Arthur is no fool.

He's known he's meant for Merlin ever since he first twisted Merlin's arm up against his back and sneered into his ear, ever since the desperate loneliness he's felt for years and years turned to mist, doused by the sea of Merlin's indignant blue eyes.

He knows he is meant for this silly, foolish boy who smiles too often, much in the way Uther Pendragon had taken one glance at Ygraine and never looked away since. This is the one immutable truth in Arthur's life that he can count on, the anchor in his oft-tumultuous life—he belongs to his manservant.

He's heard rumours, whispered in the dark corners of Camelot where Uther's law is yet to tread, of the bond of true love stitching a pattern of your lover's wounds on your body. He hadn't dared believe them. He hadn't hoped until Merlin nicked his finger slicing an apple for Arthur one day and on Arthur's thumb bloomed a fiery red line. Then he had rejoiced; then he had given in.

He thinks he's told Merlin something along those lines, on one of the multiple occasions that the sight of Merlin, the glorious view of his long pale neck have been too much for him to handle sober: "Look at me. Look at me, Merlin."

"I'm looking, sire," and Merlin is staring, shaking his head at Arthur in fond exasperation, trying to keep Arthur on his feet—clutching Arthur round his waist and letting Arthur bury his nose in Merlin's sweat-soaked, fragrant neckerchief.

"What do you see?" Arthur slurs. "Am I just an arrogant prat you loathe?"

"I don't hate you," Merlin says, baffled. He stops his awkward shuffle back to Arthur's chambers and gently rests Arthur against the wall. "What makes you think I could loathe you?"

Arthur just shrugs weakly. Doubt is an unfamiliar emotion to him.

"I'll tell you a secret, okay?" Merlin says, leaning in. Arthur leans in, too, angling for a kiss, but Merlin bypasses his mouth for his ear, whispering, "We're soulmates. A great, wise dragon told me we're two sides of the same coin, and I think I believe him. You and I will be side-by side for life, and you'll never be rid of me even if you try."

Arthur's heart leaps and stutters and soars in joy, and he presses his mouth to the soft skin under Merlin's jaw, smiling hard enough for it to hurt. Merlin doesn't push him away at all; he just holds him tenderly.

It doesn't escape Arthur that he feels more at home in Merlin's arms than in the castle he's known for more than twenty years.

"I love you," he mumbles into Merlin's neck. "I love you. I love you, Merlin. If only you wouldn't smile so much, if only you wouldn't fiddle with your hands in front of me, if only you would remember your station and keep your mouth shut I wouldn't adore you as much as I do."

"You really are utterly pissed," Merlin says, laughing. "Fuck's sake, Arthur—I love you too, okay? You're my friend and I would gladly die for you."

Arthur grins and slowly pulls away from Merlin to look at him.

Merlin flushes a bit and ducks his head. He says, "I need to ask you permission for something."

"You can have anything you want," Arthur promises, cradling Merlin's face in open, drunken devotion.

"I want to get married to the person I cherish. Tomorrow, if possible," Merlin says, the gentlest quirk to his mouth.

Arthur wakes in his room, head and heart cracked wide open. He pulls his shirt apart and goes to his glass, hanging on the wardrobe.

He can't help sucking in a hard breath upon seeing flowers of love bites on his neck, which don't hurt because they're not his. He frantically sheds his braies and stares at his naked legs, then at his hands and the—and the furrow of a ring on his fourth finger.

His heartbeat slows, and slows.

He takes a deep breath and goes back to bed.

"I should get you your own cock," Arthur says, sitting up in bed and affecting a bored expression, when Merlin nudges open Arthur's door many days later. "Maybe then you'd wake up on time."

"I already have a cock," Merlin says suggestively, but his smile fades when Arthur doesn't respond. He tries a different tack: "Why did you force me to take the week off?"

Arthur frowns at him.

"I never asked you for any holidays, and George wouldn't even let me come near you the entire time," Merlin explains, sitting down at the edge of Arthur's bed.

"I thought you'd need the time off to celebrate or something," Arthur says, clenching his jaw. "And I'm sorry, by the way, that I wasn't there by your side when you got married to—who is it? Gwen?"

"Huh," Merlin says, his turn to frown. "Who said anything about Gwen?"

Arthur blinks at him.

Merlin brings out a gold ring from his pocket and shows it to Arthur. "I tried this ring on your finger the night you got pissed, and it was too tight so I had to, erm, retool it. And you weren't letting me go—you're a barnacle with lips when you're drunk, you prat, so I had to be a bit rough and drag you back here using my… my magic. You're not honestly saying—"

"You're not honestly saying it's me you've wanted to wed all along," Arthur says weakly.

Merlin blushes, and that really is all Arthur needs to see before he lunges for Merlin, giving him the kiss he's been waiting for all his life.