#Arthur's string points to a damn book and that's why he opens it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rokutouxei · 4 years ago

Text

the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

ikemen vampire: temptation through the dark theo van gogh / mc | T | [ ao3 link in bio ]

The challenge seemed pretty simple: to try to befriend the university bookshop’s most sour employee, Theo van Gogh. As a literature major with a boatload of book recommendations on her back, it ought to be a simple task indeed. But as she uncovers what lies between Theo’s pages, the more she finds it harder to become closer to him without having to put the feeling directly into words. What can she learn from Theo about what it means to stay—and how can she teach Theo about what it means to let go? | written for ikevamp big bang 2020!

[ masterpost for all chapters ]

CHAPTER 11 OF 22

I tell her, grief is not a feeling but a neighborhood. This is where I come from. Everyone I love still lives there. - brenna twohy

She wakes up with one thought: that maybe she should apologize.

She can barely get out of bed carrying said thought in her head. She knows Theo is blunt, and maybe even in some ways a little too hardheaded for his own good, but—he couldn’t have meant any harm by saying that. And she’ll be damned before she admits this to him, but in a way, she’s starting to see that he’s a little right, after all.

That maybe she’s just looking for answers in the wrong places.

But at the same time… would it have killed him to say it a little kindlier? She nearly spills her coffee squeezing her mug too tight thinking of his face up at the rooftop—the rooftop she’d so nicely brought him to even if he had no right to be there in the first place—thinking of his voice, the words he said echoing over and over in her head. She’d replayed it over too many times now that she can’t even hear clearly in her mind what was said, just that it hurt. Just that it felt like being staked through the heart.

Sure, maybe he had good intentions, but isn’t the road to hell paved with just that?

“I hate you so fucking much,” she angrily shouts to no one in particular, half-meant and half for spite, grabbing her bag to go hunting for some advice.

The inside of Theo’s mouth tastes dull and coppery; he doesn’t know if it’s from the apology resting on his tongue or from the way he bites the inside of his cheek nervously. She never misses a day of coming to the bookshop, but it is Sunday at 2 pm and she is nowhere to be found.

His hands naturally gravitate towards his phone, and in his head, he forms the text message over and over again. The simplest I’m sorry, I overstepped and the most complicated I hadn’t meant to, and I shouldn’t have done it, if you would only forgive me- they’re written and rewritten in his mind in between each time he instinctually reaches for his phone.

He never does.

For the first half of the day, he tells himself it’s because he’ll feel better about calling her to apologize, rather than just sending a message. But he never does. And even when he thinks he’s ready to send a message to ask her if they could meet instead, the courage falls apart the moment he clicks on her name on the messaging app.

He’s never been that good with his words. Maybe when he figures what the best ones to say are, it’ll be too late.

Her first candidate is Vincent.

Vincent would know what to say. Or at least, he seems like the person who would know what to say, for any moment, for any problem. He just seems like the angel who has all the answers. But at the same time, consulting about Theo for Vincent doesn’t seem like the greatest idea. Besides the fact that Theo had made a parallel between her and Vincent to drive the point home. Maybe this was something she shouldn’t bring up between the brothers. So not Vincent.

Her next candidate is Arthur.

Arthur, of course, works with Theo, and is with Theo for basically most of the week—he’s easily the only other person she knows that’s as close to Theo as Vincent. Arthur would have a mighty piece of advice for sure, especially when it comes to Theo. She’s pretty close enough to him to talk about something like this as well. But the problem is that Arthur would also have a mighty piece of mind to show Theo if she’d reached out to him, no matter how much she will say about not telling Theo. Arthur can get pretty heated, and that’s not what she wants. So not Arthur.

Her last candidate is Dazai.

Dazai is her best friend and thus will probably understand her point of view the most. He understands how much she feels about getting out of this place and how much it matters for her, and will likely stand by her side if she tells this story. Of course, this just means that his scales are unfairly tilted for her—if he decides to bust out the scales at all. He’s pretty carefree as he is, and she could already hear what he’ll tell her—to “just let dumb dog lie”, meaning, to stop if he doesn’t care about her to begin with.

And she doesn’t want to do that.

So not Dazai.

She orders a hot chocolate from a different café (Vincent might be able to catch the look in her eye, and she doesn’t want to give out a clue, not when Theo presumably also came home in a bad mood) and walks down a random street, going nowhere in particular. Sundays are her designated chill days—the days where she doesn’t do work as much as possible or at least spend as much time as possible relaxing. This is why she goes to the bookshop on Sundays. But maybe not today. Instead, she walks. And the walk is helping in clearing her head, for sure, but she really wants someone to talk to, and—

She passes by the administrative building and it clicks.

“Come in!” he calls out from inside, and she enters the room with a spring in her step to seem a little more upbeat than she actually is.

“Hello Professor Newton,” she greets, shutting the door behind her with a smile. “Am I interrupting something?”

He murmurs her name lowly in surprise before shaking his head. “Not really, may I help you with anything?” he asks, although very carefully, as if already knowing she wasn’t here on official business.

Which was great, because that means she didn’t need to work too hard to get him into the mood. “It’s personal,” she says, with an awkward grin. “Is that okay?”

She makes her way to his desk but he gets up, instead gesturing towards the sofa on the other side of the room. She’s pretty sure this sofa is not his, but instead the other professor’s—the one with the room linked to his—but hey, if it’s in his spot, right? She takes a seat on it as Isaac crosses the room to a low table.

“Tea or coffee?”

“Coffee please!”

