It didn't get much better than that. The arse came back with cake and then proceeded to shovel it into Merlin's mouth without so much as a by-your-leave. When Merlin choked a little, Arthur pushed the cup of wine—not mead—to Merlin's lips and made him drink half of it before Merlin could think to shove him away. After all, Uther was staring and elbowing the Crown Prince wasn't the best idea.

As the night wore on, the crowd got more raucous. The wine was flowing, they had run out of mead, there seemed to be a hint of food fight in the air, and yes, when Merlin went to use the garderobe, there were writhing bodies in the hall and a lot of groaning.

Finally, he had enough. Pulling Arthur up to stand beside the rickety mock throne made specially for the occasion, Merlin hissed at him, "Can I leave now? It's after midnight."

Looking like he had a few too many cups of wine, Arthur gave him a happy smile. "Well… you are supposed to stay until the cock crows, but you could have handed off the bean to another servant at any time."

"You mean that all I had to do was find that stupid bean and hand it over?" Merlin scowled at him. "I don't have the bloody bean."

Arthur reached past Merlin's ear, and when he pulled back, there was a bean in Arthur's hand. "What have we here?"

"You absolute pillock. You had it the entire time, didn't you?" Merlin hissed. "Fine, you want King Merlin, you've got him."

Standing up, motioning for silence, Merlin said, "Good people of Camelot. Today has been a day of feasting and revelry. Wine flowed freely, self-indulgence in the halls and if the sounds are any indication, pleasure to be had. Cook has outdone herself with the food, and those not of noble blood were able to fill their bellies for once. We should probably change that so that they have enough to eat every day and a day off once a week. And improving working conditions and a raise for all, too." There were a few cheers in the room. Uther looked like he was going to have an aneurism. Merlin cleared his throat. "But I digress. The prince here has not hit me once today and I count that as a win. But there is one group who were not invited to this feast, a group misused and mistrusted every day. The Druids and those with magical… umph."

Arthur's hand was insistent, and Merlin thought about licking it, but Arthur was stronger than Merlin and with Uther glaring daggers at him, perhaps it wasn't the best time to bring up magic. Still, Merlin finally was able to shove Arthur away, then grabbing the bean out of his hand, threw it into the crowd.

Hurling the pointy hat down onto the throne, the really scratchy robes left as a puddle on the floor, Merlin kept muttering to himself as he stomped off.

Arthur finally caught up. "Don't be like that. It was supposed to be fun."

Glaring at him, Merlin stepped over the writhing bodies on the floor, then kept walking. When they got into a thankfully-empty hallway, Arthur pulled at Merlin's sleeve. "Come on, Merlin. You have to admit…."

Merlin whirled on him. "It's not funny. You make a mockery out of everything. My life isn't great, it isn't happy, and it certainly isn't nice to make fun of what I have to do every single damn day."

"You aren't happy?" Arthur blinked at him. "I thought…."

"I'm exhausted cleaning up after you. I have to get up before you, go to bed after you're asleep, then Gaius expects me to help him and look for herbs in the middle of the night and I'm just… tired of it all." Merlin wanted to cry, but he wasn't going to do that in front of Arthur. He would mock Merlin for it and all Merlin wanted to do was sleep. "Making me sit there pretending to enjoy it when I know I have no power over anything is just… I'm going to bed. You can yell at me in the morning. Or throw something. I don't care."

He'd never get that bath or Arthur feeding him grapes or anything. It was all shit anyway.

But apparently, Arthur wasn't finished. "Merlin, I… didn't know you weren't happy. You smile a lot, you seem to take great pleasure in mocking me and you're around me all the time, whether you need to be or not. I thought you liked what you were doing. I thought you liked….." Arthur stopped, looking like he had swallowed a very bitter pill.

Sighing, a long, drawn-out, put-upon kind of sigh, Merlin finally said, "Look, cabbage-head, most of the time it's fine. I do my job, I duck when you throw things, and it's nice when I think we're almost friends, well if a prince and servant could ever be friends but since you constantly tell me we can't be, then fine. It's just… mocking me isn't right. Calling me names when you are just taking the piss is one thing. But this wasn't… it."

"But I had that hat made specially," Arthur whined.

As if that were a good thing.

Glaring at him, Merlin muttered, "Making something to ridicule me just shows me how much of a git you are. I thought we were better than that."

Arthur just stood there, mouth open, as if he couldn't understand what Merlin was saying. Finally, he grabbed onto Merlin's sleeve and started dragging him to Arthur's chambers.

