A/N: Christmas is upon us! This fic was written for AuroraBorealia. No matter where you are in the world, holiday fanfiction is always a way to celebrate the holidays with besties near and far. Aside from the epic and amazing insanity that is our roleplay forum project, I could not think of a better virtual way to share a Christmas gift with you! (Especially since I failed at life and didn't finish typing/editing your birthday fic #ElsieisTHEWORST. xD Since you were such a huge fan of the two Merthur gift-giving fics written for Easter by RoseWalker22, I thought of something in a similar vein, because clearly dying of too much cute is the way to go. ;D

Without further ado, here is a ficlet for you to (hopefully) enjoy on your holiday eve—a festive present for an equally festive writer who just so happens to be the most wonderfully creative and talented bestie a girl could ask for! 3

P.S. After re-reading and editing this, I realized that this fic is so dang fluffy I legit gave myself cavities. It was supposed to be a simple, funny 12 Days of Christmas rendition but it slowly unfolded into…whatever this is! xD

Uther looked at Arthur.

Arthur looked at Uther.

Arthur looked down at the bouquet in its hands, gaily donning its brightly-colored petals as if to say, "who, me? I'm not damning at all, no sir!"

Uther looked at the flowers. The stern, suspicious frown marring his face coupled with the regal brow that told Arthur his father thought he knew exactly what was going on here.

Naturally, as any man hoping to save face might do, Arthur turned tail and fled. It only worsened as he passed a mildly-amused guard and then a pair of giggling courtiers.

Good gods, he needed some place to get rid of these blasted flowers! Where was Morgana at a time where her snide comments might actually prove useful? Scratch that. The image of her sly, all-knowing smirk laced Arthur's already mortified attitude with hot defiance.

Of course Arthur knew how to walk stealthily about his own castle and had done so on numerous occasions in the past, but to sneak about like this in such a state of dismay made him feel like a poor disgraced lady or lord making their walk of shame back to other quarters.

The last straw was when Sir Leon crossed the juncture ahead of him only to double back and straight-up stare. Arthur almost gave into the urge to toss the ridiculous blooms on the floor and stomp on them with his boot… not that it could help his ruined reputation now.

Arthur bolted for the very next door he saw, which happened to be that of the Court Physician. Gaius—praise all that was sweet and holy—had not yet returned from his daily market venture. The young man crossed the room and set them on the floor between a potted plant and another door. A deep sigh of relief alerted him to the scent of the ill and ailing, as well as the herbs required to heal them, so he made haste to leave the room.

Our foolish little prince thought it was all done and over then, but oh how wrong he was…

"Arthur?"

Still barely awake and cranky as a bear come springtime, the blonde in question chucked a pillow at his offending servant, followed by an unlit candle. Merlin, who normally detested his unofficial role as moving target, simply grinned and caught the projectiles with unfounded grace.

"How can you do that—" Arthur yawned before he could continue. "…and still be so useless?"

The answering overly-wide grin perturbed Arthur and he pouted—no, scowled all manly-like—as he brainstormed all the ways to remove it at once.

"I may be useless, but at least I'm not ruining perfectly good candles. Light sources are important you know," Merlin chided. To accent his words, he threw back the drawn curtains to let the sun's nearly-blinding rays flood through Arthur's chambers.

A groan escaped Arthur's lips as he flopped backwards onto his plush oh-so-soft bed and nestled in its warmth for another few lingering moments. "If you could find a more pleasant way to wake me up, you might not be the absolute worst servant ever anymore."

Merlin laughed, his adorable—annoying—tenor tone sending a slight tremor down Arthur's spine. Or more likely the winter morning chill. It wasn't like it was pleasant or anything.

"Insult me all you want, sire, nothing can stop me today," the raven-haired man crowed.

Arthur propped himself up on an elbow to watch his manservant stuff pillows into clean linen sheaths. "What has you so 'jolly' all of a sudden? Feeling festive early?" Today was little more than a week before yule. Eleven days exactly.

A tiny grin puckered Merlin's face, and the prince highly doubted that it was reserved for the pillow case he was holding. It made a tight knot coil in Arthur's chest for no apparent reason.

"There is someone who finds me—well, not completely useless. They're starting to court me."

"What!?" Arthur sat straight up, nearly crashing against the bedpost.

Merlin snorted. "You don't have to act sosurprised, I'm not that repulsive. Whoever it is put a lot of thought into their gift and that means a lot to me. I've never received many yule presents. Back home in Ealdor, we try to make each other each one special thing, if that."

Something ugly and fearful leapt up into Arthur's chest, but he couldn't place it. Instead, a sneer as ugly as that unnamed thing pasted itself on his face. "Right. Country life, all your bumpkins' idea of a present, whatever. If you could actually do your job, I have training to get to."