She hadn’t expected Isaac to be so open to talking to her about something… personal. She would say they were friends, but the older man didn’t seem to be so keen on her—or maybe he’s really just a recluse. Isaac’s doing his Ph.D. in some convoluted science, a full four years older than her. And… he seems so smart.

And that’s exactly why she chose him. Isaac is easy to fluster and surprise, and sure, maybe he’s one of the more socially inept people on the campus, but he still has a warm heart—that much she knows—and good, attentive pairs of eyes and ears that make him great at giving advice. He can seem cold, but her nights with the astronomy club prove that in the right circumstance, he is anything but.

She is praying that he is the same today.

He hands her a small teacup filled with coffee, placing the containers with sugar and milk next to it. He seems to have one filled with tea in his hands, and he gingerly sits down on the seat next to her. Instantly she feels like some teenager on her first trip to the therapist, about to lay down all her worries to be unwoven together and laid down in neat, straight strings. She’s nervous, sure, but also very comforted.

Isaac clears his throat and then sighs. “I… I don’t know why you’re going to me about this?”

“I think you’ll have the kind of thing I want to hear?” she offers, but she’s not too sure either. Isaac takes a sip from his tea.

“Aren’t you supposed to go to hear advice you need, not things you want to hear?” he quips back, but then purses his lips. “But if you’re so keen, let me hear it anyway.”

She sinks into relief.

Arthur elbows Theo gently. “What’s up with you today? You’re gloomier than usual.”

“Leave me alone, Bespectacled Demon.”

“Oooh, that’s new—and spicy. Little Miss upset you over something?”

Theo glares. “It’s none of your business.”

“I see, correct again, then,” Arthur says, clapping. “You know, sometimes I have to pause and wonder what she sees in you, when you’re all prickly like that all the time.”

For a moment, Theo wonders if she’d confided to Arthur. There’s really little by way of finding out, because Arthur generally talks as if he knows about everything in the first place. And Theo wasn’t in the mood to pry, or even bend under Arthur’s curiosity. Last night went into a direction Theo would not have expected it to go to, and now—now he only feels even more protective of the girl, by her similarity to Vincent. Maybe he should have been gentler after all.

“Thinking about it, big man? I’m telling you, you have to tell her what you mean sometimes. It’s better for you and—well, it makes girls swoon.”

“Do you live only to annoy me?” is what Theo decides to answer with, pushing Arthur away.

To which, Arthur smiles, leaning against the counter. “Sometimes the things that are best for us are the most repulsive at first.”

Isaac listens to her.

She outlines as much detail as she can with her heart already thumping in her throat. About growing up, about wanting to go away. About bringing Theo up to the rooftop because being there makes her feel safe. About the conversation they had, about what it made her feel. About how Theo usually talks, about how she feels like he didn’t mean harm in the first place, but it still hurts.

And the more she says the sillier she feels because—of course she goes to a professor, goes to the singular person she knows that seems to have been shoulder-deep into academics his entire life. Why is she talking about this to Isaac? Maybe she should have gone to Dazai.

Carefully, she puts the teacup down on its saucer and takes a deep breath once all that she can say has been said. She doesn’t have the courage to even look at Isaac now, feeling like he’s looking down on her. Why wasn’t she doing something more important instead of worrying about all this—like, why isn’t she working on her portfolio for submission instead? Or maybe she can try and do extracurriculars that will make her CV do a little bit better than anyone else’s? If she’s so keen on going away, then maybe she should be working on that instead of—all this.

Worrying about one mis-said thing.

“I’m sorry, it feels rather stupid to be consulting you about this, now that I’ve had time to think about it—and do it,” she says, cringing as she does. “It was me who asked for permission for us to hang out there too in the first place… And yet here I am.”

Isaac taps his fountain pen (covered, thankfully) thoughtfully against his face. He doesn’t have a notebook with him, but he’s been twirling it between his fingers as she was talking. He says it helps him think; and at this point, it’s just a tic that he does when he’s deep in thought. This makes her feel flustered for a moment; is he really taking her so seriously? Over something so little?

“But this isn’t about the rooftop,” Isaac says, slowly. “This is about Theodorus.”

She blinks. “Well… yes, I guess,” she offers. And then: “I’m sorry, Isaac, I shouldn’t have come here after all… I didn’t want to waste your time, maybe I should have just… told you on the next session at the rooftop that I won’t be bringing him there anymore…” She closes her grip against her bag and begins to stand up. “I think that’s really all I wanted to say—"

“No,” Isaac says, suddenly, and his voice makes her sit down again. Isaac is like that, but he’s still a professor, and, well, he can have quite a voice when he decides to. “I—I mean, you didn’t… come here to tell me that, didn’t you? You came here to ask me for…” he bites his lip. “Advice.”

A flutter of joy begins to grow in her stomach. Dazai is right—it is some sort of exciting when Isaac comes out of his shell. “…Yes, if you had any,” she answers, now more steady. “Of course, if you don’t, it’s entirely alright… I just needed to tell someone, I think.”

Isaac is quiet for a moment. Then he begins. “Don’t worry about the rooftop,” he says. “Come and use it as you please—I trust you’ll be responsible for it.”

Well, that wasn’t the advice she expected. “Of course, sir.”

“I wouldn’t have entrusted the keys to you otherwise,” he says, before looking up at her. “And no sirs. I’m not— I’m not talking to you as your club professor right now. I’m talking to you as your…”

She looks up, but she doesn’t make any sound, looking at him intently.

Isaac coughs, then looks away. “F—friend.”

