Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin.

'Look,' Merlin says softly. 'You can see where the clouds are going.'

Arthur squeezes his hand. They're lying on their backs, in the long soft meadow grass, three day's ride from Camelot; and Arthur's heart feels warm and full and light, and Merlin is by his side. And there is a ring on Arthur's hand that was not there before, and a matching pair to it on Merlin's; silver and gold twining and knotting together in complicated twists.

'The sky's so blue,' Arthur says, and Merlin lets out a little breath of a laugh of pure happiness, and rolls over so he's against Arthur's chest, looking deep into Arthur's face with a smile as blinding as summer sunshine. Arthur bumps his nose gently to Merlin's, and he can't help grinning back at Merlin like a lovesick fool.

And then they're melting and twining together, body fitted to body, lips moving slowly against each other; and all around them like an embrace are the soft sounds of the grass and the Earth and the trees.

Several months earlier

Sometimes, everything just goes wrong. As though the world is conspiring against you or something, trying to knock you off your feet and drag you down. Merlin feels a bit like that, right now.

The King is pushing Arthur to choose the bride of his choice from three highly eligible princesses and one just-as-eligible widowed noblewoman. He has also been enthusiastically drafting plans to hunt down certain wandering bands of druids that have been sighted in the borderlands, and he's placed Arthur in charge of their extermination.

Uther holds a large and cheerful session with his council to unveil these new plans, and Merlin stands in the corner and fixes his eyes on Arthur's face, because he thinks he might scream if he looks anywhere else. So he just looks, and looks, and looks at Arthur, at Arthur's strong fierce jawline and proud beautiful nose and kind mouth, while Uther's voice fills up and reverberates around the inside of his head. And every so often Arthur glances at Merlin, and it's like a lifeline between them.

Finally, finally, it's blessedly over, and Merlin comes to Arthur, and they leave the hall together, and go to Arthur's room. There's no speaking between them, but they're walking so close beside each other that their shoulders are brushing.

And Arthur pushes the door shut behind them, and bolts it with a fierce thud as though to shut the whole world out; and they turn and look at each other.

'I don't want a damned bride,' Arthur says in a crackly sort of voice. 'Unless it's you. You wouldn't be a bride, I suppose.'

'No, you – you'd be the bride,' Merlin says, trying to turn it into a joke, although his laugh breaks a bit at the end.

Arthur's grin is crooked. 'Not a chance,' he says. And then both of them move at the same moment; and Arthur rests his palms on Merlin's shoulders, and Merlin cradles the back of Arthur's head with one hand, and tugs, so that their foreheads meet and they lean together. The sound of their breathing mingles; and Merlin's free hand comes to rest on Arthur's chest, rubbing little blunt circles over his shirt.

'I -' Merlin says, and his voice cracks a little, and he clears his throat and tries again. 'I love you.' It comes out quiet, aching, tender.

Arthur's eyes are closed tightly, and he swallows. 'Me, too,' he says. 'But you, that is – I mean…' He trails off, blushing a little and tongue-tied. Merlin snorts a little, at the dear vulnerable idiocy of him, and it makes a little weary smile tug at the corner of Arthur's lips.

He tips his head to take Merlin's mouth with his own, and then they're melting together, lips against lips, hands warm as sunshine on each other's backs.

'I just – ' Arthur says, much later, and stops. 'I just want to go away from everything, sometimes. Just – go, somewhere, where I don't have to be a prince, and no-one wants me to marry anyone I don't love, or hurt innocent people, or anything. You – me – we could run away. Somewhere far away – oh, I know it's stupid, you don't have to tell me that I have my duty to think of, but... But.' He laughs a little bit, self-deprecating.

They're curled up by the window, in their favourite spot, watching the late-winter rains turn the snow to slush. Merlin snuggles against his side, playing with Arthur's shirt-laces. 'It's your father that tells you things like that, not me, Arthur. And it would be wonderful, why can't we do it?'

Arthur looks at him. 'What? Merlin, you know we can't just elope. What on earth are you talking about?'

Merlin's eyes are very bright. It's his thinking look, the one he gets when he's having an idea. His ideas are split rather evenly between brilliant and atrocious, so Arthur fixes him with a wary eye.

'Go on, spit it out.'

