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Arthur is queueing in the coffee shop opposite the polished Pendragon Holdings office block. He had forgotten the date so he’s surprised by the gaudy pink and red decorations hung up everywhere. He orders his usual coffee and barely refrains from rolling his eyes when the barista asks if he’d like to pay an extra two pounds for one of their charity valentine’s day cards.
“Yes, fine.” He says briskly - let it never be said he doesn’t do anything for charity. The barista smiles brilliantly and hands him a handmade card in a garish pink, covered in hearts and glitter. He eyes it warily and decides he’ll send it to Morgana because it will amuse her if nothing else. Arthur is about to take up his coffee and walk into work but when he turns he nearly walks straight into the person standing beside him radiating an aura of furiousness to rival anything his sister has ever dished out.
“Oh now you don’t see me, when I’m stood right here?” the stranger asks. No, not a stranger. The man whose name he doesn’t know and is too embarrassed to ask at this point given he’s been sat on the pool of desks outside the glass walls of Arthur’s office for three months and four days now. Not that Arthur has been keeping track. “Do you think I can’t see you staring? Every time I look up you’re looking at me. What do you want?”
Arthur is speechless for all of five seconds; he’s too good at office politics for it to be any longer. What comes from his lips, rather than the intended dismissal in the haughty better-than-you tone his father has instilled in him is, mortifyingly, the truth.
“I’ve been trying to work out how to ask you if you want to go out for dinner. With me.” It takes him all of half a second to realise what he’s just said. Out loud. In a public place. He shoves the unwritten card in his hand at the man and makes his very dignified retreat, walking out with his head held high.
The infuriating object of his desire walks in two minutes behind him and throws Arthur a look that’s half unimpressed, half bewildered. Arthur sighs and sees nothing for it, beckons him into his office. At least this way nobody else has to hear Arthur’s very polite rejection and apology.
“I-”
“Yes, you bloody insufferable prat. I want to go out to dinner with you. Very much, actually.”
When Arthur turns up that evening to the tiny Italian restaurant he pulled every owed favour in existence to get a table for tonight he’s wearing a wine red shirt over dark grey suit trousers. He feels like an idiot sat at the table set for two by himself, even more so that he’s brought flowers but Morgana insisted during his panicked phone call to her that it’s romantic and more or less guaranteed to get him laid. There doesn’t look to be much chance of that when it’s ten past seven already and his date still isn’t here. Arthur bristles at the thought of being stood up, makes to leave and takes two steps towards the door when he stops dead and swallows hard. There he is in a ridiculous navy blue shirt covered in bright orange blooms, giving Arthur’s name to the waiter. When he looks up and catches sight of him his face splits into a smile that should look ridiculous; all teeth and honest to god dimples but it makes Arthur’s stomach flip.
“I’m so sorry I’m late!” he gushes, breath still coming quickly from where he’s clearly been running. “I don’t really know this bit of London. I got lost. You look lovely Arthur.” It’s all said too quickly in one breath and it sets Arthur at ease to know that he isn’t the only one that’s nervous.
“These are for you.” he says, trying not to sound too sullen as he hands him the bunch of flowers. Merlin (he’d pulled that one off perfectly by giving him his phone to put his number into) gives him another of those genuine huge grins again and Arthur feels a little better for listening to his sister. Arthur watches him reading the little generic card tied to the stalks.
“Bit forward isn’t it?” he flips it over to show Arthur. My love for you grows is written in a fancy script. Arthur groans and puts his head in his hands. Merlin is still giggling by the time the waiter comes to ask them if they’re ready to order.
***
Arthur hates Valentine’s Day. He hates wandering through shop after shop of garish tat, none of which seems remotely what his eccentric of a boyfriend would like. He’d like to pretend he didn’t leave present shopping until last minute but as it gets towards the end of his lunch break he may have to admit that yes, he could have organised better. It’s just there were four deadlines to make and he’s been pulling overtime as it is and- he pulls his thoughts away from work. It’s not helpful now. The only flowers left are sad looking and drooping already and Arthur looks forlornly at them. He can’t possibly give Merlin a bunch of flowers like that, not after the beautiful bouquet that accompanied last years accidental first date declaration of love, which Merlin still teases him about. The alternative of stopping at the petrol station on the way home is even worse.
