Scribbling Away

Jon Arryn’s recent death had ensured the support of the Knights of the Vale. It was said that the little Warden of the East wanted to see his father’s murder avenged, and had tasked the knights of the Vale with helping the young wolf. The boy was regarded by many as sickly and slightly deranged, but in this he would not listen to his mother. He wanted a war, for he had never seen one, and he wanted someone to punish his father’s killer, the Queen. The South bore such accusations in stony silence. The Knights of the Vale were feared and respected too much.

Lady Catelyn Stark was invaluable to her son. She secured the 100,000 men that marched under Renly Baratheon, and suddenly the threat that loomed over King’s Landing was greater than ever. Tywin Lannister had Stannis Baratheon coming from the sea and the wolves coming from the North, while the King in Highgarden ensured that the Southern Armies were starved of resources.

By the time Ned Stark had spent three months in the dungeons of the Red Keep, it felt as though the whole world was coming to avenge the slight. There were kings in every corner, and Lord Tywin seemed ill-equipped to deal with them.

Rumors flew about the king too, about how he had raged and screamed at his wife, how he beaten her severely before he had left her rooms in all haste. He had been screaming for the Kingslayer, it was said, and for his warhammer. If he hadn’t fallen down the stairs, the Kingslayer wouldn’t be alive, the whispers said. The whispers also wondered how their king could have fallen, how the sure-footed warrior could have missed a step.

The King wouldn’t live to see his friend beheaded, everyone knew. The deep sleep of death had claimed him, and the future was uncertain. The Kingslayer was a prisoner of Robb Stark, and Ned Stark’s daughter was humiliated in court everyday while the man rotted in prison. However it was going to end, it was not going to end well. Those who were wealthy enough to leave the city did so with haste, leaving the poor to beg in the streets.

Winter was coming to King’s Landing, and Lord Tywin seemed at a loss of what to do.

When winter knocked, the people feared an enormous war. Instead, Lord Tywin requested a parley with the King in the North, bowing his proud head and inviting the man to sit down and talk. They met in the small castle in Rosby, where young Prince Tommen had been sent very recently.

The young wolf had grown fearsome, and he came with his trusted bannermen, his wolf stalking and snarling next to him. He stared as his master did, but Tywin ignored the beast.

“I have a question for you, boy,” he said instead.

The Stark boy said nothing. He only nodded, and Tywin couldn’t keep his frustration from his face. The wolf growled in response, and none of the Northern oafs in the room said a word. “Do you wish to sit atop the iron throne?” He chuckled when he felt like screaming. “Let me tell you, that monstrosity is the worst thing you can subject your arse to.”

For a while, the boy did not speak. His mother was glaring at Tywin, but the boy seemed almost bored. “I want my sisters,” he said finally. “I want my father freed. It does not matter whether he spoke the truth or not. He will come home with us, as will my sisters. I want the heads of the men that torment Sansa on Joffrey’s orders. I want an end to your tyranny.”

“King Joffrey--”

“Prince,” the boy was quick to correct him. “The King is not dead yet.”

Tywin wanted to carve the smirk from his face. He made himself smile and nod. “Prince Joffrey can be overzealous in all his righteous anger,” he conceded. “But your sister is safe, as is your father.”

“And what of Arya?” asked Lady Catelyn.

“The little one?” Tywin had hoped he wouldn’t be asked about her. He had hoped they would simply assume they had her. He would have felt much better with three hostages instead of two, but there were some lies so transparent they weakened whoever uttered them. “The girl is lost,” he said finally.  

“Lost?” said Robb. “Is this your way of hiding what you have done to her?”

“I sent men after her,” said Tywin with rising temper. “They came back empty-handed. What would you like me to say? She ran away from her dancing lessons, and wasn’t seen again.”

Robb Stark’s brows furrowed. He looked confused by the notion of a high-born lady taking a dancing lesson. Perhaps that was not the way of the barbarians in the North. It seemed so, for his mother refused to let her tears fall. She sat stoically, her back rigid, her gaze flint. She looked as hard and solemn as a Stark. The wolves had eaten the fish in her.

“We will give you your Kingslayer for my father and sister,” said Robb Stark. “Was that all you wanted?”

“I want you to leave,” said Tywin. “I will deal with the King’s brothers, with Stannis in the water and Renly on the battlefield, but I want you to go back to your frozen homes. Take your sister and father with you.” He smiled. “That is why you came here, is it not?”

Behind the King in the North, his bannermen started to shift restlessly. None of them spoke, however, and Tywin was surprised. He had not thought that men like the Greatjon would ever let a green boy speak for them.

Robb Stark did not speak for a while, as though considering the offer. Then he began to laugh, throwing his head back as though Tywin had just uttered some great jape. No one else in the room so much as smiled. “I believe my father is a great man,” he said finally, “as many men do. But even for the greatest of all men, an army of thousands is too much of an escort, wouldn’t you say?”

