Chapter Text
“There is no way in hell I’m dressing up as a woman,” Merlin huffed, crossing his arms stubbornly as his breath fogged up in the cold air.
“Come on , you have to!” Gwaine pleaded, pulling his best puppy eyes.
“Why? So that Arthur can call me a girl some more?”
The prince made a face. “First of all, calling you a girl has nothing to do with your feminine figure and everything to do with how you’re an absolute pansy!” Percival laughed, earning a threatening glare from Merlin. “Second of all, you’re not doing this for me, you’re doing this for the good of all of us.”
“Hear that, Merlin?” Gwaine piped up. “ All of us. This is the future of Camelot we’re talking about! We’re going to catch our deaths out here if you don’t do it!”
“Gwaine,” Leon sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Please stop.”
Merlin grinned “ Thank you Leon—"
“You’re not going to convince him by pressuring him or taunting him.” The red headed knight turned to Merlin, a pleading expression on his face. “We request this of you humbly, Merlin. Please dress up as a woman.”
Utterly shocked and looking rather betrayed, Merlin threw his hands up and turned on his heel, stomping off and leaving the knights behind.
“Where’s he going?” Gwaine asked. “He better not be running off, or we’ll all be screwed over.”
“He wouldn’t,” Percival said, sounding rather confident. “He couldn’t stay away from his darling prince all that long.”
It was Arthur’s turn to look betrayed, sputtering and trying to make some sensible sentence but being completely ignored by his oh-so-loyal knights. Why do I put up with these traitors again?
“Is there any other option?” Lancelot asked, always the peacemaker. “Merlin really doesn’t seem like he wants to do this. We shouldn’t force him.”
“I didn’t think of this idea for fun, Lance,” Elyan sighed, shaking his head. “This is the first town we’ve come across in two days’ travel. There’s nothing we can do if they’re so wary of outsiders.”
Leon nodded. “They barely blinked an eye when we said we had no place to stay or means to make camp.”
“So you made up a woman to make us seem sympathetic?” Lancelot deadpanned.
Elyan gave a non-committal shrug. “It worked, didn’t it?”
“Sure, if “worked” means that we have no woman with us to speak of and that Merlin has just run off on us.” Arthur sighed. As much as he hated to admit it, he could see Merlin’s point— the request was a little ridiculous.
“It was the only way, sire,” Leon stressed. “We didn’t prepare for losing so many of our supplies. We were lucky to escape with our lives from that lot of bandits.”
Gwaine groaned, teeth chattering. “This is a matter of life and death! I can’t live like this anymore.”
“They said we could stay a night or two,” Elyan said, crossing his arms. “The offer is on the table.”
“We’ll catch our deaths if we stay out here too long,” Leon sighed. “Frostbite, pneumonia, you name it.”
Arthur pursed his lips. I’ve survived worse, he thought. I’ve never had to resort to such cowardly deception to survive against the odds before…. But there was something different about this situation. The prince couldn’t put his finger on it, but it had something to do with Merlin in a dress. This is a once in a lifetime blackmail opportunity! Of course I’m a little inclined to go along with it…
The knights were looking at him expectantly, waiting for his decree. Silencing the warring thoughts in his head, Arthur gave into temptation. “Well, there’s no way around it then.” Arthur sighed, as if it pained him to say the words (when he was quite frankly excited). “We have to make him do it.”
Merlin had been sulkily indulging in a pity party a little deeper into the forest, sitting up on a rough boulder and tracing patterns into the snow with an icy stick. His face was pale and blotchy on account of the cold, but his stubborn expression was as unyielding as ever as the knights and Arthur approached.
“Merlin—”
“I don’t want to hear it,” the manservant declared, standing up and automatically shifting into a defensive stance, crossing his arms and jutting his chin out.
Arthur had to try his best not to laugh, ultimately failing as he had to hide a chuckle behind his hand, earning a sharp glare from his servant (surely, that wasn’t allowed, but Arthur couldn’t bring himself to care). “Hear us out, Merlin,” Lancelot said, trying to sound soft and persuasive. Even Merlin, famously stubborn as a mule, couldn’t help but refrain from objecting.
“Make it quick.”
“We can’t survive out here for long,” Leon sighed, breath fogging up the air. “There’s barely any game, and no fire can keep us warm for long in this much snow. The past two days have been hell, haven’t they? We need real shelter.”
Merlin didn’t say anything, so Elyan took that as a go-ahead. “The townsfolk didn’t care about our plight until we mentioned we had a woman with us,” he added. “We need this facade to survive tonight.”
“Arthur’s life hangs in the balance,” Gwaine said, a sparkle in his eye. “Don’t forget that.” He earned a harsh slap on the arm from Leon, to which the brunet just grinned, seemingly egged on.
“Why do I have to be the woman?” Merlin asked. “Why not Gwaine? He already has the luscious locks down to a science.”
“Hey,” the knight scoffed, sounding offended. “These are manly luscious locks, thank you very much.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Percival sighed, “but I think you’re the only one who could pull it off.”
Merlin looked scandalized. “Ex cuse me—"
“Merlin,” Arthur sighed, finally joining the fray. “He’s right. And unlike usual, this isn’t a jab. You don’t have a beard, for one.”
“Well, sire , you don’t have a beard either.”
“You have a rather slender figure,” Gwaine added, waggling his eyebrows.
