Drawn To Any Good (Or, The Education of Lord Arthur Pendragon) - Part 4/7
Part Three
- - -
The morning after Merlin had kissed him, the first thing Arthur did, before he even ate his breakfast, was pen a letter to Hunith Emrys, asking for her son's hand in marriage. It was perhaps a bit unorthodox, a bit rushed, but Arthur had scoured his father's tomes on etiquette while he was too restless to sleep, and thought it could only be best. Merlin had kissed him as if he loved him, and when he had held Arthur close Arthur had known he would not and could not rest until Merlin was completely his. Their courtship had gone on in a chaste manner for long enough, as far as Arthur was concerned. They loved each other, and it was only proper that before they preceded further, Arthur procure Hunith's permission to do so. Besides, Arthur had known Merlin long enough to know that his mother was the dearest thing in the world to him, and Arthur felt that the blessing of such an esteemed lady could only lend weight to his proposal.
One week passed, and then two, and Arthur began to despair of ever getting a reply. He had seen Merlin perhaps a half a dozen times since their kiss, and each meeting was the most exquisite torture. They continued their chaste courtship as if the whole affair at the ball had never happened. Arthur would have thought himself delusional or mad if Merlin was not so poor at hiding his desire to repeat such a passionate action, but something, Arthur assumed a sense of propriety or, more likely, a stubborn pride and refusal to have his heart broken, held him back from making any romantic overtures. Every time Merlin laid a hand on his arm that was more than companionable, or blushed under the adoration Arthur no longer took care to mask in his gaze, it became harder than ever to keep to his self-made vow of propriety. The only thought that kept Arthur from ravishing Merlin in a secluded alleyway was the hope that soon, a letter would arrive from Mrs. Emrys with her blessing, and Merlin would no doubt agree with great joy to his proposal, and then Merlin would be all his to love and cherish forevermore, whenever and however he pleased.
After seventeen and a half days of waiting, a letter arrived for Arthur, written on a very simple lady's stationary in a neat, elegant hand he did not recognize. When he saw that the address read Camarthan his heart leapt to his throat and his fingers trembled as he broke the seal.
Dear Lord Arthur,
I have experienced many surprises in my lifetime, and far too few happy ones, but I do believe one of the strangest and happiest was receiving your missive asking for my permission to become my son's companion! And yet a part of me was not surprised. Merlin speaks of you near-constantly in his letters back home, and he is clearly quite fond of you. I did not know, before your letter, that such affection ran so deeply and passionately. I had my suspicions, of course - I did birth Merlin, after all! - but I have never been quite so pleasantly surprised to have them be confirmed.
As you seek to marry my son, you must know that in addition to his most endearing qualities, of which he has many, he is also quite headstrong, proud, and independent - I blame these all on his father! It is all of these qualities that make me believe that Merlin should perhaps never know you have asked my permission to plead your suit to him, for fear he may refuse you for purely contrary reasons. Were permission mine to give, I would, of course, grant it quite happily. You seem to me to be a most amiable young man who clearly holds boundless affection for my son, and my cousin Gaius no doubt approves, as you spend so much time together. A mother cannot ask for more in a match.
If you are ever lucky enough to have children, Lord Arthur, you will no doubt understand how dear they become to you. Merlin is my entire world. I have great hopes that he will accept your suit, and should he, I only ask that you cherish him as he deserves. Your letter has left little doubt in my mind that you will. On the happy occasion that Merlin accepts, I look forward to our meeting with great joy.
I wish you all the best in your continuing adventures with my dear boy,
Hunith Emrys
Arthur realized his hands were shaking by time he finished the letter and put it down in his lap. It wasn't as though he had expected a refusal, but to see good wishes, laid so starkly in front of him, to realize there was nothing stopping him now from running out in his dressing gown and throwing himself prostrate at Merlin's feet to beg for his favor like an overwrought knight in front of his lady...
No. Arthur took a fortifying sip of his tea. That would not do. Though his emotions were in a giddy whirl, he would approach this calmly. Today was as good a day as any - Morgana was at Guinevere's, aiding her with packing her trousseau and finishing the last bits of sewing, so his visitation would be a special gift, and, as an added bonus, he would not be nattered at by her about his unusual bouts of nerves and gravity that would be impossible to avoid proceeding such a momentous event. The weather was fine, the sort of sunny, nearly-autumn day that smelled of crispness but still was balmy and lazy. And, most importantly, if Arthur waited any longer, he would go mad.
He forced himself to choke down the rest of his eggs and toast (moments of great import, he had learned, never went as well when they were undertaken on an empty stomach) and drew himself a tepid, refreshing bath, taking great care to shave with agonizing slowness and clean under all of his nails and behind his ears until he was sure that all of his past nannies, even the most fastidious ones, would have been proud of him. He made sure clothing was impeccable and to Merlin's taste. The brick-red coat that fit him closely instead of his usual, roomier black one, the dove-gray trousers that Morgana had begrudgingly admitted showed off the power of his legs to great effect (before begging him to never wear them to another tea party again, for she could not stand the giggling and simpering), the blue waistcoat with matching cravat that Merlin had once shyly complimented him on, saying it brought out his eyes. His hair was not fashionably curly and never would be, but after attacking it with a wet comb he managed to get it to lay respectably flat. After much consideration and fussing in the mirror, Arthur discarded his walking stick. Merlin thought it ostentatious and unnecessary (perhaps because Arthur had rapped his shins with it a few too many times), and he'd not settle for looking like anything less than Merlin's ideal man.
He walked rather than calling a hansom - exercise was the best remedy for nerves he knew - muddling over how best to propose, what words he should say in order to secure Merlin's heart for his own. The maudlin and effusive route would not serve him; Arthur knew that would only make Merlin roll his eyes. What had made Merlin kiss him, what had made Arthur believe that Merlin cared for him, was when he laid himself bare, entrusted parts of his heart to Merlin, made himself weak - in short, everything he had believed a man was never to be. He was absolutely terrified to the point of near-illness at the prospect of making himself so emotionally vulnerable to Merlin in order to illicit affection, and yet, he realized as he reached the entrance to Gaius' shop, he was oddly pleased by the idea as well. The idea that Merlin found him irresistibly attractive at his most honest suggested quite strongly that Merlin loved him - truly loved him - for all that he was, rather than the trappings of the man he thought he should be. And yet even that prospect, of being known and loved, was terrifying in and of itself - but in the good way, the way that allowed him to open the door rather than vomiting spectacularly all over the front stoop.
Arthur did not expect to see Merlin working when he entered, but there he was, back to Arthur, shirtsleeves rolled up and potion-splattered apron on, floating an armful of bottles up to unreachable heights one at a time. Will was still manning the desk, and looked up from his paper at the door jingling long enough to grimace and go, "oi, Merlin, your posh bastard's here to see you."
"Don't be ridiculous, Will," Merlin said. "Morgana isn't coming today so there's no - oh!" He turned around at Arthur's pointedly clearing his throat and blushed, but his smile was warm and easy. "Hello. What brings you here?"
"It's far too lovely a day out not to go on a walk," Arthur said smoothly, easily rattling off the lie he'd worked out on the way over. "I wished for you to accompany me for a stroll around the park. Who knows how many fine days we'll have left?"
Merlin looked sorely tempted, but shook his head regretfully. "I promised Gaius I'd look after the shop so he could attend a lecture," he said. "I would say yes under any other circumstances, but..."
"Oh, go on," Will said. "It ain't like I'm up to my ears in customers."
"We could get a rush, and I promised..." Merlin said weakly, but Will waved him off.
"We ain't had more'n five customers all day," Will insisted. "Go on and change or I'll make you, don't think I won't."
"Oh, all right," Merlin agreed, flashing a grin at Arthur before disappearing up the stairs with a promise to 'smell less like a heap of compost'.
"Thank you," Arthur said gratefully to Will, who gave a giant snort and turned back to his paper.
"Didn't do it for you," he said rudely. "I just want some goddamned peace and quiet 'round 'ere, and I ain't gettin' it with Merlin clinking bottles and restockin' like a madman, and I sure ain't gettin' it if 'e's sulky all day moonin' after your sorry arse."
Arthur's charitable feelings towards Will evaporated abruptly, and he was about to shoot back with something appropriately cutting when he heard Merlin's thudding footsteps and swallowed his words. Merlin emerged looking as he always did - hair in disarray under his bowler hat (always slightly askew) clothes strangely matched with each other, his favorite jaunty, poorly-tied red cravat - but something about the sight that day made Arthur's breath catch in his throat. He was so beautifully, perfectly Merlin, so beloved, so close to being Arthur's, and Arthur's chest ached with loving Merlin more than he knew how to bear.
