Inkblot

Merlin BFI preview: a slasher perspective and MEGA SPOILERS

2009-09-07T18:25:01Z

The trip:

Best Friend of Twelve Years (BFOTY) and I arrived at the BFI Southwalk at about 12:15, after a short journey from the outskirts of London and much squeeing. Walked straight in on the Merlin Funday Kiddie activity event, with dragon making, drawing competitions, and even a dress up photo booth- plus an enormous table of FREE posters and merchandise- they were giving out free books too! A projector ran episodes from season one up on the wall, and BFOTY rolled her eyes as I gleefully took a Merlin activity book and sat down at the bar. Interestingly, it was really fun to do so I obviously have about the mental capacity of an eight year old- or maybe it’s the slasher in me enjoying helping Merlin in yet another quest to save his kidnapped damsel in distress. BFOTY unamused.

1:00 AM. So we’re sitting at the bar and suddenly this bunch of people trailing travel bags roll on past- and I glance over and see it’s the cast! Colin Morgan at the front and Bradley James bringing up the rear, executing some kind of sneak entrance. BFOTY and I too busy staring slack-jawed to jump them, unfortunately. Sigh. A little later the wife of the bloke who we’d been chatting with at the bar turns up, and tells us she’s actually the publicist! She says she’s busy arranging a press conference, and that the cast are all sitting ‘backstage on a sofa, behaving themselves- these actor’s, they need so much looking after’ she meant it jokingly, of course J she told her husband how Richard Wilson was moaning about his lack of hair then went away.

Originally, I moaned about our seats because we were right at the back- but when we got in and sat down, I eavesdropped on the people next to me and embarrassingly realised I was sitting next to the two producers, with Johnny Capps and the other director right next to them, with a screenwriter in front (!!!)and then the cast walked in and sat about two metres away opposite us! We were so lucky. We met nearly the entire crew! Unfortunately director and co didn’t talk about Merlin- so no hard-won spoilers there- they were talking about some new plan they have for a Sherlock Holmes thing. Sigh. Anyway, the episode airs, which was incredible (see episode report) with much wooing and awing from the crowd J unfortunately I needed a pee the whole way through, so the moment the preview finished I rushed out to the ladies- and lo and behold, there’s Katie McGrath and Angel Coulby, rushing past me to get back to the show. They smiled at me, but I decided not to bother them- I didn’t have a pen and they seemed in a hurry! That and I’m a wussy. But I can report that Katie McGrath can look good in anything and has a tattoo on her ankle. Juicy gossip, I’m sure...BFOTY nearly ripped me to shreds when she realised what my trip to the loo had got me! She’s braver than me- would have probably tried to kidnap them or something XD...

The episode: ...which I was too busy squeeing at to notice the title...

Be warned: some of the scenes may be out of order- my memory isn’t perfect!

Scene 1:

Bunch of what looks like mining workers are digging their way through the rock under Camelot- eventually after a lot of grunting they break through a wall and walk wide-eyed into a tomb with a large stone table with the statue of a sleeping bearded man with a gigantic blue gemstone embedded in his chest, where his heart would be.

Upstairs, a very shirtless Arthur is tossing and turning in his bed, listening to the very loud banging noises the miners are making below. He sits up, looking very pissy, and promptly yells for Merlin, who somehow manages to burst through the door within three seconds-was he next door or something? I have reason to believe he was sleeping in the ante-chamber. Anyway, Arthur orders Merlin to go and tell the miners to stop the noise- to which Merlin sensibly points out that the miners follow orders from the King, and Arthur pouts and says that may be but Merlin takes orders from him, so Merlin rolls his eyes and shuffles off to do the pouty prats divine bidding.

Back in the tomb, all the miners look very smug until one of them steps on an Indiana Jones style pressure trap, and a statue of a raven shoots something at them. One guy hits the floor and starts spazzing, so they all rush to run out, knocking into Merlin and his favourite torch as they go by. Merlin, fearless as he is, investigates the tomb, and turns the corpse of the dead miner over- to find that his face has gone bright blue and elongated ‘The Ring’ style. Dun dun dun! Roll opening credits.

Scene 2:

Back in the tomb, Uther, Arthur, Gaius and Merlin are snooping about- Uther is gleefully taking in all the riches inside, Gaius peering eyebrowed-ly at the suspicious glowy stone in the statues chest. Can’t remember specifics of this scene, but basically they conclude that they don’t know whose tomb it is, that it may be dangerous, and that it’s Arthur’s responsibility to keep the tomb well guarded- as if he doesn’t have enough to do already.

Scene 3:

Mackenzie Crook from Pirates of the Caribbean (aka Cedric, creepy suckup guy) is sitting being suspicious in a local Camelot Inn (the set budget has increased), talking to one of the miners. It’s a very funny, comic scene, wherein Cedric cons the miner into telling him about the tomb, the gold and riches inside, and the fact that only one person has a key- Arthur- and only one other person is allowed into Arthur’s chambers (and the slashers go wild)- his manservant. Dun dun dun!

Scene 4:

Gaius does some researching montage and ascertains that the tomb belongs to some ancient sorcerer called Seagan (sp?) whose name means raven in some ancient language, who was so powerful he could ‘turn day into night’. There is a legend that says Seagan was executed, but that he found a way to defy death. Gaius goes to Uther and explains in baby language how tomb=nasty sorcerer=curse=trouble=death and destruction, but Uther, bless his arrogant soul, says Gaius is talking pish. As usual. And goes on to be proved wrong. As usual. And won’t admit it. As usual.

Scene 5:

Arthur and Merlin are getting ready for a hunt- Merlin saddles Arthur’s horse and then- no joke- gets down on his hands and knees and lets Arthur use him as a human footstool in order to get onto the horse. Arthur stands On. His. Back. What the doozy? Since when is Merlin whipped? Anyway, Cedric flips a catch on the buckle of Arthur’s horse, and Arthur climbs up one side only to go sliding off and crashing to the floor straight over the other side. Pissy Arthur is pissed, and yells at Merlin for not doing a good job, while Merlin, very bemusedly, makes excuses and is befuddled. Cedric then sneakily steps in and offers to saddle it properly sire, may I brush you off sire, may I lick your boots sire. He sucks up like nobody has ever sucked up before and proclaims what an honour it is to serve a Prince. Arthur promptly turns to Merlin and emphasises, an HONOUR, well. Prick. I love him, but he’s such a dumb, arrogant blonde sometimes. Arthur skips away and Merlin surreptitiously whacks Cedric with a stick. Like some kind of avenging, jealous girlfriend. No kidding!

Scene 6:

Morgana is flailing about, having a violent nightmare about a giant evil raven coming to attack Camelot. Same old, same old. She screams for Gwen, who like Merlin seems to be able to teleport to her mistress within three seconds, and there’s lots of hugging and petting and the entire G/M crowd goes wild. Hee.

Scene 7:

On the hunt! Arthur and his knights seem to be determinedly attacking some grass *shrug* maybe it’s some kind of retarded tactic for attracting prey, who knows. But to me it looks like they’re beating some grass. Maybe it’s evil sorcerer grass. Anyway, this gigantic boar creature comes lumbering out of nowhere, and Cedric looks like he’s weeing himself while Arthur and his Merry Men merrily throw spears at it- and, surprise surprise, it doesn’t work. I swear Arthur is useless sometimes. Anyway, just as Arthur is about to be mauled Merlin rolls his eyes and magics a spear into the boars side- not exactly sneakily, but luckily Arthur n co are deaf. Arthur jumps up and demands to know who threw that jolly good shot, pip pip, and while Merlin looks bemused Cedric jumps in to take the credit, the sneaky bastard. Arthur says Cedric must be rewarded with anything he asks, and Cedric says all he asks is the honour of a place in the royal household- (the HONOUR, Meeeer-lin) and Arthur looks all smug while our favourite manservant grumps, then gets whacked by Cedric’s stick *giggle*. Vengeance, aaah, it stings.

Scene 8:

Merlin, very wooby eyed, goes back to Gaius’ chamber to be sad. Gaius asks him what’s wrong and Merlin says sarcastically that oh, he just saved Arthur’s life and somebody else got the credit, AGAIN. Gaius comforts and Merlin sniffles and says he just wants Arthur to see him for who he really is, and to trust him. Gaius looks dubious. AND THEN Merlin says: ‘Everything I do, I do for him. Why can’t he see that?’ Meeeeeeeeeeeeerlin!

Scene 9:

Morgana is sitting on her bed looking very tired and a little crazy. She explains to Gaius that she is starting to have nightmares again. Gaius is useless, asks about the dream, doesn’t warn her she’s having premonitions ‘It’s probably nothing’ really! And says he’ll ask Gwen to up her sleeping draught dosage. How many times has he done this? She must be high as a kite by now! Anyway, Morgana then says ‘She (Gwen) probably wants to hit me. I know I would.’ Hmmmm! Thoughts anyone?

Scene 10:

Merlin is bringing Arthur his breakfast- a simple plate of bread and stuff. Maybe he’s got Arthur on a diet! He enters Arthur’s chambers only to find the Prince stuffing his face on a Cedric banquet, with the creepazoid pandering to his every whim. Wooby time! Merlin looks so hurt and distraught it makes me want to cry. Arthur is smug about Cedric having already done all of Merlin’s duties, and says that Merlin is dismissed. Merlin woobies more. Cedric says but wait! Oh! There is one duty he forgot- cleaning out the stables! What a bitch. Merlin shoots a pleading look at Arthur, who ignores it and waves Merlin off. Gah!

Scene 11:

Merlin is shifting poop in the stables- another new set! Woo! Cedric sneaks around to the window and throws a ball of smokey stuff inside. Merlin looks confused for a second, before facefalling straight into a pile of poo and snoring. Cedric hastily releases all the horses. It’s just not Merlin’s day!

Scene 12:

Arthur is out in the street talking with one of his men, when he sees the entirety of his stables come galloping down the main street. He heroically grabs one of the horses and marches back towards the stables with a look of death on his face. Uh oh.

Scene 13:

Arthur storms into the stable, and finds Merlin fast asleep in the poo. He leans right over him with the weirdest look on his face- not quite anger, maybe a bit of concern! Yay! We get a Merlin view as our favourite manservant slowly awakens, to find the Pratly wonder glaring into his face. Merlin hastily clambers to his feet and tries to say he wasn’t sleeping, while Arthur points out that the stable is rather lacking in horses, and Merlin looks despairingly confused. Arthur, obviously a little worried for Merlin’s recent behaviour, says that one mistake is fine but this is getting ridiculous! Merlin stammers and stutters Gwen style, but Arthur waves him off and insists he take the night off. Cedric can do his duties. Merlin looks distraught again and says ‘but I don’t want the night off!’. Poor baby. Arthur is unmoved though, and Cedric looks triumphant. Merlin then practically yells that Cedric is trying to usurp him, and if Arthur wasn’t such a CLODPOLE, he’d realise it- lol! Arthur looks scandalised- WHAT did Merlin just call him?! Much hilarity.

Scene 14:

Yet another scene with Gaius- this time Merlin just sits and down and says ‘I’m NOT an idiot’ in the most upset voice I’ve ever heard. Can’t remember much about this scene, but it ends with Merlin resolving to try to tell Arthur about the possible threat of the Sorcerer Seagan. This can’t end well.

Scene 15:

Cedric is putting Arthur to bed *giggle* Arthur is shirtless AGAIN and puts the key to the tomb in some drawer then snuggles down in his very comfy looking bed. Cedric snuffs out the candles and sneakily steals the key, before saying ‘goodnight sire’ in possibly the most sexual way I’ve ever heard, but we’ll let that lie. Cedric sneaks on down to the tomb, and steals a load of stuff, pirate style. Unfortunately, he also decides that stealing the gigantic blue heartstone that’s glowing ominously will be a good idea. So he prises it out, and some glowy blue mist goes up his nostrils. Cedric’s eyes go black. Le gasp! Seagan is back! Merlin sits up in bed, looking ruffled.

Scene 16:

The tomb has been broken into! Uther is not happy! This bit is a little hazy for me. Somehow, eventually, Merlin and Gaius work out that only Cedric could have taken the key, and Merlin heads off to warn Arthur.

Scene 17:

Merlin tries to warn Arthur about the sorcerer threat- Arthur seems to think Merlin is losing it, and Merlin is looking a bit wild eyed and weird in this scene. Merlin tries to warn Arthur that Cedric must have stolen the key and is probably possessed by Seagan- Arthur gets up from his desk- did I mention it looked like he was actually writing something when Merlin came in? Will wonders never cease? And tries to usher Merlin out, at which point Merlin gets really angry and demands to know why Arthur never listens to him! At which point Cedric/Seagan walks in, looking all innocent but subtly evil, and denies Merlin’s claims. An argument ensues, and eventually Merlin forgoes all protocol and simply tackles Cedric to the ground and starts grappling with him! That’s our boy! Not sure whether he’s trying to kill him for the sake of Camelot or just wants to beat the crap out of him for ruining his relationship with Arthur. Probably both. A hilarious fight scene commences, with Merlin’s feet ending up in Arthur’s face, and all three of them chasing each other under Arthur’s bed and around the room- as Merlin is trying to catch Cedric and Arthur is trying to catch Merlin. Giggle. Arthur eventually jumps on Merlin (no joke!) and drags him up, very reminiscient of the very first episode- especially as he then throws him in the dungeons and warns Merlin to consider whether he actually wants to be his servant ;_; nooooes!

