Archive of Our Own

Arthur raised his sword above his head. Its wide, shining blade splintered the sunlight into piercing shards; a myriad of rainbows reflected from the dragon’s scales. Arthur’s eyes narrowed. He did not falter. This was his chance, his moment. Arthur stared into the dragon’s fiery eyes, unafraid, as its scorching breath grazed over his cheek—

“Arthur! Wake up!”

Arthur groaned, frowned and finally managed to open up his eyes into a squint. He was greeted with Merlin’s beaming face.

“You weren’t dreaming about dragons again?” Merlin grinned playfully. It was usually the largest part of his charm, but at this hour it was simply annoying.

Arthur screwed up his nose and rubbed the back of his wrist across his face. He mumbled a denial, though Merlin didn’t appear to be interested in his answer. He’d already opened the curtains and the room was filled with crisp, bright daylight. Arthur scarcely had time to stretch and soak it in, as Merlin delved under the bedclothes, yanked at his ankle and commanded with altogether too much cheer, “Come on then, Dr. Pendragon. Up you get.”

Arthur was unceremoniously hauled from the bed, while Merlin impatiently shoved a cold, rubbery slice of toast in the general direction of his mouth. There was no point in fighting him once he had a mind to do something. Arthur took the bread between his teeth. If he was inclined, which of course he wasn’t, Arthur could snap Merlin like a twig—

—if Merlin didn’t possess those uncanny abilities of his, that is.

“What time is it?” he said, with his mouth full.

Merlin pulled his pocket watch from the front of his waistcoat, flipped it open and brandished the timepiece in Arthur’s face. “After ten. Now will you please hurry up? We have things to do today.”

“But it’s the weekend.”

“Precisely.”

The toast was insufficiently buttered, and there was no marmalade on it at all. Not that it was Merlin’s duty to put marmalade on Arthur’s toast. Nonetheless, if he was going to bring his breakfast to their bedroom, he could at least prepare it to Arthur’s liking. Dry as it was, Arthur could barely swallow it.

Merlin was rummaging in the top drawer of the tallboy where Arthur kept his cravats. This didn’t bode well.

“I can dress myself, thank you.” Arthur coughed, in an attempt to dislodge a stubborn morsel from his throat.

“Yes, about as well as you can feed yourself. For God’s sakes, drink some tea and come down to the study when you’re decent. I expect half of Camelot has just had an eyeful of your manhood.” Merlin gestured to the un-curtained window, a few feet from where Arthur was standing as naked as the day he was born.

Merlin departed the bedroom with a satisfied smirk, leaving Arthur without so much as a kiss or an affectionate embrace to warm his forsaken loins.

At the bottom of the stairs, Arthur paused a moment in the hallway and checked himself in the mirror. He smoothed his shirt collar upwards, gave his cravat a tug and stood regarding his ensemble with his back straight and his shoulders back. The overall result was pleasing.

As if Merlin had any right to comment on Arthur’s wardrobe. Sometimes, oftentimes, the man was incorrigible.

The door to the study was closed but Arthur was able to hear talking. It was Merlin and what were the unmistakeably dulcet tones of their ‘butler’, Gaius. It was an unusual arrangement, that had them employ the old physician this way, but it served its purpose. He had worked for the Pendragon family since before Arthur was born, outliving both of Arthur’s parents. After their deaths some three years before, and the dissolution of the estate, Gaius could have retired. But his affection for Arthur and Merlin (which was duly reciprocated) and his resolute desire to ‘stay useful’ meant a quiet life in the country wasn’t going to suit him at all. It also suited Arthur and Merlin quite nicely to have Gaius around, to draw on his manifold skills and wealth of expert knowledge not only in the field of medicine, but additionally in matters of a more dubious nature.

Gaius had been invaluable to Arthur when he was setting up his medical practice. And Merlin’s success in the art of detecting, as he liked to call it, was most certainly in part due to Gaius’s contribution to his endeavours.

From the agitated waxing and waning of Merlin’s voice and Gaius’s insistent rebuttals, Arthur could tell they were in the midst of a disagreement. Coupled with Merlin’s evident excitement as he’d roused Arthur not half an hour ago, this could only mean one thing.

He had a case.

With as much eager anticipation as trepidation, Arthur ventured into the study. Merlin was pacing the floor. In one hand he clutched a sheet of white paper, a letter by the looks of it, and in the other hand a photograph. Arthur couldn’t make out the contents of either, given the frantic way Merlin was strutting about. Muttering under his breath, Gaius, on the other hand, was sedately replacing a dusty old tome to the bookshelf.

Arthur sidled onto the armchair nearest the door. He sat with one leg crossed over the other and his elbows perched on the arms of the chair. Resting his chin on the back of his hand, he waited.

Gaius spoke first. “In my opinion, this is a matter for the police. Scotland Yard, perhaps, but definitely not you and Arthur.”

“But he’s already made it amply clear he wants this handled with the utmost discretion. No police.” Merlin glanced at Arthur and proffered him a wink. “Arthur and I can handle this. Can’t we, darling?”

“I suppose. If you say so.”

“There. We’ll be back in time for supper.”

With one eyebrow raised in a familiar but silent expression of something along the lines of I’ll believe that when I see it, Gaius grumbled, “I’ll instruct Alice to make a stew.” He made his exit, patting Arthur on the shoulder as he shuffled past.

After Gaius had closed the door behind him, Merlin turned to Arthur and said, “These arrived in the post this morning.”

Arthur’s attention was immediately drawn to the photograph. His jaw dropped open, as he stared at the image before him.

The picture was of a naked man, whom Arthur instantly recognised, lying on a sumptuous bed with his wrists tied to the bedposts. Sitting on the bed at his side was a blonde-haired woman with an intense stare, wearing nothing but a corset and bloomers, holding something over the man’s penis. On closer inspection, the object was itself shaped like an erect penis complete with testes and looked to be made from some dark-coloured metal. If Arthur wasn’t mistaken, it looked, strange as it might seem, as though the man’s penis and testes were inside this metal sheath.

Merlin interrupted, “It’s Freddie Cenred.”

“I can see that. And it’s Prince Freddie to you.”

Merlin scoffed and threw himself onto the couch. “Prince indeed. Lord save us all when he ascends to the throne.”

