Archive of Our Own

Not for the first time Arthur awoke to the sound of his father shouting his way through the halls, and getting closer. "Arthur—Arthur! You will explain yourself this instant, so help me—"

The door rattled heavily but the bar was lying across on Arthur's side, stopping it from opening. Uther continued to roar from the other side. "Unless you're near death—"

Arthur let him continue while he rolled over without opening his eyes; sun fell warm and bright on his face, setting the headache already heavy in his skull on fire. He groaned.

So did Merlin.

Arthur was too hungover to be surprised. He squeezed one eye open and found Merlin exactly where it had sounded like—taking up a generous half of Arthur's bed and a sizeable number of blankets with it. Arthur frowned. "What are you doing here?"

"Urgh," was all the sense Merlin came up with, turning his face into Arthur's pillow.

Arthur would have quite liked to turn his own face into his own pillow and gone back to sleep until the hangover was gone, and he especially would have liked to do that without Merlin here—or, better still, with Merlin and without the hangover—but then the door rattled again. "Arthur, by god, if I find you anything other than crawling to death's door—" Uther cut himself off abruptly and a low conversation could be heard on the other side.

Merlin pressed his head deeper into the pillows.

"You want to stay here for whatever's about to happen?" Arthur hissed, and shoved Merlin over the edge of the bed, blankets and all.

"He can still see me here!" said Merlin from the floor.

Arthur, already regretting his own benevolence, shut his eyes briefly and said, "Get in the wardrobe then."

Merlin scuttled across the room from under the blanket and pulled the wardrobe open. He staggered to his feet, shot a glance at the door into the room, on the other side of which Uther was still suspiciously quiet, then at Arthur again. He looked about as good as Arthur felt, swaying in place a little, a fine sheen of sweat on his face, making wild eyes. "What did you do?"

"I honestly couldn't say." Arthur rubbed his forehead with his fingertips to induce last night's ale to anywhere else in his body. "Killed someone, by the sounds of it. Fired all the servants. Wore blue instead of—"

There was a splintering noise, then a crash, and: "Married!" Uther bellowed on his way into the room through the remains of the door between Arthur's room and the antechamber. Merlin pulled the wardrobe closed behind him with haste. "Married!"

Arthur struggled past the flare of pain behind his eyes. "Good morning—"

"I don't know what possible reason you had for making such a fool of yourself in front of my entire court—and King Francis and his delegation, by all the gods, if I'd wanted to incinerate any chance of a treaty I'd have set fire to the paper it was written on myself—a mere two days remaining after months of negotiations and you—sit down," Uther snarled, then turned to whoever it was still holding the axe in the antechamber and shouted, "Begone!"

Arthur leaned back against the headboard, back straight. He did have a vague recollection of someone throwing beer on him without any sort of repercussion, but he had no memory of doing anything untoward in front of the Cornish lot. Other than letting them drink him under the table at last night's feast, that is. Perhaps literally.

Uther stalked across the room, fuming. He stopped in front of the wardrobe, gloved hand gripping the moldings as if for support. "Married—" he stopped at the wild and uncomfortable laugh that somehow escaped Arthur's lips, then began again. "Tell me what in god's name you were thinking, and what you intend to do about it, and spare no detail."

Arthur tried to ascertain whether he could see Merlin's eyes through the wardrobe lattice and wondered whether Merlin would survive to locate a bucket of icy cold water for Arthur to stick his throbbing head into. "Father—who's married?"

"Who—" Uther looked ready to explode. Actually, Arthur thought, he looked like he wanted to cross the room and shake him like he hadn't since Arthur was a boy. Instead he paced toward Arthur's desk, taking a deep, gusty breath.

Arthur took the opportunity to wipe sweat from his brow with the sheet and sipped from the water cup on the bedside table, swishing it around his mouth with some relief. He glanced at the wardrobe, inside of which Merlin was probably shaking in his boots with relief, albeit dying a stuffy, miserable death amidst the winter cloaks, likely with an ear up against the wood so he could hear better what was going on. Arthur resolved to spend some time shouting loudly at him today to make up for it.

Uther took another breath then turned back. He pasted an inquiring look on his face. "Did you suffer some sort of significant head injury after I left the feast last night?"

"No," said Arthur. Worry pricked. "I don't know. Did I? I don't remember much after the fifth toast." To unity, to the much-squabbled over terms of their forthcoming treaty. To having a proper lie-in one of these days. "And speaking of which—"

"In that case," said Uther loudly over the top of him. He walked to the window with the kind of airiness that fed forest fires. "Were you perhaps possessed by some mischievous or malevolent spirit?"

"No," said Arthur again. "But as I said, I really had quite a lot to—"

Uther held up his hand. Arthur shut his mouth.

Uther turned his face to the clear sky. "Well, then," he said, and placed his other hand against the window frame. "My one remaining answer—the only conclusion left for me to draw—you have decided that you no longer feel up to the task of ruling over Camelot once I am gone."

"No," said Arthur, shocked, and scrambled out from under the bedclothes. "Father—"

Uther looked him up and down with both eyebrows raised.

Arthur grabbed the quilt and wrapped it around his waist. "I apologise," he said, cheeks burning. "My lord, I'm mortified to say it— I don't have any recollection of last night beyond an unconscionable amount of ale. But my devotion and dedication to Camelot remains, as ever, unwavering—"

Uther held up his hand again, that inquiring look still flickering on his face. "Tell me, then," he said. "Why you saw it fit to be married last night."

For a moment, Arthur was made speechless. "Me," he started, and didn't know how to go on. He fought the urge to check under his bed for a princess. "Married?"

"Married."

"But—no," said Arthur, mind racing and despair fast catching up to the thought of who could now be in line for Camelot's throne. Two northern princesses had attended last night's festivities, both older than Uther. It was more likely the odd and unnervingly lovely Demelsa, the daughter of the visiting Cornish king, and someone that, incidentally, Merlin seemed to like spending time with. However she did not seem the type to agree to a snap proposal.

Dread rose in his chest: could he have married a servant? There were any number of different serving girls in the castle who could now be tied to a lifetime of mistrust and loneliness at Arthur's side. Or from outside of the castle, it could have been—his head was swimming. "To whom, father?"

Uther smiled thinly. Arthur only had time to wonder if Merlin knew about this—why on earth he failed to stop this—before Uther said, "To your manservant."

"What?" said Arthur, at the same time as a squawk came from inside the wardrobe.

Uther's eyes widened. "Is that—" He turned and snapped, "Out."

Merlin did as instructed, tumbling out of the double doors now clad in cobwebs and mothballs as well as nearly all Arthur's blankets. And a tunic, socks, and breeches, Arthur was relieved to find.

His mind was racing. Married to Merlin! That presented some uncomfortable questions.

"Your Royal Highness," said Uther, voice icy.

"Oh, er," said Merlin, then went purple, apparently realising he was being greeted, not prompted. "Sire," he mumbled to the floor, swaying dangerously.

Arthur picked up the water cup from his bedside table and thrust it at Merlin. "Drink this, you idiot." He watched him drink it down in consternation. "Father, surely you must be joking. Or someone else is, and you can be certain they'll regret that until—never mind," he said, risking a quick look at Uther's face, which was stormy. "Well then, we can get it annulled."

"We're long past that," said Uther, fixing a disparaging look on Arthur that somehow managed to also encompass the messy bed, Merlin's boots abandoned in the middle of the floor and the empty wine jugs on the table. "Even if you could swear to the feasibility of true annulment."

"Feasibility," said Arthur blankly, then felt his face heat. "I do swear. This um, this marriage, such as it is, is totally unconsummated, ah." He hiked the sheet up his chest a bit higher and looked to Merlin to back him up. Surely they wouldn't have forgotten if they—if they had—

Merlin managed a weak sort of nod, still looking anywhere but at the king.

"Oh, that part you remember, do you?" said Uther, and forestalled any answer Arthur could give him by continuing. "Discuss this with no one. I expect you at my chambers within the hour, when you no longer smell like the inside of the tavern, with a plan for how you are going to resolve this disaster."

Without waiting for an answer, and with one more scathing look around the room, Uther swept out and away.

Arthur sat abruptly on his bed.

A moment later, a tad awkwardly, so did Merlin. His face had now turned a shade green. "At the risk of sounding repetitive," he said. "Do you happen to remember marrying me last night?"

"No! God, Merlin. Do you?"

"Nope." Merlin made a face. "I suppose it's too much to hope that this is actually some sort of attack on the king's mental faculties instead?"

"I'll let you ask him that yourself. And let's hope that it's not that, shall we? For the sake of the kingdom. Just a thought." He looked to Merlin at the same time as Merlin looked at him, and they both turned sharply away again.

Arthur gave himself a shake and forced himself to think of nothing more than the coming diplomatic reprisals. "Right. For the time being, I'm going to need a cold bath and a change of clothes. Something long in the arms, I've still got bruises up past my elbows from our little adventure two nights ago and I'd prefer my father didn't ask on top of everything else. And some breakfast, of course."

"Of course," said Merlin with only a hint of his usual smirk. He hesitated. "Ah."

"What, Merlin. Did you not hear my father say—"

Merlin interrupted. "It's just, speaking of two nights ago."

Arthur stilled. "What about it?"

"Just checking," said Merlin. He darted another look at Arthur, less green now, more pink. "Now isn't the time to talk about, um, afterwards, right?"

"No," said Arthur quickly cheeks aflame. He was going to throw Merlin in the stocks and leave him there until a second sun rose in the sky. "We vanquished a monster that was terrorizing Camelot and returned victorious with no one the wiser."

Merlin appeared to be waiting for him to continue.

"And then we returned to the castle and if I remember rightly," Arthur cast his mind back, carefully skipping over the whole, ah—"you skipped off for a snooze and a little chitchat with Gaius and I spent the morning discussing trade tariffs with King Francis and his men." He frowned at Merlin as he thought about this. "And that's all."

"Right," said Merlin over him. "It's just that, what with the current situation—getting married, that is—totally mistakenly, obviously—it might call for a discussion on some of the details—"

"—honestly what made you think this morning wasn't diabolical enough as it is—"

"—of course details aren't your strong point, just gesture in one direction or another and let everyone else work out the finer—"

"—you could try setting light to the kitchens next, what situation isn't improved by forty imperilled servants and the imminent collapse of the—"

Merlin cleared his throat loudly. "So no talking about it."

"No," Arthur confirmed, aghast.

"Okay then." Merlin looked entirely relieved. After a moment, he gave Arthur a small smile.

Arthur returned it. Then ventured, "Breakfast?"

"Breakfast," Merlin agreed.

As Merlin got up and pulled on his boots, Arthur said, "And after you've done that, Merlin, make sure to change your own clothes. If I smell like the inside of a tavern, you smell like the alley out back. That's no way to enter a meeting with your king."

Merlin frowned and turned on his heel.

"And see if you can find Morgana and find out how this happened!" Arthur shouted after him.

Merlin let the door slam behind him on the way out, but Arthur supposed he couldn't really blame him.

Some short moments before Uther was expecting them clean and tidy and presumably not hungover anymore, Arthur dashed out of his room—with dignity, despite his wet hair—Merlin close at his heels. Much to his relief, along with his nicest red shirt, Arthur was relieved to have regained some of the self-control that had failed him in the early hours.

"Some of us didn't get a chance to have breakfast yet," Merlin grumbled behind him, as if it was Arthur's fault that in all their years, Merlin still hadn't got the knack of eating whatever was left on Arthur's plate.

"Yes, yes—well?" Arthur demanded. "What did Morgana say?"

"I haven't had time to find her, obviously. What with you liking your bath filled up to the brim. Barely had time to change my clothes—do you think it would help if I dressed up a bit? Put on something nicer, perhaps a bit lacier? Embraced my inner—"

"No," Arthur said as they hurtled past a servant dusting a long line of statues. "Best not remind my father of your new station any more than necessary."

"For instance, in a conversation about my new station?"

"You think this is going to be a conversation? Let me do the talking. We must have been ensorcelled, no one could blame us for being the victims of magic—or, no, a dare!" He snapped his fingers. "Yes! It would be easy for my father to shout at me and order us to divorce if it was a dare. I'm young, impetuous, honourable, I'd never refuse to follow through—"

"Bet it was a bet," Merlin interjected on their way down a long, bright corridor. "You're a horrible gambler. What do you think you were trying to win, to lose that badly?"

"I am not a horrible gambler," Arthur said. "You just like to cheat."

"Do not," said Merlin, although his cheeks were suddenly very red.

Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Perhaps there was something in the ale—something to remove our inhibitions—" Merlin tried, but thankfully caught himself before that particular line of discussion could go any further and said, "there was bound to be someone at the feast who has it out for you."

Arthur shook his head. None of this felt familiar. Or likely to appease his father.

He ran the conversation back in his mind and frowned, returning to whatever Merlin had been going to say earlier. "Embrace your inner what?"

"My inner damsel," said Merlin promptly. "Forced to marry a malevolent prince, while under the influence no less. I'd look great in a lacy dress, I've got the figure for it."

Merlin's failure to appreciate the very real chance that he was about to be beheaded was an excellent joke that Arthur appreciated very much, and he said as much to Merlin, "—but I find I'm not ready to be widowed just yet. Black doesn't suit me."

Merlin sprinted on ahead.

Evidently the other residents of the citadel were having a difficult morning too—although not, Arthur would argue, as difficult as his own—because the usual movements of servants and members of the court were sluggish and unenthusiastic even though it was surely coming up on noon.

Arthur reached the top of the stairs that led to his father's chambers, catching up with Merlin and picking up the thread of their conversation as if there hadn't been a break. "So many good ideas this side of marrying me. Where was this head for success last night?"

"Halfway through a tankard of ale," said Merlin. "Obviously."

"I'm going to be the laugh of the town," Arthur said. "Innocent prince, taken advantage of by a lowly manservant looking to climb the ranks the easy way." Arthur gave Merlin a look. "For someone who spends half his life at the tavern your tolerance for alcohol is woefully inadequate. We wouldn't be in this mess if you'd kept your head about you."

"Don't worry," Merlin muttered. "I'll work on it for next time."

"Going to marry me twice, are you?"

They rounded a corner and passed by four guards all of whom seemed to be keeping straight faces with the determination of the battlefield.

Arthur took another deep breath.

"I'm not completely certain I'm going to survive the first time," Merlin replied once they were out of the guardsmen's hearing. He caught Arthur's eye, resignation shaping the line of his mouth.

Reaching his father's chamber door, Arthur put out a hand. "I know it's difficult for you, but I mean it, Merlin. Don't speak unless my father speaks to you first. And even then, consider whether he's really looking for a response before giving one. Really it's best if you don't speak at all. Okay?"

"Will not be a problem," Merlin reassured him. He smoothed his hair down, a futile endeavour that did nothing to hide his ears, and glanced from Arthur to the door.

"So let's not mention the night before last, either."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "We just established that we're not talking about—"

"Not that," Arthur said, and gave in to the urge to give Merlin a cuff around the head. "The big, scary tentacle monster part, remember? You choosing to interpret my instructions as suggestions and ignoring them all, as usual, and nearly getting us both killed?"

"So nothing about me swooping in to rescue you, then."

"You didn't swoop! If anything I— I mean," said Arthur. And because he really did want to get this over and done with as soon as possible, he finished, "I mean, yes. No need to mention that," and he pushed the heavy door open, Merlin following on his heels.

Uther was alone, thankfully, no judgemental servants to be found, and he was standing at the window watching the repairs being done to the north tower opposite. The work wouldn't be visible from the guest quarters, Arthur knew, so as not to interrupt the view for the visiting procession.

Uther didn't deign to turn from the window until they had stood before the desk long enough for Arthur to have ignored a number of uncomfortable glances from Merlin, standing some three feet to the left of Arthur and slightly back, like that was going to protect him from Uther's wrath. Although actually—and completely separate from whatever Merlin thought he had planned for his day, polishing Arthur's spare boots or some such—Arthur had been hoping to get to some quite important matters of state before the day was out. Starting with another hour's sleep.

"Father?" he said eventually.

He was saved from having to come up with the next part by Merlin, who immediately said, "Sire," because apparently he also didn't understand the words let me do the talking.

Uther turned. He was dressed in formal attire, outfitted in all the regalia of a king, but for the crown. That sat unceremoniously on his desk atop a sheath of letters.

"Arthur," he said, and then, looking past him, "my lord."

