Chapter Text
Chapter 41
“Hey.” Arthur says, answering the phone. Its well gone midnight, and the lateness of the hour suggests that Merlin is somewhere distant and has lost track of time zones.
“Hey.” Merlin says, sounding exhausted. “How’re you feeling?”
“Tired still but steadily better. What are you up to?”
“Shaking hands, smiling, following directions, being myself.”
“And is it working?”
“It seems to be.” Merlin replies, “Although I do feel I spend half my time trying to convince people that I'm not actually some kind of half-human, half-dragon hybrid.”
“That's brilliant.” Arthur laughs, then considers, “Can you be sure, though? How far back can you trace your family tree?”
“Are you suggesting that one of my ancestors had sexual relations with a dragon?” Merlin says, sounding horrified.
“It would explain a lot is all I'm saying.”
There are a few moments of silence before Merlin lets loose a long, annoyed sigh and Arthur laughs.
“I miss you.” Arthur says, holding the phone closer to his face as though trying to get to Merlin by osmosis.
“Me too. More than I can easily articulate over the phone. What are your plans for Christmas?”
“Palace. Apparently I'm under house arrest until I learn how to not be an idiot.”
“So basically until the end of time, then?” Merlin says, and Arthur can clearly picture his fond smile. He aches to have Merlin with him, but he knows that isn't possible right now. Merlin has to move quickly to form these unofficial alliances before counter actions begin taking effect. It's a race against the clock and Merlin is doing all he can.
*
Midway through December Merlin finds himself in Glasgow with a few, glorious days off. He's considered taking the train to London to see Arthur, but he hasn't been able to confirm plans and doesn't feel he can show up unannounced. He desperately wants to go to Ealdor, not just to see Will, but to see his home, even if it isn't really his home anymore. In the run up to Christmas he misses his mother like oxygen deprivation, and being in Ealdor would help. But the train timetables are against him, and by the time he would get there he'd need to come straight back again to catch his next flight with Morgana to wherever the hell it is they're going next. He doesn't want to spend his only time off travelling because he knows Morgana and he are headed somewhere over Christmas, she'd asked him to keep his diary open in any case.
So, on his first afternoon in Scotland in weeks Merlin wanders introspectively down Byres Road in the rain, listening to the Scottish mix Arthur had made for Morgana and remembering the feeling of waking up next to Arthur, the brilliance of him like having a second sun in the world.
He tries to phone Arthur again but it goes straight to voicemail and Merlin hangs up without leaving a message. What would he say? Hi, been busy? Me, too. Oh, also: I miss you I miss you I miss you.
In the end he settles on phoning Will, and happily Will answers, just as Merlin passes the Oran Mor Theatre and politely takes a flyer for A Play, A Pie, and A Pint from the umbrella carrying college student handing them out on the corner.
“Merlin! To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“You sound like an idiot when you talk like that, you know.” Merlin says, smiling. “How's business?”
“Same old, same old.” Will says, but Merlin can hear the clink of glasses in the background which means he must be busy. “Did you need something?”
“Just wanted to talk.” Merlin admits, thinking how terribly lonely he is since Will moved back to Ealdor to help out with the transition at The Prince and Crown. “You busy?”
“Kind of. Call you later?” Will says, and before Merlin can respond the call is ended.
Merlin puts his music back on as he heads towards Kelvinbridge Station, intending to take the subway into town and see the lights at Royal Exchange Square. He feels distinctly teen-aged and morose, but takes some fortification from Frightened Rabbit who sing about all the Things they no longer need in their lives.
Merlin considers popping into a coffee shop and getting a double espresso thinking that even if it isn't The Dawn Treader at least it can't make him feel worse. But at that moment a pristinely white midsize rental car pulls up to the kerb and Guinevere, of all people, launches herself from the car and grabs Merlin by his arm.
“Gwen, what are you doing?” Merlin shouts, trying to stop her from manhandling him into the backseat. He fails miserably at overpowering her even though Gwen is half his size. A few people passing on the pavement look nervously at them but Merlin smiles in what is hopefully a reassuring way as if to prove that he isn't, in fact, being stolen.
