A Royal Wedding Merlin/Mithian Part 8
Title: A Royal Wedding
Rating: NC-17
Pairing:Merlin/Mithian
Summary: Canon-era. When Mithian decides to stay on in Camelot after King Arthur's wedding she never exepects the string of events that come after, leading her to her love and her place in this web called 'Destiny'
Part 7
Mithian was in a field, a beautiful green field of long grass and small white flowers, their sweet scent filled her nose and the warm sun beat down on her shoulders. This was truly a space of peace. She touched a hand to the nearest flower, to its silky white petals, and the long green stalk. So simplistic in its beauty but undeniable all the same.
A hand, one that was not her own, slipped over hers. She knew the hand, so soft and strong. And sure enough she looked up to find Merlin’s smiling eyes ahead. And then she looked down and the white flower was gone, in its place was a long red rose. She plucked it from the ground, bringing the bud close to her face and inhaling.
Merlin watched her with twinkling eyes across the flower. His luscious red mouth curled into a private smile, one just for her. He reached out to her, his hand coming to her face. The sun moved, its warming light backlighting him, his face obscured into soft shadows. He flickered, the warm sun, the grass all fading down a tunnel, his hand getting further and further and further-
Mithian blinked her eyes open blearily, her heart dipping from the soars of her dream. She had fallen asleep, she chastised herself, closing her eyes a short moment to regain herself.
And then her pillow moved, no- wait that wasn’t right. She pushed back quickly from where she had fallen, her head resting neatly in the dip of Merlin’s shoulder, to see his eyes slowly blinking open. Her heart stuttered in its chest when she saw the first slither of brilliant blue. Merlin’s tongue came out, fruitlessly trying to wet his cracking lips.
“Oh.” Mithian reached down, bringing a goblet of water to his questing lips. “Slowly,” she whispered, gently lifting his head to the goblet.
When he’d finished his head flopped back, grimacing in pain, as if that small movement had drained him, his eyes closed again.
Mithian tried not to be disappointed, this was good, he was stirring. But she had spent long enough without him, this silent shell of him not what she wanted or craved. But he would come around she was sure, he would wake and she would aid him in recovery and then they would just… be. Together.
“Mithian?” The rasping voice startled her from her musings. Her eyes shot up to the once more open eyes, still glassy with fever.
“Here!” she gasped, grabbing his hand bringing it to her face so he could feel her presence. “I’m here, Merlin.”
A wisful smile floated across his face. “I’m dreaming,” he murmured, stroking his thumb wearily where it lay against her cheek. “But it is a good dream.” His eyes closed in bliss, once more drifting back into his fitful sleep.
But he had woken, his fever would break soon. Mithian smiled and resettled herself, pressing a lasting kiss to her love’s hand.
*
The best thing Arthur found when he was anxious or troubled, or trying to ignore the fact his stomach was churning with worry for his servant-cum-sorcerer still recovering in the wings, was to stay busy. Arthur swallowed and clenched his jaw. It was too many emotions for him to feel all at once; fear, betrayal, pain, worry, sadness, pride… all mixed into one man, albeit a king, but a man none the less.
So he had gathered his knights in his acquired chambers. He looked over them with pride and gratitude that they were all unharmed or at least walking wounded after the fierce battle. And he began the process of ruling.
It was long a tedious and included many discussions on distribution of men, and securing the villages, and monetary versus humanitarian gain. And the whole thing dragged on for hours.
Percival’s head was propped heavily on his trunk of an arm and the sun dipping below the mountains when the door to the chambers burst open, a grinning Gwaine surging over the threshold.
“Merlin’s fever has broken,” he announced, a wave of relief rippling through the room. Gwen gripped Arthur’s hand, sending him a relieved smile and Arthur, feeling his stomach unknot for perhaps the first time in months, returned his wife’s smile.
Gwaine took his seat amongst the knights and exchanged hearty back-pats with Percival and Elyan. “And the Princess, not you Arthur,” Gwaine winked, “hasn’t left his side all the while.”
“Really?” Gwen gasped, “Oh that’s wonderful!”
“Yeah, who knew ‘ol Merlin had it in ‘im, eh?”
Snickers and amused nods drifted around the table. Gwaine lent back in his chair, nicking a grape from the bowl before him and casually popping it in his mouth. His smirk all too smug for Arthur’s liking. The king narrowed his eyes at him.
“Sorry, am I missing something here?”
Everyone turned to stare at him. His frown switched to each incredulous face but he squared his shoulders under their gaze.
“Sire,” Leon coughed. “Surely you saw them, when Merlin was first brought in. There could be no denying what was between them, on Mithian’s part at least.”