"You look like a bohemian reprobate as always," he said gruffly, interrupting the moment that had built between them as they stared at each other, grins growing madder, wider, and fonder as the moments ticked by. "But I suppose I can bear to be seen with you."
"Your charity, as always, astounds me," Merlin said dryly, but his eyes were still creased in a smile. "Shall we?"
Arthur made an effort to converse as normally as possible with Merlin, nodding at all the right moments and entertaining him with various anecdotes. Merlin, however, seemed utterly unconvinced, shooting Arthur befuddled looks, though he kept his counsel until they had reached their customary bench half-hidden by the willow (and Merlin had kicked his pigeons away after making it clear he had no food for them). Once they had settled themselves, fingers entwined loosely, casually, as they had fallen into the habit of doing ever since the fateful kiss at the ball, Merlin turned to him and said, "Out with it, then."
"What?" Arthur widened his eyes and feigned innocence as well as he knew how.
"Whatever it is that's bothering you," Merlin replied.
Arthur sighed and placed his other hand atop Merlin's long, pale one, not lifting his eyes. "You may not wish to hear it," he mumbled. "You may hate me."
"You are my dearest friend," Merlin insisted, squeezing Arthur's fingers. "Nothing you can say will make me hate you."
Arthur looked up again, straight into Merlin's eyes, and looked for any hint of untruth, anything that would make turning tail and running as far away as possible acceptable behavior, but he could find none. Merlin's face was as honest and beautiful as ever, his eyes crinkled in a warm, affectionate smile that hadn't quite reached his mouth yet. And Arthur, he... he...
"I love you," he breathed. It was such a relief to get out. "I love you."
"Arthur," Merlin exhaled. His voice sounded emotional, but was it good emotion, or bad emotion? He couldn't tell. "Arthur, I... God."
"I love you," Arthur repeated insistently. "I swear I do."
"I - Arthur," Merlin said, and before Arthur could say anything, Merlin was leaning forward and pulling Arthur's mouth to his, a million times more lovely than all of Arthur's memories combined. He never wanted to stop kissing Merlin. He never wanted to go back to the time in his life before he could kiss Merlin, before he knew how soft Merlin's lips were against his, how his burgeoning mustache and stubble scraped against Arthur and made him shiver, what Merlin's fingers felt like tangled in his hair. "I do too," Merlin whispered against Arthur's lips in between kisses.
"You do what?" Arthur laughed, pressing kisses to the parts of Merlin he hadn't yet had a chance to discover, the rises and falls of his face, the soft corners of his eyes and the parts of his chin he missed shaving. "Tell me."
Merlin chuckled. "You prat, you know what."
"Tell me," Arthur begged. "Come on, Merlin."
"Spoiled," Merlin muttered, pressing one last kiss to Arthur's cheek before pulling away to stare seriously into his eyes. "Very well. I, Merlin Emrys, love you, Lord Arthur Pendragon, though you are the most ridiculous man I know."
Arthur could not have beamed harder if he was the sun itself. He felt as though the world was revolving around him and Merlin under their willow tree, centered on their hands clasped together, warm and sure. "If you love me -"
"- I just said I do, what do you want it, in writing and signed in blood? You truly are the most -"
"- then marry me. Please, Merlin. I love - I cannot live without you. I don't want to live without you, not for one day. Marry me."
Of all the reactions to a proposal, the last one Arthur had expected was for Merlin to jerk away to get a better look at him, brows drawing together as if puzzled. His hands remained within Arthur's though. It wasn't a no - a no would have meant a stinging slap. He merely looked... bewildered. "Have you hit your head and gone mad without telling me?" Merlin asked finally. "Taken a spill?"
"No, why?"
"Because I could tell if someone was compelling you magically, and violent head trauma is the only way I can believe you would be singularly idiotic enough to ask me such a thing."
"What, marriage?" Arthur asked, utterly befuddled. "What on earth is idiotic about that?"
"Oh God, I'm in love with a madman," Merlin said, looking skyward.
"There's nothing mad about marriage!" Arthur exclaimed. "I love you, you claim to love me - what better reason is there for two people to get married? It's why my parents were wed! My mother had hardly any fortune at all before she and my father married."
"Your mother had a title," Merlin pointed out dryly. "She was the sister-in-law of an earl. And your father was a self-made aristocrat in everything but name. The love was felicitous."
"I don't care," Arthur insisted. "I don't care, Merlin, not about title or wealth. I love you. I love you as I have never loved anything or anyone before in my life. Do you..." He paused and lifted one hand to cup Merlin's cheek, and Merlin rested into it, not shrinking away from his touch. "And you love me, don't you?"
"As I have just told you, I do love you," Merlin agreed. "I adore you more than you will ever know. I am yours until the day I die. I cannot pretend otherwise."
"And yet you will not have me."
Merlin sighed and turned away to look out at the pond, as if mulling over the correct words. Arthur longed more than anything to pull Merlin to him, to kiss him until he could not, would not resist any longer, but he forced himself to refrain, to concentrate instead on the warm, steady weight of Merlin's hand in his, as if it was the only thing anchoring him to this world.
"You must understand," Merlin said finally, though he did not turn to Arthur when he spoke, "that my refusal is selfish. Nothing would make me happier than accepting, but if I do, I fear it is inevitable that one day, you shall resent me, and it will pain me more than if we'd never wed at all."
"That is impossible," Arthur insisted, turning Merlin to face him. "Look at me. Believe me when I say that there is no power on earth that would make me harbor ill will towards you."
Merlin's chuckle was humorless. "I know you think that."
"I do not think it, I know it."
"Dear Arthur," when Merlin smiled, it did not reach his eyes. "My lovely, stubborn man. You will. You will not intend to, but you will forever be caught betwixt me and your father. It will always be a struggle. Do you recall what you told me, of how your father refused two young ladies, both far richer than I, because they were not enough for you? I have meager wealth - a pittance compared to Guinevere. And if that were not reason enough, that money was gained by my practice of magic, a practice your father abhors more than anything on this earth. And I am a man. No -" he held up a hand "- I know your father is not religious, but he is traditional. I cannot think he'd take kindly to my sex. Were I simply one of these things, perhaps, perhaps your father would agree to our union, or at the very least, not disown you completely. But I am all three, and if you wed yourself to me, it would not be easy, or idyllic, or anything like what you picture."
"But we will make it so," Arthur insisted desperately. "My mother left me money that my father cannot touch. If we tried... if Father saw how I loved you... and Morgana, I'm sure she could talk some sense into him or help us..."
"Arthur, you must believe me," Merlin shook his head. "I know it is hard for you to understand, having to think of these things, but by choosing me, you choose to concern yourself with a different world entirely. And it is not a choice you make once, it is a choice you would make every day, between a poor life with me and a rich one with your father. And even if you were to choose me, you would grow angry."
"If I had you, I would be nothing but happy, every moment until I died," Arthur swore.
"Happy to leave your club?" Merlin asked, raising an eyebrow. "Your friends? Leon? Morgana? Gawain? Your horses and taverns and fine clothes? You would resent me, Arthur. It is not a slight against you. A saint would resent me for causing them such a fall from grace. And I would not blame you, but I cannot..." Merlin turned aside, apparently overwrought, and it took every ounce of Arthur's strength not to pull Merlin into his arms and soothe away whatever made him look so grave. "I have already had my heart broken," Merlin said finally. "I have already lost someone I loved very dearly. And I love you more than I knew I could ever love another person, and if you decided one day... if I lost you as well..."
"Do you worry about my constancy?" Arthur said softly. "Because I assure you, that is not an issue."
"It's no secret that you are in love with being in love. I am sure you remained constant with Gwen, and with Sophia, and perhaps even with Vivian, I do not know," Merlin shrugged, said so carelessly that the words cut Arthur more than he had thought they could, as if his past were coming back to slap him in his face. "And yet your father's disapproval was enough to cease your attentions with each of them immediately. Do you blame my fear?"
Arthur turned away and sighed. He wished he had met Merlin sooner, before any other girls. He wished suddenly to be poor, so none of this would happen. He wished... but wishing would do nothing. "I suppose I cannot," he finally admitted. They were miserably silent for a long stretch of time, looking out at the pond. It had grown no less beautifully sunny, yet to Arthur everything appeared woeful and dim.
"I'm sorry, Arthur," Merlin said after a long pause. "It's just that you scare me. You frighten me so terribly, because I love you so, and you have this power over my very soul that no one..." Arthur turned to look at Merlin, but he would not meet his eye. "There is no limit to my love for you, but I don't know if there is a limit to yours," Merlin said after another tense silence. "And that thought terrifies me, more than I can say."
