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winterknightsTitle: Merlin’s Yule Gift - Part 1
Author/Artist:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rotrude
Pairing(s): Merlin/Arthur
Prompt: Canon, Arthur doesn't know what to get Merlin for Christmas, and he has to ask everyone else for help.
Word Count/Art Medium: 15,000
Rating: (G to NC-17) NC-17
Contains (Highlight to view): *Please warn for possible triggers and squicks.*
Disclaimer: Merlin characters are the property of Shine and BBC. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: Thanks to the brilliant C for betaing this piece in time for the holiday season, her comments and wise notes. You've been a dear. Happy holidays to you too.
Based on the following prompt by Narlth: Canon, Arthur doesn't know what to get Merlin for Christmas, and he has to ask everyone else for help. Thank you so much for the wonderful plot idea!
Summary It's the first Yule after Uther's death and in spite of some initial doubts as to the propriety of holding revels, Arthur decides to celebrate the festival all the same. The populace deserves a time for merry-making and so do his friends and loved ones. Now present exchanges are a Camelot Yuletide tradition, a long established convention. And that's where Arthur's plans falter just a little. While he knows what to give his friends and followers, he has no idea how to reward Merlin. Right, Merlin...
On AO3
They were returning from a border patrol, slumping in their hard saddles, their cloaks carefully fastened at their fronts, when he realised that winter was upon them. The hooves of their horses sank into sludge, leaving imprints that blurred in mud, blankets of snow coated the castle's roof and gables, and flakes kept drifting in their faces, keen like razor blades on bones.
With his mind on the dangers that continually beset Camelot, Arthur had not noticed how the air had turned to frost. He hadn't paid attention to the way the days had shortened. He hadn't taken heed of the mists that seeped from the ground or sampled the hardness of the soil. Or rather he had but in a completely utilitarian way. He'd made sure provisions were distributed for the poor. He'd made certain border castles were equally well supplied so they could weather the bad season. When organising the latest patrol, he'd certainly taken the harshness of the weather into account.
What he hadn't done was take a moment to notice that Yule was upon them. He hadn't considered how those close to him would react or how the populace would rejoice in the festivities.
When they reached the courtyard, Arthur slowed his mount. He brought it to a halt shy of the stairs that led into the palace keep.
Arthur had barely dismounted when Merlin appeared at his side. His hands were red from knuckle to finger joint and his face was the same colour, especially around the sharp rise of his cheekbones. “Sire,” he said, stomping his feet and clapping his hands together, “let me.”
“I think I can be trusted with dismounting, Merlin,” Arthur found himself saying before he'd quite thought what he meant through. His focus was on Merlin, on the way he was fending off the cold with clumsy motions of his body, on the thinness of his clothing and the smile he wore in spite of the chill that had to be working through him. The sight left Arthur off centre and slowed his thoughts processes to a trickle he couldn't navigate.
Merlin tsked. “You're really grumpy when you're cold, sire.”
“And you really have no notion of when to stop talking, have you, Merlin?” For all that Arthur didn't want to quibble with Merlin, he couldn't stop himself from falling back on the routine of doing so. He wasn't sure whether it was force of habit, inherent guilt, or just the effect of the weather on his sore bones. “You just plough on, don't you?”
Merlin smiled as though nothing could stop him doing so, as if he could take whatever Arthur levelled at him. He kneaded Arthur's shoulder with the flat of his big palm, and worked some warmth into him. “A hot bath is in order, I think.”
Arthur wanted to ask Merlin whether he was implying Arthur was being testy but thought the better of it. He was sure he knew the answer and didn't want to bait Merlin further because if he did he'd have to start too and Merlin would have to step back, put some distance between them, and Arthur would be missing the sudden sucker punch warmth of his touch. “Have one prepared,” he said, and marched inside.
When he got to his rooms a while later, the bath tub was already out, water steaming in soft clouds. Merlin was ambling round it, a towel slung over his shoulder. His sleeves were rolled up and he had lost the belt that generally cinched his shirt at the waist.
Arthur stopped in his tracks and watched him, took in his spare frame, and his intent expression, and something about it hit him low in the guts.
“Ah, you're there,” Merlin said, lifting his eyes to him. “Undress quickly or you won't be able to enjoy your bath at its warmest.”
It's a miracle it's still tepid, Arthur wanted to say. Oh, what have we here the servant hurrying the master. What is it, the festival of misrule! He wanted to blast that out with unconcern and the words were ready at the tip of his tongue, but something stoppered them. So he came up with neither phrase and started tugging at his belt instead.
Merlin tutted and came over to him, batting his hands away. “Let me.”
Arthur wanted to point out that he could get his clothes off by himself, but there was something to Merlin's economy of motion, to the way he stripped Arthur of items one by one, that spoke of habit and competence and lulled Arthur in a sense of security. So he let Merlin have at him. He eased off Arthur's chainmail in one smooth motion, Arthur with his arms up, Merlin taking care of the weight of it. As Merlin took off his tunic, his knuckles brushed along a stretch of Arthur's chest. When he had to pull off Arthur's boots, he went to his knees. His lips twitched but otherwise he said nothing to tease.
Some mornings he did, but there were other times when he was silent, head in the work, in the act of serving, though it had never felt like that to Arthur. Merlin's valeting was more a constituent part of their days than an act of duty, a sign of bondage. Merlin made it easy on them both, made it matter of fact, with either talk or an easy going silence. Even now he was quietly efficient, his hands on Arthur's hips, pulling his trousers and small clothes down. He was up and level with Arthur in fewer seconds than it took Arthur to get adjusted to the room temperature.
With a few forwards bounds Arthur took a plunge in the bathtub. The water was just the right kind of warm. Enough to ease the knot in his muscles without having him all asweat and wishing he was somewhere cooler. As Arthur tipped his head back against the tub's rim, Merlin sponged his chest and arms. He moved the cloth from clavicles to fingers, taking away all the dirt and grime Arthur had collected over their week-long patrol. He'd washed in streams and ponds but with the cold it had always been a quick, hurried affair.
Arthur closed his eyes and said, “I didn't realise until now but Yuletide is getting close.”
Merlin hummed softly, cleaning under Arthur's nails with the soft side of his sponge. “Yeah, two weeks.”
Arthur huffed. “Have you been counting the days, Merlin? Like a proper child?”
Merlin moved around the tub and crouched on the other side. He sponged Arthur's other arm, working suds into his skin. “I just like the tradition,” he said, smiling softly. “The singing, the feasting, the drinking. I love it.”
“It sounds like you're fond of carousing.” Arthur didn't really believe that, that Merlin was only interested in the ribald side of the festivities. He was wearing too gentle a smile for that, as if his pleasure in the celebrations was due to pleasant memories rather than looking forward to tavern binges. Arthur could after all well imagine what Merlin's experience of Yuletide had to be like, full of Ealdor reminiscences, of mementoes of hearth and home. “But it seems to me you could enjoy all of that merry-making without having to suffer from the cold of the Yuletide season.”
“True,” Merlin said, leaning forwards to scrub at Arthur's chest. He didn't rub with too much force, soothing the skin as he moved his cloth across. “I suppose it's the atmosphere. It's one of joy and mirth.”
“You really love it, don't you?” Arthur looked at Merlin from under lowered lids. The bath was making his body heavy but the sluggishness didn't stop him from watching Merlin. He still had that reminiscent, vaguely joyful expression on, with dimples in his cheeks and a happy flush to his face. “All this talk about tradition. You just love it.”
“Unashamedly,” Merlin said, lifting his eyes to him. With a cock of the head, he added, “Don't you?”
“Not quite like you.” While his father had celebrated, he'd never put his heart into it. There were banquets and dances and there was a Yule log ceremony, but Father had never stayed. And now that he was gone... “I don't dislike it.”
“I should teach you how to have fun.” Merlin's lips quirked sideways.
“How to be idle, you mean.” In spite of his wording, Arthur felt a quickening of his heart at the notion. He wasn't sure whether it was because he was chomping at the bit at the idea of experiencing some of that joy Merlin seemed to be able to so easily bask in or because he was simply tired of having to play the part of the temperate king all the time. In an attempt to subdue the feeling, rein it in till he could poke at it more carefully, he took another tack. “Do you think it would help with the people's morale if we celebrated this year?”
Merlin stopped in his motions, the sponge held loosely between his fingers. “Yes. I think they'd love it. We've all been through hard times.”
Arthur was aware of what Merlin was thinking, Morgana's attempts on Camelot, of his father’s death. Those had been destabilising events, driving the fear of tomorrow into the populace. “Wouldn't it be disrespectful towards my father? It...” Arthur looked at the tub water. It was dense with soap suds and quantifiably less clean than before. “It would be Camelot's first Yule without its King--”
“Camelot has a king,” Merlin said, his gaze square on Arthur. “The best king it's ever had.”
“But--”
“No buts.” Merlin squeezed his shoulder, his palm hotter than the water, a brand of its own. “It's the truth. You've given your people hope, Arthur. You've ruled well. And...”
“Still, to be seen to entertain with feasts...”
“You deserve some off time.” Merlin's jaw set and his eyes held a fire in them Arthur knew well from the countless times they'd butted heads. “Some happiness. And your subjects do too.”
“It'd take their minds of their troubles.” Arthur could see that. Merlin was more emotional about it, in his word choice and reactions, but he was sure that at the core they were of the same mind. “Off the rest of the long winter ahead.”
