Fic: First, the Heart (Chapter Two)
Title: First, the Heart
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Characters: Ensemble cast
Word count: 3268 of 9122
Summary: He tried not to look like he was too affected, tried to maintain his cool, calm - cruel - aura that he’d spent so many years perfecting.
But something slipped and jarred, harsh and painful, in his heart.
Prologue - Chapter One
Chapter Two : Where Loyalties Lie
.1
Arthur stepped through the doors to the warehouse, his eyes scanning up and along the long rows of tall shelves, stacked with masses of boxes and containers.
The space was brightly illuminated and there was an irritating buzz from a malfunctioning light.
Arthur sniffed, and tried not to seem too unimpressed.
He’d seen Green’s resume, after all. The man was capable of more than this.
The warehouse manager eyed him distrustfully, but had no reason to withhold entry. Arthur had his papers, everything was in order.
And at any rate, he only wanted to talk with Green.
“He’ll be in aisle eleven,” the manager grunted, signing off Arthur’s documents with an untidy scrawl.
“Many thanks,” Arthur replied cheerfully before sweeping past the man towards aisle eleven.
He stopped at the end, looking down to find Green methodically lifting boxes of a forklift pallet and stacking them on the lower shelves.
Arthur didn’t much care as to what they contained, even though his sources suggested that the warehouse was running a fine trade in illegally imported fake designer ware.
Leave that to the law. Arthur had other agendas.
He walked purposefully down the aisle, stopping short when, without looking up, Green spoke.
“I don’t know where he is. There’s no point asking me anything.”
There was a scowl on the man’s face.
“Mr Green, I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I’m-,”
“I know who you are,” Green responded, angrily shoving a box further back on the shelf. “Pendragon.” He spat the word like it was a bad taste in his mouth.
Arthur gave a tight smile. Green was clever, there was no denying it.
“Then you probably understand why I’ve come then,” he responded.
For the first time, Green looked up and met his gaze. There was something triumphant in the other’s man’s eyes.
“Wasted journey.”
“I highly doubt that,” Arthur replied smoothly.
He pulled one of his gloves off and ran a finger along the edge of a dusty shelf.
“It’s a bit of a dump here, isn’t it? Beat’s me why you’d choose to work in a place like this.”
He pointedly pulled out a silk handkerchief and wiped his finger clean.
“But then again, it pays to keep a low profile when your friend’s a wanted criminal.” Arthur watched Green closely, waiting for the smallest of reactions.
Green scowled and went back to kicking boxes into place.
“I’m sure I can pull some strings,” Arthur continued. “A man of your calibre shouldn’t be stuck in a place like this. You deserve more.”
“You think I can be bought?” Green snapped.
“I think anyone can be bought, for the right price,” Arthur replied.
Gwaine paused in what he was doing, staring at Arthur almost disbelievingly. Then he snorted derisively and lifted up a box to a higher shelf.
“You have no idea what kind of man you’re dealing with,” Green muttered.
“Gwaine Green. Twenty-seven years old. Went to Edderdale Grammar School, but dropped out in your fifth year despite excellent marks. Left your home picking up odd jobs here and there, none of them enough to stimulate that brilliant mind of yours, but all of them within walking distance of locations where Merlin Emrys is known to hide. You’ve followed every whisper about your friend, trying to keep him safe, despite the fact that he has never contacted you, never shown he cares, never given a moment’s thought about his old school friend. You’ve given up a lot, Gwaine, perhaps now is the time to take something back?”
If Gwaine was unsettled by Arthur’s extensive knowledge, he didn’t show it.
Instead, a satisfied smirk wound its way onto his face.
“I didn’t mean me,” he said, and then abruptly turned his back on Arthur.
Wrong-footed for the briefest moment, it took a beat for Arthur’s brain to catch up with what Gwaine had meant. Then he scowled.
Swiftly, he stepped forward, crowding Green up against the shelves and knocking a pile of boxes over, the contents scattering over the floor.
“Go on then,” Green snarled, his hands balled into fists. “Arrest me, take me in, force Merlin out of hiding by playing on his loyalties. That’s what this is all about isn’t it? I wouldn’t expect anything less of a Pendragon.”
Arthur set his jaw.
