Concerto for Two Violins (2/2)
Part One
“Morgana! Darling!” Catrina exclaims when Morgana walks into the Camelot office.
Morgana pastes on a smile. “Catrina! Lovely to see you. Is the maestro in?”
Catrina, effusive greeting over with, gives her a suspicious squint, trying to decide if this is one of the days when Morgana and Uther get into a shouting match or if it’s one of the ones where they’re going to be cordial. Morgana really doubts the latter, given what she’s here to talk to him about. “Yes, I suppose he can fit you in. He’s just got off the phone with that Canadian violinist he wants to bring in sometime next year.”
Much as Morgana would love to take Catrina to task for always looking so smug about Uther never featuring his own players, she has bigger fish to fry. “Lovely. I won’t be long, I’m sure.” Without waiting for further comment, she strides past the reception desk and pushes Uther’s door open.
“Ah, Morgana,” says Uther when he looks up from his papers. He looks tired more than anything else, which gives her a bit of hope. Sometimes she can nag him into giving her what she wants when he’s tired, even when it’s something this big. “What can I do for you today? Are you here for lunch?”
She could almost feel guilty for avoiding spending time with him since she found out he’s her father, if he looked the slightest bit interested in her company. “I can stay for lunch, if you wish, but I actually came on business.”
Uther rubs his temples. “For the hundredth time, Morgana, it’s good press to bring in soloists from other areas-”
Morgana throws the first movement of Merlin’s score on the table between them, keeping the title page to herself. The maestro’s got to see the music before he sees the name, or this won’t work. “This isn’t about giving me solos.” And it’s not. Other than one little sweet featured duet in the slow movement Merlin seems to have his focus on other instruments.
“What is this?”
“Look at it.”
He was the one who taught her how to read a score, when she couldn’t sleep after moving into his mausoleum of a mansion after her da died, so she knows just how he’s sounding it all out in his head as he turns pages, going carefully through the first movement. A few times his forehead wrinkles-there are rough spots, and Merlin doesn’t always do the expected-but mostly he looks reluctantly impressed, at least until he looks up at her. “What do you want me to do with it? It’s not part of the symphonic canon, so we don’t play it. Is it yours? I know of a few publishing houses that might be willing to give it a look, circulate it to some of the less prestigious-”
“We’re premiering it with Pelleas. World premiere.”
Uther sighs. “We only do works that are well-established and you know it, Morgana. This isn’t a pops orchestra or your friend Gwaine’s little band.”
“This isn’t pops music. Look at the slow movement.” She pulls it out of her bag and drops it in front of him. She knows the piece is a hard sell, by an unknown composer and still being edited, but if the slow movement doesn’t convince everyone nothing will.
It takes longer, this time. Uther goes through the first few phrases at tempo, then scowls and goes back and does it just a hair slower-she’ll have to tell Merlin she told him so-and works through the whole piece like that before going back to dwell on a few of the especially lovely spots. Morgana keeps as still as she can, and when he looks back up at her, she raises her eyebrows. “We haven’t premiered a symphony since-”
“Since Ygraine’s last one. I don’t care. This one is worth it. It’s still being edited, but it will be at least nine tenths ready by our next rehearsal.”
“Is this yours?”
Morgana shakes her head. “I told you. It’s not about me.” It’s not even so much about getting Merlin and Arthur back together, although she wants to smack their heads together all the time as they’re miserable without each other. “Do you think it’s good?”
“It’s rougher than I would like, but yes. A friend’s, then?” She finally hands him the title page, and watches his expression change, first at the title she can’t convince Merlin to change and then at the unobtrusive ‘M. Emrys’ at the bottom of the page. “Ah. Of course. I thought he and Arthur were done with each other.”
“They’re readjusting, and that has nothing to do with the music. This isn’t refusing to hire Arthur or me as a soloist so you won’t be accused of nepotism, that’s your own business. But can you imagine what people are going to say, in five years when this is being played in all the halls and they find out it was written by one of our cellists?”
“That’s not going to convince me.”
Morgana puts the last of the music down. The third movement was finished just before dawn, and she and Gwaine spent the morning putting it into the software and getting it printed while Merlin slept. It still needs work, but she can see how it will look when it’s done and they certainly won’t be the first orchestra getting new parts from the composer at every rehearsal. “Look through it all. Imagine it once it’s been brushed up. Forget about who wrote it if Merlin bothers you that much. I think he’d rather if his name didn’t come into it until the premiere anyway, because of Arthur.” Uther makes a face like he swallowed a lemon. “Just go through it. We’ve got all the parts copied off for you. And while God knows this orchestra isn’t about what will make your musicians happy, I can tell you know that everyone would far rather do this with Pelleas than bloody Handel again.”
Uther sighs. “I can’t promise you anything, Morgana. I have to talk it over with the board of directors, for one thing.”
“A twenty-something cellist from our very own orchestra? They’ll eat it up with a spoon.”
“Nevertheless. The decision isn’t mine alone.” Even though it is, and the board of directors lets him rule with an iron fist aside from the occasional quibble from Geoffrey. “Give me the boy’s phone number, would you? I want to have the option of calling him with the news either way.”
Morgana scribbles it down on a piece of paper. She won’t get more out of him. “He wrote it for Arthur,” she comments, and lets him draw his own parallels.
Uther sighs. “I can’t promise anything, Morgana. Now, did you want to stay for lunch? It’s been a while since you stopped by.”
“A while” means the eight months since their final blowup about her parentage, and she’s not sure she’s ready to be around him without Arthur yet. “I’ve got plans for lunch, I’m afraid. I’ll see you at rehearsal.”
With that, she gives him a perfunctory kiss on the cheek and leaves the office, waving to Katrina on her way. Gwaine’s making omelets for the three of them for lunch and she should give them an update on the meeting.
*
Morgana slams into Gwaine’s flat three days later, violin case in hand. “Get out your instrument,” she snaps.
Merlin, from the couch, makes a horrified noise when Gwaine leers. “I’m right here.”
“His violin, you horrible perverts. I need to play Bach before I rip someone’s head off. I can’t believe he’s fucking blackmailing me into doing lunch with him. I hope you and Arthur appreciate what I’m sacrificing, Merlin.” Merlin wisely just gives her a wide-eyed look and sinks back down into whatever edits he’s doing today.
Gwaine, of course, is completely unimpressed, which is why she likes him so much. It doesn’t stop her wanting to beat him over the head when she’s this annoyed, but nothing much does and at least he doesn’t make it worse. “I think technically it’s extortion,” he points out, but he’s getting up and getting out his violin case, which is what matters. “And why do you need me to play Bach? The man wrote enough for solo violin. Unless … is the great Morgana Lafayette deigning to play something sullied by the Suzuki method?”
“Bach is impossible to sully,” says Morgana, and sets her case on the kitchen table to get her violin out.
“So,” says Gwaine, tightening up the hairs on his bow, “the maestro is extorting the pleasure of your company in return for considering Merlin’s symphony?”
“He hasn’t said so in as many words, but it was definitely the implication.”
“Nice to know I can get by on my own merits,” mutters Merlin from the couch.
“Shush. If he didn’t want to do it, he would have said no straight out and waited for another opportunity to bait me into his idea of father-daughter bonding.” She checks the strings-all still in tune from this morning’s lessons. “He’s just trying to get everything he can out of me because I’m the one who brought it up to him.”
Gwaine checks his tuning. “Is your A good?” She plays one and they both get in tune with each other in the matter of half a minute. They haven’t played together outside of orchestra too much, but there have been a few string quartets at weddings and such, so they’ve got enough of a routine down to tune without too much fuss.
“Can you do this in a different room?” Merlin asks before they can get settled where they can see each other. “It’s going to be hard to work with Bach blasting in my ears.”
“It’s like you’re asking for the music to be foreplay,” says Gwaine, but he leads the way to the bedroom nonetheless. Morgana tries not to look at Merlin as they go. She’s still not used to anyone else knowing she and Gwaine are sleeping together, and all of it feels even more sordid with Merlin watching their every move and looking pained about it. When they get in, he shuts the door and perches on the edge of the nightstand while she stays standing. “I’m assuming I’m playing second?”
Morgana shrugs. “I know both parts. If you’d prefer I start us off, I’m willing.”
In answer, Gwaine starts off, still slumping against the nightstand but playing the notes lovely and crisp. His violin teacher back in the day must have cried at all the wasted potential. Morgana waits through the opening phrases before coming in herself, straightening up and calming down so she won’t speed through it. She may be angry at Uther for forcing her hand, but ruining Bach is a crime she wouldn’t forgive herself for. If she wants to get sloppy and furious later, there’s always Beethoven.
They’ve discussed their love for the concerto before, so Morgana isn’t surprised that Gwaine’s memory of the score is perfect, or that after the first few measures and a challenging smile when she comes in he closes his eyes and just enjoys the music, the way he does when he’s playing his fiddle tunes. She is surprised at herself for enjoying playing like this, unrehearsed and just for the two of them. She likes practice, the satisfaction of knowing she’s getting better, but she doesn’t often enjoy it just for itself.
When they finish, crashing to a slightly awkward stop because Gwaine seems to feel the need to slow down whenever he finishes playing anything, Morgana takes a few seconds just to relish the silence, eyes closed. She hasn’t played Bach much since university, since the maestro only takes him out on very special occasions and Morgana can’t bear to hear him played badly so doesn’t bother assigning any of his work to most of her students.
“Ready to talk about whatever’s wrong?” Gwaine asks when she opens her eyes, back to grinning at her.
“Uther using Merlin’s symphony as a bargaining piece to get me to speak to him, Arthur refusing to speak to me because he thinks I’ve taken Merlin’s side even though he’s speaking to Merlin, Nimueh being like a dog with a bone over Mordred and Vivaldi … I am having a shit week, basically.”
“And you came over for Bach instead of sex?”
“You have Merlin on your couch and he looks like I’m outraging your maiden virtue every time I look at you these days, so yes, Bach.”
Gwaine laughs before moving to sit on the bed, bouncing a few times and patting the space next to him. Morgana rolls her eyes and joins him, resting her bow across her lap and her chin on the scroll of her violin. He puts an arm around her. “Merlin’s not so upset about it as all that, he just likes taking the piss out of me. He said he didn’t mind when I asked in private, at least.”
Before Morgana can ask exactly how much they’ve talked about it, Merlin knocks on the door. “What?” she calls, which he takes as a sign to come in.
