#merlin is a smart boy who deserves hugs and praise

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Merlin accidentally becomes Legolas/Katniss/Merida… you know the type;

He may be shitty at sword fighting, but Merlin begins to use a traditional bow and arrow and… actually becomes very good at it??

I imagine the first time he does it, it’s a complete fluke.

The five knights, The King, and Merlin are on their way back from yet another (frankly, ridiculous) quest.

They have been, of course, ambushed by a group of bandits, twenty to their six (six plus Merlin, though no one bar Lancelot knows about his magic, so he isn’t counted as a fighter). Though the knights outweigh them in skill, their sheer numbers makes it a… challenging, fight (meaning that they are winning, but far too slowly for their liking, and no one wants to admit it).

Now normally, Merlin hides behind a tree or in a ditch, and performs his spells quietly without being noticed, slowly helping and speeding up the fight. Except this time, the Gang was in the middle of a barren, open field, the bandits had disguised themselves with magic until the moment they attacked, and Merlin was right in the middle of all the action.

Everyone worried for his safety. There was nowhere for him to hide here, so they had to keep an eye on him, lest he get hurt (and Arthur sulked, or kicked off, depending on how badly he was hurt).

With nowhere to hide (and no branches to drop, or roots to trip people with), and one of the knights throwing a glance his way every ten seconds, he couldn’t use his magic.

He was currently on his hands and knees, Leon directly in front of him, Percival to his left, holding off four attackers between them (Merlin would marvel at how impressive that was if he weren’t otherwise preoccupied).

He keeps trying to get to Arthur, crawling between legs and over the groaning, injured bodies of bandits (he made a point to land sharp elbows and harsh knees into the more… sensitive areas), but with everyone moving around so rapidly, and the vicious swinging of swords and axes and maces inches above his head, he kept getting side-tracked and blocked and almost knocked out.

With a frustrated huff, he notices yet another bandit rounding on The King. Said huff turns into a pained gasp when he realises that Arthur hasn’t seen him yet.

The bandit raises his weapon in the air, seconds from bringing it down on Arthur’s back, but Leon is right there, and there are no branches to drop on him, and Arthur still hasn’t noticed!

The noise is too loud, grunts and yells and clashes of metal drowning out any sort of warning yell that Merlin could throw Arthur’s way, and he scrabbles around on the floor desperately; hands raking through sharp grass and over bloodied bodies as he stares in horror at the triumphant smirk on the future-King-killer’s face.

Time seems to slow (no magic, just adrenaline) as Merlin’s hands find purchase on a smooth, curved piece of wood. He picks it up without looking, at first intending to throw whatever it is as hard as he can in the bandits direction, before something (magic, instincts, periphery vision, who knows) tells him to look down.

He obeys, and widens his eyes as he sees the longbow gripped tightly in his right hand, and a stray arrow on the floor next to his left.

Merlin is no expert, only having actually hunted once or twice back home in Ealdor, when he was younger, but that was just enough knowledge for him to know roughly how to notch the arrow and fire. He pulls the two up quickly, a plan formulating in his head:

Step 1) Notch arrow.

Step 2) Close eyes.

Step 3) Magic? Hope?

Step 4) Come up with some sort of lie that explains how he managed to make the shot from sixty yards away, through a crowd.

Thankfully, it would appear that Merlin’s bad luck has given him a rest today; the first three steps go off without a hitch (the fourth will come a little later, when the battle is over), but he doesn’t have time to congratulate himself before he’s thrown into the fray, the bandits now obviously seeing him as some sort of threat.

Arthur finally defeats his own attackers, looking behind him in shock to see his unknown enemy lying on the floor, gurgling up blood and grasping weakly at the arrow through his neck. His head whips to the side, trying to find whoever had made the shot; his bewildered gaze meets Merlin’s for only a second before the servant is dragged to his feet, and promptly punched in the face.

He stumbles back and can just about hear Leon yell something from beside him but he pays it no mind, righting his balance once again and swinging his arm back, before bringing it down harshly on his newest attackers head. The resounding crack echoes over the field as the wood of the longbow splits in two on the bandit’s skull, and he drops like a sack of potatoes.

The fight doesn’t last much longer, each knight taking advantage of their enemies' fatigue, and Merlin using his now broken longbow to whack them in the shins or trip them up when they weren’t paying attention.

He was sad to see it broken, but two of his closest friends literally owned a blacksmith's, and he had easy access to the Castle’s armoury; he could get a hold of another one easily enough, as long as he survived the journey back home.

The battle finally came to a close. Everyone was exhausted, and each of them was sporting more than one hefty bruise, but they were all alive and there were no serious injuries, so they could be grateful for that. After Arthur had counted his men, and generally taken stock of things, he traipsed tiredly over to Merlin, who had abandoned his broken bow in favour of cleaning a still weeping cut on Elyan’s temple.

