Title: The Man With The Dragon Tattoo – Epilogue.

Author: Woodland Goddess.

Rated: M

Author's Notes: Well, it's been a ride. I laughed and cried and got warm, fuzzy feelings in my heart while writing this entire fic and I hope you did too. There is just one more chapter to install: The Epilogue. I hope it satisfies you as much as it does me. Unlike the previous chapters, this one is from our beloved King's perspective. Several chapters' worth of it. *winks*

Final Chapter: King and Lionheart

-Present Day-

When he woke in the early hours of the morning it was to the sound of soft breathing. He glanced to the right and noted the sleep-messed head of steel-grey hair poking out from underneath the covers, nestled against the pillows. One ridiculous – perfect! – ear was visible. It sent a familiar jolt of affection and arousal shooting through him. Merlin always slept on the side furthest from the door; Arthur insisted on it and though the sorcerer had argued at the beginning, he had eventually given up in the face of Arthur's determination.

Slowly, carefully, Arthur shifted and leaned lightly over him. He brushed a tender kiss against the skin of Merlin's ear, the action as familiar to him as breathing...as laughing. His love twitched, pulling the blankets more tightly around himself, a serene smile spreading across his mouth as a soft breath of contentment disturbed the blanket closest to his face. A warm chuckle threatened to escape him at the sight of it; he knew it was time to depart, then. The Prime Minister rubbed his jaw and felt the scrape of stubble against his fingers. Arthur eased out of bed with a grimace, a dull ache settling in his lower back. Quietly, he pulled out the drawer of his bedside locker and withdrew a soft set of pyjama bottoms – even after all these years, red was still his colour of preference.

Embroidered in gold at the bottom of one leg were the words: Royal Prat. It had been a birthday present from Merlin some years ago, though only as a joke; the real gift had been breakfast in bed, a day away from work despite the outrage of the staff at Number Ten, and a night without their teenage children acting as cock-blocks. The last had been the most appreciated – particularly when Merlin had disappeared beneath the blankets, soft lips trailing kisses down his abdomen, warmth eventually wrapping around his flushed and achingly hard erection. He still remembered the embarrassingly strangled sound he had made in that moment as his hands had tangled in dark hair under the covers.

A fond smile tugged at his mouth and Arthur slipped on his bottoms, enjoying the feel of smooth silk against his skin. He glanced back at the bed for a moment, expression soft, and just watched as Merlin slept peacefully. Familiar warmth settled in his belly. Shaking his head, the Prime Minister slipped out of the bedroom and pulled the door closed gently. On silent feet he padded down the hall towards the bathroom, eyes automatically taking note of his children's poorly-rendered childhood drawings and paintings that made his heart swell to bursting whenever he saw them.

He was growing soft; he knew it. Merlin often argued he had always been soft and just covered it up with armour and a waspish attitude. Arthur was not at all fond of that notion. He had always been a hard-arse. Always, his mind reaffirmed with a growl. When he arrived at the bathroom door he knocked lightly upon it. No answer came and he slipped inside, bolting the door behind him. He took care of his morning ritual – toilet, followed by a shower, after which he would stand in front of the sink and brush his teeth and shave – humming quietly to himself as he did so. Though it came naturally to him, he did not recognise the melody in the slightest.

One hand resting against the porcelain of the sink, Arthur lathered his face with shaving foam. He glanced up into the mirror mounted on the wall as he reached for the razor and froze. There, staring back at him like a savage beast from his worst nightmare, was the reflection of his daughter's wedding gown in its protective casing. Hanging from the hook on the door. The razor slipped from his grasp as his heart clenched painfully in his chest. His breath came in short, sharp gasps, cutting him like miniature knives as he reached for the sink with his other hand and gripped tight.

Legs threatening to give way under him, Arthur hung his head and squeezed his eyes shut. For several moments he stayed like that, body trembling under the great wave of his emotions. Struggling to get himself under control. He had seen it before – had been there when she picked out the damned thing, had watched as she sighed in pleasure over the lace sleeves, the sleek silk of the body. But it seemed to hit him the hardest, now, on the morning of her upcoming nuptials.

The Prime Minister swallowed thickly. Compose yourself, Arthur, his mind commanded imperiously. The voice sounded suspiciously like his father. Gradually, through sheer force of will, he calmed himself down. He looked into the mirror once more as he raised his head and steadfastly ignored the large elephant in the room. Arthur focused on his own face as he picked up the razor. He stared at several things in slow succession: his own fear-darkened eyes; the foam clinging to his skin; the shock of white hair that was once the colour of sunlight on a summer's morn; the rigid line of scar tissue running down his side, cresting just beneath his ribs.

For some time he heard nothing but the slide of the razor against his skin, saw nothing but streaks of clean-shaven flesh breaking up the white of the foam. Once the task was done he washed the razor and the sink, and put the razor and bottle of foam away immediately. Arthur ran the towel he had used for his hair over his face, tossing it in to the laundry basket beside the toilet. Clad in his bottoms again, he escaped the bathroom and headed down the stairs, disappearing in to the kitchen.

A sigh escaped him when he spotted Merlin's mug from the night before sitting by the sink. Shaking his head in frustration, Arthur marched over and grabbed it. He gave it a furious scrub under the hot tap and pulled open the dishwasher, setting it down with the dirty ware that his love had conveniently forgotten about. "What's so hard about putting a mug in the dishwasher?" he grumbled, running a hand back through his hair in irritation. "Bet you do it on purpose, you arse." Arthur remembered the argument they had had a few years ago, over just such a trivial thing; the way Merlin had smirked at him, as if he knew very well the untidiness bothered him but did it anyway, had resulted in angry, messy kisses and lovemaking that even now he found hard to regret.

Arthur slipped a tab in the machine and turned the dial, pressing the on button after a moment. The rumbling sound of it coming to life eased the tense line of his shoulders immediately. Continuing to grumble half-fondly about Merlin, he crossed the manor and entered the living room. The painting mounted on the wall above the fireplace made him pause. It was large and impressive, showcasing his family. Standing at the back and slightly to the right of Arthur was Merlin, clad in black trousers and the rich Purple Shirt of Sex that Arthur was intensely fond of, one arm bearing the weight of three-year-old Harriet Belinde Dragan. To Arthur's personal horror, Merlin had kept his surname when they had married officially. The girl was pale-skinned and dark-haired and big-eared and lovely in her emerald green dress, a black sash crossing her tiny and somewhat plump middle. Her pale green eyes sparkled prettily.

Beside Merlin's leg was Harriet's fraternal twin, Lucian William, who looked much more like and carried himself like his surrogate mother and Arthur's sister, Morgana – though unlike Harriet, Lucian had Merlin's eyes. The boy wore a handsome suit with a blue tie and clutched Merlin's trouser leg loosely in his small hand. Sitting on a throne-like chair was Arthur, clad in dark trousers and a jacket. The shirt covering his chest was a splash of Pendragon red. Upon his lap was his eldest, six-years-old when the original photograph and painted copy had been done. With dark hair – though not quite as dark as that of her adoptive siblings – and dark blue eyes, pointed chin and arched eyebrows, she looked beautiful and very proper in her burgundy dress.

At Arthur's left side was his son, Elyan Pendragon, only five at the time and utterly adorable in a white suit with a crimson tie at his neck and handkerchief in his breast pocket. Elyan had taken after his mother, Gwen, the most but there were traces of Arthur in him, as well: the way he carried himself; his drive to be the best in all of his school subjects; his love for the colour red; his incessant need to drive fast. Everything else was from Gwen's side of the gene pool and that was alright; Arthur was just happy to have his friend returned to him at last, though in a markedly different way.

He reached up and brushed his fingertips against the frame. It was hard to believe he had painted this so long ago; it still seemed like only yesterday. His heart ached sweetly in his chest, his eyes drifting closed as he allowed a memory wash over him.

-2015-

The phone rang loudly and obnoxiously, echoing in the distance at three in the morning. It determinedly roused him from his slumber, much to his frustration. Grumbling and rubbing his eyes tiredly, Arthur stumbled out of bed and almost fell over when Merlin's foot kicked bossily at his arse. He tossed his love a tired glare, but it was lost on Merlin, who turned away from him and buried his face sleepily in the pillow beneath his head. A fond smile tugged at the corners of his mouth for a moment before the ringing phone intruded upon his peace of mind once more.

He tugged on some pyjama bottoms and moved through the private residence at Number Ten, hurrying down to the First Lord of the Treasury's Office – more commonly known as the Prime Minister's office at this juncture. His office. That thought was both alarming and soothing simultaneously; a contradiction, but unfortunately true. He had known these floors like the back of his hand ever since he was a boy and he hated to be back there, where Uther had made it his life's work to persecute Druids and practitioners of magic, but he loved having the chance to right all the wrongs that had been committed.

Arthur yanked the phone away from the receiver and pressed it to his ear irritably. "First Lord of the Treasury's Office. Prime Minister Arthur Pendragon speaking," he greeted neutrally, careful not to let his urge to snap, what, get the better of him. It could be an important call; it would not do to offend a foreign government official after barely more than a year in office.

"Mr Pendragon," said an emotionally-controlled and familiar voice, though for the moment he could not place it. "Annis Hill, here, down at Social Services." The name sparked immediate recognition, but the mention of Social Services did something worse. Butterflies began fluttering haphazardly in his abdomen, making him feel slightly ill as he reached out and gripped the edge of his desk for extra stability. "You asked me to call this number if anything came up. Well, you're in luck; something's come up." Arthur's throat constricted and for a moment he was unable to breathe. "Mr Pendragon," Annis continued, "If you and your husband – and your solicitor, for that matter – could make your way over to Chelsea and Westminster Hospital, I will meet you there and have you sign the requisite paperwork."

"I...yes," Arthur said, taking a moment to cough and clear his clogged throat, "thank you, Mrs Hill."

Annis hummed, deep in thought. "I hope you appreciate how much red tape and protocols I'm cutting through for you, Mr Pendragon; normally, not everyone would be dealt with so swiftly."

"I do."

Annis hung up without another word – not even so much as a goodbye – and Arthur stared at the phone in his hand, exasperated and offended and blindingly happy. He rested the phone in its cradle, stood there for a moment as the butterflies in his abdomen increased in number before flailing wildly and running flat-out back to the bedroom he shared with his husband. "Merlin," Arthur cried as he raced up the hall, too excited to wait until he reached the room. "Merlin, wake up! MERLIN!" The last word became a bellow as he burst through the bedroom door, looking half-mad in his pyjama bottoms.

Merlin woke with a start and flailed so violently he fell from the bed, naked and glorious legs tangled in the blankets. "Are we under attack?" asked his love, eyes flashing a vibrant gold in preparation.

"Better," answered Arthur frantically, almost toppling in his haste to pull off his flannel pyjama bottoms. "Social Services called; we're getting a baby. We're getting a baby!" For a moment Merlin stared at him, uncomprehending, then there came a flourish of gangly limbs as he, too, rushed to get dressed. In moments they were hurrying out of Number Ten and piling in to a car with tinted and bullet-proof windows as they called Morgana with Arthur's mobile. Leon, having signed himself on as a chauffeur and bodyguard upon Arthur's appointment as Prime Minister, drove them to the hospital as swiftly as he dared, not wanting to risk an accident but wanting them to arrive in good time.

Annis and Morgana were waiting for them when they reached the hospital. The former looked stern and imposing while the latter looked like she wanted to punch someone in the face for disturbing her beauty sleep. Arthur beamed at them both. "Mrs Hill," he greeted warmly, striding forward to shake her hand with a little too much vigour. Her russet hair was tied back in a severe ponytail, highlighting her noble brow and strong jaw. "It is an absolute pleasure to see you again, I must say."

Her stern demeanour broke in favour of a gentle smile. "I'm sure," she agreed. Merlin startled them all by throwing his arms around the former Queen's neck and kissing her cheek exuberantly. Something akin to pride bloomed in Arthur's chest at the sight of it: after his incarceration at the Facility he was rarely so comfortable with those outside of their close-knit circle. A startled laugh escaped Annis and she patted Merlin's shoulder before he withdrew, grinning sheepishly as he practically bounced on the balls of his feet. "So excitable; Mr Pendragon, your lovely husband's like a puppy."

Arthur laughed, glancing at Merlin with that besotted look that spoke of a recent marriage, though if anyone dared say so he would deny it eternally. "I know; you get used to it. How's Carl? Still keeping up the rugby?" Though he had acquainted with Mrs Hill only recently in this life, he had known her husband back in his bachelor days. Carl, known once upon a time as King Caerleon – and was it not just ironic that the fall of Camelot had led to the rise of a town in an enemy King's name; the injustice of it often left him winded – had been in many of his classes at Cambridge.

"He's not doing too well, I'm afraid," Annis admitted reluctantly, something akin to misery flashing across her blue eyes briefly, "but we're not here to talk about my husband, Mr Pendragon." She tossed her head in a manner that indicated they were to follow her and turned for the entrance to the hospital. "A little over two hours and a half ago," she explained, her voice betraying no emotions, "a woman was brought in from a car accident; her husband didn't survive the collision. The staff managed to save the life of the child before it was too late, but the mother, I'm afraid, passed away on the table. Resuscitation was tried repeatedly, of course, but the attempts were unsuccessful."

"That's horrible," said Arthur, eyebrows knitting together in a frown. Annis dipped her head in agreement. "Any next of kin?"

"Yes." Annis' lips formed a thin line, her expression disapproving.

"Why do I get the feeling that someone needs to be high-fived in the face? With a chair?" Merlin asked, eyes dark with mounting anger.

"Because someone does," said Annis, glancing at him. "The mother managed to rattle off a name and number on her way in to theatre – the only living family member or so she claimed; it was the woman's adoptive grandmother. Well, let's just say the conversation didn't go too smoothly. There was a lot of derogatory remarks made...apparently, the father of the child was a – and I'm paraphrasing here – a filthy Druid and she wasn't going to take in the rotten spawn of one."

A window shattered as Morgana walked past it, her magic reacting to the strength of her rage on the child's behalf. Her husband being a Druid, Morgana took it personally; Arthur glanced sideways at his husband and knew he could hardly blame her. Annis jumped in surprise, staring wide-eyed at the damage. "Sorry," muttered the sorceress, taking a moment to get her emotions under control. After a mumbled phrase and a flash of rusty orange eyes, the window was restored. Annis shook her head in wonderment and led them down several halls, past a number of wards to the Neonatal Care Unit. They stopped outside a large stretch of glass.

"There she is," said Annis softly, indicating the child nearest them with a wave of her hand. Swaddled in sterile white blankets, the infant looked tiny, her small hand curled into a fist by her face. Arthur's heart stopped beating at the sight of her before kicking into high gear, leaping into his throat and lodging there determinedly. Merlin latched on to his arm with both hands, squeezing tightly.

"She's so tiny," whispered his love, unable to take his eyes off the sleeping babe.

"So helpless," added the Prime Minister, his words a breathy sigh, "so beautiful. How could anyone not want such a gift?" Without realising it until afterwards, his hand reached out and pressed against the cool surface of the glass. He was unaware of time passing, of Merlin discussing something with Annis in hushed tones, of Morgana gazing at him as though she was seeing something entirely new...something she liked. As Arthur watched, the child's mouth stretched wide in a yawn.

Something inside him melted at the sight.

Merlin touched his arm lightly, distracting him from the child for a moment. Arthur looked at him, expression soft. "Mrs Hill said we could go in, that we could hold her." And quite suddenly the former King wanted to flee in the opposite direction; this was alarming, terrifying, horrible, wonderful, fantastic and a dream come true all at once. It was not lost on him how comical the situation was – that he, a King, a warrior, was afraid to hold something that was not even dangerous.

A hand wrapped warmly around his, squeezing gently, and tugged him along. He let himself be pulled, allowing his lungs to focus on not hyperventilating. He could do this. There would be no fleeing, no fainting spells, and certainly no trembling hands. If he could face a Dragon without quailing, then he could certainly hold a damned baby. There was nothing to it. Really. Nothing. Arthur was fine. Absolutely fine. Splendid. If he felt like he was about to throw up, it was because he had hated hospitals ever since his youth. Not because he was going to hold that tiny...delicate...little child.

In moments they were standing over her, towering over her, accompanied by one of the midwives. Arthur felt like a giant. A dangerous oaf not to be trusted. "Are you sure it's safe to hold her?" he asked, wondering after the child's physical condition after the accident.

"Aye," answered the midwife, Scottish accent strong. "The wee lamb's a tough one – got a bit of the magic in her, I'd say. The mother was in a right state when she was brought in, but this little one...other than getting tangled up in her own umbilical cord, she was fine." She smiled down at the infant, the expression warm and kind.

"What's her name?" Merlin enquired, looking very much as though he wanted to snatch up the baby and run off with her immediately. It was distraction enough for Arthur's heart to calm down, for his breath to come easier.

"She doesn't have one yet. We considered Jane...but she doesn't really look like a Jane, does she?"

"No; Jane's too common," said Arthur calmly, eyes dropping to gaze at the little girl once more. He hesitated a moment before whispering, "May I hold her? Please?" The Prime Minister watched as the midwife carefully lifted the child from the crib, eyes narrowed slightly. He noted the way her hands were positioned, keeping the head aloft and supporting the neck. He filed it away in his mind for future reference. The midwife came around the crib to him, the child cradled securely in her arms. With gentle words, she directed him to hold his arms a certain way and eased the babe into his embrace.

A jolt of electricity shot through him instantly, sparking recognition deep within his core. "Kara," he breathed in shock, almost dropping her. Thankfully, he caught himself before it happened. Merlin and Morgana stiffened, looking at the child in surprise – the latter having raised her eyes from the forms she had been studying. As if she were responding to her name, the child yawned and opened her eyes, blinking up at him. Arthur expected her to start wailing at the sight of him; instead, she threw him for a loop and smiled up at him. For some unfathomable reason, his vision blurred.