"If I knew you would say yes, I would run and tell my father this instant," Arthur insisted. "But if you have doubts..."
"One day, I may not," Merlin said with an anemic smile. "But that is not today, I fear."
"Very well," Arthur sighed heavily. "If there is nothing I can do but wait, I will wait as long as I must. But since today is not the day, perhaps I should return you to the shop, before Will thinks I have kidnapped you." He let go of Merlin's hands and rose. "Shall we?"
"Yes, I suppose we'd better," Merlin said, standing. He was still, though, gazing at Arthur as if memorizing him for a moment before he surged forward to kiss him again, slowly and thoroughly, clutching Arthur like he thought this was all a dream.
"This is not goodbye," Arthur said against Merlin's lips when they pulled apart. "This is waiting. And the second you say the word, I will be there. I swear to you."
"Just in case..."
"No, come," Arthur cut in, grasping Merlin's hand in his while they walked out from under the willow tree and into the part of the park where they could be seen, unafraid despite the growing crowd that had come out to enjoy the fine day. "See? I shan't leave. Not for anyone - not even you. Even if you tried to force me to. I would come to your window and wail the most heartfelt, maudlin ballads until you were so moved, you took me back." Merlin ducked his head, but not before Arthur could see a hint of a smile hinting at the corner of his mouth. "So really," Arthur went on, tugging Merlin along as they walked at a brisk pace, swinging their hands merrily. "It's for the best that you consider expediting the day in which you can have faith in me, for I might be so moved to do so if you resist my suit for much longer. It's really for the good of all of London. I have a terrible singing voice."
"You have a terrible everything, you overblown prat," Merlin shot back, bumping him off the path purposefully, almost playfully as they walked. "I don't know why I'm considering your suit at all."
"Because one day, we shall be terrible together, and that will prove to be utterly brilliant," Arthur said staunchly. "Don't deny it, you know it's true."
"Perhaps," Merlin laughed. "Perhaps one day, we shall be."
- - -
"Arthur," Morgana said, looking up from her mending, "why are you looking through my books?"
"I always look through your books," Arthur said evasively. "You don't read the claptrap most young women read - those lurid, gothic, utterly ridiculous stories, or those manuals for how to ensnare a husband or improve their lace-tatting technique..."
"The section you're looking through is the section where I keep the utterly useless husband-ensnaring manuals your father foists upon me, and you well know it," Morgana's voice was bemused. "Do you wish to learn fan language? Because I assure you, there are some things even you, in all your purported virility, cannot make appealing."
"I assure you my virility is very real. Renowned, even." Arthur edged over slightly and, sighting the book he wanted and ever-so-slowly was slipping it from his waistcoat when Morgana looked up, her eyes flashed gold, and the book flew into her waiting hand.
"Ah, A Young Lady's Guide to Courtship," Morgana all but cackled. "Having trouble expressing your finer emotions, Arthur dearest?"
"I loathe and detest you," Arthur shot back, "That is a sentiment I don't feel I've expressed that adequately today."
"You have, actually," Morgana said, putting her mending aside and rising. She took the book from Arthur's hand and placed it on the shelf, looking up at him with an expression of unnaturally soft sisterly concern and affection. Arthur tried to avoid her eyes, knowing she would see right through him with that blasted women's intuition the second she got a proper look at him, but evidently his squirming was enough, because her mouth folded into a pitying little smile. "Is it Merlin?"
"Absolutely not," Arthur huffed, breaking away from her hand on his arm and going to the window, his back to her.
"Come, Arthur," Morgana said, joining him, her hand on his back instead of his arm. "You've been brooding for the last three days, and you refused to accompany me to my lessons yesterday."
"Gawain and Leon invited me to the races, I couldn't put them off forever..."
"Merlin looked as you do now." Arthur could not help himself, he whirled abruptly at the mention of Merlin's name.
"He... is he well?"
"Oh for heaven's sake," Morgana snapped, losing all patience. "You've been acting oddly since Lady Shrewsbury's ball, Arthur, and if you keep me in the dark one second longer I swear I'll... I shall turn you chartreuse."
"I proposed to him," Arthur yelled, throwing his hands in the air. "We kissed at the ball and I wrote to his mother, and when she gave me her blessing I proposed and he put me off. Are you happy now, you interfering minx?"
"Arthur!" Morgana exclaimed. "I told you not to do anything rash!"
"It isn't rash, I love him!" Arthur bellowed. Immediately the room plunged into silence, Morgana looking at him as if she had never seen him before.
"Arthur, you cannot blame him... I mean, you must know what marrying Merlin would entail..."
"I know," Arthur said, collapsing in an armchair. He felt unaccountably drained, as if he were a dirty washing-cloth that had been wring out and hung to dry. "Do you think I'm an idiot? I know. But Merlin... he's worth it. Father could do anything he wants to me. I don't care anymore. It's not worth not having him. It's not. The only reason I haven't told Father and gone to beg on the streets is that I don't know if Merlin would have me. But he thinks..." he trailed off and chuckled. The noise sounded bitter and hollow even to his own ears. "He believes I do not understand the full reality of what I propose, that I would break and run back to Father like a spoiled child. He requested, since he'll be so busy helping Gwen with her wedding for the next week, that we take the time to collect our emotions and resume our friendship."
"But you don't want to," Morgana filled in. Arthur eyed her balefully as she sat in her chair opposite him, as graceful and serene as ever. She always had a gift for stating both the flagrantly obvious as well as the mysterious.
"No, Morgana," he snapped with poorly-contained sarcasm. "I do not."
"And this leads to ransacking my books because..."
"I cannot... I am not gifted in expressing my..." Arthur grimaced. "I wish to convey my... well, my intentions, while honoring Merlin's wish that I keep my distance, and I was hoping those infernal books of yours would help me."
Morgana's face was quite a study. She looked torn between amusement, revulsion, fondness, and a myriad of other emotions Arthur could not name. "You wish to court Merlin as if he were a girl!" She crowed. "Oh Arthur, you are quite something."
"Clearly, I was mad," Arthur said stiffly, rising and making to leave the room. "Thank you for your excellent sisterly concern always, Morgana, it's quite touching."
"Arthur!" Morgana called, and Arthur only turned around because she truly sounded repentant. "Here." She went to her shelf and pulled out a slim, green volume. "It's on the meanings of flowers. Merlin surely knows them all - he's been training with Gaius since he could talk. Now these are more sentimental than magical, however..." she shrugged. "I know he is fond of all sorts of flora. The Botanical Gardens we visited have flowers even if they are out of season. It seems as good a way as any to show him you care, if you do not wish to press him."
"Flowers?" Arthur wrinkled his nose. "And you believe Merlin would like this? We're not women."
"Yes, I do," Morgana said tartly. "Maybe if you had paid attention in the botanical garden instead of mooning like a schoolboy, you, too, would have noticed his passions."
"Very well," Arthur sighed. "I shall do as you say. And if it is successful I will, perhaps, revoke my opinion that you are a minion of the devil himself, sent here to torture me and test my patience."
"How fortuitous," Morgana drawled. "I was just about to reach the same conclusion myself."
- - -
As commanded, for the next ten days, Arthur kept himself out of Merlin's presence, though Merlin never left his thoughts. Though he initially flung the slim green volume Morgana had pressed on him away in his chambers in a fit of pique and pride, after a sleepless night longing to rush to Merlin's side, he picked it up with some trepidation before heading to the flower stands by the Botanical Gardens.
His first selection, after much to-and-fro consultation between the florists and the book, was a small bunch of daffodils. They looked friendly, cheerful, and the entry on them in the book read regard, uncertainty, chivalry, unrequited love - the sun shines when I'm with you which, Arthur felt, was quite accurate. He felt a right fool just sending flowers, so he also purchased a new, thin volume entitled Oriental Magicks - Charms from the Far East that he had seen Merlin eying wistfully in several windows, which he wrapped, along with the flowers, in plain brown paper, and gave it to Morgana to pass on to Merlin. She gave him an inscrutable, half-amused look, but did as she was bade, though there was no return message.
"I swear, Arthur, he did not even open it in our presence," Morgana yawned when she finally returned home to a nervously eager Arthur. "We were entirely too busy procuring enough matching table linens and removing all the stains from them."
Arthur spent the next few days wracking his brain for even greater ideas of what to send to Merlin next, mentally combing through every conversation he could ever recall them having, trying to come up with any possible desire Merlin had voiced that he could try to fill. He finally, after much agonized thought, settled on a spray of heliotrope (devotion, the book informed him) tied to a small box of the type of caramel Merlin had voiced a preference for.
