The tavern scene where Merlin is playing the King at dice and using his magic and it’s really fucking hot.
As Merlin looked around at their accumulating audience, he saw more than a few red cloaks.
So the knights had come to see their king brought to his knees, Merlin thought, chuckling to himself.
“What’s so funny?” Arthur questioned boisterously.
“Nothing, sire.” Merlin singsonged with a smirk that he knew would only frustrate Arthur further. Merlin threw only a momentary glance to The Once and Future King who is soon to lose all of his silver challenging the greatest sorcerer to ever walk the earth at dice.
Merlin acted as if he were considering his bet, then stacked two piles of silver coins into the bowl.
Of course, Arthur just slung his about like he had no intention of losing it.
Think again, your royal pratship.
Arthur stepped back, next to Percival and Lancelot, to watch Merlin roll.
“Watch out. Here we go.” Though Merlin thought he saw something akin to doubt behind his King’s startlingly blue eyes.
This made Merlin smile like a fool.
The King is nervous to lose, he thought, at least he isn’t a complete moron.
Merlin schooled his face, and began to tumble the dice around in the cup. The sound almost like hooves on compact earth, or dangling talismans hung by Druids, tinkling together in the wind.
Merlin brought his hand holding the cup, up to his lips blowing air into it and letting just a little of his magic slip out.
“Ten.”
And as he knew they would, they dice rolled a perfect ten.
He laughed as irritation settled onto Arthur’s devilishly handsome face.
The king rounded the table, leaning over so his voice was heard only by Merlin’s ears.
“Enjoy this moment, Merlin. While it lasts.”
Merlin didn’t really hear it, though.
The instant that Arthur moved into his personal space, his servant was lost to the world. Distracted by soft lips twisted into a frown, a jawline chiseled from stone, and eyes too beautiful and kind for their own good.
There must be some magic there, Merlin thought. You can’t have eyes like that by the natural grace of the gods.
But if anyone were to be gifted with such a knee buckling appearance, King Arthur of Camelot was the one to deserve it.
Merlin had never seen him being untoward with any female prospects. Never saw him getting handsy with kitchen staff or lady’s maids. Merlin had never seen Arthur approach anyone in that way.
And, though sometimes he stupidly inappropriately wished it, Merlin had never seen Arthur take anyone back to his chambers.
Never once in the three years Merlin had been working for the spoiled prat of a king. Two of those years, Arthur was still a prince. Yet, he held none of the urges that people often berated when they spoke of the young. None that he gave into, anyway.
Merlin never claimed to know the inner workings on his kings mind, especially not in that area. With each passing season Merlin became more confused and less likely to broach the subject.
Not that he minded.
In fact he didn’t mind, at all.
Because there was the rather unfortunate fact that Merlin had been in love with Arthur Pendragon from the moment he laid eyes on him.
Arthur wasn’t drunk. But he had been drinking. Enough to let lingering doubts disappear into the back of his mind.
He thought about this, as he led the way to his chambers, Merlin following dutifully a few steps behind.
Merlin was completely sober.
Arthur knew because he watched Merlin all night, and the man never touched his cup, not once.
Arthur was determined. He was a King. He was supposed to look fear in the face and laugh.
He didn’t know how to handle fear in the form of the beautiful face of his magical manservant.
Merlin thought everything was normal.
Until the door closed behind him.
Arthur walked to the table, dropped his gloves on the surface, then turned to face Merlin with his arms crossed.
Gods, he was fit.
“Did you enjoy stealing all my money?”
Merlin tutted,
“Come now, sire. We both know that wasn’t anywhere near all your money.”
A chuckle left the Kings lips.
“That is not the point, Merlin.”
“And what is the point, sire?” Merlin was goading him and poking his buttons, unassuming of the bombshell that was about to be dropped in his lap.
Arthur was still smiling, but he narrowed his eyes, which put Merlin on alert. Merlin didn’t know this look. And he knew all of them. Well, almost all of them. He’d never seen this look before.
The King began to approach Merlin, slowly.
It didn’t take very long for him to reach his goal.
“The point, Merlin…” Arthur was very close now. His hopeless manservant was losing his breath, unable to look away from his gorgeous, awe-inspiring face. Merlin was boxed in by Arthur’s muscular arms, inches away from him face.
“…is that you cheated.”
Just like that, all the air was sucked out of the room.
Merlin couldn’t move, or speak, or get oxygen to his brain to make it function.
They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity.
Merlin watched as Arthur’s smile spread across his face.
He was…smiling?
Oh thank all the gods in all the heavens, he doesn’t hate me!
This is what Merlin’s inner voice was screaming to imaginary skies, until Arthur spoke again.
Merlin zeroed back in on the King’s eyes, and realized that the blue had been swallowed by black.
“You want to know something?” His voice is low and rough, and he was so close. Incredibly, impossibly close.
Merlin was not computing coherent words at the moment so he nodded, eager to know something. Anything. As long as it came from those lips.
Arthur moved in to hover his mouth just above Merlin’s skin. Right below his ear.
Merlin shivered involuntarily at the proximity, and the tease that The King of Camelot turned out to be.
“I’ve known for years, Merlin.”
Merlin might’ve been shocked, if his shock hasn’t been overrun by the way Arthur whispered his name. Like a siren song, begging him to come closer.