“Didn’t know you had it in you, Merlin.”

The servant ignores him at first, biting his lip in concentration as he carefully wipes the grime away from the wound. It was small, so an infection wouldn’t be too worrying, but it wouldn’t be comfortable and would make the scarring worse, so best to avoid it if at all possible. He hums in satisfaction as he leans back on his heels, Elyan gives him a grateful smile, and Merlin finally throws a glance Arthur’s way, before focusing back on threading the needle in his hands; it would only need two or three stitches, thankfully:

“Hmm. I'm not fond of hunting, but we had to for food back in Ealdor. Except we didn’t have fancy crossbows or hunting dogs, so we had to make do with hand-whittled longbows.”

Arthur nods, frowning slightly:

“Still, if I’d known you were that good, I would’ve demanded you had a bow of your own; that way us lot wouldn’t have to spend so much time making sure you don’t get yourself killed.”

Merlin smirked and quirked an eyebrow, but doesn’t look away from Elyan’s stitches, whispering an apology at the man’s wince before he speaks slowly, concentrating:

“Careful Sire, that almost sounded like a compliment.”

Elyan snorts out a laugh, but Merlin tuts and lightly slaps his leg disapprovingly, and he stills again. Arthur rolls his eyes with a huff:

“As if. Hurry up, I want to get moving as soon as possible.”

~

Arthur wasn’t the only one that noticed Merlin’s outstanding shot, and over the course of the next few day’s journey home, he received a multitude of compliments from the other knights. 

Including an hour long excited infodump about the history and use of longbows from Leon, which Merlin eagerly hung onto every word of, a fond smile on his face (Leon was a noble, and had it practically beaten into him to not ramble, so Merlin always did his best not to discourage the man. That, and the fact that it was actually very interesting, and useful, if he were to keep up this charade that he was an expert marksman).

When Merlin finally had a moment alone with Lancelot, a few days after they had gotten back, he burst:

“Please please tell me you know how to use a longbow??”

Lancelot raises his eyebrow from where he was sat on the bed in Merlin’s room. Merlin was staring at him with unconcealed desperation, and the knight chuckled as he answered:

“Why? It’s not like you need any more training, that was a cracking shot.”

Merlin huffed loudly, running his hands through his hair as he looked back at the knight:

“I used magic!! I closed my eyes so no one would see and I guided the arrow with magic! Now everyone thinks I’m some master marksman! This is bad. What if next time I can’t use magic, or what if someone notices that I have my eyes closed when I fire?”

Lancelot clamps a hand over his mouth in a poor attempt to stop himself from giggling, but he gives up quickly, bursting into laughter at the younger man’s panic. Said younger man fumes, sputtering as he picks up one of the knight’s discarded boots and throws it at him:

“It’s not funny, Lance! I’m being serious, this is an actual issue!”

Lancelot calms himself, rubbing the mirth from his eyes as he takes a deep breath:

“Ok ok, sorry. Yes, I can teach you to use a longbow properly. Have you ever actually used one before, or was the hunting thing a cover?”

The red fades from Merlin’s face slightly as he realises the other man is intending to help him, his panic lessening:

“Sort of. Yeah, I went hunting with a bow a couple times, but not enough to be that good at it.”

Lancelot sighs fondly and nods his head:

“Well, that’s a start at least. Come on, I’ve not got patrol until after dinner, and Arthur thinks you’re busy helping Gaius, so we’ve got a few hours.”

~

So I imagine that’s how it goes for a while.

After their last big adventure, Arthur was reluctant to head out as a group again, wanting to give everyone time to recuperate and get back into the swing of things.

Merlin’s skills with a bow were bought up constantly by everyone, news had even reached Gwen (who gave him a proud smile and a cute little dance to congratulate him) and Gaius (who raised an eyebrow, and had much better skill than Lancelot at holding in his laughter). 

Gwaine, Elyan, and even Percival were desperate to set up targets and watch him shoot shit (their words), Leon wanted to talk about the specifics of technique and crafting, and Arthur... well. Arthur sounded like he was taking the piss, but there was something else in his tone that Merlin couldn’t quite pinpoint. 

Affection? Pride?

Probably not, probably jealousy and annoyance that Merlin is so effortlessly good at something that Arthur himself was average at at best.

Merlin manages to avoid it for a while, showing his “skills” off, but he and Lancelot are running out of excuses, and Arthur is starting to accuse him of being a fake who got lucky. Normally, things like that didn’t bother Merlin, and technically Arthur wasn’t wrong... he had got lucky, and cheated with magic, but that wasn’t the point. It was nice for Merlin, to be good at something, really good.