Merlin leans forward. 'Why can't we elope? No, listen, Arthur, really. I don't mean really run away from everything, but… I've been finding out things, talking to people. The druids – they marry people like – like us. It doesn't matter if it's two men, or two women, it doesn't make any difference to them.' His voice trails, quiet. 'Anyone who wants to, to make... promises. To each other.' He holds Arthur's eyes, a flush rising high on his cheekbones.

There's a traitorous little stab of excitement in Arthur's chest, and he swallows hard, because there's something big and tight in his throat that feels oddly like hope.

'I'd – I want that, Merlin,' he says hoarsely. 'I really – I want that, a lot. Do you – would you – with me…?'

And Merlin's laughing rather unsteadily, and his eyes are brighter than ever, and his lashes are wet. 'Of course I do, you big dollophead. And you – you just had t-to make me cry, didn't you?'

Arthur thinks that's a little unfair, because he hadn't done anything, really; but he doesn't have time to say that, because Merlin's suddenly turning and flinging his arms fiercely around Arthur's neck, nestling and pressing against him as though he's trying to melt the both of them into one person.

Arthur holds him tenderly and dear God, he's so lucky, so very impossibly blessed to have Merlin, because Merlin is dear and beautiful and the most precious thing in Arthur's life. And a great crashing billow of feeling surges up inside him, so that he wants to run for miles and fight and dance and bite Merlin softly all over his face, and shout to the world that he loves him, he loves him, he loves him.

He doesn't say it, of course, can't say it, because he's Arthur and sometimes it's hard to make his words match up with everything that's really inside his heart. But he looks at Merlin, and he thinks that at least some little part of it must be showing on his face, because Merlin's face is open and wondering, looking into Arthur's own as though he sees a revelation.

'Arthur,' Merlin whispers. 'Oh – Arthur – Arthur.'

'I love you,' Arthur says awkwardly, and feels himself flushing to hear his voice finally say the words. It sounds so – so pathetic, and ordinary-sounding, and not at all like the beautiful deep feeling of it in the core of himself. It's not like when Merlin says it, either, sweet and heartfelt, his blue eyes intense.

But Merlin doesn't seem to mind, because he's coming and crushing his mouth against Arthur's, kissing him with tender trembling lips, and of course he's crying because he's an innocent sentimental baby who always cries when he's happy or sad. And Arthur kisses him back, and then licks up his tears with tiny gentle flicks of his tongue along Merlin's cheekbones, because it seems like the right thing to do.

It takes months. Months of Merlin going off on surreptitious scouting trips to make contact with travelling druid tribes, months of Arthur staying behind and worrying, months of plans and disappointments and excuses and longing.

'The druids are peaceful,' Merlin says gently. He runs his hands reassuringly up and down Arthur's back, standing behind him as Arthur broods out of the window. Merlin's fingers are long and slender, sure and skilful, and Arthur relaxes into the caress with a little weary sound as Merlin rubs gentle thumbs into the hard tensed bands of muscle in his shoulders.

'Yes, the druids are peaceful,' Arthur says, his eyes closed, 'but the bandits and raiders aren't. I want to come with you.'

Merlin sighs and leans forward against Arthur so that his firm chin rests on Arthur's shoulder, turning his head in and sort of nestling the tip of his nose into Arthur's hair, inhaling. 'I want you to come, too,' he admits, and his arms come around Arthur's body. 'But you can't, Arthur. Not every time. There's only so many times you can use the same excuses to your father. And I can take care of myself, you know.'

'Could have fooled me,' Arthur says darkly.

Merlin leaves again, and Arthur waits – again.

Merlin returns, rather bruised and battered looking, but happy. 'I found them,' he says, his voice full off suppressed exultation. 'They will – they'll marry us. Arthur.'

Arthur runs his hands are all over him, wanting to touch as much as he can, sitting Merlin down in his big chair, gently brushing his hair away from a shallow crusted cut on his forehead. 'You're hurt,' he says.

'Just scratches.' Merlin closes his eyes, basking in enjoyment as Arthur's fingers card through his hair. 'No bandits - well, except for that little hungry one.'

'Little hungry one?' Arthur says. 'Merlin, what the hell are you talking about? Did he give you that cut?'

