Radiant Under Every Sort of Light, Chapter 4/8
Full headers & links to all chapters & Chapter 1 are [ here].
First off, Season 2 on the 19th! There is nothing that isn’t awesome about that! Also, after having made quite some progress on Chapter 6, I feel confident that I can post this without giving up on my safety net. Because I really am just a little coward at heart.
Merlin/Arthur (additional background pairings)
R
Length: ~45’000 words overall, ~6’000 for this chapter
Summary: Just your everyday Circus AU. Or: In which there are aerialists, phone booths, French shop girls, artsy books and magic. Obviously.
Thanks: If I had to choose between French pastries and inderpal, snarkaddict and torakowalski, it would be a hard choice. But as you can't take French pastries for a walk on the beach, I'd go with my girls.
(Meet the cast - gorgeous banner by inderpal.)
Disclaimer: Everything you recognise belongs to the BBC. I’m merely taking their characters for a spin.
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Radiant Under Every Sort of Light
Chapter 4
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There are quite a few things Arthur loves about France. If hard-pressed and held at gun-point to pick only just one, though, French pastries would be a powerful competitor for the first spot. After all, there is pain au chocolat.
When Arthur explains this to Merlin shortly after their arrival, navigating around each other to brush their teeth (Merlin) and shave (Arthur), Arthur’s detailed description isn’t met with the appreciative acceptance he expects. Instead, Merlin blandly meets his eyes in the mirror, his words barely understandable around the toothbrush. “I don’t see what’s so special. So it’s puff pastry, butter and chocolate. Nothing you can’t get in Britain, is it?”
“You’re wrong,” Arthur tells him. He pauses to drag the razor from his cheek down to his chin, elbowing Merlin in the process. “You’re deadly, utterly incorrect, and once I’ve made you see the error of your ways, you’ll beg for my forgiveness. On your knees.”
“You wish,” Merlin says. He’s bent over the sink to rinse out his mouth, but looks up through his lashes for a slightly lopsided smirk. His cheekbones are prominent in the overhead light, face wet with his hair curling above his ears, and for a crazy instant, Arthur really does wish. It’s enough of a surprise that he almost nicks his chin.
“Are you sure it’s not you wishing I’d wish?” he asks, rising an eyebrow. Given the way Merlin appears to brighten up at the mere sight of Gwen, it isn’t a particularly good retort, but it’s the first one that comes to mind.
Something flickers in Merlin’s gaze before he’s back to grinning - grinning and taking a step back. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Don’t think so,” he says. He affects a thoughtful expression and pretends to ponder the matter for a moment. “No, pretty sure, actually.”
“Suit yourself,” Arthur says. He leans forward to examine a particularly tricky spot in the mirror and catches Merlin leaving the bathroom only on the periphery of his vision.
--
The French guy looks quite reluctant to let Morgana go. From what Arthur understands of the conversation, the guy is determined to show rather than explain the way to the bakery he recommended, despite the fact that he’s about twice Morgana’s age. Arthur is approximately three seconds from interrupting - it wouldn’t be the first time he’s saved her from an admirer, or a one-night stand who’s unwilling to leave in the morning - when she extracts herself by twisting her arm out of the guy’s grip.
“You do have a way of attracting the old perverts,” Arthur tells her when she joins Merlin and him in front of a touristy shop that somehow caught Merlin’s attention. Merlin is fondling a snow globe with a disturbingly intense look of concentration, shaking it to watch the entrapped glitter dance through the water.
“Why is it that some men won’t take no for an answer?” Morgana pushes her hair back behind her shoulder. “It’s like they can’t believe that a woman can possibly be happy without some guy clinging to her skirt.”
Arthur grins. “Still hung up on how Valiant turned out to be a cheating bastard?”
“Still hung up on how Sophia turned out to be as reliable as a tip on the lottery?” Morgana shoots back. Interest dancing in his eyes and still clutching the stupid globe, Merlin looks up. Oh, just splendid - as if Merlin needs more incentive to ask questions, considering he already knows more about Arthur than some of Arthur’s long-time acquaintances.