"Honestly, Arthur?" Morgana sighed when Arthur handed the package over to her as she went for the final dress fitting at Guinevere's. "You don't, perhaps, find this a bit pathetic?"
"No," Arthur said staunchly. Morgana rolled her eyes, but once again agreed to deliver the package, and once again, there was no response besides what Morgana characterized as "a small smile".
"But truly, we were too busy to think of anything but the dress," Morgana soothed a rather put-out Arthur. "There was a bit of embroidery that simply refused to work as it should, and the shape the petticoats were in! I think you should let Merlin do his work, Arthur, there's ever so much and the wedding is in four days." But Arthur, who had been barely restraining himself from tracking down Merlin and throwing himself prostrate at his feet to beg for the slightest indication that he had not dreamed Merlin's affections into being, would hear none of it.
"I cannot," he said desperately, pacing the drawing room like a man possessed. "I cannot bear this Morgana. It's as though I dreamed him, as though he's a figment of my imagination, as though he is haunting me. I cannot sleep. Food and drink have lost their charm to me. I feel I'm going mad."
"Well," Morgana said reasonably, "I don't think you're going mad."
"You don't?" Arthur asked hopefully, ceasing his pacing.
"Of course not," Morgana said. "Quite clearly, you've been mad for some time now."
"Out!" Arthur commanded, pointing to the doorway. "Out, vile woman!"
"Very well," Morgana chuckled, "but I shan't act as Cupid's helper any more, Arthur, for I won't be seeing Merlin until you do at the wedding. So please, for the sake of your pride, contain yourself."
And oh, how Arthur tried, but the next two days only worsened his longing. What was Merlin doing, Arthur wondered? Was he thinking of Arthur as longingly as Arthur was thinking of him? Did he take out Arthur's gifts and smile fondly, or was the smile Morgana described one of derision, more of a grimace? Merlin was no more than a short drive from Arthur, but they may as well have been separated by an ocean. No, Arthur was sure an ocean would have been kinder. An ocean would give him no choice but to remain distant from Merlin. To be as he was, so close and so helpless, was far, far worse.
He could not resist one final token, he decided, walking back in the directions of the flower markets. It would be something small, a boutonniere for Merlin to wear at the wedding, perhaps, just a single flower. He selected a red carnation (extremely unassuming, the sort of inexpensive flower Merlin easily could have purchased for himself, and the fitting entry in the now slightly dogeared book in his coat pocket read aptly, my heart aches for you). He placed it in a small box with a note that read; M - I cannot bear this long silence. Wear this and think of me. Your, A. He did not trust Morgana to deliver such a personal item, so he generously tipped Jack, a street urchin Gawain often used to send missives to whichever lady (or ladies) he was wooing. Jack was perhaps twelve, olive-skinned and distinctly exotic-looking and, Gawain swore, a mind like a steal trap and a mouth like a lockbox. He did not blink an eye at Arthur's request, simply accepted the money with a bob of his head and a small smile, promising that, should Arthur get a reply, it would be delivered with the utter discretion.
It was not until the morning of the wedding that Arthur woke to find Geoffery, the butler, knocking at his door.
"Your boutonniere for the wedding, sir," he said, handing Arthur a long, thin box, which Arthur accepted with a small sigh. Inside was a single carnation - white shot through liberally with red stripes.
"This must be a mistake," he insisted. "Guinevere told me her wedding colors were lavender and gold."
Geoffery shrugged. "I am simply repeating the words of the street Arab who delivered it." Arthur's heart lept to his throat.
"Was the boy perhaps twelve years of age?" He asked. "Dark, curly hair, introduced himself as Jack?"
"Indeed," Geoffery nodded.
"Then there was no mistake at all," Arthur said, fighting hard to retain his composure. "Thank you, Geoffery, that will be all."
The second Geoffery closed Arthur's chamber door, Arthur grabbed the box and rifled through it, hoping for a note of explanation. His search was rewarded by a small scrap of paper that read, cryptically; A - I'm sorry. Yours always, M. Arthur furrowed his brow and re-read the missive several times, but its meaning continued to evade him until he remembered the book Morgana had given him. He rifled through the C section until he reached the entry for Carnation, Striped.
Reluctant refusal, the book read. I only wish I could be with you.
- - -
Arthur should not have been surprised, considering the great deal of work Guinevere had put into the whole affair, that the wedding had been utterly beautiful. Poignant and painful, as well - it had been difficult to see Guinevere and Lancelot gazing at each other with such adoration, to see Morgana discretely wiping her eyes and Merlin sending him sideways fond and sad looks. Guinevere had looked lovely her dress heavy with lavender and gold embroidery, Lancelot handsome in his full uniform, and Arthur had thought they were lovely, but he had wanted more than anything to push them out of the way, drag Merlin in front of the little old priest, and demand that he and Merlin be wed as well.
It had made things between himself and Merlin awkward, heavy with poorly-suppressed emotion. Arthur made no secret of the fact that he wished to touch Merlin, to draw him close and embrace him, even if Merlin would not give himself to Arthur fully, but Merlin resisted. It would have smarted as a rejection had Merlin's eyes not been so unwittingly expressive; saying how clearly Merlin wished to abandon all sense and give into Arthur, though his words said exactly the opposite. Arthur was thus forced to take solace in Merlin's hand in his when they were alone, with a handful of soft, chaste kisses that were so quick that Arthur thought he must have imagined them.
"Tell me what I must do so you will have me," Arthur murmured to Merlin. They were under their customary willow tree, hands clasped together. There was a distinct autumn chill in the air, though it was still warm, the kind of weather that made Arthur feel maudlin, world-weary, philosophical. It reminded him of sweet childhood summers in Cornwall drawing to a close, of beginning Eton and Oxford, of looking back at the Season and the year on the anniversary of his birth and proudly cataloging how he had grown, the new strength in his body as he changed from a boy to a man. He felt as he had when he was younger and marveling over his new height, his new shaving kit, marveling over Merlin now. How greatly he had grown in the last year! How carefree he was back then, caring only for horses and scotch and long nights at his club, and how juvenile it all seemed now! "I cannot stand the wait, Merlin. I cannot. It is intolerable."
"Then don't wait," Merlin said, turning his face away. "It was a fancy, Arthur. That's all it ever was or ever could have been. The wedding should have shown you that more clearly than ever - that will never be us. It never can be."
"No," Arthur said harshly. He turned Merlin's face back, grasped his chin and forced Merlin to not evade his gaze so he could see Arthur's expression. "I love you. And you love me - don't deny you love me, please. I cannot bear it."
Merlin pursed his lips and said nothing, and so Arthur released his face with a sigh. "I must quit London in two days," he said finally. "Father is taking us to Cornwall for six weeks."
"Morgana has said as much," Merlin nodded. "I believe she and Gaius are planning her course of study while she is gone."
"May I write to you?" Arthur asked. "I am not the most gifted of correspondents, but I am the most faithful."
"You shouldn't," Merlin said dully.
"That was not what I asked," Arthur pointed out. "I simply asked if you would like if I wrote you from Cornwall. Enough of the shoulds and should nots, Merlin. Tell me what you wish and I shall make it so."
Merlin gave him a small smile, as if against his will. "I would like that," he admitted quietly, as if he was ashamed and a little thrilled by the thought. Arthur could not help but throw his arm around Merlin and return the grin as he leaned forward, and Merlin did not shy away, let Arthur press their foreheads together as though they were a team of nuzzling horses.
"Would you write back?"
"Of course," Merlin smiled. "Though more likely than not out of a sense of charity - correcting your spelling mistakes and the like."
"Hah bloody hah, you wench," Arthur chuckled, pinching Merlin's arm.
"And I'm not sure your fragile pride would ever recover if I failed to do so..."
"Oh, now you're concerned for my pride," Arthur huffed. "Being rebuffed as I shamelessly throw myself at your feet, you're quite alright with, but I shall utterly break if you don't respond to my letters."
"That," Merlin said softly, "and that I shall miss you terribly."
"Truly?"
"Yes," Merlin murmured, and leaned in to give Arthur a gentle kiss - Merlin leaned in, and he had not done so since the ball. Accepted Arthur's affections and been pleased by them, yes, but restrained himself with a strength Arthur envied. Arthur sighed when Merlin pulled away. It was too soon - it was always too soon.
"In that case, dearest, I shall write you."
"Thank you," Merlin dropped his head to Arthur's shoulder and let Arthur tug him close in a loose embrace. "In that case, I shall respond."