He just raises his eyebrows at the sight of the two of them sitting on the bed, instruments in their laps and Gwaine’s arm around Morgana. “If you two are finished with Bach, I’ve edited the violin parts in the slow movement and I need guinea pigs.”
*
At the next rehearsal, they spend the first half on the “Sicilienne” from Pelleas, the section the most people would recognize and, thankfully, both the easiest and the shortest. Uther hasn’t given Morgana a final answer one way or the other, so she’s impatient the whole time, to the point of missing a few obvious cues. Looking to Merlin is no help-he and Arthur tried going out on a date, to try to work themselves out, and it all degenerated into recriminations again, so he’s staring at his stand in misery and probably composing a cello concerto. If the symphony doesn’t work, she’s going to have to resort to drastic measures. Gwaine just shrugs when she looks over at him and goes back to sniping at Vivian, who’s in fine form.
Uther spends the whole of the break on the phone, but Morgana squints at him instead of talking to any of her friends, waiting, even when Gwaine squeezes her shoulder and makes a face trying to get her attention. After, when they’re all about to turn back to review the “Fileuse,” the maestro holds up a hand instead, and then picks a folder up off his stand. “Tonight, we’ll be practicing one of our other pieces for the concert.” His mouth pinches for just a second, and that’s when she knows they’ve done it. “A world premiere from a promising young composer,” he adds, like the words hurt to say, and Morgana watches Arthur’s and Merlin’s heads snap up in unison while everyone else starts whispering. By the time Arthur turns around, though, looking startled and a little bit hurt, Merlin is looking back at the maestro, biting his lip.
Uther raps his baton on his stand, quieting them before anyone can ask who the composer is, why now, why this piece. “You will read this, I trust, with more attentiveness than you have been giving to the Fauré, because Camelot is taking a chance on this piece and I will not have it ruined. We may receive edits as the concert grows closer. I expect you to keep up with them and keep your scores up to date.”
With that, he hands the parts out to the section leaders, who pass them around. Morgana takes her parts and tries to look as attentive as everyone else. The title is on there, Dragon Symphony because nobody could talk Merlin out of it, but where the composer’s name is, there are just initials: M.A.E. It’s enough that some of their friends are darting glances at Merlin and that Arthur isn’t even pretending to look at his score, just staring at his father, but Merlin keeps his eyes on his stand, fingering through a few of the parts.
What follows is another shock to the way Camelot usually does things. The maestro always works every tiny section before allowing a read of their pieces all the way through, but he tells them to open to the first movement, first section, they’re going to play through it. That starts out another spate of whispers, but Uther puts a stop to it quickly, raising his baton and waiting to give the downbeat.
They play.
The first twelve measures are a disaster of everyone scrambling to read their scores while still trying to telegraph looks about why the maestro has chosen now to leave his usual path, and Morgana’s afraid it’s not going to work, but then it straightens itself out all at once when the timpani comes in, Percival exactly on beat because he’s been bored these past few rehearsals. She spares a glance at the cello section just in time to see Merlin’s shoulders relax.
It isn’t perfect. There’s a section in the first movement where Merlin was trying something experimental with the harmonies that he really shouldn’t have tried, Uther’s tempo on the slow movement is just a shade too fast to make it as lovely as Morgana knows it can sound from her sessions with Gwaine and Merlin, and Arthur fumbles a cello feature in the third movement not because it’s difficult but because he can’t seem to keep his attention on the music. It isn’t perfect, but it’s good.
After the run-through, the maestro releases them early and strides out just like a normal night. Morgana lets Alice chatter to her while she packs up her instrument, but mostly keeps her eyes on her friends. Lancelot’s figured it out, she thinks, but Merlin’s already out the door while she thinks it, so nobody will have anything confirmed tonight. Arthur’s jaw is tight while Gaius talks to him, and she’ll have to fix that later, but she thinks they’ve made progress, so she’ll leave it for now. Vivian has already collected Elena and Gwen and Leon to chatter about the sudden change in plans, and Percival is edging over to Lancelot, so maybe he’s figured it out as well.
“Well, that went pretty well,” says Gwaine from behind her.
She turns around, case in hand. “I’d say so.” She glances around. Alice has moved off to talk to Gaius, so it’s safe enough. “Want to come to mine after you talk Merlin down from whatever crisis he’s having?”
He grins. “He’ll be wanting to burn the whole thing for not being good enough to make Arthur sag into his arms, I suspect. It may take a while.”
“Well, I don’t have anywhere to be in the morning.” Gwaine leers, and she elbows him. He grabs her hand in response, and she thinks about reminding him they’re in public, but no one’s really looking, and even if their friends wouldn’t approve it’s not like they’re doing anything wrong. “Come over whenever, I’ll be up late.”
“I’ll be over just as soon as I keep our Mr. Beethoven from doing something drastic like drunk-dialing his not-quite-boyfriend.” Gwaine gives her hand a squeeze and walks off.
Only to be replaced by Arthur, barely a minute later. Morgana spares a second to wonder if he’s cottoned on, but he seems to have other things on his mind, because he’s holding onto his case as he nods towards the door, so she walks him out. “What can I do for you?”
“It’s Merlin’s, isn’t it? The symphony?”
“How should I know?”
“I’m not stupid, Morgana, and father has always let you talk him into anything. Is that Merlin’s symphony? He was going to-it wasn’t finished, and he wouldn’t let me see until it was, so I don’t know, but it seems like something he would write.”
“For fuck’s sake, Arthur, you’re a grown man. Ask him yourself,” she says, and hails a cab to shove him into so he won’t have to take his cello on the underground. “You’re both just being stubborn now. Break up with him, if you’re just going to act like an immature twat.” He goes stricken at the very thought, and Morgana nods. “Or talk it out, or let him woo you with the symphony if it is his, or something. But at the moment, you are making all of us suffer, or hadn’t you noticed that we’ve barely had a pub night since you and Merlin have been on the outs?”
She slams the cab door while Arthur is still looking chastised and tells the driver his address, letting them drive off before starting the walk back to her own flat. Her phone goes off before she’s even walked ten feet. Beginning to think we should just lock them in a closet, Gwaine’s texted, and she has to agree.
*
“I’m going to kill someone if we get another round of edits on that symphony next week,” Vivian announces at post-rehearsal drinks three weeks later, and a round of hear-hears goes up around the table. Some of them are more pointed than others, but Merlin just stares at his drink, attempting to look innocent. Badly. How Arthur possibly thinks he could be lying about cheating she has no idea.
“We’ll all help,” says Morgana, because if Uther gets much more annoyed with Merlin’s edits he’s going to explode and she’s going to take the fall for it just for bringing the symphony up to him in the first place.
Arthur scowls. “I won’t. Someone needs to bail you lot out of prison.” And he won’t help Merlin, but nobody’s mentioning aloud that Merlin wrote the symphony they’re premiering even though it’s almost painful how obvious it is. It’s anyone’s bet if Arthur would say it even if it were being said aloud, though. Merlin’s moved back into their flat after catching Gwaine and Morgana snogging one too many times, but he’s sleeping in the spare room and he and Arthur fight every time they try to have a conversation because they’re both too damn stubborn.
“I’ve never been caught yet,” says Gwaine, and tosses his arm around the back of Morgana’s chair.
“Aside from that public decency arrest,” Leon points out. Gwaine just waves a hand, dismissing him. “And the one where you punched that bloke and started a barfight.”
“No, you misunderstand. I’ve never been caught for murder.”
Normally, Arthur or Merlin would chime in there and say something biting, but they’re both too busy looking pale and upset. It’s a miracle they’re both at the pub at the same time, though, so Morgana steps in before the silence can stretch out too much. “In that case, we’ll appoint you head of the assassination squad.”
“Not that we would,” Gwen says from down the table, just realizing that Merlin’s looking more miserable by the second. “It’s lovely music. Just, all the edits make it hard to get used to it.”
After that, everything splinters into smaller conversations, and Morgana allows herself to relax a bit and stop nursing her drink. Vivian is talking Elena’s ear off about something, Gwen and Lancelot are telling Percival about the trip to Paris they’re planning for after the concert (and Morgana would bet any money Lancelot will propose while they’re there), and Leon seems to be valiantly attempting to cajole Arthur out of his black mood. That leaves Morgana and Gwaine to take care of Merlin. Again. She leaves it to Gwaine, mostly, who chooses to try to cheer Merlin up by making increasingly obvious innuendos that just leave Merlin looking pained and looking between them in a way that would be really obvious if anyone but him knew.
Somehow, though, it’s the right thing to do. Not because it cheers Merlin up any, but because after half an hour of Gwaine’s intermittent leering Arthur stands up abruptly. Morgana holds her breath, half-expecting him to flounce out for no particular reason just to remind them all he’s upset, but instead he walks to her side of the table and claps his hand down on Merlin’s shoulder. “Come on, you don’t look very well, let’s get you home.”
Merlin just stares up at him with stupid cow-eyes until Morgana gets Gwaine to elbow him. “Um, yes. Hold on a second, let me just-”
Leon loudly interrupts when Merlin starts rummaging through his wallet. “We’ll cover it, don’t worry. You two just go ahead out.”
Everyone watches in shocked silence while Arthur and Merlin leave the pub together, barely managing to pull together something resembling a collective mumble of goodbye. Morgana counts three seconds once they’re out of earshot before Vivian lets out a shrill whisper of “Well, it’s about time!” and starts off the round of gossip.
Things take on a rather celebratory air after that. Morgana allows herself some satisfaction, even though she doesn’t expect that Arthur will be smart enough to let bygones be bygones after the make-up sex they’re undoubtedly on their way to have. Still, it’s progress, so she has another drink and leans against Gwaine’s side under cover of being tired. Elena gives them a sideways look, but she’s been doing that a lot lately and Morgana really doesn’t want to deal with it yet, so she does her best to ignore it.
“I have a prospective student and her mother stopping by in the morning,” she says at last, tipsier than she normally likes to be. “I’m heading home to get some sleep. I’ll see you all soon.”
Gwaine clamps his hand on her shoulder before she can shrug him off and leers at her just the same as always. “Do you want an escort home?”
“I’m not a damsel in distress,” she says loud enough for everyone, and then leans closer. “Too tired. I’ll call you tomorrow, though.” He gives her a broad wink for everyone else’s benefit and a smile for hers, and lets her up to say her goodbyes.