Continuing as if he hadn't even heard Arthur, Merlin held out his master's tunic without missing a beat. "Dahlias. They're beautiful, really, and they're one of the few flowers that bloom so late in the season that they last until yule. Symbolic, poetic—it's quite touching really." Arthur paused mid-bend, his arms halfway to his sleeves. "There was no note, though."

Arthur's heartbeat evened out and he coughed to cover his warming cheeks. He had forgotten all about the flowers. The day before, an old woman in the market had stopped to ask him for directions and he answered her. From seemingly nowhere, she had produced the bouquet as a token of thanks and good fortune, uttering some nonsense about Arthur's 'inner spirit being lifted by another' and his 'other half.' He assumed they were meant to bring good luck or some similar superstition and took them, meaning to share with Gwen or Morgana or any female who would take them. The embarrassing suspicious stares and shenanigans that ensued were all too much to bear, so Arthur had cast them aside near Merlin's room. He had never imagined they might be mistaken for courting gifts. His heart felt a little lighter, knowing they had gone to someone who would actually make use of and enjoy them.

"For me, they're lovely and perfect… I'm flattered, really." He looked at Arthur's clothes but his focus was a mile away. When Arthur grabbed for his belt, the impertinent toad playfully snatched it just out of reach. "Well, I suppose you nobles have higher standards here in Camelot. If I wereto court a lord or lady, I wouldn't start out with the flowers," Merlin critiqued, pursing his lips. "I might go with a slightly different color palette for yule, based on their taste, though really it would be better wait until spring to pick out symbolic arrangements.

Arthur's lighthearted attitude quickly morphed into a scowl. Just who did Merlin think he was, criticizing his gift? He opened his mouth to tell him so until a few sobering thoughts came to him: firstly, Merlin didn't know who it was from and secondly, it wasn't like Arthur had even left it on purpose. A prince leaving flowers for his very obnoxious, very male servant, honestly. Preposterous.

That crazy idea took seed as a mischievous plan in Arthur's mind. If anyone here was an expert at wooing the ladies, it was Arthur, and he would have to show as much. He would proceed with the gift-giving until Camelot's feast. Once the eve of Yule came and he revealed himself as the "secret admirer," Merlin would be falling all over himself. They could have a good laugh together over it afterwards for ages to come.

He had to wait until after training and lunch, when Merlin was occupied with errands for Gaius. Arthur slipped down to the market, perusing the stalls for another gift, this time with purpose. An assortment of jewelry caught his eye—but no, that would be something special reserved for some time closer to Yule. Besides, should a servant even wear something like that. It might catch unwanted attention. Not that Merlin was actually his lover.

Another few minutes passed before the wind carried a delectable fragrance to the prince's nose. He followed the beacon of goodness to a baker's stand laden with freshly-baked yuletide sweets.

"Hot from the oven, milord," a lovely lady announced, gesturing to a plate of hot cakes. The dimples on her beautiful, plump cheeks pressed inward when she gave him a winsome smile.

Arthur leaned closer to her and made sure to lower his voice to a romantic stage whisper. "Ah, but you see, I'm looking for something special. A small, rare treat from someone equally unique. These simply won't do."

The woman jerked back and fanned her now pink face. Her grin grew even wider. "I know just the thing!"

At last, Arthur had his prize. Hah! See if Merlin could find fault with this. He stopped to admire the lovely gift box lined with baking parchment, the delicate dozen slices of a single candied orange arranged in the most beautiful, intricate design. But wait, one was a hare off; if Arthur slid it in just the right direction...

Time slowed with dramatic flair as the last slice fell through the air in all its glittering glory, the sparkles of sugar highlighted by the afternoon sun. Surely the world wept when a thing of such beauty plummeted to the earth to be soiled and marred by the ugly, grubby claws of cobblestone and filth. All of that deliciousness gone to waste, for shame!

Arthur pouted for nearly two hours. While he had successfully managed to hide what he had salvaged of his gift for his exceptionally tasteless servant to find, the younger man had quipped about how his admirer clearly did not know him well, since he detested all things citrus.

He did make one positive comment, however. "They don't know me well, so maybe it's more of admiration from afar. It's sort of romantic to think that they might have seen me around the castle one day and deemed me worthy of their attention," he admitted. One point for Arthur. Still, he had to do much better tomorrow.

The next afternoon found Arthur starting at the opposite end of the market as to arouse less suspicion. This time, he made no declarations of his fictitious romantic intent for the gift. Merlin had complained that his admirer knew little about him. Which set a flare of annoyance in the blonde's gut.