"M'lord," mumbled Merlin after a moment.

"I apologise for how you found me this morning," said Arthur, trying to get things off to a positive start in spite of everything Merlin was doing to undermine that. Namely by existing, in this particular moment, so Arthur tried to distract Uther from that fact with a jovial: "I have considered the situation and I have some ideas for how we can resolve it without causing Camelot embarrassment before King Francis and the Cornish delegation."

Uther looked unimpressed. "Is that so?"

Arthur swallowed, finding himself suddenly unwilling to talk about bets and dares to the king, although as yet he didn't have an alternative idea for how they could get out of the situation. Perhaps this was a good time to develop a touch of insanity. "Yes. I have."

He grasped for his next words, rather wishing Merlin would say something ludicrous that he could use to springboard into something actually feasible.

He glanced sideways. Merlin was standing tall and straight, for once not trying to hide in the narrow line of his own body, and standing shoulder to shoulder to Arthur instead of somewhere in the corner. It was a ludicrous time for it, but Arthur's heart lifted all the same.

He shook off the moment's distraction, thinking of Merlin dressed up in lace like his bride might have been, and was speaking before he even realised he'd opened his mouth.

"We need to mark the occasion," he said. "Nothing ostentatious. Nothing showy. We don't give it any great significance, we call it a, a—" Arthur floundered. "A—"

"A romance," said Merlin in tones of realisation.

Arthur clicked his fingers. "Exactly, a romance. As we didn't celebrate in the traditional manner before the – the – well, we should make a bit of a show of it now. A tournament, or a hunt. It will double as a celebration of the treaty."

Uther looked a bit taken aback. "The treaty?" He raised his eyebrows. "Your optimism astounds me."

"Father, King Francis is a romantic," said Arthur. "Princess Demelsa told me yesterday afternoon of her father wooing her mother with feats of bravery and daring. So I believe a whirlwind marriage will inspire his good will. We should approach this as a … a straightforward union of souls—" he barrelled on despite that unexpected and really rather unfortunate choice of words—"something that Francis will enjoy and which will motivate him to act in good faith for the benefit of our two kingdoms."

Uther made an impatient gesture when Arthur stopped. "And?"

"And—er, well, that's it," Arthur said. "We will sign the treaty tomorrow as planned, Francis will leave, and all will be well. The marriage can be quickly and quietly set aside, made all the more possible because this won't be a big, exciting affair so much as a—er, love affair." He tried to look thoughtful. "Perhaps you could remind me of the need for an heir. Merlin is quite unqualified to provide one. Or," he found himself struggling to come up with another good reason on the spot—"Merlin's inability to carry off a dress—"

"—or the unsuitability of a physician's apprentice to be consort to the prince," said Merlin. "Camelot is in short supply of physicians, after all."

Uther looked narrow-eyed at Merlin then back at Arthur. "I hardly need to tell you that it would be far less costly to my time—and to the royal purse—to publicly renounce your marriage as invalid and banish Merlin from the kingdom. Or, perhaps, a public beheading for daring to wear the crown on so unfit a brow."

Arthur scrambled for an answer. "There would be a significant cost to your dignity, and to that of the kingdom," he said. "And to me most of all, of course. Francis would question an alliance with Camelot. And no king would take me for his son-in-law after so, so—"

"Headstrong," supplied Merlin in a murmur.

"—after such a hasty decision on my part, so soon before," Arthur finished. "Consider, Father. We can work this to our advantage, with some thought."

Uther turned once again to gaze out the window. Arthur tried not to glance Merlin's way, or think about any of this too closely. He had not expected this day to include entreating his father to allow him to remain married to Merlin. He looked out of the window at the clouds rolling past, wanting badly to lean his head against the cool glass and shut his eyes.

Surprisingly, his father sounded somewhat appeased when he next spoke. "Interesting," said Uther slowly. He turned, then straightened, appearing to embrace his decision. "Then it shall be so. You will make this marriage convincing."

"Yes—"

"Or the beheading."

Merlin gulped audibly. Arthur put out a staying hand. "Of course, Father."

"The day is near half done already—which is of course to both our advantage and to our detriment in this situation. Being convincing shall necessitate an accelerated version of Camelot's renowned nuptial celebrations: you shall participate in displays of strength and valour, enjoy lamb and venison and fine wine at my table, and entertain the bards in their writing songs of you." He ran a hand over his jaw in thought. "Spare no coin at the market and take tours through the near kingdom with the delegation. Take them to enjoy a play, perhaps, while you convince them with your own bit of theatre. You," he turned fractionally to Merlin. "Find another servant to take over your usual daily duties. You will need to appear charmed by my son at all times. Entranced, if you are to carry this off. You are aware what happens should you fail."

Arthur watched Merlin bite back his first reaction, then his second. "It will be my pleasure," was what he settled on.

Uther continued, just to Arthur once again. "Spend every moment together and delight in one another's company. Do not disappoint me."

Arthur bowed his head. "Yes, my lord."

He looked from Merlin to his father and back again, feeling rather overcome with relief at Uther's taking to this plan so well. "So it's agreed, then—"

"You will of course need to share Arthur's bedchamber," Uther said over him to Merlin like it was just an insignificant afterthought and not something of an escalation of everything Arthur had just suggested. "You needn't make a performance of your … carnal desires in public," and here he let his displeasure show through with an upturned lip, "but I expect a convincing display of affection from time to time. I want the Cornish king in no doubt of your feelings for each other. He may be a romantic but he's no fool."

"Yes, sire," said Arthur faintly, and attempted to push all thoughts of carnal desires to the back of his mind.

"I trust this will not present a problem?" Uther said with a slight incline of his head in Merlin's direction.

"No, sire," said Merlin in similarly faint tones.

Uther nodded, business concluded, and turned thoughtfully back to the window, a severe figure against the cool, pale sky. "This will be a delicate line to tread, Arthur—while recognising the significance of the event, we must present this as a perfunctory marriage of no diplomatic importance, but of great significance to the two of you, if we are to avoid any insult to his daughter."

Arthur wondered how perfunctory would play when half the castle awoke to Uther's thoughts on the matter. Merlin didn't look convinced either.

He searched for his next words carefully. "Of course, Father. Francis may even enjoy the idea of my marriage to one of my own subjects. And we have no reason to believe he brought Demelsa here with an eye towards our marriage." He forced a laugh.

"Do not be foolish, of course he did," Uther said without looking back. "Let us hope he is easily persuaded that you are soft-hearted. It should help with the façade that your new," he paused momentarily before saying, "husband is someone you are already close to, after many years in your service. I suppose it is natural that you should have developed a strong attachment to one another."

Uther spent a moment longer staring out of the window, evidently disapproving of whatever the stonemasons were up to on the north tower. He turned back.

His tone had cooled, and Arthur caught himself before replying. He glanced deliberately at Merlin, acutely aware that he had not provided any explanation of their true reasons for getting abruptly married last night.

Whatever those reasons were.

Merlin only blinked back at him.

"Yes," said Arthur eventually. "That sounds like the best way to explain it."

Uther nodded. "This unfortunate affair will, naturally, curtail your involvement in the diplomatic process. I will need to consider how this will change our finalising the treaty—no matter. I will give instructions for the tournament field to be made ready. Expect instructions shortly."

He made a slight gesture. Arthur knew well enough when he was dismissed; he reached up and dragged Merlin outside with a hand on the back of his neck, stomach churning in both relief and trepidation.

"Are you mad?" Merlin hissed as soon as the door closed with not an ounce of regard for Arthur manhandling him, which Arthur found quite insulting, under the circumstances. "I thought you were going to talk him out of this, but now we have to actually be married?"

Arthur was struggling to get past this fact himself, actually. "Oh I'm sorry, my lord. You try staring down a fire-breathing dragon and convincing it not to eat you."

"I can't be a lord! You always tell me my manners are abhorrent. And you've seen my dancing skills. I'll be an embarrassment to the entire kingdom of Camelot, you might as well banish me back to Ealdor right now."

"I think not," Arthur said. "We both got ourselves into this mess – or for all I know it's your fault entirely, and let's be realistic here Merlin, it's probably that – and you're not ditching out on me. We're in this together."

Merlin snorted. "So now you actually want my help."

Arthur could think of a number of things that would have been worse than this. Well, he thought he would be able to, given time. "Look, at least it's not—"

"I mean for goodness sake," said Merlin with a look about him even as Arthur hauled him away, "don't you think it's a bit … quick?"

"Of course."

"No, I mean, after the other night. We only just—although it wasn't even really—"

Arthur's eyes widened and he dragged Merlin further away from his father's door. "Shut up, do you want to be killed?"

"And," Merlin continued over him, "what, exactly, is this ‘straightforward union of souls' you were going on about?"

"I don't know, I had to say something," Arthur muttered, and released Merlin once they were a long way down the corridor. He stepped up to the window, noting the stonemasons his father had been so unimpressed by, all working at a dizzying height above ground and with nothing to arrest their fall. Arthur knew the feeling. "Just calm down."

"Calm down!" Merlin repeated. "Arthur, we're married—"

"I noticed—"

"What are we supposed to do now? What if Gaius finds out!"

"Gaius definitely already knows." It was a wonder, thought Arthur, that Merlin had made it so long in Uther's court without getting sacked or beheaded, although sometimes he'd cut it close. "Or if he doesn't, he will soon. Francis and Demelsa leave the day after tomorrow. So we do what my father said. Delight in each other's company. Provide a show of strength—don't worry, you can sit it out and look admiringly on, no point in you dying ten minutes after marrying me—enjoy the feast, sit through a song or two. Hope no one notices you're nothing more than a quite inadequate manservant to me," Arthur looked at his fingernails instead of at Merlin. "And look on the bright side: you're always trying to order me around. Well now you can, with impunity."

Merlin looked unconvinced, but didn't deny it, Arthur noticed. "This is an awful plan."

"Yes, I know, but I don't actually want to be married just yet, no offense, Merlin—although to be honest I can't imagine you do either—"

"You can say that again!"

"So we'll make it look good and," Arthur gestured between them, "pretend it's not horribly awkward, and when Francis and Demelsa are gone, my father will annul the marriage, and we'll pretend it never happened. Simple."

"Simple," said Merlin, incredulous.

They were beaten back to Arthur's chambers by his father's servant Callum, the source of many of Arthur's childhood nightmares. The man was bone-thin and ungodly tall, and elected to celebrate both facts with a bowl cut and heavy, unpruned eyebrows that gave him a rather top-heavy look. On seeing him, Arthur straightened his back by instinct. "Not you," he groaned.

Callum bowed stiffly. "Prince Arthur," he said in the familiar nasal tone. "My congratulations. Your father the king has tasked me with the management of your wedding celebration."

"Of course he has," said Arthur. He looked around him; not entirely to his surprise, Merlin had decided to save himself and vanished without a word to Arthur. Not the best start to a marriage, Arthur thought grimly, and resolved to give Merlin a talking to later about managing unpleasant tasks as a team.

He took a deep breath and turned back to Callum, aware from long experience that it was best to get the first part of the discussion done as quickly as possible. "Well then. What's on the list?"

Callum unfurled a scroll from nowhere. He cleared his throat. "King Uther has asked me to organise a number of amusements—a dance, a number of light-hearted performances by visiting bards, hunting in the day and an abridged tour of the immediate kingdom, if there is time, and I believe you are already aware of the tournament—"

Two days, Arthur thought desperately to himself, just two days.

"—all designed of course to reflect the spontaneous and delightful nature of this joyous occasion." Callum's tone didn't change. "With this in mind, I have arranged for a seamstress to meet you in your chambers—you and your husband, who I believe is currently to be found in the linen closet by the stairwell—to fit you for appropriate attire for your nuptials. After that—"

Arthur paid him no more mind. "Excuse me for a moment," he said, thought about collecting his sword from his chambers and decided against, and set off for the cupboard. "MERLIN!" he bellowed. "DEARHEART. You're missing all the fun—I couldn't bear you to miss more—"

At the end of the hall, the closet door was in fact still trembling on its hinges from Merlin's hasty retreat. Yet oddly enough no one appeared before Arthur to, say, beg his forgiveness for abandoning him. Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Merlin!" he shouted again. "My father is soon to arrive so he can bless our union." He kicked up the rug under his feet as he walked, thinking that it would serve Merlin right if it were true. "Thank goodness Callum caught us before we left for the market so we could make ourselves ready—"

"All right," Merlin shouted back, and tumbled out from the closet giving Arthur an unimpressed look more befitting him now that he was technically Arthur's equal. "As if your father has any interest in blessing any such thing—"

Arthur cleared his throat noisily.

"—so soon after congratulating us so heartily, without giving King Francis and the princess adequate time to prepare and join us," finished Merlin. He looked warily over Arthur's shoulder and manifested himself six inches inside the reach of Arthur's arm without appearing to move. "Oh, hello, Callum."

"My lord," said Callum right into Arthur's other ear, and managing to convey his disapproval of Merlin very effectively. "Congratulations," he said again.

Arthur prided himself on remaining stoic. He took a long sideways step. "Merlin. I was getting ahead of myself. Callum says we are needed for a fitting. Of course this is likely more for your benefit than mine, in fact there's a good chance I won't be needed for more than a few moments."

Callum's eyebrows crept up and under his fringe. "That's not entirely true, Prince Arthur—"

"Well, we'll start with the assumption and see where it takes us," said Arthur. He beckoned Merlin closer and met him halfway, swinging an arm around Merlin and holding tight to his shoulder. "I'm just glad you'll be joining me, Merlin. I wouldn't have you miss this for anything."

"Indeed," said Callum before Merlin could reply disdainfully, no doubt. "Now, after the fitting you'll—"

Paying Callum no mind as he continued to detail a schedule that would have been suitable for a month entire, Merlin raised his eyebrows at Arthur and murmured, "The king might also consider fashioning me a pair of ice skates for next time he calls me my lord. The temperature drops every time he looks at me. Soon I'll be able to skate from here to the northern shores."

"—and King Francis has indicated that he would like to see more of the practical—" Callum was continuing beside them.

"Yes, but that's no different to normal," Arthur said. "You've been his least favourite person for some time now."

"Years and years," said Merlin. "I know. But now I'm his son-in-law. You'd think that would merit the occasional smile. Or even just one."

Arthur tilted his head. "Would you?"

"—picnic by the river, or the lake if there's time. And of course, the wedding breakfast," finished Callum. "That should be sufficient for the next day. King Uther has yet to decide on his approach if King Francis should choose to remain through the week."

Arthur gave it one last try. "All right, well, look, we'll just drop by on Francis to inform him of the happy news, maybe get a feel for how long he's going to stay. Then we'll get right back to this fitting."

"Unfortunately, Prince Arthur, I'm afraid that won't be possible," said Callum, staying right where he was at Arthur's side as if Arthur didn't give the orders here. "Or, for that matter, necessary. Your father is with King Francis as we speak. The fitting needs to take place now if the seamstress is to finish your clothes in time for the first dance."

"The first—" Merlin started.

"Just how many outfits are we talking about here?" said Arthur at the same time.

"This way, my lords." Callum paused at the sound of voices in the stairwell. "Ah. Unless I am mistaken, that's Guinevere."

Merlin bounded back down the corridor and hefted the door open. Sure enough, Gwen was standing on the other side, a warm smile appearing on her face and protective fabric lying over what could only be silk held tight in her arms.

"Gwen! Thank god you're here," Merlin said.

Gwen smiled at him queerly. "Good morning, my lords." She turned and nodded to the king's servant. "Good morning, Callum."

Callum looked fondly back at her. His good opinion of Gwen was, in Arthur's mind, Callum's sole redeeming feature. "Guinevere. This must be the wedding silk. I had heard tell of its beauty, coming as it has from the east, but we haven't had a wedding in so long I hadn't yet been able to set eyes upon it."

"Yes," said Gwen. "The finest silk money can buy."

"There is a substantial amount to do," Callum told her, a rather intimidating comment from the man who organised Arthur's father's schedule. "I am relieved that the fabric could be located so soon. So much more efficient for the seamstress to be able to work directly with the silk."

"Well, now that Gwen is here—with the silk, of course—" Arthur began.

"Is that Bartholomew I can hear?" said Merlin over him, cocking his head towards the stairwell once more.

Callum frowned. "I can't imagine what business he would have on this side of the castle, my lord."

