Yeah. So you know how it is when you get halfway through a story (such as Until the Day I Die) and then suddenly another story hits you that's almost the first story's complete opposite in nature and you just cannot focus until you write it? No? Well, I do. I know that feeling very well.
Obviously.
I got this idea from the episode The Wicked Day, when the whole kingdom (including Merlin) was celebrating Arthur's birthday. I don't know what time it's set in, but it's sometime after Arthur's latest birthday and Lancelot is there, so you'll just have to figure it out on your own. *hehe*
And the title roughly means "To Give a Gift" in Old English. Just because I like Old English. And I'm pathetically bad at titles.
Right. Well. Read on, then.

Giefan Lac

Merlin collapsed upon his bed, ignoring the various creaks of the frame which should probably worry him, and buried his face in the thin pillow. With his arms sprawled out so that his hands hung limply off either side the lumpy mattress, he would have probably appeared like a dead body had it not been for the rapid movement of his back as he tried to catch his breath. After a few short moments, he shifted his legs a bit, groaning quietly as shocks of aching pain shot up the muscles; he felt as though he had run ten miles.

Come to think of it, he probably had. He could not recall a time when Gaius had ever needed so many herbs. Really, what could he possible be mixing with twenty-four coriander seeds and fifty flowers of wolfsbane? Between that and Arthur's absolute insistence—even more boorish than usual, though Merlin couldn't understand why, for all seemed well and the kingdom content at the moment—that Merlin spend more than half the day wandering around the woods in search of his lost ring, Merlin had scarcely had time to breath today. To top it all off, his birthday had come and gone three days previous, with no word from Arthur on the subject except,

"Birthday? Since when do you have birthdays, Merlin?"

Gaius had given him an exceptionally good meal and a new, less-worn shirt, and Gwen had sent him some lovely purple wildflowers tied with a matching ribbon. Even some of the knights had clapped him on the back with a jovial,

"Happy birthday to you, little Merlin!"

He supposed he should be grateful he had loved ones who cared enough to remember, but he would be lying if he claimed the obvious indifference of the one who mattered most to him didn't cut him all the same.

So it was with a slight twinge of lingering bitterness that Merlin rose and began to undress for bed, wondering to himself where Gaius might be. It was true that it was not very late, but the man usually tried to return from his errands well in time to make supper for them both. Merlin's stomach rumbled at the thought of food, and it was not seconds before he decided he would wait to get prepared for bed, and instead he walked out of his room to the cupboards in search of something quick to eat.

He rifled through the upper shelves, replacing things which smelt unappetizing or looked potentially poisonous; one never could be too careful in Gaius' kitchen. He was just untying the red neckerchief from around his throat as he hunted when a single, hard knock reached his ears.

"Merlin?" Lancelot's familiar voice slid through the cracks in the somewhat thin plank wood, as two shadows appeared beneath the door.

"Yes?" he called back, leaping clumsily over a pile of old sacks and half-falling against the door handle.

When he swung it open, he found his friend standing alongside Percival in the hall, and a cold feeling crept into his blood at the solemnity of their expressions.

"What's wrong?" he asked immediately, as multiple ideas began to form in his mind—none of them good.

"The King wants to see you, Merlin," Lancelot told him, after a brief, hesitant glance at his fellow knight.

Merlin's expression darkened. Though he was relieved that it was obviously not any of the terrible possibilities he had built up in his imagination, he knew Arthur was never regarded by his friends as "the King" unless it was in official capacity.

Meaning he's angry.

The servant sighed heavily, allowing the two men to lead him from the room without bothering to ask why. If there was one thing he had learnt in his years of service to Arthur, it was that when he was summoned from his rooms to confront whatever it was of which he was being accused, he would usually rather not know what it was until absolutely necessary.

It was just the icing on the cake this week.

Merlin was half-surprised that they did not stop at the throne room (for Arthur always was more intimidating on his great throne when he preferred to be), but instead continued several staircases and passages to the dining hall. He had the distinct feeling he knew where this whole thing was headed, and if it was where he thought it was, he was going to be even less pleased than he was now.

