Drawn To Any Good (Or, The Education of Lord Arthur Pendragon) - Part 3/7
Part Two
- - -
Of all the balls and informal drums of the season, the height (for those who could not gain access to a royal event, in any case) was Lady Shrewsbury's annual themed masque. The selected theme of the year was "A Midsummer Night's Dream", which caused Morgana no small amount of grief.
"Is this in reference to the play, or are we all in a dream?" She constantly badgered Arthur. "Furthermore, what does one look like when they are in a dream? I have to assume it's the play, which makes no sense as it's not midsummer, but the play doesn't even suggest a costume since there's no given setting. I do believe this is the very worst theme that woman and her idiotic daughters have ever come up with, and that includes last year's theme of 'Nautical Majesty' where everyone went around trying to look attractive dressed as fish."
"Save me," Arthur implored Merlin pathetically. They were all at the park, circumspectly dipping their bare feet in the pond. Gaius had been called away abruptly to deliver a pair of twins he'd had reason to believe would both come out breech, bequeathing the responsibility of teaching lessons to Merlin, who had quickly determined a stuffy attic room on a warm August day was no place to learn. They had packed up a picnic as well as several books (all of which Merlin and Morgana had made Arthur carry) and headed to the park, hidden under the usual willow tree. Morgana, however, seemed to for once have something other than magic on her mind.
Instead of turning Morgana's attention back to the spell for summoning small objects, Merlin bit into an apple and said, "Lady Shrewsbury intends it to be a bit of a festival a la grecque."
"How on earth do you know that?" Arthur asked, propping himself up on his elbows from where he was lying in the grass.
"She hired me," Merlin said, as if being hired for the most prestigious event of the season were as mundane as darning one's socks.
"And when did you plan on telling me?" Arthur demanded. "Before or after I caught you sneaking around at the ball and nearly threw you out?"
Merlin rolled his eyes. "Don't be a horse's arse, Arthur, I only just learned yesterday. I would have told you, but then, you know, babies and picnics and things."
"Hmph," Arthur sniffed, flopping back down in the cool grass while Morgana clapped her hands.
"That's excellent. Not only for you, of course, but now you shall save me from repeating last year's fiasco where I tried for a mermaid and ended up looking something dragged up in a fisherman's net."
"She did," Arthur added. "I, on the other hand, made a very dashing sailor."
"Regardless of last year's tomfoolery," Merlin cut in before Morgana and Arthur could degenerate into squabbling, "this year we are to resemble Titania and Oberon's court. The esteemed lady and her husband will be starring as Titania and Oberon, naturally, and I was hired specifically because she heard I was..." Merlin's face twisted slightly, "...Puckish."
"I've been saying that for ages," Arthur sighed. "Only when I say that, the words I use are 'a hapless bohemian and reprobate'."
Morgana shot him a cutting look before turning to Merlin. "I think you'll make a perfect Puck," she said bracingly. "And that can't be the only reason she hired you - she wouldn't have called for your services if you hadn't had such a magnificent season with so many good recommendations."
"Thank you, Morgana," Merlin smiled.
"Now," Morgana said, back to all business. "Do you know what Lady Shrewsbury's daughters are wearing? They always plan the theme because they have already selected the perfect costumes, and if I spend one more year playing second fiddle to that absolutely horrid Caroline while she smugly twitters on about how I shouldn't worry because what's truly important to a good marriage isn't looks but the size of one's dowry I shall lose my temper and dunk her head in the punchbowl this year, I absolutely shall..."
For the next ten days Arthur heard of nothing but the thrice-bedamned masque. Despite his pleading with Morgana that really, he'd rather hear about her progress with moving objects across rooms in extensive detail, she only spoke to him to ask his opinion on dress alterations or flowers or other such feminine nonsense. Merlin was completely absent; Arthur only caught glimpses of his apologetic smile before he rushed off to Golden Square to coax certain flowers into bloom or adjusted the fairy lights or whatever he did. Even at the club, all the men would do was complain about the upcoming masque and how little they saw their ladies while somberly puffing on cigars. Arthur began to count down the days to the ball because then it would be another blessed year before he had to put up with such a fuss again or hear Morgana suggest for the billionth time that he go as Bottom because it wouldn't be that far of a stretch to make his face look like an ass.
Finally, the night of the ball arrived, leaving Arthur in his usual position of waiting at the bottom of the stairs for Morgana to make her overly-dramatic entrance. His father had pleaded out of this masque as it required him to leave his uniform of somber black suits. This left Arthur bored while Morgana did... whatever she did, feeling utterly ridiculous without an overcoat and with a laurel wreath sitting on his head like he was a Roman bust. He was just about to leave and tell Morgana to find her own damn way to the masque when she came around the corner and descended down the stairs holding herself as if she were a queen.
"God have mercy," he choked out. Morgana had taken a reddish-bronze dress he vaguely remembered her wearing last season and altered the top so that instead of covering her up sensibly as it once had, it draped in a Grecian style that left her arms completely bare and showed off a gold band that wrapped around her upper arm like a snake. Her hair hung loose, only minimally pinned back to show her face (which, dear God, she'd painted like she was some sort of common tart), and poppies were nestled between the thick black waves. "Are you quite set on ruining yourself completely? Has Father seen this?"
"I checked in with him in his study," Morgana informed him tartly. "He was a gentleman and told me how lovely I looked."
"For a street walker," Arthur muttered.
"I know how to give you very uncomfortable and unsightly sores," was all Morgana said before she swept out into the waiting carriage.