"Indeed. I hope he hasn't got turned around on his way to the king," Merlin murmured. His eyebrows drew together. "Good luck getting a hot meal today, sire."

Bartholomew was one of the king's most loyal and, at his advanced age, most forgetful servants. Arthur pulled a face. "Oh dear. Do you suppose Bartholomew remembered to heat the bath water? My father has already had a trying morning—I do hope his mood has improved—"

Callum shot off like a hare. Arthur exchanged smirks with Merlin.

"Now, Gwen," said Merlin, then stopped. "That's not it, is it?"

Gwen hefted her arms up a bit. The protective fabric had slipped to reveal a bolt of purple silk underneath. "Yes?"

"No," said Arthur firmly. Dear lord, it wasn't just purple, it was lilac.

Merlin shook his head when Gwen shot him a hopeful sort of look. "Definitely no."

"I think it's nice. It'll bring out your eyes. My lord."

"No," said Arthur and Merlin together, without waiting to find out which my lord she was referring to—or, worse, both of them. The only thing worse than wearing lilac, silk robes during their fake matrimony celebration would be both of them wearing lilac, silk robes during their fake matrimony celebration.

"Oh well," said Gwen lightly. "Morgana has already let the king know she's happy for the seamstress to repurpose her old gowns—"

Perhaps the lilac wasn't so bad after all. Arthur jerked his head for Merlin to join him and Gwen back into his chambers. Then he remembered they were supposed to be happily married and grabbed Merlin's hand, which was somewhat clammy, and swung it forcefully between them, holding his head high even when a cluster of giggly servants hesitated breathlessly at the far end of the hall to stare.

Before re-entering the room, Arthur put a hand out and said, "Guinevere," after several aborted attempts at beginning the question. "Ah. How, ah, would you say things progressed last night, exactly?"

"With the ceremony, you mean?" she said.

Arthur felt his ears going hot. "Yes, quite." He couldn't bring himself to say it.

Gwen looked surprised. "Well, I can only recount what the rest of the castle is saying. I missed the main event."

"The main event," Merlin repeated as Arthur said, "The rest of the castle?"

"Yes. Morgana turned in early due to a headache, so I only know what everyone else has told me." She had the gall to look disappointed.

"Us too," said Merlin.

"What do you mean?"

"It was all so quick, is what he means to say. You know, head spinning, who knows who said what and wherefore, and then poof! Woke up the next morning. Just like that."

"Just like that," Merlin agreed, and laced his fingers in Arthur's. Arthur tried not to react.

Gwen smiled at the sight. "When I left everyone was already in their cups. Prince Arthur, you had had quite a bit of the Cornish ale and had Merlin in a headlock, all very normal in fact. I would never have suspected how the night would turn out. It was all very sweet, thinking about it now." Her cheeks went a little pink, gaze distant.

"Hm," Arthur said, not liking the direction Gwen's mind seemed to be taking her. She cleared her throat and Arthur said, "Yes?"

Gwen smiled between them. "It's just that I'm very glad for you both. So is Morgana. And, well, everyone."

Arthur had no idea what to say to that, and he didn't really want to lay it on Merlin to lie, either. He opened his mouth and then closed it again when Merlin squeezed his hand a bit and murmured a thank you without looking at him.

Arthur tried again to recall anything past the main course last night – perhaps dessert, his mind supplied - and once again came up with nothing. He pressed his mouth closed and pulled his hand out of Merlin's, walking to the window in thought.

Having fitted Arthur for many fine shirts and trousers, the seamstress would surely be familiar enough with his measurements that Arthur could be in and out in a matter of minutes. He would leave Gwen and Merlin to it and get back to what he was meant to be doing – namely preparing to draw up a peace treaty and the eminently more important exchange of deeds of estate to seal the deal on said treaty. While the king and his daughter had only arrived the previous morning, it was Arthur's conservative estimate that negotiations had taken the better part of a season. The leaders of both kingdoms were ready to focus their energy on other things.

Heartened at the reminder of their imminent political success, Arthur turned to Gwen. "I hope Morgana will give you time to enjoy the celebrations. You deserve the time off."

"That's very kind of you, my lord," said Gwen with a hint of amusement. "But I don't think that's how weddings work. Or at least not in my experience."

Merlin was looking similarly incredulous in Arthur's general direction, his face carefully angled so that Gwen couldn't see his expression. Arthur fought back against the desire to defend himself. It wasn't that much to expect that an impromptu wedding might result in an equally abbreviated celebration. "I simply—didn't expect quite such a to-do at this early stage."

He was going to continue until he noticed the rather strained look on Merlin's face. Arthur had a sudden memory of Merlin dragging him up and out of the tentacle monster's grasp two nights before, arms locked hard around Arthur's chest, breathing heavily, repeating Arthur's name in an undertone.

Arthur blinked and looked away, forgetting what he'd been going to say.

"Yes," said Gwen into the silence. She sounded a bit troubled. "Or well, no, not really, my lord."

"Not really what?"

"It's not really not that much of a to-do. More the opposite, really. There's … well there's quite a lot of a to-do."

Arthur almost laughed. "But it's—" not real, he was going to say, although it was distressingly not beyond the realm of possibility that this marriage was every bit as real as that of his parents thirty years before. "It's so soon," he said instead. "I'm just—impressed. Yes. Impressed."

"Yes, my lord," said Gwen, in a tone that came as close as anyone's ever did to calling him a fool when their name wasn't my useless manservant. "You're the crown prince of Camelot. Your wedding has been planned since before you came of age." She pulled Arthur to the nearest window and pointed. Merlin leaned into Arthur's other shoulder. "Look."

The ground below was teeming with people. Servants rushed from one side of the courtyard to the other, most of them bearing baskets of cheese or fruit or flagons of beer, or pulling carts laden with oil lamps and fabrics. To the south, a small group of children swarmed up one wall of the castle with buckets of what looked like soap and water, and flags were already being hung from the lower parapets; to the east, a steady line of merchants meandered with their wagons along the road. A small band had set up somewhere in the upper town, and if Arthur squinted he could see the visiting princess walking with her guardsmen through the square.

"This is what your father calls perfunctory," said Merlin a long moment later, and stepped back into the corridor. He sounded a little distracted, even concerned, which Arthur wasn't sure the prospect of two days of food and dancing warranted.

He looked out of the window again.

"Are you okay, my lord?" ventured Gwen from behind him. "You look a bit green."

Arthur wondered whether it was too late to make a run for it after all. "I'm sure you're mistaken, Guinevere."

"Well—it's not like you weren't expecting the celebration. It's not every day the king's only son gets married, surely you didn't really think it would be some understated affair."

Gwen was starting to sound concerned. Merlin said, "Oh good, the seamstress is here—I can't wait to see you in this silk," and ducked away when Arthur tried to wrestle him into the room ahead of the woman with her two apprentices. Gwen handed over the silks and stepped neatly after them.

Thankfully someone had already been in to clear up all evidence of the night before. The sheets were fresh, the jug of wine on the table refilled, and bright flowers adorned the windows in such a way that made the room appear clean and wholesome instead of the site of unknown debauchery. A subdued tapestry hung over the remains of the door into the antechamber.

Arthur met the seamstress's eye. "Good woman—" he began.

The seamstress ignored his words, moving his way with an air of determination about her.

"Prince Arthur," she said, and manoeuvred him up onto a nearby footstool. She reached as if to strangle him with a measuring tape. "Hold still, please."

"You already have my measurements—surely the one you need to be accosting is Merl—?"

The laughter fell from Merlin's face as the seamstress turned on him. "I'm just here to support you, my lord," he said, evidently under the delusion that there was anyone involved in this affair who might turn out to take his side instead of Arthur's. "No need to take any of my measurements."

The woman paid him no mind, already remarking on the leanness of his frame, the difficulty of crafting a vest that would make him look broader of shoulder while not hanging off him like a scarecrow in a barley field.

"You'll need to get some fat on you," she tutted. "The meats of Camelot's royal table will surely help with that."

Merlin stayed where he was on the second footstool. "Now that part I'm looking forward to."

"Don't get too used to the idea," said Arthur, now being besieged by the two young apprentices with pins and lengths of rough fabric. He looked sourly over their heads at Merlin. "The work of being a royal isn't all enjoying feasts and finery you know."

"My lord," said Merlin in reply, apparently trying to make it sound like an endearment instead of an insult, "I can tell you in all honesty that this is precisely what I imagined when I considered the work of being a royal."

Arthur's response was lost as he found himself being constricted by the fabric. "You are really quite strong," he told the woman, who ignored him in favour of darting from Merlin and back to him, pushing a few pins into the fabric, dangerously close to puncturing Arthur's skin.

"Now that should go nicely. Stay here, please," she said happily, and bent away to do the same thing to Merlin.

Not that Arthur planned on telling Merlin so, but there was something comforting about the dull familiarity of being poked and prodded by the seamstress. He set himself to thinking back to the night before, trying to piece together events so that he and Merlin could find their way back out of the situation eventually. He couldn't imagine what could have taken place that resulted in their marriage. One that Uther knew about before either of the two of them did.

Arthur suppressed a shudder. He glanced over at Merlin, all draped in lilac. "It suits you." Which it did, sort of.

"It does not. You know, Arthur, I can't help but think about the fact that if the king hadn't noticed me this morning, I could have been halfway to Ealdor by now," said Merlin, as if he hadn't been the one to cough and splutter in the king's presence. He eyed the seamstress, still listening even though she had a mouthful of pins, and added, "Not that I'd have wanted to leave you on the first day of our marriage."

Arthur thought in horror about dealing with this palaver alone. He batted at the two apprentices fluttering around him. "And I, of course, couldn't have borne you leaving my sight."

"Happy enough to kick me out of bed though, weren't you?"

There was a hastily-aborted noise from the door where Gwen was still standing to wait on them. Arthur willed himself not to turn her way. "Not the way I remember it, dearest. If my father hadn't been on his way inside—"

"Is it too late to remind you that neither of us will be wearing a gown?" Merlin hedged at the seamstress.

She jerked the silk wrap tighter in some inexplicable fashion. "You focus on protecting the good people of Camelot and leave the needlework to me," she said, in tones that were far more ominous than they ought to have been. She looked between Arthur and Merlin and nodded thoughtfully. "Wait as you are, please, my lords. I will return momentarily." She bustled out with her fabrics and measuring tapes and apprentices clattering behind her, leaving Arthur and Merlin draped in silk.

It was probably the last time they would be alone together for the remainder of the day. Arthur caught Merlin's eye and saw the same resigned expression there that he probably wore on his own face.

The door swung open. "Ah, my lords—almost done, I see," said Callum as he trotted inside, seamstress in tow, and that put paid to any chance at a conversation.

It would have been nice to have a moment alone with Merlin but instead, de-pinned, de-robed, Callum then hustled Arthur and Merlin to the florists to be doused in perfume, to the blacksmith to approve a commemorative coin, their faces together in profile—Merlin choked when he saw it—and finally for a walk back and forth along the battlements to wave and smile at their people, many of whom had ceased their usual daily activities, it seemed, in lieu of celebrating this momentous occasion in the castle courtyard. It struck Arthur as they made their third rotation that this could reasonably be called excessive, for a marriage that was supposed to stop existing within a day or two.

"I don't suppose we could—" Merlin started, looking a little rough around the edges.

"No time, no time," Callum rattled off, and hurried them around a corner and a group of swooning maidservants to the great hall. He paused when they got to the doors, then said with anxious aplomb, "My lords. Kings Uther and Francis would have you celebrate your union with your people."

He threw open the doors—there had to be someone on the other side to help him do it—and shocked silence fell, then died as more people than Arthur could have ever imagined crowded inside the great hall stood as one and cheered.

Getting over his shock within a second or two, Arthur looked at Merlin and offered his arm. This was the part he was good at. "Walk with me?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

To Arthur's surprise, Merlin's face broke into a genuine smile. He shoved Arthur somewhere convenient—his hip, more or less—and said, "If you thought you married a princess, you thought wrong. Come on, I'm hungry." And he walked through the room with Arthur, his arm jostling against Arthur's as they went.

It was a bright, clear day, light streaming through the windows, but the lanterns were lit anyway to help light the way through the people crowding every inch of spare table space. Platters of bread and roasted meat and gravy sat among crisp heads of lettuce, red and golden beetroot, and sweetcorn steaming and doused in butter. Applause followed them through the room to the furthest table. Arthur breathed in deep, letting the hearty smell of the meal waft over him, and decided it was high time to start taking the hits in stride. He nodded at a few of the guests here and there as they walked.

"Now this is what I'm talking about," Merlin muttered, sounding as pleased as if he was party to Arthur's thoughts. He grinned at Arthur. "More of this, please."

"I'll be sure to pass your compliments along."

Merlin looked pleased. "Anything I can do for you, my lord?"

"Just try to keep out of trouble. One minor calamity per treaty negotiation is enough, I think."

"Your wish is my command," Merlin murmured, then gave Arthur a dark, sideways look. "Unless your wish is for something that usually happens from within the confines of your bedchamber, in which case—"

"Mer—" They reached the table at which sat the two kings, a number of high-ranking advisors, and Morgana with Princess Demelsa. "Father. My lord, my lady. I apologise for my tardiness, I'm afraid we were waylaid." Arthur considered the state of things and made a hasty decision. He grabbed Merlin's hand and gave him a soppy look that was instantly returned, could Merlin be any more— "I'm sorry, I cannot lie to you. I was distracted."

"No harm done," said Francis genially, even amused, ignoring Uther's evident displeasure and reaching instead for the potatoes. "Please accept my congratulations. I understand how it is to be newly married, I'm sure you've already had quite a morning. Not to mention, fewer hours' rest than normal. I'm sure he won't mind me telling you—" Francis spooned a number of potatoes onto his plate; Arthur stayed where he was in front of the table "—that your father failed to attend a number of rather important meetings shortly after his marriage to my cousin Ygraine, although his reasoning to my father was inventive and occasionally even convincing. Once he told a story about a goat in his chambers, it was very entertaining," he said, now piling pickled eggs high on his plate. "Actually at one time it seemed as if that particular legend might be the sole reason that we didn't go to war with Camelot—although that didn't last, of course," he said, and waggled his considerable eyebrows in Arthur's general direction. "I do enjoy that this treaty will be signed under similar circumstances. It has something of a poetic quality to it."

"Indeed," said Uther with a smile that hadn't existed a moment earlier. He nodded at Arthur, still standing rather awkwardly before the kings with Merlin hovering somewhere next to or behind him. "Please sit, Arthur. Lord Merlin."

"Oh," said Merlin, quietly but quite improperly, although Arthur couldn't really find it in himself to blame him, Lord Merlin was about as awkward as being, er, married to him.

Arthur had been seated in the middle of the high table, between his father and an equally elaborate chair that could only really have been kept free for Merlin. Demelsa was sitting on the far side of the table next to her father, and Morgana beside her, both women dressed beautifully as Merlin gawked. Arthur had the sudden realisation that he would need to remain a touch more alert than he might have, now he was also keeping an ear out for Merlin's conversation. He stood up straighter next to Merlin and made sure to meet Francis's eye with respect.

Francis was watching them closely. Despite the jovial tone and the eyebrows, he was clearly very perceptive. And in all other respects he was good company and astute in his negotiations. "It's all right," he said suddenly—to Merlin, Arthur realised—and smiled. "I'm not here to test you. I know how it is to suddenly rise in rank. I was only a duke when I myself married Demelsa's mother, and although I had less experience in court than you at the time of our engagement, it took me some time before I was comfortable speaking to guests, for fear of starting a war by accident."

Uther laughed in that light-hearted way he sometimes performed. Arthur joined in at once as he took his seat. Merlin didn't; he took another moment to bow slightly to Francis. "Thank you, my lord," he said. His tone changed slightly as he spoke, and he didn't spare a glance Arthur's way. "I am grateful for you saying so. But you don't need to worry for me. Arthur is perfectly used to seeing me embarrassed but he wouldn't dream of letting me bring harm to the kingdom."

Francis was gracious. "Of course not," he said. "I have heard much of his affection for you, and of his honourable spirit."

Merlin bowed again before rounding the table to join Arthur. "Arthur," he said, in a sweet tone that could almost be mistaken as sincere, and leaned in to kiss Arthur's cheek. "May I serve you?"

