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I.
The slight breeze tussled his dark hair and caressed his face. With his eyes shut, he could almost imagine that it was her hand brushing softly against his cheek, her soft lips buried in his hair. It had been years and still the ache remained, maybe not as sharp but it still resided in that bit of his heart he’d given to her. And when he opened his eyes, the view of the sweeping mountains that lined the lake, softened by the trees that rustled in the wind drew his attention. It was beautiful. It was majestic. It was her.
Slowly, he stepped towards the water until he could feel the cool wetness seep between his toes, matching that in his eyes. With shaking hands, he lay down the flowers he brought, gently on the water, watching in silence as it floated away from him, the same way she had all those years ago. The ache in his heart grew.
“I love you,” he whispered, letting the wind carry his words to her. There was so much more to say but time was short and in the end this was all that mattered. The wind caressed his face again as if in reply, drawing a slight smile from him. For a long time, he stood staring at the lake as memories of their short time together surrounded him.
The little fire trick he did.
The gentle kisses.
That moment of connection.
That moment of feeling he belonged.
He closed his eyes.
Finally, Merlin turned and walked back to where Arthur waited with their horses.
“Thank you,” he mumbled, his emotions still too raw to deal with Arthur’s usual jokes. But Arthur simply clapped him on the shoulder before passing him the reigns to his horse.
II.
Arthur hated the tavern. It was noisy, full of smoke and full of people who seemed to think that because he was drinking, they could try and ask him for favours - favours they wouldn’t dare ask in the throne room. And so here he was again, fending off requests - “Can you make John the carpenter marry me?” “My son has been sacked. Can he be a knight?” - and wondering why he allowed himself to be talked into this.
Of course it had been Elyan sent to persuade him - Elyan with his silken tongue and golden words. Then Percival had slapped his back and Leon had nodded encouragingly and that was how he was here. Gwaine was telling a story of how he once defeated a monster of monstrous proportions as Leon laughed heartily. Elyan and Percival simply nodded with great amusement. Then, as usual, an argument erupted over who had single handedly defeated the greatest monster and Arthur found himself laughingly defending his own honour. After all, he was clearly the greatest knight in all of Albion and who could top his dragon killing tale (and so what if he had to make most of it up)?
As the mead flowed and the laughter grew, somewhere in the middle of it all, Arthur forgot he was a king with the fate of his country in his hands. Instead, he shrugged off his crown and was just a man and a friend. Leon draped his arm carelessly across Arthur’s shoulders as he made the point that defeating two small monster at one time should be considered as superior to defeating only one large monster. Elyan insisted that measurements needed to be taken and launched into a spiel about proportions. Gwaine drank more mead and repeated his story again and Percival simply smiled at everything going on.
Gwaine’s tale washed over him - how many times had he heard this before - and his eyes moved from each knight and he thought of how they came to be. His father might begrudge them their common background but Arthur knew now, more than ever, that these men had hearts more noble than any noble he knew.
“My lord? I was wondering if you could tell the town baker that his bread is really much too starchy. He won’t listen to me.”
III.
“Where’s Arthur?” Merlin looked around, half expecting Arthur to pop out from behind a tree. The only response he received was laughter and a shake of her head. “How did you manage to bring all these here on your own?”
Gwen patted the space beside her and Merlin sat obediently. “I can ride a horse you know. And it’s just a picnic basket.”
“So you’re telling me not only did you manage to get me a day off, you also planned a picnic for us?”
Merlin grinned at the smug look that crossed Gwen’s face. “I did.”
“Arthur doesn’t think I’m at the tavern, does he?” Absently, he grabbed a fistful of grapes.
“No. I told him the truth - we’re on a picnic.”
“And he was alright with that?”
Gwen raised an eyebrow at him. “Of course not. But I told him you needed a break and I needed to spend some time with my best friend.”
Merlin twined his fingers with hers, cradling her hand on his lap. “Best friend huh?”
“The best of friends.” She squeezed his fingers. “So tell me, how have you been? It seems like ages since we’ve been alone.”
As they chatted about both serious and inconsequential topics, they leisurely indulged in the food Gwen prepared. When the food was mostly finished and their hunger sated, they both lay on the grass, hand in hand, staring up at the clouds that floated above them.
Remembering the little game they used to play when they were both servants, Merlin waved one hand at the sky. “That looks like a bunny.”
