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Chapter Text

“My lord! My lord!” A young druid calls, running up to Chief Balinor as he encourages his son to help solve some of the problems around the camp. They both stop and look at the boy. 

“What is it?” Balinor’s deep voice bellows.

“I have a message,” Balinor urges the boy to continue with a raise of his eyebrow, “from King Uther of Camelot.” Balinor and Merlin have similar shocked expressions on their faces. The boy holds up the paper, and Balinor snatches it away, looking at the royal wax seal holding it shut. Balinor takes a deep breath. 

“Merlin, with me,” he calls back. Merlin hurries to his father’s side. They hurry back to their tent, where Hunith is already waiting for them.

“What is it?” She asks, upon seeing the message.

“It’s from Camelot,” Merlin answers. Her brows furrow. 

“For what reason?”

“We don’t know.” Balinor hurriedly clears a space on the table, grabbing his small dagger and cutting the seal open, his eyes scanning over the paper, fast as lightning. He looks up, staring into the middle distance, and is quiet. The hold on the paper loosens, and Hunith gently takes it from him, reading over it as well. A look of confusion striking her face.

“What? What is it?” Merlin asks, she hands the paper to him. 

“We’re invited to Camelot. To make peace,” she explains, seeing Merlin also scanning the message quickly, not believing it. 

“This is a trap. It has to be,” Balinor says quietly.

“I don’t think so,” Hunith responds, her hands going to stroke Balinor’s arm comfortingly. 

“Then what? Why would Uther Pendragon want to make peace with us?” 

“I don’t think we’ll know unless we go,” Merlin reasons. 

“We can’t risk our people like that. There are innocent men, women, and children here. We can’t bring them with us,” Balinor argues, “if any of them were to so much as make a plant grow faster than normal, Uther would have their heads without hesitation.”

“Then we leave them here,” Merlin argues. Balinor and Hunith look at him with bewilderment. “Well, we have magic, we’re fully capable of protecting ourselves, and even Uther must know that if he kills any of us, especially if our people do not come with us, that they would fight back, and be able to wipe out the kingdom with their dark and evil magic,” Merlin mocks. Balinor and Hunith look at each other for a moment, having a conversation with just their eyes. 

“He’s right…. You know he’s right,” Hunith agrees, to which Balinor scowls. 

“I don’t like it.”

“But what if Uther really does want to make peace? We would be able to live more freely, we can’t pass up such a possibility in fear that it might be a trap. Even if it was, that would still be passing up on the opportunity to free our people from his tyranny,” Merlin proclaims. Hunith nods her head with him.

“We can’t all go. I will go. Alone.”

“But—” 

“I can’t risk losing you to the likes of him, Merlin. You are my only son. I care for you too dearly to let Uther take you away from me.”

“I’m powerful, father. I can handle myself. Besides, Uther is stupid, but he’s not an idiot. He would know trying to kill me, specifically, is the worst possible choice he could make.”

Balinor looks back at his wife, she gives him an understanding smile, but they talk without words again, and Balinor nods solemnly. 

“All right, we’ll go together.”

“I’ll stay here,” Hunith declares, “someone has to stay here, with the people. But I expect you to send word as things progress!” She says in a jokingly stern manner, waving a finger in their faces. Merlin cracks a smile.

“Of course, mother,” Merlin accepts. She gives him a warm smile and steps closer to him.

“You’re growing up so fast, my little diplomat,” she jokes, taking Merlin’s head in her hands and kissing him on the forehead. He grins bashfully at her blatant affection.

“Father, you asked to see me?” Arthur clarifies, walking into the council chambers where his father was pacing behind his less luxurious throne. 

“Ah, Arthur,” he looks over to the guards, “leave us. No one is to enter,” he orders. They bow and step out, closing the large doors behind them.

“What is this about?”

“I have received confirmation that Chief Balinor of the Druids will be arriving in Camelot for the treaty in two days. He has decided to come with only his son, Merlin,” Uther explains. Arthur grins, his suggestion is coming to fruition.

“I’m sure Morgana will be very pleased to hear the good news!” Uther nods. 

“Arthur, I have a favor to ask.”

“Of course, father. Anything,” Arthur replies immediately.

“You are aware these are Druids— they are sorcerers. They must be watched. Carefully. I am willing to let them stay here, but Balinor and I have come to an agreement that neither of them are to use magic within the walls of Camelot. Regardless of their status among magic users, magic is still illegal,” Arthur nods, Uther beginning to ramble and approaching one of the windows, looking out over the kingdom he has sought to protect from magic for so long, “Balinor will certainly know better than to break that law, but I fear that his son might not. Arthur, you are the only one I can trust with this task.”

“You need me to stay close and spy on him and inform you if he uses magic,” Arthur finishes for him. Uther nods again.

“Yes. Balinor and I have what you might call history, and I fear he might encourage his son to seek retribution for my actions. That cannot be allowed to happen.”

“Of course, father.”

“This boy, he may attempt to gain your trust, but you must remember, this is a sorcerer, he cannot be trusted. He will try to trick you into believing he means no harm, but he will be good at hiding the corruption in his heart.”

“Why do you still believe magic corrupts? Morgana isn’t corrupted, and she has magic,” Arthur asks, immediately realizing his mistake as his father whirled around to glare at him. 

“We know where Morgana’s loyalties lie. Besides, within these walls, she cannot study witchcraft and turn against us,” Uther explains. 

“Understood.”

“Then you are dismissed,” Uther states. Before Arthur fully leaves, he begins speaking again, “and Arthur, I need hardly remind you that you are not to inform anyone of this task I have requested of you.” Arthur nods, and walks out of the council chambers without saying anything. Uther knew there was still an understanding. 

Arthur walked briskly to Morgana’s chambers, knocking before bursting into the room without waiting for an answer. 

“What do you want?” Morgana spits out. Clearly upset that Arthur is invading her privacy. 

“Chief Balinor of the Druids is coming to Camelot in two days hence to come to an agreement with father,” Arthur blurts. Morgana stands from her chair and walks towards him.

“And why didn’t I hear about this?”

“I found out just moments ago.”

“He was telling you not to trust them, wasn’t he?” Morgana guessed. Arthur nodded, and leans in close to her to whisper in her ear. 

“I’m not supposed to tell anyone, but he wants me to spy on his son and tell him if I catch him doing magic.” Morgana reels back, enraged.

“That—”

“Morgana! If you tell him I said anything, it will be over before it even begins.” She takes a deep breath. 

“You’re right.”

“You’ve met this Merlin, have you not? What was he like?” Arthur asks.

“Yes, I did. When I was first learning about my powers, he saved me from the Serket’s venom, and helped me understand that my powers are a gift. He’s a sweetheart. He’s not a threat unless you really piss him off,” Morgana describes. 

“I see.”

“You don’t. But you will.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Arthur asks. Morgana smirks knowingly, but shrugs in response and pushes him back out the door, locking it behind him. He sighs and leaves to train the knights. 

Chapter Text

Merlin arrives in Camelot with his father, who splits from him quickly to find his old friends. He tells Merlin to wander and not to preform any magic. Merlin agrees. 

Merlin walks through the lower town in complete awe. He’s never seen anywhere like this. He enjoys watching all of the people milling about, the clang of iron from the blacksmith’s, the call of street vendors selling what they make. It’s an intricate sort of ecosystem, and Merlin’s eyes are glistening with wonder as he walks through to get to the citadel where his father said to meet him.

His trance is swiftly interrupted when he collides with firm muscles. He feels hands on him and pushing him backwards. The next thing Merlin knows is his body landing on the dirt with a thud. 

“You should watch where you’re going,” the blond man says dismissively, extending a hand. Merlin takes his hand and the man pulls him up. With a sharp tug, he also pulls him forward, letting go and stepping out of the way as Merlin tumbles forward, his face landing in fresh horse dung. He rolls off of it onto his ass. A stable hand hands him a cloth as the man and his friends laugh and point at him. Not really paying him any attention, their eyes are nearly shut with how wide they’re grinning. Merlin rolls his eyes and uses the cloth to wipe his face off. His clothes are now dusty and probably have a little more dung on them. The laughter starts to fade.

“Ass,” Merlin mumbles under his breath, mouthing a thank you to the stable hand. The blond man glares at him with an icy blue gaze.

“What did you just call me?” He asks with a malicious smile. His friends smirk knowingly.

“I called you an ass,” Merlin repeats, standing up and dusting off his clothes as best he can. The friends snicker. 

“You have no idea who I am, do you?” The man questions. Merlin pretends to think for a moment, looking the man up and down like something about him will jog his memory. 

“No. To be truthful, I also couldn’t care less. You’re an ass and that’s all I need to know about you,” Merlin remarks snidely. Once again, the men laugh amongst themselves, finding the whole interaction highly amusing.

“I could have you thrown in the stocks for such insolence,” he threatens. Merlin rolls his eyes. 

“Oh, who do you think you are? The King?”

“No. I’m his son, Arthur.” Merlin’s face falls. He’s been insulting Prince Arthur. Which is probably the worst way he could have started this diplomatic trip. The man—Arthur—notices his change in demeanor and smiles broadly, but completely void of any real humor. 

“Oh good, we’ve managed to get that little brain of yours working,” Arthur teases. Merlin takes a deep breath and stands up straight, taking a confident step towards the man. It’s too late to go back now. Merlin smiles defiantly in return, and is rewarded with the smallest quirk of Arthur’s brow.

“So, what are you going to do? Get your daddy’s men to protect you?” Merlin taunts cheekily. They all laugh, Arthur laughs in disbelief, looking back at his guards and giving them looks that can clearly read do you hear this guy? 

“I could take you apart with one blow!”

“I could take you apart with less than that,” Merlin assures. Arthur’s face screws up in a humorous skepticism. 

“You sure?” Arthur asks, almost genuinely. Merlin looks at the men with determination. He locks his sight on Arthur’s lake blue gaze, keeping intense eye contact as he slowly pulls up his sleeves, exposing the surprisingly muscular forearms. 

Arthur breaks eye contact first, giving Merlin an incredulous look, eyes scanning over his body, head falling back in a laugh as he turns to one of his men, taking the flails he was offered. He tosses one over to Merlin.

“Here you go, big man,” he jeers. Merlin’s hands fly up but do not catch it. He bends down and picks it up. He looks back up at Arthur who’s expertly spinning the flail above his head, “I warn you, I’ve been trained to kill since birth.”

“Wow, and how long have you been training to be a prat?” Merlin gibes. Arthur scoffs.

“You can’t address me like that,” he declares. 

“Sorry, how long have you been training to be a prat,” Merlin makes eye contact with Arthur, bowing slightly, “my lord?”

Arthur looks away with a grin on his face, looking back at his men. Merlin’s smile broadens. 

Arthur raises the flail to strike. Merlin’s grin drops. He starts to swing, but stops, looking just over Merlin’s shoulder. 

“Merlin!” His father bellows, “I leave you alone for five minutes and—” he looks at who Merlin was picking a fight with, “my lord! I apologize for my son’s behavior and hope you will forgive him. He’s not used to being around anyone with such status,” Balinor explains. 

Arthur pauses. This is Merlin?

“As long as it doesn’t happen again, it is forgiven,” Arthur determines, taking the flail back, a little disappointed he didn’t get to put Merlin in his place.