Blinking repeatedly, he was surprised to feel something wet slide down his cheeks, one side at a time. "Oh, Arthur," said Merlin gently, taking a step towards him. "Let me take her; I'll..." he trailed off for a moment, nibbling his bottom lip, and asked the midwife if it was possible to have some privacy. She acquiesced, but only as long as she could keep her eye on the infant from afar. As soon as she and Annis were gone, Merlin raised his eyes. Their familiar blue depths burned intensely. "We don't have to choose her...if you don't want to. I know it's hard, considering everything that happened. We can...we can wait for another chance."

Arthur shook his head almost violently, squeezing his eyes shut at the idea. "No, I...she's perfect." He looked down at Kara. A tear drop splashed against her tiny cheek, seeming enormous. Carefully cradling her with one arm, he used his other hand to brush away the tear. Her small hand wrapped around his finger and his heart seized painfully in his chest. "She's perfect," he said again.

Merlin opened his mouth to say something in response, but snapped it shut once more and stared at Arthur like he was trying to figure him out. Arthur could feel the stare, but he ignored it to the best of his ability. The silence stretched as the man's tears – caused by a bit of dirt in his eyes, not emotion, thank you very much – slowly giving way to besotted glances and happy smiles. "Well," said Morgana in an attempt to break the ice, flipping a stapled sheet over as she did so, "at least you won't have to worry about breastfeeding."

That startled a laugh out of the Prime Minister. "Thank God for that," he said, glancing up and smirking, "I don't think Merlin would have been able to handle it."

"Who said I'd be the one breastfeeding?" his love demanded, immediately indignant. "Your nipples are perfectly good!"

Morgana snorted and swatted Merlin's arm. "That's my brother you're talking about. My ears are delicate; I'll not have them irreparably damaged by your inability to shut up."

"Perhaps," agreed Arthur, ignoring Morgana's commentary, "but your nipples were destined to be suckled." He waggled his brows suggestively. Merlin flushed from the tips of his ridiculous ears and right down the length of his neck, the colour disappearing beneath his t-shirt. Arthur knew from memory how far that blush travelled. A spark of heat flared inside him, but he immediately quelled it; now was not the time for such things. Now...now it was time to sign the paperwork. It was time to start their family.

As if to cement that fact, Kara threw up on him. "This shirt was new!" Arthur exclaimed, practically shoving the baby into Merlin's arms, which fumbled for purchase. The expression that graced the Prime Minister's face was almost comical in its intensity.

Morgana patted his shoulder in mocking consolation. "Welcome to my world."

Kara giggled happily in response to Merlin's amused grin.

-Present Day-

A soft smile danced across Arthur's mouth. That had been the start of the rest of his life. It was a cherished memory, held close to his heart. Whenever life seemed to get too much, he would let it fill him with all those good feelings again and everything would be bearable once more. "Daddy? What are you doin' up? You should be asleep; we've got a big day ahead of us." Startled, Arthur whirled around to see Kara standing in the doorway, white nightgown hanging limply around her slender frame. She rubbed her face tiredly and peered at him.

"I woke up."

Kara stared at him. "I can see that."

"I'm not sure I could fall asleep again even if I wanted to," Arthur admitted as he turned away from his eldest daughter in favour of sitting down on the couch. If his fingers trembled slightly as he rubbed the bridge of his nose, then it was merely an illusion. The young woman, twenty-seven years old and far too lovely for her own good, watched him for a moment before crossing the room. She climbed onto the couch beside him, curling up as she leaned against his torso. Her soft wavy hair tickled his chest, but it was a welcome sensation.

His hand came to rest on the curve of her shoulder, fingers rubbing idly as he stared down at the floor by his feet. Elyan the White, their large and burly White Shepherd-Alaskan Husky cross, came trotting in through the open door and settled down alongside his legs, pale fur warm and soothing against his bare feet. The dog had been well-trained: he never ran or barked at Merlin even in play. He could still remember the day they adopted him from the animal shelter: the dog had reacted to his husband's quiet terror and Merlin had gone as white as a sheet. Nearly pissed himself. It had taken half an hour to calm his love down enough to guide him over to the dog and let him nuzzle his hand while he scented him.

Arthur nudged Elyan the White affectionately with his foot and earned himself a huff of warm breath against his toes. "You've known this day was coming for three years," said Kara quietly, flicking her dark blue gaze up to his face. Her gaze was intense; he could feel the weight of it and it unsettled him. "Why does it bother you so much? Is it because of...because of the memories?"

"It doesn't," Arthur corrected sharply. He shifted and twisted to look at her properly, the action forcing Kara to sit up. The Prime Minister met her gaze, answering with the intensity of his own. Frowning slightly and voice softening, he went on, "It doesn't bother me, not because of that. Despite our differences, despite everything from before, he is a good man and I...I am honoured that you asked me to give you away, Kara." He cupped her face with one hand, brushing his thumb across a delicate cheekbone. "I couldn't be happier for you; you need to know that."

Kara's expression spoke volumes: she did not believe him. He supposed it was his own fault. Arthur's interactions with the man had not been too cordial once the man's memories had started awakening. He rubbed his neck as a phantom squeeze wrapped around his throat. He remembered when the man came barrelling in to his office – the Prime Minister's Office! – and lunged across the desk, throwing a hard punch to the face. Arthur had toppled from his office chair, sending paperwork and framed photographs fluttering and crashing to the floor respectively, and the man had come down with him, pinning him to the floor, a wild look in his eyes as tears streamed down from them, his wavy hair in disarray, hands wrapping around Arthur's neck and squeezing intently.

"If you touch her," the man had screamed as guards had stormed the office, violently wrenching him away from the Prime Minister, who had only offered a token fight, "If you touch her again, I'll kill you! I swear it!"

Coughing and spluttering and clutching his own throat as if it were a lifeline, Arthur had stared at him, wide-eyed. "She's my daughter," he had said hoarsely, with some effort. Tears had welled, slipping past blond lashes as he squeezed his eyes shut. "I love her. God, I love her; I'd never hurt her. I...she's my daughter!"

Arthur shook his head, pushing down those memories firmly. As if sensing her father's inner turmoil, Kara pushed him back to his original position and curled up against him once more. For a long moment they sat in silence, just enjoying one another's company, enjoying the familiar warmth and presence. "Tell me a story," said Kara, her words barely more than a whisper.

"You've heard them all," answered the Prime Minister, the fingers of one hand carding through her hair, mindful of tangles. The ghost of a smile pulled at his mouth.

"So? Tell me the one about the Mortaeus Flower again; I love that one."

A soft laughed escaped him, causing the ageing muscles of his chest to ripple with the motion. "You always ask for that one, but alright...if that's what you want." Blue eyes sparkling, Arthur began the tale just as he had that first time, all those years ago.

-2021-

"Fight! Fight! Fight!" The words could be heard through three floors, yelled at the top of Kara's young lungs. Arthur, sitting at the table in the basement kitchen of Number Ten, sighed and leaned forward, resting his forehead against the table. A soft groan escaped him as he wondered why children never did as they were told. Merlin, in the process of fixing them both a sandwich, chuckled in amusement. The sound was warm and familiar and comforting. Shifting his head slightly, the Prime Minister allowed his eyes to find the length of his back, watching the way the narrow shoulders rolled beneath the fabric of his blue shirt. "Swing the blade faster, Elyan! Watch your footwork, Lucian!"

"They're at it again," said Merlin, stating the obvious as he glanced over his shoulder. Blue eyes glittered at him.

"You don't say," groused Tristan Holmes, glowering down at his cup of coffee as though it had personally offended him. Arthur was not surprised by that; the coffee at Number Ten left something to be desired currently. They would rectify that problem as soon as possible. The steam flattened the man's short blond hair and filled his cheeks with heat. Tristan, a smuggler in another life, had come out of the woodwork when Arthur had been named Prime Minister, along with his lovely wife, Isolde; they had been his personal bodyguards ever since, along with Leon and the others. "At least their procrastination has led them to do something useful."

"Sleeping is useful," Arthur pointed out, raising himself from the table. He ran a hand back through his hair. "It gives me a break from their exuberance."

Merlin laughed and carried the sandwich-laden plates over to the table, setting one down in front of him. "Who do you think you're fooling? You love it! You were as happy as a schoolboy when the boys begged you to get them those wooden swords for Christmas – and you threw in hand-carved shields for the sake of it. You always give them pointers, too. Don't blame them for your own perpetual encouragement." He swatted Arthur's shoulder, only half-playful in the execution.

Arthur pinched his love's arse as he moved away, earning a surprised and embarrassed squeak. When Merlin glared over his shoulder at him Arthur took a cheeky bite out of one of his triangles and grinned at him. More yelling emanated from upstairs, closer than before...followed by a loud crash and a horrified squawk. Merlin made for the door, delectable shoulders tightening with tension. "Don't," called Arthur, rising from his chair with a put-upon sigh. "I'll take care of it. Sit down and enjoy your snack."

He crossed the room and moved past his love, his fingers ghosting along his wrist as he did so. Merlin hesitated, but did as asked after a moment. Arthur dashed up through Number Ten, coming quickly to the residential floor. The four of them were standing in the hallway, gathered around the remains of a vase Morgana had given them as a wedding gift – it was a really spectacularly ugly antique vase; the former King was hard-pressed to be upset about the loss of it. "I'm sorry, Daddy," said Elyan, whirling around as he pulled off his plastic helmet. "I didn't mean to; I tripped!"

The boy was shaking, his dark eyes quivering in their sockets as he struggled not to cry. Clad in his crimson surcoat, golden Dragon embroidered across his chest, Elyan looked very much like the Knight he had once been. The tunic had been a birthday gift from his mother, who was quite handy with fabric. Lucian had received one at Christmas, too, but his was green with a silver serpent across the chest. "We were just playing," added Lucian as he took off his own helmet, looking down at the wooden sword in his hand. A shadow fell across his arrogant little jaw.

"It's alright," said Arthur gently, dropping to one knee by the mess, careful not to kneel on any shards. He ran soothing hands down Elyan's shoulders, squeezing lightly. The boy ran his sword-hand across his face, wiping away the evidence of his tears like a brave little soldier. "Your Dad can fix it later." Arthur pressed a kiss to his brow and began picking up the pieces, batting away the helpful hands of his children so that they would not get cut from the broken ceramic. Once he was certain all the pieces had been picked up, he set them down carefully atop the pedestal the vase had fallen from. "Now, stop messing; it's all fun and games until someone loses an eye." There came a reluctant murmur of agreement in response. "It's time for bed."

Arthur opened his arms in invitation and Kara leapt into his embrace, wrapping her legs around his waist and throwing her arms around his neck. He pressed a kiss to her cheek and shifted her with a bounce, moving her to his side. Elyan attempted to escape, but the former King caught him around the middle and tossed him over his shoulder. Lucian and Harriet jumped his legs, almost toppling him, but he managed to stay upright. Movements awkward, he carried all four of his children down the hallway towards their bedrooms, which had been separated by an en suite bathroom ever since Merlin had done some fancy renovations with his magic – much to the horror of the staff, but his love had quickly promised to return it to its original state for the next Prime Minister. "Get into your pyjamas," he ordered the boys once he had deposited them in their room.

"But I want a story," complained Lucian, aristocratic face scrunching up.

"Get into your pyjamas and I'll tell you a story."

"Promise?" asked Elyan, standing in a defensive stance atop his bed, looking ready to strike an enemy with his wooden blade.

"I promise," the Prime Minister vowed solemnly. With the knowledge of an upcoming story at hand, the boys were quick to get ready for bed. Rolling his eyes in a mixture of fondness and exasperation, Arthur moved through the en suite and in to the girls' room. The girls jumped down from him, relieving him of their weight, and began hastily getting in to their pyjamas. They were as eager for a story as the boys were. He settled in to the rocking chair in the corner, studying the nearby bookcase intently.

When the boys were ready they burst into the room excitedly. The four of them gathered around the rocking chair, curling up on the floor by his legs. Their eyes shined up at him; as usual, the sight of it left him breathless. A small smile pulled at his mouth. "What story do you want to hear?"

"Cinderella," answered Kara.

"Sleeping beauty!" That was Harriet; she had an unhealthy obsession with Princess Aurora.

"Make one up," cried Elyan enthusiastically. That idea suddenly seemed so much better than the other suggestions, for the rest of their faces lit up hopefully.

Arthur rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, blue eyes slightly narrowed in thought. After a moment, the perfect idea for a story came to him. "Once upon a time," he began quietly, "a handsome Prince lived in a great Kingdom – the greatest in all the land, some thought. On one very important day the Prince walked down the throne room with his father, a widely feared King who ruled the land with an iron fist. With them were the Knights – the bravest and kindest men to walk the earth. Facing them were their old enemies: Lord Bayard of Mercia and his men. Hoping to spark peace talks and sign treaties that would last through the ages, the King and his son, the handsome Prince, welcomed Lord Bayard."

The children hung on his every word as he continued to speak to them, his own voice growing excited in emphasis at parts. Their eyes grew rounder and rounder as the hint of a great plot made itself known during the telling. "The Servant Boy, a good friend to and much loved by the handsome Prince, stood defiantly in the great hall. His eyes burning intensely, he drank from the chalice he had pulled from the Prince's hand. For a moment it seemed he had been wrong; the chalice was without poison. Both relieved and irritated by his stupidity, the handsome Prince turned away from the Servant Boy, intent on lessening the offense taken by Lord Bayard.

"Suddenly a choked sound met the Prince's ear and he looked back over his shoulder. The Servant Boy was clutching his throat, struggling to find breath. As the handsome Prince watched, eyes filled with dawning horror, the Servant Boy fell to the stone floor and lay as if dead." Here, Kara gasped and covered her mouth with both hands. The boys glanced at each other and shared a grin; this was exactly the type of story they loved. "The Prince fell to his knees at the Servant's side, leaning over him."

"What happened, then, Daddy?" asked Harriet, green eyes round with a strange mixture of fright and hope. "Did the Prince wake him with a kiss of true love?!"

"I wish that were true, Harriet," Arthur answered with a warm smile. "It would have been much quicker. No, something much different happened. The great hall fell into discord; the King ordered the arrest of Lord Bayard and his men for attempting to poison the Prince. The Court Physician was quick to act, having the Servant Boy carried back to his quarters where they would watch over him until a cure could be found. When it was discovered the Servant Boy had only five days to live, the handsome Prince was struck with fear. The boy could be saved – but only with a potion brewed from the leaf of the same flower that poisoned him. The flower grew underground on the roots of the Mortaeus Tree, deep in the Forest of Balor."

The Prime Minister's eyes burned intensely. "His face hardened with determination, the handsome Prince strode from the Physician's quarters. Once dressed in his chainmail, sword at his hip, the Prince went in search of the King. He had inform him of his plan, you see; a Prince can rarely do anything without the King's prior permission and living harmoniously with each other is often delicate balancing act. 'What is the point of having a taster, if you're going to get yourself killed?' said the King, striding down the stone hallway, his son walking in his wake.

"'I won't fail,' vowed the Prince, 'no matter what you think.'

"The King paused and turned to face him. 'You are my only son and heir; I can't risk losing you for the sake of some Servant Boy.'

"'Because his life's worthless?' demanded the Prince, angered and offended by the King's stance on the matter.

"'No,' answered the King, 'because his life is worth less than yours.'

"'I can save him,' retorted the handsome Prince, imploring him, 'let me take some men. Please, father. He saved my life; I can't stand by and watch him die.'

"The King's expression softened fractionally, but not enough. 'Then don't look.' The Prince, later encouraged by his sister's words, rode out of the citadel, barrelling through the sentries that stood in his way. He would not be stopped! Through rivers and valleys, through forests and glades and past the Mountains of Isgaard, the handsome Prince rode and all the while his heart pounded with the heavy knowledge that the Servant Boy's life depended on him and him alone. He vowed to himself, deep in his heart, that he would save that boy's life...or die trying."

Kara let out a squeak. Flushing in embarrassment, she let her gaze fall to her knees. Arthur grinned down at her and reached out, running his hand fondly through her hair. "Deep in the Forest of Balor, now," he continued, "the handsome Prince dismounted from his horse. Suddenly, he came upon a weeping woman, clad in torn clothes. Taught from an early age to help those in need, the Prince spoke to her. As they spoke, a foul beast came over a nearby hill."

"Wicked," cried Elyan as Lucian pumped his fist in the air.

"The handsome Prince drew his sword from its scabbard and faced the beast with all the bravery of a Knight. The beast hissed and snarled at him. The Prince swung and thrust his blade expertly, but the sword missed as the beast reared back. It launched itself at him and the Prince threw himself forward, coming up in a roll as the beast turned and lunged for him a second time. With a mighty growl, the Prince drove his blade into the beast and it died upon his sword." The boys cheered excitedly and high-fived each other, while Harriet gasped.

"Once more the Prince spoke to the damsel in distress. When he went in search of the caves the Prince took her with him; he would never leave a defenceless woman to fend for herself. Together, they entered the caves. Unnerved by the darkness around them, the Prince eyed the woman's back; suspicion niggled at him, but he ignored it in favour of following her – she claimed to know where the Mortaeus Flower would be found and that was too good an opportunity to pass up."

"He sounds like an idiot," Kara whined in dismay.

Arthur chuckled. "I'm sure your Dad would agree. Now, as I was saying before I was interrupted: the woman led the handsome Prince to the flowers, but he was separated from them by a chasm that seemed to stretch forever. An outcropping of rock stretched out across the chasm, almost touching the wall at the other side. Determined, the Prince walked out across the ledge. The woman suddenly began speaking the ancient tongue. Surprised, the Prince whirled to face her, the sting of fear filling his heart. The ledge gave way beneath him and he quickly turned and leapt across the chasm.

"He managed to grasp the ridge of rock, but only barely. Jaw clenched and body trembling, the Prince struggled to pull himself up. As he did so, the woman spoke. 'I expected so much more.'

"Turning his head in his attempt to see her, the Prince asked, 'who are you?'

"The woman lowered her hood and answered, 'the last face you will ever see! It seems...we have a visitor.' And she was right. From crevices all along the rock-wall, there emerged an army of Balorian Spiders as big as a man's leg."