(A burst of color at the back of her eyes. Holy shit, screw romance, why does friendship feel this good?)

“Yes,” she says eagerly, “I never thought I’d hear that from you ever.”

He refuses to look at her and hides behind a sip of tea. When she giggles at him, he groans. “Can we go back to your problem, please?”

The tea in the pot is long cold when she left Isaac’s office, the rest of the faculty already having driven home. Outside, the streetlamps are only beginning to flicker on, illuminating the familiar avenues in their still-weak orange glow.

And she is standing outside the physics building feeling very, very small—perhaps the kind of way a culture of bacteria feels like sitting in a petri dish underneath a high-tech microscope.

Very small, and very, very seen.

Isaac had fumbled for words and stuttered and his sentences ran over each other—but he gave his advice anyway, tried to make sense of the knots of a feeling she had handed him and undo them, weave them into something a little more understandable. And yes, sure, this Isaac, bungling up his words and pausing every few seconds as if recalibrating his mind is very, very different from the Isaac she’d seen once in his higher physics classes (she and Dazai secretly sat-in: she didn’t understand a single word but it was so refreshing to see Isaac in his natural element), but it was this Isaac who was her friend, who was trying his best to help her when even he seems to be so dense to his own emotions sometimes.

She had expected Isaac to give her a new point of view; to see the situation the kind of way a hard scientist would, in between hypotheses and laws and experiments, the kind one applied the scientific method on and one could plaster many tables and charts in a paper for. Of course, since she was seeking advice, she wouldn’t have said it out loud, but deep in her heart she hoped Isaac would say something like “Ditch him” or “It was a wrong thing to say”—the kind of thing Dazai would say but at least from the mouth of a man who isn’t too obviously on her side. But instead, Isaac said:

“The longer you deny the facts the more undeniable they become.”

Said it like it was fact, like it was some sort of sure scientific law that should have been known to common man. Kind of like gravity. Said with absolute truth—said as if she should have had the basic common sense to learn about this. But Isaac had learned this adage the hard way too—in his experiments and trials when things didn’t go right, when the math didn’t add up, the harder he tried to disprove what was already there, the worse his time became.

Science isn’t about changing what is already there. It is about understanding what is, and then deciding how we can change the way we move around it, how to harness it, to make our lives a little better.

And the science of it is this: she doesn’t want to apologize to Theo. In fact, maybe she ought not to. It was him who dealt the blow, so why does she have to be the one making excuses and apologies out of it? But at the same time—she doesn’t want to also be the reason he doesn’t want to apologize. Sure, she’s hurt, but at the end of the day…

She still wants this friendship back.

Theo is good company and she’d love to have him back.

Luckily, she knows just the right way to science their way back into friends.

She’s always in the bookshop on Sundays.

Even in the worst of weather. Even if she doesn’t have to buy anything. Even if all she’ll do inside is look at the fresh stock in the New Reads section for an hour and then go home.

She comes on Sundays and Wednesdays, no other days of the week.

So when she doesn’t come on Sunday, Theo feels a little unsettled.

And when she comes in on a Monday—Theo is even more taken aback.

She doesn’t peer through the window to check inside like she usually does, just hops off her bike once she rounds the corner, locks it into the bike rack (sadly out of Theo’s vision, so he doesn’t get to actually gauge her expression before she comes in) and then pushes the door open; the bells on the doorway tinkle when she does so.

Theo tries to put a little pep into his voice when he says “Welcome to Dragon’s Hoard,” but the only thing the dragon in him is hoarding right now is … well, remorse.

It’s an off hour for her too—four in the afternoon, perhaps after class?—but it doesn’t seem to matter to her as she strides right up at the register. It’s a good thing Arthur went out to get them some coffee a few blocks down, so Theo is alone.

“Nice weather today, huh?” she says by way of greeting, once she gets there. It’s not bad. Rather windy, and she’s definitely got on extra layer of outerwear on for the temperature.

But she’s not here for the weather and he knows.

He was preparing an apology, to be rather honest—and he didn’t feel like he could get away with a simple I’m sorry, not when he ran his mouth like that. He hadn’t finished thinking about said apology though, and Arthur was already teasing him for spending so much time zoning out thinking of how to appease the “Little Miss.” No matter. Despite the unreadiness, Theo attempts to form words anyway: “Look, I—I’m sorry,” he says, looking her straight in the eye to make sure she sees he means it. “I said too much and I didn’t consider. I shouldn’t have.”

“Thanks,” she says, beaming at him in a way he thought she would never let him see again. “That means a lot. Sorry for running out on you like that, too.”

“You had every right to.”

“Still, it wasn’t the right thing to do.” She takes a deep breath to steady herself. “I’ve been chewing on it for the past few days and… you were only looking out for me, and I wanted to thank you for that. Couldn’t have killed you to say it a little more gently though.”

He grimaces. “I’ll try better.”

“Thanks, Theo,” she says with a smile. “I kind of don’t want to say it, but I also think you’re kind of right about it, actually.”

“About what?”

“About why I want to go away and all that.”

Theo only nods quietly, watching as she stares out the window like she’s deep in thought. Sometimes he wonders what kind of things are actually going on in that mind of hers. She seems to always be considering something for the future—never stopping in one place.

“Maybe you are right that I don’t really need to go away,” she says, still not facing him. “Maybe I’m just psyching myself out for an out there that isn’t really as good as I dream it will be. But you know? Maybe it’s a lesson I’ll have to learn on my own.” She turns to him with that confident expression on her face again. “Maybe I’ll need to go away and then consider staying. Think you can live with that?”

