Disclaimer: IDOM
AN: Thank you all for your support, everyone! Enjoy!
Sketches
On the morning it snowed for the first time that year, Mithian knew it before she even opened her eyes.
She could sense it in the light that filtered through her closed eyelids. She could feel it in the chill that she awoke to.
Launching herself out of bed half-awake and ignoring the cold that numbed her feet and that made gooseflesh run down her arms, the princess flung back the curtains, and before her lay Camelot, blanketed in a thick layer of glistening, pristine snow.
After flinging open the window and grinning madly when a gust of crisp wind nipped at her face and dusted her hair with floating snowflakes, her brown eyes eagerly scanned the wondrous, magical land before her.
It was absolutely beautiful.
Each of the citadel's towers, haloed in divine white, pierced the pearly gray skies, from which crystal flakes drifted lazily down. From her height, she could see the trees' boughs bending and trembling with the force of the upper winds. Below her, early-risers trudged through the snow, bundled from head to toe, and children—she could hear them squealing with delight, and she saw a few launching handfuls of the snow at their friends and ducking for cover as the victims retaliated.
Even if snow always signified that dangerous temperatures were on their way and even if she soon found herself resenting Nemeth's weather, that never stopped her from feeling any less giddy and excited whenever she awoke to see the first snowfall and heard the sounds of others enjoying it too.
Because in her opinion, there really was nothing quite as beautiful as snow.
Shutting the window, Mithian retreated back into her room, scrambled for warm clothing, and wasted no time in pulling on thick leggings, a fur cloak, and boots before running a comb through her hair. On her way out the door, she snatched a pair of gloves and the leather-bound book from where she had left it the night before.
It was so early that multiple servants gave her strange looks, and a few even tentatively called out to ask her if anything was amiss. Mithian didn't know if her extremely enthusiastic answers and mildly hysterical grinning put their concerns at rest at all, but their opinions concerning her bizarre behavior did not hinder the princess as she made her way through the palace and into a minor courtyard that connected to the royal gardens.
No one had step foot in the gardens yet, and after taking a moment to appreciate the untouched layer of snow and the beauty of the garden—even in the dead of winter, with its soaring archways, barren trees, frozen fountains and statues, it was a place to be appreciated—she joyously took that first step, marking the snow with her footprint and feeling that childish thrill as the snow was crushed under her foot.
There was no path to follow and no flowers to avoid trampling, so Mithian just slowly circumnavigated the trees, brushing her fingers along the trunks as she passed and identifying them as she went. When she found a frosted ivy-adorned bench in a small alcove of oak trees, she swiped away the snow with a gloved hand and took a seat.
A sense of peace and calm descended upon her for the first time since coming to Camelot. Even with the two days Arthur allotted to recuperate from the feast on their first night in the city, Mithian had felt as though she had been going nonstop the entire week.
If she was feeling tired from the constant activity and meetings, which had been wonderful, interesting, and almost fun if you forgot for a moment that you were participating in the very conversations that would change your world forevermore, she couldn't imagine how Arthur, Merlin, and Guinevere were feeling, as they had planned to dine with a different family or kingdom each night that a feast was not being held. In fact, every time she saw Merlin, he was with someone. Most often, Arthur was at his side, and Gaius and Hunith were never far. He always made an effort to interact with everyone, however, and she could see that that effort was making the shadows under his eyes become a little more pronounced every day…
For a heart-stopping moment, Mithian scrambled to remember if she was supposed to be somewhere (namely the council chambers or breakfasting with her brothers and father), but after recalling that Arthur specifically said the day before that there were no plans for the morning and after remembering that it was indeed too early to shake Ronan out of bed, Mithian sighed in relief only to freeze again and gasp.
The reason that Arthur told them to take the morning off…was because today was the day that Merlin officially became Court Sorcerer.
She felt a prick of guilt for having forgotten, but within seconds, it was brushed away with the thought that… the title would change nothing. Merlin was already Court Sorcerer and had been in all but name for years, and with or without the official promotion, he would continue to do as he did best.
