Disclaimer: IDOM
AN: So, before I introduce this chapter with a semi-unnecessary one-line AN, I actually have something important to say. It's more of a suggestion more than an important announcement, but all the same...
If you have seen the show's finale, if you're a bit of a glutton for punishment and want to read something that puts all of your feels after that finale into words in the most eloquent and beautiful way possible, if you want to be reminded of why that episode was so perfect and why it is that you fell in love with this show in the first place, read this: hypable (d0t) com 2012/12/26/a-merlin-retrospective-the-platonic-love-story-of-merlin-and-arthur/. The link is also on my profile page, but if you are too lazy to get rid of the spaces and stuff, go to Hypable, and it's one of the top stories. :') Beware, however - it will most definitely make you cry.
Alright, I'm done with that, so without further ado, as promised, here's a whole chapter with Merlin's POV! :D Enjoy!
Conversations That Must Be Had
He didn't know when it had started. He didn't know if it had started before her return to Camelot, when she had been a prisoner of Morgana and had come to him in her time of need, or if it had started afterwards, when he and she stumbled about during the feast in an effort to dance, her sparkling brown eyes alight with laughter, her green gown hugging her slim frame and highlighting all her curves, her dark hair rippling down her back…
It could have been then or any time in between that he had begun to feel this way for her, but it hadn't occurred to him just how much he loved her until he found himself tripping directly into her arms and looking down to see her staring back at him.
Merlin couldn't be sure she felt anything in turn until she was the one stepping into his arms, threading her fingers through his hair, and pressing her body against his.
And it had been glorious, wonderful, beautiful…to kiss her and to feel her respond to his touches and caresses, to let himself feel like there was someone…
He had never imagined he would find another woman he could love with the same intensity and passion that he did Freya. In fact, after her passing, he accepted the fact he was most likely doomed to be a bachelor.
Even though time began to heal the wounds on his heart, Merlin had never once even wondered if he would ever fall in love again.
But he had. And he had fallen hard.
Of course, Arthur had to make reality crash into him just as forcefully.
She was a princess, and what more was he than a peasant lucky enough to gain a Pendragon's favor? How could someone like him love her when she deserved so much more?
The warlock watched Mithian, her face still flushed, maneuver her way past Arthur and walk away, leaving him alone with the king, whose face was growing more and more indecipherable with every passing second. After the two friends regarded each other carefully, Merlin broke eye contact first and sighed, preparing for the small amount of hope he still held to be sucked from his heart.
He expected Arthur to be angry. He expected him to rage at him for being stupid enough to have kissed a woman of a higher status than him, and he was anticipating the harsh truths he'd have to endure. He was quite prepared for it.
However, he never expected Arthur to stride over to him, clap him on the shoulder, and exclaim happily, "It's about damn time, my friend!"
Blinking incredulously, Merlin looked up to see the king beaming smugly at him, and he asked, "Wh—what?"
Arthur rolled his eyes. "You didn't think we didn't see it, Merlin? Come on. I'm not that oblivious. I think I knew even before Guinevere did, which is certainly saying something, and I'll have you know that you and she have been the subject of many bets. Gwaine will be thrilled when he hears."
"You're—you—" Merlin stammered. Finally, he decided to comment on the one thing he could wrap his mind around, and he asked indignantly, "You bet on us?"
Nodding, the king smirked and shrugged. "Oh, don't give me that, Merlin. It was harmless fun! Besides, we all wondered how long it'd take for you two to admit you had feelings for each other. Now, when are you going to announce you're courting her?"
Spluttering uselessly and feeling himself go pale, Merlin could hardly believe what he was hearing, and his heart skipped a beat. "You—how did… you're not angry?"
Arthur scowled at him. "You know, I'm beginning to think you have no faith in my ability to apply my temper appropriately, Merlin. The last time you asked that, you were waking up on the fields of Camlann and just coming to the realization that you had lost your disguise after losing consciousness."
When Merlin's twitched into a weak smile at the memory, Arthur, who finally seemed to realize that something was bothering his warlock, cocked his head and said softly, "And I ask you the same thing I did then. Why in the world would I be angry? I'm thrilled for you—for you both."
Shock was a hard emotion to control, and it was with great difficulty that Merlin forced it away. Biting his lip and swallowing hardly, he responded in a whisper, "I shouldn't have kissed her."
Arthur stared, and his nose wrinkled as his eyes narrowed at him. It looked for the entire world as though the king was either trying to sniff out a lie or smelling a pile of his own dirty socks.
