Part IV: Mithian and Merlin
Chapter 13: Mithian
Clear cold air could sometimes affect clarity of mind and a freshening of the spirit, and that was what Mithian was after when she went riding that morning, two guards wrapped against the wind and trailing her by as many paces as were necessary for her to feel alone.
Breath snorted white from her horse's nostrils as she stopped on a rise overlooking part of the Labyrinth, and she reached into her saddlebags for the journey-rations she had taken for her noon meal.
Waiting was a woman's burden, her mother had taught her, though she didn't remember her father riding out for battle, herself. Her brothers did, but they were boys – men, now – and could vent their frustration in training for the day when they would ride out, themselves.
It was hard not to have this choice, any longer. Growing up a king's only daughter, she'd expected someday a decision as each of her sisters-in-law had made – to say yes or no when a proposal of a marriage-alliance arrived. But now she was waiting to hear whether her proposal – her father's proposal, Nemeth's proposal – would be accepted, or denied.
King Arthur was amenable to a union sealed by marriage, they knew that already. Though they had offered for a name that was not on his list of prospective husbands…
What if he says yes, Mithian had asked both her sisters when first they'd returned to Nemeth to wait, nearly a month ago now. Amylia and Crissa, both mothers, had exchanged fondly smirking looks.
Babies, Amylia had said, balancing Crissa's infant on her own starting-to-show-again belly. So matter-of-factly that Mithian had rolled her eyes instead of blushing.
You'll move to Camelot, Crissa had added. She'd come to them from the Western Isles, herself, the marriage to Rodor's second son Ybor arranged, as was Antor and Amylia's. But then, you'll move to Camelot anyway…
What if he says no.
Both her brothers had scoffed loyally at the idea. Her father's reaction was milder – but unchanged as the days turned into weeks with no word, which meant at the very least that Camelot, or Merlin, wasn't sure. Then we will choose another, Rodor had said.
Far too easily, to her mind. Perhaps if a rejection had been immediately forthcoming, she might have turned to another choice with equanimity. But now, she could no longer remember all the names Arthur had suggested, and none of the faces, save one.
She'd been thinking on the whole idea for too long, she recognized that after it was too late to contemplate wedding another in Camelot without a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She thought of marriage and she thought of Merlin, and her mind had connected the two involuntarily and it was bordering on ridiculous. She had seen him for a single day; a person – even a young princess who'd never before fixed attention or hopes on a particular man – could not become emotionally attached in so short a time.
But three weeks followed. And she told both her sisters – both her brothers – more than once, of the collapse of the ruin, and how he'd saved her. How his magic had healed his friend the knight, immediately and thoroughly, though he'd never even heard the incantation before, and showed very little of the attendant strain and fatigue afterward. She told them how he'd tended the slight wound on her leg – healed to faint pink skin, now.
What she hadn't told anyone was how it felt – shock-fear-excitement – when he'd shielded her suddenly and unhesitatingly with his own body. In a way she'd never felt anyone's body before, and couldn't forget. She hadn't told anyone how he'd looked at her and addressed her – as a person, as someone he cared about even though she was a stranger – because he hadn't realized she was royalty. She couldn't forget that, either, couldn't remember when last that happened. Everyone knew who she was, in Nemeth, since her birth.
Mithian gathered her reins as her milk-white mare clattered over the causeway to the grassy slope before the entrance of the palace set atop the hill, realizing with vexation that she'd done it again – wasted clarity on returning to the thoughts she'd wanted freedom from.
What if he says…
Her attention was drawn to the side of the yard nearest the stables. A horse she didn't recognize – dust brown, with darker legs, mane, and tail – led by a man she couldn't identify, speaking to the steward's assistant. The stranger wore boots and cloak against the cold and for travel, she thought; above the hood lying wrinkled around his neck his hair was wind-tousled black. His profile, as he spoke to the steward's assistant, wanted her to recognize him.
"Who is that?" she said, mostly to herself.
Forgetting her two guards – one of whom turned his horse and encouraged it into a trot over the grassy sward, approaching the steward's assistant as the black-haired stranger turned away to the stables with his horse. Mithian dismounted, herself, pushing curls and braid back over the collar of her black fur cloak. Her second guard took the reins from her.
"Thank you," she told him absently, then turned to meet her first guard, returning.