Arthur nearly upset his goblet. He managed not to knock this imposter away and decided to play along, taking Merlin's hand and pulling a dish across the table with the other. "Allow me," he said, and whispered, "what are you doing? My father doesn't need this much persuading. He looks like he might vomit."

"Let him," murmured Merlin in reply. He picked up Arthur's cup of wine and held it to his mouth. "Demelsa warned me of this. I think her father suspects we orchestrated our marriage to embarrass him and spoil the treaty."

Arthur threw his head back and endeavoured to laugh. "Why would we do that," he said at the same time. "And when did you manage to have this conversation?"

"Yesterday, shortly after their arrival," said Merlin, which made no sense, and Arthur opened his mouth to say so. "No, let me finish—she told me yesterday that he was distrustful of your father's motivations," Merlin continued. "It only makes sense that he wouldn't know what to think about this new development. Perhaps he is suspicious because neither of us is a woman, that must have been a surprise to him. I imagine Francis would have left this morning, if he hadn't also heard Uther shouting at you so convincingly."

"At us, Merlin," Arthur said through a smile. His mind was racing. "He was shouting at us. But you didn't tell me why we would go to so much trouble to engineer his embarrassment."

One of Francis's troupe of entertainers was approaching from across the floor, an alarming number of flaming daggers twirling in the air before her even before considering the number of guests and citizens also in her path. "I don't know," said Merlin, barely audibly, "that part is your domain. It's my job to look good. And to make you look good." He squeezed Arthur's hand before letting go to take his own goblet. Arthur could feel Morgana's eyes on him and he raised his glass to her down the table.

He had time only to swallow a forkful of peas or two before Uther stood beside him, finished his wine, and slammed his cup down heavy on the table. "King Francis, Princess Demelsa," he said, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. "My lords and ladies, knights of the realm. Today is a glorious and joyful one. Today we celebrate the marriage of my dear son, beloved by all who know him: Prince Arthur!"

Every person in the hall roared joyfully in return, clanging their cups against their plates and making the tables rumble as they repeated in a shout, "Prince Arthur!" Arthur lifted his head and smiled.

"Yes, yes." Uther nodded genially, cup raised once more. "It is my greatest pride to know that Prince Arthur is known and loved by us all. Yet his choice of spouse brings me almost such great pleasure. Not a person among us is unfamiliar with Lord Merlin, son of Hunith. In all the years that he has been among us, Merlin has made himself known to be a true man of Camelot. He has tended to Prince Arthur's needs with the care and determination usually seen only in our finest knights. No task is beneath him. He has attended to Camelot's ill and wounded, in war and peacetime, and continued to devote himself to the comfort of the prince without hesitation. None other has shown such loyalty as he has to my son, nor such a love for the land and her people. It can be of no surprise to anyone who has seen the two of them together that each would choose the other for his life's partner. And it is a pleasure to share this joy with Camelot's friends."

Arthur felt his smile becoming rather fixed on his face as his father continued.

Merlin leaned in to whisper in Arthur's ear, his cheek warm against Arthur's. "I had no idea he was such a fan of mine."

"Callum probably wrote this for him," Arthur whispered back without looking at him, and swallowed a laugh at the noise of dismay that Merlin made in his throat.

"—and the strength of our two kingdoms," Uther was saying, cup still held high in the air. "Of a kind that has never before been celebrated—"

"Wonder what you would have said about Callum if he and your father had got married instead of me and you?" Merlin whispered, a thought that Arthur would now have to live with forever.

Uther finished his monologue and Arthur stood, pulling Merlin to his feet with him. "Arthur and Merlin," they shouted with the rest of the people in the room, Merlin positively booming in Arthur's ear. "And the strength of this great union!"

Merlin winked at Arthur as everyone returned to their seats, and pulled his chair in with a screech. "How am I doing?"

Arthur found himself looking Merlin up and down. On the one hand, Merlin had embraced what could have become a horribly awkward diplomatic disaster and done not a bad job of helping Arthur and his father turn it around.

On the other hand, he was still Merlin, and he'd spent a significant amount of time trying to persuade Arthur to talk about things Arthur very much preferred not to think about more than he already was.

Merlin was turning a little red under Arthur's scrutiny.

Arthur returned to his dinner before his own face could give him away. "Not bad for a beginner," he muttered, loading his fork with peas and mashed potato.

The afternoon would bring tours of the grain silos for Francis and Demelsa—"Truly every woman's dream, Arthur," Morgana muttered when she leaned in to give him a passing congratulations hug after their meal, "a day's notice and Demelsa and I could have been taking the air by the sea instead of enduring Tomin's lectures on barley weight distribution—look, perhaps you could arrange for Percival and Gwaine to drill hand-to-hand combat nearby, I'm sure Demelsa and Gwen would appreciate that too, actually"—and somewhat to Merlin's horror, sitting for a portrait together – "if there's time," Calum said, wringing his hands, "we may need to delay it to the morrow."

"But why," Merlin hissed in Arthur's ear as they traipsed from the great hall and outside. "The painting won't be done before they leave, all this is doing is giving me more reasons to have to sit up straight and look alert instead of get a quick snooze—finish your reports, I mean, feed the horses, all that—I'm still hungover, I want a lie down!"

Arthur couldn't imagine why both Merlin and Morgana seemed to think all this was his idea, and he had much better things to do with his day than listen to either Tomin or the painter. Still, it was important to pay attention when Merlin did such unattractive things as whining about wanting a lie down, or a safe place to rest, or a hot meal when they travelled into the wilderness. Arthur found it helped him keep his head at other times.

He raised his eyebrows at Merlin from under cover of the branches of a gently swaying apple tree overhead. "Not quite what you expected anymore, is it? People demanding your time and attentions. Watched all day. Harder than you thought?"

"I'm always watched all day, you never give me a day off to not be watched all day," Merlin grumbled, "but usually you spend at least part of your time swinging weapons around on the training field while I do something useful for Gaius. This, on the other hand, is all just showing off."

"Ah, you're catching on." Arthur rumpled Merlin's hair for him before they rounded the corner to catch up to the rest of the nobles. Merlin ducked away scowling, but not much.

The silos were some way away from the castle, where they could be saved from any disastrous fire or flood that impacted the upper citadel. They were almost within sight when, to Arthur's surprise, he rounded the corner with Merlin and they found themselves eye to eye with the knights some twenty feet away, lined up and all seemingly waiting for their arrival.

Arthur shut his eyes for a moment. It was one thing to lie to visiting nobles for a few days time, but to lie so baldly to his friends and brothers—he took a fortifying breath and a staying hand on Merlin's chest. "Bet you a silver piece Gwaine tells us we should be in bed right now."

Ever the contrarian, Merlin's scowl vanished like the dawn. He grinned at Arthur. "Make it gold, and it'll be before he even says hello."

Gwaine double-taked as they got close.

"Yes, Sir Gwaine?" said Arthur pleasantly. "Did you have something to say?"

Gwaine looked around at the rest of the knights before he answered. "I know you've never been a newlywed before," he said in a tone that invited everyone else to listen in as well, and didn't even notice when Arthur sighed and tossed his gold to a smirking Merlin without waiting to hear the rest. "So I'm just going to give you some advice for free. You've not been married a day, it shouldn't be safe for the rest of us to get within a hundred yards of your bedchamber. You don't need me to tell you what to do, do you?" He paused and looked at Merlin. "Arthur, I realise, has been saving himself for this moment and is pure as driven snow. But I thought that you, Merlin, with your face—unless you've found trouble in paradise already. That's not necessarily a bad thing, I've had many a night with a lass spitting mad and showing me what-for. So to speak."

The knights roared with laughter. Arthur fixed a smile to his face and said, "Thank you, Gwaine. I appreciate your concern for my sexual prowess and satisfaction—well, Merlin's prowess and my satisfaction," and the knights bellowed with laughter anew.

Arthur waved them off and continued on to follow the King and Princess. Reaching the silos just in time for the lanky Tomin to start his tour, Arthur turned to find Merlin scampering away towards Demelsa, who was focusing closely on the lecture. When Merlin got to her side, she jumped, then looked pleased, and said something that made Merlin smile.

Arthur looked away, focusing on the small window high above, and paying diligent attention to Tomin's explanation of the process. It was not an especially captivating point of discussion, Arthur found, despite the associated risks of death and dismemberment, although Francis certainly had a look about him that said otherwise. Arthur refocused his attention just as Tomlin finished a long and rather involved story with, "If only Prince Arthur would leave us one or two of the braver men," to laughs from his audience.

"You are welcome to borrow Merlin when it comes time to unload the grain, Tomlin, don't let me stop you," said Arthur to renewed laughter, inexplicably louder than the first. He raised his eyebrows at Merlin, wondering if he might, perhaps, have misunderstood something. "Far be it from me to keep you from engaging in the agricultural process that supports our livelihood."

"And the young men who you take from the grain distribution routes to train up for battle, dear brother?" Morgana asked sweetly. "Will they be taking Merlin's place in your bed?"

Arthur's face heated. "Maybe not."

"I had no idea I wasn't enough for you," Merlin said, reappearing at his side. He caught Arthur's eye, then his hand, and swung it between them.

They returned to Arthur's room as the sun was setting and found a note from Callum informing Arthur that they would indeed be sitting for their portrait the following day.

"Well, that's—" Merlin started cheerfully, then groaned at the sight of their new wedding clothes laid out across the bed.

Arthur wasn't sure what it was about the clothes that was so offensive, he was struggling to articulate that in his own mind. But that wasn't stopping him wishing he had something else—anything else—he was allowed to wear instead.

"Right," said Merlin, picking up the tunic that might have fit Arthur seven years ago and eyeing it dubiously. He batted the trailing end of silk away from his arm. "Lovely."

"Lovely," Arthur repeated, and held up the corresponding shirt against his chest. They looked gloomily at each other.

"Well, at least we get a moment to ourselves—-"

Merlin was cut off by the arrival of the seamstress, bustling back into the room, with her apprentices in tow. "Just as I thought," she said, eyes flitting from Merlin to Arthur and back again. "A perfect cut, I can already see it. Sir, if you would ?" she said, but she was not looking at Arthur. "Lord Merlin, take off your shirt please."

"Pardon?"

"Put the tunic on, we can't be having you wearing an ill-fitting bag now that you're married to a prince. And I'll have to replace the rest of your wardrobe, but that is a job for another day."

Arthur coughed to cover a laugh. The laugh died as Merlin duly stripped off his shirt.

The seamstress darted around Merlin collecting redundant pins. "Yes, yes," she muttered under her breath as she worked, pinching in a seam here and there and directing her apprentices to fix it with a stitch or two.

Eventually she stood back, hands on her hips. "Very nice," she said happily, and looked inquiringly at Arthur. "Wouldn't you agree, sire?"

"Oh, er—yes. Very," said Arthur, who was struggling to see past Merlin's expression, torn between fellow feeling and amusement. He coughed and refocused. "Very dapper, Merlin, it'll go well with the hat. Can't believe you've not been wearing anything so fine before this."

"Oh, I can, my lord," said the seamstress. "You wouldn't believe the expense if I told you. Not that that's any concern to King Uther, of course—although it is very fine—far from wasteful—"

She tried to save herself from the implication but had already said too much.

"Thank you," said Arthur hastily, before the poor woman could work herself any further into a state of panic. "It's wonderfully done. I look forward to seeing Merlin show off for our visitors."

"Oh—thank you, my lord—"

She was still bowing awkwardly with her apprentices behind her when Arthur managed to usher her politely outside into the hall and shut the door.

Silence fell in the room. Arthur shut his eyes for a moment, hope budding at the prospect of an hour's solitude.

He turned to find Merlin pulling the tunic off. "What—what are you doing?" He endeavoured to keep his eyes up.

Merlin tossed the tunic to the floor without concern and pulled his shirt back on. "Not wearing that," he said. He cast around and made a face at the heap of reports he had brought up earlier on Arthur's desk. "Surely, today of all days—"

Arthur shook his head. "You don't have to pretend to work, you're bad at it anyway. But you can stay here if you want to hide from everyone," he said magnanimously. No one had ever afforded him that option, not that Arthur needed it, not really.

"It's not hiding. And you're not working either," said Merlin, looking like he wanted to sound affronted but instead looking rather pleased at being offered a moment off. "I might just grab forty winks though." He stretched, his long body curving like a cat, and caught Arthur's eye with something of a tease in his look. "I'm sure we'll be having a long night."

Arthur shook his head. Merlin was all talk. "Go on then," he said. "You know where the bed is, you woke up in it."

"You're no fun," Merlin grumbled. But instead of leaving to Gaius's chambers he did take Arthur up on it. Arthur watched him throw himself down on the bed with abandon, sprawling across the covers, feeling amused and shockingly somewhat pleased to see Merlin grab the fluffiest pillow and drag it to him. Merlin didn't open his eyes when he said, "Wake me up when it's time to go to the dance," like he was truly a prince and Arthur was his to command.

Arthur didn't reply. He leant out of the window ledge to watch the to and fro, letting his attention be caught by the bustling courtyard as Merlin did actually fall asleep. Arthur's desire to return to regular life to start any work of his own had vanished.

"Not again," Arthur groaned when he opened his eyes to find Merlin sprawled beside him, fast asleep in Arthur's bed like he'd been that morning with someone hammering on the door with great urgency. But this time there was no hangover.

Arthur entertained a second's fantasy of rolling over and going back to sleep, or perhaps rolling the other way and finding out just how far Merlin might go in maintaining the look of the thing for the kingdom. Against all odds, he was a very attractive sleeper.

"My lord," the person outside shouted—not Arthur's father this time but Callum—"Prince Arthur, the king desires your presence in the great hall at once. You and, Lord ah…the lord, your husband."

Arthur sighed. He picked up his pillow and swung it at Merlin, who spluttered awake. "All right," Arthur shouted back, causing Merlin to cover his ears with both hands and roll away from him. "I heard you the first six times! We'll be there shortly. Idiot," he whispered to Merlin, putting all other thoughts firmly out of his head. "Why'd you let me fall asleep? We're late for the feast. The dance. Whatever it is."

"I told you to wake me," Merlin hissed back. He was rumpled and ruffled, and Arthur didn't tend to put much thought into Merlin's attempts at dressing himself, but he wasn't holding out much hope for regal happening any time in the next few minutes—oh, god, the wedding clothes. "If you'd only managed that, we would—"

"No time for that now," said Arthur, rolling out of the bed on his side and stumbling over to his wardrobe. He rarely slept during the day and he found he was interpreting the evening sky outside as dawn.

He caught sight of the silk on the ground and shuddered. Thankfully it was an unusual day that would find him without a lot of red clothes steamed and ready to wear. He cast an assessing eye across his array of shirts. "Here," he said, and tossed Merlin a shirt he'd outgrown a year or two ago. "That should fit. These too." He threw a pair of dark breeches after the shirt. "So long as you wear a belt. And no one will notice your boots underneath the trousers, they're long enough. Assuming you don't trip, or do anything else foolish and unnecessary, of course."

"Of course," muttered Merlin, pulling his own clothes off immodestly, and tugging Arthur's on. He stared at Arthur staring at him. "Are you coming or is this an event I get to enjoy all on my own?"

"As if I'd put the delegation through your dinner conversation," Arthur replied, and shook himself out of his own shirt then held his arms out imperiously for Merlin to assist him as was usual. He took comfort that Merlin got up immediately.

Francis had brought a small number of musicians on the journey and they were playing in some sort of lively improvised competition with Uther's own musicians when they walked back into the great hall once more. Arthur found himself very glad of the excuse not to talk, a sentiment he suspected Merlin shared. They stumbled inside together and made their way past the detritus of yet another feast, bowing to the two kings, Merlin smiling Demelsa's way.

"What did we miss," Arthur started, trying to shake himself to wakefulness, and at once the servants came through to move the lower tables aside. The music changed to a popular tune and the floor began to fill with couples.

"Prince Arthur," said Demelsa from her side of the table, "might I beg you to beg me for the honour of a dance? Or must I ask your husband for permission first?"

"You have it," said Merlin. He elbowed Arthur hard in his side. "Arthur wouldn't dream of letting you down."

"My love, you are too generous," Arthur murmured, but not loud enough for anyone else to hear. He smiled at Demelsa and stood. "It would be my pleasure. Merlin of course will be honoured to take your hand next."

Demelsa twirled out onto the floor, and Arthur bowed as the musicians began. "I hope you're enjoying Camelot, my lady."