He was good at plenty of other things. Magic for starters, though not even Lancelot knew the full extent of his power in that area. But he cooked well (shown by the fact that the knights always scoffed the lot), he was a good physician (shown by the fact that the knights trusted him just as much as Gaius when it came to treating injuries and sickness), and he was a BRILLIANT servant, if he did say so himself.

But he never got any actual praise for that. Merlin hated to think badly of the knights, his friends, but they only complained when Merlin wasn’t there, never praised him when he was. Well, apart from Lancelot. And that had just started a bunch of rumours that they were... uh... boinking. 

(False. Anyone with more than two braincells could see that Sir Lancelot was head over heals in love with the newly-promoted Housekeeper, Guinevere, and that The King’s Manservant had an affinity for certain a blond prat-King.)

ANYWAY

It was nice for Merlin to have a skill that others thought worth complimenting, and with Lancelot monitoring his practice sessions, correcting any mistakes and offering congratulations whenever he did well, he hoped it wouldn’t be too long before he no longer had to come up with excuses.

Luckily, Merlin picked it up very quickly. 

Despite being clumsy by nature (though Lancelot is starting to suspect more and more that it’s all for show), the dark haired servant can consistently hit bullseyes from fifty yards within a month. The further away from the target he got, the less astounding his aim was, but that was to be expected, and another month later he could successfully hit a moving target from seventy feet.

A training session, around three months after he started properly practicing, he finally “gave in” to Gwaine’s begging. Lancelot helped him set up a bunch of targets, and fetched a bag of apples to throw.

Merlin put on quite the show, grinning at the uproarious applause he got from the knights when he hit every single bullseye, and every single thrown target. Thankfully the knowing, proud smiles between the servant and Sir Lancelot went unnoticed, and even Arthur gave him a clap on the back and an impressed nod.

~

The first time Merlin met the knights in the courtyard to find Leon holding a longbow and quiver of arrows out to him, he panicked slightly, but one reassuring smile from Lancelot boosted his confidence, and he took them with a quiet thank you.

(After the fifth time, Arthur huffed, and told him to just keep them. He was the only one that regularly signed them out of the armoury anyway, so it would just be easier if he just took possession of them.)

It settled everyone’s stomachs, knowing that not only did the group have a master marksmen, hiding in the trees and taking out enemies that they didn’t see coming, but that Merlin personally now had more than his frankly horrifying (or... horrifying as far as they were concerned) stealth skills to keep him safe.

And that (a master marksmen in the trees) is exactly what happened. 

In the early days, it involved a lot of bruises; Merlin could fire well, but firing and balancing at the same time? Took some getting used to, and involved a lot of falling out of trees at inopportune times.

The knights, Gwaine and Arthur especially, laughed endlessly at that, but quickly stopped after a particularly tired and irate and bruised Merlin fired an arrow so close by Gwaine’s crotch, that it stuck his trousers fast into the tree just behind him.

At first, it was meant to be just as back-up; Merlin was no knight. He still refused to wear armour, and Arthur didn’t want his manservant to make himself a target... at least that was his excuse.

Really, it was because (as far as Arthur was aware) Merlin had never deliberately killed before. Even now, years into his Kingship, and even longer into his knighthood, Arthur hated killing; it made him sick, and took a lot of practice at compartmentalization before it no longer bothered him as much.

Merlin was his manservant, his (best) friend, the love of his life (secretly). He was not a warrior, he was not meant to kill, he was meant to be protected from that.

But alas, Merlin did not get the memo, and the first patrol he went on with his bow and quiver slung over his shoulder, he killed at least five bandits.

After the fight, it was Leon who approached him first, a concerned look on his face despite Merlin’s nonchalant expression as he checked over the string for wear and tear:

“Are you feeling alright, Merlin? You got a few good shots in there, you’re not feeling sick?”

Merlin looked up at the hand on his shoulder and the soft words, a confused look on his face:

“Why would being good make me feel sick?”

Leon tilts his head in sympathy, which just makes Merlin even more confused:

“The man you killed the other month was spur of the moment, protecting your King. But you... you killed a fair few men today, Merlin. I know that can be incredibly difficult at first, I just wanted to check in.”

The others had finally walked over to join them; Percival, Elyan, Gwaine, and Arthur looking equally concerned, whilst Lancelot hid his proud smile. Merlin just raised an eyebrow at them:

“You seem to be under the impression that I’ve never killed anyone before?”

Everyone (bar Lancelot) looks taken aback at that, and Arthur frowns whilst Leon drops his hand in shock. The King speaks slowly:

“Merlin, are you telling us you’ve killed people before?”

The manservant clenches his jaw at that and looks back down at his bow, resuming his checking of the string and its knots. He speaks lowly, and the knights can tell it’s not a topic he’s fond of:

“Hmm. It’s a tough world, Sire. I’ve done what I had to, to keep myself and the people I care about safe.”