“Kidnapping you.” Gwen says with an evil smile, forcing Merlin to bend as he climbs into the car and then seating herself basically on his lap as he’s squeezed next to a barely breathing Leon who is squeezed next to an uncomfortable looking Percy who is folded into the corner of the car like a jack-in-the-box. Percy smiles and waves at Merlin, who waves back at him, cocking his head to see such a strange scene.
“Go, Gwaine, go!” Lance shouts from the passenger seat of the car as Gwaine rockets away from the pavement, kicking up a huge puddle of muddy water in their wake as they make an illegal U-turn and blast down Great Western Road towards the Clyde Tunnel.
“What the hell are you all doing here?” Merlin asks, not able to stop the laugh that bubbles up inside him. Gwen turns sideways, bending almost in half as she is pressed against the roof of the car. “Oh, god, this isn't to do with Percy’s planned shagging of me, is it? Because as much as I like you, mate…”
“No!” Percy shouts, trying to emphasise the shout with a hand gesture but failing miserably due to the confined space.
“We’re just kidnapping you. Little holiday. Nothing much. You’ll be back in time for Morgana, don't worry.” Lance explains, craning round in his seat to see Merlin, laughing and linking hands briefly with Gwen, who is giggling uncontrollably.
“Where are we going?” Merlin asks.
“It’s a secret.” Percy says, rolling his eyes, clearly he has been press ganged into this whole affair.
“And we’re driving there? All squashed into this car like sardines?” Merlin says, incredulous, guessing that his legs have fifteen seconds before they lose all feeling.
“We’re flying, but we need to get the the airfield first.” Leon manages between rasping, uncomfortable breaths.
“Well, I hope there’s more room in the plane.” Merlin says.
“I hope Gwaine gets to the airfield faster!” Percy says, painfully, as everyone in the car laughs and Merlin feels genuinely happy for the first time since he’d left Arthur’s side weeks ago.
*
Arthur watches the sun set low over the loch, painting the sky pink and lavender, the thick mist off the water making a second horizon. There are a few people out in tiny boats, returning to the shore in the fading light. Behind them, on a small outcrop of mossy rocks, a ruined 14th century castle molders, one wall listing perilously towards the water. The scene is breathtakingly beautiful, etching itself into Arthur’s very soul, making him ache with longing.
As Arthur watches a seaplane approaches and lands on the loch causing rippling outward waves to crash loudly against the shore.
He has healed well, and faster than anyone expected, but he supposed that had something to do with Merlin draining the energy out of the entire city of London just to bring Arthur back and to fix him. Arthur absentmindedly runs his fingers over the scars on his left wrist, proof, if he needed it, of Merlin’s devotion.
It had taken Arthur hours of persuading to get his father to agree to let him come to Scotland. The team of seven medical professionals currently kipping at The Prince and Crown are Uther’s insurance, as are the twenty or so covert members of the Royal Protection Command stationed in and around the village. It's a small price to pay for freedom, and Arthur doesn't mind. He needed to get out.
This is the first time he's been to the house in Ealdor since he visited it with Merlin almost a year ago. He'd managed to purchase the house from the bank, finally, but it had taken a lot of hard work. He needs this house, and he needs it to be a safe place for Merlin, too. And it will be just as soon as Arthur gets around to telling him he's bought it. He's not keeping it a secret , it's just the timing has never been quite right.
In any case Arthur is enjoying his time in Ealdor. He needed to be alone somewhere that was entirely Merlin. Somewhere he could leech Merlin’s energy back into himself from his surroundings. The house, though newly furnished (with Will’s assistance, Arthur wanted to be sympathetic to Merlin's grief), seems empty, hollow and closed down, and Arthur stays only until the last rays of sun have faded into darkness, and then climbs into Valiant’s car and gets driven the short distance into the village.