“Well if you won’t play nice-,”
“He left, you know?” Gwaine spat. “Dead of night. We wake up and he’s gone. Gone because he doesn’t want us to get hurt and he has this ridiculous hero complex where he thinks it’s his job to save everyone. Gone because he cares. Now to a Pendragon, that may seem like a weakness, but to me he is the most selfless and brave man I’ve ever met and whatever you do - capture him, take his magic, kill him - you will never, ever be even half the man that he is.”
Gwaine’s words stunned Arthur into silence.
And - far more than he would like to admit - they struck home.
He tried not to look like he was too affected, tried to maintain his cool, calm - cruel - aura that he’d spent so many years perfecting.
But something slipped and jarred, harsh and painful, in his heart.
He had nothing to say.
Roughly pushing Gwaine away he spun on his heel and left, his actions obviously surprising Gwaine as much as they did himself because Gwaine left no parting shot ringing in his ears.
Arthur almost wished he had. It was somewhat easier to hate, than to have to face up to the truth.
.2
The previous night
Merlin didn’t know what he’d expected of Mordred’s mysterious summons in the night.
His natural instinct would have been to ignore the strange voice in his head, roll over and go back to sleep, and part of him was still very much surprised at the fact that he hadn’t.
He put it down to the desire to protect his friends. It came above all else.
And whether Mordred’s promise was true or not, they were safest when he wasn’t around.
Gwaine would call him self-sacrificing. Gwen would optimistically search for alternatives. Percival would sit back, knowing there was nothing he could do. Lance would stay silent, perhaps understanding.
Beyond that, though, there was the smallest, faintest spark in him that really did want to help. To fight. Over the years he’d convinced himself a better future was just a dream. But maybe …
Mordred was waiting at the corner, the hood of his jacket pulled low over his face and a dark scarf wrapped tightly around his neck.
From what Merlin glimpsed of his face, he was surprised to see Mordred was younger than him. Pale blue eyes gleamed from the shadow, a for a moment, Merlin thought he caught something like disappointment cross Mordred’s face.
“Mordred?” He asked, the word sounding strange spoke out loud.
“Merlin.”
Merlin quirked an eyebrow.
“Do you never speak out loud?”
A small smirk crossed Mordred’s face.
“You never know who might be listening in.”
“Right…”
Merlin stuffed his hands into his pockets. It was cold this time of year, and he hadn’t left the warmth of his bed to join Mordred on a cold street corner.
“We should go,” Mordred said abruptly and spun on his heel, leaving Merlin to catch up.
The journey was a silent one, both physically and mentally.
Mordred led Merlin on a circuitous route through the city, preferring the darkened side streets to the main roads where late-night wanderers still lingered.
They dipped below ground briefly, heading into the city’s disused subway system, and Mordred conjured a bright white orb to illuminate their way.
His magic felt cold, Merlin noted. Nothing like the familiar warmth of his own, and he let his own magic curl around his core defensively.
Climbing from the tunnels some time later, there was then only a few streets left before they arrived at a seemingly non-descript house in a row of similar non-descript terraced houses.
Mordred placed his hand against the door and the wood around his hand glimmered faintly red before the door clicked open.
Stepping over the threshold, Merlin shivered as he crossed the wards.
The house was not a long way off derelict. Cream wallpaper, stained brown and black in places, peeled of the walls. The paint on the ceiling was cracked and mould lingered in the corners.
A single bare bulb illuminated the hallway, rickety stairs covered in muddied carpet leading upwards, one closed door on the right, another at the end of the hall, past the stairs open a fraction onto darkness beyond.
Mordred shrugged out of his jacket, revealing a mop of dark curly hair, and hung it up on the dubiously stable coat rack by the door.
After gesturing for Merlin to do the same, he brushed past him, taking the stairs two at a time and disappearing into the gloom.
Merlin kept his jacket on. The night was cold and the house did little to warm him up.
He stood awkwardly in front of the door, unsure of what to do.
Deciding eventually that Mordred wasn’t going to reappear any time soon, he tried the door to the right only to jerk his hand back, barely withholding a yelp. The brass door handle had burned his skin and he flapped his hand a little to ease the pain.
Obviously he wasn’t allowed in there.
