Drawn To Any Good (Or, The Education of Lord Arthur Pendragon) - Part 2/7
Part One
- - -
As June rolled in, Arthur began to wish that Merlin would dunk him in another large body of water again. It was growing hot - not so hot that one would notice they were they sitting in the shade, but Arthur's brisk walks with Merlin while he was wearing layers of wool and cotton were beginning to become rather uncomfortable. Despite Arthur's wheedling, however, Merlin refused to repeat the pond-dunking exercise, and instead located for them a bench in the shade that they could stroll to in a leisurely fashion before taking a long rest there while Merlin fed the pigeons. He was endearingly fond of them and had named them all, and though Arthur could never tell Bartholomew, Meriwether, Hortense, Ethel, and Clarence apart, they certainly knew who Merlin was, and would flap down to greet them after they sat, cooing and pecking hopefully at Merlin's feet while he crumbled stale bread for them.
"Will you be at Almack's in two days?" Merlin asked while Hortense or Ethel squabbled with what Arthur thought was Bartholomew over an extra-large bit of crust.
"Much to my displeasure," Arthur sighed. "It's to be a rather hoity-toity event, so Father is insisting Morgana and I make appearances looking our most eligible. We would be clothed in pound notes if Father thought it could be made to look fashionable. I believe he is drafting up a list of prospects we are to make nice to as we speak."
"Naturally," Merlin nodded. "Baronesses for you, I assume?"
"And remain within our peerage? Heavens no," Arthur laughed. "That's why Sophia was never good enough for me. Smaller estate, no increase in status. Not that I particularly cared for her, mind you, but she was by far the best choice of all the other simpering ladies that season, and I supposed if I got married before my father made a choice for me, I would have a chance at escaping abject misery."
"You truly are the last of the romantics," Merlin agreed with a very rude-sounding snort. "What about Vivian? She was a viscountess, was she not?"
"That was her father's problem, not mine," Arthur shrugged. "And I don't have to tell you the sorts of threats mine made when I was courting Gwen."
"Of course not," Merlin looked distant for a second, the corners of his mouth tight, and Arthur felt absurdly guilty - for what, he did not know.
"Morgana will fare far worse than me," Arthur continued, determined to wipe the look off of Merlin's face. "With her looks and fortune? Father's hoping for an Earl at the very least. There are some recently widowed, and some very lonely Dukes he's been shoving her way lately as well."
"Poor Morgana," Merlin sighed. "No wonder she's been badgering Gaius and me lately for charms that can help her escape notice or cool men's ardor."
Arthur quirked an eyebrow. "You can cool a man's ardor? I thought that was a task considered truly Herculean."
"Yes and no," Merlin laughed. "If a man - or a woman, for that matter - has true feelings, no magic can alter that. Legally, in any case. There are a few Great Workings that can create a sort of... perpetual infatuation, if you will, but even in countries where magic of that level of difficulty is allowed, it's extremely illegal."
"I should hope so!" Arthur shuddered. "Imagine the havoc it would wreak upon the season! No one would be safe!"
"Making sure no one notices her is far more practical, at any rate," Merlin shrugged. "It's impossible to have any sort of feelings towards someone who goes unnoticed."
"I don't suppose you could be persuaded to cast that sort of charm on me, could you?"
"No need," Merlin chirped. "I'll be there to personally intercept - I've been hired to entertain."
"Really?" Arthur asked, delighted. "That's fantastic! I thought Lady Castlereagh always employed that Edwin chap. The slightly creepy one who wears a half-mask and is particularly gifted with producing flowers for the ladies - doesn't her husband fund his magical research?"
"Muirden? Yes," Merlin looked positively wicked with glee, "but his latest obsession is with the magical applications to entomology, a study Lady Castlereagh found did not mix well with entertaining when he attempted to use it at one of her tea parties."
"How fortuitous!" Arthur exclaimed, and then sobered when he considered the prospect. "And rather gruesome."
"Yes, well, in this business, one man's misfortune is another man's windfall," Merlin said. "So I shall see you there, where I will be looking my most charming and entertaining the ton."
"There is the small matter of recognizing you," Arthur pointed out. "I've never seen you be charming. I may mistake you for another man entirely."
"Prat," Merlin laughed, and Arthur joined him, his dread regarding the upcoming ball dissipating like a puddle in the warm early summer sun.
- - -
When Morgana came downstairs dressed for the ball, Arthur took one look at her and choked on his brandy. Morgana was wearing a new crimson dress - Arthur was sure it was new because he would recall any frock that showed that much of Morgana's pale décolletage. Quite frankly, he was amazed his father had let her buy such a garment. She was bordering on scandal, and her gold and ruby necklace and full, painted lips were doing nothing but draw attention to extremely inappropriate places. "Well," he said finally when he could speak again. "I do hope that trick Gaius taught you is awfully strong, because in that get-up, you'll need it."
"Don't be crude, Arthur," Morgana scoffed. "And for your information, he wouldn't teach me a thing. He said it was foolish without having a stronger grounding than I do. I have, obviously, decided on an entirely different approach."
"What, expose yourself to all of Almack's like a common Jezebel?"
"I am not exposing myself," Morgana said haughtily. "I am being intimidating."
Arthur opened his mouth to form an appropriately scathing reply, but was interrupted by his father entering the room, dressed in his customary severe black.
"Ah, good, you're ready," Uther said sharply, looking them up and down. "Arthur, get your hair to lie flat. And Morgana, well done, you'll make a very tempting figure for a great many eligible men."
"Oh, I bet she will," Arthur muttered into his glass before downing the last few gulps of his brandy for courage and following his father and Morgana out to the carriage.
Almack's was nothing like it had been in his father's day - Ladies Jersey and Castlereagh were growing elderly, and did not have the same flair for scandal they once did. They tended towards themed nights, which Arthur found extremely trite. With the Royal Ascot opening, the theme was beasts of all stripes. Marzipan was offered along with the usual light fare in a veritable Noah's Ark of creatures, and would occasionally magically animate itself, blinking or shaking its head, which Arthur found slightly disconcerting, worried they would wiggle going down. It was still the place to be, however, if a member of the ton wished to find a suitable mate, and Arthur had done always done his damnedest to avoid the place. It was where he had met both Vivian and Sophia, and if they were the best the ton had to offer, it said quite a bit about the worst. Thus far this season Arthur had managed to spend a grand total of two hours there divided in between four balls, but his father was now growing determined. Morgana had come of age that winter, which meant her inheritance was now accessible to her, making her a better catch than ever. As for Arthur, his father had made it quite clear that at six-and-twenty, he was well past his expiration date so far as matrimony went. Arthur was actually surprised that between Morgana's faking of various feminine ailments and his spotty attendance record, Uther had not intervened sooner, but with the season half-done, intervene he had, and now Arthur was forced to dance with insipid debutantes who could barely string two sentences together and sulk into his lemonade, wishing for something stronger. Still, he was not suffering as badly as Morgana, who was being paraded around the room by his father like a prize pony. He, at least, was not utterly opposed to the idea of marriage, should someone suitable come along, but Morgana had tartly informed him several times that she had no intention to marry until she was content that she had lived enough of her life to settle down, and when she did it would be for love, not because she was a pretty piece Uther chose to bandy about.
Arthur's musings on how best to save Morgana before she utterly lost her temper and said something regrettable (which was looking more and more likely as the evening wore on, judging by her expression) were interrupted by a small, polite noise and a presence he'd know anywhere.
"Hello, Merlin," he said, before turning around, which caused him to perform a double-take. Merlin tended to dress as if he grabbed whatever he reached first when he rolled out of bed (lack of ironing and matching included), hair a rumpled mess, and his skills shaving left something to be desired. Arthur hardly recognized the man standing next to him, clean-shaven and rakish in proper eveningwear. His hair was trimmed so it didn't perpetually fall unfashionably in his eyes. He even smelled as though he had bothered to properly bathe and put on some cologne, instead of reeking of herbs and old books and that strange, nose-itching scent, like just after a lightning storm. Arthur never could sense that any other person was magical, and half the time it utterly slipped his notice with Merlin, but when Merlin went about performing lots of magic in a small space (like he did at balls, Arthur assumed), Arthur could sense it even under the cologne, making the hair on his arms goosebump and stand on end. "My God, I nearly didn't recognize you. You look like someone halfway-decent."
"And you look meticulous as ever," Merlin smiled. There it was, the impish, crooked grin that made Arthur feel less like he was talking to a disconcertingly handsome stranger. "And Morgana looks quite ravishing. I see she doesn't do anything by halves."
"She most certainly does not," Arthur agreed. "She hates being shown off. I wondered, then, why she chose that dress, but she said she wished to intimidate."
"If your father was showing her off to women, she would have succeeded," Merlin said. "I've had to cheer nearly twice as many crying ladies with flowers and kind words than usual. She's convinced them all that they're irredeemably ugly."
"Half of them are probably right," Arthur muttered. "I swear, they get worse-looking and stupider every year."
"That's unkind," Merlin murmured, but the corner of his mouth was twitching upward.
"I'd like to see how charitable you were if you had to contemplate spending your life with one of them," Arthur snorted. "Do you see Morgana's sour expression? She's feeling the strain as well. I would guess that we have ten minutes before she snaps and says something so cutting she utterly ruins one of her prospects and Father takes her aside and has words with her."
"So that is your father with her?" Merlin asked. "I see. I had expected him to be ten feet tall and breathing fire by your and Morgana's description."
Arthur shot him a baleful look.
"I jest, I jest," Merlin placed a soothing hand on Arthur's arm, and Arthur abruptly felt shivery. Perhaps there was a draft in the room. "I've met enough tiny mamas to know that looks can be deceiving."
"You'll do well to remember that," Arthur warned. "He'll destroy anyone who crosses him."
Merlin's smile turned stiff. "I'm afraid I have no choice but to cross him."
Arthur opened his mouth, and then closed it. The thought had, embarrassingly, never occurred to him. He had never had an illicit friend before, and as such there were quite a lot of new details to be considered. Namely, that he could not talk to Merlin in his father's presence as he was doing for as long or as intimately as he had been, not without attracting attention. Yet the thought of sending Merlin away like a common servant smarted. "I'm sorry," he said finally. It was all he could say.
"There's no need to apologize if you are not at fault," Merlin said firmly, his smile growing less forced. "At any rate, it is time I left you - the magical display is to start soon."
"Excellent," Arthur said dryly, taking a fortifying sip of his lemonade with a sigh. "I'm sure that will put my father in a splendid mood."
"That's the spirit," Merlin laughed, and melted back into the crowd.
Arthur spent perhaps ten more minutes sipping his lemonade and attempting to look as inconspicuous as possible, but was interrupted by a male voice (magically amplified, naturally) said,
"Ladies and gentleman, if it would please you, we will now have a magical display as performed by the Sorcerer Emrys." Arthur risked a glance across the hall to where Morgana was standing with his father. She was as calm and impassive as ever, though her small smile betrayed her excitement, but Uther looked murderous. But before Arthur could fret over the very real chance his father would make a scene, the lights all winked out.