Arthur had to admit, upon arrival to the Shrewsbury estate, that Merlin had really done a superb job with the place. It was transformed completely from a regular hall to a forest glade fit for a bacchanal. Someone had brought in small potted trees to line the walls, and Merlin (he assumed it was Merlin, at any rate) had grown magical grapevines in the gaps, reaching out like curious hands. Plump, juicy grapes hung heavy on the vines. It was as if the vines were growing at a fast-forwarded rate - every time a bunch was picked they'd wither and another would grow back in its place, just as full of fruit. Instead of the usual cucumber sandwiches and crumbly shortbread, the tables were weighed down with bowls of fruit and olives. Fairy lights floated like stars above them, and floral-scented breezes wafted from the abundant bouquets, as fresh as if they had been picked seconds ago. Nearly instantly, Arthur lost Morgana in a herd of giggling girls who, he was amused to note, were dressed in a similar fashion as her. Most were more modest, of course, but there were quite a few who showed so much flesh it made Arthur downright uncomfortable. When a few of the girls began to group and stare at him suspiciously, Arthur quickly fled to find Gawain, who was cheerfully sipping on his punch. He was dressed in the same manner as Arthur, though his clothes were all sage green and brown - earthy colors that suited him and the theme, but would have made Arthur look nauseous - and he was wearing a wreath of what looked like long, braided willow switches.
"By God, this party's good entertainment," he said merrily, clapping Arthur on the back so hard that Arthur's laurels nearly went flying. "Never let your father talk you into attending a royal event. The new queen's shy as all hell and her maids are even worse. It's too bad you don't appreciate the female form like I do, Arthur, because there's a veritable feast tonight."
"No one appreciates the female form like you do," Arthur said dryly.
"Ah, now that's the truth," Gawain nodded. "So who fits your fancy tonight? Morgana's looking fine as always."
"If by 'fine' you mean 'a flesh-eating harpy'."
"Hm, true," Gawain nodded. "And it does border on incestuous for my tastes. There's always Daisy Connroy, if you'd like a little less fiery. And Annabelle Jackson looks well now that she's lost that baby fat." Arthur shrugged, and Gawain let out a defeated little laugh. "Still on that Merlin fellow, eh? How long has it been again?"
"Probably since April," Arthur admitted ruefully. "Though I've known for perhaps six weeks."
"Nearly six months all told!" Gawain sounded impressed. "I had no idea. That's longer than the entire affair with that Smith girl -"
"- Guinevere," Arthur supplied. "The soon-to-be wife of Corporal DuLac of Her Majesty's Navy."
"That's the one." Gawain raised his glass in a semi-toast in her honor. "So you're serious about this magician fellow, aren't you?"
Arthur looked down at the grapes which were brushing his elbow and took a few, rolling them in between his fingers. He thought of Merlin's smile, of the way his cravat was always stained and askew, the twinkle in his eye when they dueled with spoons over pudding, of how Merlin was loud and impossible and he'd still very much like to have him, regardless. "I believe I am," he said softly.
"You do have it bad for this one," Gawain murmured, sounding almost surprised. Arthur shot him a baleful, sulky look and Gawain hid his smile behind his glass. "Nothing wrong with falling into the old shackles of love," he said cheerily. "The path's been well-worn. But if you're not going to take advantage of all these lovely ladies tonight, you'll be perfectly content to aid me?"
Arthur sighed and popped the now-warm grapes in his mouth, knowing the game plan as well as his own name. "Lead on," he said dolefully.
As per Gawain's request, Arthur danced with every pretty and eligible girl in the room. He was, as ever, a rather dreadful dancer, used to forceful motions and clumsy with subtleties. Gawain, as always, capitalized on this, dancing with every girl directly after Arthur so he appeared even more gentlemanly in contrast, charming the girls as effectively as he would have had he snatched them from the claws of a dragon. Arthur played the hapless buffoon even better than usual that night, whipping his head to and fro every time he thought he saw Merlin's dark head ducking in to re-brighten the fairy lights or freshen the punch bowl. After a rather disastrous gavotte with Carloline Shrewsbury (who, Arthur privately agreed, was every bit as terrible as Morgana said, calculating under all her beauty, and wearing a white dress so diaphanous it would only take one slopping over of a beverage and she would be just as well not wearing anything at all), Gawain evicted him to the terrace that overlooked the near-acre of garden.
"If I wasn't convinced you were truly lovesick before, I am now," he said to Arthur severely. "You've never been so terrible at dancing in your life. For God's sake, you're not supposed to make our ploy quite so obvious."
"I'm sorry," Arthur sighed miserably, "I just -"
"I know, Arthur," Gawain said solemnly. Arthur looked up to meet his cousin's hazel eyes and was pleasantly surprised to find them warm and sympathetic, instead of mocking. "There's no shame in it."
"There aren't many who'd agree with you." Arthur strove to keep his tone light. "In fact, I didn't think even you agreed with you."
Gawain shrugged. "I've seen stranger things. If this fellow adores you as you adore him, I wouldn't think any less of the pair of you. There are enough loveless couplings in the world. I don't see why one of genuine affection should be passed up."
"Thank you," Arthur choked out, unaccountably moved.
"You're embarrassing me," Gawain chuckled. "Gather yourself while I work through this unexpected windfall of ladies, alright?"
