A/N: Right so this is my first merlin story and i shouldn't think there will be another one anytime soon as i'm a loyal Harry/Draco fan but this came to me, and i actually have a couple of other ideas and i wanted to write it while i was in the right mood i.e. depressed.

With thanks to Eva Cassidy, whose wonderful music has inspired me to reach for greater heights while i still can.

Warnings: Mentions of slash, Merlin/Arthur. Mentions of sex, not explicit, but as this is a family program the rating is M(now changed to T), therefore if you are underage i will not be held responsible for what you read, you have been warned. Angst and tragedy.

Rating: M (This is a family series with a small following of possibly small children, unlike the Harry Potter world where such pairings are common in fandom. I would also like to point out that i would NOT be happy if Bradley James or Colin Morgan turned out to be gay so therefore i would like to add that the characters dispicted in this story are my own interpretation of their characters and are not really in relation. Don't worry if you didn't get a word of that.)

Disclaimer: Obviously, not mine, that's why it's called FANfiction and i make no profit from this.

Please Review, as this will not be updated with a second chapter and i want to know what you think.

And if anyone doesnt understand the title referance: a tuberose symbolises a 'dangerous pleasure/love'

The Tuberose

The day of the wedding dawned fine. The leaves were just starting to crackle shimmering gold and shining bronze, rustling lazily in the fresh Autumn chill. White ribbons of the finest quality swooped above the streets like delicate swan necks extending in graceful greeting. Cartloads of emblematic flowers and decorations overflowed over the castle balconies, through the courtyard and into the crowded streets like the first fresh snow of Winter that was always so sacred. White lilies portraying the majesty of the event. Daisies spiralled earthbound like feathers to settle on the joyous heads of the townspeople. White roses, gypsophila and freesias rained down, catching in the smallest places, a burst of colour in the sky like magic sparking merrily from the ecstatic emotions rising from all who were present. Maidenhead fern, rosebuds, lilacs, orange blossom and the luxury of the chrysanthemum. They were all captured by the eager, excited fingers of small children to be crushed, thrown and torn in their keen, plump hands.

A single tuberose, pure white and still unblemished, drifted to the ground, settling on a single, worn shoe. The shoe of a rundown servant. The cobbles of the courtyard, the place reserved for only the castle workers and higher classes, were clean below the soiled foot and the owner absentmindedly wondered if it had been he who had scrubbed this very spot. He swiftly bent, skilfully dodging a too pushy crowd member boisterously elbowing passed to glimpse a closer look at the couple who were at that very moment exchanging the preliminary prayers atop the stone steps. He whisked the flower into his palm, careful to be delicate with the fragile petals. His eyes appraised the perfect bowed shape of them and the symmetry that probably made them so aesthetically pleasing. He touched his fingertips to the silken velvet, skimming over the exquisite softness that was still slightly damp from the dewdrops that had long since been swept away in the turmoil of colourful chaos.

Dangerous Pleasure.

He rolled the flimsy life across his palm, marvelling in the way it barely touched his skin. It reminded him of gentle caresses and intimate affections that were too perilous, too forbidden to continue beyond the dreaming hours. He remembered the stolen moments in the forests, hidden by the thick undergrowth, snatching desperately at each others' bodies for those few precious minutes. He remembered the thick fervour of the night-time hours that were so severely prohibited they became all the more exciting; muffling the sounds of their pleasure on salted skin and with lashing tongues.

A bell clanged victoriously at the top of the steps. The bonding was about to begin.

Merlin, aware that the inevitable time had come, dragged his eyes away from the little, white flower on his palm and stared up at the couple above him. He wished he could muster some sort of furious glare or envious snarl but his features were frozen in horrific indifference. He was unable to even conjure a fake smile onto his face. But despite his nonchalant expression and even though his eyes were empty, he could feel, deep down behind mists and veils and innate spells and layers of magic that had swirled through his veins since birth, his heart shattering. Yet his mind was silent, his body still and his soul weightless. To everyone around him, he felt nothing.