Arthur didn’t rise to the bait. His father, Uther, had abdicated the throne long before Arthur was born in order to marry the love of his life, the Lady Ygraine, who was a divorcée. Arthur was born into wealth, but not into the peerage. The next in line to the throne after Uther had been his distant cousin, Harold Cenred—now King Harold. King Harold came from less ‘cultured’ stock than the Pendragons and his affable but half-witted son Freddie was no exception.

Merlin had it in his head, and had said so on many occasions, that the crown should be Arthur’s, that the country would be in far better hands with him on the throne. Arthur dismissed his treasonous musings with nothing more than devoted affection, because Merlin was no evil schemer. He was simply a lovesick fool. And as Arthur had told Merlin many times, as well as having no legitimate claim to the throne, he also had no desire for the life of a monarch. The love and life Arthur had enjoyed thus far were worth more to him than anything, anything else at all.

Turning his attention to the letter, Arthur read:

Dearest Merlin,

It’s been such a long time! I hope you and Arthur are both in good health.

I was put in the direction of your services by our mutual friend, Sir Leon of Bath (aka The Lion), when I was attending Royal Ascot last week. I’m sorry not to have seen you there in recent years, though I suppose the races are not to your taste.

I regretfully have to report that I have become the victim of blackmail. I made a grave misjudgement in visiting a house of ill-repute this past spring, where I indulged in the services of a prostitute, who has since turned out to be a scheming harpy. I must have partaken in a little too much wine because I sincerely don’t recall being tied up or having my photograph taken, though as you can see, that is undoubtedly me in that undignified pose.

She sent me the enclosed photograph in the post and says she has more copies which she will send to the newspapers if I don’t pay her one thousand pounds by the end of the month. One thousand pounds! But I know it will never end there. I must have the photographs destroyed before I am ruined!

The remainder of the letter detailed the location of the brothel, the names of the proprietor and the prostitute, as well as the address of a post office box for correspondence and the offer of a five hundred pound reward to put this horror to bed.

“Silly bugger,” Arthur lamented, lowering the letter.

“Bugger?” Merlin chuckled. “Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. Though the man is a complete and utter buffoon—I’ll give you that.”

They shared the sentiment with fondness. Freddie lacked a modicum of common sense, but he was no snob or blaggard. He loved Merlin as equally and perhaps in some regards more so than he loved Arthur, and had welcomed them both into his inner circle during their time at the University of Camelot.

Unlike Arthur, who had arrived at Camelot with a group of moneyed friends, many of whom he had known since childhood, Merlin had turned up alone and was quite evidently poor. But he had his charms. The young men at Camelot had succumbed to them right away. He had a spark that shone so brightly none of them seemed to notice, or if they did they didn’t care, about Merlin’s humble background, about the charitable donations that were paying his way through university. Merlin’s wit, his intellect and his smile had more than made up for any shortcomings in his social status. Arthur, of course, had never cared. He’d fallen for Merlin the moment he set eyes on him. The rest was history.

Arthur was about to get up from the armchair, but Merlin beat him to it, closing the space between them with a few long strides. He knelt at Arthur’s feet and smoothed his delicate, long hands up Arthur’s thighs, grazing lightly over the smooth fabric of his trousers. The muscles beneath still ached from their passions the night before. Almost instinctively, as he recalled it, Arthur reached for his cravat that covered the bruises Merlin had sucked into his neck.

“Freddie might be a buffoon, but he’s our friend and he’s first in line to the throne.” Arthur sighed. “What a mess.”

“Don’t worry,” Merlin said with his usual improvidence. “But what to do with you, dear Arthur? You still look half asleep.”

Arthur leaned down, planting a whispering kiss to Merlin’s forehead. “It wouldn’t hurt for you to sleep in every now and again.” He added, “Did you really need me awake so early?”

“There’s more to this than Freddie’s reputation.” Merlin spoke gently, but there was an urgent edge to his voice. His eyes darted up to meet Arthur’s gaze. “We don’t have a moment to waste.”

Arthur was about to ask why when his attention was drawn to Merlin’s jaw. “You’ve shaved off your sideboards!”

It wasn’t as if Merlin had ever been able to cultivate much in the way of facial hair. He had a youthful radiance that hadn’t diminished one iota in the ten years that Arthur had known him. And it was all the more apparent with his face as bare as a boy’s.

“Sometimes your powers of observation, Arthur, leave me speechless.”

“Nothing leaves you speechless. Unless it’s a mouthful of—”

“Don’t. Just don’t.” Merlin stood and pulled down the hem of his waistcoat. “For your information, I have shaved in order to pass for a much younger man.”

“A disguise?”

Merlin loved disguises and used them often. He possessed an uncanny ability to literally transform into boy or crone, beggar or noble. When the occasion arose for stealth, Arthur found it harder to shrug off his stature. It hardly mattered—Arthur was a gentleman and there was scarcely a situation in existence that could not be improved by the presence of a gentleman.

Merlin picked up a worn out coat that had been lying across the seat of the desk chair. “I shall be in a disguise, of sorts. What better way to infiltrate a brothel together than for you to pose as a gentleman and for me to be your renter?”

“Is that really necessary?” Arthur wasn’t sure why they couldn’t both arrive as gentlemen clients. They only needed to get their feet in the door and then Merlin could work his magic, while Arthur could search the premises.

“Of course. I want to arrive at the brothel early, as it will be quieter. The madam will happily rent us a room, knowing she doesn’t have to wake one of her own employees. Once we’re inside and get a feel for the place, we can secure the building, and with luck the perpetrators and the photographs.”

“What if they’re not there?”

“Then we will question the madam of the brothel until she tells us where to find them.”

Merlin’s plans always sounded straightforward enough. This was in part because Merlin didn’t trouble himself with the possibility of unforeseen complications. If Arthur had heard, ‘but what can possibly go wrong?’ once, he’d heard it a hundred times. And ninety-nine times out of the one hundred, things had indeed gone awry somewhere along the line.

Not to mention, Merlin had a tendency to underplay the level of danger involved in a case, seemingly out of a misplaced desire to protect Arthur, who was amply equipped to protect them both. He might now serve his days as a doctor but he had, after all, been Albion Universities Middleweight Boxing Champion the entirety of his undergraduate years. He was also no stranger to the crossbow, or for that matter, the pistol.

Nevertheless, despite the frequency with which Arthur felt like he was being left in the dark, time had taught him to trust that when Merlin was good and ready, he would tell him the whys and the wherefores. In the meantime, as a punctilious man, Arthur knew to always bring his gun.