Most everyone’s deep enough in their drinks that nobody so much as bats an eyelash while they wave her off, but Elena’s still watching them with a look of dawning understanding and it isn’t really a surprise when she hears her making a loud and obviously false excuse about being tired when Morgana’s almost out of the pub and running after her. Morgana gives in to the inevitable and waits just down the street for her. “Oh, good, I’ve caught you,” says Elena when she’s had to grab on to a signpost to keep from tripping. “I figured since we’re heading in the same direction we might walk together for a bit.”
“Of course.”
Elena manages to last about fifteen steps before she brings it up. “So, you and Gwaine have been getting quite cozy lately.”
“Have we?”
“Morgana.” Morgana glances over to find Elena unwontedly serious, arms crossed. “It’s okay, you know? Whatever is okay. And I’m not going to tell Vivian. I just wanted to check that everything’s okay, since I don’t think I’m hallucinating if Leon mentioned it too.”
Morgana trips on nothing. “Leon what?”
“Leon mentioned that Gwaine told him he was busy with you when Leon was trying to schedule a lad’s night a few weeks ago, and asked me if I’d heard about it.” Which might mean he’s asked everyone else about it. Except perhaps Vivian, they all generally know better than that, but it still puts another spin on nobody teasing them about Gwaine’s arm around her at the pub tonight. “Does that mean there’s something going on, then?”
Morgana prepares herself to say “no” and weather that storm, but what comes out instead is “I have no idea.”
*
Rehearsals go on, and the maestro brings them up to twice a week as they get closer to the concert and the last of Merlin’s edits come through. Elena doesn’t tell anyone about Morgana and Gwaine, or at least nobody else brings it up and Vivian and Gwen at least would be sure to, in their own ways, but she does watch them whenever they’re together at rehearsal, and it’s likely only the fact that everyone’s busy wondering what’s going on in the cello section (and some sort of feud going on between their best trumpet and their best French horn, but Morgana generally doesn’t concern herself with the brass) that keeps everyone from figuring it out. Arthur and Merlin are back together for certain, as far as anyone can tell, but things are still awkward, and Morgana’s hoping that the performance will get everything back to normal, or as normal as they ever are with those two around.
Two weeks before the concert, when Morgana’s so sick of Fauré and the Handel they’re using to fill out their program that she could beat her head against a wall, Morgause calls.
“Morgana, darling,” she says when Morgana picks up the phone, sitting up in Gwaine’s bed and mouthing her sister’s name when he murmurs a question. “I’m sorry it’s been so long.”
“You’ve been on tour. How was Moscow?”
“It was lovely. I love playing Rachmaninoff.” Morgause pauses. “You could have come, you know. There are concert halls that would be glad to have you, unlike Uther.”
“Perhaps next time. You’re playing in Tokyo in the spring, aren’t you?” Gwaine sits up behind her and she waves a hand, trying to stop him before he starts whatever he’s got in mind. It’s been at least a month since she talked to Morgause, and longer since they talked for more than five minutes. He just props his head on her shoulder to listen to her conversation and grins at her when she shrugs him off.
“I’m doing a few concerts in that area of the world, yes, and then to America for the summer. In the meantime, though, I wanted to ask why you hadn’t told me that Camelot is doing a world premiere! The gossip has finally reached us in Russia and I must say I was surprised. Usually Uther is so … traditional.”
“It hadn’t occurred to me, honestly. A friend of mine wrote it.”
“Ah yes. Merlin, wasn’t it? I imagine he’ll be the darling of the arts press for a while.”
“Possibly. Mostly he’s doing it to get his boyfriend back, the romantic sod.” Morgana does her best to change the subject, as Morgause barely tolerates Arthur and dislikes Merlin for reasons best known to herself. “When will you be in England next? It’s been a while.”
“That’s why I called, actually. Once I heard about the premiere I knew I had to come back for it, and I’m not playing anything for a week before and after the concert. An excellent time for a visit, I would say.”
“I’ll be glad to see you.” Gwaine, who’s luckily moved across the bed to find his boxers, snorts quietly. “I can get you a comp ticket, if you’d like. Not the best seats, but you needn’t pay for that on top of travel.”
“Nonsense. I’ll be right up in the front. And besides, I’ll be needing two. I told Cenred about this and he wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Her voice lowers, and Morgana can hear her smiling. “He’s looking forward to seeing you again, Morgana. Should I be arranging a lunch for the two of you?”
“I don’t need you to set me up dates,” she snaps, and doesn’t need to turn around to feel Gwaine freeze and start staring. “And Cenred should ask me out himself anyway.”
Morgause, as always, is unruffled. “I just want to see you happy. And anyway, he’s going to be a guest conductor in Oslo in the spring, and he’s looking for a violin soloist. I thought you might want to talk about that, if not a date.”
An opportunity to headline a concert isn’t to be sniffed at, but Morgana can’t bring up much enthusiasm for it if it means she’ll be dealing with Cenred. “I’ll consider it. But no, no dates. Not this time.”
“Morgana, have you got a boyfriend without telling me?”
That’s impossible to answer, not least because she doesn’t really know, but even worse with Gwaine in the room. “Cenred is slimy either way, so it doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me. You’re my sister, after all.”
Morgana looks around Gwaine’s bed, sheets nearly pulled out from where they’re anchored because they constantly fight for the blankets, and at the amount of her clothes on the floor, and tries to remember how many nights she’s spend in her own flat in the past two weeks. “Maybe. It’s not fourth form, things aren’t that cut-and-dried.”
For all she and Morgause aren’t very close, can’t be with Morgause traveling so much and Morgana insisting on maintaining connections with Camelot because she cares about her brother and her friends, if not so much her father, Morgause still knows her well enough to know the subject isn’t a welcome one. “He’s there, isn’t he?”
“Yes.” Gwaine’s across the room now, so he can probably only hear her half of the conversation.
“I’ll let you go, then. Call me soon? I’m just enjoying Moscow for the next week before my second concert, and then I’ll be flying to you, so we’ll work out those details.”
“Definitely. Lovely to hear from you, Morgause.”
“You as well,” says Morgause, and hangs up.
Morgana gives herself a few moments to marshal her expression before turning around. Gwaine is lounging in the doorway, still wearing nothing but boxers. “Morgause is coming to the concert?”
“Yes. I think she’s hoping it’s a disaster so she gets to see Uther and Merlin humiliated at the same time.” She puts down her mobile and flops back onto his bed. They’d intended to sleep late, but apparently that’s not meant to be. “I would be far more glad to hear from her if Cenred weren’t coming.” Gwaine doesn’t move, his eyebrows still raised like he’s waiting for something. “He’s a creep, even if he does want to give me a show in Oslo, and why did you get out of bed? Neither of us has to be anywhere for hours.”
“Your sister has awful taste in men, apparently,” says Gwaine, but he relaxes and comes back to bed so the worst is probably over.
“Runs in the family.” He rolls over on top of her and bites her shoulder in protest. She smacks the back of his head. “She’s going to spend the whole time she’s in town asking who I’m dating, since I turned him down,” she adds. “And this on top of Merlin and Arthur still failing completely at talking about their problems, and Uther continuing to force me into lunch … can I just hide here until the concert?”
Gwaine leers. “I’ll keep you here as my own personal sex slave. You’d look very fetching in those gauzy-”
“My God, it’s like feminism never happened.” She kisses him before he can come up with a retort, and if he kisses a little harder and she holds on a little tighter than usual, she’s not going to be the one to mention it.
*
The night of the concert, backstage is pandemonium.
Merlin takes one look at the stack of programs, his name on it in a large, bold font as well as a bio that Morgana wrote on his behalf, and goes to the nearest bathroom to throw up. Arthur just stares at the program like he’s surprised it’s Merlin’s symphony after all, but he looks more thoughtful than upset so she leaves him be. Everyone else is fluttering around, excited and nervous. Camelot Symphony always makes good crowds, but doing the first premiere they’ve done since the year after Uther became conductor means quite a lot of people, and press, and more than a few prospective publishers and commissioners coming to chat with Merlin, though everyone’s careful not to mention that as if he can hear them from the bathroom.
Morgana stands off towards the edge of the cacophony, playing Merlin’s most impossible run of notes for the first violins over and over until Vivian gives her a dirty look and moves away, at which point she gives up and leans against the wall. Gwaine swings by a few seconds later, like that was some sort of cue. “Shouldn’t you be holding Merlin’s hair back or something?” she inquires.
“Lancelot and Gwen are cooing at him.” Morgana snorts. “How was dinner with Morgause?”
“A blatant attempt to get me together with Cenred, as he ‘just happened’ to run into us. There is something really wrong with her, since she used to date him.” She takes a deep breath and carefully doesn’t look at him when she speaks, though she catches Elena’s raised eyebrows, which isn’t much better. “I finally gave in and told her I have a boyfriend.”
“Oh? Do I get to meet him?”
One of these days, she’s going to strangle him. “Maybe later, if you’re very good. I’ve always wanted to have a threesome.” Then, because she owes him fair warning: “Morgause is going to want to interrogate you at some point.”
“And why would Morgause want to do that?”
Morgana sighs and turns to face him fully. The green room before a concert isn’t the best place to have this conversation, but at least nobody is overtly looking on. “Because she does it to everyone I date and has done ever since we reconnected. She thinks it’s her big-sister duty or something. Do you mind, that I told her?”
Gwaine just tilts his head, and normally he’s so easy to read it’s laughable but she can’t quite figure out what’s going through his head now. “Boyfriend?”
She sets her jaw, because for all it’s unacknowledged, it’s impossible not to realize they aren’t just fucking anymore. “Yes.”
“Okay then,” says Gwaine, and before she can tell him exactly how inadequate an answer that is, Catrina’s at the door to the green room, shouting at them all to get their instruments and get on the stage, ten minutes to the maestro’s entrance, and she loses him in the crowd.
She finds Arthur instead, and they walk to the stage together, neither of them saying much. “Merlin will be fine,” she says when he looks offstage one too many times before they separate to go to their seats. “Don’t fuck up the third movement, he may leave you.” Arthur rolls his eyes, but at least he’s stopped looking quite so shell-shocked, so she’ll call it a win.
By the time the lights go down and the maestro walks out to applause, everyone is quiet and tense. Merlin is so pale and shaky she’s half-afraid he might faint, Arthur’s tense, and the rest of their friends seem nearly as nervous, and the Dragon Symphony isn’t even until the second half of the concert. Uther’s impassive, but Morgana knows after so many years when he’s nervous, and his expression while they tune is very telling.
