A/N: Hey all!

So, this chapter has not been proof read. Why? Because I've been working on a complicated drawing project that's been taking up a lot of my time/focus. I'm just super tired and reading this through is not what I consider fun. If you notice any egregious typos, feel free to let me know.

Basically, all you need to know for this chapter is that it's kind of a filler chapter, bridging between the last plot line and the next one. Next chapter is the start of my original plot, and this chapter is just a bit of levity before it. Just letting you know, my original plot line gets... kind of heavy, aha.

Enjoy!

(For ff. net readers: Sorry for the delay! I posted this on AO3 on Wednesday, but forgot to post this here. Sorry!)

Merlin woke up on his 22nd birthday, groaning as the pale winter light hit his eyes harshly.

"Rise and shine, lazy bones! It's your big day!" his cursed manservant called in fake cheer, grinning wide at the withering glare Merlin sent him.

God. Why did he love this man? The world may never know.

He had actually been right about to fall back asleep for once, his magic lulling him after it had awoken him far too early. But then that blasted servant of his ruined it with his stupidly chipper greeting. Merlin swore he did it specifically to fuck with him.

Still, he marveled, watching the man flit around the room, laying out his ceremonial robes for the daylong celebration his father was throwing in his honor onto the plush armchair beside the window. To think it had already been a year and a half since they had first met. A year and a half since he'd run headfirst into the insolent, prattish man and had fallen head over heels in love. It would have been poetic, had circumstances been different.

Things had been different, though, since their first journey to the boy's home village. First, he noted, as there had been two others. One to deliver the grain he had managed to get for them before spring (Arthur looking so stupidly happy and proud to learn he had done it before they'd even begun to be friendly towards one another, Merlin finally spilling his deepest [ha!] secret). The other had been to attend Percival's autumn wedding to the girl they'd been teasing him about nearly a year prior. It had been a joyous occasion.

Made more joyous for his reunion with the man he loved almost as much as he loved his servant. Oh, how their night of reunion had gone... he was still warm just thinking about it.

But he digressed. Things were different, now, following their first visit. They were, in a way… easier. Better. Arthur didn't look as wane, as troubled. Oh, he had been, when they'd first returned. More so than ever, in fact. He'd been so closed off following their visit to his home that Merlin had been insanely concerned. Things had only evened out when he'd been crowned crown prince (say that three times fast...). There had been a duel, that night, against a supposedly immortal, possibly undead sorcerer his father had wronged years before. He had been supposed to fight the embittered man, the sorcerer challenging him to a duel, but his father had elected to take the challenge instead, after two of the sorcerers that Merlin trained had been slain in battle (to his horror, having trained the young men for years).

His father had apparently taken a magic staff that Arthur later admitted he'd gotten for Merlin, a belated gift for his birthday, and had slain the sorcerer before he could harm his father and king. It must have been some staff, he had thought, though he had never seen it again after that night. Strange, but he didn't question it. All he knew was that things had changed after that. They were better. Easier. Less strained. He liked it. A lot.

He couldn't help the grin on his face as he stood from bed, stretching with a theatric groan. Arthur rolled his eyes and threw something at him, hitting him hard on the chest. He glared at the man, holding the mystery item in his hands, not even looking at it as he glared.

"Ow," he stressed, rolling his eyes as Arthur swiped a grape from his breakfast, cheeky grin on his face. It had only taken seven months and a near death experience on a mountain, the pair having climbed it to find the final ingredient they had needed to cure a curse placed on his father, making the man wither faster than he should, before Arthur had finally agreed to eat his food.

He wished the stubborn man had agreed out of friendship or even pity, but it had been worse than that. The man had simply been exhausted; their frantic trek across Camelot had been fraught with peril and heartache, Merlin crying more than was likely healthy for a twenty-one year old crown prince, nearly dying as he was knocked from the mountain by an angry bear. Arthur had, thankfully, finished their quest while Merlin laid half dead in their tent, the servant singlehandedly ensuring the survival of both prince and king. It had been epic and monumental, and Merlin had never loved the other man more. And then he'd just… gone and eaten his food, sitting beside a bedridden Merlin, absentmindedly grabbing the pastry, and shoving it into his gullet. He hadn't even realized his folly until he had noticed Merlin staring at him in horror. He'd then tried to spit the food out, but the deed was done. Merlin had won. Ha!

His victory had almost been bittersweet. Oh, the times Merlin had imagined the man giving in, crying softly as he begged Merlin to feed him a decadent morsel of food, please, my sire. Perhaps he'd had more fun imagining the situations in which Arthur gave in more than he should towards the servant who he was not supposed to feel anything other than hatred for. At least, according to his father.

"Don't be a girl, Merlin. It's a present, not a magic bomb. Or an illegal dagger. Honestly, who gives people an illegal gift and expects them to not be offended? Honestly," Arthur muttered, grabbing some more of Merlin's food. Ever since giving in, Arthur had gone all the way. It was like a switch was flipped. Now Merlin had to practically beat him to get him to stop stealing his food. It was ridiculous. If he ate anymore, he'd be borderline fat! (Not really, he amended, eyes roving the lines of muscle his friend had built up over the year and a half. If he'd thought he'd been built before...)

"Lord Aspen was always an odd one. I'm glad father pardoned him, though. He certainly makes life… interesting," Merlin mused, thinking of the eccentric old wizard who had gifted him a golden dagger with ruby inlay on his last birthday, when he'd been officially crowned crown prince (even thinking that phrase was hard). The elderly man had looked so baffled when the king had arrested him, eyes hard and cold. Turned out the senile man had forgotten that weapons were outlawed, having given the dagger as was customary for any young prince coming of age in the Old Kingdom. Merlin never told his father, but he still had the dagger under his bed, beneath a layer of illusion. In his defense, it was a beautiful dagger.