Surely enough, the decorative double doors opened with typically slow dramatics, and his irritation was magnified tenfold as he inhaled the delicious scent of roasted pork and seasoned vegetables and various other rich foods, and his eyes beheld the rows of tables occupied by several knights of his acquaintance and the members of court. Including Gaius. Naturally.

The place was all but silent as he was nudged down the center aisle by Lancelot, with just some quiet footsteps of a maid's shoes from somewhere and a low chatter of voices. Merlin was not surprised by the silence or the heavy gazes he could feel on his back, for it was a known and accepted fact that everyone was curious when the King was bestowing judgment upon someone—especially if that someone happened to be his loyal, gentle, extremely longsuffering manservant, it seemed.

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the unfair ways of the world.

The prat himself was standing behind his customary table at the other end of the great room, holding himself tall and so very superior-looking, with his golden crown gleaming in the light of the high chandeliers. It was a rare occasion indeed when Merlin wanted only to knock that kingly circlet right off his master's head and watch the prattish expression drop straight off his stupid, stupid face, but that was exactly how he was feeling as Percival and Lancelot released his arms and stepped to the side, leaving him standing alone before the high table.

He imagined he probably looked so simple-minded and weak in the sight of all present, having been dragged in by two strong knights and standing so small before so mighty a king.

Well, he thought with an atypical audacity, straightening himself, they're about to think differently.

"Merlin."

He did not even grace his master with a verbal answer, but merely raised his face to himself without so much as attempting to hide the defiance from his disposition.

"Look around, Merlin."

Merlin did, and when Arthur was sure he had gotten a decently good look, he continued.

"This is a banquet."

Merlin smiled humorlessly.

"I can see that."

Arthur's mouth quirked on one side.

"You know know what you're supposed to be doing, then."

It was not a question, but an allegation.

"I do."

Not an answer, but a challenge.

"Good." Arthur smiled again. "I'm sure you have a good explanation as to why you're not doing it, then."

Merlin threw his shoulders back, knowing the next words that came to his lips were fueled not by any form of his usual wisdom, but instead by an unhealthy mixture of spite at being so constantly unappreciated, growing annoyance at being hauled from his comfortable quarters, and misjudgment because of the aching weariness the day had brought upon him...and it did not matter to him the slightest bit that he was thinking unreasonably.

"Well I don't see how I could possibly be doing it if I didn't even know there was anything to be done," he snapped, feeling his eyes flash at his king and not trying to hide it.

At that, an even greater hush fell over the place. Not even the quiet talking of the knights was audible any longer.

"I beg your pardon?"

Arthur tilted his head to the side, a gesture which only seemed to increase his fuming servant's wrath.

"You send me out during the hottest part of the day in search of the cheapest ring you own," Merlin ranted on, caring less and less as the words tumbled out past his control, "even though you're the one who lost it after I have told you and told you not to wear anything valuable on a hunting trip...and this was a hunting trip you failed to take me on, I might add."

Arthur raised his eyebrows.

"Merlin."

"Then, you pile heaps of your laundry on me and send me to muck out your horses even though I just did it this morning. Twice."

"Merlin."

"You don't appreciate one solitary thing I do around here, you forget my birthday and then don't even care that you forgot—"

He was aware that he was sounding more and more like a nagging wife, but he truly couldn't bring himself to care.

"—and on top of everything else, you randomly decide to throw some sort of pointless banquet for who-knows-what, and then expect me to know all about it even though I haven't heard a single word on the matter because I've been busy working, not that you'd know what that means."

It was in that moment that Merlin realized he probably should have stopped himself at "laundry," and he forced his lips together to prevent anything more self-damning from spilling out, feeling his eyes widen at his own audacity and dropping his head in a union of shame and nerves.

If past experience was anything to go by, he'd be in the stocks for days...and all his past experiences like this were in private, with only a few words of rebellion from him, and not a whole, inwardly rehearsed speech in front of the entire court of Camelot, thirty of the most honorable knights, and a dozen royal servants.

Weeks, more likely. In a cell.

A snorted chuckle from his left. Gwaine, presumably.

