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Chapter Text

A few months after Arthur’s recovery, Merlin takes him and Gwen to the site of Morgana’s death.

Of the days Arthur spent in terrible agony, the only mercy was perhaps that he was spared the memory of Morgana’s demise. He didn’t see it transpire, he didn’t hear her screams, he doesn’t truly know what became of her, but he can tell how it haunts Merlin. He knows a terrible fate befell her. Merlin told him little, only that it was her own power that destroyed her, and that somehow, she disrupted magic’s balance in a way that could not be forgiven. In the end, after all her raving of Merlin and Arthur wanting her death, it was taken out of their hands.

Arthur hasn’t been able to bear seeing the place where she died until now. In his mind, he imagined a place of desecration, like the remnants of a battlefield, a broken plain scorched with her remains. Instead, the reality is rather beautiful. A small meadow in the middle of the forest, a few of the trees at the edge singed, but otherwise green and lush. In the centre is a collection of wildflowers. Merlin directs the two of them towards it, and then steps back to allow them space for their grief.

Arthur kneels. He touches his fingertips to the petal of the nearest flower, the headstone of his sister, the last vestige of her upon this earth. This is where she made her final stand. This is where he lost her for the last time. Yet if Arthur is honest; she has been dead in his mind far longer. He had already grieved Morgana, the kind hearted, witty, smiling girl, long ago. Now he only mourns the last remnant of her – a physical body – that will never be restored.

For years he has trapped his memories of her in the deepest crevices of his mind. It was impossible to reconcile his sister with the woman she had become. Her cruelty could not be made compatible with his fondest recollections, and so it had been easiest to think of none of it. He had mourned, and he had endured his pain, but he had left the memories behind. Now, he lets himself think of her. As she was before lust for revenge tore strips of her away like vultures. He remembers the way she smiled. How she would poke his spine so he’d stand straighter in court, and then laugh when he squirmed. Her grin that always had that hint of mischief, even when they were children. The quirk of her eyebrow as she challenged him, never allowing him to back down from their father. The way her green eyes creased with affection when they looked at him.

A tear slides down his cheek. However, as it trails its path down, he finds that the grief he has associated with Morgana for so many years now is absent. He still misses her. He will likely always miss her. But he misses this version of her, the one who loved him as he loves her; and she did not die here, in this place of wildflowers and beauty.

Gwen sits next to him, her skirts billowing around her and tears of her own in her eyes. She wipes the tear away from his cheek with the pad of her thumb. They share a bittersweet smile. Gwen turns her face to the place where Morgana was ended, and rests her hand near the flowers’ edge, the same way she once rested her hand on Morgana’s shoulder. Arthur draws a shaking breath, and places his own hand on top of hers. The two people who loved Morgana the most, their grief has always been a shared weight, and they will continue to bear it together for the rest of their days.

Gwen is the only person who truly understands how he feels for Morgana. It is hard for others to remember her as anyone but the witch who plagued them all. It is impossible not to. Even when mourning her, the horrors that she inflicted are a stain upon her life. She has hurt them all dearly. Her torturous hand left its mark on so many, Gwaine, Percival, Elyan, Merlin, Arthur himself, and Gwen perhaps most so.

That is why it is such a treasure that like him, she still remembers who Morgana was. Regardless of what she did to them both. Gwen still misses the friend she once had, just as Arthur remembers his sister.

As he looks at the small collection of flowers that Merlin grew to honour Morgana, Arthur thinks about the years he spent worrying about whether he would ever see her again, and then the many years after that where he came to realise he wouldn’t. The sister he feared losing died the day she was taken by Morgause, and now she has died a second time.

Gwen leans her cheek on his shoulder and he rests his own head atop hers.

“She’s really gone.”

He nods shakily. “Peace at last.”

Whether for Morgana, or for them, he isn’t sure. Perhaps both. They no longer need to live in fear that their lives will be devastated and all their efforts will be torn apart. She no longer needs to live in a crazed hunger for revenge. Arthur saw her upon the battlefield, she was maddened, the picked apart dredges of what her vultures left. He’s glad she no longer has to live like that.

Her soul can rest beyond the veil, and he can only hope it is at peace in death, in a way it wasn’t in life.

~-~-~

In a way, that visit to Morgana’s grave allowed Arthur to shed the last of his sorrow.

He no longer needs to hold onto the pain she caused him, or fear that this peacetime might be torn away. His sadness will always remain, there will be a piece of his heart that will forever mourn her, but he can move forward and spend the time enjoying what he and Merlin have created.

Arthur can celebrate, and this is certainly time for celebration. The springtime brought brighter days than Camelot has seen in years, the harvest is blooming, the smiles on everyone’s faces are grand. The day of the wedding tourney only seems to brighten an already incandescent kingdom. The streets are overflowing with laughter and celebration, market stalls gush into the lower town and people flood to the arena for the chance of glimpsing the celebration.

Arthur feels it too. The taste of excitement on the air; the sunshine that fills not just the sky but also his heart. The rush of the tournament thrills him. It has been aeons since he has felt this free, but as his horse gallops underneath him and his heart skips in time he feels truly at ease. There is nothing in this but fun. His skills being put to the test for no reason but amusement and a commemoration of his love. The crowd explodes into raucous applause as he threads his lance through the small loop in the centre of the pitch, the woven bows and adornments sitting around his weapon like the ring he will soon put upon Merlin’s finger.

He rides up to the front podium where Merlin is waiting. He grins down at Arthur when he hoists up the lance and takes the ring off it with a flourish. He adds a little extra pomp than necessary, raising an amused eyebrow down at Arthur. Around them the crowd claps enthusiastically, thrilled by the display, and delight zips up Arthur’s spine. The air is alight with the sounds of cheers and excited chattering, and the sound seems to lift Arthur, making him feel lighter than air atop his steed.

He remembers when they last hosted this tourney, for the wedding he and Elena should have had. A prospect that now sounds ridiculous even to consider. He had spent that week with a heart like a boulder and a stomach perpetually churning. The impending wedding had seemed like an axe hanging over him, the blade brushing the soft hairs at the nape of his neck, preparing to fall. Now, with that kind of distress nothing but a distant memory, it is incredible to think back on it and consider the mistake he nearly made.

He looks up at Merlin, who laughs as he fumbles to catch the ring Gwaine tosses off his lance. To have the chance to marry that ridiculous man is the greatest gift Arthur has ever been given. He once never wanted to marry, and only endured the prospect out of sheer duty. Now, he feels himself counting the days until their wedding, eager, brimming with anticipation. Merlin is his, and he is Merlin’s, there is nothing that will ever change that – but Arthur cannot wait to honour it. To celebrate it for all to see, to name Merlin is husband and know that they will share their every day.

A clap to his back captures his attention but only for a moment as he turns to see Leon’s smiling face. They both look together at where the audience are drumming their feet, building anticipation for Percival’s run.

“Enjoying yourself?” Leon asks fondly.

“More than Merlin, I reckon.” Arthur grins. He isn’t entirely sure it’s true. For all Merlin’s complaining about a tourney – of which there was a plenitude, all with a teasing smile upon his face – he does seem to truly be enjoying himself.

Percival hoists the ring up for Merlin to take and he lifts it into the air with magic, spinning it around to the utter delight of the onlookers. Arthur can tell he’s smiling sappily but he can’t find it within himself to stop.

“Come on with you.” Leon nudges him with a chuckle as fanfare blares around them. “You need to get ready for the second round.”

“Get ready to hand you your arse you mean?”

“How dare you?” They begin to make their way to the armoury tent and Leon knocks their shoulders together as they walk. “Just because you’re the king don’t think you’ll get special treatment.”

Arthur smiles, remembering a time when just that had been true. He’s glad now that his friends see him first, before the title that comes with him. That his crown is not a perpetual weight upon his head, but a responsibility he wears with honour for the sake of his people. Today, more than perhaps any other day, he finally feels like he is making choices for himself rather than for duty.