“Wait…” Arthur murmured, “You’re saying Princess Mithian… and Merlin?”
As Arthur eyes widened in comprehension and astonishment, Leon stared at his king in disbelief. “Merlin’s right, you are oblivious.”
Arthur was still trying to create that picture in his head, where a girl, a princess no less, was interested in Merlin, when Gwaine cleared his throat and leant forward on the table seriously. When Gwaine looked serious, you knew well to pay attention.
“He said he was ready to see you… if you wanted.”
All eyes were once more upon the king, but this time each gaze was filled with hesitancy, and fear.
“Arthur,” Gwen spoke. “What are you going to do?”
Arthur swallowed, looking down at the table before him before he pushed back. “I will speak with him,” he announced, and stood gracefully, heading to the exit.
“Um- Arthur?”
He turned around to see all five faces still watching him cautiously. “Don’t you think you should…” Gwen made a brief hand gesture to him which he found it hard to translate. She did it again motioning to his belt. He looked down to see his prized Excalibur hanging by his side.
“Oh for… are you kidding me?”
“I think it would be for the best, don’t you?”
Huffing, Arthur ripped his sword belt off and clunked it on the table before his knights. He turned and headed from the room, not even having to look over his shoulder when he shouted, “And don’t touch it Gwaine!”
The huffing and curses meant his guess was right. As soon as the door shut behind him he paused in the empty corridor, closed his eyes and took a deep breath - it was time to confront the sorcerer.
*
The door before Arthur stood open, the late night flicker of firelight spilling out into the darkened corridor and the blank faced guard stationed outside.
Mithian sat in a high backed chair pressed up tight to the side of the sick bed. She held a small book in her hands, eyes running slowly across each page before she turned it and continued. On the bed lay Merlin, his face pale with exhaustion and pain, but his cheeks free from the signs of a raging fever. His top half lay exposed, just a white bandage around his middle hiding the worst of the damage.
Arthur gritted his jaw and swallowed at the memory of Merlin’s eyes wide with shock, his hand flying automatically to his gaping stomach, viscous blood dripping down between his fingers.
One of the servant’s long arms lay, resting his pale hand against his chest, rising and falling with every shallow breath, and his other lay down his side, his hand coming to rest on the princess’ dress-covered knee.
It was an innocent touch but the whole scene seemed so domestic and private that Arthur felt an intruder just standing there. But before he could back silently away Merlin’s head rolled on the bed, his weary eyes meeting Arthur’s.
“Arthur.” He mumbled, the word hardly above a whisper, but Mithian’s gaze snapped to the king, her posture not unmoving from around her book. Her eyes scanned Arthur, lingering on his bare scabbard and the fierceness in them faded a little. Arthur gulped and was secretly glad his wife made him leave his sword behind.
“Have you come to rescue me?” Merlin quipped, although his tone lacked his usual energy. “She’s keeping me prisoner.”
“Merlin…” Merlin eyes moved to the princess by his bed. She sent him a small smile. “Do shut up.”
“Oh wonderful, two nobles to boss me around.”
Mithian smiled, resting a hand over his bandaged middle. “And stay still,” she chastised.
Arthur crept slowly into the room, acutely aware of the princesses hand, where it stayed resting on his servant’s stomach, but she didn’t seem to be planning to move it any time soon and returned her eyes to her book.
“How are you?” Arthur asked stiffly, taking back his appreciation for not having his sword belt to rest his hand on.
“Bored, all I do is lie here.”
“It’s called resting,” Mithian replied, her eyes not rising from the book on her lap. Arthur could see a small smirk curling the side of her mouth.
Merlin’s smile dimmed as he looked back to Arthur. Arthur watched as his adam’s apple bobbed down his long neck. “You wanted to talk… about what happened?”
Arthur looked from Merlin’s eyes, firm and steady but Arthur could see the fear whirling behind them. Mithian had given up the pretence of reading her book, he could feel her eyes also, wide and afraid, but determined, boring into his cheek. Their hands now lay clutched tightly together, their knuckles white against their firm grip.
He realised that there was only one choice, the choice he knew he would make all along underneath the hurt and the bruised pride. Arthur shook his head. “It can wait,” he told the couple, “It can wait until you are recovered and back in Camelot. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Although Merlin’s skin was still pale, his eyes still heavy and tired and his lips still cracked, his smile lit up his whole face, looking just like that insolent boy Arthur had first met in the market, and Arthur knew he had made the right choice.