Tywin hadn’t really expected the boy to accept. He had never lost a battle, and he had a huge army at his back. “Speak clearly, boy,” he snapped. The wolf straightened from its slouch at its master’s feet and snarled at him.

The boy merely stroked the beast’s back absently. He did not need to bend, even slouched on the ground the thing was almost as high as the boy’s elbow. Robb Stark leaned back into his chair. “I have not come alone, Lord Tywin,” he said. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “These men with me, they love my father dearly, but they have lost their brothers and their sons. They did not sacrifice for things to go back to the way they were.” The smile dropped like a stone from a window. “They have named me the King in the North.”

“I wonder what that makes your father,” said Tywin drily, even as his mouth went dry.

“Once he is home in Winterfell, he will be the King in the North himself. So here are the terms that every Northerner will agree to. You give me my sisters, my father, and you give me the North. We will also take the ancestral sword of my house, Ice, as well as the remains of all those who have fallen in service to my father.”

“It is impossible,” said Tywin. “Least of all, because I do not have your sister.”

“You murdered her,” said the boy’s mother with anguished venom in her voice.

“Would that I could,” said Tywin with a shrug. “The little thing ran away, and none of my men can find her. She seems to have disappeared.” He smirked at the boy king. “Did you check under her bed before you left Winterfell?”

The boy said nothing. He continued to stare. Tywin felt a strange sense of respect for him. “You want me to believe that?”

“My men would be able to look for her better if they didn’t have to be afraid of wolves leaping out at them from behind trees,” said Tywin drily. “They say you command an army of wolves too.”

“So they do,” said the boy, and didn’t answer the hidden question. Tywin had expected him to boast.

“If I give you the North,” he asked, even though the words tasted like ashes in his mouth, “and all else you ask, will you leave?”

“I want my sisters,” said the boy. “Both of them.”

Tywin was not going to repeat himself. “Would His Grace like to think on the peace terms I have offered?”

The boy stood, and his mother stood with him. He left without a word, he left, his wolf loping at his side. None of the bannermen even looked at Tywin as they left. Greatjon spat in his direction as he left.

“My father was a real bastard,” he said as he walked towards her father. He didn’t even seem to notice her. She couldn’t stop staring, even when her father stood up. “He used to put cigars out on my arm, the sadistic fuck. And he was a pervert, just like you.” He stood a few steps away from her father now.

  When Samuel raised the gun, Joanna could feel her heart pound fiercely, in fear or elation, she couldn’t tell. Her faith in God came rushing back to her, and she prayed for His help. Let him free me, she thought. Let this end.

  “Who are you?” said her father, his tone promising her pain if she didn’t escape his grasp soon.

  Samuel’s eyes turned to stone. “I am the man who frees her.”

  The gunshot rang out loud and fierce, but Joanna didn’t make a sound. She watched with a morbid fascination as her father fell, as his legs crumpled like sticks and he hit the ground with a sickening, final thud. He didn’t look so fierce now, sprawled on the ground with his face in the dirt. She began to shiver, hardly daring to believe that she was free.

  Samuel rummaged around for the keys to her imprisonment, but Joanna’s eyes stayed fixed on the vacant eyes. They seemed so common without the zeal that had lit them before. He was like the man Samuel had killed before--just meat to feed the pigs.

  “It’s alright now,” said Samuel in the same tone he had used the night before. He approached her warily, as though afraid of her reaction to him, but she wondered why that was. He was her angel, her saviour, and she loved him. She wished she could find the courage to tell him that.

  When she was free, he hugged her as he had the night before, an innocent, kind hug. It was a novelty, so she indulged longer than she should have. They stayed there, with her father’s blood seeping across the dust to soak her white dress and his arms tight around her.

  Part 2: My Shepherd

She learned more about him as they changed towns, as they pawned his hard-earned gold for a life on the road. They traveled for nearly two years, never settling for long. Samuel was not like her father, he worked hard at whatever work God availed them, and never did they really rely on the gold he had dug out of cold mud a lifetime ago. He told her about his father sometimes, always when he was drunk, and once he had shown her the scars on his forearms. She had told him that she had scars too, too shy to show him, and had felt a strange kinship.

  In the end, after two years of running, they traded all their remaining gold for a quiet little farm they began to call home. It was miles and miles from the little piece of land where they had first met, where her father had driven her mother to suicide and tried to steal Joanna’s body for his own lusts. That life was behind her now. She belonged with Samuel now, not because he had stolen or claimed her somehow, but because she wanted him. She wanted to belong to him, body and mind, but he never touched her, not in that evil way the only other man in her life had. His hugs were gentle, his gaze soft. She loved him fiercely.