“Did your new friend at least give decent directions?” Arthur asks.
Morgana gives him a hard look. “Remind me again why you couldn’t ask?”
“Because my French is far from flawless. Unlike yours.”
“I thought it was because men never stop to ask for directions,” Merlin puts in. The sun turns the tips of his lashes golden, his bright skin a contrast to his hair which curls at the back of his neck. It brushes against the collar of his t-shirt when he turns for a curious glance at Morgana. “And you really are French, then? I wasn’t sure.”
“My mum was.” Morgana’s smile is faint. “She was a journalist, met my father the year he and Uther won the Festival Mondial. I lived in Paris until I was five.”
Arthur isn’t sure Merlin knows anything about the car crash that cost Morgana’s parents her life, has any idea how silent and frozen Morgana was the first year she joined them, barely saying a word, only eating when reminded. Even if Merlin doesn’t know, he apparently has the sense not to ask. Life’s full of surprises, after all. Surprises and accidents. Too many of them.
Arthur pushes the thought away.
“So now you know where she gets all the arrogance from,” he tells Merlin. “It’s very Paris-taught.”
Morgana raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Says the pot to the kettle.”
Merlin snorts and immediately raises a hand to hide it, as if he’s not entirely certain he’s allowed. Arthur hopes his glare conveys that no, he’s most definitely not. As he should have expected, that only serves to make Merlin lower the hand and grin openly. He hasn’t let go of the globe.
“Anyway,” Arthur says. “The bakery?”
“Patisserie de la Plage, near the beach.” Morgana points down the road. With what looks like an immense amount of regret, Merlin sets the snow globe back down and falls into step beside them.
Fortunately, it turns out to be easy to find, a walk of hardly three minutes. Arthur considers dropping a remark about how very much they would have needed guidance from Morgana’s admirer, but in the end, he’s distracted by the greasy, delicious smell of butter and freshly baked croissants that hits them the moment they enter. While Merlin is still wide-eyed in his study of the displayed pastries and Morgana is bent over a gateau with ridiculously colourful decorations, Arthur commands the attention of the shop girl, pulling her away from what must have been a truly fascinating conversation with a woman hidden in an adjacent room.
The shop girl doesn’t look particularly pleased when she comes up to the counter. “Oui? Vous desirez?”
“Deux pains au chocolat pour moi.” Arthur gestures at Merlin and Morgana. “Et en plus ce que les deux-” vont? No, that would be a conjugation of to go, right? Right. And whatever they want would have to be ce qu’ils, “veulent.”
“D’accord.” Since the shop girl continues to look bored rather than affronted or confused, Arthur supposes his order of two chocolate croissants was more or less correct. He waves Merlin over with a, “What do you want?”
“I…” Merlin looks slightly lost, glancing down at the display before giving the shop girl an uncertain smile. She suddenly doesn’t look quite as bored anymore. “Je excuse,” Merlin says, incorrectly and his English accent thick. “Je ne parle pas France?”
The shop girl - Marianne, her nametag states - smiles, pushing a strand of hair back behind her ear as she leans forward, closer to Merlin. She bats her lashes in a fashion that makes her look like a brainless wench. “Our croissants are good, very. And fresh. Pain au chocolat, too.” If Merlin’s accent was mildly ridiculous, hers positively slaughters the words, and then tars and feathers them. “Are you very hungry?”
“Not so much.” The smile Merlin gives her is blissfully grateful. “I’m only here because Arthur said French bakeries are fantastic.”
She spares Arthur a sideways glance before she turns her attention back to Merlin. “It is true.”
“Aujourd’hui, s’il vous plait,” Arthur interrupts because really, getting their purchase sometime today would be nice. If that makes her frown delicately at him, so be it. Arthur honestly couldn’t care less. He waits with his arms crossed while Merlin, after a somewhat confused look at Arthur, decides on a chocolate croissant as well, while Morgana goes with an éclair.
It’s not until they’ve left the bakery, Merlin a few steps ahead on his way to the beach, that Morgana hooks her arm through Arthur’s, her smirk rendering him slightly uncomfortable. “Staking your claim, were you?” she asks, with that special tone she reserves for whenever Arthur’s done something she considers particularly entertaining.