He snorts. He doesn’t mean to, but it comes out of him, and with that sound he feels like they’re back to before once again. “You make it sound like I have a choice in this matter.”

She laughs. “Hmm, well you do, but you’ll have to work a little harder than that to get me out of your life now that we’re friends. Just wanted to say thanks for putting that thought in me, yanno?” She cocks her head to the side. “...And, really. You were the first person I wanted to tell about me passing the first round and all that. No spite this time.”

And it feels right to tell him. She hadn’t gotten to because she felt like she wanted it to sink in first, and then they got into the fight before she was able to tell him at the rooftop, but—it feels just right as breathing to be telling him about this. Sure, he’s supposed to be nothing more than a distraction, but he’s proven himself to be a very worthy distraction, so full of intellectual discourse and banter from the beginning. This isn’t going the way she thought it would be going but it’s a good place. Besides, now she knows—that Theo just wants the best for her.

But before Theo can say his congratulations properly this time around, she says, “I was thinking, maybe you could save your claps and instead help me get a book…”

A ten-minute argument over student discounts, staff discounts, and what friendship ought to actually mean later, it is decided, by way of Theo’s gratefully granted apology, that she gets to go home with an anthology of modern poetry, at staff price.

#the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart #ikemen vampire #ikevamp theo

6 notes · View notes

ineffable-snowman · 5 years ago

Text

I wrote a GO Christmas fic!

or am still writing, to be honest, but here’s the first chapter. It’s a human AU, inspired by too many Christmas romance movies that I’ve watched over the years.

You can read it here or on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28245411

Many thanks to the lovely people at the GO-Events discord server who helped me with beta-reading and brainstorming!

Chapter One: December 19th

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!”

Crowley threw his phone onto the passenger seat. Dead battery. And he was in the middle of nowhere and it was close to midnight. He cursed Lucifer and that stupid job and the stupid snow (and ice storms, road works, poorly signposted roads, and zero internet reception). He was completely lost without his phone. What was he supposed to do? Just keep driving, without a clue where Ashville was? Everything just looked the same: heaps and heaps of snow. Why would anyone want to build a factory here of all places? (Probably low property taxes.)

Crowley got out of the car and kicked the bloody snow at the side of the road only to hurt his foot because it was more ice than snow. He cursed some more. His words formed wisps of tiny clouds in the dark and the cold. A gigantic factory would definitely be an improvement for this area. It would mean a bit of variety in this desolate place. Maybe even a signpost here and there. Or internet reception!

Finally, the glint of headlights in the distance. Crowley waved wildly to make the car stop.

The driver rolled down the window. “Do you need help?”

“Yes. I seem to have gotten slightly lost. Can you point me towards Ashville?”

“Ashville? Never heard of that.”

Neither had Crowley before Lucifer had sent him there. “Do you maybe have a phone I could use?”

“No internet reception here.”

“What about phone calls?” Not that it would be much help. Crowley did not even know Lucifer’s number by heart. But maybe he could call directory assistance to ask for the number of that Bed and Breakfast, what was it called again? Something with ‘Book’. Shit. Of course, he had all the necessary information on his phone and only his phone.

“Afraid not.” The driver got out of his car and opened the trunk to pull out an old roadmap.

“Mm, didn’t know these still existed,” Crowley said but was all the more grateful for such old-fashioned things in this situation. Back in Chicago, the first thing he was going to buy himself was a new phone, at least two power banks, and a roadmap.

Crowley and his rescuer – with a bulky flashlight – poured over the old roadmap until they finally located the small town called Ashville. Without ever having been there, Crowley already hated it. He tried to memorise the map (taking a picture with his phone would have been so helpful…) and thanked the man for his assistance.

After half an hour of driving through more snow and trees, Crowley finally arrived at Ashville. Now he just needed to find his B&B. Well, he would simply do it the old-fashioned way: go to the tourist information or, in the worst case, book another place to stay for the night.

There was no tourist information.

There was nothing that looked like a hotel.

The streetlights had already been turned off as well as all the lights in all the houses. It was not that late, just half past midnight. Did people even live here? It felt like a ghost town.

Crowley drove down road after empty road until he finally passed a house with the lights still on. He brought the Bentley to a halt and promptly slipped on the icy sidewalk when he got out of the car. “Damn it!” Clinging to the wing mirror, he picked himself up and shuffled to the front door. He was tired and cold and hungry, his bottom hurt from the fall and he badly needed to go to the loo. The lights in this house were his only hope.

A friendly-looking man in reading glasses and a beige cardigan opened the door.

Crowley quickly started talking before the man could shut the door right in his face, “Sorry to disturb you so late at night but your house was the only place with the lights still on, so I thought I’d try my luck. Anyway, I’m looking for a B&B in Ashville – I am in Ashville, right? – called something like Books and Bed and Breakfast. It’s meant to be here somewhere.”

“Did you mean The Book Nook?”

“Yes!” Crowley almost shouted in relief. Finally, something that went right today.

“You’ve come to the right place. This is The Book Nook. Are you Anthony Crowley then?”

“Oh, thank God! Yes, I’m Crowley.” Crowley smiled apologetically at the man. He must have kept him up for longer than usual because, apparently, in Ashville, everyone went to sleep before midnight. “Sorry for being so late but there was an ice storm around Little Falls and the road was closed in Randall and then I had to go back to Little Falls and crawl along those bloody slippery roads again and try to find another way and I got lost about five times because I didn’t get reception for my phone and then the battery was dead. Anyway, sorry. Didn’t mean to keep you up.”