"I think I shall," Arthur agreed. "Let Morgana know I'll be in the gardens if she needs me?" Gawain gave Arthur a sarcastic half-salute before tuning his attentions inside again, leaving Arthur free to wander the small gardens the Shrewsburys had opened for visitors. They were truly magnificent, a rare near-acre of land in the city surrounded by oaks that were tall and ancient, blocking out the bustle of the city. Merlin's fairy lights extended outside and danced merrily along the path. Arthur could hear perhaps a half-dozen people, older-sounding and most likely tired from the bustle indoors, chatting sedately in the gazebo, and wandered past one or two couples he did not recognize, bent close in various nooks around the pond, hidden by the large white blooms of hydrangeas. The sight of them, leaning together and laughing, made his chest ache. How easy it was for them, to be in love - how simple! It was easy to offer up one's heat when the risk was so slight. Were Merlin a woman, or closer to Arthur's social circle, or had a different profession, Arthur would have made his intentions known sooner before so much of his heart was wrapped tight around the idea of Merlin and only Merlin, no matter how inappropriate it may have been. Now the risk of voicing his emotions was so great, so terrifying, and yet he wanted so badly.
He was so lost in the thought of Merlin that when he happened upon him, hidden in a tiny alcove near the servant's wing that bordered the right side of the garden, he thought he was imagining him. "Merlin?" He asked.
"Arthur?" Merlin's voice said from the gloom. "Oh, this isn't going to... flēotan lēohtfæt."
It wasn't the sudden appearance of fairy lights that took Arthur's breath away, but rather the man who created them. He hadn't caught a proper look at Merlin all night and nothing could have prepared him for the reality. Merlin did indeed look puckish. Gone was his worn, professional uniform of a black waistcoat and overcoat with pinstriped trousers. Instead he was clad in a new trousers and waistcoat of the finest dove-gray cotton, though like most of the men he had foregone the overcoat. Due to the sultry late summer heat, his shirtsleeves were rolled up and midnight-blue cravat was loosened, so his forearms and clean-shaven neck were bare, pale and lovely and impossibly delicate. Unlike most of the men inside, who had taken green branches and wrangled them into some sort of headpiece, Merlin's wreath was made of ivy so delicate and fresh peeking through rumpled, dark almost-curls that Arthur was sure it was thanks to a small amount of magic. He was quite the loveliest, most ethereal and becoming creature Arthur had ever seen.
"Well," Merlin smiled, breaking Arthur's dumbstruck silence. "Aren't you going to sit?"
"Of course," Arthur floundered. "I was just noticing - is that a new suit?"
Merlin nodded and plucked at it absently. "I needed something finer for this sort of event and, well, I could finally afford it, what with the sort of business I've been getting this season."
"You have been doing well for yourself," Arthur agreed. They lapsed into silence again, more comfortable time, occasionally punctured by a far-off giggle or strain of music. "It's a very nice ball," Arthur said finally. "Certainly the best I've ever been to."
"Thank you. You certainly seemed to enjoy it," Merlin said. "I've never seen you dance with so many pretty girls."
Arthur blinked and snuck a glance. Was Merlin... jealous? It was hard to tell anything in the dim light beyond the fact that Merlin's jaw was clenched, and that gave rise to a bubble of hope in Arthur's chest he could not pop. "You've never seen me and Gawain at the same ball, then," he said, his tone as light as he could manage. "It's a common ploy he asks me to pull. I'm a terrible dancer, you see, and he has me dance with girls so he may swoop in and save them, as if he's saved the day."
"Ah," Merlin's mouth twitched in definite amusement. "Clever of him."
"Quite."
"You did not seem to be too terrible of a dancer," Merlin shrugged. "Not from what I saw, at any rate."
"Well I'm well-trained enough not to step on any toes, if that's what you mean," Arthur said. "But I am clumsy. Uncomfortable. Overly-forceful. I believe Morgana once referred to me as 'ogre-like'."
"Perhaps," Merlin demurred. "I shall trust your superior judgment."
"You don't believe me," Arthur laughed, falling easily into the teasing tone he took with Merlin so often.
"I just said I would trust you!"
"No," Arthur declared, "no that won't do at all. Come," he rose and beckoned Merlin with his free hand. "I will show you."
"You what?"
Arthur blinked for a few moments, staring down at his hand. He had not thought this through, he realized. To dance with Merlin would be most improper, and yet, the challenge had been thrown, and he could not - nay, would not - back down. "You heard me," he said belligerently. "Unless you're embarrassed because you're even worse of a dancer..."
"Fine!" Merlin snapped, taking his hand and assuming the dance position. Arthur's heart made an improbable leap to his throat. "Torment me with your ogre-like dancing."
"You're leading," Arthur pointed out dumbly.
"Yes, what else would I do?" Merlin asked impatiently.
"I cannot show you if I cannot lead..."
"Oh for pity's sake!" Merlin exclaimed. He quickly gestured at the far-off house so the music came through the garden audibly (earning a brief smattering of applause from the gazebo), and placed his hands more appropriately on Arthur's shoulder and in his hand. "There. Are you satisfied?"
"Quite," Arthur managed. The ball had reached the first portion of slow waltzes, designed so that any flirtations that began in the more social dances could be explored in a more intimate dance setting while others who had yet to make a connection could catch their breath, yet with the knowledge that the cycle from fast to slow would repeat itself several times into the night. "And now we shall waltz... no, don't talk, I cannot do this and talk."