At his dark reply, conversation stopped, and didn’t resume for the rest of the day as everyone contemplated Merlin’s words.

That is, until he was the first one to successfully catch dinner later that evening. At which he got an incredulous look from Arthur when he made it back to camp with his half of the patrol:

“I thought you despised hunting??”

Merlin didn’t look up from the hares he was skinning, and the rest of the knights tuned in, curious:

“No. I hate hunting for sport; it shows hubris and cruelty. Hunting for food is not only necessary and natural, but humbling, if you do it right and honour every part of the creature.”

Arthur, ever the eloquent one, stared at him blankly, and said, rather dumbly:

“...What?”

Merlin huffed, finally looking up:

“Going after helpless animals on horseback with crossbows and hunting dogs is like giving yourself a huge pat on the back for winning a tournament against an unarmoured, unarmed, unconscious opponent, and then calling yourself strong and brave for daring to fight in the first place. It’s an egotistical act of violence for no other reason than cruelty for the sake of cruelty.-”

The knights looks on him with shock, Percival and Leon at least having the decency to look a little ashamed. Merlin looks back down to the hares, and everyone notices the careful way he cuts at the fur:

“I’ve taken these lives to feed us as a necessity. The meat will be eaten, but that isn’t all. I’ll take the bones home for Gaius, the marrow is useful in a lot of medicine. The fur can be repurposed for winter gloves or socks. The organs and other bits that we won’t eat: I’ll take for the pigs in the farms, or the dogs up at the castle. In using every part of them we are... honouring them, in a way. As a thank-you for their... sacrifice.”

Arthur looks a little dumbfounded. As royalty, he of course had never really considered the waste that comes about with hunting, but Merlin, a farm-boy from a rural village who barely scraped by every winter? Of course he saw a deeper meaning in hunting. He would have to.

Elyan is the first to break the silence:

“You almost sound religious, Merlin.”

Merlin looks up at him, a strained smile on his face. As magic incarnate, he has a particularly strong, temperamental relationship with nature and her creatures, a bond that some might call faith. To be wasteful or cruel in any way hurts him in more ways than one:

“Not really, I just have respect for nature, is all.”

No one mentions the thinly-veiled insult, but everyone creeps closer, wanting to see the way he disassembles the creatures for future reference.

~

It’s been eight months since that first, perfect shot.

Merlin’s skills with a longbow had become a normal, expected part of The Gang’s experiences, but the knights never stopped praising and thanking him when he saved their lives (something that Merlin still hadn’t quite gotten used), and The King had apparently not stopped thinking about it for barely more than a second. 

Yule was approaching quickly: Merlin, Gwen, and the Steward being constantly busy with preparations in the castle, the knights being run off their feet escorting emergency aid to the border villages for the harsh winter, and Arthur himself having every minute of the day taken up with speech writing, invite sending, and his other general King-during-Yule duties.

That however, was all to be expected, and of course did nothing to keep Arthur and Merlin from their annual traditions.

It wasn’t official, it wasn’t even spoken of, but the last evening of Yule, the night before the new year, the two of them always spent together.

The last feast of the year would finish, Arthur would stay to see his guests off, thank the staff for all of their hard work, and finally retire to his chambers, his tired manservant barely a hair’s breadth behind him. They would sit in front of the lit hearth (in comfy chairs that only they used), work their way through a jug or two of wine, exchange small gifts, and fall asleep in front of the fire. Their hands, dangling over the side of their chairs, seem to be creeping closer and closer with each passing year; though have yet to become entangled by morning.

This year was somehow no different, and very different, at the same time.

The King and his Manservant settled in their chairs, tired and already a little more than tipsy from the wine drunk during the feast. Arthur looked up at Merlin, the fond smile dropping from his face when he sees the other man’s features pulled into a contemplative frown:

“What’s on your mind, Merls? I don’t think I’ve seen you this serious since the start of the celebrations.”

Merlin looked up at him suddenly, his eyes wide, but he smiles and shakes his head:

“Nothing, nothing. Just thinking is all.”

Normally, Arthur would raise an eyebrow and let a scathing tease on the state of Merlin’s intelligence fall from his lips, but not tonight. This is the only night of the year that The King allows himself to entertain the idea that perhaps he and Merlin were more than friends, or at least could be. So instead he resumes his smiling, and looks back to the fire, taking another sip of his wine before responding softly:

“What about?”

Merlin hums, copying Arthur’s wine-sipping, before taking a deep breath:

“The future, mostly. You, me, Camelot. Secrets and truths, and when one might turn into the other. Soon, I think... yeah. Soon.”

Arthur huffs slightly in amusement. He knows that Merlin hides a great deal of himself, but he always becomes more cryptic after a few glasses of wine, like he desperately wants to say something and doesn’t have the power to stop himself from hinting at whatever it may be.

