The Crown OF The Summer Court

The Crown Of The Summer Court

Arthur was crouched with a clean shot lined up, just waiting for the stag to step clear of the brush, when Merlin's voice came calling out, "Arthur!" and the deer leapt. He jerked to follow its path and managed to bring it down anyway, then he stood up and glared.

"Merlin, I know you like venison," Arthur said, as Merlin came crashing through the bushes, and another ten or twenty hypothetical deer all vanished away like mist into the air. "You gobble it like a pig—"

"I do not!" Merlin said indignantly.

"—like a pig," Arthur continued on, firmly, "any time there's any left over, so you would think that somewhere in that ridiculous excuse for a mind you might draw the connection and not actively sabotage my hunting."

"The king sent me to get you," Merlin said, with a tone that implied strongly that he wasn't rolling his eyes where Arthur could see, but just wait until his back was turned. "He said you're to get changed into formal clothes and meet him in the Great Hall, there's a delegation coming from the Summer Court."

"The elves are coming?" Arthur said, incredulously. "Fine, go get that deer and come on."

"What, you want me to carry it?" Merlin said, looking at the deer. "I'll get all over blood."

"Precisely," Arthur said. "You, as opposed to I, will get all over blood."

"You're in leather, and you're about to get changed anyway!" Merlin said. "And my other clothes are in the wash, so if you'll want me to attend you so you look all consequential and everything—"

"Having you lolling about is more likely to make me look half-witted for keeping such a completely useless servant," Arthur said. He shoved the crossbow and bolts into Merlin's arms, and went to sling the deer over his shoulder. Merlin would probably take two hours staggering back to Camelot under the weight, and ruin the trophy besides.

Arthur dropped it at the kitchens to loud gratitude, the cooks already in a stir so violent Arthur began to believe it was actually true about the elves showing up. "I don't understand, aren't they—magic?" Merlin asked, grabbing a basin and some cloths to follow him upstairs. "Why are they allowed, if—"

"Believe me, my father would love to ban them from the kingdom too," Arthur said, stripping off his jerkin even as they got to his rooms. He kicked the bloodstained leathers to the corner and sat down to get his boots off as Merlin set out the basin, filled it with water, and started to wipe him down. "We can't afford to. The elven kingdom isn't a normal sort of place, you can get into it and out of it all over Albion—they say there's even entrances in Eire. Offend them, and you'll have an enemy army walking out of a hill behind your lines. We even have to pay them bloody tribute," he added darkly, letting Merlin tip his head back to get at his neck and jawline.

"Is that what they're coming for?" Merlin asked.

"No," Arthur said, "we send it to their gates at Danbury Hill every Samhain, and that's usually an end of it; I can't remember them ever coming here. Now get my tunic—no, the red one."

His father was already in a splendid mood, sitting glowering in his throne as the court assembled, murmuring and whispering excitedly. "Any idea what they want?" Arthur asked him, taking his seat.

"None whatsoever," Uther said grimly, "save that it will be something inconvenient we will not want to give. That I am sure we can rely upon. We have a report of seven horsemen coming: I have never heard of such a thing."

Arthur would've liked to look down into the courtyard to watch them coming in, as the noise of their arrival came up: he'd heard rumors about elven horses. But they had to present a formal, impervious front; he wasn't going to start gawking like a yokel.