He glances over his shoulder at where Merlin is thanking Elyan profusely for his offered band, hamming it up so greatly that it makes Elyan laugh and bow in return. He looks at Merlin’s bright smile, its wide goofiness that Arthur thinks he fell for first. If these are the choices Arthur is finally making for his own sake, he’s proud of them.

~-~-~

The next day is busy with the arrival of their guests, all streaming from the many kingdoms to witness their union.

Elena is among the first to arrive, throwing herself upon Arthur with a screech. Arthur laughs as he staggers back, only just managing to keep them both upright. She has visited a handful of times over the years, and each time Arthur is delighted in how little she has changed. Gawant is flourishing with her passion, and she raves about her kingdom with the same vigour she gives to riding, but as she matures, she remains as untameable and amusing. When they first met he felt she was the perfect embodiment of her kingdom’s colour, yellow, and that is just as true now.

“You’re getting married!” She practically screams in his ear and squeezes him so tightly he feels he might pop.

“I am!” He returns with the same vigour. She punches his shoulder playfully when he releases her, an absolutely beaming smile upon her cheerful face.

They chatter eagerly for as long as they can manage, before Arthur has no choice but to greet more visitors. Then she takes the opportunity to throw herself upon Merlin, offering him a similar squeal of excitement. Arthur spares a glance to see Merlin’s amused smile over her shoulder, and has never before been so glad that he and Elena didn’t marry and instead became the friends they did.

Delegations from Mercia, Essetir and Amata arrive in due course. A collection of lords and nobles who all come eager to witness a royal wedding. They each bow low, a stark contrast to Elena’s joyful hug. Arthur greets them warmly, thanking them for making the journey and guiding them into the castle where servants lead them to their rooms. As countless people arrive and pass into the kingdom he begins to lose track of how many people he has welcomed.

“If one more person tells me they are delighted by your surprising choice in a partner, I might kill someone,” Merlin mutters into his ear.

Arthur buries his delighted laugh into his fist, trying his best to disguise it as a cough. He glances over at Merlin’s amused smirk with what he hopes is a chiding expression, and yet he knows all he achieves is adoration.

“If you do, make sure it’s that pompous fellow from Essetir who told me that my father would be proud.”

Merlin barks a loud laugh, turning the heads of a few gathered people. Arthur doesn’t care, he’s just glad to have been the cause of Merlin’s laughter.

Shortly after, Mithian arrives, followed by a procession of green flags that flutter in the wind. Arthur beams as she is helped down from her horse, and she returns his smile with utter geniality. She is dressed in a brilliant emerald dress, the healthy flush returned to her cheeks and none of the peril she bore at their last meeting. It is a relief to once again greet her as kind friends, both without the threat of death pressed against their back like a dagger. She presses a kiss to his cheek.

“Congratulations,” she offers with such warmth that it makes Arthur smile. He knows what it is to offer placations for the sake of alliances, so much of his and Mithian’s life is performance for the sake of diplomacy, but her offerance now is entirely her own.

“Thank you for coming,” Arthur answers with the same candour.

She smiles, then turns and takes Merlin’s hands in her own. “And congratulations to you too.”

“Thank you, my Lady,” Merlin answers with a blush.

She waves him off. “None of that. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Of course we are.” Arthur presses his hand to the small of Merlin’s back and feels his muscles ease. He knows that Merlin still feels a mote of guilt for how Mithian was slighted in how they came together. If he is honest, Arthur does too, but he also knows that Mithian has long since forgiven him and Camelot for the transgression, and her friendship is too great now to worry any longer about the romantic issues they had in the past.

Any concern and guilt are pushed far away by the way she smiles so fondly at the two of them together now and touches a hand to each of their cheeks.

“I’m looking forward to the wedding,” she tells them with excitement in her voice like a harp’s strings being strummed.

“We are too,” Arthur smiles.

“Wish me luck with saddling myself to this one,” Merlin whispers exaggeratedly, as though imparting a great secret upon her.

The laugh that trills from Mithian is brilliant and makes them both smile, even through Arthur’s great gasp of betrayal.

“Oh you’ll need all the luck you can get.” Mithian nods sagely, her mouth curving into an entertained smile.

She leaves them to continue their welcomes with a promise to talk more before the wedding. A procession of druids arrives, including Daegal, the youth who Merlin helped and who thanks Merlin for the invitation at least ten times over the course of their greeting. Then there are some sorcerers from around the kingdom who have worked with Merlin over the last years, and a number of warlocks from the many lands of Albion whom Arthur doesn’t even remember meeting but who practically fall upon Merlin’s feet, much to his clear discomfort.

Eventually, they are relaxed from their position in the courtyard to return inside.

“I’m exhausted,” Merlin complains, throwing his weight onto Arthur and causing them to both go stumbling sideways. “How many damn people are coming to this thing?”

“This thing?” Arthur teases. “You mean a royal wedding?”

Merlin makes an agonised sound and buries his face in Arthur’s shoulder. He can feel Merlin’s smile without even needing to see it.

“A fair amount more,” Arthur adds too, dragging Merlin into his arms. A passing servant smiles indulgently at the two of them, flushing when she realises that Arthur has noticed her. “Your mother hasn’t even arrived yet.”

“I’m sleeping until the wedding,” Merlin declares, with an air of absolute decision. “I’ll see you there.”

“The knights are taking us out tonight,” Arthur reminds him, prompting a long drawn out groan.

~-~-~

For all Merlin’s halfhearted complaining he’s actually thrilled to have a night to spend amongst the company of his friends.

They find themselves at the Rising Sun, as they almost always do when there is a chance to go out as a group, taking their customary table outdoors so Elyan will have no trouble hearing their raucous chatter. Not that it is ever easy to do so, even for Merlin. He immediately loses himself in the wave of chaos that ensues any time their friends gather in one place, he follows conversation the way a fish follows the tides, darting from one to the other as the need takes him.

“To your last night as free men!” Gwaine pronounces heartily, drawing all their attention. He toasts his ale into the air with a flourish.

“The wedding isn’t for another two days,” Merlin reminds him, at the same time as Arthur protests, “We’re not bachelors.”

Elyan blows a raspberry, shoving Gwaine’s tankard out of his face. “Please,” he scoffs. “These two have been married for years, they’re just finally swearing the actual oath.”

A chorus of ‘hear hear’ rings out. Merlin echoes them too with a laugh as Arthur just rolls his eyes and throws his arm over Merlin’s shoulders.

From there the flow of conversation largely follows his and Arthur’s complete obsession with each other, and a collection of memories involving the pair and their besotted behaviour. Merlin chimes in where he can, defending his honour when necessary, and poking fun at Arthur any opportunity he is offered. The noise is practically a clamour, akin to the sound of a barn when all the animals are brought at once, a tremendous cacophony of laughter, idiocy, and abundant teasing. Merlin’s face aches with the force of his smile, and his ribs are sore from laughing. There is a perpetual warm flush upon his cheeks, but whether that is from the alcohol or the way Arthur keeps smiling at him fondly he couldn’t say for sure.

In spite of his joy, Merlin is struck by it. The inescapable wave of grief; not the kind that leaves him heaving, but the kind that has haunted him over these last months. The terrible revelation that he could have lost this. Any one of them could have died in that battle, any of the laughs he hears now could have been extinguished into silence, any of their smiles could have never been seen again. Their delight they are sharing now might have been slaughtered. How would they have gone on, with the chairs at their table emptied?

Merlin looks at Arthur. He still feels it, the hollow chest under his hands, the stillness and heaviness of his body, the sound of Arthur’s breaths stopping. The memory is like a ghost, it flickers in the corners of Merlin’s vision, fills him with a chill when he is least expecting it. He knows how close they came to losing this moment. Yet what he feels now isn’t sadness, it’s utter relief. The thick consolation of understanding just how near they were to losing everything, while knowing they are safe now. The storm has passed. The worst is over.