*
“How are you feeling?” Mithian asked in concern, Merlin’s head dropping back against the pillows with a sigh. His eyes closed briefly and Mithian tried to tamper down the twinge of irrational jealousy that Arthur got one of the few rare wakeful moments of Merlin’s focused solely on him.
“Light-headed,” Merlin sighed, rolling his head back to look at her, with a small slightly giddy smile on his face. “I don’t know if it’s the relief or the blood loss.”
Mithian grinned, too happy for Merlin to do much else. “Perhaps a little of both.”
“Thank you,” he spoke, gripping back at her hand, “For staying by my side.”
Mithian gripped back just as firmly. “There is nowhere else I would rather be, and nowhere else I will be than by your side for as long as either of us stand.”
“Mithian…” he sighed, his eyes turning sad. Mithian cupped his face, as if trying to hold the spark within them steady.
“No, Merlin. I’ve made my choice. You know enough of royals to know we can be stubborn.”
Merlin shook his head but still leaned into her touch. “You come back to Camelot with me and the most you can hope for is to be the wife of a servant-“
“Then the wife of a servant I will be. And I will die happily in a bed of hay at 80 years with you by my side.”
“I have the unfortunate pleasure of knowing what I look like at 80, you’d better hope we perish before that.” Mithian laughed and gently swatted at his shoulder. His face pulled in mock severity. “I have a beard, Mithian.”
“A beard huh?” she murmured leaning close, running a hand down the rough stubble already forming on Merlin’s cheeks. “I’ve always had a thing for a man with a beard, something to grab on to.”
Merlin’s huff of laughter was accompanied by a moan of pain, his eyes clenching at the movement in his stomach. But he smiled. “Gods, woman,” he huffed good naturedly.
“Hopefully you will be recovered before our wedding night,” Mithian quipped, laying a soothing hand above the bandages as if her touch alone could remove the hurt.
Merlin stared at her, fretting for a few moments before clasping her fiddling hands. “You’re serious?“ he asked, eyes wide and hopeful.
“Yes,” Mithian stated. “I have had a taste of what life would be without you, have almost had to live in a world where you are not. Neither concept is one I want to live with. I am coming back to Camelot with you and there is no question.”
His eyes searched her for a moment, for indecision and uncertainty, but Mithian let him take his look, confident that he would find neither. Then his lips came forward connecting with her own.
Mithian felt all her nerves come alive and she leant over him, releasing the strain on his stomach. His lips were dry and cracked but she lathed them, bringing the plump skin into her own mouth one by one. Their first kiss since their reunion and Mithian felt her heart singing and her lips pulled into a smile against her love’s.
“You realise that you actually proposed to me?” Merlin whispered when they parted, his eyes drooping from exhaustion already. Mithian pulled back, tucking the blanket up over his chest.
“Well, you were being too slow.”
“When we tell people can we come up with a different story?” he mumbled sleepily. “One that makes me look a little manlier.”
“Would you like to be wielding a weapon of some kind?”
“That could work.” He grinned, his eyes already closing, returning him back to sleep.
*
Mithian knelt in silence, flanked by her brothers. Everything running through her head; the past, the present, the future. The King of Nemeth was dead, Bediviere was in line to take charge, barely into adulthood himself, their forces had been depleted rapidly. It was just so huge and all encompassing, and now with her father not there to guide her…
She felt Kay’s hand slip into her own and she squeezed back, Bediviere’s shoulder brushing against her own.
She forced herself to stop thinking of that and she focused on the body laid before her. The loving face that had taught her to ride, had sat her on his knee teaching her to read, had tearfully kissed her cheek goodbye when he thought she would marry the King of Camelot. He had been her father, above all else, and now he was gone. This was her time - she squeezed Kay’s hand again - their time to come to terms with that and prepare themselves to go on.
*
When the morning sun signalled that a new day had arrived, the first day of a new rule, the siblings stood as one, Bediviere’s shoulders already looking broader to carry the mantel he had been passed. The door creaked as they left, standing side by side.
With a shared look they strode forward as one.
*
King Arthur’s makeshift council chamber was bustling busily even at the early hour, the king himself in the midst of it all. All eyes fell on the trio as they entered the room, shoulders back, faces solemn.
“Your highness.” Arthur nodded to Bediviere, the council chamber following suit. Mithian felt her brother tense where he stood beside her. “It’s only a small council today, perhaps you should spend this time with the queen, she-“
“My mother knows we are here,” Mithian spoke. Arthur’s eyes flicked from Bediviere to the small woman standing between two knights. She squared her shoulders and stepped forward, ignoring the tittering around the walls.
“We have a proposition for you.”