Warmth blossomed in her chest, and she smiled, fingering at the pages of the book she brought with her and flipping to a specific page.
On the left hand page was a completed sketch of the chambers that held the famed Round Table, which Mithian found more stunning in person than she did in the romantic tales she had heard the past few years, but on the right hand page—Merlin's half-completed portrait.
Not many of her sketches had completed faces. Some had noses, lips, and laugh lines. Sometimes, the sharp angles of the cheeks and brow were there, but unless she was drawing a particular person looking down—doing some activity like reading, writing, working—so that nothing but his or her eyelids showed, there were never eyes. Ronan thought it was mildly creepy that her drawings were, for the most part, faceless, but she had laughed and showed him the pages of doodles of eyes—human eyes, dog eyes, horse eyes, bird eyes—which had always been the most difficult for her to draw.
"Animals, I can do fine. Men's eyes, on the other hand? They are the most challenging. I have to capture emotions, Ronan," she had insisted. "Perfectly. I haven't been able to yet."
Her brother had humored her, but he had neither understood her obsession with perfecting the eyes nor truly appreciated the difficulty that laid in replicating the feature that was described as being the window to the soul.
However, nothing she had ever attempted to draw before had proved to be more difficult than Merlin's eyes
Absentmindedly, Mithian pulled out a charcoal pencil from her pocket and began to shade the contours of the cloak about his shoulders and further define his neck, but soon, after lifting her head and staring into space as she tried to see the warlock in her mind's eye, she caught sight of her footprints standing out against the snow and the delightfully twisted, ancient tree that stood in the center of the scene. Inspired, she flipped to a new page and began to draw, removing her gloves so that her hands would remain unhindered.
The princess had no idea how long she remained there in the peaceful courtyard. She didn't notice the time passing and was so absorbed in her work that she hardly saw anything aside from the scene she was trying to capture and hardly felt her gloveless hands numbing.
When a crash of a door and two loud voices and laughs sounded near her, she was forcibly wrenched out of her little world. After panting breathlessly from the scare, Mithian, coming to the full realization of just how cold her fingers were, scanned the new drawing with glowing, satisfied eyes and tucked the charcoal into her sketchbook. It was just when she was searching for her gloves so that she could go back inside the castle and get some warm breakfast that she recognized the voices.
"…cheated with magic, Merlin," she heard Arthur scowling fondly.
Grinning widely, Mithian slipped on her fur gloves and leaned backwards to look around a tree, and she saw them heading towards her bench, cheerfully breathless, red-cheeked, and covered with melting snow from head-to-toe.
"Arthur, I'm offended. Truly," Merlin laughed. "Do you really think so poorly of me?"
"You've been waiting to get back at me ever since I first hit you with a goblet! Don't lie!" Arthur exclaimed.
A deviously innocent grin spread across the warlock's face. "I don't hold petty grudges, Arthur Pendragon."
Arthur snorted and muttered sarcastically, "Of course you don't." He paused and shook his cloak, which shed its layer of snow.
"Are you admitting that I won?"
"In what world would I ever admit that?"
"This one. Because it's true."
It was almost frightening how quickly and how exactly Arthur's grin mirrored Merlin's, and before she knew it, Arthur was shoveling snow into his hand and launching it at the warlock, who dodged. The snowball missed him, but in his effort to avoid the projectile, he slipped and tumbled to the ground, and in response to Arthur's guffaws, Merlin smirked, and the tree limbs arching above the pair suddenly emptied their load of snow onto the king.
"Merlin!"
At his roar of outrage, Mithian began to giggle, although she did not want them to notice her watching them—there really was something special about seeing them, a King and a peasant, a Pendragon and a sorcerer, interacting and bantering and arguing like brothers and romping about in the snow as though they weren't the two most powerful men of their age. However, it was inevitable that trying to contain snickers only made her laugh harder.
