Author's Note: Credit to CriesofCapricorn who inspired the idea for this fic in the first place with a PM request. A huge thank you to Doberler who agreed to co-author. She brings such heart and soul to the relationship between Gwen and Arthur. I highly recommend checking out her fic The Sorrows of Pendragons. This fic will also be posted on Archive of Our Own by Doberler. Finally, I have to give due to the writers and actors of Merlin whose deleted scene provided the jumping off point for this fic. The first chapter was written by me and edited by Doberler.
Merlin withdrew a fetching brown leather vest, one that Arthur usually wore when he wanted to impress a girl. He turned, holding it aloft with a smile. The king prowled around his chambers like a trapped animal, tugging at his loose collar, and barely glanced at it before shaking his head. The manservant twirled back to the wardrobe with a frown, a bit annoyed his pick had been rejected.
"I think I'm coming down with something," Arthur spoke woozily.
"Indecision," Merlin explained as he hung up the vest, glancing back to see the king bent over with elbows on knees, and now clutching at his collar with both hands and looking like he might vomit. "I hope it's not catching."
Arthur didn't even chuckle. "I feel slightly sick."
Merlin pulled out a couple other choices. "Well, that's marriage for you." As if he knew anything about it, but pretense was necessary to lift his friend's spirits.
"Really?" Arthur asked, befuddled.
"Yeah." Merlin craned his neck back to regard the blond. "The thought of spending the whole of your life with someone? That's bound to make you feel under the weather."
Arthur leaned back in his chair, appearing relieved. "That's what it is. That's exactly what it is." He stood up, clasping a hand to his forehead. "Oh, my goodness. I've made a bad decision."
"I didn't say that!" Merlin shot back. Heaven forbid he talk Arthur out of this unintentionally! He turned around, clasping another vest along with two coats and attempted to rectify his king's misinterpretation. "I think it's only natural to be nervous in these situations."
Arthur held out his hand as if begging for help, something rare for the man. "Nervous?"
"I always get nervous when I make a decision," Merlin explained. "I start worrying about all the other options I've discounted." Not really. Most of the time he just rushed into situations without considering consequences at all. He shrugged slightly, hoping his empathy calmed Arthur's doubts. Maybe not. The king was swaying a bit like his legs were made of jelly.
"All right." Merlin held up a red coat Arthur rarely wore but entirely appropriate for formal situations. "Princess Elena," he said, reviewing the other options Arthur had been afforded for choice of a wife.
Arthur dismissed both the coat and girl with one evaluation and a wave of his hand. "Too girly."
Next, the slimming black vest and the other choice. "Princess of Westenberg."
Arthur looked away, scoffing. "Too short." This dismissal applied to both the vest and girl as well, Merlin remembering how young the girl had been and how Arthur had needed to bend at the waist just to reach her. That Uther had suggested her had been ludicrous to them both.
The last was one of Arthur's favorites—the brown coat he wore that reached almost to his ankles and he sported when he wished to relax and simply be himself. Merlin held this one up in full display. "Queen Guinevere?"
Merlin grinned as his friend's worries evaporated with a deep, cleansing breath and his gaze went all sappy dreamy. He wished he could capture that image and pass it around to all the knights for a good laugh at the king's expense. He'd probably end up in the stocks for that one, but it would be so very worth it.
"See?" the warlock encouraged, pointing at the king. "There you go. You are doing the right thing. So, when is the big moment? When are you going to ask her?"
Arthur swaggered over to Merlin. "Tonight. No time like the present." He twisted around and held out his arms for Merlin to aid him into the coat. "You'll be there should I need you."
"I will?" Merlin blurted in surprise.
Arthur spun around. "You will," he confirmed, ruffling the top of his friend's head for emphasis and walking away.
Merlin closed the wardrobe doors in confusion. Wouldn't Gwen just love an observer in the moment. He chased after Arthur who had made it to the chamber door and exited into the hall. He caught up to the king, paralleling his long gait. "Why will I be there?"
Arthur flicked his wrist a couple times. "You have, you know…eh…"
"Yes?"
"Sensitivity. Girliness."
"Girliness." Merlin tilted his head, looking askance at his king. "Not sure what you mean, but how would that help if it were true?"
"I…just need some help…with the proposal…"
"You want me to ask Gwen for you?" Merlin blurted incredulously.
"No!" Arthur shot him a fiery glance. "I'm more than capable of that."
"Then, why do you want me there?"
"Just…because…decoration."
"What?"
Arthur waved a hand. "I want something special…in her home."
"You're going to ask her there?" He thought the royal garden or the king's solar would serve as better locations.
"It's where I first realized I loved her."
Merlin grinned widely. "That's romantic, Arthur."
The king's cheeks flushed and Merlin stifled a giggle. "Yes. It is. Of course, it is. So, do something for it."
"Like what?"
"I don't know. Flowers."
"You've got to be kidding. Remember how well that turned out the first time?" Merlin shuddered as he recalled being shoved inside Gwen's home under orders to dispatch the colony of bees that had been too tempted by Arthur's brilliant idea to fill it with flowers at the Feast of Beltane. At least he'd been alone and able to frantically zap the buzzing insects with magical bolts of energy.*
"Right…yeah. What then?"