He made tentative steps towards the door at the end of the corridor, his footsteps muffled by the filthy carpet.
Gingerly pushing the door open further, he peered into the dark. Unable to see even the faintest sign of anything in there, he summoned a small yellow light into his palm, the glow stretching out to illuminate the room.
Nothing.
Stained carpet. The décor in much the same state of disrepair at the hall. A mattress with the springs falling out in places shoved up against one wall and a table with a broken leg standing in the corner.
He almost felt let down.
Looking back down the corridor he wondered what exactly the house was being used for. An eerie silence hung over everything, and for a beat, Merlin was tempted to simply turn around and walk right out of there.
“Emrys. Stop lingering and get upstairs. The food’s nearly ready.”
He jumped at the sound of Mordred’s voice, loud and impatient in his head.
Doubts settled, he took the stairs up onto the landing.
In the faint light from the hall below he could make out three doors, their paintwork chipped and battered. One stood open, revealing a bathroom, a second was closed and Merlin knew better than to try to open it, a third was open a crack, revealing a sliver of light.
He tentatively pushed the door open.
Conversation was quickly stifled as four people turned to look at him.
Mordred was there, slouched in a threadbare armchair with a girl in his lap.
She was plain, brown hair handing limply around her face, but her eyes narrowed with something akin to dislike.
There was another boy with short, flat hair and eyes that regarded Merlin a little warily.
And another girl. Dark hair, dark eyes. She was the only one to smile.
“Shut the door, you’re letting the cold air in,” Mordred groused. Merlin shot him a bit of a scowl, but did as he said anyway. He could, after all, feel the breeze at his back.
“Merlin,” Mordred said, deigning to speak out loud. “This is Kara.” He indicated the girl in his lap. “Gilli. And Freya.”
“Right.” Merlin shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Nice to meet you all.”
Freya’s smile widened a little more, but she didn’t say anything.
Gilli shrugged and went back to poking the camping stove in front of him, some form of watery stew in the bowl on top.
Kara tilted her head on one side.
“I expected … something more.” She pronounced.
Merlin blinked, a little taken aback. “Er. Sorry?”
Mordred snorted.
“Sit down, Emrys. Make yourself comfortable.”
Mordred and Kara had taken the only seat in the room. Freya was perched on a threadbare cushion and Gilli was sat on a balled up coat, rocking forward to check if the gas was still working.
Merlin dropped to the floor, the lumpy, sticky carpet anything but comfortable, but he guessed he should at least try to make himself at home.
For a moment, the cold realisation that he had absolutely no idea what he’d got himself into swept over him and a shiver ran down his spine.
But then Mordred started talking and he forced himself to pay attention. He’d wanted this, hadn’t he? Might as well make the best of it.
“We won’t be staying in this dump long, Emrys, don’t worry.” His tone was disdainful and Gilli frowned, but didn’t respond. “Yourself, Kara and I will be heading over to headquarters first thing in the morning.”
“Headquarters?” Merlin asked.
“Everyone’s dying to meet you,” Kara said. “That was quite a stunt you pulled with Aredian today.”
Merlin ducked his head, not liking the way Kara’s gaze seemed to bore into him.
He’d known there would be repercussions. One didn’t create the magical equivalent of an air-raid siren and then just carry on with normal life.
But at the time it’d been the only thing he could do.
“I was just trying to protect my friends,” he said quietly.
“Then think of how you can use your talents to better uses,” Kara said, a bit of a gleam in her eye.
Merlin’s head snapped up.
“I’m here for them,” he said. “To keep them safe.”
“Kara,” Mordred said, a hint of warning in his tone.
Kara turned her head to look at Mordred, and Merlin presumed they must be conversing telepathically.
He rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands and tried to clarify why it was exactly he’d given up a perfectly good night’s sleep for this.
“Sorry, Merlin,” Kara said suddenly. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Of course,” Mordred added. “When we’re free, they’ll be no need to keep your friends safe. That’s what Kara meant.”
Merlin got up, nodding distractedly at whatever it was Mordred had said.
“Is there a bed somewhere? I’d like to sleep.”
“You’re not hungry?” Gilli asked, looking mildly put out.
The memory of the rich, lasagne Gwen had cooked for them all earlier that evening flashed before his eyes and Merlin’s stomach ached. But not for food.