“I have no idea what you’re referring to,” Arthur says flatly. And really, he doesn’t - it’s perfectly natural to be annoyed by an attempt at flirting that’s both obvious and clumsy, especially when he really just wanted to buy some pastries.
“Of course you don’t,” Morgana says. It sounds as if she’s secretly laughing at him.
--
“So,” Arthur says.
Merlin is splayed on his stomach. He crosses his legs at the ankles, turning a page in the book about Nan Hoover that he stole from Arthur. It’s probably a bad sign that Arthur doesn’t even try to tell him off anymore. He doesn’t usually admit defeat this quickly. “So?” Merlin asks, glancing up through his lashes.
“So, did I promise too much?” Arthur pulls his t-shirt over his head, exchanging it for a loose cotton one that used to belong to Uther until Arthur turned it into his sleep shirt. When he looks back over his shoulder, Merlin is watching him with an oddly confused expression. “The chocolate croissants,” Arthur clarifies. “Did I promise too much?”
“Oh.” Merlin focuses back on the book. “They’re okay.”
“Okay,” Arthur echoes slowly. He steps closer to Merlin’s bed and spares a moment’s thought for how Merlin has never complained about either the blanket or the mattress. “Did you say okay? Just okay?”
Merlin blinks up at him.
“Allow me to reiterate. You don’t drink tea.” Arthur sits down on the edge of Merlin’s mattress. “No tea, and you think pain au chocolat is merely okay. Which tells me that any sort of good food is clearly wasted on you.”
“I really liked those éclair things Morgana bought?” Merlin offers.
“Wasted,” Arthur repeats. He shakes his head and holds Merlin’s gaze for a blank second before he slaps Merlin on the back, hard enough for Merlin to cough out an affronted breath. “Well then,” Arthur says, pushing himself back to his feet. “All the more for me.”
Merlin rolls over to lie on his back, grinning. “Sure, all for you. You know we’re all just your faithful servants.”
“You’re a particularly bad one, then.”
“No court without a jester.”
“I thought you were applying for a spot as a magician?”
At the sight of Merlin’s overly hopeful smile, Arthur regrets having said anything. Even if Arthur’s just about willing to give Merlin a chance, there is no way at all that his father will. No way in hell. Arthur still remembers the one time he suggested a magician to broaden Dragonera’s spectrum, and he’s not about to repeat the experiment.
--
The night before the opening show, Merlin watches a good part of Arthur’s and Morgana’s practice session. Gwen keeps him company for a while before she wanders off - “I promised Lance I’d have a look at some song he’s working on” - and eventually, Merlin feels simply too stupid sitting there on his own. He lingers near the entrance for another minute to see Morgana somersault through the air, her wrists caught by Arthur just as she comes out of her coiled position, and it still renders Merlin breathless, the precision and trust between them.
He steps out of the tent and makes his way to the caravan he shares with Arthur. The setup of their camp is more or less identical to the previous one - animals near the big top, merchandise and the like at the front, caravans that people sleep in at the back, food and practice tents somewhere in between. It makes it easier to navigate, but Merlin still manages to stumble over one of the ropes holding the food tent up. At least he doesn’t fall flat on his face.
The caravan is dark and empty when Merlin gets there, errant brightness from the big top’s illumination the main source of light. He glances around the small space before conjuring a glowing bulb to float above his bed. The blanket is in a heap at the foot of the mattress, his pillow hanging over the edge, while Arthur’s bed is made, blanket folded and the two pillows that Arthur apparently requires fluffed up and aligned next to each other. Merlin snorts at the sight and sits down on his own bed, kicking his shoes off before he sprawls on his back and draws the glowing bulb closer. It takes only a flick of his wrist to make silver glitter dance inside it, and-
It could be explained as some sort of gas-filled thing, maybe.
He yawns and lets the bulb drift over to Arthur’s bed before letting his lids slide shut. By the time Arthur returns, Merlin is mostly asleep. It’s Arthur’s voice that shakes him out of his dozing.