“I’ll make sure of it,” Balinor agrees making stern eye contact with his son. He roughly grabs the back of Merlin’s jacket and pulls him away from Arthur and towards the physician’s quarters. “What were you thinking?” He grumbles at Merlin. Merlin stutters, trying to respond.

“I—I wasn’t, I’m sorry,” Merlin says sadly.

“You’re lucky I intervened before it escalated any further,” Balinor drops his hold on Merlin’s jacket, “come on, there’s someone I want you to meet.” They make it to the door.

“Gaius!” Balinor cheers, Gaius looks over.

“Balinor! How are you?” He exclaims, giving Balinor a hug. 

“I’m all right,” he steps to the side for Merlin to come into view, “Gaius, this is my son, Merlin.” Merlin walks up, shaking Gaius’ hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he greets. 

“And you as well. What are you both doing here?”

“You mean you don’t know?” Merlin asks, looking at his father warily. Gaius shakes his head.

“On behalf of the druids, we’ve come to ‘make peace’ with Uther,” Balinor glowers. 

“Just the two of you?”

“We didn’t want to risk our people by bringing anyone else.”

“Ah. I see. It’s strange Uther isn’t making this into a spectacle.”

“Indeed, but maybe he will yet,” Merlin offers. 

“In some way or another,” Balinor grumbles his addition. 

“Well, unless you commit a heinous crime or treason, you won’t get your head cut off,” Gaius reassures.

“What do you mean?”

“Haven’t you heard? After Morgana told him she has magic, they struck a bargain. Thus far, Uther has amended his ban on magic. Now anyone charged with sorcery will just spend an—albeit long—time in jail, which he had Morgana magic-proof. You won’t be losing your head over simply existing anymore.” Balinor stands straighter.

“Well that’s—reassuring. Thank you, Gaius.”

“You’d best announce your presence to the council chambers and get the agreement started. Unfortunately, I don’t think this will be as brief a trip as other foreign dignitaries would have. You will have to be very persuasive and very patient,” Gaius explains. Balinor nods, placing his hand on Merlin’s shoulder, guiding him away from Gaius’ chambers, and set course for the council chambers.

Arthur was being prepared for their visit in his chambers, his manservant, George, was talking idly. Arthur wasn’t listening to a single word. He was stuck thinking about Merlin, of all people. His defiant smirk and the twinkle in his eyes as he quipped sarcastically, the cloudy blue of his eyes, his surprisingly defined forearms, Arthur just couldn’t stop thinking about him. 

“Sire?” George asks, concerned. Arthur snaps out of his trance.

“What?” 

“I asked if I should fetch your sword for you, my lord,” George apparently repeats. Arthur didn’t like the way George said the title nearly as much as the way Merlin said it. 

What on earth is wrong with him?

“Uh—yes,” Arthur said finally. George goes to fetch it, Arthur almost falling back into his thoughts, but interrupted by a knock at his door. 

“Enter.” 

The door creaked open, Morgana’s ebony hair framing her face as she peeks through the crack.

“Morgana,” Arthur greets, “to what do I owe this pleasure?” He asks, fastening his sword to his belt. Morgana steps all the way in, her jeweled white dress looking more than elegant the way it hugs her frame in some parts, and drapes over her in others, she nods to George who takes his cue to leave with a small bow.

“I noticed that you met Merlin,” she stated, leaning back on the table.

“You saw that?”

“You attracted quite the crowd. Not that you would’ve noticed, given how focused you were on each other,” she teases.

“Was there anything else? Or did you just come here to tease me?”

“I’m just looking forward to seeing you two together more,” she laughs lightly, “it’ll certainly be entertaining for Gwen and I!” She exclaims with a big grin. 

“Is that all?” Arthur shoots her an unamused glare.

“Our presence is requested in the council chambers. I figured we should head there together,” Morgana reasons. Arthur nods.

“Shall we?” Arthur asks, extending his arm. Morgana loops her arm through his and they walk through the castle halls, the exquisite fabric fluttering behind them through the corridors. 

When they entered the council chambers, Merlin and Balinor were nowhere to be found. So Arthur and Morgana took their places by their father’s side. 

Arthur has never seen his father nervous before. Uther stood tall like he wasn’t even a little anxious, his hands were clasped together behind his back to give him an air of confidence. But his hands were fidgeting, his thumb toying with the ring on his finger. Moving it back and forth and spinning it. It was enough to make the siblings look at each other in concern.

The guards opened the door and Balinor stood on the other side of it, Merlin trailing a little behind his father in a clean version of the clothes he met Arthur in. He notices Arthur and looks away. Morgana smirks, repressing her snicker.

Balinor approaches Uther cautiously, Uther watches him warily, they extend a firm and tense handshake, holding it for a long while. The air in the council chambers was palpable.

“I hope in the upcoming days, we can mark a new start for our people, and that you’ll forgive me for my past actions.” Uther says, clearly rehearsed and ingenuine. Arthur noticed the faintest tremble in his voice. Morgana and Merlin had doubtful expressions when Uther said he hoped Balinor would forgive him. 

It was unlikely. Very unlikely. 

“As do I,” Balinor agreed rigidly, almost gritting it through his teeth. Uther looks over Balinor’s shoulder at Merlin. He releases Balinor’s hand, both of them wipe their hands on their pants without thinking about it. 

“And you must be Merlin,” he directs, trying to divert the attention away from the interaction. Arthur hopes Merlin makes a complete fool of himself in front of the King. He watches hopefully.

But to his discontent, Merlin has perfect courtly manners.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty,” Merlin says almost earnestly, bowing respectfully. Unlike his father, Merlin had an air of grace here, a sense of relaxation, or what appeared to be a kind of calmness. Arthur raises a brow. When Merlin looks over at him, Arthur rolls his eyes. Uther clears his throat. 

“Well, until the negotiations are concluded, you may stay here, in the castle as our honored guests,” Uther declares, his voice dwindling a little at the end. Hating that he was saying these things to a sorcerer. Balinor was stuck lightly glaring at Uther, so Merlin hopped in and responded for him. 

“Thank you, my lord. That is very gracious,” Merlin said with a deep nod, putting a hand on his father’s arm discreetly to try and snap him out of it.

Arthur is learning that Merlin was clearly a natural at courtly disposition and is more than capable of respecting titles. He just chose not to fix the way he was speaking to Arthur when they met earlier. Something about that realization intrigues Arthur. 

“I will have some servants escort you to your rooms. Until they arrive, you may converse with my children. I have some important business to attend to. Tonight, we will hold a small feast in honor of the momentous occasion,” Uther excuses. Merlin gives a decisive nod. Uther takes that as good enough and flees the room.

“Merlin!” Morgana cries, running up to him and enveloping him in a crushing hug as soon as the door closes, “Oh, it’s so good to see you!” She pulls away and looks at Balinor, considering trying to talk to him, but he appears to be too far gone in his own head. She turns her attention back to Merlin.

“It’s good to see you, too! I see you weren’t beheaded for magic, like you thought you would be,” Merlin notes enthusiastically, “I’m under the impression that the possibility of negotiation is thanks to you?” Merlin questions.

“Actually, reaching out to the Druids in search of a compromise was Arthur’s idea,” she says, gesturing to her brother behind her, who is still standing awkwardly near the throne. Merlin nods to him. 

“Well, I appreciate that. I hope the peace talks end up favorably.” The doors to the council chambers open, revealing George and another serving boy. 

“Chief Balinor of the Druids, Merlin… Emrys?” He finishes questioningly, at Merlin’s nod, he continues, “If you’d come with us, please,” George requests. Merlin pulls on his father arm leading him out of the room. 

“Father, you need to snap out of it,” Merlin urges. 

“I’m sorry, I—” Balinor tries. 

“It’s okay, I covered for you.”

“Thank you, son. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

“Master Balinor, if you’d go with Aliene. Master Emrys, you may come with me—my name is George,” George informs. 

“I’ll see you at dinner,” Merlin calls to him, joining George. Balinor nods in response, leaving with the other servant—Aliene. Merlin and George approached the chambers.

“I hope it’s to your satisfaction. My master’s chambers are just next door. If you need anything, just ask,” George informs.

“Before you go, may I ask you a question?” Merlin asks. George nods. “How did you know I’m also known as Emrys?”

“Uh— I—I must’ve heard it somewhere,” George splutters. Merlin’s brows furrow, but he nods regardless. “Will there be anything else?” He asks.

“No, that’ll be all. Thank you, George.” George smiles in response, bowing slightly and leaving Merlin alone. Merlin grabs the handle of the door.

“He must be joking,” Merlin hears Arthur call from down the hall. Merlin sighs. 

“So George is your manservant?” Merlin clarifies, dropping his hand and turning to face the royal prat himself.

“Indeed.”

“Is having our rooms next to each other really going to bother you? Or can we both just get on with our lives and work with it?” Merlin asks boredly. Arthur sighs. 

“It’s not like we’re sharing,” he reasons, “yeah, fine. We’ll live.”

“Great,” Merlin states, entering his new dwellings. 

The room was extravagant, gorgeous patterns sewn into the curtains and bedsheets, Merlin’s luggage had been brought up and placed at the foot of his bed. The light shining through the stained glass illuminated the room like a roaring fire. He approaches a window, opening it and looking out over the city. He had a fantastic view. He stares at it for a long while.

Merlin noticed a bucket and cloth on the table, they left a small note that said it was for bathing. Considering Merlin hadn’t truly washed after he was thrown into a pile of horse poop—sorry, Morgana—he figures now is as good a time as any. The water was a little cold. Silently, Merlin cast a spell to heat it up as he removed his neckerchief, jacket, and tunic. He threw the clothes in the basket. 

He picked up the rag and dunked it into the bucket, he took his time, meticulously making sure he had washed away all of the dung that still clung to him. Arthur was such an ass for throwing him into scat. 

Merlin took his time, enjoying the sensation of the warm water on his skin.

That is, until the door to his chamber opened and he got startled. He looked over quickly. Arthur had just barged into his chamber and was now looking at him with wide eyes. 

“Can’t you knock?!” Merlin asked, putting the cloth down over the edge of the bucket. He has never been shy about his body and he still isn’t, just surprised.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. I’m trying to hide from Morgana. If I had remembered the room was now occupied, I wouldn’t have come in,” Arthur explained, examining Merlin closely. 

Arthur found his gaze trailing over the smooth expanses of skin. Though Merlin was lanky, his body had a strong build. It was well-defined. Arthur found himself admiring it before he realized he was. Merlin turned towards him, exposing his chest and giving him a tired look. Arthur couldn’t care less what look Merlin was giving him. His eyes were darting across Merlin’s chest, noticing the pattern of chest hair, his eyes scanning down, following his happy trail and the v of his hips that disappeared behind the trousers that were resting low on his hips. Merlin clears his throat and Arthur looks back up at his face, feeling his cheeks warming at getting caught. But he can’t stop himself from looking at Merlin’s chest again. His eyes being drawn to the symbol on the left side of his torso, just below the shoulder. Merlin caught where his eyes were. 

“It’s a triskelion,” Merlin says simply, Arthur’s eyes snap up to Merlin’s face and are desperately trying not to scan the rest of his body again. Merlin notices Arthur’s blank stare, “it’s the symbol of the Druids. We’re born with them.”

“What do they mean?” Arthur asks. Merlin looks at him questioningly.

“Why would you care?”

“I just don’t want you to kick me out before Morgana decides I’m not in this wing of the castle.” Merlin rolls his stormy gray eyes.