"Eccentric. Fucking weird. Same thing," Arthur commented blithely, before looking at Merlin with exasperation. "Now open it! We don't have much time until your ridiculous celebration starts, and then we won't have any time until morning, probably. Open it!"

Okay! Okay! Pushy. Geez, he grumbled mentally, rolling his eyes. Still, he felt strangely excited as he looked down at the small box, plain but oddly beautiful. It was mahogany, far richer than Merlin would think the servant could ever afford. Giving the man an odd look, he opened the box and gasped. He didn't know if he should be offended or not.

He settled on not, tentatively, as he took the gold and ruby pendant out of the velvet recess it had been sitting in.

Oh, he thought, turning it this way and that. It was beautiful. Now, Merlin wasn't a jewelry person (despite Arthur's teasing, he wasn't actually a girl. Though he still maintained that it wouldn't be a bad thing if he were! He knew plenty of badass women, like his and Arthur's respective sisters, who were a force to be reckoned with in the castle these days, their relationship going strong), but the pendant was utterly stunning. It was an inch long golden pendent, in the shape of a dragon. Over the dragon's heart, however, was an intricate ruby, shaped like a fake heart that children would draw on paper. It would have been gaudy, had it not been so utterly beautiful. And so perfect, he thought, looking up at the now bashful man who was looking decidedly at the fire that was raging in the cold winter day and needed no assistance.

"It's beautiful, Arthur. Thank you."

He was tempted to make a comment about how he wasn't a girl, thanks, but decided to leave it out. It was something Arthur would have done to alleviate the tension, like he'd done when Merlin had gifted him a horse ('so that you can go and visit home easier. I won't be able to come with, always, but I just figured, you know-') for his birthday earlier that year. It had been last minute, the man not mentioning his birthday, Merlin having to find out from Freya of all people (Morgana having mentioned it casually to her, making her panic as she tried to find a gift. She'd bemoaned it to Merlin, asking why he hadn't told her, only to be met with his bewildered stare. It had been three days before the event. He was still bitter.) but he liked to think it was well appreciated. He often saw Arthur in the stable, brushing the fine stallion Merlin had found in the forest and tamed a week before his friend's birthday. Luckily, he'd kept it, or else he'd have been out of luck. It wasn't even hard to explain to his father, saying he'd hated the stallion, the thing too wild (a half-truth) and had half hoped it would throw his servant off (a blatant lie).

He watched as Arthur flushed, scowl on his face. But he didn't say anything snide. Just looked over at him, discomfort evident on his too handsome face, uncertainty in his eyes.

"Do you like it? I spent hours agonizing over what to get. I mean! I saw it and thought of you. Shit, fuck. I mean, I saved up for months. God damn it," the man muttered, his usually articulate ways failing him as he got steadily more flustered. Merlin wanted to laugh but knew it would just make his servant clam up and never reveal this surprisingly tender side of himself ever again. And that would be the greatest tragedy, he felt. He loved this side of Arthur. Sweet and thoughtful.

But he would still be a bit of an arse.

Smirking cheekily, though Arthur couldn't see it with how he had determinedly turned away, Merlin spoke with carefully casual words.

"Nah, I don't like it," he mentioned, watching as Arthur looked up at him in shock. Before the crestfallen look could even hint at showing itself, he smiled softly, grin wide as he draped the thing over his neck, holding it to his heart. "I adore it. I'll never take it off. Thank you."

Arthur flushed again, muttering how it wasn't a problem. But Merlin saw how his servant would look over at him as he finally got over to his (greatly diminished, he thought sourly) breakfast, eating the remaining fruit with delight. It was hard to find fresh fruit in winter. Only on his birthday would he get such a treat, probably grown with complicated magic just for him. No wonder Arthur had been eating it greedily. Bastard.

Still, mild annoyance aside, he liked how Arthur looked at him. Now that he knew the man's secret (well, sort of. Gwaine still insisted, in the letters he addressed only to Merlin and not the ones addressed to them both, that Arthur clearly loved him, but he still wasn't convinced) it was somehow easier to exist around him. They weren't together or anything. They'd not even kissed. But they had a sort of… mutual understanding. They weren't together. But they could be. Maybe. One day. If they so chose.

Merlin was still technically in a relationship with Gwaine, though. Oh, Merlin knew the man wasn't faithful to him. He didn't ask him to be, had even written expressively that it was fine when the man had drunkenly apologized for a tryst in a letter, begging Merlin to forgive him, two months after their first goodbye. Merlin had honestly been impressed it had taken the man so long. He didn't expect loyalty when they were so far apart and when he knew how deeply the other man loved. Merlin was fine, having gone nearly 21 years without sex and, though he had missed it desperately (though not as desperately as he missed the only man he had ever slept with), it wasn't the be all and end all of his life. Not like it was to Gwaine. He was content with the letters that arrived at least twice a month, sometimes as early as once a week, depending on where the man had wandered to.

Which was everywhere, apparently. He'd gone all around the continent (from bar to bar, Merlin thought with a smirk), finding his fortune in the wilds of Albion. He always stayed near enough to Camelot for his letters to arrive within a month, Merlin's promise to hunt him down still valid, but he was clearly enjoying himself. Merlin was glad.

Arthur would also write his friend letters, sending and receiving his when Merlin did, though he never showed Merlin what he wrote or what was written in his private letters. That was fine. Merlin never showed Arthur what he wrote, either. Though, he thought with a blush, that might be more due to the, ahem... naughty content within some of them. That was another thing that helped with his celibacy. Gwaine was a wonder with words and could make him cum so hard with just written words on a paper alone. God, it was incredible. He had to hide those letters in a magically sealed box, hidden beneath layers of enchantment, only taken out in the dark of night, when he was most certainly alone. He had tried to reciprocate, but his words were nowhere near at steamy as Gwaine's. Mmm. Just thinking of those letters...