Harriet, deathly afraid of arachnids, whimpered in terror and buried her face in Arthur's leg, clutching the fabric of his trousers tightly. "I don't like this story, Daddy!"

Arthur rested his hand at the back of her head, fingers caressing her scalp soothingly. She trembled against him and it threatened to break his heart. "Overcome with fright, the handsome Prince shimmied across the ridge, searching for larger ground on which he could stand. A nearby Balorian Spider approached him on swift legs. Knowing he could fall at any moment, he relinquished the grip of one hand in favour of reaching for his sword. Drawing it, he struck the Spider and it fell to its doom. 'Very good,' the sorceress mocked, 'but it won't be the last. I'll let his friends finish you off; it's not your destiny to die at my hand.' A sneer marring her face, the sorceress turned her back on him and strode from the cave, leaving him to his fate. With her she took the last source of light, casting the cave into full darkness.

"Hope seemed lost and the Prince seemed destined to fail. Just as his heart was ready to give up on the quest, to give up on his Servant Boy, a bright silvery light rose from the darkness. 'Come on, then,' the Prince cried, angered and fearful and heartbroken, 'what are you waiting for?! Finish me off!' The ball of light drifted over him, glowing and beautiful; the warmth touched his skin like a friend's hand. Filled with determination once more, the handsome Prince heaved himself up onto the ledge, his breath coming fast and hard.

"As he watched, the light guided his eyes towards the way forward. Swallowing thickly against the urge to escape as the Balorian Spiders raced along the wall towards him, the Prince turned his face away from the light...towards the flowers which lay shrouded in the gloom. In desperation the Prince climbed the face of the wall and stretched out his hand, fingers reaching. At last, his hand closed upon the nearest flower and he plucked it free. He gazed down at the flower in his hand as if it were worth more than his own life and tucked it away safely.

"The Balorian Spiders drew closer and closer with every moment and when he saw them his heart almost stopped in his chest. He began to climb once more, but his leather-clad hand slipped against the rock. His heart pounding and his face drenched in sweat, the Prince ripped his gloves from his hands and threw himself into the act of climbing. As he climbed, racing against the swarm of Balorian Spiders that meant him harm, an urgent voice tinged with panic spoke to him, echoing from within his own mind. 'Go faster. Move! Climb!'

"Though he knew the voice, he could not place it. When he reached the opening in the ground, climbing out into the night sky, the Prince ran. For a time, it seemed his mission was successful. He was drunk on adrenaline and pride and the knowledge that the Servant Boy would live. He rode back to the Kingdom faster than he had ever ridden in his life. But when he returned he was quickly surrounded by the King's men. 'You're under arrest,' said the nearest soldier, 'by order of the King.'

"Before he had a chance to defend himself, the handsome Prince was torn from his saddle and dragged to the dungeons. They fell into an argument when the King joined him, his fury a towering inferno within him. 'You disobeyed me,' the King snarled.

"'Of course I did,' answered the Prince, 'a man's life was at stake! Do not let him die because of something I did.'

"'Why do you care so much? The boy's just a Servant.'

"The Prince stared at his father in mounting horror, unable to believe the man could ask that. Unable to believe he could consider a man's life so meaningless – all because of an unjust sense of entitlement. 'He knew the danger he was putting himself in," argued the handsome Prince. 'He knew what would happen if he drank from that goblet, but he did it anyway! He saved my life! There's more: there was a woman – she knew I was there for the flower. I don't think it was Bayard who tried to poison me.'

"'Of course, it was,' answered the King, surprised and confused and disbelieving.

"The handsome Prince reached into his pocket and withdrew the flower. He held it out to the King, allowing him to take it. 'The Physician knows what to do with this. Put me in the stocks for a week – a month even; I don't care – just make sure it gets to him. I'm begging you.'

"The King gazed down at the flower for a long moment before giving the Prince a dark look. He crushed the flower in his hand and the Prince's heart along with it. 'You have to learn,' the King said darkly, 'that there is a right way and a wrong way of doing things. I'll see you let out in a week.' The King strode from the cell and looked back over his shoulder. 'Then you can find yourself another Servant.'"

"Daddy, no," cried Harriet, beginning to weep against his trouser leg. "No! It can't end like that!"

"Shush," said Kara, watching Arthur with a crestfallen expression. The boys were unhappy with the way the story was going, too; though they would deny it later, they gripped each other's hands tightly.

"The King threw the crushed flower down upon the ground and left the dungeons. His face quivering with rising emotion, the handsome Prince threw himself upon the ground, shoving his arm through the bars. He needed to reach the flower and he tried with all his might. And when his fingers touched it a cry of relief threatened to escape him. Inch by precious inch, the Prince drew the flower back towards himself, withdrawing back into the cell once it was safely in his grasp. He sat against the wall. Flower cradled in his hand, he counted the minutes as they trickled past, knowing just how much each one of them counted.

"When morning came it was accompanied by a Servant Girl – another of the Prince's friends. In her hands she carried his breakfast. An idea struck him in an instant. 'Set it down over there,' he ordered, not looking at her. Frowning, she did as ordered and he rose to inspect it. 'I'm not eating this: it's disgusting! The state it's in, I'm not sure it's fit for anyone.' Without another word he returned to his original position. Suspicious, the Servant Girl crossed the cell once more and lifted the plate. Though he did not look in her direction, he knew what she would find: the flower nestled amongst the bread."

A grin danced across his mouth as the children began cheering; he almost felt like releasing a bellow of triumph, himself. "The Servant Girl brought the flower to the Physician and the cure was brewed and administered. When the Prince was released from the dungeon he went to the Physician's quarters. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the Servant Boy sitting at the table, wrapped in a blanket and still recovering from his ordeal. For a moment the handsome Prince deliberated between fleeing and entering, but his bravery won and he stepped forward, coming up behind him. 'Still alive, then?' he asked in a joking manner, hiding his concern...his relief.

"'Just about,' replied the Servant Boy, 'I understand I have you to thank for that.'

"The Prince rested his hand on the back of the Servant's chair, avoiding looking at him for a moment. 'It was nothing; a half-decent servant is hard to come by.' They shared a small smile. 'I was only dropping by to make sure you were alright. Check you'll be back to work tomorrow.'

"The Prince turned and walked away, pausing in the doorway when the Servant Boy called out his name. He glanced over his shoulder. 'Thank you.'

"The handsome Prince stood there, staring back at him for a moment, unsure of what to say. There were plenty of things he wanted...needed to say, but he knew they would never be appropriate. In the end he settled for a simple, 'you, too.' Their eyes met across the distance and he hoped the Servant Boy understood everything he could never say out loud. 'Get some rest.' The handsome Prince departed. The end."

"I wish they'd kissed," said Harriet, pouting sadly as she clambered up on to Arthur's lap. Kara climbed in to bed as Harriet did so, settling down under the blankets, snuggling her pillow. The boys disappeared back in to their own room.

"Me too," the Prime Minister agreed, hugging her close. She rested her small face against his larger one, Morgana's eyes gazing lovingly in to his own from a face that was so much like Merlin's it took his breath away. He cupped her face with both hands, caressed the soft, pale skin that he so loved. "It's time for bed," he said in an attempt to be stern, though he would have been quite happy to fall asleep in that chair, his daughter sprawled across him like a blanket made of warmth and cuddles.

"But –"

"Bed."

"I have a question!"

"Alright, fine; you can ask one question," he grumbled before brushing a kiss against the girl's nose.

Her tiny hands played with the strands of blond hair at the back of his head. "What was the Servant Boy's name, Daddy?"

Arthur smiled, the expression soft and filled with a quiet happiness. "His name was Merlin."

"Dad was in a fairytale?!"

"That's two questions," said Arthur as he rose from the rocking chair, catching his Pumpkin as she began to tumble down his chest, "but yes; your Dad was in a fairytale. He's in all the best ones."

"Does that mean you were the handsome Prince?" Harriet asked, giggling as he carried her across the room.

"Of course, it does." He set her down on the bed and she wriggled beneath the covers. With gentle hands he tucked her in. He brushed a lock of dark hair away from her face, allowing his gaze to flicker across her features, committing them to memory for the billionth time since she had entered his life. "Goodnight, Pumpkin," he whispered as he gazed down at her with every ounce of love that lived in his heart. Arthur turned and strode for the door, hand reaching for the light switch.

"Daddy?"

Harriet's voice was quiet and uncertain as she called out to him. Arthur paused and half-turned in the doorway. "Yes?"

"Why was their love inapp-inapprobobate?"

The former King's heart melted as she mangled the word completely. "Inappropriate," he corrected gently.

"Yeah, that."

"Because the King would never have allowed it."

"But what about when Prince Daddy became King? Why couldn't they be together, then?"

Heartbreak flashed across Arthur's face for a split second before he washed it off. "Believing the Servant Boy would never love him back, the idiot Prince promised himself to a Servant Girl he carried a great affection for. That's enough questions, Harriet; go to sleep." He switched off the light and slipped from the room, the door shutting behind him with a quiet click.

-Present Day-

During the telling of the tale, Kara dozed off against his chest, her breathing synchronised with the rise and fall of his own torso. For some time Arthur sat there, the sound of her breath lulling him into a sense of calm, coaxing him into a restful slumber. The side of his face resting against the tangle of Kara's hair, he slept peacefully for the first time that night, his light snores mingling with those of his daughter. A few hours passed before he was roughly shaken awake. Startled, he almost hit Kara in the face with a wayward hand. Almost. "Sorry."

"Doesn't matter," said Kara dismissively, hands wrapping urgently around his lower arm. She almost wrenched his arm out of its socket as she pulled on it, hard. "We overslept! We need to move fast or we'll be late! Luckily, Aunt Morgana said she'd handle the hair and make-up department when we get there; we'd be lost without her!"

Arthur scrambled up from the couch – or tried to, rather. Mentally, he cursed his idiocy for falling asleep on the couch as he rubbed his stiff and sore back. At his age, he should know better. She yanked again. "Stop pulling on me," he ordered sharply, "it's not helping." Kara released him immediately, but fluttered nervously about him, like a belly full of butterflies. It made him nervous – something a former King should never be. "I'll get your Dad," he said, forcing a level of calm into his voice that he did not truly feel. "You wake the others. Go on." He shooed her ahead of him and she went with a flail of arms and a swirl of white fabric.

Arthur hurried after her, taking the stairs two at a time. He burst in to the master bedroom with less drama than he expected. He did not hesitate for a single moment, wrapping his arms around the sleeping form of his husband and hauling him out of the bed. "Wha'? Fuck. Arthur!" Merlin groused, his comprehension of the situation growing with every second. "What are you doing? Put me down!"

"We overslept," he explained swiftly, dumping his love in a gangly heap on the floor, blankets and all. "Get dressed! Now!" Merlin let out a string of curses that made him feel torn between laughing and grimacing. Shaking his head, Arthur forced himself to focus on dressing. He pulled his suit and Special Occasion Shoes from the wardrobe as Merlin dashed in to the bathroom for the quickest wash of his life. Arthur removed the protective covering from his suit as his heart pounded a furious beat against his ribs.

He retrieved a fresh pair of boxer shorts from his chest-of-drawers and began dressing quickly. Arthur focused on everything and anything to keep his mind off his destination: the slide of fabric against his skin; the slip of buttons through holes; the pull of laces across his shiny, recently-polished shoes. Aside from the particulars of getting dressed, the one thing he noticed was Merlin's return; his senses had been hyperaware of him ever since they had first started making love with one another. Thank God for that, he thought with a small smile. The Prime Minister brushed imaginary lint from his shoulder once he was dressed.

Merlin was cursing in frustration somewhere behind him. As a thundering of steps ran past their bedroom door and headed in the direction of the stairs, Arthur glanced over his shoulder. His love was struggling with the rich blue silk tie he was trying to fix. Arthur quickly crossed the room and turned him around with a gentle, but firm hand. He batted Merlin's trembling hands away and took over, his own hands deceptively steady in comparison. His love stared at him. The man looked ready to cry. Or scream. The corner of Arthur's mouth lifted in a smirk as he tightened and smoothed the fabric of the tie and turned down his collar. "What are you smirking at?" Merlin demanded, eyes narrowing dangerously, a trace of gold glinting in their depths.

The smirk broadened. "My idiot." He cupped his hand around the back of Merlin's neck and tugged him forward, capturing his mouth in a kiss that began urgent and demanding before fading to a soft need and affection as Merlin gradually calmed in his embrace, a pale hand resting lightly against Arthur's bicep. The Prime Minister's free hand cupped Merlin's hip, thumb slipping beneath the fabric of his white shirt and brushing against the soft skin he found there. There came a hitch of breath and a sigh mere moments before Merlin drew back reluctantly.

Arthur watched as he slipped on his blue waistcoat, followed by his black suit jacket. "I can't find my cufflinks," Merlin admitted quietly, glancing sideways at him.

Unsurprised, Arthur moved over to his bedside locker and pulled out the top drawer. Two small boxes were nestled side by side, right alongside his contact lenses, one blue and one red. Taking a moment to slip his contact lenses into his eyes and blink away the momentary tingling sensation, the Prime Minister retrieved the coloured boxes. He pressed the red one into Merlin's hand. "You asked me to keep them for you this time, since you always forget where your safe placesactually are. It's a good thing you did, since you forgot about that, too. Idiot."

"Prat," Merlin grumbled in response, but said nothing more on the matter. Arthur paused in the middle of attaching his own falcon-shaped cufflinks in favour of watching Merlin attach his Dragon-shaped ones. In that moment it struck him how much of a pair of closet romantics they really were. It was no wonder Harriet, well into her twenties now, still had an obsession with Disney's animated movies, particularly Sleeping Beauty. Merlin glanced at him again, appreciatively. "You look very dapper."

A smug grin was the only answer from Arthur, who lowered his gaze as he focused on attaching his cufflinks. Merlin swatted his arm for his smugness before leaning in and distracting him with another kiss. He almost dropped his cufflink as Merlin pressed against him with the hint of a promise. "God, I love you, Arthur." The words were murmured against his mouth, lips caressing his with every word uttered, warm breath ghosting across his skin. A tremor ran through him as he reflexively took hold of Merlin's wrist, fingers brushing against the pulse point.

Merlin's blood raced beneath his skin, pulsing violently against Arthur's fingers. As always, it left him breathless that this man...this descendant of the Gods, who carried all the power of nature in his fingertips, chose him. Lying in bed on the night of their marriage all those years ago, Arthur had glanced up at him as he brushed a kiss across his knee and muttered, "I don't deserve you."

"No, you don't," had been Merlin's admittedly cheeky response, "but I chose you anyway." A long-fingered hand had reached out and brushed a lock of blond hair out of Arthur's face. Had caressed his cheek. Arthur had pressed his face against that palm, eyes drifting closed in pleasure as he trailed kisses across the skin. The memory of those soft moments still filled his heart with a sweet ache, much the same as all their arguments filled him with the burn of arousal. The Prime Minister pulled back reluctantly and continued attaching his cufflinks.

The pair of them exited the bedroom together and descended through the manor, their steps hurried. When they arrived in the vestibule it was to see Lucian and Elyan fidgeting in their suits – complete with red ties and waistcoats and handkerchiefs, just like Arthur's ensemble. The two of them would be acting as groomsmen. Harriet looked impossibly beautiful in her strapless gown – crimson in colour, with a gold belt around her narrow waist; Amber, the other bridesmaid and who had slept over that night, was dressed similarly.

Arthur's heart skipped a beat at the sight of his youngest daughter.

"God, you're stunning," he breathed as he blinked away the sting in his eyes. Harriet whirled around in surprise and her expression brightened immeasurably at the sight of him. Her dark hair bouncing around her large ears, she flounced over to him and threw her arms around his neck. Arthur returned the embrace with just as much vigour, blissfully inhaling the scent of her favourite perfume. Chanel Number Five. It seemed like only yesterday she was small enough to cradle against his chest.

Merlin agreed with his voiced sentiment and Harriet hugged him next.

A throat was cleared behind and above them. Arthur turned almost reluctantly and looked upon his eldest daughter. Kara stood at the top of the stairs, clad in her wedding gown. The lace sleeves extended to her delicate wrists. The gown was tight around the torso, but not so tight as to display whatever imperfections might be perceived. From the waist down, the silk fabric fell loosely and swirled gently around her graceful legs. His heart stopped beating for a long moment and he struggled for breath. Elegantly, Kara began descending the stairs, smiling that secret smile that showed she was happy, nervous and frightened all at once. Clenched in her hand was her circlet, that small sapphire glittering prettily at the front.

Arthur opened his mouth to say something, but a loud car horn interrupted him. Startled, the lot of them hurried outside – not quite ready, but Morgana would be handling hair and make-up once they arrived at the church; there was a small anteroom set aside for that purpose alone – and bundled themselves in to their respective wedding cars. The original plan had been for Arthur to travel with the boys and for Merlin to go with the girls, but at the last moment Kara grabbed his wrist and looked at him with steadily rising panic. "You need to come with me," she whispered urgently.

"I...okay. Okay. Yeah. I can do that." Arthur glanced apologetically at Merlin, but his love merely shook his head and chuckled, heading off with the boys instead. Kara pulled him into the wedding car and they sat beside each other, his daughter trembling for every second of the journey. He glanced sideways and eyed the circlet in her hand. The day she wore it first was etched permanently in his mind.

-2033-

The Prime Minister stood in the open doorway, leaning against the doorframe. Merlin was down the hall in the living room, eyeing their daughter's date with intense distrust, his eyes glinting with a threatening hint of gold. Kara stood in front of her full-length bedroom mirror, fussing with the fabric of her prom dress – a light and airy fabric that began white but gradually deepened to a dark pink as it descended down the length of her body. Personally, he had never understood the rise in such things since the beginning of the twenty-first century, but he supposed that just went to show how old he was. Harriet was curled up on her bed, glowering at her sister out of pure jealousy.