They took the carriage-ride to Clerkenwell Street in one of Kilgharrah’s hansom cabs. They were the finest of their kind and provided swift, comfortable transportation through the busy, cobbled streets of Camelot. If a gentleman emerged from such a carriage, it went without saying that he was a man of means. Though the brothel was positioned inconspicuously on a residential street, Arthur had no doubt that the maid or butler would see the vehicle when they opened the door to them. This would further dispel any concern that they were anything but legitimate clients. Certainly, no police budget would allow undercover officers such luxury transportation, even for the purposes of eradicating crime.

Once, back when he was a student, before he and Merlin had become attached, Arthur had visited an establishment such as this with Freddie and the boys. To all intents and purposes, a passer-by would never have had the slightest notion what went on inside. These high end brothel-houses looked no different to any other house, and their locations were a closely guarded secret, spread only by word of mouth amongst like-minded gentlemen.

It occurred to Arthur this might present something of a problem. He asked Merlin, who was looking idly ahead into the distance, “When we get there, how are we going to say we were introduced? We can hardly mention Freddie.”

“We’ll say one of my friends, a renter who works the streets around Piccadilly, told me about it.”

“Do you have a name?”

“Yes. There’s a boy called Will who works for the post office who does some extra trade down there. He’s delivered telegraphs to us a few times.”

“Ah yes, I remember him—and his disappointment that you weren’t interested in any of his extra trade.”

“He’s earned plenty of coin from me using his eyes and ears. I’m not interested in any other body parts belonging to that little scallywag.”

Arthur squeezed Merlin’s knee. They had almost reached their destination and, presumably, in order to get into character, Merlin glanced coyly at Arthur from beneath his cloth cap, looking every inch a boy of sixteen. Arthur was a little ashamed to admit this juvenile version of Merlin stirred in him feelings of lust. He drew in a sharp breath and firmly set his jaw. They might be going to a brothel, but Arthur had to keep his wits about him, and not be distracted by his baser desires.

Clerkenwell Street was a wide avenue, flanked by elegant terraced houses with wrought iron railings and ornate brick and stone facades. Arthur didn’t know the street well, only that there was a park a short distance away and the barracks for Camelot’s Horse Guard. The brothel was a convenient distance for gentlemen who might be inclined to pick up soldiers who were soliciting in the park—a far safer arrangement than to risk being caught in the bushes or the public lavatories.

As the cab pulled over outside number forty-three, Merlin leant forward and said to Arthur, “Come then, my prince, let’s go find the photographs.”

Arthur paid the driver, and followed Merlin up the front steps. Merlin had already rung the doorbell when Arthur reached his side, and it was only a moment later that the door was opened by an aged butler. He was dressed as formally as any in a wealthy household.

Given the hour, Arthur wasn’t sure whether the reason for their calling would be immediately apparent. He decided to go with an obtuse introduction. “Good morning. I was wondering whether the lady of the house was home. My friend and I were in the area, and thought we might pay her an impromptu visit.”

Without a word, the butler looked tersely at Arthur then at Merlin, who cocked his head to one side and gave the man an insolent grin. Arthur winced inside—fearful Merlin was being rather overboard in his portrayal of a Mary Anne. However, it seemed to do the trick and they were at once admitted into the lavish hallway. There was a round mahogany table in the centre of the space with a vase of flowers at its centre. The dish for receiving calling cards was noticeably empty.

The butler gestured towards an upholstered bench and made his exit. Merlin sat down and twiddled with his cuffs, while Arthur stood rigidly waiting to be received.

Moments later, a dark-haired woman, who was perhaps in her mid-twenties, entered the hallway. She was well-dressed and had a self-assured carriage, a narrow waist and penetrating blue eyes.

Arthur took off his hat and said, “Madam Nimueh?”

“Indeed.”

“My name is Arthur Pendragon.”

She extended her hand, affording Arthur the opportunity to take it in his and place a light kiss on her knuckle. She smelled of sweet, sensual spices, perhaps originating from the Orient.

Arthur was about to explain how and why he had come to be here when Madam Nimueh asked, quite casually, “Are you and your companion looking for a room, Mr. Pendragon?”

“Yes, for a few hours if you have something suitable.”

“I most certainly do. My butler, Geoffrey, will show you upstairs shortly. You’ll see our tariffs on the bedside table. Now, can I offer you and—” She looked at Merlin.

“Emlyn,” he piped up.

Madam Nimueh’s eyebrows rose, only slightly and only for the briefest second, before she continued, “Can I offer you and Emlyn refreshments? Some wine or a cordial perhaps and some fruit?”

“That would be delightful.”

Merlin shifted on the bench, looking equal parts cocky and awkward. It was a gift, it really was. Arthur watched him fidget with a lock of hair poking out from beneath his cap, noticed the way he’d chewed his bottom lip crimson, and couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like, if Merlin really were quite young, on his knees for Arthur, doing everything he was told for a handful of shillings and a bunch of grapes. He curled his toes in his boots, and gripped the brim of his hat, as the blood rushed straight to his … cheeks.

As soon as Madam Nimueh departed the hallway, Merlin stood and shoved his hands into his pockets. He ambled around the edge of the hallway, looking at this and that, pulling a face in the mirror, touching the hat stand with the toe of his scuffed boot. “It’s awfully quiet in here, sir. Do you think we’re the only ones?” he asked in an accent that resembled the barrow boys that peddled on the streets of Camelot.

Arthur didn’t get the chance to reply. At that moment, Geoffrey returned with a tray and said, “Follow me.”

They were shown to a room on the first floor. The furnishings were as elegant as those in the hallway—no expense had been spared. Geoffrey set the tray down on a table by the window, and made to leave. It was then that Arthur had an idea. With no time to run it by Merlin, he took a chance and said, “Geoffrey, I was wondering whether there is a lady available that might like to join me and my companion?”

“Erm, er …” He coughed and said, “Most of them are asleep, but I can ask Madam Nimueh. Did you have anyone in mind?”

“I’ve heard the Lady Morgause is quite charming, and exceptionally beautiful.”

“That she is. A wise choice. It may be a short wait, though, sir.”

“That’s no trouble, no trouble at all.”

Geoffrey left. Merlin poured a glass of wine, swirling the liquid in the glass before handing it to Arthur. He proceeded then to help himself to some cut strawberries from a dainty cut-glass bowl. Between mouthfuls he motioned a glance in the direction of the bed. “You know it’s awfully tempting. It’s a shame we don’t have time.”

“You, sir, are insatiable.”

“I like to think so.”