No, it was definitely more a mixture of the two, and Merlin might have laughed and had some witty comment ready if he hadn't felt as though he was drowning in the realization that he would have to tell Mithian he couldn't let this go on.
"Merlin," Arthur began with forced patience, "I don't think I've ever met anyone so bizarre and confusing. As much as I don't want to admit I barged in on you two—well, I suppose it is payback for all the times you walked in on Guinevere and I without knocking—"
The teasing had the desired effect, and despite himself, a grin slipped its way onto Merlin's lips.
"—and as much as I want to get past the embarrassment of having done so," Arthur continued, "I can't deny what I saw. You and she looked plenty satisfied, so I must ask you whyever. The. Hell. Not?"
Gritting his teeth, Merlin replied with a crestfallen tone, "It's obvious, isn't it?"
"Um, no, it really isn't," Arthur said. "Do you love her, Merlin?"
Merlin pursed his lips, and for a moment, he wondered how it was that it had come to this. Irony? Destiny? Both loved to mess with him, so he wouldn't put it past either of those two forces to do this to him.
All he knew was that if someone had told him a decade ago that Arthur Pendragon was to one day give him love-advice, he would have laughed himself silly.
"Do you love Mithian?" the king asked again.
Remembering that Arthur had never been anything less than honest about his feelings for Guinevere when their romance was first budding—years ago, when he and the then-Prince had only known each other for a short time—and knowing he could admit this to Arthur in a way he couldn't to anyone else, Merlin breathed, "Yes. I think I do."
Arthur started to grin, but when the Court Sorcerer sighed and averted his gaze, the king's sapphire eyes softened and then widened suddenly. "I recognize that look," he murmured, squeezing his friend's shoulder. "I remember it more than recognize it, I should say. I had almost forgotten."
Merlin snorted humorlessly. "It is not the same, Arthur. You are the king. You could marry whom you damn well pleased. Even as a prince—yes, you and Gwen definitely struggled because of your father's views on such things, but I knew without a doubt it was going to happen. I knew that once you were king, petty things like that wouldn't stop you from loving Gwen openly and truly with all your heart.
"But this time, she's not the one of lower class. I am. Me, the one who has already broken a thousand more social rules in one month than a man may ever in his entire lifetime,and who probably won't be lucky enough to break this one. Arthur, how could she even consider me a suitable companion for her? She's a princess, who deserves far more than I can give her. I might have fancier clothes, higher pay, and a few more friends in higher places than most, but it doesn't change the fact that I was born a peasant and not only a peasant but a bastard on top of that."
"Merlin," Arthur warned, wincing.
"You know how some feel about bastardy, Arthur," Merlin murmured, shrugging Arthur's hand off his shoulder and turning away. "And it is the truth. It means that her father would not accept me, not when there are far more suitable suitors out there for her to choose—"
Taking hold of the warlock's shoulders again and whirling him around, Arthur interrupted with blazing eyes, "Would you listen to yourself for a moment?"
Merlin opened his mouth to protest, but Arthur said angrily, "I will not have you deprecating yourself like this! Not anymore. Don't you see that she chose you?"
"But—"
"No 'buts,' Merlin. She wouldn't have stepped into your arms like that if she hadn't chosen you. And another thing," he said, sticking his finger into Merlin's face, "I don't ever want to hear you use the peasant excuse because that is no excuse. You say you have fancier clothes—from the way Mithian looks at you, I don't think she would care if you wore a potato sack. You say you have higher pay—you can supporther, you idiot. If you were still on a servant's salary, I might have been a little more concerned about this. You say you have friends in high places? Yes, any one of us—me, Guinevere, the knights—would grant you a favor in a single heartbeat should you ask it of us, but look at where you are! You're one of those people in a high place. You're going to be my Court Sorcerer, the first in decades, for crying out loud! You can offer her more protection and security than any other man I know."
It hurt to hope, and to save himself from inevitable pain, he shoved it away and muttered, "That doesn't change the fact that I—"
"Shut up, Merlin!" Arthur exclaimed with exasperation before Merlin could finish his thought. "I'm trying to actually boost your confidence here, and instead of enjoying it and gaining something from it, you're moping."
"I'm not moping," Merlin protested. After seeing the smirk on Arthur's face—of course he had said that just to rile him—the warlock said softly, "I just want what's best for her."
"I think what's best for her is for you to stop moping and pluck up the courage to make something happen between you two!"
"What about her father, Arthur?" Merlin miserably demanded. "Fine, I'm better off than I was as a servant. Much better off. But I still would have to seek his permission, and even if I can support and protect his daughter, who would ever want me as a son-in-law?"
