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Merlin walks up the drive to his mother’s house, smiling at the Christmas lights twinkling from the roof, and pulling along his suitcase to the front steps. He stops when he doesn’t feel Arthur’s familiar presence following him.
“Arthur?” he asks, turning to see where his boyfriend’s gone to.
Arthur stares at his mother’s house looking rather panicked, shuffling from foot to foot. After a moment, when he doesn’t answer, Merlin laughs.
“Arthur, come on. I told you, she’ll love you. And it’s really cold out here.”
Arthur’s brows knit together in worry, and he looks at Merlin with a pleading expression, like he’s about to ask if it’s too late to go home. Yes, in fact, it is. Christmases at Hunith’s were nonnegotiable where her son was concerned, and if he bailed now, in her driveway? He doesn’t know if he’d survive such a thing.
“Merlin, be reasonable. I’ll send her a stellar gift basket. Really, the works. But you know I make bad impressions, I mean…” Merlin can practically hear the end of that sentence: Remember when I met you?
Merlin laughs, drops his suitcase, and strolls over to where Arthur stands petrified next to the car. He’s so unbelievably in love with this man it’s ridiculous, he realizes for about the millionth time, framing his face with his hands. “Arthur, she is going to love you because I love you. You’ll see; she’s really not a scary woman, unless you’re me, because I do stress her out far more than necessary. According to her, that is.”
“Well, that’s something we can bond over, then,” Arthur concedes, offering a small smile.
“See?” He runs his fingers through Arthur’s hair, loving fingers scratching at his scalp the way he knows Arthur likes, then straightens his shirt collar. He has no idea why on earth Arthur decided on wearing a button down shirt for Christmas at his mum’s, but something about the gesture, about the obvious importance he places on this first meeting, makes his heart feel warm and gooey inside. “She’ll probably end up liking you more than me.”
“Boys!”
Arthur looks past his shoulder, eyes widening, and Merlin turns to see Hunith standing on the steps of their little house, hands on her hips.
“You get your butts over here before you freeze! Come now, Merlin, keeping your boyfriend in the cold,” she tuts, waving them over. Arthur picks up his suitcase and Merlin grabs his on the way in, squeezing past Hunith as she ushers them into the foyer.
“Well,” Hunith grins, looking over the boys once they’ve set down their things. “Look at you! Oh, Merlin, my darling boy.” She wraps him in a bear hug and squeezes so hard Merlin has to tap on her back and croak, “Mum! Can’t. Breathe!”
She releases him and turns on Arthur. “You must be Arthur. Merlin’s told me so much about you!” She reaches up to cup his face, rough, small hands patting his cheeks affectionately. Merlin watches as Arthur inhales sharply, a pleased smile on his face.
Merlin feels like crying. He has no doubt this is the first time he’s been welcomed home with so much love.
“Good things, I hope,” Arthur replies, flicking a glance in Merlin’s direction.
Merlin smiles. “Not really, no.”
The three of them laugh and then Hunith demands Merlin move their things into their room while Arthur makes himself comfortable. He wants to tell her that there’s no need to spoil Arthur— he’s spoiled enough, thank you very much— but the comment would be lost on her. So he obeys dutifully, preparing the room for Arthur and himself, and when he comes back down the hall, they’re not in the foyer anymore.
He follows their voices until he finds himself in the kitchen, and when he sees what they’re doing he can’t find it in him to interrupt. He leans against the door jamb and observes.
His mother is smiling adoringly at Arthur, patiently directing his hands as he whisks cocoa powder and milk in a saucepan. “A little quicker,” she says gently, and Arthur immediately whips his wrist, splashing milk everywhere.
They pause for a minute, looking at the mess he’s made, and for a moment Arthur turns on Hunith with worried eyes… but then she giggles, and he lets out a deep belly laugh, one usually only reserved for him: it is a sound of Arthur at his happiest.
Then Arthur looks up, sees him watching. “ Mer lin,” he drawls, remnants of laughter still present in his voice. “Stop grinning at me like a loon. I’m sure you’re worse at this than I am.”
“Well,” Hunith laughs, “you may be right about that.”
“Hey!” Merlin protests good-naturedly, but can’t make his smile drop as he walks over and hands a plate of shaved chocolate to his mum. Hunith dumps it in the milk they’ve begun to heat. “See? I’m helpful.”
“Yes, darling,” Hunith placates, patting his cheek in a familiar, motherly gesture. Arthur’s eyes crinkle at him, and Merlin feels the uncontrollable urge to kiss him on the cheek, so he does.
“You’re going to love this,” he tells Arthur, wrapping his arms around his middle. “Her homemade hot chocolate is the best.”
Hunith chuckles as she stirs. “Just be sure Merlin doesn’t drink it all first.”
“Me?” Merlin gasps, feigning surprise. “Never.”
“Mhm.” Clearly disbelieving, he laughs. Arthur sways them slightly in their embrace, then drops a kiss to his forehead.
“I’m sure you’re tired,” Hunith says kindly, smiling at them both. “This will be ready in a minute. Why don’t you sit down and rest, and I’ll bring you your hot chocolates and a snack. I know Merlin’s hungry.”
“We can get it ourselves, Hunith,” Arthur protests. “Please don’t trouble yourself.”
Hunith smiles warmly at him. “Absolutely not. Go rest, boys.”
“There’s no use arguing with Mum,” Merlin tells him, tugging him out of the kitchen, but not before stopping to kiss Hunith’s cheek and whisper, “ Thank you.”
***
When Hunith attempts to find wherever the boys have gone off to about 20 minutes later, with a tray consisting of two mugs of hot chocolate and a plate of cheese and crackers, she tries the living room first, knowing how much Merlin likes the fireplace.
She stops in the doorway when she arrives, the sight before her filling her chest with warmth and squeezing her heart.
“‘ If ever two were one’ ,” Arthur reads, voice soft and gentle and rumbling low, just above a whisper, “ ‘then surely we.’” He threads his fingers through Merlin’s hair as they lay on the couch by the fireplace, legs tangled together.
Hunith’s eyes threaten tears as a lump forms in her throat, watching the way her son looks up at him, devoted and so completely adoring, his heart so plainly shining in his eyes. Arthur’s focus is on the book in his other hand, and Hunith recognizes it instantly as the book of love poems Balinor gifted to her on their wedding night.
It feels complete, watching the love of her son’s life read it to him. She has watched Merlin as he’s grown throughout the years, as he’s loved and lost, and has always hoped that some day he would have someone to share these poems with, to share this kind of love.
“‘ I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold, or all the riches that the East doth hold.’”
Merlin never takes his eyes off Arthur’s face, but his hands play absently with the collar of his shirt, stroking his neck affectionately at times, and she is taken back to her own quiet moments with his father; laying against Balinor’s chest and feeling his heartbeat beating steady, as Merlin does with his love now, listening to the soothing fall of his voice into a natural rhythm, immersed in the words they bring to life together.
“ ‘My love is such that rivers cannot quench; Nor ought but love from thee give recompense,’” Arthur reads, steady and soft, and Hunith would not interrupt this moment for all the world. She turns back, silent as a mouse.
As she retreats down the hall, Arthur’s voice follows her, fading softly into the firelight. “‘ Then while we live, in love let’s so persever; That when we live no more, we may live ever…’”