“Yes, that too.”
“Well, I can see the potential in that.”
“Arthur?” Merlin said before biting his lip.
“Yes?” Arthur arched an eyebrow. “It's not as if you haven't made free with your king before.”
Merlin quirked his lips, gnawed on them again, and squeezed at the sponge till water cascaded out of it in a steady rivulet. “That doesn't mean you don't miss him. Or that you don't mourn him. You can do both. You can miss him and find a place in your heart for some levity. I know this sounds like utter tosh but...” He shook his head. “But it's--”
“It makes sense.”
Merlin widened his eyes. “Are you acknowledging my wisdom?”
“No, Merlin.” Arthur had to labour hard for that careless tone. Mostly because he wanted to smile and shake his head and nurture the ball of warmth that looped around his insides. “I'm not acknowledging your non-existent wisdom.”
“Because it sounded like that for a moment.”
“Merlin?”
“Yeah?”
Arthur lifted his foot and wiggled his toes. “Go on with the scrubbing.”
“Blubblehead,” Merlin said, throwing the sponge in his face.
Arthur caught the sponge and slapped it at Merlin's smug face. It wetted it and his fringe, water dripping from his chin and nose. As for his hair itself, it went up in spikes in the most ridiculous of fashions. Merlin looked like nothing other than a wet, indignant dog, colour high, his lips curling with distaste. Arthur laughed. He couldn't help it. The laughter came from deep within his belly and seemed to shake his frame. In his heart he'd made a decision. They'd celebrate Yuletide and he'd do his duty. By his people and by Merlin too.
****
“In conclusion I think that with a rational distribution the provisions will last us until spring,” Leon said, putting down the parchments he'd been reading from. He beamed at the nobles assembled around the round table.
Elyan clapped while murmuring assent came from the other knights.
Gwaine woke up with a start. “Tell me the council is over, please.”
Arthur, who had starting feeling drowsy himself when Leon's report had extended over the second hour, was eager himself to call it quits. In spite of being king, there was only so much interest he could summon over the storage methods of different kinds of grain. Even so it wouldn't do to indulge Gwaine. “As a matter of fact, it is,” Arthur said, “but you, Gwaine, will have to write up a summary of all we discussed.”
“What!” Gwaine's eyes widened. “Oh come on, Arthur!”
“I have a written version of my report,” Leon said, waving up the parchments he'd brought with him. “I can lend it to you.”
“I don't want to have to read it, I didn’t want to hear it the first time.” Gwaine hissed at Leon. “I just don't want to do it!”
“Sorry, Gwaine, you will have to,” Arthur said, pushing his chair back and getting up. He adjusted his cloak. It tended to wrinkle when he sat too long. “This council meeting is over.”
The knights rose from their places at the table, stretched a little, laughed, gave each other pats on the back and left the room in small groups.
Gwaine had just left the chamber, when Arthur called out, “Leon, could you stay a moment?”
“Yes, sire.” Leon bobbed an eyebrow. “Was there something wrong with my report? I can go over the numbers again.”
“No, no, that's fine.” Arthur held his hands up. “It was quite in-depth.” And probably one of the most boring write-ups of Leon's career. The level of attention bestowed on minutiae was indeed soporific. “No, I'd rather have your advice.”
Leon's eyes rounded with curiosity, but he only said, “Feel free to sound me out, sire.”
Arthur shifted from foot to foot, his gaze on the depths of the council chamber. “It's about Merlin.”
“Merlin, sire?”
“Yes.” Now that Arthur had mentioned it, he would have to follow through. He wasn't as much of a coward as to back down now. “It's nearly Yuletide and seeing as Merlin’s not too bad of a servant and that he has been quite loyal--” This point couldn't be disputed, could it? It was all very rational of him to mention it. “I thought I would give him a present to commemorate the upcoming feast.”
“That's a commendable thought, sire,” said Sir Leon, his cheeks dimpling. “I'm giving my own servants an extra gratuity myself.”
Arthur puckered his brow. “No, that's not exactly what I meant.” Arthur didn't think Merlin would frown on some extra money. He was eager enough winning it from Arthur at the tavern. But Arthur had envisaged a present of a different nature altogether. “I was thinking more of a token of my....” Arthur stumbled for words. The vocabulary surely put plenty at his disposal, but none seemed appropriate to his feelings on the matter. “Appreciation.”
“Oh.” Leon bobbed his head and rubbed at his beard. “You mean something more personal?”
“If you will.”
Leon got this faraway look as he thought, then he clapped his hands together and smiled. “I've got it,” he said. “Why don't you get him a chess set?”
“A chess set.” Arthur had once seen Merlin play that game with one of the guards on night duty, so he knew Merlin was at least aware of its rules. But he'd never talked about it or mentioned it since. “I'm not sure it would be the right choice.”
“Well, it's a very relaxing activity, a game based on strategy.” Leon tapped his forehead. “It's good for the brain and sets have some value. Some are nicely carved and cost quite a great deal. If Merlin doesn't like it, or gets bored with it, he can sell it and make a tidy profit.”
“Mmm, yes I see the benefit to that. I'll think about it.” Arthur clapped Leon on the shoulder. “Thank you for your piece of advice, Leon.”
Leon smiled. “Any time, sire.”
****
Arthur pulled his sword back and thrust it forward again, aiming for Gwaine's neck. Gwaine parried and locked them into an impasse. With a groan, Arthur ripped his sword arm clear and danced back. With a swift jerk of his arm, Gwaine attacked again. Arthur put up his shield. The clang deafened him and his bicep trembled, but the block held.
Gwaine thrust at Arthur's middle and Arthur walked into it. He opened himself to a stab, deflected the blow with his pauldron – though the impact set his teeth on edge and his shoulder on fire – and sliced at Gwaine with the rim of his shield. Sweat glistening on his face, Gwaine stumbled backwards, deflected another jab, then lost his balance again.
Arthur lunged at him. With a heave and a grunt, Gwaine held his sword up and weathered the impact. Putting his whole weight behind, he swiped Arthur's sword aside. Arthur went with it, but was quick to get his footing back. He danced clear of Gwaine, whipped his own blade round, and arced it towards Gwaine's throat. Pulling the blow a few seconds short of nicking skin, Arthur said, “And that's how you get under your opponent's guard.”
Gwaine clacked his tongue. “Oh, come on, Arthur, you know my heart wasn't in it. Besides, you went at it like a berserker.”
Arthur had to concede, he'd used a simple training session to make a point. But if any young knight or squire learnt anything from it, it was all to the good. Not to mention, Gwaine was often a notch too cocky, thinking that his prowess and ability to improvise would see him through everything. If he didn't change soon, he would pay for his brashness one day. “And your enemy on the battlefield won't?”
Gwaine hedged. “Touché.”
“Take this lesson to heart then.”
The knights clapped and drowned out his voice.
Arthur bowed his head. While it was pleasant to hear proof of his men's admiration, he hadn't put a show up for that. “We're done with training for today. You can all go.”
Not needing to be told twice, the knights dispersed.
Gwaine had just sheathed his sword, when Arthur said, “Gwaine, wait.”
“What,” Gwaine said, tossing his hair. “You're itching to have a second go at me? I won't make it so easy this time.”
Arthur shook his head. “No. It's not that.” He harrumphed. “I would have a word.”
Gwaine waggled his eyebrows. “Sounds serious. Do you need help courting the fair Gwen? I think flowers would do. And maybe a nice golden ring.”
While there was an unspoken agreement between Arthur and Guinevere, Arthur had never meant to consult Gwaine about her. He was sure Guinevere would stop talking to him if he ever took Gwaine's advice. “No, that's not it at all.” Keeping Gwaine off one of his infamous tangents wouldn't be easy, but Arthur had a goal and he meant to pursue it. “It's about Merlin, really.”
At the mention of Merlin, Gwaine beamed. “Ha, my good friend, Merlin.”
“Yes, him.” Not that there was another Merlin Arthur could be possibly talking about. “It's...” Arthur was hesitant to broach the topic with Gwaine, despite his resolve.
Gwaine cocked his head to the side and his countenance darkened. “I hope nothing's wrong with him?”
“No, no, Merlin's fine.” Arthur saw Gwaine's jaw relax. “It's just... You must have heard. We're having Yuletide celebrations this year.”
“Oh, yeah.” Gwaine smacked his palm against Arthur's back. “I'm ever so ready for the revels. It's going to be a great night.”
Arthur didn't really want to be kept abreast of Gwaine's plans. “Yes, well, as part of those celebrations I'm getting the people in my entourage something.”
“And what do I get?”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “You? Nothing. I was talking about Merlin.”
Gwaine's eyes went small. “Are you asking me what you should get Merlin for Yuletide?”
Arthur didn't want to put it exactly like that. “By and large, yes.”
“Oh, Arthur.” Gwaine guffawed. He only bit his lips into silence once Arthur had extensively glared at him. He then cleared his throat and said, “You know the one thing Merlin almost never gets...” He bobbed his eyebrows. “Well, I'd get him that.”
“What the hell does that even mean?” Arthur was starting to suspect Gwaine of yanking his chain.
Gwaine loudly exhaled. “You always say I'm crass and then when I'm not you complain.”
Arthur was sure he would never iron out all the creases on his brow. “I shouldn't have asked you of all people, should I?” He shook his head, more at himself than Gwaine, and turned around.