“There’s a sock.”
Merlin opens one eye, closes it again. “Yeah. Where people leave their clothes, there often are socks. It’s a law, or something.”
“There’s a sock,” Arthur repeats. “And it’s draped over those metal flowers you glued to the window frame.”
“Didn’t glue them.” Merlin’s second attempt is more successful. He blinks his eyes open to find Arthur towering above him, arms crossed, face set in a firm frown. “And maybe the sock just, like, floated there. It’s not my fault.”
“It’s your sock.”
“It’s fresh and clean, don’t worry.”
“When did you have time to do your laundry?” Arthur asks, and oh, wow, Merlin should not be having this conversation - or maybe any sort of conversation - with Arthur while half-asleep. It’s dangerous, especially given how Merlin’s brain-to-mouth filter is somewhat defective at the best of times.
Merlin shrugs. “Sometime, don’t remember. I think you were working on something with Morgana.”
“All right.” The blue-tinted glow of the bulb softens Arthur’s features. “So you’re telling me that your freshly washed sock somehow draped itself over our window frame. By floating over there.”
“I only said that it might have.” Merlin smiles winningly. Arthur counters it with a blank expression.
“Floating like that light bulb that’s currently floating above my bed?”
“Pretty, isn’t it?”
“Some type of gas, I suppose?”
“I don’t use cheap tricks. And if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. No sharing of magical tricks, remember?”
“Yes, I remember. I wasn’t dropped on the head as a child, you know?” Arthur uncrosses his arms and takes a step back to lean against the wall, one foot braced against the dark wood. “Which brings me back to the unresolved matter of how there’s a sock where there most definitely shouldn’t be one.”
Merlin swings both legs over the edge of the bed. He was still wearing his jeans when dozing off, and he’s pretty sure there are imprints of the seams in some places now. “I call first shower.”
“Not the solution I’m waiting for,” Arthur says.
“I don’t know.” Merlin faces away to unbutton his jeans. It’s probably stupid to feel self-conscious, considering he already dropped his boxers in front of Arthur just to prove a point. Anyway. “A shower sounds like a good solution to many things to me.”
Arthur pushes away from the wall and shoves his hands in his pockets. While he steps closer, he doesn’t quite look at Merlin. “I’m not removing that sock, even if it is clean.”
“Then it’ll stay.” Merlin grins. “Like our own personal peace flag, you know?”
“Your sock isn’t even rainbow-coloured.”
The opportunity is just too good to pass up. Merlin leans forward and turns his grin up by a notch. “You wear rainbow-coloured socks? You call that fashion? Or just cliché?”
“I would like to make it perfectly clear that I have never worn a rainbow-coloured sock in my life.” Arthur’s voice is bland, but there’s what might be the beginning of an amused twitch to the corners of his mouth.
“Shame,” Merlin says lightly. He shimmies out of his jeans and lets them crumble to the floor. By the expression on Arthur’s face, he can already tell that Arthur is about to comment on Merlin’s troubled relationship with anything that could be interpreted as orderliness. Before Arthur can open his mouth, Merlin adds a quick, “Gonna take a shower now,” and disappears into the bathroom.
Later, while Arthur is taking a shower, Merlin does unhook his sock from where it’s dangling. Arthur doesn’t remark upon it, and neither does he comment on how a quick touch of Merlin’s hand makes the light bulb explode into glittering smoke that dissipates before it reaches the floor. He does sound as if he’s smiling when he utters a quick good night, though.
--
“You didn't tell me you want a spot as a magician.” Gaius has stilled entirely, abandoning his previous project of storing away the washed and sterilised bandage they used to wrap Gwen's hand.
Merlin shrugs a little sheepishly. “Well, you know. I didn't think that hi, I'm Merlin, and I'll do whatever, at least until I get to blow up things in your arena-I don’t think that would have gone over too well.”
“You're right.” Gaius' puts the bandage down. He's looking inordinately serious, no trace of his usual smile. “And I don't think it's a good idea, Merlin. Surely someone must have told you by now that Uther is no fan of magical tricks.”