Morgana stood behind Kara, her mouth forming a thin line as she expertly worked the girl's hair up in to a pretty hairstyle that complimented her facial features; she had already employed her talents to decorate Kara's face with beauty products, though Arthur felt she was the most stunning without artifice. As he watched, Kara seemed to feel the weight of his affection. She raised her eyes and met his gaze through the mirror. A small smile danced across her mouth

Once Morgana was finished with her hair, the woman opened a black velvet case, revealing a lovely silver circlet, adorned with a sapphire. With elegant hands Morgana lifted the circlet from its casing and gently placed it upon Kara's head. Arthur's heart melted at the sight; it was almost like crowning her a Princess. Slowly, the girl turned to face him. Quite clearly nervous, she wrung one hand with the other as she waited for the Prime Minister to offer his opinion on her appearance. He flicked his gaze in Harriet's direction. The younger girl understood immediately and scarpered out of the room, gangly and ungraceful and oh, so precious. His sister departed at a much more sedate pace, throwing him a glance heavy with meaning.

Arthur ignored her, focusing instead on his eldest daughter. Her fidgeting increased, summoning a fond smile to his mouth. "You're beautiful," he said, voice gentle and warm and earnest, his expression soft.

"You always say that, though."

Unfolding his arms, he crossed the room and rested his hands upon her narrow shoulders. "Because it's always true," Arthur answered, rubbing soothing circles with his thumbs.

Kara ducked her head, dark blue gaze locked on the floor. Something was clearly bothering her. "Daddy..." she began, trailing off in to silence for a moment. The seconds trickled past slowly as he waited patiently for her to work up the courage to speak her mind. She looked up at last. The emotion in her eyes threatened to break his heart for the billionth time. "Do you love Elyan and the others more than you love me? Uncle Gwaine said being adopted meant I didn't matter as much –"

"Uncle Gwaine's a moron," snapped Arthur, hands tightening on her shoulders without his intent. He softened his grip instantly, rubbing an immediate apology into her skin. Taking a moment to compose himself, lest he lose his temper with the wrong person, Arthur just looked in to her eyes meaningfully. "Lucian and Harriet aren't mine by birth either, but they're still my children by heart; they're still my Bread Roll and Pumpkin. No matter what Uncle Gwaine – no matter what anyone says, you will always be my Princess. You will always be my first. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise, Kara, ever."

The Prime Minister pulled her against his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around her. She clutched at him, needy and desperate and filled with so much tumultuous emotion that it would not surprise him if her mascara started to run. Soothingly, he rubbed his hand up and down her back, murmuring soft words that, if anyone should have accused him of saying such things, would have earned them a punch in the face. Kara trembled in his embrace, but after a long moment she drew back, taking several slow, deep breaths in an effort to calm herself down.

A bright smile, full wattage and breathtaking, was directed at him. "Thanks." Arthur's only response was to stare at her a little longer, expression soft, before smiling in return. The smile was barely there, but present nonetheless. "My face is still okay, right?"

"Perfect – even with all that junk."

"It's not junk." Kara's eyebrows knitted together slightly and she swatted his arm, hard. "I'll have you know, Aunt Morgana spent a fortune on this stuff; apparently, I deserve the best."

"You do, but you'll always look the most stunning without all that artifice. I think you're beautiful as you, not how you think you ought to look."

"But you're biased."

"No, I'm not; I have excellent taste!"

"In kitchen knives, yeah."

He frowned severely down at her. "Merlin's had words with you, hasn't he; that arse. I'll kill him."

Kara snorted in amusement. "You'd have to catch him first; those long limbs are handy for fleeing." She shook her head as she linked her arm with his, hand resting lightly upon the crook of his elbow; the weight was a comforting presence. "Allons-y," she said brightly, quoting the Doctor. That, along with her slight ability with magic, was something she had in common with Merlin. "We've wasted enough time. Dad's probably got my date peeing in his pants by now." Escorting her out the door, Arthur hoped that was true; then, Kara might be inclined to boot him out the door and call one of her female friends to accompany her instead.

No such luck, however. When they arrived in the living room the boy – though clearly nervous – seemed to be handling himself well. Arthur supposed it was a common trait among the Druids; though magic had been legalised during his tenure as Prime Minister and the magical community had settled down some, there was still a large number of people who feared or hated anything that was vaguely connected to the word magic. It sickened him. The boy, ginger-haired and stocky, was one of the many Druids attending the Albion Academy of Magic that had opened in the summer of 2021, with Merlin as the Headmaster.

Albion Academy had three divisions: a Primary School; a Secondary School; a University. In Primary School, the young Druids were taught the basics of the Old Religion and how to achieve control of their magic through meditation, alongside the more common subjects any British child would study. In Secondary School, the subjects became broader, encompassing the bestiary, basic herblore, the study of the Ancient Tongue and the common subjects taught to that age bracket. In University, the students could branch off into their own specialist areas, studying what interested them the most. One of their most enterprising students to date had combined magic with electronics, forging force-fields that could be used in the case of an emergency. All of the Police Stations had been supplied with them, as well as a number of their Military Forces.

The force-fields were not infallible, but they could save a life in a pinch.

Her former Majesty, the Queen of England, had continuously expressed her pride in their work, bolstering the magical community's sense of belonging. It had been private knowledge, at Buckingham, that Her Majesty thought Aredian "Ian" Killer was an utter fool trumped-up on his own self-importance; she had been in favour of legalising magic, but could do nothing about it until the paperwork crossed her desk, allowing her to sign the dotted line with a smile on her face. It had been the Queen, herself, who urged Arthur to begin the coup that started his reign as Prime Minister when it was discovered that, then, Prince William's firstborn son had the gift of magic, though that was the best kept secret in the United Kingdom – the urging part, at any rate.

As soon as he had been released from the hospital, a black car had been waiting for him outside. The driver, a man he had recognised, had calmly instructed him to get in and he did so without question. That year had been a rollercoaster of emotion for Arthur; sometimes he still had nightmares. Shaking his head, he pushed those memories to the back of his mind and focused on the matter at hand. Kara cleared her throat, causing both Merlin and the boy to look up, the latter almost falling out of his chair in the process.

"I'm sure your Dad would like a moment with you, Kara; you," Arthur said, pointing at the boy authoritatively, "come with me." When the boy made no move to do so he barked at him, "now!" The boy jumped to attention and tripped over his own feet on his way out the door. A secret smirk tugged at the corner of Arthur's mouth as he stalked out after him. He pulled the door closed and the boy looked up at him like a frightened rabbit when he grasped the boy's shoulder in a threatening grip. "Touch her without her permission and you're dead. Stay out too late and you're dead. Look at her wrong and you're dead."

"Mr Prime Minister, sir, I –"

"Got it?"

"How're you even going to –?"

Arthur's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Oh, I'll know. Mark my words, boy; she comes home with even the slightest hint of tears, I will hunt you down and gut you like a fish." In that moment Arthur did not care that he was the Prime Minister, that he was a member of His Majesty's Government, that any number of ears could be listening to him through the walls; all that mattered was Kara's safety and happiness.

"Yes, sir."

He released him. "Good. Now, get out of my sight." The boy scarpered immediately, hiding himself away in the living room, where Kara could protect him from her overbearing fathers. Arthur sighed and ran a hand back through his whitening hair. "Coward." When the door opened and Kara escorted her date past Arthur she threw a dark glare in his direction. The Prime Minister's response was a blinding grin that made her harrumph, but teased a smile out of her regardless.

The pair of them disappeared downstairs, where they would climb in to the limousine waiting for them. Arthur had argued for sending Tristan and Isolde along with her, but Kara had argued right back, saying that with Prince George in attendance – he had been a student at Albion Academy since its inception and would be one young girl's arm candy – there would be numerous bodyguards and security agents to keep an eye on things. Merlin had agreed with her and that had been that, though Arthur had thrown up a fuss afterwards, demanding to know who in the house was the Prime Minister.

Shaking his head, Arthur stood in the hallway for a long moment and startled when Merlin slipped up behind him, arms wrapping around him, hands resting warmly against his chest, over his heart. He felt lips kiss the tattoo at the back of his neck, open and warm and conveying so much affection. Warmth pooled in Arthur's abdomen, arousal shooting through his blood stream. "I sent Harriet and the boys off with Morgana for the night," his love murmured. The smirk that pulled at his mouth morphed in to a biting of his lower lip as Merlin's lips dragged to the side and upwards, finding that spot behind his ear that made his knees tremble.

"Is that so?" Arthur breathed, struggling for nonchalance and failing miserably.

"Mmm." Merlin's lips found the lobe of his ear, the sudden heat and wetness threatening to send Arthur's eyes rolling up into the back of his head. "So...we have the place to ourselves for awhile."

A breathy laugh escaped the Prime Minister as Merlin dragged him into the living room and shut the door. Pale hands began undoing the buttons of his shirt, fingertips ghosting across the skin he found there. Unable to bear the teasing, Arthur whirled around and captured his mouth in a hungry kiss, hand losing itself in Merlin's hair as he guided him back towards the couch. Not wanting to be outdone, Merlin turned them both and pushed him down onto the cushions, straddling his lap as Arthur trailed kisses down his jaw, his throat, hands almost frantic as they tore at his clothes.

They lost themselves in the heat of the moment, clinging to each other as they gasped and sighed and moaned, hands clenching, gripping, scrawling, muscles contracting and releasing. If anyone passed the door they might have been mistaken for a pair of wild animals. Afterwards, when they lay sated and trembling, their skin rosy with sweat and completion, Merlin ran a hand down Arthur's back, massaging the muscles there, rubbing apologies where he had slightly broken the skin. "Not bad for an old prat," Merlin murmured cheekily, brushing a kiss to Arthur's shoulder as he rested his head in the curve of his arm, gangly body half-covered by Arthur's own.

Arthur slapped his thigh sharply, but caressed it afterwards, catching Merlin's mouth for another kiss, languid this time. After a moment he pulled back, resting his head against Merlin's shoulder. "You'll be the death of me, I think." The words were a sigh, lips brushing against heated, sweaty skin. He squeezed his eyes shut as a bubble of laughter escaped him. "And what a way to go," he praised. Merlin's hand slid upwards, losing itself in Arthur's hair, fingertips caressing his scalp affectionately.

"La petite mort d'Arthur," Merlin said, a teasing tone to his voice, an impish smile on his mouth. "They should make that a movie; bet it would outdo that 2028 remake of Fifty Shades of Grey."

"Oh, my God; fuck off. My sex life is not going to be a movie."

"Pity. I'd watch it, just so I can heckle for bad casting."

"You would, too," said Arthur, lifting his head. Expression soft, he gazed down at his husband for a long moment. Merlin's eyes drifted open slowly, doe-like and lovely in his post-coital bliss. Once upon a time, the Prime Minister would have been ready to go again in an instant if Merlin had looked at him like that, but now...well...he was not a young man anymore. As if sensing where his thoughts were going, Merlin's hand slipped down between them, fingers ghosting along his limp member. His eyes flashed gold. Arthur sighed happily as his body reacted instantly. "I love magic."

"Me, too," mumbled his love before pulling him down for another kiss. Almost automatically, Arthur's hand slid upwards, coming to his hip, fingers finding the hand-shaped bruise that would no doubt surface in the morning. Some time and several unions later, Arthur was sprawling heavily across the cushions as he panted in exhaustion, his husband resting upon his scarred and heaving chest, fingertips swirling through a bead of sweat. Merlin muttered an irritated, "your phone is ringing."

"Which one?"

"Your personal one, you deaf bat; it's vibrating on the floor."

"I'm not deaf, just selective." Opening his eyes, Arthur patted Merlin's hip, ordering him to get off. The man grumbled under his breath, but did so, allowing the Prime Minister to rise from the couch. Tossing an amused glance back at him, Arthur bent down to retrieve his phone and ignored the resultant lewd remarks. Eyeing the caller ID, he frowned when he failed to recognise the number; there were a limited number of people that had access to his mobile phone – all of them were family or close friends. Answering the call, he brought it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Daddy?"

The word was broken and ragged from crying. Arthur's blood froze in his veins; all vestiges of humour vanished. His hand tightened around the mobile phone. "Kara?" Behind him, Merlin startled to attention.

"I need you to come get me. I..."

His tone sharpened immediately, almost turning in to a bark as he spoke to her. "Where are you?" Arthur gave Merlin his usual gesture, which meant: get Leon, now. Hastily pulling on his trousers and shirt, Merlin vanished out the door.

Kara sniffled, the sound tiny and muffled over the phone. "West End Central Police Station; I got in to a spot of trouble."

"Did that boy get handsy? I'll kill him!"

"No; I've been arrested!"

Blood thundered in his ear as his heart pounded a dangerous rhythm against his ribs. A moment of utter silence passed between them as his jaw clenched and unclenched several times, before he managed to respond. "If that's sarcasm, I will not be amused."

"It's not sarcasm, Daddy; I...I was arrested for aggravated assault. I lost my phone during the melee. I tried calling you with the phone at the station, but there's a problem with the wiring; I had to plead with one of the officers to let me use his personal one. Apparently, he has a daughter my age; I exploited that as soon as I saw the opening, but I don't know how much time I have left. He looks ready to come over and take it off me. I...I know you're not happy to hear this, that it's another blemish on the Pendragon name, but I –"

"Kara –"

"No, Daddy; shut up and listen. I had my reasons for beating up that arsehole. You have to believe me!"

"I do," he answered emphatically, "never doubt it."

"I...okay. There are reporters outside; I can hear them hailing some of the officers. There must have been a leak. Daddy, hurry!" She hung up without another word. Arthur assumed the police officer had reclaimed his phone. With all haste he dressed and tried to make himself look presentable, before running out the door, down through the offices at Number Ten and out the front entrance. Leon, as youthful as ever, the bastard, was behind the steering wheel of the black car that waited for him; Merlin, hovering near the front door, opted to stay behind...to hold the fort.

His husband caught Arthur's arm on his way past. "Just in case," he said as he pressed a piece of ice into his hand. "It's magically preserved; it won't melt on you."

Arthur gave him a sharp look, but said nothing in response as he slipped it in to his pocket. He climbed in to the backseat of the car, pulling the door shut with a snap. "West End Central Police Station, Leon; on the double." Leon nodded, hands already moving on the steering wheel, and Arthur fastened his seatbelt. He proceeded to stare pensively out the window as the car pulled away. Leon had a knack for driving at speed, while make it seem as though they were crawling. When they arrived at the police station it was to find Kara had been absolutely correct; reporters from a number of news stations were gathered outside, cameras rolling, microphones ready.

Jaw clenched in irritation, Arthur opened the car door and stepped out. Leon was by his side in an instant, a tall and welcome presence, but seemingly threatening to those who did not know him. Together, they pushed through the crowd, forcing their way to the door, ignoring every question flung at them to the best of their ability. Once they were safely inside, Arthur strode towards the front desk, where a young – clearly recently graduated – officer looked at him like a deer caught in headlights. "My daughter, where is she?"

"Er..."

"Where is she?!" The young officer pointed a trembling finger towards the door five feet away from him and swallowed thickly. Arthur spoke no more words to him and pushed his way through the door; he vaguely heard Leon offering an apology on his behalf. The policemen that had been sitting around a table jumped out of their seats immediately, standing to attention as soon as they saw him. It did not appease him in the slightest. "I presume you brought in the young man involved in the incident when you arrested my daughter; where are the detainees?" he asked, trying to keep his temper under control this time.

An older man, slightly heavy around the middle, stepped forward; he was clearly the Custody Sergeant and must surely have been the officer Kara referred to during her phone call. "Your daughter's in a holding cell; follow me, Mr Prime Minister." The Custody Sergeant led him to the holding cells. Kara was huddled in one of them, a segment of her prom dress missing from her side. She hugged her legs to her chest and rested her head on her knees. When the keys jangled she looked up.

Arthur's heart stopped beating in an instant, leaping up in to his throat in an attempt to choke him. Her make-up was smeared; her eyes were puffy from crying, her mascara staining her cheeks in long streaks. The right side of her face was swollen and bruised. Kara jumped up from the small cot she had been curled up on. As soon as the gate was opened he was through it, his hands finding her shoulders. "What on earth were you thinking?!" Arthur demanded of her, his voice rising with every uttered word as his heart suddenly began beating again. "What have I taught you about picking your battles?!"

Kara trembled, a small whimper of pain escaping her as two or three new tears rolled down from her eyes. Arthur released her as if he had been burned, jerking backwards as he pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, turning away from her to hide the surge of emotions that flashed across his face. He was losing his temper with the wrong person. After a moment, he lowered his hand. "I didn't mean it."

"I know."

The Prime Minister turned to face her. "You scared me half to death."

"I know."

"And you're hurt..."

"I know."

"That's very annoying..."

"I know. Sorry; couldn't help it. Daddy..." Kara hesitated a moment before sitting down on the cot and staring at her hands. "I didn't go looking for trouble," she began quietly, glancing nervously down to the end of the row of holding cells. Following her gaze, Arthur could just about make out the shadow of a boy. "I went to powder my nose and when I came back from the bathroom my date was with his friends. They were talking, loudly. People were giving them a wide berth. He was saying..." Kara squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her fists against them for a long moment; a tremor ran through her as she fought to control her emotions. "He was calling you a filthy faggot, you and Dad both."

Standing somewhere behind Arthur, the Custody Sergeant was taking notes; the Prime Minister could hear the scratch of his pen against paper. It was clear that Kara had refused to talk until her father had arrived. The man froze upon hearing the last part. Kara kept talking, kept explaining, and Arthur listened intently. "I was angry, Daddy, so angry. I tried to stay calm, kept telling myself that he was allowed to have opinions – even if they're stupid and ignorant ones. But he kept going, said that the pair of you ought to be put in your place, taught a lesson!"