Merlin’s eyes narrowed. “Gwaine, do not think for a moment that I won’t kill you in your sleep. I am perfectly capable of that, and you are well aware.”
Lancelot sighed. “Merlin, please . Don’t mind Gwaine’s regular depravity. You know the situation is dire. We wouldn’t ask this of you otherwise.”
“Well, it doesn’t even matter if I agree,” Merlin said. “I can’t very well show up like this and claim to be a woman.”
“Oh, don’t worry, we have that covered,” Elyan said, reaching into his pack. “We traded a bedroll for a set of clothes.”
Merlin watched in silence as the cloth in Elyan’s hands fell unfolded, revealing itself to be a dark blue dress with tan laces up the front, a cinched waist, and a layered winter skirt. “No,” he breathed, the word coming out like a curse. “Oh, gods, no.”
Arthur stared at the dress openly, the fingers that had been fidgeting with the hilt of his sword stilling as he took in the overtly feminine shape of the cloth. His mind unwillingly flashed back to the night months ago when he had caught Merlin wandering about with a silk dress in the dead of night. It was something he should have forgotten, but it was a memory burned into the back of his mind, emerging often at witching hour or in dreams. The image of Merlin in a slimming corset, sleeves wrapping tight around slender arms, skirt swishing around hips— oh, good lord, forgive me for my sins. Arthur wasn’t about to pretend that the… fantasy hadn’t plagued him in his weakest moments, but it was just a strange sexual urge that he had from being so pent-up, that’s all. He didn’t get to expend his frustrations with all his responsibilities. His knights and all his other noble friends had the freedom of sleeping around with whoever they liked without consequences, but as the crown prince, keeping the bloodline clean and maintaining a positive public image were too important to Arthur for him to be promiscuous. And it wasn’t that strange to jerk off to your closest friend once right? Once or twice? (Or a couple of times?) Completely understandable with how little I get laid.
“I not wearing that,” Merlin said firmly, snapping Arthur out of his internal debate. “Absolutely not.”
Arthur tore his eyes from the dress to Merlin, eyes subconsciously tracing the lines of Merlin’s body where they were hidden under his baggy clothes. That dress would look…
“Merlin, please—”
“All of you will never let me live it down!” The servant argued. “I’ll be a laughingstock!”
Arthur’s resolve hardened. “Merlin,” he said, command and sternness evident in his voice. “You’re wearing that dress.”
The brunet gaped at him. “Are you ordering me?”
The blonde pursed his lips. Surely, I shouldn’t be that cruel for my own depravity? “No,” he said finally. “It’s an ardent request on behalf of the health and well-being of the good of you and my men.” Ooh, being all eloquent to satisfy my kinks, am I? “I give you my word that we won’t mention this to anyone else or hold this over you. In fact, we’ll all promise to never speak of it again.”
Merlin pursed his lips. “You can do better than that.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow, a smirk flickering across his face. Ah, playing his game, are we? “Fine,” he said. “You can have two days off when we get back home.”
“Two days?! Make that two weeks.”
“Oh, I didn’t know you did comedy, Merlin,” Arthur laughed. “A week, maximum.”
“A week and you buy me a new set of clothes,” an impish grin grew on Merlin’s face, and for a moment, Arthur forgot that there were other living souls with them.
“Done,” Arthur said, barely catching his breath in time to agree. “A week and a set of clothes.” He gestured to Elyan, who was grinning widely, dress still dangling from his fingers. “Go put it on, Merlin.”
“I never thought this day would come,” Gwaine said, almost sounding choked up.
“Say another word and I won’t do it,” Merlin grumbled, enjoying his new leverage already. He took the dress, eyeing it distrustfully, as if expecting that it would bite him.
“Just go,” Arthur said, trying to keep the strange, unholy thoughts drifting through his mind from being apparent in his tone.
Merlin wrinkles his nose mockingly. “Whatever you say, sire .”
It had been several minutes since Merlin had shooed the knights and Arthur away, refusing to put on the dress while they were in the vicinity. “What’s taking him so long?” Percival shivered, sitting back against a tree trunk. His armless chain mail was doing him any favors, even when he was wrapped up in his winter cloak ("That's what you get for trying to show off your barrel-arms all the time," Gwaine had said).
“It shouldn’t take him much longer,” Leon replied, pacing about. “Women take a good while to dress, so it makes sense.”
“Maybe one of us should go help him,” Gwaine laughed, making a serious move to get up before he was pushed back down by Elyan.
“Don’t get up if you aren’t planning to die out here in the cold,” he warned his fellow knight. “As long as he’s doing this for us, you need a filter on the things you say.”
“I don’t think we’ll ever be blessed with such a gift,” Percival said, to which Gwaine looked rather offended.
As the knights continued to squabble, Lancelot made his way over to his prince, a quiet and calm presence as he always was. “Are you alright, sire?”
Arthur blinked at suddenly being addressed, swallowing and trying to wet his dry throat. “Of course. Completely alright. Utterly perfect. Why do you ask?”
Lancelot’s eyes fluttered across Arthur’s face for a moment, as if he could read his very mind. If he could see what I was thinking, he would most definitely not approve. “You’ve just been acting a little off since Elyan and Leon returned from the town.”
“It’s just exhaustion,” Arthur said with a vague shrug. “Don’t worry about me, it’ll pass.”
“If you say so,” the knight conceded, warm eyes still searching for the truth as he gave a shallow nod before retreating to join the other knights.
