A Different Destiny / Merthur

The Midnight Marriage

The Prince laughed. And then, finally looking back at the floor, he saw the vase: melded back together so well it was almost as if it had never been broken. The only difference was a series of veined golden lines scattered across its surface. "Yeah," Arthur smiled, carefully lifting it, "definitely my favourite."

~~~

Dinner had been and gone, and then day had turned to night, and night again to day and, just like that, the week seemed to have disappeared.

Merlin jolted awake as a clap of thunder rang out across the sky.  The room around him was pitch-black and cloaked, like a ghostly blanket, with a chill.  The rain outside was relentless.  It beat against the windowpanes with such violence that, for a moment, Merlin wondered how he'd ever found it calming.  Then, just as he was beginning to relax again, something grabbed him through the darkness, and it took him a few seconds to register what it was: Arthur's arm around his waist.  "Oh my god—"

"Not quite."

"Don't do that," Merlin breathed.

"Sorry.  Didn't mean to frighten you."

A streak of lightening lit the room.  For a brief second, Merlin saw the half-asleep figure of Arthur beside him, shirtless and huddled beneath the duvet, illuminated like something sublime.  And then they were plunged back into darkness.

"Lucky we're not having an outdoor ceremony," Arthur whispered.

"Mmm, might be a bit cold."

"Arthur?"

"Yeah?"

"What time is it?"

"I don't know.  Midnight maybe.  Or just gone.  Why?"

There was a pause.

"Merlin?"

"We're getting married tomorrow."

Arthur shifted slightly, as though he were trying to peer at Merlin through the darkness.  "Is that... bad?"

"No," Merlin assured, sinking back beneath the covers and into Arthur's arms, "no, definitely not.  That's not what I meant."

"Are you nervous?"

"Yes."

"Me too."

"You are?"

"Of course.  The idea of— of getting up in front of all those people it's—" he sighed.  "It's a lot.  My father taught me to be a Prince.  He taught me all the right things to say, the things to wear, the way to act— he taught me how to be perfect.  How to leave myself behind and become someone hollow.  And now I just— I'm worried that we'll be stood in front of everyone and you'll look at me and you won't see me.  Not really.  I'll be different somehow."

"Arthur?"

"Yeah?"

"That's not going to happen."

"You don't know that."

"I do.  Because I know you.  I've seen you at royal gatherings.  I know what you look like when you're playing a part.  But you don't have to do that anymore.  No one will ever ask that of you.  Especially not me.  I don't want you to be perfect.  I never have.  I just want you."