When Kara looked up at him here eyes were filled with a quiet plea. "The others were getting rowdy – the fact that they'd been drinking didn't help matters, at all. But it didn't matter to me; the damage had been done. I saw red and I jumped him. I never meant for it to go this far. I should have known better than to let my emotions get ahead of me; Dad's always harping on about keeping calm and meditating, but when someone threatens your family...you don't just sit idly by. You put a stop to it. That's all I wanted to do. You have to believe me."

Arthur moved to sit down on the cot. He caught her hands with his and held them close to his heart. "Of course, I believe you. Kara, you've been my daughter since the day you were born; I've seen you when you're out and about. While you'd playfully roughhouse with your siblings, you have never outright attacked anyone since that first day you entered my household. That you would do so, now, only goes to show how threatened you felt." He pulled her into his arms and rested a hand against her head. Her hair was in complete disarray and the circlet lay upon the thin, scratchy blankets of the cot.

The Custody Sergeant made a few more notes and slipped away, heading down to where the boy was held. Kara did not cry any further, but her hand did fist the fabric of his shirt tightly, knuckles whitening from the strain. For some time they sat like that, but each moment that passed caused his temper to rise anew. Arthur's mouth tightened slightly; he wanted to get her out of there, take her home and curl up with her until she fell asleep in his arms, safe and sound. As if sensing this, the Custody Sergeant returned.

He looked in at them for a moment before sighing. "Mr O'Connor confessed to participating in a hate speech against the LGBT community, Mr Prime Minister, but as your daughter has also confessed to the accusation laid against her, the case will have to be presented to the Crown Prosecution Service. We have a few witnesses to speak to in the meantime; for now, though, you're free to go. We'll call, if you need to come back down to the station. Debrief your solicitor, just in case."

Arthur let out a sigh of relief. If Kara had to go to court, they would deal with that when they came to it. For now, they could go home and that was all that mattered. He rose from the cot, tugging his daughter after him. Kara picked up the circlet and gripped it tight in her hand. The Prime Minister kept his arm wrapped around his daughter as they left the police station, meeting Leon at the desk. The gentle-natured man removed his jacket and slipped it over Kara's narrow shoulders. They made their way towards the exit where the reporters outside were exploding with excited action, getting ready to bombard them with more questions.

"Brace yourself," he muttered. Kara nodded beside him, but did not once make a move to cover her face. She kept her head up and walked with pride...just like her father beside her. Leon moved in front of them, acting as a buffer as he cleared the way for them, pushing through the crowd ahead of them. Cameras and microphones were shoved in their faces and though Kara and Arthur exchanged encouraging glances, it did not stop the Prime Minister's temper from rising at the intrusion.

They were almost to the car when he felt himself starting to snap. He pushed Kara on ahead of him and Leon wrapped his arm around her, drawing her forward, keeping her shielded as she climbed in to the car. Arthur turned and faced the crowd, giving them all an imperious glare that caused them all to fall silent, instinctually responding to the power of his heritage, his bearing. "If you would all calm down for just a moment, I would like to say a few words." He brushed an imaginary piece of lint from his shoulder.

The reporters waited on baited breath. Finally, he looked up and stared at the cameras meaningfully. "Yes, my eldest daughter was brought in for questioning, regarding an outbreak of violence at Claridge's Hotel. Yes, she was injured during the melee. Yes, she caused damage to another student in the process. However, it has been revealed that the outbreak of violence was in response to the hate speech of a student in attendance. The LGBT community was attacked tonight, my husband and I included. While I cannot, in good conscience, condone the actions of my daughter this evening, I will say that her heart was and has always been in the right place. I couldn't be more proud of her. Thank you."

With that done, Arthur climbed in to the backseat and pulled the door closed with a snap. Buckling his seatbelt, he drew Kara into the circle of his arms. She nestled against his chest. Reaching into his pocket, Arthur withdrew the ice Merlin had given him. Gently, he applied it to her bruised and swollen face, stroking her hair gently with his other hand.

-Present Day-

"I can't find my silver sixpence," Kara exclaimed in hysterics as she and the girls scoured the anteroom of the church. Sometime during his reminiscing Arthur had been pulled from the car and in to the church. His eldest daughter even went so far as to go down on her hands and knees, peering under tables and chairs. "I can't go down that aisle without my sixpence!" Arthur was unsure what to do in this situation; he and Merlin had veered completely away from the old adage: something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue and a silver sixpence in her shoe.

She sounded about ready to burst out crying at the thought. "Breathe, darling; now, calm down," said Morgana as she caught the younger woman by the upper arms and hauled her up from the ground with astounding vigour. Rather like a fine wine, his sister had aged gracefully. "You can use mine, sweetheart." The ageing harpy snapped open her handbag and searched her purse for the coin – she had kept hers on her person ever since she had married Aglain. It was surprisingly sentimental of her and made a small smile tug at Arthur's mouth as he watched them interact with each other.

Balancing on a stiletto-clad foot with admirable grace, Kara pulled one shoe off and slipped the proffered coin inside, her foot quickly following. Now that the sixpence dilemma had been averted, she was able to calm down, eventually. Morgana quietly slipped out to take her seat in the church. Kara still looked indescribably nervous, however. Arthur, expression soft, watched her, wondering if Merlin had been this nervous on the morning of their wedding. He knew he had been; it had been so bad Lance had threatened to knock him unconscious and make him go through the wedding as a live marionette. Remembering it still made his heart go wobbly with a mixture of fondness and embarrassment.

Lance had been Arthur's best man, just as Arthur had been his. Gwaine and Leon had acted as the other groomsmen on his side. On Merlin's side had been Gwen, Freya and Morgana – something that had made Gwaine very uncomfortable during the ceremony, but it was not to be helped. He knew their wedding had hardly been a traditional one – Merlin had not even worn white, for pity's sake, claiming it would be dishonest, considering the many times Arthur had fucked him through the mattress – but they had made an attempt at having one and that was what mattered.

He cupped Kara's shoulders gently as he stepped forward. "There's still time to call it off, if you're having doubts," said the Prime Minister quietly, noticing how she kept fidgeting with her bouquet – deep red roses, accompanied by white swirly petals of flowers Arthur did not recognise, but thought were quite lovely.

"Fuck that!" She covered her mouth quickly and glanced around as if afraid a priest might jump out at her. "I mean: this wedding is still going ahead. I'm nervous, Daddy, not getting cold feet. There's a difference."

"Damn."

A huff of laughter escaped her as she swatted his chest. "He's not that bad."

Arthur grumbled, but quietly admitted, "I know." He wrinkled his nose. "But he's so old. He's almost as old as your Dad!"

"But he's not my Dad."

"No, he's your cousin," he groused.

"Only on paper." Kara patted his arm consolingly. "Besides, I didn't grow up knowing him, considering him my cousin; it's your own fault for never letting us know each other when I was a child."

Arthur ran a hand back through his hair, sighing forlornly. "Don't remind me, Kara."

They might have spoken more on the subject had the door not opened, Merlin's head popping around the edge. "Guys, what's taking so long; everyone's waiting! I just had to pin the groom to the altar to prevent him from tearing down here to do God knows what."

"We were having a moment," Kara explained, glancing up at Arthur, a small smile gracing her mouth. She linked her arm through his, resting her hand lightly upon the crook of his elbow. Arthur smiled down at her, blue eyes sparkling with warmth and affection. "I'm ready." Merlin grinned, blew her a kiss and vanished, pulling the door closed briefly. Kara took a deep breath, allowing her eyes to slip closed for a moment.

"If you get too nervous," said Arthur quietly as the music began playing on the other side of the door, "and you want to run, just imagine him with donkeys ears; you'll want to get close enough to tickle them." An amused grin danced across his face. Kara trembled beside him, struggling to contain her laughter as she clearly remembered the incident to which he was referring.

-2034-

"Why the hell did we come all the way to Ireland to see a bloody castle?" demanded Morgana, glowering as their large group made their way onto the Blarney Castle Grounds. The only person missing was Morgana's eldest son; he was away on business, apparently. "I have seen much more impressive castles in my lifetime; this is naught but glorified stones attempting to be a castle. And it's a rip-off! The state-owned castles let you onto their grounds for anything between free access and five Euros. I am so not impressed. At all. Arthur, I hate you."

"Oh, my God," groused Arthur, glaring at her through his sunglasses, "shut up, you harpy." Ahead of them, Merlin was practically skipping as he nattered away to Elyan and Lucian – both of whom were grinning and bearing it, though they would clearly prefer to jump in front of a bus instead of being stuck listening to him give a history lesson on the castle they were about to visit. Gwaine was making sweet love to his ice cream cone and Freya, arm linked with that of her cone-eating husband, had her nose buried in a book about Irish mythology – mainly, the legendary creature section, which was her area of expertise over at the Albion Academy. Their children – Albert, Gregory and Patricia – were munching on chocolates and crisps, babbling excitedly; the three of them were keen on history, despite Gwaine's constant teasing complaints.

Harriet, Kara and Amber were checking out the other tourists, making unseemly innuendoes under their breath and giggling. Aglain was taking pictures of the flowers and scenery they passed. Lance and Gwen were going googly-eyed over a golden retriever puppy that was being trained to be a Guide Dog for the Blind. Leon was studying a roadmap for some unfathomable reason, his pretty girlfriend for the century, Cheryl Trevena, on his arm. She was a lovely woman thus far and was a professor at the university section of Albion Academy. Apparently, she had been born in a village near what used to be known as the Mountains of Isgaard.

Percy and his wife, Helena, were over by one of the traditional music groups that sat on benches in the grass. The tune currently being played was something Arthur remembered hearing in the 1997 film, Titanic, when Rose was down in steerage with Jack. The Prime Minister had always had a love-hate relationship with that film. On the one hand, he thought the film would have been a hundred times better if he and Merlin had been the main characters – at least, then, it might have been interesting during the moments when there were no nudity or people dying. On the other hand...the main theme drove him to insanity every time he heard it.

"I told you before," said Merlin without looking back at them, "we're here because I want to kiss the Blarney Stone; it's practically a rite of passage!"

"You don't need the Gift of the Gab, Merlin," sighed Arthur in exasperation; he had been looking forward to just staying in bed all day, enjoying the time he got to relax with his husband. "You can already talk the ears off a donkey."

His love glanced over his shoulder, smiling impishly at the man. "And you'd know, wouldn't you?"

Gwen, having overheard the last few remarks, burst out laughing as she remembered the incident where Arthur had been partly-transformed into a donkey by Gaius – who had, admittedly, been possessed by a Goblin at the time. Harriet gasped in surprise, clapping a hand over her mouth. "Daddy was turned into a donkey?" she asked, green eyes wide as she stared, first at Gwen, who gestured to her own ears, for confirmation, then at Arthur. The giggles started, then, as she clearly imagined her father with the ears of a donkey.

The Prime Minister's cheeks flushed scarlet. "You are dead, Merlin. Dead!" His gangly husband took off with a laugh and Arthur gave furious chase, uncaring that the others were laughing. His heart pounded in his chest, his blood thumped in his ears, adrenaline raced through his body; it was brilliant. It felt like freedom. Arthur caught him a good stretch away from the group, near the edge of a small river. Arms wrapping securely around his love's middle, Arthur pulled him back towards himself.

Merlin let out an undignified squeak, struggling against Arthur's embrace. Eventually, their legs ended up getting tangled, causing the pair of them to topple over the edge of the embankment. They landed in the river with a splash and a pair of shrieks that were decidedly ungirly as ice cold water rushed through their clothes, soaking their skin and hitting their family jewels like a hard punch. "Clotpole," exclaimed Merlin, half-amused and half-indignant, shoving Arthur's river-soaked face away, knocking his sunglasses further askew in the process.

"Shut up; you love it," replied Arthur, smirking as he scrambled to cover Merlin's body with his own. His husband made a soft noise, shifting in discomfort as stones dug into his back, rubbing against the Prime Minister while doing so. Arthur's arms caged him, still finely muscled in spite of his age.

"Get off me, you prat."

"Not until I get a kiss."

"You're an arse."

"I'm wait –" The man did not even get the chance to finish before Merlin's mouth was on his, hungry and loving, one hand gripping his sodden t-shirt, the other carding through his river-soaked hair. Arthur's eyes drifted closed as he sighed in pleasure, his hand coming to rest on Merlin's thigh, just above his knee. His husband really was just perfect, slotting against his body as though he had been designed specifically for him. That thought left him feeling warm and soft on the inside.

"Oh, my God; you are so embarrassing! We can't take you anywhere," exclaimed Lucian from behind Arthur suddenly, distracting them from their sinful pursuits. Arthur looked up to his see his youngest son shielding his eyes, turning his face away from them as if he had been burned by the sight of them. Harriet and Elyan laughed; Kara smacked the back of Lucian's head, sending him face-first into the river alongside them. He screamed with shock and rage and embarrassment, flailing around in the shallow river.

"Now, who's embarrassing?" asked Arthur, resting his chin in his palm. Lucian flipped him the bird, picking himself up from the riverbed and marching, completely drenched, out of the river. His face looked like thunder; his resemblance to Morgana was almost unnerving.

"You really are a prat."

"A royal one," the Prime Minister agreed, climbing to his feet. He offered Merlin his hand, smiling down at him, his eyes sparkling with affection. Merlin took his hand in an instant. Arthur pulled him to his feet and threw one arm around his shoulders, hand resting by his neck, as he readjusted his sunglasses. The pair of them followed after the others, who were grinning and smiling, all save Lucian, who scowled for the rest of the day. All in all, it was one of the best family holidays they had ever had.

-Present Day-

The doors opened from the outside and Arthur and Kara stepped forward in synchronisation as they took a deep breath. It was a slow parade from the anteroom, following the turn of the carpet in to the main chamber. The high ceiling gave him chills, just as it did when he and Merlin had been married there. The church pews were filled with people: close family and significant others at the front, close friends in the middle, acquaintances, business associates and fellow government officials at the back.

Olaf Dietrich, from MI5, stood off to the side. He was younger than Arthur in this life. That was a nice change. Broad-shouldered and stern, Olaf looked quite menacing in his black suit, earpiece plainly visible. He was bound to be armed; with Prince George and his sister, Diana, in attendance as representatives of their family, security had been given top priority. There were several other MI5 agents dotted around the church, some of them murmuring in to their earpieces, others allowing their gazes to sweep the congregation.

When the gathered realised Kara and Arthur had arrived everyone rose from their pews, almost as one. People half-turned towards the aisle in order to watch her walk passed them. Gentle smiles of encouragement and surprised looks of awe were commonplace in these moments. Kara's hand tightened around his elbow, fingers digging in almost painfully. Arthur reached over and rested his hand upon hers, rubbing a soothing circle with his thumb. He was nervous himself, for pity's sake, and he was not even the one getting married.

Tell that to the butterflies in your gut, a voice in his mind groused. Arthur gave it a mental kick and told it to shut up; he had to focus. The procession down the aisle was a slow one, allowing him to take in everything. Merlin was up at the very front, expression soft as he nibbled his bottom lip. His love looked almost ready to weep at the sight of them walking towards the altar, towards Kara's future. Arthur flashed him the ghost of a smile in encouragement, which the man latched onto gratefully. Arthur's gaze flicked towards the altar, where the groom was waiting.

The expression on his face was the same one Lance had worn when it was his wedding, the same one Gwaine and Percy had worn at theirs, the same one Arthur must have worn when watching Merlin walk down the aisle towards him. Gaius had escorted Merlin down the aisle, had given him away with a beaming smile at the pair of them. The thought that everyone had been expecting it to happen, before Arthur and Merlin ever realised the other had been attracted to them, was both wonderful and aggravating simultaneously.

Arthur met the groom's gaze and for one precious moment their rivalry was set aside. A smile graced the man's mouth, brightening his face as his blue eyes sparkled with joy. The Prime Minister smiled in return, tipping his head slightly in acknowledgement of their temporary truce.

-2035-

His fingers were fumbling with his tie; they would not cooperate with him in the slightest. His jaw clenched as he continued the futile struggle until he fired the blue material across the room in a fit of temper. He kicked the dresser in front of him for good measure. Hanging his head, Arthur let out a harsh breath and pinched the bridge of his nose with trembling fingers. Today was just not his day. Someone clucked their tongue at him from behind. The Prime Minister did not even bother to turn around; he knew who was there already. Only one person could make his blood sing in his veins.

"If you want to vent your frustration, you ought to use a punching bag, not the furniture," Merlin chided as he stepped fully into the room. He retrieved the tie from where it had fluttered to the floor and came across the bedroom, slipping around him, sliding into the space between Arthur and the dresser. Their pelvises pressed together sweetly and at any other time Arthur would have kissed him, stoked the fires within them, taken his husband against the dresser. Blue eyes flicked up to his face for a brief moment before Merlin slipped the tie around his neck. "You're allowed to be afraid, you know."

"I'm not afraid," Arthur corrected as his eyebrows knitted together in a stern frown. A small smile graced his love's mouth, indicating how little he believed his words. Merlin's hands moved continuously, entirely focused on tying the tie in his hands. It was very distracting; Arthur had always had a strange fascination with those long-fingered hands, with that pale skin that bewitched his mind and ensnared his senses. "I'm angry; there's a difference."

"That's understandable, too," Merlin answered as he tightened the tie until the knot rested against the buttoned collar. Arthur felt like he was being strangled by the bloody thing, though he knew that was a symptom of his current emotional state than any attempts to put him out of his misery. Gentle hands smoothed down the fabric of his tie. The collar was turned down, smoothed out. Imaginary lint was brushed from his suit jacket. Those blue eyes glanced upwards again. "I know you've been dreading this, dreading the reprisal that will surely follow, but we've held off for long enough. Kara's twenty now; she's mature enough to think this through, to compare the King of Camelot to the man who's been her father since the day she was born."

The Prime Minister's lips formed a thin line. A muscle in his cheek jumped. "But what if –"

Merlin pressed his hands lightly against his chest, their warm weight comforting in his time of need. "No matter what happens tonight, Arthur, you are the man who took her in, knowing who she was...what she could easily become one day. You are the man who wiped away her tears and put bandages on her torn skin, who punched Gwaine in the face for saying she didn't matter as much as the others – breaking his nose in the process! Again! You are the man she screams for when she's in pain, who she calls when she needs help. You are her father and she loves you, very much."