Arthur frowned but tilted his head in acquiesce. Mithian had the floor now. She took a deep breath and began the speech she had been rehearsing in her head ever since she left a sleeping Merlin last night to Queen Guineviere’s expert care.
“Legends talk of the Once and Future King.” The words of the ancient prophesies swirled through her mind. “That he will unite the lands of Albion under one rule, a band of loyal brothers around you, and bring peace and prosperity to all. To do that, to bring the future that has been written, you will need Nemeth.” Arthur opened his mouth to protest, either to the proposal he could hear coming or the naming of him as the prophesied leader, but Mithian waved a hand and he shut his mouth.
“Nemeth will retain its name and practices but its people will be citizens of Albion and will be protected as such. Bediviere will be named King but will also sit on your council of knights as a trusted ally and friend. My mother will stay on here, Kay will join as one of your trusted knights, to be stationed where you see fit, and I shall return to Camelot with you, as an ambassador of sorts.”
“Uh huh,” Arthur muttered, his gaze too knowing and amused. “I don’t suppose this has anything to do with certain magical servants that just happen to be stuck to my side like an unsightly boil?”
At her glare the King of Camelot withered slightly in his triumphant glee. “It has to do with what is best for Nemeth and for Albion. We believe in the future you will create, and would be proud for our lands to join your legacy.”
Arthur’s brow furrowed thoughtfully and he turned his attention to Bediviere. “What do you say, King Bediviere?”
Her brother held his head high, looking his King in the eye. “I say that you have shown your leadership and courage out on the battlefield. It would be an honour to join the ranks of your knights and for my people to become part of your legacy.” Arthur nodded thoughtfully “Sir Kay?”
Kay stepped forward, in line with his siblings. “I agree with Princess Mithian’s appraisal of the situation. Our lands have grown hostile and enemies appear in the guise of friends. Our only hope is to bind closely together, make our walls of friendship and trust as impenetrable as that of this castle.”
The chamber waited, not a breath to be heard as King Arthur looked down the line of siblings, taking his time on each of them. Eventually he stepped forward.
“Very well, King Bediviere, Sir Kay, please kneel before your King.”
Her brothers went willingly, placing themselves on their knees before King Arthur of Albion. The early morning sun glinted off Excalibur as she was realised from her sheath and rested gently on their shoulders. Mithian blamed her lack of sleep on the proud tears pooling in her vision.
And when they rose they were Knights of Camelot, the knights - Gwaine, Percival, Elyan and Leon - coming forward to greet them as brothers. Mithian stayed back but caught Arthur’s gaze on her over the heads of his newest recruits.
Their eyes met for a moment and his lips quirked, just a miniscule amount and he nodded. Mithian didn’t know what it meant exactly, but it felt like acceptance. Whilst her brothers were distracted she slipped out. She had more important places to be.
*
“I can walk unaided you know,” Merlin grumbled, his words belying the way he leaned against her supporting weight, his hand clamped firmly around his middle.
Mithian could feel the watchful eyes of the knights around them in the courtyard, each waiting for Merlin to stumble or trip so they could come to his daring rescue. Even Kay and Bediviere who had only spent the last few weeks with the warlock had already formed a strong attachment to him.
Mithian just accepted it in exasperation as one of the things that she would have to learn to deal with.
She fixed her arm more securely around his back, taking their walk slowly, one precarious step at a time. “Stop being stubborn and let me help you.”
“Bossy,” he murmured. “I always said you were bossy.”
“So you don’t want to share a horse with me?” she arched an eyebrow, propping him against the brown mare they would be sharing. Leaning over him with the pretence of fixing the saddle she let her breath brush his ear in a whisper, “I’ll make sure you don’t fall.”
When she pulled back, apparently satisfied the saddle was secure, Merlin was shaking his head at her ruefully, his cheeks a giveaway shade of red. “Forget Arthur - you are going to be the death of me.”
*
When their party reached the hills overlooking Camelot, the majestic castle peeking out from the trees, Mithian slowed their horse, allowing their companions to ride ahead.
She looked outwards, for the third time seeing the white stone appear and the flags waving triumphantly in the breeze. She got the same thrill she always had, awed by the innate beauty before her. But this time she felt no fear, or anxiety - only hope.
Merlin’s hand tightened around her middle, his chin hooking over her shoulder. “Are you ready to go home?” he whispered, his breath tickling her ear.
She leant back into his warmth, a private smile on her lips, feeling the hold of the arms around her and the warm sun on her. Mithian turned, brushing a gentle kiss to his waiting lips before facing forward and geeing the horse along, moving forward, only ever forward, toward her future.