"The stranger is a messenger," she was told.
"From where?"
"Camelot."
Mithian stood very still. After a moment, her guards took their three horses away and she was left with the cloud of her breath and a slight stinging in nose and cheeks and ears from the cold. The squeak of her leather gloves over the noise of the busy courtyard.
Messenger from Camelot. What if they say yes, what if they don't.
He didn't emerge from the stable, the messenger that nudged her memory, so she allowed her steps to take her there; usually the stable-lads would care for the mounts of such visitors, leaving them free to address business immediately.
The stable was one of her favorite places in the whole capital, spread out over this hill and two others, generous grassy yards between house and buildings rather than cobblestones or muddy alleys. She loved the calm and the smell of oil and straw and horse, the warmth of the big equine bodies and the placid intelligence in their eyes.
It was one of Gunnor's favorite places, too. Her elder brother's eldest son, the someday heir to the throne. Too young yet to really appreciate the weight of that responsibility, but beginning to be old enough to feel it. He came here often, she thought, for the tranquility of the horses well cared-for, the feeling of power at rest.
She saw her nephew the moment she slipped through the gap in the great sliding door at one end of the long low building. He was seated in the loose straw on the floor at the head of the row of stalls to her right, but he wasn't alone.
The black-haired messenger from Camelot, whose profile she did recognize, for a pulse-stopping, heart-in-throat moment. He crouched before the seated prince, a pair of bags beside him, hands held up and fingers spread. He wore no gloves, and the braid at Gunnor's temple swung as he leaned forward, pursed his lips, and blew at the flame dancing atop the messenger's – the sorcerer's – left forefinger.
It winked out – but another immediately sprang up on the smallest finger of the other hand. Gunnor chuckled – a happy-child sound that made Mithian smile through her own excited curiosity – rocking to blow that flame out as well.
Instead of vanishing, the flame exploded into a tiny puff of sparks that startled Mithian nearly as much as Gunnor, who leaned back a moment, eyes wide and mouth dropped open. A warm, deep chuckle escape the sorcerer – friendly and reassuring amusement – and he didn't lower his hands.
Gunnor studied him a moment – all future-crown-prince intensity – and Mithian noticed for the first time that the smallest finger on the outstretched left hand was shortened by the last joint.
Then the little boy filled his lungs and expanded his cheeks, blowing across all ten offered fingers like a row of candles to be extinguished at once – and ten tongues of flame jumped up saucily enough to make Gunnor fall back in a fit of giggles.
"Playing with fire in the stables?" Mithian said, without any reproach in her tone. Of course he was good enough with the magic that it was no danger.
Merlin twisted around in his crouch to look up at her, startled at her identity more than her presence, she thought, as though he'd been aware that someone had entered and paused to watch.
"Bye, Auntie!" Gunnor said, getting his feet under him and darting down the middle aisle between the horse-stalls toward the far end, where her guards were turning their mounts over to stable-hands.
"Princess," Merlin said, by way of greeting, bouncing up from his crouch.
She realized she'd forgotten exactly how tall he was, and her pulse thrummed to have him here. So close, she couldn't help thinking again of how he'd breathed, atop her, and moved to free and save her. She distracted herself, noticing a slight bruise and scab-topped cut at the corner of his eyebrow.
"Do you have something against proper introductions?" she asked him, smiling so he would know she was teasing. Hoping that he was – she thought he was – the sort of person who could take teasing in similar spirit.
He grinned, his blue eyes lighting. "I never meet people under normal circumstances," he told her. "Ask anyone I know – Arthur, Gaius, Gwen. Lancelot, Ally… you."
"Ha," she said; it was true enough in her case, anyway. "But if you'd given the steward's assistant your name, they'd have taken your horse for you, and had a servant to carry your bags."
"Ah," he said, looking down and nudging one of his bags with the toe of his boot. "Yes, I suppose so. But – this year - people react differently when I say Nice to meet you I'm Merlin."
She thought about how he'd been a servant for several years. And before that, a peasant in a farming village. One of her few doubts rose – and she countered it with the memory of his command of the ruined castle's collapse.
"Your name is not unknown," she said, understanding a bit, how he felt. "Stories will circulate."
Color showed briefly along his cheekbones; he dropped his eyes to bend in retrieving his bags – the two sets of drawstrings tied together to balance when thrown over the back of a saddle, or a man's shoulder.