He nearly didn’t have this, but he does. They could have lost any one of them, but they didn’t. In less than two days he is marrying Arthur Pendragon, and that is possibly the greatest miracle of all.

The thought fills him with a love he can barely grasp. He grabs Arthur and kisses him deeply, he just has to. He smiles into the kiss, ignoring the affectionate jeering of their friends. He feels Arthur’s lips open under his, like a flower blooming, and only presses closer. The taste between them is sweet, and Merlin’s happiness and relief only swells, the wave cresting. Golden. They draw apart and Arthur blinks at him, a dazed smile upon his flushed face.

“What was that for?”

Merlin shrugs. “I just love you.”

The smile on Arthur’s face is worth everything. Including how their friends immediately start retching. A choir of mockery follows; Gwen boos at them and Lancelot shakes his head in mock disgust. “Get a room!” Gwaine hollers.

“I’ll have you executed,” Arthur declares, jabbing a warning finger in his direction.

“Tyranny!” Gwaine yells even louder, to which a rude gesture is thrown in the knight’s direction.

Conversation derails, splitting into individual discussions and coming together again the way rivers depart at the interruption of a boulder before meeting once more. Merlin lets himself get swept in the current anew. He laughs with Gwaine about a particularly ridiculous escapade he had after patrol, he coos over Leon’s tale of Rose caring for her two younger sisters, they all reconvene to gape over Elyan’s recount of a truly awful man come to witness the wedding, then they depart into individual conversation once more.

Merlin spends most of the night at Arthur’s side, a hand on his thigh, or their ankles interlocked beneath the table, but at one point he finds himself curled into Gwen. The others are all engaged in a game of quoits. As he watches them throw rings onto a thin rod he thinks it’s not dissimilar from the first round of the tourney. What these ridiculous men find so entertaining about rings being chucked on to sticks Merlin cannot say, but he leaves them to their fun.

Gwen tucks her feet up under herself, her hands clasped around his arm. Her curls tickle his chin as she rests her head on his shoulder and he nuzzles into them affectionately. Without explanation she giggles lightly.

“What is it?”

“I just,” she sighs warmly, snuggling even closer to him, “I just thought about how different everything is to when you first came to Camelot. Can you imagine if I told you back then that you would marry Arthur?”

A wild snort that bursts forth from Merlin with far more gusto than usual thanks to the alcohol loosening his laughter. “I never would have believed it.”

“You would have laughed in my face.”

“I can still hardly believe it,” Merlin admits a little dreamily.

Sometimes it feels like Merlin is living in a fantasy. He’s no longer surprised that Arthur loves him, that fact is as natural as the sun rising and setting each day. Yet when he thinks about the journey to this point, where Merlin is marrying the man he loves in two days time, he feels that fanciful notion sink in. There were years he was sure his love would never be reciprocated, that he would have to go on holding his affection tightly in his heart. Arthur, the sunshine in Merlin’s life, the brightest thing of all, the other side of his coin, the prince, the king; it still feels miraculous that he not only got the chance to love him, but to be loved in return. Arthur will be his husband.

“I can,” Gwen decides. Merlin twists to look at her, finding an expression of complete assurance upon her face. At first her eyes remain fixed upon the game, watching as Elyan overthrows a ring so far that it strikes Percival in the knee a few paces from the pole, but when she realises he’s looking at her she meets his eyes.

“Obviously I didn’t always think you two would be together as you are,” she concedes, giggling when Merlin pokes at her ribs, “but now… seeing the two of you, what you mean to each other, I think it was inevitable.” She smiles softly, her eyes far away as though she’s seeing memories of his and Arthur’s life together dancing before her eyes. Merlin sees them too. Arthur turning to him for advice before anyone else, Merlin seeking Arthur’s company when the grief of his own actions became too much, throwing himself into Arthur’s arms at the end of a toiling battle because it was the closest thing to coming home. Inevitable. “You understood Arthur before anyone else,” she continues, “and he cared about you before he let himself care about anything. You’ve been heading here, to this moment, all this time.”

Merlin smiles, resting his head on top of Gwen’s again, drawing her closer. He looks at Arthur, throwing his head back to laugh wildly at Gwaine’s ridiculous victory dance. His fool. Merlin loves him so deeply he sometimes feels he’ll never know the true extent of it.

“I think you might be right.”

~-~-~

“It’s bad luck to kiss before the night before you marry,” Merlin declares as he ducks away from Arthur’s lips.

“That's not true,” Arthur protests. He grabs at Merlin’s arm to try to stop him, drawing him close to his chest but Merlin squirms free and dances backwards, mischief drawing his lips into a smile. Arthur’s eyes narrow, responding immediately to Merlin’s challenge.

“It definitely is.”

“Liar.”

Arthur darts out and Merlin leaps back to avoid him.

There is no hesitation, Arthur recognises the game Merlin is playing and responds in kind. He surges towards Merlin, feinting left and grabbing Merlin when he makes the poor mistake of falling for his tactic. He won’t win so easily. Merlin twists within Arthur’s arms, laughing when he feels Arthur’s grip on him slip before tightening again. In a flash of gold, a pillow smacks the side of Arthur’s head, distracting him just long enough for Merlin to plant a kiss on his cheek and then dash away.

They’re both smiling widely now. The chase is on, only one of them can leave as victor, and Merlin is determined that it be him. He sees that same competitive glint within Arthur’s eyes, and his heart pounds eagerly.

They scuffle like wild children, grabbing at each other and shoving without abandon. Merlin squeals when Arthur tugs him backwards with a fist in his tunic. Arthur yelps when Merlin throws an elbow backwards into his stomach. They plant kisses wherever they can reach. Upon foreheads, jawlines, wrists, collarbones. Arthur manages to get a kiss to the lobe of Merlin’s ear, and he can’t do anything to disguise his shiver of happiness. The smug look is wiped from his face when Merlin manages to get a kiss to his neck. For a moment Merlin thinks he might forget their battle as he sighs, tipping his head to the side to offer Merlin better access to the sensitive column of his throat.

He should have known better; nothing can distract Arthur from winning. Merlin mouths up the line of his neck, moving towards his waiting mouth, and just when Merlin lets himself become distracted, Arthur twists around to kiss Merlin on the tip of his nose.

“Foul play,” Merlin gasps, and pokes Arthur in the ribs.

Arthur wrenches away, eyes squinted admonishingly. “You dare claim foul play then pull a move like that?”

“I do,” Merlin smirks. “What are you going to do about it?”

Arthur growls and lurches forward, and only Merlin’s quick instincts to dash backwards keeps him from being caught in the trap of Arthur’s strong arms.

This, Merlin thinks, this is why I want to marry him. He loves Arthur for the king he is, the leader who stands before an army of hundreds and is able to command them with ease. He loves him for his kindness, for the devotion he offers his kingdom and his friends, and how he would do anything for their protection. But it is this that Merlin fell for first. The boy he is at heart, with wide giddy smiles and crinkled blue eyes, the one whose loud laugh can fill a room.

Merlin tries to run past him, and Arthur sticks his foot out, sending Merlin tumbling upon the bed with a wild laugh. Arthur leaps after him, and they wrestle for control. Limbs flailing as they each try to pin the other beneath them, their shared laughter tolling like bells. Merlin seizes Arthur’s leg with magic, dragging him off.

“Cheating!” Arthur accuses.

“You’re just mad that I’m more skilled than you are,” Merlin deflects with a grin as he settles himself on top of Arthur.

Arthur glares at him but rather than sting to his gaze there is only heat that makes Merlin’s belly warm and interest stir where he and Arthur are pressed together.