He knew Merlin, of course he did. Arthur might tease the idiot constantly and brush aside much of his constant chattering or gossip, but he had a few important things about him. The other boy worked hard when he applied himself and he was actually very well-liked by the rest of the staff and many townspeople. No that Arthur could never say any of this. Why would he? Servants didn't need to be praised, particularly not one who would lord it over his master until the end of time.

Unfortunately, the kind of secret admirer Merlin thought he had would try pay attention to the small details they picked up over time, like what kind of foods Merlin did or didn't like, his favourite color, his secret hobbies. Since Merlin was an open book, those things shouldn't be so hard to figure out, right?

To get a sense of what Merlin liked, he would have to pay closer attention—without revealing his identity. Arthur thought back to their recent encounters and smiled. He still enjoyed chucking objects at this manservant, like pillows… or candles.

As it turned out, the candle maker made laced his creations with an exorbitant amount of different scents. It was so hard to choose that Arthur filled his leather satchel with several. The thick-bearded stall owner offered him a deal for ten small ones, so the young prince selected two of each from his five favourites.

Later, Arthur reconsidered that he really should have thought of Merlin's top five favourites. The cinnamon one had the raven-haired man gagging with disgust. Well at least four out of five had gone splendidly. He shoved those two off to the side and continued to polish Arthur's boots. He then made a conjecture about his admirer that piqued Arthur's interest.

"It seems he or she is going with a countdown theme."

"A what?"

"You know, a dozen flowers makes twelve. Eleven slices of orange. Ten candles ten days before Christmas can't be coincidence." Merlin mused.

"When did you become so observant?" Arthur snorted.

Dignifying that with an eye roll, Merlin's smile was kept firmly in place. "Shut it, you. Now I definitely know they don't know me well. I was right before, and I'll have to be on the lookout for anyone who's paid me closer attention of late. Might catch them staring wistfully at me from a distance," he cooed teasingly.

"Nah, you're more of a lanky blue and brown blob. The only thing anyone would maaaaaybe perhaps notice the splotch of red from that atrocious rag you wear around your neck."

The rest of the evening carried on in a similar manner, playful banter and all. Merlin managed not to give Arthur the urge to throttle him, not even once. Instead sleep evaded him in the face of his anxiousness to plan the next gift. Merlin had set him on a countdown mission and he could not fail to blow his test subject away!

When he did lose consciousness, the corners of his lips were still tugged upwards by the content of his dreams.

Days eight and nine proved to be much more fruitful than those before. He had risen early on Tuesday to observe Merlin's morning run of chores in order to glean some of his interests. For research purposes, naturally. He was rather proud of himself for catching the longing gaze that lit up the man's eyes for a split second when a tray of cakes crossed his path. Once he was safely out of range, Arthur pulled the maid who carried them to the side and commissioned another batch from her to be delivered in secret to Gaius' chambers. He felt both glad and relieved that the plain, doe-eyed girl took his orders seriously. She seemed to be someone he could trust not to spill his secret.

The deed was done while Arthur practiced. With Merlin watching him the entire time—and for one short session reluctantly participating from behind a wooden shield—he could never guess that his master was the one behind all of this.

To say that Arthur felt satisfied at Merlin's appearance that afternoon, still brushing crumbs from his jacket without a single peep of complaint, was the understatement of the year.

Keep it simple became his mantra for success. The sweet cakes had gone over so well! They might be commonplace for Arthur, but for someone like Merlin they were a luxury, whereas something rare like the oranges had been simply too over-blown. Now he just had to find something Merlin would like even more. In the end, he settled on neck-scarves. His odd friend always wore them, no matter the weather or season, so he might as well have other colors to choose from.

The assortment of eight he selected were crafted from different materials and colors—nothing too subtle that give away the station of Merlin's admirer, but nice enough. Nicer than any piece of clothing the other boy owned.

A fire fueling his ego leapt to the ceiling that night. As Merlin cleared the dinner plates away, he scarcely stopped chattering about his admirer's "thoughtful, suiting present."

And if Merlin noticed Arthur's silent victory dance, he was too distracted to mention it. While he watched Merlin stoke the fireplace, Arthur noticed a sigh of contentment that he didn't think Merlin intended for anyone to see. This time, the bedcovers hid his victory wiggle well.

By late Thursday afternoon, however, Arthur found himself stumped. He feared he would not figure out anything suitable to deliver to Merlin that day, and so in desperation he sought out Gwen.

"What's something that Merlin uses a lot?"

Morgana's and Merlin's friend pursed her lips and thought. "Hmm. He does read quite a bit, come to think of it. Books, I suppose. Why d'you ask?"

"No reason. Please, Guinevere, under no circumstances can you reveal to Merlin that I've asked you this. It's—for an experiment of sorts."

The confusion on her lovely face made him wish he could stop and explain the whole joke, but so little time. Merlin was probably wondering by now whether or not his admirer had lost interest.