Epilogue
Rating: NC-17
Pairing:Merlin/Mithian
Summary: Canon-era. When Mithian decides to stay on in Camelot after King Arthur's wedding she never exepects the string of events that come after, leading her to her love and her place in this web called 'Destiny'
Part 7
Mithian was in a field, a beautiful green field of long grass and small white flowers, their sweet scent filled her nose and the warm sun beat down on her shoulders. This was truly a space of peace. She touched a hand to the nearest flower, to its silky white petals, and the long green stalk. So simplistic in its beauty but undeniable all the same.
A hand, one that was not her own, slipped over hers. She knew the hand, so soft and strong. And sure enough she looked up to find Merlin’s smiling eyes ahead. And then she looked down and the white flower was gone, in its place was a long red rose. She plucked it from the ground, bringing the bud close to her face and inhaling.
Merlin watched her with twinkling eyes across the flower. His luscious red mouth curled into a private smile, one just for her. He reached out to her, his hand coming to her face. The sun moved, its warming light backlighting him, his face obscured into soft shadows. He flickered, the warm sun, the grass all fading down a tunnel, his hand getting further and further and further-
Mithian blinked her eyes open blearily, her heart dipping from the soars of her dream. She had fallen asleep, she chastised herself, closing her eyes a short moment to regain herself.
And then her pillow moved, no- wait that wasn’t right. She pushed back quickly from where she had fallen, her head resting neatly in the dip of Merlin’s shoulder, to see his eyes slowly blinking open. Her heart stuttered in its chest when she saw the first slither of brilliant blue. Merlin’s tongue came out, fruitlessly trying to wet his cracking lips.
“Oh.” Mithian reached down, bringing a goblet of water to his questing lips. “Slowly,” she whispered, gently lifting his head to the goblet.
When he’d finished his head flopped back, grimacing in pain, as if that small movement had drained him, his eyes closed again.
Mithian tried not to be disappointed, this was good, he was stirring. But she had spent long enough without him, this silent shell of him not what she wanted or craved. But he would come around she was sure, he would wake and she would aid him in recovery and then they would just… be. Together.
“Mithian?” The rasping voice startled her from her musings. Her eyes shot up to the once more open eyes, still glassy with fever.
“Here!” she gasped, grabbing his hand bringing it to her face so he could feel her presence. “I’m here, Merlin.”
A wisful smile floated across his face. “I’m dreaming,” he murmured, stroking his thumb wearily where it lay against her cheek. “But it is a good dream.” His eyes closed in bliss, once more drifting back into his fitful sleep.
But he had woken, his fever would break soon. Mithian smiled and resettled herself, pressing a lasting kiss to her love’s hand.
*
The best thing Arthur found when he was anxious or troubled, or trying to ignore the fact his stomach was churning with worry for his servant-cum-sorcerer still recovering in the wings, was to stay busy. Arthur swallowed and clenched his jaw. It was too many emotions for him to feel all at once; fear, betrayal, pain, worry, sadness, pride… all mixed into one man, albeit a king, but a man none the less.
So he had gathered his knights in his acquired chambers. He looked over them with pride and gratitude that they were all unharmed or at least walking wounded after the fierce battle. And he began the process of ruling.
It was long a tedious and included many discussions on distribution of men, and securing the villages, and monetary versus humanitarian gain. And the whole thing dragged on for hours.
Percival’s head was propped heavily on his trunk of an arm and the sun dipping below the mountains when the door to the chambers burst open, a grinning Gwaine surging over the threshold.
“Merlin’s fever has broken,” he announced, a wave of relief rippling through the room. Gwen gripped Arthur’s hand, sending him a relieved smile and Arthur, feeling his stomach unknot for perhaps the first time in months, returned his wife’s smile.
Gwaine took his seat amongst the knights and exchanged hearty back-pats with Percival and Elyan. “And the Princess, not you Arthur,” Gwaine winked, “hasn’t left his side all the while.”
“Really?” Gwen gasped, “Oh that’s wonderful!”
“Yeah, who knew ‘ol Merlin had it in ‘im, eh?”
Snickers and amused nods drifted around the table. Gwaine lent back in his chair, nicking a grape from the bowl before him and casually popping it in his mouth. His smirk all too smug for Arthur’s liking. The king narrowed his eyes at him.
“Sorry, am I missing something here?”
Everyone turned to stare at him. His frown switched to each incredulous face but he squared his shoulders under their gaze.
“Sire,” Leon coughed. “Surely you saw them, when Merlin was first brought in. There could be no denying what was between them, on Mithian’s part at least.”