Waltzing was not particularly difficult, especially when one was not in formation or in a crowded ballroom. There was only a very small square of space he and Merlin could repeatedly step in triangles around, and it was awkward adjusting to a slightly more forceful partner who was taller than him, but there seemed to be some magic in the air beyond what Merlin was capable of producing. For despite the fact that Merlin was perhaps the most clumsy, accident-prone man Arthur had ever seen, he had become graceful in Arthur's arms, almost docile as he watched Arthur while they circled, a fond little smile on his lips. And Arthur, for his part, was so enchanted by the way the fairy lights shone in Merlin's eyes and the hint of shadow that was coming back to his cheeks (he must have shaved earlier that morning than usual), he could not remember to make any of his usual mistakes. He did not over-analyze the force with which he moved his partner, and even if he had, Merlin was much more solid than any girl, and his hand had come down, either by design or from habit, to rest at Arthur's waist instead of demurely upon his shoulder. His utter failure to follow instead of lead (such a very Merlin sort of failure, Arthur thought fondly) counteracted any of Arthur's fumbles with Merlin's own wiry strength. And Merlin could not feel, as girls often did when they danced with Arthur, that Arthur would rather be somewhere else, or that his mind was wandering, because there was no world to Arthur outside of Merlin's face and the small corner of garden they had claimed as their own.
"You are not a bad dancer," Merlin murmured as the last notes of the waltz drew to a close and they stilled, though neither moved away from the other. "Indeed, I would say quite the opposite."
"Thank you," Arthur managed. "I had an excellent partner."
The small band began again after their pause, an even slower, more romantic waltz, the kind to draw out established couples or those who wished to begin tongues wagging. And still, Merlin did not move away from him. "I would not mind," he said finally, blushing and looking away. "That is, if you wished to dance the next dance with me, you are not as terrible as you say and I would be... amenable."
"As would I," Arthur whispered. Emboldened by Merlin's blushing request, he angled his hand at a more downward angle so their fingers caught, then wove together seamlessly as if they were made to do so, and Arthur nearly could not breathe through his giddy joy. "I would be amenable to far more than dancing with you, Merlin."
Merlin inclined his head, his shy smile spreading wider. "I had gathered you were... courting me," he admitted. "You are not as subtle as you think you are, and I am not as much of an idiot as you seem to believe."
"It's a term of endearment, when I call you that," Arthur protested softly, gathering just enough courage to incline his head as well so his and Merlin's foreheads brushed. "You do not object?"
Merlin let out a small huff of laughter. "Not to the courting, at any rate. But when have I ever been shy about making any objections known to you, Arthur?"
"Never," Arthur confessed. "It's one of the things I love about you."
There was an awkward moment of silence, then, and they stopped waltzing. Merlin seemed to be frozen in place, eyes huge and blue. Arthur was about to pull away when Merlin leaned forward and barely pressed his lips to Arthur's, shy, as if he was waiting for the tiniest hint of refusal. He would have to wait a very long time, however. Though Arthur's mind was frozen in shock, his body reacted instinctively, reaching up to press his fingertips against Merlin's rough cheek, half as a warning to stay, half to make sure this was not another dream to torture him when he awoke. But it couldn't have been, because he never would have imagined Merlin so gentle and chaste, never would have imagined simply lips brushing against lips in a slow haze could feel so good. He let his hand grow bolder, stroke Merlin's cheek before tangling it in the hair at the nape of his neck. The action made Merlin gasp into his mouth, and half of Arthur wanted to kiss Merlin deeper, to push him against the stone wall and take him, but it was only a buzzing thought in the blurry haze. It was already so much - too much - to just have Merlin kissing him as gently as if they were nervous schoolboys, to feel Merlin take his hand and fold it into his so they could waltz again, lips brushing and parting in time to the music.
"I never thought," Arthur murmured when the music stopped so the musicians could take a break, and they slowed their dancing to an idle swaying of bodies back and forth.
Merlin pressed his forehead fondly against Arthur's. "You never do," he whispered playfully, and then laughed when Arthur kicked his shins.
"I meant that you might..."
"...I know," Merlin cut him off. They were comfortably silent for a few more moments, and then the music started up again, blaring without warning into a lively gavotte. "That's my cue to return to work," Merlin said sadly, pulling away, but Arthur held fast to his hand.
"l should go as well - Morgana may miss me. May I call on you tomorrow?" He asked. It felt inane to ask now that Merlin had kissed him, and yet, he had to, had to know this would last in the light of day when there were no more balls and dusky perfumes wafting from the blooming flowers and fairy lights.
Merlin squeezed his hand. "I think not tomorrow, it's likely I shan't get back until near dawn and will need my rest. The day after, perhaps? When I have had some time to recover."
"I will be there," Arthur promised. He raised Merlin's knuckles to his lips, delighted to see Merlin blush and squirm at the gesture.
"I will count down the hours," Merlin replied. He darted a quick glance from side to side and then swooped in to press a hard, searing kiss to Arthur's lips, grasping the small of his back and dipping him slightly as if Arthur were the heroine in one of the lurid novels Morgana and Gwen sometimes took turns reading aloud to each other and then shrieking with laughter over, and though every instinct fought a swoon, Arthur could not deny that he had to wrap his arms around Merlin's neck to keep himself upright. "Goodbye, Arthur," Merlin gasped when he was done, and then pulled himself away before disappearing through the servant's door with one last, fond smile over his shoulder.
"Well," Arthur said to no one at all, touching his still-warm lips. "that was quite unexpected."
And when the night's only reply was the chirping of crickets, he shook his head and made his way back to the throng in the ballroom, unable to wipe the giddy smile from his face.