“No it doesn’t.” He felt her laugh against him and he tugged her closer. When it was just him and Gwen, it sometimes felt like the rest of the world had fallen away and it was just them.
“Yes it does!”
Gwen chuckled. “Remember the time we decided it would be a great idea to keep a rabbit in your room?”
“Oh,” Merlin groaned. “I remember. It chewed up several of Gaius’s notes. He was not a happy man.”
“I’m just glad it didn’t end up in soup. You released him didn’t you?”
“Yeah. You were quite adamant about it. Although you weren’t so kind to that rat that took up residence in your house in the lower town.”
“There is,” Gwen sniffed, “a huge difference between a rabbit and a rat.”
“If you say so Gwen. You are, after all, Queen.”
He felt her tuck herself closer to him and he shifted so they lay comfortably together. “I never imagined my life would turn out this way,” she said softly. “Some days, I wake up and I wonder if it is all a dream.”
“Me neither,” Merlin replied as he squeezed her hand, “I never thought the brave, adorable daughter of a blacksmith I met while in the stocks would one day be my queen. After all, I remember someone saying she’d never want to marry Arthur.”
Her laugh, as it always did, lifted his heart. “You are never going to let me forget that.”
“No. Of course not.” Then he became serious. “Gwen, I always knew you’d be someone important. You are too brave, too smart, too kind to be anything but.”
They lay on the grass a while more, the silence punctuated only by the rustle of the grass and the calls of birds. Merlin thought of all the times Gwen had been there for him, whether it was chasing goblins, fighting off strange monsters or simply comforting him while he grieved. “Thank you for being my friend, for standing by me all these years.”
She lifted herself up from the grass and kissed his forehead. “Always Merlin. Always.”
IV.
Percival was never nervous. Not until now as he waited for him. It was probably a terrible idea to have entrusted the note to Leon. Surely he would have shown Gwaine who - Percival shook his head. He didn’t want to think about what could go wrong.
The moment the knock on the door came, his heartbeat started to race. This was it. He was going to tell Elyan he loved him. He gulped before moving to the door.
“Percy,” Elyan grinned as he stepped into his room. As was habit, Percival leaned over to capture Elyan’s lips and as was habit, Elyan deepened the kiss immediately, his fingers digging into his bare arms. A groan was torn from one of them and with Elyan’s body pressed hard against him, Percival was half tempted to abandon his plan. But after slaving away with Cook over the hot stoves, it seemed like such a waste to simply forget about lunch.
Elyan’s hand slid over Percival’s butt.
Percival decided lunch didn’t matter. Who needed plans anyway? He nipped at Elyan’s bottom lip, sucking it as he edged Elyan towards the bed. They collapsed into it in a heap, Elyan lying on the bottom, his eyes a mixture of lust and amusement as he tugged at Percival’s tunic, pushing it off him.
“This is new,” murmured Elyan against Percival’s throat, his quick fingers already working on the ties on Percival’s pants. “An afternoon tryst.”
“Are you complaining?”
Elyan’s leg slid up Percival’s. “No, I guess not.” His laugh was swallowed by Percival’s kiss.
Hands entwined, they lay panting on Percival’s bed. Elyan shifted slightly closer, a smile on his face. “So what brought this on?”
A wry laugh tore itself from Percival’s throat. He replied as indifferently as possible, not wanting Elyan to realise how much this lunch mattered. “I made lunch.” He gestured to the table full of untouched food, now all probably cold.
“Lunch?” Elyan pushed himself up. “You made lunch? Never knew you could cook.”
“Cook taught me,” Percival muttered, quite certain he was blushing now. He shifted awkwardly on the bed, his stomach churning but not with hunger. Elyan was going to think he was a sap.
Elyan turned back to look at him. “Cook taught you?” An eyebrow rose in disbelief.
“I think she thought it would be a great opportunity to boss me around,” he shrugged. Suddenly, he didn’t want this to be a big deal and when he heard Elyan’s deep chuckle just next to him, self consciousness flooded him. He coughed, moving away from Elyan. “Anyway, Arthur said that next time -”
He felt Elyan’s arms go around his waist, then a kiss against his ear before Elyan whispered huskily, “Thank you. And I love you too.”
V.
Gwaine clapped him on the shoulder. “You did well,” he said before heading into the castle with the other knights. It was a throwaway comment but it warmed his heart. He could almost hear that little clink as his heart fitted itself tighter into Camelot. In a swirl of bawdy jokes and raucous laughter, the knights slowly entered the castle. Soon he was all alone in the courtyard, his only company a few servants and townsfolk hurrying to get home before the sun fully sank.