“Wait…” Arthur murmured, “You’re saying Princess Mithian… and Merlin?”
As Arthur eyes widened in comprehension and astonishment, Leon stared at his king in disbelief. “Merlin’s right, you are oblivious.”
Arthur was still trying to create that picture in his head, where a girl, a princess no less, was interested in Merlin, when Gwaine cleared his throat and leant forward on the table seriously. When Gwaine looked serious, you knew well to pay attention.
“He said he was ready to see you… if you wanted.”
All eyes were once more upon the king, but this time each gaze was filled with hesitancy, and fear.
“Arthur,” Gwen spoke. “What are you going to do?”
Arthur swallowed, looking down at the table before him before he pushed back. “I will speak with him,” he announced, and stood gracefully, heading to the exit.
“Um- Arthur?”
He turned around to see all five faces still watching him cautiously. “Don’t you think you should…” Gwen made a brief hand gesture to him which he found it hard to translate. She did it again motioning to his belt. He looked down to see his prized Excalibur hanging by his side.
“Oh for… are you kidding me?”
“I think it would be for the best, don’t you?”
Huffing, Arthur ripped his sword belt off and clunked it on the table before his knights. He turned and headed from the room, not even having to look over his shoulder when he shouted, “And don’t touch it Gwaine!”
The huffing and curses meant his guess was right. As soon as the door shut behind him he paused in the empty corridor, closed his eyes and took a deep breath - it was time to confront the sorcerer.
*
The door before Arthur stood open, the late night flicker of firelight spilling out into the darkened corridor and the blank faced guard stationed outside.
Mithian sat in a high backed chair pressed up tight to the side of the sick bed. She held a small book in her hands, eyes running slowly across each page before she turned it and continued. On the bed lay Merlin, his face pale with exhaustion and pain, but his cheeks free from the signs of a raging fever. His top half lay exposed, just a white bandage around his middle hiding the worst of the damage.
Arthur gritted his jaw and swallowed at the memory of Merlin’s eyes wide with shock, his hand flying automatically to his gaping stomach, viscous blood dripping down between his fingers.
One of the servant’s long arms lay, resting his pale hand against his chest, rising and falling with every shallow breath, and his other lay down his side, his hand coming to rest on the princess’ dress-covered knee.
It was an innocent touch but the whole scene seemed so domestic and private that Arthur felt an intruder just standing there. But before he could back silently away Merlin’s head rolled on the bed, his weary eyes meeting Arthur’s.
“Arthur.” He mumbled, the word hardly above a whisper, but Mithian’s gaze snapped to the king, her posture not unmoving from around her book. Her eyes scanned Arthur, lingering on his bare scabbard and the fierceness in them faded a little. Arthur gulped and was secretly glad his wife made him leave his sword behind.
“Have you come to rescue me?” Merlin quipped, although his tone lacked his usual energy. “She’s keeping me prisoner.”
“Merlin…” Merlin eyes moved to the princess by his bed. She sent him a small smile. “Do shut up.”
“Oh wonderful, two nobles to boss me around.”
Mithian smiled, resting a hand over his bandaged middle. “And stay still,” she chastised.
Arthur crept slowly into the room, acutely aware of the princesses hand, where it stayed resting on his servant’s stomach, but she didn’t seem to be planning to move it any time soon and returned her eyes to her book.
“How are you?” Arthur asked stiffly, taking back his appreciation for not having his sword belt to rest his hand on.
“Bored, all I do is lie here.”
“It’s called resting,” Mithian replied, her eyes not rising from the book on her lap. Arthur could see a small smirk curling the side of her mouth.
Merlin’s smile dimmed as he looked back to Arthur. Arthur watched as his adam’s apple bobbed down his long neck. “You wanted to talk… about what happened?”
Arthur looked from Merlin’s eyes, firm and steady but Arthur could see the fear whirling behind them. Mithian had given up the pretence of reading her book, he could feel her eyes also, wide and afraid, but determined, boring into his cheek. Their hands now lay clutched tightly together, their knuckles white against their firm grip.
He realised that there was only one choice, the choice he knew he would make all along underneath the hurt and the bruised pride. Arthur shook his head. “It can wait,” he told the couple, “It can wait until you are recovered and back in Camelot. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Although Merlin’s skin was still pale, his eyes still heavy and tired and his lips still cracked, his smile lit up his whole face, looking just like that insolent boy Arthur had first met in the market, and Arthur knew he had made the right choice.