"Merlin," Arthur growled, "Gaius was right. For as intelligent as you can be, you can be daft. And I'd like to amend that statement by adding that for as observant as you are, you can be so blind."
"What is there to see?" Merlin asked stubbornly. "I'mbeing realistic and saving myself from the embarrassment of Rodor laughing in my face for even suggesting—"
The king interrupted with a snort. "Since when did you care about people's opinions of you, Merlin? And since when did you ever shy away from a challenge?"
"I don't think Mithian or Gwen would be too pleased to hear you calling a man's effort to court a woman a 'challenge,'" Merlin commented with a smirk. "It's like comparing them to one of your tourneys."
"You're infuriating, you know that, Merlin?" Arthur groaned. "You know what I meant. What I don't understand is why you're fighting this so hard. Don't you want this? Don't you want to love her and make her happy?"
Exhaling heavily, Merlin's shoulders dropped, and he mumbled, "I do."
"Then prove it."
When Merlin bit his lip and didn't respond, Arthur's tone grew considerably gentler. "I might not have had this mentality a few years ago," he began, "considering how much Gwen and I had to deal with, but what does it matter which class you were born in or how you were born at all when it's not your birth specifically that defines who you are and who you became? Sure, your birth and my birth were probably a little different, seeing as I was born to be king and you were born with magic, but that isn't the point.
"My point is look at what you've done. Look at how far you've come and at how much you changed things. And not just how much you changed things but how you changed them at all. You're not just any peasant, Merlin, and after everything that you've done for me, for Camelot, for her fellow kingdoms and peoples, after showing us just how powerful you are and how you use your power for no other purpose than for the good of this land, everyone knows you have the most noble of hearts.
"The Druids look to you for hope, I look to you for guidance, and everyone else, while they might show it in ways that make you uncomfortable, sees your worth and your strength. Not a single person—not even those who remember the time you spilled wine on them when you were serving at a feast or those who gave you disapproving grimaces whenever you ran in late or whenever they caught us bickering like children. Not even those who still can't wrap their minds around the fact you have powerful magic at all—not a single one of them looks at you and sees a mere peasant. You're so much more than that," Arthur finished, "so you had bloody well banish those thoughts."
If Merlin hadn't been completely stunned by Arthur's words, he might have found it an impressive rant, but all he could do was blink as he processed what Arthur was trying to say.
Indeed, when Merlin did finally manage to see what it was Arthur was trying to tell him, the dam he had been building to restrain his hope burst, and with his growing gratitude for the man before him paving the way, it flooded out with a vengeance.
The newfound light in his eyes must have alerted Arthur to the fact that he had finally broken through his thick skull, and the king smiled victoriously. "If you love her and if she was mad enough to fall in love with you in turn—"
"Oi!"
"—that is all that should matter. Rodor would be mad if he didn't accept you for his daughter. He likes you, for one, and for another, I hardly doubt he's the same type of father mine was."
"Uther was one of a kind," Merlin agreed with a hint of irony in his tone.
A small, melancholy smile flashed across the king's lips before it vanished and was replaced by a broad grin. "And besides," Arthur chuckled with lively crystal blue eyes, "when you could magic his head to blow up spontaneously, I don't see how he could say no."
Merlin smacked Arthur's arm and laughed, "You know I'd never do such a thing."
"And what is it that you are you going to do, Merlin?" his king asked, blue eyes boring into Merlin's.
And that was the question, wasn't it? All mirth fled from Merlin's face as the remainder of his insecurities sting and prick at his heart, which felt as though it was suspended weightlessly in his chest, defying all of the ties that had once held it in place.
Excitement, fear, fondness, love…
Love above all.
The last time he felt this giddy and nauseous was when he regained consciousness on the fields of Camlann to find his head on Arthur's lap and his king staring unblinkingly at him with awed, wet eyes. Huffing a hysterical chuckle, he swayed subtly, but Arthur was there to steady him.
He was always there to steady him.
"You want to do what's best for her, and that is admirable, but have you ever thought of what is best for you? Merlin, all I've ever seen you do is put others before yourself," Arthur was saying. "You've always hidden your pain so that others might not be hurt. You've sacrificed so much at the expense of your own personal happiness, and even though I appreciate that more than I can say, isn't it about time you—for once in your life—thought of yourself?"
"I am happy."
"And she'll make you happier. Don't you feel you deserve that? Don't you want to have her in your life?"
That made Merlin pause and think. He did want it. Now that he knew what it was like to see her smile everyday, to hear her laugh everyday, to speak with her everyday, it pained him to imagine a day without her in his life, and it pained him even more so to imagine how it would feel to let her go. He sure as hell didn't want to push her away. How could he when he loved her?
