Summary: “There are several rules one must adhere to, when entering and staying in Camelot, that are seen as rather odd. Rule number one: when in the presence of His Majesty and his Court Sorcerer, you are never to mention unripe blackberries. Rule number two: none are allowed to speak ill of magic, on penalty of being turned into a toad. Rule number three, and arguably the most important: when being escorted by the Knight Gwaine and the Court Sorcerer, you are to ensure they leave you in separate directions.”
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“There are several rules one must adhere to, when entering and staying in Camelot, that are seen as rather odd . Rule number one: when in the presence of His Majesty and his Court Sorcerer, you are never to mention unripe blackberries. Rule number two: none are allowed to speak ill of magic, on penalty of being turned into a toad. Rule number three, and arguably the most important: when being escorted by the Knight Gwaine and the Court Sorcerer, you are to ensure they leave you in separate directions.”
Merlin pouts as he reads the gossip rag aloud, eyebrows crinkling together as he reaches the bottom. It’s adorable, and Arthur’s really meant to be drafting a statement on lowering grain prices, but Merlin’s turning big doe eyes on him, and suddenly the statement can wait. He sighs and stands, crossing the room to bend down and put his chin on Merlin’s head.
“Bit unfair of them to mention the blackberries,” Arthur says, and shudders; on one of his rare days off, when he and Merlin had just gotten together, they’d decided to spend the day in Camelot’s fruit fields. The blackberries had been severely unripe, but Arthur had convinced Merlin to ripen them with magic. They’d stuffed themselves silly on sun-warmed berries, feeding each other with grandiose exclamations of no, allow me , your majesty. Well, as Gaius told them later, some fruits don’t take kindly to being hastened into ripening. Arthur and Merlin had felt the wrath of the unripe fruit for a full three days after.
“Blackberries, yeah, toads, okay, but what about Gwaine and I? We’re responsible adults, and shouldn’t be ordered around by visitors.”
Arthur sighs again. He loves Merlin, deeply, and he loves Gwaine, too, though in a different way. On their own, they are, for the most part, responsible adults, performing their duties and going about their business with minimal incident. When they get together, however, it’s like their brains fly out a window. Gwaine’s love for external chaos (bar fights and gambling and setting things on fire) meets Merlin’s love for internal chaos (riddles and quiet spells and tying others’ shoelaces together) and creates a veritable bomb of insanity.
“Merlin, you and Gwaine are jointly banned from eight separate counties . I think you know full well why you can’t be trusted together outside this castle.”
“It can’t be eight-”
“Barfight, arson, barfight, cow tipping, arson again, barfight again, stealing pies, and, most recently, bludgeoning a woman’s suitors.”
Arthur counts off on Merlin’s outstretched fingers, tapping one for every instance of banning.
“Oh, come on, you can’t seriously count the last one! They were actively kidnapping her, Arthur.”
“I know, it was very brave, my love, but you are still technically banned from Gwenllych because of it.”
Merlin mutters something akin to bullshit as Arthur straightens, smoothing the dark curls that were disturbed by his chin. He trusts Merlin, implicitly, and of course he trusts Gwaine, but together...well. The second instance of arson is the closest he’s seen Leon get to a genuine breakdown. And he’s known Leon for longer than he cares to admit, at this point. Merlin stands and stretches just as Arthur settles back behind his desk, doing his best to pretend that he’s not still miffed about the gossip article. Arthur grins as he watches Merlin throw his shirt back on, make an attempt at looking half-presentable as he leaves their room.
“Hey, don’t forget you have-”
“-a council meeting about anti-magic sentiments in the outer borders, yeah. Love you.”
“Love you, too,” and Arthur marvels at how easily the words slide off his tongue. How afraid he would’ve been to say them while Uther was alive, how hushed their life would have to be. Compared to how unapologetically... them they are now, that fear seems lifetimes ago. For this lifetime, unfortunately, this grain statement needs finishing, lest he risk angering his councillors any further.
“Gwaine, we’re responsible, right?”
Merlin’s laying with his head on Gwaine’s lap, legs stretched out. They’re lounging in the kitchens, having bribed the scullery maids into keeping mum about the fact that they’re together. Not that much would likely happen if someone spilled, but. Better safe than sorry. Gwaine lets his head fall back against the wall, thinking.