She gave up trying to stifle her amusement, and when her peals of laughter erupted from her chest and resounded like bells through the snowy garden, they yelped, and their heads snapped to her.
It amused her all the more to see Merlin, whose adorable ears and cheeks were endearingly pink with the cold, sheepishly leaping to his feet and brushing the snow off of his backside while Arthur sent him a 'thank-you-Merlin-for-making-me-look-a-complete-fool' glower.
"Wha—Mithian?" Merlin stammered as they walked to the bench to greet her. "What're you doing here?"
"That's not any right way to address a Princess, Merlin," Arthur reprimanded with a strange grin on his face.
Mithian laughed and waved a dismissive hand. "It wouldn't be Merlin if he addressed me properly, would it be?" she teased. "Besides, propriety doesn't suit him…especially not when he's always breaking the so-called 'code.'"
"That strict propriety nonsense is for boot-lickers and flatterers, after all," Merlin agreed with dancing eyes. "And remind me, again, Arthur, what you were complaining to me about earlier this morning?"
Arthur's face became stoic and emotionless. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he sniffed.
"I wouldn't want to play cards with him having seen how good he is at indifferent masks," Mithian joked with mock-seriousness, tilting her head to the side as she regarded the king, "but I do believe he's lying, Merlin."
"To right he is. He just doesn't want to directly admit that he's already annoyed to death by his new servant."
"George," Arthur retorted, "is a more adept and skillful servant than you ever were, Merlin."
"Ouch, Arthur. That truly stung," the warlock said, placing a hand on his chest. Grinning impishly, he patted Arthur's shoulder. "On the bright side, at least he's only temporary! Hopefully we can find you a less stuffy servant who has more of a brain and actually has the courage to stand up to you and tell you off when neither Gwen nor I are there to do it."
The look on Arthur's face was priceless, and Mithian laughed when he scoffed under his breath, "You're always there to do it. I can't get rid of you."
"That's my job!" Merlin said brightly.
"No, your job is to advise me on magic and use it if need-be, and you're doing a shoddy job of it. I'm bloody freezing."
Merlin blinked at him. "Then go inside and warm up."
Arthur snorted. "We both know that Guinevere's going to be over her head if she finds us wet and cold."
Wincing, Merlin said, "Ah."
"Yes, 'ah.' She'll scold like no other if we get ill, and if she finds out that we got distracted—"
"So you were playing in the snow!" Mithian laughed loudly.
Merlin smirked when Arthur's face flushed. However, the King continued as though Mithian had said nothing. "—and then Gaius and Geoffrey won't be too pleased if they discovered that instead of looking for your stick—"
"Stick?" Mithian asked.
"He means staff," Merlin supplied, rolling his eyes. As per Arthur's request, Merlin's eyes flared gold, and a visible, transparent, shimmering bubble of heat and dryness surrounded the bench that they were conglomerated around. "Or at least the wood I'll be making into a staff. Apparently, it's tradition for every new Court Sorcerer to go with his or her sovereign out into the forests to find the right wood."
"That's the short version," Arthur groaned. "There's quite a bit of 'symbolism' and 'magical feelings' I had to learn about, and of course, I have to be there when he stumbles around in the woods and tries to feel for the special wood that he'll be imbuing with his magic during the ceremony."
"If it accepts me, that is."
"Wood doesn't have feelings, Merlin."
"It would seem that this wood does, my Lord," Mithian deadpanned. Her dancing brown eyes dulled the effect of the sarcasm, however, and curious, she asked, "What do you mean by 'accepts you,' Merlin?"
"The staff," Merlin said. "If it accepts my magic, it is supposed to symbolize that I'm worthy of my position, and if we want to do this thing right—"
"I think you're plenty worthy without the stick," Arthur grumbled.
"You just feel that way because nothing happened this morning," Merlin chided with a laugh.
"No, I truly mean it."
Merlin's eyes softened. "I appreciate that, but you know how important this is. Especially for me. Especially for this time."
"Why so?" Mithian asked just as Arthur, whose eyes softened with fondness and understanding, murmured, "I know."