A very cold, very dark cell.

"Merlin."

He cringed at his king's low voice, no longer caring how weak he looked as he prepared himself for the worst thinkable, knowing that was exactly what was coming at him. A few heartbeats of silence passed, which he counted using his own heart pounding in his ears.

"Happy birthday, Merlin."

His neck cracked painfully as his gaze shot up.

Instead of that grievously cruel, heart-attack-initiating look he was fully expecting, Arthur was smiling—and broadly, his face actually lit up, his eyes shining like sapphires and his cheeks flushed pink with mirth.

"W-what?" Merlin barley even whispered, his voice stolen by the gasp which came out of him simultaneously.

Before he could comprehend what was happening around him, Arthur's rumbling laughter erupted into the tense stillness, and he was immediately joined by every other person in the room, much to Merlin's alarm. The young man tried to glance over at Gaius, for certainly if everyone else had lost their minds at least he wouldn't have, but the older man was laughing just as the rest of them while Lancelot and Percival stepped forward again, gently tugging the young servant around the table to the vacant chair on Arthur's right.

Merlin pulled his thoughts together long enough to extract his wrist out of Lancelot's grasp and turn his attention to Arthur.

"What is going on?" he demanded, though by now it was starting to dawn on him.

Arthur rolled his eyes and leaned toward him.

"You really are clueless sometimes, aren't you, Merlin?" he taunted him lightly. "I would have thought the jugglers arriving this morning would have given it away completely."

"You said they were an annual carnival..."

"You've been here five years, Merlin. How many times have you seen them come to town on this particular week?"

Merlin swiped his hand over his forehead.

"Wait," said he slowly, "so does this mean you've known all this time? That you didn't really forget..."

"Yes, Merlin," Arthur interrupted with a tolerant huff, as though he was dealing with a child.

A very tall, very slow child.

"The banquet would have been on the day of your birthday," said Elyan from the corner of the knights' table nearby, "but Leon and I were on a short trip, and Arthur wanted all of your friends to be here."

Merlin half-choked on a laugh.

"No, no, that's fine," he stammered, before returning his astonished eyes to his master. "You arranged this?"

"With Guinevere's help, of course," Arthur replied, raising his cup in acknowledgment of the lovely maiden, who curtsied with a bit of a dramatic flare in response beside the knights' table.

"But..." Merlin shook his head. "Why? Why go through all this trouble, Arthur? You don't even like birthday parties; you said yourself they're childish."

"Wrong," the king declared, motioning for a servant to fill Merlin's own cup. "I think my birthday parties are childish, but I think this"—He gestured to the room.—"is appropriate, since you do have the mental capacity of a child."

Merlin laughed aloud, knowing he could not keep the sheer delight from his face if he tried. He looked a few chairs down the right table to Gaius, whose broad grin may have actually been wider than Merlin's own as he nodded knowingly at his boy's silent inquiry and then laughed heartily at the vengeful promise the young servant made through their eye contact.

As Merlin settled into the chair beside his king, he could not help but feel how right it was to do so.

Of course, Merlin had attended countless banquets in his past as a servant of Arthur when he was Prince and during his recent position as King, but never before had the room looked so perfectly wonderful. He could not deny that it was beautiful—all of it was, from the decorated tables (decorated by Gwen and not Arthur, obviously) to the splendid meal (which had solved his hunger problem by the first course) to the smiles adorning the faces of all those he cared for.

The greatest part of it was not any of these things, however fantastic they were; the best part was, in fact, clearly seeing a side of Arthur of which he had only ever caught the barest glimpse. It was that awkward, almost bashful, side of the king's character—the one that took hold of him when he was trying (and usually failing) to outwardly express something deep within himself, the one that had him scooting his chair closer to Merlin's and quietly babbling twice as excessively as his servant on his most talkative days.

"Do you like the acrobats? I remembered that you said they were your favorite performers when they came for my birthday celebration, so I asked they bring a few more this time. I thought it would be too much trouble, but the man wrote me back and said he would be happy to bring as many as I wanted. And I also demanded no men with knives this time, if you'll notice. I got five acrobats. I thought it was a good number. Not too many, not to few, eh, Merlin?"