“It’s fine, no need to worry. The most important thing is that you arrived here safely. I am Aziraphale, by the way. Welcome to The Book Nook.” The man opened the door wider. Inside looked warm and cosy. “Please, come in. Can I help you with your luggage?”

“No need, don’t have much with me.” Crowley quickly got his suitcase from the Bentley and followed Aziraphale inside. He found himself inside a crammed little bookshop. Not what he had expected.

His confusion must have shown on his face because Aziraphale said, “Don’t worry, you won’t have to sleep between the books. Your room is upstairs and you have a perfectly nice and comfy bed.”

“Great.” Crowley followed him up a winding staircase, which was decorated with a festive garland. Aziraphale led him to one of the rooms and fiddled with the large key (Crowley could not remember when he had last stayed at a place that still used such keys. Key cards were the standard). Finally, he managed to open the door with a resolute yank.

“There it is. I hope everything is to your liking.”

Crowley could only stare. It looked like a Christmas explosion had happened here. There were Christmas lights on strings wound around the wardrobe and the mirror. Every available surface was covered with Christmassy knick-knacks: Santa figurines, Christmas baubles, candles in the shape of snowmen, even a nutcracker (What on earth was he supposed to do with a nutcracker???). The windows were decorated with glittery stars and the letters forming ‘Merry Christmas’, missing the dot on the i.

Aziraphale looked expectantly at Crowley. Oh, yes, he had asked if Crowley liked the room.

“Yeah, great, thanks,” Crowley answered, staring in horror at the flowery bedspread and the assortment of plush cushions in various sizes, some of them with ruffles and lace. How old was that guy? Or did he rent his Grandma’s old rooms?

“So, what brings you here to Ashville? Visiting relatives?”

Crowley supposed that must be the only reason why anyone came here. Who would voluntarily go to this place? “Nah, I’m just a tourist on vacation.” He was not in the mood for small talk (and he really needed to go to the loo!) but it would not do to be rude to Aziraphale after Crowley had made him wait for so long for him to arrive, so he tried his best to be friendly.

“Vacation, how lovely,” Aziraphale commented.

Was that too obvious a lie? “Thought I’d do some hiking in the woods,” Crowley elaborated. “Just…find some peace and quiet, you know? Work’s been busy lately.” At least that part wasn’t a lie. He probably could convincingly play the exhausted businessman from the city who needed some time away from the hustle and bustle to find his inner self or some such bullshit.

“Ah, I see. You would need snowshoes if you want to go hiking in the woods, though. The snow is very deep if you leave the road, you won’t get very far without snowshoes. I think I heard Sara say that they had sold out the last ones but I could ask Arthur if he could lend you his, he is about-”

“No, no, it’s fine, I brought my own.” Crowley did not own snowshoes, of course, but as he would never willingly go hiking in the snow, that was no problem.

Aziraphale dubiously eyed Crowley’s little suitcase.

“I left them in the car,” Crowley explained. “I hardly need them here, right?”

“Ah, no.” Aziraphale chuckled. “Anyway, I’ll leave you alone now so you can make yourself at home. Would you like a cup of tea? Or something to eat? I suppose you haven’t had dinner yet if the journey took you so long?”

Just on cue, Crowley’s stomach rumbled. “Starving.” The only roadside restaurant he had seen during his trip here had already been closed – at 9 pm! Ridiculous, really. “Any recommendations for a good restaurant?”

“I’m afraid the diner is already closed.”

Of course it was. But another thing worried Crowley much more: “Diner? As in singular?”

“Well, Ashville isn’t that big. There is a pub in Elm Street but they only serve light lunches. And there used to be a lovely restaurant next to the town hall but the owner – sorry, you’re probably not interested in all of this. I have some leek and potato soup left that I could reheat or if you’d prefer sandwiches, I could prepare some quickly-”

“No, soup is fine.” Jesus Christ, Crowley just wanted to go to the loo and he needed to recharge the phone’s battery so he could shout at Lucifer for sending him to this ridiculous place – he did not need leek and potato soup. But asking the guy to prepare him sandwiches in the middle of the night seemed somewhat ungrateful. “Soup is great.”

“Lovely. The kitchen is just over there.” The guy pointed to the end of the hall. “Come whenever you’re ready.” He handed Crowley the rusty key. It had a little wooden guardian angel as a key chain. Then he finally left Crowley alone.

Crowley rushed to the tiny bathroom and groaned when he saw the crimson red and very plushy cover on the toilet lid. He was going to kill Lucifer!

After he had finally relieved himself, he unplugged the Christmas lights (because apparently there was only one socket in the whole room) so he could recharge the phone’s battery. Then he went into the kitchen, which was as crammed and full of Christmas decoration as his own room.

Aziraphale put a bowl of steaming soup in front of him. Leek and potato soup was not exactly Crowley’s thing but he was hungry and cold, so it would do.

“When would you like to have breakfast tomorrow?” asked Aziraphale while rummaging through the kitchen drawers. “I’m afraid I can’t offer you a late breakfast because I have to open the shop tomorrow at half-past nine. You see, the last Saturday before Christmas is always the busiest day of the year. Many people turn to books as a last-minute Christmas present. But if you wanted to sleep longer, I could prepare something for you. Pancakes are easy to reheat, for example, and-”

“Don’t bother, I just have coffee for breakfast anyway.”

“But if you plan to go hiking, you need to have a proper breakfast! Seriously, the cold will wear you out in no time at all!”