"I doubt I shall ever become accustomed to that," he told her. "Arthur is usually very proud to announce his name – if by chance he goes unrecognized initially – though the satisfaction in his name and title is less arrogant, these days."
"He did not seem arrogant to me," Mithian said. "Just confident." The way he smiled made her think again, a bit uncomfortably, of the gap between the perception of the royalty and the peasantry, though there was also the sympathy of comprehension in his look, rather than a more ignorant resentment. "I sometimes feel like, public recognition is something to be endured, rather than courted."
"The people want to love and respect and admire their rulers," he said softly. "It is a good royal, who makes that easy by being aware of regard, and respecting the relationship and necessity, in turn."
Mithian let her breath sigh out of her chest silently. She did think, in his position, he'd have the opportunity to observe and comprehend all the disparate classes of people – but she was glad to see that he was also a thoughtful and compassionate man. That his past, what they'd heard of it - from Arthur and from others – had uniquely disposed him to acceptance rather than judgment. She liked him, all over again. And hoped the more strongly that he had come to say yes.
Other questions occurred to her also, but the sensitivity of hostess prevailed, for the moment.
"We did not know you were coming," she said, angling her body and gesturing for him to accompany her out of the stables. "Or we would have had a room ready and waiting for you."
"I don't need much, truly," he said, leaning his free shoulder against the stable door to widen the opening for her.
"I'll send for our steward," she said. "Someone can carry your things, bring you food and wine and draw you a bath. I'll go to my father myself, and let him know that –"
Merlin made a noise of polite dissent, to interrupt without offending. "I can wait, for all that," he said. "If it wouldn't be inappropriate? I'd prefer to speak to your father as soon as it's convenient for him."
Mithian stopped on the green lawn between the stables and the arched main entrance of the palace above them. And looked at him – thick black hair with a hint of curl over his brow and behind his ears, deep blue eyes, full mouth broad shoulders slender and quick and earnest – husband. Maybe. She shivered.
"I have – quite a lot to say to you, also," he added, aware of the awkwardness and his cheeks showing pink. "Just – probably your father, first?"
Yes, that was probably appropriate, whether the long-awaited answer was yes, or no.
"I think he'll be in the audience chamber," she said, moving to lead him again. Trying not to think of that one small answer that would change their lives forever, that he knew and she didn't; trying to think of something else to say instead of allowing pregnant silence. "You… came by yourself? No escort?"
He caught her sideways glance as they climbed the grassy rise to the palace doors, and grimaced. "I don't actually need anyone else for protection," he said, and there was nothing of boasting in his statement. "I have several good friends among Arthur's knights, but they all seem to be occupied recently with –" he cleared his throat and gave her a wry smile – "betrothals and marriage. So I came alone."
They reached the main doors, and the double guard – identity concealed behind helmet-veils of chainmail – reached to open them with simultaneous ceremony. Mithian caught her companion's glance at his boots before he followed her onto the marble of the floor, as if afraid of tracking dirt onto the polished surface – and decided she preferred his respectful caution to someone too arrogant to care. But if she said, Don't worry it can be cleaned with magic, would she embarrass him unduly.
"Arthur argued," Merlin added, and she held her peace, choosing instead to smile at his fondly-mocking tone. "I think he thought I would be lonely."
He followed her through the front portico, past the steward's chamber; Mithian signaled the guard at his doorway, and the man immediately turned to pass the message, Ready a guest-chamber.
"I think I envy you that," Mithian said. "In theory, at least. There are moments I'd like to be left alone, to be capable of something like traveling on my own – but then I recall the actual dangers and hardships, and I'm rather glad for companions at times when they're really needed."
"I think you could do it," Merlin said to her, with a little smile and a twinkle in his eye. "Make a journey alone. If you had to."
Not a compliment she'd ever been paid before. But it warmed her in a unique way, for being both unusual and sincere.
"You didn't run into any trouble, did you?" Mithian asked, realizing that they'd both paused just outside the door to the main receiving chamber, and leading him forward again.
"Why do you… oh."