“Admit I won,” Merlin demands, pressing his weight firmer upon Arthur. He can feel the flex of his forearms under the pressure of his hands, muscles twitching against Merlin’s palms. Their chests knock together as they both pant, and Arthur’s hair is an absolute mess from Merlin’s scrabbling hands messing it up.

Arthur tips his head thoughtfully, but Merlin sees that glint in his eyes, he knows better than to trust in it. “I was thinking,” Arthur grinds his hips up and Merlin gasps, desire skittering up his spine like a bolt of lightning. “We could call a truce?”

Merlin seals their mouths together in a fierce kiss, as close to conceding as he’s willing to come.

~-~-~

It takes Merlin a long time to go to sleep.

He hasn’t slept without Arthur by his side in a very long while, the chambers that were once the king’s have long since become theirs, and it's strange to have a bed to himself. He had thought he might sleep better without Arthur snoring in his ear, but he finds as he settles under the sheets that he feels bizarrely alone.

Of course, he isn’t really. Gaius has cleared out of Merlin’s old chamber so that he could sleep in a familiar bed before his wedding night; but the old physician is just down the stairs in his cot. Merlin’s mother has a room not far away, and the castle is more full than it has ever been before with visitors for the wedding. Still, the small bed feels empty without Arthur’s weight in his arms.

Merlin has grown used to rolling over and seeing Arthur’s sleeping face. To trailing appreciative eyes over the parted softness of his lips, the flutter of his sleeping eyelashes, the warmth of his skin. It’s strange now to have a mattress to himself, and to turn over and find nothing but the other side of his room. No lover to bask in the embrace of, no one to poke the side of in a hopeful attempt to make him quieter, and to know that when he wakes, Arthur’s face won’t be the first thing he sees.

Besides all of that keeping him awake, his skin is buzzing with anticipation for the coming dawn. Butterflies in Merlin’s stomach are the least of his worries, he feels like a hive, his skin the honeycomb that bees dedicate their days to making, and inside him thousands of them go about their work. He has never been so excited for something in his life. The fact that he and Arthur are going to be by each other’s side for all the days to come is no secret, but it still feels miraculous to be celebrating it. To know that by this time the following night, Arthur will be his husband.

That thought washes over Merlin like a gentle wave, soothing the nerves, washing away his buzzing anticipation as it recedes. Arthur will be his husband. There is nothing in this world so comforting as that truth, and Merlin relaxes into it. He holds it to his chest the same way he would hold Arthur, and, finally, falls asleep.

~-~-~

When morning comes, Merlin wakes with the sun, too excited to consider sleeping a moment more.

He sits with his mother for breakfast but can barely stomach more than a mouthful. He’s practically twitching. He’s convinced he could run laps of the castle and still have energy to spare. His magic is practically bounding inside him, dancing with eagerness for the day to come.

“You need to eat,” Hunith encourages, patting the table to capture Merlin’s attention.

“I feel ill.” Merlin drops his head dramatically into his hands. He hears the amused noise his mother makes but doesn’t lift his head to meet her eyes.

“The porridge will help.”

“I think it’s the porridge that’s the problem,” Merlin grouses and Gaius makes a huffing noise. A glance through his fingers provides Merlin with a clear glimpse of Gaius’ mirth. Their ongoing bickering about Gaius’ cooking has been a many years long feud laced with affection and bemusement on both sides.

Hunith sighs but wisely chooses not to interject herself into their squabble.

“Are you nervous?” She asks as she pries Merlin’s hands from his face, holding them between her own palms.

“Of course I’m nervous!” Merlin sputters. “I’m marrying the king today.”

His mother tuts. “You’re marrying Arthur,” she corrects and a rush of warmth rushes through Merlin, like the pleasant sensation of wine burning through him. It is both intoxicating and thrilling.

Whatever besotted expression that crosses Merlin’s face makes his mother smile fondly and she strokes his hands affectionately.

“There is nothing to be nervous about,” she assures him and with the thought of Arthur in his mind it’s easy to believe her. “Ever since I first saw the two of you together I knew he was your person. Today you’re simply showing that to the world.”

Merlin flushes, both pleased and embarrassed at the thought of how enraptured they had been with each other even all those years ago. Even Will had recognised it.

Arthur makes you happy. Promise you’ll let yourself be happy? Those words have stuck with Merlin for all these years, even as it grows harder to remember his old best friend’s voice, the exact way his smile lifted cheekily, he still remembers that. He likes to think if Will could see him now he’d be proud, and glad to know that Merlin kept his promise. He’s happier than he’s ever been.

“You’re right,” he admits.

“Of course I am.” She releases his hands with one last squeeze and nudges his bowl towards him once again. “Now eat your porridge.”

~-~-~

Arthur stares in the mirror.

He hardly recognises himself. His hair has been trimmed this morning, arranged into a perfect sweep over his forehead and curling ever so slightly at the back of his neck. His face is freshly shaven, smooth under his fingertips. Yet, he realises, it isn’t the neatness of his appearance that is startling; it is the excitement glimmering in his eyes, the unadulterated joy lighting up his face. Has he ever been so eager before?

He remembers this moment before his near marriage to Elena, when he looked in the mirror at himself, and all he saw upon his face was dread. His skin had been pale, terrified, he hadn’t been able to make his hands stop shaking. Now, those feelings of terror are far away, he feels nothing but a thrilling anticipation zipping through him. The man in the mirror is to be married in a few short hours, and he is as unbelievably exhilarated as Arthur feels.

No expense has been spared upon this occasion, and that is obvious even in Arthur’s vestiges. He smiles in amusement, thinking about Merlin seeing him. He looks absolutely decadent. His doublet is a rich shade of red, made of a fabric that glimmers appealingly in the light pouring through the windows. It is embroidered in a shining golden thread, intricate patterns that the seamstresses spared no effort upon; his chest is adorned with an image of a brilliant sunrise, while swirls and patterns trail down the looped sleeves of his cape. At his waist the sleek fabric is cinched with a jewel studded belt, and a further assortment of glittering jewels decorate only the fingers of his right hand, to leave space for his wedding ring.

“Wow,” a familiar voice murmurs from the doorway, “and I thought you looked like a ponce most of the time.”

Arthur whirls around to find Merlin smiling at him, hip leant against the door jamb and an expression that can only be described as adoration upon his cheeky face. In spite of his teasing, Merlin’s eyes are hungry as they trail over Arthur, nothing short of appreciative.

“You’re not allowed to see me before the wedding,” Arthur chides.

With a completely unapologetic shrug Merlin comes over to him. “Since when do I care what’s allowed?”

Arthur rolls his eyes but concedes. Not once, in all their years of companionship has Merlin done what he ought, and Arthur certainly doesn’t expect, nor want, him to start now.

Merlin isn’t yet dressed for the wedding, instead wearing one of his ordinary tunics and breeches. Even still, Arthur drinks him in. The mischief in his eyes is a welcome sight, and he’s smiling a little dumbly. The servants have clearly already gotten to his hair, as its usual unruly mess is tamed into something resembling styled, but he’s still Merlin, exactly as he has always been. Arthur cannot wait to marry this man.

When Merlin is within reach Arthur draws him into a firm kiss. Merlin gasps lightly into his mouth, like he wasn’t prepared for the touch of their lips even after all these years. He adjusts quickly though, his hands coming to squeeze at Arthur’s waist, dragging him even closer. They’re not technically meant to do this either, supposedly bad luck before their first kiss as a wedded couple in a few hours, but Arthur doesn’t care. They have beaten impossible odds before, there is no such thing as testing their luck when it comes to their love.

“Even your hosen look ridiculous,” Merlin mutters when they draw apart, pulling back from Arthur just slightly to look at the tights running Arthur’s legs. They’re embossed with a rippling pattern up the mauve fabric and bracketed with golden bands halfway up his calf, Merlin is right, they’re utterly opulent and frankly, ridiculous.