He had to stop, or he'd make himself indecent.

Fact was, they had settled into a nice routine. He was reluctant to think it, knowing how easily such a thing could shatter, but he couldn't ignore how... well, nice it was. Easy. Light.

Oh, don't get him wrong. There had been trying days. Watching his father slowly wither from a curse that had no easy cure had been impossibly challenging. As had so many other small challenges, like magical tourneys, and embittered sorcerers, and rising rebellions that made his father harsher to the non-magical people, breaking Merlin's young heart.

But Arthur had been there for him. Always. Through everything. Even as his eyes darkened when his father would sentence another person to death for simply wielding a blade, as he glared daggers at his father's back when he'd flippantly discus the mass retribution for the rebellions. Even as his anger towards his father simmered, he stayed loyal to Merlin above it all. It pained him, knowing the man despised his father, but it was enough to know he cared for him regardless. People often confused him with his father, assuming that, of course he would believe everything his father did. Why wouldn't he? He was the prince. But Arthur didn't. He never really had, not even at first. It was refreshing.

"Merlin? Merlin... Merlin! I'm so thrilled you loved my gift to the point of blessed silence, but you do still have to get dressed. Do I need to change you, or is the 22-year-old prince finally able to dress himself?" Arthur drawled, jolting Merlin out of his thoughts with a scowl. He stormed over and grabbed the robes, hating Arthur's cursed (adorable) laugh. He had the last laugh, though, as he stripped his night shirt in one fell move, smirking at the way Arthur's eyes widened, landing on Merlin's chest. It had filled out, over the year. He was doing more physical strength training, not for any reason other than he thought it might be beneficial. And maybe, just maybe, he wanted to see the heat in Arthur's eyes when he'd remove his shirt, seeing toned muscle, not chicken arms, and too thin chest.

Gwaine certainly had appreciated it, gasping with laughter as he was driven into by Merlin's fairly impressive co-

Ahem. Naughty thoughts were banished until nighttime when he could appreciate them, thanks ever so.

Anyway. He relished the look more when he removed his trousers as quick, revealing only his thin under things that didn't really hide the boner he had been sporting since his earlier thoughts about his part-time lover. Oops.

It only grew as Arthur apparently was transfixed on the bulge, eyes wide as his mouth fell open, seeming to not realize he was staring. God, did he feel truly powerful like this. Unwillingly making the other man lose control was such a power trip. Especially when he hadn't really meant to.

(Oh, who was he kidding.

He always meant to.)

It was times like this, he thought as Arthur shook himself visibly with a bright blush, that made him think Gwaine's words were accurate. No straight man stared so intently at another man's crotch. So, he obviously wasn't as straight as he had once made it out to seem. It didn't mean he loved Merlin, but if Gwaine was right about the first thing, well... maybe he was right about this, too.

Still. It didn't matter. Arthur never acted on it, and Merlin refused to. He still remembered his vow all those months ago. While his feelings had been laid bare and were obvious, he still wouldn't take advantage of his servant. Oh, don't get him wrong; he had no doubt that Arthur would punch him in the face if he tried anything he didn't like, he was assured of that. But still, there was an odd expectation between servant and master that he couldn't deny. And as long as they remained prince and manservant? He'd never make the first move. It had to be from Arthur, completely unprompted.

But, he lamented, as Arthur turned away at last, face bright red as he stammered that he had some goblets to polish (really? That was his excuse? For shame, Arthur. For shame), that didn't seem likely to happen. Oh well. He still had Gwaine's letters to keep him company. And oh, how they did...

It didn't take him long to change into his ceremonial gear. Ugh. He hated it. It was even more pretentious than his court robes. The only upside, he thought with a cruel smirk reminiscent of the first few days Arthur had served him, was that if Merlin had to suffer, so did his manservant. Speaking of...

"Hey, Arthur! Where is that hat that I gave you? Don't tell me you lost it," he chided, like talking to a naughty kitten who had clawed his favorite chair. Arthur looked at him far too innocently, eyes wide and childlike as he blinked at Merlin. He looked so much like the kitten he had mentally likened the man to that he had to stifle the laughter, hiding it (poorly, he was sure), with a disappointed glare.

"Oh, well, I'm sure it must be here somewhere! It sure would be a shame if it got lost, Master. I'll just head to my rooms, see if it's hidden there? I- Merlin. What are you doing? Merlin, I swear- Merlin!" Arthur yelped, retreating hastily as Merlin approached the man steadily. The bastard. He only called Merlin 'master' in private when he was trying to rile him up. And oh, how it did. Likely not in the way the man intended, but still...

"I'm oh so disappointed in you, Arthur. I had thought a well-behaved boy like yourself would take good care of the things I gave him. I'm very disappointed to know I was wrong," Merlin crooned, not sure when he had gained the boldness to utter such words. A year ago, and he'd be a blushing mess, stammering before he could get even a single word out. Gwaine has rubbed off on him, he feared. In more ways than one. It was oddly satisfying, though, to see how Arthur gulped, eyes wide as they darted down to glance at Merlin's lips briefly before staring into the distance, back squared as he stopped his retreat. Likely realizing it was cowardly to run from battle. Ha. Using his own deadly pride against him. Incredible.

"I-I didn't lose it. M-master," Arthur stammered, uncharacteristically. It was amazing how unnerved he could make Arthur. To have such power over him. Those words damped his fun a little, reminding him of his position over Arthur. The position Arthur so casually threw back in his face. Fuck. "I'm sure I have it… somewhere."