Arthur inhaled the fragrance of the claret. It had a rich and aromatic bouquet—again, no expense had been spared. He took a sip, and swilled it slowly over his tongue. All he’d eaten thus far today was the dry toast and he couldn’t risk getting drunk. “What do you think? Wait for Morgause, or lock all the doors and do a search room by room?” Arthur felt for the pistol in his coat pocket.

Paying no heed to Arthur’s questions, Merlin shed his coat and cap, and was in the midst of pouring himself some of the claret.

“What are you doing?” Arthur asked. “You can’t have a drink now.”

Despite his wiry frame, Merlin could drink like a weather-beaten sailor. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t be a liability after only a tipple. Merlin gulped back a mouthful; then another and the glass was empty. He said, “Oh, hush now. Everyone is asleep.” With that, he flicked his glass with his fingernail and it rang out, a trill sound that went on and on as Merlin continued to speak soft and slow with wine-stained lips. “Everyone who is asleep is going to stay asleep. Why don’t you take off your coat? It’s awfully hot in here, don’t you think?”

It was rather hot. Arthur removed his coat, and hung it on the peg on the back of the door. He loosened his cravat, too, though it wasn’t sufficient to quell the heat flashing over his skin. Furthermore, he had suddenly come over quite dizzy. There was a bitter taste in his mouth, and the dull but growing realisation of what it was. Arthur sat down on the bed, just as he watched Merlin slump slack-jawed into one of the chairs and his glass fall from his fingers to the floor. Arthur’s mind started to drift yet he couldn’t bring himself to care. There was something he was meant to be doing but he couldn’t remember exactly what it was.

The room started spinning, leaving Arthur no choice but to lie down. He was going to pass out, he knew it, and that was the last thing to cross his mind except the nagging feeling that once again, things had not gone quite to plan.

Arthur’s head was throbbing and there was a distinctly floral smell assaulting his nostrils. He wasn’t in his bed at home. He was, he was—

“What the devil?”

A woman’s voice said, “Now, now Arthur, settle down.”

As Arthur struggled to come to his senses, he realised he was tied to the bed at his wrists. He opened his eyes to see Madam Nimueh sitting on the bed beside him, wearing nothing but her underclothes. She patted Arthur on the shoulder and smiled warmly.

This was nothing short of insane! Looking about the room, Arthur at once saw Merlin, tied to the chair on which he’d passed out. He was still unconscious but he looked like he might be coming around. Next, at the end of the bed, he noticed the Lady Morgause, also wearing nothing but underclothes. Her eyes and those flowing tresses of golden hair were unmistakeable, even recollected from a grainy photograph.

So this is what they did to poor Freddie in order to carry out their nefarious blackmail plan! Arthur was incensed, but also at a complete loss as to what to do about his situation. He looked around the room for the camera, unable to see it, when it dawned on him that unlike Freddie, he was still wearing his shirt and his socks, though his trousers were removed. It wasn’t much consolation. Perhaps they had something else in mind for him.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“Hush now, Mr. Pendragon. We’re here to help you.”

“Help me? Help me? Then why am I tied up?”

Neither of them answered. Morgause turned away from Arthur and retrieved something from the dresser. When she turned back, Arthur instantly recognised the metallic penis from the photograph that Freddie had sent. Morgause was holding it in both hands, reverentially, and looking at Nimueh.

Nimueh said, “We know who sent you here, you and Mr. Emrys over there.”

Arthur lifted his head to see Merlin still in a state of unconsciousness, and banged his head back down on the pillow. He puffed out rather half-heartedly, “You won’t get away with this.”

“But we already have.” Nimueh stood up from the bed and approached Merlin. She regarded him for a moment then gave him a shake. He slowly opened his eyes, blinking back what Arthur could only assume was the same throbbing headache. Merlin was in possession of an unnatural resistance to drugs. Nonetheless, he had consumed a whole glass of wine to Arthur’s mere sip.

Nimueh motioned to Morgause and the penis statue she was holding aloft before her. She said, “Do you know what this is, either of you? Do you have any idea?”

Merlin groaned. He was still groggy, but he started slurring, “It’s one of a crate-load of artefacts stolen from the Museum of Albion—which makes the two of you thieves as well as blackmailers.”

Arthur vaguely recalled the incident, and that the thieves had never been caught.

“This is the phallus regia!” Nimueh exclaimed. “It’s from the time of the ancients, when sorceresses consorted with kings to make the land and the leader strong. When worn by the king or his heir during coitus, with the right incantation, the right magic, the success of his bloodline is guaranteed and the power of the ancient magic is strengthened to all who can wield it. Imbue Morgause with your seed, Arthur, and the throne will be yours, as it rightfully should be.”

Arthur was trying hard to listen and digest this revelation but he was stalling at imbue Morgause with your seed. The notion was utterly preposterous. Not to mention, while Morgause was indeed a beauty, he was not about to perform for an audience which included Merlin, even if he had a mind to fornicate with this woman.

Nimueh had moved to stand behind Morgause, and was reaching around her body and undoing the laces on her corset.

Arthur looked at Merlin, praying that he was coming to his senses. But Merlin looked preoccupied with the women and the phallus regia. A roll of sick panic churned in Arthur’s gut as Nimueh’s other words echoed in his mind. The throne will be yours, as it rightfully should be. Arthur didn’t understand how that could be true. Was there something (there was always something) Merlin wasn’t telling him?

“Merlin!” Arthur hissed. “Did you know about this? Did you?”

Merlin didn’t even cast a glance in Arthur’s direction, let alone respond.

No one seemed to be paying Arthur the slightest bit of attention at a juncture when he was apparently the main attraction. In some respects he was relieved. He didn’t want any part of his person man-handled by a couple of barmy pinchcocks, and he certainly didn’t want that part of his anatomy coerced into doing their bidding—though at this point it didn’t look like he was going to get any say in the matter. Cursed Merlin, and his lack of planning.

Morgause began to mumble under her breath. Though it retained its sheen, the phallus seemed to become pliant in her hands, almost life-like. And when Arthur looked more closely at Morgause, he saw her eyes were glowing with golden light—as Merlin’s did when he was making magic.

She was a sorceress, too!

Arthur began to panic and pull at his restraints. “You’re not going to put that on me. Merlin! I won’t, you can’t make me. Merlin, do something!”

Merlin began to wriggle, but didn’t take his eyes from the phallus in Morgause’s hands. Nimueh was stripping Morgause of the last of her underclothes while she continued her chanting.