“What did you do?” Merlin asks. Arthur opens his mouth to speak, but stops when he hears the clicking of Morgana’s shoes walking down the hall. Arthur hides behind the screen. Merlin was well aware that Arthur wasn’t getting away from this no matter what.

There was a mirror behind the screen, but he didn’t adjust the screen, so unfortunately—or fortunately for Merlin—the mirror exposed Arthur from the door. But even without that, Morgana is powerful enough that she could easily scry on him to figure out where he is. 

The clicking of her heels stopped in front of the door. She knocks.

“You may enter,” Merlin calls back. She starts to open the door. 

“Oh, Merlin have you seen my…” her voice trails off as she notices Merlin’s bare chest. She takes it all in shamelessly. Merlin realizes what’s happening now. 

“Oh! Sorry, I kind of forgot,” Merlin chuckles awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head, his muscles flexing mesmerizingly. Morgana blinks quickly to snap out of it. 

“It’s all right. Have you seen my idiot brother around here?” She asks. Merlin, knowingly, looks to the screen. She looks over and sees Arthur hiding in the mirror. Her form relaxes as she gives him a humored look through the mirror. “Brother, dear, it’s pointless to hide if a mirror is going to expose you anyway.” 

Arthur freezes, slowly turning towards the mirror, seeing Morgana’s mischievous grin reflected back at him. He sighs and emerges from the screen. To Arthur’s disappointment, he sees Merlin put on a new shirt from his trunk, and he was finishing buttoning it up, hiding his gorgeous chest again. 

There has got to be something seriously wrong with him. 

Morgana glanced at where Arthur’s eyes were focusing. She smirks at him and raises an eyebrow. She reaches for him, grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him back outside with her. 

“Sorry to disturb you, Merlin!” She calls back as she drags him away. Merlin chuckles. Finishing his cloth bath without incident and changing into new clothes. He decides not to change into his regal wear until the feast, not wanting to wrinkle them. Not that magic couldn’t fix whatever accident happens to them, but he’s not supposed to use it here. Not like he hasn’t already used magic twice. Once to clean his clothes before meeting the King and the second to heat the water.

Merlin sighed in his boring clothes and sat down by the unlit fireplace and studied some show-y spells. His father told him he needed to learn some for the ceremony that takes place when Merlin becomes chief. Merlin pointed out that he has plenty of time to learn some, but his father insisted.

His father has been getting quite persistent about Merlin learning the traditions and responsibilities that come with being chief. He’s probably just worried; though Merlin can’t imagine why.

“Ow, ow, ow! Morgana, that hurts!” Arthur cried, Morgana’s grip crushing on his wrist as she tugged him through the corridors back to her chambers. She drops his wrist as soon as they’re inside. 

“So why were you in Merlin’s chambers?” She asks, raising a brow, smirk plastered on her face. 

“It was an accident.”

“And you stayed there because…” she prompted.

“All right, I see what you’re trying to do here. No. I don’t like him. He’s an arrogant ass.”

“Sounds like someone else I know.” Arthur huffs.

“You should have heard the way he spoke to me,” Arthur complains, sitting down on Morgana’s bed.

“I did. Gwen and I were taking a stroll through the lower town and stumbled upon the interaction.”

“Well, you probably didn’t see the whole thing.”

“Was ‘you should watch where you’re going’ not the first thing you said to him?”

“Oh. So you… saw the whole thing.”

“So?” She asks, subtly switching the topic back, Arthur rolled his eyes and laid back on her bed. “Can you blame me for wondering? You’ve had your head in the clouds since you met him! What’s that about?” She accused. 

“That’s none of your business,” Arthur propped himself up on his elbows, looking at Morgana, “you know, just because you have unorthodox romantic interests doesn’t mean I do as well,” Arthur claims. She levels a stare on him. 

“Unorthodox? Really?” She asks incredulously, “do you not agree that Guinevere is sweet and beautiful?”

“Well— she is, but that’s besides the point!” Arthur argues. 

“My dear brother, just so you’re aware, you’re allowed to like him.”

“I like women. You know that.”

“You can like both,” Morgana replies without missing a beat.

“You can?” Arthur asks, caught off guard. Morgana just nods. Arthur makes a thoughtful sound. “Not that I do.” 

“Of course not,” Morgana chuckles.

“You shouldn’t keep too close to him while he’s here, you know,” Arthur informs. Morgana turns to look at him.

“Why not?”

“Father doesn’t know you’re…” Arthur trails off. He didn’t need to finish his sentence. They both knew what he meant. 

“You think father will believe I’m in love with him?”

“And that he’ll corrupt you, more than he thinks you already are. Unfortunately, no matter how much he loves you, his perception of magic will not change.” Morgana sighs.

“I know,” she says sadly, “do you ever think of what life would be like without him?”

“He’s our father,” Arthur chastises gently.

“I know, but— you have to understand where I’m coming from, at least.”

“I do. To both of those things. I have to think about it. I’m going to be the king when he’s gone,” Arthur laments, pausing, “do you ever want to be the queen?”

“Often. But I’m worried other people would see the kingdom as weak. Regardless of how powerful it is. When you’re king, will you promise to listen to me?”

“Of course. Magic has the potential to make the kingdom stronger, and you’re clever,” Morgana looks back at him with a beaming and arrogant smile, “shut up, Morgana.”

“Fine,” she says, rolling her eyes. 

“Morgana, I got you—” Gwen starts, walking into the room with a bouquet of soft purple and blue flowers, noticing Arthur sitting on Morgana’s bed, “my lord! I didn’t know you were here,” she says sheepishly.

“It’s all right, Gwen. I’ll uh— leave you two alone,” Arthur says, walking back to the door. Morgana gives him a soft, grateful smile.

“I’ll see you at the feast tonight,” she calls, Arthur walks out. He hears the two girls giggling behind the closed door and smiles. He takes a leisurely walk down the corridors back to his chamber. 

“Arthur!” Uther calls. Arthur whirls around. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be keeping an eye on the Druid boy.” Arthur bows his head a little.

“I’m sorry, father. Morgana wanted to talk to me. You know what she’s like. I’ll go now.” Uther gives a stern nod in reply.

“See that you do,” Uther says, walking away. Arthur resumes his walk, going at a faster pace, he tries to think of a reason he might need to interact with Merlin. 

He knocks on the door and hears a sigh from inside.

“You may enter,” Merlin announces. Arthur opens the door slowly.

“I was told to inform you…” he peeks his head through, seeing Merlin on one of the arm chairs, legs curled up and feet next to him on the chair. Merlin notices that it’s Arthur and quickly hides whatever he was doing behind his back and under the pillow. “What have you got there?” Arthur asks. 

“Nothing. What did you need to tell me?” Merlin tries. Arthur gives him a doubtful expression.

“What are you doing?” Arthur questions, voice low and mildly threatening, stepping into the room fully and closing the door behind him. 

“I was…” Merlin looks around for an excuse and sighs, “I was reading,” he says decisively. 

“What were you reading?”

“Does it matter? What did you need to tell me?”

“You were reading a spellbook. Weren’t you?” Merlin nods hesitantly.

“What now? Are you going to throw me in jail for that?” He asks. Arthur takes slow steps towards him, leaning over one of the other armchairs.

“I suppose it might depend on what spell you were looking at. I’m not my father, after all.” Arthur knew he should tell his father about this, but he hasn’t seen Merlin actively practicing any magic yet. 

Merlin exhales sharply and pulls the book out from behind the throw pillow. He opens it. Arthur walks over to the side of the chair, tilting his head so he can better read the page. It looked like complete gibberish to him. 

“Show me,” Arthur requests.

“What, so you can throw me in the dungeons? I don’t think so.”

“Unless it’s nefarious, I’m not going to.”

“I’m supposed to just take your word on that? Yeah, right.” Merlin rolls his eyes. 

“If you don’t show me, I could just tell my father that I caught you reading a spellbook. I wonder what he’d do? Probably flip through it until he finds the most dangerous spell and claim you were studying that one. Probably charge you with treason,” Arthur threatens. Merlin’s eyes had hints of fear in them, and Arthur noticed immediately. He felt a little bad, but this is a sorcerer, why should he feel bad? He represses the faint guilt settling in his chest. 

Merlin looks up at him, then down at the page. He does this a few times. He sighs and puts it on the end table. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, trying to clear his mind. Arthur watches him curiously. He opens his eyes.

“Hoppaþ nu swilce swá lieg fleogan.” Merlin incants. Arthur sees the storm-cloud gray of his eyes be overtaken by a swimming gold. He distantly realizes that he likes the way it looks on him. He’s seen Morgana do magic a few times, but not enough to have ever gotten used to it.

Arthur sees movement out of the corner of his eye and looks over, watching the candelabra on the table as the flames enveloping the candle wicks begin to float. His eyes widen a fraction. He glances back at Merlin, whose hand is moving with them. 

The flames float over to the two of them. They flicker, but they don’t change form, as though they were still on the candles. It was a very controlled display of power. Arthur knew in his mind that he was a little fascinated by it. He would not be telling Merlin. 

Merlin looks up at Arthur with a small smirk, moving his hand and watching Arthur’s reaction as the flames danced around him. He made them swirl around Arthur, who watched them with a goofy grin that he probably didn’t even realize he had. Merlin let the circling stop, returning the fire to their candle-wicks. Arthur cleared his throat, his face clear of expression. But it didn’t matter. Merlin already saw it. 

“That’s it?” Arthur says instead. Feigning passiveness. Merlin rolls his eyes again.

“Yes. That is it. That was the whole spell.”

“Well then. Good. I won’t put you in the dungeons today, then,” Arthur assures. 

“Thank you,” Merlin makes eye contact, eyes sparkling, “my lord,” he teases. Arthur hates how much he likes hearing Merlin emphasize the title. Along with how much he likes the way Merlin smiles tauntingly afterwards. 

This is a sorcerer, Arthur reminds himself. We have no idea where his loyalties are. He lies to himself. He knows exactly where his loyalties are.

Arthur tilts his head. The glint in his eyes is challenging Merlin. But Merlin appears unfazed and meets his glare. He stands from his chair, not breaking eye contact for a moment. Merlin was ever-so-slightly taller than Arthur. Just a fraction. 

They were close to each other. Arthur notices, but tries not to react to the proximity. Each was trying to intimidate the other into backing down. But both were too proud to even consider it. They don’t know how long they stayed like that, just a few inches apart staring deep into the other’s eyes.

“Merlin?” A knock, and Morgana’s voice snapping the two men out of it. They both break away. Arthur needing to take some deep breaths, a hand over his face to hide the blush he fears is forming on his cheeks.

“You can come in,” Merlin affirms. She walks in, stopping when she notices Arthur in the room, a hand over his face and looking away from the door.

“Sorry, am I… interrupting something? I can come back later,” she offers, trying to hide her small smirk and looking back to the door.

“No. No, not at all. What can I do for you, my lady?” Merlin emphasizes the title again, but for her title, it wasn’t mocking her so much as the concept of needing to say it. When he refers to Arthur, it’s main purpose is to mock him. Arthur looks back over at Merlin, he bows a little teasingly. Morgana chuckles at him. 

“You’re ridiculous. You know that?”

“Someone has probably mentioned it before,” he quips. The two grin at each other like there was a joke Arthur wasn’t privy to. 

“Anyway, I was told to inform you of how formal feasts look and what manners you’ll need to know,” she mentions.