She smiled, pleased and complimented by his reaction, especially since she'd seen the citadel of Camelot where he lived. The grand chamber was cool this close to winter, but still warmed by sunlight from the windows set in the tri-domed roof. The echoes were awe-inspiring without being noisy or overwhelming; only a few petitioners – of the merchant class, judging by their robes – remained before her father at his throne at the far end of the room. The columns supporting the second-floor chambers ringed the main room, dividing the royal family's apartments to one side, and guest chambers to the other. Behind this chamber lay the rest of the rooms in common use for residents – dining hall, banquet hall, the library and infirmary and kitchens.
Tugging off her gloves, she slipped her hand into his free elbow to guide him forward; he obeyed, his eyes lifted to the gold-leaf engravings that bounded the dome-windows.
"That bruise on your temple," she said. It was either fading, or still developing; she couldn't tell if the scab over the cut was new or old without looking much closer than was proper.
"No, that was – trouble, in Gawant," he said absently, still absorbing the grandeur of the best room in Nemeth. "News for your father, also. Um." He shook himself a little, and looked down at her. "And you – you are well?"
"Of course," she said, as they neared the little knot of men, enough for them to loosen, aware of her advance.
"I mean, after – your injury at the ruins?"
She couldn't help smiling, remembering that he'd been more discomfited to realize her rank, than to have a ruined castle collapse over his head. She wondered what he'd do if she teasingly offered him another look at her leg – though that would probably not be fair, if he still felt the difference in their status, and especially if he had not come to say yes.
"It's perfectly fine," she said. And meant it, though the new pink skin still contrasted visibly to the rest of her leg. "Here's my father."
Rodor approached them, waving dismissal to the others gathered – they bowed away as the king came to Mithian and her companion with no need for introduction.
"Merlin of Camelot," Rodor said, surprised and pleased as she had been. He grasped the sorcerer's shoulders to stop his bow from deepening. "An unexpected treat. You're not alone, are you?"
"As a matter of fact, sire, I am," Merlin answered. "Though I do have an explanation for that –" he glanced toward Mithian, and her father's brows lifted with a sound of realization. "I hope I'm not interrupting you – I thought it best that we speak as soon as possible, but I'm happy to wait if you're –"
"Nonsense," Rodor declared, signaling to someone at the edge of the room; Mithian leaned to see that the steward's assistant had entered the room unobtrusively behind them. "I would happily have waited for you to refresh yourself, my young friend, but if there are words that burden your heart, best free yourself. Refan can take your bags to the bedchamber that is to be yours for your visit, and you must make use of them and him for every need and convenience."
"Yes, my lord," Merlin said, relinquishing the bags when the long-nosed, mild-mannered Refan reached for them. "Thank you very much."
"Now," Rodor said, genially attentive.
Merlin gave her another look that seemed shy, suddenly, and she found herself – in spite of her desperate curiosity – saying, "I will wait just over here, father, that you might speak privately."
"I would suggest that you freshen up as well, my dear," her father said with fond humor, "after your ride this morning, but I'd not ask you to bear further delay." He lifted Mithian's hand to kiss her knuckles with a sympathetic smile – but as she turned to cross to the gallery, she heard Merlin begin to apologize.
"I am very sorry, my lord, that we have not responded sooner to your offer of union between our two kingdoms…"
She pretended not to hear, and after a moment it was no longer pretense. It was too bad that he was sensitive to Rodor's quip at her expense; she hoped very much that Merlin was not someone easily hurt or confused – such joking happened often in their large family, and if –
"Is that him?" a male voice demanded in a low tone. Mithian whirled to see her eldest brother, Prince Regent Antor, his narrow face and piercing brown eyes accentuated by the way he kept the hair on the sides of his head clipped, and braided the rest thickly down his neck. "Gunnor just told me about the stranger he met in the stable – is that him? The sorcerer of Camelot?"
"Yes," Mithian said, turning to join him in watching their father speak to Merlin, the younger man unself-conscious in the earnest intensity of whatever he was saying.
"Yes, you mean like – yes?" Antor pressed.
"No. I don't know – he came to say, I think, but he wanted to speak to Father first."
"Good," Antor approved, crossing his arms over his chest and narrowing his eyes.
In the middle of the room, King Rodor also crossed his arms, obscuring the second square golden clasp of his black knee-length jacket. He directed his eyes to the floor, bushy white eyebrows drawn down and together as he listened, nodding periodically. Merlin seemed to have calmed slightly – and maybe slowed his rush of words.