- - -
Part Five
- - -
The morning after Merlin had kissed him, the first thing Arthur did, before he even ate his breakfast, was pen a letter to Hunith Emrys, asking for her son's hand in marriage. It was perhaps a bit unorthodox, a bit rushed, but Arthur had scoured his father's tomes on etiquette while he was too restless to sleep, and thought it could only be best. Merlin had kissed him as if he loved him, and when he had held Arthur close Arthur had known he would not and could not rest until Merlin was completely his. Their courtship had gone on in a chaste manner for long enough, as far as Arthur was concerned. They loved each other, and it was only proper that before they preceded further, Arthur procure Hunith's permission to do so. Besides, Arthur had known Merlin long enough to know that his mother was the dearest thing in the world to him, and Arthur felt that the blessing of such an esteemed lady could only lend weight to his proposal.
One week passed, and then two, and Arthur began to despair of ever getting a reply. He had seen Merlin perhaps a half a dozen times since their kiss, and each meeting was the most exquisite torture. They continued their chaste courtship as if the whole affair at the ball had never happened. Arthur would have thought himself delusional or mad if Merlin was not so poor at hiding his desire to repeat such a passionate action, but something, Arthur assumed a sense of propriety or, more likely, a stubborn pride and refusal to have his heart broken, held him back from making any romantic overtures. Every time Merlin laid a hand on his arm that was more than companionable, or blushed under the adoration Arthur no longer took care to mask in his gaze, it became harder than ever to keep to his self-made vow of propriety. The only thought that kept Arthur from ravishing Merlin in a secluded alleyway was the hope that soon, a letter would arrive from Mrs. Emrys with her blessing, and Merlin would no doubt agree with great joy to his proposal, and then Merlin would be all his to love and cherish forevermore, whenever and however he pleased.
After seventeen and a half days of waiting, a letter arrived for Arthur, written on a very simple lady's stationary in a neat, elegant hand he did not recognize. When he saw that the address read Camarthan his heart leapt to his throat and his fingers trembled as he broke the seal.
Dear Lord Arthur,
I have experienced many surprises in my lifetime, and far too few happy ones, but I do believe one of the strangest and happiest was receiving your missive asking for my permission to become my son's companion! And yet a part of me was not surprised. Merlin speaks of you near-constantly in his letters back home, and he is clearly quite fond of you. I did not know, before your letter, that such affection ran so deeply and passionately. I had my suspicions, of course - I did birth Merlin, after all! - but I have never been quite so pleasantly surprised to have them be confirmed.
As you seek to marry my son, you must know that in addition to his most endearing qualities, of which he has many, he is also quite headstrong, proud, and independent - I blame these all on his father! It is all of these qualities that make me believe that Merlin should perhaps never know you have asked my permission to plead your suit to him, for fear he may refuse you for purely contrary reasons. Were permission mine to give, I would, of course, grant it quite happily. You seem to me to be a most amiable young man who clearly holds boundless affection for my son, and my cousin Gaius no doubt approves, as you spend so much time together. A mother cannot ask for more in a match.
If you are ever lucky enough to have children, Lord Arthur, you will no doubt understand how dear they become to you. Merlin is my entire world. I have great hopes that he will accept your suit, and should he, I only ask that you cherish him as he deserves. Your letter has left little doubt in my mind that you will. On the happy occasion that Merlin accepts, I look forward to our meeting with great joy.
I wish you all the best in your continuing adventures with my dear boy,
Hunith Emrys
Arthur realized his hands were shaking by time he finished the letter and put it down in his lap. It wasn't as though he had expected a refusal, but to see good wishes, laid so starkly in front of him, to realize there was nothing stopping him now from running out in his dressing gown and throwing himself prostrate at Merlin's feet to beg for his favor like an overwrought knight in front of his lady...
No. Arthur took a fortifying sip of his tea. That would not do. Though his emotions were in a giddy whirl, he would approach this calmly. Today was as good a day as any - Morgana was at Guinevere's, aiding her with packing her trousseau and finishing the last bits of sewing, so his visitation would be a special gift, and, as an added bonus, he would not be nattered at by her about his unusual bouts of nerves and gravity that would be impossible to avoid proceeding such a momentous event. The weather was fine, the sort of sunny, nearly-autumn day that smelled of crispness but still was balmy and lazy. And, most importantly, if Arthur waited any longer, he would go mad.
He forced himself to choke down the rest of his eggs and toast (moments of great import, he had learned, never went as well when they were undertaken on an empty stomach) and drew himself a tepid, refreshing bath, taking great care to shave with agonizing slowness and clean under all of his nails and behind his ears until he was sure that all of his past nannies, even the most fastidious ones, would have been proud of him. He made sure clothing was impeccable and to Merlin's taste. The brick-red coat that fit him closely instead of his usual, roomier black one, the dove-gray trousers that Morgana had begrudgingly admitted showed off the power of his legs to great effect (before begging him to never wear them to another tea party again, for she could not stand the giggling and simpering), the blue waistcoat with matching cravat that Merlin had once shyly complimented him on, saying it brought out his eyes. His hair was not fashionably curly and never would be, but after attacking it with a wet comb he managed to get it to lay respectably flat. After much consideration and fussing in the mirror, Arthur discarded his walking stick. Merlin thought it ostentatious and unnecessary (perhaps because Arthur had rapped his shins with it a few too many times), and he'd not settle for looking like anything less than Merlin's ideal man.
He walked rather than calling a hansom - exercise was the best remedy for nerves he knew - muddling over how best to propose, what words he should say in order to secure Merlin's heart for his own. The maudlin and effusive route would not serve him; Arthur knew that would only make Merlin roll his eyes. What had made Merlin kiss him, what had made Arthur believe that Merlin cared for him, was when he laid himself bare, entrusted parts of his heart to Merlin, made himself weak - in short, everything he had believed a man was never to be. He was absolutely terrified to the point of near-illness at the prospect of making himself so emotionally vulnerable to Merlin in order to illicit affection, and yet, he realized as he reached the entrance to Gaius' shop, he was oddly pleased by the idea as well. The idea that Merlin found him irresistibly attractive at his most honest suggested quite strongly that Merlin loved him - truly loved him - for all that he was, rather than the trappings of the man he thought he should be. And yet even that prospect, of being known and loved, was terrifying in and of itself - but in the good way, the way that allowed him to open the door rather than vomiting spectacularly all over the front stoop.
Arthur did not expect to see Merlin working when he entered, but there he was, back to Arthur, shirtsleeves rolled up and potion-splattered apron on, floating an armful of bottles up to unreachable heights one at a time. Will was still manning the desk, and looked up from his paper at the door jingling long enough to grimace and go, "oi, Merlin, your posh bastard's here to see you."
"Don't be ridiculous, Will," Merlin said. "Morgana isn't coming today so there's no - oh!" He turned around at Arthur's pointedly clearing his throat and blushed, but his smile was warm and easy. "Hello. What brings you here?"
"It's far too lovely a day out not to go on a walk," Arthur said smoothly, easily rattling off the lie he'd worked out on the way over. "I wished for you to accompany me for a stroll around the park. Who knows how many fine days we'll have left?"
Merlin looked sorely tempted, but shook his head regretfully. "I promised Gaius I'd look after the shop so he could attend a lecture," he said. "I would say yes under any other circumstances, but..."
"Oh, go on," Will said. "It ain't like I'm up to my ears in customers."
"We could get a rush, and I promised..." Merlin said weakly, but Will waved him off.
"We ain't had more'n five customers all day," Will insisted. "Go on and change or I'll make you, don't think I won't."
"Oh, all right," Merlin agreed, flashing a grin at Arthur before disappearing up the stairs with a promise to 'smell less like a heap of compost'.
"Thank you," Arthur said gratefully to Will, who gave a giant snort and turned back to his paper.
"Didn't do it for you," he said rudely. "I just want some goddamned peace and quiet 'round 'ere, and I ain't gettin' it with Merlin clinking bottles and restockin' like a madman, and I sure ain't gettin' it if 'e's sulky all day moonin' after your sorry arse."
Arthur's charitable feelings towards Will evaporated abruptly, and he was about to shoot back with something appropriately cutting when he heard Merlin's thudding footsteps and swallowed his words. Merlin emerged looking as he always did - hair in disarray under his bowler hat (always slightly askew) clothes strangely matched with each other, his favorite jaunty, poorly-tied red cravat - but something about the sight that day made Arthur's breath catch in his throat. He was so beautifully, perfectly Merlin, so beloved, so close to being Arthur's, and Arthur's chest ached with loving Merlin more than he knew how to bear.