"Oh, very much," she said, smiling at Arthur as she danced merrily around him. "Your husband, in particular, is a very entertaining conversationalist."

Arthur laughed, wondering whether Merlin had even made an attempt at following the normal rules of interacting with royalty before giving in to irreverence. Probably around the same time as they were married, he thought distractedly, and replied, "He does have a way with words. I hope he didn't say anything out of place." Arthur remembered, slightly belatedly, that apologising for one's new consort was also rather unorthodox behaviour.

Demelsa waved him off. "I like him very much. I'm glad this treaty means I will get to see both of you again. Perhaps in Cornwall, next time. Your mountains are lovely but you will find it hard to leave our cliffs behind on the return journey."

"No doubt," said Arthur, and pulled her into a spin. He caught sight of Merlin as he did, reaching over one of Demelsa's guardsmen to fill both their cups as they sat gossiping with Morgana. "It would be a pleasure."

They whirled around the hall together. Demelsa really was very pretty, blue-black hair plaited with ribbons and tiny beads that glinted in the candlelight, and she clearly took delight in the challenge of keeping up. Arthur thought he could see why Merlin enjoyed her company so much. "I'm sorry I haven't had an opportunity to show you more beyond the citadel," he shouted over the music, and grinned at her as she exited a spin. "My father wouldn't hear anything but for us to celebrate the wedding immediately."

It was hard to tell in the candlelight, but Arthur thought he saw Demelsa's expression change a little. But no, of course she just needed a moment to catch her breath. They were moving so fast that Arthur was missing steps—not that anyone could have noticed, if they even cared.

"No need to apologise," Demelsa replied with her smile firmly back on her face. "I wouldn't have missed it."

Arthur led her to the benches that lined the room as soon as the song was over, spying Morgana already on her way over with wine and fruit.

"Thank you for the dance, your highness," Demelsa said, looking genuinely glad.

Arthur returned to his seat at the high table and looked for Merlin before returning his stare across the room. Demelsa was already deep in conversation with Morgana, laughing and serious by turns. Arthur watched thoughtfully, running his finger around the rim of his goblet.

"That looked like fun."

Arthur turned to find Merlin sliding into the chair beside him. Of course he had managed to get out of dancing in public again. "It was. She's an excellent dancer."

"Much better than I am," Merlin agreed, and nudged Arthur's shoulder companionably. "Nice to look at, too."

Arthur looked back across the ballroom. "Yes. That's a lovely dress."

Merlin looked surprised. "A couple of hours getting fitted in silk and suddenly you're paying attention to what other people are wearing?"

"I pay attention to everything going on around me," Arthur corrected. "And things not around me. There's nothing of any importance to Camelot that I'm not thinking about, Merlin. I wouldn't expect you to understand."

"And Demelsa's dress is important because …?"

"Her dress is cut from finer silk than any lady in Camelot's," said Arthur. "And inlaid with an array of gold and silver thread. As is her stepmother's. The embroidery is remarkable and the dye exceptionally bright. They are both doused in jasmine. But the dress, while very fine, is loose on her. She has rich friends and admirers but her kingdom is nearly destitute. This must have been an expensive journey for the family. Camelot is very conveniently located between Cornwall and a shared enemy, whom I'm sure I needn't tell you—"

"Yes, yes, very bad and unfriendly," said Merlin, ignoring the rest, and leant in to top up Arthur's mostly-full goblet of wine. "Bet you didn't tell her any of what you just told me."

"I told her she looked very beautiful. Which is true. I like her very much, actually, no matter what sort of tricks her father thinks we're getting up to." Arthur was rather troubled by the thought of dealing with a king who believed him and his father to behave in such an underhanded fashion. He took a deep breath. "If we are forced to delay our negotiations until some future date, so be it."

Merlin nodded and sat in the chair beside him. "And what then? Shall their kingdom fall to ruin while you and I bear the blame of a failed treaty?"

Arthur learnt some time ago not to try to guess the reasons for Merlin's reactions to things he didn't understand. He sat back in his chair. "What is it, Merlin?"

"You know that if Demelsa is found out, she will be cast out of her kingdom. And she certainly won't be welcome in Camelot while Uther is king."

Arthur stared at him. "What does that mean?"

Merlin gave him an incredulous look. "You can feign ignorance to your father as much as you like," he said, voice low. "It can't have escaped your notice that Demelsa has magic."

"And?" said Arthur, a moment later. He had in fact not noticed anything of the sort. Presumably neither had his father, or this little visit would have ended on bloody terms rather sooner. "Merlin, it is not so cut and dry. My father and I are not the same, on this or other issues. Whatever his ideas about the role of women in court," this seemed a more appropriate point of discussion than one about magic, "they continue to influence the outcome of our politics as they need. And as the kingdom needs."

"Exactly," said Merlin. "But it's you who takes the credit for a deal well done. Because all the work of women like Demelsa—and even the men of the lower nobility—cannot be noticed in the records."

"Not the sort of credit I'm interested in," said Arthur, a little sore. He pulled away. "But it's good to know you think so well of me."

"I do think well of you," Merlin said. "That's why I brought it up. I like her. I don't want her to be hurt, or to lose her place in court. Any court. And you have the power to ensure she stays safe. The treaty must succeed."

Arthur took a deep breath. "Fine. Yes, of course, I have no wish for it not to. I have no interest in causing the princess or anyone else to flee their home. And if she does, she will always have a home in Camelot, even if it is not so openly as I would like." He thought of the times he had bade Gwen to aid him in hiding a fugitive and winced. "And bringing harm to no one else, either."

"Thank you," said Merlin, and smiled at him. He took Arthur's hand and ran his thumb over the back of it, hard and openly affectionate before the merry room.

Arthur was a little unsure how to feel about this conversation. Merlin was full of surprises.

He tried to move on. "Of course, I just mention—this might come as a surprise so hold onto your hat—oy, Merlin," he said with a double-take that encompassed the entirety of their side of the table, and gestured at Merlin's wholly un-adorned head. "Where's the hat?"

Merlin's grasp on his wrist changed and he leaned in. "Well," he said in a confidential tone, and the moment turned into something more familiar. "Turns out, one of the perks of being married to the crown prince of Camelot is that no one seems to have anything to say about the way I dress."

"The crown prince is the one who suggested that you wear it," Arthur said, feeling a tinge of actual disappointment.

"No more ordering Merlin to wear this or that silly outfit," Merlin continued musingly. "Everyone's too afraid of offending the crown prince and finding themselves on the wrong side of an early morning beheading."

Arthur nodded. He caught Merlin's eye and said in an equally confidential tone, "What about when the crown prince is the one who orders the beheadings? Do you think he'd order his own for the suggestion?"

Merlin thought about this. "No," he said at last. But he waggled his eyebrows. "Let's see if he orders mine for this—" and Arthur had just enough time to catch the laughter on his face before Merlin leapt to his feet and said loud enough for half of the room to hear, "Dance with me, husband?"

Arthur stared at him, his treacherous heart picking up. Merlin looked surprisingly dashing holding out his hand, dressed in Arthur's old chemise and doublet, even though the breeches were clearly secured by a belt on its last hole. And even without the hat.

Merlin had another thing coming if he thought Arthur had started backing down from challenges at any time in the last day. Arthur stood. "I thought you'd never ask," he replied, projecting so that no one in the room could miss it, and followed Merlin out onto the floor just as the musicians reached the end of one song and picked back up with another, blessedly recognisable one.

Merlin beamed at him as they made their way into a space that cleared rapidly around them. "Do you know what to do?"

"Merlin, please. I learnt to dance before I learnt to pick up a sword," said Arthur, which was only slightly untrue, and offered his hand to Merlin with a twirl of his wrist and a bit of a bow. The people still seated at the banquet tables skirting the room shouted in delight. "Did you?"

"Oh, I still don't know how to pick up a sword," said Merlin. He took Arthur's hand. "That must have been why I married you."

Arthur grinned. Just because his father would have their heads if they didn't secure this treaty didn't mean he and Merlin couldn't have fun. "Want to lead?"

Merlin puffed himself up. "Obviously."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Idiot," he said. "This is a circle dance, no lead. Just do what I do and you'll be fine."

"Oh. Well then, I wouldn't dream of showing you up," said Merlin. It was an awfully bold claim for someone who hadn't yet seen the— "Antlers? Arthur, why are the servants bringing antlers."

"This is called the horn dance," said Arthur, and took a set from the servant approaching. "You must have seen it before, Merlin, I've danced it loads of times."

"Not in the many years while I've been around," Merlin hissed, and grabbed Arthur's arm. "What am I supposed to do with them?"

Arthur gave it a moment's thought while the musicians continued playing, then handed Merlin his own set of antlers. "You dance," he said, holding the antlers over Merlin's head for Merlin to take. "In a circle. Don't drop them, just because they're not attached to a living animal doesn't mean you might not get gored if you fall on the pointy end."

"Didn't you mention not wanting to get widowed?"

"And it's competitive, so actually try to look better than me while you do it." Arthur flashed a smirk at Merlin before reaching for the second, heavier set of antlers for himself.

The knights were pooling onto the floor around them in pairs, all in varying stages of drunkenness. But significantly less so than the men from Francis's party who were also joining them on the floor, Arthur noted, with some relief.

"Your royal highnesses," Gwaine bellowed as he stepped up, and raised the flagon of wine he'd brought with him to Arthur, Merlin, and then to the high table. "Allow us to join you in celebrating Merlin's ascension in rank."

Arthur locked his arms above his head and took his place opposite Merlin. He looked pointedly at the contents of Gwaine's hands. "You seem to have forgotten the rules, Sir Gwaine. Or do you not fancy your chances with the horns?"

Gwaine threw his head back and finished off the wine in one long pour. He swapped the flagon for a set of antlers in a quick, neat exchange, and stepped back to his place opposite Leon. "Like this, my lords?"

"Just so."

"Couldn't have done it better myself," said Merlin at the same time.

Arthur listened for the pause and pick up from the accordion, and put one foot in front of the other to begin. The dance was really for four pairs but there had to be at least twelve men present as well as Merlin and Arthur, and the onlookers were keeping themselves far out of the way, lining the outer walls to watch.

Merlin was keeping up admirably well. If a bit overenthusiastic, Arthur thought, and ducked to spare his own untimely end.

He kept the extra kicks and flourish to a minimum to give Merlin a chance of following, keeping pace with him down the length of the hall and keeping a wary eye in case Merlin's spindly arms gave out and the antlers fell crashing to the ground. They never did though, and when the entire audience of nobles, guests, and servants applauded Merlin's impromptu jig as the procession reached the end of the hall, Arthur decided it was every man for himself.

"Very impressive, Princess!" Gwaine shouted at Arthur's responding twirl of the antlers high above his head. Arthur caught Merlin's eye as they turned together, and they grinned at each other before setting off again at a quicker pace in time with the fiddlers.

They were most of the way around the hall when one of Francis's men stumbled out of the circle and lowered his antlers more or less to the ground. "I'll catch up on the next go round," he bellowed after his abandoned partner, took the ale thrust his way by a starry-eyed youth and downed it in one.

With that, the men started dropping like flies. Gwaine was the first to go of Camelot's men, conveniently swaying into the arms of a bright-eyed lady half his age again, and to Arthur's very great surprise Merlin made it until every last one of Francis's men had bowed out before stumbling away himself.

A minute later, Arthur won the round, and made his way back to the high table with arms aching, Percival having graciously given up the victory.

Merlin came to meet Arthur halfway. "Congratulations, sire," he said, beaming wide enough for everyone in the room to witness. There was no hesitation before he took Arthur's hand to swing it high between them. "Prince Arthur!"

"Prince Arthur!" thundered everyone else in the room.

Then to Arthur's very great surprise, Merlin let their hands drop and pulled Arthur close, tipped his head to the side and kissed his mouth, brief but firm. He was warm and still breathing heavily from the dance, but he let the kiss linger for Arthur to feel it even as they broke apart. Arthur struggled to catch his thoughts, and his breath, just registering the sound of the crowd cheering around them. He stared at Merlin. "Ah. That was—"

Merlin grinned at him. "You should see your face," he murmured, hardly loud enough for Arthur to hear, and hastened them both back to their chairs and the congratulations of the two monarchs.

Arthur shrugged his jacket off over the back of his chair and wiped his brow, heart tripping over itself. "Well done, Merlin," he said, trying to bring his thoughts back under control. He eyed Merlin's arms and avoided looking at his mouth. "You have hidden depths. Most men that aren't Percival have trouble with the horns."

"I'm not most men," said Merlin. His chest was still heaving, and he closed his eyes and made a vaguely rude gesture at the ceiling. "You always underestimate me."

"Not again, I promise you that."

This was all new territory. Arthur wasn't used to being surprised by Merlin's dancing. Of course he supposed he hadn't seen much of it before now. He accepted a cup of water from a passing servant, and put it on the table before Merlin. "Here you go."

"You know it's all right, this being waited on lark," said Merlin. He felt around on the table and opened his eyes briefly to look for a cloth, wiping his face with it once he was satisfied it was still clean. "I see why you like it. You just sit there and someone hands you whatever you want."

"Someone?" Arthur took the water cup back. "I'm still your prince, Merlin."

"And I'm still your husband," said Merlin lazily, and plucked the water out of Arthur's hands.

"Rise and shine, sire," said Merlin when he woke Arthur the next morning. He drew the curtains back with undue eagerness, sending a shaft of sunlight across Arthur's face without the slightest care for Arthur's fragile head. Arthur groaned, turning his face into one pillow and flinging another in Merlin's direction.

"Really, now," said Merlin reprovingly. "Is that any way to treat the person—"

"Shut up, Merlin—"

"—bringing you your headache tincture?"

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, resolving to take it easy in the evening. "Well, what are you waiting for? Bring it over here."

"There's a lot to do today. You can't spend it all lying around in bed."

Arthur tuned out whatever chatter Merlin deemed necessary to accompany his circuitous route across the bedchamber, and sighed at the breeze that traced his back when Merlin opened the near window. The dancing had stretched far into the night, and they had barely made it to Arthur's chambers before the dawn. Arthur couldn't testify to what had happened after that—although he was wearing far more clothes than he had been yesterday morning, boots and all, having apparently elected to crawl into bed without undressing.

Arthur buried his head in his pillow to continue listening to Merlin putter around the room. When the clattering stopped, he lifted his head, suspicious.

Merlin was bent over Arthur from barely a hand's width away. His eyes crinkled. "Husband."

It paid to know when Merlin had reached the making inappropriate jokes stage of a crisis, Arthur had found. He kept his eyes on Merlin's and replied, "Manservant."

Merlin wrinkled his nose. "Your breath is terrible." He leant away. "I hope it wasn't this bad when you were talking to Demelsa all that time last night, poor woman. She must have really been suffering—"

"You did stay here last night, didn't you?" Arthur interrupted. He had a vague, longing memory of waking up in the night with a face full of Merlin's hair. He shook the thought off. "No sneaking out to see anyone. Gaius—oh no, he's away—not for long. Demelsa then—don't think I haven't noticed you talking to her—or your—"

"Many other lovers?" finished Merlin. He shook his head and gave a dramatic sigh. "No, my lord. I'm a married man now. You're it for me. I only left your side to get you this tincture."

Arthur hoped his cheeks weren't too red. "Which is where?"

Merlin's grin was annoying. Instead of handing over the tincture like a good servant would, he tipped the bottle between his thumb and index finger, and ducked when Arthur swiped at his head.

Breakfast this morning consisted of crusty bread and eggs and sharp cheese paired with apples from the orchard named for Arthur's mother. Arthur strongarmed the tincture away from Merlin and downed it in one, then sat at the table to watch Merlin lay out his meal lest the lot of it vanished into Merlin's pockets and Arthur was left with crusts and green apples.

"She's nice, isn't she?" said Merlin. Arthur cut himself a wedge of cheese as Merlin clarified, "Demelsa. Lots of good stories. Elyan was almost in tears when she was telling that one about finding the blacksmith and the thatcher fighting over her handmaid."

"You should've looked the other way." Arthur nudged the plate of cheeses towards Merlin in spite of himself. "My father was trying so hard not to laugh I thought he was going to burst a blood vessel." It was a good visual, and Arthur grinned when Merlin choked on his laughter.