The first half of the concert goes by in a haze. They play Pelleas better than they have before, even nailing the triplets in the damn “Fileuse,” and the Handel goes well even if Morgana is a bit bored by it. The maestro goes off stage and it’s the interval, only a short one since it isn’t a terribly long concert.
Morgana spends most of the interval looking through all her notes on Merlin’s score, although she woke up a few days ago dreaming one of the melodies from the slow movement, so it likely doesn’t need much more practice. Gwaine is chatting with Percival over in the percussion section, but he looks over at her every once in a while, and she suspects that if Merlin’s symphony goes well then they’ll be having quite a long discussion after the concert, once she gets rid of Morgause and Cenred.
Out of the habit all of them have developed over this round of rehearsals, she looks to the cello section a minute or two before the maestro is due to come back out from the wings, to find Arthur and Merlin holding hands. She blinks, but there they still are, Arthur obviously giving one of his inspirational speeches that she can never help laughing at and Merlin staring up at him starry-eyed and with a bit of color in his cheeks.
Someone hisses time, breaking the moment, so Morgana checks the tuning on her violin and watches everyone file back to their seats, Arthur one of the last, with one last squeeze to Merlin’s hand. Things are going to be okay, it seems, and she looks at Gwaine to find him looking back, grinning and tilting his head in Merlin’s direction. She grins back and opens her music to the first page as the lights go down again and they all shuffle themselves into looking professional as Uther returns to the stage.
Morgana got over stage fright at the age of thirteen and hasn’t dealt with it since, other than her final performance at university, but she’s nervous as the maestro raises his baton, more on Merlin’s behalf than her own. There’s a moment’s hush from the audience, and then they begin.
The first movement is what Merlin called the “firebreathing movement” a few times when Morgana and Gwaine were transcribing for him, all sweeping strings and punches of brass and crashes of percussion that make Percival grin from his place behind the timpani. It takes a while for it to resolve itself into a melody, and even then it’s cut off often and thrown from instrument to instrument. Morgana keeps her eyes on the maestro as much as she can, following as he pushes them on, louder and louder until it cuts off into the four beats of silence that everyone tried to talk Merlin out off, which now just feel like taking a huge breath, and she can almost feel the audience doing it on cue before Percival rolls the timpani and then the melody finally comes in properly, a wall of sound, brass-led with lush chords. They wind it to a close, taking it through variations of the melody and an ending section that leaves the brass and woodwinds panting.
Uther holds his baton up for a few seconds after the last splash of sound, letting them collect themselves and turn their pages for the slow movement, and then they begin.
The slow movement is undoubtedly Merlin’s masterpiece, and equally undoubtedly his unabashed love song to Arthur. He muttered some rubbish about a dragon locked in a dungeon when Gwaine and Morgana gave him grief for it, but it’s obvious to anyone with ears what it is. The strings start it, cellos and violas with the melody and the violins playing low and quiet, before the brass comes in and swells out the sound. Uther’s finally found the right tempo for it, just this side of too-slow so he almost has to pull them off each note and the rests linger like they’re waiting. The instruments all climb through their registers until the last chord sings out and holds in the silence for a moment afterwards.
Morgana lets Alice turn their pages and sneaks a look at Gwaine while Uther raises his baton for the third movement. He’s looking again, but he doesn’t bother smiling, just gives her a serious look before looking back to the maestro, and she looks as well just in time to make the downbeat. The third movement is almost relaxing after the second, for all it’s the showiest and has actually difficulty behind the flash of it. She plays every cascade of notes she’s been running for weeks as clean and crisp as she can, matched by everyone in the section when far too many rehearsals had the mess of notes turning into soup. Arthur plays the solo section perfectly for the first time, and Merlin beams at him before coming in again at the end, all of them gearing up for the broadening of the end, big brass coming back in again and Percival glowing with sweat behind the timpani and Gwen winding the oboe through it.
When the maestro’s baton goes down at last, there’s a full second of silence, everyone on the stage staring around, surfacing from the performance in the way that only happens after a good one, before the audience bursts into a roar of applause. Morgana takes a deep breath and rests her head on the scroll of her violin for a second before lifting it again to smile and watch Uther bow to an already-standing audience. “Author!” someone starts shouting from the balcony-she thinks it’s Elyan, and then everyone takes it up, including the orchestra, and Merlin goes to the maestro’s platform when he’s beckoned, ears red and a grin stretching all over his face.
It takes three bows and nearly ten minutes for the audience to start filing out into the lobby, leaving the orchestra to its own horribly unprofessional celebration on the stage. The second Merlin goes back to the cello section, red and blotchy all over, Arthur grabs him by the collar and plants a kiss on him, and it starts off a round of hugs all over. Uther stands at the front looking pained and likely wondering if the press in the audience is getting pictures of his orchestra acting like this, but Gaius goes forward to shake his hand and he looks at least a bit less sour.
There’s a tap on Morgana’s shoulder just as Alice is releasing her from their hug and Morgana has just enough time to turn around and see Gwaine grinning like he’s just finished a marathon before he pulls her close and kisses her. She kisses him back until he tries to pull her closer and nearly crushes her violin, at which point she smacks him and he lets her go and laughs. “Just let me put this down, and we can continue,” she says.
There are at least four people staring at them, and she’ll have to explain the whole mess to everyone at wherever they’re all going after the performance later, especially Arthur, as he’s stopped snogging Merlin long enough to look vaguely ill as he stares at her, but she doesn’t much care. She puts her violin down and kisses him again.
*
Pub night, three days after the concert, feels shockingly normal. Gwaine, Freya, and Elyan are playing yet another set of vaguely familiar Irish reels over in the corner. Vivian is off on a rant about an article that dared to call the first half of their performance “trite” while Elena attempts to reason with her and mostly ends up giggling. Most of the lads are talking footie, except Lancelot, who’s telling Gwen and Morgana about the program he’s going to conduct for the youth orchestra, which means Morgana is going to have to teach Mordred fucking Brahms, which she generally avoids at all costs.
Of course, there are some differences from how things have been recently. For one thing, Merlin is sitting on Arthur’s lap, much to the disapproval of some of the older patrons of the bar. Whatever they talked about after the concert seems to have put them right into one of their honeymoon stages and it’s a bit ridiculous how they can’t keep their eyes or hands off each other.
For another thing, though, every time Morgana so much as glances in Gwaine’s direction, even if it’s because she recognizes a tune, she gets everyone at the table looking at her. Merlin’s just amused, now that everyone else has taken over the duty of being horrified, and Elena always grins like they’re a basketful of puppies, but nearly everyone else looks as if they’re trying their best to not badger her with a hundred questions. Arthur called the afternoon after the concert (and neither of them mentioned why the call was made in the afternoon) to harangue her, but other than that there’s mostly been silence on the subject. She suspects she has about two more days of blessed silence before they all get over their shock and wild theorizing and start pestering them for information directly.
Gwaine comes over on a break while Freya is singing something pretty and Gaelic with Elyan to back her up. Everyone, like so many puppets, looks from him to Morgana and back while he surveys the empty chairs, neither of which is next to Morgana, and then Merlin perched on Arthur’s lap. Morgana knows what he’s going to do before he does it, so she braces herself and manages not to wince too hard when he lands in her lap with a grin and a kiss on her hair. “And how is everyone tonight? There was another article about your symphony this morning, Merlin.”
“There’s some publishing interest, and father says he knows of at least two conductors for internationally acclaimed orchestras who have called to ask about it,” says Arthur, unbearably smug, and kisses Merlin briefly on the neck while Merlin squirms.
Morgana spends half a second being exasperated before remembering that she doesn’t have to just sit and glare when Arthur is all over Merlin in public anymore; now she can get revenge, which is much better. So she smirks and does the same to Gwaine, who makes an interested noise while Arthur looks martyred. “Serves you right,” she tells him, and wraps her arms around Gwaine’s middle because otherwise he’s going to fall off her lap.
“I can still revoke my approval of this,” Arthur mutters. Even Vivian snorts at that.
“Yes, I live for your approval.” Gwaine laughs and shifts on her lap. She pokes him. “God, you’re heavy, why are you on top of me?”
Gwaine takes a breath, and she knows even without being able to see his face properly that he’s going to say something inappropriate that will lead to all of their friends pondering their sex life, so she heads it off at the pass by letting go of him and half-standing so he falls on the floor. He doesn’t let it faze him, even when Elyan starts laughing as he and Freya finish up the song they’ve been playing, just uses Lancelot’s arm for leverage to get himself off the floor. “I am taking that out on you later,” he informs Morgana, grin firmly in place, and Leon makes some sort of stifled horrified noise while Gwen lets out a giggle.
“I’d like to see you try it.”
“It’s like you’re asking to be spanked.”
“I hate you both,” says Arthur. Merlin starts laughing, so at least one of them recognizes the hypocrisy there. Everyone at the table knows far more than they want to about what those two do in bed.
Before Morgana or Gwaine can muster up an answer to that, Elyan shouts across the pub for Gwaine to “stop flirting with your girlfriend and get your arse over here” while Freya just giggles at the lot of them from behind her hand.
Gwaine puts a theatrical hand over his heart and beams down at Morgana. “Alas, my love, it seems I must leave you to the mercy of these cruel beasts. You’ll have to forgive me.” He catches her hand, kisses her palm, and saunters off, leaving her staring behind him, stuck on the endearment.
When she turns back to the table, Merlin is grinning at her, Arthur has moved on to complaining loudly about a less-than-glowing review of Merlin’s symphony, and everyone is going back to their conversations. “So, what do you think the maestro will have us playing next?” Elena asks, smiling at her.
Behind them, Gwaine is starting up a bastardized version of something she thinks is Mozart that all of the patrons will think is just another Irish reel, probably just to bother her. Everyone else is grabbing onto Elena’s comment and suggesting a multitude of ridiculous ideas, since Uther broke his primary rule for Merlin’s symphony. “Perhaps a medley from Doctor Who?” she suggests, and turns around just in time for Gwaine to give her his most obnoxious wink.
She turns back to the table to find Leon making an enthusiastic case for her suggestion and ignores how Merlin keeps smiling at her. Instead, she takes out her phone to text under the table while Lancelot makes a point of not looking at what she’s texting: we’ll have to revisit the spanking idea later.
When Gwaine starts laughing after he’s finished the medley, Morgana just smirks. She’ll likely be too sore to sit down at Mordred’s lesson in the morning, but it will be worth it.