Gwaine grabbed him. “No, no, you really should have. I'm the best friend Merlin has and I really want him to get the most out of this--” He waggled his eyebrows. His countenance sobered and he added, “Out of life really.”
Arthur felt there was something to what Gwaine'd said that needed some probing. Now, however, was not the time. He was on a mission and with all the cares of his kingdom on him he had precious little time to carry it out. “So what are you suggesting?”
“Sex, Arthur, sex,” Gwaine said, his eyes pointing heavenwards.
“I don't--” Arthur gnawed on his lip, gave his head a shake, and widened his stance. “I don't follow.”
“Merlin's always running around cleaning after you, or serving you--”
“That's his job,” Arthur said.
“Yes, that it is.” Gwaine acknowledged that with a careless swipe of his hand. “But because he's so busy following you everywhere, inside the castle, on patrol, during campaigns, he almost never gets to socialise.”
“And you mean for me to...” Heat bit at Arthur's face.
“To help him get some!” Gwaine smiled wide.
“What is that supposed to--”
“I'm just saying, you prude, that you should book Merlin a night with one of the tavern girls.” Gwaine winked. “So that he can, you know.” He clacked his tongue.
No noise had ever sounded more obnoxious to Arthur. “That's absolutely preposterous. I'm not going to procure him...” Arthur was at a loss for words. “I'm just not-- I'm the King of Camelot, and not...”
Gwaine laughed. “Well, that's what I'd get him if I were you. If you ever overcome your rampant priggishness on sexual matters, do consider it. I'm sure Merlin would be grateful.” With a flourish, Gwaine sheathed his sword.
“That's... that's...”
Gwaine didn't let Arthur recover from his spluttering. With a bow, he walked away.
“I'm not a prude,” Arthur muttered as he watched him go. When Gwaine was out of earshot, he added, “And I'm not taking his idiot advice either!”
****
Head down so his hood wouldn't come off, Arthur loped down the ill-lit street. He'd avoided the larger, brighter street, for even at dusk it was crowded with merchants closing down their shops, urchins running around, and matrons sweeping their front steps. But now he had to deal with the dangers that came with such darkness. Walking at a brisk pace along the length of the perimeter wall, and avoiding eye contact with chance passers-by, Arthur crossed into smaller and smaller lanes instead.
He kept his feet away from the gutter, where the russet soil mixed with sewage debris, and his hand down at his side, his palm wrapped around the hilt of his sword so it wouldn't poke out from the folds of his cloak.
Even though he'd wasted some time by way of his detour, he got to the house before it was too late for calls. The house itself was a wide construction, made of wood, with a sloping roof and flowers on the window sills. Viburnum they were, robust and fragrant, with their heads up to drink the moistness away from the evening. He knocked.
Guinevere opened the door. She still wore her corseted dress, but her hair curled free around her head, no pins keeping it in place. “Arthur,” she said, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “What a beautiful surprise!”
They stepped inside. There was a pot on the hearth and clouds of smoke issued from it. The smell was of herbs and vegetables, of fresh home-made food.
Guinevere took his hands and walked him into the main room. “Would you like some dinner? I was making some for myself.”
As much as Arthur appreciated the hearty smell, he couldn't agree. “I haven't come to have you serve me.”
“I wouldn't be.” She squeezed his hands and kissed his lips. “I would be sharing.”
“In that case...”
She divested him of his cloak, ladled soup into a wooden bowl, and sat across from him.
Arthur cupped the bowl with his hands. It was hot and the grain of it rough. Arthur brought it to his mouth and sipped at the contents. The taste was deep, bracing, somewhat minty too.
“You're quiet tonight,” Guinevere said, leaning her head on her hand. “Something's worrying you.”
Arthur looked up. “Nothing is.”
She smiled and it put dimples in her cheeks. “You've come for a reason. Tell me.”
“No, I--” Arthur put the bowl down but kept his palms around it. “I haven't.”
“The frown you're wearing tells me otherwise.”
Arthur sighed and leant heavily against the back of his chair. “It's just...”
“You know you may confide in me, Arthur,” Guinevere said in a rush of breath.
“I think you may well be the only reasonable person I know.” Arthur kneaded his thigh and tipped his head back “God knows, going to Leon and Gwaine was such a mistake.”
“You went to Gwaine for advice?” Gwen laughed.
He matched her smile. “Indeed.” Upon contemplating what he had to say next, Arthur felt his brow furrow. Perhaps he shouldn't... “I wouldn't want you to think I'm exploiting you for your wise counsel, Guinevere.”
“You're not,” she said, leaning forward to cover one of his hands with hers. “Now tell me what I can do for you.”
Arthur bit his lip.
“Or you could ask, Merlin,” Guinevere said. “He's sure to be willing to help.”
“That's the problem, Guinevere.” Arthur exhaled hard and it made him feel light-headed. “I can't go to him because this is about him.”
“Oh no.” Guinevere's face fell. “Is he in trouble?”
“No, not that I know of anyway.” Arthur scratched at his forehead. “It occurred to me that...” Arthur didn't know how to put the barrage of sensations caged inside him into words. He wasn't a very talented speaker, more prone to taking action than stringing conceits together. Merlin had certainly more of the gift of the gab than him, and this was complicated. “It occurred to me that Merlin deserves a reward, something for his long years of faithful service.”
“That's an excellent idea, Arthur!” Gwen's expression softened and she looked at him as if he'd hung the moon or accomplished some other daring feat. “I approve.”
“Well, there's the rub actually.” Arthur pushed his lips together. “I thought I'd get him something for Yule but I've no idea what.”
“You can give him yourself,” Gwen said, her words as soft as a whisper, her eyes brightening. She looked away. “What I mean is...” She shifted in her seat and let go of his hand. “Merlin doesn’t wish for any monetary reward or material object.”
Arthur made a noise of agreement.
“So the only thing of value to him, would be...” She bit her lip. “Well, your attention and regard.”
“He has more of my attention than I'm sure he can do with.”
Guinevere clasped her hands together and rattled out a breath. “No, I meant... Your regard.” She made big eyes at him, drawing out the last word knowingly.
At the suggestion, Arthur's lungs seemed to shrink in size, his ribcage closing in, preventing him from taking a proper breath. At last he gasped out a hefty puff of air and, face burning, he said, “You misunderstand.”
“I don't think I do,” Guinevere said, searching his eyes with hers. “And if you're afraid about our agreement or of hurting me...” She dropped her eyes and gazed at her joint hands. “I wouldn't view a similar concurrent agreement between you and Merlin as a violation of our bond of trust.”
Arthur thoughts raced so painfully fast he couldn't single any of them out. “I--” His face flamed hotter and he wished he could tear out in the cold night and lose himself in it. “You're wrong, you know. Must be. I'm sure he doesn't feel that way.” Merlin had never made any overture in that regard and as straightforward in his feelings as he was, he would have if he'd meant it. “I've given you my word, Guinevere, I won't renege on it.” Upon Agravaine's suggestion, he had all but recently broken faith with her, and the thought itself still brought him shame. He wouldn't make the same mistake again. “It's not right.”
“I consider myself pledged too, Arthur.” Gwen’s eyes were full of warmth. “But I'm open to more options than one, and with your love for Merlin and mine for him...” She shook her head and a curl danced in front of her forehead. “I'm sure a solution will easily be found. And if the basis of our pledge stays true, why should we care about the details, or who it extends to?” She looked out the window and at the Camelot night. “The human heart has such a huge capacity for love, Arthur.”
Arthur wasn't sure whether Guinevere's words were filled with wisdom or wishful thinking. He wanted to think it was only the latter, that she was deluding herself. It was so much easier. It allowed for much less pain, a clearer cut vision of how things should be. A view of the world that matched the expectations that had been imbued in him from childhood on. A wife, heirs, no other complications. “Merlin doesn't...”
“He loves deeply,” Gwen said for him.
Arthur nodded but he didn't continue when Gwen had left off. He chose another path entirely. “He's loyal and kind, and, to be quite honest with you, brave too.” Knights asked for weapons and the protection of advance guards when they went on patrol or set out for war. Stupidly, recklessly, Merlin never did. He just followed, always a step behind, or, God forbid it, one to the front, no matter what manner of danger they faced. “But I can't believe he's moved by--” He couldn't say it and wouldn't. “But that doesn't mean I don't want to present him with a token of my...” The word bunched in his throat, a hardy lump that wouldn't budge, so he used another. “...esteem.”
“Why don't you sound him out then?” Gwen said, tilting her head. “Why don't you ask him what it is he wants? I'm sure he'll tell you.”
It seemed so easy, so feasible. Leon and Gwaine's advice was largely useless yet Gwen's was sound. There was nothing like asking the man himself. Yet there was something about the notion that made Arthur uneasy. He couldn't pinpoint what exactly, but something did. He tried to voice some of his discomfort in the best way he knew. “Wouldn't it be unseemly for a king to...”
“Arthur,” Gwen, “sometimes a king is just a man.”
And there was the rub. For if he was only a man – just like Merlin – then nothing stood between them and all his guardedness would have to go. Merlin, with his easy way of getting under your skin, would sweep Arthur off his feet. The cloak of royalty had so far protected him from that. “And what if the man behind the king is lacking?”
“Merlin doesn't think that.” Gwen shook her head and released a huffed breath. “He thinks you're a great king and a good man.”
“I'm afraid he'd say I'm a stick in the mud king and an utter box-head of a man.”