Merlin exchanged a warm smile with the King and crossed his arms. "In years past, it was just a mindless tradition—a rite of passage of sorts—but in the old times, it was a sacred thing. Camelot and her people have accepted me – for the most part – but this… this is about the land and the Old Religion itselfaccepting me as the right man for the job. Since Uther's Purge… it will not take kindly to just anyone."
He sounded worried. Merlin Emrys, the savior of Camelot and the doom of Morgana Pendragon, the one who singlehandedly proved to everyone that magic was not something to be feared, the one who destroyed the foundation of this age's usage of Dark magic… How could he be worried when the Druids had such faith in him? When they all had such faith in him?
Placing her hand on his arm, she said warmly, "I don't doubt that you will have your staff by the end of the night, Merlin."
She found herself lost in an ocean of eternal blue, eyes that glittered with light not only on the surface but also from deep within, and her chest constricted so that she found herself unable to breathe. Time slowed, and she could see every eyelash…
"None of us doubt," Arthur said with a proud glint in his eye.
His words caused the spell holding the pair to break, and they jerked apart. It went unnoticed by the King, and he continued, "Of course, we have to get the damn wood to like you first."
"I thought you said wood didn't have feelings," Mithian mocked wittily, causing Merlin to laugh.
"Whenever Merlin's involved, the impossible somehow becomes possible."
"It's a gift," Merlin said cheekily.
Looking over his shoulder, Arthur sighed, "We probably should be heading in, Merlin. Mithian, would you like to join us?"
"No, that's alright, thank you," Mithian said. "I want to enjoy the snow for a little longer."
Merlin's eyes flickered from Arthur to Mithian, and he said, "If that's alright by you both, I'll be along shortly, Arthur."
Arthur's sapphire eyes glinted, and he regarded his friend with a smirk playing about the edges of his lips. "In risk of taking the brunt of Gaius' wrath alone… I suppose that's fine. If Mithian doesn't mind your company, that is."
"Of course I don't mind," she said immediately.
Merlin's brow furrowed when Arthur's peculiar smirk became more peculiar. "I'll have the kitchens prepare us something before we head out again then, Merlin."
Merlin nodded and smiled, and after Arthur, still smirking, said farewell to the princess and began to walk away, he said over his shoulder, "Half an hour, Merlin! Don't be late!"
"You know me, Arthur!" Merlin called back with a lopsided grin.
The princess and warlock watched the King trod away through the snow, and after sliding over on the bench to make room for him, Mithian asked, "Why does he need to be with you? When you go hunting for the wood for your staff?"
Merlin gratefully sat, and Mithian felt his leg press against her own. "There's a certain ritual I need to perform tonight to make the staff," he responded. "It wasn't necessarily mandatory for the kings in the past, but for me, Arthur needs to be a part of it. Iseldir says it's because of the prophecies… and how the Old Religion views us as one. They need to see that he's just as genuine as I am. It's a big moment for the magical peoples."
Mithian studied his face for a moment and guessed, "It feels right, too, doesn't it?" His eyes flickered to hers, and she added knowingly, "And even if he'd be the last to show it, he feels it as well?"
It was a rhetorical question, and as expected, he did not respond. Instead, he scanned her face with intense, powerful eyes and said, "I don't think I ever thanked you properly."
"What for?"
"I only just realized..." he trailed off, running a hand through his silky hair. "It's easy to talk about my magic with you. You don't look at me as though I'm a meal or as though I'm unnatural when I use it. If anyone else other than the Knights, Gwen, or Gaius overheard that conversation Arthur and I just had—if anyone else was in the vicinity when I used that spell without warning, they would not… you make me feel human, Mithian."
When he averted his eyes, Mithian took his hand and gave it a squeeze. Seeing him struggling for words, seeing him still struggling to find his footing—it stung her heart that even after everything she had said to him that first night, even after Arthur so openly requested that he use magic, even after seeing the awkward nervousness beginning to leave his eyes the longer time went by…
It was still hard for him.