Scene 18:

Seagon heads out onto some balcony somewhere at night, wearing this weird black feather outfit, and is all cliché about how he is finally free and he’s going to destroy Camelot. He then uses his magics to make all the gargoyles in the castle come alive and start ripping the bejesus out of the castle and the civilians.

Scene 19:

The usual happens; Uther orders Arthur to go out and kill the monsters, Arthur waves a stick stupidly at them, amazingly NOT pouting, and heroically being left behind while his men bar the castle doors shut. At which point Uther throws a contradictory fatherly fit. Sigh. Ye gads, GWEN saves Arthurs silly arse when he gets clawed and thrown about by the things and gets him inside where Morgana patches him up. Gwen tackles Arthur, twice. What is it with tackling in this episode? Meanwhile Merlin decides enough is enough and just magics his way out of the dungeon because he’s awesome. Arthur stumbles his way through a show of gratitude to Gwen, who is very unimpressed, and Merlin overhears everyone’s crappy plan to just keep trying to fight- Arthur limps back on out into the fray because it’s his duty to his people. Interestingly, he point-blank ignores his Daddy’s orders not to- doesn’t even flinch.

Scene 20:

Merlin heads out to save the stupid blonde damsel as usual, and after a long and fruitless attempt by Arthur to defeat the beast, he gets whapped on the head and assumes his usual position of prettily decorating the cobblestones of Camelot flat on his back with large bloodstains on his cranium. I think they only knock him out all the time so he’s conveniently unable to notice Merlin’s magic. Why doesn’t he have brain damage by now? Anyway, Merlin splodies the monster, and one of those really cute little moments ensues where Merlin checks Arthurs prone form over for damage and stands heroically in front of him proclaiming that he’s ‘not going to let you (Seagan) hurt him!’ I just love protective!Merlin.

So Seagan gives Merlin a HUGE spiel about how Merlin’s too powerful to be mingling with these mere mortals- some very cliché crap about how if Merlin joined Seagan Arthur would ‘see Merlin for who he really was, appreciate him, and tremble and bow before him’ (HA! I think Arthur would rather eat dragon shit and die before bowing before his favourite idiot, but whatever- interesting that Seagon seems to know that using Arthurs respect as a lure is the best way to win Merlin over-woo!) and Merlin, bless his little loyal heart, says simply ‘I don’t want that...’ ;_; he wants Arthur to be his equal and his friend, the little muffin. And finally, ol Seagans coup de grace:

Merlin: ‘Better to serve a good man, than rule beside and evil one!’

So Seagan tries to possess Merlin and his magic (in an entirely non sexual way, honest- there’s no flailing and grunting and invading orifices at all, swear to god) and Gaius turns up, and for a moment we all go oh noes! Merlin is all evil and Seaganified! But no it’s ok, Merlin is just pretending. Which was kind of a mean thing to do in front of an old man like Gaius. Serves him right if the old dude had kicked it right there and then. Anyway, much hugging and rejoicing while Arthur remains pancaked on the floor.

Final scene:

Gaius and Merlin have another warm cosy moment over a lovely pot o stew- all very sweet. They discuss how Merlin shouldn’t expect an apology and lo and behold! A very bedraggled Arthur comes shuffling through the door with the BIGGEST shiner on his face I’ve ever seen. Massive bruising thar. Anyway, he’s all gruffly, prattishly reproachful and admits that although Merlin is still an idiot, he couldn’t help noticing Merlin was UTTERLY FREAKIN RIGHT about Camelot being under threat from some birdy guy, and Merlin gets THE loveliest grin on his face, and asks Arthur, is he actually admitting that this time Merlin was right? And Arthur grumbles his way through a yes or no or maybe, before dumping his armour on Merlin’s head and effectively declaring that the break up is over, prat style, before storming hurriedly out. Episode ends with Merlin and Gaius exchanging a slightly bemused laugh together. Sweet. Roll credits!

Episode summary: a character study!

Merlin was a bit wooby-eyed and emo and despairing. And he let Arthur walk all over him- he seems a bit worn out and on the edge :s this series is definitely going to be darker. He spent most of the ep lamenting his seemingly unrequited dedication to Arthur. It was honestly heartbreaking! Oh, and he was looking on the thin side. Worrying overall, and I miss confident Merlin- he didn’t genuinely smile enough in this ep and that’s a real shame.

Arthur was a prick. A very noble, hot, shirtless, and ultimately redeemed prick, but a serious prick. It’s like he’d regressed right back to the very first episode of season one. What happened to the heartbreakingly touching relationship shown at the end of season one? I kinda hated Arthur in this ep sometimes. He was great and noble and loyal with his men when fighting the weird gargoyle monsters, all heroic n stuff, but to Merlin? Complete douche. And uncalled for, if you ask me. I enjoy their banter usually, but in this episode, he was really quite vicious.

Morgana was...practically invisible. She appeared in about three scenes. Kind of samey really, I was hoping for more signs of her going evil. She was a lot more flaily and wide eyed and bitchy about her nightmare, and seemed more tired in general, but no development on that front yet. Prolly coming later in the series. We’ll see!

Gwen was...crow-barred in a bit. They’re trying just a little too hard to make her prettier this season-her dress was way too intricate for a handmaiden-she looked great in it, it just didn’t seem to fit. And they’re throwing us in the deep end with her and Arthur a bit. Ok, so it was very cool when she tackled Arthur twice and accidentally shoved her newly on-show cleavage in his face, but seriously. To be honest, Arthur seemed way more into her than vice versa. She’s very cold with him. Who knows, they may make it work. As a slasher, though, I have my doubts.

Gaius was...Gaius really. Comforting Merlin in his wooby-time, rolling his eyes at Uther, healing peeps and researching magic shiz. Just a normal day in the life of the court zoo-keeper. Sorry, physician.

Uther was a bit of an idiotic, arrogant twat- nothing really changed on this front. He’s got some funky new duds. Him sticking his fingers in his ears and going lalala not liiiistening whenever Gaius makes perfectly legitimate points about curses and sorcery is starting to get on my nerves now, though. Also, the way every single episode somehow resolves with Uther being convinced he was ‘right all along’? GAH! Brilliant acting on Anthony Head’s part, but sometimes I just wanna smack the silly self-entitled bozo.

A slasher’s perspective:

Lots of slash in this ep- it was almost entirely M/A orientated- the entire premise was about Merlin desperately wanting Arthur to appreciate him, and him getting really very bitchy with Cedric over Arthur. Seriously, they whack each other with sticks and glare daggers at each other- not to mention the famous Merlin drop-tackle of Cedric- there was a serious catfight there! With Arthur rolling his eyes and rubbing his forehead in a very ‘bloke caught between two suitors’ way. Arthur also resolved the fight by throwing Merlin to the ground and practically sitting on him. Growl. Bradley James has clearly put on muscle, while Colin Morgan looks, if possible, a little weedier. I don’t particularly like it, as it makes their relationship seem a bit warped and uneven. Merlin is pretty much whipped- he lets Arthur stand on his back like he’s a footstool in order to get on his horse- which is something I don’t think the defiant Merlin of season one would do. Both the boys have definitely changed- perhaps summat has happened between seasons to change things?

Arthur did seem, subtly, very concerned for Merlin when Merlin was seemingly being more clumsy than usual- ordering him to get some rest, and all that. He does apologise at the end of the episode too- which I suppose is something- but I really think after all the development in season one towards friendship and something more, that this was a big step back, one I didn’t like one bit. I really hope they haven’t been put off slash, and are now trying to act all manly manly instead of giving us those lovely subtle little soft moments we got in season one. If so, jokes on them anyway because it just makes it seem like they want to fuck like bunnies but Arthur is too poncy and confuzzled to go for it, the dumb bint. (Don’t get me wrong- I love the prat to pieces- but seriously, you will want to smack him by the end of this ep).

And then there’s the glaring fact that Arthur now apparently sleeps shirtless, with Merlin three seconds away via shouting. I have to ask myself what Merlin was doing being just next door? Does he sleep there now??? Also, Arthur was PMSing like crazy. He seemed more than a little bit sexually tense. One interpretation is him struggling with his feelings, and like a kid in the playground, throwing rocks at the girl he fancies. In this case, taking it out on Merlin. It can have a perfectly innocent, ‘best friend’ interpretation of course, but Arthur was being just a little too unnecessarily cruel for that. Also, this whole routine of Arthur half-firing and then re-hiring Merlin? Seems a little too much like a break-up-make-up routine.

The sad thing is that Merlin seems to know exactly where he stands, and is totally dedicated to Arthur and is getting almost despairing about getting little but abuse in return, while Arthur seems to be reacting to being confused by lashing out. It’s a very different place from where we left off with the first season, with them being in an almost comfortable regime. Things are obviously very tense, and about to get a lot darker, and I really hope we don’t spend the whole season with them just bitching at each other. I seem to recall Bradley James complaining about being stuck in a rut with the relationship because Arthur STILL hasn’t noticed Merlin is a freakin sorcerer. According to him, it’s in danger of going stale- and I’m not so sure swapping out all the subtle little gems of slash, just so Arthur will take his shirt off and throw Merlin around a bit, is worth it. But maybe I’m just weird.

One last sad note slashers- both the boys get very pointedly female love interests this season. Arthur gets to the point where he does kiss Gwen and worry about not being able to be with her, and Merlin encourages him to have hope for them. Merlin himself gets it on with a woman who I believe is going to become the lady of the lake- possibly played by Emilia Fox. This first episode showed we won’t be missing out on the M/A interaction, and certainly won’t be losing the hoyay, but be warned- obligatory female love interests are just around the corner.

The Q/A:

Glorious slashy moment :

The host: (talking about knowing how the story will pan out, due to the legend) Because we all know...that they’ll grow old together-(audience giggle)

Bradley: Thanks...do you mean Arthur and Merlin or Colin and Bradley?

The host: Well, I’m pretty sure there are people in this audience who want both...(I think, he mumbled a bit).

Thanks for reading folks!

The preview: Some spoilers for season 2

1. Arthur kisses Gwen

2. Arthur holds a sword to Uther and yells at him

3. Mordred is back and blasting people

4. Lancelot is back and hitting on Gwen

5. Morgana is going evil

6. Merlin kisses the Lady of the Lake

7. The dragon is set free

...and furthermore...

2009-01-28T23:10:18Z

Continuing the tradition of batches of three (hurray for trilogy mayhem!)

Some men are born hunters.

They crave dominance as surely as they crave bread and water. Their lust for violence pollutes their blood like a drug. They assert their power with pure brutality, seducing with honeyed caresses, gorging themselves on blood and fear and sweat. Despair is but a sacred melody to their gratuitous ears, and they prey on the weak with merciless contempt, watching, waiting, biding, salivating. They ache in the darkness for that helpless writhing body beneath their own, the rising pitch, a high crescendo, a squeal, a squeal and yes yes yes, oh GOD, the kill.

Candles flicker, people bicker and the night gets sicker the Predator muses, his mind awash with idleness. The pale, creamy surface of burnished ivory skin beneath his itching fingertips stretched across too-brittle bones, the empty promise of soft curves and buxom bosoms failing to entice his blessed, blessed heat. He hungered for strong pearly bones with golden marrow, the broad, breakable bow of thick-set collarbones, the trembling planes of the armoured breast and the raw ecstasy of the dying light in a broken man’s spirit.

The Predator’s blood boils, unwatched. He yearns for a challenge.

He casts his drooling gaze about, for that delectable scent, that alluring hum of sorcery and innocence that had teased his tongue just minutes before. His sights alight upon dark curling hair and marbled cheeks and squall-grey eyes flecked with liquid gold. His yearning bloats, his desires aquiver. Yes he thrums he is the one.

“My Lady, I must beg your indulgence.” His silken courtesy parrots with accomplished skill “Your brilliance is simply too blinding for such a lowly subject. Lord Silar!” a snap of his fingers, a rippling smile and his burden is cast off to another angler “With reluctance, I relinquish my prize. You will prove to be an opponent more worthy, I trust.”

He approaches, slowly, slowly, unseen, blessedly unseen. He can smell the Golden Prince on the Sorcerer, the harsh swill of leather and sweet honey and chamomile oils smothering the boy’s own essence of lavender and clean green grass and smoke and hay. His tongue darts out to wet anticipative lips. He longs to cleave the boy in two, to lay him bear and break him.