It took Crowley a bit of time to calm Aziraphale down but he eventually convinced him that he would not go for a long hike tomorrow but would just walk around the town for a bit. Then finally Crowley could go into his room. He removed the horrible bedspread (and two woollen blankets underneath it) as well as five cushions. Five! Who on earth needed that many cushions? Most of them not even big enough to rest your head on.

Unfortunately, his charging cable wasn’t long enough – or rather: there was no socket close enough to the bed. So Crowley sat down on the floor next to the socket and texted Lucifer: Just arrived in Ashville. Are you fucking kidding me???? Well, he meant to text him but the message could not be sent because he had no reception. Damn it, this was a town, people lived here! How could there be no reception?

Groaning, Crowley stood up again and left his room. The lights in the kitchen were still on and he could hear plates clatter and water running. No dishwasher, naturally.

“Sorry, could you give me the wifi password?” Crowley asked. “I mean, if there is wifi…”

“Yes, of course there is. But it can be a bit finicky, especially if there are snowstorms. Which is practically all the time in winter. You usually have the best reception at the top of the staircase. The password is,” Aziraphale waggled his eyebrows, “Pri-fiAndPrejudice.” He looked immensely proud of that horrible pun. Crowley could not entirely suppress a snort of laughter. What a nerd.

“If there’s anything else you need, my room is the one next to yours. Don’t hesitate to knock.”

“Isn’t that annoying, always having strangers in your house?”

“Not at all. The house would be too big for just me. And anyway, I don’t have many guests and most of them are just lovely people, so I don’t really mind it.”

Crowley shrugged. He could not imagine living like that. But he also couldn’t imagine sleeping between dozens of tiny fluffy cushions and doing your dishes by hand. Suddenly his conscience got the better of him. It was way past midnight, this guy had offered him soup in his own kitchen – which was not usually included in a B&B – and was now doing the dishes. “Can I help you? I could dry the plates.”

“Absolutely not! You’re my guest and you deserve your vacation. Besides, I��m almost finished here.”

“Ah, well. I’ll leave you a five-star google review then.”

“Oh, really?”

Aziraphale smiled at him and – Crowley was momentarily taken aback. There was no reason to smile like that just because of the promise of a simple google review. Aziraphale’s smile was just like his Christmas decorations: blinding and completely over the top.

“Yeah, no problem,” Crowley said. “Well. Night then.”

Back in his room, Crowley typed in the password and waited for his phone to connect to the ridiculously slow wifi. Finally, it sent the text messages to Lucifer. While waiting for an answer, Crowley checked The Book Nook’s reviews on google. There were only two: one anonymous who had given it two stars and one who had given it three stars and an added comment “breakfast was good.” Crowley frowned. So did that mean the rest of the place was not good, just the breakfast? It felt oddly unfair. Obviously, this place did not meet Crowley’s taste but he could tell that the owner went out of his way to accommodate him. Crowley frowned again. What on earth was he doing here, pondering over google reviews while sitting on the floor because there was no socket next to the bed? It was cold and uncomfortable in spite of the room’s fluffy carpet. This was really absurd. On the spur of the moment, he decided to rearrange the furniture a bit. He pushed the bed closer to the wall with the socket – and almost tripped over the numerous boxes under the bed. Probably where the Easter decorations were stored…

There was a soft knock on the door. “Er, just wondering, is everything alright?”

“Yeah, just perfect,” Crowley grunted and then sneezed heartily because his activity had raised quite a bit of dust from under the bed. (He would have to rethink that five-star review.) He pushed the bed further towards the wall until he could sit comfortably on the bed with his charger cable still plugged in. Only to get a notification that his phone was not connected to the internet. Well, he was tired anyway. He removed a Santa figurine and eight wooden reindeers from the bedside table so he could place his glasses and a cup of water there. Then he sank back into the bed. It squeaked loudly.

“Fuck.”

#good omens fic #my writing #ineffable husbands #christmas fic #human AU #aziraphale #crowley

6 notes · View notes

demonicpiano · 5 years ago

Text

Three-Fourths the Way There

RusEng + Magic Trio School AU!

You can read it on my AO3!

Rating: General/K+

(Safe enough to read at work!)

Words: >6K

Status: Complete, One-shot

Summary: There’s a new rule that school clubs need to have four members to a club, minimum. The Magic Club only has three. Cue panic.

"Don't look now, but that Russian kid is staring again."

Arthur turned his head. In the seat beside him, Vlad smacked a hand to his face, "I said don't look! Oh, great! He's probably going to curse you now and eat your parents!"

"Wow, he'll curse me and eat my parents?" Arthur made sure that his friend saw him roll his eyes. "Remind me to give my mum a call after class."

The last third of their trio glanced over his shoulder from a desk ahead as Vlad whisper-yelled, "What do you think happened to his ma and pa?"

"That's dark." Lukas launched a wad of paper, which bounced off the side of Vladimir's head. "You should be studying."

"Look around." The chatter of teenagers said it all, "Nobody's working. I bet the teacher is playing solitaire."

"Lukas is right. Sitting here and gossiping like a bunch of old ladies won't help us study." Arthur opened his textbook with a promise to his companions, "We have plenty of time for that during ritual."

"Honey or lemon this time?" Lukas asked.

"Lemon. Demons don't like the texture of sweet things."

Across the classroom, a lone Ivan smiled.

~.~

Not only was he the spokesperson of the Magic Club and go-to exorcist when the girls believed a spirit was haunting the gym locker room (the trick was to get the ghosts to leave willingly), Hetalia Academy's best and most prestigious was exemplified in the perfect form of Arthur Kirkland, head of the student body in Council. He was the first to arrive and last one to leave, as always, with notes on the ready to whip the other members into focus. Of course, he did not forget to hide the chalk so Yao and Alfred would not host doodle-contests that would end in a decisive victory.