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, shaking his head. He knew that when the memories began to wake all of that would change. He was the man who had led platoons of Knights into the camps of peaceful Druids, slaughtering them on his father's orders. He was the man who had her put to death. Nodded at the hangman to proceed. Watched as her body plunged, neck snapping in an instant. The fear and defiance and pride in her eyes still burned in his thoughts. A single tear slipped free of his eyelashes at the memory.

Merlin cupped his cheek tenderly, his thumb brushing the tear away immediately. "On top of all that, you are the man who ousted a severe and dangerous bigot from his position as Prime Minister. You are the man that legalised magic, that welcomed the Druids into society, that enabled the protection acts for creatures of magic. You are the man that cut the ribbon when Albion Academy opened, that openly named the Front Against Magic a terrorist group. How can she justify hating you when you have done so much for her people? Have a little faith, Arthur."

Opening his eyes, Arthur leaned in to Merlin's touch. His love's expression was soft, though there was a hint of steel to his gaze. "I just feel as though we're signing our death warrants," the Prime Minister admitted quietly.

"Maybe we are," agreed Merlin, his other hand idly smoothing down the lapel of his jacket. "No one can know for certain until this night comes to pass, but I will be there with you every step of the way. I will protect you, just as I have done since the day we met." A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, causing those eyes to twinkle the way Arthur so loved.

Arthur's hand came to cover Merlin's, pressing that warm palm closer to his face. "I know you'll try, but that didn't work out so well the last time."

"It's a work in progress," answered his love, a hint of gold blooming in his eyes. His smile deepened. "And if I get it wrong, I can do better next time." Merlin winked, then, and kissed his cheek lightly. "Now, come on; stop stalling or I'll call you a coward."

Eyes narrowing, Arthur followed after him as he slipped past, heading for the door. "You wouldn't dare." Merlin just smirked over his shoulder at him and tossed his head, beckoning. He picked up his pace, coming out ahead of his husband. Merlin walked slightly behind him, to his right, just like the old days. Kara was waiting for them by the front door of Number Ten, dressed in a lovely, but simple red dress.

"So, where are we going?" she asked once she spotted them.

"To dinner," was the Prime Minister's vague answer.

Kara stared at him like she wanted to kick him. "I know that, but where?"

"Claridge's," Merlin replied helpfully, swatting Arthur's arm sharply. "Your aunt and uncle will be meeting us there. And someone they want you to meet."

"Oh. Who?"

"You'll find out." Arthur swatted Merlin's arm mockingly in response, earning an elbow to the ribs. "You'll like him, though." The idea of meeting someone – a man – made Kara perk up slightly. She had not, exactly, had the best luck with boys and men in the past; it was clear she hoped this time would be different, considering her father's words on the matter. "He's sweet and gentlemanly and is a Druid, like you."

"The world isn't divided into Druids and not-likeable people, Dad."

"You know what I mean," Merlin huffed as the three of them climbed in to the black car that waited for them. When they arrived the Maitre D' was quick to usher them to the reserved table, set away in the quietest part of the restaurant. Morgana looked stately in her dress suit, but Aglain looked too big for the suit she had dressed him in, as usual. The third person was sitting beside Morgana, half-leaning in his chair as he sipped his champagne. Looking at him, it was hard to believe how much he had grown in the years since the incident with the Cenred Crime Syndicate. There were a few grey hairs mixed in with his black curls. The corners of his eyes were adorned with light crow's feet. He was older, now, decades older than he had been when Arthur had faced him at Camlann.

Arthur was unsure how he felt about him; on the one hand, he loved him. He loved him the way an uncle loved a nephew, the way a man loved his friend, the way a King loved his Knights. On the other hand, he could not shake Camlann from his mind...could not forget the burning look in his eyes, the feel of cold steel stabbing through his gut, the words he had quietly spoken, filled with sadness and regret and determination, as Arthur stared at him, shocked and betrayed and disbelieving.

Almost as if he sensed the weight of Arthur's gaze, Mordred looked up and smiled at him, welcomed him. The smile was not so different to the expression he had worn when Arthur had risen from the ground, driving his blade through his abdomen. The only difference was the lack of grief in the twinkle of his eyes. Arthur froze, wanting to run in the opposite direction suddenly. He could not do this. He could not face this man, this friend, this nephew, knowing what he knew. Merlin caught his wrist, squeezed gently.

A tingle of magic seeped beneath his skin, warm and smooth and soothing. A soft breath eased its way out of Arthur's chest and he straightened his back, lifting his head in that kingly way of his, and continued forward. Mordred's gaze drifted sideways, landing upon Kara, who stared shamelessly at him as she nibbled her bottom lip. It was a mannerism she had picked up from Merlin in her girlhood. The expression that crossed the man's face in that instant was plainly apparent to all who knew him; Mordred thought she was beautiful. Arthur tugged her forward. "Kara," he began, "this is Mordred."

At the mention of his name, Mordred rose from his chair and stepped forward to greet her. With the practiced ease of a man who had once been a Knight, Mordred lifted her hand in his, pressing a gentle kiss against her skin. The young woman flushed and Arthur fought the urge to punch the man in the face and run away with her as fast as he could. It was clear there was a spark between them and it would only get stronger as the memories awoke within them. Tearing his gaze away as he struggled to keep himself under control, Arthur took a seat, leaving a space between himself and Aglain.

Merlin sat opposite him, next to the chair that Mordred had previously claimed, leaving the open space for Kara. Arthur perused the wine list in order to avoid looking at Mordred, who was now seating himself elegantly. Hidden behind the wine menu, his jaw clenched. His husband's foot tangled with his, rubbing soothingly against his ankle. He peered over the edge of his menu, giving him a deadpan look; really, it was not helping the situation at all. "So...Kara," began Mordred, noticing the uneasy silence that had fallen upon the table, "how are your studies going?"

"Very well, actually," Kara answered brightly before regaling them all with the ideas for her latest project. She was trying to couple magic with energy efficiency; a worthwhile endeavour, Arthur thought. The ice was broken and the river rushed past, conversation flowing naturally and easily between the six of them. Before the night was over Kara was eyeing Mordred in a rather besotted manner as he sipped from his third glass of champagne, and Morgana was throwing meaningful glances in Arthur's direction, which he ignored.

Naturally.

When Merlin started getting tired Arthur suggested they call it a night. Aglain agreed heartily, yawning behind his hand to emphasise the point. Arthur rose from his chair and pulled out Merlin's for him, earning himself a tired glower and a half-arsed, "Prat." He grinned down at his husband in response. Merlin shook his head in exasperation and rose to his feet, slipping an arm around his waist almost protectively. "Thanks for coming tonight," he said, addressing the others quietly.

Morgana smiled slightly, tipping her head towards him in acknowledgement. She slipped her hand around the crook of Aglain's elbow. "We must do it again sometime; it was...pleasant." She and Merlin exchanged a few more words before Merlin finally made to leave. Arthur took hold of Kara's wrist and began leading her away, though she kept her gaze on the former Knight as he watched her depart, eyes soft, a small smile on his mouth. Arthur's heart pounded furiously in his chest; he knew their next meeting would not be a pleasant one.

That very night, lying in bed with one arm wrapped possessively around the man he loved, Arthur woke to the sound of the door opening. Though his heart stopped beating for a split second, panic did not, for one moment, rise within him. When Merlin began stirring Arthur tightened his grip fractionally; a warning. The man settled down again, quiet breaths continuing as though he still slept. Soft footsteps padded across the carpet, approaching the bed. He risked a glance through his eyelashes. It was Kara, the fabric of her nightgown swirling about her ankles.

There was a gleam of steel by her side.

A knife from the basement kitchen.

Knowing Merlin was there to keep him safe should things go south, Arthur made no move, save the slightest shift of those who slept peacefully. When she stopped by the edge of the bed Kara lifted her hand and held the knife over his chest, the tip hovering less than a millimetre away from his bare skin. It stayed there for some time, unmoving, hesitating. "Do it," he urged quietly. Eyes slipping open, he stared at her through the darkness, expression patient...expectant. "You thought I deserved it once."

"You do." Kara's face contorted around the words, tears rolling silently down her cheeks.

"Then do it," Arthur snapped. "Here, I'll help you." He grabbed her wrist before she could pull away, grip tight and unyielding, pressing the tip hard against his skin – not too hard, but enough to pierce the skin. Blood bloomed like a crimson kiss, staining the knife and his skin. He bit his lip against the surge of pain, trying to ignore the way Merlin tensed beside him. Kara's wrist trembled in his grasp.

"Stop," she gasped through her tears, the word strangled.

Arthur knew he must look half-wild to her in the darkness, but in that moment he found it hard to care. "Why? It's what you want, isn't it?" He pressed the tip in deeper. More blood rose to the surface, sliding down his skin in rivulets, dripping on to the sheets. "It's what I deserve for killing your kind...for killing you; you can't deny it. 'You deserve everything that is coming to you, Arthur Pendragon.' That's what you said to me; you meant every word." Still deeper, the blade pressed.

"Stop," Kara uttered again, louder now, steadily moving towards hysteria as she struggled to wrench her arm free. "Daddy, stop! I can't! I can't!" The sobs came then, loud and gut-wrenching, and Arthur released her. The kitchen knife fell from her grasp, falling to the floor with a clatter, skittering under the bed from the force of it. "I can't," she said again, forcing the words through her tears, her sobs, her grief-stricken wails. Arthur surged up from the bed, blood forgotten, Merlin forgotten, as he reached for his daughter with desperate hands.

Into his arms she came, trembling violently. His hand lost itself in the tangles of her hair as he half-pulled her onto his lap, cradling her close. Words were said, tears were shed, but Arthur never once let go of her.

-Present Day-

Merlin captured his hand as soon as he had taken a seat beside him, squeezing hard enough to risk crushing his fingers. Arthur glanced sideways at him and noted the tear tracks on his face. His gaze dropped to the vice-like grip Merlin had on his hand, wondering if this was what it would have been like during childbirth, had Merlin been a woman. The image made him want to laugh. Pressing his fingers to his mouth to quell the urge, Arthur felt a smile tug at his lips. After a moment, he lowered his hand, using it to cover the one currently squeezing the life out of his own.

He rubbed soothingly and Merlin shifted, leaning slightly into his side. Arthur welcomed his presence, brushing a kiss against the top of his head, uncaring if anyone saw it. Today was his daughter's wedding; he could be a sentimental prat all day, if he wanted. When he glanced down the pew, taking note of what people were doing, he frowned severely when he noticed Gwaine at the end. The man was not even paying attention to what was going on around him; instead, he was staring down at the locket he held in his hand.

A pang of sympathy shot through his gut at the sight of it and his hand tightened around Merlin's. Gwaine had been obsessed with that locket, containing a picture of Freya and a lock of her hair, ever since she had been killed.

-2036-

The office was quiet and peaceful; a rarity for this time of day. Briefly, Arthur spared a glance at the photo nearest him. It displayed him and Merlin cuddling on the couch, his head on Merlin's shoulder and the man's cheek against his hair. The photo had been snagged by Harriet, who seemed to just stumble on those soft moments constantly. He reckoned she did it on purpose, stalked them almost. A fond smile touched his mouth and, shaking his head, he returned to penning his letter to Prince Harry.

Normally, he never wrote personal letters while at work, but the morning had been going without a hitch for once and he decided he would break the mould, just for a time. That plan was shot to hell when the office door burst open without so much as a questioning knock beforehand. "Sir," the suit-clad man exclaimed, almost tripping over his own feet as Arthur glanced slowly up from his letter, fountain pen paused meaningfully. The fellow waved a slip of paper exuberantly. "This just came in from Olaf Dietrich at MI5; it's marked urgent! But..."

"Yes?" The word was drawn out, yet still managed to sound impatient.

The man, russet-haired and rake-thin, pushed his glasses further up his nose. "It's written in a language none of us have seen before; we can't translate it. We've been trying, but well...it doesn't...we failed. Spectacularly." He fidgeted with the cuff of his jacket.

Frowning severely, troubled, Arthur sat up and set his pen aside. He gestured for the man to come forward. Taking the missive from the secretary, Arthur let his gaze drop. The language was instantly familiar to him, the words translating in his mind naturally; it was the code Merlin had devised in Camelot for missives sent between Arthur and his underlings. He had time only to rise from his chair, gut clenching in terror, before an explosion erupted in the distance. The missive fluttered to the floor as his face turned deathly white.

Arthur stormed around his desk, letter forgotten, and made for the door of his office. The secretary hurried after him, calling out to him, almost panicked. "Sir! You can't go out there! We have protocols to follow!" The look the Prime Minister threw over his shoulder would have made Uther Pendragon proud. Arthur kept going, ploughing his way violently through the few bodyguards and other office staff members that tried to manhandle him away. That first secretary followed him all the way to the front door of Number Ten. "Sir, please!"

He ignored the man, exploding out of the building, his face surely demented-looking. Leon and Tristan, armed and dangerous, already had the car waiting; the former Knight tossed him a pair of handguns, which he caught deftly, followed by several magazines of ammunition, tucked away in a rectangular case. Isolde came running out of Number Ten, two shotguns slung across her back, a handgun and sword at her hip. It did not matter that the Holmes couple were getting old, that Arthur was getting old; they were still ranked amongst the best shots in the United Kingdom.

"I'll go on ahead," Isolde said, mounting her impressive motorbike – not a sports bike; instead it was big and black and angry-looking.

"Be careful," Tristan warned, giving her a meaningful look.

"Always."

Arthur dived in to the front passenger seat – something he had never done before, but it felt right. Tristan climbed in to the back, doing an emergency check on his weapons for imperfections. In the front seat, Arthur was doing the same as Leon pulled away from Number Ten at speed. The car was swift and insistent on its journey; it still surprised him how many cars actually moved out of the way for them as though they could sense their haste. People were panicking, running this way and that, but the drive was relatively smooth in comparison.

When they neared Albion Academy Arthur's gut tightened again. Face pale, he took note of what was going on. The Magi-biology Department had been damaged in the initial blast: rubble was strewn over the grounds; pipes were burst and leaking; fires burned angrily. There were...bodies...and bits of bodies. Bile surged when he thought he recognised a head of greying hair amongst the rubble in the distance. Children – pre-pubescent and teenagers alike – were screaming, ragged and terrorized and pained; half of them would not have enough magic in their arsenal to defend themselves, nor the courage to hurt people.

Some older students were running about, grabbing some of the wounded, some of the terrified, fleeing while they had the chance. Teachers were surging from the structurally damaged building, eyes glowing with menace, magic dancing along the flesh of their hands. At the front of the group was Merlin, clad in his crimson teaching robes; Morgana was at his side. The relief Arthur felt at seeing them, alive and relatively unharmed, was palpable. But he had no time to enjoy it as fear set in once more; three of his children were in that school, no doubt ready to march on their enemies alongside their parents.

There were men and women in civilian clothing marching on the school, armed to the teeth. Arthur recognised several faces instantly from the dossiers MI5 had drawn up: they were individuals from the Front Against Magic.

Isolde had already dismounted from her motorbike by the time the car arrived, her first shotgun braced against her shoulder. The blast was loud, clearly heard over the screams. But it stopped, violently, against a force-field that pulsed blue-energy. The irony was not lost on Arthur; a terrorist group against magic were using magic to defend themselves against both magic and non-magic weapons. It was dirty and underhanded and hypocritical; exactly what he expected from such fiends.

Arthur opened the car door and threw himself out almost before the car had stopped moving, using the vehicle as a temporary shield. Tristan was right beside him, face severe. Leon quickly followed after them, handgun gripped expertly in one hand. He reached in to his pocket, withdrawing three small shield-shaped devices. He kept one for himself and pressed the other two in to Arthur's and Tristan's hands. Arthur pressed the small crown-shaped button at the heart of it and felt the wave of magic enfold him. The design of the force-field had been clever; it would allow his bullets to pass through, but should prevent incoming ones from reaching him – for a time at least.

Isolde fired a second shot, rupturing the shield, and a third, knocking the man off his feet. Blood surged from his abdomen as he twitched on the ground, one trembling hand covering his wounds. He raised his weapon to shoot her, but Arthur, levering himself up over the bonnet of the car, got there first. The bullet struck him right between the eyes, killing him instantly. The three of them surged up, then, coming around the car, firing expertly aimed rounds – perfectly timed so that they were always covering one another.

The three of them pressed forward, soon coming to stand by Isolde. Team Blond, he thought with some dark amusement, plus one. As they assaulted FAM's rear, more cars began pulling up; Gwaine, Percy, Lance and Gwen exploding out of them, guns and swords in hand. Moments later Elyan arrived, jumping off his motorbike, dressed in civilian clothing; it was clear he had run right out of university as soon as word had reached him. Arthur would have words with him after; right now there were more pressing things to deal with. Fortunately, the army would be along, soon, to provide some relief.

After firing a few more rounds, Arthur's small group ducked behind one of the teachers' cars in the staff car park. His heart was pounding frantically in his chest; his lungs were struggling for breath; his mind was racing with the scenarios that could take place. He thought of Harriet, fairly innocent-minded still though she was in her late teens now, covered in blood and felt sick to his stomach.

Almost as if she had been summoned by his thoughts of her, his youngest daughter stumbled out through a wall of fire, eyes glowing a rusty gold as her magic protected her from being incinerated by the intense flames. Her school uniform was torn and singed. Blood and tears ran down her face in unison. She looked as if she had watched her best friend die...and perhaps she had. Arthur was running across the grounds before Leon could even shout a cautionary word at him. He thought he felt Isolde's hand grabbing for him, hands briefly fisting his jacket before he tore himself away, but it did not matter.

The only thing that mattered in that moment was reaching his little girl. Bullets struck the ground in his wake, bits of stone and dust exploding in a staccato rhythm, but somehow he managed to stay ahead of them. Harriet dove down behind a large chunk of stone. In moments, which seemed to last an eternity as the world slowed down around him, he was joining her. "Daddy," she gasped through her tears, relieved and terrified both as he hauled her against his chest. His heart skipped beats as he held her close, burying his face in blood-matted hair that felt wonderful in that moment.