He didn't want to miss this chance, and that realization was the last push Merlin needed.
As his resolve and confidence grew and as he began to realize that his friend had prevented him from making a huge mistake, Merlin finally said with glowing eyes, "How is it that you know exactly the thing to say that boosts my spirits and simultaneously makes me feel like an idiot?"
The king didn't say a word. He didn't need to. Instead, all he had to do to answer Merlin's rhetorical question was lean back against the worktable, cross his arms, and smirk in that irritatingly smug way of his. "I think now's a good time to tell you that even Ronan and Quinn joined in the betting pool," he mused slowly.
"What?" Merlin yelped.
"Yep, and just yesterday, Rodor asked me in passing if I knew anything about you and Mithian. He laughed when I told him that you were clueless and beamed when I assured him that it would only be a matter of time before you came asking to court her. I've never seen the man smile like that."
Rodor…even he knew? He had asked…?
Staring at the king with a mixture of horror and annoyance, he asked, "And why didn't you tell me this before? It would have prevented a lot of…" Merlin trailed off and threw his hands into the air. "God, Arthur, I didn't even have to worry, did I? Didn't it occur to you that this might have made your job easier? That it might have helped convince me?"
"Of course it did," Arthur said calmly, unfazed by his warlock's aggravation. "But I wanted you to see that you were worthy of her yourself before I told you. I wanted to see you gain the courage to talk to her and her father without knowing that Rodor is nothing but accepting of your relationship with his daughter."
The blaze in Merlin's frigid eyes died as Arthur's calm tone and words washed over him, but almost immediately afterwards, dread gathered in his stomach like algae on the surface of a lake.
"Oh, gods, Arthur, I—I have to go. I let her walk away after kissing her. I let her walk away." His tone became more panicked, and both hands went to his head as snippets of conversation he had overheard over the past few years echoed in his mind. "Isn't that one of the things a man is not supposed to do? One of the biggest mistakes he can make? Maids' gossip, and Gwaine, and—I have to talk to her."
"Whoa there, Merlin." Arthur's arm flew out to catch Merlin before he could dash away. "Relax," he soothed.
"But Gwaine said—"
"Are you seriously going to listen to what Gwaine and some gossipy maidshave said about romance, Merlin?" the king scoffed with laughing eyes. "That worries me."
Seeing the utter logic in his statement, Merlin froze in his tracks and flushed.
"If you ignored and avoided Mithian for a few days after your first kiss, I might have agreed with Gwaine. You never avoid a woman, Merlin."
"Says the man who avoided his wife's scolding this morning by bullying his Court Sorcerer into using magic to save his hide."
"Shut up, Merlin. That's another thing entirely. You'll see."
Merlin bit his tongue and swallowed a witty retort. Instead, he sighed and asked helplessly, "So… I just wait?"
"Yes. If you recall, we need to be off in search of your stick."
Damn that stick.
"I wonder if you're going to continue calling it that after it saves your arse one day. I don't think that 'Merlin's stick' will sound all that glorious in battle epics."
Rolling his eyes, Arthur retorted, "We're at peace, Merlin."
"For now. Morgana might be dead, but Mordred's still out there somewhere."
"Hundreds saw him fall."
"And no one found the body."
Arthur flinched, and it did not go unnoticed by the warlock that his hand hovered over his chest, where Mordred's sword had pierced through his chainmail…
"It's just like you to bring that up now. This is supposed to be a happy time. We just completed a war. Do we have to be thinking about the next one?"
Grimacing sheepishly, Merlin muttered, "You're right. I'm sorry."
"I know I'm right," Arthur said darkly. The atmosphere shifted ominously, but the dark feeling in the air was gone the moment Arthur gave him a friendly punch on the arm and pulled the conversation back to Mithian by adding, "And I also know I'm right when I say that a few hours to sort through your thoughts will do both you and Mithian good, and really, this is for the best. What would you say to her if you ran to her now?"
Once the warlock realized what Arthur was implying, he discovered he had no idea what he would say to her, and after coming to the conclusion that Arthur had saved him quite a bit of embarrassment—which was really kind (and strange) of him, Merlin thought, especially considering he never turned down the chance to have a good laugh at Merlin's expense—the younger man's eyes widened comically. "Thank you, Arthur."
"I'm returning the favor," the king said with a fond smile. "Sometimes I wonder where Guinevere and I would be without you."
Eyes flashing impishly, Merlin joked, "Are you sure it wasn't because of the bet?"