Well, not winked out exactly, he realized. The flames had simply transferred themselves from the candles to a glowing orb in the center of the room that was cradled in Merlin's hands. It lit up his face like a torch, throwing the contours of his features into sharp relief, making his eyes so unnaturally blue and, quite frankly, lovely that Arthur was embarrassed to find himself blushing. Blushing! At Merlin, of all people! Plain, ordinary Merlin!
As if he had heard Arthur's thoughts, Merlin's eyes flicked over to meet Arthur's, and Merlin gave him a tiny, crooked, almost wicked smile, as if to say look what I can do. There was no reason it should have made Arthur's heart speed up, or made him grip his glass of lemonade tightly to himself, and yet it did. It was strange, magical displays were a regular part of many balls - part of the reason his father avoided them so stringently unless he felt Morgana and Arthur could not be trusted to conduct themselves reasonably well on their own. Uther may have been able to trivialize magic down to a common parlor amusement that showed a modicum of talent and accomplishment, akin to a girl singing an Italian aria for doting cousins and potential suitors, but he could not eliminate magic any further, any more than he could eliminate all music. Arthur had never given the idea much thought. It was the way things were, after all, and all magic he had seen performed before had been just as dull as when groups of simpering girls sang in mangled French along to a slightly out-of-tune pianoforte. It was something to be borne as part of going to a ball, seeing an older man, usually in shabby, once-fashionable clothes do little magic tricks such as weaving ribbons through the air, usually with a sour look on his face that said quite clearly he remembered a time he was able to move mountains, and greatly resented being reduced to this. He had never cared for it or been particularly intrigued by it, even when the display was put on by several young, beautiful ladies as a show of accomplishment. It had been no more interesting to him than watching them watercolor, or embroider, or whatever it was that young women took into their heads made them more attractive prospects to men.
But to say that they were doing magic as Merlin was doing magic was insulting to Merlin. He was not performing magic, he was magic. He did not even have to mutter words and yet had seamlessly floated a small silver basin of water above the ball of flame, and was manipulating it into a Noah’s Ark of animals that twisted and jumped and ran and galloped as though they were the real things. Arthur had of course known Merlin was powerful - Merlin said it often enough. And besides that, there was just something a little off about Merlin, something that, if you concentrated on it enough, made your hair stand on end. Arthur had always assumed that sense was magic, even though exposure to any other magic, no matter how powerful, sparked no strange reaction in him. But for some reason Merlin's particular brand of enchantment, he surmised, was something he could feel. And oh, how correct he was. That sense was pouring off Merlin now, the room positively reeked of it. It was as though Merlin were not human at all, but an otherworldly creature that floated through the mist to them, and it made Arthur shiver. Watching Merlin do magic was rather more like watching a force of nature, a thunderstorm, a sunset over the ocean. It was powerful and wonderful and terrible and so, so good and lovely. In fact, Arthur realized in shock, it was the loveliest thing he'd ever seen or felt.
Merlin's voice broke through his thoughts, murmuring " Fiat " so quietly that, had the room not been utterly silent, Arthur would not have heard him. The menagerie of animals popped and the steam all rained back into the basin, which was followed by a polite smattering of applause. Clearly, everyone else believed this was the end of the show and Arthur quite agreed with them until Merlin caught his eye again and gave Arthur an impish little wink.
Instantly, a jolt of heat went through Arthur as though he had been struck by lightning. In a blink of an eye, his throat had closed up, his cheeks were burning, and he yearned in the pit of his stomach so deeply for Merlin he thought a spell must have been cast on him, only he knew that was impossible. Had Merlin and Morgana not just explained to him that manipulation of human emotions was impossible without great workings? Not even Merlin would be brash enough to perform a great working in a crowd that contained Uther Pendragon. Yet something about that wink made several pieces tumble into place neatly in Arthur's brain - the fond looks, the warmth he felt towards Merlin, how beautiful he often thought Merlin was, the longing to be near him at all times, how deeply he yearned for Merlin's touch, deep enough to shove him and prod him like a schoolboy seeking favor by dipping a girl's pigtails in an inkwell. He was… besotted with Merlin. But no, he realized as Merlin began what was clearly the second act, horses conjured from the same steam racing in a passable imitation of the Ascot. If it was simple infatuation, should it not have burned out? Wouldn't he, a man who had felt infatuation so often, have recognized the symptoms?
Arthur, from a very young age, had known that one was never to give away part of themselves to another person. Oh, you could love people, as his father loved him and Morgana, but you could not need them. It was a rule he had never broken, through all the various near-engagements he had been entangled in. He had mourned, yes, when each one failed, but not because of who was involved. Sophia and Vivian were simply the best choices in a bad situation, and so he had mourned that if he could not have them, when they were at least bearable, what kind of monster would he be forced to wed? With Guinevere he had mourned the loss of a deeply romantic dream that had seized him, a dream that he could devote himself to her, become great in her name as his father had become in his mother's, but to mourn her, when she would remain his friend, had seemed ridiculous. But with Merlin… Arthur tried to imagine being denied, tried to imagine returning just to long walks filled with conversation and laughter, and the thought broke his heart. It was not enough, as it had been with any of the other girls. It would do, but it would never fill that hole in his chest that had been steadily growing and growing, shaped so only Merlin could fill it, would never placate that strange hunger he had felt growing for the last few months to be around Merlin at all times, to watch him and be close to him and look upon him as often as possible.
What he felt looking at Merlin now was nothing like what he had felt looking at Guinevere, or Vivian, or Sophia - that thrill in his chest and simple need to tend to them. What he felt was far deeper, suffusing every aspect of his being. He wanted Merlin, wanted him in every sense of the word. He wanted those long, elegant fingers to be wrapped around his, wanted to feel them touch his face, wanted to kiss each one until Merlin blushed. He adored terrible things about Merlin, stupid things about Merlin, from his nut aversion to his always-askew bowler hat. He wanted to be around Merlin even when he was ill, or in a foul mood, or unshaven and looking like the very worst of himself. Merlin made him want to change things, do things, to become a better man. Not as Guinevere had, where he felt he had to do such things to deserve her, but because Merlin simply made him feel as though he could, as though being great was what Arthur was meant for all along, and Merlin had only helped him discover it. Merlin was goodness and rightness and home in one strangely lovely package, and it took all of Arthur's will not to burst through the crowd and embrace Merlin then and there, to shout to the still-transfixed room to stop looking, that Merlin was his.
It was lucky, then, that Merlin's display had since come to an end in the time Arthur had come to his revelation and still stood, frozen in place, and that Merlin had disappeared in the crowd and probably quit the ball, his work for the evening done. Arthur managed to dance a few times under his father's foreboding eye with some girls he forgot the second he was done with them, and he was certain he'd engaged in a few inane conversations, though on what subject, he could not stay. His thoughts were still in a giddy whirl, picking up little pieces that had not made sense for so long, little details stored in Arthur's brain with no context before now, so all he could remember of that time was thinking of Merlin, only Merlin, nothing but Merlin.
Arthur was still in deep reflection as he took the quiet hansom ride home, Uther was silent as always and Morgana fighting valiantly to remain awake and not let out great, unladylike yawns. Now that he was quite sure that he loved Merlin, Arthur realized, it was only prudent to consider companionship with the man. It was not as good as marriage, of course, though it was in essence the same thing. Merlin, if Arthur chose to wed himself to him (and what a thrilling thought that was!) would be as legally recognized as his as any woman Arthur married would be. They could not get married in a church, of course - couplings of two members of the same sex was as frowned upon as magic was - but churches disapproved of a great number of things, most of which were, as far as public opinion was concerned, utterly silly, and though piety and faith were considered desirable traits, a strong morality was the most important thing of all, and it was recognized with a rueful inclination of society's head that perhaps, if the church was so eager to denounce magic as utterly impossible, (which was as ridiculous as denouncing the sky for being blue), perhaps they should not be the final say on all that was good and bad.
Though Uther quite agreed with church's stance on magic, Arthur had never been raised religious, as Uther found it impossible to keep any faith after the death of Arthur's mother. It was unlikely, therefore, that Uther would argue against the marriage on religious grounds. It would, perhaps, cause a minor scandal, as it had when the Baroness Braye, the most eligible lady of the last season, had become betrothed to her lady-in-waiting (confirming years worth of back-room whisperings) and retired to her estate at Stanford Park, but good blood was good blood, and if it was a union that would produce no legitimate heirs and thus be considered to taint the aristocracy, as companionship was, there was little society could do but wag their tongues until something far more scandalous came along, most likely in the next week or so.
Uther would no doubt disapprove of Arthur's choice in Merlin, even more vehemently than he had approved of any of Arthur's choices, but this time, Arthur did not feel cowed by that, which only proved how terrifyingly deep his feelings had become without his realizing it. It would be an unconventional match, to be sure, and it would cause a great deal of talk and scandal, but what did Arthur care of that? What did Uther, who avoided society except for when it suited him, care for that? Morgana certainly didn't care, that was sure. Uther had been needling him to get married, after all, and Arthur had selected someone who, he felt, he could love, really, truly love, just as his father had loved his mother. Surely his father would understand, approve, even. Uther could hardly disown Arthur for following in his own footsteps.
Besides, Arthur thought as he readied himself for bed later, he was a Pendragon. Pendragons, his father had told him from a very young age, did not care for public opinion. Pendragons did not care for consequences. Pendragons did what was right. Well, Arthur wished to marry Merlin - wanted it more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. The only question he still had was if Merlin would have him. If he would (and Arthur could hardly bear to think of such a lovely possibility), then there was nothing more right, more perfect, than having Merlin as his. If Merlin returned his affections, Arthur decided as he lay down to sleep that night, if Merlin loved Arthur as Arthur loved him, there could be nothing to stop them. The world would be theirs.
- - -
In light of his recent emotional revelation, Arthur was keener than ever to continue his walks with Merlin. The weather, however, seemed to have other plans, sending in roiling thunderstorms. Merlin had never been deterred by weather before, perfectly content to mutter an enlargement charm on Gaius' old umbrella so they could both fit under it without being uncomfortably claustrophobic and trek through all sorts of precipitation, but he drew the line at thunder and lightning.
"You may be content to bandy about," he informed Arthur tartly, flattening against the alleyway outside like a scared cat, "but I'll go no further."
"I never pegged you for a shrinking violet," Arthur snorted, holding the paper above his head instead of the umbrella Merlin was clutching to his chest.
"One year, back in Camarthan, lightening struck one of our cows dead," Merlin said darkly. "I was ten feet away from her waiting it out in the shed. She probably thought she was being unaccountably brave as well, wandering through an open field in the middle of a storm."
"Well, Farmer Merlin," Arthur sighed, coming back under the overhang. "Where do you suggest we go?"
"Museum?" Merlin's eyes lit up. "Oh, I reckon your title could get us into some exclusive magical libraries I've been dying to peruse..."
Arthur frowned. He intended to court Merlin, to determine if Merlin returned his affection, not to lose Merlin in esoteric pursuits. "And you thought this would interest me?"
"I hoped I could convince you," Merlin said wistfully. "What do you suggest, you uncultured clod?"
Arthur thought for a moment. "I'm hungry," he finally declared. "Come along, Merlin, and for the love of God, bring that umbrella with you."