  The first time they went to the market in town, an old lady selling oranges asked them who they were.

  “My name’s Samuel,” he said simply. “And this is my sister, Joanna.” And that was that.

  They had separate rooms. There were times when she was glad of that, but there were also times when she wanted to show him she was a woman, that she was his if he wanted her.

  Joanna knew that spying was bad. She had been caught spying on her parents once, when her father had been beating her mother, and that had been the first time he had punished her. She knew it was bad. The scars on her back seemed to tingle in warning and sympathy as she spied on Samuel.

  He was groaning as he lay in his bed, his naked body glistening with sweat. It was the sounds that had woken her up, perhaps, that had called to her. The muscles of his right arm moved under the thin blanket as he thrashed about on the bed. His other arm was flung across his face, obscuring her view of his eyes. She wished she could see them. His eyes wouldn’t be soft now. He was touching himself, she knew. It didn’t look pleasant, but that is what her father had wanted her to do a few months ago, and she knew it was for a man’s pleasure. Her father had told her that right before her mother had found them and did the task herself. She had fled from the room before he could have stopped her. Now, she didn’t want to flee. She wondered if Samuel looked the same down there as her father had,and had to clench a fist to soothe the itch in her palm.

  There was a pull in her belly as she saw the glistening limbs struggle with their pleasure, as she saw him bite his own arm to keep the noise down. Her own pants sounded too loud to her. She was sure he was going to hear her, find her, and then what would she do? Her other hand twitched, aimless, until she rested it against herself, low on her belly. She dared not blink. Her hand fluttered lower as he stifled a moan, and she pressed the heel of one hand against herself. Almost simultaneously, Samuel arched off the bed with a grunt that seemed painful, the following shout muffled against his arm.

  Joanna gasped when she felt the knot in her belly turn warm and liquid, when she felt the wetness seeping out of her. Samuel’s blanket was getting wet too, right next to his hand. He was panting heavily in his room, his eyes heavy, and didn’t notice.

  She fled before he could.

Part 3: My Love

This was the first time she had truly seen him angry.

  He hadn’t been home, and she had began to wonder if he had gone to the alehouse to quench his thirst. Men had different kinds of thirst, and even though there was brandy at home, she knew there was a kind that could only be quenched at the alehouse. The teeth marks on his forearms, the ones she had made him make, were healing. She had seen them fade, spied on them every day when they ate breakfast.

  She had fallen asleep on their small couch before he came home, and Joanna had dreamt of his hands on her, of those beautiful lips supping on her own. When she had opened her eyes with a gasp, her hand was between her legs, heel digging hard against her mound.

  She had began to cry with the frustration that all these new feelings brought. She was fifteen now, a woman grown, but a woman was not meant to feel lust. Lust was for men, to make them want their women, to urge them to honor God’s will and populate the Earth. This was wrong, what she was feeling. She was sure of it. Why would God gift her with this lust if Samuel refused to touch her? He would much rather find his pleasure himself. She had to stop her thoughts, had to stop her lust before she became as lecherous as her father. She had no whip to chastise her body with, and she didn’t want one. She hated the whip, the whistling in the air that heralded its fiery kiss, the pain of it searing across her back.

  So she slapped herself instead.

  The pain that bloomed across her face grounded her, and the shock of it stopped her tears. Suddenly, she could think much more clearly, and her lust seemed to jolt back in surprise. It had worked, but it had hurt like hell. Should she do it again?

  She raised her hand to strike again, but Samuel’s strong grip stopped her. She gasped and turned around. The pain and anger in his gaze made hers lower with shame. Why had she done that? Why had she hit herself? Had she left her father only to abuse herself?

  She waited for him to speak, but he only stared at her, both angry and sad at the same time. He looked like he was looking for the words to express himself. “I am sorry,” she said in a small voice. “I needed… I needed to be chastised.”

  His gaze melted with understanding. He drew her close and sat her upon his lap like a child. “And why is that, Joanna?” His voice was kind, and gentle. He sounded as if he was talking to a beloved sibling.

  Joanna could feel the color rise up in her cheeks, could feel the way her hand trembled in his warm grip. “I had… thoughts.”

  Samuel’s smile was grim. “Seems to me a person is made to think, don’t you? God has enough dumb animals, he could do with a few intelligent folk.”

  She said nothing. How could she explain to him that her thoughts had been improper? He thought of her as a sweet, innocent girl. She was sure he loved her in his own way, like a man loved his sister. Would he like her still if she told him of the filth that was in her mind?

  “Do you really think any thought that comes to your head is wrong? God doesn’t hate thoughts, child. He gives you these thoughts.”

  “He couldn’t,” Joanne protested. God couldn’t give such improper thoughts. Unless… were they trials to test her? She hadn’t set foot in a chapel since the day they ran away, but today, she wished she could go to church and confess.

