Disclaimer: I do not own the BBC version of Merlin; BBC and Shine do. I am very respectfully borrowing them with no intent to profit. No money has changed hands. No copyright infringement is intended.

His arms were full of flowers, roses and mallow and day lily, a jumble of colour. As Arthur watched him stumbling up the hill, Merlin sniffed at them, then nodded, his smile wide and satisfied. He looked as if he'd found a great treasure and was hurrying to bestow them on some hapless female or maybe a someone else, maybe a knight with a flair for the absurd and hair that even Arthur envied, a lover, a hairy lover with a flirtatious smile who was always calling Arthur princess.

Damn. That thought didn't sit well with Arthur – at all. It was absurd.

Of course, Merlin didn't have a lover, male or female. He was far too busy taking care of Arthur or else running errands for Gaius to even consider such a thing. Even the small matter of an hour here or there when he was sloughing off his duties and running after the knights, well really just that one brazen, hairy knight, were few and far between.

The knight never protested Merlin's attentions, either, seemed to revel in them. Arthur had to admit that Gwaine was a worthy man when he wasn't intoxicated and he'd been a help on more than one occasion but did he have to hang around Merlin so much?

Not that Arthur was jealous or anything, far from it.

It was that Merlin spent an inordinate amount of his admittedly scarce free time with that ale-drinking reprobate and it couldn't be good for him. After all, his manservant's capacity for alcohol was woefully small. One whiff of a barmaid's apron and he'd start caterwauling out numerous songs from his village and some of them, only some were on key.

It was amusing at first, good mocking material, but when Gwaine encouraged him to continue, all smiles and soft touches and a careless, careful arm snuck over Merlin's shoulder and his mouth next to Merlin's face whispering nonsense, Arthur realized that Merlin's actions reflected on the royal household.

After that, he put his foot down - nothing stronger for his servant than watered-down mead and certainly no going to the tavern with Gwaine ever again.

Arthur had to endure a week's grousing before Merlin finally accepted it. The idiot was not gracious in defeat, either. Once in a while, he'd still say something under his breath and think that Arthur didn't hear him. Of course he did but it didn't pay to call Merlin on it, at least not every time.

But now Merlin seemed to be in full courting mode. Did he even know what the flowers meant? Or was that some kind of random foolishness? Mallow was helpfulness, surely something Merlin did every day but the others, lily for flirtation and the red rose for love, love! - was a message that he surely shouldn't be sending to anyone, least of all some irritating wild-haired knight.

Since Merlin couldn't be trusted to know anything about love and courting and that kind of idiocy, apparently it was up to Arthur to find out what was going on and put a stop to it before Merlin did something rash, made himself and by extension, Arthur, look bad.

At least Gwaine wasn't around. Only that morning, right after he'd seen the man whispering into Merlin's overlarge ear, Arthur decided that he needed someone with good fighting skills to go with the rest of the patrol for a nice long inspection of Camelot's borders. Of course, he thought of Gwaine. It was an honour after all to lead the men and it would be good experience for one of his newest knights.

That Gwaine didn't want to go, made some wild accusations about Arthur trying to get him out of the way, was not the point. It was for the good of the kingdom, after all, and not because he wanted Merlin all to himself. The very idea was ludicrous. Obviously, Gwaine needed to get away and clear his head.

Anyway, it was water under the bridge. Gwaine was gone.

Unfortunately, it was obvious that Merlin didn't know that, was cavorting around with a bunch of love flowers. And who else would they be for but Gwaine?

There was only one thing to do. It was up to Arthur to explain things to Merlin, maybe get him to come to his quarters for a little chat about appropriate behaviour and the duties of a manservant. He'd even relax his edict on Merlin drinking, just this once.

Mind made up, he leaned out of the window, shouting down to his fool of a servant. "Merlin, my quarters. Now!"

Of course, the idiot tried to argue with him. "I have to get these to…."

Didn't he know that Arthur was the prince and he was the one to say where Merlin could and could not go? Time to put his foot down about it. "Now!"

Oh, if looks could kill. Merlin's mouth was flat annoyance and for a moment, Arthur wasn't sure he wouldn't disobey him – again. But after a few seconds, he changed course, heading for Arthur's chambers.

The idiot seemed to be muttering to himself as well. Arthur was sure it was a litany of insults. Merlin was very good at insults. Sometimes it was hard not to laugh at the absurdities his manservant came out with at times although it would not do to tell him that. Merlin was cheeky enough as it was.

He must have been in a rare mood because Merlin stormed into Arthur's rooms, kicking the door shut with one sweep of his boot. "Okay, is it mucking out the stables again even though I just did it or you can't find the papers that are right in front of you or do you want to yell at me just because it's Tuesday and it's mock Merlin day?"

"I don't have a specific day for that." The furious glare was enough for Arthur to clarify himself. "I merely point out your insufficiencies in a timely manner."

"So every day is mock Merlin day."