"What - where are we - Arthur!" Merlin hurried after Arthur's purposeful gait southwards, nattering like an angry fishwife the entire time about how close they were getting to the park, and hadn't Arthur heard the story about the cow? He only was silenced when Arthur turned on to Pall Mall and walked up the steps to the United University Club. Merlin, however, stood at the bottom of the stairs, gaping.
"Well?" Arthur asked. "Are you coming? I could use a spot of tea and I shall never enjoy it if I know you're out here gawping and catching pneumonia."
"Arthur," Merlin said helplessly, "we're at a club on Pall Mall and you're telling me to come in with you?"
"What, do you think they'll judge you for wearing last season's fashions?" Arthur asked. "Because I assure you, that is the least of your concerns."
"Arthur!"
"Merlin," Arthur sighed. "You are with me. You could be dressed in tatters and they would let you in, no question. Now do you want some tea and cakes or do you want to stand out in the rain like a beggar?"
Groaning and grumbling, Merlin followed him indoors. "You're all wet," he muttered to Arthur when they got indoors and the doorman took their hats without a blink.
"Yes, I seem to get unfortunately soggy in your presence quite often," Arthur sighed. "Do you make a habit of drenching all of your acquaintances?"
"I suppose you're special like that," Merlin laughed, and gestured at him absently. "Afierran wæter."
"Ah, yes, I forgot you made up for that particular inconvenience. Shall we?"
It was quite crowded in the common area. Evidently, Arthur was not the only one who had been caught in the rain, because a good number of men looked exactly as drowned as Arthur had before Merlin dried him off. Sadly, the crowd meant there were the club members Arthur wished to avoid. He was pleased, however, to see Gawain and Leon in their usual alcove, chatting while Leon puffed away at his beloved pipe. Merlin dragged his feet as Arthur ushered him over, looking even paler than usual.
"Hello, boys," Arthur said cheerily, interrupting Gawain's prattle on the last boxing match he'd attended. "Got caught in the storm while I was on a walk with a friend so I thought we'd drop by for a spot of refuge."
"Good lord, you idiot, you were trying to walk in that?" Gawain asked, turning around and grinning hello. He looked as rakish as ever, burnished copper curls falling in their usual Byronic manner.
"Obviously not, or otherwise he wouldn't be here," Leon said calmly, standing to shake Merlin's hand. "I'm sorry for this clod's poor manners. I'm Leon Isherwood, Arthur's friend from Oxford."
"Merlin Emrys," Merlin mumbled shyly.
"Oh, I know you!" Gawain exclaimed in his usual exuberant Scottish brogue. It wasn't until Merlin gawped at Gawain that Arthur thought he might have done well to warn him - he was used to Gawain, having grown up with him and his brothers, but he could be a bit much. "I thought I recognized you. You're a professional magician at balls aren't you? Bloody good show - best I've seen in ages."
"And this uncultured lout is my cousin Gawain," Arthur interrupted smoothly before Merlin's eyes got so wide they nearly popped out of his skull. "Heir to the Earldom of Orkney."
"You're the cousin of an earl?!" Merlin whisper-screeched. His eyes hadn't gotten any better. "Why didn't you tell me? All this time I thought you and your father only had delusions of grandeur!"
At his outburst, Gawain and Leon both broke into laughter. Leon had the good grace to muffle it after the first surprised bark, but Gawain's chuckle was unabashedly boisterous.
"Oh I do like this one, Arthur. I've long suspected you had some hidden ability to make delightful friends besides Leon over here, and you do know I love being right. Sit, sit! Do you smoke, Emrys?"
"Ah, no thank you," Merlin blushed, fiddling with his father's cufflinks. Arthur was pleased to note that the free chair offered to him was next to Merlin, he feared Merlin would fly to nervous pieces were he not there to directly supervise. "And its Merlin, please, I mostly use my surname for stage work - sounds very mystical, you know."
"It does, it does," Gawain took out his clay pipe and lit it with a match. "So, Arthur, how'd you meet Merlin here?"
"Morgana's taking lessons with his, well," Arthur turned to Merlin. "You never have explained Gaius' relation to you."
"My mum's favorite cousin -" Merlin said before Leon cut in.
"Doctor Gaius?" He said eagerly. "You work for him? The man's fantastic."
"You know him?" All the tension in Merlin's body immediately melted at the opportunity to brag about someone else. Typical Arthur thought fondly, waving over a maid to ask for a plate of cakes and a pot of fresh tea.
"...my eldest, Isabelle, had a terrible whooping cough last winter," Leon was saying. "My wife was at her wit's end until a nursemaid of ours recommended him. I've read his work, too, fascinating stuff. I'm quite interested in magic's effect on respiratory inflammation as we suffer it quite often at my father's mills and the loss rate of workers is simply inhumane..."
Arthur was quite content to sit back and watch Leon and Merlin passionately discuss worker's rights and improvement of conditions (something, Arthur had learned the hard way, both of them could prattle on about for hours), but Gawain made a small noise in the back of his throat and leaned forward, clearly indicating that he wished to discuss something privately with Arthur.
"Morgana's got magic, hasn't she?" Gawain asked Arthur in a low voice. "That's why she's taking lessons?"
"How did you know?" Arthur hissed.
"Mum," Gawain said simply, and Arthur nodded and let out a small sigh. His aunt Anna had always had a small, non-threatening bit of magic, the kind that helped locate a lost earring or keep buttons from popping off waistcoats, but her most infuriating talent by far (especially to Arthur and Gawain as children) was her ability to know things, particularly those that they tried to hide the most. Arthur had known, even as a child, to keep such a talent hidden from his father, or he would never be able to visit with his cousins again. "She's always thought so, I used to overhear her arguing with Da if she should speak up to Uther or not every time Morgana came over and had her nightmare fits."
"Father thinks she's simply gained a new appreciation for bandying about town, and I'm playing the part of the doting chaperon," Arthur murmured. "So it goes without saying that if you mention a thing to my father I'll tell your mother exactly what you did to her pet Spaniel that made him so afraid of stairs."
Gawain gave Arthur the crooked grin that used to get Arthur into so very much trouble as a child and, Arthur was sure, was largely responsible for Gawain's well-earned reputation as an incorrigible flirt. "You know I always like to encourage a good bit of reckless disobedience," he said innocently. "Morgana hasn't indulged this thoroughly since she followed us around that Christmas and made us teach her how to shoot and swear. I say she's earned her freedom."
"I think Father learning about this is a good deal more dangerous than when she had a loaded gun," Arthur said sourly, leaning back and settling more deeply in his chair. He shot a quick glance over at Merlin to see if he needed Arthur's assistance in any way, but Merlin and Leon were still going at it, nodding and gesturing expansively. Arthur allowed himself a small smile.
"I can't decide which is more dangerous," Gawain said in the same low tone meant only for Arthur. "Your father learning Morgana's taking magic lessons, or him learning that not only are you aiding and abetting, but you've gone and become infatuated with a magician yourself."
Arthur whipped his head around and glared at Gawain, who could not have looked more smugly pleased with himself if he were the proverbial cat who ate the canary. He suddenly remembered why he'd been avoiding the club and why, sometimes, he really and truly wished to wring Gawain's neck. "If you speak a word..." he threatened, but Gawain chuckled and held up his hands in mock-surrender.
"My lips are sealed," he swore. "You know, Gaheris has just got engaged."
"Has he?" Arthur asked mildly. He wasn't quite sure what prompted the sudden change in subject, but with Gawain it was often better not to ask what went on in that mind of his. "Congratulations."
"Sister of Gareth's wife," Gawain went on. "No surprise there - those two couldn't sneeze without the other - but I like her. You've met her at the wedding, I think, Lynette?"
"Lively girl?" Arthur asked, trying to recall. "Dark blond hair, nearly as many freckles as you?"
"That's the one," Gawain nodded. "We thought she was nursing a flame for Gareth for the longest time, but it turns out she was waiting on Gaheris to make his move. She really brings out the best of him, makes him grow a bit of a spine instead of running around trying to make everyone else happy."
"Good," Arthur said absently, glancing over at Merlin again, who was now drawing something on a scrap of paper for a fascinated Leon. Gawain had three brothers and each of them had been strictly confined to their roles for as long as Arthur could remember -Gawain the Troublemaker, Agravaine the Whiner, Gareth the Perfect, and Gaheris the Pushover and Peacemaker. It was nice that Gaheris got to grow out of that role a bit, step out from Gareth's shadow where he liked to hide.
"...planning on taking a very long honeymoon on the continent," Gawain was saying, and Arthur forced his attention back to him. Morgana would want to hear the family news and it would make a good story to relate to his father when he asked what they'd done with their day. "Lynette really wants to devote herself to study."
"Study of what?" Arthur asked.
"Oh, this, that," Gawain shrugged. "History. Philosophy. Mostly magic. She's very powerful."
Arthur narrowed his eyes. He suddenly understood exactly why Gawain had so abruptly switched to this story, the bastard. "Really," he said, keeping his tone perfectly flat and neutral. "I'll leave that part out when my father asks."
"I don't see why you should," Gawain said, affecting the same falsely neutral tone as Arthur. "After all, you should soften the blow if you're going to be marrying a great magician yourself..."
"Keep your voice down!" Arthur hissed, leaning forward and glaring at Gawain. "That's completely out of line, Gawain."
"Not with the way you keep looking at him."
"I just," Arthur said helplessly, fiddling with is hands instead of casting another comforting glance at Merlin. "Look, I've never... it's never been a man before. It's all very new and strange, and I only realized maybe a week ago. I still don't even know if he feels the same way, so could you please... refrain? The idea of marriage is very premature until I've at least an inkling of his emotions."
Gawain gave Arthur a fond smile before he leaned forward and ruffled his hair like they were children again. "Have it your way, Arthur. But with you, bringing up the subject of marriage is never premature."
"Ha bloody ha," Arthur bit out. Thankfully, the maid chose that moment to arrive with a tray of tea and cakes (and, Arthur noted with no small amount of glee, seasonal cut fruit), which effectively put an end to the two tête-à-têtes that were taking place as everyone leaned forward to serve themselves. Seamlessly, when offered the plate, Merlin prepared Arthur's tea (milk, no sugar) along with his own (no milk, an appalling amount of sugar) while Arthur divided the remaining cakes.
"Why didn't you give me the chocolate one?" Merlin asked, his brows drawing together.
"It has a caramel-nut center," Arthur said, taking a bite and showing Merlin. "See?"
Merlin gave a very put-out sniff. "Waste of perfectly good chocolate cake," he said stiffly.
"That's why you have me to tell you these things," Arthur said thickly around the cake and then glared at Leon and Gawain, who were both looking at them oddly. Leon, at least, looked fond. Gawain looked like he was stocking up on ammunition. "What? He hates nuts. I tried offering him a few of my roast chestnuts once and you'd have thought I was poisoning him. Don't take those." He slapped at Merlin, who was sneaking a few of the thin chocolate-coated biscuits to his plate. "I divided those equally, you fiend."
"Yes, but then you got a disproportionate amount of chocolate because that cake had nuts!"