“Greetings, stranger.” He breathes out heat onto the soft shell of an exposed ear. The specimen was desire incarnate.

&&&

Merlin very nearly dropped the goblet he was cradling as he felt a sudden rush of air against the side of his face, and whirled about, heart slamming painfully against his ribs. He gasped as he found his face inches from a pair of clear, hungry blue eyes and a predatory grin.

Oh, great. Not this joker again.

“Hello-” he managed to choke out, his sense of propriety overruling his urge to punch the smug stranger in the mouth “I mean, good evening, my Lord.” The man…oh God, what his name again? Paylan? Treylan? Oh, screw it. Merlin mentally christened the man ‘Sir Creep-a-lot’ and backpedaled hastily. His skin prickled with unease, the cold pit of dread in his stomach suddenly turning sub-zero. What on earth did this bozo want with him, anyway?

The man kept uncannily still for a few moments, his eyes roving up and down Merlin’s body with a long, suggestive sweep of heavy brown lashes “Good evening.” He murmured, delicately, his smile widening almost imperceptively. Merlin felt a sudden uncomfortable affiliation for an unsuspecting turkey on the way to the Yuletide slaughter “Lord Reylan.” The words rolled off his lips like a profession of adoration, and as he bent slightly towards him Merlin caught a strong scent of ginger spice and iron “You are Prince Arthur’s…” Something dark flickered in the man’s gaze like a sudden burst of flame “…manservant, correct?”

Merlin cleared his throat and fervently wished he had not chosen to stand alone at the far end of the hall “Yes.”

“Manservant.” The errant Lord’s smooth brow furrowed slightly as he seemed to mull the word over in his mind “What does that mean, in this land, I wonder?” he said, lightly. Too lightly.

Merlin’s eyes narrowed in response and he straightened up a little, and as the creases in his overskirt unwrinkled the emblazoned silver dragon seemed unfurl itself and rear threateningly “It’s a little like a squire.” He said, shortly, trying desperately to keep his tone as close to polite as possible “I wash his clothes, saddle his horses, clean his armour, that sort of thing.” He raised a daring eyebrow “Why? What does it mean in your country?”

Lord Reylan blinked, then threw back his head and let out a harsh bark of laughter that made Merlin jump. Smirking, he carefully folded his arms and leant nonchalantly back against the wall, shoulder’s angled towards Merlin, seeming to box him in. The young Warlock felt a tentative shudder reverberate up his spine. Reylan leant his head in close, casting a foreboding shadow across Merlin’s face.

“What do you think of your Prince?” he asked, softly, breathing the heady scent of wine across Merlin’s nose.

Arthur…The heated presence in Merlin’s head growled and snarled an incomprehensible warning. The Warlock caught the sudden burst of raw power just in time, wrangling it down to a subdued, festering sore clawing at his innards “I’m a servant, my Lord. I’m not really entitled to an opinion.” He said, guardedly, struggling not to attempt to back away further.

There was a glint of enamel in the candlelight “But you like him?”

“Well enough.” Merlin’s heart beat furiously in his chest, pressure building in his head. Lord Reylan carefully moved his right hand up the wall to rest right beside Merlin’s head, and whispered breathily “Prince Catalan likes him very much.”

Merlin swallowed thickly, a flinch of heat raking his stomach raw “Does he?”

Reylan smirked with unblinking intensity “Well, he is very beautiful.”

The spell broke.

Merlin snorted violently and doubled over laughing, his forehead slamming into his assailant’s and sending the smarmy creep reeling. Merlin, as Arthur had colourfully informed him one particularly nasty hunting incident, had an extremely thick skull “Don’t let him hear you say that!” he choked out, red in the face, imagining Arthur’s furious princely pout at such an outrageous comment against his (already severely bruised) masculinity. He smothered his laughs helplessly into his sleeve, feeling oddly dizzy.

“Oh?” Lord Reylan’s cold tone cut mercilessly through his amusement like an arrow, and Merlin quickly sobered “Why, is he foul tempered? He certainly looks it.” Within seconds Reylan had snapped smoothly back to his cool rappore, smirk restored and using his dislodged state as an opportunity to lean casually even closer to Merlin, who found himself no longer intimidated and growing increasingly annoyed. Quite suddenly Reylan broke his gaze, and glanced over towards the dance floor with an unreadable expression crowding his schooled features “I doubt he has changed much.” he murmured, so quietly Merlin could barely discern the words from the sputtering of a nearby drowning candle.

“What-”

Calloused hands clamped down hard on his wrists and he found himself being dragged forwards “HEY-!”

“Dance with me.” The words spilled hotly across his cooled, sweaty skin like a brand, bloody lips curled at the edges like a cobra’s tail a mere fraction from engulfing his own.

“E-Excuse me?!” he managed to splutter out through the shock and the tinny whistling sound of his patience reaching its limit. I mean honestly, this man was more perverted, smug and annoying than Arthur! …and not nearly as attractive a small, traitorous, well repressed part of Merlin’s mind piped up (which was swiftly and efficiently crushed).

“Yoooou.” Reylan drawled, eyes heavily lidded “What is your name?”

Merlin hesitated, and then stiffened his resolve. Arthur needed him here tonight and he’d be damned if he caused the Prince any more grief than he had endured already. Toughen up, Merlin he reprimanded himself mentally you’re probably going to have to deal with much worse than perverts, knowing how much this brand of destiny seems to like kicking the ironic shit out of you.

“Merlin.” He said curtly, pleased to hear his voice ring clear and defiant “My name is Merlin. And please, my Lord, you really do not want to dance with me. I am terrible at it.” Reylan’s grip on his wrists tightened, and Merlin fought not to wince as he felt his bones creak under the pressure “No matter.” Merlin suppressed an undignified gasp as an arm slid snake-like around his waist and a hand curled possessively at his hip “Allow me to improve you!”

This was kind of horrible, twisted nightmare. It just had to be. Arthur was being wooed by a prissy obsessive Prince, and he, MERLIN, humble manservant, was being all but molested by some sex-deprived and possibly deranged Lord. Great. Just peachy.

You could have bloody warned me, Arthur he thought, darkly.

&&&

Arthur was pretty convinced that somewhere, high above the storm clouds gathering over his head, some devious omnipotent deity was laughing his holy garters off. It was the only possible explanation he could fathom for him being here, in this surreal predicament, right now. Dancing. With a man. A foreign Prince, no less. A foreign Prince who was obviously besotted with him. Oddly, it wasn’t the fact that he was dancing with something so evidently non-female that bothered him. In fact, it was almost a relief not to have to constantly worry about stepping on delicate feminine feet and being slapped in the face for the trouble. It wasn’t even that dancing with Prince Catalan (God’s preserve us) was particularly unpleasant. It just didn’t feel…right. The shoulder under his hand felt too slender, and the Prince’s palm on his own just didn’t seem to fit. Not like earlier, when Merlin-

Woah, Pendragon, hold the reins on THAT thought. Speaking of his clueless clodpole of a manservant, where had Merlin got to? He glanced surreptitiously around the hall as the dance broke into a dizzying spin, his keen eyes scanning for a shimmer of silver or a lopsided grin among the sea of hostile faces.

His heart plummeted as his eyes finally rested upon the furthermost corner behind the royal table.

Thump.

No.

Thump-thump.

No, it couldn’t be. Not him.

Ka-thump. Ka-thump.

Not with Merlin.

There was a gentle pressure on his arm, and Arthur realised with some surprise that he had stopped moving entirely, and Catalan was regarding now him with a soft look of concern “Is something wrong, your highness?”

Bile rose in his throat. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Phantom hands pawed across his skin, leaving damp, clammy trails of sickening nakedness that turned his stomach to acid. He reeled, blood roaring in his ears, and gritted his teeth as his knees threatened to buckle beneath his weight.

“If you will excuse me, Prince Catalan.” He gasped out, flushing as he found his hands suddenly gripping the other Prince’s shoulders tightly. Catalan bit his lip and glanced about nervously, discreetly checking to see if anyone had noticed Arthur’s sudden weakness. He smiled triumphantly and patted the Crown Prince’s hand a little awkwardly as it seemed that the oblivious courtiers had, as ever, noticed nothing “Of course.” He said, smiling encouragingly while slipping a subtle supporting shoulder under Arthur’s and leading him away from the centre of the room “You look pale, Prince Arthur, are you well?”

No I’m bloody NOT! Arthur raged internally, fighting desperately to regain control of his treacherously shaking limbs Merlin. I have to get to Merlin.

“I am a little fatigued.” He said shakily, his sense of purpose flooding liquid strength through his veins “It’s stifling in here.”

Prince Catalan nodded slowly, his eyes glimmering sympathetically as he carefully disentangled himself from Arthur as it became evident he could support himself “Perhaps I could accompany you back to a table?” a light flush spread across his cheeks at the informality, but he blundered on regardless “Or fetch some water to refresh you?”

“No.” Arthur gritted out impatiently, but seeing the look of confused hurt filling the foreign Royal’s expressive face he softened his tone “No, truly, thank you for your kindness, but I must-” he shot a worried glance towards the offending corner of the room “consult with my aide on a matter of great importance.”

Catalan nodded understandingly, and although evidently bemused he gave a courteous smile “Very well.” He bowed hesitantly “You have my most profuse thanks for your companionship.”

Arthur mirrored his bow and was surprised to find himself giving a genuine reply “The pleasure was mine.”

Now, time to right a few wrongs the Crown Prince thought scathingly, feeling a savage pleasure as his hands shook not with shock, now, but with a raw, cleansing hatred. His heart pounded deafeningly in his chest, and dark shadows danced in his head which he suppressed ruthlessly. Not now. Not right now. Please.

“Pardon the intrusion.” The Prince said with an icy sweetness, stopping short as his manservant’s assailant turned to face him as he approached “But if you would be so kind as to give me back my servant.”

The man’s eyes rolled lazily round in their sockets to rest disinterestedly on Arthur. In that brief moment’s pause the Prince perceived the Lord’s aggressive arm wrapped around his manservant’s waist, and the freshly bruised skin on Merlin’s wrists.

Blinding white-hot anger ruptured through him like a shock, and his right arm twitched as he very nearly cut the man’s throat then and there.

There was a sudden snarl of pearled enamel as the offender laughed throatily in the Crown Prince’s face, the polite façade pasted across his face cracking with a sneer “Do you treat all your underlings with such disdain, Prince Arthur?” his grin smoothed seamlessly into a predatory smile “I think Merlin here is deserving of better.”

Arthur’s fists shook so hard he could feel the bones shaking in their sockets Damn him, bastard!

Then, quite suddenly, something cold and very, very dangerous settled soothingly over his anger like a shroud.

“Well, unfortunately, Lord Reylan.” Arthur murmured tonelessly, a delicate warning lacing his calm “What you think is of no concern to me.” With a terrifying speed the Prince clapped a hand down hard on the taller man’s shoulder, and he saw Merlin wince as he heard the man’s bones creak under the pressure of Arthur’s white-knuckled grip “Now:” he hissed softly, almost seductively, his eyes black pits of utter loathing “unhand my aide before I make you.”

The atmosphere in the great hall was stifling. Heady candles bled wax onto delicate iron spindles, flames sputtering hotly in the thick air. The pungent aroma of roasted meat clashed with the sweet tang of fruit and wine, making Merlin feel more than a little disorientated. He recalled Gaius once accusing him of being able to get drunk on ‘one whiff of a barmaid’s skirt’ but honestly, this was ridiculous.

Shifting restlessly, Merlin frowned at the back of the Prince’s head from his traditional position, a step behind and to the right of the royal chair. The intermittent dapple shade of candlelight and shadows doused Arthur’s golden hair with a flickering halo, the blackness creeping into the hollows of his cheeks making him look gaunt. Merlin felt the sickly cold fingers of worry play teasingly at his insides. Arthur’s knuckles were bloodless as his grip on the dark mahogany beneath his fingers seemed to tighten impossibly. If Arthur, Supreme Overlord of the Oblivious Uninformed, was apprehensive, then Merlin certainly should be.

He hated feasts and celebrations like this. They were a breeding ground for poisoned wine, hidden daggers, and falling chandeliers for the love of Camelot. There were about a hundred and one potential threats to Arthur, and keeping a constant eye on the Prince while simultaneously trying to uphold the ‘I’m just a humble servant but secretly an all powerful Warlock, but don’t mind me’ charade, was exhausting.

A tinny fanfare sounded, and the doors were flung wide open as the clumping of many booted feet approached the hall “Presenting King Balor of Baldor, your majesty.” The entire hall fell silent, as an arrayed blur of colours and shapes came marching round the columns framing the doorway and came to a halt just inside. Merlin nearly choked as he laid eyes on quite the oddest diplomatic party he had ever seen.