Merlin looks away from the sharp expression in Gaius’ eyes. “I... Someone might have mentioned it. Yeah.”
“Yes, I thought they might have.” Gaius sits down on a chair. Paint is flaking off its backrest, and the one time Merlin used it, his shirt had red stains he doesn't think a washing machine would have been able to deal with. Gaius doesn't appear to mind. He leans over the table, fixing Merlin with a hard stare. “Because, see, if you thought some people's opinion of university-educated children was bad, you don't want to talk to Uther about performing as a magician.”
“Why not? Not everyone’s a charlatan using cheap tricks.”
“I'm not saying they are.” Gaius shakes his head. The line of his shoulders is weary, a steep line between his eyebrows. “I'm just saying that you're better off not mentioning this to too many people. And don't set your heart on it.”
Merlin drops down in the chair opposite Gaius, setting both elbows on the table. He exhales slowly and rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “But why? It doesn't seem fair.”
“Maybe it isn't.” A trace of the usual humour is back in Gaius' eyes. “Maybe it isn't fair, but life hardly ever is.”
“Not helping,” Merlin says.
Gaius gives him a wry look. “I never said I was.” He pauses as if to say something else, but in the end, he only waves his hand at the shelf. “Get back to work, Merlin.”
It's a clear end of the conversation. Merlin sighs, bites down on the inside of his cheek and gets to his feet.
--
There are shows, and then there are shows. It’s what Gwen told him early on, but it’s not until after their third show in Calais that Merlin really gets it: Once in a while, a rare night occurs when everyone is at their best; when the audience is responsive and enthusiastic, when the artists push their tricks just a little further, the acrobats fly just a little higher and the band sounds just a little better.
Afterwards, everyone’s bright-eyed and smiling. When Merlin has exchanged his vendor’s costume for his normal clothes and joins Arthur, Gwen, Morgana and Lance, they’re already talking about going to some club. Merlin tries not to read anything into the fact that it’s Arthur who turns to him, glitter still streaking his lids, and says, “Le Caméléon is supposed to have good music and drinks. Feel free to come along, just in case you miss the whole university party life.”
University party life? Yeah, because Merlin just thrived on that sort of thing, booze and parties all night long. No, really.
“You know, uni parties really aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. But yeah, that sounds good.” Merlin catches Gwen tossing him a secretive smile, hinting at a conversation they had only yesterday about Arthur and how he’d been about to enrol in a university himself, a couple years ago - which actually does shed a new light on Arthur’s initial misgivings about Merlin, especially since if it felt as if there might have been more to the story than what Gwen told him, partly by accident. Anyway. “Also,” Merlin adds, grinning as he reaches out to touch Arthur’s temple, “did you know there’s glitter on your face?”
It takes a second before Merlin realises that he is touching Arthur’s temple. He quickly pulls his hand back. Off to the side, he catches sight of Uther immersed in a conversation with Gaius, although a more accurate description might be that Gaius is talking while Uther is staring at Merlin in what might be a warning. Merlin attempts a small smile.
“I did know, yes.” Arthur’s dry tone pulls Merlin’s attention back. “Thank you for unnecessarily pointing it out.”
“I like being useful.”
“Funny, I never noticed.”
“You weren’t paying attention, then.” Merlin glances over again to find that Uther has turned away.
“Possible, but not very likely.”
Merlin chooses not to reply. Instead, he looks around the group. Morgana is in a flowing skirt that ends just above her knees, Gwen’s wearing a blue dress that contrasts beautifully with her skin, and while Lance and Arthur are both wearing jeans, their t-shirts aren’t quite their daily wear, and Arthur’s hair looks artfully tousled. “Do I need to change?” Merlin asks.
“No butterflies,” Arthur says.
Merlin doesn’t give him the finger, but it’s a close call.
--
Morgana, flushed and breathing hard, sinks onto the bench beside Merlin. He slides over, closer to Gwen to make a little more room. His efforts are rewarded with Morgana stealing his drink out from under his nose. “Hey,” he protests. The loud bass almost swallows it.