Arthur watched him walk away, feeling so far away in his own world despite being only a few paces from his men. What am I doing? Had he really just coerced Merlin into cross-dressing to fulfill a fantasy that had manifested since a chance encounter months ago? Had he really fallen this far in his life? If father saw me now, he might disown me for real. He would probably think a troll was a truly better fit to be ruler.
“I’m fooled.” Percival’s declaration echoed from across the clearing, making Arthur’s eyes snap up.
He saw Merlin come out from behind a particularly large tree, tuning out Gwaine’s salacious comments and Leon’s polite compliments as his eyes honed in on the sight he had only seen in the darkest corners of his imagination.
The dress, even though it was clearly made for a peasant, made Merlin look scandalously ravishing. That can’t be allowed, Arthur mused absent-mindedly. How is this legal? The dress exposed the slender collarbones and shoulders that Merlin usually hid under layers, making his neck look regal and elegant. The dress cinched at his waist, aided by his belt, highlighting the dip of his frame before the dress flared out into two layers of skirts. That skirt would look sinful bunched up around his hips... Arthur tried his best to ignore the gnawing urge for his eyes to continue further down. Instead, he drew his gaze back up to Merlin’s face. He was biting the inside of his lip, Arthur could tell, embarrassment coloring his face a bright pink. It was strangely endearing. Arthur. Pendragon. What in heaven’s name are you doing?
“Stop staring at me,” Merlin mumbled, ducking his head.
“Oh, don’t hide your face, love—”
“One more word out of you, Gwaine, and you will be dead where you stand.” Merlin stared at the knight resolutely, eyes communicating the severity of his threat.
“Well,” Elyan started, clearing his throat. “We might as well begin making our way back to town.”
“Wait,” Leon said, furrowing his brow. “What do we do about his hair?”
Merlin reaches up to touch his cropped brown locks. The dress may have fit, but the hair wasn’t as easy to pass off. Lancelot took a step closer, taking Merlin’s clothes from his arms, pulling his neckerchief from the pile. “Is this an option?”
While he looked like he wanted to say something (probably quite scathing), Merlin simply gave a stiff nod. “Those clothes I’m getting better be fit for royalty.”
Arthur watched as Lancelot reached over to tie Merlin’s scarf over his head, covering his hair. His bangs still fell over his forehead, making him look more like a village girl than was truly fair. He could just imagine it: running away to a small farm, with rolling fields of… corn or something. A few goats and horses, a cottage with a warm fireplace-- Merlin would have to do all the heavy work, of course, but… if he was in that dress, I would do it all for him.
“Sire?”
“What?” Arthur said sharply, jumping a little. “What is it?”
Elyan raised a suspicious eyebrow. “We were waiting for you to give the final word.”
The prince blinked, trying to remember what had been happening before he had… gone down the rabbit hole. “He-- Merlin-- the dress looks fine-- passable, I mean. Always knew you were a girl, deep down.”
Percival snorted. “Sire, we meant about journeying back to town. Not the final verdict on Merlin’s womanly wiles.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. “I knew that,” Arthur said, sounding rather defensive. “It just needed to be said.” He ignored Merlin’s glare, choosing instead to stare into the snow-covered distance. “Well, then, I suppose it’s time to head to the town.”
The ride to town was mostly silent, save for the sound of the horses’ hooves on the blanket of snow coating everything in sight. Merlin was up at the front of the group with Arthur like usual, trying hard not to pretend that he couldn’t feel the knights’ eyes drifting to him and staring at him from behind.
“Here we are,” Elyan said after a while, pointing out the snow-covered roofs of cottages just behind another snowbank. “That’s the town.”
Leon rode out in front of Arthur with Elyan, leading the group onto a path that was barely detectable with the thick layers of ice covering it. Arthur dismounted first, the knights following suit as they prepared to enter the town. Merlin, forgetting his situation for a moment, moved to do the same, but the dress caught on his saddle, throwing him entirely off balance. “Woah there,” Gwaine said, appearing from seemingly nowhere, supporting with one hand Merlin and keeping him from a terrible spill. “Don’t fall for me yet.” I wish I’d just fallen off the horse.
“Gwaine,” Merlin sighed, frustration already building. “Don’t you start.”
The knight simply smiled cryptically, moving away once he was sure Merlin was stable and instead offering him a hand. The servant took it begrudgingly, this time making sure the cursed dress wasn’t caught on anything before hopping down. “Thanks,” he mumbled, taking care that it was barely audible.
“Any time, my lady .”
“Gwaine, I swear to the gods--”
“ Shh !” Elyan hissed, driving an elbow into Gwaine’s side abruptly. “Don’t blow it!”
Two men were presently making their way up the path, ruddy faces bundled up in thick scarves and sporting suspecting glances. The older of the two reached them first on account of his wide strides, hand wrapped around a thick staff that poked holes through the blanket of snow underfoot. “So you’re the folks they’ve been talking about.” His voice was gruff and clipped.
Arthur dipped his head. “We thank you for the good-heartedness that you have shown us.” His words were ever so diplomatic. He just makes me write his speeches for him because he’s lazy, Merlin thought with a huff. “We have money in return for your troubles.”
“If we wanted it, we would’ve asked for it,” the man said, face still stoic. “We just don’t want any trouble.” He eyed the group up and down, turning to give his companion an indecipherable look. “You aren’t men of a crown, are you?”