"But you have more sugar in your tea than is in all of these sweets combined. And why are you stealing my strawberries?" Arthur was aware that he was creating a minor scene with his bickering and was giving Gawain entirely too much to tease him about later, and that if he was setting about to woo Merlin this was not the optimal way to do so, but biscuits were a matter of principle.
"I like strawberries."
"Merlin, Arthur," Leon cut in smoothly, before the squabble could escalate to something the entire room would notice, "I had been meaning to ask you - did you read the editorial on railroad expansion?"
"Oh," Merlin blushed. "I may have given you the wrong impression - I'm afraid I only was knowledgeable in regards to our previous discussion because of my first-hand experience with curing respiratory illness. I'm hardly educated or political."
"It's quite alright, Merlin," Arthur said soothingly. He made a movement to pat Merlin's knee before he realized Gawain was still watching the two of them with unabashed glee and instead changed the gesture into wiping his hand off on the napkin resting on his leg. "You needn't feel as though we've a standard for you to live up to. Gawain's only purpose is to be moderately attractive, and we manage to tolerate him anyway."
"Cheers," Gawain said, raising his teacup before taking a sip.
- - -
There was precious little that could tear Morgana from her magic lessons, but if there was one person who could achieve it, it was Guinevere. Especially with her approaching wedding, Gwen only had to say the word to her maid of honor and Morgana rushed to her side. Arthur often bitterly wished he had such a power over Morgana, for she was growing more difficult the more powerful she became. He had recently complained to Merlin that he worried his father may be cottoning on to Morgana's secret lessons because her devotion to studying had become near-maniacal. He suspected Merlin had relayed such concerns to Gwen, because she had insisted the four of them take a long stroll about the botanical gardens. Morgana had been reluctant, but Gwen had claimed she needed a break from wedding planning and sewing before she went mad, and Merlin had promised to quiz her on any notable flowers they passed, and thus the trip was approved by Gaius and then agreed to by Morgana as a sort of working bit of leisure.
"You aren't really overwrought, are you?" Arthur whispered to Guinevere as Morgana and Merlin exclaimed over a particularly beautiful patch of nasturtium.
"Not at all," Gwen said cheerfully, twirling her parasol. "I've never had such fun. I get to plan everything exactly as I wish it. And everyone is so eager to cater to me, as well! They seem to think I shall have a nervous breakdown if not handled with kid gloves."
"So then marriage is all they say and more?" Arthur asked, smiling down at her. Happiness had always suited Guinevere so.
"I am not married yet," Gwen laughed. "I shall tell you when I am. But I suspect it shall be lovely."
"What shall be lovely?" Morgana asked. She had cheekily picked two small sprays of baby's breath, one tucked in her hair, and one she put behind Guinevere's ear before they linked arms.
"Marriage," Gwen sighed.
"Oh, good lord," Morgana rolled her eyes. "That dreaded institution. Are you sure you don't wish me to make the entire thing go away for you, dearest?"
"Heavens no!" Gwen's laugh was gay and delighted. "One day you shall understand Morgana. Marriage is the loveliest thing in the world."
Morgana made a face and turned to Merlin, who was keeping himself removed from the entire argument. "Merlin!" She exclaimed imperiously. "Side with me - we are discussing marriage and I cannot trust Arthur at all to be properly disdainful on this subject. He's quite enamored with the whole blasted concept."
Merlin looked up from the roses he was sniffing and gave a small grin. "I'm afraid I cannot," he said gently. "I was engaged once myself, but she passed before we were wed. I agree with Gwen - with the right person, marriage can be the loveliest thing in the world."
"On no!" Gwen's merriment instantly melted away into pure sympathy. "Merlin, I never knew!"
"It was a year and a half before I met you," Merlin shrugged. "I was well out of black gloves. It was why I moved to London - my mourning was up and I needed to get away, move on with my life." His eyes were solemn and burning into Arthur, who felt abruptly very warm, and wished to make a quite unmanly mad dash to the door of the greenhouse.
"Can you tell us about her?" Gwen asked softly.
"Her name was Freya," Merlin said, his eyes going soft in remembrance. Arthur had to clutch his hands in his pockets to keep himself from slapping Merlin out of some reverie over a long-gone woman he was quite irrationally jealous of already. "She was very lovely, always very frail. She caught consumption and died within a month."
Even Morgana seemed moved enough to lay her hand on Merlin's arm as a gesture of comfort. "I'm sorry," she murmured. Merlin shrugged.
"Thank you, Morgana, but I'm quite at peace with it now, I assure you. She's in a better place." The answer seemed to placate Morgana and Gwen, who soon got distracted by lilacs that an old man was puttering over that Gwen insisted had to be in her bouquet, they were just too lovely not to be. Lilacs, Arthur knew, were quite out of season, but so were half the flowers in the botanical garden, and he had no doubt something slightly supernatural kept them blooming. Instead of rushing ahead with the girls, babbling about colors and ribbons, he and Merlin hung back, meandering at a sedate pace.
"Do you still love her?" Arthur asked finally.
Merlin smiled. "Who, Freya? No. Why, do you still love Guinevere?"
"That's different and you know it," Arthur protested. "But my father never, not after my mother..."
"Ah, yes, your father." Merlin nodded to himself absently. "No, we're quite different men, your father and I. As a boy, I loved Freya with everything in me, it's true. She was... she was a very delicate child. Always ill with this or that. I fancied myself her protector, her knight in shining armor. I learned the candle trick for her, you know," he gestured, "the floating flames you've seen me do at balls - I used to use that to entertain her while she was kept abed. We were childhood sweethearts and I used to think my actions alone would save the world in her honor. It's a heady sort of love for a young boy, to be sure."
"Of course," Arthur nodded. He had felt similarly about Guinevere when he loved her. She was so sweet, so gentle, so passionate in the face of suffering. She had changed him for the better, made him see the destitute on the street and wishing to help them instead of passing them by as he used to, and a part of him that was still the spoiled, bratty lad fresh out of Oxford would always adore her for that, wish to throw himself at her feet and beg for her favor.
"But I'm not a boy any longer," Merlin went on quietly. "I suppose the part of me that is always a boy will always love her. And if she had lived, if I had stayed that boy back in Camarthan, I have no doubt that I would still love her. But if she came back today and I knew her now as who I am, as the man who has grown, whose home is London? No. That man's heart is... not hers."
"I'm glad," Arthur blurted out, and then immediately regretted it. Merlin had just looked so stormy, so pensive, he had felt the sudden irrepressible desire to make him smile again, be Merlin again. "I mean to say, not that she died. I'm sure that was terrible. I simply mean... I mean I am glad you're not like my father. In so very many ways. That is, that your heart isn't..." He coughed and looked down at his shoes. "I'm glad you're here," he finished lamely. "I'm glad you're my sort of Merlin."
Merlin smiled at that, so sweetly Arthur's heart lodged somewhere in his throat when he rested his hand on Arthur's shoulder. "As am I, dear man," Merlin said. His voice sounded hoarse, choked with a slight emotion Arthur could not identify. "You have no idea how very much."
"Merlin, I - " Arthur began desperately, but he was cut off by Guinevere.
"Merlin!" She called. "Merlin, could you come here, please, this gentleman says he has a spell for producing lilacs out of season."
"Duty calls," Merlin smiled, squeezing Arthur's shoulder. "Was it something terribly important?"
"No," Arthur said. He tried for a smile of his own but knew it fell terribly short. "Go on, the queen of the day has summoned you."
"Yes, sire," Merlin said, bowing ironically, and as he walked farther away, the yawning hole in Arthur's heart that Merlin filled when he was next to him seemed to grow, wider and wider.
- - -
Morgana was suspiciously silent on the drive back from the gardens, her eyes narrowed and fixed on Arthur in a manner eerily reminiscent of a bird of prey who had spotted a particularly plump mouse.
"You and Merlin are close," she said finally in a tone that would have passed for casual had she not been for the fact that she had been scrutinizing Arthur for a quarter of an hour.
"Yes," Arthur agreed, deciding it was safest to remain as light and falsely casual as Morgana, lest he be trapped in some rhetorical hole. Morgana's brows drew together, clearly irritated that Arthur was choosing, for once in his life, not to engage with her.
"And how long, exactly, were you going to go on being so helplessly besotted without telling me?" She demanded, and Arthur blinked, taken aback. He had not anticipated her going in for the kill directly with such speed.
"I'm quite certain I have no idea what you mean," he said blandly.
"Oh, come off it." Morgana snorted, rude and unladylike. "You were mooning after him so obviously even Guinevere noticed enough to ask me about it."
"Oh," said Arthur, dismayed. That was no doubt something that put both women in an uncomfortable position - Morgana, for being kept in the dark, and, more importantly, Guinevere, who was forced to watch his rather unsubtle adoration for someone else. (Though he had been quite supportive of Guinevere and Lancelot, so he supposed it was his due.) "Well, er, it only has been a few weeks."
"You are incorrigible," Morgana sighed. "You really cannot bear not to be in love!"
Arthur thought that quite unfair. He had not been entangled with anyone since Vivian, and that was nearly two years ago. Morgana had of course spent the subsequent time accusing him of being on the verge of proposing to this woman or that one, but he had assumed she was mocking him, as opposed to actually believing what she was saying. Still, that was irrelevant at this juncture. "Merlin is different," he said instead.
"Oh good," Morgana shot back scathingly, "you have noticed the physiological differences."
"In regards to my feelings," Arthur corrected her. "I am being cautious, moving slowly. Assessing the state of Merlin's heart before I risk my own."
Morgana raised one perfectly arched eyebrow. "This is your idea of subtle?" She asked archly. "Watching him like a lovesick schoolgirl? Taking him out to dinner at fine establishments?"
"Gawain and Leon were to come as well!" Arthur protested. They were. He was not to blame if Leon and his wife, unbeknownst to him, already had seats for the opera, or that Gawain, in what Arthur suspected was more mockery than genuine kindness, had said he could not possibly, not when Merlin and Arthur so clearly needed to be alone together. That Arthur came back from that night's dinner quite pleased, or that he and Merlin had sat quite closely that entire night, bumping their knees companionably, or that Merlin had no eyes for the kitchen maid who often poked her head out of the kitchen to blush and twitter and make eyes at him, or that instead of acknowledging her when she sent out their pudding on the house, Merlin had ignored her in favor of dueling with Arthur, spoons clacking as they fought over the last of the fruit and cream, was nothing Gawain - or Morgana, for that matter - needed to know.
"You shouldn't take risks, Arthur," Morgana admonished. Arthur opened his mouth to protest her meddling, but then a horrible thought overcame him.
"You haven't been... having visions about Merlin and I, have you?" He asked suspiciously. Morgana instantly looked revolted at the very thought.
"Heavens, no!" She exclaimed. "As if I would want to see you...! Ugh! No!"
"Then I don't see your reason to stick your nose where it doesn't belong," Arthur said, crossing his arms. "I can tend to my own heart, thank you very much."
Morgana gave him a deeply pitying look. "It isn't the state of your heart that worries me," she said cryptically, and before Arthur could force her to explain what she meant by that, exactly, they were back home, and she would speak on the subject no more.