He asks his next question good-naturedly, a smile sweetened by wine gracing his face:

“The hell does that mean?”

Merlin lets out a short laugh, looking up at the other man:

“Oh, you know. Thinking about spilling all my deepest darkest secrets to you, at some point soon.”

Arthur snorts, saying, only for the sake of keeping up the charade they’ve built:

“You don’t have any secrets, Merlin. Certainly not any that are deep or dark.”

Once, Arthur would have believed that. Then, when he stopped believing it, he was angry about it, and now? Now, he finds he doesn’t mind so much. He is confident, he has faith, in both himself and in Merlin. He knows that those secrets are there, and Merlin knows that he knows, but that’s ok. Nothing either of them could reveal would tear them apart, at least not for long, so Arthur was happy to wait until Merlin was happy to share.

Merlin chuckled at Arthur’s response, shaking his head slightly before reaching down and picking up a small wrapped parcel that he’d stowed away before the feast:

“Come on, I’m a little nervous about your gift this year, so let’s get it over and done with.”

Arthur nodded, accepting the change in subject, and set his wine down so he could pick up the (much bigger) parcel by his own chair.

Merlin raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. After the first gift-exchange happened, Merlin had put his foot down and made Arthur swear to not go overboard on the expense side of things. Arthur may have been a prince, and now a King, but Merlin was still just a servant/physician; he could hardly afford anything worthy of a King. 

He had a feeling that Arthur might’ve broken his word this year, but where Arthur had likely gone overboard with expense, Merlin had definitely gone overboard with sentimentality.

They swapped parcels, Merlin placing the large, heavy box carefully at his feet as he gestured Arthur to open his first. Arthur got to it, tearing the paper off without a second of hesitation, and Merlin allowed himself to smile fondly at the child-like excitement on the blonde’s face.

Arthur’s brow creased as he dropped the paper to the floor, stroking soft fingers over the worn leather of an old, well-loved book. Merlin took deep, fortifying breaths as Arthur carefully opened the first few pages, butterflies in his stomach as Arthur’s eyes wandered the yellowed paper in curiosity.

The King looked up at him, amused confusion on his face as he asked:

“Is this yours? I didn’t know you could draw, Merlin.”

Merlin gulped, and shook his head as memories of the exquisite sketches filled his mind; detail-perfect renditions of the castle, the town square, waterfalls and knights in action and people that Merlin didn’t recognise (for the most part. Arthur evidently hadn’t gotten to any of the pages with young Uther on them).

“No, not mine. This one requires a little explanation-”

Arthur nodded, carefully closing the book and holding it protectively in his lap as he gave Merlin his undivided attention:

“-I mentioned off-handedly to Leon a few months ago that I thought the lack of... of paintings of the late Queen in the castle was odd.-”

Arthur gulped at the mention of his mother, but nodded with a small smile when Merlin paused:

“-He said that when she passed, The King had everything to do with her moved to the vaults. He couldn’t force himself to destroy any of it, but looking at it, day in and day out, was too painful. We found the keys, with the help of Geoffrey, and went down to have a look, see what we could find. We didn’t tell you about it because we didn’t want to disappoint you, in case we couldn’t find anything.-”

Merlin once again looked a little nervous at this, and reached a hand out towards Arthur. When the man didn’t flinch away (if anything, he leaned into it), he moved to grip his shoulder blade, running his thumb over the exposed skin at the base of The King’s neck.

“-We found... a lot. Old clothes and paintings mainly, some jewellery. But then I found that;-”

He nodded at the book in Arthur’s lap, and tightened his grip on his shoulder. Merlin spoke his next words so quietly that Arthur almost doesn’t hear him, a soft smile on his face:

“-your mother was quite the artist, Arthur. I knew you had to have it.”

Arthur gasped softly, his eyes widening as he looked down at the book:

“You... you think my mother drew these?”

Merlin smiled at him, moving his hand to squeeze Arthur’s wrist slightly, before dropping it entirely:

“Check the back page.”

Arthur took a deep breath before doing what Merlin said, handling the book with even more care than he had before now that he knows who it belonged to. He turned to the very last page, to see an inscription written in beautiful cursive. Merlin recited it aloud, having memorised the words weeks ago:

“My dearest son, my silly sketches are able to hold only a fraction of our Kingdom’s beauty. I know one day that you will see what I see, treasure it just as much, and make it your own. You have my support, forever and always, your loving Mother.”

Arthur bites his lip harshly, lifting the book to press his forehead against the words as he shuts his eyes tightly, though that does nothing to stop the tears. Merlin replaces his hand on The King’s shoulder as the man shakes. He sniffles slightly, putting the book back in his lap, though keeping his hands wrapped around it securely, as he looks to Merlin:

“Merlin, I... I don’t even know what to say. This is... amazing. I... Thank you.”