Arthur bristled. “No, of course not,” Leon cut in, smiling his most noble smile. “We told you, good sir. Just simply traders.”
The man’s companion squinted, eyes zeroing in on Merlin. The warlock could feel the blood rushing to his face. Stop looking at me. “Traders, eh?” The second man said, eyes flitting between each of them and landing on Merlin again. “What’s a woman doing travelling alone with you lot?” Merlin froze, fingers curled tight in the godforsaken dress. If they find out after I threw away my pride to do this… Around him, the knights were standing dangerously still, at a loss for words. A long, painful moment passed. Goddamnit, what do we do?
“Oh, she’s... my wife.”
There was another long pause. Merlin’s breath caught in his throat. What the hell? His eyes were glued to the man who had made up the impromptu lie-- Crown Prince Arthur fucking Pendragon himself.
“Your wife?” The older man said, the words slow and deliberate.
“Yes,” Arthur said, a jaw in his muscle flexing. “She’s my wife.”
There was another long moment of silence. Don’t tell me I did this all for nothing, one part of Merlin pleaded, while the other part was in a state of hyperventilation as he tried to process the lie Arthur had told. Arthur’s wife, he repeated to himself. He said I’m his goddamn wife.
The older villager’s face broke out into a thin smile as he stepped forward to slap a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “I can’t fault someone for loving their wife too much,” he said, a chuckle lacing his tone. “Couldn’t even leave her behind for a trade, could you?”
Beside him, the other villager laughed, a faint smile appearing on his face as well. “He’s young and in love, can you blame him, Damien?”
Arthur gaped. “Look at him, John, he’s blushing,” Damien said, shaking his head.
“Not as much as his pretty little wife,” John replied with an amused glance. “Come on, let’s get you into town before nightfall.” The two men lead the group towards the town, sensing nothing out of the ordinary despite the fact that both Arthur and his “wife” were beet red even in the freezing wind and snow.
Meanwhile, the knights were displaying varying degrees of surprise and amusement. Gwaine and Percival were busy shooting knowing glances at each other like old gossips while Lancelot looked like he was trying his hardest not to burst out laughing. Elyan just looked plain bewildered, as if expecting to wake up from a fever dream any second. Poor Leon, however, seemed to be the most stressed of them all, with his eye twitching rapidly as he fought to control himself amidst all the stupidity he was constantly surrounded by.
Arthur, leading the group right on the heels of the village men, refused to look back, leaving his facial expression up to imagination. But that wasn’t enough to deter Merlin-- having known him for years, the warlock could read the tense line of his shoulders and the embarrassed stiffness of his gait.
“Merlin,” Gwaine shuffled forward, a grin falling across his lips in a rather cat-like expression. “Why don’t you go stand up there with your husband?”
“Shut up,” Merlin said, narrowing his eyes and trying to appear as intimidating as possible while wearing a flowy dress. Unfortunately, he was too flustered to even think of a scathing insult or threat to throw at his (now former) friend, so he just settled on prolonging his glare and turning away.
The distance between the villagers and the Camelot patrol grew longer as they hiked down the path that led them into the village, which gave the knights the opportunity to whisper among themselves. “I had no choice,” Arthur said immediately, not even waiting for anyone to confront him about what he’d said. “It was necessary.”
“Sure,” Gwaine snickered, elbowing Percival. “I’m sure that’s it, sire. ”
“Gwaine,” Lancelot sighed, shaking his head. “It was a sensible decision, Arthur,” he said, attempting reassurance. “Very believable.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Merlin hissed, taking the comment as a jab at his masculinity instead of an observation of the nature of Arthur and Merlin’s relationship. “I had Arthur’s word-- ”
“For once Merlin, just be quiet!” Arthur grit out, throwing a cautionary glance at the villagers walking ahead obliviously. “If they hear your voice, we’re gonna be chased out of here.”
“I have a lot of experience in being chased out of places,” Gwaine said with a particularly salacious smile. “Any questions, comments, or concerns can be brought to me.”
Arthur stared at him for a moment, looking remarkably like he was wondering whether or not to revoke Gwaine’s knighthood, before he seemed to decide it wouldn’t be worth the fallout. “Nevermind that,” he sighed, turning to Merlin. “We have to make this believable. Walk with me and keep your mouth shut. I know that’s hard for you, but you’re going to have to.”
Merlin opened his mouth to retort, but Arthur just glared and mouthed, “One week.” Merlin wrinkled his nose and raised two fingers, making deliberate and nearly aggressive eye contact. Arthur rolled his eyes in response, muttering an affectionately annoyed “Fine,” under his breath. Satisfied with his small victory, Merlin picked up his pace to walk beside Arthur, trying to bury the strange feelings stirring in his chest at the situation.
I can’t believe him, Arthur thought, trying to glue his eyes on the backs of their guides so that he wouldn’t look at Merlin. Two weeks! Seriously… it was far too much. I can’t tolerate George for two whole weeks. But that was a problem for much, much later. Right now, he was far more concerned with other things.
Arthur tried to wrack his head, searching for problems to distract himself with. Like… the fact that they were in an enemy kingdom, or that they had more men than horses, or that they were still four days’ ride away from the borders of Camelot. Or perhaps that they were lying about their identities to seek refuge in a recluse village. Or that fact that Merlin was in a fucking dress. The last thought had taken root in his brain, refusing to let him concentrate on anything else. In his peripheral vision, Arthur could see Merlin walking beside him, the dress’s color a perfect compliment to his pale complexion. Cursing himself, he tried to look in front of him instead, but the snow served as a grand white canvas for the images conjured up in the most depraved recesses of his brain. I need to stop.