Morgana grins around the rim and takes another sip of his gin and tonic before setting it back down in front of him. “You don’t dance, do you?”
“Not really.” Not unless threatened with certain and painful death. “Don’t have much of a feel for rhythm, you know? I always look like I’m flailing about the floor, not like you and Arthur.” Then again, no other dancers in the club look anywhere near as graceful as Morgana and Arthur; they are so tuned to one another that it seems as if they always know precisely just where the other is going to be in a second, or three. It has certainly earned them quite a few stunned stares, and if it weren’t for how everyone mistakes them for a couple, neither Arthur nor Morgana would be likely to leave the club alone.
It’s probably a good thing Merlin is very much over his minor crush on Arthur.
“Tired already?” Arthur asks, seeming to appear out of nowhere as he leans over the table and past Morgana to reach for Merlin’s drink. Merlin doesn’t react in time to save it, mostly because he’s confused by the question until it becomes clear that Arthur’s addressing Morgana. Arthur’s throat moves as he swallows, sweat glistening on his forehead and dampening his hair, and, yeah. Merlin is so over his stupid crush.
“Tired?” Morgana tilts her head. “Most certainly not. My endurance has always surpassed yours.”
“Really.” Arthur sounds less than impressed. When she gets up in a smooth motion, he still affects a dubious expression, but puts Merlin’s near-empty glass down and holds out his hand. She accepts it with a rather ironic curtsy, and then they’re back on the dance floor. Merlin watches them for a moment before he turns to Gwen and Lance.
“Is it always a competition with them?”
Gwen laughs. “Oh, yes. They’re always exhausted after a club night. Not that we do this often, but, you know. When we do, they’re always more exhausted than after a double show.”
“Somehow, I’m not surprised.” Merlin returns her grin. Beside Gwen, Lance is frowning down at the tabletop. It’s not an uncommon sight, unfortunately. Merlin’s sigh is inaudible over the music.
“You get used to it, really.” Gwen pushes her empty glass towards the middle of the table and gets up. She gives Lance a brief, unhappy glance before turning back to Merlin. “Let me through?”
“Sure.” Merlin shrinks back to make room for her. She places a hand on his shoulder to steady herself, twisting her way out from between table and bench and turning towards the toilets. Merlin puts his feet back down on the floor and reaches for what’s left of his gin and tonic. The condensation is cool against his palm, and for several seconds, he focuses on that instead of on the loud silence emanating from Lance.
Unfortunately, with Gwen gone and Arthur and Morgana still commandeering all attention on the dance floor, the awkward silence is getting rather hard to ignore. When Merlin glances over, Lance is running his index finger along the rim of his beer glass while studying Merlin with a considering expression in his eyes. It’s what finally pushes Merlin over the edge.
He leans forward, meeting Lance’s eyes with mild irritation. “Look, there’s no need for you to be-You did catch the part where Gwen and Will decided I was the worst gay ever for not having a crush on either Prince William or Prince Harry, right?”
“You’re gay?” Lance’s voice is loud, even with the music blaring from the speakers. At the table next to theirs, two people turn curiously, but judging by their expressions, they’re French and didn’t quite get the message. Not that Merlin is exactly secretive about his sexuality, just… it’s usually Will who does the job for him. Will, whom Merlin absolutely has to call from some phone booth or something because his mobile phone really doesn’t appear to work, or maybe his pay-as-you-go credit has run out.
“Yeah.” Merlin raises his glass in a toast of sorts. “I thought you might have been three-thirds asleep at the time. With your head in Gwen’s lap, if I remember correctly.”
“Oh.” Lance continues to stare, and it’s getting to the point of being uncomfortable. Merlin shifts, nods his head and tries for a vague smile.
“Yeah. So.”
Another second passes, and then Lance blinks rapidly and relaxes, the corners of his mouth turning up. “Shit, I’m sorry. I really don’t mind, if that’s what you’re thinking. The gay thing, I mean. I don’t care. I just-”
“I get it,” Merlin interrupts. He waits for a moment before clapping Lance on the shoulder. Lance reacts with what has to be his first genuine smile at Merlin since… the day after they met, roughly. This time, the silence that follows isn’t awkward at all, and when Merlin looks over, Lance’s expression has brightened considerably.