“No. Thanks. I already ate.”
Ignoring Gilli’s slightly hurt look, he followed Mordred out of the room and into the other one on the landing. Apparently not all the door handles were cursed, but Merlin didn’t have the energy to demand why the one downstairs was.
One bed and a couple of mattresses. Mordred handed him a sleeping bag that appeared at least somewhat clean
Not bothering to even take his coat off, Merlin huddled down in the sleeping bag, watching his breath mist the air in front of him.
Maybe he should just go back to Gwen and Lance’s the next day. Tell Mordred he wasn’t interested.
But both curiosity and fear tempted him to stay. Curiosity in what exactly Mordred’s people were capable of. Curiosity in what kind of world they could build. And fear, that if he left he’d put his friends in danger. That ‘they’ would find him and he’d have to run again. Fear that he wouldn’t be able to save them all. Just like with Will.
“Sleep well,” Mordred said, letting the door snap shut behind him.
Merlin was out like a light.
.3
They called Aredian the Witchfinder for obvious reasons.
Arthur had never liked the man, which was partly due to the fact he seemed to outshine Arthur in every way in Uther’s eyes, and perhaps because Aredian was the one who had worked out Morgana had magic all those years ago.
And led them to where they were now.
“You don’t have to stay for dinner,” Arthur murmured quietly. He was trying his best to help, not that Morgana would even see it that way. “He’s angry tonight, which means he’ll drink a lot, which means it’s best if you’re not around.”
Morgana regarded him coolly. “And what if he lets something slip after one drink too many?”
“You would risk your own safety to find her?” Arthur asked. It was a fact about Morgana he had never managed to quite unravel. She was always ready to risk everything, give everything up in the hope she might find her sister.
She was desperate, and that made her dangerous.
“Like Uther is any match for me. Like either of you are,” Morgana huffed.
“You can’t save her if you’re dead,” Arthur pointed out.
“Brother dear, I never knew you cared.”
Arthur didn’t respond, in part understanding Morgana’s hatred of him, in part not wanting to increase it. Some days he couldn’t face her, cold and condescending as she was. His memories of the time before - before Aredian discovered Morgana’s magic, before Uther locked away Morgause and forced Morgana to his bidding - were too sharp, too painful to recall.
He didn’t blame Morgana for the way she’d become. Rather he wished he had been able to save her.
He swilled the last of the whiskey round the bottom of his tumbler, then knocked it back, not bothering to hide a wince. He really should stop drinking so much of the stuff.
Dropping the tumbler on a nearby table, he headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” Morgana asked, her voice sharp, and loud enough to catch the attention of Uther across the room.
Uther was speaking with business associates, but that didn’t stop him from fixing Arthur with a meaningful glare.
“To bed,” Arthur replied shortly. He didn’t want to attend the dinner, he didn’t want to entertain in empty conversation, trying to live up to his father’s expectations all the while knowing he would always be a failure.
His meeting with Gwaine that morning weighed heavily on his mind, and he was still no nearer to catching Emrys.
“Uther won’t be pleased.”
“He never is.” The words were out of Arthur’s mouth before he could think them through. Fortunately, there was enough conversation in the room that only he and Morgana heard.
Morgana narrowed her eyes, looking strangely pleased.
“Oh, what’s this? The crown prince losing faith in his king?”
“Leave it, Morgana.” Arthur shoulders were tight with tension. Fatigue, frustration and doubt troubled him.
“Of course, disillusionment was going to come one day. You weren’t going to look at him in starry-eyed adoration forever.” Morgana’s eyes gleamed with undisguised triumph.
It took all of Arthur’s resolve not to snap back at her.
“If you’ll give my apologies at dinner,” he said quietly. “I’m unwell and unable to attend.”
He didn’t wait for a response and instead strode out of the living room, into the darkened entrance hall.
Taking the stairs two at a time, he sped away from the sound of the gathering and headed for the sanctuary of his room.
He needed a good night’s rest, and then the next day he could get his head back on straight, perhaps track down one or two of Emrys’ other friends.
He loosened his tie, kicked off his shoes and dropped down onto his bed, not bothering to turn the lights on.
You will never, ever be even half the man that he is.