Arthur takes a minute to breathe and sits on one of the shopping centre benches, taking out his phone to google if there’s anyone he can pay an obscene amount of money to deliver anything tonight. He has no such luck and he does what he always has when he’s out of options or ideas, and presses Morgana’s name in his phone. Twenty minutes later he’s back in his office with a nice sketchpad and expensive pencils. He doesn’t remember the last time he did anything like this, too wrapped up in trying to live up to the expectations his father set. It’s strange at first, sketching on the page, and he feels self conscious. It isn’t long before the familiar motion of it washes over him though, soothing him into a rhythm where he loses track of time just wrapped up in his drawing. As he sketches and shades, his mind wanders to all that he’s gained over the past year since their first date.
Arthur’s had a couple of girlfriends, a couple of boyfriends. All people like him, born into money and privilege. With each of them he’d gone through the motions and done what had been expected of him while being mainly indifferent towards them. Merlin challenges him every single day. When Arthur talks about something he takes as a given Merlin asks him why. When he’s quiet and he’s so tense he’s giving himself a headache Merlin tells him straight that there’s more to life than work. Merlin doesn’t care about money which had taken Arthur a good three months to get used to. His - their - flat is no longer white and sterile, sleek and ultra modern. There are books on every shelf and cabinet, cosy rugs all over the laminate flooring, incense burning most evenings. Arthur finds garishly patterned novelty socks two feet from the laundry hamper in the bathroom and the lid of the toothpaste tube open and it drives him mad. Thinking about it brings a lump to his throat with the sense of how lucky he is.
On a whim, he signs and dates his work in the bottom corner, a perfect bouquet on the page from this skill he’s never shared with anyone other than those closest to him - certainly not his father who believes he knows every detail of Arthur and that those details are exactly how he wants them.
“My love for you grows,” Arthur writes underneath the picture. It feels like it should be a joke but it tugs at his chest just a little and he means it. When he presents it to Merlin, convinced it’s the worst Valentine’s gift anyone has ever been given, he’s certainly not expecting the strangled noise and tears of joy.
***
At heart he knows Merlin is a romantic. He’s the first to complain loudly about the commercialism of Valentine’s day which is supposed to be about an ancient Romans converting pagans into Christianity and wasn’t considered to be about love and romance until the courts of the fifteenth century. Arthur listens fondly to his rant every year after their first date, and now after three he can almost recite it word for word. It doesn’t stop Merlin getting that ridiculous blush on the tips of his ridiculous ears when Arthur comes in with the biggest bunch of flowers he can find (and last year a cactus because he thought he’d try something different - Merlin had laughed out loud about what a prick he was) with the same message. My love for you grows. It started as a joke but somewhere along the line it became entirely serious and Arthur isn’t even embarrassed any more to ask the florist to write it on a card. It helps that all the girls in the one he likes to go to always tells him how adorable it is and that his girlfriend is a lucky woman. He didn’t correct them the first time and now it’s been three years it seems awkward.
He’s prepared this time though, it’s three weeks before and he’s going to order something specific. He usually just chooses what he likes the look of but he wants to do this properly. He has the text Gwen sent him with Merlin’s ring size that she’s somehow pulled off getting from him without raising any suspicion. She apparently was measuring hers because she’s sure Lancelot is going to propose soon and cajoled him into doing the same. Arthur looks at it again, her string of emojis of confetti, multicoloured hearts and diamonds, and smiles to himself. He reminds himself to call Lance later and gently bully him towards asking her.
The ring he chooses is simple and all Merlin. It’s a thin band of intricate leaves made from white gold inlaid with emeralds because green always brings out Merlin’s ice blue eyes, and because their flat has no counter or shelf space, the entire place taken up by greenery and trailing leaves. The shop assistant promises he can pick the ring up Valentine’s day morning and a little thrill of nerves runs through him. The florist is his next stop and Freya smiles when he walks through the door, knowing his face. He buys Merlin flowers regularly if he thinks about it, any time he wants to say thank you, or - more often than he should he knows - sorry, or I love you.
“You’re early this year” she says, teasing him.
“I prefer organised,” he answers curtly though he’s smiling. “I need to order something this year,” He takes a breath. “I assume you can make me some sort of engagement bouquet?” The grin that Freya flashes undoes the knot in his stomach. “I certainly can. How big?” she’s already taking out her photo album. He spends an hour and two cups of tea choosing all of Merlin’s favourite colours which culminates in a bouquet of deep blue anemones, blue orchids and burnt orange coloured lilies that don’t look a million miles from the pattern on that godawful shirt Merlin wore to their first date, arranged with forget me nots and sprays of gypsophila. Freya doesn’t need to ask what he’d like written on the card.