"Of course it wasn't, idiot," Arthur said with a deceptively innocent expression on his face. Smiling, he wrapped one arm about Merlin's shoulders, began to walk, and rubbed his knuckles into Merlin's head. "It's only natural that brothers look out after each other, after all."
~…~
In the years following the momentous occasion that Merlin Emrys and Arthur Pendragon stood before the people of Albion and created a staff—and not just any staff, but the staff representing the balance and harmony between magical and non-magical peoples, the staff that would forever be woven into the fabric of the greatest legends and mimicked and referenced to time and time again—those lucky enough to have witnessed it would be unable to describe it in words.
Those who tried spoke of the golden and sapphire light. They spoke of seeing the molten eyes of their Court Sorcerer and the radiant smile on his face as his magic bathed the entire room. They spoke of the sound of their king's voice invoking an ancient bond, and they spoke of seeing the Pendragon and Emrys, who chanted musically in the tongue of the Old Religion, each cut the palm of the other and thereby sealing their bond through blood.
But above all, they spoke of the way the staff carved itself from a lump of wood above their heads and the pulse of power that dissipated into the room the moment Merlin's long fingers curled around its smooth shaft for the first time.
Those closest to the pair might have known a little more. They might have noticed how Arthur's eyes flared gold at the one point Merlin's magic flooded him. They might have noticed that there had been a few seconds when neither Merlin nor Arthur could have been seen standing before them at all. They might have seen that, within the light, visions, images flashed, and they might have discovered that the Earth herself whispered in the king and warlock's ears.
However, most words would never do the moment justice. Only Merlin and Arthur knew what truly happened because they felt it, and not even they could describe it.
Because of the ethereality of the moment, it was a bit of a relief that all of the guests were too awed to even think to make inquiries about what had just happened (even Annis didn't have a snarky joke prepared for him after the ceremony) because if truth be told, Merlin was probably just as—if not more—overwhelmed than they were.
In the end, he was satisfied knowing that they understood the significance of it. That was all that mattered.
"Merlin."
The warlock jerked back to the present and found his mother standing at his elbow. It was strange to see her in velvet, with her hair fashionably styled, but she looked so happy, and her eyes glowed with pride.
"Mother," he breathed with a sunny grin, turning to face her.
Hunith's arms wrapped around him, and after squeezing him tight, she pulled away and said, "I am so, so proud of you, my boy."
"I don't think I could have done any of it without you and Gaius there to support me," Merlin said. "I wouldn't be who I am today without you."
"Oh, Merlin…"
"Thank you, Mother," he whispered.
"Always. Through thick and thin," she promised with a tender smile.
From the very first moment he became old enough to understand that he was different and that his gift was also a curse, it was something his mother had promised time and time again, and whenever he would find himself losing control over his magic, whenever he would hear visitors and villagers speak of magic with nothing but contempt, whenever he did something that made him afraid of who he was and what he could do, these words were the lullaby that soothed his tormented thoughts and the inspiration that fueled his heart and got him back on his feet.
And, as he had every time since she had first said those words when he was but a toddler, he responded, "Through rain and shine."
Laughing, his mother ruffled his hair, and when he gave her a mock-scowl and ducked out of her hold, she grinned innocently at him and teased, "It's nice to see that some things never change."
Merlin chuckled and tried to flatten his tousled hair with little success. "Things might be changing for me, Mother, but I doubt I've changed all that much."
"Ah, that is where you are wrong," Hunith said with dancing eyes. "You've grown in more ways than one, and your magic—Merlin, I couldn't believe my eyes tonight. I have seen you do beautiful and miraculous things, my dear, but what you and Arthur did together to create the staff..."
The warlock's eyes followed hers to the staff beside him, and he admitted, "After that, it is hard to believe I once struggled to learn simple enchantments, and it is even harder to believe that there was a time that Arthur didn't know of my magic, but—but I look at it and remember everything it took to get me to this point. Magical and otherwise."
Her eyes seemed to look into his very soul, and he saw reflected in them all of the pain, sacrifice, and fear that had been their constant companions, day in and day out, throughout the course of his entire life. "And that journey?"
"It was worth it. Every last second of it."
Wiping away a tear, Hunith smiled, and she teased, "I wasn't too sure you believed that when you and Arthur stormed in so late. You looked like you were about to strangle each other."
Merlin barked a laugh. "He was intolerable out there!"
"Funny, he said much of the same about you.
Narrowing his eyes, the warlock asked, "When was this?"
"Right about the same time he made some comment about how picky you are under his breath."
Rolling his eyes, her son grumbled, "Prat. Next time, remind me not to bring him staff-wood hunting. I told him that it wasn't me doing the picking."