Ealdor has welcomed him warmly, though Arthur expects William has had something to do with that. The proprietor for the local pub holds a lot of sway when 90% of the population comes round for a drink most nights. Arthur is trying to fit in, but he doesn’t feel very comfortable here, not really, not without Merlin making the village absolutely inherent.
Arthur, of course, owns The Prince and Crown now, but that was always going to happen. Just as he quietly owns Merlin’s childhood home, and the leisure centre in the heart of London where he and Merlin had gone swimming so many, many months ago. Everything that Merlin has ever touched Arthur wants to possess and make his own. Not out of a desire to possess or control Merlin himself, but as a way to bring him closer to the man he misses every agonising second of every long, long day.
When he gets to the Prince and Crown, he's surprised to see the car park mostly empty. Usually there's a dinner crowd, or there has been the past three days. Brow furrowed, Arthur shoulders his a way through the door of the inn.
“Morgana?” Arthur asks, pleased, but surprised to see her. “What are you doing here?” Arthur sweeps his cousin into a crushing hug in the foyer of The Prince and Crown.
“Morgause and I wanted an early honeymoon. You speak so highly of this place, I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.” She says, flippantly, pulling her long hair back into an untidy bun at the base of her neck, smiling all over her beautiful face.
“Honeymoon? You’re not getting married for another year! Where is Morgause anyway?” Arthur asks, looking around the tiny foyer as though perhaps Morgause is hiding somewhere.
“Talking to William.” Morgana says, indulgently, tilting her head towards the bar. “Where have you been all day? I've been calling you. I wanted you to take me on a tour of the village!” Morgana throws on her most convincing pout.
“Oh.” Arthur falters, not wanting to explain that he’d been lying on his back with his eyes closed in the middle of Merlin’s old bedroom, listening to Scottish music and pretending. “I’ve been busy. And I don't get a signal up here.”
“Yes, well, you’re here now. Come through!” Morgana grabs Arthur’s arm and pulls him, protesting, through the closed door into the pub. Immediately Arthur’s ears are assaulted by the sound of laughter and he looks around, surprised, to see himself in a room with most of his friends. Leaning his back against the edge of the bar, all faces turned to him, obviously in the middle of a rather amusing story, is Merlin.
Merlin, looking painfully good in a dark blue jumper and black trousers. Merlin, clean shaven, his hair shaggy and unkempt as usual, his eyes glowing with mirth and his cheeks tinged pink with laughter. Merlin, smiling at Arthur and shaking his head at the rest of the room, seeking silent approval of a plan his eyes are admitting he has had nothing to do with. It could be poolside champagne and chocolates again, and Arthur's face splits into a wide grin.
“Oh, come on, Merls, finish the story first!” Gwaine demands, pounding a fist on the table. Merlin doesn’t spare him a glance, but keeps his eyes locked with Arthur’s. Morgana leaves Arthur’s side and goes to sit next to Morgause, hiding her sly smile behind her glass of white wine.
“What’s going on?” Arthur says, feeling distinctly wrong-footed and, suddenly panicked, wondering whether he’s brushed his hair today, or, at the very least, worn clean trousers. Merlin’s eyes are still on him, apologetic.
“We thought it was about time you two stopped being such idiots.” Will says, putting a pint of lager onto a beer mat beside Arthur on the bar.
“Idiots?” Arthur says, feeling like one in the moment.
“The prevailing opinion, I think, is that you and I are madly in love with each other and it's about time we did something about it.” Merlin says, and Arthur watches the pink tinge creep higher up the line of his cheekbones. Arthur’s fingers twitch, wanting to trace that line.
“Merlin, Arthur has bought half of the damn village here to try to be closer to you, including your mother’s old house. You’re welcome for that one, by the way.” Will addresses the second sentence to Arthur, as he’d played such a big part in keeping the sale a secret. “Arthur, Merlin’s role as Dragon Lord Supreme or whatever the hell they’re calling him these days is transient, I'll grant you, but it doesn't have to be solitary. And don't let him try to tell you that he needs to live in Glasgow, because the University job is an honorary one to begin with and he can do it from, literally, anywhere in the world. I checked.” Will finishes, earning a tut of annoyance from Merlin, who glowers at him briefly before returning his gaze to Arthur’s face.