Harriet trembled in his embrace. "Daddy...the others," she said, hand fisting the fabric of his shirt. She started rambling, but that was to be expected. "Diana and a number of the others are wounded; Cheryl found us but she and Lucian are frantic, trying to keep them all alive long enough to get help. He told me to get out, to get someone."

"Where's Kara?" he asked quickly, needing to know.

"I don't know. I don't know! I...she...her lecture was going on at the other side of the building. I don't think she's hurt; she'll be coming soon, I think. Hopefully."

The man released Harriet, turned, rose and fired three rapid shots at a fast-approaching FAM member, the third striking her dead, the blow knocking her back several feet before she fell to the ground in a crumpled and bloodied heap. Arthur turned immediately to face his daughter once more, dropping back below the coverage. "And Freya?"

The girl's face crumpled instantly and he knew the answer. Almost as if by magic, Gwaine appeared at their side, face struck with grief. He must have heard that last exchange. Arthur had no idea what to say. There was nothing he could say. "Uncle," Harriet whispered, heartbroken as she reached out for Gwaine. She pressed a familiar pendent in to his hands. "She said I needed to give you this before she... She said the magic would be activated when thrown through the air...when Daddy needed it most. I don't understand; what did she mean?! It's just a stupid necklace!"

"There's no time," answered Arthur harshly. "Gwaine, take Harriet; get her back to the car." When the former Knight hesitated Arthur's voice took on the authoritative voice of the King he had once been. "Now!"

"Daddy, no!" Harriet cried in dismay even as the Prime Minister shoved her into Gwaine's strong, protective arms. The force-field took her in immediately.

Arthur spared a brief eye-lock with his Pumpkin as Gwaine surged to his feet, pulling her away hastily. The expression on her face broke his heart. She looked desperate to run back towards him, but Gwaine's grip on her was like a vice. Bullets erupted around them, causing Harriet to scream in terror as the former Knight shoved her head down, curling protectively around her as they continued to run. Arthur tore his gaze away; he needed to find the others and quickly. Luckily, squadrons from the army had arrived, armed and ready.

Of course, several reporters had arrived, too, trying to get coverage of the battle ensuing; the Prime Minister was unsurprised and slightly grateful – it was best that people saw what was going on, who was being targeted; the knowledge that children were being hurt was always something that struck the heart, garnered sympathies. Magic was still a controversial subject, no matter what country one lived in, though Arthur had to hand it to the Americans; they were the most accepting at this juncture and had, on numerous occasions, offered asylum to practitioners of magic that had fled during the tenure of both his father and Aredian Killer.

Taking a deep breath, Arthur assured himself that he still had bullets in the cylinder; the second handgun, safety in place, was secure in the belt of his trousers. He peered over the edge of stone, noting that FAM were distracted by the tag-team of sorcerers and armed forces, and dashed towards the Academy, pulling his suit jacket up over his head and face, using it as some manner of protection as he threw himself through a gap in the flames. He came down hard on the floor, coming up in a roll, coughing and breathing harshly.

He wrenched his jacket off and beat it against the floor to kill the fire that had caught in the fabric, heat touching his back from the wall of flames behind him. Once he was certain the fabric would not catch again, he pulled it on hastily, casting his blue gaze around quickly. Arthur took off as he gripped his gun firmly with both hands, shoulders slightly hunched, ready to fire at the slightest hint of an enemy. Another blast went off, closer than he expected but not too near him either, rocking the school on its foundations, causing him to stumble. "God, I hate modern warfare," he groused, catching himself against the wall. "Give me a horse and a sword any day."

After a moment he began moving again, heading in the direction of the first explosion; once he found Lucian and helped the injured, then he would go to the site of the most recent one. On the way he came across a disoriented boy, perhaps six years old; there was a gaping hole where his ear should have been, blood cascading down his face and neck in thick streams. Arthur's heart leapt in to his throat at the sight of him. "Mr Prime Minister?" he asked, voice cracking around the dust and tears in his throat, peering up at him in confusion and hope and relief.

"It's alright, lad," said Arthur, dropping to his knee once he reached the boy. He laid the gun down for a moment and ripped off his jacket. Gripping his shirt sleeve tightly, he wrenched the stretch of fabric free. Working quickly, he made a makeshift bandage for the boy's head, tying it firmly. "Come on; up on my back. I'll protect you," the Prime Minister vowed solemnly, helping the boy onto his back once he had the jacket on again. "Hold on tight." The little boy nodded vigorously against his neck, arms and legs tightening around him.

"I'm scared," the boy whispered, tears soaking in to the collar of Arthur's shirt.

He patted the boy's ankle soothingly. "Me, too," Arthur admitted softly. "What's your name, lad?"

"Arthur," the boy answered. "I was named after you."

The Prime Minister's heart skipped a beat at that. "Well, Arthur," he said gently, an idea coming to mind, "that was the name of a King, once upon a time. He used to get scared, too; people were always trying to hurt him, hurt his people. But you know what?"

"What?"

"He thought about that one person he could rely on; he let their face, their voice, their smile, fill his mind, his heart. With that person held inside him, King Arthur was able to do anything, get through anything, no matter how scared he was. I bet if you tried, you could do that, too. Boys named Arthur are always the bravest, right?"

"Right," the boy agreed, nodding. He sniffled, once, and Arthur felt his determination set in.

"There's a good lad," said Arthur encouragingly, picking up his handgun once more. With the boy upon his back, he took off again, as ready to fire as ever. As they moved through the corridors, he slipped in to every room, checking for injured students and faculty members alike. He found two more students, both of them teenagers and not nearly as injured as mini-King. They flocked to him instantly and Arthur was relieved; he would have hated to waste time with arguments.

With the students in tow, Arthur kept going. When he finally came upon his son – who, with the help of Cheryl, had moved the injured away from the damaged portion of the school – his heart gave a leap. Passing the mini-King to the pair of teenagers that had accompanied him, he ran forward. "Lucian," he cried. The willowy boy with his mother's jaw and grace whirled around, a bead of sweat sliding down from his temple. His blue eyes brightened immediately with relief. He broke into a run at the sight of him, hurtling into his father's arms as they crashed together in the middle of the corridor.

Lucian did not yell out his name, did not cry, but the embrace he gave Arthur was worth a thousand words, a million tears. The Prime Minister's hand buried itself in his dark hair, cradling him close. Arthur inhaled the smell of him, letting it coat his lungs, soothe the worry in his heart. "Are you hurt?" Arthur asked, needing to be certain. The boy shook his head sharply against his chest. Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and rested his head against that of his son, letting out a breath of relief. "Thank God; where's Cheryl?"

"With Diana; out of the ones who survived the blast, she was the most injured," Lucian explained, pulling back only to grab hold of Arthur's wrist. He hurriedly pulled him along as he dashed away. "She was really close to the centre of the blast radius. We managed to stabilise her, but Cheryl thinks she may fall to infection if she stays here much longer; God knows how messy kids are!"

The boy – young man, his mind corrected as he watched his son authoritatively order some passing students to take care of the mini-King left in their wake, snapping a quick list of spells they would need to clean the wound and stop the bleeding, though the ear would be unsalvageable – led him to a small classroom. A number of the desks had been shoved together to fashion a makeshift table, upon which was Princess Diana, slender body trembling as she stared down at the charred, blistered, bleeding leg.

Cheryl stood over her, hands held above Princess Diana's leg, fingers splayed. Her eyes glowed a rusty orange and her lips moved continuously as she mumbled reams and reams of the ancient tongue. Soft white light bathed Princess Diana's leg; it was clearly some form of Healing Spell. Arthur had seen enough magic to recognise which spells belonged in what category at this point. Prince George stood by his sister's side, holding her hand tightly in his, looking ruffled but unharmed in the main. The Prime Minister moved forward as Lucian relinquished his wrist; he brushed a lock of brown hair back from Princess Diana's face and she looked up at him, teeth biting harshly into her bottom lip. "You're going to be alright, Your Grace," he said gently, giving her an encouraging smile. "Elyan's expecting to get to kiss you later, so don't give up on him, yeah?"

The girl's face went ashen before flushing scarlet. "How did you know? Elyan said he'd keep it quiet!"

"A father always knows."

"Fuck. Dad's going to kill me."

Arthur grinned, though the emotion did not quite reach his eyes. "I think he'll be too busy hugging you." He shook his head. "As soon as Cheryl says you're safe to be transported out of the school, I'm going to get you out of here; alright?" The pair of them nodded solemnly; they trusted him implicitly. Even after the death of Queen Elizabeth and Prince Phillip, and the abdication of Prince Charles, who had felt it best to leave the throne to a younger man, Arthur's weekly visits to Buckingham Palace had continued – with his family in tow. His children had run amuck with Prince George and his sister since they were small.

After a long moment, Cheryl lowered her hands, incantations ceasing. The rusty orange in her eyes faded and she panted slightly from the effort. Arthur knew using magic took quite a toll, particularly when one was not Merlin. "I've done all that I can; it's either Merlin's magic or the hospital at this point, I'm afraid. I've added a bubble of protective magic around the leg; it should stay stable until you can get her away from the grounds." The woman turned to him and rested a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. "We'll cover you, Arthur; you focus on getting her to safety."

Arthur nodded solemnly and, stowing his handgun alongside the other, he turned to Princess Diana. With gentle arms he lifted her from the makeshift table, cradling her securely against his chest as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Almost immediately, Cheryl, Lucian and Prince George formed a circle around them, eyes glinting with the threat of magic, hands at the ready. They moved out into the corridor, steps hurried but careful. As they continued on, the other sorcerers and sorceresses gathered around them, adding extra lines of defence.

Princess Diana had been, as always, a candle to a sky of moths. People gathered around to see her smiles, feel her warmth. She was practically a national treasure to Druids and ordinary folk alike. Arthur admired her for that; he always had, ever since she had first begun to talk, enunciating her 'pleases' and her gratitude with such grace and sweetness as to leave the heart melting in one's chest. As a young woman, when not in emotional distress, she spoke with kindness and humility. She would do her family proud.

Mini-King was pushed in to the middle of the group, next to Arthur, where he could be protected by the others. He spared the boy an encouraging smile as they hurried through the school, approaching the fiery exit. Percy and Lance were just about to leap through the flames when they spotted Arthur, turning immediately to raise their weapons. Lance fired off three rapid rounds at a FAM member and quickly aimed at a second, only to have the gun clicking uselessly. The man reached in to his pocket for another magazine, only to come up blank. "Fuck. I'm out!" he roared, even as Percy took down FAM member number two before he could take Lance down.

"Take mine," barked Arthur. "Lucian!" He tossed his head authoritatively at his son, who nodded quickly and slipped around behind him. "Where's Harriet?"

"The Defence Secretary found her upon arrival and pulled her in to one of the army trucks. She's being tended to as we speak."

"Which one has more ammunition?" Lucian asked sharply before Arthur could respond to Percy's words.

"Left."

Lucian withdrew it from his belt and sent it, along with a several magazines from the case in Arthur's pocket, to Lance with a quick spell. The former Knight offered his gratitude, while Percy turned towards Arthur. "Shit's hitting the fan, here," he explained quickly, breathing heavily. "Our force-fields are being torn through on the first round; they've got bullets warded to penetrate magical barriers." Arthur stared at him with dawning horror and recognition, but the man was already ploughing on. "Death rates on our side are climbing swiftly; the army's fucking frantic."

"Merlin?"

Percy hesitated. "He's the strongest we have, but their bullets make it past his shields after a concerted round of bullets from three on the offence. He's taking the brunt of it, Arthur, giving it his all; I'm not sure how much longer he can last without aid."

Arthur cursed under his breath before continuing with a much louder, "then, we'll give it to him, yeah? As soon as we get them to safety." Lance and Percy nodded their agreement and understanding. Clenching his jaw, he said tightly, "on three. One." The men's hands tightened around their weapons. "Two." The sorcerers braced themselves, ready to run as fast as they could; one of the older students pulled mini-King in to their arms, grip secure and protective. "THREE!" The last word virtually a battle-cry, Arthur surged forward on quick feet, the sorcerers moving in concert around him.

Lance and Percy moved with them, firing their weapons expertly, dancing this way and that to avoid incoming bullets. Upon seeing them, Tristan and Isolde were quick to join them, adding an extra layer of protection. The grounds of Albion Academy were in absolute chaos: bodies were strewn everywhere; bullets were flying in all directions; hastily flung spells were burning, electrifying and lacerating men and women to death. In that moment Arthur understood why his father had feared magic, but was unable to comprehend his lack of fear in firearms; they were just as devastating.

They were almost to the edge of the grounds when Isolde fell, throat blown open by a determined bullet. Blood splashed through the air in a violent arc as she toppled, falling to the ground in a lifeless heap. Screaming his grief, Tristan whirled and fired thrice in quick succession, the third striking the smirking marksman in the centre of his face, blasting the expression from his ugly mug, knocking him to the ground. The group rushed past as Tristan fell upon his wife, battle forgotten, tears streaming down his face as he pulled her in to his arms; the familiar scene sent a pang through Arthur's abdomen, but it was worse this time...far worse.

Isolde had been his friend...a close friend...for more than twenty years.

Tears, hot and uncontrollable, stung his eyes. He blinked rapidly and they rolled down his cheeks in rivulets. Shaking his head, Arthur ploughed onwards, two sorcerers struck in the process but not nearly so fatally. Princess Diana's arms tightened around his neck moments before they burst out onto the main road, where large army trucks were in position. High-ranking officers were screaming in to radios, uniformed men were running about, as frantic as Percy had said. The Defence Secretary, Mithian King, a good friend to him and Merlin, ran up to him as soon as she spotted him.

The relief that washed over her face was almost tangible. "Your Grace," she exclaimed, almost skipping for the last few steps, "Your Royal Highness! Thank fuck you're both alive! Your father's threatened to have us all fucking skinned if we didn't get the pair of you back! God bless you, Arthur." Two uniformed officers quickly relieved him of his heroic duties when she clapped her hands, loudly. Then, she punched him in the face with all the force of a double-decker bus. "Don't you ever scare me like that again, you fucking prick!"

"Nice to see you again, too, Mithian," Arthur answered, flexing his jaw, feeling it crack painfully. "Still got that spark, I see."

"Naturally. Now, come on; I've got to keep you safe, Mr Prime Minister." She made to grab his arm, but he dodged expertly and danced away.

"Don't even start," he called over his shoulder, withdrawing his remaining handgun from his belt. Arthur, Lance and Percy ran back in to the fray, ignoring Mithian's shouts for him to stop this nonsense at once. The three of them made a mad dash for Tristan, who – by some stroke of luck – had not been gunned down in their absence. "Tristan," he said loudly, dropping to his knees beside the man. At first, he was unresponsive, staring down at the lifeless corpse of his wife, beautiful still even in death.

Arthur grabbed his shoulder and shook him hard. Tristan lifted his head, looked at him like he was unable to comprehend who he was for a long moment before finally seeming to come back into himself. His face twisted in a pained grimace. The Prime Minister locked eyes with him briefly, hoping to convey all of his apologies, all of his regrets. The man seemed to understand for he drew in a ragged breath and retrieved his gun from where it had skittered across the ground.

Muttering sorrowful apologies, Lance relieved the fallen Isolde of her weapons; she would need them no longer. The thought made Arthur feel faint, but he squashed it down quickly. The four of them made their way across the grounds, firing at enemies and whirling just in the nick of time to avoid bullets, though how they managed was something he would never know. Perhaps, some enterprising sorcerer was slowing the bullets down a fraction; Arthur certainly knew of one man who could.

Blue eyes searching for ridiculous ears, Arthur spotted Merlin almost immediately. Sure enough, his love was standing upright, chest heaving, arms raised in an almost majestic manner. His eyes were closed, but the concentration on his face was plain. As he watched, Merlin vanished in a flash of blue light, reappearing in another location as bullets tore through the spot he had once occupied. That clever fucker, Arthur thought, surprised...and yet not, at all, at the same time. A soft breath escaped him, the ghost of a smile tugging at his parted lips.

Arthur and his friends, his comrades, pushed their way across the grounds, getting closer and closer with every moment. The number of FAM members dropped at a nice rate, but nowhere near as good the enemies' success rate was. That would have to be changed. Immediately. As soon as he reached Merlin, familiar eyes snapped open. They remained gold, though he shifted focus slightly. "Elyan's gone looking for Kara," he said quickly, shouting over the roar of bullets, the yells of pain in the background. "Morgana's sent for reinforcements."

The Prime Minister nodded and whirled when he heard someone approaching from behind. He managed to abort fire, however, as he realised it was his eldest son and daughter. They were ruffled and wide-eyed, but seemed relatively unharmed. Arthur frowned when he noted the tools in Elyan's hands: a traditional sword and a shield made of reinforced steel. It was dented from bullets, but seemed un-pierced. Kara was similarly armed. "We liberated them from Dad's office," Elyan explained, grinning broadly at him, "They were mounted on the walls."

"Good thinking," Arthur commended, clapping his son on the shoulder in a proud and fatherly manner before glancing at Merlin accusingly. His love shrugged gracelessly before thrusting his arm forward suddenly. A line of FAM members were flung backwards, some of them knocking their heads violently against the ground, blood spilling in an instant as their skulls and flesh were shattered and torn respectively. "Any chance you can make those bigger?"

Merlin eyed the shields speculatively and nodded, saying slowly, "I could make them full-body size, but that's about it; anything bigger will result in imperfections in the steel. Cover me, would you?"

"Always." They circled Merlin, Elyan and Kara, turning away to face the battle around them. They kept a sharp eye on the melee as Merlin focused on altering the size of the shields. When enemies were within range they were taken down swiftly before they could fire off a single shot. They were running low on ammunition, however; supplies would run out quickly. If they were to make it out of this battle alive, they needed a miracle. Or some more, really powerful sorcerers – which were in extremely short supply at the moment.