Oh, Merlin.
"I draw," Mithian blurted.
Merlin's brow scrunched in confusion at the abrupt statement, but before he could ask, she tapped the sketchbook on her lap with a smile and handed it to him, feeling shivers run through her when his fingers touched her own.
"I've been drawing ever since I was little," Mithian explained, "and because of that… I like to think that I've become more observant, more aware of the world around me because that is what I do. I watch the world so that I can see as much as I can before I try to capture it in all its essence on a page.
"It's a bit of an odd combination," she laughed. "The very same wild-child who went hunting with her father every other weekend, who was said to have appalling table-manners and a witty tongue, and who taught herself how to shoot, is in fact a very quiet girl who would rather watch and listen than speak out like the rebellious soul everyone thought she was. Nobody saw that while I watched them and later tried to replicate their expressions and the way they held themselves, that while they were flattering my father, I was watching the sunlight streaking through the windows and how it banished and created shadows."
She watched as Merlin opened the book to the first page, on which an oak tree was drawn, and his face transformed into one of open awe and delight.
"I've learned to watch, and I—I have been watching you, Merlin," she admitted with a blush. "Even before we knew about your magic, I watched you with Arthur, with the knights, and I saw how much Arthur valued your opinion and your advice, how much everyone values your company, and though I didn't understand it at the time, I knew that you were unhappy with my engagement to Arthur and I knew that you had your reasons for it.
"I've seen how you'd do anything for Arthur and how Arthur'd do anything for you in turn. I've seen what friendship means to you, and I've seen both sides—the protectiveness and the compassion, the fear and love. I've seen it in your eyes… your determination and kindness, your modesty and wit…
"When I first heard about your magic, Merlin, my opinions of you did not change. They solidified, and I saw more truth to what I had observed than I ever had before. And when I watch you do magic—" a gentle smile spread across her face when he finally reached his half-completed portrait and looked up at her "—the first night, when you honored the fallen with the dragon of flames and then when I caught you playing with light… You displayed your power and you proved how much magic is ingrained in you, but… despite that, there is no trace of anything more nor anything less than you.
"That was what I was trying to say to you that night, and as I said to you before, watching you do magic is beautiful. I can see how happy it makes you, and I don't understand how people can still fear and mistrust magic when it's you performing it and how they can ask you those horridly personal questions when it's obvious that you're uncomfortable with them and when they're so obviously uncomfortable with you.
"Just know, Merlin," she said with a hint of humor in her tone, "that though we might not always understand what goes through that mind of yours and though we might not always understand how your magic works inside you, your family—" it was amazing to see how tender his eyes became with the implication of those words "—and I—we are here for you. Don't forget that."
He stared at her with glowing blue eyes, eyes that said so much more than words ever could, and as a strange tension built in the air, her blush brightened.
"Thank you for showing me this, Mithian," Merlin said hoarsely.
"There's no need to thank me," she said, her gaze drifting to the drawing in his hands. Unsure how to lighten the atmosphere, she sighed without thinking, "I'm not done with yours yet…and I don't expect to ever finish, unfortunately. Gwen's, Arthur's, my father's…"
"Perfectionist?" Merlin teased good-humoredly.
"You're not the first person to say so. In fact, after seeing the pages of eyes I've drawn, Ronan prefers to call me 'obsessive.'" She rolled her eyes, and pointing to Merlin's half-finished face, she admitted with a hint of resigned frustration, "For all that I may brag about my skills of observation, I've always had problems with eyes."
"Eyes are the windows to the soul," Merlin murmured with a mysterious smile.
Of course Merlin would immediately understand. "Yes," she said enthusiastically. "I have to admit, though, that it is a little disappointing when I can never bring myself to finish a likeness of someone. The drawing of Ronan reading—that's the only one I've ever fully completed."
"I think they're all beautiful," Merlin whispered. "Eyes or no. You're incredibly talented."