“Morgana! Darling!” Catrina exclaims when Morgana walks into the Camelot office.
Morgana pastes on a smile. “Catrina! Lovely to see you. Is the maestro in?”
Catrina, effusive greeting over with, gives her a suspicious squint, trying to decide if this is one of the days when Morgana and Uther get into a shouting match or if it’s one of the ones where they’re going to be cordial. Morgana really doubts the latter, given what she’s here to talk to him about. “Yes, I suppose he can fit you in. He’s just got off the phone with that Canadian violinist he wants to bring in sometime next year.”
Much as Morgana would love to take Catrina to task for always looking so smug about Uther never featuring his own players, she has bigger fish to fry. “Lovely. I won’t be long, I’m sure.” Without waiting for further comment, she strides past the reception desk and pushes Uther’s door open.
“Ah, Morgana,” says Uther when he looks up from his papers. He looks tired more than anything else, which gives her a bit of hope. Sometimes she can nag him into giving her what she wants when he’s tired, even when it’s something this big. “What can I do for you today? Are you here for lunch?”
She could almost feel guilty for avoiding spending time with him since she found out he’s her father, if he looked the slightest bit interested in her company. “I can stay for lunch, if you wish, but I actually came on business.”
Uther rubs his temples. “For the hundredth time, Morgana, it’s good press to bring in soloists from other areas-”
Morgana throws the first movement of Merlin’s score on the table between them, keeping the title page to herself. The maestro’s got to see the music before he sees the name, or this won’t work. “This isn’t about giving me solos.” And it’s not. Other than one little sweet featured duet in the slow movement Merlin seems to have his focus on other instruments.
“What is this?”
“Look at it.”
He was the one who taught her how to read a score, when she couldn’t sleep after moving into his mausoleum of a mansion after her da died, so she knows just how he’s sounding it all out in his head as he turns pages, going carefully through the first movement. A few times his forehead wrinkles-there are rough spots, and Merlin doesn’t always do the expected-but mostly he looks reluctantly impressed, at least until he looks up at her. “What do you want me to do with it? It’s not part of the symphonic canon, so we don’t play it. Is it yours? I know of a few publishing houses that might be willing to give it a look, circulate it to some of the less prestigious-”
“We’re premiering it with Pelleas. World premiere.”
Uther sighs. “We only do works that are well-established and you know it, Morgana. This isn’t a pops orchestra or your friend Gwaine’s little band.”
“This isn’t pops music. Look at the slow movement.” She pulls it out of her bag and drops it in front of him. She knows the piece is a hard sell, by an unknown composer and still being edited, but if the slow movement doesn’t convince everyone nothing will.
It takes longer, this time. Uther goes through the first few phrases at tempo, then scowls and goes back and does it just a hair slower-she’ll have to tell Merlin she told him so-and works through the whole piece like that before going back to dwell on a few of the especially lovely spots. Morgana keeps as still as she can, and when he looks back up at her, she raises her eyebrows. “We haven’t premiered a symphony since-”
“Since Ygraine’s last one. I don’t care. This one is worth it. It’s still being edited, but it will be at least nine tenths ready by our next rehearsal.”
“Is this yours?”
Morgana shakes her head. “I told you. It’s not about me.” It’s not even so much about getting Merlin and Arthur back together, although she wants to smack their heads together all the time as they’re miserable without each other. “Do you think it’s good?”
“It’s rougher than I would like, but yes. A friend’s, then?” She finally hands him the title page, and watches his expression change, first at the title she can’t convince Merlin to change and then at the unobtrusive ‘M. Emrys’ at the bottom of the page. “Ah. Of course. I thought he and Arthur were done with each other.”
“They’re readjusting, and that has nothing to do with the music. This isn’t refusing to hire Arthur or me as a soloist so you won’t be accused of nepotism, that’s your own business. But can you imagine what people are going to say, in five years when this is being played in all the halls and they find out it was written by one of our cellists?”
“That’s not going to convince me.”
Morgana puts the last of the music down. The third movement was finished just before dawn, and she and Gwaine spent the morning putting it into the software and getting it printed while Merlin slept. It still needs work, but she can see how it will look when it’s done and they certainly won’t be the first orchestra getting new parts from the composer at every rehearsal. “Look through it all. Imagine it once it’s been brushed up. Forget about who wrote it if Merlin bothers you that much. I think he’d rather if his name didn’t come into it until the premiere anyway, because of Arthur.” Uther makes a face like he swallowed a lemon. “Just go through it. We’ve got all the parts copied off for you. And while God knows this orchestra isn’t about what will make your musicians happy, I can tell you know that everyone would far rather do this with Pelleas than bloody Handel again.”
Uther sighs. “I can’t promise you anything, Morgana. I have to talk it over with the board of directors, for one thing.”
“A twenty-something cellist from our very own orchestra? They’ll eat it up with a spoon.”
“Nevertheless. The decision isn’t mine alone.” Even though it is, and the board of directors lets him rule with an iron fist aside from the occasional quibble from Geoffrey. “Give me the boy’s phone number, would you? I want to have the option of calling him with the news either way.”
Morgana scribbles it down on a piece of paper. She won’t get more out of him. “He wrote it for Arthur,” she comments, and lets him draw his own parallels.
Uther sighs. “I can’t promise anything, Morgana. Now, did you want to stay for lunch? It’s been a while since you stopped by.”
“A while” means the eight months since their final blowup about her parentage, and she’s not sure she’s ready to be around him without Arthur yet. “I’ve got plans for lunch, I’m afraid. I’ll see you at rehearsal.”
With that, she gives him a perfunctory kiss on the cheek and leaves the office, waving to Katrina on her way. Gwaine’s making omelets for the three of them for lunch and she should give them an update on the meeting.
*
Morgana slams into Gwaine’s flat three days later, violin case in hand. “Get out your instrument,” she snaps.
Merlin, from the couch, makes a horrified noise when Gwaine leers. “I’m right here.”
“His violin, you horrible perverts. I need to play Bach before I rip someone’s head off. I can’t believe he’s fucking blackmailing me into doing lunch with him. I hope you and Arthur appreciate what I’m sacrificing, Merlin.” Merlin wisely just gives her a wide-eyed look and sinks back down into whatever edits he’s doing today.
Gwaine, of course, is completely unimpressed, which is why she likes him so much. It doesn’t stop her wanting to beat him over the head when she’s this annoyed, but nothing much does and at least he doesn’t make it worse. “I think technically it’s extortion,” he points out, but he’s getting up and getting out his violin case, which is what matters. “And why do you need me to play Bach? The man wrote enough for solo violin. Unless … is the great Morgana Lafayette deigning to play something sullied by the Suzuki method?”
“Bach is impossible to sully,” says Morgana, and sets her case on the kitchen table to get her violin out.
“So,” says Gwaine, tightening up the hairs on his bow, “the maestro is extorting the pleasure of your company in return for considering Merlin’s symphony?”
“He hasn’t said so in as many words, but it was definitely the implication.”
“Nice to know I can get by on my own merits,” mutters Merlin from the couch.
“Shush. If he didn’t want to do it, he would have said no straight out and waited for another opportunity to bait me into his idea of father-daughter bonding.” She checks the strings-all still in tune from this morning’s lessons. “He’s just trying to get everything he can out of me because I’m the one who brought it up to him.”
Gwaine checks his tuning. “Is your A good?” She plays one and they both get in tune with each other in the matter of half a minute. They haven’t played together outside of orchestra too much, but there have been a few string quartets at weddings and such, so they’ve got enough of a routine down to tune without too much fuss.
“Can you do this in a different room?” Merlin asks before they can get settled where they can see each other. “It’s going to be hard to work with Bach blasting in my ears.”
“It’s like you’re asking for the music to be foreplay,” says Gwaine, but he leads the way to the bedroom nonetheless. Morgana tries not to look at Merlin as they go. She’s still not used to anyone else knowing she and Gwaine are sleeping together, and all of it feels even more sordid with Merlin watching their every move and looking pained about it. When they get in, he shuts the door and perches on the edge of the nightstand while she stays standing. “I’m assuming I’m playing second?”
Morgana shrugs. “I know both parts. If you’d prefer I start us off, I’m willing.”
In answer, Gwaine starts off, still slumping against the nightstand but playing the notes lovely and crisp. His violin teacher back in the day must have cried at all the wasted potential. Morgana waits through the opening phrases before coming in herself, straightening up and calming down so she won’t speed through it. She may be angry at Uther for forcing her hand, but ruining Bach is a crime she wouldn’t forgive herself for. If she wants to get sloppy and furious later, there’s always Beethoven.
They’ve discussed their love for the concerto before, so Morgana isn’t surprised that Gwaine’s memory of the score is perfect, or that after the first few measures and a challenging smile when she comes in he closes his eyes and just enjoys the music, the way he does when he’s playing his fiddle tunes. She is surprised at herself for enjoying playing like this, unrehearsed and just for the two of them. She likes practice, the satisfaction of knowing she’s getting better, but she doesn’t often enjoy it just for itself.
When they finish, crashing to a slightly awkward stop because Gwaine seems to feel the need to slow down whenever he finishes playing anything, Morgana takes a few seconds just to relish the silence, eyes closed. She hasn’t played Bach much since university, since the maestro only takes him out on very special occasions and Morgana can’t bear to hear him played badly so doesn’t bother assigning any of his work to most of her students.
“Ready to talk about whatever’s wrong?” Gwaine asks when she opens her eyes, back to grinning at her.
“Uther using Merlin’s symphony as a bargaining piece to get me to speak to him, Arthur refusing to speak to me because he thinks I’ve taken Merlin’s side even though he’s speaking to Merlin, Nimueh being like a dog with a bone over Mordred and Vivaldi … I am having a shit week, basically.”
“And you came over for Bach instead of sex?”
“You have Merlin on your couch and he looks like I’m outraging your maiden virtue every time I look at you these days, so yes, Bach.”
Gwaine laughs before moving to sit on the bed, bouncing a few times and patting the space next to him. Morgana rolls her eyes and joins him, resting her bow across her lap and her chin on the scroll of her violin. He puts an arm around her. “Merlin’s not so upset about it as all that, he just likes taking the piss out of me. He said he didn’t mind when I asked in private, at least.”
Before Morgana can ask exactly how much they’ve talked about it, Merlin knocks on the door. “What?” she calls, which he takes as a sign to come in.