Suddenly, almost out of nowhere, Gwaine appeared, armed to the teeth with weapons he must surely have liberated from the fallen terrorists. "These babies are fucking glorious; why don't our Forces have them?" the man demanded, growling with anger and audible tones of jealousy as he pressed a gun in to each of their hands.

"Because we have some bit of decency," snapped Arthur, immediately irate as his hand tightened around the new weapon in his hand. "We believe in giving people a fair chance. Those force-fields were for emergencies, not general combat. Having magically enhanced weaponry would be a hundred times worse, as you can see!" The Prime Minister's voice had turned in to a virtual roar by the end of the rant and Gwaine took a stumbling step back, blinking in surprise, his mouth gaping in shock. Yes, Arthur had thrown punches at him – at all of his men, at one point or another – but this...this was different. He had never screamed his rage at them before.

Arthur's jaw clenched, a muscle jumping in his cheek. The last time he had seen such bullets in action the man he loved had been the victim and upon his appointment as Prime Minister all such ammunition had been destroyed. The arrest of criminal sorcerers was carried out only by practitioners of magic, now; a fair fight.

He dropped his gaze and forced a slow breath through his nose. Merlin, who must have finished the alterations on the shields, laid a gentle hand on Arthur's arm, immediately capturing his attention. "It's okay, Arthur. We can still win this." The reassuring smile, the twinkle in Merlin's eyes, which had faded to blue, did not make Arthur feel the least bit better. He appreciated the effort, though. About to make a response, he froze when Merlin suddenly yelled out a curse and a blast of energy hit them all, the force of it sending them all flying through the air, landing hard upon the ground but somehow injury-free.

The wind rushed out of him at the blow and his heart leapt in to his throat as Merlin and the ground upon which he stood burst into crimson flames, the tarmac exploding outwards in the process. Arthur struggled to his feet, the sorcerer's name a strangled scream on his lips as the world seemed to shatter around him. He stumbled forward, uncaring of the tears that spilled down his cheeks, of the hoarse screams tearing up from his throat, his chest, of the weapons he had left behind.

He needed...

He had to...

Merlin could not be...

"No!"

Before Arthur could cross more than a few feet a shadow fell across him and a fist flew straight into his face. The strike sent him reeling, stumbling to the side and tripping over his own feet in the process. Once more he landed upon the ground, his ageing body jarring at the impact. He barely had time to lift his head before the glint of a blade plunged through the air towards him. Time seemed to slow down as his life flashed before his eyes, though he realised that was as clichéd as they come.

His death seemed imminent.

And would have been had a blade not swung violently against the sword plunging down towards him. The blow caused the blade to jerk out of his attacker's grip, sending it sideways, swirling across tarmac as it hit the ground. Several emotions flickered across Arthur's face as the defending blade twirled before driving through the force-field as if it were never there, plunging deep in to the attacker's gut. The sword twisted sharply within him before being wrenched free. Blood-drenched, fragment-missing sword in hand, Mordred looked down at the Prime Minister, anger fading to an almost sad smile. "Hello, Arthur."

Arthur stared through slightly blurred vision as Mordred extended a hand towards him. Dark brows knitted together expectantly over slightly-concerned, slightly-irritated blue eyes. After a moment, Arthur grasped the hand offered to him and Mordred pulled him to his feet with a hard tug. His hand lingered for a moment, steadying him before Arthur batted it away angrily. "Merlin's fine, by the way; that fancy tattoo of his works wonders. So, you can stop crying, now."

"I'm not fucking crying."

"There must be something in your eye, then. Both your eyes." Mordred's mouth lifted in to the faintest of smirks. "If we get out of this, remind me to ask for your daughter's hand."

Arthur glared at him, shoulders tensing, his spine a rigid line. "If we get out of this," he parroted, "remind to fucking punch you in the face!"

"Is that how you speak to all your rescuers?" the Druid asked, mouth curling almost in amusement, though there was a hard glint in his eye.

"It's how I speak to all my potential son-in-laws," the Prime Minister corrected crisply.

"I can live with that," said Mordred, spinning around and raising his blade to expertly defend against another sword-wielding terrorist. Arthur watched, grudgingly impressed, as the man disarmed their foe – a much younger man – with a few quick parries and strikes and sliced them open. The enemy fell to the ground and bled to death at their feet. "So...does this mean I can call you Daddy?"

"Oh, my God; fuck off."

The former Knight grinned, but the expression quickly faded as they were quickly surrounded by more FAM members armed with blades. "You have a plan, right? We're a bit outnumbered, here," he said, stating the obvious as if it had not occurred to Arthur in the slightest.

"Why the hell would I have a plan?! You're the one with the weapon, Mordred! What do you expect me to do? Dress in drag and do the hula?!"

"Seriously, you're quoting the fucking Lion King?! How old are you?!"

Arthur might have responded with something vaguely resembling an ugly string of curses, had he not had to duck an incoming sword. Mordred thrust his arm forward, catching the attacking terrorist in a swirl of magic, before flinging her at one of her comrades, impaling them upon each other's blades.

"Arthur, catch!"

The Prime Minister glanced around in surprise, only to see Gwaine running forward, something small and golden glinting in his hand. The man drew his arm back and flung something violently through the air.

One slow moment stretched in to the next, the battle seeming to cease around them, heads almost instinctually turning to watch the defining moment of the melee. The pendant soared through the air, elongating into the familiar form of Excalibur, blade turning, tip over pommel. Arthur could feel the weight of a thousand eyes, the weight of cameras, the weight of the world upon him as he reached up, hand coming to wrap around the heavy, golden hilt. For one shining moment the world at large saw the superimposed gleam of armour plates, the glint of chainmail, the swirl of a red cape with a golden Dragon embroidered at its heart.

In answer to that sight, there was a deep roar, loud, earth-shattering and familiar. Wings, silhouetted against the afternoon sky, flared open. A jet of flames, crimson and beautiful, burst from the mouth of the Great Dragon. Merlin, teaching robes shredded and singed, sat astride his back, eyes gleaming with molten magic. Arthur's heart swelled at the sight. He thrust Excalibur into the air, his expression fierce and determined. "For the Love of Albion," bellowed the Once and Future King, the words a battle cry.

His people...answered.

-Present Day-

Arthur, abdomen roiling with the desire to grab his daughter and run, watched as Mordred took her in his arms for the first dance. The music had not started yet, but it would momentarily. Part of him wished to know what soppy drivel would be used for the first number, the other part of him never wanted to hear it. Ever. It was certainly a dilemma, since there was no possibility of him slipping out before it came on. Eyes narrowed slightly, he watched as Mordred's hand came to rest possessively against the small of Kara's back, the other catching hers in a long-fingered grasp.

Kara stepped closer to the Druid, tilting her head back in order to look up into his eyes as he lowered his head, blue gaze falling automatically upon her face with so much love and tenderness that Arthur wanted to throw up. He knew he should be happy that someone would love his daughter the way he loved Merlin, but it stung that she would choose Mordred. As if sensing his distress, Merlin's hand found his knee beneath the table and squeezed lightly, his thumb rubbing discreetly against the fabric of his trousers.

The soft chords of a piano disrupted the brief silence, accompanied by the sweet sweeps of a bow across the strings of a cello. The tune was immediately recognisable, even to Arthur, as Christina Perri's A Thousand Years. Suitably sentimental for a wedding, he thought. The first dance began slowly, as more of a swaying motion before descending in to the well-timed steps of a waltz. Mordred and Kara moved in perfect harmony, the fabric of her gown swirling about her legs as she twirled away from him, only to return moments later.

The love and joy on her face, dancing in her eyes, playing on her lips, was plain to see. It left a dull ache in Arthur's heart; beside him, Merlin's chest rose and fell in a heartfelt sigh. Morgana watched the newlyweds as they danced, her hands clasped together in front of her mouth. Her green eyes glistened with unshed emotion, her shoulders trembling almost imperceptibly. Arthur could commiserate, he supposed; Mordred was considered to be her son, after all, in everything but blood.

The song had been around for over thirty years and was, now, considered to be a classic, though he was unable to fathom why. Yes, it was nice, but Arthur still preferred the 1980s rock ballads he had grown up hearing – courtesy of his father's bodyguards, who took pity on him and introduced him to real music. Give him Heart's Alone any day of the week and he would be leaping with excitement. Well, almost; he was starting to get a bad back, though that was a well-kept secret. True, part of the reason he loved the song so much was because he and Merlin had been forced to sing it at Gwen and Lance's joint stag and hen party, but it was only a small part. A really small part. Tiny.

When the first song drew to a close the next one began almost immediately. Arthur grinned in amusement as Gwen dragged Lance out to dance to Sir Cliff Richard's Congratulations – they simply had to show a deceased Knight continued support, though his courtly duties had been much different to those of earlier ages. Plus...it was the one song by the man that the entire family actually enjoyed. Morgana and Aglain, Elyan and Princess Diana, Leon and Cheryl, Percy and Helena quickly joined them. "You know, we ought to get out there and dance, too," said the Prime Minister, turning to face his husband, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Merlin's eyebrows, which grew steadily more silver with every passing day, ascended towards his steel-grey hairline. "And embarrass myself in front of all your colleagues? Not a chance."

A teasing sparkle entered Arthur's eyes. "With me on your arm, that's a physical impossibility!"

"No."

"But –"

"No."

"Come on; I'll even say the magic word," he said, winking at him. "Please?"

"No."

"This isn't over, Merlin; I'll get you dancing one way or another," groused Arthur, swallowing a growl as he reached for his champagne flute. He took a sip, glaring at his husband in irritation. Merlin just grinned at him in response, that damnable twinkle setting in. The Prime Minister had never been able to resist that twinkle. Setting his flute down once more, Arthur reached for him, fisting the lapel of his suit jacket, dragging him closer and almost ripping the offending garment in the process. Eager lips tangled with his, a long-fingered hand slipping in to his white hair.

"You guys are so adorable," sighed Harriet happily, her words startling them apart. An incriminating blush flared across the ridges of Arthur's cheekbones. A similar colour was covering the skin of Merlin's ears, cheeks and throat, spreading downward unseen; unsurprisingly, Arthur wanted to follow it with his tongue, let it lead him where it would. Shaking his head in exasperation, causing Merlin to grin, he pulled away. Throwing a dark look at his daughter, Arthur sipped his champagne, ignoring the way she giggled behind her hand.

"You'll dance with me, won't you, Harriet?"

The young woman smiled brightly. "Of course, I will, Daddy. Like always." She jumped up, heels silent on the carpet beneath them. Arthur rose from his chair at a more sedate – and careful – pace, tossed a glare at Merlin and allowed his Pumpkin to take his hand and lead him onto the dance floor. The carpet gave way to sleek wooden surfaces and her heels clacked against them with every step. Taking her in his arms, in a different style than he would were he dancing with his husband, Arthur led her into a quick-stepped dance.

Harriet's mouth curved in a smile and her green eyes sparkled prettily in the lights that swirled around the dance floor. Her dark hair bounced and swayed with her every step; it was very distracting, but welcome. It was hard to believe that she was in her twenties now; it seemed like only yesterday she was clambering onto his lap, asking for bedtimes stories, wishing the Handsome Prince had saved the Servant with a kiss of true love and smearing food all over her face whenever she ate.

His heart ached sorrowfully in his chest, knowing those days would never come again. Arthur tilted his head forward, resting it against Harriet's as the song gave way to something a little more sedate, encouraging them to slow their pace. He squeezed his eyes shut as she happily rested her head against his chest. It seemed he really was as much of a marshmallow as Merlin had always claimed. With his youngest daughter in his arms it hardly seemed to matter to him anymore.

A fond smile pulled at his lips.

They danced through a few more numbers before his knees and hips began to feel it, the joints aching dully. Arthur gently excused himself, brushing a tender kiss against his daughter's cheek in the process. Harriet did not seem bothered by his need to stop, though she did tell him to take it easy; there was to be no falls or heart attacks at such a momentous occasion as Kara's wedding. If there were, she would bring him back to life, just so she could kill him again. Shaking his head in amusement, Arthur left the dance floor and retrieved his champagne, opting to slip out through the side doors for a breath of fresh air.

He stepped out in to the clean night air, his breath misting lightly in front of him. The Prime Minister was surprised to find someone else had had the same idea as him. Champagne flute held securely in his hand, paused mid-way to his mouth, Arthur stared at his nephew and Son-in-Law. Mordred stood with his back to him, his head tipped back, blue eyes searching the sky for something unknown. "You know," he said quietly, almost reluctantly, "you're not so bad when you're not trying to kill me."

Mordred allowed his head to fall slowly before turning to face him, movements careful, measured and tinged with echoes of melancholy. "You're not so bad when you don't wear a crown," answered the Druid. The smile that graced his mouth, then, was as tragic as the one he had worn when Arthur had embedded his blade in the man's abdomen, the former Knight clinging to him for those few precious moments that had remained to him. Blue eyes shone with regret, with apology.

Heart skipping a beat, his furiously whirling mind still wondering what the hell he was doing and whether he was a bloody idiot, Arthur extended his arm, free hand held out in offering. Mordred stared at it for a long and poignant moment before his gaze flicked upwards with uncertainty. "Take it," urged Arthur, tone gentle and voice slightly tremulous. "Let us set aside our rivalry, our blades, at long last; it has gone on for long enough. Too long. You are my nephew by paper, my son by marriage...my friend...by choice."

Mordred gripped his arm, then, just below his elbow in that age-old familiar manner and Arthur did the same in return, grasp firm. Their expressions were matched, burning with an intense desire for reconciliation and a fear of failure, of discord, of betrayal. A sting rose in Arthur's eyes even as the Druid's mouth trembled infinitesimally. For a terrifying moment it seemed Mordred would embrace him, but their moment of harmony was shattered abruptly when Elyan and Princess Diana stumbled through the side door, laughing and kissing.

Arthur wrenched his arm away and turned from him, returning inside with quick steps. He sat heavily upon his chair and took a hasty sip from his champagne, his hand trembling almost violently as he did so. If Merlin noticed, he said nothing on the matter, allowing him his privacy. The Prime Minister was grateful for that. It took several moments of sitting with his eyes squeezed shut, his shaking fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, for him to finally get himself under some measure of control.

During those moments, Merlin had been forcibly dragged on to the dance floor by a laughing Kara as one song ended and another began. This one was Cinderella by Steven Curtis Chapman, one of Kara's favourites. The opening piano chords helped soothe him, allowing him to raise his head. His heart swelled in his chest as the lyrics reached him, realising that this was the father-daughter dance. His eyes sought out the pair, watching as Merlin's gangly limbs fumbled through the act of leading her as Kara smiled up at him in a mixture of fondness and amusement and exasperation as he kept stepping on her feet.

Arthur had the decency to wait until the end of the chorus before sidling up to them and offering an escape to the pair of them. "Mind if I cut in?" he asked, tone warm as his eyes drifted from Merlin to their daughter.

"Not at all," said Merlin, his tone as grateful as the sparkle in Kara's eyes. Smiling, Arthur took his Princess in to his embrace, hands gentle, as his husband quickly fled the floor, almost tripping over his own feet in the process. Shaking his head, the Prime Minister focused on dancing with his daughter. The dance was slow, measured and he treasured every step, every swirl of the fabric of her dress, every warm and loving smile she gave him, every happy tear that welled in her shining eyes.

When the song came to an end Arthur crushed her to him in a tight embrace, his face buried in her dark hair in order to hide the way his eyes filled with tears that struggled to defy his commands. Kara returned his hug emphatically, patting his shoulder in gentle consolation. "It's okay," she whispered, words soothing his heart and soul, "I'll always be your Princess." They were an echo of the words he had uttered to her on the night of her prom, heartfelt and honest. "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise, Daddy, ever." A shuddering breath escaped him and after a moment he brushed a kiss against her hair, pulling away. Kara's smile was soft and adoring. "Don't go too far," she warned. "The next song is for you and Dad; it should start in a bit."

Surprised and pleased by that news, Arthur flashed a smile at her and made his way over to Merlin, who was complaining loudly to Gwen about his terrible dancing. "Don't start yet, Merlin," he teased, a smirking pulling at his mouth. "The next song is ours and you will be mine, at last."

"Oh, is that so?"

"Yes," he answered simply, snagging his wrist before he could escape. With a few strides and an insistent tug Arthur pulled his husband out on the dance floor. Just in the nick of time, he thought happily as the opening to an intimately familiar song could be heard. Turning to face Merlin, Arthur pulled him close, his hands quickly finding their usual positions as Of Men And Monsters started singing the words to King and Lionheart. Though his husband was initially reluctant to dance, it faded away as he realised just what they would be dancing to.

A soft smile found Merlin's lips and he shook his head in amusement, pressing closer to him. This song had been the first dance at their own wedding thirty years previously. "Vivat rex," murmured Merlin, words heard perfectly clear over the music, over the sound of people dancing and laughing and conversing.

Arthur's heart pounded a furious rhythm against his ribs as he recognised the words. Shaking his head, just as he had done all those years ago, he answered quietly, "I'm not the King, Merlin."

His love's arms slipped around his neck as his gangly body pressed flush against his. "No," Merlin whispered earnestly, blue eyes meeting Arthur's, glinting with the faintest hint of gold, "but you're my King."

The End.

End Notes:

Translation: Vivat rex – Long Live The King.

I have never set foot in Number Ten, Downing Street or Chelsea and Westminster Hospital or West End Central Police Station in London. I have never been to Wales. I've been to London twice in my lifetime and both visits were fleeting; I didn't see hardly enough. Anything and everything I've written about in this fic is based on research that may or may not have provided accurate information. If there any mistakes, I apologise, but I just have to stay I loved writing every word of this fic – even the parts that made me cry. Perhaps, one day, I'll return to writing Merthur fan fiction. Who knows?

A big THANK YOU to everyone who's been reading this fic; your feedback has been and will continue to be appreciated. *hopeful grin*