Merlin longed to do what he had briefly thought of; of searching for the missing hat, looking long and hard.

On Arthur's person, of course.

But no. He couldn't. His teasing only ever went as far as to tease the man verbally. They rarely touched, these days, though they were closer than ever. He didn't know if it was because of the words he had spoken a year ago, begging Arthur to stop touching him, or if it was… something else. Regardless, they rarely touched, let alone hugged. The last time they'd shared a true hug, the marvelous ones they had once shared almost daily, the kind where he held as tight as he could, and Arthur held tight back? Was likely when he and his father had almost died almost a year before. When he'd woken from his magically induced coma while Gaius healed his various wounds. Arthur had grabbed him and held as tight as he could, though he'd been mindful of his injuries. It still hadn't been enough, Merlin sleepy and groggy and not at all able to appreciate the too warm arms around him. He hadn't felt physically close to someone (male, that is, as Freya always hugged him) again until that autumn with Gwaine. It had been madness.

Had made their reunion all that much sweeter though... and apparently Gwaine had been holding out for him, too, having been celibate for the entire month prior. He'd been strangely touched.

So, instead of touching his servant, hands roving smooth planes of muscle, he backed away, pretending he didn't see the mixed look of relief and disappointment on Arthur's face. Instead, he just sniffed, like the haute Royal he pretended to be, and backed away to his table to style his hair. He'd had it cut recently, though, so it mostly fell in place. His ears still looked a touch too big, though it looked better with his slightly broader shoulders.

"Well. Then I suggest you find it then. I'd hate to have to give you the backup hat," he said off handed, looking at Arthur in his peripheral. He carefully walked over to where his surprise laid hidden, knowing full well the man had burned the fucking hat as soon as he took it off the last time that he'd made him wear it. Gaius had informed him, eyes full of mirth as he shook his head at the antics of his (practically adopted) pseudo son. The look of panic was almost the best birthday gift he had ever gotten.

"W-what back up hat?" Arthur asked haltingly, like he didn't want to know.

He didn't, Merlin thought meanly, brandishing the godawful hat to his, now horrified, manservant. The thing was too awful for words. Like a dead dove had taken residence on the most pompous hat imaginable, bright with blues and purples, his family colors. Oh, he'd had such fun describing the thing to the tailor, who had looked so solemn, like Merlin was actually doing him proud through his request. Awful. Merlin liked to think himself a good person. A kind soul. A loving master.

But he adored the horrified look Arthur had as he shook his head, backing up with arms raised, pride be damned if it meant not having to adorn the hideous thing.

"No," Arthur enforced, eyes wide when he saw the evil grin Merlin sported. "Merlin, if you make me wear that thing, I'll never forgive you."

It was funny how often the man claimed that, yet he always did.

Merlin adorned his sweetest smile, batting his lashes at his manservant. He didn't fool the man for a second.

"Oh, but Arthur. A servant must look professional during their master's birthday celebrations. Besides, it won't have to be worn as long as you have the old hat lying around. Because I'm sure you didn't toss the thing into Gaius's hearth, after the last feast, right? Because that would make me very disappointed," Merlin crooned, trying to look innocent, but failing epically as his shit-eating grin rose on his cheeks. Arthur paled, then cursed a storm.

"Gaius is dead to me," the man intoned, before fleeing the rooms entirely. Merlin cackled delightfully, howling as he recalled the horrified look. Oh, that was good.

He set the terrible hat down on his side table, humming the song Gwaine had used as a lullaby all those months ago.

The hat would see the light of day.

He'd make sure of it.

~XoxoxoxoxoxoXoxoxoxoxoxoX~

"Nice hat, Arthur," he heard Freya tell him sweetly, doing a much better job of hiding her mirth than his fucking sister, who took one look at him and began howling with laughter, her tears almost ruining her makeup. Good, he thought bitterly, glaring at his cackling master, trying to hate him like he once had but finding all he felt was fondness. Even though the man had forced the hat on his head, whispering a spell to make it stick 'til the end of the night. Four hours away. Oh, dear god. The morning and afternoon celebrations were bad enough, with fools and jesters trying (and failing, despite Merlin's delight) to be funny. Not to mention the king's solemn speeches. Now they had the ball.

He had gotten used to his sister and Freya's relationship, honestly. It was kind of sweet, if not utterly disgusting. Freya made the usually hard edges of Morgana smoother. Softer. It was frightening to see, but he was genuinely happy for the girl. He could still remember the bitter child she had been, recently orphaned, being informed by her true father's widow that she had actually been her husband's daughter. He'd asked his mother once why she had told Morgana then, and not later. His mother had shrugged and said that sometimes it was best to get all the bad news at once, to get it over with. And to starve off any resentment she may have towards the pair if she found out on her own later. It had hurt for the first year, but with Gwen's help, Morgana had eventually softened. And now she was even softer, though still highly deadly.

It was strange. But good.

But he hated it when they all ganged up on him. Why was no one laughing at Merlin?! He was wearing a bloody dress! ('ceremonial robe, Arthur' Merlin had intoned the first time he'd seen the thing the previous year, howling with laughter before Merlin proved his evilness and showed him the hat he had later burned). And fine, maybe Merlin looked bloody good in the robes, the loose fabric somehow enhancing his features, but honestly. It was ridiculous and he felt they were missing out on some good quality teasing material.

But no. Morgana just smiled sweetly at the prince, kissing his cheek as he held out his arm, the girl officially his 'guest' for the evening. In order to allow her such free reign, knowing his father would likely not approve of the relationship between the two girls, he had invited her to be the very first female mage trained at Camelot. Apparently, it was like being a knight but magical. It was a high honor, which he had gotten her after long talks with his father.