“You’re both being stupid. There's no reason you can't be the one accompanying Merlin in these diplomatic visits. They might be whirlwind tours, but they're hardly taxing. And, before you protest, your father agrees with me.” Morgana says, still hiding her grin. This has obviously been her plan, and Arthur wonders how long it has taken her to arrange everything. Arthur spears her with a look that clearly says she’s mincemeat the next time they’re alone, but she just giggles and rests her head, innocently, on Morgause’s shoulder.
“What do you think, Arthur?” Merlin says, and, as is usual when Merlin is talking to him, the rest of the entire world falls away. Merlin has taken a step towards Arthur, reaching his hand out and placing his two fingers along the skin at the inside of Arthur’s left wrist.
Arthur, feeling suddenly and inexplicably more scared than he has ever in his entire life, takes Merlin’s hand into his and twines their fingers together. Their eyes meet, blue on blue, and Arthur struggles to breathe. Could it really be this easy? This thing he’s been fighting for so long?
“Yes.” Arthur says, finally, and Gwaine shouts something obscene and all the room laughs, including Arthur, who feels like his whole body is inflating from within.
*
Arthur wakes to feel Merlin's cold hands splayed across his neck, fingers wandering and full of mischief. His luminescent watchface reads just gone 5am. Christmas morning.
The air in the room is cold, the fire having gone out in the night, but the cocoon of their bed is blissfully warm and Arthur coories down beneath the blankets, nudging into the crook of Merlin's neck.
“It's too early.” Arthur complains half heartedly, his voice thick with sleep. His protestations do not stop Merlin, whose fingers travel glacially down Arthur's chest under the warm duvet.
Through the hush of closed shutters Arthur can hear the cacophony of water tumbling over the weir beside the house, and the quieter bubble of the river coming to rest in the deep loch. He thinks he shall never tire of that symphony.
“We have somewhere to be.” Merlin murmurs, his lips and teeth capturing Arthur's earlobe.
“At nine.” Arthur inhales as Merlin’s fingers begin caressing the skin of his lower abdomen. “We have plenty of time.”
“Not for what I have planned.” Merlin says, his voice deep with raw lust. Arthur succumbs to his kiss eagerly, his lips parting as Merlin’s tongue glides gently past to meet his own.
Merlin is gentle with Arthur, both of them moving at a slow pace. As their sighs and gasps and shudders add volume to the morning Arthur's heart settles peacefully into his newly created idea of home, and he discovers he never wants to leave.
*
Christmas day at The Prince and Crown is a quiet affair. Isa and Jack have returned from Spain to spend Christmas with William. The added guest list of Arthur, Merlin and half a dozen of their closest friends and family makes the day all the merrier. Arthur stays by Merlin's side the entire day, taking it all in.
They all tell their own stories about the previous Christmas, each of them making it clear that they knew Arthur and Merlin fancied each other and were trying to set them up. William being, possibly, the only one for whom that part of the story is true.
As Arthur recounts the overheard phone conversation between Merlin and Gwen that had sent him walking sadly out into the snow, Merlin shakes his head, smiling, thinking every hardship he'd ever endured in his life was worth it for days like this.
*
[text conversation between Merlin and Arthur:
Merlin: Morning Arth. Where are you today? Mxx
Arthur: London. Doctors appointments. You? Axx
Merlin: Again? Paris. Meeting with some old crone who believes she's the Dragon Lord.
Arthur:It's LORD, not LADY.
Merlin: I know.
Arthur: Are you going to flash her your birthmark? Because I could probably get to Paris in a few hours...
Merlin: Ha. Ha. Probably just magic something and she'll faint. That's what happened in Milan. When will I see you?
Arthur: Two days. Uther's parading us around in front of those foreign ministers, remember?
Merlin: Shit. Is that this weekend? I've not packed any formal clothes.
Arthur: You really need to move your stuff to the Palace.
Merlin: I'll get something ordered. See you in two days, then?