Arthur couldn't very well take up the remainder of the stall hours selecting things for Merlin to read when he could not have fathomed what would interest the servant beyond trashy romance stories and possibly a secret love of poetry. Whenever Merlin carried around a book to read, Arthur noticed that the cover looked mysterious or romantic. That must be the subject matter to which his eyes were so oft glued.

He could, however, order a set of seven scrolls to be rolled and carefully fastened with colorful strands of ribbon before the delivery. And he could most certainly make sure that Gaius and Merlin both were kept away from their quarters at the late time of delivery.

"They cut it awful close," Merlin commented fondly over the next training preparation.

"If this is another comment about my weight—" Arthur started, summoning a false argument to throw off any possible nugget of suspicion.

"Not the tunic, you prat. Though if you keep up this diet of rich holiday food..." The prince promptly shoved him into the wall, if perhaps with a bit more gentleness than usual. When he looked up to see Merlin fingering his neck scarf fondly, he recognized it as one of the new ones, the rich, dark blue one made from thick, soft wool.

The imprinted grin like the cat who ate the canary graced the prince's face for the entirety of the day. Morgana found him that way later on a the market, poking him sharply enough in the ribs for a wake-up call.

"You're shopping."

By all accounts the picture of innocent, aristocratic boredom, Arthur casually waved his satchel to the side. "Wow. Thank you for informing me of the obvious, Morgana."

"All by your lonesome," she clarified, voice as cool and smooth as water. The grin on her face might as well have been a jackal's. "Who's the poor, unfortunate girl?"

The hand Arthur had been reaching out to inspect a leather boot stilled in midair. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Morgana leveled him with a knowing smirk. "Right, hush hush and all that. If Uther finds out he'll have a cow and Camelot will find itself short of a king. Not exactly news the old codger knows nothing about love. Come on, let's have it then. What is it you plan on getting her?"

"I—" Arthur could deny it all he liked, but there was no arguing with his adoptive sister when she held fast to an idea. Best to get this over with quickly so she had no time to pry for details. "—I don't know yet."

"Well any girl with the tragedy of you as her admirer is sure to suffer further if I do not lend my aid. I find this to be my civic duty, brother dear. Come. Tell me, what does she like…?"

It proved difficult to describe Merlin's tastes, or the whole Arthur knew of them, while not letting slip past his gender. Then again, he did often call his manservant a girl, and he would probably enjoy receiving just about any similarly-oriented gift.

They settled on a set of leather bracelets, each with its own intricate Celtic design of woven bands that fastened with beads at the back.

"Are you sure it isn't too simple? You don't want to offend the lady in question," Morgana warned, flipping the section of hair that lingered over her chest to the back so that it could join the remainder of her cascading raven curls.

Biting his lip, Arthur fingered his favourite of the bands, the one that looked like two hearts laced together with a diamond shape. He hoped Merlin would like it.

"That bad, huh?" the girl beside him murmured, but he hardly heard her in his haste to deliver the gift.

Nothing made sense that night at all. At first, Arthur felt overjoyed that Merlin chose his favourite of the bands to wear out of all six. He had to watch himself, lest he give something away.

"I think it could be Gerda."

Arthur's head cocked to the side. "Who?"

"You're definitely met her. She helps Cook in the kitchens and makes the most exquisite cakes. I think she's my secret admirer."

The plain, somewhat masculine-looking girl with big, round eyes whom Arthur had hired a few days past flitted before his mind. He nearly scoffed at the notion. "And what makes you think so?"

"She keeps looking at me when she thinks I won't notice, paying more attention to me. And the bloody secret smiles. I know she has a deal with the other bakers in town and the candle maker and the tanner; she might have afforded all of these things with her goods instead of money."

"You aren't pleased," Arthur noted, tamping down his own over-abundant satisfaction.

"No, I am, I…" Merlin sighed, the fingers that had been lazily gripping Arthur's jerkin to remove it slipped limply to his side. "She's a lovely woman and would make a worthy wife to anyone. And I am grateful for the gifts. They're so thoughtful… too thoughtful this time. No one could have given me this without knowing its significance. Its intent is clear."

He held out the bracelet for Arthur to see. The prince made a show of examining the thing as though he had never before beheld something like it in his life. "And what might that be?"

"You don't know this knot, Arthur? Really? It has to be the most basic declaration of love there is. There is no denying this, my admirer does not wish to simply court me for fun. This has moved past the stage of impersonal gifts to something serious. She intends to marry me."

Arthur nearly choked on his own spit. The ridiculous servant who had caused such a fuss thumped him on the back until he calmed down.

"That's—I can't even."