Today was starting as every day should: with a show of strength in battle. Or, in this case, on the tournament field, hastily prepared to allow Camelot to show off her knights to best advantage. And while Arthur would be permitted only to watch the tourney, he couldn't possibly be expected to leave his men to prepare alone. He consumed the cheese and sliced apples in three quick bites, threw on the vile purple shirt because he had to wear it at least once, and was halfway through the castle to the training fields by the time Merlin caught up.

It was a cool, grey morning. "Perfect conditions to fight in," he said as Merlin jogged across the grass to catch up to him. "It will be hard for the visiting knights to keep track of where the sun is, hidden as it is behind the clouds—and the stands—and they will likely be surprised at odd moments." He scuffed his feet; the earth was firm after the dry week. He turned to look at Merlin. "Even you could impress in such conditions."

"No, that's what I've got you for," said Merlin. He nudged Arthur's elbow with his own. "Who'd you fancy for the win? My money's on Percival."

"My money," Arthur said, as if that would stop him giving Merlin more. He rather liked Percival's chances himself; Percival had been very successfully developing his skill with the sword recently, tossing the blade from his right hand to the left and back in a way that was hard to follow and would have unnerved anyone facing him in battle if they hadn't taught him the move themselves. Which was to say, Arthur was the only man who still remained unbeaten, and Arthur wasn't fighting today.

He buried a wash of envy and pride, neither of which had any place in his heart in the morning of a fight, and looked past Merlin to the merchants traipsing around the foot of the castle with their wares in hand and cart.

"You'll be back on the field showing up all and sundry soon enough," Merlin told him, apparently reading Arthur's thoughts on his face. "Maybe someone came down with a cold overnight, you could step in for them."

"I'm sure my father would be delighted to have me step in as substitute," Arthur replied, but he made himself refocus on the training field to the side where the knights were already going to work. He walked closer in time to see Elyan sweep the younger knights into a practice formation, warming them up for the morning's fighting.

"Let's switch this up," Elyan instructed, his voice carrying clearly over the field. "Dagger in your left, practice sword in your right but behind your backs, then switching every time you make a hit—Martin, when Prince Arthur said swanlike what he meant was thoughtful and decisive movement, not flapping your arms around hoping someone gets knocked in the river. We need to work on understanding literal versus figurative orders. Jack, there are dry clothes in the tent, go and dry off—"

"Good morning, my lords," Gwaine said over the top, and all the rest of the knights abandoned Elyan to join Merlin and Arthur.

Gwaine looked admiring as he came close. "Nice outfit, sire. Merlin."

Merlin made a rude gesture in Gwaine's general direction. "Want to swap?"

"Purple's not my colour. Vibrant reds and shining silver, that's me. The princess, though—now, there's a thought. Will Princess be your official title, Merlin?"

"I don't think I need an official title to demand that Arthur chops your head off," said Merlin blithely, a claim which Arthur found to be true in this instance. "And all your other important parts."

Gwaine clapped Merlin on the back and pushed him forwards. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. It's not an insult, Merlin. Not many men can carry off a shimmer like you."

"It's not my own appearance I'm worried about," said Merlin. "When Arthur puts that monstrosity on and wears it onto a battlefield somewhere, who's going to end up washing it?"

They all turned to look at Arthur.

"I don't think princesses do their husband's washing, do they?" said Percival, flexing his biceps for no apparent reason. "Or their own. Or anything other than sit around looking charming at banquets, ordering yet more expensive fabrics, that sort of thing."

Arthur caught himself before he could say anything insulting about his new spouse in front of this lot of loud-mouthed washerwomen who frequented the tavern. "Merlin, it's true you've always looked rather striking in that hat. As discussed last night."

"Because it's red, my lord," said Merlin. He tugged the trailing end of the silk away from his leg. "Red suits me. Like Gwaine. Perhaps you could just knight me and marry someone else and I could wear a red cloak instead."

"Unfortunately for you Merlin, the cloak is earned, not bestowed, and marriage is a once-at-a-time type of event." Arthur smiled beatifically around at the knights. He found that his good mood had returned in full force with the thought of Merlin trying to become a knight. "Perhaps after—ah," he said, catching himself before he could say, "after my father ends our marital community." He cleared his throat. "After the Cornish delegation leave, I can give you some real training."

Merlin grimaced. "Can't wait."

Arthur turned to Leon. "The tourney?"

"The men fight as if they were born ready for it, sire. They will do you proud today."

"That's what I like to hear." Arthur looked around at his men, feeling a swell of pride. "It is an honour to have you represent me."

"The honour is ours," said Percival. He exchanged glances with Gwaine then tipped his head at Merlin. "We fight for you, too, Merlin. Of course."

"Um. Of course," Merlin said.

He glanced at Arthur with a slightly wrong-footed expression that Arthur returned. Of course Arthur's knights should fight for his spouse as well. He looked back at Merlin, who was smiling without seeming to notice it, and realised he wasn't surprised so much as proud. Proud and happy.

A bell tolled nearby, heralding a flurry of groundskeepers and servants flooding onto the tournament ground with flags and streamers, temporary fencing, and pitchers of water to position at the foot of the stands.

Arthur raised his hand to the knights, allowing them to disperse, and didn't stay to watch. "Come on, we need to be ready for when Francis appears," he said, and grinned at Merlin's sudden glum expression.

"What if I went and helped the knights get ready?" he asked with a wistful look at the tents nearby that he had certainly never worn on any of the occasions Arthur had fought. "I'm sure I can work out how to help them on with their armour, I manage it with you. There needs to be a physician too, and Gaius isn't back yet."

"As you will come to learn, Merlin, part of entering the royal family is taking on royal duties." Arthur put his hand to the small of Merlin's back and directed him up the steps towards the centre of the stands. "Like watching a tournament you'd rather be competing in, because it's bad form to invite injury as a newlywed. Be thankful you won't need to clean up afterwards for once. I'll take your enthusiasm for tourneys under advisement for the future, though."

They took their seats as spectators continued to trickle in. It would have been the perfect time for Arthur to start a conversation about how they'd got themselves into this mess and how they'd be getting themselves out of it—or even just taken the opportunity to think about it—but well, how exhausting.

Instead Arthur leaned forward in his chair and narrowed his eyes to watch the fighters skirt the grounds on their way to the tents Merlin had just been angling for. A healthy number of Camelot's best fighters had shown up to fight for Arthur—and Merlin, apparently—Arthur thought again about the way Percival had said that, as if it wasn't a joke or even a question.

He turned to look at Merlin and found Demelsa ready to take a seat on his other side. He leapt to his feet, dragging Merlin up with him. "Good morning, my lady."

"Ow—oh, good morning, Princess," Merlin said, and glowered at Arthur as they all sat down again. "Nice day to watch men play with swords and things, isn't it?"

"When is it not?" Demelsa asked, and smirked at Arthur, who had been about to say the same thing.

The tourney began with the longsword as soon as the stands had filled. The Cornish king had requested that his soldiers be allowed to join the fray, and he got involved in the fighting in every way that Uther had never been, shouting support and insults by turns, sometimes in the same breath, often over the sound of his daughter shouting the opposite. They seemed accustomed to disagreeing though, and king and princess knocked their cups of ale before finishing them with pleasure when a burly Cornishman sent a soldier visiting from the northern lands crashing to the earth. Arthur caught Merlin's eye and they grinned at each other.

The second round was the mace. Arthur itched to join them, and was half-ready to slip in under cover of the crowd when lo and behold, Leon ran out to the stands directly in front of him and bellowed over the crowd, "Prince Arthur! Would you do us the honour of taking the field?"

"The honour is yours," Arthur shouted back, but the crowd was already roaring its approval. A number of people away, Francis shouted, "Go on, boy, show us what you're made of."

Arthur spent an agonising moment trying to persuade himself to turn Leon down, then realised that Merlin was already standing, clearing the way for Arthur through the row of spectators nearest them. Reasoning that his father couldn't possibly prefer him to refuse a fight than risk one, particularly before such a large audience, Arthur followed Merlin down to the ground.

A squire ran up to meet them holding Arthur's chainmail. Merlin stopped him and said, "Thank you, that's my job."

Arthur took a deep breath. He stood for Merlin to help him on with the mail shirt but waved off the coif. "The mace?"

"Right here," said Merlin, gesturing, and tested the belt before fastening it around Arthur's waist. He caught Arthur's eye as he straightened, warm and a bit amused, and clasped Arthur's wrist in his longer fingers. "Win for me."

Arthur had lost his grasp on the situation once again. He looked Merlin full in the eye and didn't say anything for a long second, trying to put his thoughts in order. He wished, as he rarely allowed himself to do, that they were alone.

He dipped his head in something like a bow. "Who else?" he said, and then the horns sounded to mark the start of the round. Arthur picked up the shield and mace and ran for the centre of the field in time to bow to the two kings.

No one would allow the newly married prince to do anything but win, of course, but Arthur didn't let that stop him from fighting his best. He whirled around the field, letting other men pick off the weaker fighters and identifying the best for himself while they still had the energy to fight back. There were two men he had his eye on in particular: one a skinny Cornishman who used his slight build to his advantage, never in the same place as you expected when the mace flew past; the other a southern mercenary who hadn't wasted a single swing in the first round, taking a uniquely defensive position until he brought the other fighters to their knees in a minimum number of strikes.

Arthur bore down on the mercenary first, deciding that overwhelming him with brute strength was the best response to any attempt to conserve energy. He let the sound of the crowd buoy him and swung at the man's neck, forcing him into a heavy overhand defence to wear him out quickly.

The crowd was roaring; Arthur thought he heard Demelsa shout, "Take him down!" although from this distance it could have come from any other woman in the crowd, really. Still, Arthur went with it. He threw himself forward and slammed the mace at the man's knees; it nicked the fabric of the man's breeches as he leapt back and out of the way with a muttered, "Shit!"

Arthur lunged again, shifting the weight of the mace to his other hand and forcing the man to the outer edge of the ring with a flurry of blows. "Yield," he suggested through gritted teeth as the man's arm dropped closer and closer towards his face.

The man didn't bother answering, putting all his energy into knocking Arthur's mace aside and Arthur with it, straight into the path of the skinny Cornishman nearby. All right, Arthur thought, and disposed of him with two quick swings above his head that knocked him to the ground.

Arthur looked past the few remaining fighters to find the mercenary running back towards him, grim determination on his face. He hefted his shield on his arm and staggered when the mace landed like a hammer.

He fell back gasping, his shield arm thrumming in pain. There was blood from somewhere—the handle had cracked and cut a heavy line down his arm.

Arthur threw the shield aside, using the motion as leverage for his swing, and knocked the mace out of the man's hand.

The man immediately dropped to his knee and lowered his head. "I yield, sire."

Arthur dropped his own mace and took a quick step forward—as quick as he could, chest still heaving from exertion—to pull the mercenary to his feet, the immediate increase in sound from the crowd telling him that he had won the round. "Your name, sir? That was exceptional, you almost had me—your arm is as strong as that of Sir Percival."

"Jonathan, my lord." He clasped Arthur's hand with the strength that followed a hard fight. "And I would be glad of a second chance at a win from you, if you care for it." He stopped to put both hands on his hips and leaned back, trying to draw a full breath.

"Then we shall," Arthur promised, relishing the thought of another go with someone so skilled. He clapped Jonathan on the back and then raised his mace arm to the cheering crowd.

He could hear Merlin, he realised, cheering Arthur's name like Arthur was having trouble remembering it. He turned and saw Merlin hanging over the edge of the fence where Arthur had left him, his expression energised and proud, so far over the side lines that he might have entered himself into the fight. Arthur felt his heart turn over and lifted his head high.

The horn rang out as one of the squires shouted Arthur's name, and Merlin was scrambling over the fence and running towards him. Arthur bowed to the kings, then raised his arm in some manner that encompassed the rest of the crowd, and choked when Merlin reached him and grabbed his mace arm. "Arghh, Merlin, have a care—were you watching the fight or were you just shouting my name for the fun of it?"

"Could've grabbed the other arm, you're lucky he didn't break it, you should see the state of your shield—"

"Don't need to, I felt it break—the man has the strength of any of my knights."

"I saw that too," Merlin said, and tried to be subtle about pulling Arthur to the side of the field where confectioners were taking best advantage of the excitement, sending children running along the rows with ale and sweets to return with handfuls of coins.

In a tent out of sight of the crowd, Merlin pushed Arthur into a chair and tugged the mail shirt over Arthur's head, ignoring Arthur's hiss of pain—he must have taken a hit to the ribs at some point—and taking care not to jostle Arthur's shield arm, the pain now radiating past his elbow.

"I don't think it's fractured," Merlin said, feeling his way along the bone with sure fingers. "Since you're not screaming. I'm going to bind it though."

"Fine," Arthur said, not really listening, but feeling that he needed to say something as well as watching Merlin concentrate. He could feel things changing between them, or building, and his breath was already fraught from the fight but there was something more, too.

Merlin pulled a roll of fabric out of nowhere and dragged a nearby bucket of soapy water closer, then caught Arthur's eye and raised his eyebrows. "Relax."

Arthur buried everything down. He shut his eyes and put his head back to listen to Merlin muttering under his breath as he cleaned and wrapped Arthur's arm, evidently using some sort of helpful ointment as well because Arthur's arm started to tingle and feel better immediately.

The noise of the crowd picked up again as the next round started. "Done," said Merlin a moment later. "You'll be good as new in no time."

"Good enough to have a second go round with that mercenary soon, I hope," said Arthur seriously, rolling his arm at the elbow to test it. The binding was neat and unobtrusive. "We could learn from that fight."

Whatever comment Merlin was going to make in response was cut off by Leon sticking his head into the tent, brightening when he saw Merlin kneeling at Arthur's side. "Ah, my lord. There you are."

For the first time in his life, Arthur wished for a moment longer without his knights. It was a shameful thought, though, and he nodded at Leon. "Here I am."

Leon gave a second hello to Merlin, who waved as the rest of the men poured into the tent like a flagon of wine over stone.

"Please," Arthur said, gesturing to the one or two chairs and many handy weapons chests surrounding them, and the knights gave their rowdy congratulations as they passed, all varying degrees of bloodied and bruised.

"You know sire, you have quite a fan in the princess," Gwaine remarked when they were all inside. "She was cheering for you almost as loudly as Merlin here."

Merlin looked unfazed. "As long as she wasn't cheering for you, Gwaine, that's all that matters."

"Oh, we don't all aspire to such great heights as you, Merlin, royalty isn't for me," Gwaine replied, and waggled his eyebrows at Merlin. "I'm merely pointing out how heartwarming it is that the Cornish delegation are taking such an interest in Camelot."

Merlin and Arthur exchanged a look. Then Arthur straightened his back, putting another inch between himself and Merlin as Merlin said, "Very heartwarming."

"It'll be interesting to see how their fighting style changes after their experience today," said Elyan thoughtfully.

"Yes," said Percival. "And how they choose to develop their weaponry after witnessing our tactics."

"I'm sure we have a lot we can learn from each other," said Arthur.

"Naturally, my lord," said Gwaine. "But all the same, you should probably have the quartermaster double the guard, if you didn't already plan on replenishing Camelot's weapons stores after your guests leave."

It was unusual for any knight to show such disrespect to a noble while in Arthur's presence, and insinuating thievery would have meant a hanging coming from anyone else. Arthur narrowed his eyes. "I'm listening."

Gwaine didn't pause. "The real issue is whether Princess Demelsa went to the feast knowing she would be marrying you two to each other, or if she just happened to have a speech memorised."

Arthur and Merlin turned as one to Gwaine. Arthur said, "Pardon?"

"Well," said Leon, taking over. "If Percival asked me to marry him to, say—to Elyan, right here, right now, I wouldn't know the words to say. I'd make something up about love and fealty forged in battle and based on a strong friendship and full life at home."

"And I'd say yes, of course," said Elyan.

Percival flexed his arms in apparent approval.

"But I wouldn't know anything about which gods to pray to for their blessing," continued Leon. "What flowers to locate or whose permission to seek, except for your father the king, of course."

"Like I'd let him stand in our way," said Percival to Elyan, and put a hand on his sword. He caught Arthur's eye. "That is—"

Arthur ignored this. "And what that has to do with our weapons stores is ….?"

"It doesn't, in so many words," said Percival. "But it seems awfully convenient that King Uther should retire so early on the very same night that the princess thought to engage you in a discussion about marriage traditions. And, er, the likely consequences of defying them."