He just raises his eyebrows at the sight of the two of them sitting on the bed, instruments in their laps and Gwaine’s arm around Morgana. “If you two are finished with Bach, I’ve edited the violin parts in the slow movement and I need guinea pigs.”
*
At the next rehearsal, they spend the first half on the “Sicilienne” from Pelleas, the section the most people would recognize and, thankfully, both the easiest and the shortest. Uther hasn’t given Morgana a final answer one way or the other, so she’s impatient the whole time, to the point of missing a few obvious cues. Looking to Merlin is no help-he and Arthur tried going out on a date, to try to work themselves out, and it all degenerated into recriminations again, so he’s staring at his stand in misery and probably composing a cello concerto. If the symphony doesn’t work, she’s going to have to resort to drastic measures. Gwaine just shrugs when she looks over at him and goes back to sniping at Vivian, who’s in fine form.
Uther spends the whole of the break on the phone, but Morgana squints at him instead of talking to any of her friends, waiting, even when Gwaine squeezes her shoulder and makes a face trying to get her attention. After, when they’re all about to turn back to review the “Fileuse,” the maestro holds up a hand instead, and then picks a folder up off his stand. “Tonight, we’ll be practicing one of our other pieces for the concert.” His mouth pinches for just a second, and that’s when she knows they’ve done it. “A world premiere from a promising young composer,” he adds, like the words hurt to say, and Morgana watches Arthur’s and Merlin’s heads snap up in unison while everyone else starts whispering. By the time Arthur turns around, though, looking startled and a little bit hurt, Merlin is looking back at the maestro, biting his lip.
Uther raps his baton on his stand, quieting them before anyone can ask who the composer is, why now, why this piece. “You will read this, I trust, with more attentiveness than you have been giving to the Fauré, because Camelot is taking a chance on this piece and I will not have it ruined. We may receive edits as the concert grows closer. I expect you to keep up with them and keep your scores up to date.”
With that, he hands the parts out to the section leaders, who pass them around. Morgana takes her parts and tries to look as attentive as everyone else. The title is on there, Dragon Symphony because nobody could talk Merlin out of it, but where the composer’s name is, there are just initials: M.A.E. It’s enough that some of their friends are darting glances at Merlin and that Arthur isn’t even pretending to look at his score, just staring at his father, but Merlin keeps his eyes on his stand, fingering through a few of the parts.
What follows is another shock to the way Camelot usually does things. The maestro always works every tiny section before allowing a read of their pieces all the way through, but he tells them to open to the first movement, first section, they’re going to play through it. That starts out another spate of whispers, but Uther puts a stop to it quickly, raising his baton and waiting to give the downbeat.
They play.
The first twelve measures are a disaster of everyone scrambling to read their scores while still trying to telegraph looks about why the maestro has chosen now to leave his usual path, and Morgana’s afraid it’s not going to work, but then it straightens itself out all at once when the timpani comes in, Percival exactly on beat because he’s been bored these past few rehearsals. She spares a glance at the cello section just in time to see Merlin’s shoulders relax.
It isn’t perfect. There’s a section in the first movement where Merlin was trying something experimental with the harmonies that he really shouldn’t have tried, Uther’s tempo on the slow movement is just a shade too fast to make it as lovely as Morgana knows it can sound from her sessions with Gwaine and Merlin, and Arthur fumbles a cello feature in the third movement not because it’s difficult but because he can’t seem to keep his attention on the music. It isn’t perfect, but it’s good.
After the run-through, the maestro releases them early and strides out just like a normal night. Morgana lets Alice chatter to her while she packs up her instrument, but mostly keeps her eyes on her friends. Lancelot’s figured it out, she thinks, but Merlin’s already out the door while she thinks it, so nobody will have anything confirmed tonight. Arthur’s jaw is tight while Gaius talks to him, and she’ll have to fix that later, but she thinks they’ve made progress, so she’ll leave it for now. Vivian has already collected Elena and Gwen and Leon to chatter about the sudden change in plans, and Percival is edging over to Lancelot, so maybe he’s figured it out as well.
“Well, that went pretty well,” says Gwaine from behind her.
She turns around, case in hand. “I’d say so.” She glances around. Alice has moved off to talk to Gaius, so it’s safe enough. “Want to come to mine after you talk Merlin down from whatever crisis he’s having?”
He grins. “He’ll be wanting to burn the whole thing for not being good enough to make Arthur sag into his arms, I suspect. It may take a while.”
“Well, I don’t have anywhere to be in the morning.” Gwaine leers, and she elbows him. He grabs her hand in response, and she thinks about reminding him they’re in public, but no one’s really looking, and even if their friends wouldn’t approve it’s not like they’re doing anything wrong. “Come over whenever, I’ll be up late.”
“I’ll be over just as soon as I keep our Mr. Beethoven from doing something drastic like drunk-dialing his not-quite-boyfriend.” Gwaine gives her hand a squeeze and walks off.
Only to be replaced by Arthur, barely a minute later. Morgana spares a second to wonder if he’s cottoned on, but he seems to have other things on his mind, because he’s holding onto his case as he nods towards the door, so she walks him out. “What can I do for you?”
“It’s Merlin’s, isn’t it? The symphony?”
“How should I know?”
“I’m not stupid, Morgana, and father has always let you talk him into anything. Is that Merlin’s symphony? He was going to-it wasn’t finished, and he wouldn’t let me see until it was, so I don’t know, but it seems like something he would write.”
“For fuck’s sake, Arthur, you’re a grown man. Ask him yourself,” she says, and hails a cab to shove him into so he won’t have to take his cello on the underground. “You’re both just being stubborn now. Break up with him, if you’re just going to act like an immature twat.” He goes stricken at the very thought, and Morgana nods. “Or talk it out, or let him woo you with the symphony if it is his, or something. But at the moment, you are making all of us suffer, or hadn’t you noticed that we’ve barely had a pub night since you and Merlin have been on the outs?”
She slams the cab door while Arthur is still looking chastised and tells the driver his address, letting them drive off before starting the walk back to her own flat. Her phone goes off before she’s even walked ten feet. Beginning to think we should just lock them in a closet, Gwaine’s texted, and she has to agree.
*
“I’m going to kill someone if we get another round of edits on that symphony next week,” Vivian announces at post-rehearsal drinks three weeks later, and a round of hear-hears goes up around the table. Some of them are more pointed than others, but Merlin just stares at his drink, attempting to look innocent. Badly. How Arthur possibly thinks he could be lying about cheating she has no idea.
“We’ll all help,” says Morgana, because if Uther gets much more annoyed with Merlin’s edits he’s going to explode and she’s going to take the fall for it just for bringing the symphony up to him in the first place.
Arthur scowls. “I won’t. Someone needs to bail you lot out of prison.” And he won’t help Merlin, but nobody’s mentioning aloud that Merlin wrote the symphony they’re premiering even though it’s almost painful how obvious it is. It’s anyone’s bet if Arthur would say it even if it were being said aloud, though. Merlin’s moved back into their flat after catching Gwaine and Morgana snogging one too many times, but he’s sleeping in the spare room and he and Arthur fight every time they try to have a conversation because they’re both too damn stubborn.
“I’ve never been caught yet,” says Gwaine, and tosses his arm around the back of Morgana’s chair.
“Aside from that public decency arrest,” Leon points out. Gwaine just waves a hand, dismissing him. “And the one where you punched that bloke and started a barfight.”
“No, you misunderstand. I’ve never been caught for murder.”
Normally, Arthur or Merlin would chime in there and say something biting, but they’re both too busy looking pale and upset. It’s a miracle they’re both at the pub at the same time, though, so Morgana steps in before the silence can stretch out too much. “In that case, we’ll appoint you head of the assassination squad.”
“Not that we would,” Gwen says from down the table, just realizing that Merlin’s looking more miserable by the second. “It’s lovely music. Just, all the edits make it hard to get used to it.”
After that, everything splinters into smaller conversations, and Morgana allows herself to relax a bit and stop nursing her drink. Vivian is talking Elena’s ear off about something, Gwen and Lancelot are telling Percival about the trip to Paris they’re planning for after the concert (and Morgana would bet any money Lancelot will propose while they’re there), and Leon seems to be valiantly attempting to cajole Arthur out of his black mood. That leaves Morgana and Gwaine to take care of Merlin. Again. She leaves it to Gwaine, mostly, who chooses to try to cheer Merlin up by making increasingly obvious innuendos that just leave Merlin looking pained and looking between them in a way that would be really obvious if anyone but him knew.
Somehow, though, it’s the right thing to do. Not because it cheers Merlin up any, but because after half an hour of Gwaine’s intermittent leering Arthur stands up abruptly. Morgana holds her breath, half-expecting him to flounce out for no particular reason just to remind them all he’s upset, but instead he walks to her side of the table and claps his hand down on Merlin’s shoulder. “Come on, you don’t look very well, let’s get you home.”
Merlin just stares up at him with stupid cow-eyes until Morgana gets Gwaine to elbow him. “Um, yes. Hold on a second, let me just-”
Leon loudly interrupts when Merlin starts rummaging through his wallet. “We’ll cover it, don’t worry. You two just go ahead out.”
Everyone watches in shocked silence while Arthur and Merlin leave the pub together, barely managing to pull together something resembling a collective mumble of goodbye. Morgana counts three seconds once they’re out of earshot before Vivian lets out a shrill whisper of “Well, it’s about time!” and starts off the round of gossip.
Things take on a rather celebratory air after that. Morgana allows herself some satisfaction, even though she doesn’t expect that Arthur will be smart enough to let bygones be bygones after the make-up sex they’re undoubtedly on their way to have. Still, it’s progress, so she has another drink and leans against Gwaine’s side under cover of being tired. Elena gives them a sideways look, but she’s been doing that a lot lately and Morgana really doesn’t want to deal with it yet, so she does her best to ignore it.
“I have a prospective student and her mother stopping by in the morning,” she says at last, tipsier than she normally likes to be. “I’m heading home to get some sleep. I’ll see you all soon.”
Gwaine clamps his hand on her shoulder before she can shrug him off and leers at her just the same as always. “Do you want an escort home?”
“I’m not a damsel in distress,” she says loud enough for everyone, and then leans closer. “Too tired. I’ll call you tomorrow, though.” He gives her a broad wink for everyone else’s benefit and a smile for hers, and lets her up to say her goodbyes.