"Candles? You're asking her at night after all."
Arthur stared at him for second, then nodded and clapped him on the back of the neck. "This is why I keep you around, Merlin."
"To help you propose."
"Yes." Arthur smiled thinly and Merlin quirked his lips. "See to it, then."
Arthur discharged him with a flick of his fingers, but Merlin hadn't taken two steps before the king spoke up again.
"Out of curiosity," Arthur cleared his throat, "what would you say if you ever had the good fortune to propose?"
Merlin paused mid-step, setting his boot down softly.
I'm going to look after you. We'll go somewhere faraway. Somewhere with mountains, a few fields, wildflowers, a couple of cows, and a lake.
"Merlin?"
The servant swallowed thickly and turned, hands clasped tightly behind his back to hide his sudden despondence. "How should I know?"
"Give it your best shot," Arthur encouraged. "I know it's hard but imagine some girl has managed to fall for you."
The raven headed man inhaled deeply. "I'd say I'm going to love you every day in every way until I die. I'm going to watch over you. I'm going to protect you and never let harm come to you. We're going to live without fear ever again." He had to work to fight back the tears threatening to spill, the tremor in his voice.
Arthur stared in awe. "That's…it's…"
"Lies." Merlin's head dropped.
"I was going to say 'perfect.'"
"You can't promise any of those things," Merlin spoke quietly. He looked up, his words weighted with experience. "Because you can't guarantee them." He stepped back to Arthur, meeting him eye to eye. "If Gwen chooses you, then she knows what she's getting. She knows it means danger and trial, not just flowers and candles. Just ask her, Arthur. She doesn't need a speech." Merlin turned and strode away.
"Thank you, Merlin," he heard Arthur mutter when he turned the corner.
Merlin scurried around Gwen's home, securing every beeswax candle he'd been able to scrounge up from the castle into its holder. The expensive candles would fill the room with a pleasant smell instead of the smoky flames of waxy tallow. He stood back when he finished, hands perched on his hips, nodding to himself with a delighted smile. Gwen would love it.
He tugged the curtain back from the front window and peeked out. Arthur should be along any minute with his beloved on his arm. He'd been both shocked and pleased at the king's unflinching directness with his uncle in declaring his intention to marry Gwen. So many years watching Arthur pine after a woman more deserving than any other of his affections, and it was finally going to happen. When Arthur had informed Agravaine, he'd wanted to turn around and shout a triumphant, "Yes!" He'd settled for a hidden grin.
Two figures appeared on the path to Gwen's house, one broadly muscled holding the hand of the slimmer that was hooked in his elbow. Merlin whipped back around, palms out, and his eyes burned gold. Every candle flickered to life and the room lit up with the soft haze of candlelight. Merlin held his breath at the starlike dancing flames casting fluttering shadows upon the walls. He wished he could admire the beauty longer, but quickly exited the front door and slipped to the corner of Gwen's home.
Warmth enveloped him as he watched his friends draw near. Gwen smiled sweetly, so confident in Arthur as her guide through the dimness. Her blindfold had been all Arthur's idea. The king was far more amorous than most people knew. Arthur sought him out with his eyes as they reached Gwen's door.
Merlin's eyebrows scrunched together. Wait. He wasn't wearing the coat they had spent all that time deciding on this morning. Merlin gestured at him with a questioning look, then tugged at his own jacket. Arthur shrugged, grimaced, and raised the arm holding Gwen's hand long enough to reveal a damp stain on the armpit.
Merlin pinched his lips to keep from chuckling at his friend's uncharacteristic nervousness only to receive a death glare from Arthur. He smiled, pointed at Gwen, and gave an encouraging nod. His friend nodded back, not too unlike the dutiful bob of his head before attacking an enemy. Arthur Pendragon was king. He would propose or die in the effort.
The door opened, and the couple entered. Merlin sidled along the wall to peer in through a sliver unobstructed by the window's curtain. Gwen sat on a stool with her back to him, now absent the blindfold. Arthur knelt in front of her where he could see the window and cling to the moral support of his servant's presence. Merlin averted his eyes, unwilling to trespass too much on the privacy of the moment, though he listened.
Words were so long in coming, he worried Arthur might have lost his nerve. Then the king's steady voice drifted to his ear. "Guinevere…" Another pause. You can do this, Arthur. Ask her. "Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?" Finally.
Tears and sniffling indicated the maiden's overwhelming joy. Not surprisingly, Arthur didn't catch the meaning, asking in confusion, "Is that a yes?"
"Oh, I'm sorry," Gwen effused. "Yes. Yes. Yes!"
Merlin's smile glowed as a dream come true materialized for his friends. Arthur would be sliding the silver ring on her finger now, sealing their promise to join two hearts as one. He pulled back, turned on his heel, and walked away. The deed had been accomplished splendidly. He was no longer needed.