  “What thoughts were these?” said Samuel. A sudden thought made him uncomfortable. “May they be something of a...” He trailed off before he thought of a suitable word. “Carnal nature?”

  If she hadn’t been looking at his beautiful, kind eyes, if she hadn’t been drowning in them, she never would have nodded. “I… I dreamt of you,” she whispered.

  “Me?” Abruptly, he took her off his lap and deposited her beside him. She wanted to laugh at his panic. It made her forget her shame. She realized, suddenly, that she didn’t need a church to confess in. She had him.

  “I dreamt of your hands, on me,” she said boldly. “Of us in bed together, of you on top of me.”

  “Fuck,” said Samuel on a long exhalation, as if it were a prayer. He screwed his eyes shut as though it would help him forget what he had heard. “Joanna--”

  “I am a woman,” she said stubbornly. “I have seen how men look at me in the streets. I have seen how they stare at my breasts, but… You are the one I want,” her voice grew small when she said it. She was afraid he would laugh at her and turn her away. She was afraid he was going to wed her off, to suddenly realize she was too much trouble.

  Samuel was out of words. He let his head thunk back as he exhaled, and in his posture Joanna saw her victory. She leaned forward till she was very close to him, till she could count his eyelashes, just looking her fill. When he opened his eyes to stare at her, she kissed him.

  Even before Joanna could worry about her inexperience, Samuel jolted as though hit by a bolt of lightning, and his hand shot out to grip her arm. She had shocked him, she knew, but she was done waiting for his kiss. She didn’t move.

  When his hand slid up from her arm, when it cupped her cheek, she shifted back to gaze at him. Samuel stared at her wordlessly, his eyes dark and hungry, before he surged forward to mold his lips over hers. Joanna melted into his embrace, learning from him. He taught her how to show him her love, licking and nipping at her lips, waiting patiently till she opened them. His tongue didn’t demand, it coerced, enticing her own to come out and play. She felt his heart beat against her palm, felt his emotions through lips, teeth and tongue. When his hand slipped into her hair, she smiled against his lips.

All of Camelot now knew Merlin was Arthur’s consort. They had stopped trying to hide it when they realized even visiting royals had called Merlin “his Highness”. The first time it had happened, Merlin had snorted and inhaled an ungodly amount of wine, but he was used to it now. All the neighbouring kingdoms knew well enough. Most of them were coming to attend the royal wedding the next day. Mithian had already arrived and taken up residence at the castle.

  The one he was studiously trying to escape.

  It took time, and effort, and gained him new appreciation for Merlin’s skills. But at last, he was in the stables, his horse snorting next to him.

  “The princess Mithian is a beautiful woman,” Gwaine said in lieu of a greeting.

  Arthur eyed him suspiciously as he swung atop his horse. “Gwaine...”

  “What?” Gwaine’s offended look would have worked better if it was genuine, or if Arthur’s suspicion had been unwarranted. “I simply meant it as a compliment! She liked it when I told her,” he said.

  “What is the rule, Gwaine?” Arthur whispered as they moved out of the stables and into the shadow of the night.

  Gwaine sighed. “Never flirt with visiting nobles,” he recited, with as much enthusiasm as a child reciting a hated lesson. “Easy for you to say,” he continued. “You are getting married. The rest of us still have to find someone, you know?”

  “Maybe find someone other than Mithian,” Arthur suggested through gritted teeth. “That woman has been through enough.”

  “She thinks I am beautiful too,” Gwaine said cheekily. “Men who are getting a fairytale wedding don’t get to piss on other people’s romance.” He spurred his horse on till they were trotting abreast. “Do you know what she said to me?”

  Arthur groaned out loud. This was going to be a long ride. He was not going to survive till the morning.

  While they rode, Gwaine talked. Amidst the important pieces of news, like how much the princess Mithian seemed to like his beard, Gwaine also managed to tell Arthur of the news they had received from Amata. Another one of the traitors who had rebelled against him years ago was dead. There were so few left now. They had all been scattered skillfully, exactly as Arthur had commanded. Not all had made their way to Essetir five years ago. Some had been sent to Caerleon, others to Gawant and Nemeth.

  As promised, Arthur kept an eye on all of them. Lord Maltyre was currently seeking shelter at a druid village, which amused Arthur to no end.

  He shook the matters of state out of his head as they neared their destination. The early morning sun bathed the stones of Nemeton in a fiery, otherworldly light. Arthur had been doubting his decision to perform the ceremony here, but one look at the place was enough to remind him why this was the perfect place to say his vows, the perfect place to promise himself to another.

  Tomorrow, he would marry Merlin in an elaborate ceremony where Merlin would be crowned King Consort. Today, he would marry his best friend and his lover in a simple druid ceremony, in front of his closest friends and family. Today, he wanted to be married as equals.