Hunith laughed. "You know, I didn't get a chance to ask you what wood chose you. Where did you find it?"
"It's rowan. From the Valley of the Fallen Kings," Merlin answered.
"Well, it's no wonder Arthur seemed a little tense! You told me yourself that the place is a bad omen, and considering all the horrible luck you've had there—"
"The balance shifted," Merlin explained. "It is still a dangerous place where ancient, hostile magic lingers, but it was… subdued, less violent, than ever because of the peace the Old Ways made with the New, and though terrible things happened there, the Crystal Cave is at its heart, and it is a sacred place of the Old Re—"
As he spoke, his eyes fell on a figure moving toward him through the crowd, and he lost track of what he was saying when her beautiful eyes locked with his.
His knuckles turned white with the force he was using to grip his staff, and sudden nervousness made his heartbeat falter.
Because of course Merlin hadn't prepared what he was going to say to Mithian. Of course Merlin had almost been late to his own ceremony and hadn't even had the chance to think about anything more than the staff…
His mother nudged him in the ribs and said, "Merlin."
"Hm?" he mumbled, broken out of his reverie, and he tore his gaze from Mithian to find his mother eyeing him with that insightful, mildly exasperated look that had always made him spill all of his secrets as a child.
Curiously, she retraced his gaze back to the approaching princess, and a soft smile spread across her lips. "She's a lovely person, Merlin. I'm glad that you have found someone like her."
Considering that Arthur, Guinevere, the knights, and Mithian's family saw his and her relationship beginning to head into romance, it did not surprise Merlin in the slightest that his mother knew as well, but that didn't stop the blush from rising to his cheeks.
His mother's eyes twinkled, and it looked as though she was biting her tongue to keep herself from teasing him. Instead, after flickering her gaze to the princess once again, she instead satisfied herself by flashing him a mischievous smile. Taking his hand, she whispered excitedly, "It might be cliché, but I want to remind you to be yourself, and don't be afraid to tell her how—" She cut off and made a noise of disapproval against the roof of her mouth. "Oh, Merlin, your hair's a mess," she chided lightly, reaching up to try to tame his black hair.
He avoided her hand and protested, "Mother."
She continued speaking as if he hadn't heard him, the joy and enthusiasm in her voice growing with every whispered word. "I don't suppose you want me here when you talk with her, so you'll have to tell me all about it later, Merlin," she insisted. "Good luck!"
Before the warlock could mutter a word, his mother kissed his brow and strolled in the direction of Guinevere, with whom she had become very close with during her banishment a few years ago.
His flush had not yet faded from his cheeks when he heard Mithian come up beside him and murmur in a soft voice, "Congratulations, Merlin."
Inconspicuously, his eyes fluttered closed, and he drew a deep breath before turning to find her appreciatively admiring the staff in his hand.
When she met his gaze, her brown eyes glinted with a playful light, and she teased, "I told you that you'd have it by the end of the night."
Despite Merlin's initial worries about lingering awkwardness on his part, the familiarity of her teasing and her warm, shining eyes made all unease flee, and he felt his stiff muscles relaxing and insecurities disappearing.
"It was hard to believe that I would," Merlin said with good-humored sarcasm and an impish grin. "Especially during those long hours out in the snow with Arthur groaning every few meters…"
"Oh, shush," Mithian laughed, smacking his arm. "I was more worried that you two had been mauled by bears when you didn't show up on time."
Raising his brows, Merlin snorted. "You know, it's rather pathetic to realize it would probably take me less time to deal with angry, rampaging bears—mutant, demonic, magical bears, even—than it did to find this."
He displayed the pale staff, and after running her eyes over it again, she guessed, "Rowan?"
When Merlin nodded, she smiled. "It is beautiful." She looked as though she wanted to say more, but a hesitant shyness suddenly came over her, and she pursed her lips.
"What?" Merlin asked, nudging her.
"What?"
"Oh, don't do that. I know you were going to ask me something, and you know you can ask me anything."
A light blush colored her cheeks, and she said sheepishly, "I know the staff is more than an instrument of magic and a symbol of your position. It's more than the Old Religion's blessing. It's an extension of yourself—of your magic—and I didn't know if—I was going to ask you if I may…"
When he realized what she was trying to ask, his blue eyes softened and then lit with ardent curiosity. "I appreciate the thought, Mithian, and even though I'd feel that way with most people, you're one of the few people I'd trust to hold it."
She looked stunned when he, eyes blazing with sincerity, offered it to her, and it took more than a few seconds for her to move forward and wrap her slender fingers around it the wood.