*
“How are you feeling?” Mithian asked in concern, Merlin’s head dropping back against the pillows with a sigh. His eyes closed briefly and Mithian tried to tamper down the twinge of irrational jealousy that Arthur got one of the few rare wakeful moments of Merlin’s focused solely on him.
“Light-headed,” Merlin sighed, rolling his head back to look at her, with a small slightly giddy smile on his face. “I don’t know if it’s the relief or the blood loss.”
Mithian grinned, too happy for Merlin to do much else. “Perhaps a little of both.”
“Thank you,” he spoke, gripping back at her hand, “For staying by my side.”
Mithian gripped back just as firmly. “There is nowhere else I would rather be, and nowhere else I will be than by your side for as long as either of us stand.”
“Mithian…” he sighed, his eyes turning sad. Mithian cupped his face, as if trying to hold the spark within them steady.
“No, Merlin. I’ve made my choice. You know enough of royals to know we can be stubborn.”
Merlin shook his head but still leaned into her touch. “You come back to Camelot with me and the most you can hope for is to be the wife of a servant-“
“Then the wife of a servant I will be. And I will die happily in a bed of hay at 80 years with you by my side.”
“I have the unfortunate pleasure of knowing what I look like at 80, you’d better hope we perish before that.” Mithian laughed and gently swatted at his shoulder. His face pulled in mock severity. “I have a beard, Mithian.”
“A beard huh?” she murmured leaning close, running a hand down the rough stubble already forming on Merlin’s cheeks. “I’ve always had a thing for a man with a beard, something to grab on to.”
Merlin’s huff of laughter was accompanied by a moan of pain, his eyes clenching at the movement in his stomach. But he smiled. “Gods, woman,” he huffed good naturedly.
“Hopefully you will be recovered before our wedding night,” Mithian quipped, laying a soothing hand above the bandages as if her touch alone could remove the hurt.
Merlin stared at her, fretting for a few moments before clasping her fiddling hands. “You’re serious?“ he asked, eyes wide and hopeful.
“Yes,” Mithian stated. “I have had a taste of what life would be without you, have almost had to live in a world where you are not. Neither concept is one I want to live with. I am coming back to Camelot with you and there is no question.”
His eyes searched her for a moment, for indecision and uncertainty, but Mithian let him take his look, confident that he would find neither. Then his lips came forward connecting with her own.
Mithian felt all her nerves come alive and she leant over him, releasing the strain on his stomach. His lips were dry and cracked but she lathed them, bringing the plump skin into her own mouth one by one. Their first kiss since their reunion and Mithian felt her heart singing and her lips pulled into a smile against her love’s.
“You realise that you actually proposed to me?” Merlin whispered when they parted, his eyes drooping from exhaustion already. Mithian pulled back, tucking the blanket up over his chest.
“Well, you were being too slow.”
“When we tell people can we come up with a different story?” he mumbled sleepily. “One that makes me look a little manlier.”
“Would you like to be wielding a weapon of some kind?”
“That could work.” He grinned, his eyes already closing, returning him back to sleep.
*
Mithian knelt in silence, flanked by her brothers. Everything running through her head; the past, the present, the future. The King of Nemeth was dead, Bediviere was in line to take charge, barely into adulthood himself, their forces had been depleted rapidly. It was just so huge and all encompassing, and now with her father not there to guide her…
She felt Kay’s hand slip into her own and she squeezed back, Bediviere’s shoulder brushing against her own.
She forced herself to stop thinking of that and she focused on the body laid before her. The loving face that had taught her to ride, had sat her on his knee teaching her to read, had tearfully kissed her cheek goodbye when he thought she would marry the King of Camelot. He had been her father, above all else, and now he was gone. This was her time - she squeezed Kay’s hand again - their time to come to terms with that and prepare themselves to go on.
*
When the morning sun signalled that a new day had arrived, the first day of a new rule, the siblings stood as one, Bediviere’s shoulders already looking broader to carry the mantel he had been passed. The door creaked as they left, standing side by side.
With a shared look they strode forward as one.
*
King Arthur’s makeshift council chamber was bustling busily even at the early hour, the king himself in the midst of it all. All eyes fell on the trio as they entered the room, shoulders back, faces solemn.
“Your highness.” Arthur nodded to Bediviere, the council chamber following suit. Mithian felt her brother tense where he stood beside her. “It’s only a small council today, perhaps you should spend this time with the queen, she-“
“My mother knows we are here,” Mithian spoke. Arthur’s eyes flicked from Bediviere to the small woman standing between two knights. She squared her shoulders and stepped forward, ignoring the tittering around the walls.
“We have a proposition for you.”