  The hours of riding had apparently not agreed with Gaius, for his eyebrow was high and his expression was dour, but he was commanding everyone to their places around the circle with surprising dexterity. There actually was a circle in the middle of the stones, purple wildflowers that grew out of the ground in a perfect circle. Arthur knew Merlin had conjured them, like he knew Merlin had conjured the altar, the tree that had suddenly sprouted in a strange, knotted flat shape in the middle of the circle, dripping with red and gold flowers. It was as if nature itself were serenading the union. Gwaine dismounted and ran to join the circle forming, carefully placing his feet behind the line of purple flowers. Arthur looked around wildly for a glimpse of his betrothed.

  He found Merlin shyly standing near the edge of the circle himself, listening to Gaius with a cutely furrowed brow. They had all ridden from the castle, so most of the preparations required for the wedding were Merlin’s magical responsibility.

  Arthur took a while to just gaze at the love of his life. The stand up collar of his midnight blue doublet accentuated his cheekbones, giving him the regal look Arthur loved. Merlin caught him staring, and his boyish face split into a grin. Arthur was not a poetic man, but he was sure his heart was full of love in that moment. He couldn’t remember a time when he had been more content.

  As Gaius’ eyebrow climbed higher, Heather ran over to grab Arthur’s hand and pull him to take his place at the edge of the sacred circle. She was growing fast… The elaborate floral crown she had, probably woven herself, was brushing Arthur’s neck. He shook his head and followed where she led. He and Merlin both stood on either side of Gaius as the other guests finished up the circle.

  Merlin leaned back to look at Arthur behind Gaius’ back. “Hi,” he said.

  “Hello,” Arthur replied with a smile.

  Finally, they were all ready. The grooms flanked Gaius. Lancelot stood next to Merlin while Gwaine stood next to Arthur. Gwen, Hunith, Arthur’s best knights, Heather and her mum, Cathal and Lord Blackwood completed the circle. There wasn’t a lot of them. It was exactly as Arthur wanted.

  Gaius called for silence. For a while, the only sound was the peaceful early morning chirping of the birds. “We gather here in peace for this sacred occasion that is the Rite of Marriage between Merlin and Arthur. As our Circle is woven and consecrated, this moment in time and this place, become blessed. Let each soul truly be here, let the spirits of those gathered be blended in one sacred space, with one purpose and one voice.”

  Arthur felt calm. His heart was hammering, but he was acutely aware of every breath he took. He was getting married. To Merlin. This felt like the beginning of the rest of his life.

  Gaius was chanting a prayer of purification. Merlin had explained that to him, but Arthur was still intrigued. “Let there be peace in the East, so let it be,” said Gaius as he faced the sun. He continued to face each direction as he named it. “Let there be peace in the South, so let it be. Let there be peace in the West, so let it be. Let there be peace in the North, so let it be.” Finally, he faced the front. “Let there be peace through all the Worlds. So let it be.”

  Merlin grinned as he stepped into the circle at Gaius’ bidding. Arthur felt too… dazed to do more than smile. Was this really happening? This was it. No more hiding. Merlin was his now, for everyone to see.

  “Spirits of the North,” said Gaius, “powers of winter, guardians of earth and stone, who you teach us of love and loyalty, great bear of the starry skies, the rich soil of creation, I ask that you honour this our Circle as we honour thee. Witness and bless this rite. Hail and welcome!”

  As he finished his serenade, a gentle rumbling rocked the ground. The revellers, who had been asked to expect this, forgot the instructions for a second. They looked around, uneasy, and when the wildflowers bloomed their way out of the ground, they laughed at their own skittish behaviour. The flowers settled, a rich red canopy at the northern edge of the circle, and all was silent once more.

  “Spirits of the East,” continued Gaius, “powers of spring, regeneration, vision of falcon and blackbird’s song, swallows’ freedom flight, sylphs of the wind, breath of life, my Lord of the rising sun and all new life, I ask that you honour this our Circle as we honour thee. Witness and bless this rite. Hail and welcome!”

  The pleasant early morning winds picked up speed till they were sharp enough to blow the knights’ capes dramatically. It really did seem that the gods were listening to Gaius’ old, experienced voice. There were falcons--Merlins--flying overhead, chasing blackbirds. There was magic in the air. The wind seemed to be flowing in through the East, blowing Heather’s pretty hair into her face. She pouted and tried to control the flowing locks. Arthur smiled and winked at her.

  “Spirits of the South,” continued Gaius, his voice rising to be heard over the sudden wind. “Powers of summer, pride of stag and fire wit of fox, dragons of the land, sprites of the dancing flame, you who teach us of courage and the power of truth, I ask that you honour this our Circle as we honour thee. Witness and bless this rite. Hail and welcome!”