"You look like a bohemian reprobate as always," he said gruffly, interrupting the moment that had built between them as they stared at each other, grins growing madder, wider, and fonder as the moments ticked by. "But I suppose I can bear to be seen with you."
"Your charity, as always, astounds me," Merlin said dryly, but his eyes were still creased in a smile. "Shall we?"
Arthur made an effort to converse as normally as possible with Merlin, nodding at all the right moments and entertaining him with various anecdotes. Merlin, however, seemed utterly unconvinced, shooting Arthur befuddled looks, though he kept his counsel until they had reached their customary bench half-hidden by the willow (and Merlin had kicked his pigeons away after making it clear he had no food for them). Once they had settled themselves, fingers entwined loosely, casually, as they had fallen into the habit of doing ever since the fateful kiss at the ball, Merlin turned to him and said, "Out with it, then."
"What?" Arthur widened his eyes and feigned innocence as well as he knew how.
"Whatever it is that's bothering you," Merlin replied.
Arthur sighed and placed his other hand atop Merlin's long, pale one, not lifting his eyes. "You may not wish to hear it," he mumbled. "You may hate me."
"You are my dearest friend," Merlin insisted, squeezing Arthur's fingers. "Nothing you can say will make me hate you."
Arthur looked up again, straight into Merlin's eyes, and looked for any hint of untruth, anything that would make turning tail and running as far away as possible acceptable behavior, but he could find none. Merlin's face was as honest and beautiful as ever, his eyes crinkled in a warm, affectionate smile that hadn't quite reached his mouth yet. And Arthur, he... he...
"I love you," he breathed. It was such a relief to get out. "I love you."
"Arthur," Merlin exhaled. His voice sounded emotional, but was it good emotion, or bad emotion? He couldn't tell. "Arthur, I... God."
"I love you," Arthur repeated insistently. "I swear I do."
"I - Arthur," Merlin said, and before Arthur could say anything, Merlin was leaning forward and pulling Arthur's mouth to his, a million times more lovely than all of Arthur's memories combined. He never wanted to stop kissing Merlin. He never wanted to go back to the time in his life before he could kiss Merlin, before he knew how soft Merlin's lips were against his, how his burgeoning mustache and stubble scraped against Arthur and made him shiver, what Merlin's fingers felt like tangled in his hair. "I do too," Merlin whispered against Arthur's lips in between kisses.
"You do what?" Arthur laughed, pressing kisses to the parts of Merlin he hadn't yet had a chance to discover, the rises and falls of his face, the soft corners of his eyes and the parts of his chin he missed shaving. "Tell me."
Merlin chuckled. "You prat, you know what."
"Tell me," Arthur begged. "Come on, Merlin."
"Spoiled," Merlin muttered, pressing one last kiss to Arthur's cheek before pulling away to stare seriously into his eyes. "Very well. I, Merlin Emrys, love you, Lord Arthur Pendragon, though you are the most ridiculous man I know."
Arthur could not have beamed harder if he was the sun itself. He felt as though the world was revolving around him and Merlin under their willow tree, centered on their hands clasped together, warm and sure. "If you love me -"
"- I just said I do, what do you want it, in writing and signed in blood? You truly are the most -"
"- then marry me. Please, Merlin. I love - I cannot live without you. I don't want to live without you, not for one day. Marry me."
Of all the reactions to a proposal, the last one Arthur had expected was for Merlin to jerk away to get a better look at him, brows drawing together as if puzzled. His hands remained within Arthur's though. It wasn't a no - a no would have meant a stinging slap. He merely looked... bewildered. "Have you hit your head and gone mad without telling me?" Merlin asked finally. "Taken a spill?"
"No, why?"
"Because I could tell if someone was compelling you magically, and violent head trauma is the only way I can believe you would be singularly idiotic enough to ask me such a thing."
"What, marriage?" Arthur asked, utterly befuddled. "What on earth is idiotic about that?"
"Oh God, I'm in love with a madman," Merlin said, looking skyward.
"There's nothing mad about marriage!" Arthur exclaimed. "I love you, you claim to love me - what better reason is there for two people to get married? It's why my parents were wed! My mother had hardly any fortune at all before she and my father married."
"Your mother had a title," Merlin pointed out dryly. "She was the sister-in-law of an earl. And your father was a self-made aristocrat in everything but name. The love was felicitous."
"I don't care," Arthur insisted. "I don't care, Merlin, not about title or wealth. I love you. I love you as I have never loved anything or anyone before in my life. Do you..." He paused and lifted one hand to cup Merlin's cheek, and Merlin rested into it, not shrinking away from his touch. "And you love me, don't you?"
"As I have just told you, I do love you," Merlin agreed. "I adore you more than you will ever know. I am yours until the day I die. I cannot pretend otherwise."
"And yet you will not have me."
Merlin sighed and turned away to look out at the pond, as if mulling over the correct words. Arthur longed more than anything to pull Merlin to him, to kiss him until he could not, would not resist any longer, but he forced himself to refrain, to concentrate instead on the warm, steady weight of Merlin's hand in his, as if it was the only thing anchoring him to this world.
"You must understand," Merlin said finally, though he did not turn to Arthur when he spoke, "that my refusal is selfish. Nothing would make me happier than accepting, but if I do, I fear it is inevitable that one day, you shall resent me, and it will pain me more than if we'd never wed at all."
"That is impossible," Arthur insisted, turning Merlin to face him. "Look at me. Believe me when I say that there is no power on earth that would make me harbor ill will towards you."
Merlin's chuckle was humorless. "I know you think that."
"I do not think it, I know it."
"Dear Arthur," when Merlin smiled, it did not reach his eyes. "My lovely, stubborn man. You will. You will not intend to, but you will forever be caught betwixt me and your father. It will always be a struggle. Do you recall what you told me, of how your father refused two young ladies, both far richer than I, because they were not enough for you? I have meager wealth - a pittance compared to Guinevere. And if that were not reason enough, that money was gained by my practice of magic, a practice your father abhors more than anything on this earth. And I am a man. No -" he held up a hand "- I know your father is not religious, but he is traditional. I cannot think he'd take kindly to my sex. Were I simply one of these things, perhaps, perhaps your father would agree to our union, or at the very least, not disown you completely. But I am all three, and if you wed yourself to me, it would not be easy, or idyllic, or anything like what you picture."
"But we will make it so," Arthur insisted desperately. "My mother left me money that my father cannot touch. If we tried... if Father saw how I loved you... and Morgana, I'm sure she could talk some sense into him or help us..."
"Arthur, you must believe me," Merlin shook his head. "I know it is hard for you to understand, having to think of these things, but by choosing me, you choose to concern yourself with a different world entirely. And it is not a choice you make once, it is a choice you would make every day, between a poor life with me and a rich one with your father. And even if you were to choose me, you would grow angry."
"If I had you, I would be nothing but happy, every moment until I died," Arthur swore.
"Happy to leave your club?" Merlin asked, raising an eyebrow. "Your friends? Leon? Morgana? Gawain? Your horses and taverns and fine clothes? You would resent me, Arthur. It is not a slight against you. A saint would resent me for causing them such a fall from grace. And I would not blame you, but I cannot..." Merlin turned aside, apparently overwrought, and it took every ounce of Arthur's strength not to pull Merlin into his arms and soothe away whatever made him look so grave. "I have already had my heart broken," Merlin said finally. "I have already lost someone I loved very dearly. And I love you more than I knew I could ever love another person, and if you decided one day... if I lost you as well..."
"Do you worry about my constancy?" Arthur said softly. "Because I assure you, that is not an issue."
"It's no secret that you are in love with being in love. I am sure you remained constant with Gwen, and with Sophia, and perhaps even with Vivian, I do not know," Merlin shrugged, said so carelessly that the words cut Arthur more than he had thought they could, as if his past were coming back to slap him in his face. "And yet your father's disapproval was enough to cease your attentions with each of them immediately. Do you blame my fear?"
Arthur turned away and sighed. He wished he had met Merlin sooner, before any other girls. He wished suddenly to be poor, so none of this would happen. He wished... but wishing would do nothing. "I suppose I cannot," he finally admitted. They were miserably silent for a long stretch of time, looking out at the pond. It had grown no less beautifully sunny, yet to Arthur everything appeared woeful and dim.
"I'm sorry, Arthur," Merlin said after a long pause. "It's just that you scare me. You frighten me so terribly, because I love you so, and you have this power over my very soul that no one..." Arthur turned to look at Merlin, but he would not meet his eye. "There is no limit to my love for you, but I don't know if there is a limit to yours," Merlin said after another tense silence. "And that thought terrifies me, more than I can say."