“Here we are,” John said as they entered the outskirts of the village. It couldn’t have been more than 50 or so cottages, all decrepit and leaning on each other for support. “You’re going to need to earn your night’s stay,” he said, looking over his shoulder. “We can’t do much charity out here. Times are too tight.”
Damien turned and looked them up and down. “I supposed that gathering wood and helping with repairs won’t be a problem for any of you?”
“Certainly not,” Arthur said, straightening himself out. “But…” I need to get away from Merlin. “Surely there’s other work for a woman.”
John’s eyes drifted to Arthur’s “wife”. “There’s always cooking and cleaning and washing and domestic chores of that sort to be done.”
Arthur’s face broke out into a relieved smile. “She’s definitely cut out for that,” he said, risking a glance at his servant. “Not the best, but acceptable.” Merlin glared heatedly. “She doesn’t talk much though. A shy little thing, really.” Oh, this is too much fun.
“That’ll do just fine,” John shrugged. “Come, I’ll take you out to the backwoods. The knights started up after him, stepping past Merlin who watched them leave with dark, murderous eyes. Arthur turned and looked over his shoulder, grinning cheekily and looking at though he was having far too much fun in the situation.
I’m going to make him a splendid rat stew when we get back, Merlin thought to himself as he got led away in the opposite direction, which made him feel just a teensy bit better.
“My, you don’t look it, but your stitches are beautiful.” Milly, a hefty woman of forty and some odd years declared loudly, standing over Merlin’s shoulder. He was working fine, strong stitches into a winter tunic with obvious expertise— after all, Arthur was all but a child when it came to keeping his clothes intact. If he didn’t know how to mend by now, the Crown Prince of Camelot would have had the whole of the kingdom walking around naked on account of fabric shortage.
“Ooh, she’s good,” Dorothy, John’s wife said, looking over from where she was busy mending a hole in a sack used for collecting harvest. “I’ve never seen a stitch like that. Looks solid.”
Merlin smiled, finding that quiet, demure expressions got him out of responses most of the time. Indeed, Milly, hands on her hips, took the opportunity to cut in, speaking at length about the grain stores they had left and days until spring.
Finding some peace in the mechanical working of his fingers, Merlin tuned out the chattering of the women, instead industrially attacking the large rip in the tunic, getting nearly halfway through it before he was interrupted again. “Say, girl, you are quite a little looker,” Milly said, chuckling. “It’s no mystery why your husband is so sweet on you.”
“He’s head over heels,” Dorothy laughed, getting up to lay the sack she had just finished near the door. She turned to Merlin, a wry smile gracing her face. “Really, you’re frankly adorable.” Merlin flushed red— what triggered it, he wasn’t sure. “So shy!” Dorothy chuckled, patting his cheek with motherly amusement.
“Doesn’t he get protective of you at all?” Milly wondered out loud. “Especially with the lot of handsome fellows he always has around?”
Merlin simply shook his head.
“Oh, don’t fill her head with things like that,” Dorothy sighed, walking over to fetch a pot that needed a thorough cleaning. “Her husband is practically Adonis, and you’re talking about the others.”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t seen the one with long brown hair,” Milly said, voice carrying a tone of suggestiveness. “He looks quite the romantic.”
Oh dear lord, Merlin groaned internally. She better not be talking about Gwaine.
“I suppose,” Dorothy replied noncommittally. “But what about the redhead? With the cheekbones and the strong jaw, he seems to be quite the dashing rogue.”
There’s no way she means Leon. Him, a rogue? Is there another redhead I don't know about?
“Don’t you go tattling on us,” Milly said, looking over her shoulder and fixing Merlin with a wide smile. “All in good fun.”
He replied with a simple smile and a nod, with which the women seemed satisfied before going back about their gossip, overly excited on account of the minimal amount of new arrivals and visitors they got in such a hermit village. As he finished the stitching the tunic, he did his best to tune out Dorothy and Molly’s detailed analyses of each of the knights and the “way their muscles flexed” when they were helping mend a sheep pen down the street. Gods above, I want to die.
The evening set in with startling speed. Merlin had gotten so lost in his perpetual silence and the familiarity of domestic chores in a cottage that reminded him so much of his childhood home that he barely noticed the time until Milly grabbed a pot he was cleaning from him, lips screwed up in a strange expression he couldn’t really decipher. He looked at her searchingly, wondering what was wrong.
“A real worker bee, aren't you?”
Merlin just shrugged, taking the words as praise. It was more than he’d usually get from Arthur, or anyone in Camelot, for that matter.
Dorothy came over, laying a hand on Merlin’s shoulder lightly. “You must be exhausted, especially with the night you spent out in the woods. You’ve more than earned your keep. John said your husband and some of his men went out hunting, let’s go see if they brought anything back.”
“I doubt it,” Milly said with a sigh. “Nobody can seem to catch much of anything these days. We’re running out of grain stores.”
“We’ll make it,” Dorothy said with a firm smile, the same thin one Merlin recognized from many a childhood winter.