Absolutely perfect...at least, he would say so.

Not long after Arthur settled, the door to the otherwise empty classroom opened, and he automatically straightened. Maybe today's Student Council wouldn't begin forty minutes late. A hulking figure slowed before the cluster of desks pushed together in a cheap meeting strategy, "Good afternoon, President."

Arthur raised his eyebrows, "I told you that you do not have to call me that." Ivan simply smiled, like he always seemed to do. "Take a seat. Hopefully the others will come soon."

"Thank you." Ivan settled, and began fiddling with something inside his bookbag. It stayed quiet. Neither of them were ones to make an empty room particularly interesting, but silence did not always need to be filled especially after a chatter-filled day of teachers and students. At least Ivan knew that...as much as Arthur could find himself to be at ease with him. Not only did the big guy stare from across the classroom during first period, he often giggled to himself as if he had many devious secrets. The fairies would shudder upon his arrival and promptly flee. Strange, but Arthur would take whatever damn peace and quiet he could get over-

The door swung open with a squawk of hinges and words, "...it was a shitstorm-supernova, man. I told him to lay off the milk, but-OH-HEY-ARTIE-HOW-ARE-YOU-DOING?!"

Arthur tried not to flinch too much as a gobble-gooked, French-accented chuckle poured salt in the wound of his bleeding eardrums. "The party is here!"

"That's me by the way!" Alfred announced with the World's Widest Grin. Sometimes it reached impossible places. He bounced past Ivan, gave him a smack on the head, and noisily dropped himself and his bookbag beside Arthur. Francis took Arthur's other side, reeking of a bath of perfume. No escape; it was either French or American. Damn it all, Arthur should have taken the other seat and risk sitting beside Ivan or Yao. Speaking of whom, the last (but certainly not least) shuffled in and plopped himself beside Ivan with a sigh.

"We're all here," Arthur said right away in order to curb stomp any potential conversations or distractions. "We'll get started right away. Phone's down and off, and as always, save your complaints until I'm finished." He grabbed a few sheets from his collection, snapped his folder shut, and began to distribute. "As you know, our annual dance is still some months away, but it is our duty as Student Council to get these flyers set up and sent out as soon as possible. I made these example sheets—Ivan, get off your phone, please—so we can hopefully come up with a design."

"Not on my phone."

"Nobody stares at their lap and smiles like that."

"I do."

"Nobody asked you, Francis."

"He's knitting," Yao said. Ivan snapped his hands over his lap and looked up as if he were caught halfway into the biscuit jar.

Before Arthur could say anything, before he could think to say anything, Alfred leaped from his seat with a shrill, "Are you really knitting! Isn't that something old ladies do?!"

"I..."

Arthur yanked the back of Alfred's jacket to get his behind in his seat again, "Sit down, would you? And knitting is not just for old ladies. It is a very calming and intricate hobby that can be used for a variety of reasons and-" Ivan was staring again. Smiling. Arthur gulped, ending much more weakly, "but you should leave it for a different time."

"Okie-dokie."

"Old lady!" Alfred sang.

"Shut it," Arthur warned. "Back on track here."

Work unwillingly completed was better than no work completed. As long as those ungrateful little—oops, the lovely student body—appreciated Arthur's efforts, then all would be just peachy. Besides, it wasn't the Student Council he looked forward to most, but the Magic Club was not until after school tomorrow. Once a week was always so close, yet so far. They had the design for the flyers completely planned and even began discussing a bake-sale in spring by the time Alfred leaped from his chair, "It's four o'clock! Time to go!"

"What is burning his ass?" Yao wondered. Arthur simply shook his head as everyone around him snatched their belongings and peeled out of the room as quickly as humanly possible. He gathered the scattered plans to tuck them safely into their folder with much more care than anybody else would give-

A paper poked his arm. Oh, Ivan was still there, holding one Arthur must have overlooked. "Oh, thanks-"

"Can I walk with you to the bus?"

"Excuse me, what?"

Ivan ducked his head.

"I suppose."

"Thank you."

Arthur gave a side-eye before taking himself and his bag out of the classroom. He walked fast and with purpose, though Ivan easily kept pace with long legs. Neither said anything, which was a bit odd. Then again, he was a bit of an odd fellow. Not many friends. Not really any friends. Large. Hulking. Thick arms. Uh, keeps to himself. Typical odd kid, yeah.

"How is your magic club?"

"Magic Club? It's...all right." A warning glance. Ivan kept his eyes forward. "Why?"

"All right? Did you find somebody yet?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Did you not hear? There was an email." Ivan stopped in the middle of the hall and pointed to a ginormous bulletin board a little ways away. "Every Club needs to have at least four members now or else it will be disbanded!"

"What?!" Arthur sent a sharp look over his shoulder, hoping for Ivan's sake that was just a cruel joke. He stormed across the linoleum floors, pouring over every letter and announcement (and a stray note saying that so-and-so smelled like mushrooms?) until he caught the bright yellow sheet that read, 'AFTER-SCHOOL CLUB UPDATE.' So on and so forth, '...effective the first day of the new semester, January 4. If you have any questions, please speak to a guidance counselor or send an email at...' "No..." Arthur cursed the paper. The paper did not respond. A heart could not handle to be abandoned like this so quickly and suddenly. Him. Lukas. Vlad. The chopping block called for their necks.