"Guinevere got a few of the handmaidens together to decorate the place. They wanted to put purple flowers everywhere. Can you imagine that, Merlin? Purple flowers in every nook and cranny of this room. Guinevere kept arguing that purple suited you, which is true; you do look suitable in purple. But flowers—as if you're some girl or something...which I suppose you are, actually. I bet you would've liked overwhelming amounts of purple flowers, wouldn't you have, Merlin? But the rest of us would have had to endure it, and I wanted other men to actually be present and not get scared away before we could even get you in here. That would have ruined it, don't you think, Merlin?"

"Gaius tried to talk me into not serving any wine—said you're absolutely disgraceful when you're drunk. I told him I didn't care, that you're absolutely disgraceful anyway, always talking back to me and disobeying every time you don't agree. Thanks for that, by the way; I must admit that it does help keep me in line. And besides, what's a celebration without a few cups of wine? Don't you agree, Merlin? Merlin, are you listening or are you drinking?"

It would have been annoying if it wasn't so absolutely endearing.

Finally, after two hours or more, as some of the older members of the court were beginning to leave and the loud conversations were dying down into congenial murmurings, Merlin interrupted one of Arthur's rants about how the servant who was supposed to be keeping his cup full was even more slack on the job than Merlin.

"I don't understand," he pressed, so that only Arthur could hear (and even then, it took three times of saying it before the king actually understood him, thanks to his inebriated condition). "Why would you do this for me, Arthur? I am just a servant, after all."

Something about his sincerity must have reached Arthur, despite his slightly drunken state, because at his words, some indefinable emotion softened the great king's face, and he flitted his eyes away for a moment before meeting Merlin's gaze again.

"You have done more for me than I would ever have expected of you, Merlin," said he, voice trembling a bit, though Merlin could tell it was more from the nervousness of expressing his emotions than from the emotions themselves. "You've saved me in many ways—"

Merlin felt his eyes soften at the significance of those few words.

"—but more importantly," Arthur went on, fingers dancing absentmindedly around his cup, "you've been my friend—the one friend I know I can be sure is true."

His eyes, which had fallen with embarrassment, now rose again. Deep blue met storm gray, and he said, even more softly than before,

"You've never left me, Merlin—never even threatened to, despite how badly I know I behave toward you at times."

Merlin's mouth quirked up on one side automatically at that; everyone knew how badly Arthur treated him outwardly. Still, if those who thought the king was cruel to him could see this Arthur, they would probably understand why he endured it. It was his friend Arthur, and not his king Arthur, which made it all worthwhile.

Arthur saw Merlin's ironic smile, and he seemed to relax at it, his face losing its heated blush as he finished his little speech with a shrug and a lighthearted,

"I just thought it was time you get a time to be happy, like you deserve, that's all."

The king turned his attention back to the party, to chat a bit with Gwen, who had come to sit beside him (for she was as welcomed a guest as Merlin himself was at this banquet).

In that moment, Merlin did not care that Morgana was out there somewhere, plotting against him, or that Agravaine was a traitor to Camelot and was only a few chairs down from him. He did not care that his magic was still seemingly forever forbidden, or that he must continue to lie to Arthur for it. He did not even care that tomorrow, things would undoubtedly return to the way they were, and Arthur would act as though none of this had happened, only call him an idiot when he was late and threaten to have him in the stocks for forgetting to muck out his horses.

Nothing else mattered, but that he was surrounded by those he loved, and that they loved him in return.

"Happy birthday to you, Merlin."

The atypically gentle voice pulled him from his reverie; he tilted his head to look at the smiling Arthur beside him.

And he was happy.

The End

I hope you enjoyed it even though it was written solely for the purpose of getting it out of my mind so I can focus on the rest of Until the Day I Die (so do forgive the speediness of it). And now, if you'll excuse me, I may be the supreme being of several fictional universes, but I am still a sixteen-year-old girl who is going to be in trouble if she doesn't vacuum the downstairs rug before her mother gets home. (*hehe*)
Fare thee well! (And review!)