"If I knew you would say yes, I would run and tell my father this instant," Arthur insisted. "But if you have doubts..."
"One day, I may not," Merlin said with an anemic smile. "But that is not today, I fear."
"Very well," Arthur sighed heavily. "If there is nothing I can do but wait, I will wait as long as I must. But since today is not the day, perhaps I should return you to the shop, before Will thinks I have kidnapped you." He let go of Merlin's hands and rose. "Shall we?"
"Yes, I suppose we'd better," Merlin said, standing. He was still, though, gazing at Arthur as if memorizing him for a moment before he surged forward to kiss him again, slowly and thoroughly, clutching Arthur like he thought this was all a dream.
"This is not goodbye," Arthur said against Merlin's lips when they pulled apart. "This is waiting. And the second you say the word, I will be there. I swear to you."
"Just in case..."
"No, come," Arthur cut in, grasping Merlin's hand in his while they walked out from under the willow tree and into the part of the park where they could be seen, unafraid despite the growing crowd that had come out to enjoy the fine day. "See? I shan't leave. Not for anyone - not even you. Even if you tried to force me to. I would come to your window and wail the most heartfelt, maudlin ballads until you were so moved, you took me back." Merlin ducked his head, but not before Arthur could see a hint of a smile hinting at the corner of his mouth. "So really," Arthur went on, tugging Merlin along as they walked at a brisk pace, swinging their hands merrily. "It's for the best that you consider expediting the day in which you can have faith in me, for I might be so moved to do so if you resist my suit for much longer. It's really for the good of all of London. I have a terrible singing voice."
"You have a terrible everything, you overblown prat," Merlin shot back, bumping him off the path purposefully, almost playfully as they walked. "I don't know why I'm considering your suit at all."
"Because one day, we shall be terrible together, and that will prove to be utterly brilliant," Arthur said staunchly. "Don't deny it, you know it's true."
"Perhaps," Merlin laughed. "Perhaps one day, we shall be."
- - -
"Arthur," Morgana said, looking up from her mending, "why are you looking through my books?"
"I always look through your books," Arthur said evasively. "You don't read the claptrap most young women read - those lurid, gothic, utterly ridiculous stories, or those manuals for how to ensnare a husband or improve their lace-tatting technique..."
"The section you're looking through is the section where I keep the utterly useless husband-ensnaring manuals your father foists upon me, and you well know it," Morgana's voice was bemused. "Do you wish to learn fan language? Because I assure you, there are some things even you, in all your purported virility, cannot make appealing."
"I assure you my virility is very real. Renowned, even." Arthur edged over slightly and, sighting the book he wanted and ever-so-slowly was slipping it from his waistcoat when Morgana looked up, her eyes flashed gold, and the book flew into her waiting hand.
"Ah, A Young Lady's Guide to Courtship," Morgana all but cackled. "Having trouble expressing your finer emotions, Arthur dearest?"
"I loathe and detest you," Arthur shot back, "That is a sentiment I don't feel I've expressed that adequately today."
"You have, actually," Morgana said, putting her mending aside and rising. She took the book from Arthur's hand and placed it on the shelf, looking up at him with an expression of unnaturally soft sisterly concern and affection. Arthur tried to avoid her eyes, knowing she would see right through him with that blasted women's intuition the second she got a proper look at him, but evidently his squirming was enough, because her mouth folded into a pitying little smile. "Is it Merlin?"
"Absolutely not," Arthur huffed, breaking away from her hand on his arm and going to the window, his back to her.
"Come, Arthur," Morgana said, joining him, her hand on his back instead of his arm. "You've been brooding for the last three days, and you refused to accompany me to my lessons yesterday."
"Gawain and Leon invited me to the races, I couldn't put them off forever..."
"Merlin looked as you do now." Arthur could not help himself, he whirled abruptly at the mention of Merlin's name.
"He... is he well?"
"Oh for heaven's sake," Morgana snapped, losing all patience. "You've been acting oddly since Lady Shrewsbury's ball, Arthur, and if you keep me in the dark one second longer I swear I'll... I shall turn you chartreuse."
"I proposed to him," Arthur yelled, throwing his hands in the air. "We kissed at the ball and I wrote to his mother, and when she gave me her blessing I proposed and he put me off. Are you happy now, you interfering minx?"
"Arthur!" Morgana exclaimed. "I told you not to do anything rash!"
"It isn't rash, I love him!" Arthur bellowed. Immediately the room plunged into silence, Morgana looking at him as if she had never seen him before.
"Arthur, you cannot blame him... I mean, you must know what marrying Merlin would entail..."
"I know," Arthur said, collapsing in an armchair. He felt unaccountably drained, as if he were a dirty washing-cloth that had been wring out and hung to dry. "Do you think I'm an idiot? I know. But Merlin... he's worth it. Father could do anything he wants to me. I don't care anymore. It's not worth not having him. It's not. The only reason I haven't told Father and gone to beg on the streets is that I don't know if Merlin would have me. But he thinks..." he trailed off and chuckled. The noise sounded bitter and hollow even to his own ears. "He believes I do not understand the full reality of what I propose, that I would break and run back to Father like a spoiled child. He requested, since he'll be so busy helping Gwen with her wedding for the next week, that we take the time to collect our emotions and resume our friendship."
"But you don't want to," Morgana filled in. Arthur eyed her balefully as she sat in her chair opposite him, as graceful and serene as ever. She always had a gift for stating both the flagrantly obvious as well as the mysterious.
"No, Morgana," he snapped with poorly-contained sarcasm. "I do not."
"And this leads to ransacking my books because..."
"I cannot... I am not gifted in expressing my..." Arthur grimaced. "I wish to convey my... well, my intentions, while honoring Merlin's wish that I keep my distance, and I was hoping those infernal books of yours would help me."
Morgana's face was quite a study. She looked torn between amusement, revulsion, fondness, and a myriad of other emotions Arthur could not name. "You wish to court Merlin as if he were a girl!" She crowed. "Oh Arthur, you are quite something."
"Clearly, I was mad," Arthur said stiffly, rising and making to leave the room. "Thank you for your excellent sisterly concern always, Morgana, it's quite touching."
"Arthur!" Morgana called, and Arthur only turned around because she truly sounded repentant. "Here." She went to her shelf and pulled out a slim, green volume. "It's on the meanings of flowers. Merlin surely knows them all - he's been training with Gaius since he could talk. Now these are more sentimental than magical, however..." she shrugged. "I know he is fond of all sorts of flora. The Botanical Gardens we visited have flowers even if they are out of season. It seems as good a way as any to show him you care, if you do not wish to press him."
"Flowers?" Arthur wrinkled his nose. "And you believe Merlin would like this? We're not women."
"Yes, I do," Morgana said tartly. "Maybe if you had paid attention in the botanical garden instead of mooning like a schoolboy, you, too, would have noticed his passions."
"Very well," Arthur sighed. "I shall do as you say. And if it is successful I will, perhaps, revoke my opinion that you are a minion of the devil himself, sent here to torture me and test my patience."
"How fortuitous," Morgana drawled. "I was just about to reach the same conclusion myself."
- - -
As commanded, for the next ten days, Arthur kept himself out of Merlin's presence, though Merlin never left his thoughts. Though he initially flung the slim green volume Morgana had pressed on him away in his chambers in a fit of pique and pride, after a sleepless night longing to rush to Merlin's side, he picked it up with some trepidation before heading to the flower stands by the Botanical Gardens.
His first selection, after much to-and-fro consultation between the florists and the book, was a small bunch of daffodils. They looked friendly, cheerful, and the entry on them in the book read regard, uncertainty, chivalry, unrequited love - the sun shines when I'm with you which, Arthur felt, was quite accurate. He felt a right fool just sending flowers, so he also purchased a new, thin volume entitled Oriental Magicks - Charms from the Far East that he had seen Merlin eying wistfully in several windows, which he wrapped, along with the flowers, in plain brown paper, and gave it to Morgana to pass on to Merlin. She gave him an inscrutable, half-amused look, but did as she was bade, though there was no return message.
"I swear, Arthur, he did not even open it in our presence," Morgana yawned when she finally returned home to a nervously eager Arthur. "We were entirely too busy procuring enough matching table linens and removing all the stains from them."
Arthur spent the next few days wracking his brain for even greater ideas of what to send to Merlin next, mentally combing through every conversation he could ever recall them having, trying to come up with any possible desire Merlin had voiced that he could try to fill. He finally, after much agonized thought, settled on a spray of heliotrope (devotion, the book informed him) tied to a small box of the type of caramel Merlin had voiced a preference for.