“Merlin! For God’s sakes, man!”

Between his teeth, Merlin bit out, “Arthur, I’m a bit tied up right now, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

This was too much. Arthur had trusted Merlin, trusted him with his life, with his … everything. And he desperately wanted to trust him now. He believed in his heart Merlin wasn’t going to let anything bad happen to him, but … but ... It sounded pathetic to his own ears as Arthur whined, “But they’re going to molest me.” Yet there was nothing else he could do. He closed his eyes and vowed he wouldn’t open them again until this ordeal was over.

Arthur could hear Morgause chanting quietly at the end of the bed. Next he felt the bed dip at his feet. He risked a glance and saw her kneeling on the mattress, her whole body flushed and glistening.

Nimueh was now standing at the side of the bed furthest from Merlin. She shrieked, with manic delight, “It’s working, Morgause. He’s the true heir, the only one with royal blood.”

Arthur tried to think of anything and everything that would keep his passion deflated. His terror was a good starting place. He had no idea what the phallus was going to feel like, or whether he would sustain any lingering damage, and he had no mind to find out. But these women had their tricks, and a man’s cock was a traitorous thing. He looked over at Merlin, for one last time, in the vainest hope that seeing him, whether he was disregarding Arthur or not, would be the very thing that kept him from betrayal.

Merlin had shifted forward in his chair and was sitting bolt upright. The rope had slipped to his midriff and he was sliding free of his restraints—unnoticed or ignored by the sorceresses, Arthur had no idea. They may have known Merlin was a consulting detective, but they were unaware of his gift! Of course, it was a closely guarded secret, and Arthur had never previously met anyone aside from Merlin with the ability to do magic. Arthur had perhaps mistakenly assumed, whilst he lay captive on the bed, that all magic-users would somehow know about each other. Now it was apparent they did not.

The element of surprise might be enough to give Merlin back the upper hand, distracted as the sorceresses were. This thought alone was enough to flood a calming wave of relief through Arthur. He threw his head back and laughed as, from the corner of his eye, he saw Merlin slide from the ropes and slowly stand.

Arthur had never lost faith in Merlin. Of course he hadn’t! Merlin would never let him down!

At that same moment, upon seeing Merlin on his feet, Nimueh quickly raised her hand and Merlin was thrown back, into the chair. Morgause remained undeterred and was about to reach down, to lift the hem of Arthur’s shirt when she cried out, “No! What’s happening? Nimueh, the phallus.”

All attention was diverted to the phallus which had returned to its rigid state. Nimueh grabbed for it, in a rage, her body tense and crazed as she screamed along with Morgause, “No! No! There is no one else. It has to be him. I haven’t waited all these years to be cheated again.”

And then, there was a silence that rang through Arthur’s body and filled him with a moment of terrifying emptiness; Merlin’s voice booming, “It’s over.”

Merlin raised his hands and his eyes glowed with that characteristic golden light and the floor began to shake. The entire house was shaking and Arthur prayed he might not fall through the floor, tied to the bed, naked from the waist down.

The women were thrown from the bed, the phallus flying from Morgause’s grasp and crashing against the wall, shattering into a thousand pieces. Merlin swept his arm in Arthur’s direction; with a word Arthur’s restraints were broken. He leapt from the bed at once, rubbing his wrists as he attempted to find his trousers.

There was noise and dust all around him, and Arthur thought for sure the whole street must be able to hear it. He couldn’t tell if anyone else in the house was emerging from their rooms, indeed if there was anyone else in the house. No one tried to enter the bedroom. Furniture slid and tipped under Merlin’s command, and possibly the shouted rebuttals of the two naked sorceresses. Arthur scrabbled around on the floor, pulling on his trousers and trying to crawl towards the door, for his coat, and for the gun.

Beyond the din, beyond the shouting and crashing, and smoke and dust, Arthur thought he heard a whistle. It sounded again, long and shrill.

The police!

There were voices outside, in the street—shouts of, “Up there!”

Then, as suddenly as the din had begun, there was an almighty flash of light, an explosion that filled the room so fast and with such ferocity that the window was blown clean out, the glass shattering. And as the smoke cleared and Arthur pushed himself to his feet, he saw Merlin, smudged with dirt, standing in the exact same spot that he had started in … with no sign of Morgause or Nimueh anywhere to be seen. They had disappeared into thin air.

Arthur coughed. Merlin coughed—then strode over to Arthur, grinned and winked and pulled him into his arms. Hoarsely, Merlin said into Arthur’s ear, “Time to get out of here, sweet.”

“How the hell are we going to do that without being seen?”

“By magic.” Merlin grabbed Arthur by the hand and added, “I haven’t tried this particular spell before, so you’d best hold on to your hat.”

Arthur couldn’t see his hat, and had no mind to look for it. He didn’t even care to find his boots.

With Merlin’s arms around his waist, and his arms around Merlin’s, Arthur held on tight. He closed his eyes through the rushing of a violent wind past his ears, swirling around them, followed by the sensation that there was no ground beneath his feet and they were falling, falling.

They were falling, and being pulled apart. Arthur opened his eyes in time to see the ground ten feet below him, before crashing into a pile of old leaves, alongside Merlin, behind a small brick building surrounded by trees and shrubs, and beyond that a vast sweeping lawn.

Arthur stood up and brushed himself off. There were children’s voices through the trees, the sound of birds singing, and in the distance the flicker of sunlight on a pond.

Merlin brushed off the last of the leaves from his trousers and said with good cheer, “No damage done, then.” He began to stride out into what Arthur realised was the park at the end of Clerkenwell Street.

With urgency Arthur asked, “The photographs, Merlin. What about the photographs?”

“Don’t you worry. It’s all taken care of. Come on. We’ll hail a cab.”

Arthur tucked in his shirt, and as best he could, buttoned his coat around his dishevelled person. There was nothing he could do about his socked feet. They briskly walked across the lawns, not bothering to skirt the perimeter by way of the footpath, to the gates at the far side of the park near the Horse Guard’s barracks. There was a cab parked on the street; the driver sitting on the bench eating a sandwich.

Merlin moved ahead, as if he were about to speak to the driver but Arthur, unshod or not, was the gentleman and Merlin was still ostensibly a boy. He put his arm out and motioned for Merlin to stay back. With a nod, Merlin acquiesced, and gave Arthur a wink.