"He wears no armor," Antor observed.
"He's a sorcerer," Mithian countered. "And you're not wearing any at the moment, either."
The prince regent made a skeptical noise. "He wears no ornament either, no ring or pendant – is he so little valued in Camelot by the young Pendragon?"
Mithian scoffed; Arthur was probably the same age as Ybor, the brother between her and Antor, only a few years younger than the prince regent. "He's wearing his cloak," she said, "you can't see if he's got layers of gems and gold around his neck."
Antor snorted. "His head is bare."
"His boots are new, and his cloak," she returned.
Her brother shifted his weight, and squinted as if unconvinced. "Are you sure, Mithian," he said doubtfully – and she knew he wasn't talking about Merlin's clothes anymore, even before he added, "This one's for you?"
"I think that's up to him to decide, at this point," she said softly.
Antor grunted, and it was not a sound that said he was favorably impressed. "Make sure he comes to dinner, won't you?" he said. "Yes or no – we'll take him apart and see what he's made of."
Mithian opened her mouth to protest – then didn't. "I think he can handle us," she told her brother.
Antor eyed her a moment, then sighed and grabbed a handful of her hair at her nape to lean forward and kiss her forehead. "More happiness to you," he said. "See you later."
She watched him retreat again, tall and muscular and a perfect knight, and was glad that Amylia had wanted that in a husband. She couldn't be more pleased with Antor – as evidenced by her fourth expectancy swelling her frame slowly day by day – and he was delighted to give her pleasure. Ybor and Crissa had a different sort of love – sometimes saying the most outrageous things to make each other laugh, but laughing often and unreservedly together.
"Mithian," her father called.
As she turned, her heart flipped in her chest. She wanted this – but what if their personalities clashed instead of matching? She knew of lords or knights and their wives who endured such a miserable reality – even some who had initially married for mutual attraction.
They both watched her approach, and though she felt self-conscious at the attention, she could tell that both Rodor and Merlin were relaxed with each other – so they had come to some understanding. And she was now to learn what it was.
"Yes, Father," she said, tucking the gloves that were still in her hand, into her belt at the side of her hip.
"You and I have already spoken of this," her father said, in his audience-chamber voice. Which differed from his royal-proclamation voice and his family-dinner voice. Between casual and formal. "But Camelot has concerns they would have answered…"
She met Merlin's eyes, and raised her brows, expectant and unoffended. It wasn't no.
"Because my name was not on the list Arthur gave for your consideration," Merlin explained, with a trace of shy color. "I – we – wanted to hear the reason for your offer, personally."
It was a good thing she had talked to her father about this. And that she had been raised to keep composure under any circumstances, and never to be caught without the right words.
"We have knights in Nemeth," she told him. "None of them interests me more than another. In coming to Camelot with the offer of marriage in mind, I hoped to meet someone that I would find interesting, more than another. The knights and lords' sons that King Arthur suggested were proper and polite and courteous –"
Merlin blushed, and dropped his eyes, and Mithian read his thought, And I wasn't…
She put her hand on his arm to interrupt his embarrassment, and continued earnestly, "But none of them were special. You were different, I was curious, I found myself considering you, above the others."
"Because of the magic," he said, in a low private voice even though her father was with them, and it held the hint of a question.
And she understood that, too; it was part of the reason her father had agreed when she first said, what about Merlin. Because there was an obvious strategic advantage for all of them, to have such a magic-user in the family. She had seen his magic – fast, strong, adaptive. Reflexive. It wasn't everyone who could make a new spell perform flawlessly as he had in healing his friend Sir Lancelot.
"Not only that," she told him, careful not to deny a truth his king at least must have seen immediately. "We were impressed by what Arthur's done this year, altering his father's laws and lifting Camelot's ban on magic. I've seen the burden you both bear, that of slow change by influence and example and I think – having been raised in a kingdom that welcomes magic – I can be of use in Camelot, in this endeavor. More so than simply keeping an estate running smoothly or bearing a knight's heirs."
He'd raised his head as she spoke, a new light coming into his eyes – and her father smiled when he glanced at him. "I understand that we understand each other?" Merlin made a little bow, and the king added, "I'll leave you to speak to my daughter in private about the rest – and you'll be sure to join us for dinner, later?"