“Well, there were those arsons, and the barfights, not to mention beating up those sorry bastards last month.”
Merlin waves a hand in the air as if to brush Gwaine’s words away.
“I mean here. Me, the Court Sorcerer, you, Arthur’s second-in-command. We’re...we’re respected, right?”
Gwaine laughs, patting Merlin’s forehead with a hand. Respected might be a stretch. People act like it, because if anything’s said against Merlin, they have Arthur and a litany of knights to deal with. And if anything’s said against Gwaine, well. They’d have Merlin to contend with, which might be worse.
“Sure we are.”
Merlin twists and sits up, and Gwaine can see the glimmer in his eye that usually means fire, theft, or drinking is about to ensue. If he’s lucky, all three.
“Let’s put some respect on our names, Gwaine.”
Arthur surfaces from his papers to find a harried Leon standing in front of his desk, hair sticking out all over like he’s been running his hands through it. There’s quite literally only one possibility of what could be making Leon look like that, considering the discussion he’d had with Merlin earlier.
“It’s Merlin and Gwaine, isn’t it.”
“It’s Merlin and Gwaine,” Leon affirms, and Arthur sighs, pinching at the bridge of his nose. He loves Merlin, but gods, does he know how to give a man a headache. He stands, gesturing for Leon to lead the way towards the epicenter of the madness.
What they find, however, is less mad than Arthur would’ve thought. In all honesty, he was expecting to enter the Great Hall to find it aflame, covered in broken crockery and frogs, or both. Very end-of-times, not because he assumes the worst, but because he’s witnessed it before. Merlin’s stag do, four years ago. Sometimes he can still smell smoke, even though Merlin remains adamant that the fire never actually burned anything. His stag do, by comparison, was a quiet night of drinking and time well spent. Mostly.
No, what he and Leon find is...nothing. Not nothing nothing; that is to say, the Great Hall isn’t completely empty. No, it’s full of Merlin and Gwaine and perhaps fifty courtiers, who look both puzzled and impressed. Leon goes to open his mouth, but Arthur shakes his head, pulls them behind the throng. He hopes Merlin and Gwaine haven’t seen them; whatever’s going on, Arthur wants a clear view of it.
It seems to be a...lecture, of sorts. Merlin’s delivering an oration of stunning depth and eloquence, considering Gwaine’s two feet behind him, hand resting easily on the hilt of his sword and grinning like a fool at the back of Merlin’s head. He’s talking about the history of magic, as far as Arthur can tell, and he makes a mental note of all the councillors or noblemen wrinkling their noses or whispering amongst themselves. Leon and Gwaine are likely doing the same, though they all know exactly how well Merlin can hold his own.
Arthur finds himself listening, invested , as Merlin’s speaking. Merlin could make taxes sound interesting, probably, but history’s never been Arthur’s strong suit. There’s a scar on his knuckle from where his lessons-master split it with a ruler; he’d been twelve, and not memorizing his grandfather’s accomplishments fast enough. History of magic, predictably, had not been in the curriculum. Merlin’s flushed, speaking fast but clearly, eyes alight. Once or twice Arthur swears they flash gold, but nothing tangible occurs, and he figures it must just be Merlin’s magic preening as it’s talked about. It’s got a personality to it, all the fiery bits of Merlin concentrated; Arthur counts himself lucky that it seems to be rather fond of him.
He’s also pleased to see that the majority of the attendees are as enraptured as he is. He wonders if they see the pictures, too, the way Merlin’s talking conjuring images in Arthur’s mind, or if that’s just a side effect of being Merlin’s husband. His thumb ghosts over his wedding band and really, it’s a miracle he’s standing here at all. Merlin teases him mercilessly about being so sentimental, but hey. Arthur’s gone through a fucking lot to be standing here, in the back of his own Great Hall, listening to his husband lecturing on magic and waiting for the chaos superstorm to break.
Because yes, he’s absolutely sure it will happen. Arthur watches Gwaine, using all his kingly training to both absorb what Merlin’s saying and watch as the knight starts to shift. Antsy , Leon mouths, and Arthur fights the grin spreading across his face. Gwaine’s always got too much energy; an incredible resource in battles and the like, but dangerous if he goes stagnant for too long. Merlin concludes his speech, and their hands join the hundred others sounding their enthusiasm across the room. He watches them all, eyes still twinkling, before raising a hand. The room falls silent, and a shiver works its way down Arthur’s spine. There’s something intoxicating about how Merlin can take control of a room full of people who would’ve had him killed just ten years ago.