"Honestly, Arthur?" Morgana sighed when Arthur handed the package over to her as she went for the final dress fitting at Guinevere's. "You don't, perhaps, find this a bit pathetic?"
"No," Arthur said staunchly. Morgana rolled her eyes, but once again agreed to deliver the package, and once again, there was no response besides what Morgana characterized as "a small smile".
"But truly, we were too busy to think of anything but the dress," Morgana soothed a rather put-out Arthur. "There was a bit of embroidery that simply refused to work as it should, and the shape the petticoats were in! I think you should let Merlin do his work, Arthur, there's ever so much and the wedding is in four days." But Arthur, who had been barely restraining himself from tracking down Merlin and throwing himself prostrate at his feet to beg for the slightest indication that he had not dreamed Merlin's affections into being, would hear none of it.
"I cannot," he said desperately, pacing the drawing room like a man possessed. "I cannot bear this Morgana. It's as though I dreamed him, as though he's a figment of my imagination, as though he is haunting me. I cannot sleep. Food and drink have lost their charm to me. I feel I'm going mad."
"Well," Morgana said reasonably, "I don't think you're going mad."
"You don't?" Arthur asked hopefully, ceasing his pacing.
"Of course not," Morgana said. "Quite clearly, you've been mad for some time now."
"Out!" Arthur commanded, pointing to the doorway. "Out, vile woman!"
"Very well," Morgana chuckled, "but I shan't act as Cupid's helper any more, Arthur, for I won't be seeing Merlin until you do at the wedding. So please, for the sake of your pride, contain yourself."
And oh, how Arthur tried, but the next two days only worsened his longing. What was Merlin doing, Arthur wondered? Was he thinking of Arthur as longingly as Arthur was thinking of him? Did he take out Arthur's gifts and smile fondly, or was the smile Morgana described one of derision, more of a grimace? Merlin was no more than a short drive from Arthur, but they may as well have been separated by an ocean. No, Arthur was sure an ocean would have been kinder. An ocean would give him no choice but to remain distant from Merlin. To be as he was, so close and so helpless, was far, far worse.
He could not resist one final token, he decided, walking back in the directions of the flower markets. It would be something small, a boutonniere for Merlin to wear at the wedding, perhaps, just a single flower. He selected a red carnation (extremely unassuming, the sort of inexpensive flower Merlin easily could have purchased for himself, and the fitting entry in the now slightly dogeared book in his coat pocket read aptly, my heart aches for you). He placed it in a small box with a note that read; M - I cannot bear this long silence. Wear this and think of me. Your, A. He did not trust Morgana to deliver such a personal item, so he generously tipped Jack, a street urchin Gawain often used to send missives to whichever lady (or ladies) he was wooing. Jack was perhaps twelve, olive-skinned and distinctly exotic-looking and, Gawain swore, a mind like a steal trap and a mouth like a lockbox. He did not blink an eye at Arthur's request, simply accepted the money with a bob of his head and a small smile, promising that, should Arthur get a reply, it would be delivered with the utter discretion.
It was not until the morning of the wedding that Arthur woke to find Geoffery, the butler, knocking at his door.
"Your boutonniere for the wedding, sir," he said, handing Arthur a long, thin box, which Arthur accepted with a small sigh. Inside was a single carnation - white shot through liberally with red stripes.
"This must be a mistake," he insisted. "Guinevere told me her wedding colors were lavender and gold."
Geoffery shrugged. "I am simply repeating the words of the street Arab who delivered it." Arthur's heart lept to his throat.
"Was the boy perhaps twelve years of age?" He asked. "Dark, curly hair, introduced himself as Jack?"
"Indeed," Geoffery nodded.
"Then there was no mistake at all," Arthur said, fighting hard to retain his composure. "Thank you, Geoffery, that will be all."
The second Geoffery closed Arthur's chamber door, Arthur grabbed the box and rifled through it, hoping for a note of explanation. His search was rewarded by a small scrap of paper that read, cryptically; A - I'm sorry. Yours always, M. Arthur furrowed his brow and re-read the missive several times, but its meaning continued to evade him until he remembered the book Morgana had given him. He rifled through the C section until he reached the entry for Carnation, Striped.
Reluctant refusal, the book read. I only wish I could be with you.
- - -
Arthur should not have been surprised, considering the great deal of work Guinevere had put into the whole affair, that the wedding had been utterly beautiful. Poignant and painful, as well - it had been difficult to see Guinevere and Lancelot gazing at each other with such adoration, to see Morgana discretely wiping her eyes and Merlin sending him sideways fond and sad looks. Guinevere had looked lovely her dress heavy with lavender and gold embroidery, Lancelot handsome in his full uniform, and Arthur had thought they were lovely, but he had wanted more than anything to push them out of the way, drag Merlin in front of the little old priest, and demand that he and Merlin be wed as well.
It had made things between himself and Merlin awkward, heavy with poorly-suppressed emotion. Arthur made no secret of the fact that he wished to touch Merlin, to draw him close and embrace him, even if Merlin would not give himself to Arthur fully, but Merlin resisted. It would have smarted as a rejection had Merlin's eyes not been so unwittingly expressive; saying how clearly Merlin wished to abandon all sense and give into Arthur, though his words said exactly the opposite. Arthur was thus forced to take solace in Merlin's hand in his when they were alone, with a handful of soft, chaste kisses that were so quick that Arthur thought he must have imagined them.
"Tell me what I must do so you will have me," Arthur murmured to Merlin. They were under their customary willow tree, hands clasped together. There was a distinct autumn chill in the air, though it was still warm, the kind of weather that made Arthur feel maudlin, world-weary, philosophical. It reminded him of sweet childhood summers in Cornwall drawing to a close, of beginning Eton and Oxford, of looking back at the Season and the year on the anniversary of his birth and proudly cataloging how he had grown, the new strength in his body as he changed from a boy to a man. He felt as he had when he was younger and marveling over his new height, his new shaving kit, marveling over Merlin now. How greatly he had grown in the last year! How carefree he was back then, caring only for horses and scotch and long nights at his club, and how juvenile it all seemed now! "I cannot stand the wait, Merlin. I cannot. It is intolerable."
"Then don't wait," Merlin said, turning his face away. "It was a fancy, Arthur. That's all it ever was or ever could have been. The wedding should have shown you that more clearly than ever - that will never be us. It never can be."
"No," Arthur said harshly. He turned Merlin's face back, grasped his chin and forced Merlin to not evade his gaze so he could see Arthur's expression. "I love you. And you love me - don't deny you love me, please. I cannot bear it."
Merlin pursed his lips and said nothing, and so Arthur released his face with a sigh. "I must quit London in two days," he said finally. "Father is taking us to Cornwall for six weeks."
"Morgana has said as much," Merlin nodded. "I believe she and Gaius are planning her course of study while she is gone."
"May I write to you?" Arthur asked. "I am not the most gifted of correspondents, but I am the most faithful."
"You shouldn't," Merlin said dully.
"That was not what I asked," Arthur pointed out. "I simply asked if you would like if I wrote you from Cornwall. Enough of the shoulds and should nots, Merlin. Tell me what you wish and I shall make it so."
Merlin gave him a small smile, as if against his will. "I would like that," he admitted quietly, as if he was ashamed and a little thrilled by the thought. Arthur could not help but throw his arm around Merlin and return the grin as he leaned forward, and Merlin did not shy away, let Arthur press their foreheads together as though they were a team of nuzzling horses.
"Would you write back?"
"Of course," Merlin smiled. "Though more likely than not out of a sense of charity - correcting your spelling mistakes and the like."
"Hah bloody hah, you wench," Arthur chuckled, pinching Merlin's arm.
"And I'm not sure your fragile pride would ever recover if I failed to do so..."
"Oh, now you're concerned for my pride," Arthur huffed. "Being rebuffed as I shamelessly throw myself at your feet, you're quite alright with, but I shall utterly break if you don't respond to my letters."
"That," Merlin said softly, "and that I shall miss you terribly."
"Truly?"
"Yes," Merlin murmured, and leaned in to give Arthur a gentle kiss - Merlin leaned in, and he had not done so since the ball. Accepted Arthur's affections and been pleased by them, yes, but restrained himself with a strength Arthur envied. Arthur sighed when Merlin pulled away. It was too soon - it was always too soon.
"In that case, dearest, I shall write you."
"Thank you," Merlin dropped his head to Arthur's shoulder and let Arthur tug him close in a loose embrace. "In that case, I shall respond."
- - -
Part Five