“But the way you looked in that tavern,”
Arthur’s breath kept caressing his skin in lapping waves and it was intoxicating. Merlin’s whole body was filled with want. He could feel it tingle in his fingertips and at the very top of his spine. Deep in his gut, where everything pooled to drag him under.
“I knew I had to have you. I can’t wait any longer.”
Arthur drew back, half lidded, smirking all-knowing.
Merlin didn’t know what he looked like but it must be a sight.
“That is, if you’ll have me.”
Merlin swallowed the past the lump in his throat before speaking, or whispering. Even if every part of him thrummed with this feeling, there was always a chance of everything crumbling. Nothing was certain, until it was.
“I am yours.” He hoped his eyes conveyed everything he ever held in, Arthur could always read his eyes.
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Eddie only just was able to get the barman's permission to perform this night, and glad he is for it, as his pockets have weighed lighter than ever before in his life. He'd be pleased to find pay in a tankard or loaf tonight, anything to fill his aching belly.
But he's lucky as the men and women here seem to be in high spirits. The land has long been in war since the king's death, rotten bastard he may have been. Eddie hadn't been sad to see him go, but the chaos that followed had ruined the smallfolk in consequence since their coward prince had fled the scene of his crime. The king had been cruel, but still he'd been their king, and the common people spit on the prince's name still, even when some new royal's been crowned and brought peace with him.
And that kind of ire is what feeds Eddie on nights like this.
"Kingslayer, kingslayer, little Prince Steven has run," he sings, bawdy and loud as the crowd of men around him sing along. "Run up the hills and past the sun, took our king Phillip and gutted him plain, our kingslayer Prince Steven, a coward more than a maid!"
They sing along with him, hooting and hollering all to the end of it, and pay him in copper coins and ale that Eddie takes happily, slurping it down as he rests by the fire.
It's then he sees the table in the corner, the cloaked figures surrounding it, and the woman glaring daggers at him. But more interesting than that is the most beautiful man Eddie's ever seen, smiling at him wearily, eyes bright and interested and a little sad. Eddie's got no fear of a quick tumble with dangerous men, so he takes his gittern and his ale and makes his way quickly to them.
"Fair night, weary travelers," Eddie crows as he wiggles himself between the woman and the beautiful man. "What brings you so far out from the capitol?"
The lot of them regard him with mixed interest, the older man not even looking up and a girl with firey hair treating him with a sign of boredom.
"What business is yours to know, bard?" she says, already turning her nose off to watch the rowdy tavern beyond their table.
"None at all," Eddie says, leaning into the man beside him, slinging an arm over his broad shoulder to feel the heat of him beneath his cloak. "I'm here to do nothing but entertain tonight, and I fear I've bored your table to tears! I do take requests you know, for the right coin."
This he says to the man under his arm, leaning in closer to get a good look at those pretty brown eyes in the dim light of the fire.
"We have no coin for you, sot," says the woman beside them, ire evident in her tone. "Be gone with you—"
"No coin, that's true," says Eddie's beautiful man. He smiles at Eddie now, pearly teeth and pretty lips, and Eddie would sing him any song for nothing more than to keep those eyes on him. "You'll have to forgive us, we're not good company I'm afraid."
"Richer company wouldn't be as sweet as yours, dove," Eddie tells him, watching the pink of his cheeks darken.
There's a gagging sound from across the table, and its then that Eddie realizes he's in the company of striplings. Two girls in men's clothes, both of them are young in the face and barely past their majorities. Yet still they are travel-worn, all five of them: the two girls, the woman and the dour man, and the beautiful budde under Eddie's arm.
Chuckling, he says to Eddie, "A wag you are, bard, with such empty words. Do you flirt so with all poor men you find?"
"None are poorer than me, sweeting, and none are more enchanting than you. It is payment enough just to look at you, and I would sing for an age and fill my empty stomach with just your smile, or your taste if you'd grant me—"
"Gods damned!" the woman Eddie's other side gusts. "I cannot hear another foul word." She stands then, and the two girls follow, one rolling her eyes and the other giggling quitely. The woman leans past Eddie and hisses into her companion's ear, "Be done with this fool swiftly, or I'll leave you to the wolves."
"You'd never," he says back to her, smiling at Eddie, face flushed pretty and dark even as he speaks.
"Hopper would never," she says tilting her head at the remaining dour man still sitting at the table, deep into his cups and paying no mind to any around them. "But I would sell you for tanner and a duck to the first bidder."
"I'm worth at least an ox," he tells her with a cocky grin, and Eddie might want more than just one tumble with this man. "Find a room and I'll find you when I please to."
She huffs and stomps off, the girls on her heels.
"So," Eddie breathes, leaning even further into this beautiful man, until his voice is a secretive whisper, just for the two of them to hear. "Tell me, sweeting, what shall I call you when I write songs of your beauty to sing across the land, until kings beg me to their courts to recount your grace, your smile and your laugh?"
This man, to Eddie's displeasure, seems to wilt, to grow weary once more, even as he smiles and leans close, his words scarcely a breath against the shell of Eddie's ear.
"If it pleases you, and I'm sure that it won't," he confesses. "You can call me Steven."
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