They were all dressed in the most striking mix of colours imaginable; forest greens with ocean blues and pastel pinks, and their clothing was an array of flamboyant silks and taffeta and some kind of ribbed material Merlin had never seen before. They seemed to glisten like the shimmer of water on a lake as they approached, and Merlin had to blink, blinded as the candlelight rebounded off the glint of the copious amounts of gold and silver jewellery that adorned their necks, arms, ears and…well, everywhere imaginable.

“’Spotty, pre-pubescent outcast’ of the Albion lands, huh?” he murmured awestruck in Arthur’s ear. The Prince said nothing. Merlin glanced over to see Uther, mouth agape, hastily regain his composure “Party of Baldor.” He said, a little stiffly, inclining his head slightly as he cleared his throat “You are most welcome.”

A deep, booming laugh sounded from somewhere in the centre of the disorganized rabble, and a tall, thick set man swept through his fellows to stand assuredly before Uther’s throne “Evening, Uther, evening!” he said jovially, his green eyes twinkling in a face tanned and slightly wrinkled, giving his skin the exotic look of emerald encrusted leather “My, lovely set up you’ve got here, lovely!” he whistled appreciatively, admiring the decorative banners and bowls of outlandish dishes laid out before him with exaggerated surprise; Merlin couldn’t help a small grin as Uther bristled at the informality “Gorgeous blends of colour. You simply must refer me to your decorating staff!”

Uther seemed at a loss for words, utterly taken aback by the imposing man’s bleached white grin and overbearing manner “Well, I-”

“Some other time, perhaps, then!” the man, Balor, Merlin recalled, cut across the King of Camelot with another booming laugh, the thick gold links at his waist jingling merrily in accompaniment. Although he was evidently the King of this illusive far away land, he wore no visible crown, only an enormous signet ring on his left hand and a ruby the size of a swan’s egg around his neck. He was also seemingly one of the only members of the party to sport a beard, black, curled and tightly clipped into a neat point at his chin.

“May I present my partner, Allena.” King Balor brought forward an elegant woman with long, nut-brown hair that fell to her knees, who curtseyed with a demure smile. Merlin noticed with some shock that instead of a long, full dress, she wore simple leggings and riding boots not dissimilar from Arthur’s hunting clothes. Balor grinned manically as the Lady Allena went through a rather odd set of formalities, offering an engraved cup with a deep red liquid to Morgana before adorning her hair with a wreath of lacey leaves and red and white berries. Morgana accepted the ritual with her ever enduring good graces, and smiled appreciatively through her confusion.

Meanwhile, Balor reverently brought forth a man with neat, straw coloured hair to his shoulders, a strong chin and sky blue eyes “This,” his eyes gleamed in the semi-darkness, his expressive face softened with a look of utter devotion “Is my consort, Filius.” He looked around proudly before slipping a comfortable arm around his fellow’s waist. Lower waist.

There was a ringing silence. Merlin watched with interest as Uther’s face turned chalk white, then slowly began to redden. Wait, had King Balor just said consort?

“Balor.” The young man, Filius, murmured, his cheeks colouring, smacking the King on the arm in the familiar manner of easy lovers “Be discreet.” He pulled himself gently free of King Balor’s smirking hold and approached the high table with an apologetic air “Your majesty, a gift.” He said, and with great ceremony proffered a beautiful bejeweled dagger to Uther.

Merlin caught Gwen’s eye from across the room, and they grinned in mutual amused confusion. Merlin did not know much about Camelot’s standing on…more unconventional types of relationships. From the occasional suspicious manly groans coming from the stables and the absence of certain pairs of Knight’s or squires at any given time, it…happened. But it was hardly common, and was generally frowned upon. There were no outright laws against it, but from the look on Uther’s face as he accepted the token dagger with gritted teeth, there soon would be.

Finally, Balor brought forward a lithe young man with a tumble of black curls and a thin mouth “My son, by Lady Allena, Prince Catalan.” The King said, proudly, giving the young man a gentle shove in the small of the back.

Merlin slowly frowned.

Prince Catalan looked to be around Arthur’s age; though quite a bit less muscled and a lot more dignified. His angled features were reminiscent of his Father’s bold facial structure, but the paleness of his skin, the softness of his eyes and the slightly feline grace in his limbs made it evident that he favoured his Mother’s genetics. He had an oddly timid, mousey look about him that did not befit the stereotypical image of a Prince at all, and seemed shy and out of place standing under such scrutiny.

And he wouldn’t stop staring at Arthur.

“Charming.” Uther managed to grit out with forced civility “My son, Prince Arthur.” He gestured carelessly to Arthur who, Merlin noted with increased concern, did not react at all “The Lady Morgana.”

Prince Catalan shuffled forward nervously, eyes flitting wildly about “My lady.” he muttered hastily, bowing low, before turning, very slowly, to face the chair to the right of Uther’s throne “Prince…Arthur Pendragon.” He said, breathlessly, staring unblinkingly at Arthur with a tangibly awed intensity that elicited the Crown Prince to finally raise his sullen gaze. Arthur rose dejectedly to his feet, and inclined his head shortly.

“I am honoured…to meet you at last.” Catalan said softly, eyes roving over Arthur’s face like he was drinking the Crown Prince in. Merlin moved closer quietly, just enough so he could gauge Arthur’s reaction. He was surprised to find that apart from a slight quirk to the Prince’s lips, Arthur’s features betrayed absolutely nothing of his feelings. His eyes were dark and emotionless, and Merlin shivered suddenly despite the heat.

“Likewise.” Arthur said, not coldly, but with a sharp edge to his tone. A small smile wove delight across Prince Catalan’s thin, unnaturally red lips, his face lighting up at the acknowledgement. Encouraged, he moved closer, holding out a burnished silver object as he moved “Please, accept this offering.” He said, reverently, before grasping Arthur’s wrist without warning and slipping the cool metal ring around it.

Arthur visibly flinched. Blood beat harshly in Merlin’s temple as his pulse quickened.

It was a delicate silver circlet fashioned in the shape of a laurel, with thin winding vines and leaves interspersed with tiny fragments of precious stones. It looked distinctly out of place on Arthur’s battle-worn wrist, Merlin thought with uncharacteristic disdain. A sudden look of surprise crossed Catalan’s features, and his fingers lingered on Arthur’s wrist. Merlin looked also, and felt a jolt of sickly shock as he noticed the dried red stain of a recently formed scab scarring Arthur’s pale skin.

Arthur, you idiot! Merlin thought darkly, catching the flash of a concealed blade up the Prince’s wrist in the dim light I’ve told you to be careful with that thing! Catalan, meanwhile, tsked softly and gave Arthur a look of familiar concern “You should take better care of yourself, Prince Arthur.” His fingertips moved to probe the wound.

MINE!

A surge of uncontrollable rage coursed through Merlin’s veins like a plague, and he took a sudden gulp of air as he felt magic hum at his fingertips. He watched horrified as the bracelet now fastened around Arthur’s wrist burned with a sudden burst of angry electric blue heat, and Prince Catalan snatched his now bruised fingers back, confused. Merlin glanced quickly at Arthur who, thankfully, seemed to have neither felt nor noticed anything. Following Catalan’s retreat the fading magic seemed to glow a protective and somehow self-satisfied pink before it faded completely. He shook his head, his thoughts sluggish, and winced as he felt a sharp pain in his own palms. He looked down and was astonished to see that his hands had balled into fists, and his nails were digging mercilessly into his calloused palms. He winced, breathed deeply.

Calm; focus.

He was worried for Arthur, he told himself soothingly, even as that deep, rawly powerful essence in his head growled that Arthur was his. No, no! Arthur was his to protect. And that…thing might be cursed. Yes. That was it.

“You have my thanks.” Arthur said, eyebrows fractionally raised. Catalan nodded, hesitated, and gave the bracelet a wary glance before bowing unnecessarily low and returning to his Father’s side.

Uther turned an unattractive shade of purple as Merlin fumed.

“High Court of Camelot: allies, friends, brothers.” Balor began, waving at his courtiers to seat themselves “We come together today to celebrate a most momentous day in both our countries histories. The day we…”

Merlin felt a tug at his sleeve as Balor launched into his speech, and found Arthur’s burning eyes boring into his.

“Wine. Now.” The Prince hissed, and Merlin nodded sympathetically, pouring a healthy amount of alcohol into Arthur’s cup, which the Prince immediately downed in one long gulp and raised his chalice for a refill.

Merlin obliged, and wrinkled his nose at the band now adorning Arthur’s wrist “The cuff is…” he couldn’t help a slightly mischievous smile “nice.”

“No.” Arthur snapped, and immediately received a warning glare from his Father “No Merlin, the cuff is not nice, and do you know why the cuff is not nice?” he took another desperate draught and slammed the empty cup down on the table “The cuff is not nice because the cuff is not a cuff, it is a bracelet.” He fixed his manservant with a scathing look “And who wears bracelets, Merlin?”

Merlin swallowed, feeling the Prince’s sarcasm singe his hair “Uh…g-girls, sire?”

“Precisely.” Arthur said, glowering “Girls.” He sat hunched in his chair, tense as a bowstring on the verge of snapping.

“Calm yourself, sire.” Merlin said, soothingly, placing a tentative hand on the Prince’s shoulder. Arthur immediately relaxed at his touch “Is this what you meant? When you said about…?”

Arthur nodded wordlessly, and looked suddenly so tired and fraught that Merlin felt his go out to his friend in sympathy. He squeezed the Prince’s shoulder gently “It’ll be over soon, Arthur. I promise.” He wasn’t entirely sure where the words came from, but they seemed right. And as Arthur sat up a little straighter and drew in a shaky breath, Merlin couldn’t bring himself to regret his momentary openness.

“Yeah, right.” The Prince muttered, shrugging Merlin’s hand off “I wouldn’t mind so much if they didn’t all stare like they’re bloody fish and I’m a worm on a hook.”

Merlin looked around the hall. The Baldorean’s did seem to have an unpleasant habit of staring. Didn’t these people ever blink?! Most of their glimmering gazes were transfixed either upon either King Balor or the Camelot High Table. Catalan, Merlin noticed with a distasteful glare, was still staring unrelentingly at Arthur.

His neck prickled unpleasantly, and he felt the familiar sense of unease that someone was watching. He scanned the sea of faces before him, and his heart nearly jumped out of his chest when his gaze met a narrowed pair of cerulean eyes regarding him unabashed from the farthest corner of the hall. The man’s pupils were yawning coal-black pools in the semi-darkness, and for a moment Merlin could do nothing but stare himself, mouth slightly open.

The man, who looked to be in his thirties, was leaning nonchalantly against a pillar, half concealed in the shadows, and had a bored, arrogant posture that made him a misfit amongst his easy-going, friendly Baldorean fellows. His mouse-brown hair was tied haphazardly back from his high cheekbones, allowing a few wayward strands to fall carelessly across his features. He looked entirely ordinary, but something about him set Merlin’s teeth on edge. Perhaps the hungry look in his eyes. Or the fact that, like every other God-damned Baldorean, he wouldn’t stop staring!

Merlin abandoned all pretence and glared at the man. To his great dismay, the man simply smirked in response, then lifted two fingers to his lips and blew an audacious kiss Merlin’s way, then winked. Merlin very nearly spluttered aloud, and overbalanced, grabbing the arm of Arthur’s chair to stay upright, completely stunned. Arthur turned his head sharply and gave him a quizzical look.

“…propose, in the tradition of our culture, a celebratory dance before our bellies are too full for exertion.” King Balor finished with a flourish, and grinned as Lady Allena rose promptly from her seat “Aha, it seems my Lady has already made her choice!”

Lady Allena approached the high table, eyes twinkling “Your majesty, King Uther.” She inclined her head gracefully, and extended a hand “Will you accompany me to the floor?”

Uther, having finally finished his follicular exploration of the rainbow and seemingly regained his composure, smiled widely and rose also from his seat “I would be honoured, Lady Allena.” He turned to King Balor “Provided I am not stealing you from the attentions of your husband.”

Balor let out a hoot of laughter as Uther and Allena made their way hand in hand to the centre of the hall “Oh, believe me, Uther, it is not my attentions you should be worrying about.” A slight murmur of puzzlement spread among the courtiers of Camelot, but Balor ignored them, turning to his son “Catalan, my boy?”

Prince Catalan blanched, and shot a sudden, desperate look towards the back of the hall, in the exact corner where Merlin’s mysterious eye-stalker was situated. Said offender rolled his eyes and, his smirk widening, strode forward into the light.

“If I may, your majesty.” His voice was smooth but clear and reminiscent of rich, mulled beverages and silky decadence “I do but beg the Lady Morgana’s company.”

Beside Merlin, Arthur went suddenly rigid and seemed to turn to stone.