Arthur: You're spending the night with me before, I hope?
Merlin: Well, I suppose I could clear my schedule.
Merlin: What have you got planned?
Arthur: Nakedness. A lot of it.
Merlin: Hmm... Sounds interesting.
Merlin: I'll think about it.
*
“Careful!” Merlin exclaims, halfheartedly, as Arthur's hands plow beneath his shirt and jacket, pushing the fabric up to expose a landscape of pale flesh and rib bones. “The shirt’s new.”
“All your shirts are new, Emrys, as you never pack appropriate clothing.” Arthur manages to admonish between kissing the breath out of Merlin and trying to disrobe him against the wall in a darkened room somewhere in the depths of whichever building or palace or country they're in. It's hard to keep track.
Merlin’s words are lost to sighs as Arthur manages to unbuckle his kilt and it falls heavily to the floor, leaving Merlin half-naked and beautiful in the dim light. Arthur, wasting no time, shrugs himself out of his trousers and throws them over the back of a chair. After the field day the German papers had had speculating why Arthur's clothes had been so dishevelled after his mysterious hour-long sojourn during a diplomatic dinner last month, Arthur has been careful to preserve at least a modicum of plausible deniability.
“We shouldn't be doing this here.” Merlin murmurs, wrapping one leg around Arthur’s waist and hitching himself into a more accessible position.
“You can't say that, not after standing there next to that vapid woman and eye fucking me for the last twenty minutes. You're lucky I didn't strip you down in front of all those people.” Merlin lets out a filthy, half-formed sound as Arthur's fingers breach his body and he presses back against them hungrily.
“I can't help myself.” Merlin sighs, moving his free hand between them and fisting himself nearly desperately as Arthur eventually withdraws his fingers. “All I could think about was having you inside me.”
Arthur bites off Merlin’s name as Merlin begins to ride him, not gracefully, but expertly and full of wanting. “Fuck, Emrys, I won't last long with you saying these things to me.” Arthur says, breathless, thrusting.
“Good,” Merlin says, arching his head back and exposing his neck which Arthur breathes into, being careful with his teeth. “We haven't got long, they're already wondering where we are.”
Arthur buries himself deep and Merlin moves against him. Arthur's left hand braces them against the wall and Merlin's mouth seeks out the marks there on the inside of his wrist and sucks a kiss against the skin.
“Already?” Arthur asks, not being gentle, and Merlin lets out a strangled cry.
“Let them find us.” Merlin gasps, his breath becoming ragged and his entire body clenching, hot, around Arthur whose knees weaken. “All those eyes on us. Everyone able to see how much I need you. How hot I am for you.”
“Christ, Emrys.” Arthur growls, redoubling his efforts and making it impossible for Merlin to keep saying these cursed things that cause Arthur to have the stamina of a sex - starved teenager.
Too short a time later they shudder against each other, not caring who might hear as they cry each other’s names too loudly into the empty room.
“I don't think,” Merlin says, buckling his kilt back onto his thin hips, “that cleaning up after sex in public places is exactly what the fates had in mind when they decided I should be Lord of All Magic.”
“Well, then, they shouldn't have made you so pretty.” Arthur says, tucking his shirt into his trousers and searching the floor for his missing shoe. “And, you have to admit,” Arthur gestures at his newly unsoiled white shirt, “it does come in handy.”
*
The photo shoot had actually been Morgana’s idea; humanise the Dragon Lord in an easily accessible and understandable way - tabloid media. Merlin had contested the idea quite vociferously at first, but he had been talked into it by every single person in his telephone’s contact list, and his trepidation now is based only on nerves. Arthur insists on coming along, although this means that the photographer’s studio has to be narrowed down to skeleton staff for security reasons.
Morgana and the stylist agree on an aesthetic that Merlin can almost live with - just Merlin, with an air of dark mystique. Arthur smirks at him mercilessly for the first half hour that he’s in hair and makeup and Merlin sends him away, pouting.