“And now,” Merlin says, gesturing to Gwaine, “a demonstration.”
Leon looks at Arthur, alarm stamped on his face.
“There wasn’t-”
“-anything that warranted a demonstration, no.” Arthur affirms, but lays a hand on Leon’s arm. Goddess save him, he’s curious , and judging by Leon’s crestfallen expression, he is too.
“Sir Gwaine, the pyre, if you would.”
Leon’s bicep jumps under Arthur’s fingers. Arthur feels himself slide into something akin to a fighting stance; he remains standing, but his feet shift, just in case he needs to bolt across the room. There’s a murmur going through the crowd, a ripple of sound that spreads as Gwaine reveals a small pile of logs. It’s not a proper pyre- that is to say, it’s not person-sized. No, it seems scaled to the size of a suckling pig, and one glance from Merlin sets it ablaze, those closest leaping back in sudden fear.
“Arthur-”
“ Wait. ”
Leon grumbles, but quiets with the rest of the onlookers as Merlin waves a hand.
“Fire born of fire harms magical creatures, it is true. But fire born of magic …” Merlin’s eyes turn mischievous, and another shudder works its way down Arthur’s spine. Gold sparks and pops at the man’s fingertips, a flame weaving its way around his arms like a living thing. The pyre crackles merrily as the audience whispers; some of them have noticed Arthur, and turn pleading eyes on him.
Arthur ignores them.
“Fire born of magic, gentlemen, harms whoever I want it to. Sir Gwaine?”
Gwaine grins, stepping onto the pyre without hesitation. A shout bubbles in Arthur’s throat, instincts screaming that oh God Gwaine is going to fucking die . But he doesn’t, of course. No, from the way he’s squirming, it seems the fire...tickles? Merlin’s eyes sweep the crowd, nodding in seeming satisfaction as noblemen flinch and lean ever closer.
“Ah, Councillor Eagan? Care to try?”
The councilman named, a deeply unpleasant man who worked for Arthur’s father, steps forward. He’s of the disposition that the whole world relies on him and quails under his mighty step. In reality, he’s quite short, and turns his nose up at anyone who’s not white and male. Eagan is, unfortunately, their ambassador to Mercia, and until Arthur can find a suitable replacement, the man stays.
Eagan sticks an over-eager hand into the flames, and Arthur can tell from Merlin’s carefully-composed expression (and Gwaine’s less-than) that it will end badly for him. Sure enough, the councillor snatches his hand back, howling and turning accusing eyes on Merlin, who simply shrugs. He waves a hand and the fire is extinguished.
“Thank you for your time, councillors. I hope that was...educational. Councilman Eagan, the infirmary is down the hall.”
The councillors file out, and Merlin’s eyes finally lock on Arthur’s. He grins, wide and dopey, so at odds with the cruel tilt of his mouth that had sat there just seconds before.
“Arthur! Did you like my presentation?”
Oh, he’s an absolute ass . Batting his lashes, kicking his feet, the whole kit. A performance worthy of the local theater, to be sure. Arthur scrubs a hand over his face, muttering a quick prayer to every god and goddess there is as Leon brushes past him, staring Gwaine down like a man on a mission.
“It was...informative. Though I still don’t have a replacement for Eagan, you know that? You can’t just...charbroil my councillors.”
Merlin rolls his eyes.
“He won’t have any flesh damage, just the knowledge that he should think twice before fucking with me and mine. And hey, Gwaine and I were in the same room for over an hour and didn’t burn the palace down!”
That is technically correct. While there was a fire, and the palace was involved, the two never collided- not badly, at least.
“Okay, you’ve got me. You’re lucky I love you, otherwise I’d be forced to put you back in the stocks.”
Merlin snorts, pulling Arthur in for a kiss. His mouth is warm and tastes slightly of smoke, and it’s with great difficulty that Arthur pulls himself away.
“Unfortunately, beloved, I do have a grain report to finish. Care to join me?”
“No way in hell. Gwaine and I are getting smashed at the Rising Sun.”
“ Merlin- !”
By a_static_world on ao3