Moving ahead once more, Arthur wiggled his toes as he realised he’d been standing in a muddy puddle, and his feet were now soaked and chilled to the bone. What a sight the pair of them must have been, looking like a couple of chimney sweeps! It was a good thing Arthur had impeccable carriage.

It was on that basis the driver agreed to take their fare. On Arthur’s instruction, he attempted to go via Clerkenwell Street, past the brothel-house. However, when they were a hundred feet away from the scene of their recent run-in, their passage was blocked and it was easy to see why. The whole house was ablaze.

The driver had no choice but to turn the cab around and take another route.

“Do you think everyone got out?” Arthur whispered in Merlin’s ear.

“I think so. There were only the three of them in the house—I could tell from the moment we set foot in the place. Geoffrey would have had plenty of time to escape.”

Arthur sighed with relief. No matter how much he wanted to help Freddie out of a jam, he didn’t want any innocents hurt in the process.

Arthur soaked in the tub for an hour by the fireside, while Merlin recouped in the armchair with a large cognac. Emptying what Arthur was sure was his third glass, Merlin said half-heartedly, “This is the last time I’m warming up the water for you. It’s my turn to bathe.” He reached out his hand, whispered a word and Arthur felt the temperature of the water rise to toasty perfection. He let his head drop back onto the rolled up towel behind his head as the fragrance of the bath salts wafted up to his nostrils and soaked into his skin—while Merlin proceeded to fall asleep.

Supper was also a leisurely affair, with Gaius joining them in the dining room. Arthur was content to listen to Merlin’s sketchily told account of their adventure. When Merlin was done, Gaius nodded sagely, seemingly unconcerned and unsurprised that Nimueh and Morgause had managed to escape. On the contrary, Arthur was brimming with questions, which he was assured would be answered presently. In order to achieve that end, the three men retired to the study with cigars and a bottle of port.

Arthur settled beside Merlin on the couch, while Gaius sat upon the armchair closest to the fire. The spring evenings were chilly, especially for a man his age. Arthur rarely felt the cold, and never at night, with Merlin in his bed.

The first question Arthur asked was not the uppermost subject of concern to him, though it was the most pertinent to their client. “How can we be sure all of the incriminating photographs were destroyed?”

“We can’t,” Merlin said, swirling the burgundy liquid in his glass. “But that was never the point.”

Arthur had hoped for a more final resolution to that part of the incident, as unlikely as it was given the perpetrators. In times of change, as these indeed were, a scandal of this magnitude could irreparably upset the balance of the status quo. Which led him to his next question, the one he was most reluctant to ask, yet the one to which he was most in need of an answer. “What did they mean, about Freddie not being the rightful heir to the throne?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

It was. Nonetheless, Arthur was in doubt as to what Merlin might consider fit to do with this information. He didn’t want an argument, yet his position on the matter was unwavering. Arthur flicked his ash into the ashtray beside him and said quietly, “Freddie isn’t Harold’s son.”

“I think it’s safe to assume,” Gaius replied.

Merlin added, “Which puts you next in line to the throne.”

“Then why did their magic fail on me?”

Once again, Gaius answered. “When the kings of the past consorted with the sorceresses, the arrangement was consensual and for mutual gain. There was something in it for everyone.”

“And you’ve never wanted the throne,” Merlin said. If Arthur had anticipated some bitterness in his tone, he would have been mistaken.

Like the modern incandescent light bulbs that lit immediately by means of electricity at the flick of a switch, Arthur suddenly understood the logic of Merlin’s entire plan. “You knew the phallus wouldn’t work?”

Merlin shifted in his chair. Much too quickly and certainly for Arthur’s liking he replied with a firm, “Yes.”

“Merlin?”

“Yes. Of that part of the plan I was certain.”

“And of which parts were you not certain?”

“Whether I had the strength to fight off both women. Gaius warned me about Nimueh. Her power is fading though it’s still strong enough, but neither of us knew anything about Morgause.”

“You knew of Nimueh?” Arthur directed his question back to Gaius, more curious than irked. Gaius would never willingly place them in mortal danger—that went without saying. What was of more interest was how a man of Gaius’ age knew a woman so young, and of her character.

“Yes. She knew your father. She’s been trying to resurrect the phallus regia for many years.”

“My father?”

“Looks can be deceiving. You saw an enchantment, the product of a spell. Nimueh is older than I, possibly older than any other person alive.”

Arthur’s stomach rolled. It was bad enough to almost be taken by force, but quite something else to recall it had been at the hand of an ancient crone.

Gaius continued. “Before you were born, when Uther was courting Ygraine, Nimueh approached him and told him he could have Ygraine as well as the throne, if he would consort with her. Uther rejected her offer. He was faithful to his love, and was willing to give up the throne for her. Nothing would sway him from infidelity, not even the promise to have his wife and the kingdom.

“Nimueh was enraged. But she was powerless to do anything without Uther’s consent. She had no choice but to bide her time and wait. Uther was scared of what she would do if she finally got the power she so desperately sought and wanted to stop her for all time, so he had the phallus regia locked away, deep in the vaults of The Museum of Albion in the hope she would never find it.

“When Merlin received Freddie’s letter this morning, I was convinced it could only be the work of Nimueh, though I knew the woman in the photograph wasn’t her. I wasn’t sure whether Morgause had magic, but I strongly suspected it. It would have taken the power of two, to pull off the museum theft and lure poor Freddie into their trap.”

The room fell silent for a time, the final question on Arthur’s lips the most important of all, the one which determined the destiny of a whole kingdom.

At last, Arthur said, to both Merlin and Gaius, “What do we tell Freddie?”

Merlin placed his hand upon Arthur’s knee and squeezed it gently, as he was wont to do when words of affection failed him, “That the photographs have all been destroyed.”

“And nothing more?”

“And nothing more.”

Even through the curls of smoke that hung in the air between them, Gaius could be seen nodding in agreement. Arthur sighed with relief and extinguished the last inch of his cigar. Freddie wasn’t an intelligent man, not in matters of letters and numbers. And he had some way to go in learning whom he could trust. If he could manage that and surround himself with suitable advisors, someday he’d make a half decent king, probably.

Gaius pushed up slowly from the armchair, saying, “On that note, I think it’s time I retired.” He took the ashtrays and port glasses with him without a hint of objection from Merlin.

Once Arthur had Merlin alone, he leaned in and kissed his cheek. It was smooth, soft and warm, and only another inch further to kiss and nip at the lobe of his ear. Merlin sniggered and shrugged away, finding it too ticklish in that particular spot. He put his hand on Arthur’s cheek and said, “Can I assume I am quite forgiven for the events of today?”