Gwaine's words plagued him late into the night.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Characters: Ensemble cast
Word count: 3268 of 9122
Summary: He tried not to look like he was too affected, tried to maintain his cool, calm - cruel - aura that he’d spent so many years perfecting.
But something slipped and jarred, harsh and painful, in his heart.
Prologue - Chapter One
Chapter Two : Where Loyalties Lie
.1
Arthur stepped through the doors to the warehouse, his eyes scanning up and along the long rows of tall shelves, stacked with masses of boxes and containers.
The space was brightly illuminated and there was an irritating buzz from a malfunctioning light.
Arthur sniffed, and tried not to seem too unimpressed.
He’d seen Green’s resume, after all. The man was capable of more than this.
The warehouse manager eyed him distrustfully, but had no reason to withhold entry. Arthur had his papers, everything was in order.
And at any rate, he only wanted to talk with Green.
“He’ll be in aisle eleven,” the manager grunted, signing off Arthur’s documents with an untidy scrawl.
“Many thanks,” Arthur replied cheerfully before sweeping past the man towards aisle eleven.
He stopped at the end, looking down to find Green methodically lifting boxes of a forklift pallet and stacking them on the lower shelves.
Arthur didn’t much care as to what they contained, even though his sources suggested that the warehouse was running a fine trade in illegally imported fake designer ware.
Leave that to the law. Arthur had other agendas.
He walked purposefully down the aisle, stopping short when, without looking up, Green spoke.
“I don’t know where he is. There’s no point asking me anything.”
There was a scowl on the man’s face.
“Mr Green, I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I’m-,”
“I know who you are,” Green responded, angrily shoving a box further back on the shelf. “Pendragon.” He spat the word like it was a bad taste in his mouth.
Arthur gave a tight smile. Green was clever, there was no denying it.
“Then you probably understand why I’ve come then,” he responded.
For the first time, Green looked up and met his gaze. There was something triumphant in the other’s man’s eyes.
“Wasted journey.”
“I highly doubt that,” Arthur replied smoothly.
He pulled one of his gloves off and ran a finger along the edge of a dusty shelf.
“It’s a bit of a dump here, isn’t it? Beat’s me why you’d choose to work in a place like this.”
He pointedly pulled out a silk handkerchief and wiped his finger clean.
“But then again, it pays to keep a low profile when your friend’s a wanted criminal.” Arthur watched Green closely, waiting for the smallest of reactions.
Green scowled and went back to kicking boxes into place.
“I’m sure I can pull some strings,” Arthur continued. “A man of your calibre shouldn’t be stuck in a place like this. You deserve more.”
“You think I can be bought?” Green snapped.
“I think anyone can be bought, for the right price,” Arthur replied.
Gwaine paused in what he was doing, staring at Arthur almost disbelievingly. Then he snorted derisively and lifted up a box to a higher shelf.
“You have no idea what kind of man you’re dealing with,” Green muttered.
“Gwaine Green. Twenty-seven years old. Went to Edderdale Grammar School, but dropped out in your fifth year despite excellent marks. Left your home picking up odd jobs here and there, none of them enough to stimulate that brilliant mind of yours, but all of them within walking distance of locations where Merlin Emrys is known to hide. You’ve followed every whisper about your friend, trying to keep him safe, despite the fact that he has never contacted you, never shown he cares, never given a moment’s thought about his old school friend. You’ve given up a lot, Gwaine, perhaps now is the time to take something back?”
If Gwaine was unsettled by Arthur’s extensive knowledge, he didn’t show it.
Instead, a satisfied smirk wound its way onto his face.
“I didn’t mean me,” he said, and then abruptly turned his back on Arthur.
Wrong-footed for the briefest moment, it took a beat for Arthur’s brain to catch up with what Gwaine had meant. Then he scowled.
Swiftly, he stepped forward, crowding Green up against the shelves and knocking a pile of boxes over, the contents scattering over the floor.
“Go on then,” Green snarled, his hands balled into fists. “Arrest me, take me in, force Merlin out of hiding by playing on his loyalties. That’s what this is all about isn’t it? I wouldn’t expect anything less of a Pendragon.”
Arthur set his jaw.