- - -
Part 3
- - -
As June rolled in, Arthur began to wish that Merlin would dunk him in another large body of water again. It was growing hot - not so hot that one would notice they were they sitting in the shade, but Arthur's brisk walks with Merlin while he was wearing layers of wool and cotton were beginning to become rather uncomfortable. Despite Arthur's wheedling, however, Merlin refused to repeat the pond-dunking exercise, and instead located for them a bench in the shade that they could stroll to in a leisurely fashion before taking a long rest there while Merlin fed the pigeons. He was endearingly fond of them and had named them all, and though Arthur could never tell Bartholomew, Meriwether, Hortense, Ethel, and Clarence apart, they certainly knew who Merlin was, and would flap down to greet them after they sat, cooing and pecking hopefully at Merlin's feet while he crumbled stale bread for them.
"Will you be at Almack's in two days?" Merlin asked while Hortense or Ethel squabbled with what Arthur thought was Bartholomew over an extra-large bit of crust.
"Much to my displeasure," Arthur sighed. "It's to be a rather hoity-toity event, so Father is insisting Morgana and I make appearances looking our most eligible. We would be clothed in pound notes if Father thought it could be made to look fashionable. I believe he is drafting up a list of prospects we are to make nice to as we speak."
"Naturally," Merlin nodded. "Baronesses for you, I assume?"
"And remain within our peerage? Heavens no," Arthur laughed. "That's why Sophia was never good enough for me. Smaller estate, no increase in status. Not that I particularly cared for her, mind you, but she was by far the best choice of all the other simpering ladies that season, and I supposed if I got married before my father made a choice for me, I would have a chance at escaping abject misery."
"You truly are the last of the romantics," Merlin agreed with a very rude-sounding snort. "What about Vivian? She was a viscountess, was she not?"
"That was her father's problem, not mine," Arthur shrugged. "And I don't have to tell you the sorts of threats mine made when I was courting Gwen."
"Of course not," Merlin looked distant for a second, the corners of his mouth tight, and Arthur felt absurdly guilty - for what, he did not know.
"Morgana will fare far worse than me," Arthur continued, determined to wipe the look off of Merlin's face. "With her looks and fortune? Father's hoping for an Earl at the very least. There are some recently widowed, and some very lonely Dukes he's been shoving her way lately as well."
"Poor Morgana," Merlin sighed. "No wonder she's been badgering Gaius and me lately for charms that can help her escape notice or cool men's ardor."
Arthur quirked an eyebrow. "You can cool a man's ardor? I thought that was a task considered truly Herculean."
"Yes and no," Merlin laughed. "If a man - or a woman, for that matter - has true feelings, no magic can alter that. Legally, in any case. There are a few Great Workings that can create a sort of... perpetual infatuation, if you will, but even in countries where magic of that level of difficulty is allowed, it's extremely illegal."
"I should hope so!" Arthur shuddered. "Imagine the havoc it would wreak upon the season! No one would be safe!"
"Making sure no one notices her is far more practical, at any rate," Merlin shrugged. "It's impossible to have any sort of feelings towards someone who goes unnoticed."
"I don't suppose you could be persuaded to cast that sort of charm on me, could you?"
"No need," Merlin chirped. "I'll be there to personally intercept - I've been hired to entertain."
"Really?" Arthur asked, delighted. "That's fantastic! I thought Lady Castlereagh always employed that Edwin chap. The slightly creepy one who wears a half-mask and is particularly gifted with producing flowers for the ladies - doesn't her husband fund his magical research?"
"Muirden? Yes," Merlin looked positively wicked with glee, "but his latest obsession is with the magical applications to entomology, a study Lady Castlereagh found did not mix well with entertaining when he attempted to use it at one of her tea parties."
"How fortuitous!" Arthur exclaimed, and then sobered when he considered the prospect. "And rather gruesome."
"Yes, well, in this business, one man's misfortune is another man's windfall," Merlin said. "So I shall see you there, where I will be looking my most charming and entertaining the ton."
"There is the small matter of recognizing you," Arthur pointed out. "I've never seen you be charming. I may mistake you for another man entirely."
"Prat," Merlin laughed, and Arthur joined him, his dread regarding the upcoming ball dissipating like a puddle in the warm early summer sun.
- - -
When Morgana came downstairs dressed for the ball, Arthur took one look at her and choked on his brandy. Morgana was wearing a new crimson dress - Arthur was sure it was new because he would recall any frock that showed that much of Morgana's pale décolletage. Quite frankly, he was amazed his father had let her buy such a garment. She was bordering on scandal, and her gold and ruby necklace and full, painted lips were doing nothing but draw attention to extremely inappropriate places. "Well," he said finally when he could speak again. "I do hope that trick Gaius taught you is awfully strong, because in that get-up, you'll need it."
"Don't be crude, Arthur," Morgana scoffed. "And for your information, he wouldn't teach me a thing. He said it was foolish without having a stronger grounding than I do. I have, obviously, decided on an entirely different approach."
"What, expose yourself to all of Almack's like a common Jezebel?"
"I am not exposing myself," Morgana said haughtily. "I am being intimidating."
Arthur opened his mouth to form an appropriately scathing reply, but was interrupted by his father entering the room, dressed in his customary severe black.
"Ah, good, you're ready," Uther said sharply, looking them up and down. "Arthur, get your hair to lie flat. And Morgana, well done, you'll make a very tempting figure for a great many eligible men."
"Oh, I bet she will," Arthur muttered into his glass before downing the last few gulps of his brandy for courage and following his father and Morgana out to the carriage.
Almack's was nothing like it had been in his father's day - Ladies Jersey and Castlereagh were growing elderly, and did not have the same flair for scandal they once did. They tended towards themed nights, which Arthur found extremely trite. With the Royal Ascot opening, the theme was beasts of all stripes. Marzipan was offered along with the usual light fare in a veritable Noah's Ark of creatures, and would occasionally magically animate itself, blinking or shaking its head, which Arthur found slightly disconcerting, worried they would wiggle going down. It was still the place to be, however, if a member of the ton wished to find a suitable mate, and Arthur had done always done his damnedest to avoid the place. It was where he had met both Vivian and Sophia, and if they were the best the ton had to offer, it said quite a bit about the worst. Thus far this season Arthur had managed to spend a grand total of two hours there divided in between four balls, but his father was now growing determined. Morgana had come of age that winter, which meant her inheritance was now accessible to her, making her a better catch than ever. As for Arthur, his father had made it quite clear that at six-and-twenty, he was well past his expiration date so far as matrimony went. Arthur was actually surprised that between Morgana's faking of various feminine ailments and his spotty attendance record, Uther had not intervened sooner, but with the season half-done, intervene he had, and now Arthur was forced to dance with insipid debutantes who could barely string two sentences together and sulk into his lemonade, wishing for something stronger. Still, he was not suffering as badly as Morgana, who was being paraded around the room by his father like a prize pony. He, at least, was not utterly opposed to the idea of marriage, should someone suitable come along, but Morgana had tartly informed him several times that she had no intention to marry until she was content that she had lived enough of her life to settle down, and when she did it would be for love, not because she was a pretty piece Uther chose to bandy about.
Arthur's musings on how best to save Morgana before she utterly lost her temper and said something regrettable (which was looking more and more likely as the evening wore on, judging by her expression) were interrupted by a small, polite noise and a presence he'd know anywhere.
"Hello, Merlin," he said, before turning around, which caused him to perform a double-take. Merlin tended to dress as if he grabbed whatever he reached first when he rolled out of bed (lack of ironing and matching included), hair a rumpled mess, and his skills shaving left something to be desired. Arthur hardly recognized the man standing next to him, clean-shaven and rakish in proper eveningwear. His hair was trimmed so it didn't perpetually fall unfashionably in his eyes. He even smelled as though he had bothered to properly bathe and put on some cologne, instead of reeking of herbs and old books and that strange, nose-itching scent, like just after a lightning storm. Arthur never could sense that any other person was magical, and half the time it utterly slipped his notice with Merlin, but when Merlin went about performing lots of magic in a small space (like he did at balls, Arthur assumed), Arthur could sense it even under the cologne, making the hair on his arms goosebump and stand on end. "My God, I nearly didn't recognize you. You look like someone halfway-decent."
"And you look meticulous as ever," Merlin smiled. There it was, the impish, crooked grin that made Arthur feel less like he was talking to a disconcertingly handsome stranger. "And Morgana looks quite ravishing. I see she doesn't do anything by halves."
"She most certainly does not," Arthur agreed. "She hates being shown off. I wondered, then, why she chose that dress, but she said she wished to intimidate."
"If your father was showing her off to women, she would have succeeded," Merlin said. "I've had to cheer nearly twice as many crying ladies with flowers and kind words than usual. She's convinced them all that they're irredeemably ugly."
"Half of them are probably right," Arthur muttered. "I swear, they get worse-looking and stupider every year."
"That's unkind," Merlin murmured, but the corner of his mouth was twitching upward.
"I'd like to see how charitable you were if you had to contemplate spending your life with one of them," Arthur snorted. "Do you see Morgana's sour expression? She's feeling the strain as well. I would guess that we have ten minutes before she snaps and says something so cutting she utterly ruins one of her prospects and Father takes her aside and has words with her."
"So that is your father with her?" Merlin asked. "I see. I had expected him to be ten feet tall and breathing fire by your and Morgana's description."
Arthur shot him a baleful look.
"I jest, I jest," Merlin placed a soothing hand on Arthur's arm, and Arthur abruptly felt shivery. Perhaps there was a draft in the room. "I've met enough tiny mamas to know that looks can be deceiving."
"You'll do well to remember that," Arthur warned. "He'll destroy anyone who crosses him."
Merlin's smile turned stiff. "I'm afraid I have no choice but to cross him."
Arthur opened his mouth, and then closed it. The thought had, embarrassingly, never occurred to him. He had never had an illicit friend before, and as such there were quite a lot of new details to be considered. Namely, that he could not talk to Merlin in his father's presence as he was doing for as long or as intimately as he had been, not without attracting attention. Yet the thought of sending Merlin away like a common servant smarted. "I'm sorry," he said finally. It was all he could say.
"There's no need to apologize if you are not at fault," Merlin said firmly, his smile growing less forced. "At any rate, it is time I left you - the magical display is to start soon."
"Excellent," Arthur said dryly, taking a fortifying sip of his lemonade with a sigh. "I'm sure that will put my father in a splendid mood."
"That's the spirit," Merlin laughed, and melted back into the crowd.
Arthur spent perhaps ten more minutes sipping his lemonade and attempting to look as inconspicuous as possible, but was interrupted by a male voice (magically amplified, naturally) said,
"Ladies and gentleman, if it would please you, we will now have a magical display as performed by the Sorcerer Emrys." Arthur risked a glance across the hall to where Morgana was standing with his father. She was as calm and impassive as ever, though her small smile betrayed her excitement, but Uther looked murderous. But before Arthur could fret over the very real chance his father would make a scene, the lights all winked out.