“For everything except the loss of my boots.”

Merlin twirled a lock of Arthur’s hair in his finger and said, teasing, “What can I do to repay the debt, sir? I would do anything you asked, anything at all.”

“What about, for once, you kept still and quiet, unless I bid you otherwise?”

Merlin slumped and pouted, and looked bitterly disappointed. Arthur laughed, for it was such a childish response he couldn’t help it. “Oh, come now. It won’t be nearly as bad as you think. I promise.”

Merlin could easily slip from the silk ties that fastened his wrists to the bedposts with nothing more than a whisper. But he had never used his gift in the bedroom, and promised faithfully he never would without Arthur’s agreement. Likewise, as they entered into this game, Arthur promised Merlin that if he wanted to be released, he only had to ask, to utter the word marmalade and he would untie him.

Wearing only his drawers, Merlin lay with his head and shoulders propped up on pillows, that he might comfortably watch Arthur at his ministrations. The port had coaxed a rosy flush to his shaved cheeks and a burning light in his eyes. Standing at the end of the bed, raking his eyes over Merlin’s bared skin, from his head to his toes, Arthur pondered where he might start his first caress. He decided at length that he would begin with Merlin’s feet, those woefully neglected appendages that were so temptingly ticklish.

Giving one of the cushions from the chaise at the side of the room a vigorous shake, Arthur was able to dislodge a down feather, its tip just poking through the silk enough that it could easily be pulled out. He pinched it between his thumb and forefinger, and held it up for Merlin to see.

“What are you going to do with that?” Merlin scoffed. His voice cracked, only slightly, which was momentarily puzzling to Arthur until he reminded himself of Merlin’s masquerade.

Arthur asked Merlin tenderly, “Are you afraid?”

“Not afraid. But nervous, perhaps I’m a little nervous.”

Arthur firmly ran the tip of his finger from Merlin’s heel, up his instep to his toes. Merlin flinched and sucked in a breath but he didn’t pull his foot away.

“You’re an awful tease,” Arthur scolded, “flaunting your sweet mouth and fluttering your eyelashes at me like a blushing virgin all morning. Do you know how hard it was for me to resist you like that?”

Merlin cast his gaze downwards. With a coy smile he said, “No. But I expect I shall find out.”

“Indeed. Now let me see what you’re hiding in those drawers of yours.”

The bedroom was balmy, the fire strongly blazing in the hearth lest Merlin should feel the chill in the air. Arthur was overdressed in his trousers and shirt. But his plan was to remain clothed for a while longer; any discomfort he felt would more than be compensated for in due course. He undid the top buttons on his shirt and peeled off his socks.

Arthur undid Merlin’s linen unders and pulled them down, over his hips and knees, discarding them on the floor. Merlin’s stomach heaved as his cock was revealed, nested in a thatch of dark hair. Arthur liked to see it before it filled with lust blood, thick and milky-white and soft. He took a lingering look, while pressing his palm with dramatic fervour over the growing bulge in his trousers.

Merlin was a tactile lover, always first to kiss and caress. To have to watch without touching, letting Arthur take the lead, would drive him to distraction. But Arthur had no plan to be cruel, only to enhance Merlin’s pleasure by dragging out the wait, the anticipation. When Arthur recalled the months he had waited, longing for the slightest hint of affection from Merlin, and the moment when at last they first kissed—a long time ago—it was the most thrilling of sensations. He hoped that perhaps he could kindle such a fire in Merlin tonight.

Sitting beside him on the bed, starting with the soles of his feet, Arthur ghosted the feather with the lightest touch over Merlin’s skin. Merlin shivered and swallowed hard. The hairs on his legs stood on end as Arthur worried a trail, torturously slow, upwards towards Merlin’s thigh.

Arthur watched, entranced, as Merlin’s cock began to swell and his stomach tightened. The unmistakeable sound of Merlin’s deepening breaths was further sign of his arousal. In turn, it stirred Arthur’s passions to be able to give Merlin this depth of feeling with nothing more than a ghost of a touch. He repeated the movement up Merlin’s other leg, continuing the motion higher up Merlin’s thigh, stopping before he reached his testes.

“Open your legs for me,” Arthur said softly. “That’s it. That’s good, very good. You can lift your knees a little, too.”

Merlin did as he was told without a word, though it must have been taking some effort to show such restraint. He was biting down on his bottom lip and a slight frown creased his brow, as he panted out each heavy breath. His testes, as full and ripe as a pair of dark plums, hung freely between his spread thighs and his cock pointed straight upwards on his belly. Arthur shifted onto the bed, on his hands and knees, and settled into a low crouch between Merlin’s legs. He lowered his face, mere inches above Merlin’s sex, and teased the feather first over one testicle then the next.

Merlin’s hips jerked upwards into the feathery touch as a high-pitched whine left his throat, Arthur assumed, quite without volition. Spurred on, Arthur continued the caress over Merlin’s cock, to the very tip where a bead of clear fluid was trickling from the slit. Merlin whimpered. Arthur released the feather and blew it gently away, his breath gusting upwards. When he inhaled, the heady aroma of Merlin’s musk and sweat assaulted his nostrils. In a murmur over Merlin’s florid skin, Arthur said, “You smell so delicious; I should like to taste you.”

“Yes, please. I want you to.” Merlin’s fists were clenched around the ties at the bedposts, his knuckles white and the tendons in his wrists flexing.

“Since you ask so sweetly.”

Arthur prowled most carefully over Merlin’s body, planting his elbows on the mattress on either side of Merlin’s chest, and his knees on either side of Merlin’s thighs. He tipped his hips back, resisting the temptation to press and roll his stiffened cock against Merlin’s, only just enough that Merlin would feel the brush of wool on his groin. The smooth cotton of Arthur’s shirt grazed over Merlin’s chest, and when Arthur looked down he saw the tightened nubs of Merlin’s nipples.

Arthur smiled, and looked at Merlin, deep into his eyes before offering his lips. The kiss was chaste and brief—not enough for Merlin who pursued it with his mouth open and hungry. Arthur drew back, and instead kissed Merlin languorously on his face and neck, tasting every inch of his skin with the tip of his tongue.

By the time Arthur had worked a trail of long, moist kisses down Merlin’s body, lingering to nip and suck on his nipples, to his proudly erect cock, Merlin was swearing under his breath.