“It’s our wedding, I need to dress for the occasion,” Arthur answers unapologetically.

A huff. “You look like a preening bird.”

Arthur smirks knowingly. “You don’t like it?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Merlin kisses him before he has the chance to be too proud of himself. Although the kiss does nothing to make Arthur feel less pleased. He grasps Merlin’s jaw, bringing them even nearer and drinks down the sweetness of Merlin’s groan. It is a kiss like the first time, a sudden rush that makes Arthur feel giddy and wild, like he could dance on the air. Yet it is also a kiss that is stitched with familiarity, each detail atop the sheer thrilling sensation like embroidery adorning the embrace. Arthur knows that the pressure on his jaw will make Merlin’s mouth open to him, and Merlin knows that brushing his lips to the corner of Arthur’s mouth will make him shudder. That intimate knowledge of each other only makes it sweeter, and Arthur is utterly breathless when they eventually part.

“You need to go get dressed,” he whispers reluctantly into Merlin’s mouth.

“No I don’t,” Merlin argues, clearly just to be contrary.

Arthur raises an eyebrow at him, dragging his eyes intentionally down and then back up Merlin’s body, lingering intentionally upon his ordinary clothing. A light flush brightens on Merlin’s cheeks and Arthur smiles inwardly at knowing that even while teasing Merlin, he can still elicit such a reaction from him.

“I love you, but this is not what you’re wearing to our wedding.” He pecks Merlin on the nose and pulls out of his arms.

“I could be. Not all of us are pompous pricks like you,” Merlin sniffs but he is retreating to the doorway even as he continues putting up a fight.

Arthur snorts. “I’m the one who helped choose what you’re wearing.”

“Exactly my concern,” Merlin mutters. He squints at Arthur’s feet like he’s only just noticing them for the first time. “Are your buckles gilded?”

Arthur laughs wildly.

“Get out!”

~-~-~

After Merlin leaves, Arthur is left to his own devices for a while.

He is sure that somewhere in the castle there is a mad hubbub of activity as everyone prepares for the coming wedding, but here, in his chambers, it is serene and still. There is nothing except Arthur and his excitement, his nerves, and the fading sensation of Merlin’s lips against his own. He sits on his bed, touching reverent fingertips to his bottom lip as if he might be able to feel Merlin’s mouth still there, and waits as time slips closer towards the moment when he will be able to kiss him again, no longer as his betrothed, but as his husband.

Without his permission his mind begins to wander, straying towards thoughts he prefers not to linger upon. He remembers when Uther first began sowing the seeds of the significance of Arthur’s marriage. He can’t have been any older than ten years old. He cannot now recall what it was that Uther said to him, but he remembers the fear that came afterwards. The tension in his chest as he realised that even his love would be dictated by his crown. He remembers Morgana coming to him, and their ensuing laughter as she described ridiculous clothing he should wear on the momentous day, and how she would show up in Mercia blue just to watch Uther explode.

As he’d grown older, the discussions had grown more serious. They had spoken of the kind of wedding he would want to have. He had never told her he wasn’t sure he wanted one at all, at least not to the women his father imagined he would marry. Instead they had planned the dishes that should be served at the feast, and the entertainment he would need. She had always sworn that she would wear an emerald dress to his wedding, insisting that it would suit her handsomely. He had suggested that she actually wear the colours of her kingdom, and the usual pattern of teasing and laughter would begin. He swears he can feel the faint sense memory of her shoving his shoulder as he sits alone in his room. He should have her here with him. If everything had gone differently she would be in these chambers now, bustling around with handmaidens preparing her, and making sure he was ready.

He misses her fiercely. He knows that even if she were alive, she wouldn’t have been in attendance. Yet he can’t help but long for the presence of the sister he had in his youth, the one he mourned at her gravesite.

A gentle knock at the door startles him out of his thoughts. He tries his best to shake them away, like a tree freeing itself from dead leaves in winter. This is a day of joy, he won’t spend time encumbered in grief.

He’s surprised when he opens the door to find Hunith there.

“Shouldn’t you be with Merlin?” He blurts out, and then cringes at his own bluntness. When he tries to apologise however she waves him off, an affectionate smile upon her face.

“I wanted to give him a moment with Gaius. He is as much Merlin’s parent as I am,” she explains. There is nothing but sheer affection and admiration in her voice, like she is grateful for nothing more so than the way Gaius has stepped forward to care for Merlin.

She adds, “and I thought you might like some company.” Her eyes are understanding as she looks at Arthur. Sometimes he wonders if Hunith is as powerful as her son, if she can see right into his heart and pluck out the feelings there without him even needing to say them aloud. “You should have family with you before such an exciting day.”

Arthur’s throat feels thick as he swallows. The memory of Morgana’s bright eyes still heavy in his mind as he remembers all the plans she had for his wedding day – ranging from ridiculousness like showering him with rose petals upon waking, to candidness, like the promise that she would help him into his cloak before he entered the wedding chamber. This day is not the frightening occasion he thought it would be, nor the obligation he expected. It is a moment of revelry, of pure exaltation and joy. He does not need Morgana’s support as he thought he would; but he still wishes she could be here to share it with him.

“I’d like that very much,” he manages to say, welcoming Hunith into his chambers. She takes a moment to look around, appreciation obvious upon her face, but then she’s turning her attention to him again.

“You look absolutely wonderful,” she declares, taking him by both arms and surveying Arthur. Her face is beaming with kindness and a maternal love that Arthur has hardly experienced before. He flushes and smiles, showing her the smaller details of his doublet and upon her request performing a small spin so she can see how the shoulders connect into a draping cape with huge looping sleeves.

“Gorgeous,” Hunith admires the stitchwork with obvious pleasure.

Arthur ducks his head, soaking in her praise the way trees drink water from the earth after a drought. The grief that touched him before Hunith entered feels far away now.

“How did Merlin go getting dressed?” He asks with a knowing smile, watching as Hunith sighs and rolls her eyes to the sky as if asking for patience; while the fondness on her face never falters for even a moment.

“He has such a foul mouth,” she despairs, “but he looks brilliant. The blue is a marvellous choice. Your doing I suppose?”

“We both know it wasn’t his,” Arthur teases.

She laughs. “Indeed.”

In the moment of quiet laughter excitement rushes in Arthur’s stomach like a bird rustling its feathers before it takes flight, preparing to take him soaring. The thought of Merlin dressed in his wedding clothing is irresistible. He can hardly wait to see him, and it is far more thrilling still to know that the next time he does, will be in front of a crowd as they wed.

Hunith sits in the armchair by the fireplace, even though it is unlit now in the warm spring weather. Arthur takes the seat across from her. He and Merlin have sat here so many times since he became king, playing chess, laughing, admitting secrets in the quiet of night.

“Do you remember what you told me the first time you came to Ealdor?” Hunith asks, seemingly unprompted, yet there is something thoughtful in her voice that tells Arthur there is good reason for her to bring this up to him now.

Arthur tries to recall, but it was so many years ago now that the memory has mostly faded into a faint recollection, like a portrait left in the sun with only the muted colours left to witness. He remembers the battle with raiders, and he remembers Will, though not as well as he would like to for Merlin’s sake, otherwise the memory is mostly lost with time.

“I’m afraid I don’t,” he admits.

She shakes her head with a smile. “I’m not surprised, it was an innocuous comment, but as a mother I have never been able to forget it.”

Her eyes take on that faraway look again, and Arthur wonders if she is remembering him as a youthful prince coming to try to help her village.

“I was worried that Merlin was too poorly behaved, and though you did nothing to assure me he wasn’t–” They share a chuckle, remembering Merlin’s atrocious manners. “– You also said that you didn’t mind it… and in your eyes I could see that you really meant that you liked it.”