"I know. I can't, either, believe me." Merlin nodded solemnly. "I don't feel that way for Gerda. If it really is her, what can I say? There is no good reason for me to refuse her, besides my lack of feelings, and people marry on a much lesser grounds, like convenience, every day. If this is her declaring her love and she's truly invested in me as a person…"

Arthur gawked at him. "You're not seriously suggesting…"

Visibly distressed, the prince's servant shook his head rigidly and made to leave. "I just can't think about this right now. There's so much to do with the Yuletide feast coming up. I'm sorry I've bothered you so much about this, Arthur. Good night."

Unable to muster a pretending scornful retort about how Merlin should never take his leave without permission, Arthur followed the pale boy's swift exit with his gaze. "Good night," he whispered to the empty room.

Good gods, this was becoming far too serious. Arthur simply had to find a way to lighten the mood and give Merlin some space from the idea of impending doom. Perhaps he should have asked the tanner about the knot's meaning beforehand or saved the bracelets altogether for a later gift, but it was too late now. He needed Merlin to be blown away by his courting skills so that he would readily admit them—perhaps even in public.

If anything said romantic yet light-hearted, it was music. Arthur knew by now from his research that Merlin liked to pause a moment before the market and listen to peddlers performing familiar holiday tunes. He would give them spare change or food if he had it. His attention fixed mainly on the lyre. A simple enough instrument to learn and carry around, Arthur reasoned.

He knew he had to include a note this time, so he paid a page to write a cryptic note that would tie together his gift. On the usual chair in Gaius' work station, Arthur's messenger was to place the five golden strings with the note that read, You may need these to complete me. Find my holder in the place where you work, yet play.

The lyre accompanying its spare golden strings he hid on a post in the stables. He hoped Merlin would not become too distracted by his daily ritual of talking to the horses and reminding them of their undeniable beauty to miss it.

When Merlin adopted a dutiful, quiet mood that afternoon, Arthur sensed something was wrong. He nudged the younger man's shoulder, prodding him for a better response.

"The gift today… It was far too wonderful. More-so than I could have ever asked for."

Triumph bloomed in Arthur's chest, yet it had no right to be there. This was a game, nothing more. It was about time he remind himself of that fact. Besides, this was the appropriate time to internally gloat over his evident success.

"What's this all of a sudden? Yesterday, you lamented that a horse-faced person you might not like could be your mystery suitor."

Merlin hummed but did not answer.

"What if it's Tyr?" the prince mockingly suggested.

"….I'm pretty sure he prefers ladies."

"As if he could ever get one," Arthur teased with a hearty laugh. That was quickly smacked away by Merlin's frown and swatting elbow.

Merlin's stony glare was rife with anger. "What exactly do you think is wrong with Tyr, sire? Is he not one of your most loyal subjects, and a warm-hearted man to boot? Any woman should consider herself lucky to hold his attention."

"Lighten up, it's only a joke. Tyr is far too timid to pursue someone romantically anyway. Though you seem keen to think about him in a romantic sense," he added hotly. He regretted it not an instant later because his friend looked at him with a disgusted huff.

The worst was that his azure eyes watered slightly, ripe with disappointment. As Merlin stalked off, Arthur reflected somberly that he never wanted to be on the receiving end of that expression again.

He tried to get through the rest of the night by contemplating the next gift. This was getting difficult; he had extracted most of what he knew about Merlin to select the previous gifts. Now that Yuletide was fast approaching, he would have to try even harder.

On the fourth day before the feast, things were becoming increasingly busy in preparation for the feast. Arthur had to send his messengers again to deliver the gifts or risk being caught; it would be too obvious if he snuck out with this many people around. He decided to send a note again with the four hunting horns he had selected this time as a clue for Merlin to find them. For your safety, use me well, for if ever you should need aid, I will call for you from the place where you fasten your master for battle.

Arthur never saw Merlin go to the armory and was frustrated for it. He needed to see Merlin's reaction to feel that sense of pride and accomplishment. A sinking feeling in his stomach told him that it was more than that. That he was a fool to tell himself otherwise. And so he told the voice to go to hell and told himself nothing.

The day was nearly over when he was ambushed by a furious friend.

"You are a miserable prat, Arthur Pendragon!"

Despite her normally sweet and awkward disposition, Guinevere Smith made for an impressively intimidating force of nature when provoked. Arthur's veins turned to ice and he racked his brains for any mistake or other accidental wrongdoing he might have committed.

"You've no idea, do you? Of how awful and insensitive you're being."

"Gwen, I don't—"

She cut him off with a stern hand. "It was you. You asked me about the paper and Morgana told me you were supposedly shopping for a girl, but you bought those bracelets. You were the one sending Merlin all those gifts!"