Merlin breathes out and sags against the backrest. All things considered, that didn’t go too badly.
--
The sky is in that strange transition stage between night and morning when they leave the club to walk along the beach, back to where the camp is set up. Merlin feels tired and wide awake at the same time, his vision narrowed by the remnants of alcohol in his blood, the sound of the waves a steady beat in his ears, the wind snatching away all traces of the conversation between Arthur, Morgana and Lance. They’re walking a small distance ahead, beautiful silhouettes against a sky that is brightening on its eastern edge.
Merlin thinks of comments about university party life and inhales deeply. The air smells of salt and rotting algae. Beside him, Gwen has taken off her shoes, leaving imprints of her naked feet in the sand. He looks at her profile for a moment before he clears his throat. His tongue feels a little clumsy.
“Why do I always get the feeling Arthur doesn’t really…” Like me? That’s not true, though. Arthur hasn’t exactly pledged his eternal friendship or anything like it, but Merlin did catch a few half-hidden smiles. It’s not that, no, it’s more… “That he doesn’t really trust me?”
“Because he doesn’t.” Gwen stops, sandals dangling in her hands. She looks horrified. “I mean, he sort of does, I think. And it’s not you specifically he doesn’t trust. It’s… nothing personal. Or, it is, obviously, it’s personal because it’s about you, but.” When she falls silent for a second, the crashing of the waves seems inordinately loud in Merlin’s ears. “It’s not your fault,” Gwen finishes.
Merlin stares at the faint hint of morning. It’s personal, but it isn’t? What’s that even supposed to mean? “I don’t get it,” he says.
“I…” Gwen shrugs her shoulders, her dress flaring in the wind. She starts walking again, waiting for Merlin to fall into step before she says, voice fairly quiet, “You should probably ask him yourself.”
Merlin snorts softly, glaring at Arthur’s back. “Right. Because he’s absolutely going to tell me if you think it’s too sensitive to explain to me, or whatever.”
“No, really.” Gwen smiles at him, her teeth bright. She reaches out to squeeze his hand, a strangely urgent note to her tone. “You should. Ask Arthur, I mean.”
“If you say so.” Merlin wraps an arm around Gwen’s shoulders, mostly because her hand was uncomfortably cold in his. When she gives him a questioning look, he grins. “I’d give you my jacket, if I had one.”
Gwen laughs and hugs him around the waist. “A true gentleman. I’m enchanted.”
“As you should be,” Merlin tells her seriously. He looks ahead to find Arthur in the process of turning his head away while Lance’s grin is obvious even from the distance. Lance’s new-found acceptance makes Merlin feel better about himself, despite Gwen’s undecipherable explanations. Merlin’s not going to think about that, at least not for the moment. Right now, he really just needs his bed and his wonderfully warm blanket.
With the way the cold breeze sneaks under Merlin’s pullover and up the ankles of his jeans, it’s getting harder to ignore that autumn is in full swing. There is no reason for Merlin to feel as if the steady approach of winter puts him under time pressure. He never set himself a deadline for when he wanted to stand in the arena, and if it takes him a year, then it will still be worth the effort just for getting to know these people.
Merlin pulls Gwen closer. “Don’t start chattering your teeth,” he warns.
“Well.” Her shoulders lift with her shrug. “You’re really not that good of a radiator, has anyone ever told you?”
“No one’s complained yet.”
“Maybe they were just too afraid,” she says.
Merlin laughs and closes his eyes for a moment, listening to the waves. When he inhales, the air smells of salt, sand and late summer, and his chest feels wide and happy.
--
There aren’t that many phone booths around anymore, and it also takes Merlin the better part of an hour until he’s fairly certain that he has both a phone card that works, and that he knows how to use it. His certainty fades at the tinny ring tone that comes with some sort of echo. Three, then four. Five. Merlin leans against the glass wall of the phone booth, the pane cool even through his t-shirt. On the other hand, he has a lovely view over the ocean, green waves rolling in with the tide.