“Probably.” Gwen hid a laugh behind her palm. “But those are only words, you know that, don't you?” When Arthur didn't answer, she added, “Now no more torturing yourself with these loaded questions and finish your supper.”
Arthur sank his spoon into the thickness of the soup.
****
The room was so cold Arthur's breath misted every time he exhaled. His soup had cooled right after Merlin had set it down and the gravy around Arthur's chicken had solidified into unappealing lumps long before he could get to it.
Putting down his fork, Arthur watched Merlin bustle about. He was carrying a pile of Arthur's clothes and armour from one end of the chamber to the other. “Merlin,” Arthur said, watching Merlin deposit his pile into a trunk, “do you remember the talk we had about, well, Yuletide?”
Merlin stopped on his return path to the opposite end of the room. “Yes, of course I do. It hasn't been that long, I'm not going senile. Besides, I've seen the placards plastered all about town; we're to have a Yule celebration.” He grinned widely, his eyes dancing with it. They grew lighter as, in their wideness, they caught the pale light of the room. “The kitchen staff are beside themselves with joy.”
“And yet you're absolutely not gleeful, are you Merlin?” Arthur said, his own mouth lifting at the corner.
Crinkles enfolded Merlin's eyes even as he tamped down on his grin and attempted a more sombre expression. “I mean to go stoic for the occasion, just like you.”
“Well, I can't exactly be seen to grow overly merry in front of my subjects,” Arthur said, drumming his fingers on the table. “It would not be proper.”
“No, of course not.” Merlin rolled his eyes. “Everybody knows that kings are meant to be sourpusses.”
“And what do commoners intend to do during the festivity, go to extremes?”
“I, for one,” Merlin said, thumping his own chest, “am going to write my mother a long letter and give Gaius a little something.”
With Merlin paving the way for him, Arthur couldn't not use the opening. Giving up now would be beyond cowardly. “About that, I feel that, in spite of your modest performance, you're due some form of gift in recognition of...” Your unwavering loyalty and courage. Your fealty to the crown and the companionship you've offered. “Your years of service.”
Merlin laughed, then his eyes widened. He looked down, shifted, his soles squelching, then gazed back up at Arthur again. “You're serious.”
“Of course I am.” Arthur rolled his shoulders back. “Why wouldn't I be?”
“It just that--” Merlin frowned. “Never mind.”
Arthur raised his eyebrows but dropped the issue. He was after an answer after all. “So about that gift?”
Merlin shrugged his shoulders and shuffled over to the cupboard, opening it. “I don't want anything.”
Arthur sighed. Even by taking a cursory look at Merlin, Arthur could tell that Merlin needed a new jacket, a new shirt and most decidedly new boots. Arthur wasn't one for noticing sartorial choices, but even he could tell that Merlin had precious few outfits. “There must be something.”
Merlin rummaged in Arthur's cupboard. “No, don't think so.”
Arthur wanted to tear his hair out but refrained from doing so. “Merlin, I asked a simple question.”
Merlin took one of Arthur's shirt out of the cupboard and held it up by the sides. A fairly sizeable hole gaped at the flanks. “Really,” Merlin said, poking his nose through it, “tell me again how you came by this one.”
“Must have been a sword slash,” Arthur said, wishing Merlin would put the damned shirt down and stop trying to change the subject.
“I don't think so.” This time Merlin poked two fingers through it and wiggled them. “Slashes are vertical, this is almost a perfect circle.”
“Merlin--” Arthur squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I don't intend to waste my morning discussing the differences between holes and slashes. I'd just like to know what you'd like to have for Yule.”
Something in Arthur's tone must have caught Merlin's attention, for he lowered the shirt and said, “There's nothing I need.”
Arthur sighed. “Are you sure?”
Merlin hummed, rolled his eyes and pushed his lips together. “Yeah.”
Sometimes Arthur really didn't understand Merlin. Most people would jump at the opportunity of being offered something, especially when a king did the giving. Many curried Arthur's favour just because of what he could offer them. A position, a royal gift, a leg up. He often had to fend off greedy courtiers, for they did nothing but ask. Even his friends had expectations of him. But Merlin did none of that and he was poorer than any or the courtiers Arthur had ever met. He owned the clothes on his back and little more. Yet Arthur had never heard him complain about any of that. He'd pointed out how easy Arthur had it plenty of times, but never with a view to obtain things for himself. It was quite... surprising and refreshing Merlin's disregard for material advantages. But that didn't mean that Arthur didn't want to make a difference, this once. If there was anyone who deserved it... Well, it was Merlin. Now, to convince him of this.
“There must be something,” Arthur said, waving his hand about. “A sturdy new cloak perhaps? With this weather it could come in handy.”
“Nah.” Merlin scrunched his face up. “Cloaks are good for knights. I run around all the time, up the stairs and down, they'd get in the way.”
“A fine weapon then.” There was nothing like owning a perfectly balanced sword or a superbly calibrated crossbow. “I can ask the armourer to make one.”
Merlin gave him a strange lopsided smile. “Nah, I don't need weapons.”
Arthur begged to differ. A man needed weapons. Especially in times such as the ones they lived in, with neighbouring kings out to snatch Arthur's throne and Morgana still out there. “How about some money? You could do what you wanted with it.”
Merlin's nose wrinkled. “That sounds so... I don't know...”
“Impersonal?” Because Arthur thought so too. “It's just that you're so frustrating. Is it possible you can't come up with anything you truly want?”
“What I truly want can't be bought,” Merlin said, his gaze unfocusing, his voice thinning. “So I'd rather have nothing.”
“That's very...” Wise of you, very admirable, Arthur thought. And beyond that there was something about Merlin's philosophy, his outlook on life, that was appealing. Perhaps it was the ease with which he discerned what he wanted versus what he needed and how he'd learnt to do without the former. Perhaps it was the simplicity of it, the way he'd come to understand himself. Arthur wished he could enjoy such clarity of vision too. It wasn't something he'd often readily admit to, but sometimes Arthur longed to reach that kind of self-knowledge. Most of the time, he just didn't look inside too long. He told himself he had no time for navel gazing but sometimes he suspected he was lying to himself. “…commendable. But that doesn't help me.” A thought struck him with the weight of an anvil. He frowned. “Wait, is it that you don’t want anything from me?” Arthur flattened his palm on the table and focused his gaze on it. “I--”
“Oh for the love of the old gods,” Merlin said, tutting and putting his hands on his hips. “I'm not rejecting you.”
Arthur couldn't look up. He didn't want to read the lie in Merlin's eyes. He could bear it of anyone else, but not Merlin. “Forgive me for thinking that's exactly what you're doing.”
“I turned down a gift,” Merlin said, his voice smoothing into a deep vibrant tone. “Not you.”
Arthur turned his face aside.
“Oh but you're one touchy numbskull,” Merlin said. “I just meant to say I want for nothing. I'm fine as I am. Though you know what, since you're being such a twit, I'll ask for something.”
Arthur tried to guess what it might be. A leather jerkin to use during winter campaigns? He would get Merlin fitted with one. A leather bag of the kind Gaius used to stuff his medical paraphernalia in? Merlin traipsed after Gaius a lot and having a kit of his own would help. Maybe Merlin wanted some kind of jewel to give his mother. He loved her dearly and would surely be happy to be able to give her such a treat. It wouldn't be the same as giving Merlin something for himself, but Arthur could sympathise.
“I'd love to have a free day.” Merlin gathered his legs together and stood taller. “An entire day to do everything that I want. No chores. No running around. No cleaning after you.”
“A free day?” The days leading up to Yule were very busy for Arthur. Banquets had to be held. Ceremonies needed to be carried out and attended. Arthur would need Merlin to dress him, serve him, and counsel him. He would be at quite a loss without him. For one, Arthur never knew what to wear on such solemn occasions while Merlin always had a feeling of what'd please the crowds. For another he was a surprisingly adept speech maker and Arthur loved having him there when he read out his words. He wasn't just a sounding board; he was the only one sure to truly have faith in Arthur. “But I don’t see how I could possibly spare you.”
Merlin's shoulders slumped. “I see.”
“No.” Arthur couldn't bear to see Merlin so put out. “You'll have your free day.”
“Really?” Merlin beamed.
“Yes.”
“Can I take Yuletide off?” Merlin asked, bouncing from foot to foot.
Arthur’s heart sank. He had counted on having Merlin stick close to him all that day. He would surely help Arthur forget how this was his first Yule Celebration without his father. Merlin always did shake him out of his melancholy moods, sometimes by cracking stupid jokes, more often by just being there, sharing a silence that would be too deafening for one man alone. Besides state dinners followed by balls weren't quite as enticing without Merlin's running commentary. He supposed he'd have to make do. He owed this to Merlin. “Yes, of course. You can have the whole day free.”
“Thank you, Arthur!” Merlin moved over to him and clapped a hand on his shoulder.
Arthur made a face and rolled his eyes. Merlin made to step back, a kind of counter dash, but Arthur placed his own hand on top of Merlin's. It burned. It had no reason to, but the touch shook Arthur to the marrow, the memory of it imprinting itself in him.
Merlin smiled, huffed, shuffled his weight.
Arthur dropped his hand and Merlin jumped aside.
“I, well, thank you,” Merlin said.
“You're welcome.” He arched an eyebrow. “You're free to return to your previous, well, activities.” With a grin, Merlin moved back to fuss over Arthur’s wardrobe some more.
When Arthur was finished with dinner, Merlin took the dirty dishes to the kitchen.