  Arthur laughed out loud when he heard the dragons roar. Aithusa, in her enthusiasm, was racing towards them, and Arthur knew without being told that Kilgharrah had had trouble keeping her away till it was time to appear. Aithusa had recently rediscovered her great love of flying, when the druid books entrusted to Merlin had finally helped him cure Aithusa. Now she was regularly spotted flying over Albion. And she never shut up.

  But tonight she did. It might have been Kilgharrah’s ancient, frail presence by her side that sobered her, or the sanctity of the ritual, but for once, Aithusa was quiet. She winked at Heather, who grinned wildly.

  The dragons took their positions in the South, their majestic wings an impressive backdrop for Hunith and Gwen. They were both crying, beautiful in their riding clothes. He smiled at Hunith. Her returning smile was watery.

  “Spirits of the West,” continued Gaius with a nod at Kilgharrah, “powers of autumn, cat who stretches to hunt at dusk, wisdom of salmon and otter’s play, undines of chuckling brook, my Lady of the Seas, tides of being, I ask that you honour this our Circle as we honour thee. Witness and bless this rite. Hail and welcome!”

  Heather was giggling by the time the cats sauntered their way over to her. The cats were quiet, happy but solemn, and of every colour imaginable. There were easily a dozen of them, all taking up their positions at the west of the circle. One of them was being followed by an otter. Arthur was really surprised Merlin wasn’t behind any of this. Where was all this magic coming from?

  Perhaps it was the special magic of the stones of Nemeton, oozing out of them because the greatest sorcerer ever to walk the Earth was standing in their midst. Arthur lifted his face to the sky and breathed deep. He felt… free.

  “It has taken long for Merlin and Arthur to get here,” said Gaius. “To sacred ground to say the vows that will bind them together. In the name of our gods and the gods of our ancestors, we give thanks for all those who have shared with us their lives, their wisdom and their love. On this sacred day of their wedding, we give thanks especially for the blessings bequeathed to Merlin and Arthur by their ancestors of blood and spirit, both those newly departed and those of old. We honour in particular Hunith, Balinor and Ygraine, ancestors present in this rite in body and in spirit. Acknowledging all that has been given, the sacred gift of life, the hardest lessons taught through love and tears, the bond you share and the individuals that you are, let these ancestors too be honoured at this time.”

  Hunith was sobbing now, and she stepped forward to take her gift from the grooms. Her hands were shaking as she held them out to take the gift Merlin and Arthur had toiled over… Arthur had designed the silver tiara , laboring over every elegant line, waking up in the middle of the night to change something until Merlin had feared the design would never be ready. He had been blown away by the finished design when Arthur had shown him, and had waited eagerly for the craftsmen to finish making it. There was magic in there, all the protective spells Merlin knew.

  Hunith’s eyes were wide when she saw what her gift was. Arthur had deliberately kept it simple but elegant, knowing what Hunith would like. The circlet of knotted silver was thin and delicate. The dragons that curled on both sides looked fierce, in direct contrast to the flair of silver that finished off the tiara. It was an acknowledgement of how important she was, in both their lives. How important she was to the kingdom. Since she was shaking too badly, Arthur stepped forward and took it from her, gently placing it on her head. She looked up at him with watery eyes. He smiled and kissed her brow.

  The sudden whispers of the gathered crowd alerted him to something strange, and his hand automatically went to the sword he was wasn’t wearing around his waist. Merlin snaked a hand around Gaius’ back to stroke his arm soothingly, and Arthur relaxed. He tensed again when he saw what had unsettled the guests.

  His mother stood next to the dragons.

  Arthur stared, feeling his eyes fill up. He had only ever seen her once. He had never seen a portrait, for Uther had banned all likeness of her. He looked his fill now, his gaze desperate. She smiled at him, her face pale and blue. He nodded at her, swallowing thickly. Arthur turned with the intention of thanking Merlin, but Merlin was staring at Balinor, who was standing next to Kilgharrah. His skin was pale too, and Merlin’s expression as he stared at his father was enough to tell Arthur that he had not summoned their parents. They had come on their own.

  Gaius himself was getting emotional. He tried to speak several times, each time stopping because his voice would break. He finally cleared his throat, nodded at both Ygraine and Balinor, and carried on with the ceremony.

  “Merlin and Arthur,” he said finally. “Do you come to this place of your own free will?”

  With great difficulty, Arthur tore his eyes away from Ygraine. “I do.”

  “I do,” said Merlin, and Arthur was glad that he wasn’t steady either.

  “Let us honour the four directions of our world,” said Gaius, “that their blessings may be brought to this couple.” He led them both to all four quarters of the circle, one by one.

  He led them first towards the falcons that were hopping around the eastern quarter, their gazes uncanny and interested. “Spirits of the east, spirits of air, let us feel your breath!” said Gaius. “Through times of uncertainty,” he asked, “through winds of change, will you still love and honour each other?”

