For the love of Merthur

Me: ...

Me: ...

~

Merlin frowned. “You don’t think your dead Mum would approve of me?”

“You have a criminal record!” Arthur screeched.

“It was a caution! God, you graffiti one bus stop one time and nobody ever lets it go.”

“I think you’re omitting a crucial detail.”

“Oh, you are such a tory sometimes! For the last time, it was an expression of my political consciousness—“

“Be gay do crime? That’s the ethos of your politic?”

“Exactly! And from what I know about your Mum, that sounds right up her street.”

“Merlin,” Arthur said, in that way that made Merlin’s name into a full sentence.

“What? You can’t tell me that photo of her and your godmother is not giving girlfriends.”

Arthur sat up, outraged. “Aunt Nim did not shag my Mum! Do not put that image in my head!”

Merlin held back a laugh. He changed tactics. “She’d like me more than your Dad does, that’s for sure.”

“That’s true. I don’t think he’s ever going to get over The Incident.”

“No, well, your Dad catching us in flagrante in a disabled loo was never going to do wonders for our relationship.”

“I think Mum would have found that funny,” Arthur admitted. He settled his head back in Merlin’s lap. “I love you,” he said quietly. “You make me happy. I think that would be enough for her.”

There is a man in his cave.

This in itself is nothing special, for over the years there have been various men in Merlin’s cave for various reasons, some more pleasurable than others, but something about this man is particularly striking. In one hand he holds aloft a torch, its flickering light illuminating his golden hair, and his other hand grips the pommel of a very finely made sword. His piercing blue eyes are not filled with the fear or hatred that Merlin has come to expect, but instead seem to be brimming with steady resolve. Merlin is most certainly intrigued.

“What are you here for?” Merlin asks, his voice a low growl that echoes across the rocky chamber. The man before him does not flinch at the sound – no, if anything, he looks even more determined.

“I am Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot, and I am here for you,” the man replies, taking a step forward. “The druids speak of a great prophecy, a prophecy in which Camelot and the mighty Emrys work side by side to restore magic to the kingdom. They told me I would find him here, although I must admit, you are not quite what I was expecting.”

Merlin laughs. “No, I never am.”

Do I know you at all anymore?