His magic reacted to it being in the hands of another, but it was not an unpleasant feeling, and in face, having her ask permission to hold it made him wonder…
Her fingers stopped exploring the twisted, gnarled head of the staff when she noticed his wide smile, and after she quirked a brow at him questioningly, he shook his head, gestured for the staff, asked, "Can you do something for me?"
Brow furrowed in confusion, she nodded and handed it back to him, and he immediately leaned it against a nearby pillar and took a step away. "Try to take it," he suggested enthusiastically.
"Merlin, what—?"
"Go ahead," he said cheerfully.
Shrugging her shoulders and smiling lightly, she reached for the staff, and Merlin watched carefully as her fingers slipped through the staff as though it was air.
"I can't," Mithian said with wonder coloring her tone. "Why is that?"
"The legends are true!" Merlin exclaimed with a laugh. "That's amazing!" Turning to a random servant passing by, he called brightly, "Cade!"
The boy, who could have been no older than twelve summers, froze and stared with wide, fearful eyes at being addressed by Merlin, but after a moment's wary hesitation, the boy swallowed nervously, squared his shoulders, and approached the warlock with a bow. "My Lord?" he asked in a high-pitched, wavering voice.
Merlin's smile immediately faded, and as discomfort and frustration flashed through him, he lowered himself to one knee to look the child in the eye, pointed to Arthur across the room, and said, "That is 'my Lord.' I'm just Merlin, Cade. The same Merlin who showed you around when you first became employed to Lord Ban and the same one who saved you from Cook's wrath when you tried to sneak away with some of her dumplings."
From the corner of his eye, he saw Mithian smile, and the boy's eyes scanned his face with eerie intelligence before he grinned toothily and said, "And you still snuck me those dumplings even after the trouble I got you in."
"Yep, and you told me you owed me one, remember?"
When the boy nodded slowly and asked him what he it was he needed, Merlin pointed to his staff and said, "Can you try to pick that up for me?"
"That—that's it?" Cade asked skeptically.
"I just want to see if you can or not."
Of course he couldn't, much to Merlin's glee, and after thanking the confused and stunned boy, the eccentric warlock sent him on his way with a friendly smile.
Once he was gone, Mithian, her eyes dancing with amusement, began to snicker. "Nicking dumplings, Merlin?"
"Only from time to time, and I'm proud to say that I didn't use magic once to do so."
"Oh, yes, that is something to be very proud of," Mithian laughed.
"It felt like cheating if I used magic. It's a bit of a game among the castle servants, and I think nearly everyone has had their fun testing the cook's shrewd eye and has become addicted to the thrill of it. It's no easy thing, let me assure you, and it's highly dangerous," he deadpanned. "So yes, I am proud to say that there have been a few times that I snuck in and out without that ladle of hers cracking down on my head."
Mithian blinked at him in disbelief, and he mused, "And we all know that the cook secretly finds it a game herself, anyway."
The princess burst into peals of laughter. "You are," she said between gasps, "the strangest person I've ever met."
"…Thanks," he said, plopping onto a bench and propping his staff against his leg.
Wiping at her eyes, she took his hand and was quick to sit across from him. "I mean that in the kindest way possible, magic boy. It's your most endearing quality. I mean, who else would be so excited to discover ways in which people can or can't touch his staff? See!" she exclaimed when his eyes lit up again.
He chuckled and said, "Ah, about that… it was rude of me to take it from you like that earlier. I'm sorry."
Mithian waved her free hand dismissively. "No apology necessary." Eyeing the pale wood that rested beside him, she said interestedly, "It's a defense mechanism, isn't it? To prevent it from being stolen?"
Taking the staff into his hand and turning it over and over in his palm, Merlin nodded ecstatically and rambled, "And to keep it out of the wrong hands. In that regard, it is relieving to know that no one can touch it without my permission—although I suspect Arthur might be able to."
"You said that there were legends speaking of a staff's capability to do this?"
"The legends say that the Giant Wars were caused by the theft of the great Taliesin's staff, and he was said to have altered the very essence of the magic of staff-making to prevent such a horror from happening again. I don't why I hadn't thought of it earlier."
"Hm… What would happen if you should misplace it and someone finds it?" Mithian mused realistically. "Or… if you're lying injured and you need the staff only to realize it's where you cannot reach it?"
"Mithian, do you really believe I'd misplace…" He trailed off when she crossed her arms and quirked a brow, and he admitted sheepishly, "Good point. Well, the way I see it… if this part of the tale is true, there's no reason why the other part isn't true as well."
"The other part?"