He took the long way back to the citadel, filled with his own joy, appreciating the clear starlit night. The smile plastered on his face probably looked a bit silly, but he couldn't help his thrill. Things were changing so fast and for the better. Gwen as queen. She was special, a boon to Camelot's future.
His smile eventually reduced to a thin upturned line as memory reminded him of those first few months in his new home in the company of a girl unlike any he'd known. Gwen, a friend from the beginning, and one he admitted he'd once imagined the possibility of more from after her impulsive kiss when he hadn't perished from poisoning. He'd dared to briefly consider there might be a chance for them, but nothing ever came of it.
Merlin exhaled lowly as he met the castle wall and began to round it towards the front gate. He'd never really had much luck with women. He could count on four fingers his scarce encounters. He did, lifting one as he thought.
First, Aalis, who he'd worked up the nerve to kiss on the cheek as they hid amongst the rye stalks outside Ealdor. Then again, he was seven and earned a good pop on the mouth, so maybe that one shouldn't count. He shrugged and kept his first finger extended anyway.
Two, Licia. Traveling merchants had broken a wagon wheel, forced to stop in his village. He'd reached the brain addled age of thirteen when fiery stirrings in the body raged, and the head merchant's daughter, unsullied by mutterings about his strangeness, took a shining to him. He'd found her tantalizing—rebellious, unafraid of the world with a devil-may-care attitude—until she'd gotten him alone and about sucked his face off with her painted lips. He'd run. He'd actually run. Merlin slapped a hand to his forehead and blood rushed in his cheeks, still embarrassed after all these years.
Third finger, Ysmay. Reserved, thoughtful, kind in every way, especially to an angsty boy of sixteen who hated everything—the confining village, his mother's chores, the restriction of his greatest asset. Not that he told her what made him unique; she thought he was special without even knowing. Then he'd had the audacity to brush his lips across her forehead and been seen by her father. The sharp upbraiding they received brought Ysmay to tears and included the threat of a beating for Merlin if he dared see her again. A bastard with no skills was worthless as a potential husband.
Merlin's fists clenched at the memory. He had a skill. He could have protected Ysmay far more than her father ever could.
Merlin halted. He hadn't intended to come this way, but a locked entrance faced him, one that led into the catacombs. He glanced at the three fingers stretched out from his palm, raised his pinky, and rested against the stone wall next to the gate. Freya.
His time in the dank tunnels had been the greatest of all. A few giddy short days spent in another place lit with flickering candlelight. Shy smiles, a wish for strawberries turned into a rose bud, and a kiss he could never put words to. He'd proposed in his own way, vowing to take her away to safety and freedom. He'd broken his promise.
He fingered his lips. Her kiss was the most cherished, the most chaste, the one he remembered in every detail, his senses heightened as he pressed close to her, savoring the soft warmth of her body and mouth. He'd barely noticed the tear that escaped his control. She was the one he would have abandoned even his destiny for. Maybe that's why he couldn't scrub her from his mind, why images of her loomed at the most random moments. She had been and always would be his one and only true beloved.
The warlock wrapped his arms around himself. The commitment Arthur and Gwen shared would never be his to experience. Freya had taught him his fate was a solitary existence. All he had to offer a woman was a secret that could lead to execution and a mission that consumed his every waking moment. He couldn't in good conscience ask anyone to join him in such a life.
Merlin moved along, his smile vanished, his shoulders drooped. He passed through the front gate and into the hallways of his current home, wandering aimlessly. He didn't hear the voices in the armory until one called out, "Oi! Merlin!"
He paced backwards to look in. "Yeah?"
"Why the long face?" Gwaine stumbled away from a stool he'd been occupying. Merlin noted two other faces evaluating him—Percival and Leon.
"Eh… Nothing… Just thinking…""
"Yeah? About what?"
"Erm…" Women and kissing and marriage. Yeah, that didn't sound girly at all. So he blurted out the next thing that passed through his mind. "Arthur's getting married." Merlin cringed when Gwaine's eyes twinkled and a mischievous smirk proclaimed Arthur was doomed. He could kill himself right now! He'd just let the cat out of the bag and to Gwaine of all people.
"He finally asked Gwen?" Leon inquired.
"Uh huh," he practically moaned.
Percival, often the most perceptive of the group, nodded at him. "He'll still need you, Merlin. It's not the end of the world."
Merlin's cheeks tinged for the second time that night at the pinpoint accuracy that pierced the loneliness in his heart. He was happy for Arthur and Gwen, truly, but his own isolation grew keener in the light of their joy.
"You've still got us!" Gwaine declared, flinging an arm around his shoulders and pulling him into the room. "Come join the confirmed bachelors! No women. No engagements."
"Just mead and gambling and the smell of your sour breath," Merlin returned. "Just what I need." Exactly what I need.
Gwaine guffawed, Leon and Percival joining in. Merlin chuckled, then laughed aloud as he was patted on the back and plunked down at their game of chance. He might never be afforded the love of a woman, but he'd been gifted friends closer than brothers. For him, for now, that was enough.
* The Sorrows of Pendragons, by Doberler