Merlin smiles, shaking his head slightly:

“Technically, it wasn’t even mine to give, it’s always been yours. But I thought it might make a nice surprise. There’s plenty of other stuff down there, I’ll show you in the morning.”

Arthur nods his head, wiping his tears as he carefully places the book on his side table and gestures to the box at Merlin’s feet. He was itching to scour through the book, dedicating every single line to memory, but whilst Merlin had been nervous about Arthur’s gift, Arthur was buzzing about Merlin’s, and he was desperate to see the man’s reaction.

Merlin huffs out a laugh, but picks the box up, noting once again how heavy it is. He sets about removing the paper, much calmer and more methodical than Arthur had been, with his face pinched in concentration.

He frowns in curiosity as he sets eyes on the wooden box. It had a hinged lid, and a logo that he’s certain he recognises burned like a brand into the corner. He can feel Arthur bouncing in his chair slightly, and looks up at him in amusement, laughing once again when he nods excitedly back down at the box.

He lifts the lid, and takes in a shocked breath.

Inside was a beautifully crafted long bow; the wood smooth and varnished and carved, and a leather quiver. The patterns embossed in the leather and carved in to the metal at the base, match those carved into the wood of the bow, and Merlin traces soft fingers over the intricate swirls, stopping with a teary smile at the Pendragon crest, carved just next to a Merlin bird.

He lets out a breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding as he looks up at the excited King:

“Arthur this is beautiful. Gods I almost don’t want to touch it, I feel like it should be on display behind glass.”

Arthur lets out a laugh, obviously pleased with Merlin’s reaction:

“Nope. It will be going with you every time you leave the city, and considering how much trouble we always seem to attract, I have no doubt that it will see a lot of use.”

Merlin laughs, closing the lid carefully and setting the box back on the floor, before launching himself bodily at Arthur. The blonde laughs, wrapping his arms around Merlin’s middle with no hesitation as the other man mutters endless thank-yous in his ear.

The servant finally pulls back, settling in his own chair again, and the two of them hope that the other puts the flush on their face down to the wine, and nothing else. They look to each other with wide grins on their faces, and Arthur breaks the stare first, taking another gulp of his wine before laughing jovially and speaking:

“Well. Here’s to an amazing year, and hopefully an even better one, starting in a few minutes.”

Merlin nods, lifting his own goblet to tap it against Arthur’s:

“Here’s to the past, that guides us-”

He gestures to the book on Arthur’s table:

“-and the future, that calls to us.”

He gestures to his new bow, and they both finish their wine off, a healthy flush to their cheeks and fond smiles on their faces.

They fall asleep in their respective chairs, the same as every year. 

In the morning, they wake with pounding headaches, a promise of a golden future, and hands intertwined.

~

THE END!!

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Stranger: Lily Evans was a smart girl, albeit sometimes she lost her temper a bit and had a slight problem of jumping to conclusions. She knew she was first in rankings, that Professor Slughorn adored her, and that she hated James Potter. She’d cemented that into her head in her first year and sworn that the day she stopped thinking that she’d be officially crazy. Now, in her seventh year, staring at the tall marauder from her spot on the couch she was beginning to think she might be going crazy. She took in the joy that was evident on his face, his smile warm and hazel eyes shining behind his glasses and felt another flash of warmth shoot through her. It was maddening, absolutely infuriating and the worst part was that he hadn’t done anything! Nothing, he hadn’t talked to her, or asked her to Hogsmeade or anything. He didn’t save her a seat, or walk her to classes…and she knew that as much as she wished it weren’t true, she missed it…missed him. It was also obvious that he didn’t miss her, not if the way he was dancing with that girl was any sign. She hated the girl instantly, it was petty but she felt her mouth turn into a frown as his laugh rang out over the music and he spun the girl. He looked amazing, hair still wet from his shower, he was dressed in a simple shirt and a pair of jeans and even then she felt her eyes follow his every move. She couldn’t help but think back to the year before, where he’d been with her, asking her to dance at the very same party to celebrate Gryffindor’s win against Slytherin for Quidditch cup. Merlin this was pathetic she thought and picked up her glass of butterbeer taking another small sip. Potter was laughing and dancing and that’s when she saw his grin change, an odd look passing over his face before he leaned down and pressed his lips to the girls. She wasn’t aware she’d even moved until her glass landed on the floor and she felt the bottom of her jeans get soaked with butterbeer. Her eyes were fixed on Potter and she noted that he’d looked up, breaking away from the girl to look at the source of noise. They’re eyes locked and she swallowed feeling tears spring to her eyes, sputtering for a second she just turned and pushed through the crowd before anyone, especially Potter see her tears and fell out the portrait door to start walking away from the common room, anywhere away from the common room and Potter. 