Almost two hours later Merlin emerges, his hair tinged deep blue with highlights (which the stylists insists will wash out) and impossibly styled so that it looks effortless and wind-tossed. His makeup is subtle but makes him look dangerous and, in his opinion, slightly cruel. He's almost afraid to see Arthur - worried about what Arthur will think of the look, however temporary it may be. Arthur is standing with the photographer studying the back of the camera and nodding like he's being instructed on proper lighting scenarios. When he sees Merlin all the breath seems to escape him at once and Merlin feels his cheeks reddening, no longer worried about Arthur’s reaction.
“Perfect.” The photographer says, smiling and looking Merlin up and down with a hungry gaze. All Merlin can see is Arthur’s wide eyes and the fingers of Arthur's hand splayed across his chest as though protecting an open wound. There is no time for talking as the photographer whisks Merlin away and begins instructing him on where to look and how to hold his features. The flashing strobe lights are very distracting as Merlin struggles to keep his eyes on Arthur who stands at the side, arms crossed tightly and chewing his fingernails.
After his third wardrobe change the stylist suggests Merlin wears the clothes he'd come in and he feels more like himself in a plain t-shirt and jeans. He relaxes into the shoot and begins to enjoy himself, laughing easily and smiling honest smiles. Arthur, returning to the room after stepping out to take a phone call, pauses to watch Merlin for only a few moments before he strides unannounced into the path of the camera and seizes Merlin's hand, leading him away. Arthur drags him to the rear of the studio which is dark and empty and two steps into the shadows Arthur's mouth is on Merlin’s and one hand is fisted in Merlin's carefully styled hair.
Arthur presses Merlin back into the masonry wall hard enough to bruise. Neither of them speak, their desires evident in the hisses and sighs and their low, low moaning. Around Merlin the world narrows down until it is only the two of them.
“Stop.” Merlin gasps against Arthur’s cheek as Arthur’s teeth bite one of Merlin’s earlobes.
“No.” Arthur manages between breaths, moving his hands under Merlin's shirt. Merlin inhales shakily and tilts his head back against the exposed brick of the wall. He hitches his own thumbs into the waistband of Arthur’s tailored black trousers and Arthur’s back arches before he, too, says, “Stop.”
“No.” Merlin murmurs, capturing Arthur’s bottom lip between his teeth and kissing him deeply.
“Stop.” Comes a voice from behind them. They both turn, startled, to see the photographer with his camera angled in their direction. Arthur steps away seconds before Merlin whose gaze is focused on the photographer as the flash goes once, alarmingly bright in the darkness.
The magazine goes to print almost immediately afterward, the interview poignant and funny, populated by images of Merlin looking forbidding and powerful. There is a centerfold of the final image; Merlin, his pupils blown wide with lust, his mouth rough and well-kissed, makeup expertly smudged and hair looking wild. His left hand scrabbles at the bricks beside him, knuckles white. His right hand reaches almost off camera, two fingers wrapped tightly around Arthur’s left wrist.
"I'll tell you one thing for free,” Lance says, throwing himself into the seat next to Merlin on the plane and brandishing a copy of the magazine, “You will get recognised after this.”
“Definite wanking material, mate.” Gwaine says, leaning in from the aisle, as though it's the nicest compliment he can bestow.
“He's not wrong.” Percy adds, sliding into the seat opposite. Everyone looks at him curiously. Percy merely brandishes the centre picture as evidence and adds, “Oh, come on. Straight boys all over the world are going to sleep thinking of this picture tonight.”
Amidst everyone's rising laughter Arthur’s voice comes strong and clear, “Maybe, but only one of us gets to keep him.” Merlin doesn't miss the subtle, possessive accent to the sentence, and his pulse quickens.
“Oh, rub it in why don't you!” Gwaine says in an agonised tone, his eyes lingering on Arthur's hand on Merlin's shoulder. Merlin closes his eyes and focuses on the feel of Arthur's fingers against the base of his neck just above his shirt collar.