Go to part 2
Author/Artist:
rotrudePairing(s): Merlin/Arthur
Prompt: Canon, Arthur doesn't know what to get Merlin for Christmas, and he has to ask everyone else for help.
Word Count/Art Medium: 15,000
Rating: (G to NC-17) NC-17
Contains (Highlight to view): *Please warn for possible triggers and squicks.*
Disclaimer: Merlin characters are the property of Shine and BBC. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: Thanks to the brilliant C for betaing this piece in time for the holiday season, her comments and wise notes. You've been a dear. Happy holidays to you too.
Based on the following prompt by Narlth: Canon, Arthur doesn't know what to get Merlin for Christmas, and he has to ask everyone else for help. Thank you so much for the wonderful plot idea!
Summary It's the first Yule after Uther's death and in spite of some initial doubts as to the propriety of holding revels, Arthur decides to celebrate the festival all the same. The populace deserves a time for merry-making and so do his friends and loved ones. Now present exchanges are a Camelot Yuletide tradition, a long established convention. And that's where Arthur's plans falter just a little. While he knows what to give his friends and followers, he has no idea how to reward Merlin. Right, Merlin...
On AO3
They were returning from a border patrol, slumping in their hard saddles, their cloaks carefully fastened at their fronts, when he realised that winter was upon them. The hooves of their horses sank into sludge, leaving imprints that blurred in mud, blankets of snow coated the castle's roof and gables, and flakes kept drifting in their faces, keen like razor blades on bones.
With his mind on the dangers that continually beset Camelot, Arthur had not noticed how the air had turned to frost. He hadn't paid attention to the way the days had shortened. He hadn't taken heed of the mists that seeped from the ground or sampled the hardness of the soil. Or rather he had but in a completely utilitarian way. He'd made sure provisions were distributed for the poor. He'd made certain border castles were equally well supplied so they could weather the bad season. When organising the latest patrol, he'd certainly taken the harshness of the weather into account.
What he hadn't done was take a moment to notice that Yule was upon them. He hadn't considered how those close to him would react or how the populace would rejoice in the festivities.
When they reached the courtyard, Arthur slowed his mount. He brought it to a halt shy of the stairs that led into the palace keep.
Arthur had barely dismounted when Merlin appeared at his side. His hands were red from knuckle to finger joint and his face was the same colour, especially around the sharp rise of his cheekbones. “Sire,” he said, stomping his feet and clapping his hands together, “let me.”
“I think I can be trusted with dismounting, Merlin,” Arthur found himself saying before he'd quite thought what he meant through. His focus was on Merlin, on the way he was fending off the cold with clumsy motions of his body, on the thinness of his clothing and the smile he wore in spite of the chill that had to be working through him. The sight left Arthur off centre and slowed his thoughts processes to a trickle he couldn't navigate.
Merlin tsked. “You're really grumpy when you're cold, sire.”
“And you really have no notion of when to stop talking, have you, Merlin?” For all that Arthur didn't want to quibble with Merlin, he couldn't stop himself from falling back on the routine of doing so. He wasn't sure whether it was force of habit, inherent guilt, or just the effect of the weather on his sore bones. “You just plough on, don't you?”
Merlin smiled as though nothing could stop him doing so, as if he could take whatever Arthur levelled at him. He kneaded Arthur's shoulder with the flat of his big palm, and worked some warmth into him. “A hot bath is in order, I think.”
Arthur wanted to ask Merlin whether he was implying Arthur was being testy but thought the better of it. He was sure he knew the answer and didn't want to bait Merlin further because if he did he'd have to start too and Merlin would have to step back, put some distance between them, and Arthur would be missing the sudden sucker punch warmth of his touch. “Have one prepared,” he said, and marched inside.
When he got to his rooms a while later, the bath tub was already out, water steaming in soft clouds. Merlin was ambling round it, a towel slung over his shoulder. His sleeves were rolled up and he had lost the belt that generally cinched his shirt at the waist.
Arthur stopped in his tracks and watched him, took in his spare frame, and his intent expression, and something about it hit him low in the guts.
“Ah, you're there,” Merlin said, lifting his eyes to him. “Undress quickly or you won't be able to enjoy your bath at its warmest.”
It's a miracle it's still tepid, Arthur wanted to say. Oh, what have we here the servant hurrying the master. What is it, the festival of misrule! He wanted to blast that out with unconcern and the words were ready at the tip of his tongue, but something stoppered them. So he came up with neither phrase and started tugging at his belt instead.
Merlin tutted and came over to him, batting his hands away. “Let me.”
Arthur wanted to point out that he could get his clothes off by himself, but there was something to Merlin's economy of motion, to the way he stripped Arthur of items one by one, that spoke of habit and competence and lulled Arthur in a sense of security. So he let Merlin have at him. He eased off Arthur's chainmail in one smooth motion, Arthur with his arms up, Merlin taking care of the weight of it. As Merlin took off his tunic, his knuckles brushed along a stretch of Arthur's chest. When he had to pull off Arthur's boots, he went to his knees. His lips twitched but otherwise he said nothing to tease.
Some mornings he did, but there were other times when he was silent, head in the work, in the act of serving, though it had never felt like that to Arthur. Merlin's valeting was more a constituent part of their days than an act of duty, a sign of bondage. Merlin made it easy on them both, made it matter of fact, with either talk or an easy going silence. Even now he was quietly efficient, his hands on Arthur's hips, pulling his trousers and small clothes down. He was up and level with Arthur in fewer seconds than it took Arthur to get adjusted to the room temperature.
With a few forwards bounds Arthur took a plunge in the bathtub. The water was just the right kind of warm. Enough to ease the knot in his muscles without having him all asweat and wishing he was somewhere cooler. As Arthur tipped his head back against the tub's rim, Merlin sponged his chest and arms. He moved the cloth from clavicles to fingers, taking away all the dirt and grime Arthur had collected over their week-long patrol. He'd washed in streams and ponds but with the cold it had always been a quick, hurried affair.
Arthur closed his eyes and said, “I didn't realise until now but Yuletide is getting close.”
Merlin hummed softly, cleaning under Arthur's nails with the soft side of his sponge. “Yeah, two weeks.”
Arthur huffed. “Have you been counting the days, Merlin? Like a proper child?”
Merlin moved around the tub and crouched on the other side. He sponged Arthur's other arm, working suds into his skin. “I just like the tradition,” he said, smiling softly. “The singing, the feasting, the drinking. I love it.”
“It sounds like you're fond of carousing.” Arthur didn't really believe that, that Merlin was only interested in the ribald side of the festivities. He was wearing too gentle a smile for that, as if his pleasure in the celebrations was due to pleasant memories rather than looking forward to tavern binges. Arthur could after all well imagine what Merlin's experience of Yuletide had to be like, full of Ealdor reminiscences, of mementoes of hearth and home. “But it seems to me you could enjoy all of that merry-making without having to suffer from the cold of the Yuletide season.”
“True,” Merlin said, leaning forwards to scrub at Arthur's chest. He didn't rub with too much force, soothing the skin as he moved his cloth across. “I suppose it's the atmosphere. It's one of joy and mirth.”
“You really love it, don't you?” Arthur looked at Merlin from under lowered lids. The bath was making his body heavy but the sluggishness didn't stop him from watching Merlin. He still had that reminiscent, vaguely joyful expression on, with dimples in his cheeks and a happy flush to his face. “All this talk about tradition. You just love it.”
“Unashamedly,” Merlin said, lifting his eyes to him. With a cock of the head, he added, “Don't you?”
“Not quite like you.” While his father had celebrated, he'd never put his heart into it. There were banquets and dances and there was a Yule log ceremony, but Father had never stayed. And now that he was gone... “I don't dislike it.”
“I should teach you how to have fun.” Merlin's lips quirked sideways.
“How to be idle, you mean.” In spite of his wording, Arthur felt a quickening of his heart at the notion. He wasn't sure whether it was because he was chomping at the bit at the idea of experiencing some of that joy Merlin seemed to be able to so easily bask in or because he was simply tired of having to play the part of the temperate king all the time. In an attempt to subdue the feeling, rein it in till he could poke at it more carefully, he took another tack. “Do you think it would help with the people's morale if we celebrated this year?”
Merlin stopped in his motions, the sponge held loosely between his fingers. “Yes. I think they'd love it. We've all been through hard times.”
Arthur was aware of what Merlin was thinking, Morgana's attempts on Camelot, of his father’s death. Those had been destabilising events, driving the fear of tomorrow into the populace. “Wouldn't it be disrespectful towards my father? It...” Arthur looked at the tub water. It was dense with soap suds and quantifiably less clean than before. “It would be Camelot's first Yule without its King--”
“Camelot has a king,” Merlin said, his gaze square on Arthur. “The best king it's ever had.”
“But--”
“No buts.” Merlin squeezed his shoulder, his palm hotter than the water, a brand of its own. “It's the truth. You've given your people hope, Arthur. You've ruled well. And...”
“Still, to be seen to entertain with feasts...”
“You deserve some off time.” Merlin's jaw set and his eyes held a fire in them Arthur knew well from the countless times they'd butted heads. “Some happiness. And your subjects do too.”
“It'd take their minds of their troubles.” Arthur could see that. Merlin was more emotional about it, in his word choice and reactions, but he was sure that at the core they were of the same mind. “Off the rest of the long winter ahead.”
“Yes, that too.”