That had been a strange thing over the past year and few months since they'd returned from Fayford the first time. The king had been far kinder and closer to his son. Merlin never said it, probably didn't even think it, but Arthur could see how happy it made the prince. He would be bursting with happiness and pride when his father would smile and nod at him for doing a good job. Arthur didn't trust it for a second, sure the older man was up to something, but didn't dare relay his worry to Merlin. It would just hurt the prince. He knew that his obvious contempt for the king (when the king couldn't see, of course) hurt Merlin, but he couldn't help it. The man was a monster.

That's why he was secretly glad he would be the one to overthrow the king. He'd long since comes to terms with his destiny and almost relished it. The longer he was around the king, the more he wanted it. Christ, but the man was a jackass.

But…

But, Arthur sighed, watching with blank and distant eyes as the trio in front of him laughed, him unable to join in now that they were no longer in the safety of the girl's (unofficially) shared room, Merlin loved his father. God knew why. The man had more faults than a seismic junction.

But he supposed he understood. If he could meet the man, just once... Arthur was sure he'd forgive his own father anything. Anything.

Which was why he had joined Merlin on his fool's quest a year prior, he reminisced, the man endlessly distraught that his father was dying. Understandable, he supposed. When Gaius has spoken of a cure… he hadn't even thought to consider asking other people to fetch it, people more equipped than two homo inclined young men who had never climbed a mountain before.

It had been… trying. Seeing that bear nearly kill Merlin… it was almost comical, in retrospect. The man who stood up defiant and proud to griffins and undead immortal sorcerers alike, felled by a fucking bear. Not even a magical bear. A normal arsed bear.

It had been heart stopping in the moment, especially as Merlin began rolling down that long incline, only stopping when his magic lashed out and saved him. He'd had to collect the final ingredient alone, trying to keep the delirious prince alive to do so. If the king had been anyone other than Merlin's father, he'd have said to hell with it and left it at that. It wasn't his problem. In fact, it would have made his life easier. But he knew how desperate Merlin had looked at the sound of a cure. How heartbroken the boy would be if he failed in his quest.

So, he'd found the fucking weed, growing high on the top of the snowy mountain, and put Merlin on his horse (Buttercup, he'd named it, fucking Buttercup. Merlin was such a girl. His horse's name was much better. Daedalus was a great name for a horse, thank you very much, Merlin) and had to miserably tread down the mountain through icy slush, as the last of January's storms hit. But he'd gotten the fucking weed and Gaius had made the fucking potion to save the fucking king's life. And then he'd put Merlin into a magical coma to help him heal, making Arthur beyond paranoid that Merlin would die, even as Gaius assured him that Merlin would be just fine, the coma was just a precaution.

He had still hugged the man so fiercely when his too blue eyes had opened, blinking at him so prettily.

He'd been doing well with not touching the prince before that. And he was doing well with not doing so after. It had been a moment of weakness. One he, (un)surprisingly didn't regret.

One would think, he mused as the girls (and Merlin, though he refused to take back his prior word) entered the ball room, that he'd be feeling freer now that he'd admitted to his feelings.

Ha! What a load of garbage. All he felt was more conflicted than ever before. His eyes glazed over as the music and good cheer washed over him, Merlin and the girls getting lost in the bustling crowd.

Things had changed a lot after the prince's birthday the previous year, when he'd been terrified his other half would get murdered by a homicidal undead sorcerer that the king had murdered. He'd apparently been an old friend of the late Queen Hunith? He hadn't been clear on the details. He'd just headed down to the Dragon, for once actually needing the blasted beast, and had asked for him to breathe on this neat looking staff Freya had given him as a gift to give Merlin. Luckily, he had decided to wait until the end of the day, or else he wouldn't have been able to get the thing 'blessed' or whatever.

And then he'd accidentally let the king use it instead of Merlin, against the explicit orders of the Dragon.

Oops.

Now the staff was hidden under a mountain, near Fayford, where no one could ever find it. Easy come, easy go, he supposed.

It had been a turning point in their relationship, though. He'd realized his (very manly!) self-distancing hadn't actually been helping much. It had just made him yearn harder. So, he had done away with that bullshit and was much happier.

Though he was now utterly and helplessly in love. And he couldn't even deny it.

It was just so all encompassing. It was everywhere, all the time. If he so much as thought of Merlin, his heart would race. He knew the man was in a quasi-relationship with Gwaine (which was going really well, the roguish man assured him in the numerous letters they exchanged), but it didn't help quell the hunger he felt. Ugh. It was disgusting.

Not because Merlin was a man! Though that… that still bothered him. Late at night, churning thoughts imagining what his father would say if he could see him now.

Having Gaius pull him aside and gently tell him that he would love him no matter who he loved, heavily implying he knew about his feelings for Merlin, had helped with that, though. A little. He wasn't ashamed to admit (alright, maybe he was a little ashamed, but he was working on it) that he'd cried at the words. He figured Freya had put the old man up to it, but it had helped settle something in his soul to know not everyone would hate him for his orientation. He knew his mother wouldn't, nor would his friends, though he hadn't officially told them yet. He'd been home many times over the past year, in addition to the few times with Merlin, but he was just waiting for the right time.

Fucking Morgana knew, but Freya and she shared everything, and somehow Freya had figured it out. Likely before he had. Perceptive harpy.

"You know, I know the prince is rather lax with his servants, but I'd figured he'd rather them not just stand around with glassy eyes," a voice called from beside him, startling him from his thoughts. Eyes wide, terrified he'd been caught slacking on the job (he took pride in being the Best Servant in Camelot, thanks ever so!) before they rolled as he saw the mirth-filled eyes of his honorary father.