“You, Lord Reylan?” Balor said, incredulously, and for the first time a frown marred his jovial features. After a moment, however, it smoothed and he tutted a reprimand “Oh, very well, you little scoundrel, if she will have you.”

Morgana hesitated, looking shrewdly between Prince Catalan and Lord Reylan, before smiling politely “I certainly will.”

Balor sighed melodramatically “Seems you’ve been pipped to the post, my son. Who will you choose?”

Pink rose in Prince Catalan’s cheeks. Merlin’s eyes narrowed. Oh, no. Don’t even think about it.

“Prince Arthur? May I have the honour of a dance?”

The silence stretched. Very slowly Arthur raised his bowed head and looked blankly at Catalan, then to his Father. Uther, jaw set, grimaced, but nodded reluctantly. Arthur rose stiffly from his chair and made his way doggedly around the high table, every step echoing with condemnation. Merlin felt righteous outrage blind his senses. How dare they humiliate Arthur like this!

“A most gracious acquiescence.” Balor trilled, and spread his arms wide “Now, come one, come all, and don’t be shy! Rich and poor, young and old, it matters not, for we Baldorean’s dance through life together!”

The music began to play, and as excited chaos descended on the celebrations Merlin could only gesture helplessly as Arthur shot him a despairing look over his shoulder. The Prince was desperately pale, and Merlin cursed his own lack of foresight as he considered whether Arthur may have come down with something. He had been acting oddly all day. Maybe Arthur had been trying to communicate that he didn’t feel well in that annoying, roundabout subtext-y way that inevitably went soaring right over Merlin’s head. Damn the Prince and his pride!

Merlin sighed, wringing his hands and resolving to keep an even closer eye than usual on Arthur this evening. Which would be difficult, as he usually watched Arthur with the intensity of a workaholic vulture with no social life. “Well, at least things can’t get much worse.” He muttered mutinously.

“Greetings, stranger.” Came a silky voice from behind him, and somewhere beneath the very foundations of Camelot, someone chuckled a smug, scaly laugh.

“Good morning, Gaius!”

The venerable court physician started as he turned the corner, and nearly collided with a maroon and brown blur holding a large wicker basket. He hurriedly clasped a wedge in the stone as the large bucket he was holding slopped dangerously, and took a deep breath before smiling a little tightly down at Guinevere.

“Good morning, my dear.” He said, kindly, and frowned a little as his ailing eyes took in her unkempt hair and breezy manner “You seem a little busy.”

She grinned, looking all at once weary yet content, and adjusted the basket under her arm with a twinkle in her eye “Yes, the whole castle’s in a fret over preparations for this evening.” Her gaze brightened as she stifled a laugh “But I’m not nearly as busy as Merlin, it seems.”

“Oh?” Gaius raised a powder-white eyebrow “What has the fool done now?”

She bit her lip to quell her laughter, and gestured helplessly towards the door behind her, leading to the physician’s quarters “See for yourself!” a giggle tore itself free from her lips and she scurried on up the corridor, calling merrily back over her shoulder as she went “Good day, Gaius!”

Puzzled and more than a little intrigued, Gaius grumped as he lugged the heavy bucket up off the floor and pressed a gnarled but heavy hand against the rough hewn surface of the door, and pushed slowly, peering around the lip as he went.

He was met with a TERRIFYING spectacle.

“MERLIN!!! What are you doing with that broom?!”

“Gaius!” Merlin dropped the offending object with a resounding thud, eyes wide, blood flooding his cheeks “I…I was just…uhm…”

Gaius slammed the bucket he was holding down on the flagged stone floor before he dropped it, and folded his arms, admonishing and more than a little astonished “I hope you have an excellent explanation for this magical…mistreatment of an innocent household appendage!”

“I was practising, for this evening! Arthur-”

Gaius grimaced, barely concealing the smile curling his lips “Ah. The Prince.” He shook his head despairingly “I should have known.”

Merlin bowed his head and shuffled his feet, and muttered rebelliously “He said I would have to dance.” Gaius sighed, regarding the young boy in his care with an amused incredulity. “And that is why you were waltzing that poor object around the room, is it?” Honestly, what was he supposed to think, walking in to find the boy trying to do some kind of botched foxtrot with a stick?

The young Warlock nodded wordlessly, tugging nervously at his scarf, reaching to retrieve the fallen broom, dejected “Will I have to dance?”

Gaius nodded, moving past Merlin to kneel by the fire and tug a large metal tub out from under a pile of miscellaneous forgotten objects “It is probable.” He said distractedly, turning the tub outside down and slamming the bottom, raising an eyebrow as a spider and several dazed woodlice scuttled away “The Baldorean’s are a most liberal people. The divides between their feudal castes are very…unconventional.”

“Eh?” Merlin said intelligently, his face scrunching in confusion “Hey, Arthur said something about that-”

Gaius rolled his eyes, gesturing for Merlin to bring the water-filled bucket over to the fire “Never you mind, scamp.” He maneuvered the bucket handle over the hook above the flames with a satisfying clunk, and a light steam rose as the bathwater began to warm “Now get those filthy clothes off. You must be presentable this evening. You’re meant to be representing the Prince, not the Prince’s stables.” Merlin sighed and muttered something mutinous, picking at the half-dried flecks of horse manure on his shirt “Oh, ye god’s and rotten poppy-kernels, I knew I’d forgotten something!”

Merlin, arms entangled and his shirt halfway over his head, muffled out an obscured “What is it, Gaius?”

Gaius shook his head despairingly, and straightened up with an unhealthy systematic rhythm of groans from his bones “You’ll need some smarter clothes if you’re to attend tonight-”

“Oh no, that’s alright, Gaius.” Merlin garbled, taking a fresh gulp of air as he finally struggled free from his cotton confines “It’s already been seen to.”

“Oh?” the physician snorted in disbelief “And do you really expect me to believe that you’ve actually managed to be prepared for once?”

Merlin smiled sheepishly, and shook his head, his thick brown hair curling in utter disarray around his ears “No, but Arthur has.” He grinned smugly, but Gaius caught the glow of genuine pride and pleasure in his grey eyes “See for yourself.” He pointed to the table standing in the middle of the room, upon which something sat nestled carefully in an ordered mess of unwrapped tannin.

With great care, he grasped the simultaneously soft yet firm material at a heavy seam, lifted it free of the wrappings, and marveled at it, momentarily stunned. Its structure was the simple garb of the castle servant, but it was constructed in such a way to be dignified with an understated beauty. The leggings were a deep burgundy red, sturdy yet thin enough that the occupant would not overheat, and very resistant to wear and fray. Gaius was astounded to note that the hose even had one of those newfangled in-built pouched on either side of the waist! What were the called? Hockets? No, no, pockets. That was it.

“Good gracious!” he murmured, replacing the hose and reaching for the other components of the clothing “These must be worth a fortune!”

The undershirt was smooth beneath his calloused fingers, and was a light, pearly grey hue with flecks of green and yellow which, Gaius was a little unnerved to note, would match Merlin’s eyes perfectly. The sleeves were fitted and stiffened for integrity, with a light band of studs around each wrist, giving the illusion of matching bracelets. The main body of the entire garment was a rich ocean blue, with shoulders that jutted out at an angle and gave the impression of a slightly more forbearing character (something Merlin desperately needed, Gaius thought) with that same pattern of studs as at the wrist. Studs which seemed to eerily mirror the Prince’s preferred style of clothing. Emblazoned in the very centre of the chest like a brand was Arthur’s coat of arms, the Pendragon, embroidered in bold silver. Silver, not gold. Firmly indicating a pledge of service to a Prince, not a King.

“Really?” Merlin was saying, wide eyed, hopping about awkwardly as he tried not to overbalance while tugging at a sock “I knew it was nice material, but-”

These were no ordinary, throwaway garments. Somebody had poured an enormous amount of thought and care into them. Somebody who ordinarily would not be seen dead in a sentence with the words ‘thoughtful’ and ‘caring’. Gaius’ brow furrowed thoughtfully. In many ways Arthur was decidedly different from his Father, but in this both Pendragon’s endured: they were quite the most unpredictable and confusing men Gaius had ever known.

“Hm, yes, this must be…” his eyes widened as he noted how the make-up of the outer garment was intended to repel superficial hits. What on Earth was Arthur afraid of? “A Valerian silk and cotton blend. And silver embroidery on the dragon!” he gave the oblivious Warlock a searching look, and said guardedly “This was very generous of the Prince. Have you done something to make him feel guilty?”

A slightly bitter curl spread over the young Warlock’s lips “No, but he has.” He shook his head disbelievingly, cursing as he nearly overbalanced, tugging a sock free “Plenty of times. He feels bad for abusing me all the time. I think some nice clothes is the least I deserve, personally.” Suddenly, the clouds that stormed across Merlin’s features seemed to dissolve, giving way to an expression so tender it seemed foreign even on the young warlock’s kind features “Still, it was kind of him to think of it.” He murmured, his eyes distant, a secretive smile stealing across his mouth.

“Yes.” Gaius said, absently, eying the boy intently “Yes, it was.”

Over the past two years, he had watched these two most special boys grow and mature together. He had seen each willingly give their life, for the merest chance of saving the other, as though…as though without the other, there could be no them. He had seen a dying Warlock summon up the last vestiges of his strength, to cast a light to guide the way for his lost Prince. And he had heard, from Merlin’s own lips, how a Prince had drunk phantom death in a chalice in sacrifice, not for a servant, not for a sorcerer, but for a friend. He had seen the weight of the world lift from Merlin’s shoulders whenever Arthur’s sacred laughter touched his heart, and had seen the face of an innocent, mischievous little boy Gaius had thought long dead on the features of a wearied Prince whenever Merlin blessed him with that crooked, simple smile.

Every time their eyes met the world burned, and Gaius saw the sacred glory the old ballads sung of, of beauty indescribable and love that ran deeper than the very vein’s of the earth itself. Arthur and Merlin. The idiot and the prat. The Prince and his Pauper.

Something slipped out from the folds of the garment in Gaius’ hands, and he stooped with some effort to retrieve it from the floor. Brow furrowed, he scanned the small slip of vellum briefly, recognizing the boldly strident scrawl of the Crown Prince, ink etched proudly across the uneven surface:

No silly hats this time.

-Arthur

He raised his eyebrows, and held out the parchment to a curious Merlin “Some sort of personal joke?”

Merlin’s youthful laugh was pure, unadulterated joy to the old physician’s beaten soul “Just Arthur being Arthur.” He said, with a fondness that seemed to spread warmth into even the coldest forgotten corners of the room.

&&&

Arthur paced.

He spun his worries in languid ovals, back and forth, back and forth, until he felt dizzily like a heavy pendulum on a fragile string. Snap. It breaks. Broken. Broken. He felt sick. His stomach churned his insides to acid, he couldn’t think straight. He smoothed sweaty palms over cool black leather, rubbed his forefinger lovingly against the lethally sharp tip of the dagger concealed up his left sleeve.

“Arthur!” Morgana’s soft, teasing tone nearly scared him out of his wits “You’re on time. I’m astounded.”

He cursed silently at the sharp sting at the vulnerable, blue veined skin of his inner wrist. A single, oozing rivulet of blood crawled across the ridges of his palm and he stared, eerily fascinated, transfixed. He took a deep, calming breath and forcibly dragged himself from his reverie, turning slowly to face his adopted sister.

“Morgana.” He returned, maintaining his usual arrogant, untouchable façade with some effort “As ever, I’m utterly overwhelmed by your charm.”

She smiled, her dark eyes dancing with mirth, and the thrill of the game “It is a gift,” she paused, looking him over disdainfully “which alas, only casts it’s blessings over some.”

Arthur huffed and turned away, pretending to study the intricate wooden carvings upon the door of the feasting hall with some intensity “I can be charming.”

“Can be, when you try.” She said, silkily, the resounding echo of her every step making Arthur’s head ache as she approached “But you don’t.”

“Only when necessary.” He muttered distractedly. He was in no mood for this fruitless banter “Have you seen them?” he said, sharply, and he felt rather than saw her frown, her considering him, the shift in mood as a shadow of shared knowledge passed over them both.

“Yes.” She said, softly, her silken hair whispering as she moved.

“What is the party composed of?” he asked, abruptly, a little surprised himself at the lack of emotion in his tone. He refused to meet her gaze, but felt her troubled look bore into the back of his head regardless.

“Well, King Balor, naturally.” She said, after a hesitant pause “His partner, his consort.” They both smirked a little at that “Prince Catalan, and a handful of nobles. Not to mention the hordes of aides, naturally.”

Arthur nodded slowly. There was a moment of silence.

“Which nobles?” he asked, darkly, the words echoing around the empty space like an accusation.