"I can call it to me wherever and whenever I want, or so I've read," Merlin said energetically, looking at the staff in his hand like an eager puppy and allowing his magic to spark and mingle with the power contained within the carved wood.
"How does that work?"
Merlin was about to answer her when a flash of movement over Mithian's shoulder caught his attention.
It was Arthur, who was frowning and making the strange, crazy hand motions and silent orders that Merlin had learned to decipher over the years as his servant, and the magic he'd been playing with retreated almost immediately. Even after the king stopped his wild gesturing when Guinevere saw what it was he was doing, scolded him for being obnoxious and for eavesdropping (or so he hoped), and dragged him away, Arthur's glare still screamed 'get on with it, idiot!'
"I'm not entirely sure how it works," Merlin finally answered, dragging his eyes from his friend. "But I can experiment with it later. I—I actually need to talk to you."
A delicate smirk twitched at her lips. "Would you care to shed light on what exactly it was we've been doing the past few minutes?"
Despite the fluttering of his heart, he found himself chuckling and said with a surprising amount of confidence, "No, it's more a question of what we haven't been doing the past few minutes, and that's talking about—" he lifted his hand, which was still holding hers, and shook it "—this."
"Ah," Mithian said. A soft smile spread across her beautiful face, and leaning forward so that her curtain of long dark hair spilled across her shoulders, she whispered, "I've been thinking about that."
Merlin adopted a similar volume and said in a deep, husky tone, "So have I."
"And Merlin… I'm really finding it difficult not to kiss you senseless right now."
An impish, devious grin spread across his face, and he said saucily, "What's stopping you?"
"You know," she mused, her smile matching his. "Absolutely nothing. But… I daresay that the public around us would disagree."
The warlock pretended to ponder the statement, and after reaching a hand to caress her face and stroke her cheekbone with his thumb, he asked, "What if I told you I can't bring myself to care?"
"If you told me that," Mithian said, leaning closer so that her sweet breath dusted his face, "I'd be inclined to agree with you."
"Would you now?"
"Mmmm," she murmured, her lips brushing at his jawbone. "I'd say damn it all."
His body reacted to her subtle touches, and his voice was even deeper and more hoarse when he asked, "And if I told that I intend to ask your father for permission to court you—if you accept me, that is—what would you say to that?"
The resulting kiss was even better than the first, and it wasn't until wolf-whistles started resounding in the chambers that Merlin and Mithian, their cheeks stained red, broke apart and found themselves the center of attention.
While Gwaine and Ronan called out crude suggestions that made several women who had been cooing over the new couple turn to look at them with open horror and disgust, everyone beamed at them, and Merlin's eyes passed over his mother, Arthur, Gaius, and Guinevere before they landed on Rodor.
When everyone else noticed that the king of Nemeth and Camelot's Court Sorcerer had made eye contact, the entire room went silent. Even those who hadn't happened to see or know that the princess and warlock had kissed in public (because the court was always looking for new gossip, Merlin couldn't imagine there were many who hadn't heard the whispers that were sure to be spreading like wildfire) immediately became aware of the shift in the atmosphere and meandered to join the large group surrounding Merlin and Mithian.
And it was so that Merlin squeezed Mithian's hand, stood, and waited.
Rodor's dark eyes flickered between them, and he said slowly, "Quite a way to announce you wish to court my daughter, Merlin."
Merlin smiled nervously and joked, "I don't tend to do things traditionally, Sire."
Arthur snorted loudly, and even Rodor cracked a smile before he said seriously, "Do you love my daughter, Merlin?"
Without any hesitation, Merlin responded, "I do."
The king's eyes glistened, and he said, "Mith?"
"I know you know I do, Father," she answered teasingly, leaning against Merlin's arm.
The king's smile was as bright as the sun. "Then you have my blessing. Hunith?"
Merlin's mother jolted in surprise at being addressed, and after realizing that Rodor was giving her a chance to have a say, she said in a strong voice thick with jubilant tears, "I wish you every happiness. Both of you."
Applause and whooping erupted around them, and he and Mithian laughed as their friends dragged them into their circle to celebrate.
Merlin would forever remember it as one of the best nights of his life.
AN: Yup. Arthur is a total Merthian shipper, just as Merlin is a total Arwen shipper. :D I was far more amused about that than I probably should have been, lol. Final chapter will be up tomorrow!
Oh, and I nearly forgot to mention! Mithian's nickname for Merlin ('magic boy') was totally and completely inspired by Gwen Stacy calling Peter Parker 'bug boy' in The Amazing Spiderman (which I do not own). Just a little tidbit of information for you there that might or might not interest you. ;P
Oz out