Well, not winked out exactly, he realized. The flames had simply transferred themselves from the candles to a glowing orb in the center of the room that was cradled in Merlin's hands. It lit up his face like a torch, throwing the contours of his features into sharp relief, making his eyes so unnaturally blue and, quite frankly, lovely that Arthur was embarrassed to find himself blushing. Blushing! At Merlin, of all people! Plain, ordinary Merlin!
As if he had heard Arthur's thoughts, Merlin's eyes flicked over to meet Arthur's, and Merlin gave him a tiny, crooked, almost wicked smile, as if to say look what I can do. There was no reason it should have made Arthur's heart speed up, or made him grip his glass of lemonade tightly to himself, and yet it did. It was strange, magical displays were a regular part of many balls - part of the reason his father avoided them so stringently unless he felt Morgana and Arthur could not be trusted to conduct themselves reasonably well on their own. Uther may have been able to trivialize magic down to a common parlor amusement that showed a modicum of talent and accomplishment, akin to a girl singing an Italian aria for doting cousins and potential suitors, but he could not eliminate magic any further, any more than he could eliminate all music. Arthur had never given the idea much thought. It was the way things were, after all, and all magic he had seen performed before had been just as dull as when groups of simpering girls sang in mangled French along to a slightly out-of-tune pianoforte. It was something to be borne as part of going to a ball, seeing an older man, usually in shabby, once-fashionable clothes do little magic tricks such as weaving ribbons through the air, usually with a sour look on his face that said quite clearly he remembered a time he was able to move mountains, and greatly resented being reduced to this. He had never cared for it or been particularly intrigued by it, even when the display was put on by several young, beautiful ladies as a show of accomplishment. It had been no more interesting to him than watching them watercolor, or embroider, or whatever it was that young women took into their heads made them more attractive prospects to men.
But to say that they were doing magic as Merlin was doing magic was insulting to Merlin. He was not performing magic, he was magic. He did not even have to mutter words and yet had seamlessly floated a small silver basin of water above the ball of flame, and was manipulating it into a Noah’s Ark of animals that twisted and jumped and ran and galloped as though they were the real things. Arthur had of course known Merlin was powerful - Merlin said it often enough. And besides that, there was just something a little off about Merlin, something that, if you concentrated on it enough, made your hair stand on end. Arthur had always assumed that sense was magic, even though exposure to any other magic, no matter how powerful, sparked no strange reaction in him. But for some reason Merlin's particular brand of enchantment, he surmised, was something he could feel. And oh, how correct he was. That sense was pouring off Merlin now, the room positively reeked of it. It was as though Merlin were not human at all, but an otherworldly creature that floated through the mist to them, and it made Arthur shiver. Watching Merlin do magic was rather more like watching a force of nature, a thunderstorm, a sunset over the ocean. It was powerful and wonderful and terrible and so, so good and lovely. In fact, Arthur realized in shock, it was the loveliest thing he'd ever seen or felt.
Merlin's voice broke through his thoughts, murmuring " Fiat " so quietly that, had the room not been utterly silent, Arthur would not have heard him. The menagerie of animals popped and the steam all rained back into the basin, which was followed by a polite smattering of applause. Clearly, everyone else believed this was the end of the show and Arthur quite agreed with them until Merlin caught his eye again and gave Arthur an impish little wink.
Instantly, a jolt of heat went through Arthur as though he had been struck by lightning. In a blink of an eye, his throat had closed up, his cheeks were burning, and he yearned in the pit of his stomach so deeply for Merlin he thought a spell must have been cast on him, only he knew that was impossible. Had Merlin and Morgana not just explained to him that manipulation of human emotions was impossible without great workings? Not even Merlin would be brash enough to perform a great working in a crowd that contained Uther Pendragon. Yet something about that wink made several pieces tumble into place neatly in Arthur's brain - the fond looks, the warmth he felt towards Merlin, how beautiful he often thought Merlin was, the longing to be near him at all times, how deeply he yearned for Merlin's touch, deep enough to shove him and prod him like a schoolboy seeking favor by dipping a girl's pigtails in an inkwell. He was… besotted with Merlin. But no, he realized as Merlin began what was clearly the second act, horses conjured from the same steam racing in a passable imitation of the Ascot. If it was simple infatuation, should it not have burned out? Wouldn't he, a man who had felt infatuation so often, have recognized the symptoms?
Arthur, from a very young age, had known that one was never to give away part of themselves to another person. Oh, you could love people, as his father loved him and Morgana, but you could not need them. It was a rule he had never broken, through all the various near-engagements he had been entangled in. He had mourned, yes, when each one failed, but not because of who was involved. Sophia and Vivian were simply the best choices in a bad situation, and so he had mourned that if he could not have them, when they were at least bearable, what kind of monster would he be forced to wed? With Guinevere he had mourned the loss of a deeply romantic dream that had seized him, a dream that he could devote himself to her, become great in her name as his father had become in his mother's, but to mourn her, when she would remain his friend, had seemed ridiculous. But with Merlin… Arthur tried to imagine being denied, tried to imagine returning just to long walks filled with conversation and laughter, and the thought broke his heart. It was not enough, as it had been with any of the other girls. It would do, but it would never fill that hole in his chest that had been steadily growing and growing, shaped so only Merlin could fill it, would never placate that strange hunger he had felt growing for the last few months to be around Merlin at all times, to watch him and be close to him and look upon him as often as possible.
What he felt looking at Merlin now was nothing like what he had felt looking at Guinevere, or Vivian, or Sophia - that thrill in his chest and simple need to tend to them. What he felt was far deeper, suffusing every aspect of his being. He wanted Merlin, wanted him in every sense of the word. He wanted those long, elegant fingers to be wrapped around his, wanted to feel them touch his face, wanted to kiss each one until Merlin blushed. He adored terrible things about Merlin, stupid things about Merlin, from his nut aversion to his always-askew bowler hat. He wanted to be around Merlin even when he was ill, or in a foul mood, or unshaven and looking like the very worst of himself. Merlin made him want to change things, do things, to become a better man. Not as Guinevere had, where he felt he had to do such things to deserve her, but because Merlin simply made him feel as though he could, as though being great was what Arthur was meant for all along, and Merlin had only helped him discover it. Merlin was goodness and rightness and home in one strangely lovely package, and it took all of Arthur's will not to burst through the crowd and embrace Merlin then and there, to shout to the still-transfixed room to stop looking, that Merlin was his.
It was lucky, then, that Merlin's display had since come to an end in the time Arthur had come to his revelation and still stood, frozen in place, and that Merlin had disappeared in the crowd and probably quit the ball, his work for the evening done. Arthur managed to dance a few times under his father's foreboding eye with some girls he forgot the second he was done with them, and he was certain he'd engaged in a few inane conversations, though on what subject, he could not stay. His thoughts were still in a giddy whirl, picking up little pieces that had not made sense for so long, little details stored in Arthur's brain with no context before now, so all he could remember of that time was thinking of Merlin, only Merlin, nothing but Merlin.
Arthur was still in deep reflection as he took the quiet hansom ride home, Uther was silent as always and Morgana fighting valiantly to remain awake and not let out great, unladylike yawns. Now that he was quite sure that he loved Merlin, Arthur realized, it was only prudent to consider companionship with the man. It was not as good as marriage, of course, though it was in essence the same thing. Merlin, if Arthur chose to wed himself to him (and what a thrilling thought that was!) would be as legally recognized as his as any woman Arthur married would be. They could not get married in a church, of course - couplings of two members of the same sex was as frowned upon as magic was - but churches disapproved of a great number of things, most of which were, as far as public opinion was concerned, utterly silly, and though piety and faith were considered desirable traits, a strong morality was the most important thing of all, and it was recognized with a rueful inclination of society's head that perhaps, if the church was so eager to denounce magic as utterly impossible, (which was as ridiculous as denouncing the sky for being blue), perhaps they should not be the final say on all that was good and bad.
Though Uther quite agreed with church's stance on magic, Arthur had never been raised religious, as Uther found it impossible to keep any faith after the death of Arthur's mother. It was unlikely, therefore, that Uther would argue against the marriage on religious grounds. It would, perhaps, cause a minor scandal, as it had when the Baroness Braye, the most eligible lady of the last season, had become betrothed to her lady-in-waiting (confirming years worth of back-room whisperings) and retired to her estate at Stanford Park, but good blood was good blood, and if it was a union that would produce no legitimate heirs and thus be considered to taint the aristocracy, as companionship was, there was little society could do but wag their tongues until something far more scandalous came along, most likely in the next week or so.
Uther would no doubt disapprove of Arthur's choice in Merlin, even more vehemently than he had approved of any of Arthur's choices, but this time, Arthur did not feel cowed by that, which only proved how terrifyingly deep his feelings had become without his realizing it. It would be an unconventional match, to be sure, and it would cause a great deal of talk and scandal, but what did Arthur care of that? What did Uther, who avoided society except for when it suited him, care for that? Morgana certainly didn't care, that was sure. Uther had been needling him to get married, after all, and Arthur had selected someone who, he felt, he could love, really, truly love, just as his father had loved his mother. Surely his father would understand, approve, even. Uther could hardly disown Arthur for following in his own footsteps.
Besides, Arthur thought as he readied himself for bed later, he was a Pendragon. Pendragons, his father had told him from a very young age, did not care for public opinion. Pendragons did not care for consequences. Pendragons did what was right. Well, Arthur wished to marry Merlin - wanted it more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. The only question he still had was if Merlin would have him. If he would (and Arthur could hardly bear to think of such a lovely possibility), then there was nothing more right, more perfect, than having Merlin as his. If Merlin returned his affections, Arthur decided as he lay down to sleep that night, if Merlin loved Arthur as Arthur loved him, there could be nothing to stop them. The world would be theirs.
- - -
In light of his recent emotional revelation, Arthur was keener than ever to continue his walks with Merlin. The weather, however, seemed to have other plans, sending in roiling thunderstorms. Merlin had never been deterred by weather before, perfectly content to mutter an enlargement charm on Gaius' old umbrella so they could both fit under it without being uncomfortably claustrophobic and trek through all sorts of precipitation, but he drew the line at thunder and lightning.
"You may be content to bandy about," he informed Arthur tartly, flattening against the alleyway outside like a scared cat, "but I'll go no further."
"I never pegged you for a shrinking violet," Arthur snorted, holding the paper above his head instead of the umbrella Merlin was clutching to his chest.
"One year, back in Camarthan, lightening struck one of our cows dead," Merlin said darkly. "I was ten feet away from her waiting it out in the shed. She probably thought she was being unaccountably brave as well, wandering through an open field in the middle of a storm."
"Well, Farmer Merlin," Arthur sighed, coming back under the overhang. "Where do you suggest we go?"
"Museum?" Merlin's eyes lit up. "Oh, I reckon your title could get us into some exclusive magical libraries I've been dying to peruse..."
Arthur frowned. He intended to court Merlin, to determine if Merlin returned his affection, not to lose Merlin in esoteric pursuits. "And you thought this would interest me?"
"I hoped I could convince you," Merlin said wistfully. "What do you suggest, you uncultured clod?"
Arthur thought for a moment. "I'm hungry," he finally declared. "Come along, Merlin, and for the love of God, bring that umbrella with you."