Most everyone’s deep enough in their drinks that nobody so much as bats an eyelash while they wave her off, but Elena’s still watching them with a look of dawning understanding and it isn’t really a surprise when she hears her making a loud and obviously false excuse about being tired when Morgana’s almost out of the pub and running after her. Morgana gives in to the inevitable and waits just down the street for her. “Oh, good, I’ve caught you,” says Elena when she’s had to grab on to a signpost to keep from tripping. “I figured since we’re heading in the same direction we might walk together for a bit.”
“Of course.”
Elena manages to last about fifteen steps before she brings it up. “So, you and Gwaine have been getting quite cozy lately.”
“Have we?”
“Morgana.” Morgana glances over to find Elena unwontedly serious, arms crossed. “It’s okay, you know? Whatever is okay. And I’m not going to tell Vivian. I just wanted to check that everything’s okay, since I don’t think I’m hallucinating if Leon mentioned it too.”
Morgana trips on nothing. “Leon what?”
“Leon mentioned that Gwaine told him he was busy with you when Leon was trying to schedule a lad’s night a few weeks ago, and asked me if I’d heard about it.” Which might mean he’s asked everyone else about it. Except perhaps Vivian, they all generally know better than that, but it still puts another spin on nobody teasing them about Gwaine’s arm around her at the pub tonight. “Does that mean there’s something going on, then?”
Morgana prepares herself to say “no” and weather that storm, but what comes out instead is “I have no idea.”
*
Rehearsals go on, and the maestro brings them up to twice a week as they get closer to the concert and the last of Merlin’s edits come through. Elena doesn’t tell anyone about Morgana and Gwaine, or at least nobody else brings it up and Vivian and Gwen at least would be sure to, in their own ways, but she does watch them whenever they’re together at rehearsal, and it’s likely only the fact that everyone’s busy wondering what’s going on in the cello section (and some sort of feud going on between their best trumpet and their best French horn, but Morgana generally doesn’t concern herself with the brass) that keeps everyone from figuring it out. Arthur and Merlin are back together for certain, as far as anyone can tell, but things are still awkward, and Morgana’s hoping that the performance will get everything back to normal, or as normal as they ever are with those two around.
Two weeks before the concert, when Morgana’s so sick of Fauré and the Handel they’re using to fill out their program that she could beat her head against a wall, Morgause calls.
“Morgana, darling,” she says when Morgana picks up the phone, sitting up in Gwaine’s bed and mouthing her sister’s name when he murmurs a question. “I’m sorry it’s been so long.”
“You’ve been on tour. How was Moscow?”
“It was lovely. I love playing Rachmaninoff.” Morgause pauses. “You could have come, you know. There are concert halls that would be glad to have you, unlike Uther.”
“Perhaps next time. You’re playing in Tokyo in the spring, aren’t you?” Gwaine sits up behind her and she waves a hand, trying to stop him before he starts whatever he’s got in mind. It’s been at least a month since she talked to Morgause, and longer since they talked for more than five minutes. He just props his head on her shoulder to listen to her conversation and grins at her when she shrugs him off.
“I’m doing a few concerts in that area of the world, yes, and then to America for the summer. In the meantime, though, I wanted to ask why you hadn’t told me that Camelot is doing a world premiere! The gossip has finally reached us in Russia and I must say I was surprised. Usually Uther is so … traditional.”
“It hadn’t occurred to me, honestly. A friend of mine wrote it.”
“Ah yes. Merlin, wasn’t it? I imagine he’ll be the darling of the arts press for a while.”
“Possibly. Mostly he’s doing it to get his boyfriend back, the romantic sod.” Morgana does her best to change the subject, as Morgause barely tolerates Arthur and dislikes Merlin for reasons best known to herself. “When will you be in England next? It’s been a while.”
“That’s why I called, actually. Once I heard about the premiere I knew I had to come back for it, and I’m not playing anything for a week before and after the concert. An excellent time for a visit, I would say.”
“I’ll be glad to see you.” Gwaine, who’s luckily moved across the bed to find his boxers, snorts quietly. “I can get you a comp ticket, if you’d like. Not the best seats, but you needn’t pay for that on top of travel.”
“Nonsense. I’ll be right up in the front. And besides, I’ll be needing two. I told Cenred about this and he wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Her voice lowers, and Morgana can hear her smiling. “He’s looking forward to seeing you again, Morgana. Should I be arranging a lunch for the two of you?”
“I don’t need you to set me up dates,” she snaps, and doesn’t need to turn around to feel Gwaine freeze and start staring. “And Cenred should ask me out himself anyway.”
Morgause, as always, is unruffled. “I just want to see you happy. And anyway, he’s going to be a guest conductor in Oslo in the spring, and he’s looking for a violin soloist. I thought you might want to talk about that, if not a date.”
An opportunity to headline a concert isn’t to be sniffed at, but Morgana can’t bring up much enthusiasm for it if it means she’ll be dealing with Cenred. “I’ll consider it. But no, no dates. Not this time.”
“Morgana, have you got a boyfriend without telling me?”
That’s impossible to answer, not least because she doesn’t really know, but even worse with Gwaine in the room. “Cenred is slimy either way, so it doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me. You’re my sister, after all.”
Morgana looks around Gwaine’s bed, sheets nearly pulled out from where they’re anchored because they constantly fight for the blankets, and at the amount of her clothes on the floor, and tries to remember how many nights she’s spend in her own flat in the past two weeks. “Maybe. It’s not fourth form, things aren’t that cut-and-dried.”
For all she and Morgause aren’t very close, can’t be with Morgause traveling so much and Morgana insisting on maintaining connections with Camelot because she cares about her brother and her friends, if not so much her father, Morgause still knows her well enough to know the subject isn’t a welcome one. “He’s there, isn’t he?”
“Yes.” Gwaine’s across the room now, so he can probably only hear her half of the conversation.
“I’ll let you go, then. Call me soon? I’m just enjoying Moscow for the next week before my second concert, and then I’ll be flying to you, so we’ll work out those details.”
“Definitely. Lovely to hear from you, Morgause.”
“You as well,” says Morgause, and hangs up.
Morgana gives herself a few moments to marshal her expression before turning around. Gwaine is lounging in the doorway, still wearing nothing but boxers. “Morgause is coming to the concert?”
“Yes. I think she’s hoping it’s a disaster so she gets to see Uther and Merlin humiliated at the same time.” She puts down her mobile and flops back onto his bed. They’d intended to sleep late, but apparently that’s not meant to be. “I would be far more glad to hear from her if Cenred weren’t coming.” Gwaine doesn’t move, his eyebrows still raised like he’s waiting for something. “He’s a creep, even if he does want to give me a show in Oslo, and why did you get out of bed? Neither of us has to be anywhere for hours.”
“Your sister has awful taste in men, apparently,” says Gwaine, but he relaxes and comes back to bed so the worst is probably over.
“Runs in the family.” He rolls over on top of her and bites her shoulder in protest. She smacks the back of his head. “She’s going to spend the whole time she’s in town asking who I’m dating, since I turned him down,” she adds. “And this on top of Merlin and Arthur still failing completely at talking about their problems, and Uther continuing to force me into lunch … can I just hide here until the concert?”
Gwaine leers. “I’ll keep you here as my own personal sex slave. You’d look very fetching in those gauzy-”
“My God, it’s like feminism never happened.” She kisses him before he can come up with a retort, and if he kisses a little harder and she holds on a little tighter than usual, she’s not going to be the one to mention it.
*
The night of the concert, backstage is pandemonium.
Merlin takes one look at the stack of programs, his name on it in a large, bold font as well as a bio that Morgana wrote on his behalf, and goes to the nearest bathroom to throw up. Arthur just stares at the program like he’s surprised it’s Merlin’s symphony after all, but he looks more thoughtful than upset so she leaves him be. Everyone else is fluttering around, excited and nervous. Camelot Symphony always makes good crowds, but doing the first premiere they’ve done since the year after Uther became conductor means quite a lot of people, and press, and more than a few prospective publishers and commissioners coming to chat with Merlin, though everyone’s careful not to mention that as if he can hear them from the bathroom.
Morgana stands off towards the edge of the cacophony, playing Merlin’s most impossible run of notes for the first violins over and over until Vivian gives her a dirty look and moves away, at which point she gives up and leans against the wall. Gwaine swings by a few seconds later, like that was some sort of cue. “Shouldn’t you be holding Merlin’s hair back or something?” she inquires.
“Lancelot and Gwen are cooing at him.” Morgana snorts. “How was dinner with Morgause?”
“A blatant attempt to get me together with Cenred, as he ‘just happened’ to run into us. There is something really wrong with her, since she used to date him.” She takes a deep breath and carefully doesn’t look at him when she speaks, though she catches Elena’s raised eyebrows, which isn’t much better. “I finally gave in and told her I have a boyfriend.”
“Oh? Do I get to meet him?”
One of these days, she’s going to strangle him. “Maybe later, if you’re very good. I’ve always wanted to have a threesome.” Then, because she owes him fair warning: “Morgause is going to want to interrogate you at some point.”
“And why would Morgause want to do that?”
Morgana sighs and turns to face him fully. The green room before a concert isn’t the best place to have this conversation, but at least nobody is overtly looking on. “Because she does it to everyone I date and has done ever since we reconnected. She thinks it’s her big-sister duty or something. Do you mind, that I told her?”
Gwaine just tilts his head, and normally he’s so easy to read it’s laughable but she can’t quite figure out what’s going through his head now. “Boyfriend?”
She sets her jaw, because for all it’s unacknowledged, it’s impossible not to realize they aren’t just fucking anymore. “Yes.”
“Okay then,” says Gwaine, and before she can tell him exactly how inadequate an answer that is, Catrina’s at the door to the green room, shouting at them all to get their instruments and get on the stage, ten minutes to the maestro’s entrance, and she loses him in the crowd.
She finds Arthur instead, and they walk to the stage together, neither of them saying much. “Merlin will be fine,” she says when he looks offstage one too many times before they separate to go to their seats. “Don’t fuck up the third movement, he may leave you.” Arthur rolls his eyes, but at least he’s stopped looking quite so shell-shocked, so she’ll call it a win.
By the time the lights go down and the maestro walks out to applause, everyone is quiet and tense. Merlin is so pale and shaky she’s half-afraid he might faint, Arthur’s tense, and the rest of their friends seem nearly as nervous, and the Dragon Symphony isn’t even until the second half of the concert. Uther’s impassive, but Morgana knows after so many years when he’s nervous, and his expression while they tune is very telling.