As Merlin turns to smile up at Arthur he wonders whether there will ever be a day when the merest touch from Arthur doesn't raise an almost painful desire in him; a few minutes later, as he frantically unbuttons Arthur’s trousers in the airplane lavatory, he decides there never will be, and that will be just fine with him.
*
“What's this?” Merlin asks, unfolding himself from the bed and coming to where Arthur is standing, holding yet another garment bag and looking inexplicably nervous. “Not another Royal engagement, surely.” Merlin complains, wondering how he's ever meant to get anything done at all with his calendar so full of pressing Royal activities.
“It's a dress. Morgana picked it out, thought it would suit you.” Arthur attempts to repeat a joke told over a year ago, but he doesn't sound committed, and Merlin raises his eyebrows, wondering.
“I know I hold an Official State Title now, but is it really necessary for us to attend every event held by your father?” Merlin continues, not letting Arthur's strange mood derail him from his teasing complaints.
“Actually, this one I'm hosting.”
“Oh, well, in that case.” Merlin shrugs, grabbing the garment bag and intending to toss it onto the bed, not really interested in what’s inside it. Merlin never seems to have the appropriate clothing for any situation, ever, so he's constantly being sent new things, usually picked out by either Arthur or the Royal stylists. This is likely another kilt, but, actually, it doesn't feel heavy enough to hold a kilt. It feels rather empty. Curiosity piqued, Merlin looks back at Arthur’s unreadable face.
“What's this?” Merlin repeats, genuinely confused as he starts to unzip the bag.
“Just something I was hoping we could wear.”
“We?” Merlin pulls aside the fabric and freezes. The bag is mostly empty except for two small objects attached to the hanger by a wide ribbon of dark tartan fabric. “Which event was this for exactly?”
“Our wedding?” Arthur says, and it's barely a question. Merlin detaches the smaller ring from the ribbon and takes it between his fingers, bringing it close to examine the detail. There are two small stones set flush in an unknown silver metal, one ruby and one sapphire, linked to each other by a continuous figure of eight design etched deeply beside them. "I was thinking, as well, it's about time we had our own tartan." Arthur says, pulling the ribbon out of the bag and handing it to Merlin who takes it, eyes wide. "Royal Emrys-Pendragon. Do you like it?"
Merlin looks up at Arthur's expectant face. “You're asking me to marry you?”
“Was thinking about it.” Arthur says, with a noncommittal shrug. “What do you think?”
“Oh, aye.” Merlin says, with half a laugh, holding the rings tightly in his hand and intertwining his fingers with Arthur's. He kisses Arthur tenderly, desperately, feeling so full of love he wants to leech into Arthur’s soul.
“Merlin.” Arthur says, breaking away reluctantly.
“Mmm-hmmm.” Merlin mutters, kissing the underside of Arthur’s jaw.
“It’s just the, um…” Arthur begins, interrupted by Merlin pressing their mouths together again until they are both breathless, wanting. “The rug.” Arthur tries again.
“What about it?” Merlin asks, sliding his hands to Arthur’s back and pulling him close, lavishing small kisses along Arthur’s arched neck.
“It’s growing.” Arthur says, almost laughing. Merlin breaks away and looks down at the elaborately patterned floral rug they were standing on. Arthur’s correct, of course. The flowers in the pattern are, indeed, growing and he and Arthur are now knee-deep in a floral meadow. Indoors. Merlin’s laughter bubbles up out of him on a balloon of pure joy. Arthur leans down and plucks an improbably large red poppy out of the air, chuckling. Merlin cradles a handful of bluebells carefully, marvelling at the absolute beauty of them.
“Married?” Merlin says, looking back at Arthur, smile splitting his face.
“Yes.” Arthur says, nodding. Arthur is glowing as if lit from within, and his smile is so beautiful it is physically painful.
“Soon?” Merlin says, reaching out and grabbing Arthur’s left wrist.
“Yes, please.” Arthur says, pulling Merlin towards him and into an embrace which threatens to crush them both. Merlin’s lips meet Arthur’s and Merlin closes his eyes, letting himself sink into the kiss as all around them flowers bloom.
Fin.