Arthur tried to hide the smile. Merlin was just so easy to wind up sometimes. "Pretty much."

Shifting the flowers in his arms, he said, "So what was it that couldn't wait? These roses have thorns, you know."

Now it was beginning to get uncomfortable. After all, he couldn't really tell Merlin he'd sent his lover off because he was jealous – which he was not, thank you very much.

"Merlin, you do know that flowers have meaning, don't you? Well, beyond the obvious?"

"This is what you called me up here for?" Oh, the sound of indignation. Merlin had made it into a fine art. There was a long, put-out sigh and as he shuffled the bundle of blossoms in his hands, Merlin suddenly winced, let the flowers fall onto the table. Bringing his thumb up to his mouth, he sucked at it. "Mphorns."

This was going to be harder than he thought. The fact that Merlin was mouthing around one of those long fingers of his didn't help. "Every flower has a word or feeling attached to them, apart from the medicinal uses. I wasn't sure if Gaius had told you about that or not. So if you give them to someone, they might get the wrong idea." Merlin was staring at him blankly. "Romantically."

Pulling that wet thumb from his mouth, wiping it down his side and Arthur trying desperately not to follow the movement, Merlin looked at the bouquet and then frowned back at him. "You do know these are for Gaius."

What a relief.

"Of course, who else would they be for?"

"Yeah, with you constantly giving me chores, who has time for – flower talk?"

Merlin had an odd look about him, odder than usual, almost as if something had just occurred to him and he was trying to work it out. But Arthur ignored it. "Well, the manservant to the prince of Camelot has a solemn duty. He should carry himself with discretion and taste, should be around at all times to cater to his master's every desire so that a prince would want for nothing." Another strange look, one more heated and Merlin's eyes were darkening, although it must have been a trick of the light. "That I haven't sacked you recently is a testament to my good nature."

The scowl was back. "No one else would put up with you, dollop-head."

"See, this is exactly why I'm known as the epitome of nobility. No one else would suffer you and your mouth for long." Oh, that came out wrong and Arthur really didn't want to think about Merlin's mouth or any other part of him that might be warm or wet or willing.

"You like my mouth." His eyes grew wide as he must have realized what he just said. "Err, my talking back to you."

Merlin was flushing a lovely shade of red and it was hard to concentrate when he looked like that. However, Arthur had to get back on track before more came out that might be misinterpreted.

"So you understand why I asked you in here. It might be taken amiss if you were to give flowers, especially roses, to someone other than Gaius."

"Roses? They are good for perfumes and some medicines but not much else." Merlin was staring down at the flowers, still frowning, clearly thinking about something.

"Roses mean love, Merlin. So try not to trip over your lack of understanding."

"But you asked me to bring you flowers that one time. Not that I did because I knew you'd say I was a girl but still you brought it up first." The idiot's protests were girly enough but Arthur was going to be magnanimous just this once and not mock him for it.

But before he could say anything else, Merlin tilted his head, looking at him strangely. "Are you saying you really do want flowers? Roses?"

"I am saying no such thing, you dolt." Arthur rolled his eyes. It was hitting a little too close to the mark and he couldn't have that. A friendly rap of his knuckles on Merlin's head as he said, "Keep up. I don't want you giving them to anyone else."

"Not even a friend? Not even Gwaine?" Merlin was absently rubbing at the spot where Arthur had just hit him but there was an underlying tone of contemplation in his voice that was worrisome.

Merlin thinking was never a good sign.

Besides, why was Gwaine the first person Merlin mentioned when giving love flowers? This was not good. Time to put a stop to it once and for all.

"Gwaine is an ale-swilling rogue with a fondness for trouble. And since you get into trouble easily enough without any help from anyone else, it might be best not to give Gwaine flowers or anything, for that matter."

"Well, he's a good man. I don't see why not." Another stubborn look.

"Just leave it. Besides, Gwaine is on patrol."

Merlin stared at him. "Since when? I was talking to Gwaine this morning and he was going to meet me later – not at the tavern, mind you – but we were going to have a bit of fun. He was going to teach me how to win at dice so that…" The scowl gathering on his face was an afternoon thunderstorm of trouble brewing. Arthur hoped that he wouldn't come to the right conclusion but of course, nothing had gone his way since this whole debacle began.

"Did you send him away?"

Damn. Time to pull rank. Folding his arms across his chest, in his best 'regal and clearly brooking no arguments' stance, Arthur said, "What I do as prince of the realm is none of your concern. Gwaine was available and he needs the experience of leading men. What better way than patrol?"

"But those men were going to the Northern Borders. For a month!" His sputtering was usually fun but not this time.

"Then maybe you will get your chores done on time for a change."

"You prat. You sent him away because of me, didn't you?" Merlin stepped closer, the scowl deepening, hands clenched tight. "You can't stand for me to have any friends."

"You have lots of friends: Lancelot and Guinevere, Percival and Elyan, that stable boy, Bran, and the second cook and three or four of the servants whose names escape me now and that's just in the castle. Never mind all your friends down in the lower town. Need I go on? I trip over them every time I go searching for you."