- - -
Part Four
- - -
Of all the balls and informal drums of the season, the height (for those who could not gain access to a royal event, in any case) was Lady Shrewsbury's annual themed masque. The selected theme of the year was "A Midsummer Night's Dream", which caused Morgana no small amount of grief.
"Is this in reference to the play, or are we all in a dream?" She constantly badgered Arthur. "Furthermore, what does one look like when they are in a dream? I have to assume it's the play, which makes no sense as it's not midsummer, but the play doesn't even suggest a costume since there's no given setting. I do believe this is the very worst theme that woman and her idiotic daughters have ever come up with, and that includes last year's theme of 'Nautical Majesty' where everyone went around trying to look attractive dressed as fish."
"Save me," Arthur implored Merlin pathetically. They were all at the park, circumspectly dipping their bare feet in the pond. Gaius had been called away abruptly to deliver a pair of twins he'd had reason to believe would both come out breech, bequeathing the responsibility of teaching lessons to Merlin, who had quickly determined a stuffy attic room on a warm August day was no place to learn. They had packed up a picnic as well as several books (all of which Merlin and Morgana had made Arthur carry) and headed to the park, hidden under the usual willow tree. Morgana, however, seemed to for once have something other than magic on her mind.
Instead of turning Morgana's attention back to the spell for summoning small objects, Merlin bit into an apple and said, "Lady Shrewsbury intends it to be a bit of a festival a la grecque."
"How on earth do you know that?" Arthur asked, propping himself up on his elbows from where he was lying in the grass.
"She hired me," Merlin said, as if being hired for the most prestigious event of the season were as mundane as darning one's socks.
"And when did you plan on telling me?" Arthur demanded. "Before or after I caught you sneaking around at the ball and nearly threw you out?"
Merlin rolled his eyes. "Don't be a horse's arse, Arthur, I only just learned yesterday. I would have told you, but then, you know, babies and picnics and things."
"Hmph," Arthur sniffed, flopping back down in the cool grass while Morgana clapped her hands.
"That's excellent. Not only for you, of course, but now you shall save me from repeating last year's fiasco where I tried for a mermaid and ended up looking something dragged up in a fisherman's net."
"She did," Arthur added. "I, on the other hand, made a very dashing sailor."
"Regardless of last year's tomfoolery," Merlin cut in before Morgana and Arthur could degenerate into squabbling, "this year we are to resemble Titania and Oberon's court. The esteemed lady and her husband will be starring as Titania and Oberon, naturally, and I was hired specifically because she heard I was..." Merlin's face twisted slightly, "...Puckish."
"I've been saying that for ages," Arthur sighed. "Only when I say that, the words I use are 'a hapless bohemian and reprobate'."
Morgana shot him a cutting look before turning to Merlin. "I think you'll make a perfect Puck," she said bracingly. "And that can't be the only reason she hired you - she wouldn't have called for your services if you hadn't had such a magnificent season with so many good recommendations."
"Thank you, Morgana," Merlin smiled.
"Now," Morgana said, back to all business. "Do you know what Lady Shrewsbury's daughters are wearing? They always plan the theme because they have already selected the perfect costumes, and if I spend one more year playing second fiddle to that absolutely horrid Caroline while she smugly twitters on about how I shouldn't worry because what's truly important to a good marriage isn't looks but the size of one's dowry I shall lose my temper and dunk her head in the punchbowl this year, I absolutely shall..."
For the next ten days Arthur heard of nothing but the thrice-bedamned masque. Despite his pleading with Morgana that really, he'd rather hear about her progress with moving objects across rooms in extensive detail, she only spoke to him to ask his opinion on dress alterations or flowers or other such feminine nonsense. Merlin was completely absent; Arthur only caught glimpses of his apologetic smile before he rushed off to Golden Square to coax certain flowers into bloom or adjusted the fairy lights or whatever he did. Even at the club, all the men would do was complain about the upcoming masque and how little they saw their ladies while somberly puffing on cigars. Arthur began to count down the days to the ball because then it would be another blessed year before he had to put up with such a fuss again or hear Morgana suggest for the billionth time that he go as Bottom because it wouldn't be that far of a stretch to make his face look like an ass.
Finally, the night of the ball arrived, leaving Arthur in his usual position of waiting at the bottom of the stairs for Morgana to make her overly-dramatic entrance. His father had pleaded out of this masque as it required him to leave his uniform of somber black suits. This left Arthur bored while Morgana did... whatever she did, feeling utterly ridiculous without an overcoat and with a laurel wreath sitting on his head like he was a Roman bust. He was just about to leave and tell Morgana to find her own damn way to the masque when she came around the corner and descended down the stairs holding herself as if she were a queen.
"God have mercy," he choked out. Morgana had taken a reddish-bronze dress he vaguely remembered her wearing last season and altered the top so that instead of covering her up sensibly as it once had, it draped in a Grecian style that left her arms completely bare and showed off a gold band that wrapped around her upper arm like a snake. Her hair hung loose, only minimally pinned back to show her face (which, dear God, she'd painted like she was some sort of common tart), and poppies were nestled between the thick black waves. "Are you quite set on ruining yourself completely? Has Father seen this?"
"I checked in with him in his study," Morgana informed him tartly. "He was a gentleman and told me how lovely I looked."
"For a street walker," Arthur muttered.
"I know how to give you very uncomfortable and unsightly sores," was all Morgana said before she swept out into the waiting carriage.