“Planning your next move?”
Mordred shrugged, letting Merlin’s snark roll off his shoulders. It used to hurt but he saw it more of a challenge now. One day, Merlin would believe him, would trust him like Merlin did the other knights. “Just admiring the view. Camelot is beautiful.”
Merlin stood next to him, so close he could smell the faint scent of herbs and magic. The air between them crackled. It always did when they were near. Mostly Mordred thought it was magic but sometimes, when he looked at the sharp angles of Merlin’s face, the eyes full of sorrow and slim shoulders that carried the weight of the world, he wondered if there was more to it.
“It is. And peaceful. Thanks to Arthur and Gwen.” There was a message in his words and Mordred nodded in acknowledgement.
“Do you miss home?”
He felt Merlin stiffen beside him. “Camelot is home.”
“Ah yes, of course. I meant Ealdor. Do you miss it?”
For a while, Mordred thought that Merlin was going to ignore him. Then Merlin let out a long breath. “I do. In Ealdor, I wasn’t Emrys.” He paused then glanced assessingly at him. “And you? Do you miss being with the druids?”
“Sometimes.” He thought of Kara, but resolutely pushed her face out of his mind. That was the past. “It’s good to lead a life that is more than just surviving. I have a purpose here. But sometimes it’s lonely.”
“A purpose.” Merlin repeated, then turned back to look at the castle looming in front of them. “Arthur is a good man but he trusts too easily.”
“And you are a good man who doesn’t trust easily at all.”
A smile grazed Merlin’s face and some warmth filled his voice. “Yes.” His eyes studied him and Mordred wondered what was going through Merlin’s head. “I know what it is like to be lonely. To hide. To pretend you are less than you are.”
“You have me now.” Mordred regretted the words the moment they left his mouth, preparing himself for Merlin’s reminder that he didn’t trust him.
But it didn’t come. Instead Merlin said, without his usual wariness or suspicion, “Dinner will be served soon. Let’s go in.”
There was another click in his heart as he turned and followed Merlin into the castle.
VI.
“My lady!” A startled Megan leapt from where she was dozing off next to the burning forge. “I didn’t know you were visiting.” Scrambling to her feet, Megan curtsied clumsily and wiped her stained hands down her cotton shift, grimacing when she noticed the black streaks it left.
Gently, Gwen touched her shoulder. “It’s alright Megan. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was coming.”
“What can I do for you today, my lady?”
“I would like to use the forge for a while. To work on Arthur’s knife.”
It had been months and Gwen was still slowly working on the knife she was hoping to give to Arthur on his birthday. Her blacksmithing skills were somewhat rusty but Megan had been a great help. By her second evening in the forge, with the smell of burning wood and the sound of the crackling fire wrapped around her, Gwen could almost imagine her father by her side, his low voice in her ear, his large hands over hers showing her what to do.
She missed him.
Her eyes stung and she held the knife she was forging more tightly.
“Are you alright, my lady?”
Blinking back her tears, she sniffed. “I was just thinking of my father.”
“He was a great man. I remember him. He was always kind to me.”
“He was.” Gwen smiled at the memory. All the children in town loved her father. While he might not have been able to give out stale bread the way Mr Johnston did, he gave out smiles and affection even more freely. “He was a good man.”
“Once -” Megan hesitated, looking up at Gwen cautiously.
“Yes Megan? You don’t have to hold your tongue around me.”
“Once, my mother was angry with me. I’d spilled the soup she made and she chased me out of the house without dinner. I wandered around for a bit. I was so scared I was crying and everyone ignored me until your father found me. He took me back to your place, gave me his dinner and then brought me home. I’ll never forget that.”
Gwen swallowed the lump in her throat. She didn’t remember that incident but it was just like her father to do something like that. “Thank you for telling me that.”
“You’re welcome, my lady.” Megan fell silent and Gwen went back to forging the knife. “My lady,” Megan’s voice was just a whisper, “when I look at you, I see your father.” A blush flared on her cheeks and Megan turned away quickly.
Tears threatened to fall again but Gwen took a deep breath. “That’s the best thing anyone has said to me recently.”
VII.