It wasn't often that Mithian ever shared her work with outsiders, and perhaps that was why the compliment seemed so much more than any of her brothers' or her father's. Perhaps that was why her heart swelled and swooped with pride and joy.
"The ones of nature," Merlin said, flipping back to the drawing she had just completed, "Those, too, I've never seen the likes of." Looking up to the particular tree she had used as the center of her piece, he asked, "Did you just finish this?"
Mithian nodded. "I can't help but take something to draw with everywhere I go. I've probably gotten more scolding from my maidservant about finding charcoal and ink in my pockets than any person alive." After he released a laugh, she explained, "I came out here to enjoy the first snowfall, and I'm always struck by inspiration when I'm outside."
"You enjoy the snow?"
"I love the snow," Mithian breathed. "It's cold and wet and miserable, but… there's something special about it, isn't there? I think the only thing I love more than snow is—"
"Trees?" Merlin finished for her.
"Can't tell that by the amount of them I've drawn, can you?" Mithian teased.
"Of course not," Merlin responded with a straight face, playing along. "It was a lucky guess."
Laughing, Mithian reached for her collection of art and said, "Here." She began to flip through it, and after finding a drawing of a tree's branches from the perspective of one sitting at its base and leaning his or her head back against the trunk to look skyward, she added, "They really are fascinating and gorgeous things, aren't they? Their cycle of life, their capability to change with the seasons and endure through almost anything… each of them has a unique characteristic, an essence, that baffles and intrigues me to no end."
Merlin regarded her with a curious light in his eyes before he asked, "Which is your favorite?"
Without hesitation, she answered, "Holly."
"Holly?"
Nodding excitedly and snapping the book shut, Mithian looked around the garden—for as it was the holiday season, boughs of holly were draped everywhere around the castle—and upon catching sight of not just a holly bough but a holly tree, she took his hand and pulled him up with her.
"Oak is supposed to be the mightiest tree of all," she began as he stumbled along behind her. "It's supposed to represent power, life, strength, loyalty, and honor, but the holly—it is said to be the oak's counterpart. Just as legend says that oak attracts lightning, holly repels it, and because of this, it is considered a symbol of protection by many peoples. But… most importantly…"
Reaching the tree, Mithian dropped Merlin's hand and brushed away the snow clinging to one of the lowest branches, revealing crimson berries and deep green leaves that seemed all the more bright against the pure white snow.
"Before my mother passed away," Mithian said softly, her fingers gently brushing across a cluster of berries, "whenever I was feeling depressed or hopeless, I remember that she would always take me into her arms—even when her sickness made her too weak to move—and point to the holly tree outside her window. She would tell me that while everything else around it sleeps for the winter, holly leaves are still bright with color and beauty, and it—it reminds me that even in the darkest of times and in the most hopeless of situations, life and hope can be found."
When she looked to him with glowing brown eyes, she found his eyes gleaming with appreciation and shared joy for the small, subtle beauty before him and a gentle smile playing at the edges of his lips.
"It's a very Druidic way of thinking," Merlin said. "Seeing the symbolism and magic in the earth itself."
"I've read a few Druidic texts on their findings about plants, but I regret that I couldn't have found more to read. Their teachings are wonderful, and their knowledge of herblore is unparalleled. I would love to learn more," she said wistfully.
Merlin's face split into an even broader grin that even reached to his stormy blue eyes. He took her hand again and exclaimed, "C'mon!"
"Last time you said that you took me on the dance floor," she reminded him, not resisting as he led her through the garden and back inside. She blinked rapidly as her eyes adjusted to the different lighting.
"And you cannot deny you enjoyed yourself," Merlin teased, ignoring the quirked brows that passerby gave him when they saw him towing Nemeth's princess behind him. "But we'll leave dancing—well, in our case, it's less 'dancing' than it is the art of skillfully tripping—for another day. I have some books I think you'll enjoy."
Excitement built up in her chest, and she asked eagerly, "Do you?"