Merlin thought about protesting but he figured it was best to just let the arse get it out of his system and he would forget about it in the morning. Maybe Merlin could even have a lie in.

Nah, that wasn't going to happen. He would be lucky if he didn't end up in the stocks. Again.

Stumbling into Arthur's bedchamber, Merlin was manhandled into sitting in Arthur's favourite chair with Arthur glowering over him.

Wiping one hand over his eyes, hoping to keep awake long enough to listen to Arthur yelling at him and then having enough energy to get back to his own room, Merlin sat there, waiting.

Arthur paced back and forth a bit, occasionally glancing at Merlin, before he finally stopped right by the chair. Leaning over, putting both hands on the chair arms, boxing Merlin in, Arthur said, "I think we need to clear some things up. Technically, it's still Twelfth Night and technically, you are still King of Misrule. Technically, debauchery is allowed and that might… might include a bit of truth-telling. Of course, it will all be forgotten in the morning, when the cock crows. That's the whole point. And I do mean forgotten, Merlin. Until next Twelfth Night."

"Arthur…." Merlin gave another sigh, rubbing his eyes.

Pulling back up, glancing away a moment, Arthur said to the left wall, "We are friends, as much as we can be. You may be incompetent at many things and I think you will even admit that. But my father would have a fit if he thought we were close. Servants are disposable to him. But not to me."

Arthur turned then, sinking down on one knee in front of Merlin, and looking as earnest as Merlin had ever seen him. "A prince does not admit weakness. A prince only has nobles for companions. A servant is furniture, worth even less than a horse or cow. Certainly not a real person with real feelings and real significance."

Merlin shrugged. "I do see how it is. It's just… hard."

Shaking his head, Arthur looked down, avoiding Merlin's eyes. "I don't think you do. But tonight's the night for letting go of expectations. Misrule and reversal, drunkenness and debauchery. And I…." Arthur leaned in, his one hand on Merlin's knee, his forehead on the other. "I'll deny it tomorrow, but I want more than what I think you are willing to give. I take enough from you as it is, but… it wouldn't be honourable to ask for more. Even on Twelfth Night."

For a second, Merlin stiffened, not understanding what Arthur was talking about. But when Arthur didn't move, Merlin brushed his hand over Arthur's soft hair, enjoying the silky feel of it. "Arthur, I'm just a farm boy from a tiny village. I don't have the airs and graces of someone brought up at court. What do you want?"

Arthur looked up then, his eyes dark. "You."

All the air in the room seemed to still, and Merlin couldn't breathe. When Merlin didn't say anything, Arthur sat back. "I give you liberties that I've never given another. I let you wear your own clothes instead of the Camelot livery, I let you steal my breakfast sausages—and yes, I know you steal them every day, I let you make up those ridiculous insults. Do you think just anyone could get away with that?"

"Arthur, I had no idea," Merlin whispered.

"But most of the time I can't act on what I want. A prince must be above such things. Except… on Twelfth Night." Arthur's hand was still hot on Merlin's leg. His fingers were digging into Merlin's thigh and Merlin wasn't sure if Arthur was even aware of it. "But I won't force myself on anyone, least of all someone I care about."

With that, Arthur started to get up, looking as if he were moving aside so that Merlin could escape.

Merlin reached out, catching Arthur's hand, drawing him back down. "Am I still King of Misrule?"

"Technically, yes." Frowning a little, Arthur thought about it, then said, with all caution in his voice, "Do you have a command, my lord?"

"I've been told by a reliable source that debauchery is expected on Twelfth Night." Curling his hand around Arthur's neck, pulling him close, Merlin murmured against Arthur's mouth, "I would hate to disappoint my subjects."

"That would be unacceptable, my king," Arthur said, then leaned in, brushing his lips over Merlin's.

Merlin didn't think after that. He surged up, rough and hard and eager, ravishing Arthur's mouth, his fingers everywhere. For a moment, it was ridiculous, clothes flying, boots caught in trousers and socks and intent. But Merlin wasn't about to let a silly thing like leather stop him from exploring every inch of a man he had wanted for as long as he could remember.

Arthur seemed as impatient as Merlin, pulling and pushing, hands all over him, a mouth sucking bruises into Merlin's neck. On the morrow, Merlin would have to think of how to hide the marks, but for now, he soared on them and Arthur's desire, hard against Merlin's leg.

There was pleasure there and memories, and if Merlin fell into ecstasy more than once, well, they were both young and hungry and desperate to pack as much pleasure into the night's darkness as they could.