“Well if you won’t play nice-,”
“He left, you know?” Gwaine spat. “Dead of night. We wake up and he’s gone. Gone because he doesn’t want us to get hurt and he has this ridiculous hero complex where he thinks it’s his job to save everyone. Gone because he cares. Now to a Pendragon, that may seem like a weakness, but to me he is the most selfless and brave man I’ve ever met and whatever you do - capture him, take his magic, kill him - you will never, ever be even half the man that he is.”
Gwaine’s words stunned Arthur into silence.
And - far more than he would like to admit - they struck home.
He tried not to look like he was too affected, tried to maintain his cool, calm - cruel - aura that he’d spent so many years perfecting.
But something slipped and jarred, harsh and painful, in his heart.
He had nothing to say.
Roughly pushing Gwaine away he spun on his heel and left, his actions obviously surprising Gwaine as much as they did himself because Gwaine left no parting shot ringing in his ears.
Arthur almost wished he had. It was somewhat easier to hate, than to have to face up to the truth.
.2
The previous night
Merlin didn’t know what he’d expected of Mordred’s mysterious summons in the night.
His natural instinct would have been to ignore the strange voice in his head, roll over and go back to sleep, and part of him was still very much surprised at the fact that he hadn’t.
He put it down to the desire to protect his friends. It came above all else.
And whether Mordred’s promise was true or not, they were safest when he wasn’t around.
Gwaine would call him self-sacrificing. Gwen would optimistically search for alternatives. Percival would sit back, knowing there was nothing he could do. Lance would stay silent, perhaps understanding.
Beyond that, though, there was the smallest, faintest spark in him that really did want to help. To fight. Over the years he’d convinced himself a better future was just a dream. But maybe …
Mordred was waiting at the corner, the hood of his jacket pulled low over his face and a dark scarf wrapped tightly around his neck.
From what Merlin glimpsed of his face, he was surprised to see Mordred was younger than him. Pale blue eyes gleamed from the shadow, a for a moment, Merlin thought he caught something like disappointment cross Mordred’s face.
“Mordred?” He asked, the word sounding strange spoke out loud.
“Merlin.”
Merlin quirked an eyebrow.
“Do you never speak out loud?”
A small smirk crossed Mordred’s face.
“You never know who might be listening in.”
“Right…”
Merlin stuffed his hands into his pockets. It was cold this time of year, and he hadn’t left the warmth of his bed to join Mordred on a cold street corner.
“We should go,” Mordred said abruptly and spun on his heel, leaving Merlin to catch up.
The journey was a silent one, both physically and mentally.
Mordred led Merlin on a circuitous route through the city, preferring the darkened side streets to the main roads where late-night wanderers still lingered.
They dipped below ground briefly, heading into the city’s disused subway system, and Mordred conjured a bright white orb to illuminate their way.
His magic felt cold, Merlin noted. Nothing like the familiar warmth of his own, and he let his own magic curl around his core defensively.
Climbing from the tunnels some time later, there was then only a few streets left before they arrived at a seemingly non-descript house in a row of similar non-descript terraced houses.
Mordred placed his hand against the door and the wood around his hand glimmered faintly red before the door clicked open.
Stepping over the threshold, Merlin shivered as he crossed the wards.
The house was not a long way off derelict. Cream wallpaper, stained brown and black in places, peeled of the walls. The paint on the ceiling was cracked and mould lingered in the corners.
A single bare bulb illuminated the hallway, rickety stairs covered in muddied carpet leading upwards, one closed door on the right, another at the end of the hall, past the stairs open a fraction onto darkness beyond.
Mordred shrugged out of his jacket, revealing a mop of dark curly hair, and hung it up on the dubiously stable coat rack by the door.
After gesturing for Merlin to do the same, he brushed past him, taking the stairs two at a time and disappearing into the gloom.
Merlin kept his jacket on. The night was cold and the house did little to warm him up.
He stood awkwardly in front of the door, unsure of what to do.
Deciding eventually that Mordred wasn’t going to reappear any time soon, he tried the door to the right only to jerk his hand back, barely withholding a yelp. The brass door handle had burned his skin and he flapped his hand a little to ease the pain.
Obviously he wasn’t allowed in there.
He made tentative steps towards the door at the end of the corridor, his footsteps muffled by the filthy carpet.