  “I will,” said Merlin.

  “I will,” echoed Arthur. He had never been surer of anything in his life. He thought the falcon approved.

  “Then may you be blessed by the powers of the east,” said Gaius. “May together you find the freedom of flight in the clear mountain air, may your marriage be reborn with each new dawn.”

  Next, they moved on to the two dragon who were watching the ceremony with a strange combination of proud amusement. Kilgharrah smiled at Merlin and bowed his head. Aithusa winked at Arthur. “Spirits of the south,” implored Gaius, “spirits of fire, let us feel your power!”

  Ygraine and Balinor smiled at them, their hands reaching out to ghost their fingers on their child’s face, their movements in sync as if they were thinking with one mind. Both dragons breathed gently in their faces, and Arthur felt the warmth of Aithusa’s breath instill him with peace. He could feel the ancient magic of the dragon, feel the acceptance and love she felt for him.

  “Through the flames of passion,” said Gaius, “and when the fires burn low, will you still love and honour each other?”

  Arthur tried not to think of Gaius saying the word passion. “I will,” he said.

  Merlin smiled at him. “I will too. I will love you forever.”

  “Then may you be blessed by the powers of the south,” said Gaius. “May together you dance the road of courage and vitality. May your home be filled with warmth.”

  The cats began purring as Merlin and Arthur were led to them. A pure white one meowed at Merlin. Another, a playful orange one, weaved through Heather’s legs and stared at them. A courageous tabby tried to wrap itself around Gaius’ leg.

  Gaius studiously ignored it. “ Spirits of the west, spirits of water, let us feel your flowing energy!” He turned to the grooms. “Through the white water currents and deep still pools of emotion, will you still love and honour each other?”

  “I will,” said Arthur.

  Merlin’s eyes were misty. “I will,” he echoed solemnly.

  Gaius nodded once. “Then may you be blessed by the powers of the west,” he said. “May together you weave and blend your desires, flowing with the beauty of the ocean tides. May your life together be filled with love.”

  A furry little badger had claimed the little patch of red flowers by now, his little paws carefully settled in the spread beneath him. He barely spared a glance at them as Gaius led them to the north of the circle.

  “Spirits of the north,” said Gaius, “spirits of earth, let us feel your certainty! Through times of cold restriction, when problems seem immovable, will you still love and honour each other?”

  “I will,” said Merlin.

  With a smile, Arthur echoed his answer. “I will too. Always and forever.”

  “Then may you be blessed by the powers of the earth,” said Gaius. “May together you root in sweet fertile soil, that your union may grow strong. May your lives together be rich with that fertility and its perfect fruitfulness.” He led them to the altar, where Gwaine handed him the red ribbon that had been entrusted to him. Gaius took their hands, clasped them together, and tied them. “Merlin and Arthur, are you ready to declare your vows to each other, vows that will bind you together, soul to soul, heart to heart, joining the bloodlines of your ancestors, witnessed by those who have gathered here this day, in spirit and in body, in this sacred Circle?”

  “I am,” they said together. Even Arthur felt like he was going to bawl at any moment. It was supposed to be just a simple ceremony, something that was just theirs, and now it felt like his heart was going to leap out of his chest and scamper away. But it couldn’t now, could it? His heart was now promised to Merlin.

  “All things in nature are circular,” said Gaius in a clear, carrying voice. “Night becomes day, day leads into night which again gives way to day. Moon waxes and wanes, and waxes again. There is Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter, then Spring returns again. These are the flowing rhythms of the Cycle of Existence. Yet in the Centre of the Circle is the stillness of the Source, eternal and brilliant.” He turned to Lancelot, who was again at Merlin’s side. “Merlin and Arthur, do you bring with you this day your symbols of these mysteries of life?”

  “We do,” said Merlin as Arthur nodded. Lancelot dutifully stepped forward and handed Gaius the rings. They were identical, simple bands of gold. Each ring was just thick enough to be emblazoned with a dragon along its length. A small, simple ruby winked in the one visible eye.

  Gaius took the rings. “Then be they blessed in the name of the old gods of our land, for they are an outward sign and a sacred reminder of your commitment witnessed here this day.” He placed the rings on the altar. “As the sun and moon bring light to the Earth, do you, Merlin and Arthur, vow to bring the light of love and joy to this your union?”

  “I do,” they said, together. Within the sweet confines of the ribbon, Merlin flexed his fingers to squeeze Arthur’s hands.

  Gaius lit the candle that had been placed on the altar. “Do you vow to honour each other as you honour that which you hold most sacred?”

  “I do,” they said again, perfectly in sync. The high winds somehow didn’t affect the flame of the candle at all.