Merlin sighs. 'No,' he says. 'That was a tree. He was little and scared and only about fourteen or something, so I took away his knife and gave him supper. Look Arthur, please can you not ask me lots of questions because I'm really, really tired. Just... shh, all right?'

'I'm sorry,' Arthur says quietly, and puts his arm around him, perching on the table. Merlin turns his face in to Arthur's arm, just sort of hiding there and breathing in Arthur's scent, and it does strange shivery mushy things to Arthur's insides. He rubs his thumb in gentle circles over the soft sharp bump of Merlin's shoulderblade, over and over, feeling Merlin relax more and more against him.

After a few moments Arthur goes and catches a passing palace servant, ordering food to be brought, and warm water in a bowl. He takes a cloth and kneels by Merlin, carefully washing his face and hands, dabbing very gently at the dried blood on his forehead, feeling Merlin's gaze on his face. When he looks up from the task to meet Merlin's eyes, there's such a look of raw naked adoration there that it makes Arthur catch his breath. It's so like Merlin – giving everything, not holding any tiny scrap of himself back.

Arthur finishes cleaning Merlin's hands, between each slim finger, and then bends his head down and kisses each one separately. I love you, he thinks with each kiss. I love you. I love you.

Go to the Grove of Frithgeard, ten days hence, the druids had said, the words slotting softly into Merlin's mind without need of spoken voice. Meet us beneath the Great Oak of Trysting. Let neither you nor your plighted one, the Prince of Camelot, carry weapons into the place of peace.

I – what? I never said who he was! Merlin had spluttered in his mind, lurching back a little, wary.

A warm chuckle filled his head. The druid chieftain was smiling, but gently. You do not have to, Emrys, for he fills your mind like golden sunlight. Even you cannot hide it. But you do not have to fear us, for we bear no ill will toward the Prince, who will bring peace and kindness and magic back to the land when he is King. We are honoured to help him, as we are honoured to help you.

And Merlin couldn't help blushing and smiling a little, and when he looked up the chieftain had an oddly soft, fond look on his face. You are… not quite what we expected, Emrys, when we heard the old tales. You are both younger and more wise, and love shapes all that you do, which is the greatest wisdom of all. You are like us, Emrys, and we are glad to meet you in a moment of peace and happiness.

My name is Merlin, Merlin thought, impulsively.

A warmth swept through his mind, the warmth of many smiles. We thank you, Merlin. To us you will always be Emrys, but it brings us happiness to be given your other name.

Thank you. Merlin had bowed his head and spread his hands in the druid's own gesture of peace and goodwill. Thank you.

Merlin and Arthur wait alone in the Grove from the early morning. Sunlight dapples down through the branches of the Great Oak, making patterns on the grass beneath it where they lie.

They had been woken when the dawn had just begun to streak across the night sky; woken with gentle hands and led to a sacred spring, stripped and bathed side by side in chilled water that made them gasp, and then dried with unbleached woven cloths.

They're dressed, now, in soft white shirts, open-necked and comfortable; weaponless. 'Wait here together,' the robed attendants had murmured, smiling a little. 'You will not be disturbed, the next few hours. When the day reaches its climax and the sun its zenith, the tribe will come, and Iseldir our chief will bind you together beneath the living sun.' Then they had dipped their heads and left.

'This is… good,' Arthur says quietly. 'I – thought it would be strange. Druids. My father talks about them as though they're evil incarnate, and he – he doesn't know anything about them.'

Merlin nestles his head into the crook of Arthur's neck, taking his hand in his own and playing with it, fitting their fingers together. 'Arthur, you are not your father. They're honoured to do this for you, you know. They said so. Because you'll bring peace and magic and – kindness back to Camelot.' He rubs his thumb, softly, over the back of Arthur's hand.

'They remind me of you, you know,' Arthur murmurs. His hand wanders to Merlin's collarbone, tracing gentle swirling patterns across his skin and making him shiver. 'Kind. Wise. Gentle.'

Merlin swallows and tries to grin. 'You're very – complimentary – today.'

And then Arthur's everywhere, his mouth suckling warm kisses into Merlin's neck, his hands threading through his hair. 'It is – my wedding day – after all, Merlin. And they said we wouldn't be disturbed.'

Merlin laughs, rather breathlessly, because it's hard to think straight with Arthur's lips just there – and there. And then Arthur's fingers dip beneath his shirt – and he – dear God, he bites, softly, and, oh… Merlin stops thinking at all.