Merlin tried, but he could not stop a nostalgic smile from spreading across his face. How long has it been since I encountered this kind of of simplicity? Until this moment, he’d never realized just how much he missed Ealdor and the village sensibilities of the people there. All this time, worrying about the end of the world (the end of his world), he’d forgot about the every day troubles of life that had once consumed him.
He let his fingers curl into his unfamiliar skirts as the two women led him outside, seemingly amused by his perceived shyness. Merlin wasn’t sure what made him drag his feet, especially when he could see flashes of the knights through the gaps of the cottage’s shutters. He should want to be with his friends, but there was a permeating awkwardness and shame he wasn’t ready to handle.
He didn’t have a choice though, so once again, he swallowed his pride and walked out, ducking his head down. There were a few other villagers gathered around the knights, a sea of rugged men, but it still took less than an instant for Merlin’s eyes to be drawn magnetically to Arthur’s broad shoulders.
He was like the sun, shining bright and strong even when the world tried to eclipse him. Somehow, even when out of his element and hiding behind a fake identity, Arthur carried the weight of the absent crown on his head, a future king through and through.
Watching him speak with the villagers and smile his winning smile made something bubble up in Merlin’s chest. The feeling was familiar, something that often found its way to the surface whenever Arthur was around, but the warlock had yet to put a name to it.
“You can cook, right, Merlin?” Dorothy asked from his side.
Merlin nodded, but then realizing that Dorothy wasn’t looking at him, risked speaking. He settled with a simple “yes,” which, with the blessing of a tone of a whisper, didn’t give him away as a man immediately. He kept watching her, confused upon seeing the excited smile on the older woman’s face.
“That’s good,” she said finally, turning to Merlin. “Your husband’s a sharp one, girl. That’s the first game caught in weeks.”
“I haven’t had fresh meat in forever,” Milly said, hands on her hips.
Merlin could feel his stomach protesting— after all, he hadn’t eaten anything substantial for at least a day now, and even that had been relatively minimal. Winter in the forest was unfairly harsh. Feeling a little less afraid of outing himself, he spoke again. “I… know a recipe.”
Milly grinned. “Can’t wait.”
It wasn’t long before the scent of stew was drifting away from the fire they were cooking at, attracting villagers from all down the street.
Merlin had perfected this particular rabbit stew with the incentive of danger from royal projectiles that often came hurtling his way when Arthur was hungry. And of course, it helped that the stew itself had become a bargaining chip that the knights were eager to take when exchanging favors. It was relatively simple, using minimal ingredients and feeding a whole host of people. Stew really was godsend.
There was a large fire pit on the street between John and Damien’s houses, with two or three other village families gathering as the sun began to set. Merlin stirred the pot above the flames, secretly delighting in the way the knights sat, looking barely restrained and ready to inhale the food as soon as they got the go-ahead. Taking pity on them and their obvious desperation, he took out the bowls Dorothy had offered him and began serving.
The villagers rejoiced at this sudden feast, especially when Merlin contributed the gifts of salt and pepper that they had managed to keep even amidst the bandit attacks. Two pretty village girls from down the street to help Merlin, filling bowls with stew and giving them to the waiting people gathered round.
Something about the situation made Merlin feel all warm inside.
Arthur sat perched on a large log near the fire, watching as Merlin worked. If only he was this competent back home. Subconsciously, he traced the dramatic dip of his manservant’s back in that godsend of a dress, completely drowning out whatever John had been talking about.
“A little distracted, eh?” Gwaine chuckled, jostling Percival next to him.
“Can you blame him?” Elyan asked, “How could he ever keep his eyes off of that darling bride of his?” Apparently he was the newest inductee to the Traitorous Knights of Camelot. Perhaps they should be the Traitorous Trio now. The idea was a good one, so Arthur would definitely take it to his grave, just in case it inspired the heathens too much.
John just laughed, following his gaze and looking at Merlin. “I understand. I mean, look at her.”
Arthur wasn’t going to sit there and deny that Merlin dressed up as a woman hadn't been a shameful fantasy of his, but he had an image to protect. With the way this was going, he would end up being ridiculed for this whole incident more than Merlin. So naturally, he did the thing that came most easily to him— he repressed. “Oh, yes,” he said, turning to his knights with a wide, threatening smile “She does make the most wonderful girl, doesn’t she?”
“Completely smitten,” Gwaine muttered under his breath. Leon, sitting on the log next to Lancelot, looked as though he was about to implode. Lancelot lay a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, having come to terms with his fate as a sane man amidst chaotic bastards years ago.
It was at the moment, when Arthur was wondering if throttling Gwaine would be detrimental to their fragile shelter situation, that Merlin came over, brandishing bowls of stew. And goddamnit everything about him was unfair. The smell of the mouth-watering stew emanating off of him, the way the skirt swished around his legs as if he had been wearing dresses for years, the way he glowed with the fire behind him—
The villagers, blissfully unaware of the homoerotic tensions bubbling in the air between their guests, went on in their conversations, worries temporarily relieved with a good meal.
Arthur looked away, desperately trying to squash down the rising emotions in his chest. Ones that he didn’t name, couldn’t name. In a desperate attempt to distract himself, he reached for the bowl in Merlin’s right hand, only to find that his servant pulled it out of his reach. Arthur looked at him, brow furrowed and questioning.
“Don’t pout,” Merlin said, voice a quiet whisper in an obvious attempt to make the masculine undertone less apparent. “I haven’t wronged you.”
“I just want my stew, Merlin.”