Sometimes Merlin wasn’t quite sure why Gwaine chose him. With his charm, his body, his hair, Gwaine could have his pick of people but he’d chosen him - skinny, scrawny, burdened Merlin. But when Gwaine’s warm body covered his, his rough palms sliding over his bare skin and his skilled mouth pressing wet kisses against his neck, Merlin would forget his worries and surrender to the pleasure that burned his skin.
“Why me?” He whispered into the dark, when he was sure Gwaine’s breathing had steadied. In response, Gwaine’s arm tightened around his waist.
The next morning, he woke to Gwaine peering at him from above.
“What is it?”
“You are a man of many secrets, Merlin,” Gwaine sighed before ruffling his hair in affection. “Sometimes I wonder if you’ll ever trust me with them.”
Merlin sat up, dread pooling in his stomach. This was it. Gwaine would decide that Merlin and his secrets were not worth it. “I wish -”
A finger landed on his lips and Gwaine’s eyes twinkled. “Don’t. You’ll tell me when you’re ready.” A smirk spread across his face. “In the meantime, I have better things to do with you.”
Strong hands spread his thighs and Merlin was lost in a haze of desire. It was a while later that Gwaine left the bed to look for something to eat, after pressing a distracted kiss on Merlin’s cheek. “Keep your secrets, Merlin,” he quipped as he disappeared from the room.
Sometimes, Merlin wasn’t quite sure why Gwaine chose him. But Merlin knew why he chose Gwaine.
VIII.
Arthur wasn’t quite sure how it started, although he was very sure it was Merlin’s fault, but somehow they were now embroiled in a huge argument over who would be the better cook. Quite sure that Merlin was hopeless at cooking - what, really, was Merlin not hopeless at - Arthur had declared quite confidently that he was the better cook. Instead of bowing to the truth, Merlin had insisted he was a superior cook.
“A cooking contest! Gwen will judge.”
And that was how the two of them came to be in the kitchen one morning and staring blankly at the things around them. It was at this point that Arthur realised that perhaps, he wasn’t as great a cook as he thought he was. But Merlin had put on a determined face and started pushing things around. And Arthur was not about to concede defeat.
By the time breakfast time came and went, all they managed to create was a huge mess in the kitchen. Cook was unimpressed. Gwen was even more unimpressed. And so, while a king usually wouldn’t have to do anything like clean a kitchen, Arthur crawled on his hands and knees scrubbing the floor. Next to him, Merlin cleaned the burnt dishes.
“This is, of course, your fault,” declared Arthur imperiously, as his mind churned with ways to punish Merlin.
“If you weren’t so stubborn about being the better cook, then this wouldn’t have happened,” insisted Merlin, who was wrong of course.
“Shut up,” was Arthur’s clever retort.
They chatted and argued and they slowly brought the kitchen back to how it looked in the early morning. And while Arthur would never admit it to anyone at all, ever, he might have enjoyed spending the morning with Merlin.
Maybe.
IX.
“Dance with me?”
The ball had just ended and Arthur had, as protocol demanded, danced with a number of the royal ladies in attendance. Gwen too had spent some time in the arms of various nobles who had twirled her around the floor. But now that the nobles had retired for the night, it was just the two of them, alone finally, in their chambers.
“There’s no music now,” she smiled although she still went to him, letting out a contented sigh as he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her neck.
“I can hum,” Arthur murmured against her throat, then started to do so tunelessly, while at the same time, swaying with her. Gwen clasped her hand around him and allowed herself to relax into his embrace. This, more than anything, made her feel at home - the feel of Arthur against her, the smell of him surrounding her, the thumping of his heart against her. He was still humming his tuneless song and Gwen felt her heart fill with affection.
“I love you.”
“And I, you.” His arms tightened and she felt him kiss her throat. Lifting his head, he stared at her. “You know that right? That I love you more than anything.”
“I do.”
“Good.” He lowered his head and kissed her. It was gentle at first, but like all their other kisses, it quickly spiralled into something more. Her hands went to push at his tunic while he cupped her face and deepened the kiss.
Later, in bed, as they curled around each other, unwilling to release their hold on each other, Gwen traced the contours of Arthur’s face, committing them to memory as he slept. It was a habit she picked up after Arthur had gone off to battle after they were married and returned bruised and battered. She had realised that any day could be her last with him.
His eyes opened briefly and he caught her hand in his. “Don’t. I’ll always come home to you.”
It was a lie but it was one she clung to.
“I love you Guinevere.”
“I love you Arthur.”