When he picks up the ring and bouquet the morning of the 14th he’s nervous. He can’t bring himself to eat breakfast or lunch, too nauseous. He doesn’t even get like this before deadlines or the biggest meetings at work; this is the most important answer he’s ever had to wait for and it’s for a question he hasn’t even asked yet. Merlin throws him curious looks as they get ready to drive out, Arthur telling him they’re going for dinner. They are, he’s just not booked a restaurant though Merlin doesn’t need to know that. Arthur has already stashed the bouquet and the ring box in the log cabin halfway up a mountain that he’s booked for three full nights, would be lying if he said the heated outdoor hot tub wasn’t a selling point. Merlin beams when they pull up to the wooden building in the middle of nowhere, the evening just coming in and the sun not quite below the horizon painting the world pink and orange. Arthur’s hair catches the light and glints golden, both of their faces bathed in the unearthly light. He takes a deep breath and opens the cabin door, gesturing for Merlin to go first.
“You’ve outdone yourself this year,” Merlin grins as he takes it in, Arthur not answering for fear his voice won’t come out as steady as he wants it to, waiting for Merlin to notice the flowers. “That’s just-” Merlin gives him one of those huge grins, the ones that put the dimples in his cheeks as he walks towards them. Arthur watches it soften into disbelief as Merlin picks up the tiny box made of a deep green velvet. He looks around, wide eyed and Arthur is already on one knee. He’s not much of a traditionalist but he wants to do this properly. He takes a slow breath and he can see Merlin trembling.
“Merlin Aneurin Emrys. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. My love for you grows. Every day, every month, every year. I don’t want that to stop. Ever. So-” he swallows hard. “Would you do me the great honour of becoming my husband?”
There’s a second of silence that stretches on for far too long and Arthur gets to his feet in case he needs to run. Then Merlin sniffles loudly and throws his arms around Arthur’s neck.
"Yes, you absurd romantic idiot. Of course I will.”
***
Exactly one year later Arthur is pacing his luxury hotel room in his boxers with his pristine white shirt on but undone.
“Arthur. Arthur. Breathe.” Leon catches his arm to stop his circling, pushes him into the chair at the mirror. “Tell me what you need me to do right at this moment. Don’t think about anything outside that door right now.” Arthur has trouble pulling his thoughts from anything other than Merlin and whether he’ll actually walk down the aisle when Arthur stands at the front of a garden full of their friends and family. Leon gives his shoulders a playful shake. “Just me and you right now mate. Are you going for the rugged stubble look or are you shaving? Either way your hair needs a comb.”
“He likes the stubble.” Arthur nods, glancing at his own reflection. Leon’s right though; his hair is sticking up all over from his sleepless night and from Arthur running his fingers through it. His best friend is luckily armed with several different combs and brushes, owned thanks to his never less than perfect curls, with which he manages to smooth Arthur’s hair into submission.
“I have got the rings. Both of them. My speech is written and it’s not got actually embarrassing jokes in it, the music for the ceremony is sorted and ready to go and you need your tie.” Leon lists things off in that calm steady voice that usually works on Arthur when he’s agitated and has since they were at school. He knots Arthur’s dark orange tie for him, does the buttons on his navy blue suit jacket. Leon is wearing one to match, pins the cream rose buttonhole flower onto each of their chests. “If this wasn’t your wedding I’d marry you myself.” Leon says approvingly when he looks him over. Arthur manages a small smile.
“I think your wife might have something to say about that.”
Leon grins and opens the room door to go down the walled garden they’ve chosen for the wedding. Neither of them could imagine marrying without being surrounded by flowers. “He will come, won’t he?” Arthur asks so quietly when they take their place at the front, while the guests file in to take their seats. The look Leon gives him is devastated and Arthur starts to worry until Leon pulls him into a gruff one armed hug and tells him not to be a fucking idiot.
Arthur watches everyone take their seats, taking deep breaths until Leon pulls him to face the celebrant who gives him a smile. The music starts up and Arthur closes his eyes for a second, all the tension bleeding from him when he hears people shuffle to turn around and look. He tries so hard to keep his eyes forward until Leon’s quiet, awed noise breaks his resolve and he turns to look.
Arthur has never seen anything so beautiful in his life. Merlin, his Merlin, is walking up between the two rows of seats looking nothing short of otherworldly. He’s wearing a black suit though it’s far from plain, embroidered all over with leaves in fine gold thread. On his head sits a delicate circlet in the same gold, two strands of the thin metal intertwining with each other and inlaid with sapphires at each point they cross. It shines against his dark hair and catches the rays of winter sun making him look like a prince in a long forgotten fairytale. In his hands he carries the small bouquet of blue, white and gold that Leon took to the room they were getting ready in for him. There’s a small card tied around them. Arthur knows what it says.