Arthur frowned but tilted his head in acquiesce. Mithian had the floor now. She took a deep breath and began the speech she had been rehearsing in her head ever since she left a sleeping Merlin last night to Queen Guineviere’s expert care.
“Legends talk of the Once and Future King.” The words of the ancient prophesies swirled through her mind. “That he will unite the lands of Albion under one rule, a band of loyal brothers around you, and bring peace and prosperity to all. To do that, to bring the future that has been written, you will need Nemeth.” Arthur opened his mouth to protest, either to the proposal he could hear coming or the naming of him as the prophesied leader, but Mithian waved a hand and he shut his mouth.
“Nemeth will retain its name and practices but its people will be citizens of Albion and will be protected as such. Bediviere will be named King but will also sit on your council of knights as a trusted ally and friend. My mother will stay on here, Kay will join as one of your trusted knights, to be stationed where you see fit, and I shall return to Camelot with you, as an ambassador of sorts.”
“Uh huh,” Arthur muttered, his gaze too knowing and amused. “I don’t suppose this has anything to do with certain magical servants that just happen to be stuck to my side like an unsightly boil?”
At her glare the King of Camelot withered slightly in his triumphant glee. “It has to do with what is best for Nemeth and for Albion. We believe in the future you will create, and would be proud for our lands to join your legacy.”
Arthur’s brow furrowed thoughtfully and he turned his attention to Bediviere. “What do you say, King Bediviere?”
Her brother held his head high, looking his King in the eye. “I say that you have shown your leadership and courage out on the battlefield. It would be an honour to join the ranks of your knights and for my people to become part of your legacy.” Arthur nodded thoughtfully “Sir Kay?”
Kay stepped forward, in line with his siblings. “I agree with Princess Mithian’s appraisal of the situation. Our lands have grown hostile and enemies appear in the guise of friends. Our only hope is to bind closely together, make our walls of friendship and trust as impenetrable as that of this castle.”
The chamber waited, not a breath to be heard as King Arthur looked down the line of siblings, taking his time on each of them. Eventually he stepped forward.
“Very well, King Bediviere, Sir Kay, please kneel before your King.”
Her brothers went willingly, placing themselves on their knees before King Arthur of Albion. The early morning sun glinted off Excalibur as she was realised from her sheath and rested gently on their shoulders. Mithian blamed her lack of sleep on the proud tears pooling in her vision.
And when they rose they were Knights of Camelot, the knights - Gwaine, Percival, Elyan and Leon - coming forward to greet them as brothers. Mithian stayed back but caught Arthur’s gaze on her over the heads of his newest recruits.
Their eyes met for a moment and his lips quirked, just a miniscule amount and he nodded. Mithian didn’t know what it meant exactly, but it felt like acceptance. Whilst her brothers were distracted she slipped out. She had more important places to be.
*
“I can walk unaided you know,” Merlin grumbled, his words belying the way he leaned against her supporting weight, his hand clamped firmly around his middle.
Mithian could feel the watchful eyes of the knights around them in the courtyard, each waiting for Merlin to stumble or trip so they could come to his daring rescue. Even Kay and Bediviere who had only spent the last few weeks with the warlock had already formed a strong attachment to him.
Mithian just accepted it in exasperation as one of the things that she would have to learn to deal with.
She fixed her arm more securely around his back, taking their walk slowly, one precarious step at a time. “Stop being stubborn and let me help you.”
“Bossy,” he murmured. “I always said you were bossy.”
“So you don’t want to share a horse with me?” she arched an eyebrow, propping him against the brown mare they would be sharing. Leaning over him with the pretence of fixing the saddle she let her breath brush his ear in a whisper, “I’ll make sure you don’t fall.”
When she pulled back, apparently satisfied the saddle was secure, Merlin was shaking his head at her ruefully, his cheeks a giveaway shade of red. “Forget Arthur - you are going to be the death of me.”
*
When their party reached the hills overlooking Camelot, the majestic castle peeking out from the trees, Mithian slowed their horse, allowing their companions to ride ahead.
She looked outwards, for the third time seeing the white stone appear and the flags waving triumphantly in the breeze. She got the same thrill she always had, awed by the innate beauty before her. But this time she felt no fear, or anxiety - only hope.
Merlin’s hand tightened around her middle, his chin hooking over her shoulder. “Are you ready to go home?” he whispered, his breath tickling her ear.
She leant back into his warmth, a private smile on her lips, feeling the hold of the arms around her and the warm sun on her. Mithian turned, brushing a gentle kiss to his waiting lips before facing forward and geeing the horse along, moving forward, only ever forward, toward her future.
Epilogue