You: It was a great day to be Quidditch Captain. James couldn't take all the credit, his team had flown brilliantly. But the second he'd entered the common room, the praise he'd received had been deafening. Nothing could honestly make this party better, too. He'd already had several drinks with the Marauders, throwing it back with Sirius and Remus and Peter. And then Mary Levi, the second prettiest girl in their year, was asking him to dance and, honestly, who was James to say no? So they'd danced a bit and she moved to kiss him and James just did what was natural. Until a crashing sound cut him off and dark red hair disappeared out of the portrait hole. "Lily?" he whispered, glancing back at Sirius, who looked just as puzzled. Like a shot, James went dashing after her, not even thinking to grab his cloak or the map. "Evans!" He shouted, running out from behind the Fat Lady. "Hey, Evans!"

Stranger: She had no right to be angry at anyone other than herself but the anger coursing through her surprised her. Logically she knew she was just jealous and heartbroken but it was easier to be angry than face the fact that this time, it'd been her own pig-headedness that had lost her a chance at James. She could hear him behind her, hear him calling her but she couldn't face him now - not with her cheeks wet, not when she was so close to crying in front of him - something she loathed to do. "Bugger off Potter" she snapped, voice not having the intended effect as it wavered when she walked, shoulders hunched as if she was trying to disappear into herself.

You: He caught up to her in two shakes of a leg and reached out to grab her. He thought better of it - he didn't need Lily to swing around and punch him - and instead came to a stop just behind her. "Come on, Evans," he murmured. He glanced around him to ensure a lack of Filch or Norris, entirely forgetting that as Head Girl and Head Boy, they were free to be out of dorms as they pleased. "I thought we'd been getting along better this year. If something's wrong, Lily, you can tell me. Was someone being awful to you?" If that was the case, he and Sirius could certainly teach whoever it was a lesson or two.

Stranger: Being awful to her? Eyes flashing as she turned to face him she shot him a lethal glare, her eyes hard behind the glaze of tears, "Yeah, someone is being awful to me and you know what? I - " her voice broke a little as she stared at him before she shook her head, anger draining out of her, "I deserve it this time Potter...please, please, leave me alone so I can be miserable" she asked voice small as she heaved a sigh and wiped at her cheeks. Not caring anymore she slid down the wall to curl up as she hugged her knees to her chest and dropped her head onto her knees, "go back to your party - you can't fix this."

You: He knew that look. James pulled back a moment, a bit nervous - and, to be honest, turned on - at the sight of that glare. "Well, I-" he started, cutting off as she did. Lily seemed to melt into sadness and James was taken aback. He'd never, ever seen her like this. He watched her slide down the wall and he had the deep feeling that she was about to cry. "Hey." He shifted and slid down next to her, putting a soft hand on her shoulder. "Hey, you don't deserve anything except good grades and happiness," he told her, already cycling through in his head who could have possibly upset her. Normally it was he himself that had her angry, but he'd not even seen her at the party until she'd gone dashing out. "It's gonna be okay, Lily. But I'd much rather be out here with you than back in that... stupid party."

Stranger: She tensed when his hand landed on her shoulder before she relaxed only curling into herself a little more as she shook her head, "Don't lie to me James - all your friends are in that room, that whole room worships you, and your girlfriend'll be wondering where you are" she muttered an unmistakable edge to her voice as she spoke. Him being nice didn't help - she hated herself a little more. She wanted him to stay with her of course, she wanted to spend her time with him but she wasn't going to tell him how she felt now. Not when he'd clearly moved on and was happy. After years of turning him down and being horrid to him, she couldn't take that away from him now.

You: Okay, maybe he had been lying a little. It wasn't a stupid party, after all. He loved the attention, but he'd been getting attention like that for years. And he didn't need a party to hang with his best friends, they did that all the time. And there was no way, not by Merlin's pants, that he'd be leaving Lily while she was in distress. He frowned at one word, however. "Girlfriend? I don't have a- What, Mary? I don't care about Mary. I mean, she-" he cut off as something clicked. Why the hell would Lily care that he'd been dancing with Mary? "Oh ho! Lily, are you jealous?" He couldn't keep the grin from his face. This was... well, this was great news! If Evans was actually jealous of a girl being with him, didn't that mean she wanted him? Who would have guessed Sirius would be right. Stop chasing the girl and the girl comes to you. He owed Sirius five galleons.

Stranger: "Shut up Potter" she snapped, cheeks flaming as she looked up at him, eyes still watering as she swiped at a tear avoiding his eyes. She supposed he'd have found out at some point. Her plan had been to simply avoid him and that wouldn't have worked at all considering they were both Heads. "I'm not jealous" she added still not looking at him though she looked so miserable it was easy to hear the lie in her words. She'd always had a hard time lying to James anyway.