My love for you grows.
Morgana and Gwen walk behind Merlin in sapphire blue dresses, each holding a single white rose. Their hair has been left loose and they look just as fey as Merlin does. Leon nudges Arthur and motions his head to Lancelot who’s standing to the side in Arthur’s wedding party with his jaw literally dropped.
There’s a lump in Arthur’s throat by the time Merlin reaches him and his eyes prickle with tears - something they haven’t done since childhood. He takes another steadying breath and whispers a hello. Merlin beams.
“Hello yourself,” he whispers back and stands opposite Arthur, takes both of his hands. “Are you ready?”
Arthur just nods. He listens to the celebrant welcoming everyone and the ceremony she leads them all through but she and all the guests may as well not be here. Arthur’s vision narrows to one single point and he sees nothing but the man who’s going to be his husband.
His tears break and fall when he slides a ring that looks similar to Merlin’s circlet onto his finger, though this is white gold to match his engagement ring. Merlin laughs softly but it isn’t at him; he’s been weeping since Arthur started reciting his vows. When they kiss it’s nothing like the films, it’s damp and slightly clumsy but Arthur couldn’t care less as he hears the applause and walks back down the aisle hand in hand with the love of his life.
***
Arthur intends for them both to have a lie in this Valentine’s day, given the last several, too many to count really, have seen them woken up at the crack of dawn by small voices at their bedroom door, breakfast in bed that still makes Arthur cringe at the thought of crumbs on the sheets, and handmade cards still oozing PVA glue and shedding glitter to go with all the slightly burnt toast crumbs. He’d put up with that every day of the year if he had to, if it meant he got to see the face Merlin makes, that look of pure unbridled happiness.
Arthur had never thought he’d wanted children. They’d talked about it as a hypothetical before they got married. Arthur had shrugged and never really thought about it. He’d always assumed he’d be a terrible father and it was better he was never inflicted on a child - he’d said as much when Merlin brought it up again a couple of years after the wedding. Merlin had just held him close with that fiercely strong grip he had when it really mattered and told him he knew that was his father talking.
Over the next months and with the help of the counselling Merlin had managed to convince him to try - “No offence love but your upbringing was fucking awful” - Arthur had realised that he did want children, especially after he saw his own face while holding Gwen and Lance’s new baby in the picture Merlin took and still has up in the living room, even though Gal is eighteen now. It was something he yearned for; to watch little lives grow and develop, to give them the love he’d so wished he had.
All those years and four children later, Arthur wakes up and glances at the clock. 8am is a new record. He shuffles closer, puts his arm over his husband’s waist and whispers “Happy anniversary sweetheart.”
Merlin grumbles sleepily, relaxes back against Arthur’s chest. They cuddle for a full five minutes before bedroom doors start slamming and they hear Jack yelling at one of his sisters through the bathroom door. It’s anyone’s guess which sister it is, any one of their three girls - Viv, Elena or Sophia - shutting themselves in the biggest bathroom every day and always at the exact time their brother wants to use it. Arthur chuckles in Merlin’s ear, the warm feeling of safety and family blooming in his stomach. This, he thinks, is how childhood should be.
Once their brood has been driven here, dropped off there and all but pushed out of the house for school, college, wander the park for hours, sneak out of lessons to walk around town, Arthur doesn’t much care today as long as they’re out, he closes the front door behind him and grins. They may be in their late forties by now but Arthur fancies Merlin as much as he ever has, if not more. The threads of silver through his once jet black hair make Arthur want to run his hands through it, mess it up until Merlin can’t hope to save it. The lines around his eyes tell the story of a life lived together. Merlin remains the most gorgeous person Arthur has ever seen and he spends the entire day showing him exactly how much he means that, both of them panting and laughing like they’re still those young men from that very first 14th of February.
By mid afternoon they both have to admit they’re maybe not quite as fit as they used to be and can’t go quite as many rounds. Arthur climbs out of bed and pulls on his satin robe, the one that matches Merlin’s that they bought in Japan the year they went. He makes tea and sits at the kitchen table while it stews, looking out of the window for the postman. He’s trying letterbox flowers this year because Merlin had seen the advert on TV and said it looked fancy.
When they hit the doormat he arranges them into the vase, sets out the little purple envelope with the card in. It strikes him as it does every year that the words he puts in every single bouquet are true. My love for you grows.