Merlin tossed her a look over his shoulder that nearly made her knees go weak, and he said, "It's incredible. You would expect that Uther would burn all these books, but when Arthur finally decided to tell us that his father never did burn them—the prat—he wasted no time in having Gaius, Geoffrey, and I look over them. When it was obvious that none of them were too dangerous, Arthur told me that they were mine to use and study as I saw fit."
For some reason, her throat thickened, and she gasped, "So…all of that knowledge that I feared was lost to the world forever… it—it still exists."
His sunny beam nearly made the happy tears in her eyes overflow, and he chattered, "I have to admit that the three of us nearly fainted dead away when we learned that Uther had preserved some of the greatest magicians' works, and of course, I'm only self-taught out of the one spell book that Gaius managed to smuggle under Uther's nose. Do you realize what that means? I've learned enough from it to strengthen my powers and learn how to make up spells on the spot, but having more formal spell books to learn from? Having a whole volume dedicated specifically to healing and another to protective shields? I couldn't believe it. Even Gaius and Geoffrey struggling to wrap their minds around it. Gaius was ecstatic to see some of the books on healing, and Geoffrey was over the wall about some of the epics and the history texts.
His enthusiasm was catching. "This is incredible, Merlin!"
His hand tightened around hers, and after energetically launching up a couple of steps, he came to a halt before a door that Mithian did not recognize.
"These aren't Gaius' chambers," the princess said, pulling off her gloves.
"No, they're mine," Merlin said, unlocking the door with magic and pushing it open. "Another gift from Arthur and Gwen. Apparently, they thought that one room wasn't enough for a physician and an actively practicing warlock who would—and I quote—'probably end up blowing himself up in his excitement to learn a new spell'…and especially not when they found all of this for me."
Merlin stepped aside and brandished his arm to invite her in, and Mithian's mouth dropped open.
Herbs hung in bundles from the ceiling, and vials and parchment covered the long worktable. Nearby another shorter table sported a large bowl-cauldron hybrid that Mithian was sure was used for potions or perhaps scrying, and to the left, Mithian spotted a spiraling staircase.
However, the most amazing thing about the chambers was not only that the place oozed with something that she could only assume was magic, but also that from floor to ceiling on every wall, was a bookshelf.
"Each of these books," Merlin said, "has something to do with magic, its people, or its creatures."
Before Mithian could so much as release a 'wow,' Merlin jumped the one step that separated his workspace from what looked to be a sort of sitting room, judging by the fireplace, dining table, and comfy chair, and he scanned the spines of the books.
"How did you organize these?" Mithian breathed in awe, placing her gloves and sketchbook down so that she could take one of his books and turn it over in her hands. Opening to a random page, she saw that it was written in a language unknown to her, and after marveling at the complicated letters and Merlin ability to read it, she placed it back down.
"Um…"
"That doesn't sound very promising," Mithian joked.
"I still haven't figured out how I organized them," he muttered sheepishly, arching his neck higher.
"How can that be if you were the one who organized them?"
"Exactly. I don't think there really was a specific organization in mind when I was too lazy to do it myself and used magic to sort them instead."
Her chest quaked with laughter, and unconsciously, she moved to the base of the single stair as he mounted a ladder to look on the higher shelves, and she found herself staring at how his lips mouthed the titles, how a cute furrow appeared between his eyebrows as he read, and how his shoulder muscles moved as his large hands roamed over the spines.
After a few moments, he finally whooped in triumph, plucked two thick books from the shelves, and clumsily descended.
"Took long enough," Merlin said with a goofy grin, "But I fou—"
Merlin, obviously unused to the leveled section of his chambers, completely missed the small stair, and from there and then on… time seemed to flow at an impossible speed.
For a fraction of a heartbeat, she wondered how he had managed to catch himself after such a hard stumble and was quite impressed that he managed to do so without the books slipping from his hands…
But then, somehow, inexplicably, they were centimeters apart, so close she could lean her forehead forward and find it touching his, so close that, were she not mesmerized by the cerulean of his eyes and had she the willpower to look down, her nose would have collided with the fabric of his neckerchief…
However, Mithian could not look away. She couldn't move or breathe or even think to care about the books, and all she could feel was her heart racing its way through her chest.