“I could not tell.” She said with silent apology, and suddenly she was in front of him, clasping his hand in hers with a look of such concern in her normally so stoic gaze that he almost felt guilty. She wrinkled her nose as she felt the gungy dampness in his palm, and inspected the damage with a desolate sigh, whipping a lace handkerchief from the confines of her gown and dabbing gently at the blood. A damning crimson blot spread across the pure, innocent linen like a curse.

“Oh, Arthur…” she murmured, so softly it seemed almost like the unnoticed caress of a draft in the still cool of the corridor “Will you be alright this evening?”

He withdrew his hand from hers, sharply, but with as little aggression as he could manage. Something foul congealed in his insides, in his throat, in his heart. He was black and red and he felt it. “Yes, of course.” He swallowed, and felt his face turn and heart turn to stone “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Your highnesses?”

For the second time in so many minutes Arthur nearly had a spontaneous heart attack, and leapt away from his manservant as though he had been stung “Oh, good evening Merlin.” Morgana greeted, congenially, her eyes brightening as she looked him over “My, you look wonderful!”

Arthur turned, and found himself suddenly wordless, the intended sharp barbs dying on his tongue.

Over time Merlin’s sharp, gangly awkwardness had matured into an almost feline grace that suited his new garb well. His shoulders were broad, and although not as well built as Arthur’s they held a sinewy strength that gave him presence when he stood tall. His features, once sharp and on the brink of gauntness had filled out into an array of dignified, chiseled angles that seemed to hold his soulful eyes and expressive smile like an artist’s easel holding an unpainted canvas. His hair had darkened over the years to a deep brown that was almost black, and now, grown longer, washed and properly combed as it was it curled pleasantly in wisps that framed his face.

“Thank you, my lady.” Merlin said nervously, smiling uncertainly. Arthur gave him an expectant look and he blanched “O-Oh! As do you, my lady, you look…” he trailed off, floundering, then grinned apologetically “wonderful too?”

She laughed melodically, and Arthur realised with surprise as he surveyed his manservant that he no longer felt sick “Where did you get those garments? They look very well tailored.”

Arthur’s stomach turned over as he panicked, even as his subconscious informed him rather sappily that the clothes he had commissioned looked as well-fitted and suitable as he’d imagined. He made a mental note to KILL his subconscious PAINFULLY later.

“Well, actually-” Merlin way saying obliviously, giving Arthur a glowing look of such gratitude and pride that Arthur very nearly didn’t cut across him.

“Well, we must be getting to our places. Come, Merlin.” He said authoritatively, relieved to feel a strength flowing back into his washed-out limbs as Merlin’s naïve presence seemed to envelope him with comfort “Now. If my cup is ever empty, I’ll…” he trailed off, hand poised hesitantly on the large oak door “…do something very unpleasant.”

Merlin raised his eyebrows at the slight lameness of the threat, but Arthur found for once that he did not mind Merlin’s snarks and looks and confusions, just as long as he was there. He glanced quickly around the bustling chaos of the great hall, and was relieved to see his Father’s seat at the head of the table blessedly empty.

He turned to Merlin, flashing his manservant a slightly stiff grin “Oh, and don’t forget your little promise to me.”

I’m ORDERING you to be there tonight, and you will accept any opportunities to dance, is that clear?

He felt a little guilty. He hated ordering Merlin to do things. It was his prerogative, but it felt somehow like he was violating a sacred trust, defiling the ideal of a…friendship between them. But tonight, just for tonight. He needed Merlin there. Needed that sense of normalcy, of routine, of safety. And damn if he wasn’t acting like some kind of pathetic, clingy girl.

Merlin sighed and wrinkled his nose, fiddling at the hem of his new clothes--which were a perfect fit, Arthur would really have to recommend Gwen to the aristocracy; or…perhaps she simply knew Merlin’s body too well. He frowned. Now, why did that thought annoy him?

“Arthur, I really don’t think-” Merlin bit his lip and shuffled his feet as he pulled Arthur’s chair back in preparation, as per his requirements as an aide “can’t I just…fill chalices like I usually do?”

Arthur simply couldn’t resist “Nothing would give me more pleasure than to have you filling my cup all evening, Merlin.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, but the innuendo was completely lost on his manservant, who was peering suspiciously round at the court. Arthur sighed and bemoaned the lack of appreciation for his snarking abilities “But alas, we must all do our duty for the diplomatic greater good.”

“What are you whining about, you’re going to enjoy it as much as you always do!” Merlin huffed melodramatically, fussing absently at the padding in Arthur’s chair and some invisible stain on the Prince’s leather-clad shoulders “You’re in for a fun-filled evening of wine, fawning women and venison while I stand there waiting for my feet to drop off.”

Arthur glowered darkly, and sat back heavily “Oh, no.” his fingers curled slowly into fists on the arms of his chair “Believe me, I am NOT going to enjoy this.”

Merlin, in his invaluable capacity to understand the confusing entity that was the Crown Prince, seemed to sense Arthur’s distress and inquired quietly but not probingly “Why not?”

“Just you wait.” If looks could kill, he was pretty sure the innocent looking pear in the bowl in front of him would have burst into flames by now “You’ll see soon enough. Listen;” cold dread had pooled in his stomach, and he had the sudden clarity of mind to warn, to communicate, somehow, be prepared “A few words of advice: be polite, but not overly friendly. Do what you’re told but NOT if you feel it’s inappropriate. In the event you feel threatened, you make an excuse and come straight to me. Do you understand?”

Merlin frowned, concern dancing in his dark gaze as Arthur stared at him intently, willing himself to betray nothing of his tumultuous emotions. Merlin must be protected. But he could not know. And Merlin was one of the few people who seemed always able to see right through him like he was pained glass.

“Yes…” his manservant agreed, hesitantly “But, Arthur, I don’t get it! What’s so-”

“Ladies and gentlemen!” the booming call of the Royal crier cut across the murmurs of excitement and apprehension that swept the hall “The royal envoy of the Kingdom of Baldor approaches.”

“All rise.” Silence fell as the biting authority of Uther Pendragon spread from the yawning dark of the doorway in which he now stood, at the back of the hall “Let us welcome our new allies with the most gracious of receptions.”

With a confidently slow and deliberate pace, his Father approached his chair, giving an infinitesimal nod which prompted the Lord’s and Ladies to resume their seats. Under the cover of the ensuing bustle, Uther leant down and dropped a heavy leather hand onto his son’s shoulder, like the weight of responsibility itself.

“Arthur.” He said, sharply and firmly, and Arthur did not meet his gaze “I trust you will behave yourself this time.”

His eyes narrowed, and he felt an unexpected throb of hatred “Yes, Father.”

Fanfiction so far...

2009-01-25T00:00:29Z

P&P, chapters 1-3:

“Stupid horses, stupid troughs, stupid boots, stupid PRINCES-” Merlin grumbled distractedly, wincing as his still soaked boots squelched jovially with his every hasty step “Damn, I’m late. Arthur’ll have my head. On a platter. Probably with cranberries and mint sauce, the stuck-up bastard.”

He bounded up the last few steps of the stairwell leading to the Royal corridor in the west wing of the castle, shaking his head at his master’s antics. Arthur may have matured a lot from the arrogant arse he had once been, but he could still be as childish as a toddler when he wanted, as this morning’s little fiasco had proved. Merlin sighed softly, running a hand through his still damp hair, but smiled nonetheless, absently re-arranging the cloak under his arm. At least Arthur felt guilty for it, and had apologised. In his own unique, Arthur-y way.

Merlin approached the tall, proudly burnished mahogany door which led to Arthur’s chambers and fumbled at his waist for his ring of keys, recognizing the shape of the appropriate one without looking. He had had the heavy iron lock installed himself about a year ago when an unknown assassin (disguised unconvincingly as a particularly butch serving maid) had broken into Arthur’s chamber and nearly decapitated the oblivious ‘sleeping beauty’. Arthur had thought the sight of the bearded ‘maid’ wielding a dagger in full wimpled regalia was hilarious, but the incident had nearly given Merlin a heart attack.

“Certainly not!” Arthur had protested, pouting with outrage when Merlin suggested the installation of a lock “I will NOT be some damsel Princess locked up in a tall tall tower so the nasty men can’t get at me! I can take care of myself.”

That, in Merlin’s opinion (as said damsel’s reluctant safe-keeper and baby-sitter) was the biggest load of balls he’d ever heard, and shrewdly reminded Arthur of the unfortunate business with that obsessed molesting courtier after a lock of the Prince’s hair, and well. Arthur had paled and quickly relented. Merlin was inexplicably pleased that only he, Arthur and Uther had a copy of the key. He had even enchanted the lock so that his own key would glow heatedly if anybody tried to force the door. A little voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Arthur had accused him of being an ‘overprotective, pedantic, paranoid Prince-stalker!’ but thankfully, Merlin was very good at ignoring Arthur’s voice.

He fitted the key in the lock, turned it with well-practiced ease and slipped inside.

The Prince’s room was always warm, or so it seemed to Merlin, even in the depths of Winter. Well, he should bloody hope so, as he worked criminally hard to keep the fire burning in here. NOT that he had enchanted that, too. He closed the door quietly behind him and deep a deep breath of the clean, musty air, glancing about. Clearly the Prince hadn’t arrived yet. Good. He took a moment to admire the scene before him.

The noonday sunlight was pouring through the lead-patterned windows, congealing in pools of dusty gold on the smoothly swept flagstones and glistening on the polished pine of the furniture. The heavily hung scarlet drapes at the four-poster bed half shielded the rumpled mess of crisp white linen interspersed with gold-embossed velveteen covers, as though protecting the Prince’s sleepy humanity. This was Arthur’s realm, a gilded sanctuary isolated from the cold unknown of the rest of the castle. To the unknowing eye, it seemed a chamber just like any other; but Merlin knew that, just like its occupant, these chambers contained hidden levels of complexity which, as the mysteries were slowly unraveled, often proved surprising.

But sometimes, like today, Merlin mused, it just looked a bloody tip.

“Where the hell have you been?!”

Merlin was alerted to Arthur’s presence by the traditional ‘hurling a boot in my manservant’s surprised face’ tactic, and he grimaced as the impact of leather on skin smarted harshly.

“Sorry, I got held up. Pneumonia’s an effective way to slow a person down.” He said bitingly, as the dressing screen from behind which the offending boot had been hurled was shoved roughly aside to reveal a very pissed off Crown Prince.

“Don’t be such a wet blanket, Merlin.” He snapped, and Merlin was taken aback at the Prince’s appearance. Instead of the brown suede clothing Merlin had so laboriously slipped on a grumpy Arthur that morning, he now stood in bare feet with hair unkempt in a simple cotton undershirt (unlaced, slipping off one shoulder and half tucked in at the waist) and a pair of plain black leggings. He was…uncharacteristically ruffled for midday, and looked vulnerably young and unguarded. Merlin felt heat pool in the pit of his stomach.

“…pun intended.” Merlin started as he realised Arthur had been speaking “Oh, and I’ll expect you to wipe up the mess you’re dripping all over my rug later.”

The unsettled Warlock hastily gathered his scattered wits “I figured.” He replied wryly, and gestured to the chaotic rainbow of material spilling out of the chest behind the screen “What’s all the mess about?”

Arthur glowered, and tossed a particularly garish purple cloak to the floor “I can’t find my black jacket…”

Merlin cocked an eyebrow “The leather one?” he frowned as a mental image of the forbidding item of clothing appeared in his mind. It was what Arthur called his ‘pissed-off pelt’, all black sheen and silver buckles which generally screamed ‘back off!’, and Arthur only ever wore it when he was in a very foul mood or feeling defensive. Neither of which boded well. “With the in-built sheathes, and the special padding? Why on earth would you want that jacket for a diplomat meeting?”

The Prince’s eyes flashed darkly as the walls slammed up “Because I feel like it, alright!” he turned abruptly and resumed ravaging the chest for the item in question, clothes flying hither and thither “Now help me find it! And those riding boots I use for the stallions, too.”

Merlin frowned a little at the back of Arthur’s head, and made an exaggerated effort to shuffle mindlessly about before muttering a quiet fretje: find under his breath, and the boots and the jacket flew tamely into his hands “Here they are.” He said triumphantly, holding them proudly out to a bemused Arthur “Studs and all.”

Arthur merely grunted his thanks and extended an arm. Merlin obediently began re-assembling the disheveled Prince’s dignity, tucking and lacing and buckling until Arthur looked somewhat more presentable. He navigated the planes of Arthur’s body with seamless ease; he knew every ridge of bone, every curve, every tiny imperfection that Arthur shielded with pomp and emblazoned crests: from the needle thin scar on the Prince’s left temple to the slight crook in his right canine. He could tell precisely when Arthur was losing weight and exactly when he needed to extend his morning workout. He could even tell which particular form of combat Arthur was favouring at any given time, from the slight shifts in sinew and the waxing and waning callouses on his hands.