"Oh, ha, ha. You're so hilarious. Scaring me half to death," he muttered, folding his arms, his stupid hat fluttering a fucking feather in his face. This hat was going into the incinerator as soon as Merlin removed his spell. And he would remove it! Arthur knew his deepest secrets, the prince a nattering Nancy with his feelings. He had more than enough blackmail to get him to remove the hat. Of course, Merlin had almost as much blackmail against him, from his unfortunately numerous blunders around the castle, which he could tell Morgana at any point, but that was beside the point. He heard Gaius laugh, before the man handed him a drink of something dark and purple. It did not look natural, he thought skeptically, sniffing it. Eugh!

"Augh, what is that?!" He yelped, coughing at the strong, oddly bittersweet scent. Gaius paused in his sip, looking questioningly into his own glass.

"You know? I'm not quite sure. I find it better not to ask," was the mild reply, before the man took another sip. Arthur shuddered and put the drink down on a plant pot near him. Gaius was a much braver man than him.

"You should enjoy yourself, Arthur. It's a night of celebration. The prince only turns 22 once, after all," Gaius claimed lightly, smiling at his honorary son. Arthur just rolled his eyes and leaned against the wall, eyes vigilant for any danger.

"That's what you said last year. And then an undead sorcerer showed up, hell bent on killing said prince. Sorry if I'm not willing to take my chances," he muttered, narrowing his eyes on a suspicious looking shape. It looked like… two children piled on top of one another? With a robe around them to make them look like a single adult? Huh. Maybe that drink had altered his mind through scent alone. He wouldn't put it passed these damn wizards.

"You can't keep bringing that up every time a celebration is held. Most celebrations turn out just fine," Gaius claimed, pulling Arthur's attention back on the man and off the strange children, not children.

"The very first celebration I attended, which you had had a 'good feeling about,' mind, ended with Merlin almost dead and me in his servitude. So, sorry if I don't trust your words."

Gaius clucked (he was a chicken. He swore to god the older man was actually a chicken who was cursed to be a man. Like the opposite of Freya's curse), shaking his head.

"You're too paranoid, my boy. And I had had a good feeling about that night. It brought the two of you together, didn't it? And you can't complain that you hate that boy anymore. I know your true feelings," Gaius crowed, like the smug bastard he was. Arthur swore he would out Gaius the Actual Chicken if it were the last thing he did. He said nothing as he just glared at the crowd, eyes unwillingly finding Merlin through the crowd.

It was hard not to. Now that he was crown prince, he wore his crown all the time (which he complained nonstop about, saying it hurt his head, was itchy, was too heavy, etc. etc. Arthur swore that if he were prince he'd never have complained as much as Merlin complained. He turned it into an Olympic sport. Too bad the Olympics had ended serval hundred years before. Merlin would have won gold had he competed). The defining golden ivy crown was very easy to spot in a crowd, though. How it sparkled even in dim light. Arthur was positive it was magic. It also moved, like it was living, though it was seemingly solid gold.

So most definitely magic. Unless gold just Did That sometimes. He wouldn't know. He'd never owned anything gold. He'd saved up his money for months, now no longer having to pay for his own food (the one good thing about giving into Merlin by accident), and had bought that far too expensive necklace for his crush, which had been the only golden thing he'd ever even briefly owned. The ring of his father's that he still wore around his neck was iron, he believed. Symbolizing a strong bond between two people. And the medallion was pure silver, Merlin had told him once.

He blushed fiercely as he remembered how he'd fumbled giving the gift to Merlin earlier. He had been warring in his mind whether or not he should tell the truth of how he'd obtained the gift, when he'd jumbled both of his answers together. It was mortifying, though Merlin had mercifully said nothing, just smiled softly. He lost any goodwill his kindness had afforded him when he'd bestowed this fucking hat for him to wear, though.

Where was that drink he had put to the side? Maybe he should reconsider drinking it…

Gaius wandered off a little after that, chuckling as he saw Arthur gag horribly at the foul taste of the liquid. It wasn't even that it was bad. Just… indescribable. Salty, sweet, bitter, sour, and savory all at once, somehow. An overload of his taste buds. But it had made him pleasantly warm, his worries easing as he took in the boisterous atmosphere. One good thing since the king's change of heart about his only son was that he had been much more willing to go all out for his son. Oh, the parties had always been extravagant; they were royalty, after all. But this was even more over the top than any other celebration he'd been forced to attend. He was sure there were birds flying around somewhere, one a Phoenix. He'd also been positive he'd passed a unicorn at one point. It had been so beautiful, but he'd been oddly reluctant to go near it. No idea why.

He stayed in his corner, though his eyes didn't stray from his prince. And yes, he admitted, head pleasantly numb with the strange drink, he considered the man his. Not to keep, or to possess. No. His to protect. His to cherish.

His to love, even if from afar.

He could close the distance. Part of him knew that. But he was afraid to. He still hadn't done what he'd needed to do. What he was destined to do. How could he let himself get distracted with a relationship? He couldn't. Maybe, when this was all over and he was somehow King (and the Dragon, Kil-whatever, had assured him he would be king. Not Merlin. Or not just Merlin, he had thought the Dragon had muttered, golden eyes far too amused for his own good. He had ignored that, face flushed). But until then, he'd stay away. Romantically, at least.

It hurt, to be so close and yet so far. The prince was still so open in the morning, smiling at him so sweetly. But usually his dreams in the tub had him muttering another name in his sleep, reminding him of who the prince truly loved. Or also loved. He wasn't sure anymore. On one hand, the prince was always teasing him, moving close but not too close. Like earlier, he thought with a dry throat. But then he'd pull back. Like he didn't actually want it. It confused him like nothing else did. Baffling man, he thought with a fond shake of his head.

"You know, I'm almost offended. My favorite servant, abandoning me for the company of the corner. I fear my heart shall break," a wry voice said, making Arthur grin as his eyes slid to the prince who had somehow arrived without him realizing it.