She wasn't sure if it was Merlin or herself who closed the distance. In the end, it didn't necessarily matter. All she knew was that… one moment she was swimming in the depths of his eyes and the next…
His lips were soft against hers, a brush, a touch, nothing more. Cautious, sweet, uncertain.
To banish any such insecurity from his mind, Mithian whispered his name against his mouth and stepped further into his arms, and after pressing more forcibly against him, she found her trembling fingers travelling up his chest to his shoulders and finally into his soft black hair, which was just as silky as she had always imagined.
The books he was holding fell to the floor.
When his hands found their way to her hips instead, her breath hitched, and as their lips melded and moved in unison and as heat built in her lower belly, a longing moan escaped her throat. In response to the sound, his tongue teased at her lower lip, and it softly eased its way into her willing mouth…
Crash.
Mithian and Merlin, blushing red to the roots, leapt apart and spun around to find Arthur, frozen and wide-eyed, with his palm still splayed across the door he just threw open.
Heat rose to the princess's face, and she could feel her face burning just as well as she could feel everywhere he touched tingling. Taking a brief look at Merlin, who looked absolutely mortified and strangely enough, terrified—he wasn't much help.
That's when it hit her. She kissed him. He kissed her…
And… she knew without a doubt that she liked it. There was no confusion, no regret, no shock. Leaning into his arms, feeling his breath on her cheek, kissing him—it had been as natural as breathing and as wonderful as she had hoped it would be.
And there it was. She had wanted him to kiss her for a long time. How long had she felt this way? Mithian couldn't necessarily place the time when she started falling hopelessly in love with him, but when the realization—the realization that she had fallen in love with him and hadn't realized until she felt his lips on hers—was so fresh, so new…
She would like to have said it made her laugh to think that she hadn't seen it sooner, but instead, her blush deepened, and she found it harder to unlock her muscles.
Merlin was the first to recover, clear his throat, and actually move. After picking up the books he, acting as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened, ignored Arthur and turned to her with only the slightest amount of goofy sheepishness and—her eyebrows rose. Was that an apology in his smile?
"Here you go, Mithian."
"Thank you, Merlin," she said in a surprisingly normal voice. "I'll tell you what I think of them when I've finished."
"You're welcome," he murmured. Looking over her shoulder, he said cheerfully and innocently to Arthur, "I don't suppose it's been a half-hour yet, has it?
Arthur's frozen mask of shock melted away, and as he looked back and forth between them—oh, dear gods, he knew before we did, Mithian realized in horror—his eyes twinkled, and he said slowly, "No."
"Were you looking for something?"
Arthur dropped his hand from the door and said, "I left something in here the other day when you and I were going over those laws after the first meeting." He waved his hand dismissively. "It's not that important. Your stick, on the other hand…"
"Can't wait, I know," Merlin sighed.
"Quite," Arthur said, his intense eyes scanning his friend's face.
Unable to bear the growing awkwardness, Mithian, hugging the books to her chest, said, "I expect my father and brothers are wondering where I am. I haven't breakfasted with them yet."
Merlin looked mildly panicked at the prospect at being left alone with Arthur, but after shooting her a pained glare, he hid it well and said in farewell, "Enjoy the rest of your morning, Mithian."
"And you," she responded, reclaiming her gloves and sketchbook from the table where she put them and making her way to the door. "I wish you luck with your quest for your staff-wood, Merlin, Arthur, and I look forward to seeing you both tonight."
As she walked back to her guest rooms, Mithian couldn't keep a smile from spreading across her face as she fully and completely embraced three words with all her being and all her heart...
I love him.
AN: There's your kiss, Ria! ;D Next chapter is purely Merlin's POV, so there be more bromance and some Hunith-Merlin bonding awaiting!
