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“Is he serious?” Gwaine hisses.
“I believe so,” Leon says, trying to keep the despair in his voice from showing on his face.
“Does Princess honestly believe that—”
“Gwaine,” Leon cuts him off. “I am not entirely certain what the king’s intentions are, but I believe his goals are as he shared. King Arthur is hoping to identify a suitable candidate with…” he struggles for a moment. “Minimal fuss,” is what he eventually settles on.
“Minimal fuss?” Gwaine echoes. “Minimal fuss? Princess wants to pick a queen the same way we pick who has to take second shift on watch!”
He’s not wrong, but Leon isn’t sure how to parry this last comment. They’ve drawn attention now, though, and the rest of the knights are drifting toward the corner of the armory where Gwaine and Leon had been discussing the king’s latest idea.
Leon looks toward the door in alarm, but the king is gone, departed as soon as he delivered his request. Now it’s up to Leon, as First Knight of Camelot, to figure out how to turn a truly unusual proposal into something that will end with minimal casualties.
“Pardon me,” Lancelot says, bewilderment still clear in his expression. “Did I understand that correctly? King Arthur is trying to…”
“Select a wife by drawing names out of a hat, yes,” Leon finishes, already anticipating the next question.
“Isn’t he already married to the court sorcerer?” Gaheris asks tentatively.
Yes, that would be the point he’s been dreading. Leon closes his eyes briefly and prays for strength from whichever deity of the old religion looks after long-suffering knights serving oblivious royalty.
“Not technically,” he answers, when it becomes clear none of the more senior knights are going to respond to Gaheris.
Elyan decides to save Leon from having to explain eight years of complicated backstory and romantic drama. “Merlin used to be Arthur’s manservant. Now he’s court sorcerer. Somewhere in there, they must have become lovers – I mean, look at them now – but no one’s ever been able to confirm when exactly that was.”
Leon has his own theory, which is that the lonely young boy he’s watched slowly turn into a selfish prince and then a just king has never actually realized that he’s in love with his best friend. It would be just like Arthur to assume that instinctive self-sacrifice, near-deathbed confessions, and uncontrollable roughhousing are just hallmarks of traditional friendship. Leon has sat near to Arthur at enough feasts to know how he looks before and after a good meal. If they truly were lovers, he wouldn’t still look at Merlin with such unfocused hunger.
Not that Leon makes a habit of speculating on the closed-door happenings of royalty.
Gaheris still looks puzzled. “Is this a joke then?” he looks around at the other knights. “Since Camelot doesn’t need a queen?”
Leon watches as each of the other knights fail to mean Gaheris’s eye.
“It must be,” Lancelot says at last, though the determination in his voice sounds hollow. “Arthur wouldn’t do that to Merlin. Camelot has a good king and a strong court sorcerer. There is no need for a queen in Camelot.”
“There better not be,” Gwaine says, a snarl in his voice. “Or I’ll string Princess up by his toes, just watch me.”
“Gwaine,” Leon says in warning. He knows Sir Gwaine’s relationship to the king and his sorcerer is more companiable than most, but there is only so much treason the First Knight can allow in front of the junior knights.
Gwaine subsides with a grumble, the scowl still present on his face.
“Do we have a plan, then?” Elyan asks, worry showing in the line of his brow.
There’s a silence no one wants to break. Leon watches Percival chew over the problem, Elyan come up with and discard dozens of thoughts, Lancelot’s face slowly fall as he realizes how little they can do.
Then there’s a quick intake of breath, as inspiration strikes. “Princess wants us to give him names of prospective queens, right?” Gwaine asks, a more acceptable form of gleeful treason on his lips. “I’d say we just stuff the box with Merls’ name and let Princess figure it out from there.”
There’s an outbreak of frantic muttering at that among the knights and Leon has to clear his throat twice to regain control of the room.
“Gentlemen,” he says firmly. “King Arthur has entrusted us with an important responsibility. Our current assignment is for each of us to write a name on a slip of paper for the king to review. Think long and hard about your choice and select the individual you believe is best able to serve the king as a joint ruler and partner. These slips should be returned by training tomorrow for the king’s review. Any questions?”
He can see the meaning in his wording sink in as the knights listen, his deliberation omission of the words “queen” or “wife.” He cannot endorse Gwaine’s plan. But that does not mean he doesn’t think there’s merit in forcing Arthur to consider the benefits of putting a signet ring on Merlin’s hand and a crown on his head.
“No questions,” Gaheris says, and Leon can already see the plotting in his smile, a match to the deceptively innocent scheming in Lancelot’s or the devious glee in Gwaine’s.
Leon suppresses a sigh. “Knights dismissed.”
--
The next day, every knight appears promptly, holding out a slip of paper. They’re all folded in half, but that doesn’t mean that Leon can’t make out the spikes of an “M” or the curves of an “n” through the paper as he collects them in a disused helmet.
Training itself is cancelled, due to a freak thunderstorm that’s in no way connected to the news that the king is getting married soon.
Leon finds himself walking through the hallways of the citadel alone, rain furiously lashing the windows as he passes, the air unseasonably cool. He holds the upturned helmet in his hands and strides briskly toward the king’s chambers, ignoring the static in the air.
When Arthur pulls the first slip of paper out, hand shaking ever so slightly, he reads the name of his ex-manservant on it and wonders if this is a joke.
He draws another.
And another.
And another.
By the time the helmet is empty, the top of Arthur’s desk is littered with small pieces of paper, each bearing the same name. There are more slips than there are knights, Leon notes idly, wondering if that’s a byproduct of squires and servants putting in their two cents or just junior knights (or Gwaine) stuffing multiple slips in in the hopes it might help get their point across.
“Leon,” Arthur says, hands braced on his desk, head bowed, staring at the names emblazoned in front of him. “What is the meaning of this.” It’s not a question. He raises his head slowly and Leon can see confusion in his gaze warring with horror and humiliation.
Leon’s heart breaks as he realizes the young king has misinterpreted their gesture. The knights are not mocking their king for the affection they see playing across his face daily. Nor do they taunt him for loving beneath his station.
Leon clears his throat and says as gently as he can, “I instructed the knights to put forth the name of the individual they felt most worthy of ruling beside you, sire.” He usually doesn’t touch his sovereign, but Arthur looks so lost that Leon gives in to the impulse and puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I suggest you consider it,” he adds with an encouraging smile, before leaving his king to his decision.
--
The King of Camelot weds his Court Sorcerer on a beautiful midsummer day.
It’s sunny for weeks.