But Arthur could see. Even from that distance. Arthur could see. And maybe that was what made it all the more painful, an ache that welled up in his chest to thrum inside him like a festering wound.

As he placed the ring of flowers upon Morgana's brow, he was looking at Merlin. As he slipped the silver, engraved band over her left ring finger, he was looking at Merlin. As he vowed to honour her, to protect her and to love her until death parted them, he was looking at Merlin. His eyes were like ice spearing into Merlin, stabbing straight into his heart. And when Uther pronounced his son married and his daughter-in-law and ward princess of Camelot, Arthur was still looking at Merlin, who was scared to find himself lost in that cold, heartless, stern gazed.

Later that night, after he had escaped the servant celebrations to the safety of his chamber, Merlin found Gaius sitting by the fire waiting for him. He gave curt orders that a concoction was to be taken to Morgana immediately on her wedding night to increase her fertility. And Merlin was dismayed to find himself edging slowly back towards Arthur's quarters. The rooms they had shared often…The rooms he would only share with Morgana from now on…The rooms Merlin now had no place in.

When he came to stop outside the door, he could only hear silence from within. There was no telltale shift of heavy robes through the door, which was open just a crack and Merlin could see no movement when he peered through.

He decided to leave the potion on Morgana's newly situated vanity after much deliberation. He was just snatching Arthur's armour from the base of the wardrobe - apparently his subconscious was still keen to preserve him from his master's wrath come morning when he found it dirty - when he heard talking, heavy whispers, surging along the corridor outside and the sound of the doors crashing open. Merlin dived into the wardrobe, yanking the doors shut behind him, although he would never be sure why he did this.

"I know you do not love me." Morgana was saying, her voice echoing hollowly through the stone room. Merlin could see her through the keyhole.

"No. I do not." And there was Arthur. Perfect Arthur who could never be tamed to be his. Whose heart he would never hold but who had ripped his own from his being many moons ago.

"Who then."

"You know I cannot say."

"Gwen."

"No."

"I know better than even you where my place is in this marriage is. I shall give you a son and then it shall be as though this never happened."

"You are wrong. My father will never let us return. We will remain and he will make sure it is faithful."

"Then what are you waiting for. If we are to be wrapped in chains why prolong the inevitable."

"…the bed." And Merlin was disappointed to find that Arthur did not sound awkward or uncomfortable. He was taking this as the events happened and Merlin hated him all the more for his ability to be so unaffected and calm when he could not be.

"It's Merlin, isn't it." He heard Morgana say, a statement, not a question.

"He doesn't matter." Merlin felt another spike ram into his chest, causing bile to rise in his parched throat.

"You love him." Morgana accused.

"He means nothing." He replied with such surety that Merlin felt it could be nothing but the entire truth and he felt a final, defeated puff of air leave his crackled lungs.

The next hours were a new kind of torture for Merlin. The sound of sheets rumpling beneath sweat-soaked bodies raised an anger he did not know he possessed. That should have been him, not Morgana. The heat wafting around the room should have been his flushed body, not Morgana's. The resounding moans that should have been his, deeper and sturdier mingling with Arthur's little hitches of breath and drawn-out groans, not Morgana's. The distinct slap of skin on skin that could not be mistaken brought a sickness to Merlin's stomach he did not know existed. With his heart already shattered and his lungs already airless, the next to go was the half-digested contents of his stomach. That should have been him too, not Morgana. It was all so wrong.

But the King was happy, no ecstatic, with this turn of events.

Morgana would grow accustomed to the lavish life as the Crown Prince's spouse.

The Kingdom and all its occupants would be celebrating for years to come.

And it occurred to Merlin as he stole from the room, completely forgetting the metal sheets in favour of fleeing, that Arthur must be content also, if not happy. After all, those sacred hours which he kept locked away in his heart were meaningless to Arthur.

The only person in this whole affair who was dissatisfied with this arrangement was he, Merlin, a lowly servant whose opinion did not matter anyway. So really, everything was the way it was supposed to be.

Reviews welcome. No flames.

Reading other fics appreciated.

Yours

Bella

Dark Raven 4426