"And if we assume, for the sake of argument, it's not so much convenient as planned," continued Elyan. "What other plans are in the works?"

Arthur thought about his conversation with Demelsa at the dance the night before. Even if she had been brought to Camelot to be married against her will, and even if, as Merlin had said, she was a sorcerer, she had nothing to gain from sabotaging a peace treaty between her father's lands and Camelot.

He glanced sideways, wondering if Merlin had anything more. He was frowning, more going on behind his eyes than he appeared willing to discuss out loud, but he met Arthur's gaze and shrugged a bit. "I like Demelsa."

"Very helpful, Merlin." Arthur would have to think about this at some later time. He took a deep breath. "Very well," he said to the knights. "Speak of this to no one." He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand.

Gwaine cleared his throat. "That didn't stop it from being a very lovely ceremony, of course."

"Ceremony—oh." Arthur looked at him suspiciously. He had managed to piece together some memories of the night to get to Merlin stealing a cup of ale and throwing his head back to laugh at a story Princess Demelsa was telling. That could have happened anytime, frankly even if the princess hadn't been present, and at no point did it include Arthur deciding to marry Merlin, there and then. "I remember my father leaving early in the night," Arthur said, not really looking for affirmation but taking relief when Elyan nodded, regardless. "About ten seconds after the Cornish king did."

"And I remember someone singing," Merlin added. He relaxed a bit again, leaning sideways against Arthur's chair with cavalier disregard for the mail at his feet. "Not sure who, though, or why."

"That was you," Elyan told him, and leant over to give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Don't worry, no one else remembers that part."

"And what people do remember, is …" prompted Arthur. "To be honest it's all a bit of a blur."

"You invited us to join you at your table, where you and the princess were having a very long, very interesting conversation about the Cornish practice of marrying within the kingdom," said Gwaine. "For love, not strategy, that sort of thing. You really got me thinking about a whole new world of possibility for the upper classes."

Arthur grunted. "And?"

"This was part of a discussion of the practicalities of maintaining loyalties and alliances across lands and generations," Leon said. "If you have no active intention of growing your kingdom and its economy but instead maintain it such that the standard of living for all those within its borders are at peace, healthy, and comfortable—increasingly comfortable, even, and to a degree where the strict stratification of social classes becomes suspect—your leadership and corresponding allegiances take on different meaning."

"That—really?" said Arthur.

"I for one thought it was fascinating," said Percival. "Always good to get some insight into what the royals get up to."

"How our leaders conduct the business of state," Elyan corrected him.

"Exactly, and the importance or otherwise of having the people pay for lavish weddings, which are after all for our own benefit."

"But in these uncertain times," said Elyan, picking up his sheathed dagger and twirling it on his knee, "perhaps it's inviting destabilisation in the longer term across the five kingdoms to not only refuse to participate in the development of familial bonds across borders, but to actively discourage their formation through marriage, in so exclusionary fashion—"

"—and with these protectionist motivations," finished Percival sternly.

"Food for thought," mused Gwaine, and helped himself to a grape from a nearby bowl.

Arthur stared at them.

Merlin brought them all back on track. "And at what point did this result in … this?" he said, gesturing between Arthur's body and his own.

"Well," said Leon, "you, my lord Arthur—not you, my lord," he said to Merlin and most surprisingly, winked at him, "chose to respond to this nuanced point of discussion with the equally nuanced observation that marrying within your own kingdom made about as much sense as you marrying your idiot manservant, Merlin." He said that last part in a voice that sounded absolutely nothing like Arthur's.

"He never," said Merlin. Arthur reached without looking with his good arm and gave him a thwack about the back of the head.

"That was a very humorous comment," said Elyan, "to all who heard it. Which was everyone conscious—well, everyone left standing, in the hall room."

"Because actually, Merlin has saved the kingdom more times than one can count," said Gwaine. "Wed—"

" ‘Weddings and all,' " said Merlin at the same time, with a look on his face that flickered between amusement and some dawning horror. "Which you'd know if you'd—um—"

"If you'd only been paying attention,'" Percival finished for him. "Anyway, that eventually turned into—"

As the crowd outside roared loud enough to make the tent shake, Gwaine also leapt to his feet and raised his cup to the air with a pompous expression Arthur suspected was also meant to represent him. "Your majesties, ladies and gentlemen, citizens and guests of Camelot—"

"Continue and lose your head," Arthur warned him.

"Well, it ended with the princess marrying you two," Gwaine said, sitting back down and grinning. "And everyone throwing beer at you, in the Cornish tradition. That was fun."

"Quite." Arthur and Merlin exchanged looks again. Then Merlin turned to Gwaine and said in a friendly sort of way, "I missed the part where you—any of you—tried to stop this from happening."

"We did try," said Gwaine. "But you were very, ah. Insistent."

"Then why didn't you stop me?" said Arthur, who was obviously, demonstrably the more sensible of the two of them. "Me, the crown prince."

"You, the crown prince, were especially insistent," said Elyan. "Got to a point where it seemed like it might be easier to just … deal with it in the morning."

"Evidently," said Arthur a long second later. Merlin dropped his head in his hands.

"If you could take the prince's hand in yours—lovely," said the portrait artist, a lady who had to be some degree of years older than Gaius. "Now, turn towards Merlin a bit more, that's it, no need to be shy around me. Pretend I'm not even here."

They were sitting not in the throne room, where portraits were usually made, or even standing regally with the horses or in the armoury. Instead the artist had directed them to sit on the wall of the well in the courtyard, where the shadow of the trees dappled their feet and the sky was bright above them.

Merlin tightened his fingers around Arthur's and shuffled slightly where he sat, his leg pressed all the way along Arthur's to the knee.

"Look towards Merlin, please," said the artist. She used the bit of charcoal in her hand to indicate, pulling them closer together with her gesture. "That's right, chickens, now stay where you are."

Arthur let his head drop a little, not entirely relishing the proximity to Merlin with the lady still there to observe. He could feel every tiny movement Merlin made. It was strange, not just because of the odd pose they were taking.

"Where do you think your father is going to hang this after Francis leaves?" Merlin said suddenly in a low voice, holding still in place. "In the jail, do you think?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Merlin, then every time you were down there you'd get ideas above your station. Perhaps the stables."

"Or the gallows," Merlin suggested. "Somewhere subtle."

"He might just skip hanging in favour of burning the thing," Arthur said, to which Merlin responded with a look of approval. "Probably in his own fireplace."

The artist had put the charcoal down and was poking around in her bag of brushes and paints—Arthur couldn't imagine what it was she was focusing on finding with such intensity but the break was welcome. He pulled his hand gently out of Merlin's and pulled his knee up to rest an elbow on. Merlin was still very close but he was looking up, and it didn't feel quite so much like they were being dressed up like a pair of prize horses for a picture.

Arthur thought a bit more about what it all added up to, with a slightly unexpected feeling of solitude that he didn't usually get to join out in the citadel. It was, after all, just a quiet moment with him and Merlin and an old lady with her head behind her canvas.

Really, Arthur thought, looking at Merlin while Merlin tipped his face at the sky. There was nothing to see.

They blessed the first baby born during the life of their marriage, watched a traumatising play about their love for one another and how it heralded Camelot's long future, and then Callum showed up to escort them to Uther's chambers once again.

"Arthur," Uther said as they entered, ignoring Merlin. This was somehow comforting, like things were normal, underneath it all. Uther waved for Callum to stand outside the doors, evidently as guard. "There you are, what in god's name took you so long?"

"My apologies, Father, I wasn't aware you were waiting for me."

Uther waved him off, something of a hasty air about him. Arthur could count on one hand the number of times he had ever witnessed his father in a rush; he frowned as Uther continued: "I have spent the last hour with Francis. He cares not that your husband is your husband, but he has a lot to say on the subject of him being your manservant. Evidently this is a point of which I should be proud."

Well, that was hardly surprising, Arthur thought, thinking back to the knights' reporting. He refrained from looking at Merlin in the corner, who had to be listening closely, and said, "The princess has been telling me about Cornish customs. Francis has a rather progressive approach to marriage."

"Progressive, yes," said Uther. "And convenient. I only just dissuaded him from staying another week entire to celebrate with you. Now, listen, Arthur. Callum has learned of something—unexpected."

Arthur waited.

Uther looked at him for a long moment. Then he said abruptly, "Francis intends to gift you Tintagel."

Arthur's jaw dropped. "He what?"

Uther nodded. "Indeed," he said coolly. "I was rather surprised, as well."

Arthur could hardly believe what he was hearing. He turned to Merlin, who looked somewhat nonplussed, and resumed staring at his father. "For what purpose?"

"As a wedding gift," Uther said, and walked slowly to sit behind his desk. He steepled his fingers as he looked at Arthur. "He will make the announcement shortly before the treaty is signed."

"How did Callum come across this information? It can't have been—"

Uther waved one dismissive hand. "What does it matter? Thank goodness he did. We don't have much time; we must determine how you shall react to his gift: if you should accept, and if not, how to turn it down."

A frisson of fear went through Arthur before he could stop it. "I thought we would be fighting over that land for many years—I had doubts I would even see it returned in my lifetime." He took a deep breath, rubbing his thumb over his mother's ring.

"As did I."

Arthur looked searchingly at his father. "And there is no other cost? No other demand of Camelot?"

"No other cost?" Uther glanced to Merlin, who appeared to be trying to hide behind a curtain. "I'd say it comes at a high price indeed."

Arthur forced himself to think. "A wedding gift. All I had to do was marry Merlin."

"Yes. Or, we must suppose, anyone else without land or title. No one of consequence." A door opened and slammed shut somewhere far down the corridor; Uther paused but there was no pointed rap on the door. "Your marriage is necessary and sufficient."

Arthur took a deep breath. "And so I am free to return to the childhood home of my mother, but at the cost of a strategic connection with any other kingdom."

"I admit I am struggling to find a way out of accepting the land that doesn't cause great offense. It was certainly very astute of him to connect it to your marriage, instead of the treaty." Uther paused. "Francis informs me that the young princess had some small part in your marriage."

Arthur coughed. "She did."

The king turned away. "And so you were able to discern the true cost of the land, after I myself have dedicated so many years to presenting alternative offers."

There was a faint tremor to his voice. Arthur bowed his head, thinking of his mother, but so very unused to sharing his grief.

Merlin was being loudly silent over in the corner.

Uther cleared his throat, bringing Arthur back to the present. "You see the difficulty, Arthur. If this gift had instead been conditional on the treaty, we could have made some other offer in order to keep the land. As it stands, I see no way for you to decline without causing significant offense."

Arthur didn't know what to say.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, Merlin did. "I mean, it was—sort of conditional on the treaty."

Arthur and his father turned to Merlin at once. "Meaning?" Uther demanded.

Merlin looked nervous. "It was part of the treaty, sire. The princess couldn't have been clearer that the treaty depended on it."

"On my marrying you?" said Arthur incredulously.

"Well, that's what I took from what the knights just said, didn't you?"

Arthur ground his teeth, wishing for quite different reasons than the last time that he and Merlin were alone. "Enlighten us, won't you?"

"Well, it turns out the princess had a lot to say about," Merlin glanced at Uther, "the relative tactical advantages of a monarch marrying from within their kingdom. I didn't listen to most of it. Because I was drinking. But I do have a vivid memory of when Arthur addressed the issue of destabilisation of political connections if any single leader didn't participate in the development of familial bonds across borders. And then she said—in not so many words—that that was all well and good in theory but that in practice ..."

Uther stared at Merlin. "Princess Demelsa implied that if Arthur didn't immediately propose to a citizen of Camelot, someone he couldn't possibly be marrying with any strategic gain in mind, the treaty would be in jeopardy?"

"Er," said Merlin. "Yes. In not so many words."

"Hm." Uther turned to his desk in thought. "It would make sense that's what King Francis expected of Prince Arthur if the deal was to go ahead."

Arthur took another deep breath. "Father—"

Uther held up a hand to cut him off. He turned his attention to his desk, expression hidden in the attention he was giving the papers. Then he said, "And am I to understand you went ahead with this suggestion without at least making an attempt at finding other means of satisfying such an unorthodox demand?"

"It—"

"Of course not," said Merlin over Arthur, and stepped on his foot. "Arthur spent a long time trying to dissuade her. You know how Arthur is — he wouldn't do anything to hurt Camelot. But Demelsa wouldn't hear of it. It's my fault it happened so quickly though." He even sounded a bit regretful. "Arthur was fighting her so hard that I thought she was going to give up and leave straight away. I thought the only way to persuade her otherwise was to, er, offer myself."

Merlin manfully did not look Arthur's way as he lied baldfaced to his king.

"Unfortunate," said Uther to the desk, but it sounded warmer than anything else he'd directed towards Merlin in all the years Arthur had protected the two of them from each other. "Not to mention, rash and impudent. But I don't see how it can be helped now, you'll just have to put up with the situation."

"I'm sorry, my lord," said Merlin, matching him for tone.

"Now, Arthur. For the future, let me remind you. The courtroom, rather than the bedroom, is the appropriate forum for thrashing out the questions of the kingdom which will impact profits, market prices, competitive situations, and tax advantages." Uther looked from his desk to Arthur to Merlin and back to Arthur. The tremor had returned to his voice. "I am regardless relieved that if the situation must remain unchanged for a longer duration than first intended—that it is with someone you have come to trust, following so many years of devoted service."

Arthur shook Merlin sideways off his foot. "Understood, sire."

Uther waved them off and Arthur dragged Merlin away by the elbow, heaving him into the first open doorway. Then he gave Merlin a look that he hoped said what the hell was that all about? in no uncertain terms.

"Yes, my lord?"

Arthur was at once appalled by Merlin and also searching for any possible way to express his gratitude. He had pulled them behind a supply cupboard, shady and private and out of sight of any of Uther's damned servants, and they were forced to stand very close together as a result. Arthur could tip his face to Merlin's with ease, if he wanted.

"Merlin, that was madness."

Merlin seemed unimpressed. He grabbed Arthur's arm in reply—not the injured one, which was actually feeling quite a bit better already—and tried to pull him out into the hallway again. "Clotpole. You want that land, don't you?"

"That land, as you put it, has greater import than you could dream, Merlin. I could spend the rest of the day explaining its significance and even then you still wouldn't understand. Tintagel will be an important part of my family history for generations to come."

"Yes, so play along—"

"Play along means staying married, Merlin, or did you miss that when you were—"

"It doesn't have to be forever," Merlin said stubbornly. "We can divorce if and when your father demands. But there's no point alienating Francis while you've still got a chance of adding yet another deed to your library."

Arthur took a breath. Of all possible times—he just needed ten minutes, he thought, five would do, to think.

Merlin cleared his throat and Arthur realised he was still holding Merlin in place. He let go but didn't move.

"I'm sorry," Merlin said. "I thought this was what you wanted. Can we go now?"

Merlin was nervous, Arthur realised. He raised his eyebrows despite himself. "Never had a lover drag you into a dark corner before, Merlin?"

Merlin seemed to select from a number of available responses before looking straight at Arthur and saying, "No, sire. Just you."

Arthur's heartbeat skittered up through his throat. He needed time to think about that, too. "You're a strange sort of servant."

Merlin peered around the cupboard, apparently to check the way was clear. Before they started walking, though, almost like an afterthought, he looked over his shoulder at Arthur with an expression that, quite contrary to a minute before, was both confident and amused. "Not your servant anymore, sire."

Instead of a minute to think, Callum escorted them on to the market. What had to be half of the citadel was bustling with merchants crowding each other out for the chance at catching a king's eye, or that of a love-drunk prince. Arthur stood and stared at a beautiful draughts board, wondering when Francis was going to make this big grand gesture, until Merlin dragged him to the apothecary stall opposite and proceeded to ignore him except for when the apothecary indicated a tightly-sealed bottle and said, "The mortaeus flower—uncommonly rare, fatal to ingest without the cure, which is rather hard to locate—"

Arthur blinked; Merlin didn't look at him but he jostled Arthur's arm and said, "So I've heard," in a tone of voice that Arthur didn't think was meant for the apothecary.

It didn't take long. They were barely three stalls down the roadway when Francis cleared his throat and his servants dispersed through the crowd in a way that neatly broke up conversations and attracted the attention of every person with goods still to sell.