You: She still sounded like herself, even behind all the tears and lies. His grin sank to an amused smirk and he brushed his thumb against her cheek, clearing away some of the tears. "Lily, you don't have to be. There's no one to be jealous of." All these years he'd been interested in her. All these years he'd dogged - stagged? - after her, trying to get her to give him the time of day, and all he'd really got in return was a hair flip and a snide remark. He'd taken so much frustration out on Snivellus - which looking back he could realize now had not been the best course of action. But here she was crying because he'd danced with Mary. And didn't she know, couldn't she tell that none of it mattered to him because he wasn't with her? "I've never had eyes for anyone but you." Gently, slowly, and so afraid of getting slapped, James pressed his lips to hers.

Stranger: The skin touched by his thumb flamed and she sniffled eyes watching him carefully as he spoke. His words made her eyes widen a little and she watched him like he'd disappear if she looked away. What was he trying to say? Did that mean...No - she wouldn't let herself hope that he was still interested in her but he was watching her with those eyes, more intense than ever and she felt her breath catch in her throat as she watched him lean in, so slowly, until his lips pressed against hers every so gently. She was frozen against him until she wasn't and her eyes closed as she leaned in, kissing him back just as gently. It was perfect. She'd never dreamed her first kiss with James would be like this but this was better than anything she'd imagined because it was just them.

You: She froze against his touch and for just a moment James was afraid he'd misjudged. And then she kissed him back and he bloomed with elation. She was into him. Finally, after all these years, Lily Evans was actually! Kissing! Him! He pulled back slightly to make sure she was okay, met those brilliantly green eyes, and smiled. She was gorgeous. James leaned in for another kiss, this one braver and more determined. Everything was Lily. Every breath, every touch.

Stranger: This time she let a tentative hand come to rest against his chest as her fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him closer as she kissed him. Kissing him made her head blank a little and she found herself enraptured by him and only him. The way he tasted, like butterbeer and something spicy - it as delicious - and the way he smelled, like his shampoo and cologne, a heady scent she was already addicted too. The other hand rose to his hair, fingers sliding against the soft, dark locks as she deepened the kiss a little, after all, they had to make up for lost time didn't they?

You: He knew she'd like his hair, he'd always known she would. He'd muss it up on purpose, slide a hand into it, and she'd mock him for it but he knew. He knew. He followed her lead as she deepened the kiss, gently teasing her bottom lip with his tongue. Now that they were into it, she seemed rather interested in speeding up. James couldn't exactly say he was disappointed. His free hand moved to her waist and found a small gap of skin between her jeans and shirt that he could slide his fingers against. She was so warm, so soft, just as he'd always imagined.

Stranger: She couldn't even count the number of times she'd thought about running her fingers through his hair, she suspected he'd play with it on purpose in front of her. It drove her up the wall every time he messed it up - making him look like he'd just been given the best snog of his life and then Lily's head took her to places she knew she had no business going but this time, it was her fingers, and while she couldn't say for him, she could say that it was the best snog of her life. His hand was so warm against her skin, fingers leaving a trail of liquid heat as it pooled in her stomach making her melt against him as she pulled him closer to her.

You: For a girl that seemed like such a ruddy prude, damn could Lily Evans snog. Fireworks and lightning bolts couldn't cause as much heat, as many sparks, as this kiss was shooting down his spine. He wanted to drown in a bath of just Lily. A bath - that was it! "Hey," he whispered, pulling back slightly. They couldn't stay here, even the Heads could get in trouble for being out late if it was just to snog. The common room would be nuts because of the party, her dorm wouldn't let him up... but the prefect's bathroom was an idea. "We could head to the prefect's bathroom, just you and me, spend some time together. What do you think?" And if things got even steamier, well, what harm could it do?

Stranger: Her eyes widened as he spoke and ignoring the little voice in the back of her head that told her it was a bad idea, she nodded as she pulled away from him panting a little as she caught her breath, licking her lips as she did. Somehow James was the more practical out of the two of them in that moment because all Lily was thinking about was snogging until she couldn't feel her lips but this was better. "Lead the way" she murmured eyes bright even in the low light as she bit her lip and looked up at him.

You: He was loath to disentangle himself from her, but still forced himself to do so. He stood and bent down to help her up. His hand in hers, he whisked her away to the prefect's bathroom, taking a number of hidden shortcuts he'd found in his time exploring the castle with the Marauders. He gave the password to the door - "Kelpie" - and led her into the shining marble prefect's bathroom. James locked the door behind him and pushed her up against the wall, immediately getting back to where they had left off. "You're beautiful, Lily," he whispered into her lips.

Stranger: ((I need to go walk the dog so I'll be gone))

You: ((I've got to go, too.))

Stranger: ((No worries, it was great RPing with you!))

You: ((And you! Have a good one!))

Stranger has disconnected.