"Of course," Merlin agreed, though she could see a question in his eyes.
"I'll pass him off to Refan in time for both of us to prepare," Mithian promised her father.
He took her arms gently, kissed her forehead much as Antor had done, and left them with another affectionately knowing smile.
Merlin watched the king move beyond earshot, then ventured to ask, "Us?"
Mithian smiled. "My family. Two brothers and their wives, and five going on six children."
"Ally said you have a big family."
"And you don't?" She gestured toward a set of padded benches in the south gallery, and he ambled agreeably at her side.
"No. Just my mother… and now Ally and Lord Bernard as my cousins."
Mithian resolved to ask again another time, when they'd gotten to know each other better and he might feel more comfortable revealing details and specifics. They reached the bench and she seated herself, looking up at him as he hesitated – for whatever reason – to join her.
"Can I ask you something, Merlin?"
"Anything, my lady," he said immediately.
Reminding her that he probably thought more of the differences in their background – upbringing and status – than she did. She didn't want him to answer because he felt compelled, as an order he was required to obey, but because he wanted to. Only she didn't know how to convey that to him without the possibility of embarrassment on either side. So she patted the bench in wordless invitation, and waited til he had loosened his cloak and pushed it back to join her, before speaking.
"Do you really think so little of your value in a prospective marriage," she said softly, "to believe that we offered for your magic, only?"
Quick sideways glance flitted away to marble swirls beneath his boots and told her definitively, yes. And that, in her opinion, was too damn bad. She began to wonder if his lack of self-respect was due to his time in service to Uther's son, but his next comment threw her off the trail of thought.
"Something – happened, while we were in Mercia," he said. "King Alined attempted to have me – compromised."
"So that Camelot would not have the benefit or advantage of your magic and expertise?" she guessed. She'd never met the man, but they heard rumors here of all the kingdoms, not just Camelot.
"Expertise." He made a face. "Gaius is the expert, Highness, I'm just the dogsbody." She elbowed him, and he smiled, swaying with the nudge. "Arthur told me, one of our senior knights advised him, it might be better if I, as the most visible and known sorcerer in Camelot, was not an unmarried young man."
Mithian made a thoughtful noise. "Well, they can't have you enchanting all the villages lasses to fall in love with you, can they?"
He made a movement like he was about to elbow her back for the quip, but stopped himself short of actually touching her. She was sorry for that, too, but hopefully he'd relax, seeing how they all interacted with each other at dinner.
"So… did you come to say yes, then?" she asked, squeezing her fingers together surreptitiously in her lap.
"Yes, but…"
Rush of relief, checked suddenly. She frowned slightly and repeated, "But?"
"I thought, maybe… I asked your father, and he thought it was all right… Maybe we could wait to enter an official betrothal? for a while?" He searched her eyes and she didn't know what he saw; she didn't know what to think. "Arthur says he can manage without me for the winter – things are usually quiet in Camelot while snow's on the ground – and your father very generously invited me to stay, so that… we can get to know each other, first? I'd… kind of like to do my own asking, if that doesn't offend you? Only, in Ealdor, when a fellow liked a girl particularly, he'd ask to see her, take a walk of an evening, or sit in the village square together. Bring her gifts, maybe… Before he asked her father for permission to ask her to promise herself to him. And then he'd go to work making sure he had a place to offer her, and means to support her…"
The light was waning, but she was pretty sure Merlin was an agreeable shade of pink. She liked that, and approved wholeheartedly – and she was sure he didn't have to worry about a home and income. But…
"How often did a fellow change his mind, after getting a girl's hopes up?" she asked. "And instead of speaking to her father of marriage, ask another girl to take a walk?"
He stopped and thought, then grinned. "Probably as often as the girl decided she didn't want to have to put up with that particular fellow for the rest of her life, after all."
"So this winter," Mithian said deliberately, still smiling. "You're going to stay in my village and ask me to take walks, so I can change my mind about you?"
"You might," Merlin said. Though his lips turned up at the corners, she saw that he was essentially serious, and admired him for it. "There are things about me that you might not have known, when you made that offer."