He sometimes felt he knew the Prince so well that he lost the boundary between them entirely, and anything unrelated to Arthur that defined him ceased to be.

“Dare I ask why you want to dress like an assassin at a funeral when you’re going to what is supposedly a celebration?” His firm but unjudging tone punctured the heady quiet, and Arthur’s shoulders slumped beneath his fingertips as the Prince took a deep breath and let the tension leave him.

“Because unfortunately, Baldorean etiquette is a very specific kettle of fish.”

Merlin blinked “What have kettles of fish got to do with anything?”

Arthur looked at him incredulously “I thought you were supposed to be one of those earthy colloquial country boys, perpetually covered in manure and spitting out constant metaphoric riddles?”

“What?!”

“Nevermind. Anyway, the point is that Baldor is…sort of the spotty pre-pubescent outcast of the Albion lands, y’know?” Arthur continued, throwing himself into a nearby chair as Merlin knelt to wrestle the Prince’s stubborn ankles into equally stubborn boots “Why? Because it’s so secluded? It’s surrounded by the mountains of Perren by the sea isn’t it?” Just a little to the left…there! Only one more strap left to go.

Arthur chuckled, the reverberations making Merlin’s fingers fumble “Yeah, that’s right. Been chewing at those stuffy old books again, I see.” Merlin could practically taste the smirk in the air “The point is-”

“You’ve already said that.”

Arthur booted him moodily with a studded toe “The pointiest point of ALL is that they have very weird and specific social conventions.” Merlin glanced up, intrigued, and just caught the slightly sour look crossing the Prince’s troubled features “I’ve heard about some of their rituals, and believe me, it’s VERY easy to offend them. What you wear, what you say, how you move, it’s all judged.”

Merlin frowned and straightened up, dusting off his own clothes and wincing as his knees cracked “You sound like you’ve encountered them before.”

Arthur absently chewed at the tip of his thumb in a disarmingly childish gesture “Once.” He murmured tonelessly, his eyes oddly vacant “When I was very young.”

Merlin’s frown deepened, and he felt the first icy clutches of concern rake at his heart as Arthur seemed to shake himself out of his reverie and return to reality “Anyway. There will be feasting, not-so-merry-making and most importantly, dancing.”

Merlin folded his arms, eyebrows raised “Why is dancing so important?”

“It’s an integral part of a greeting ritual in their culture, apparently.” Arthur snorted and reached mindlessly for a half-full goblet stood expectantly on the table “Flouncing about in ruffles is obviously their idea of a great way to break the ice.” He took a long draught, and Merlin was relieved when the familiar glimmer of mischief returned to the Prince’s cornflower-blue eyes “And everyone has to be involved, gangly tea-pot eared menservants included.”

The blood drained from Merlin’s cheeks “I have to dance?!” He exclaimed, horrified, as Arthur’s grin slowly widened to bare predatory teeth “No. No, no way. You know I can’t! Can’t I just…skip out? Work in the kitchens?”

“Mer-lin.” Arthur drawled, lounging luxuriously into the solid regality of the chair “You’re my manservant and my aide. I need you there.” For just a snatch of a moment that foreboding blankness returned to Arthur’s gaze, and for the first time Merlin noticed the carefully concealed shadows encircling the Prince’s irises.

Merlin curved a clenched fist against the table and leant forwards, fixing his master with a beady eye “Is there something you’re not telling me?” he said, bluntly.

Arthur grinned that lopsided, winning grin that would have fooled anybody else completely, but the smile did not quite reach his eyes “There’s always something I’m not telling you.” He said flippantly, before suddenly launching himself out of the chair and punching Merlin in the shoulder with that odd brand of Knightly camaraderie that Merlin never understood “And Baldorean dancing is easy! You just sort of…bob about. Do a few twirls, you know.”

Merlin’s lips curled at the edges “I bet you’re proficient at twirling.”

“Shut UP.” Arthur glared, annoyed, moving towards the neat pile of weapons in the corner of the room and speaking harshly over his shoulder “Just for that, I’m ORDERING you to be there tonight, and you will accept any opportunities to dance, is that clear?”

“Yes, sire.” Merlin muttered mechanically, heart sinking as he felt the threat of imminent humiliation overwhelm him “But Arthur, please. I can’t dance.”

Arthur regarded him piercingly as he sheathed his ceremonial sword into the scabbard at his waist and slipped a dagger up his left sleeve. He sighed and said resignedly “What time is it?”

Merlin blinked, confused, and glanced out of the window “Uh, a little past noon, I think.”

“Damn.” The Prince seemed to think hard for a moment; it was clearly a stressful experience “I have drills shortly. And Morgana will be busy all afternoon getting her hair fixed.” He paused, then seemed to reach some sort of conclusion “Alright, get over here.”

“What?” Merlin said blankly as Arthur gestured imperiously at him and repeated “Come here, you dolt.”

Merlin approached warily, watching in trepidation as Arthur rolled up his sleeves and slipped his gloves off, tucking them into his belt.

“What are you doing?” he asked, and very nearly squeaked embarrassingly when Arthur’s pale hands encircled his wrists.

“What does it look like?!” The Prince said sarcastically, moving closer “Welcome to dancing for dimwits, class one. Now, when dancing, the general pose is to put one hand here,” and, to Merlin’s astonishment, Arthur proceeded to position Merlin’s left hand on his shoulder “and the other one here.” and his right at the Prince’s waist.

Merlin simply stood frozen for a long time, mouth agape, dumbfounded.

“I’m not sure this was in the job description, sire.” He managed to blurt out, smiling slightly hysterically as his cheeks burned “Isn’t Prince manhandling a capital offence?”

Arthur smacked him upside the head, annoyed “Do you want to be humiliated this evening or not?! I’m not doing this for my benefit, you know!” the Prince rolled his eyes, and Merlin’s knees nearly gave way as he placed his hands unabashedly on Merlin’s waist, guiding him “Ungrateful uncultured snot. Now do as I say and try to remember. God knows I won’t be doing this again.”

Oh, how wrong one Prince can be.

“Move your feet like this.” Arthur demonstrated a simple sequence of steps, and Merlin stumbled as he struggled to follow “No, no, you have to lead, assuming you manage to find yourself a girl and not a blind drunk noble.”

Merlin steeled himself, resigned to ignoring the surreal nature of this particular situation (I’m dancing, for Dragon’s sake! With ARTHUR!) as Arthur hummed a simple tune almost imperceptibly under his breath, scrutinizing Merlin’s footwork and correcting him harshly when he found fault. After about a minute of the awkward, faltering rhythm Merlin began to feel for the beat of the movement, and the dance (if it even classified as one) became more fluid even as Merlin’s cheeks grew hotter and his head began to spin.

“This is weird.” He muttered without thinking, and Arthur did not immediately reply, seemingly concentrating. The Prince’s hands seemed to scorch through the thin, rough material of his shirt and scald his bare skin raw, and he tried desperately to ignore that despite how uncomfortable he felt, he and Arthur seemed to fit around each other like two halves of the same whole.

“You’re just not used to it.” Merlin jerked as Arthur’s voice startled him, and the Prince tutted, stepping his manservant back into the rhythm with an insistent push “Dancing is not weird.”

There was a strong pressure in Merlin’s head, and every fibre of his being tingled with some unknown, crackling energy that was unsettlingly akin to the sensation when he performed magic. The overpowering presence that was Arthur, the heady scent of long summer grass and fresh linen interwoven with the harsher tones of iron and oils and fur and creaky leather, enveloped him and choked him with a permeating smell like honey mixed with blood.

“No, but dancing with the Crown Prince is.” He gritted out, and Arthur’s head snapped up “You should be honoured! There are hordes of girls throughout this kingdom who would kill for a chance to dance with me!” his fair eyebrows disappeared beneath the border of his fringe “You do want to have romantic relations at some point in your life, Merlin?”

“Y-Yes! Of course!” he stuttered falteringly, and Arthur laughed, the rosy tang of wine on his breath “Well then, dancing is a necessity.” He grinned that grin again “Just close your eyes and imagine I’m some rosy-cheeked country hoyden.”

He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and Merlin, foolishly, retaliated “Funnily enough, it’s not such a giant leap of the imagination.”

They stopped abruptly, and Merlin could have sworn he felt thunder in the air.

“And just WHAT…” Arthur bit out icily “do you mean by THAT, Merlin?”

Uh, oh. Now I’m for it. Lifetime in the stocks here I come “Well, uhm…” Merlin backed slowly away, palms spread placatingly before the Prince, who was bristling like a hissing cat “you see, sire, you…well…” he let his hands fall and bowed his head, defeated “forget it.”

“No, no, no, Merlin.” Arthur’s hand clapped down very tightly on Merlin’s shoulder, his manservant’s imminent death dancing in his manic eyes “My most favourite manservant in all the whole wide world, you simply must speak your mind.”

“I only meant…” the grip on his shoulder tightened painfully, and he gulped, hard “that there might, possibly, be certain aspects about your countenance that are justatinybitfeminine please don’t put me in the stocks?”

The Prince’s eyes narrowed to slits “You’re saying I look like a girl?”

“No!” Merlin exclaimed desperately “No, it’s not like that, it’s just-”

Quite suddenly the tension was gone as Arthur burst out laughing “You need to spend more time with the kitchen girls, Merlin!” he said incredulously between snickers, eying his manservant with a distinct twinkle in his eye “Or perhaps I should take you on a night tour of the town sometime, hmm?”

Merlin felt relief shudder through him like a blessing, thankful for once for the Crown Prince’s unpredictable mood swings, and his brow furrowed in confusion “Why? You’re putting me on guard duty?”

Arthur stared at him blankly, and deadpanned “Good God. You are joking, I hope?”

Merlin frowned, frustrated “What? What am I missing here?”

Arthur sighed melodramatically and ruffled his manservant’s hair patronizingly “It’s called a clue, Merlin, I suggest you get one.”

Arthur fought valiantly to keep the smile from his face, as he tried to maintain his regal composure while navigating the meandering streets of Camelot lower town. It wouldn’t do for the peasants to think that the royalty was occasionally cheerful, or did anything other than sitting until their butt’s grew numb looking pretty. Although, if he said so himself, he was rather good at sitting and looking pretty. Hell, he could stand or even walk about, and still manage to look pretty. But, as Merlin had often commented rather dryly, there was slightly more to being a Prince than mincing about in shiny things.

He came to a hesitant halt, gazing down at the worn, dusty cobbles beneath his booted feet. To the East the sun crawled laboriously over the horizon, permeating heat into the sleepy chill of the dawn, banishing the ghosts of the dissipating blanket of night. A slight mist hung persistently in the air, the moisture clinging to the Prince’s clothes and adorning his hair and skin with a glistening sheen. A slight frown marred Arthur’s sunny disposition as he thought of his manservant, and he shivered, sorely feeling the absence of his fur-lined cloak.

It had been on precisely this spot, so many chaotic months before, that he and Merlin had exchanged words and blows that forged a destiny. He sighed, and glanced about the deserted street. The world had seemed so full and foreign then.

Tell me, Merlin. Do you know how to walk on your knees?

Arthur huffed sharply, wincing as the memory of his own arrogant words rebounded accusingly in his mind. The most maddening thing about his manservant was that he had an uncanny ability to rile Arthur’s previously almost non-existent conscience. Now every time he engaged in activities bordering on what Merlin had deemed ‘royal-prickery’ he got his manservant’s sarcastic voice reprimanding him with such phrases as ‘well that wasn’t very mature now, was it?’ or ‘oh sure, pick on the unwashed masses, because owning soap totally makes you superior. Prat.’ Even the incident just moments ago, the slight hurt and disapproval in Merlin’s eyes as he stood dripping pathetically in the unforgiving courtyard had tied Arthur’s stomach in knots. But dammit, teasing the boy was just so irresistible!

I warn you. I’ve been trained to kill since birth.

Really? And how long have you been training to be a prat?

You can’t address me like that.

Oh, sorry: how long have you been training to be a prat, my lord?

The Crown Prince sighed melodramatically, feeling the sting of the barb echoing across the expanse of time and the snickering cobbles. He moved reluctantly on down the street, away from the past, and turned down a disheveled alleyway that used to lead to the smithy, lost in thought. Which was rather an odd place for him, Arthur Pendragon, notorious book-hater with an allergic reaction to common sense, to be lost in.

Merlin had been so different from anybody else he had ever met before. And not just because of the fact he stuck out more than a sore thumb wearing a fruity hat and doing the can-can. No. Cunningly concealed beneath the stumbles and the goofy smiles and the pudding-bowl hair was something complex and intangible. Merlin was a servant who even as he bowed refused to defer, who defied and surprised Arthur at every turn until the Prince found himself quite dizzy with confusion. He was disrespectful, foolhardy, a terrible seamstress and sometimes downright infuriating, yet Arthur was still as drawn to him as he had been upon their first meeting. The squall of Merlin’s grey eyes whispered tantalizing mysteries and hidden truths that maddened and frustrated the Prince. And, inexplicably, scared him a little sometimes too.