“And you’ll have it,” he said in a clipped tone, handing the bowls in his hands to Gwaine and Percival. “Just wait. I need to pick out the carrots.”
He walked away again, before Arthur could get a word in edgewise. In his defense, nobody’s hips should be allowed to move like that. “The carrots?” John asked, looking over at Arthur. “What’s wrong with them?”
“Nothing,” Lancelot volunteered, a faint smile on his face. “Arthur is just very particular.”
“Who doesn’t like carrots, anyways?” Gwaine asked, shaking his head.
“Truly a pity,” Percival said, deliberately fishing a carrot out of the stew and popping it in his mouth. “More of the rest of us, I suppose.”
Merlin came back moments later, with a carrot-free bowl for Arthur. Long after the first villagers to eat had already finished, the brunet was still busily buzzing around, delivering bowls and scrubbing and stirring. The sky was so dark that it seemed to reflect the dwindling flames of the fire, many of the villages beginning to retire to bed as the stars made their home in the sky. Merlin came over again, this time on a round to pick up bowls of those who had eaten. The knights made a stack of the bowls from the neighboring logs, which Merlin accepted with a grateful smile. Wordlessly, he made his way over to Arthur, kneeling at his feet and beginning to unlace his boots.
The knights barely noticed, used to the routine, but the villagers watched with renewed interest as he pulled the boots off of Arthur’s feet, taking off towards the fire with the bowls hoisted on one hip and boots dangling from the other hand.
“What was that?” Damien asked, watching quizzically.
Arthur blinked. “Oh,” he said dumbly, wondering if the truth sounded too aristocratic. “She’s drying my boots.”
“They seemed pretty dry to me,” John said.
“They are,” Arthur shrugged. “The… er… last time that we got snowed on, I caught a dreadful cold and Merlin’s convinced it’s because there was snow in my boots.” The villagers didn’t nod or say anything, so he took that as a sign to keep talking, watching his pronouns carefully. “Since then, she’s been obsessive over drying them in the cold. She won’t listen to me no matter what I say.”
There was a silence, but Arthur was no longer sure what he could explain. He looked over to the knights, expecting some guidance, but even his trusty commoner knights had nothing to contribute, all of them demonstrating varying sorts of uselessness. Leon, now with his head in his hands, was busy being consoled by an exasperated Lancelot (though what the two of them were distressed over, Arthur couldn’t say). Gwaine and Elyan and Percival seemed to be on the opposite side of the spectrum, muttering in nearly silent whispers under their breath as Gwaine pretended to swoon. I hate them.
“You’re a very lucky man,” John said finally, breaking Arthur’s attentions was from his men.
“Pardon?”
John turned to look at him face on as he rose to his full height. “You’re a lucky man.” He repeated, eyes dark and serious. “She really loves you.”
Arthur froze. “Of course she does,” he said finally, forcing a smile on his face. “She’s my wife, after all.” Somehow, adding that word felt like he was patching it all up. Wife . A neat little word, a neat little bandage that could fix the tipping scales on Arthur’s gossamer state of mind. All he had to do was immerse himself in the charade and he could pretend that he never felt anything and that everything was entirely normal.
John smiled sadly, as if contemplating what such a stupid man had done to acquire such love. “You’ll find one day that there aren’t many who love with that kind of devotion.”
With that, he left.
Arthur walked up to Merlin in the dwindling light from the fire. The other knights had been whisked off by respective villagers that they had spent the afternoon helping, given a bed for the night. Damien has offered to let Arthur and Merlin sleep in his cottage and Arthur had accepted.
With the onset of night, Merlin and Arthur were the only people still outside, Merlin standing on the outskirts of the ash blowing out in circles from the base of the fire pit. Arthur walked up behind him, and for the first time that day, his eyes didn’t immediately trace Merlin’s waist or the lines in his slender arms. Instead, he watched the comfortable lilt of his manservant’s shoulders, looking as though a weight had been temporarily lifted off of them. He stepped up next to him, watching as Merlin stared into the fire, eyes glittering gold reflections of the flames.
Arthur was struck by how perfectly gold suited him, the way it made his cheekbones glow like they were sharp mountain ranges, haloed by dawn. Any time he caught Merlin doing magic, Arthur was quick to try to catch a glimpse of those eyes. The color was fleeting, so ethereal that the blonde could never be totally sure if it had ever been there.
Yet, in all the years he had suspected and in all the years he had definitively known, he had never mustered the nerve to finally confess to Merlin. To confess that he knew, confess that he wanted to see those eyes alight and dance for him. Just out of curiosity and fascination, of course. That's all.
Arthur thought back to John’s words, turning them over in his mind and remembering every single time that Merlin had put Arthur first. Every time that he had given up the credit and reward to remain by Arthur’s side. Every time that he risked his life just to give Arthur the tiniest bit of peace. Merlin looked over at him, something unreadable and sad and infinite in his eyes. “You’re quiet,” he said, voice still a whisper.
“So are you,” Arthur replied, the familiar teasing smile that he reserved especially for his manservant flitting across his face. “And I didn’t even think that was possible.”
“I’ll make sure to talk your ear off on the way home,” Merlin said, fiddling with a loose thread on his sleeve. Home, Arthur thought idly. He makes it sound like our home.
He waited for another long moment, reveling in the cold night air. “We should get to bed,” he said finally “it’s cold out here.”
“I’m exhausted,” Merlin admitted, brushing something off of his hands on his skirt. “Where am I sleeping?”