“Not that he needs to be taught the manners part, he seems to have that down just fine,” Arthur grumbles under his breath. 

“What was that?” Morgana asks, a glint in her eye as well.

“Nothing,” at the others’ disbelieving expressions, Arthur tacked on, “why were you told to do it?”

“Well, father requested that I tell you to do it, but I figured you wouldn’t want to. What, with your prior interactions,” she teases, “but if you really want to,” she trails off, turning to leave.

“No! No. You can do it. I’ll just uh— be in my chambers, if you need me, which you won’t, but if you do,” Arthur announces awkwardly, passing the two smiling sorcerers and heading back to his own chambers next door. He closes the door and pauses for a minute. 

He starts to walk away and hears the two laughing together at his expense. He feels his cheeks burn.

What the hell is wrong with him?

He makes his way to his favorite thinking spot in the corner, gazing out of the window at all of the city milling around and going about their day, using the distraction to reflect. Hearing muffled speech through the walls and trying his best to ignore it.

“At the start of the feast, Uther will make an announcement, usually something about honoring our guests and if it’s foreign dignitaries, he’ll express his hopes for the negotiations,” Morgana mocks, sitting down on Merlin’s bed. 

“I’m sure he’ll love doing that,” Merlin jokes, knowing how tense sorcerers make him.

“He’s doing it for me. Which I appreciate.”

“I’m anxious about these peace talks. It’s obvious Uther doesn’t want us here.”

“While you’re here, and Arthur and I are around, he wouldn’t dare do anything to hurt you. But, my father will most likely try to make you look a fool in front of everyone, to make himself feel better,” Morgana claims with a roll of her eyes.

“How so?”

“I believe the easiest way for him to do so is trying to coax you into dancing, knowing that you wouldn’t know any courtly dances.”

“Would he really do that?”

“Most definitely,” Morgana pauses, “do you have any plans for the next few hours?” Morgana asks, a wide grin gracing her features.

“None at all.” Merlin smiles back. Morgana stands, pulling him up with her and going to the middle of the room that had a big empty space.

They spend a while, Morgana teaching him the footwork first, then trying with a partner a little later, once she decides there’s no risk of him stepping on her toes. Merlin fumbles a bit to start, sloppy work and mistakes, but he gets into the movements pretty quickly, getting the hang of it after only about 20 minutes, even though he’s never had to dance like this before.

Morgana started training him on doing the dance with a partner, Merlin follows her lead easily. Then she makes him lead, and it doesn’t feel like a difficult switch for him. Both roles feel natural to him in different ways. Merlin chuckles every time he looks at Morgana’s face and sees how impressed she is. She introduces moving around the room. At this point, she was just trying to trip him up.

She manages to simply trip him. He stumbles a little. 

“What was that for?” He complains jokingly.

“You were getting too cocky,” she argues with a playful smirk. They continue dancing in the quiet room, with nothing but Morgana’s counting to move to. It didn’t really matter to them. They danced more earnestly, trying new moves that somehow both could understand before they did them, and Morgana had an idea.

“You’re getting really good at this,” she admits, pulling away from him and sitting on his bed.

“I had an excellent teacher,” Merlin responds, smiling at her warmly as he sits next to her. Morgana’s smile drops for a second before going back.

“We should dance together at the feast. If he makes you, anyway,” she suggests.

“What?”

“It won’t mean anything!” She defends, “I just think it might be interesting. We’re good dance partners, and that would be the biggest ‘screw you’ to him for trying to trick you into making a fool out of yourself.” Merlin considers for a moment.

“Couldn’t that be viewed as courting?”

“Well yes, but it really won’t have to mean anything,” she insists, to which Merlin gives her an odd look, “I’m uh— not into men,” she confesses coyly, deciding to just get it over with. Merlin’s eyes widen, then return to normal as an amused smile lands on his face.

“Really?” Morgana nods, and Merlin hums thoughtfully, “I am,” he admits. Morgana looks at him in shock.

“You’re joking.” She states. Merlin shakes his head with a grin. Morgana laughs lightly and Merlin joins in. “Well, that makes this much easier! Listen, I have an idea, and you’re just going to have to bear with me.”

Merlin listens eagerly as Morgana explains, a large grin growing on his face with each word.

“Sounds like fun.”

Chapter Text

Merlin must have spent more time than he thought dancing with Morgana, because before he knew it, he was preparing himself for the feast. 

Merlin really has no idea where the Druids acquired these clothes, but he always loves wearing them, they make him feel special, but more importantly, they make him feel attractive. Freya always told him so, and there were always a few Druid girls who would turn away giggling to each other when they saw him wearing them, getting awkward whenever he approached, a blush bright on their faces. He pretends he doesn’t notice. It’s easier to act oblivious with everyone than to admit he’s not into women. Though he’s certain no one would care, but explaining it feels like more trouble than it’s worth. 

Wearing his formal clothes makes him feel confident and proud. Something about the way the fabric flies up and flutters around him fluidly is entertaining to him. He knows the swishing of the fabric will look majestic as he floats across the floor regally, immersed in a dance. Not that Merlin was ever particularly good at dancing. 

Until now, apparently. 

George arrives at his chambers to collect him for the feast and guides him down to the banquet hall, then rushes back to Arthur’s chambers so he could help him get ready. Merlin scoffs lightly at the knowledge that Arthur needs help with that part, but patiently awaits his father’s presence before entering the hall. He doesn’t have to wait for very long before Balinor trudges towards him.

“Are you all right, father?” Merlin questions.

“Yes. I’m… just a little tired is all,” Balinor replies, doing his best to stand up straight, looking powerful in his own blue robes, and looks as awake as possible, and if Merlin didn’t know his father, he might’ve believed nothing was amiss at all. Balinor nods at Merlin, and they enter the dining chambers together. 

“Didn’t father request you wear a red dress?” Arthur asks Morgana, as they cross paths in the hall and start walking together. 

“Well, unfortunately for him, I’m on the Druids’ side. At least until the negotiations are concluded,” Morgana replies, gesturing toward her formal green dress. 

“Besides,” Morgana leans into his ear to whisper conspiratorially, “Gwen said that the green suits me.” She giggles a little, pulling away.

“Of course that’s why,” Arthur gibes as they approach the dining hall, “though, truth be told, you don’t look good in anything you wear. Perhaps the green just looks the least disgusting.” Morgana glares at him and swats him. 

“You’re no better.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean,” Arthur quips, “there are girls flocking all around me,” Arthur claims. 

“But, where’s your girlfriend, Arthur?” Morgana puts a hand to her forehead and makes a point of scanning the room, “I don’t see her. I do see mine, though!” Morgana looks at Gwen and gives her a small cheerful wave. Gwen looks back warmly and returns it with a smile. Morgana continues blabbering on as they go to sit down, but Arthur doesn’t hear her. He looks at Merlin, who is discussing with a group of nobles who seem to be enjoying the Druid’s company. They laugh at his jokes and are having a lively conversation. Arthur recognizes some of them as a few of the dullest people he has ever interacted with. He’s never been capable of eliciting flamboyant responses from them. But there’s Merlin, perfectly at ease, managing to do it effortlessly.

Arthur can’t tell what they’re talking about. His eyes and mind are caught up on the royal blue of Merlin’s coat, and how it fits him perfectly. It looks as natural on him as a tree looks in a forest. He doesn’t regularly see a colour like that. It stands out vibrantly against the warm tones of the tables and the yellow luminance of the candles. Arthur realizes that Merlin would always stand out. No matter where he was. No matter what he was wearing. There must be some kind of enchantment around him. To make him stand out in a wonderful way to every person he crosses paths with.

That must be why.

Arthur admires his lithe frame and the long tailcoat, the way it hugs his arms and accentuates his waist in a way that Arthur hadn’t really considered before. The golden swirling patterns were intricate and interweaving along its length, the fabric rippling back and ending at his shins. Merlin turns, and Arthur’s eyes scan up his body. His dark blue vest with less noticeable patterns of silver and navy thread sitting atop a light tunic. 

Arthur already knows Merlin would look just as good if he shed his coat. His eyes finally make it up to Merlin’s face. Merlin's storm cloud gray eyes were looking at Arthur in concern, then turns back to his conversation once Arthur stares at his eyes blankly. Arthur notices Merlin was wearing a circlet of his own. Gold against his raven hair, a crown with the design of leaves on a vine encircling his head. It certainly looked better on him than any circlet had ever looked on Arthur. Merlin looks out of the corner of his eye and sees Arthur still staring. He looks to Arthur’s side, who in turn, follows his gaze to Morgana who’s standing beside him with a mirthless glare, and a tilt of her head in Arthur’s direction, communicating with Merlin silently. 

This finally snaps Arthur out of his admiration of Merlin, closing his lips which he didn’t notice were even parted. He swallows. 

“Are you finished?” Morgana asks dully, turning back to Arthur, though a smirk tugs at her lips.

“Nothing was started, so I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Arthur claims swiftly. Morgana quirks a brow up.

“Really? Because, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were staring at and drooling over our young Druid diplomat over there,” Morgana taunts, her amused smile peeking through her stoic facade.

“I was not drooling—”

“But you were staring! You didn’t deny that!” A wide grin breaks out on Morgana’s face at her victory. Arthur rolls his eyes. He opens his mouth to refute when King Uther clinks his goblet, looking out among the guests tensely. Continuously peeking at Balinor from the corner of his eye. Everyone moves quickly to take their seats. Morgana sits next to Uther, Balinor seated beside her. Arthur was to his other side, and Merlin was sat next to him. Which Merlin rolled his eyes at, but Uther declared that was his seat, so he sat there. Uther remains standing, addressing the hall.

“Lords and ladies. Tonight, we are gathered here to celebrate the arrival of the Druid dignitaries: Chief Balinor and his son, Merlin. It is my hope and my goal that over the next few days, we shall become allies, and Camelot will thrive with sorcerers and normal people alike, living together in harmony,” Uther announces. 

It almost sounded genuine, but everyone knew that it wasn’t. The nobles at the tables didn’t seem concerned or worried at all with the premise of magical folk living near ‘normal people’ but they did look bewildered that Uther—the stubborn king that he is—would ever seek an alliance with the Druids. Uther seethes as discreetly as he is capable of that his people weren’t openly opposing the Druid peace talks. Merlin is smiling politely, though his eyes convey a deeper mirth. 

“Chief Balinor,” Uther calls, Balinor looks at him, “now would be the time for your speech,” Uther informs.

“My—” Balinor panics a little. Uther knows very well that Balinor has no speech prepared and is probably too awkward and uncomfortable to give one even if he did. Merlin recognizes Uther trying to humiliate his father and stands. 

“I will deliver it,” Merlin declares. All eyes turn to him. 

“But you’re just a boy,” Uther argues, turning back to Balinor, disregarding Merlin completely.

“I’m the Chief’s boy.” Uther turns back to regard him. “I will have to do this eventually. What’s the harm in starting now?” Arthur notices the glint in Merlin’s eyes again as he politely challenges the king to oppose him. Unlike the manner in which he challenges Arthur. Uther’s eye twitches slightly, but he takes a deep breath and sits.

“Very well,” Uther agrees reluctantly. Merlin nods his appreciation at him and makes his way to the center of the tables that together formed a ring around him. 

Merlin did not think this through, but he glances at his father’s relieved but nervous expression and takes a short breath. 