Merlin's scowl was still there but his mouth softened and a flash of sympathy in his eyes. "Are you jealous?"

"Of Gwaine? Of course not," he snapped. "He's just a bad influence. You should stop inviting him to your room, though. It looks bad."

There was a long moment of silence. Arthur had expected him to mouth off, say something biting or even a list of complaints that might get him sent to the stocks again but instead Merlin just stood there, gazing at him. And there was more thinking going on. Sometimes Merlin did too much thinking for someone who was supposed to be an idiot.

Finally, he said slowly, "I didn't say Gwaine. I asked if you were jealous of my friends. That I have so many." He looked down at the flowers and back up at Arthur. "And I don't invite him to my room. Just that one time and he was injured and you knew about it, too. You suggested it."

"Well, you should end that kind of thing. It reflects badly on me."

"Are you jealous of Gwaine?"

Merlin was too smart by far at times. How could he figure everything out so easily? But Arthur had to put a stop to it before they got in too deep and had to deal with feelings and longings and wants and all the trouble they brought.

Glancing down at Merlin's long fingers stroking the rose under his hand, he said, "Don't be ridiculous."

"You are. You always do that funny little looking away thing when you are lying and you're doing it again." There was a kind of triumph in that voice that didn't bode well.

Tilting his head up, staring at the idiot, his gaze unblinking so that there could be no misunderstandings about lies and covering up feelings that weren't there, Arthur said calmly, clearly, "I am not jealous of Gwaine. You can have as many friends as you like as long as you do your work."

Unfolding his arms, he gestured toward the door, a clear dismissal. "I'm glad we had this little clarification. Now take your herbs or flowers or whatever you think they are and go find Gaius. I'm sure he's worried about you."

Merlin's sighs were always so full of emotion. It was like a second language that Arthur sometimes couldn't understand for all his trying. But this time, the regret, and the frustration bled through.

"Is that why you like flower talk? Because you don't have to use words and maybe talk about feelings and stuff?"

"I have no feelings, Merlin. None whatsoever." He tried to sound uninterested; he hoped he did but Merlin was a wonder at ferreting out things. He waited, tense, for another round of accusations.

But instead, Merlin just picked up the flowers, wincing as more thorns scraped at his hands and as he turned away, said, "Of course, sire. No feelings at all."

There was a world of unhappiness in his voice but Arthur let him go. What could he say? That he wanted Merlin to stay, that he'd give him roses enough to fill the room if that's what it would take? That he wanted something that he knew a prince should not want and it was never going to be enough to just banter and mock and stare at him from afar? That he couldn't admit how he felt to Merlin?

Better to leave it alone. Let Merlin have his friends and Gwaine and love in his life. Arthur would have Camelot and a queen eventually. That would have to be enough.

The next few days were awkward. Merlin kept looking at him strangely, some kind of thinking going on underneath it all but he never said anything about their conversation. A good thing too because Arthur only grew more embarrassed as he thought about all he'd revealed. He knew the memories of it would eventually die away and other conversations take over and then things would get back to normal. He could live with that.

But he should have known better. An afternoon of arguing with his father and Merlin nowhere in sight, Arthur stomped into his room, slamming the doors behind him. The echo of it was loud, too, but it felt good to let out some of his frustration in solid wood and stone. He threw his gloves down, then flung himself into his chair, hoping to find some kind of peace or at least let his fury abate before having to deal with another round of fights at dinner.

At first he didn't even notice the vases on his table, bursting with flowers, reds and purples, blues and yellows and green leaves. But as he began to look at them, touch them, from behind him, Merlin said, "Lavender for distrust and marigold for jealousy, rue for disdain, nettles for slander and willow for mourning. Basil for hatred. But there's oak leaves for bravery and jasmine for joy, roses and myrtle for love, sweet William for gallantry, dog roses' mean pleasure and pain. Or you can choose hemp and let fate take it all."

"What are you talking about?"

"The language of flowers. If you can't say it, Arthur, then let them," he nodded toward the flowers, "speak for you."

"You are making no sense." But his heart was beating fast because he saw what Merlin had in his hands.

A bouquet of roses and jasmine, oak leaves and myrtle. And hemp. "Love and bravery and joy and fate, too." As he pushed them into Arthur's arms, he said, "My choice. And what choices will you make?"

Wanting desperately to mock Merlin into withdrawing, to call him a girl or a daffodil or a pathetic petticoat because it would be easier to do than accept the feelings between them, but Arthur could not. He had been willing to let something go that he wanted so much because of fear, of embarrassment, of the possibility that it would not be returned. And yet Merlin, Merlin was braver by far than he.

There was only one answer. The flowers would speak when he could not.

He began to gather jasmine and dog roses and hemp too. A red rose for love. And as he looked at Merlin's growing smile, he knew it was the right language after all.