Five years ago, the two of you had run away from Camelot to pursue a life together. One that didn't involve court politics, hiding magic or making choices that ripped apart one's soul.

The two of you owned a little piece of land, with a modest farm house filled with memories and each other. Merlin did most of the gardening and harvesting of the vegetables, as well as the cooking.

As well as being a prince, you were hopeless at chores. So, Merlin was doing the cooking, as usual, when you woke up. And just as usual, you came up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist.

"Morning, Your Royal Clotpole. The smell of food wake you?" Merlin murmured.