“Well, I can see the potential in that.”
“Arthur?” Merlin said before biting his lip.
“Yes?” Arthur arched an eyebrow. “It's not as if you haven't made free with your king before.”
Merlin quirked his lips, gnawed on them again, and squeezed at the sponge till water cascaded out of it in a steady rivulet. “That doesn't mean you don't miss him. Or that you don't mourn him. You can do both. You can miss him and find a place in your heart for some levity. I know this sounds like utter tosh but...” He shook his head. “But it's--”
“It makes sense.”
Merlin widened his eyes. “Are you acknowledging my wisdom?”
“No, Merlin.” Arthur had to labour hard for that careless tone. Mostly because he wanted to smile and shake his head and nurture the ball of warmth that looped around his insides. “I'm not acknowledging your non-existent wisdom.”
“Because it sounded like that for a moment.”
“Merlin?”
“Yeah?”
Arthur lifted his foot and wiggled his toes. “Go on with the scrubbing.”
“Blubblehead,” Merlin said, throwing the sponge in his face.
Arthur caught the sponge and slapped it at Merlin's smug face. It wetted it and his fringe, water dripping from his chin and nose. As for his hair itself, it went up in spikes in the most ridiculous of fashions. Merlin looked like nothing other than a wet, indignant dog, colour high, his lips curling with distaste. Arthur laughed. He couldn't help it. The laughter came from deep within his belly and seemed to shake his frame. In his heart he'd made a decision. They'd celebrate Yuletide and he'd do his duty. By his people and by Merlin too.
****
“In conclusion I think that with a rational distribution the provisions will last us until spring,” Leon said, putting down the parchments he'd been reading from. He beamed at the nobles assembled around the round table.
Elyan clapped while murmuring assent came from the other knights.
Gwaine woke up with a start. “Tell me the council is over, please.”
Arthur, who had starting feeling drowsy himself when Leon's report had extended over the second hour, was eager himself to call it quits. In spite of being king, there was only so much interest he could summon over the storage methods of different kinds of grain. Even so it wouldn't do to indulge Gwaine. “As a matter of fact, it is,” Arthur said, “but you, Gwaine, will have to write up a summary of all we discussed.”
“What!” Gwaine's eyes widened. “Oh come on, Arthur!”
“I have a written version of my report,” Leon said, waving up the parchments he'd brought with him. “I can lend it to you.”
“I don't want to have to read it, I didn’t want to hear it the first time.” Gwaine hissed at Leon. “I just don't want to do it!”
“Sorry, Gwaine, you will have to,” Arthur said, pushing his chair back and getting up. He adjusted his cloak. It tended to wrinkle when he sat too long. “This council meeting is over.”
The knights rose from their places at the table, stretched a little, laughed, gave each other pats on the back and left the room in small groups.
Gwaine had just left the chamber, when Arthur called out, “Leon, could you stay a moment?”
“Yes, sire.” Leon bobbed an eyebrow. “Was there something wrong with my report? I can go over the numbers again.”
“No, no, that's fine.” Arthur held his hands up. “It was quite in-depth.” And probably one of the most boring write-ups of Leon's career. The level of attention bestowed on minutiae was indeed soporific. “No, I'd rather have your advice.”
Leon's eyes rounded with curiosity, but he only said, “Feel free to sound me out, sire.”
Arthur shifted from foot to foot, his gaze on the depths of the council chamber. “It's about Merlin.”
“Merlin, sire?”
“Yes.” Now that Arthur had mentioned it, he would have to follow through. He wasn't as much of a coward as to back down now. “It's nearly Yuletide and seeing as Merlin’s not too bad of a servant and that he has been quite loyal--” This point couldn't be disputed, could it? It was all very rational of him to mention it. “I thought I would give him a present to commemorate the upcoming feast.”
“That's a commendable thought, sire,” said Sir Leon, his cheeks dimpling. “I'm giving my own servants an extra gratuity myself.”
Arthur puckered his brow. “No, that's not exactly what I meant.” Arthur didn't think Merlin would frown on some extra money. He was eager enough winning it from Arthur at the tavern. But Arthur had envisaged a present of a different nature altogether. “I was thinking more of a token of my....” Arthur stumbled for words. The vocabulary surely put plenty at his disposal, but none seemed appropriate to his feelings on the matter. “Appreciation.”
“Oh.” Leon bobbed his head and rubbed at his beard. “You mean something more personal?”
“If you will.”
Leon got this faraway look as he thought, then he clapped his hands together and smiled. “I've got it,” he said. “Why don't you get him a chess set?”
“A chess set.” Arthur had once seen Merlin play that game with one of the guards on night duty, so he knew Merlin was at least aware of its rules. But he'd never talked about it or mentioned it since. “I'm not sure it would be the right choice.”
“Well, it's a very relaxing activity, a game based on strategy.” Leon tapped his forehead. “It's good for the brain and sets have some value. Some are nicely carved and cost quite a great deal. If Merlin doesn't like it, or gets bored with it, he can sell it and make a tidy profit.”
“Mmm, yes I see the benefit to that. I'll think about it.” Arthur clapped Leon on the shoulder. “Thank you for your piece of advice, Leon.”
Leon smiled. “Any time, sire.”
****
Arthur pulled his sword back and thrust it forward again, aiming for Gwaine's neck. Gwaine parried and locked them into an impasse. With a groan, Arthur ripped his sword arm clear and danced back. With a swift jerk of his arm, Gwaine attacked again. Arthur put up his shield. The clang deafened him and his bicep trembled, but the block held.
Gwaine thrust at Arthur's middle and Arthur walked into it. He opened himself to a stab, deflected the blow with his pauldron – though the impact set his teeth on edge and his shoulder on fire – and sliced at Gwaine with the rim of his shield. Sweat glistening on his face, Gwaine stumbled backwards, deflected another jab, then lost his balance again.
Arthur lunged at him. With a heave and a grunt, Gwaine held his sword up and weathered the impact. Putting his whole weight behind, he swiped Arthur's sword aside. Arthur went with it, but was quick to get his footing back. He danced clear of Gwaine, whipped his own blade round, and arced it towards Gwaine's throat. Pulling the blow a few seconds short of nicking skin, Arthur said, “And that's how you get under your opponent's guard.”
Gwaine clacked his tongue. “Oh, come on, Arthur, you know my heart wasn't in it. Besides, you went at it like a berserker.”
Arthur had to concede, he'd used a simple training session to make a point. But if any young knight or squire learnt anything from it, it was all to the good. Not to mention, Gwaine was often a notch too cocky, thinking that his prowess and ability to improvise would see him through everything. If he didn't change soon, he would pay for his brashness one day. “And your enemy on the battlefield won't?”
Gwaine hedged. “Touché.”
“Take this lesson to heart then.”
The knights clapped and drowned out his voice.
Arthur bowed his head. While it was pleasant to hear proof of his men's admiration, he hadn't put a show up for that. “We're done with training for today. You can all go.”
Not needing to be told twice, the knights dispersed.
Gwaine had just sheathed his sword, when Arthur said, “Gwaine, wait.”
“What,” Gwaine said, tossing his hair. “You're itching to have a second go at me? I won't make it so easy this time.”
Arthur shook his head. “No. It's not that.” He harrumphed. “I would have a word.”
Gwaine waggled his eyebrows. “Sounds serious. Do you need help courting the fair Gwen? I think flowers would do. And maybe a nice golden ring.”
While there was an unspoken agreement between Arthur and Guinevere, Arthur had never meant to consult Gwaine about her. He was sure Guinevere would stop talking to him if he ever took Gwaine's advice. “No, that's not it at all.” Keeping Gwaine off one of his infamous tangents wouldn't be easy, but Arthur had a goal and he meant to pursue it. “It's about Merlin, really.”
At the mention of Merlin, Gwaine beamed. “Ha, my good friend, Merlin.”
“Yes, him.” Not that there was another Merlin Arthur could be possibly talking about. “It's...” Arthur was hesitant to broach the topic with Gwaine, despite his resolve.
Gwaine cocked his head to the side and his countenance darkened. “I hope nothing's wrong with him?”
“No, no, Merlin's fine.” Arthur saw Gwaine's jaw relax. “It's just... You must have heard. We're having Yuletide celebrations this year.”
“Oh, yeah.” Gwaine smacked his palm against Arthur's back. “I'm ever so ready for the revels. It's going to be a great night.”
Arthur didn't really want to be kept abreast of Gwaine's plans. “Yes, well, as part of those celebrations I'm getting the people in my entourage something.”
“And what do I get?”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “You? Nothing. I was talking about Merlin.”
Gwaine's eyes went small. “Are you asking me what you should get Merlin for Yuletide?”
Arthur didn't want to put it exactly like that. “By and large, yes.”
“Oh, Arthur.” Gwaine guffawed. He only bit his lips into silence once Arthur had extensively glared at him. He then cleared his throat and said, “You know the one thing Merlin almost never gets...” He bobbed his eyebrows. “Well, I'd get him that.”
“What the hell does that even mean?” Arthur was starting to suspect Gwaine of yanking his chain.
Gwaine loudly exhaled. “You always say I'm crass and then when I'm not you complain.”
Arthur was sure he would never iron out all the creases on his brow. “I shouldn't have asked you of all people, should I?” He shook his head, more at himself than Gwaine, and turned around.
Gwaine grabbed him. “No, no, you really should have. I'm the best friend Merlin has and I really want him to get the most out of this--” He waggled his eyebrows. His countenance sobered and he added, “Out of life really.”