Arthur had to admit, upon arrival to the Shrewsbury estate, that Merlin had really done a superb job with the place. It was transformed completely from a regular hall to a forest glade fit for a bacchanal. Someone had brought in small potted trees to line the walls, and Merlin (he assumed it was Merlin, at any rate) had grown magical grapevines in the gaps, reaching out like curious hands. Plump, juicy grapes hung heavy on the vines. It was as if the vines were growing at a fast-forwarded rate - every time a bunch was picked they'd wither and another would grow back in its place, just as full of fruit. Instead of the usual cucumber sandwiches and crumbly shortbread, the tables were weighed down with bowls of fruit and olives. Fairy lights floated like stars above them, and floral-scented breezes wafted from the abundant bouquets, as fresh as if they had been picked seconds ago. Nearly instantly, Arthur lost Morgana in a herd of giggling girls who, he was amused to note, were dressed in a similar fashion as her. Most were more modest, of course, but there were quite a few who showed so much flesh it made Arthur downright uncomfortable. When a few of the girls began to group and stare at him suspiciously, Arthur quickly fled to find Gawain, who was cheerfully sipping on his punch. He was dressed in the same manner as Arthur, though his clothes were all sage green and brown - earthy colors that suited him and the theme, but would have made Arthur look nauseous - and he was wearing a wreath of what looked like long, braided willow switches.
"By God, this party's good entertainment," he said merrily, clapping Arthur on the back so hard that Arthur's laurels nearly went flying. "Never let your father talk you into attending a royal event. The new queen's shy as all hell and her maids are even worse. It's too bad you don't appreciate the female form like I do, Arthur, because there's a veritable feast tonight."
"No one appreciates the female form like you do," Arthur said dryly.
"Ah, now that's the truth," Gawain nodded. "So who fits your fancy tonight? Morgana's looking fine as always."
"If by 'fine' you mean 'a flesh-eating harpy'."
"Hm, true," Gawain nodded. "And it does border on incestuous for my tastes. There's always Daisy Connroy, if you'd like a little less fiery. And Annabelle Jackson looks well now that she's lost that baby fat." Arthur shrugged, and Gawain let out a defeated little laugh. "Still on that Merlin fellow, eh? How long has it been again?"
"Probably since April," Arthur admitted ruefully. "Though I've known for perhaps six weeks."
"Nearly six months all told!" Gawain sounded impressed. "I had no idea. That's longer than the entire affair with that Smith girl -"
"- Guinevere," Arthur supplied. "The soon-to-be wife of Corporal DuLac of Her Majesty's Navy."
"That's the one." Gawain raised his glass in a semi-toast in her honor. "So you're serious about this magician fellow, aren't you?"
Arthur looked down at the grapes which were brushing his elbow and took a few, rolling them in between his fingers. He thought of Merlin's smile, of the way his cravat was always stained and askew, the twinkle in his eye when they dueled with spoons over pudding, of how Merlin was loud and impossible and he'd still very much like to have him, regardless. "I believe I am," he said softly.
"You do have it bad for this one," Gawain murmured, sounding almost surprised. Arthur shot him a baleful, sulky look and Gawain hid his smile behind his glass. "Nothing wrong with falling into the old shackles of love," he said cheerily. "The path's been well-worn. But if you're not going to take advantage of all these lovely ladies tonight, you'll be perfectly content to aid me?"
Arthur sighed and popped the now-warm grapes in his mouth, knowing the game plan as well as his own name. "Lead on," he said dolefully.
As per Gawain's request, Arthur danced with every pretty and eligible girl in the room. He was, as ever, a rather dreadful dancer, used to forceful motions and clumsy with subtleties. Gawain, as always, capitalized on this, dancing with every girl directly after Arthur so he appeared even more gentlemanly in contrast, charming the girls as effectively as he would have had he snatched them from the claws of a dragon. Arthur played the hapless buffoon even better than usual that night, whipping his head to and fro every time he thought he saw Merlin's dark head ducking in to re-brighten the fairy lights or freshen the punch bowl. After a rather disastrous gavotte with Carloline Shrewsbury (who, Arthur privately agreed, was every bit as terrible as Morgana said, calculating under all her beauty, and wearing a white dress so diaphanous it would only take one slopping over of a beverage and she would be just as well not wearing anything at all), Gawain evicted him to the terrace that overlooked the near-acre of garden.
"If I wasn't convinced you were truly lovesick before, I am now," he said to Arthur severely. "You've never been so terrible at dancing in your life. For God's sake, you're not supposed to make our ploy quite so obvious."
"I'm sorry," Arthur sighed miserably, "I just -"
"I know, Arthur," Gawain said solemnly. Arthur looked up to meet his cousin's hazel eyes and was pleasantly surprised to find them warm and sympathetic, instead of mocking. "There's no shame in it."
"There aren't many who'd agree with you." Arthur strove to keep his tone light. "In fact, I didn't think even you agreed with you."
Gawain shrugged. "I've seen stranger things. If this fellow adores you as you adore him, I wouldn't think any less of the pair of you. There are enough loveless couplings in the world. I don't see why one of genuine affection should be passed up."
"Thank you," Arthur choked out, unaccountably moved.
"You're embarrassing me," Gawain chuckled. "Gather yourself while I work through this unexpected windfall of ladies, alright?"
