.

“I could turn him into a toad,” Merlin offered, opening one eye grudgingly. “He’s useless. I’m doing all his work anyway.”

Arthur snorted. “Oh really, Merlin? You wouldn’t last a day as my manservant.”

“Hm, you’re probably right. You’re too demanding-”

“Oi!”

“Whimsical.”

“I am not!”

“Spoiled.”

“Look who’s talking…”

“Prat.” Merlin hummed, grinning.

Arthur kicked him lightly under the covers.

Merlin laughed. “Case in point.”

Arthur watched him - bed hair, pillow creases, and all - and couldn’t keep a stupid, horribly besotted smile off his face.

Merlin blinked at him sleepily, his mirth fading, remnants of the aborted conversation from the night before making him frown. He opened his mouth, and Arthur knew it was to repeat his question.

So Arthur just looked at him.

Merlin stared back. Finally, he let out a quiet little sigh and shut his mouth.

Arthur grinned and rewarded the unexpected show of intelligence with a kiss.

THE END

End notes: 1. Dvimerit was shamelessly borrowed from Andrzej Sapkowski. I hope he doesn’t mind.
2. If you know which novel/author Merlin references in his little telepathic speech about Druid wine, I’ll write you 500 words for any prompt you like.
3. Cernunnos the Horned God could be looked up here.

Thank you for reading!