"What - where are we - Arthur!" Merlin hurried after Arthur's purposeful gait southwards, nattering like an angry fishwife the entire time about how close they were getting to the park, and hadn't Arthur heard the story about the cow? He only was silenced when Arthur turned on to Pall Mall and walked up the steps to the United University Club. Merlin, however, stood at the bottom of the stairs, gaping.
"Well?" Arthur asked. "Are you coming? I could use a spot of tea and I shall never enjoy it if I know you're out here gawping and catching pneumonia."
"Arthur," Merlin said helplessly, "we're at a club on Pall Mall and you're telling me to come in with you?"
"What, do you think they'll judge you for wearing last season's fashions?" Arthur asked. "Because I assure you, that is the least of your concerns."
"Arthur!"
"Merlin," Arthur sighed. "You are with me. You could be dressed in tatters and they would let you in, no question. Now do you want some tea and cakes or do you want to stand out in the rain like a beggar?"
Groaning and grumbling, Merlin followed him indoors. "You're all wet," he muttered to Arthur when they got indoors and the doorman took their hats without a blink.
"Yes, I seem to get unfortunately soggy in your presence quite often," Arthur sighed. "Do you make a habit of drenching all of your acquaintances?"
"I suppose you're special like that," Merlin laughed, and gestured at him absently. "Afierran wæter."
"Ah, yes, I forgot you made up for that particular inconvenience. Shall we?"
It was quite crowded in the common area. Evidently, Arthur was not the only one who had been caught in the rain, because a good number of men looked exactly as drowned as Arthur had before Merlin dried him off. Sadly, the crowd meant there were the club members Arthur wished to avoid. He was pleased, however, to see Gawain and Leon in their usual alcove, chatting while Leon puffed away at his beloved pipe. Merlin dragged his feet as Arthur ushered him over, looking even paler than usual.
"Hello, boys," Arthur said cheerily, interrupting Gawain's prattle on the last boxing match he'd attended. "Got caught in the storm while I was on a walk with a friend so I thought we'd drop by for a spot of refuge."
"Good lord, you idiot, you were trying to walk in that?" Gawain asked, turning around and grinning hello. He looked as rakish as ever, burnished copper curls falling in their usual Byronic manner.
"Obviously not, or otherwise he wouldn't be here," Leon said calmly, standing to shake Merlin's hand. "I'm sorry for this clod's poor manners. I'm Leon Isherwood, Arthur's friend from Oxford."
"Merlin Emrys," Merlin mumbled shyly.
"Oh, I know you!" Gawain exclaimed in his usual exuberant Scottish brogue. It wasn't until Merlin gawped at Gawain that Arthur thought he might have done well to warn him - he was used to Gawain, having grown up with him and his brothers, but he could be a bit much. "I thought I recognized you. You're a professional magician at balls aren't you? Bloody good show - best I've seen in ages."
"And this uncultured lout is my cousin Gawain," Arthur interrupted smoothly before Merlin's eyes got so wide they nearly popped out of his skull. "Heir to the Earldom of Orkney."
"You're the cousin of an earl?!" Merlin whisper-screeched. His eyes hadn't gotten any better. "Why didn't you tell me? All this time I thought you and your father only had delusions of grandeur!"
At his outburst, Gawain and Leon both broke into laughter. Leon had the good grace to muffle it after the first surprised bark, but Gawain's chuckle was unabashedly boisterous.
"Oh I do like this one, Arthur. I've long suspected you had some hidden ability to make delightful friends besides Leon over here, and you do know I love being right. Sit, sit! Do you smoke, Emrys?"
"Ah, no thank you," Merlin blushed, fiddling with his father's cufflinks. Arthur was pleased to note that the free chair offered to him was next to Merlin, he feared Merlin would fly to nervous pieces were he not there to directly supervise. "And its Merlin, please, I mostly use my surname for stage work - sounds very mystical, you know."
"It does, it does," Gawain took out his clay pipe and lit it with a match. "So, Arthur, how'd you meet Merlin here?"
"Morgana's taking lessons with his, well," Arthur turned to Merlin. "You never have explained Gaius' relation to you."
"My mum's favorite cousin -" Merlin said before Leon cut in.
"Doctor Gaius?" He said eagerly. "You work for him? The man's fantastic."
"You know him?" All the tension in Merlin's body immediately melted at the opportunity to brag about someone else. Typical Arthur thought fondly, waving over a maid to ask for a plate of cakes and a pot of fresh tea.
"...my eldest, Isabelle, had a terrible whooping cough last winter," Leon was saying. "My wife was at her wit's end until a nursemaid of ours recommended him. I've read his work, too, fascinating stuff. I'm quite interested in magic's effect on respiratory inflammation as we suffer it quite often at my father's mills and the loss rate of workers is simply inhumane..."
Arthur was quite content to sit back and watch Leon and Merlin passionately discuss worker's rights and improvement of conditions (something, Arthur had learned the hard way, both of them could prattle on about for hours), but Gawain made a small noise in the back of his throat and leaned forward, clearly indicating that he wished to discuss something privately with Arthur.
"Morgana's got magic, hasn't she?" Gawain asked Arthur in a low voice. "That's why she's taking lessons?"
"How did you know?" Arthur hissed.
"Mum," Gawain said simply, and Arthur nodded and let out a small sigh. His aunt Anna had always had a small, non-threatening bit of magic, the kind that helped locate a lost earring or keep buttons from popping off waistcoats, but her most infuriating talent by far (especially to Arthur and Gawain as children) was her ability to know things, particularly those that they tried to hide the most. Arthur had known, even as a child, to keep such a talent hidden from his father, or he would never be able to visit with his cousins again. "She's always thought so, I used to overhear her arguing with Da if she should speak up to Uther or not every time Morgana came over and had her nightmare fits."
"Father thinks she's simply gained a new appreciation for bandying about town, and I'm playing the part of the doting chaperon," Arthur murmured. "So it goes without saying that if you mention a thing to my father I'll tell your mother exactly what you did to her pet Spaniel that made him so afraid of stairs."
Gawain gave Arthur the crooked grin that used to get Arthur into so very much trouble as a child and, Arthur was sure, was largely responsible for Gawain's well-earned reputation as an incorrigible flirt. "You know I always like to encourage a good bit of reckless disobedience," he said innocently. "Morgana hasn't indulged this thoroughly since she followed us around that Christmas and made us teach her how to shoot and swear. I say she's earned her freedom."
"I think Father learning about this is a good deal more dangerous than when she had a loaded gun," Arthur said sourly, leaning back and settling more deeply in his chair. He shot a quick glance over at Merlin to see if he needed Arthur's assistance in any way, but Merlin and Leon were still going at it, nodding and gesturing expansively. Arthur allowed himself a small smile.
"I can't decide which is more dangerous," Gawain said in the same low tone meant only for Arthur. "Your father learning Morgana's taking magic lessons, or him learning that not only are you aiding and abetting, but you've gone and become infatuated with a magician yourself."
Arthur whipped his head around and glared at Gawain, who could not have looked more smugly pleased with himself if he were the proverbial cat who ate the canary. He suddenly remembered why he'd been avoiding the club and why, sometimes, he really and truly wished to wring Gawain's neck. "If you speak a word..." he threatened, but Gawain chuckled and held up his hands in mock-surrender.
"My lips are sealed," he swore. "You know, Gaheris has just got engaged."
"Has he?" Arthur asked mildly. He wasn't quite sure what prompted the sudden change in subject, but with Gawain it was often better not to ask what went on in that mind of his. "Congratulations."
"Sister of Gareth's wife," Gawain went on. "No surprise there - those two couldn't sneeze without the other - but I like her. You've met her at the wedding, I think, Lynette?"
"Lively girl?" Arthur asked, trying to recall. "Dark blond hair, nearly as many freckles as you?"
"That's the one," Gawain nodded. "We thought she was nursing a flame for Gareth for the longest time, but it turns out she was waiting on Gaheris to make his move. She really brings out the best of him, makes him grow a bit of a spine instead of running around trying to make everyone else happy."
"Good," Arthur said absently, glancing over at Merlin again, who was now drawing something on a scrap of paper for a fascinated Leon. Gawain had three brothers and each of them had been strictly confined to their roles for as long as Arthur could remember -Gawain the Troublemaker, Agravaine the Whiner, Gareth the Perfect, and Gaheris the Pushover and Peacemaker. It was nice that Gaheris got to grow out of that role a bit, step out from Gareth's shadow where he liked to hide.
"...planning on taking a very long honeymoon on the continent," Gawain was saying, and Arthur forced his attention back to him. Morgana would want to hear the family news and it would make a good story to relate to his father when he asked what they'd done with their day. "Lynette really wants to devote herself to study."
"Study of what?" Arthur asked.
"Oh, this, that," Gawain shrugged. "History. Philosophy. Mostly magic. She's very powerful."
Arthur narrowed his eyes. He suddenly understood exactly why Gawain had so abruptly switched to this story, the bastard. "Really," he said, keeping his tone perfectly flat and neutral. "I'll leave that part out when my father asks."
"I don't see why you should," Gawain said, affecting the same falsely neutral tone as Arthur. "After all, you should soften the blow if you're going to be marrying a great magician yourself..."
"Keep your voice down!" Arthur hissed, leaning forward and glaring at Gawain. "That's completely out of line, Gawain."
"Not with the way you keep looking at him."
"I just," Arthur said helplessly, fiddling with is hands instead of casting another comforting glance at Merlin. "Look, I've never... it's never been a man before. It's all very new and strange, and I only realized maybe a week ago. I still don't even know if he feels the same way, so could you please... refrain? The idea of marriage is very premature until I've at least an inkling of his emotions."
Gawain gave Arthur a fond smile before he leaned forward and ruffled his hair like they were children again. "Have it your way, Arthur. But with you, bringing up the subject of marriage is never premature."
"Ha bloody ha," Arthur bit out. Thankfully, the maid chose that moment to arrive with a tray of tea and cakes (and, Arthur noted with no small amount of glee, seasonal cut fruit), which effectively put an end to the two tête-à-têtes that were taking place as everyone leaned forward to serve themselves. Seamlessly, when offered the plate, Merlin prepared Arthur's tea (milk, no sugar) along with his own (no milk, an appalling amount of sugar) while Arthur divided the remaining cakes.
"Why didn't you give me the chocolate one?" Merlin asked, his brows drawing together.
"It has a caramel-nut center," Arthur said, taking a bite and showing Merlin. "See?"
Merlin gave a very put-out sniff. "Waste of perfectly good chocolate cake," he said stiffly.
"That's why you have me to tell you these things," Arthur said thickly around the cake and then glared at Leon and Gawain, who were both looking at them oddly. Leon, at least, looked fond. Gawain looked like he was stocking up on ammunition. "What? He hates nuts. I tried offering him a few of my roast chestnuts once and you'd have thought I was poisoning him. Don't take those." He slapped at Merlin, who was sneaking a few of the thin chocolate-coated biscuits to his plate. "I divided those equally, you fiend."
"Yes, but then you got a disproportionate amount of chocolate because that cake had nuts!"