“Lords and ladies, citizens of Camelot—it is an honor and a pleasure to be standing before you tonight. Many years has the war on magic plagued this kingdom, and I am more than pleased to be a participant in the hope of compromise. And on this monumental occasion, I would like to instigate a toast,” Merlin announces proudly. Morgana was sending him an encouraging smile, and Arthur—though he didn’t mean to—couldn’t fully suppress his intrigue, which spurs Merlin on. Everyone stands, raising their goblets, “A toast to Camelot, and the promise of a new era, a time of rapport. To the good health of our gracious king who is generously allowing our stay in the citadel as his guests, and to the health of his children, who helped bolster the opportunity for alliance.” Merlin raises his chalice higher with a nod, signaling to the king that he has concluded his toast.

“And to those who have fallen in our dispute,” Uther adds, pretending he cares at all. Merlin nods, and the hall takes their drinks from their goblets. Merlin bows to the king before returning to his seat. “Let the feast commence!” Uther calls. 

The mostly quiet chamber is quiet no longer, people commune amongst themselves, and every so often, some nobles would talk to Merlin or Balinor with inquiries. Uther quietly sulks in his seat, utterly dissatisfied with his botched attempt to mock the Druids, taking more drinks from his chalice and eating quietly. Still glancing at Balinor often. Finally, he turns to Merlin.

“That was an impressive speech for someone so young,” Uther says. Merlin gets caught a little off guard.

“Uh—Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“I’m certain your family is comforted by your charisma. It is the mark of a wise and respectable leader,” Uther claims, a hint of suspiciousness in his tone.

“I hope so,” Merlin jokes awkwardly.

“Arthur could learn much from your social adeptness,” Uther declares, taking another bite.

“Father!” Arthur cries, affronted that his father would suggest such a thing. Especially to Merlin, who only chuckles in response.

“I’d be happy to tutor him to the best of my abilities.” Merlin smiles. Uther, seemingly satisfied with Merlin’s responses, nods and turns away, resuming his dinner. Merlin sighs in relief. Letting himself slouch before straightening his posture again. 

“Well, that was… odd,” Arthur states, looking back at his father and returning his attention to Merlin. 

“Really? You know, I actually hadn’t noticed,” Merlin snarks. Arthur looks away from him so he doesn’t get distracted with Merlin’s beauty again. He chastises himself for the thought. Merlin isn’t beautiful, get a hold of yourself, Pendragon.

“Just for your information, I don’t actually need your assistance with my social skills, I’m just fine,” Arthur claims. Merlin nods and makes sarcastic sounds of affirmation, “I don’t! I easily could have gone up and performed a speech I made up on the spot. It’s not that—”

“Father?” Merlin asks, looking past Arthur and completely ignoring him. Though Merlin undoubtedly would have had a snarky comment for him. Balinor rises from his seat and stumbles, Merlin immediately hops out of his chair to help him stand, “Are you all right?”

“I think I just had a little too much to drink, I’ll be all right. I think I shall retire to my chambers for tonight,” Balinor announces. Uther looks momentarily surprised.

“Yes, of course,” he pardons. Balinor tries to walk without Merlin again, but he sways, almost colliding with a wall. Merlin puts his father’s arm around his neck and helps him shuffle back to his chambers. They pass a serving girl.

“Excuse me, could you find Gaius and get him to come to my father’s chambers? I fear he’s unwell,” Merlin explains. The serving girl nods and scampers off. 

“Really, Merlin, I’m fine,” Balinor insists. 

“I don’t care what you believe. I’m not taking any chances as long as we’re guests in King Uther’s castle,” Merlin argues, helping his father lie down on his bed, taking care to roll him onto his side. Balinor looks at his son in slight confusion. “If you’re really just too drunk, you’re not going to be choking on your own vomit if I have any say,” Merlin explains. Balinor smiles.

“Thank you, Merlin. I’ll be fine. Go on back to the feast,” he mumbles the request. 

“I can’t leave you like this.” Almost on cue, a knock raps on the door. “Enter!” Gaius walks in and sees Balinor on his bed, looking disoriented and tired. Gaius rushes over, retrieving his medicine bag.

“Merlin, there’s something you should know,” Balinor slurs, “Gaius, I’ll let you explain.” He nods at Gaius.

“What? What’s he talking about?”

“Before the Great Purge,” Gaius starts, beginning his examination of Balinor to determine his ailment, “some twenty-odd years ago, before I helped your father flee Uther, he was my patient. I diagnosed him with a rare disease. I’m still not entirely sure what it is, but it makes your father very weak,” he concludes his examination, turning back to Merlin, “Merlin, your father is dying, he has been dying. To be truthful, I’m surprised he’s still alive at all.” Merlin pulls up a chair and Gaius sits on the bed. 

“This illness, what does it do?”

“It affects his heart. His heart sometimes beats too slow, and beating too slow could cause it to stop. It wasn’t bad the last I saw him—”

“But it’s been worsening. That is why I needed you to learn what it is to be a chief. I didn’t want to tell you, but I fear the information will be relevant sooner than I had hoped,” Balinor confesses. Taking long wracking breaths.

“The good news is that his current state appears to be merely his disease interacting with the alcohol. The chance he will die tonight is low,” Gaius reassures. 

“But it’s still possible,” Merlin complains. 

“Merlin, I can handle this, go on back to the feast, I’m sure the citizens miss you. They seemed to take a liking to you,” Balinor smiles and reaches out to touch Merlin’s face, his hand resting on Merlin’s cheek, “Merlin, I want you to know that I am very proud of you. Your speech tonight just confirmed my prior belief that you are fit to lead us, and you will truly become the mighty Emrys you are destined to be. You’ve been ready for some time, and I hope you see that as well.” 

Merlin feels tears prick at his eyes, he holds the back of his father’s hand where it rests on his cheek, a tear runs down it and his father’s thumb wipes it away.

“You’re sure you’ll be all right?” Merlin questions, getting up to leave but looking back at his father.

“Completely.”

“I’ll be sure to let you know if there are any changes,” Gaius assures. Merlin wipes his eyes on his sleeves and nods. 

“Go have fun, son,” Balinor says as Merlin takes deep breaths, settling himself, then leaves to return to the banquet.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Balinor assures as the door closes completely, knowing Merlin can no longer hear him.

Merlin walks back to the dining hall, a captive of his own mind. He wordlessly walks into the roaring chamber and sits back down, staring at the table in contemplation. 

“Well?” Arthur asks, drawing Merlin’s attention away from his thoughts, which Merlin is grateful for, “what did Gaius say?”

“Oh. He’s going to be fine. He just needs a little rest is all, really did just drink too much wine. But his body can’t handle it as well as it used to,” Merlin explains, not fully disclosing the situation, but he's not necessarily incorrect. Arthur slumps a little with a light relieved exhale. Uther sits back in his chair. Merlin hadn’t even realized he was leaning forward.

“Well, that is a relief,” Uther claims. He receives skeptical looks from the three young adults next to him, “well, it would truly be a shame to go through all of this effort if he fell ill and we couldn’t proceed,” Uther tries to convince them, taking another sip of his wine. Merlin pretends his excuse appeases him and takes another sip of his own, but Arthur and Morgana are still outwardly doubtful. Arthur turns his attention back to Merlin, putting a hand on his shoulder. Merlin looks over at him.

“Are you okay?” Arthur questions. Merlin scoffs and puts a hand to his chest.

“Arthur Pendragon, I didn’t think you cared,” he quips. Arthur deadpans and drops his hand.

“Less by the second,” he says, looking away. He doesn't mean it. 

“I don’t know,” Merlin mumbles after another moment. Arthur turns back with furrowed brows, “I don’t know if I’m okay,” Merlin clarifies. 

“What if we start the dancing, it might help take your mind off of things,” Uther suggests, giving a cue to the musicians who begin to play.

“Oh, I’ve never been much of a dancer,” Merlin replies coyly.

“Nonsense!” Uther dismisses cheerfully. Merlin looks to where there are young couples already dancing, more being dragged along.

“I’m sure you’ll do just fine,” Uther reassures. Merlin knows what he’s doing—thanks to Morgana—and won’t give Uther the satisfaction. Arthur stands up.

“Come on, Merlin,” Arthur taunts, walking away and asking a young woman to dance with him. She agrees without hesitation. Merlin gets up, too, walking behind Uther over to Morgana. He feels Uther’s eyes boring holes into his back as he approaches the king's daughter.

“My lady, may I have this dance?” He asks with a small smirk and an extended hand. She grins.

“You may,” she affirms, taking his hand and letting him lead her to dance. 

They greet formally upon arriving, Merlin releasing her hand and bowing to her, and she curtsies. He offers his hands and she takes them eagerly.

“Ready?” He asks, his voice a soft whisper.

“Always.”

So they begin, it takes hardly a moment before they fall in step with one another, feet moving in sync, Morgana’s green dress flowing behind her as the two expertly avoid stepping on it. They hold each other closely, just to make Uther mad, knowing he can’t do anything about it at this moment. They smile and giggle with each other, enjoying the other’s company in such a way that it seems like they’re getting along a little too well. 

To everyone else, it looks like Merlin is flirting with her, and this is an amorous exchange, though both of them are perfectly aware it’s not. In perfect unity, they begin straying from the conformity of the dance, adding their own moves and having a good time with it. Using their dance as a form of expression, like dancing is supposed to be.

Gwen’s mad, she knows she can’t interrupt, and that the dance doesn’t mean anything to Morgana, but she’s having such a good time anyway. She feels a burn in her chest where she wants to stab Merlin and take his place. She does her best to ignore it and turns away. Occasionally glaring sharply over her shoulder in Merlin’s direction.

Merlin now feels both Uther and Guinevere glaring daggers at him.

The two sorcerers notice the other partners have stopped dancing, and are now just watching the two sorcerers glide across the room in tandem. They share a conspiratorial smile. 

“Time for the real show,” Merlin whispers to her. She grins in response, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes that Merlin matches with just as much enthusiasm.

Something is hurting Arthur’s head. Something is making him angry. Furious, even. He tries to focus on the young lady in front of him, but seeing the whirl of flowing green and blue fabric out of the corner of his eye, he can’t pay enough attention.

“Stop. Can we watch them?” She asks Arthur. Arthur nods. He specifically was trying to ignore them, but now that everyone was watching, it was quite impossible. He watched them move together in perfect harmony, no matter what they decided to do, even if it wasn’t traditionally part of the dance. He noticed the broad smiles on both of their faces and something pointed was bubbling in his chest.

He wanted to separate the two. Now. But he didn’t know how to, or even why he wanted to. 

Disgust. It must be.

Morgana is way too good for the likes of Merlin. And why would she lead him on like this? He wanted to pull Merlin away and save him from his sister’s torment. Gwen seemed to be thinking of performing a similar notion. The frustration was becoming clear on Arthur’s face the more they moved. The way they stayed close to each other, perfectly encapsulating the rhythm of the music. Now that he considered it, he noticed the music changing, almost imperceptibly, to accommodate their dance. Rather than them adjusting their own moves to the music, the musicians adjusted slightly to keep them in rhythm, making the dance even more extravagant and perfect than it would already be. They dance so well together, practically effortlessly, but Arthur knows that nothing will come of it. But Morgana dances like it will. The way she smiles fondly at Merlin with a spark in her eyes, the way the two laughed to themselves, how they were in their own world in the middle of a crowd of people. 

