@merthurmicrofic | bound | 570(ish)
in honour of the wonderful Anthony Head 🩷
To say he had been dreading this day was an understatement. Arthur fiddled with his cuffs, trying to distract himself from the roiling of his stomach. He felt his father’s hand clasp his shoulder, and he looked up, pasting a weak smile onto his face, not for his father’s benefit, but for the court, who were no doubt scrutinising his every expression.
“Arthur,” the King began, voice quiet but solemn, “this match will bring unity and stability to our kingdom and our people. I know that an arranged marriage is not what you would have chosen, but you must believe I would not have agreed to this lightly. There is no other way to prove our willingness to make peace. If there was, I would have chosen it.”
Taken aback at the honesty of his father’s words, and in his eyes, Arthur nodded. “I believe you,” he murmured. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
The King looked at him searchingly. His hand was still on Arthur’s shoulder. “I hope, in time, you will not resent me for imposing this upon you. Perhaps you will even thank me. When your Mother and I married—” he trailed off, and Arthur waited, rapt, desperate to hear the rest of his sentence. His Father never spoke of his Mother. Not in passing, not in jest, not at length; never.
“A good marriage, to the right person, has the ability to improve one’s life tremendously. To have a partner, someone to share your days with, someone you can trust in a way you can trust no-one else… it is quite special. I know that I cannot understand entirely how it feels to enter this kind of union, but in truth, most of what I learned about Ygraine I learned after we were bound. We were not strangers, but we did not know one another truly, not then. I hope, more than anything, that your marriage will grow into a bond like the one your Mother and I shared. And I know that your Mother would have wanted the same for you. She would have been so proud of you, today especially, but all days. As I am. As I always have been.”
Arthur fought back the tears that sprung into his eyes at the gentleness of his Father’s words. To hear, for the first time in his life, and from his Father’s lips, such openness about his Mother, the extent of his faith in Arthur as his son, as his Mother’s son, not just as his heir … Arthur would not cry, not here, not now, but he knew that he would never forget the feeling that swelled in his breast at hearing those words.
“Father,” he said, and when the King smiled, he knew that was all he had to say.
“Good luck,” the King replied, squeezing his shoulder before he let go and took his place upon the dais.
Arthur took in a trembling breath, attempting to centre himself. He could do this. He had lead campaigns, fought off invading hordes, had almost died more times than he could count, and survived. He was a warrior. He was a Prince.
He could get married. For Camelot.
The doors of the great hall swung open.
A herald stepped through them. “I present Prince Merlin Emrys, and his Father, King Balinor, of the Kingdom of Avalon.”
Arthur took a deep breath. This was it.