"Oh, I'm your favorite now, am I?" He heard himself purr, voice far more suggestive than it ever had been before. It must be the drink, he thought absently. Though, the look of shock on Merlin's face, which melted into a look of pure heat was very nice. "Be still my beating heart. Whatever have I done to earn such favor?"

Merlin huffed a laugh, face pleasantly flushed. Oh, no. He'd been drinking, hadn't he? Merlin didn't drink often, but he was a notorious light weight. One drink and he was lost in the sauce. There was no saying what he'd do while drunk. Especially off a weird magic drink. Half the times he was just extra handsy, the other half he thought himself some epic story book hero. It really was a craps shoot.

"Oh, Arthur. If only you knew," the man breathed, unnaturally white teeth grinning at him. Bastard probably used magic to clean them. He likely didn't have to brush like Gaius forced him to do, even though he hadn't brushed for twenty-one years of his life and had never had a problem. So, what his baby teeth had often ached fiercely? His adult teeth had been fine.

The words caught up to his head, stopping his mental tirade about the benefits and detriments of teeth brushing, his face flushing at the suggestive words. Hm. He hadn't even had one of these purple things and he was feeling decidedly more than tipsy. It was different to how he usually felt while drinking, he noticed. His head felt like it was pleasantly full of cotton, the world brighter and happier, less dull around the edges. Huh.

"How many of those have you had?" Arthur demanded, seeing the prince also had a purple drink. Merlin looked adorably confused, looking down at his drink.

"Just the one. Gaius handed it to me. Said it might make the party livelier. He then went to the corner and has been chatting to a plant. He looks happy, at least, so I guess the plant is a good conversationalist," Merlin mused, heading to take another sip. But Arthur had decided they'd probably had enough of Magic Purple Drinky, so he darted forward and grabbed the drink from Merlin's hands and dumped both it and his own drink into the plant beside him, ignoring Merlin's shout of protest. The plant hissed evilly as it withered and died before his eyes. Hm. Probably not good.

"You know, I am the Crown Prince. That was treason you just committed. I could have you beheaded," Merlin warned, adorable pout on his lips. Arthur just laughed, before moving forward to wrap his arm around the other's shoulder, his mind whispering that it would be a good idea. Merlin always threatened him with treason when he gave him trouble. He wasn't scared anymore.

He could feel Merlin freeze beside him, unnaturally still for a half second before he practically melted into his side, sighing a little happy sigh. Ordinarily, he'd be paranoid that someone would spot them, but seeing as how the king was currently doing a jig on the dance floor, his feet surprisingly lithe for an old man, he wasn't too afraid. Plus, Merlin was just too warm and pretty for him to care overly much. So, what the king might have his head? It was worth it to be so close to the prince he loved.

"Dance with me," Merlin breathed, turning his face to look Arthur deep in his eyes. Arthur was star-stuck as those blue orbs met his own, his tongue tied as he tried to process the words. He knew that it was a bad idea. Seemed to recall something about a reason for staying away from the prince. Huh. But for some reason he couldn't recall the panicked feeling at the moment. In fact… he felt pretty fucking spiffy. He'd love to dance!

And so, they did. He had no idea how long the two danced, only that it was so good to feel his warm fingers on that lithe body before him. His ridiculous hat didn't even bother him anymore. He was fairly certain it had come alive at some point and was now flying around his head, anyway, so it was no bother to him. The king was currently river dancing with his top advisors, the men all shouting and laughing. It would have been hilarious had he had any mentality to spare for anyone other than the gorgeous man before him, shining as the world turned around him. He had a moment to wonder what the Hell Gaius had given them, before deciding he didn't care. He was having too much fun. He never wanted it to end.

Of course, it did, as all good things must. He felt Merlin pull back, eons later, exhaustion wearing his long limbs down. They were almost the same height, but Merlin seemed taller with his still gangly limbs and lithe body. Yes, he'd gained some muscle, but some people were destined to always be scrawny. And Merlin, it seemed, was one of them. Arthur, on the other hand, was built like a brick house. Thick and sturdy. Ha. Thick. Funny word. Thhiiiicccc…

"Let's go out to the garden," Merlin whispered, which seemed like the greatest idea to Arthur. The king was now talking to the same plant he assumed Gaius had been talking to earlier. Huh. Must be a great conversationalist. He'd have to have a chat later. Once he had fucked his prince beneath the pale moonlight, that was.

Arthur blinked his eyes as the pair exited the stifling room, only realizing how warm it had been when he stepped into the frigid December air, body shaking as the cold assaulted him. His mind was still pleasantly floaty, but he had more of his mentality about him as he stared at the moon, mild horror filling him at his previous thought. Oh, God. What had Gaius given him?!

He didn't have a chance to find out as he felt Merlin's warm hand grasp his, tugging him ever onward. There were stars around him as they floated through the garden. Literally, he thought absently, staring at the stars that had once been in the sky but were now on the ground. That… that probably wasn't good.

He was starting to freak out but was forced to stop when he felt Merlin stop, eyes blinking at the sight before him.

"An archway," he heard himself mutter, unable to question it as he felt Merlin push him, his back suddenly flat against the freezing stone, causing his breath to catch with pain (and pleasure, he whispered to himself, as Merlin's body pressed up to his, deliciously warm against the frigid night.)

But, sadly, whatever Gaius had given him was starting to wear off, since he'd only had half of one drink, and he was starting to realize why this was such a bad idea. It didn't stop Merlin, who was now… now…

Ohhh, fuck, he moaned, mind shorting out again as he felt a warm mouth attack his neck. It was surprisingly skilled, as it sucked to its heart content. Arthur was willing to let it continue, but then he felt the lips move upward, brushing over his cheek as they lazily kissed him. His mind became painfully clear, though, not a hint of the drink clouding his mind when he felt warm lips hit the corner of his lips, making him jolt back, pushing the warm body away from him, panting heavily as his eyes widened impossibly.