Arthur was so hard, so aroused his testes felt like they might burst at the slightest press. He had to draw a steeling breath before lifting himself from the bed to finally remove his clothes. He undressed slowly, allowing Merlin the perfect view of his exposed form as he undid the remainder of his shirt buttons and slid the garment from his shoulders.

Wriggling his hips and pulling at the ties, Merlin pleaded, “Hurry up. I want you to fuck me. Please, I can’t stand it any longer.”

The annoyed frustration in Merlin’s voice would have been more of a delight if Arthur didn’t desperately want to do precisely as Merlin desired. He wondered if perhaps he wasn’t very good at this game, though only for a second, as he reminded himself he was a Pendragon. Pendragons were good at everything they put their minds to, and the art of fornication was no exception.

“I shall take my time as I see fit. Now hush,” Arthur said as he released his cock from his trousers and drawers, kicking them off so that Merlin would have an unimpeded view of his solid erection.

Merlin paused. Then, with a wicked smile he said, “You won’t be able to resist much longer. I can see how roused you are.”

It would have been easy to give up now, and to untie Merlin’s restraints. Arthur was sorely tempted to have Merlin over him, grasping and clenching out his climax. He pulled on his cock, as Merlin was licking his lips. Then Arthur had an idea.

“You’re quite right, I am very roused.” Arthur climbed onto the bed and straddled Merlin’s chest. With one forearm resting against the headboard, he took his cock in his hand and brushed the head over Merlin’s lips. “I’m going to fuck your mouth, and you’re going to take it like the good boy you are.”

Merlin looked up at Arthur and opened his mouth. His tongue darted out, flat and wide and moist, inviting, daring Arthur to slide his cock over it.

Once Arthur was sheathed in the wet heat of Merlin’s mouth, he used his free hand to grab a fistful of Merlin’s hair at the back of his head, and hold it steady while he pushed his hips back and forth. The sensation was magnificent. If he continued on fucking, watching Merlin’s mouth stretched around his ample girth and his eyes glancing up at him through those impossibly long lashes, Arthur’s completion would be soon, very soon. He slowed down. “Suck on the tip, only the tip.”

With Merlin’s mouth teasing the end of his shaft, with delicate and practiced proficiency, Arthur reached back, behind himself, and found Merlin’s cock lying rigid and neglected on his belly. He gave it a cursory tug, the first proper touch it had been given for the best part of the last half an hour. As he did so, it sounded as though Merlin was about to choke!

More than ever, Arthur wanted to be buried deep inside him, feeling his chest against Merlin’s body. He thought about untying him and flipping him over; fucking him on his hands and knees. Arthur withdrew from his oral caress and slid down, his chest flush against Merlin’s, while he rubbed the tensed muscles in Merlin’s arms with his fingertips.

Merlin hummed his approval quietly, but didn’t ask to be released. His hips rolled upwards as Arthur pressed his down, and they messily shared open-mouthed kisses. He would enter Merlin like this, with Merlin on his back, and watch him come apart beneath him in the soft firelight. Arthur pushed the sweat-damp hair back from Merlin’s forehead, took his jaw in his hand and pressed a hard kiss to his mouth.

“Sweet love,” he whispered, “you’ve been very patient. It’s time. Are you ready?”

Merlin nodded.

The oil was on the bedside table, unstoppered. Positioning himself at Merlin’s side, Arthur slicked his middle finger and slid it with care into Merlin’s entrance. Merlin pushed down into the breach, and relaxed quickly, eagerly. When Arthur leant down and sucked the tip of Merlin’s cock, adding a second finger to the first, Merlin cried out. Arthur chuckled without losing his mouthful, and jabbed his fingers in harder, brushing over that spot inside that made Merlin incoherent with need.

Merlin said, “I’m ready. Please.”

Arthur withdrew his fingers and his mouth, and said seriously, “Merlin, you are a clever one, I’ll give you that. But I am a doctor and my knowledge of anatomy is far superior to yours. I will tell you when you are ready.”

Merlin banged his head back onto the pillow, and Arthur heard him muttering bloody and fuck and other such filth. Of course, Merlin was as ready as ever. Still, Arthur made a show of kneeling between Merlin’s thighs, and rubbing his own cock with deliberate and lazy strokes, while Merlin writhed and cursed beneath him.

It was a relief the breach was tight, and Arthur had to push into Merlin slowly, with measured breaths. He didn’t want to reach his climax too soon, not after approaching this crescendo with such attentiveness.

Arthur lifted Merlin’s ankles up onto his shoulders, and tipped his hips upwards and forwards, knowing the exact angle that would allow his member to brush over the sensitive spot deep inside Merlin while he thrust. They were both damp with sweat, the fire too hot for them now, as they rocked counter to one another, at one moment slow and shallow, the next fast and deep. Arthur could see Merlin was getting closer, his eyes squeezing closed for a moment then opening again as he gasped for breath. Rolling back onto his haunches, Arthur took Merlin’s cock in his hand, thrusting deeply, while giving it a quick, firm pull. Merlin cried out as he reached his climax and spilled in hard pulses while his entrance clenched around Arthur’s cock. Arthur had to pause, to let Merlin ride through each spasm, as the sensation was too intense, almost as painful as it was a pleasure.

Merlin stilled as Arthur resumed with fervour, and swiftly followed Merlin in reaching his climax. He felt the hot rush of his release flooding Merlin’s body as he jerked forward twice, and thrice more.

As they lay in bed, cleaned and sated, side by side, Arthur reflected on the day. What a day it had been!

He shouldn’t really ask Merlin, it was perhaps unfair to do so, but it was sometimes necessary to bring these matters to a close. Arthur laced his fingers through Merlin’s and said, “What would you have done, if the spell had worked?”

Merlin kept his gaze directed at the ceiling as he replied, “I knew it wouldn’t.”

“If. I said ‘if’. Answer the question.”

“If you had wanted to be king, the spell would have worked. Who am I to deny you what’s rightfully yours?”

Arthur curled over Merlin, and would not let him look away as he said firmly, but with all the love and tenderness in his heart, “You deny me nothing. You’re everything to me, Merlin. You, the surgery, this life we have together—it’s all I want, and all I need.”

“Then I’m forgiven for the boots, too?” Merlin said.

Raking his fingers through the dark waves of Merlin’s hair, Arthur replied, “It’s been a long day. You may ask me about the boots again in the morning and that’s when I shall give you your answer.” Then he gently kissed Merlin upon his lips, before adding, “But not a minute before ten.”