Arthur was about to make a scathing a comment about how Morgana couldn't keep her mouth shut, but Gwen pushed onward. "See, you won't even deny it. You think it's all a silly trifle, but to Merlin this is so much more than that. He's falling for his 'mystery sweetheart,' meanwhile you've been doing nothing but playing a cruel joke on the one person I know who most deserves all the love and happiness the world has to offer.

"I knew you could be an arrogant prat at times like he always says, but I never thought you would stoop so low as to purposefully wound another person's heart. I don't know what you're playing at, but I hope you feel the shame you deserve to feel, and I mean the full weight of it," she finished vehemently, whipping away from him without an apology, a bedsheet from her laundry basket billowing out behind her in the wind.

Her words left Arthur breathless. He had to steady himself on the strong stone wall. It couldn't be true; Merlin couldn't be falling in love with him. No, of course not—he still didn't know it was Arthur.

He really should stop this all at once, maybe write an apologetic note to Merlin terminating the courtship without ever revealing his involvement in the whole debacle… but that was the coward's way out.

Frustration gnawed at Arthur's innards. How could Merlin fall in love with someone he didn't know just because they gave him gifts? Did he really find that much meaning in things Arthur had haphazardly selected just to prove himself?

But then… he didn't. The first few rounds of gifts had been less than perfect and not at all tailored to Merlin. It was only the past couple of days that had amazed Merlin far more than enough to meet the parameters of Arthur's original game. No doubt the harp had Merlin head over heels for his mystery would-be lover. He would be so disappointed to find out that it was only Arthur.

And why—gods but he wanted to avoid the question—why did he feel the need to prove himself to Merlin?

The answer to that question was no answer at all.

For once in his life, Arthur decided to throw all caution and all rules to the wind when selecting Merlin's gifts. He didn't care to dwell on the reason, but he wanted to make them as special as possible. Even if Merlin never met his mystery man in real life, at least he would have wonderful memories to cherish and nice things that he enjoyed and used.

Gift number three was nowhere near as good as the lyre or the horns had been, but Arthur knew they were objects merlin would use. He could write with the feathered quills to his heart's content, whether they truly made notes for the healing lessons Gaius supposedly taught him or he wrote ridiculous sonnets. It was all he could think of for the time being, and it went with the parchment scrolls from day seven.

The only hope he had left was to trail Merlin once again in the hopes that he had missed something about his servant. He knew now what Merlin's favourite color was (blue), what treats he liked (hot cakes with anise seeds) and didn't like.

Early the next morning, the young brunette snuck away from the stifling bustle of town and Arthur followed him to a forest clearing. He had just enough time left before training, so he stood back and hid behind a tree, watching with rapt attention as Merlin spun himself around in child-like glee.

Then, something strange happened. A sort of light appeared around Merlin, a glow almost, the likes of which Arthur had never seen. He blinked repeatedly and rubbed his eyes, but the light did not disappear.

Merlin closed his eyes raised his hand in the air, holding a calm yet powerful pose. He held it with purpose, as if reaching out to some invisible but tangible object in the air. From his lips Arthur heard words he did not recognize but would likely never forget.

"Leig e sneachda."

Down from the heavens fell pure flakes of cold crystalline snow in graceful waves. They swirled in delicate patterns around Merlin, waving to and fro in the wind to compliment the movements of Merlin's arms. It was almost as if he was… controlling them.

It couldn't be. Arthur's imagination had clearly run wild this morning. Maybe he'd caught the winter flu going around.

He continued to watch Merlin, who pulled from his satchel the lyre and experimentally plucked a few of the strings, ringing out in graceful, if not composed, notes. He spun around once more and hugged the instrument to his chest.

"Whoever you are," he whispered just barely loud enough for Arthur to hear, "if you truly love me so much that you care for my dreams and desires and accept me for who I am, then I am yours already."

Arthur's breath caught in his throat. His legs ached with a yearning to carry him running forth and call out to Merlin that yes, he was here, and yes, even though it didn't make sense at all and he had tried so hard to deny it that he had almost fooled himself, he loved Merlin too much to bear.

Those words died in his throat the second Merlin opened his eyes.

Instead of the bright blue orbs Arthur had secretly come to cherish, a burning fiery gold lit them at once. It faded after a few seconds, but he could not explain this part away as some trick of the light, not this time. And Merlin…

Merlin had magic.

No, no, no, Arthur wanted to scream that it couldn't be true, that the stupidly loveable servant he had trusted and fallen for would never betray him like this. It just wasn't possible, except that he had witnessed it with his own eyes.

Would life ever be the same?

Three totally-demolished training dummies later had Arthur at the conclusion that no, life would never be the same. He worked his men to the bone, coldly ignoring their resentment toward the absence of pre-holiday slack that normally got them through this week of the year. Arthur didn't care if they were tired and ready to drop; someone needed to take the brunt of his anger.