“I did,” Arthur admits.

He remembers how much Merlin confounded him back then, the only person to never once attempt to appease him just because he was the prince. His insolence that had been so at odds with the deference everyone else offered the royal family. It was such a small thing, but it felt monumental to Arthur, and though it took a long time to admit it, Arthur now knows with absolute certainty it was the thing he liked most about Merlin back then. His impertinent behaviour had been a comfort, and had helped him let down his own walls, become more Arthur, than Prince Arthur.

“It was then that I realised that Merlin had found someone who would truly care for him exactly as he was,” she smiles and Arthur’s heart gives a sharp kick. Always so startled by a sign of a mother’s love after so many years of not having it. “As his mother, there was no greater comfort than knowing he had you there, loving him for all he is.”

“I always will,” Arthur says, slightly choked.

Her smile becomes ever warmer, and she leans forward to take his hand in hers, squeezing it tightly. “I know,” she promises.

“I’ve never forgotten it, and I still see it. In both of you. You love each other for just the people you are, there aren’t many who can boast that much.”

~-~-~

Merlin’s mother slips away after he’s dressed, promising to return shortly.

He takes a moment, alone in his old room, to sit with just himself and come to terms with all of the emotions bubbling inside him like a pot set to boil. He thinks about Arthur dressed to wed, glittering like a jewel in the sun, emblazoned with the red and gold of Camelot. He’s ready to marry Merlin. They’re going to be married. He sits on the edge of the bed and remembers how many times he returned here with feelings of yearning bursting forth from in his chest but nowhere to put them. He recalls all the nights he spent wishing that Arthur could know him, yet feeling it could never happen, while now he is not only known but loved. How things have changed.

He makes his way down the staircase, part of him feeling like he has stepped backwards in time. It is a simple morning where he is meeting Gaius for breakfast before going to rouse Arthur. Another far greater part of himself is aware how monumental this day is, and how special this very moment is. Gaius looks at him and his mouth falls open, a smile blooming across his aged face.

He steps back as Merlin reaches the base of the stairs, looking with awe at him dressed in his finery. Gaius’ eyes are slightly misty as they skim over the billowing sleeves of Merlin’s doublet, the rich blue, that shimmers as Merlin moves. For all his endless complaining about the fancy attire – which is mostly for posterity at this point, he can’t let Arthur think he’s fallen prey to the opulence – Merlin had spent a while admiring the fabric himself and the way the blue contrasts nicely against his pale skin. He looks good, he looks like the consort of the king, a man soon to be crowned before the entire court.

It’s a staggering thought, standing as he is, in the chambers that were his room for so long. He’s come such a long way in the last ten years. From fearing his own magic, not even sure how to control it, seeking the guidance of an older sage to teach him – to becoming Emrys, possessing the very core of magic inside him. He has killed, and he has fought, all for the people he loves, and he has watched them endure and survive. He was once so naive, frightened of a future that could contain anything, and now he knows was always leading him to this moment, to Arthur.

“Look at you,” Gaius admires, clutching his hands to his chest. “What ever happened to that young boy who came into my chambers just a few years ago?”

Merlin laughs wetly. “He grew up.”

“He certainly did.”

Gaius hauls him into a hug and Merlin goes willingly, clutching onto the physician’s shoulders and burying himself there as he has so many times over the last few years. He breathes in the familiar smell of his mentor; herbs and spices, the kind that are used to make poultices and remedies. He has to bend over to fold into Gaius’ embrace, yet when he’s in his arms he feels encompassed and secure, just as he always has. These arms have helped him through the hardest times and the best, they have celebrated with him and consoled him, congratulated him and supported him.

“I am so proud of you my boy,” Gaius professes into Merlin’s ear. The words are thick with tears, and Merlin sniffles too, letting Gaius draw back to cup his cheek in his weathered palm. “From the moment I met you, I always knew you were capable of incredible things, and it has been an honour to watch you succeed and grow.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” Merlin whispers. He doesn’t know how he would have survived the long years of secrecy, hiding his power from Uther’s cruel eyes. Nor does he think he could have solved so many of his problems without Gaius’ wisdom there to lead him.

“Of course you could have,” Gaius dismisses the notion with crinkled eyes. His smile deepens the lines of so many years of smiling that came before. “But I’m glad I got to be here for you, all the same.”

~-~-~

Fanfare announces Arthur’s entrance into the great hall and he makes his way to the head of the room.

The chamber is bursting with people all eager to celebrate the union that is soon to take place. A hushed whisper of reverence travels through the room as he settles at the altar to await Merlin. The sun is shining grandly, turning into brilliant colour as it passes through the stained glass windows and falls over him. He basks in its warmth, fingers tingling with eagerness as he looks around at the guests. He finds the knights easily, smiling proudly as they stand in their ceremonial armour and red cloaks. Leon stands nearby with Juliana on his arm, their three girls settled around them. Elena and Mitthian are accompanied by the envoys of their respective kingdoms, as are each of the visiting nobles who have come to witness Arthur’s marriage. Finally, Gaius and Hunith are seated at the front of the assembly, ensuring they have a perfect view of the celebration.

Gwen moves over to him, taking his hands and squeezing them tightly. Just like him, she is dressed in the rich red of Camelot, a billowing gown that flares at her waist, trimmed with gold. He is taken aback for a moment at how right it feels to witness her like this, the lady she was always meant to be. She fits into this life like a piece of the stained glass above them, perfectly sculpted to fit.

“You look incredible,” he admires her.

She smiles brightly. “Careful Arthur, you’re soon to be a married man.”

He can’t help but laugh at that, throwing his head back as joy overtakes him. He feels incandescently happy, the kind of untouchable merriment that nothing can touch.

“Then I’d better get my best compliments in now,” he declares and presses a kiss to her cheek.

She giggles too and shoves at his chest affectionately.

They share a smile, brimming with all the moments over their years of friendship that have led them to this point. The path their lives have taken has changed so many times. Who they were to each other has been ever shifting. All of it leading them to this. They have found exactly where they were always meant to be, and he doesn’t regret a moment of that journey.

“I’m so happy for you,” Gwen whispers, only for him to hear, and then with a parting squeeze of their hands leaves to take her place between Lancelot and Elyan.

No sooner as she left, than fanfare fills the room once more and the large doors at the back of the hall swing open.

There is Merlin, and the rest of the world seems to fade into oblivion. He looks like a miracle, a walking marvel; like the unicorn Arthur once united with, ethereal in a way that makes Arthur feel lucky to even witness him. His doublet is sleek midnight, buttoned with shining silver. Across his shoulders sits magnificent deep blue velvet, with silver stitching that shimmers in the light like stars, turning him into the night sky as he walks towards Arthur. But his smile. If his outfit is the night sky that smile would light it into day, and his eyes glitter brightly as he approaches Arthur. He was right, blue looks magnificent upon him. He can see the gleam of those brilliant eyes even entire paces away. Arthur always thinks Merlin is beautiful, but right now he’s the most wondrous thing Arthur has ever seen.

Tears are shining in his own eyes but he doesn’t care. Not when Merlin gets close enough to touch and their hands find each other, the same way they have always been drawn to each other for all these many years. The inevitability of them, two forces, always destined to meet.

Merlin’s hands are trembling in his. Arthur’s are too. Yet the smile they share feels entirely private, filled with exhilaration and wonder. Together, they turn their faces to Geoffrey, and wait for him to begin.

~-~-~

Even though Merlin had seen Arthur already, nothing about him was prepared for the wonder that was having him waiting at the end of the aisle.

He is a vision in red and gold, shining like the sun itself as he watches Merlin approach. Over the caped doublet that Merlin saw earlier, a huge cloak has been draped over his shoulders, and it spills down the stairs like the magnificent shadow of a mountain. His crown has been placed atop his head, a momentous golden thing that should capture all attention, but it doesn’t, not for Merlin at least. His gaze is instead enraptured by the smile upon Arthur’s face, how it beams, the sheen of tears that sparkles over the blue of his eyes.