The ritual is almost silent. Merlin and Arthur stand beneath the oak, hands clasped together, the druid tribe forming a quiet half-circle around them.

A small girl appears, a small smiley brown-eyed girl, and the people part to make way for her. She's only about five years old, and she's carefully bearing two circlets of leafy green.

Iseldir is standing a little to one side; he smiles encouragingly at the child, and murmurs to Merlin and Arthur, 'Kneel now, so Frytha can crown you.'

It's gentle, familiar, friendly; the gathered people smile lovingly as Iseldir guides the little Frytha through her part in the ritual. She places a garland on Merlin's head, and one on Arthur's shining hair, beaming proudly at them. Merlin can't help smiling back at her, and when he glances at Arthur, he sees that Arthur has a soft look on his face that makes Merlin want to kiss him right then and there.

Frytha kisses them both heartily on their cheeks, flinging her little arms around each of their necks in turn and squeezing affectionately. 'May the Earth bless your handfasting,' she says carefully, a line learned by heart; and then makes a wobbly little druid peace-sign with her hands and scurries away with a flurry of brown curls.

Iseldir comes forward, a wooden cup held in his hands. He offers it first to Arthur, who's closest; Merlin sees that it's full of deep red wine. Arthur drinks deep and long, meeting Merlin's eyes gravely across the rim of the cup. Merlin smiles a little; and then Iseldir is offering him the cup, and Merlin fits his lips over the place where Arthur had drunk.

There's a murmured sound of approval from the druids around them, but Merlin doesn't look away from Arthur's blue, blue eyes, endless as the sky. Iseldir takes the cup back when Merlin has drunk, and sets it down, coming to stand beside them again.

'Take each other's hands,' he says softly.

Arthur's hands are warm and steady and comfortingly familiar. Merlin squeezes them a little, meeting Arthur's answering smile with a quirk of his own lips.

A long trailing wreath is wrapped round their hands. 'Beneath the Sun I bind you together,' Iseldir chants quietly, and the voices of the clan mingle together with his. 'Let the Earth around us bear witness.'

This is their cue, as they had been instructed beforehand, and Merlin says softly, 'Let it be so indeed.' Arthur repeats it after him, his voice husky.

'Frytha,' Iseldir murmurs, and the little girl is there again, tongue stuck out the corner of her mouth in concentration as she carefully takes away the wreath. Then Iseldir gives something into each of her small hands, and she comes forward again, brown eyes wide and intent.

'By the Sun, and the Moon and the Earth awound us,' she says lispingly, and then beams in triumph at having said her line correctly, offering them her outstretched hands. A ring rests in the careful cup of each small palm, gold and silver twisted and twined together.

They fumble a little, together, as they exchange the rings; Merlin gives a tiny huff of warm laughter at Arthur's unsteady hands, and Arthur glances up, meeting his eyes with soft amusement for a moment. But then the bands slip onto their fingers, cool and fitting and right.

Then Arthur's arms are around Merlin, and Merlin's hands are clutching Arthur's back, bodies melding against each other. And they kiss each other's lips, there beneath the Great Oak with the sound of the Earth all around about them, and the soft glad murmurs of the watching tribe.

Arthur curls himself more closely around Merlin, resting his face in Merlin's soft dark hair. They're nestled together, blissfully spent from making love over and over again, close to sleep. The full moon is white and softly glimmering above them where they lie; their cloaks make a scant barrier beneath them, but the grass is soft.

'Do you ever feel so happy that you could just – burst?' Merlin murmurs.

He's soft and pliant and dreamy, and he turns his head languidly against Arthur's shoulder. Arthur can see him in the clear wash of moonlight – the dear familiar line of Merlin's cheekbone and jaw, the light catching in his eyes, the soft question of his lips. And Arthur's heart is full, so very full, and it feels like liquid shining happiness is filling him up all the way through to the core of his being.

'Yes,' Arthur says into Merlin's hair, and drops a kiss there, very, very gently.

So I wasn't originally planning to write more on this, but then this happened anyway. I hope you enjoyed!

Inspired by 'Flora's Secret'. *sighs* I love this song, it's so gentle and evocative.

Please leave a review and tell me what you thought. :)