Arthur exhausted himself enough to take a brief nap. When he woke, an unwelcome face was looming over him with that wide-eyed, oh-so-innocent expression he had been taken in by time and time again.

"I brought you some tea—thought you might need it to relax after the tough training. I know the king expects a lot of you and he always pushes you not to slack off during this time, so…" the traitorous servant's words trailed away as he realized Arthur was in no mood for chit chat.

"Get out," Arthur growled.

"What—"

"Get. Out." He murmured, voice deadly soft.

Once the door clicked softly closed, Arthur gave in and buried his head in his hands. No matter what his father had told him, he simply could not picture Merlin harming them or their kingdom. Was he that much a fool to trust this man? The man who had saved his neck when they first met, despite his admittedly boorish behavior towards him.

Mind absent of any particularly destination, Arthur picked himself up and stalked the halls until he found himself near Morgana's chambers. The woman in question spotted him and looked mildly horrified. "Arthur, what is it? You look awful, Sir Leon said you left the fields a wreck. Come in at once."

She and a concerned but distant Gwen fetched him water and poked at him with questions until he broke down.

"I'm such a fool." Gwen reached out a tentative hand and patted his shoulder. He looked up at her and Morgana, straining to keep the prickle around his eyes at bay. "What do you do when someone you trusted so much betrays you?"

Gwen sighed softly and exchanged a glance with her raven-haired friend.

"You need to apologize to him," Morgana insisted firmly. "It's good that you recognize how you've hurt him, but feeling sorry about it will do nothing if you don't say anything. Merlin trusted you and you tricked him."

"I didn't—he's the one that—" Arthur's confusion turned into recognition; neither of the girls knew about Merlin's magic. They thought he should be apologizing for stringing his servant along in an inappropriate romantic game.

"He cares deeply for you," Morgana confessed, holding out his water in a simple chalice. "When he spoke to Gwen about the admirer, we could both tell he felt guilty because he was so sure it could never be the one person he truly wished it to be. Why in a million years would the high and mighty Arthur ever lower himself from his pedestal to entertain such thoughts for a servant?" She did little to conceal the contempt and bitterness in her voice and was only arrested by Gwen's gentle hand squeezing her arm.

"Look, it's alright. You still have time to fix this if you tell him the truth. He needs that more than anything."

The truth. Arthur wanted to laugh. He wanted to laugh hysterically until he cried. Merlin had magic and hid it from someone he considered to be his closest confidant. For years nonetheless.

But then, how could you blame someone for not wanting to die?

It still burned like a hot, twisting knife to the gut. Arthur left Morgana's chambers, his head still thick with swirling thoughts as he hit the lower town, now coated in inches of beautiful fresh blankets of snow—snow that Merlin had conjured from nothing.

This wasn't a curse. It was nothing foul or horrible or anything Uther professed magic to be. It was nothing short of a wonder.

A little girl caught his attention, flagging him over to her mother's fine art stand. She asked him what kind of gift he was looking for.

"I don't suppose you have something that allows you to tell when someone is lying," he offered wryly.

The girl wrinkled her freckled-covered nose and ran inside of her tent. She returned holding two mirror, each engraved with a delicate pattern and shaped like a house. On either side of the symmetrical mirror frames was woven a chrysanthemum, its stem entwined in Celtic knots, and at the top, face to face, were two white birds calling out to each other.

A pair of mirrors. One mirror could capture a lie, but two facing each other could hold no lies, only bouncing the images off of each other into an endless forever. Oh the wisdom of one so small.

Arthur paid the girl generously took the time out to write his own note this time. Please, he begged on the parchment, let there be secrets between us no longer. I once knew you not, now I want to know all of you. Meet me tomorrow night at the Yule feast. I beg of you, tell me who you are so that I may know the real you, he wrote last, echoing the words he had heard Merlin proclaim hours ago to the wind.

That night, Merlin did not come to Arthur's chambers. The prince laid awake, his sleep limited and fitful. There was still a chance that Morgana and Gwen were wrong; they didn't know the whole story. Part of Arthur, the part which sounded suspiciously like his father's voice, warned him that this whole thing was a terrible idea, that he could be betrayed even further and left heartbroken.

Yule morning came, but while all of Camelot woke early to rejoice, Arthur laid in a still, cold melancholy that refused to be warmed. Merlin still had yet to show his face. Perhaps figured Arthur out already and was avoiding him to show his disinterest. Maybe he would leave the city for good so that Arthur could never look upon those eyes again nor compose the saccharine comparisons of his beauty to the wonders of nature as he so longed to do. Now that he had stopped denying his feelings, the ebbing tide of them that had slowly worn away at his unaffected mark burst forth as the jet of a newly-released dam.