  Gaius handed them their rings, and Arthur felt a strange lump in his throat as Merlin placed his ring on his finger. He blinked rapidly, afraid he was going to cry. Merlin looked ready to cry too. He kept staring at the ring that Arthur placed on his finger.

  Gaius untied their hands, and Merlin smiled at Arthur’s reluctance to let go of his hand. He squeezed Merlin’s fingers before finally letting go. Gaius picked up the smooth, polished stone that Merlin had found and engraved with their names and the Pendragon crest. He had spent hours at the banks of the lake looking for the perfect wedding stone. Arthur had wanted to use a precious gem. After all, it was a stone. But now he was glad they hadn’t chosen a ruby. The big, white stone felt far more… real. A ruby would have been too pretentious. And pretenses were for the wedding later in the day. Here, they were just a couple in love.

  Gaius turned back towards the grooms. ”This sacred Earth is our home,” he said. “It offers us the power of life, nourishing us, body and soul, holding us from birth until we let go once more into the worlds of spirit. Each rock and stone, each pebble and gem contains within it the stories of all time.” He held out their wedding stone. “You have chosen this stone together as a foundation stone of your marriage from this point on,” he said. “Do you now swear upon it, as a symbol of this sacred land and our holy Mother Earth, to keep your vows?”

  “We swear,” they said, their hands on the stone that Gaius held.

  “Then let the Earth bear witness that Merlin and Arthur are joined in love and joy and freedom. So let it be!”

  “So let it be!” said all those gathered, their voices jubilant and loud. Arthur was suddenly aware that there were others here, and he grinned at all the happy faces. His mother blew him a kiss.

  “Let your vows be sealed with a kiss,” said Gaius, and he was smiling too.

  When Arthur finally pulled Merlin in for their first kiss as a married couple, he finally felt… peace. It was done. Instead of the giddy excitement of a few seconds ago, he felt thankful to be allowed his one true love, to be allowed the chance to get used to these lips, to the beat of this man’s heart against his palm. He was Merlin’s now, as surely Merlin was his. A single tear escaped Merlin’s eyelid, and it’s matching tear rolled down Arthur’s cheek.

  “Let all bear witness that Merlin and Arthur are joined in love,” Gaius declared to the cheering circle. “Through this rite of their marriage, witnessed and blessed, may their love partake of the beauty, majesty and power of this sacred Earth.” He hugged both Merlin and Arthur in turn, his expression the closest to happy Arthur had ever seen. “My own blessing,” he said, “and the blessings of all those assembled here be with you. The blessings of your gods and the gods of your ancestors be with you. The blessings of the ancestors be with you. With you and with all that comes of your union. So let it be!”

  The revellers bent down to the little baskets of petals that had been placed along the circle. The sounds of jubilant celebration echoed off the plains. Petals rained down upon the newlywed couple.

  “The rite is complete,” said Gaius. “May our memories be rich with it. Let us thank the powers of nature for their presence.”

  As Gaius thanked the spirits of all four directions, sending the assembled animals on their merry way, Merlin hugged Arthur. Arthur held tight, ignoring Gwaine’s jeering, feeling his heart thud with happiness that seemed too vast to contain.

  This was the first day of the rest of his life.

  “I love you, clotpole,” said Merlin in his ear.

“I love you too, you idiot,” laughed Arthur.

Author’s Note: I would very much like to take this opportunity to thank all of you, those who read this work. It gave me immense amounts of pleasure to see the kudos stack up and the comments counter increase. I loved how everyone engaged with me, how I had people returning every week to read more of this tale. There is no greater gift for an author than an audience that is so thoroughly engaged.

I would also like to take this opportunity to remind everyone that I will still be posting every week with the same schedule--Fridays at 9 PM CST. I will just not be posting to Albion’s Destiny anymore, unless an idea for a sequel strikes me. I will, however, be writing Merthur fics. There are two ideas for oneshots swirling in my head, and they might make it to paper soon enough. Look out for those! Also, I have to complete my other Merthur fics, so… yeah. You won’t have the chance to miss me.

The biggest thank you goes to Rosa, my dear @audlie45, for the handholding and asskicking that was required, for deleting stray commas and fixing the spellings of complicated words like grass. I practically wrote this epilogue while I chatted with her constantly. She found the photo of the tiara and photoshopped it as needed, and reread bits and pieces at two in the morning like a true friend. Apparently, I made her cry with this. I would be lost if I couldn’t discuss AD with you. It was fun to chat about it, to map out those last few chapters before I wrote them.

Didi, @randomthoughtsthatform, my biggest reader, I love you with all my heart and then some. Thank you for the texts and the crazed reading every weekend. You are my number one fan *blows a kiss*

Love you all. Let’s say goodbye to this story. For now. Maybe, when your need is greatest, Albion’s Destiny will rise again (that wouldn’t have sounded nearly as poetic if I had named it something like Arthur Lives!)