When he takes his place at Arthur’s side it feels like fulfilling something. It is that same feeling he had when he watched Arthur be crowned king, witnessed him drawing the sword from the stone, when magic became legal over the land. That sensation that this is something meant to be.

He clings to Arthur’s hands as soon as he’s near enough and wills them to keep him steady. He needs something to ground him upon this earth, before he goes soaring into the clouds. Arthur clutches at him back, and they smile, each just as giddy as the other.

Geoffrey clears his throat and begins his speech. Merlin notices the twitch of Arthur’s lips that he tries to steady, likely remembering how Merlin pointed out Geoffrey always speaks like he just swallowed a slice of lemon. His smile grows ever wider, how it's possible he isn’t even sure.

“Milords and ladies, honoured guests, and people of Camelot.” Geoffrey opens his hands to the people gathered to watch the procession. “We are gathered here today to celebrate the marriage and union of one King Arthur of Camelot, and one Merlin of Ealdor, in the rites of ring bearing and hand fasting.”

Merlin trembles, excitement fluttering through his chest and stomach. He can feel Arthur shaking too where their hands are clasped together, and he’s relieved to know this feeling is shared between them.

All eyes are upon them but Merlin doesn’t feel uncomfortably watched like he usually does at these kinds of events. Over the years he has never grown used to being the subject of scrutiny. That is Arthur’s place, not his. Today, however, it feels right that he has captured the attention of the court and the mass of people here. This day is about him and Arthur, it is natural to be witnessed. In fact Merlin finds that he wants it, that it is thrilling to know every person here is seeing just how much love he and Arthur have for each other.

Geoffrey turns to Arthur, as the king it is only right that he speaks first.

“Is it your wish, Arthur, to become one with this man?”

Arthur’s eyes find Merlin’s and he feels them like arms around him, pulling him closer as they always have. For years they have been reaching for each other and drawing into the other’s space, life, world, with this union they can finally have come as close as possible. Now all they need do is hold each other there, and Merlin believes that they will.

“It is,” Arthur declares with absolute confidence.

Now it is Merlin’s turn, Geoffrey turns to him. “Is it your wish, Merlin, to become one with this man?”

All that Merlin has wanted for years has been to unite with Arthur. He has been sworn to him since the moment Merlin arrived in Camelot, destiny made it so, but he chose Arthur for himself years ago. Now he makes it official. This is not merely the work of fate, as so much of his life has been, it is his choice, and he chooses Arthur. Now, and forever.

“It is.”

Arthur’s hands tighten on his, his smile an absolute glow of joy upon his face. Merlin grins back. With a nod Geoffrey begins the long and winding speech that marries them, Merlin doesn’t hear most of it. Instead he sees the sparkle of Arthur’s blue eyes under the golden curve of his crown. He feels the sword calluses on Arthur’s palms, those hands he has tended to for ten brilliant years.

It’s exceptional in a way to think of how much these years have changed them. As they stand together now he remembers the young boys they were, immature and wild, squabbling in the marketplace. How different they are now, hands and hearts united for all to see. No longer unruly boys, but men, sure of themselves and their shared future.

A druid elder steps forward and they extend their clasped hands for her. The woman wraps a braided cord around their two hands and wrists, tying them together as inextricably as they always have been. She whispers a few words of enchantment and the braid alights a brilliant gold, warm against them and humming at the places their skin touches, as if pleased to feel their closeness.

“This string represents the unity of two wholes as a new joint creation. It symbolises the offering of one life to another, to tend to, to care for. It is more than just love, it is a recognition of trust and devotion. The understanding that one should never be without the other.”

It is impossible not to think of Mordred and Kara, though Merlin would prefer not to. He wishes such sad thoughts couldn’t infiltrate his mind on such a happy day, but even the most joyous of moments cannot do the impossible and hold back the tide of grief. The waves wash over him just as they would any other day. In Arthur’s face he finds the same sadness, and it’s comforting in a way to think that even this, they share. He squeezes Arthur’s hand and watches the grief transform into love once more, as easily as snow melting under the warm spring sun.

“We druids bind our hands to bind our souls,” the elder continues, unaware of the brief respite of sorrow that passed between the two. “In fastening these hands together we recognise that King Arthur and Merlin leave today with lives now bound together.”

She looks to each of them. “Do you both consent to this union?”

“I do,” Merlin agrees immediately, in time with Arthur’s profession of, “absolutely.”

She smiles and Merlin wonders if she is as thrilled by this opportunity as he is by the fact she gets to have it. A royal wedding of Camelot containing magical tradition. It’s almost unheard of, yet it’s happening. She lowers her head and incants loudly for all the gathered assembly to hear. It speaks to all the work they have done that no one titters with nerves, there is no fear, only trust and awe as every person watches this ritual take place. Merlin’s chest swells with pride and love as he watches the rope glow bright, swirling in gorgeous patterns around their conjoined hands.

He feels no real change within him as the light begins to fade. No new sensation, no transformed self. Yet then again he isn’t really surprised. Half his soul has been promised to Arthur for as long as he has known him. They have always been connected as one, this new tether is really no different. Not for them.

Arthur’s eyes are wide with awe as he looks at their touching palms. He has that same mystified expression that often overtakes his face when Merlin performs magic. He has spent years in close contact with magic, but these wondrous displays still amaze him. Merlin understands it too. This golden light is like the glow of their love, it isn’t just magic, it is them, it is their light.

The light fades and Arthur looks at him once again. If Merlin thought Arthur marvelled at the magic, it has nothing upon the expression upon his face when he regards Merlin. All these years of being loved by this man and Merlin is still astonished by the adoration he sees when Arthur meets his eyes.

“I want to kiss you,” Merlin whispers just to watch the way Arthur’s smile blooms brighter, amusement twinkling as brilliantly in his eyes as the coloured streaks of sunbeams through the windows.

“Don’t you dare,” he warns, all grin and no bite. “Lord Sagramore might die from the scandal.”

“Would that be so bad?”

“Merlin,” he chides and Merlin grins. His cheeks are starting to ache but he doesn’t give a damn.

The rope is removed from their hands and Geoffrey takes his place at the altar once again. If Merlin isn’t mistaken there is the smallest smile growing upon his face. He hadn’t even known the old man was capable of such a thing.

He begins another long and winding speech about the significance of this day and the union Merlin and Arthur will share. It is certainly longer than is necessary, but it seems to soar past Merlin as he and Arthur finally, finally, hurtle towards their future together. The rings are brought forward on a small cushion and Merlin’s breath catches in his throat.

“King Arthur, you may begin the vows,” Geoffrey welcomes him.

He clears his throat, a nervous but adoring smile pulling at his lips.

“Merlin, I don’t need to speak about what you mean to me, you already know.” Arthur’s breath wobbles but his gaze is steady and sure, and Merlin feels the complete strength of surety in his proclamation. “Destiny has told us that we were meant to be united, and I like to believe that’s true.” All that destiny has promised them and all that they have realised, it would be impossible for them to not believe in its power. Arthur continues, “to me that means that in every version of our lives we would have found each other, and that we would always be at each other’s sides.” Arthur smiles and Merlin does too, tears glistening. “I like that thought.”

“So.” Merlin watches with trembling breath as Arthur takes one of the bands from the cushion, the silver as bright as the light of the moon as it catches the light. “With this ring I offer you my heart, which is already yours, and every version of my life that destiny promised you. If you’ll take me.”

Merlin laughs incredulously, tears making it a choked but still adoring sound. “Of course I will.”