"I think I shall," Arthur agreed. "Let Morgana know I'll be in the gardens if she needs me?" Gawain gave Arthur a sarcastic half-salute before tuning his attentions inside again, leaving Arthur free to wander the small gardens the Shrewsburys had opened for visitors. They were truly magnificent, a rare near-acre of land in the city surrounded by oaks that were tall and ancient, blocking out the bustle of the city. Merlin's fairy lights extended outside and danced merrily along the path. Arthur could hear perhaps a half-dozen people, older-sounding and most likely tired from the bustle indoors, chatting sedately in the gazebo, and wandered past one or two couples he did not recognize, bent close in various nooks around the pond, hidden by the large white blooms of hydrangeas. The sight of them, leaning together and laughing, made his chest ache. How easy it was for them, to be in love - how simple! It was easy to offer up one's heat when the risk was so slight. Were Merlin a woman, or closer to Arthur's social circle, or had a different profession, Arthur would have made his intentions known sooner before so much of his heart was wrapped tight around the idea of Merlin and only Merlin, no matter how inappropriate it may have been. Now the risk of voicing his emotions was so great, so terrifying, and yet he wanted so badly.
He was so lost in the thought of Merlin that when he happened upon him, hidden in a tiny alcove near the servant's wing that bordered the right side of the garden, he thought he was imagining him. "Merlin?" He asked.
"Arthur?" Merlin's voice said from the gloom. "Oh, this isn't going to... flēotan lēohtfæt."
It wasn't the sudden appearance of fairy lights that took Arthur's breath away, but rather the man who created them. He hadn't caught a proper look at Merlin all night and nothing could have prepared him for the reality. Merlin did indeed look puckish. Gone was his worn, professional uniform of a black waistcoat and overcoat with pinstriped trousers. Instead he was clad in a new trousers and waistcoat of the finest dove-gray cotton, though like most of the men he had foregone the overcoat. Due to the sultry late summer heat, his shirtsleeves were rolled up and midnight-blue cravat was loosened, so his forearms and clean-shaven neck were bare, pale and lovely and impossibly delicate. Unlike most of the men inside, who had taken green branches and wrangled them into some sort of headpiece, Merlin's wreath was made of ivy so delicate and fresh peeking through rumpled, dark almost-curls that Arthur was sure it was thanks to a small amount of magic. He was quite the loveliest, most ethereal and becoming creature Arthur had ever seen.
"Well," Merlin smiled, breaking Arthur's dumbstruck silence. "Aren't you going to sit?"
"Of course," Arthur floundered. "I was just noticing - is that a new suit?"
Merlin nodded and plucked at it absently. "I needed something finer for this sort of event and, well, I could finally afford it, what with the sort of business I've been getting this season."
"You have been doing well for yourself," Arthur agreed. They lapsed into silence again, more comfortable time, occasionally punctured by a far-off giggle or strain of music. "It's a very nice ball," Arthur said finally. "Certainly the best I've ever been to."
"Thank you. You certainly seemed to enjoy it," Merlin said. "I've never seen you dance with so many pretty girls."
Arthur blinked and snuck a glance. Was Merlin... jealous? It was hard to tell anything in the dim light beyond the fact that Merlin's jaw was clenched, and that gave rise to a bubble of hope in Arthur's chest he could not pop. "You've never seen me and Gawain at the same ball, then," he said, his tone as light as he could manage. "It's a common ploy he asks me to pull. I'm a terrible dancer, you see, and he has me dance with girls so he may swoop in and save them, as if he's saved the day."
"Ah," Merlin's mouth twitched in definite amusement. "Clever of him."
"Quite."
"You did not seem to be too terrible of a dancer," Merlin shrugged. "Not from what I saw, at any rate."
"Well I'm well-trained enough not to step on any toes, if that's what you mean," Arthur said. "But I am clumsy. Uncomfortable. Overly-forceful. I believe Morgana once referred to me as 'ogre-like'."
"Perhaps," Merlin demurred. "I shall trust your superior judgment."
"You don't believe me," Arthur laughed, falling easily into the teasing tone he took with Merlin so often.
"I just said I would trust you!"
"No," Arthur declared, "no that won't do at all. Come," he rose and beckoned Merlin with his free hand. "I will show you."
"You what?"
Arthur blinked for a few moments, staring down at his hand. He had not thought this through, he realized. To dance with Merlin would be most improper, and yet, the challenge had been thrown, and he could not - nay, would not - back down. "You heard me," he said belligerently. "Unless you're embarrassed because you're even worse of a dancer..."
"Fine!" Merlin snapped, taking his hand and assuming the dance position. Arthur's heart made an improbable leap to his throat. "Torment me with your ogre-like dancing."
"You're leading," Arthur pointed out dumbly.
"Yes, what else would I do?" Merlin asked impatiently.
"I cannot show you if I cannot lead..."
"Oh for pity's sake!" Merlin exclaimed. He quickly gestured at the far-off house so the music came through the garden audibly (earning a brief smattering of applause from the gazebo), and placed his hands more appropriately on Arthur's shoulder and in his hand. "There. Are you satisfied?"
"Quite," Arthur managed. The ball had reached the first portion of slow waltzes, designed so that any flirtations that began in the more social dances could be explored in a more intimate dance setting while others who had yet to make a connection could catch their breath, yet with the knowledge that the cycle from fast to slow would repeat itself several times into the night. "And now we shall waltz... no, don't talk, I cannot do this and talk."