Arthur felt there was something to what Gwaine'd said that needed some probing. Now, however, was not the time. He was on a mission and with all the cares of his kingdom on him he had precious little time to carry it out. “So what are you suggesting?”
“Sex, Arthur, sex,” Gwaine said, his eyes pointing heavenwards.
“I don't--” Arthur gnawed on his lip, gave his head a shake, and widened his stance. “I don't follow.”
“Merlin's always running around cleaning after you, or serving you--”
“That's his job,” Arthur said.
“Yes, that it is.” Gwaine acknowledged that with a careless swipe of his hand. “But because he's so busy following you everywhere, inside the castle, on patrol, during campaigns, he almost never gets to socialise.”
“And you mean for me to...” Heat bit at Arthur's face.
“To help him get some!” Gwaine smiled wide.
“What is that supposed to--”
“I'm just saying, you prude, that you should book Merlin a night with one of the tavern girls.” Gwaine winked. “So that he can, you know.” He clacked his tongue.
No noise had ever sounded more obnoxious to Arthur. “That's absolutely preposterous. I'm not going to procure him...” Arthur was at a loss for words. “I'm just not-- I'm the King of Camelot, and not...”
Gwaine laughed. “Well, that's what I'd get him if I were you. If you ever overcome your rampant priggishness on sexual matters, do consider it. I'm sure Merlin would be grateful.” With a flourish, Gwaine sheathed his sword.
“That's... that's...”
Gwaine didn't let Arthur recover from his spluttering. With a bow, he walked away.
“I'm not a prude,” Arthur muttered as he watched him go. When Gwaine was out of earshot, he added, “And I'm not taking his idiot advice either!”
****
Head down so his hood wouldn't come off, Arthur loped down the ill-lit street. He'd avoided the larger, brighter street, for even at dusk it was crowded with merchants closing down their shops, urchins running around, and matrons sweeping their front steps. But now he had to deal with the dangers that came with such darkness. Walking at a brisk pace along the length of the perimeter wall, and avoiding eye contact with chance passers-by, Arthur crossed into smaller and smaller lanes instead.
He kept his feet away from the gutter, where the russet soil mixed with sewage debris, and his hand down at his side, his palm wrapped around the hilt of his sword so it wouldn't poke out from the folds of his cloak.
Even though he'd wasted some time by way of his detour, he got to the house before it was too late for calls. The house itself was a wide construction, made of wood, with a sloping roof and flowers on the window sills. Viburnum they were, robust and fragrant, with their heads up to drink the moistness away from the evening. He knocked.
Guinevere opened the door. She still wore her corseted dress, but her hair curled free around her head, no pins keeping it in place. “Arthur,” she said, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “What a beautiful surprise!”
They stepped inside. There was a pot on the hearth and clouds of smoke issued from it. The smell was of herbs and vegetables, of fresh home-made food.
Guinevere took his hands and walked him into the main room. “Would you like some dinner? I was making some for myself.”
As much as Arthur appreciated the hearty smell, he couldn't agree. “I haven't come to have you serve me.”
“I wouldn't be.” She squeezed his hands and kissed his lips. “I would be sharing.”
“In that case...”
She divested him of his cloak, ladled soup into a wooden bowl, and sat across from him.
Arthur cupped the bowl with his hands. It was hot and the grain of it rough. Arthur brought it to his mouth and sipped at the contents. The taste was deep, bracing, somewhat minty too.
“You're quiet tonight,” Guinevere said, leaning her head on her hand. “Something's worrying you.”
Arthur looked up. “Nothing is.”
She smiled and it put dimples in her cheeks. “You've come for a reason. Tell me.”
“No, I--” Arthur put the bowl down but kept his palms around it. “I haven't.”
“The frown you're wearing tells me otherwise.”
Arthur sighed and leant heavily against the back of his chair. “It's just...”
“You know you may confide in me, Arthur,” Guinevere said in a rush of breath.
“I think you may well be the only reasonable person I know.” Arthur kneaded his thigh and tipped his head back “God knows, going to Leon and Gwaine was such a mistake.”
“You went to Gwaine for advice?” Gwen laughed.
He matched her smile. “Indeed.” Upon contemplating what he had to say next, Arthur felt his brow furrow. Perhaps he shouldn't... “I wouldn't want you to think I'm exploiting you for your wise counsel, Guinevere.”
“You're not,” she said, leaning forward to cover one of his hands with hers. “Now tell me what I can do for you.”
Arthur bit his lip.
“Or you could ask, Merlin,” Guinevere said. “He's sure to be willing to help.”
“That's the problem, Guinevere.” Arthur exhaled hard and it made him feel light-headed. “I can't go to him because this is about him.”
“Oh no.” Guinevere's face fell. “Is he in trouble?”
“No, not that I know of anyway.” Arthur scratched at his forehead. “It occurred to me that...” Arthur didn't know how to put the barrage of sensations caged inside him into words. He wasn't a very talented speaker, more prone to taking action than stringing conceits together. Merlin had certainly more of the gift of the gab than him, and this was complicated. “It occurred to me that Merlin deserves a reward, something for his long years of faithful service.”
“That's an excellent idea, Arthur!” Gwen's expression softened and she looked at him as if he'd hung the moon or accomplished some other daring feat. “I approve.”
“Well, there's the rub actually.” Arthur pushed his lips together. “I thought I'd get him something for Yule but I've no idea what.”
“You can give him yourself,” Gwen said, her words as soft as a whisper, her eyes brightening. She looked away. “What I mean is...” She shifted in her seat and let go of his hand. “Merlin doesn’t wish for any monetary reward or material object.”
Arthur made a noise of agreement.
“So the only thing of value to him, would be...” She bit her lip. “Well, your attention and regard.”
“He has more of my attention than I'm sure he can do with.”
Guinevere clasped her hands together and rattled out a breath. “No, I meant... Your regard.” She made big eyes at him, drawing out the last word knowingly.
At the suggestion, Arthur's lungs seemed to shrink in size, his ribcage closing in, preventing him from taking a proper breath. At last he gasped out a hefty puff of air and, face burning, he said, “You misunderstand.”
“I don't think I do,” Guinevere said, searching his eyes with hers. “And if you're afraid about our agreement or of hurting me...” She dropped her eyes and gazed at her joint hands. “I wouldn't view a similar concurrent agreement between you and Merlin as a violation of our bond of trust.”
Arthur thoughts raced so painfully fast he couldn't single any of them out. “I--” His face flamed hotter and he wished he could tear out in the cold night and lose himself in it. “You're wrong, you know. Must be. I'm sure he doesn't feel that way.” Merlin had never made any overture in that regard and as straightforward in his feelings as he was, he would have if he'd meant it. “I've given you my word, Guinevere, I won't renege on it.” Upon Agravaine's suggestion, he had all but recently broken faith with her, and the thought itself still brought him shame. He wouldn't make the same mistake again. “It's not right.”
“I consider myself pledged too, Arthur.” Gwen’s eyes were full of warmth. “But I'm open to more options than one, and with your love for Merlin and mine for him...” She shook her head and a curl danced in front of her forehead. “I'm sure a solution will easily be found. And if the basis of our pledge stays true, why should we care about the details, or who it extends to?” She looked out the window and at the Camelot night. “The human heart has such a huge capacity for love, Arthur.”
Arthur wasn't sure whether Guinevere's words were filled with wisdom or wishful thinking. He wanted to think it was only the latter, that she was deluding herself. It was so much easier. It allowed for much less pain, a clearer cut vision of how things should be. A view of the world that matched the expectations that had been imbued in him from childhood on. A wife, heirs, no other complications. “Merlin doesn't...”
“He loves deeply,” Gwen said for him.
Arthur nodded but he didn't continue when Gwen had left off. He chose another path entirely. “He's loyal and kind, and, to be quite honest with you, brave too.” Knights asked for weapons and the protection of advance guards when they went on patrol or set out for war. Stupidly, recklessly, Merlin never did. He just followed, always a step behind, or, God forbid it, one to the front, no matter what manner of danger they faced. “But I can't believe he's moved by--” He couldn't say it and wouldn't. “But that doesn't mean I don't want to present him with a token of my...” The word bunched in his throat, a hardy lump that wouldn't budge, so he used another. “...esteem.”
“Why don't you sound him out then?” Gwen said, tilting her head. “Why don't you ask him what it is he wants? I'm sure he'll tell you.”
It seemed so easy, so feasible. Leon and Gwaine's advice was largely useless yet Gwen's was sound. There was nothing like asking the man himself. Yet there was something about the notion that made Arthur uneasy. He couldn't pinpoint what exactly, but something did. He tried to voice some of his discomfort in the best way he knew. “Wouldn't it be unseemly for a king to...”
“Arthur,” Gwen, “sometimes a king is just a man.”
And there was the rub. For if he was only a man – just like Merlin – then nothing stood between them and all his guardedness would have to go. Merlin, with his easy way of getting under your skin, would sweep Arthur off his feet. The cloak of royalty had so far protected him from that. “And what if the man behind the king is lacking?”
“Merlin doesn't think that.” Gwen shook her head and released a huffed breath. “He thinks you're a great king and a good man.”
“I'm afraid he'd say I'm a stick in the mud king and an utter box-head of a man.”