Smiling, Arthur slips the ring onto Merlin’s hand. A physical promise of all they mean to each other, sitting upon Merlin’s finger. He is captured for a moment just staring at it, how right it feels there. But they aren’t finished yet.

“Now, Merlin, you may offer your own vows,” Geoffrey offers. Nervousness threatens to creep up Merlin’s throat but he swallows it easily back down. All he is doing is declaring his love to Arthur, and nothing could be easier.

“Arthur, my King.” He resists the urge to call Arthur his prat before all these important people, but he knows Arthur heard it as he bites at his cheek to keep the goofy smile from his face. “You are endlessly easy to love. Even before we became true friends I knew that you held my heart, and there is nothing that could have ever changed that.” He watches tears fill Arthur’s eyes and squeezes his hands tightly, the closest to an embrace he can offer until they are through. “You are my destiny, all I am was meant for you, and I couldn’t be more grateful the fates led me to you.”

Merlin only releases Arthur’s hands long enough to retrieve his ring. A circle of pure gold, like the crown atop his head, like the soft halo of his hair. A symbol worthy of his radiance.

“With this ring I give you nothing really, since you already have all of me.” Merlin offers a blithe shrug and Arthur snorts. A ripple of laughter, touched by tears, dances through the crowd.

“Still, I hope you accept it, as the promise that it is, that there is nothing upon this earth that could tear me from your side.”

Arthur’s eyes are a promise of their own before he even speaks. They have always been the window to Arthur’s heart, expressive even when the rest of him is not. As they meet Merlin’s gaze now they devote to him, promising love neither could ever hope to put words to, but have no need to. They understand.

“Always,” he swears and Merlin places the ring onto his finger. The gold looks right settled upon his hand, like it was always meant to be there.

Geoffrey nods and beneath his bushy eyebrows there might even be a glint of sentiment in his aged eyes.

“Then, with the power vested in me, and in the name of Camelot and all the kingdoms of Albion, I pronounce you wed.”

Merlin gives up all pretence of propriety, surging forward to drag Arthur into a kiss. Their lips meet like a promise, like the resolve of a prophecy, something meant to be finally coming to pass. He feels Arthur’s smile against his own and knows, fated or not, this is exactly where he wants to be.

~-~-~

Arthur feels like he is floating, soaring with elation as he watches Merlin take a knee at the altar. Merlin, who is his husband, who Arthur is married to. Merlin, who is looking up at Arthur with utter devotion, an expression he knows is surely mirrored upon his own face. Merlin, who has always been Arthur’s partner in everything and is now being recognised as that before the kingdom.

They don’t need the same formalities as Arthur’s own coronation. Merlin is, after all, only King in title. He will act as a figurehead of the council, a pillar of the kingdom, but ultimately his role as Court Sorcerer will always come first. It was the role he was meant for, the role that encapsulates all that the two of them have built. Arthur would never want to take that from him.

Instead, today he crowns Merlin as his partner, he names him the equal he has always seen Merlin as. In becoming King, Merlin shows the kingdom the power he already has. He becomes a leader of them all, in name, not just in action.

When they appointed Merlin Court Sorcerer they acknowledged all he had done for the kingdom. The protection he had offered them all even when none knew. The scars he bore for the sake of defending his home. The battles he faced alone, all in the name of Camelot. Finally, he was given credit for all he had sacrificed for them.

Now, he is acknowledged for his sage advice, the counsel and support he has offered Arthur for so many years now. As King, the wisdom that Arthur has seen in Merlin for so long, is treasured and coveted. It is known to all the lands. It is not only Arthur alone ruling the kingdom now, but Merlin too.

The crown is brought to Arthur upon a plush cushion, awaiting the head that it will be borne upon. It is a brilliant gleaming silver, like Merlin’s wedding band, composed of swirls that interlock in a perfect ring. Arthur’s hands are delicate as he handles it. In taking the crown he feels like he is holding Merlin’s future in his palms, they have reached the path that destiny designed for them, now with this crown they take the first step along their new walk of life. Now, they continue to forge their plans forward, to lead Camelot and all the kingdoms into an era of ongoing peace.

He asks, “Do you solemnly swear to protect and care for the kingdom of Camelot, henceforth your kingdom, for as long as you do live?”

Merlin’s eyes are filled with exaltation as he looks up at Arthur through his long lashes, his head remaining bowed to the kingdom in complete reverence.

“I solemnly swear to do so.” His voice is soft, but it seems to carry throughout the room, whether by the sheer promise within it, or by being lifted by magic is unknown to Arthur. Yet he sees the crowd shift to hear it, understanding the love the new King of Camelot has for the kingdom.

“Then by the sacred laws vested in me, I crown you, Merlin, King of Camelot.”

Arthur lowers the crown onto Merlin’s head, placing the silver circlet atop the inky black hair of his beloved. In doing so he feels as though he is setting something into place, that something has been fulfilled – and as Merlin stands they begin something entirely new.

~-~-~

The night is an arrangement of utterly wonderful things, a sweeping flurry of laughter, smiles and absolute revelry.

A decadent feast is laid out in their honour and Merlin eats more than he ought to without a single regret. He gets pulled into several tight embraces from his mother, Gaius and his friends alike. Mitthian offers her congratulations and touches his cheek warmly, any guilt or sorrow that once stained their friendship has been utterly washed away. Meanwhile Elena and Arthur go toppling over when she throws herself at him in glee, and their laughter can be heard even over the hubbub all around. Gwaine tells Merlin that he looks like a rich wanker in his crown as he smacks a kiss onto his face, and in it he hears not only his good friend, but also Will. Gwen sniffles into his chest as she holds him tight, barely able to express her pride through her tears. Merlin shares smiles with everyone, his closest companions and also with people he hardly even knows; too overjoyed to still his expression of utter giddiness.

Eventually the guests are welcomed into a ballroom and music begins to swell. Arthur offers his hand to Merlin. He had warned of this, that it would be expected that they share the first dance of the evening, and that everyone would watch them. Usually Merlin would feel sick with nerves at the very thought, but with the band upon his finger and the crown atop his head, fear is that farthest thing from his mind. He takes Arthur’s hand and lets himself be taken into the centre of the ballroom’s floor.

Their dance is uncomplicated, a simple collection of steps that sweeps them slowly across the room. All the eyes upon them are a radiant presence against Merlin’s skin, simply a warmth that he is absently aware of as they dance. He feels the love of all his most cherished, the admiration of those he doesn’t know, and the energy of celebration upon the air.

Arthur snickers when Merlin steps on his toes and pulls Merlin close, so his voice brushes against the shell of Merlin’s ear.

“Is there anything you’re actually capable of doing?” He teases and a flood of affection rushes through Merlin.

“Putting up with you,” he retorts and revels in the way he can feel Arthur’s chest shaking with laughter where they are pressed together. Rather than continue to tease, Merlin revels in the feeling of having Arthur so close, of knowing they are married and one, that all they have dreamed of has come to pass, and now theory will continue to carry their vision into a new golden age.

“I love you,” he murmurs softly, protecting the words between them like a gentle ember to be tended to. He watches the soft spread of Arthur’s smile, the warmth upon his face as lovely as basking in the morning’s sun.

“I love you too,” Arthur whispers back, just as quiet. A tender admission just for the two of them.

As they steady to a slow sway of motion, others begin to join them dancing. Merlin looks out over them all, the people of Camelot, his kingdom. He sees Gwen and Lancelot swaying together, Gwaine and Percival, Leon and Juliana, Elyan smiling giddily as he whirls young Rose around the floor. Even his mother and Gaius are performing a very slow step together. Everyone he loves, gathered at once for a celebration of he and Arthur, it feels like the kind of thing he could only dream of. All that they have worked for, all that he has done, it has been made worth it just to have had this.

He came to Camelot in search of purpose, a reason for who he was, and now, as he returns his eyes to Arthur, he knows that he has found it.