Gingerly pushing the door open further, he peered into the dark. Unable to see even the faintest sign of anything in there, he summoned a small yellow light into his palm, the glow stretching out to illuminate the room.
Nothing.
Stained carpet. The décor in much the same state of disrepair at the hall. A mattress with the springs falling out in places shoved up against one wall and a table with a broken leg standing in the corner.
He almost felt let down.
Looking back down the corridor he wondered what exactly the house was being used for. An eerie silence hung over everything, and for a beat, Merlin was tempted to simply turn around and walk right out of there.
“Emrys. Stop lingering and get upstairs. The food’s nearly ready.”
He jumped at the sound of Mordred’s voice, loud and impatient in his head.
Doubts settled, he took the stairs up onto the landing.
In the faint light from the hall below he could make out three doors, their paintwork chipped and battered. One stood open, revealing a bathroom, a second was closed and Merlin knew better than to try to open it, a third was open a crack, revealing a sliver of light.
He tentatively pushed the door open.
Conversation was quickly stifled as four people turned to look at him.
Mordred was there, slouched in a threadbare armchair with a girl in his lap.
She was plain, brown hair handing limply around her face, but her eyes narrowed with something akin to dislike.
There was another boy with short, flat hair and eyes that regarded Merlin a little warily.
And another girl. Dark hair, dark eyes. She was the only one to smile.
“Shut the door, you’re letting the cold air in,” Mordred groused. Merlin shot him a bit of a scowl, but did as he said anyway. He could, after all, feel the breeze at his back.
“Merlin,” Mordred said, deigning to speak out loud. “This is Kara.” He indicated the girl in his lap. “Gilli. And Freya.”
“Right.” Merlin shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Nice to meet you all.”
Freya’s smile widened a little more, but she didn’t say anything.
Gilli shrugged and went back to poking the camping stove in front of him, some form of watery stew in the bowl on top.
Kara tilted her head on one side.
“I expected … something more.” She pronounced.
Merlin blinked, a little taken aback. “Er. Sorry?”
Mordred snorted.
“Sit down, Emrys. Make yourself comfortable.”
Mordred and Kara had taken the only seat in the room. Freya was perched on a threadbare cushion and Gilli was sat on a balled up coat, rocking forward to check if the gas was still working.
Merlin dropped to the floor, the lumpy, sticky carpet anything but comfortable, but he guessed he should at least try to make himself at home.
For a moment, the cold realisation that he had absolutely no idea what he’d got himself into swept over him and a shiver ran down his spine.
But then Mordred started talking and he forced himself to pay attention. He’d wanted this, hadn’t he? Might as well make the best of it.
“We won’t be staying in this dump long, Emrys, don’t worry.” His tone was disdainful and Gilli frowned, but didn’t respond. “Yourself, Kara and I will be heading over to headquarters first thing in the morning.”
“Headquarters?” Merlin asked.
“Everyone’s dying to meet you,” Kara said. “That was quite a stunt you pulled with Aredian today.”
Merlin ducked his head, not liking the way Kara’s gaze seemed to bore into him.
He’d known there would be repercussions. One didn’t create the magical equivalent of an air-raid siren and then just carry on with normal life.
But at the time it’d been the only thing he could do.
“I was just trying to protect my friends,” he said quietly.
“Then think of how you can use your talents to better uses,” Kara said, a bit of a gleam in her eye.
Merlin’s head snapped up.
“I’m here for them,” he said. “To keep them safe.”
“Kara,” Mordred said, a hint of warning in his tone.
Kara turned her head to look at Mordred, and Merlin presumed they must be conversing telepathically.
He rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands and tried to clarify why it was exactly he’d given up a perfectly good night’s sleep for this.
“Sorry, Merlin,” Kara said suddenly. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Of course,” Mordred added. “When we’re free, they’ll be no need to keep your friends safe. That’s what Kara meant.”
Merlin got up, nodding distractedly at whatever it was Mordred had said.
“Is there a bed somewhere? I’d like to sleep.”
“You’re not hungry?” Gilli asked, looking mildly put out.
The memory of the rich, lasagne Gwen had cooked for them all earlier that evening flashed before his eyes and Merlin’s stomach ached. But not for food.