In the space of just a few weeks of service, Arthur’s disposition towards Merlin had shifted seamlessly from annoyance, to amusement, to fondness, to friendship and then further, deeper, until he had been willing to jeapardise his life and his entire Kingdom to save this seemingly unremarkable, unnoticeable boy. The suddenness and intensity of the shift still unsettled Arthur a little. Sometimes I think I know you, Merlin. Other times…Other times? Other times he thought he saw Merlin’s eyes flash gold in the darkness.

There’s something about you, Merlin. I can’t quite put my finger on it. Well, if Arthur’s finger had been just about missing the metaphorical ‘it’ when he had first met Merlin, then his finger was probably horribly lost somewhere in the South Pacific by now. He felt little closer to understanding his enigma of a manservant, even after two years.

“Ah, bugger.” He cursed eloquently, shaking his head vigorously to rid it of these sappy sentiments “Stop thinking, Arthur, you idiot, you know it doesn’t agree with you.” And now he was talking to himself. Great. Bloody fantastic.

He ducked under a shallow wooden outcropping which overshadowed a crude, rough hewn oak door in the side of a building. He hesitated for a moment, straightening up and brushing some of the morning dew from his shoulders. He avoided this place as often as possible; it was cowardly, he knew. But it had been on his Father’s orders that Gwen’s Father had died. He knew she did not blame him, simple trusting creature that she was, but he saw the lingering pain in her eyes and felt the shadow of her grief weigh across his shoulders like a shroud. The price of his loyalty to his Father, and all the transgressions that entailed, was heavy.

He steeled his nerve and curled pale fingers around the calloused iron latch, lifting it as softly as possible and shouldering the heavy door as it shuddered open with a weary creak. He slipped inside and wrinkled his nose as the fading scent of smolder and copper and ash mixed distastefully with that of musty linen. He glanced briefly about, gaze settling upon a bent figure in a rough yellow cotton dress, crouched by the fireplace.

He cleared his throat softly “Good morrow, Guinevere.”

“Oh my-” There was a resounding clang and the clatter of falling pots and pans, and Arthur, chivalrous as he was even when grumpy in the mornings, hurried over to help her restore order “Drat. Thanks-” her brown eyes widened as she beheld the intruder, and she scrambled to her feet, stuttering “Your Highness! You startled me!”

“My apologies.” He said, courteously enough but a little formally. There was an uncomfortable silence. “I came to collect my order?”

Her features brightened in comprehension, and she nodded enthusiastically “Yes, it’s all here, just as you requested. Follow me.” she led him over to the workbench in the far right corner of the room, stammering vague apologies as they navigated their way past looms and reels of cord, and arrays of different coloured fabrics hanging from low ceiling beams.

“Your business as a seamstress is prospering, I hope?” he asked awkwardly, and her answering smile was a little strained.

“Oh, yes. Well, I get by, anyway.” She disappeared behind a screen, and quickly re-emerged, proudly cradling a neatly folded pile of material “I went to the merchant you suggested and found some really lovely material, see?” She rubbed a thumb across the fine cerulean texture of the main garment fondly “Ocean blue to bring out his eyes.” Arthur raised his eyebrows at her distant smile as she seemed to forget herself for a moment, and found himself oddly irritated by it. A raw, sickly heat pooled in his stomach, like some kind of writhing creature, and he clenched his fists and swallowed thickly “Oh! I mean…” Gwen quickly recovered herself with a flush “well i-its…suitable for dress wear but not above his station.”

“They’re perfect.” He said softly, taking the bundle from her, admiring the neat stitching, fine embroidery and soft texture of his purchase. “Thank you.” Guinevere was a competent seamstress; and they would fit Merlin perfectly, although it had taken a lot of stealth and a bungled attempt to measure his manservant’s waist to ensure that. It wasn’t a gift, he told himself firmly. Just a courtesy. A perk. A bonus for a job well done.

Gwen smiled and tilted her head a little, and said boldly “It’s really very nice of you, sire.”

“Nice?” Arthur repeated suspiciously, the word rolling off his tongue like it was a dirty concept. She clasped her hands and hesitated.

“I-I mean…for you to commission these. For Merlin. I know they’ll mean a lot to him.”

“Is that so?” he said, vaguely, a little pompously “I merely required some suitable attire for my manservant so he doesn’t look like a three week old haystack for once. The caravan from Baldor arrives today, you know.”

“Yes.” She nodded fervently, and in her eagerness chose her words rather carelessly “Yes, but it will be like you are officially acknowledging your attachment to him.”

There was a long pause, and Arthur’s eyebrows nearly hit the roof.

“I don’t know what rumours have been circulating around the staff, Guinevere-”

She blanched violently “No, no, Lord no!” Arthur grew amused as she floundered and blushed a fierce shade of red “Like…like he belongs to you, I mean. Oh God!” Arthur thought his eyebrows were somewhere in the stratosphere by now “No, n-not like that…but…that his services…that you two are…friends?” she finished, lamely, thoroughly distressed.

He considered her for a moment before drawing out a guarded “I…see.”

“Well, I’m sure you’re busy.” She said hastily, shepherding him towards the door “T-Thank you for your patronage, sire.”

She looked thoroughly relieved as he smiled winningly and pushed the door ajar “It’s fine work. I will be sure to recommend you to members of the court.” She flushed with pleasure, though still very winded by her recent enthusiasms. He inclined his head slightly as he left “Good day.” Odd girl, he thought. Nice. But odd.

Alone in the street once more, as Camelot stirred and the distant rumblings of people going about their daily work petered through the growing light of day, Arthur frowned down at the innocent bundle he held in his arms.

I know it’ll mean a lot to him. Guinevere’s words of moments ago drifted back to him, and he let out a long, slow breath as he tried to fathom just why he had made the compulsive move to commission the damn things in the first place.

It wasn’t a gift. It wasn’t. And even if it was, so what? Merlin was his aide and, dare he voice it, his friend. And a long-suffering one at that.

As Prince of the realm, Arthur had never been particularly close to anyone before. Not with his Father, that faceless foreboding figure that had haunted the empty doorways of his childhood, who both loved and resented his son with a fierce and threatening passion. Nor with Morgana, his onetime ally hunting unreal creatures in the long grass, who had quickly ascended to that exclusively femenine world of dresses and silks and sickly sweet smells. Nor with the endless sea of nameless monochrome dwellers, who bowed and scraped and parted the way as he approached. No. He lived bound to his seclusion in a gilded cage of priviledge, and he had hated it.

Until Merlin came.

Merlin with his careless honesty, his haphazard smile and easy laughter. Merlin who remained fiercely loyal not due to fear or duty, but because he somehow actually liked Arthur. Merlin who would throw down his life for so brashly for a Prince he barely knew, who would drink knowingly from a poisoned cup of wine, and get himself thrown in the stocks to salvage his master’s dignity. Merlin who looked at him like he knew him, and like it didn’t matter that Arthur wasn’t perfect.

Merlin, the gawky dimwit who wouldn’t get the hell out of Arthur’s head.

If there was one thing Merlin hated more than arrogant self satisfied Prince’s, it was laundry day. It was a bitterly cold morning, the dissipating frost clawing at his fingertips and the breathless air sharp in his lungs, and here he was, washing the Royal undergarments like a domestic fishwife.

He had no idea why Arthur needed so many clothes. Half of these seemed hardly worn at all; in fact, the only clothes his master seemed to wear on a regular basis were his red and white cotton shirts, black or brown leggings, and either his brown leather or red quilted jacket. With the shiny studs and the sheen on the inside, which apparently made it special. That was it, and Merlin should know, because he spent every morning, noon and night getting the smug bastard in and out of the blasted things.

“Don’t see why he has to be laced and clipped and buckled into everything when all I have is strings…” he muttered mutinously, scrubbing at Arthur’s favourite shirt with a little more vigour than was necessary. In his minds eye he saw the familiar curl of the Prince’s red lips, and the pearly glint of a smirk ‘Be sure to add that special Merlin touch, daaaarling?’ Arthur had drawled jestingly the previous night as he’d piled clothes into Merlin’s arms, eyes dancing with mirth, before smacking his manservant’s much offended rear with the flat of his scabbard and sauntering smugly away. He was doing that more and more recently. Git.

And yet he did not resent Arthur anymore. Not for any of it, not the snide remarks or the shoves or the sudden outbursts of anger. Because he knew the Prince better than anyone, could map his flaws and fears and wants and hurts with an intricacy that sometimes frightened him. Arthur was not perfect. But it was his imperfections that made him human, and his humanity that made him-

‘Beautiful’ …great. That made him great. Worthy of destiny.

Two years. Had it really been so long since he had first stepped through that solemn gaping archway, clumsy feet stumbling on flagstones whose flaws he now knew by heart. Camelot, Merlin thought, was like its people: stubborn, worn yet ever enduring, passing year by year, day by day with steadfast resilience. It was not magic that thrummed in these old bones, but the simple aspirations of people, young and old, rich and poor. The bellied womb of this place cradled them as they came screaming into the world and sheltered them as they left it.

Two long years; everything had changed, and yet, things remained the same as ever.

A quiet creak of leather behind him was the only warning he got before a pair of strong hands grasped him by the shoulders, and with an efficient shove sent him sprawling into the icy depths of the water trough he had been washing the Prince’s clothes in.

“Morning Merlin. Little cold for a swim, isn’t it?”

Spluttering, Merlin sat dripping and infuriated, glaring daggers at the blurred scarlet figure grinning down at him “YOU-” he took a deep, soothing breath, calming himself in an effort not to say something that would land him in the stocks AGAIN “Are an insufferable, immature, infuriating prat.”

Arthur beamed triumphantly, and laughed that deep, genuine melodic laugh that only his manservant ever managed to elicit from him “Careful, Merlin.” He clutched his chest with a melodramatic sweeping gesture, forcing mock hurt onto his gloating features “My feelings are dangerously close to being hurt here.”

“Whatever.” Merlin scrambled out of the trough with little grace, glowering and shivering as the chill of the morning cut into his skin “Was there a reason for interrupting my smelly Prince laundry washing-which I love doing, by the way-or do you just enjoy making my life hell?”

Arthur tilted his head, his grin fading to a fond smile that caught Merlin off-guard, his anger vanishing as quickly as it had come “Well, I won’t deny that I do enjoy making your life hell.” Then suddenly, the Prince’s nose wrinkled as his mind processed that Merlin had just indirectly insulted him “I don’t smell!”

Merlin forcibly swallowed the laughter welling pleasant warmth in his chest, raising his eyebrows as Arthur adopted his ‘affronted’ stance, gloved hands on belted hips and lower lip protruding just a fraction. Physically, Arthur was little different from the lithe and slightly awkward teenage boy Merlin had met two years ago. He was a little taller (though still not as tall as Merlin, who had grown alarmingly, much to the Prince’s chagrin), a little more elegant, and a little broader at the shoulders. His straw-blonde hair had darkened to a burnished gold with the passing of summers, and his features had grown stronger and more defined, but he was still brash and annoying and foolhardy and still inescapably Arthur.

“Arthur, you spend almost every hour of every day sweating in leather and furs; of course you smell.” Merlin unfolded his long legs from the mess they had entangled themselves in and straightened up, folding disapproving arms across his chest “Do you know what I found on your doublet this morning? Grease, blood, cake, mud, charcoal, cat hair and blueberries. And those are just the things I recognised!” a thought struck him, and a slow grin tugged at his lips “Wait, how did you get blueberries and cat hair on it, anyway?”

Arthur cleared his throat and turned hastily away “Oh goodness, look at the time! Love to stop and chat, but Princely duty calls. Y’know, people to step on, wealth to flaunt, idiots to oversee…”

He trailed off, eying the slight tremor in his manservant’s frame as Merlin fought not to wince at the heavy weight of freezing material against his skin. There was a long moment of silence as the universe passed through their locked gazes. Arthur broke first, lowering his eyes and unclasping the intricate silver buckle at his neck, tossing his fur-lined cloak at his manservant before Merlin could protest.

“My chambers at twelve, don’t forget, I’ve got to be properly dressed for this wretched diplomat meeting my Father is making me attend.” He pivoted effortlessly about on the icy ground and threw one last winning smile over his shoulder as he strode away “Happy washing!”

Merlin’s brow furrowed as Arthur breached the threshold of the portcullis and vanished around a decisive corner. He stood still for a while, mind struggling with that unique confusion surrounding the Prince, and felt as ever that with that briefest of encounters Arthur had tied him in knots. The uncertainty that seemed to constantly grip him recently was starting to get very disconcerting.

That and Arthur’s rapidly less subtle attempts to seemingly flirt with him.