Arthur swallowed. Normally, he would’ve said something dismissive, but there was no place for that. Not now. “Damien’s cottage,” he said, looking at Merlin’s face for any reaction. “With me.”
There was a faint flicker of something on Merlin's that Arthur didn’t recognize. Something about the fact that he’d known Merlin for so long yet he still didn’t understand him completely didn't sit quite right with Arthur. “Since we’re… husband and wife,” he continued. “They said we could stay with them. Together.”
“Alright,” Merlin said, now deliberately avoiding eye contact as Arthur scrambled to find the reason. Does he know how I’ve been looking at him? Is he disgusted? Is sleeping in the same cot as me really that terrible of a notion?
“Let’s go then.”
Damien opened the door to let them in. It was a simple cottage, with a fire in one corner and the bed in another.
“Milly’s still tying up the goats outside,” He said, stepping out behind them. “You’ve been through a lot. We laid out a cot for you, go ahead and go to bed. We’ll be back soon.”
“Thank you,” Arthur said, looking over his shoulder to see Merlin following him. There was a small fire dancing in the hearth, considerably weak compared to the magical fires he was used to Merlin making.
There was a wide set of blankets laid out on the floor. Well, wide was an overstatement. For one person, they would be very big, but for two… it was a bit snug. “How are you holding up?” Arthur asked, as a way to distract himself.
Merlin didn’t grant him that mercy. Instead, he moved closer into Arthur's space, fingers getting to work in undoing laces in rapid succession. The prince tried to look away as Merlin pulled his overcoat off, setting it in a rather neat folded stack at the head of the blankets. “Alright,” the brunet conceded after a long moment of silence. “Better than I thought I would, in this insidious thing.”
Arthur laughed, watching Merlin’s profile and the way his lips quirked up in the slightest. “Didn’t think you would be such a natural.”
Merlin rolled his eyes. “Really pushing it, Arthur.”
The prince just snorted in return, choosing to turn away from Merlin so that his heart wouldn’t pound right out of his chest. Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm—
“You said you’d rather die than share a bed with me,” Merlin said, an impish smile dancing on his face. “How is that working out for you, dear husband ?”
Holy fuck. The words shouldn’t have sounded that good coming out of Merlin’s mouth, but they did. Good lord they sounded absolutely wonderful. Arthur tried to deflect the question with a bark of a laugh, but it was becoming harder and harder to hide the blood rushing to his face. Unable to think of anything clever, he resorted to his fall-back: “Shut up, Merlin.”
He slipped under one side of the blanket, trying to retract in on himself so that he didn’t accidentally brush Merlin as he moved to do the same. Alas, it was an impossible task. It was a tiny blanket and the air outside of it was freezing, pressing in on them threateningly. “How do we do this?” Merlin asked, wrinkling his nose.
Arthur was going to say something, but apparently his brain had been overdrive since the moment Merlin had put on that stupid, glorious dress, so he just stared at his manservant’s dumb adorable idiotic face instead of answering.
“Hello?” Merlin said, raising an eyebrow. “Are you having premature heart palpitations?”
The answer, of course, was yes, but Arthur would rather die than tell Merlin the truth. “I’m tired, Merlin. Stop blabbering so we can go to bed.”
“That’s exactly what I’m ‘blabbering’ about, so if you would just listen to me—"
At that moment, the heavy wooden door of the cottage creaked open again, letting in a gust of winter air along with Milly and Damien, making Merlin and Arthur go quiet and still, both lying on their sides and facing the fire. Arthur steadied his breathing, closing his eyes.
“Look at them,” Milly said from behind them in an airy whisper. “Love struck darlings.”
The older couple shuffled about, eventually settling into bed themselves and putting out the candles. The fire still danced, getting weaker by the moment, as Arthur watched it over Merlin’s shoulder.
Milly and Damien’s breaths began to even out, and soon, so did Merlin’s. Arthur was the only one left awake, watching the shadows cast by the fire and the delicate fade from nearly black to hazel in the hair near Merlin's temples. In that moment, Arthur couldn't remember any of the daily worries that usually plagued him. Here, it was just him.
Him, and Merlin.
He tried to settle in to get some sleep. After all, they had more work ahead of them tomorrow if they were getting back to Camelot alive any time soon. But every time he tried to close his eyes, he wold find himself opening them again, feeling robbed of the sight of the man laying in front of him. This is a once in a lifetime experience, he told himself, trying to justify his actions. But at some point, denial seemed just a bit ridiculous.
Already doubting himself, Arthur scooted the slightest bit closer, holding his breath. He reached out, arm draping over Merlin’s waist. He put down the weight slowly, terrified of waking him up and being caught red-handed. I just need the heat, Arthur told himself. It’s freezing.
Merlin made a soft noise under his breath, one that made Arthur’s heart simultaneously stop and start anew. But, thank the gods above, he didn’t wake. Instead, his own arm came down to cradle Arthur’s fingers, reveling in the warmth.
Arthur tried his best to keep the dorky smile off of his face, but it was impossible. With the outline of Merlin right there under his hands, Arthur could finally close his eyes without searching for his manservant every moment. It’s for the heat, he told himself again. Nobody would think it suspicious if we just… ended up like this while sleeping in the same cot. It’s perfectly natural.
Completely content to never explore the root of his actions and feeling, Arthur finally dozed off, holding Merlin close to his chest.