It made his blood boil.

The song was on its last stretch, everyone held their breath in anticipation for the couple’s grand finale.

They were hardly disappointed. Merlin spun Morgana into a gentle dip. He brings a hand up to caress her cheek for the last beats of the song. When it finishes, he pulls her back up. They stood together for a moment, just catching their breath and looking at each other, continuing to keep their hold on each other. Still in a dancer’s embrace, smiling together. Seeming to have a conversation with simple looks.

The gathered crowd hollers and claps. The two slowly break from each other, they close the dance like they opened: with a bow and a curtsy. But this time, Morgana extends her hand, and Merlin takes it, brings it up to his lips, and kisses her knuckles.

“Farewell, my lady,” he smiles, then he whispers something to her that Arthur couldn’t hear over the revelry, but whatever he said was accompanied with a wink from him and a light blush from Morgana. Arthur felt like he was going to burst.

They part ways. Morgana going near where Gwen was standing off to the side of the hall. They have a quiet but somewhat heated discussion. Arthur looks on with curiosity. When they finish, Morgana approaches their fuming father and excuses herself. Surprisingly, he approves her departure. Uther is focused on Merlin again. 

Morgana takes a final look back at the celebration, seeking Merlin out and giving him a cunning smile. He grins back.

As the musicians begin playing another song, Arthur sees Merlin accepting another young woman’s dance request, while watching a few more look on in jealousy. He wonders if such situations happened with him. If he looked around while dancing, would he would see women longing for the next dance with him?

Arthur’s partner pulls him back on to the dance floor. Nothing he does could ever top Merlin and Morgana’s performance, so he doesn’t even try. He does his best to keep up and lead, but he feels spacey. His mind stuck on the way Merlin was looking so fondly at Morgana. He nearly steps on his partners toes. Multiple times. He stops dancing, says some brief formalities and excuses himself mid-dance. He feels a little guilty about it. He leaves her bewildered on the dance floor and heads to his seat next to his father.

He takes his goblet, bringing it back near the dance floor and standing near the wall, simply observing. Arthur eyed the way Merlin was dancing with the other maidens, no longer the same girl he started with. 

He continues through a few girls, but they didn’t stop. To his credit, Merlin was only polite about it. Arthur notices a glistening bead of sweat on his brow, but otherwise, Merlin didn’t let any signs fatigue manifest in his delicate features or drag out his actions. After Morgana, every dance he performed exhibited just as much energy as the one prior. 

He danced with them gracefully and smoothly, but nowhere near as elegant and passionate (on his part) as he was with Morgana. Arthur looked around the room. 

Gwen was no longer serving at the feast. He huffed into his chalice and looked back at Merlin. His movements had Arthur transfixed, like Merlin knew all of the moves by heart and had practiced for years. He still kept a respectable distance from each young lady, a polite smile on his face. The women were blushing and joking with him, trying to move in closer, but he didn’t fully let them. Eventually, they stopped trying, but they danced anyway, glad to feel like the center of attention, even if it was only for a few fleeting moments. The pain in Arthur’s chest was still there, but he didn’t know why. He wasn’t certain these women were leading him on like he was with Morgana. 

He also danced with the woman Arthur had started dancing with. Casually throwing taunting smiles at where he saw Arthur standing off to the side. Arthur’s fist might have clenched around his goblet, knuckles going white. Though it eases the tension in his chest infinitesimally to know that, even in the large gathering of people, and the slew of young women throwing themselves at him, begging for an ounce of his attention, Merlin still took notice of Arthur standing off to the sidelines, and thought about him before dancing with a new partner. Which means he also took note of who the young maiden Arthur asked to dance was, and remembered it.

As the night went on, Merlin had likely danced with more women in one night than Arthur had danced with ever. Even across all of his years of parties and banquets. Arthur recognized that he was jealous of Merlin for that, but he could understand where the girls were coming from. He wouldn’t be opposed—in fact, he’d likely be thrilled—to dance with the man, himself. 

Wait. 

Arthur freezes. He does know what he was feeling. He’s felt it before. But never intensely enough that he couldn’t discern it. He never cared about Morgana leading him on. He was jealous.

Morgana, it seems, might have had a point. He cursed her in his head. She must have planted the thought there.

But how had he fallen for this boy over the course of a single day? The concept is preposterous. A single day could never be enough to spur on such emotions! In his heart, Arthur knows that, and yet, here he is.

Arthur didn’t want to believe it. So he represses the longing he just realized he was feeling. He did so just in time, as Merlin finished his formalities with the final girl and made his way over near Arthur, grabbing another drink. They stand together in silence as Merlin catches his breath and quenches his thirst. 

Arthur couldn’t take the silence.

“You know nothing will ever come of it, right?” Arthur blurts. Merlin pauses and wrinkles his brow.

“Pardon?”

“Whatever relationship you think you have with my sister,” Arthur clarifies, “My father wouldn’t permit the two of you being good friends, never mind anything beyond that.” What Arthur said is true, but the more important part is that Morgana isn’t into men. Arthur omits that information. Merlin raises a brow at him and smiles softly. But it seemed like there was a discreet cognizance behind his grin that Arthur couldn’t fully place.

“Oh. Believe me, I don’t like her like that.”

“You don’t?”

“No,” Merlin pauses, trying to find a way to say it without exposing himself, “let’s just say: she’s not the kind of person I find myself attracted to,” Merlin explains. Arthur feels a fraction of warmth blossoming somewhere in his chest. The tiniest sliver of hope warming him from the inside. Or perhaps it’s the alcohol. Arthur plans to blame it on the alcohol.

“Then what was—” Arthur starts, but Merlin cuts him off.

“A favor. Nothing more,” Merlin answers, waving a hand like he was physically dismissing the topic of conversation. They stay quiet for a moment longer before Merlin clears his throat. “Well. Dancing is a bit more tiring than I had previously anticipated. I think I will retire to my chambers, if you don’t mind me ending the interaction.”

“What if I do mind?”

“Well, I wouldn’t listen to you anyway, my lord,” Merlin teases. Arthur’s stomach flutters every time he hears Merlin say that. Every time he sees the defiance twinkling in his eyes. Arthur hates it.

But he loves it.

“I’ll come with you.”

“Of course. You must be exhausted from brooding up against the wall,” Merlin exaggerates.

“Indeed.”

“Fine. I suppose you can come with me.”

They make their way over to Uther, who is still looking at Merlin sharply.

“I believe I will retire for the night, my lord, thank you for the feast and hospitality,” Merlin says with a practiced gratefulness. Uther nods firmly.

“I will, as well.” Uther’s eyes flicker between the two and he looks at Arthur with the ghost of a smile, approving of Arthur’s continued surveillance of the Druid. With no clue that Arthur has all but forgotten what his father had requested of him earlier that day, or that Arthur absconding the feast with him has nothing to do with monitoring their guest in the slightest. But Uther doesn’t need to know.

“Very well,” he confirms, and Merlin and Arthur walk out of the hall side by side. 

“Oh! Before we go too far, wait here,” Arthur orders. Merlin’s face screws up in confusion and he crosses his arms, but waits nonetheless. Arthur goes inside an unmarked room. Merlin waits a few minutes until Arthur reemerges with a large carafe of mead and two tankards, a big grin on his face. 

“We’re going to regret this,” Merlin cracks cheerily. Arthur happily trots next to him as they return to their chambers.

“Your chambers, or mine?” Arthur asks.

“I feel like yours are probably a mess. We can go to mine,” Merlin decides. Arthur rolls his eyes but doesn’t feel like contesting the decision, despite it being blatantly inaccurate. He does have a servant, after all.

Merlin holds the door to his chambers open for Arthur and follows him in. Arthur sets the cups and carafe on the end table, and they each take a place on one of the armchairs, Merlin’s eyes flash gold and the fireplace roars to life. Arthur startles. Merlin laughs at his reaction.

“Relax! I thought you would be used to magic at this point,” Merlin explains, pouring them both some mead. 

“Uther doesn’t let her use it. He believes her using it will ‘corrupt her’ and I’m sure he thinks similarly of your little… display tonight.” Arthur says, picking up a tankard and taking a drink. 

“Apologies… but your father is kind of stupid.”

“Don’t talk about the king like that, he’ll give you a death sentence for treason well before you could ignite another candle.”

“I suppose. Though, if that’s what you desired, you would have informed him when I made the flames float.”

“Correct.”

“Today has been… eventful, to say the least.”

“You could say that again,” Arthur jokes. Merlin smirks.

“Today has been—”

“Shut up, Merlin.” Arthur says quickly, cutting him off, a smile plastered on his face anyway. Merlin doesn’t finish, but Arthur can see how much he wants to defy him, a wide, mischievous, yet prideful grin spreading on his face. But he stays silent.

They continue to talk for a long time. Conversation coming easily to the two men as they continue dulling their senses. Drinking more and more as the night starts departing and the morning starts approaching. They gibe at each other, joke, insult, but occasionally, there would be a compliment, that would be quickly hampered with another taunt. But eventually, Arthur asks the question that’s been plaguing his mind since it came up hours ago.

“So what is your type, if not Morgana?”

“She’s beautiful, don’t get me wrong, but I’m no more attracted to her than any other woman,” Merlin explains. 

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Arthur claims, and Merlin groans. 

“Fine. I know you’re not going to be disgusted with me for it, so I’m going to tell you. But you can’t tell anyone else.” Arthur nods, assuming he knows exactly what Merlin is going to say, “I fancy men over women,” Merlin confesses quietly. 

“I suppose you could say that I understand that,” Arthur admits in reply, Merlin looks at him with barely disguised hope, though Arthur may or may not notice it, “I have recently discovered that I am interested in both men and women.”

“Well, at least one of the three of us has a shot at happily producing an heir,” Merlin jokes, “Morgana and my bloodlines are going to end with us. Just because we didn’t like intercourse with the opposite sex,” Merlin expands, taking another long drink.

“How do you know I’m going to be with a woman?” Arthur queries, realizing there could actually be a chance to get with the only man he’s ever had this kind of interest in. Even if he hasn’t known him for long.

“I’ve known for a long time that I leaned towards men. You’ll realize soon enough that most men you’d have any chance of having a relationship with were merely experimenting. They were curious. Very few are actually attracted to men.”

“Maybe they’re just not attracted to you.”

“Well if you want to prove me wrong, I won’t stop you. But I reserve my right to say ‘I told you so’.”

“Fine.” They shake hands, Arthur nearly missing Merlin’s hand at first.

“I think we’re a little drunk,” Merlin notes. Arthur hiccups and Merlin laughs at the timing of it. 

“Odd. I’m usually not this drunk this quickly,” Arthur claims in genuine confusion. The strangeness of it did nothing to prevent either man from drinking more.

The two stay quiet for a moment, almost thoughtless, before Arthur breaks the silence with the first thing that pops into his head.

“Do you think I’d be able to entice a man?” Arthur asks. In every other situation, such a question would stay in his head rather than be spoken. He regrets opening his mouth immediately with the scrutinizing scan over his body that follows the question.

“It’s possible. I probably wouldn’t, but you might find someone else,” Merlin says, his voice drags just slightly and he waves his hand dismissively.

“What, am I not good enough for you?” Arthur taunts, though the question contains a note of sincerity behind the joking exterior, and Merlin looks him over again. Slowly. Meticulously. Arthur can barely resist his urge to squirm under Merlin’s gaze. So instead of squirming, he takes another drink.