Unfortunately, he hadn't been worrying about his strength as he pushed, regretfully making Merlin fall on his arse as he tripped on the ridiculous robe, the man blinking up at him owlishly from his spot on the snow-covered ground. Arthur hated to admit it, but the man had never looked more desirable to him than at that moment, lips pink and shiny, hair mused, eyes dark with passion.

But this was wrong. Neither of them was like this. They were... drunk, or something. Sure, he'd never had an alcoholic drink do such things to him, especially after only half of one, but he'd never had magical drinks before, so maybe he was just magic drunk. He didn't know. Magic was weird.

Merlin was pouting now, though he was blinking around him like he hadn't known how he'd gotten there. Arthur sighed lightly as he realized he now had to chaperone a still tipsy (or whatever the magic equivalent was) prince back to his room to sleep off the rest of his magical affliction. Ugh. And he was now painfully sober. Great.

Grumbling about how unfair his life was, he grabbed Merlin by his armpits and yanked him upwards, not caring about the indignant yelp as he manhandled the prince.

"Unhand me! Fiend! I'm the Crown Prince!" Merlin shouted, trying to twist around to face him, but nearly toppling over as his feet got caught on his feet. Arthur watched with pity as the man yelled and tried to fight his own robe. Oh, he was never going to forget this night, he chuckled evilly, suddenly feeling better about his plight. Until Merlin's flailing limbs bashed him over the nose, that was. Then it was less funny.

Somehow, over the span of the next several minutes, he had managed to wrangle Merlin up the stairs and into his rooms, safe and sound. Thank god, he muttered, glaring at the prince he claimed to love. If he were hit one more time by a flailing limb, he swore to god he would not be held responsible for his actions. At one point he had passed Freya and Morgana, almost calling out to them in relief to ask for help with his prince, but the girls had just been giggling madly, before they'd kissed deeply, scarring Arthur for life. He'd need to scrub his eyes out with that cleaner Gaius used. Sure, he'd be left blind, but it was better than the sight he'd seen. It had been made worse when Merlin had seen and had cooed like a fucking dove. Such. A. Girl.

But now here they were, magic drunk Merlin fighting with his robes again. He was going to tear them if he did, and then Arthur would have to fix it later. No thanks. He carefully helped his friend out of his outfit, not letting his fingers linger too long on the flushed warm skin. His head wasn't entirely clear, sensations still so much More than ordinary, but it was easy to ignore. He wondered meanly if the king was still chatting to a plant. Would serve him right, he sniffed, manhandling Merlin into night clothes. Somehow, Arthur figured this whole thing had been the king's fault. The bastard.

Finally, Merlin was ready for bed, eyes drooping as he blinked owlishly at the plush mattress. Like he had no idea what to do with it. Sighing a put-upon sigh, Arthur took pity on his friend and helped him lie down, pulling down the blankets and everything. Before he could pull back and tuck the prince in (like a glorified nanny, he mentally grumbled), he felt deceptively strong arms grab him and pull him into bed with a yelp. Eyes wide, he stared at the prince, who was grinning like the cat who got the canary. Fucker.

As he struggled to sit, he heard Merlin whine, pulling him closer. Fuck. His body was reacting to the warm, supple body near him and it was driving him mad. It was worse when Merlin let out a soft moan as he accidentally brushed his knee against the other man's crotch, his own swelling in reply. Shit, shit. Shit.

"Don't go," he heard Merlin mutter softly, eyes suddenly sad as he stared at Arthur. Arthur felt his breath stutter as he stared at the wide, blue eyes. "I don't want to be alone. I'm scared."

Scared? Of what?

He hadn't realized he'd said the words aloud when Merlin shifted, pulling closer, head learning against his chest, looking content to stay there the rest of his life if he had to. Ah, fuck. He was screwed. It was like when your dog or cat fell asleep on you. You were powerless to move until they woke. It was Law.

"Of losing you," the prince muttered, so long later that Arthur had almost forgotten the question.

Almost, but not quite.

Eyes and voice impossibly soft, Arthur wrapped strong arms around the other's warm, thin body, breathing the nature scent in deep. He'd blame it on the drink in the morning. He had a feeling a lot of people would be.

"You won't lose me, Merlin. Not now. Not ever. I swear," he muttered back. Merlin didn't reply, though. He was fast asleep, softly snuffling on Arthur's chest.

Ahh. What a day. First a boring ceremony, King Balinor telling the world of his son's grandeur. He sounded proud, at least, so there was that. Then there had been an awkward lunch, Merlin ignoring him as he chatted with the other Nobles who were rich enough to feast with the king. Luckily, Merlin no longer really needed to be abusive to him, as it seemed that Balinor had realized Arthur was dear to Gaius, the king respecting the physician enough to actually request to Merlin to stop being so cruel. It had been hilarious, the two laughing so hard their bellies ached at the words.

If only the king could see them now, he thought fondly, eyes soft as held the sleeping prince in his arms, love bites bruising on his neck.

It had been an odd day. The end product of an entirely odd year.

But it had been nice.

Yeah, he thought, drifting to sleep, arms tight around his Merlin.

It sure had been nice.

If only things could stay that way forever.

(But nothing ever stayed.)

(Not for him.)

A/N: Summary: Merlin and Arthur (as well as the rest of the castle) get high from Magic Purple Drink given to them by Gaius and nearly have a Good Time. But Arthur is Too Noble and Not Good Times are had. Consent is important kids, and a high person can't consent. Be like Arthur.