"But you have more sugar in your tea than is in all of these sweets combined. And why are you stealing my strawberries?" Arthur was aware that he was creating a minor scene with his bickering and was giving Gawain entirely too much to tease him about later, and that if he was setting about to woo Merlin this was not the optimal way to do so, but biscuits were a matter of principle.
"I like strawberries."
"Merlin, Arthur," Leon cut in smoothly, before the squabble could escalate to something the entire room would notice, "I had been meaning to ask you - did you read the editorial on railroad expansion?"
"Oh," Merlin blushed. "I may have given you the wrong impression - I'm afraid I only was knowledgeable in regards to our previous discussion because of my first-hand experience with curing respiratory illness. I'm hardly educated or political."
"It's quite alright, Merlin," Arthur said soothingly. He made a movement to pat Merlin's knee before he realized Gawain was still watching the two of them with unabashed glee and instead changed the gesture into wiping his hand off on the napkin resting on his leg. "You needn't feel as though we've a standard for you to live up to. Gawain's only purpose is to be moderately attractive, and we manage to tolerate him anyway."
"Cheers," Gawain said, raising his teacup before taking a sip.
- - -
There was precious little that could tear Morgana from her magic lessons, but if there was one person who could achieve it, it was Guinevere. Especially with her approaching wedding, Gwen only had to say the word to her maid of honor and Morgana rushed to her side. Arthur often bitterly wished he had such a power over Morgana, for she was growing more difficult the more powerful she became. He had recently complained to Merlin that he worried his father may be cottoning on to Morgana's secret lessons because her devotion to studying had become near-maniacal. He suspected Merlin had relayed such concerns to Gwen, because she had insisted the four of them take a long stroll about the botanical gardens. Morgana had been reluctant, but Gwen had claimed she needed a break from wedding planning and sewing before she went mad, and Merlin had promised to quiz her on any notable flowers they passed, and thus the trip was approved by Gaius and then agreed to by Morgana as a sort of working bit of leisure.
"You aren't really overwrought, are you?" Arthur whispered to Guinevere as Morgana and Merlin exclaimed over a particularly beautiful patch of nasturtium.
"Not at all," Gwen said cheerfully, twirling her parasol. "I've never had such fun. I get to plan everything exactly as I wish it. And everyone is so eager to cater to me, as well! They seem to think I shall have a nervous breakdown if not handled with kid gloves."
"So then marriage is all they say and more?" Arthur asked, smiling down at her. Happiness had always suited Guinevere so.
"I am not married yet," Gwen laughed. "I shall tell you when I am. But I suspect it shall be lovely."
"What shall be lovely?" Morgana asked. She had cheekily picked two small sprays of baby's breath, one tucked in her hair, and one she put behind Guinevere's ear before they linked arms.
"Marriage," Gwen sighed.
"Oh, good lord," Morgana rolled her eyes. "That dreaded institution. Are you sure you don't wish me to make the entire thing go away for you, dearest?"
"Heavens no!" Gwen's laugh was gay and delighted. "One day you shall understand Morgana. Marriage is the loveliest thing in the world."
Morgana made a face and turned to Merlin, who was keeping himself removed from the entire argument. "Merlin!" She exclaimed imperiously. "Side with me - we are discussing marriage and I cannot trust Arthur at all to be properly disdainful on this subject. He's quite enamored with the whole blasted concept."
Merlin looked up from the roses he was sniffing and gave a small grin. "I'm afraid I cannot," he said gently. "I was engaged once myself, but she passed before we were wed. I agree with Gwen - with the right person, marriage can be the loveliest thing in the world."
"On no!" Gwen's merriment instantly melted away into pure sympathy. "Merlin, I never knew!"
"It was a year and a half before I met you," Merlin shrugged. "I was well out of black gloves. It was why I moved to London - my mourning was up and I needed to get away, move on with my life." His eyes were solemn and burning into Arthur, who felt abruptly very warm, and wished to make a quite unmanly mad dash to the door of the greenhouse.
"Can you tell us about her?" Gwen asked softly.
"Her name was Freya," Merlin said, his eyes going soft in remembrance. Arthur had to clutch his hands in his pockets to keep himself from slapping Merlin out of some reverie over a long-gone woman he was quite irrationally jealous of already. "She was very lovely, always very frail. She caught consumption and died within a month."
Even Morgana seemed moved enough to lay her hand on Merlin's arm as a gesture of comfort. "I'm sorry," she murmured. Merlin shrugged.
"Thank you, Morgana, but I'm quite at peace with it now, I assure you. She's in a better place." The answer seemed to placate Morgana and Gwen, who soon got distracted by lilacs that an old man was puttering over that Gwen insisted had to be in her bouquet, they were just too lovely not to be. Lilacs, Arthur knew, were quite out of season, but so were half the flowers in the botanical garden, and he had no doubt something slightly supernatural kept them blooming. Instead of rushing ahead with the girls, babbling about colors and ribbons, he and Merlin hung back, meandering at a sedate pace.
"Do you still love her?" Arthur asked finally.
Merlin smiled. "Who, Freya? No. Why, do you still love Guinevere?"
"That's different and you know it," Arthur protested. "But my father never, not after my mother..."
"Ah, yes, your father." Merlin nodded to himself absently. "No, we're quite different men, your father and I. As a boy, I loved Freya with everything in me, it's true. She was... she was a very delicate child. Always ill with this or that. I fancied myself her protector, her knight in shining armor. I learned the candle trick for her, you know," he gestured, "the floating flames you've seen me do at balls - I used to use that to entertain her while she was kept abed. We were childhood sweethearts and I used to think my actions alone would save the world in her honor. It's a heady sort of love for a young boy, to be sure."
"Of course," Arthur nodded. He had felt similarly about Guinevere when he loved her. She was so sweet, so gentle, so passionate in the face of suffering. She had changed him for the better, made him see the destitute on the street and wishing to help them instead of passing them by as he used to, and a part of him that was still the spoiled, bratty lad fresh out of Oxford would always adore her for that, wish to throw himself at her feet and beg for her favor.
"But I'm not a boy any longer," Merlin went on quietly. "I suppose the part of me that is always a boy will always love her. And if she had lived, if I had stayed that boy back in Camarthan, I have no doubt that I would still love her. But if she came back today and I knew her now as who I am, as the man who has grown, whose home is London? No. That man's heart is... not hers."
"I'm glad," Arthur blurted out, and then immediately regretted it. Merlin had just looked so stormy, so pensive, he had felt the sudden irrepressible desire to make him smile again, be Merlin again. "I mean to say, not that she died. I'm sure that was terrible. I simply mean... I mean I am glad you're not like my father. In so very many ways. That is, that your heart isn't..." He coughed and looked down at his shoes. "I'm glad you're here," he finished lamely. "I'm glad you're my sort of Merlin."
Merlin smiled at that, so sweetly Arthur's heart lodged somewhere in his throat when he rested his hand on Arthur's shoulder. "As am I, dear man," Merlin said. His voice sounded hoarse, choked with a slight emotion Arthur could not identify. "You have no idea how very much."
"Merlin, I - " Arthur began desperately, but he was cut off by Guinevere.
"Merlin!" She called. "Merlin, could you come here, please, this gentleman says he has a spell for producing lilacs out of season."
"Duty calls," Merlin smiled, squeezing Arthur's shoulder. "Was it something terribly important?"
"No," Arthur said. He tried for a smile of his own but knew it fell terribly short. "Go on, the queen of the day has summoned you."
"Yes, sire," Merlin said, bowing ironically, and as he walked farther away, the yawning hole in Arthur's heart that Merlin filled when he was next to him seemed to grow, wider and wider.
- - -
Morgana was suspiciously silent on the drive back from the gardens, her eyes narrowed and fixed on Arthur in a manner eerily reminiscent of a bird of prey who had spotted a particularly plump mouse.
"You and Merlin are close," she said finally in a tone that would have passed for casual had she not been for the fact that she had been scrutinizing Arthur for a quarter of an hour.
"Yes," Arthur agreed, deciding it was safest to remain as light and falsely casual as Morgana, lest he be trapped in some rhetorical hole. Morgana's brows drew together, clearly irritated that Arthur was choosing, for once in his life, not to engage with her.
"And how long, exactly, were you going to go on being so helplessly besotted without telling me?" She demanded, and Arthur blinked, taken aback. He had not anticipated her going in for the kill directly with such speed.
"I'm quite certain I have no idea what you mean," he said blandly.
"Oh, come off it." Morgana snorted, rude and unladylike. "You were mooning after him so obviously even Guinevere noticed enough to ask me about it."
"Oh," said Arthur, dismayed. That was no doubt something that put both women in an uncomfortable position - Morgana, for being kept in the dark, and, more importantly, Guinevere, who was forced to watch his rather unsubtle adoration for someone else. (Though he had been quite supportive of Guinevere and Lancelot, so he supposed it was his due.) "Well, er, it only has been a few weeks."
"You are incorrigible," Morgana sighed. "You really cannot bear not to be in love!"
Arthur thought that quite unfair. He had not been entangled with anyone since Vivian, and that was nearly two years ago. Morgana had of course spent the subsequent time accusing him of being on the verge of proposing to this woman or that one, but he had assumed she was mocking him, as opposed to actually believing what she was saying. Still, that was irrelevant at this juncture. "Merlin is different," he said instead.
"Oh good," Morgana shot back scathingly, "you have noticed the physiological differences."
"In regards to my feelings," Arthur corrected her. "I am being cautious, moving slowly. Assessing the state of Merlin's heart before I risk my own."
Morgana raised one perfectly arched eyebrow. "This is your idea of subtle?" She asked archly. "Watching him like a lovesick schoolgirl? Taking him out to dinner at fine establishments?"
"Gawain and Leon were to come as well!" Arthur protested. They were. He was not to blame if Leon and his wife, unbeknownst to him, already had seats for the opera, or that Gawain, in what Arthur suspected was more mockery than genuine kindness, had said he could not possibly, not when Merlin and Arthur so clearly needed to be alone together. That Arthur came back from that night's dinner quite pleased, or that he and Merlin had sat quite closely that entire night, bumping their knees companionably, or that Merlin had no eyes for the kitchen maid who often poked her head out of the kitchen to blush and twitter and make eyes at him, or that instead of acknowledging her when she sent out their pudding on the house, Merlin had ignored her in favor of dueling with Arthur, spoons clacking as they fought over the last of the fruit and cream, was nothing Gawain - or Morgana, for that matter - needed to know.
"You shouldn't take risks, Arthur," Morgana admonished. Arthur opened his mouth to protest her meddling, but then a horrible thought overcame him.
"You haven't been... having visions about Merlin and I, have you?" He asked suspiciously. Morgana instantly looked revolted at the very thought.
"Heavens, no!" She exclaimed. "As if I would want to see you...! Ugh! No!"
"Then I don't see your reason to stick your nose where it doesn't belong," Arthur said, crossing his arms. "I can tend to my own heart, thank you very much."
Morgana gave him a deeply pitying look. "It isn't the state of your heart that worries me," she said cryptically, and before Arthur could force her to explain what she meant by that, exactly, they were back home, and she would speak on the subject no more.
- - -
Part 3