“No. Thanks. I already ate.”
Ignoring Gilli’s slightly hurt look, he followed Mordred out of the room and into the other one on the landing. Apparently not all the door handles were cursed, but Merlin didn’t have the energy to demand why the one downstairs was.
One bed and a couple of mattresses. Mordred handed him a sleeping bag that appeared at least somewhat clean
Not bothering to even take his coat off, Merlin huddled down in the sleeping bag, watching his breath mist the air in front of him.
Maybe he should just go back to Gwen and Lance’s the next day. Tell Mordred he wasn’t interested.
But both curiosity and fear tempted him to stay. Curiosity in what exactly Mordred’s people were capable of. Curiosity in what kind of world they could build. And fear, that if he left he’d put his friends in danger. That ‘they’ would find him and he’d have to run again. Fear that he wouldn’t be able to save them all. Just like with Will.
“Sleep well,” Mordred said, letting the door snap shut behind him.
Merlin was out like a light.
.3
They called Aredian the Witchfinder for obvious reasons.
Arthur had never liked the man, which was partly due to the fact he seemed to outshine Arthur in every way in Uther’s eyes, and perhaps because Aredian was the one who had worked out Morgana had magic all those years ago.
And led them to where they were now.
“You don’t have to stay for dinner,” Arthur murmured quietly. He was trying his best to help, not that Morgana would even see it that way. “He’s angry tonight, which means he’ll drink a lot, which means it’s best if you’re not around.”
Morgana regarded him coolly. “And what if he lets something slip after one drink too many?”
“You would risk your own safety to find her?” Arthur asked. It was a fact about Morgana he had never managed to quite unravel. She was always ready to risk everything, give everything up in the hope she might find her sister.
She was desperate, and that made her dangerous.
“Like Uther is any match for me. Like either of you are,” Morgana huffed.
“You can’t save her if you’re dead,” Arthur pointed out.
“Brother dear, I never knew you cared.”
Arthur didn’t respond, in part understanding Morgana’s hatred of him, in part not wanting to increase it. Some days he couldn’t face her, cold and condescending as she was. His memories of the time before - before Aredian discovered Morgana’s magic, before Uther locked away Morgause and forced Morgana to his bidding - were too sharp, too painful to recall.
He didn’t blame Morgana for the way she’d become. Rather he wished he had been able to save her.
He swilled the last of the whiskey round the bottom of his tumbler, then knocked it back, not bothering to hide a wince. He really should stop drinking so much of the stuff.
Dropping the tumbler on a nearby table, he headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” Morgana asked, her voice sharp, and loud enough to catch the attention of Uther across the room.
Uther was speaking with business associates, but that didn’t stop him from fixing Arthur with a meaningful glare.
“To bed,” Arthur replied shortly. He didn’t want to attend the dinner, he didn’t want to entertain in empty conversation, trying to live up to his father’s expectations all the while knowing he would always be a failure.
His meeting with Gwaine that morning weighed heavily on his mind, and he was still no nearer to catching Emrys.
“Uther won’t be pleased.”
“He never is.” The words were out of Arthur’s mouth before he could think them through. Fortunately, there was enough conversation in the room that only he and Morgana heard.
Morgana narrowed her eyes, looking strangely pleased.
“Oh, what’s this? The crown prince losing faith in his king?”
“Leave it, Morgana.” Arthur shoulders were tight with tension. Fatigue, frustration and doubt troubled him.
“Of course, disillusionment was going to come one day. You weren’t going to look at him in starry-eyed adoration forever.” Morgana’s eyes gleamed with undisguised triumph.
It took all of Arthur’s resolve not to snap back at her.
“If you’ll give my apologies at dinner,” he said quietly. “I’m unwell and unable to attend.”
He didn’t wait for a response and instead strode out of the living room, into the darkened entrance hall.
Taking the stairs two at a time, he sped away from the sound of the gathering and headed for the sanctuary of his room.
He needed a good night’s rest, and then the next day he could get his head back on straight, perhaps track down one or two of Emrys’ other friends.
He loosened his tie, kicked off his shoes and dropped down onto his bed, not bothering to turn the lights on.
You will never, ever be even half the man that he is.
Gwaine's words plagued him late into the night.