Waltzing was not particularly difficult, especially when one was not in formation or in a crowded ballroom. There was only a very small square of space he and Merlin could repeatedly step in triangles around, and it was awkward adjusting to a slightly more forceful partner who was taller than him, but there seemed to be some magic in the air beyond what Merlin was capable of producing. For despite the fact that Merlin was perhaps the most clumsy, accident-prone man Arthur had ever seen, he had become graceful in Arthur's arms, almost docile as he watched Arthur while they circled, a fond little smile on his lips. And Arthur, for his part, was so enchanted by the way the fairy lights shone in Merlin's eyes and the hint of shadow that was coming back to his cheeks (he must have shaved earlier that morning than usual), he could not remember to make any of his usual mistakes. He did not over-analyze the force with which he moved his partner, and even if he had, Merlin was much more solid than any girl, and his hand had come down, either by design or from habit, to rest at Arthur's waist instead of demurely upon his shoulder. His utter failure to follow instead of lead (such a very Merlin sort of failure, Arthur thought fondly) counteracted any of Arthur's fumbles with Merlin's own wiry strength. And Merlin could not feel, as girls often did when they danced with Arthur, that Arthur would rather be somewhere else, or that his mind was wandering, because there was no world to Arthur outside of Merlin's face and the small corner of garden they had claimed as their own.
"You are not a bad dancer," Merlin murmured as the last notes of the waltz drew to a close and they stilled, though neither moved away from the other. "Indeed, I would say quite the opposite."
"Thank you," Arthur managed. "I had an excellent partner."
The small band began again after their pause, an even slower, more romantic waltz, the kind to draw out established couples or those who wished to begin tongues wagging. And still, Merlin did not move away from him. "I would not mind," he said finally, blushing and looking away. "That is, if you wished to dance the next dance with me, you are not as terrible as you say and I would be... amenable."
"As would I," Arthur whispered. Emboldened by Merlin's blushing request, he angled his hand at a more downward angle so their fingers caught, then wove together seamlessly as if they were made to do so, and Arthur nearly could not breathe through his giddy joy. "I would be amenable to far more than dancing with you, Merlin."
Merlin inclined his head, his shy smile spreading wider. "I had gathered you were... courting me," he admitted. "You are not as subtle as you think you are, and I am not as much of an idiot as you seem to believe."
"It's a term of endearment, when I call you that," Arthur protested softly, gathering just enough courage to incline his head as well so his and Merlin's foreheads brushed. "You do not object?"
Merlin let out a small huff of laughter. "Not to the courting, at any rate. But when have I ever been shy about making any objections known to you, Arthur?"
"Never," Arthur confessed. "It's one of the things I love about you."
There was an awkward moment of silence, then, and they stopped waltzing. Merlin seemed to be frozen in place, eyes huge and blue. Arthur was about to pull away when Merlin leaned forward and barely pressed his lips to Arthur's, shy, as if he was waiting for the tiniest hint of refusal. He would have to wait a very long time, however. Though Arthur's mind was frozen in shock, his body reacted instinctively, reaching up to press his fingertips against Merlin's rough cheek, half as a warning to stay, half to make sure this was not another dream to torture him when he awoke. But it couldn't have been, because he never would have imagined Merlin so gentle and chaste, never would have imagined simply lips brushing against lips in a slow haze could feel so good. He let his hand grow bolder, stroke Merlin's cheek before tangling it in the hair at the nape of his neck. The action made Merlin gasp into his mouth, and half of Arthur wanted to kiss Merlin deeper, to push him against the stone wall and take him, but it was only a buzzing thought in the blurry haze. It was already so much - too much - to just have Merlin kissing him as gently as if they were nervous schoolboys, to feel Merlin take his hand and fold it into his so they could waltz again, lips brushing and parting in time to the music.
"I never thought," Arthur murmured when the music stopped so the musicians could take a break, and they slowed their dancing to an idle swaying of bodies back and forth.
Merlin pressed his forehead fondly against Arthur's. "You never do," he whispered playfully, and then laughed when Arthur kicked his shins.
"I meant that you might..."
"...I know," Merlin cut him off. They were comfortably silent for a few more moments, and then the music started up again, blaring without warning into a lively gavotte. "That's my cue to return to work," Merlin said sadly, pulling away, but Arthur held fast to his hand.
"l should go as well - Morgana may miss me. May I call on you tomorrow?" He asked. It felt inane to ask now that Merlin had kissed him, and yet, he had to, had to know this would last in the light of day when there were no more balls and dusky perfumes wafting from the blooming flowers and fairy lights.
Merlin squeezed his hand. "I think not tomorrow, it's likely I shan't get back until near dawn and will need my rest. The day after, perhaps? When I have had some time to recover."
"I will be there," Arthur promised. He raised Merlin's knuckles to his lips, delighted to see Merlin blush and squirm at the gesture.
"I will count down the hours," Merlin replied. He darted a quick glance from side to side and then swooped in to press a hard, searing kiss to Arthur's lips, grasping the small of his back and dipping him slightly as if Arthur were the heroine in one of the lurid novels Morgana and Gwen sometimes took turns reading aloud to each other and then shrieking with laughter over, and though every instinct fought a swoon, Arthur could not deny that he had to wrap his arms around Merlin's neck to keep himself upright. "Goodbye, Arthur," Merlin gasped when he was done, and then pulled himself away before disappearing through the servant's door with one last, fond smile over his shoulder.
"Well," Arthur said to no one at all, touching his still-warm lips. "that was quite unexpected."
And when the night's only reply was the chirping of crickets, he shook his head and made his way back to the throng in the ballroom, unable to wipe the giddy smile from his face.
- - -
Part Four