Merlin succeeded in avoiding him all day. Only once did he catch a glimpse of the raven-haired boy running ragged with the other servant—conveniently in the opposite direction.

More than ever before that he could recall, Arthur's nerves were frazzled and frayed before the feast that night. He had not bought Merlin a particularly spectacular gift for last. Nothing could compare with the harp, he supposed, for his friend rarely went anywhere without the small instrument tucked away in his jacket.

Their eyes met over the din of the crowd as Merlin made his to take the official post behind Arthur at the royal table. Barely able to eat or concentrate with that awing presence, Arthur excused himself at the earliest respectable moment to announce a dance. With the festivities finally underway, he snuck to the shadowy corners of the room and peered around for that big eared, goofy, good-for-nothing—

"Arthur?" Merlin smiled at him warmly, so open and care-free. He didn't deserve it. "I, um, made you something for Yule. It's not much, but—here…" He handed the prince something very lightweight and wrapped in a simple cloth napkin. Arthur unfolded it to reveal a pair of hand-knitted red socks with the Pendragon crest emblazoned on their sides.

"You made this."

Merlin nodded.

"Come with me."

Arthur took Merlin's hand and led him a bit further away from the party. He didn't care that people would notice that he had disappeared, his servant along with him. Let them say what they bloody would.

"Gerda wasn't might secret admirer."

"Oh?" Arthur feigned interest, hardly able to contain his nerves. "Did you discover who it was all along?"

Shaking his head, Merlin shrugged and smiled. "They said they would meet me here tonight, so I suppose I should be getting back to figure it out."

Laughing jovially, Arthur revealed his own gift for Merlin, handing him the silken package in which was wrapped a midnight-blue velvet cape. The young warlock's mouth hung open in wordless shock as his prince wrapped the rich cloth around his thin shoulders so that it draped gracefully around his lanky body all the way to the floor.

"Please," Arthur whispered, drawing close enough to whisper in Merlin's ear and wrap his arms lightly around Merlin's waist, but far enough in case he should choose to pull away. "I saw you in the forest and I know, but I want to hear it from you."

Merlin wriggled, his face and voice closing off tightly in panic mode. "Arthur—"

"I told you, no lies."

Biting his plump, pink lower lip, Merlin scrunched his eyes closed tight and blinked them open again, as if to check that this was not, in fact, a dream. "You—you're not angry?"

"Oh, I was. You're going to have to buy the knights a round at that tavern you love so much as a thank you."

A few tears escaped the corners of Merlin's eyes, but he laughed them away and returned Arthur's embrace. "I can't believe this."

"Why…" Arthur's voice had run raw. "…why did you never tell me?"

Merlin gently bumped his forehead against Arthur's like a goat. "You'd have chopped my head off."

"I'm not sure what I would have done," the blonde admitted, exhaling a puff of warm breath up over Merlin's hairline.

The pair found a quiet spot and talked in hushed voices for a long while, their heads and shoulders touching, closer than ever before. Merlin revealed to Arthur the truth about magic and their destiny together as the King of Albion and the world's greatest warlock, Emrys. Arthur revealed the truth about his not-so-secret-anymore admiration for Merlin which had manifested itself as an excuse for a joke but turned into something he would never regret. They both owed quite a few people post-Yule thank-you gifts.

"I meant what I said earlier, if you heard me out there," Merlin murmured.

Arthur nodded slowly. "In the forest, you mean. That if I love you for who you are than that's all you need and that—you're already mine?"

"Yes."

Merlin shifted so that his whole body turned to face the prince. They were kissing then, and Arthur cared not how it had started or who had initiated, as long as they could have these moments again and again whenever they wished. It would be neither perfect nor without peril, but it was theirs.

He had gotten a myriad of gifts for Merlin over the past twelve days of Yuletide, but none of them compared to that single moment of happiness he felt in his very bones when that smile met his eyes.

"In that case," Arthur said breathlessly, "I gladly accept all of you. I don't want you to change. I want you to always be you. One day we'll make it so that all of Albion knows what you've done for them isn't a crime; it's one of the bravest and most unselfish things I've ever known a person to do.

"That's all I ever wanted, Arthur. You never had to buy me a single gift, not if I could have you."

On the first day of Yuletide, my true love gave to me…

Twelve dahlias dancing

Eleven slices falling

Ten candles burning

Nine pastries tempting

Eight scarves a'warming

Seven scrolls a'curling

Six bands a'weaving

Five golden strings

Four calling horns

Three plumed pens

Two proofs of love, and…

…the promise that we would be free

Merry Christmahanukwanzanewyear, everyone! Whoever you are, wherever you are, whenever you are, and whatever you celebrate around this time of year of any time of year-have the time of your life!