“Probably.” Gwen hid a laugh behind her palm. “But those are only words, you know that, don't you?” When Arthur didn't answer, she added, “Now no more torturing yourself with these loaded questions and finish your supper.”
Arthur sank his spoon into the thickness of the soup.
****
The room was so cold Arthur's breath misted every time he exhaled. His soup had cooled right after Merlin had set it down and the gravy around Arthur's chicken had solidified into unappealing lumps long before he could get to it.
Putting down his fork, Arthur watched Merlin bustle about. He was carrying a pile of Arthur's clothes and armour from one end of the chamber to the other. “Merlin,” Arthur said, watching Merlin deposit his pile into a trunk, “do you remember the talk we had about, well, Yuletide?”
Merlin stopped on his return path to the opposite end of the room. “Yes, of course I do. It hasn't been that long, I'm not going senile. Besides, I've seen the placards plastered all about town; we're to have a Yule celebration.” He grinned widely, his eyes dancing with it. They grew lighter as, in their wideness, they caught the pale light of the room. “The kitchen staff are beside themselves with joy.”
“And yet you're absolutely not gleeful, are you Merlin?” Arthur said, his own mouth lifting at the corner.
Crinkles enfolded Merlin's eyes even as he tamped down on his grin and attempted a more sombre expression. “I mean to go stoic for the occasion, just like you.”
“Well, I can't exactly be seen to grow overly merry in front of my subjects,” Arthur said, drumming his fingers on the table. “It would not be proper.”
“No, of course not.” Merlin rolled his eyes. “Everybody knows that kings are meant to be sourpusses.”
“And what do commoners intend to do during the festivity, go to extremes?”
“I, for one,” Merlin said, thumping his own chest, “am going to write my mother a long letter and give Gaius a little something.”
With Merlin paving the way for him, Arthur couldn't not use the opening. Giving up now would be beyond cowardly. “About that, I feel that, in spite of your modest performance, you're due some form of gift in recognition of...” Your unwavering loyalty and courage. Your fealty to the crown and the companionship you've offered. “Your years of service.”
Merlin laughed, then his eyes widened. He looked down, shifted, his soles squelching, then gazed back up at Arthur again. “You're serious.”
“Of course I am.” Arthur rolled his shoulders back. “Why wouldn't I be?”
“It just that--” Merlin frowned. “Never mind.”
Arthur raised his eyebrows but dropped the issue. He was after an answer after all. “So about that gift?”
Merlin shrugged his shoulders and shuffled over to the cupboard, opening it. “I don't want anything.”
Arthur sighed. Even by taking a cursory look at Merlin, Arthur could tell that Merlin needed a new jacket, a new shirt and most decidedly new boots. Arthur wasn't one for noticing sartorial choices, but even he could tell that Merlin had precious few outfits. “There must be something.”
Merlin rummaged in Arthur's cupboard. “No, don't think so.”
Arthur wanted to tear his hair out but refrained from doing so. “Merlin, I asked a simple question.”
Merlin took one of Arthur's shirt out of the cupboard and held it up by the sides. A fairly sizeable hole gaped at the flanks. “Really,” Merlin said, poking his nose through it, “tell me again how you came by this one.”
“Must have been a sword slash,” Arthur said, wishing Merlin would put the damned shirt down and stop trying to change the subject.
“I don't think so.” This time Merlin poked two fingers through it and wiggled them. “Slashes are vertical, this is almost a perfect circle.”
“Merlin--” Arthur squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I don't intend to waste my morning discussing the differences between holes and slashes. I'd just like to know what you'd like to have for Yule.”
Something in Arthur's tone must have caught Merlin's attention, for he lowered the shirt and said, “There's nothing I need.”
Arthur sighed. “Are you sure?”
Merlin hummed, rolled his eyes and pushed his lips together. “Yeah.”
Sometimes Arthur really didn't understand Merlin. Most people would jump at the opportunity of being offered something, especially when a king did the giving. Many curried Arthur's favour just because of what he could offer them. A position, a royal gift, a leg up. He often had to fend off greedy courtiers, for they did nothing but ask. Even his friends had expectations of him. But Merlin did none of that and he was poorer than any or the courtiers Arthur had ever met. He owned the clothes on his back and little more. Yet Arthur had never heard him complain about any of that. He'd pointed out how easy Arthur had it plenty of times, but never with a view to obtain things for himself. It was quite... surprising and refreshing Merlin's disregard for material advantages. But that didn't mean that Arthur didn't want to make a difference, this once. If there was anyone who deserved it... Well, it was Merlin. Now, to convince him of this.
“There must be something,” Arthur said, waving his hand about. “A sturdy new cloak perhaps? With this weather it could come in handy.”
“Nah.” Merlin scrunched his face up. “Cloaks are good for knights. I run around all the time, up the stairs and down, they'd get in the way.”
“A fine weapon then.” There was nothing like owning a perfectly balanced sword or a superbly calibrated crossbow. “I can ask the armourer to make one.”
Merlin gave him a strange lopsided smile. “Nah, I don't need weapons.”
Arthur begged to differ. A man needed weapons. Especially in times such as the ones they lived in, with neighbouring kings out to snatch Arthur's throne and Morgana still out there. “How about some money? You could do what you wanted with it.”
Merlin's nose wrinkled. “That sounds so... I don't know...”
“Impersonal?” Because Arthur thought so too. “It's just that you're so frustrating. Is it possible you can't come up with anything you truly want?”
“What I truly want can't be bought,” Merlin said, his gaze unfocusing, his voice thinning. “So I'd rather have nothing.”
“That's very...” Wise of you, very admirable, Arthur thought. And beyond that there was something about Merlin's philosophy, his outlook on life, that was appealing. Perhaps it was the ease with which he discerned what he wanted versus what he needed and how he'd learnt to do without the former. Perhaps it was the simplicity of it, the way he'd come to understand himself. Arthur wished he could enjoy such clarity of vision too. It wasn't something he'd often readily admit to, but sometimes Arthur longed to reach that kind of self-knowledge. Most of the time, he just didn't look inside too long. He told himself he had no time for navel gazing but sometimes he suspected he was lying to himself. “…commendable. But that doesn't help me.” A thought struck him with the weight of an anvil. He frowned. “Wait, is it that you don’t want anything from me?” Arthur flattened his palm on the table and focused his gaze on it. “I--”
“Oh for the love of the old gods,” Merlin said, tutting and putting his hands on his hips. “I'm not rejecting you.”
Arthur couldn't look up. He didn't want to read the lie in Merlin's eyes. He could bear it of anyone else, but not Merlin. “Forgive me for thinking that's exactly what you're doing.”
“I turned down a gift,” Merlin said, his voice smoothing into a deep vibrant tone. “Not you.”
Arthur turned his face aside.
“Oh but you're one touchy numbskull,” Merlin said. “I just meant to say I want for nothing. I'm fine as I am. Though you know what, since you're being such a twit, I'll ask for something.”
Arthur tried to guess what it might be. A leather jerkin to use during winter campaigns? He would get Merlin fitted with one. A leather bag of the kind Gaius used to stuff his medical paraphernalia in? Merlin traipsed after Gaius a lot and having a kit of his own would help. Maybe Merlin wanted some kind of jewel to give his mother. He loved her dearly and would surely be happy to be able to give her such a treat. It wouldn't be the same as giving Merlin something for himself, but Arthur could sympathise.
“I'd love to have a free day.” Merlin gathered his legs together and stood taller. “An entire day to do everything that I want. No chores. No running around. No cleaning after you.”
“A free day?” The days leading up to Yule were very busy for Arthur. Banquets had to be held. Ceremonies needed to be carried out and attended. Arthur would need Merlin to dress him, serve him, and counsel him. He would be at quite a loss without him. For one, Arthur never knew what to wear on such solemn occasions while Merlin always had a feeling of what'd please the crowds. For another he was a surprisingly adept speech maker and Arthur loved having him there when he read out his words. He wasn't just a sounding board; he was the only one sure to truly have faith in Arthur. “But I don’t see how I could possibly spare you.”
Merlin's shoulders slumped. “I see.”
“No.” Arthur couldn't bear to see Merlin so put out. “You'll have your free day.”
“Really?” Merlin beamed.
“Yes.”
“Can I take Yuletide off?” Merlin asked, bouncing from foot to foot.
Arthur’s heart sank. He had counted on having Merlin stick close to him all that day. He would surely help Arthur forget how this was his first Yule Celebration without his father. Merlin always did shake him out of his melancholy moods, sometimes by cracking stupid jokes, more often by just being there, sharing a silence that would be too deafening for one man alone. Besides state dinners followed by balls weren't quite as enticing without Merlin's running commentary. He supposed he'd have to make do. He owed this to Merlin. “Yes, of course. You can have the whole day free.”
“Thank you, Arthur!” Merlin moved over to him and clapped a hand on his shoulder.
Arthur made a face and rolled his eyes. Merlin made to step back, a kind of counter dash, but Arthur placed his own hand on top of Merlin's. It burned. It had no reason to, but the touch shook Arthur to the marrow, the memory of it imprinting itself in him.
Merlin smiled, huffed, shuffled his weight.
Arthur dropped his hand and Merlin jumped aside.
“I, well, thank you,” Merlin said.
“You're welcome.” He arched an eyebrow. “You're free to return to your previous, well, activities.” With a grin, Merlin moved back to fuss over Arthur’s wardrobe some more.
When Arthur was finished with dinner, Merlin took the dirty dishes to the kitchen.
Go to part 2
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