Francis began with a bow towards Uther, deeper than courtesy required from any person who could also be called king. "Your hospitality has been unparalleled," he said, in that deep, clear voice. "And nothing brings me more happiness than the knowledge that we will soon begin a new and profitable connection between our two kingdoms after so many years of strife and uncertainty."

"It is my honour to have shared some of the delights of Camelot with you and your daughter." Uther bowed his head in Demelsa's general direction, on the other side of the market, where she had apparently been examining quill and ink with Morgana.

"However," Francis continued, voice louder, cutting through the murmur from the more distant stalls. "It brings me almost equal pleasure to have been able to bear witness to such a momentous occasion in your life, Prince Arthur and Lord Merlin."

Arthur felt Merlin sigh, hopefully imperceptible to anyone not standing shoulder to shoulder with him. He himself nodded.

"There will of course be many changes in the coming weeks as a result of our new treaty," said Francis. "However, I have decided to also make you a personal gift." He paused and looked around at the crowd before returning to speak to Arthur again. "It has been many years since you last visited your mother's first home. The time has come for that to change. In recognition and celebration of your marriage, Tintagel and the hundred acres surrounding it are yours. I will have the quitclaim deed prepared the moment I return to my own lands."

It was somehow still a shock to hear out loud. After so many years spent longing for a tangible connection to his mother, it was very hard not to let himself get lost in emotion. "My lord," said Arthur, raising his voice over the murmurs of the people surrounding him. "I hardly know what to say, or how to thank you. Your generosity is unparalleled. Please accept my sincerest gratitude."

Francis waved him off. "It's time, it's time," he said. "And it has a poetry to it, you and your new husband getting to ring in your marriage in the same place as your father and Ygraine."

Merlin choked but Arthur didn't care. He clasped Merlin's arm as the king turned away to make pleased conversation with Uther. "I wish you understood what this truly meant, Merlin."

"Recreating your father's honeymoon?"

"We've been requesting the return of that land for years. Decades, even, longer than I can remember." Arthur shook his head. "It's hard to believe. Even at such a cost." He caught himself, wishing he hadn't said that last part.

Merlin didn't seem to mind. He gave Arthur's arm a gentle shake and led him on through the crowds milling around them. "You're welcome."

Arthur cuffed him on the back of the shoulder for that.

They were almost to the end of the market, and Arthur had just about got his emotions under control, when Merlin cleared his throat and said, "Ah."

He had that guilty tone of voice that usually put Arthur on notice of some misfortune about to strike. Arthur frowned and looked around, readying himself for whatever monster or furious noble was about to come barrelling towards them, and instead spotted the spark of activity far off by the stables. He squinted. "Isn't that—?"

"Gaius is back."

"I beg your pardon," Gaius said, one long moment of silence later.

"We got married," Merlin repeated. "It was a strategic choice on Arthur's part—"

"Don't lay it all on me, darling, I can't take all the credit."

"Strategic and a long time coming," Merlin corrected himself. "You can't have failed to notice our intimate connection, Gaius, you see us together more than almost anyone."

Gaius frowned, putting his elbows on his desk and his chin in his hands. It was by now late afternoon, and all the glassware on the shelves behind him were catching the sunlight. It was actually rather pretty, if you liked that sort of thing.

"Well I can't pretend I'm surprised," Gaius said eventually, and raised his eyebrows at them.

"Really?" Merlin gaped.

"A bit shocked, perhaps. Don't these things usually have an engagement period? Or did I miss that, too?"

Arthur attempted to keep a straight face. "Ah, no, Gaius. Very spontaneous," he said, deciding to think about not surprised some time later.

Striding out of his own chambers after a quick nap, ready to face the final hours of the day with a full stomach, face freshly scrubbed and barely a bruise to show for the morning's battle—that ointment was really something—Arthur found himself overwhelmed at the overwhelming scent of the roses piled outside his door. "Good lord," he choked as he stumbled through perfumed air, grabbing onto Merlin's arm for good effect. "What in god's name is all this?"

"I imagine this is a sign that your people wish to celebrate your nuptials," Merlin said. He looked unmoved by Arthur's dramatics, and held his arm rigid under Arthur's hand.

"My people appear glad of my choice of partner," Arthur said in reply. He had no time for Merlin's dramatics, either. Although, he thought, given recent land deeds contingent upon marriages, he might need to ready himself for quite a lot more dramatics for the foreseeable future.

Merlin brightened and leaned into Arthur again. "Callum is lying in wait somewhere around."

"Good lord. My father can't want to see us again already." As if they hadn't already talked enough.

Merlin's expression registered displeasure at the thought, and Arthur relaxed. "No. Callum wanted to bring you a short meal before this dinner."

"Because …" prompted Arthur when no explanation was forthcoming, leading them down the stairs towards the great hall. The treaty would be signed quickly, the night would eventually end and the delegation would be gone with the dawn. And then everything could go back to normal.

"Because it's unseemly for the prince's consort to do servant's work," said Merlin. Then he caught Arthur's eye, and offered up an unlikely smirk from the corner of his mouth. "So I told him he wouldn't like what he found if he went inside your chambers." He let his eyes linger on Arthur's body in a way that somehow managed to undress Arthur and bind his wrists with a riding crop, all in the space of a moment.

Then he knocked his elbow against Arthur's. "It means I've ensured our privacy tomorrow morning. Probably even a day or two longer."

"They'll be gone soon. No need for privacy after Francis has left."

Merlin was silent for a long moment. Then he said, "Really, Arthur?"

Arthur glanced sharply at him. Merlin's face was pale, and it wasn't like he was avoiding looking at Arthur. More as if he was focusing anywhere but.

"What do you mean?" Arthur asked. "Really, what?"

Merlin was quiet for a long moment before he said, "It doesn't matter," through a sigh, and tried to stride on ahead.

Arthur wasn't having any of this. He grabbed Merlin's arm and yanked him back, pulling him out of the corridor and behind a pillar that framed one of the windows overlooking the courtyard. "Really, what?"

Merlin looked mulish. He stared down the length of the corridor for a long second before meeting Arthur's eye agan. "You don't want anything more than this? Be honest. It won't hurt my pride."

Merlin was so patently lying again that Arthur wanted to shake him, so he released him before he could do anything that resembled it, feeling some vague feeling of bad form. He clenched his fists instead. "What are you talking about, Merlin?"

"God, this is just like the lake the other night—" Merlin cut himself off. "Never mind."

"Just like how?" interrupted Arthur, giving him a stern look. He'd spent the majority of the night in question in fear of their lives. "You quaking at the far side of the lake? Me diving under to rescue you from—nothing, as far as the official story goes." He was treading into dangerous territory.

Merlin scuffed his feet a bit and mumbled something unintelligible. Then he cleared his throat and said, "Anyway, whatever happened, however it happened, I'm sure it's your fault and that I shouldn't get in trouble for it."

"My fault—" said Arthur, affronted. His pulse had picked up, quick in his chest. "I'm not the one who— Merlin, you kissed me—"

Not talking about it, Arthur reminded himself, as Merlin said heatedly, "Did not, I was trying to decide if you were alive when you grabbed me—"

—although it was interesting to note that apparently the words weren't impossible to say out loud "—not the other way around."

"It wasn't intentional!" Merlin protested. He seemed to find it once again very important to watch his feet instead of looking anywhere near Arthur. "I thought you were dead, the more important question was whether or not you were breathing after the giant big scary tentacle monster threw you around and dropped you on the shore like a rag doll!"

"No you didn't, you specifically said do that again and I'll kill you myself, you stupid idiot—" Arthur was very clear on that fact despite spending several days working very hard not to think about what happpened next "—very respectful of you to your prince, by the way." He caught Merlin's eye by accident and jerked his head to stare hard along the length of the corridor. "And then you kissed me."

"No: then I tried to bring you back to life, and even if you were right and that is what happened—which it's not—if I could promise it was never going to happen again, I would," Merlin hissed. "But right now that's not an option."

"Not an option—!" Arthur took another step away, something bitter and sharp striking in his chest. "My apologies, Merlin. I had no idea I was so repulsive to you."

"You're not, you idiot, that's the point—we're married and we're going to stay married apparently—"

"I know," Arthur snarled, and quite abruptly stepped forwards, gripping Merlin's shoulders, and kissed him.

Merlin stopped fighting at once. He kissed Arthur back without hesitation, dragging Arthur closer with both hands on his hips.

Just like the other night, Arthur had no idea what he was doing, except now he had a better idea of some other things. He wanted to hold Merlin to him and kiss him hard, and this time not because he had narrowly avoided death. But because he wanted to, and he wanted to be sure that Merlin wasn't going to do anything like leave. Arthur wanted this to go on so very badly.

"You're such an idiot—" Merlin said against his mouth, trying to pull him closer "—my lord. Why did you—we could've been doing this all along—"

Arthur kissed him harder to quiet him, because there wasn't the time. He just wanted to stay where they were, pressed into a window where no one in the kingdom would think anything of it if they looked up and saw it. For once, for now, Arthur could have what he wanted.

Somewhere at the far end of a distant corridor, a door opened and quickly closed again, followed by the soft trotting sound of a servant sent to find two missing nobles.

Arthur forced himself to pull away from Merlin, loathe to stop but more horrified at the thought of Callum tapping him on the shoulder.

He stared at Merlin still leaning against the wall, and tried to get his breathing under control. Merlin's mouth was red, eyes bright.

The footsteps were getting closer. Arthur shook his head and tugged Merlin away from the wall.

"But," Merlin started, sounding frustrated. Arthur knew the feeling. But now he knew they had time, too.

"Come on," he said. He caught Merlin's eye and nodded down towards the end of the corridor, and slung his arm easily over Merlin's shoulder, trying to temper the race of his heart. "Let's get this over with."

The treaty was to be signed with all the pomp and circumstance owed to the official end to thirty years of tensions, which was to say: anyone who considered themselves anyone was invited to stand around looking serious in the great hall, five or six new laws of lesser significance but greater value found their way onto the table for signing after the treaty was done and dusted, and then everyone sat down for healthy celebration across Uther's well-laden table.

Arthur, of course, would be excused from all but the signing, being a newly married man with other concerns on his mind—like pleasing his new spouse and deciding how to approach the underhanded tactics of Camelot's new ally from the south.

Leon was one of those few in attendance with valuable conversation to offer, sitting up at the high table in a position of honour next to the seats left open for Merlin and Arthur. Arthur felt a stir of pride at seeing him there.

"Good evening, Arthur," said Uther in a ringing voice as they walked inside to a sea of faces, foreign and familiar. He had parchment, pen and ink spread out on the table before him, King Francis sat beside him ready to sign the counterpart, the scribes standing behind them ready to scurry away and make their copies. "Lord Merlin. Please sit down."

"I hate being the centre of attention," Merlin grumbled as they took a seat at Uther's table, straightening their clothes surreptitiously. "And somehow I never manage to avoid it."

"Shouldn't have said yes, then, should you," Arthur murmured in reply, leaning over to pour them each a cup of wine, and caught his breath at the brilliant smile that flashed across Merlin's face.

The signing was the work of a moment, the speeches less so. All the while as peace became the rule of two kingdoms, Arthur stared at the centre paving stone, and tried to keep his mind free of anything but Camelot's prospects for future trade and the chance of setting out across the sea from the wild northern shores of Francis's lands.

Applause erupted, dragging Arthur out from his reverie as servants appeared from nowhere with platters of bread and roasted meat. He helped himself to a pickled egg and another cup of wine instead, and sharing a brief, breathless look with Merlin, forced himself to turn the other way and make conversation with Leon instead.

"Tell me about these squabbles at the border."

"Nothing to report, sire. No squabbles, hardly an unfriendly look. But I'm happy to tell you about our trials with the joust yesterday," and Leon continued into an animated telling of a story from training that had absolutely nothing to do with Arthur's marital relations.

Merlin was engaged in a spirited discussion about Camelot's ways and traditions with one of Demelsa's guardsmen. He was a stocky lad with a brash, cheerful way about him that Arthur suspected had likely got him in trouble on more than one occasion. Not that Arthur had much room to talk about the leeway anyone else gave to their servants.

He gave himself a shake and refocused on Leon's amusing story about the knights. "And Percival's response was the usual—"

"Aye, my lord. Picked up the mouthy one and ran with him over one shoulder all the way to drop him at the other end of the field, left him where he landed in the muck."

Arthur laughed uproariously. "A dramatic end."

"Yes, my lord, in fact—"

Merlin knocked into his shoulder. "Sorry," he said breezily, and leaned sideways to straighten some unaffected aspect of Arthur's clothing. "Can't have you looking less than your best—"

One of the younger servants, a friend of Gwen's called Sylvie, walked past with a plate of cheeses; Arthur waved her over and picked out a slice of something very blue.

"—surpassing strange," mused the guardsman on Merlin's other side. "To take so little interest in the marriage of his only son."

"Mmm, well, King Uther is very busy," said Merlin. "Doesn't consider it a full day's work if he hasn't signed ten treaties before breakfast. Fortunately, Arthur has far less weighty concerns as well as the good eyes and the common sense to recognise an outrageously handsome young man when I spend so many years changing his bed linens."

"Indeed," said the fellow. "And yet I can't help but notice that you're not very demonstrative, you and the prince. Is King Uther not pleased?"

"Oh, very," said Merlin. "But he does rather tend to frown on young men despoiling his son in public locations. I was quite serious about the treaties and at the rate things are going this morning, he's already behind. I'm sure you can imagine the hold-up if I were to—"

"Sorry," Arthur said loudly to Leon. "You told him what?"

"I told him, if he wanted to audience the junior knights, he'd have to ask—"

"Certainly," the guardsman said, and took another swig of wine. "You'd hardly know that you were married if not for the—"

"—and he didn't seem very keen on that," said Leon, mouth curling. "I told them that they'd need to talk to you first, because—"

"What can I say," Merlin said, this time with a hint of impatience. "The king doesn't approve of anything so indiscreet. It's so awkward for guests when Arthur—"

"Oh, for goodness's sake—my apologies, Sir Leon," said Arthur, feeling a sort of distant embarrassment at all this and trying to ignore an all-encompassing annoyance that it was happening now, like this, in front of the entirety of the court and that of another kingdom. And pleased all the same, because he could.

Arthur dropped his cup, took hold of Merlin by the collar and kissed him.

He felt the whole of Merlin's reaction, from annoyance to surprise, until eventually he landed one hand in Arthur's shirt, one on his knee, kissing Arthur back like there was nothing else for it, generous and smiling into it. Arthur let everything else fade away until it was just the two of them.

When he pulled away, Uther was talking to a noble from the Cornish delegation and guests from the outer circle of the citadel were talking amongst themselves without interest. Arthur put his hand on Merlin's, squeezed his fingers a bit and drew back. He wasn't, he found, feeling anything like regret.

"My lord?" Merlin blinked at Arthur, although there was a smile tripping over whatever inquiring look he was trying to get away with.

Arthur swallowed a laugh and nodded instead. "Lord Merlin."

Then he looked again at Leon, ignoring Merlin's laughing dismay. "You were saying, Sir Leon?"

He left his hand in Merlin's.

King Francis and his daughter gathered with their many guardsmen the next morning before the sun had made it above the castle walls.

Uther stepped away from Francis to allow him to swing himself up onto his horse and Arthur took the opportunity to bow. "It was an honour to meet you, your highness."

"Likewise," said Francis cheerfully. As well he might, Arthur thought. He'd had a very successful few days. "I am overjoyed at our luck, being present for your wedding. We couldn't have planned our journey any better if we tried."

Arthur couldn't argue with that. "Your generosity will be sung in our halls for years to come."

"Not by Arthur," Merlin quickly added from Arthur's side, and made a quelling gesture his way. "You wouldn't want that, your highness. Arthur can barely hold a note in battle. I might give it a try though."

Francis guffawed. "Is that so?"

Some way to the side, Morgana had already walked away. Demelsa looked up and grinned when Arthur met her eye, and laughed when Merlin said, "Yes, my lord. Voice like a songbird, me."

"Don't listen to a word, he says, sire," said Arthur mildly. "You start believing lies like that, it's only a matter of time before you'll hand him the keys to your kingdom and think he's doing you a favour."

"I see," said Francis after a moment. "Thank you for the warning, lad."

Arthur nodded and smiled as Francis turned away. One of the flags hanging from the ramparts caught the breeze and Arthur's attention with it; he watched the banner fluttering joyfully from the tower and nudged against Merlin's arm, to share it.