“If you weren’t such a clotpole, I might consider you a handsome bloke, but until then, you’re repulsive,” Merlin teases with a smirk.

“A what?” Arthur asks. Merlin tilts his head, surprised at his own insult.

“A clotpole. I said clotpole,” He repeats, more proudly. Arthur looks at him.

“And if I wasn’t a clot-pole, I would be handsome to you?”

“I said ‘might’!” Merlin points out. Arthur hums and nods his head slightly, considering the answer, before taking another drink.

“I suppose you’re not atrocious on the eyes,” Arthur compliments in return, feeling a little braver. Another beat as he takes another sip.

“Wait. That wasn’t conditional,” Merlin notes with a smirk, all of Arthur’s bravery instantly drops out of his body as he realizes, “you’re telling me that I’m not bad looking, even without any changes to myself?”

What’s the point in turning back now?

“Maybe I was,” Arthur says.

“Well, then the nobles would likely agree. If the dancing was any sign.”

“I hated watching you dance with all of them,” Arthur confesses quietly.

“No one was making you watch.”

“Your coat was enough. It was a little...” Arthur can’t find the word he was looking for, his hand flails in a circle near his head, as though it would jog his memory. Merlin seemed to understand well enough.

“You’re telling me that, although you hated watching me dance with those women, I was also too attractive for you to look away?” Merlin asks with a raised brow.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I’m just repeating what you’re saying!”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

And Merlin does shut up.

For a moment. The crackling fire is the only noise in the room. 

“I would have accepted, you know,” Merlin states.

“Accepted?” 

“An invitation to dance,” he clarifies, smiling warmly at Arthur. His features are lit softly in the firelight. Arthur looks at his face, notes how the light catches on his lips that look so soft and kissable.

Arthur knows he’s drank too much. Is it 'drunk too much'?

He tries, but he can’t stop thinking of how he would take Merlin apart. Gently. Teasingly. Only for it to get more intense the longer it went on. His mind trails off and he thinks about Merlin’s bare chest again, the way his smooth skin would feel under his hands as he pushed Merlin’s tunic up until he could take it off of him. How Merlin would sound as he trailed kisses down his body until—

“Arthur? Are you alright?” Merlin’s voice cuts through his thoughts. He jumps in his seat, feeling far, far too hot.

“Yes. Of course I am,” Arthur lies, pulling at his collar and hoping Merlin can’t see how red his face is.

“You sure? You just—”

“Really, Merlin. I’m fine. I should—I should leave. It’s late.” Arthur excuses quickly.

“Oh. Sure. Goodnight.”

“‘Night,” Arthur responds, hurrying out of the room. His foot catches on the table and he trips, almost falling to the floor in his mad rush to get out before Merlin notices the reason why he is leaving. 

Merlin laughs at Arthur’s drunken state. Arthur shuffles back to his own room. Using the walls to hold himself up properly as the ground turns under his feet. 

He makes it to his door, which he struggles a little to open. He rushes to his bed, catching himself on it as he tilts. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this drunk, he doesn’t know how it even happened. He must've drank more than he thought. When Arthur lays down on top of his bed, the problem his thoughts made still hasn’t gone away. He groans into a pillow.

He knows that doing anything with the thoughts he was having would be risky, especially with the person of interest in the next room over. 

He tries to sleep without doing anything about it, but he gives in, praying that Merlin is asleep while the prince thinks about the sorcerer next door.

Chapter Text

Merlin wakes with a throbbing headache, it hammers behind his eyes. He made it to his bed, thankfully, but he notices that he is hardly under the covers. His sleep shirt was definitely on backwards and his mouth felt gross, the aftertaste of the alcohol lays bitter on his tongue. He feels parched. And queasy, like if he ingests anything, he’ll vomit. But also like if he doesn’t eat or drink anything, he will also still vomit.

He does his best to sit up and look at the rest of the room. His vision blacks out a moment and his thoughts vacate his brain as his blood tries to catch up with the movements. He looks around the room, a trail of his clothes strewn across various surfaces leading to his wardrobe and then his current location. The shirt he wore to the feast was on his bed. He doesn’t remember taking it off, but thought he would’ve at least put it elsewhere. Was he really that drunk? He vaguely notices the—likely empty—flagon on the end table. The two tankards sitting next to it. 

The evening comes back in bits and pieces now that he’s trying a little harder to remember. All he gets are mere flashes between the pulsating of his memory and the dull buzz clouding his thoughts, very little of it is chronological. He has to do a lot of remembering outcomes before he can remember what led to it. He feels mildly dizzy. He looks out of the window, and can’t tell if it’s morning or afternoon. He groans. No matter what time it is, he should probably get moving. With his newfound conclusion, he dangles a leg over the side of his bed slowly, the other following behind it. He sits there a moment, holding his head in his hands, though he realizes it isn’t helping him that much, and looks at the arm chairs, trying to remember other things about the night. 

He remembers the euphoria of dancing, the stared daggers that were buried in his back, Morgana disappearing with Gwen, a speech he knows he gave but can’t remember any of the words to, Arthur coming back to his chambers with him and talking. Bits and pieces of conversation come back, but it’s fuzzy. There are lots of sentences that feel like they’re on the tip of his tongue but can’t be found. A dream that you know was interesting but you can’t place any of the details.

One memory comes back to him clear as day.

His father, lying in his bed—ill.

Merlin does his best to stand, but his legs feel unsteady. His knees nearly buckle. He falls back instead, not trusting himself to stand yet, he stares at the canopy of his bed. Draping his arm over his eyes because the room is just too bright. There’s a pounding in his ears.

“May I come in, Merlin?” Or apparently the pounding was at the door. It was too loud either way. He groans in response. It’s raspy and a little wobbly. Which apparently was good enough. The door opens, a head peeking in. He can see the movement in his peripherals but can’t find the strength to sit up.

“Too much to drink, huh?” His father’s voice manages to cut through the buzzing of his thoughts. His father. Alive and well. There’s a dip on the bed where his father sits next to him and Merlin sits up quickly.

 He regrets that choice immediately. He feels like he’s tipping. His father’s arm holds his shoulder steady. There’s a smile on his face.

“Here,” he hands Merlin a cup of something, “don’t look at it, don’t smell it, just down it in one. You’ll feel much better,” his father promises. Merlin doesn’t question it and does what he says. It’s not instant, but Merlin feels less likely to vomit up everything he drank last night. Which was apparently a lot. Merlin looks at his cheerful father and hugs him, putting his face in Balinor’s shoulder. Balinor, though startled, wraps his arms tentatively around his son.

“I was scared I was going to lose you,” Merlin sobs, muffled by his father’s shirt. Balinor pats Merlin’s back gently.

“As was I.”

“But you said—”

“I know.” There’s a moment as the confession settles in the air.

“Are you feeling better, then?”

“Enough. Of course I still feel my terminal illness, but I feel much better than I felt last night.”

“That’s good,” Merlin glances out the bright window, significantly more able to tolerate it than he was mere minutes ago, “what—what time is it?” Merlin asks.

“About early afternoon,” his father answers.

“Were there negotiations already?”

“We’ve started, but it doesn’t look promising. It’s likely we’ll be staying a bit longer than we originally intended to,” his father sighs, “I already wrote your mother.” Merlin nods.

“I don’t suppose you have any more miracle hangover cure that I could give to Arthur, do you?” Merlin jokes.

“You two are getting along better, I take it?”

“I think we started last night,” Merlin scratches his head, “but I don’t really remember it much.”  He laughs awkwardly, and Balinor grins amusedly.

“Well that’s good, it started out a little rocky, to say the least. I also have been informed of your dance with the Lady Morgana.”

“Oh, you heard about that already?”

“Oh yes. People are raving about it.”

“Still?”

“It seems you made quite the impression. Some nobles stopped me in the corridor to tell me I raised a ‘whimsical dancer’.” They laugh together.

Merlin looks closely at his father. His eyes seem void of emotions, and like they almost don’t shine in the candlelight. His eyelids are drooping slightly, like he’s forcing them to stay open. He sways gently back and forth.

“Father? Are you all right?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I’m not sure I believe that.”

“Please, Merlin, I’m fine. Uther is simply exhausting. Everything is simply exhausting lately,” Balinor admits.

“I’m worried about you.”

“I know,” he pauses, “what if you took me to Gaius? He could watch over me better, and he’d inform you of anything. Would that make you feel better?”

“It might.”

“Then I shall stay near Gaius. You shouldn’t need to worry about me, Merlin. I will take care of the negotiations, you just keep being you—people seem to be loving that—and when I’m gone, hopefully not too soon, you’ll have somewhere else to call home. If you make friends, you have people to protect you—Arthur and Morgana—they can keep you safer from Uther than your mother and I ever could. They are good allies to have.”

“I don’t want to make friends just because they’re powerful allies.”

“That’s the correct answer. But you must also realize how important certain allies can be for you.”

“Why don’t we go to Gaius together? Then I can also get more of that fantastical hangover solver for Arthur.” Balinor chuckles.

“All right.”

“Gaius?” Merlin calls out.

“Ah, Merlin—did Balinor get you your potion?”

“He did. But he’s also not feeling great, and I was wondering if he’d be able to stay with you. I’m worried, and if he gets worse, I want there to be at least someone around who can get me,” Merlin explains and Gaius nods.

“Of course. I’d be happy to. If anything changes, I’ll inform you as soon as I can,” Gaius confirms.

“Thank you, Gaius!” Merlin hugs him. Gaius, surprised, takes a second before hugging him back. Merlin breaks away, wiping his eyes on his sleeve gently and straightening his back.

“Was there anything else?” Gaius asks.

“Do you have more of that miracle cure that I could bring to Arthur?” Gaius smiles and moves to his work bench and pours a glass of it, “do you make that in bulk after big parties?” Merlin asks jokingly.

“Not typically, but I made it for your father first and realized I might need more for just this reason,” Gaius laughs lightly, handing him the glass. 

“Well, I suppose I’ll be off, now,” Merlin states. Balinor shuffles in. Merlin gives him a worried glance, but it’s returned with a reassuring smile, so he takes a deep breath and leaves, heading back to Arthur’s chambers, which he realizes he actually hasn’t seen before.

He raps on the door as gently as he can while keeping it audible to Arthur.

“Arthur?” He questions. It’s met with a groan similar to how he responded, then followed up by a muffled two syllables? It was unclear. It could have said enter, or maybe he misheard and Arthur told him to go away. Merlin doesn’t really want to find out the hard way.

“I have Gaius’ hangover remedy, may I come in?” There’s a grunt of affirmation and Merlin opens the door as softly as possible. 

In many ways, the chambers are much like his own guest quarters, but more personalized. It also appears that George has already been in here, as Arthur’s breakfast is beside his bed. Though it’s more like a small banquet than it is a simple breakfast. Merlin’s stomach growls and he realizes he hasn’t eaten yet. He approaches Arthur’s bed, seeing Arthur shirtless and sprawled out across his bed, face down in the pillows trying to block out the light, which there seems to be an abundance of in Arthur’s room. Merlin sets the glass beside him on the table.

“Do you want me to close some curtains so the light isn’t as intrusive?” Merlin asks. Arthur tries to push himself up, but he shakes a little, “God, you’re worse than I was,” Merlin gibes. He unties two of the curtains of Arthur’s canopy, each blocking a different window from being directly in Arthur’s face.