Twelve rings. Merlin is about to hang up when Will finally accepts the call with a grunt, followed by a yawn.
“It’s almost six,” Merlin says. “You have to leave for your shift in half an hour, so you should be awake anyway.”
Will yawns again, demonstratively drawing it out. “It’s almost five,” he corrects. “And you know that when I pull the night shift, I like to catch a few hours of sleep before going to the hospital. You woke me. As you should have known you would.”
Shit, of course; Merlin completely forgot to take into account the time difference. He shifts the receiver over to his other ear, the metal cord producing a strange hissing sound at the motion. “Sorry, yeah. Didn’t remember that it’s an hour earlier for you. I’ll remember next time, promise.”
“You better,” Will grumbles. “Arse.”
“Love you too, Will.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Something crackles in the line, and then the coffeemaker’s typical rumbling sets in, perfectly recognisable despite the transmission’s bad quality. “Speaking of, I thought you were in love with the prat?” By the sound of his voice, Will has the receiver trapped between shoulder and ear.
“Absolutely not,” Merlin says. “And anyway, it was never more than just a crush.”
“Does that mean I’m allowed to remove his picture from inside our bathroom cabinet?”
“I never put-” Merlin’s protest is cut short by Will’s laughter. “Wanker,” Merlin mutters. He’s smiling at the horizon, but there’s no way Will can tell.
On Will’s side, the coffeemaker cuts off, followed by the familiar whoosh of the fridge door. For a moment, Merlin misses their flat, misses Will. It’s strange to think there’s a new person living in what used to be his room.
“Thought you loved me?” Will asks into Merlin’s thoughts.
“Changed my mind. In fact, I’m going to hang up on you now.”
“Don’t.” Will doesn’t sound suitably contrite, just amused. “I’m already awake now, so you might as well tell me how you are, what you’re doing. How’s the prat?”
“Prattish,” Merlin says. He joins in with Will’s short bark of laughter before he shakes his head, lifting one shoulder even though Will can’t see him. “No, actually, he’s… I think he’s coming around, maybe.”
“So there might be a spot in their programme for you, after all?”
“Eventually?” Or so Merlin hopes.
“Absolutely.” The word comes clear and loud across the line, probably because Will spoke directly into the receiver.
“Yeah, well.” Merlin switches the receiver back to his right ear and leans on the phone book holder, trusting it not to break under his weight. “But France is lovely, actually. I don’t understand a word they’re saying, but the ocean’s beautiful, and their bakeries are really good.” Even if Merlin would never admit as much to Arthur, if only because it’s fun to watch how his resistance makes Arthur flounder. Arthur is obviously not accustomed to anyone contradicting him.
“They don’t know the first thing about tea, though.”
“Like I care.”
“True.” Will sounds as if he’s grinning. “You’re pretty much the opposite of a gourmet, so, yeah.”
“You know, you’re starting to sound like Arthur.”
“Bloody hell, don’t just say things like that.”
“Hey.” Merlin runs his fingers along the writing someone left in black marker, two names and a heart, a universal code. “Hey,” Merlin repeats. “I still have best friend dibs, right?”
Will snorts, but his voice is soft. “Sure. If you don’t replace me with Gwen or the prat, that is.”
“Gwen’s prettier than you.”
“Sod off, Merlin,” Will says. He doesn’t hang up, though, and Merlin would be willing to bet that he isn’t the only one who’s grinning at nothing in particular.
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<< Back to Headers & Chapter 1
>> Chapter 5
Songs for this chapter:
(The last chapter will come with a .zip file of the entire soundtrack. Much easier than download links for individual songs.)
7. Envy and Other Things - Highness (I've waited on your favour / For what seems a century // A hopeless wretch lies waiting on your regal call)
8. Delerium - Fallen Icons (In a dark woods / Paved with snow / Living all alone / I forgot / Long ago / What I'm looking for // Firecracker, Lightning seed / Coming back to me // This is how / You made my heart a hunter)