Camelot feast:

Gentle

"Oh, brilliant job Merlin. Really, fantastic. You even managed to only spill your wine on me! You completely missed yourself." Arthur rolls his eyes, voice heavily laden with sarcasm, but the upward quirk of his lips takes away the impact of it all, truth be told.

Merlin chuckles and his pale cheeks flushes a light pink, teeth pulling at his lips in embarrassment. "Oh, don't be a prat. I- Well, I…" Merlin hides his face in the crook of his love's neck, his warm breath ghosting the soft flesh. Arthur rubs large soothing circles on Merlin's back, humming softly underneath his breath, for his love and only his love to hear. And if the couples close to them hear the King singing softly to his lover, well, then… they can only feel lucky that they have a King who is can love so much.

It's only right after all the hate from before.

"Oh, spit it out Merlin. You sound like you're choking." The King chastises, his fingers playing lightly with his lover's hair under the round edges of the ivory band. Merlin bites down hard on his King's neck, Arthur's face glowing red at his outraged squeak.

"Oi!"

Merlin pulls away, smirking devilishly.

Arthur glares at him, before his heart flutters at the sight before him. The King leans down to kiss King Merlin, whose dark hair is weighed down by the heavy ivory crown. Merlin is dressed in dark blues and silvers, he is not wearing any red (It truly was a terrible colour on Merlin) suffice for a red red ring on his left hand- marking him as Arthur's and only Arthur's, almost as defined as the crown around his head.

When they pull away, the King is smiling softly as his lover. Merlin ducks his head, blushing at the soft loving gazes of all his friends around him, as he always does. The nobles smile gently and Gaius smirks. "Did I really do that badly, Arthur?" Merlin's voice is quiet, and a just a little sad.

His love is quiet, the hands in his squeezing gently, as the King dances with Merlin in their castle. They are in their own world though, when Arthur whispers softly, "You were perfect."

Merlin blushes, and his hand tightens around his King's waist. Blue eyes hold the other's, almost identical in colour- but not quite.

Hours later, when the nobles have retired, their friends have gone home, and the servants have become clearing up for dinner, the two kings of Albion are still in their own world, dancing to their own music and swaying to their own hearts.

And if the servants shoot each other smiles when they hear Arthur whisper Merlin, soft and gentle- vulnerable, no one says a thing.

The people of Albion are sick of hard, angry kings.

"I love you."