The first half of the concert goes by in a haze. They play Pelleas better than they have before, even nailing the triplets in the damn “Fileuse,” and the Handel goes well even if Morgana is a bit bored by it. The maestro goes off stage and it’s the interval, only a short one since it isn’t a terribly long concert.
Morgana spends most of the interval looking through all her notes on Merlin’s score, although she woke up a few days ago dreaming one of the melodies from the slow movement, so it likely doesn’t need much more practice. Gwaine is chatting with Percival over in the percussion section, but he looks over at her every once in a while, and she suspects that if Merlin’s symphony goes well then they’ll be having quite a long discussion after the concert, once she gets rid of Morgause and Cenred.
Out of the habit all of them have developed over this round of rehearsals, she looks to the cello section a minute or two before the maestro is due to come back out from the wings, to find Arthur and Merlin holding hands. She blinks, but there they still are, Arthur obviously giving one of his inspirational speeches that she can never help laughing at and Merlin staring up at him starry-eyed and with a bit of color in his cheeks.
Someone hisses time, breaking the moment, so Morgana checks the tuning on her violin and watches everyone file back to their seats, Arthur one of the last, with one last squeeze to Merlin’s hand. Things are going to be okay, it seems, and she looks at Gwaine to find him looking back, grinning and tilting his head in Merlin’s direction. She grins back and opens her music to the first page as the lights go down again and they all shuffle themselves into looking professional as Uther returns to the stage.
Morgana got over stage fright at the age of thirteen and hasn’t dealt with it since, other than her final performance at university, but she’s nervous as the maestro raises his baton, more on Merlin’s behalf than her own. There’s a moment’s hush from the audience, and then they begin.
The first movement is what Merlin called the “firebreathing movement” a few times when Morgana and Gwaine were transcribing for him, all sweeping strings and punches of brass and crashes of percussion that make Percival grin from his place behind the timpani. It takes a while for it to resolve itself into a melody, and even then it’s cut off often and thrown from instrument to instrument. Morgana keeps her eyes on the maestro as much as she can, following as he pushes them on, louder and louder until it cuts off into the four beats of silence that everyone tried to talk Merlin out off, which now just feel like taking a huge breath, and she can almost feel the audience doing it on cue before Percival rolls the timpani and then the melody finally comes in properly, a wall of sound, brass-led with lush chords. They wind it to a close, taking it through variations of the melody and an ending section that leaves the brass and woodwinds panting.
Uther holds his baton up for a few seconds after the last splash of sound, letting them collect themselves and turn their pages for the slow movement, and then they begin.
The slow movement is undoubtedly Merlin’s masterpiece, and equally undoubtedly his unabashed love song to Arthur. He muttered some rubbish about a dragon locked in a dungeon when Gwaine and Morgana gave him grief for it, but it’s obvious to anyone with ears what it is. The strings start it, cellos and violas with the melody and the violins playing low and quiet, before the brass comes in and swells out the sound. Uther’s finally found the right tempo for it, just this side of too-slow so he almost has to pull them off each note and the rests linger like they’re waiting. The instruments all climb through their registers until the last chord sings out and holds in the silence for a moment afterwards.
Morgana lets Alice turn their pages and sneaks a look at Gwaine while Uther raises his baton for the third movement. He’s looking again, but he doesn’t bother smiling, just gives her a serious look before looking back to the maestro, and she looks as well just in time to make the downbeat. The third movement is almost relaxing after the second, for all it’s the showiest and has actually difficulty behind the flash of it. She plays every cascade of notes she’s been running for weeks as clean and crisp as she can, matched by everyone in the section when far too many rehearsals had the mess of notes turning into soup. Arthur plays the solo section perfectly for the first time, and Merlin beams at him before coming in again at the end, all of them gearing up for the broadening of the end, big brass coming back in again and Percival glowing with sweat behind the timpani and Gwen winding the oboe through it.
When the maestro’s baton goes down at last, there’s a full second of silence, everyone on the stage staring around, surfacing from the performance in the way that only happens after a good one, before the audience bursts into a roar of applause. Morgana takes a deep breath and rests her head on the scroll of her violin for a second before lifting it again to smile and watch Uther bow to an already-standing audience. “Author!” someone starts shouting from the balcony-she thinks it’s Elyan, and then everyone takes it up, including the orchestra, and Merlin goes to the maestro’s platform when he’s beckoned, ears red and a grin stretching all over his face.
It takes three bows and nearly ten minutes for the audience to start filing out into the lobby, leaving the orchestra to its own horribly unprofessional celebration on the stage. The second Merlin goes back to the cello section, red and blotchy all over, Arthur grabs him by the collar and plants a kiss on him, and it starts off a round of hugs all over. Uther stands at the front looking pained and likely wondering if the press in the audience is getting pictures of his orchestra acting like this, but Gaius goes forward to shake his hand and he looks at least a bit less sour.
There’s a tap on Morgana’s shoulder just as Alice is releasing her from their hug and Morgana has just enough time to turn around and see Gwaine grinning like he’s just finished a marathon before he pulls her close and kisses her. She kisses him back until he tries to pull her closer and nearly crushes her violin, at which point she smacks him and he lets her go and laughs. “Just let me put this down, and we can continue,” she says.
There are at least four people staring at them, and she’ll have to explain the whole mess to everyone at wherever they’re all going after the performance later, especially Arthur, as he’s stopped snogging Merlin long enough to look vaguely ill as he stares at her, but she doesn’t much care. She puts her violin down and kisses him again.
*
Pub night, three days after the concert, feels shockingly normal. Gwaine, Freya, and Elyan are playing yet another set of vaguely familiar Irish reels over in the corner. Vivian is off on a rant about an article that dared to call the first half of their performance “trite” while Elena attempts to reason with her and mostly ends up giggling. Most of the lads are talking footie, except Lancelot, who’s telling Gwen and Morgana about the program he’s going to conduct for the youth orchestra, which means Morgana is going to have to teach Mordred fucking Brahms, which she generally avoids at all costs.
Of course, there are some differences from how things have been recently. For one thing, Merlin is sitting on Arthur’s lap, much to the disapproval of some of the older patrons of the bar. Whatever they talked about after the concert seems to have put them right into one of their honeymoon stages and it’s a bit ridiculous how they can’t keep their eyes or hands off each other.
For another thing, though, every time Morgana so much as glances in Gwaine’s direction, even if it’s because she recognizes a tune, she gets everyone at the table looking at her. Merlin’s just amused, now that everyone else has taken over the duty of being horrified, and Elena always grins like they’re a basketful of puppies, but nearly everyone else looks as if they’re trying their best to not badger her with a hundred questions. Arthur called the afternoon after the concert (and neither of them mentioned why the call was made in the afternoon) to harangue her, but other than that there’s mostly been silence on the subject. She suspects she has about two more days of blessed silence before they all get over their shock and wild theorizing and start pestering them for information directly.
Gwaine comes over on a break while Freya is singing something pretty and Gaelic with Elyan to back her up. Everyone, like so many puppets, looks from him to Morgana and back while he surveys the empty chairs, neither of which is next to Morgana, and then Merlin perched on Arthur’s lap. Morgana knows what he’s going to do before he does it, so she braces herself and manages not to wince too hard when he lands in her lap with a grin and a kiss on her hair. “And how is everyone tonight? There was another article about your symphony this morning, Merlin.”
“There’s some publishing interest, and father says he knows of at least two conductors for internationally acclaimed orchestras who have called to ask about it,” says Arthur, unbearably smug, and kisses Merlin briefly on the neck while Merlin squirms.
Morgana spends half a second being exasperated before remembering that she doesn’t have to just sit and glare when Arthur is all over Merlin in public anymore; now she can get revenge, which is much better. So she smirks and does the same to Gwaine, who makes an interested noise while Arthur looks martyred. “Serves you right,” she tells him, and wraps her arms around Gwaine’s middle because otherwise he’s going to fall off her lap.
“I can still revoke my approval of this,” Arthur mutters. Even Vivian snorts at that.
“Yes, I live for your approval.” Gwaine laughs and shifts on her lap. She pokes him. “God, you’re heavy, why are you on top of me?”
Gwaine takes a breath, and she knows even without being able to see his face properly that he’s going to say something inappropriate that will lead to all of their friends pondering their sex life, so she heads it off at the pass by letting go of him and half-standing so he falls on the floor. He doesn’t let it faze him, even when Elyan starts laughing as he and Freya finish up the song they’ve been playing, just uses Lancelot’s arm for leverage to get himself off the floor. “I am taking that out on you later,” he informs Morgana, grin firmly in place, and Leon makes some sort of stifled horrified noise while Gwen lets out a giggle.
“I’d like to see you try it.”
“It’s like you’re asking to be spanked.”
“I hate you both,” says Arthur. Merlin starts laughing, so at least one of them recognizes the hypocrisy there. Everyone at the table knows far more than they want to about what those two do in bed.
Before Morgana or Gwaine can muster up an answer to that, Elyan shouts across the pub for Gwaine to “stop flirting with your girlfriend and get your arse over here” while Freya just giggles at the lot of them from behind her hand.
Gwaine puts a theatrical hand over his heart and beams down at Morgana. “Alas, my love, it seems I must leave you to the mercy of these cruel beasts. You’ll have to forgive me.” He catches her hand, kisses her palm, and saunters off, leaving her staring behind him, stuck on the endearment.
When she turns back to the table, Merlin is grinning at her, Arthur has moved on to complaining loudly about a less-than-glowing review of Merlin’s symphony, and everyone is going back to their conversations. “So, what do you think the maestro will have us playing next?” Elena asks, smiling at her.
Behind them, Gwaine is starting up a bastardized version of something she thinks is Mozart that all of the patrons will think is just another Irish reel, probably just to bother her. Everyone else is grabbing onto Elena’s comment and suggesting a multitude of ridiculous ideas, since Uther broke his primary rule for Merlin’s symphony. “Perhaps a medley from Doctor Who?” she suggests, and turns around just in time for Gwaine to give her his most obnoxious wink.
She turns back to the table to find Leon making an enthusiastic case for her suggestion and ignores how Merlin keeps smiling at her. Instead, she takes out her phone to text under the table while Lancelot makes a point of not looking at what she’s texting: we’ll have to revisit the spanking idea later.
When Gwaine starts laughing after he’s finished the medley, Morgana just smirks. She’ll likely be too sore to sit down at Mordred’s lesson in the morning, but it will be worth it.