“That should be better,” Merlin states, and Arthur rolls over onto his side, grateful for the decrease in light. Merlin picks up the glass and hands it to him, sitting on Arthur’s bed much like his father sat on his. He hands him the glass. “Just drink it.”

Arthur does as he says, makes a sour expression and puts it back on the end table and flopping back onto his pillows.

“I have no idea what’s in that, but I need to find out,” Arthur jests, voice gravelly. 

“Feeling a little better, then?” Merlin asks and Arthur nods. Merlin finally processes that Arthur is shirtless, trying not to stare. “Do you want me to leave while you recover?” 

“No,” Arthur croaks. Merlin nods and stays put.

“How much do you remember?”

“Some? I’m not sure. I vaguely recall being called a—clotpole—was it?” He notes. That small moment begins coming back to Merlin.

“Oh. I did say that, didn’t I? Anything else?”

“Watching you dance—”

“Do you remember anything that wasn’t about me?” Merlin teases.

“No. It’s just you. All night long.”

“All night long?” Merlin raises a brow teasingly and Arthur flushes slightly. 

“I mean for the feast.”

“Right. Of course you do.” Merlin gets up and slowly starts reintroducing light to his bedchambers, to which Arthur objects, but it doesn’t hurt him as much. Merlin’s stomach rumbles again.

“Hungry?” Arthur asks.

“Make a guess.”

“Would you like to have breakfast with me? I have food to spare,” Arthur says, gesturing carelessly towards the tables.

“I don’t see why not.” 

Arthur smiles and shuffles to his feet. Thankfully for Merlin, he did at least wear his breeches to bed. Merlin tries to avoid staring at him and grabs a bit of food, not an excessive amount, but he grabs enough. Arthur loads up his plate and they sit at the table together. They start eating quietly. 

“Have you seen your father today?” Arthur asks, breaking the silence. 

“He’s doing better. He’s only as bad as he’s been for the past—who knows how long,” Merlin laments.

“What do you mean?” Arthur asks, popping another grape in his mouth. 

“My father is sick.” 

“Is it contagious?”

“Not that kind of sick. He has something wrong with his heart. It beats slower than it should, so there’s a constant possibility that it’ll slow to a stop. Apparently he’s had it for over twenty years, but I found out about it last night.”

“That’s horrible,” Arthur sympathizes.

“Really? I had no idea,” Merlin snarks humorlessly, then sighs, “I just put him under Gaius’ watch, so if something happens, I can find out about it. If his heart starts slowing, I don’t want him to be dying alone and unable to call for someone,” Merlin states sadly. 

“I understand. I’d do the same.”

The two were finishing up their breakfasts when they heard high-pitched laughing and heels clacking on the stone tile floor.

There’s a soft pound on the door. Arthur closes his eyes and lightly recoils from the noise before responding with an invitation. Morgana and Gwen stepped into the room, shutting it behind them. 

“Merlin, I came to ask you something, but Guinevere insisted on coming with me. We knocked on your door and got no answer, so we thought you might be in here, instead,” Morgana explains. 

“Obviously, you weren’t wrong, but how did you know?” Arthur asked. 

“Whenever I came looking for one of you yesterday, you were always together. It wasn’t a difficult deduction,” Morgana smiles and examines the situation, “did the two of you just wake up?” She raises a brow and specifically looks at Arthur.

“Arthur did. I woke up a few hours ago. Some pretty nasty hangovers,” Merlin cracked and the two girls smiled at each other.

“Well? What did you need to talk to me about?” Merlin asks. 

“It might be best if we talked in private. Your chambers, perhaps?” Morgana suggests. 

“That’s fine,” Merlin turns to Arthur who’s still eating and watching the interaction unfold, “we can talk again later.” Morgana and him exit and go to his chambers. Morgana broke into a grin as soon as the door closed. 

“It went perfectly to plan, I’m guessing?”

“It went better than the plan. It definitely worked. Except now Gwen is either considering killing you, or telling you that I’m leading you on.”

“You didn’t tell her?”

“Oh, I did. She just wouldn’t listen. Though if she’s listening now, she can just come in,” Morgana says, voice rising in volume to hint at Gwen coming inside, when no doors were opened, Morgana makes a surprised huff, “I really thought she’d be listening. Because then she could talk to you, herself.” Merlin gives her an amused smirk. The air is still as they wait in anticipation. Slowly, the door creaks open and Gwen’s head protrudes from the hallway. She shuffles inside the room guiltily, eyes trained on the floor. Morgana rolls her eyes and reaches for Gwen’s chin, tilting her head up and giving her a quick peck on the lips. Gwen looks between Merlin and Morgana, surprised. 

“You don’t need to worry Gwen, I’m not even attempting to steal her from you,” Merlin says earnestly. Gwen looks at him skeptically.

“Then why were you dancing with her the way you were?”

“I told you already, Gwen—” Morgana starts. Gwen holds her finger up to quiet her. Morgana does, but looks at her, slightly offended.

“I want to hear it from him,” she states. Merlin rolls his eyes. 

“We danced like that specifically to make you jealous. Morgana wanted to know what you’d do,” he chuckles to himself. 

“And that’s all?”

“We also kind of wanted to piss off Uther for trying to humiliate my father and me.”

“And that’s all?”

“I think so?” Merlin looks to Morgana, who rubs the back of her neck sheepishly and it’s avoiding making eye contact, “well, that’s what I did it for. Though it seems Morgana may have had some ulterior motives.” Gwen looks at Morgana expectantly. She whispers to Gwen, who smirks and tries to cover it with her hand. Merlin glares at them. Gwen opens her mouth to say something else when there’s another knock on the door. Gwen spins around and opens it. She grins.

“Arthur!” She exclaims, and looks back at the two sorcerers, who nod. Gwen opens the door for him and he steps inside. 

“Did you miss him already? We haven’t been gone for that long,” Morgana teases with a light eye roll. Arthur decidedly ignores her question. 

“Has father spoken to you about the dance yet?” He asks in place of it. She scoffs. 

“Right after today’s negotiations ended,” she complains. 

“What was he saying?” Merlin inquires.

“Well, let’s just say our quest to make him angry was a roaring success.” All eyes were fixed on Morgana in anticipation, she inhales deeply. “Well, he thinks you’re attempting to court me, and that I was being careless by dancing with you. He said that I was disgracing him and all that he stood for, and I am not to be seen with you alone again or people will start talking—which I couldn’t care less about—and that he wouldn’t allow you to corrupt me. That turning it into such a spectacle was dangerous and that rumors have already begun to spread, and if he ever sees me allowing your advances again, he will call off the peace talks. Of course, he was much less succinct about it,” she recalls with an irritated roll of her eyes. The room was quiet for a moment.

“That seems a bit extreme,” Arthur quips.

“Has mundane or reasonable ever been in Uther’s vocabulary?” Morgana snipes.

“So we shouldn’t try anything like that again,” Merlin determines.

“But if the people approve of the courting, wouldn’t there be serious negative backlash if he were to call off the talks because of it?” Gwen asks, moving from standing to sitting at the small dining table, gesturing for them to join her.

“The people are only able to influence the king so much, and for a man like my father, he would find the union a besmirch of the Pendragon name,” Arthur states, sitting down across from Gwen at the table. Morgana joins them, sitting next to Gwen.

“But if his noble supporters are enthusiastically in support of the courtship, he might have no choice but to oblige for their continued support of his reign,” Morgana adds.

“Why are we talking about this? No offense, Morgana, but I’m not very interested in courting you,” Merlin states, still standing but close to the table. 

“No harm done, but a union between a Pendragon and a powerful Druid could mean the reintroduction of magic. If either Arthur or I were to marry you, it would force Uther into at least amending some of the laws so you would be a safe member of the royal family. As it stands, being born in a magical culture is much more punishable than willingly practicing magic. Because I suppose that makes some semblance of sense to Uther. But if the peace talks are successful, it means the laws could be amended further than they could with a simple union.”

“Would he not be able to force me into taking an oath that I wouldn’t practice magic within the walls of Camelot?” Merlin asks, finally joining them at the table, taking his place next to Arthur, “it seems like this plan is very extreme. Thsre seem to be two outcomes. Either he doesn’t care enough about the people’s opinions to respect the courtship and he ends the peace talks immediately—possibly even challenging me to a duel because I have debased his honor—or it works and he’ll have a grudge against me for the rest of his life which could become a very dangerous situation. Both outcomes of this are incredibly risky for me, but irregardless, I can’t just gamble the fate of my people in such a way.”

“He’s right. This could be devastating for the Druids,” Gwen agrees with a sigh. 

“So what do we do?” Morgana asks, sinking into her chair slightly.

“What he says?” Arthur offers, “there’s a limit to how far he’s willing to go for you, Morgana, no matter how much the people disagree with it.” Morgana rests her forehead on the table.

“This isn’t fair,” she whines.

“It was never fair,” Merlin points out. There’s more thoughtful silence. 

“When I’m king, it will be,” Arthur declares, eyes glancing between the two sorcerers at the table. Merlin is giving him a soft, grateful look that makes his chest flutter.

“It better be,” Morgana mumbles with a small smile, still face down on the table. Gwen is rubbing her back soothingly. Arthur watches as Merlin’s smile turns into a smirk. He already knows what that glint in Merlin’s eyes means. He braces himself. He almost feels flushed with embarrassment already and Merlin hasn’t even said anything yet.

“I’m not certain a crown would suit you. They’ll have to get it custom-made to fit that massive head of yours.” Merlin says jokingly. Morgana looks up again. 

“It has to be big to fit all the knowledge I have!” Arthur counters smugly. Merlin, Gwen, and Morgana look at each other before bursting into laughter, “What? I’m smart!” They keep laughing and the tips of Arthur’s ears get red, the blush spreading down his neck. This time, he’s certain it exists. The laughter starts to die down and Arthur puts his face in his hand.

“All right, it was unfair to tease you. Though I don’t think a small crown would limit his intelligence too much,” Morgana says. 

“Guys, stop. His face is already the color of Morgana’s red dress,” Gwen joins in through her laughter. If Arthur’s face wasn’t truly that color before, it certainly is now. Arthur feels the heat of his cheeks, neck, and chest spreading and knows his pale skin is flushing a vibrant Pendragon red. They all laugh harder again.

“I’d throw all of you in the dungeons if I could,” Arthur claims, pouting, trying to cover his face as much as possible. But he knows it doesn’t hide his embarrassment. They’re all cackling now, and Arthur wishes he could say it didn’t make him happier hearing the symphony of laughter, Merlin’s laugh being totally distinct from the others’ and it makes him feel good, even if the laughing is at his expense.

Morgana and Gwen hold onto each other, wiping tears from their eyes.

“It wasn’t that funny,” Arthur grumbles. They only laugh more. Merlin’s laughing dwindles, and suddenly all of it stops when there’s a polite but urgent rapping on the door. Merlin looks at the three in his room and walks to the door.

Morgana and Gwen snicker, remnants of the raucous laughter still caught in their chests. Merlin opens the door. Gaius is looking him in the eye sadly. Merlin’s smile immediately drops. 

“It’s my father, isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid so,” Gaius says solemnly. Merlin looks over his shoulder at his friends, then back at Gaius, who has stepped out of his way. Merlin nods to him and bolts down the corridors to the physician’s chambers. 

Hoping it’s not already too late.