"Your common birth, you mean?" Mithian said candidly. "We knew that. Ealdor is a farming village just over the border into what used to be Cenred's kingdom. Less than two hundred people, and little contact with the rest of the world. I would say it sounds idyllic if that wasn't the comment of a spoiled and ignorant princess. But your cousin, Lord Bernard –"
"My father married my mother according to our village's customs," he said. "But it wasn't officially recorded, so Bernard can't legally claim the relation –"
"Obviously that doesn't matter to my father," Mithian realized, though it could have been a point of contention – many nobles wouldn't bother thinking about peasant ceremonies, or lack of them, until there was a question of intermarriage – in which case, the child of such a union might easily be declared a bastard. "And I don't suppose it matters to anyone who cares about you, does it."
He shrugged, but not in disagreement, and rubbed his hands together a bit distractedly. "Okay. The… other thing I wanted to say is – I mean, say to you in confidence…"
She nodded her intention to keep whatever secrets he entrusted to her.
"We've agreed to see if we can get along as partners. Spouses. But I think I'm not wrong in assuming, Your Highness, that you're not in love with me, any more than I am with you?" He gave her another shy glance, and she shook her head, denying the unusual fluttery feeling at the top of her stomach. "Love is inexplicable. I used to think a proposal without love was hypocrisy, but… If it never happens, for us, and you're still satisfied that you'll be happy, then we can still commit to this union come spring."
And it was an unusual young man – at least among nobility and royalty – who considered love, or the woman's heart, in his contemplation of a marital bond.
"Both my brothers' marriages were arranged," Mithian said. "And they're quite happily in love with their wives, now – both of whom love them back, through some miracle." Merlin nodded and held her eyes, but said nothing, and she dared to add, "Is there a reason you think you might not… come to love me, in time?"
He exhaled, turning to put his back against the wall and gaze across the room, beginning to dim as the afternoon passed. "I was in love, once," he said. "It didn't last – she died, and her spirit passed into an enchanted lake. I spoke to her briefly, after that…"
Around the mild shock, and the sympathetic sorrow, Mithian began to wonder if she should be jealous.
He added contemplatively, "We might have been happy together, if she hadn't been taken from me. Now it's just – a special connection. A unique relationship – unbreakable but fairly tenuous ties." He met her eyes.
She nodded. Not feeling jealous, but privileged that he'd trust her with this – determined also that she'd never give him cause to regret it – and no doubt whatsoever that he'd be faithful to any vow he took.
"I never thought I'd fall in love at all," he said. "Because of my magic, and the law. Now… I don't know if it can happen twice. Or even if I…" He trailed off, then began again, and she understood he'd shifted topic slightly. "I want you to know from the very start, that I can never make any woman, my first priority. Or even second or third. I have responsibilities to Arthur and to Camelot – to Gaius, and to dragonkind – that must come before my personal happiness. Or yours, if you –"
"Merlin," Mithian interrupted, unable to keep from smiling. "I am glad to hear you say that. I respect you very much for your devotion to others that you have responsibilities toward. I understand what it means to put the king and kingdom and its people first – so my father has done, and my brothers. I have expected to enter a marriage arranged for advantage since I was very young – but that doesn't mean we can't find satisfaction and happiness in service together."
He took a deep breath, and released it quickly with palpable relief. "Yes, I guess you would understand sacrifice, in service. Though there are spoiled, self-centered princesses…"
"Which my father and brothers made sure I would never become," she finished.
"I can see that." His smile spread wide and genuine, and she counted it another compliment.
"Can I ask you something else?" she said. "Would you tell me if you change your mind? If you think our marriage would become another burden for you to bear, or if you need to return to Camelot alone?"
"I can promise to be honest with you," he offered. She rather thought, he didn't seem like the sort of person to change his mind on a whim. "I am glad also, then, that we understand each other."
"Me, too," she said. There would be lots to talk about, in the days and weeks to come – years, she hoped – lots to absorb in silent reflection alone. Her first impressions of him had been that he was a highly interesting young man – admirable, also, and she was glad they seemed to have cleared the first hurdle. "Let's find Refan – he can show you your room, and maybe there will be time for you to rest before dinner."
"Thank you, my lady," he said, standing and offering his elbow.
"Just Mithian," she told him, standing to accept the courtesy.
That would be the second hurdle, maybe, surmounting the etiquette of title usage into comfortable familiarity.
A/N: I think everyone will agree that Merlin&Mithian need several chapters of slow-ish romantic development? Before all hell breaks loose again…