***
Merlin doesn’t get out of bed. It’s been ten months and he’s still genuinely shocked to realise there’s no warmth in the bed beside him. Elena stayed over last night so he wouldn’t be completely alone when he woke up and he’s grateful that he can hear her moving around downstairs but she’s got her own family now, her own husband to spend Valentine’s Day with and he hates that he’s getting in the way of that. She brings him a cup of tea and he drinks it for something to do with his hands that isn’t just twist them in the sheets but it’s too milky and not right. Arthur always knew how to make his tea. Merlin drags himself up after an hour, sends Elena home with the insistence he’s okay and that she should live her own life. She gives him a kiss on the cheek and tells him firmly in a voice that’s all her father to take care of himself, that Sophia is dropping in after work to check in.
He decides on a bath and goes up to run it, doing his best not to keep noticing the lack of the achingly familiar shampoos, shower gels and aftershaves that until recently cluttered up the bathroom surfaces. He brushes his teeth resolutely not thinking about there only being one tooth brush in the glass now and the toothpaste lasting twice as long.
The man looking back at him out of the mirror might as well be a stranger. Its an old man, somewhere in his seventies with a long grey beard. “You don’t have to take your mum naming you Merlin literally you know!” teases his late husband in his head, longer hair and deep lines etched in a cragged face. Despite everything though, despite his age and fading looks, Arthur had found him beautiful still, had told him so every day. Right up until-
He sinks into the too hot bathwater and still manages to feel the cold, not sure if it’s on his skin or under it now but the ache in his back is all too real. He lies in the water until he’s shivering, climbing out with protesting knees. He pulls on the thick dressing gown hanging on the back of the door, pretending for just a moment it still smells like him. It’s a nice thought if nothing else and he takes a moment to bury his face in the lapels until his ears pick up a shrill noise that’s oddly muted. Merlin furrows his brow in confusion wondering what it is until he remembers his hearing aids are still on the bedside table and it’s the doorbell, the length of the noise familiar even if he’s going a bit deaf now.
Merlin descends the stairs on aching legs, shouting that he’s coming and to stop being so bloody impatient when the bell rings again. Gwen teases him about how much of a curmudgeon he’s become in his old age when they meet every week at the café on the corner, not far for either of their old bones. The thought of seeing his dearest friend improves his mood if only a tiny amount.
That disappears as quickly as it came though when he opens the door and the bored looking Evri driver hands him a bouquet of flowers. Blue anemones, always blue anemones. The flowers they were arranged with changed year to year but there was never a Valentine’s Day bouquet without them. Merlin is just angry looking at them, why this year had to be the year he got someone else’s gift, for someone to mess up somewhere he doesn’t know but it feels like a cruel joke. He entertains the thought for a brief moment that someone has sent it on purpose to hurt him, but he honestly doesn’t think he has anyone that hates him that much.
With shaking hands he pulls out his phone, throwing the flowers carelessly on the kitchen table as he finds the number for the florist whose name and logo is on cellophane they’re wrapped in. His call is answered by a flustered sounding woman and he can’t find it in himself to be sympathetic.
“There’s been a mistake,” he snaps down the line and wouldn’t Gwen be disappointed if she could hear how rude he’s being right now. Not to mention what Arthur would say. His heart clenches at the thought and he covers it with another sharp jab. “I’ve been sent flowers.”
The lady on the end of the phone takes his name and address and says “They’re from your husband Mr Pendragon.”
Merlin doesn’t even think to question how she would know he had a husband, just spits
“My husband died last year.”
“Oh I’m...I’m sorry to hear that.” the florist says and she sounds so sincere all the fight leaves Merlin and he slumps into one of the kitchen chairs. There’s a short silence before she speaks again. “There’s a note here. Mr Pendragon, the other Mr Pendragon, paid in advance a large amount of money with the instructions that you be delivered a bouquet of flowers every Valentine’s day, always containing blue anemones, until such time as-” she pauses and Merlin is nothing but slightly amused that she’s trying to find a polite way to say
“I kick the bucket and go with him?” Merlin offers cheekily, a little more like his usual self, or who that was before Arthur left. The florist makes a muffled noise that sounds to Merlin’s old ears like a startled laugh. “Well yes, I suppose so. But the flowers are certainly for you. I hope you enjoy them.” Merlin puts down the phone then without a word, hot tears tickling their way down his cheeks.
He picks up the bunch of flowers from the table, cradling them like they’re more precious than just a few cut stems. With shaking fingers he blames on the arthritis he opens the tiny envelope to see the words of the card within.
My love for you is eternal.