Ivan let out a thoughtful noise beside Arthur, scaring the nerves out of him again. Arthur almost told him to stop sneaking on him like that, but found himself unwilling to open his mouth. The Magic Club was unlike the others; it did not thrive off crowds and attention. It can, and has been, thriving with secrecy and rumors whispered through the halls. Three people was enough. It has been enough. It always should have been enough-

"So you have not found fourth member yet?"

"No. Not yet." Arthur resisted the urge to look to Ivan's face. What if it was a tease, a laugh hidden behind sweet words? What if it was full of hope? An unspoken yet obvious question? He couldn't bear it. Not now. Not so soon. "I have to go."

"Ah, did I say something bad?"

"No, Ivan, not you. I need to get home." Quickly, over his shoulder, Arthur called, "Goodbye."

"Okay, uh, bye-bye!"

Arthur stormed out of the school. Each step would be a threat to leave the earth to shatter if he didn't want to be so quick. He threw himself onto his bus and fell into a seat with a huff. Everything had fractured and fallen apart so quickly. Now, he had the entire ride home to stew in the dark thoughts swirling through his mind.

~.~

Nobody welcomed Arthur home, and he did not care nor have the time to care. It was straight to his bedroom, door locked, and books unceremoniously deposited on his desk. He immediately opened his laptop, then his chat window between him, Lukas, and Vlad to start a call. The application droned. His reflection scowled at himself. It didn't make the drones drone faster.

"Arthur? What's up?"

"Lukas, I-" Something made a string of obnoxious noise from the other end.

"Sorry-" Yap, yap, yap-

"Hana! Shush!"

"I'll just go upstairs."

"No, no," Arthur said, "if I called at a bad time...I should wait until Vlad gets on anyway-"

Bloop.

"Talking about me?"

Arthur slapped his hands to his desk, "The Magic Club needs to find another member or we're getting disbanded."

"Wait, what?!"

"There was some letter from the principal. Hold on, I didn't check my email yet today." Arthur sought to do that. "Apparently, it has something to do with funding or whatever excuse they're using, but all clubs have to have at least four or more members starting the new semester."

Vlad squawked in offense.

"Check your email! It says it all there."

Lukas' voice was a quiet storm, tight with concern, "The new semester? That's less than two months away."

"Still, that will give us a decent amount of time. We can ask around to see who can join."

"Hey, Lukas," Vlad said, "what about your lil' bro?"

"He's in grade 8. Doesn't even go to the school yet."

"Oh. Sucks."

"Hm."

Arthur worried the inside of his cheek. As noisy as it was, life was mundane, scheduled and predictable. Sometimes. Nothing extraordinary besides the occasional demon got loose or a ghoul haunted the west wing's urinals...until this dropped a wrench onto his foot. Adapt or die. What the most awful of ultimatums.

"Yo, Art?"

"Yes?"

"You thinking of anybody?"

"I'm thinking," he promised. Perhaps too much. "I...I need to go. I just wanted to tell the both of you, and I have homework..."

"It's all right," Lukas said. "I have dinner soon. Vlad and I will talk a little bit more until then."

"Yeah, Arthur. Take care."

"Right then. Thanks. I'll see the both of you tomorrow." Arthur dropped out of the call, staring at his friends' profile pictures still indicating they were live and chatting for a moment too long to be healthy before closing the lid of his laptop. Him. Lukas. Vlad.

Emil was too young. Arthur's brothers had graduated, save one, but Peter was still in primary, and besides, he wouldn't invite the little twerp anyway. Francis? He may have had the taste for finer things in life, but that was for anything he could get a sense on, and unfortunately, that excluded the supernatural. He was already in several other clubs anyway. Alfred? Hmm, he pissed himself over a ghost story in the seventh grade. Perhaps not. Maybe Yao? He only had Cooking, as far as Arthur knew, and they had a few fine talks about Chinese superstitions. Maybe. Then there was...Ivan. A complete mystery, really. Did he ask about the fourth spot in the Magic Club because of interest, or to simply be nosy? Arthur walked off before Ivan could make any of this known. Not many dared to approach the 'school gremlin' (yes, he was well aware of the whispers), let alone ask to walk with him out of the school without asking for something in return.

Arthur tipped his head back and pinched his eyes. He had too much pouring itself onto his lap out of the blue like this. After another, more final sigh, he leaned to pull his homework from his bag. Essays and questions were an excuse to put his mind somewhere else.

~.~

"Sadiq."

"He's already in the Cooking Club."

"So is Yao, and you asked him."

Arthur tossed up his hands from the lunch table. As soon as they walked into the building, the Trio set a mission to scour and take in any potential recruits. It was an ultimate failure. Most of the finest potential candidates were already claimed, already asked and not interested, or too superstitious to dabble in the Dark Arts. Cowards. Rinse, lower standards, repeat. The rest of the student body laughed, gave them weird looks and/or asked, "Magic Club? What's that?"

Sigh.

To think all of this was to get new bodies inside the classroom, to see if they were even capable of joining said club!

"This is highly ineffective," Arthur announced. "Going student to student is slow at best."

Vlad nodded solemnly, "I accidentally asked Timo twice."

Lukas gave him a funny glance. "You asked Timo? You know he lives two doors down from me, right?"

"Maybe. No. I don't know! All of these kids are blond and look the same."

Arthur contemplated allowing himself to have a sob to two. Or ten. Lukas said, "I'll go to the main office after lunch. Maybe I can ask them to make an announcement for anyone to meet us in our spot."

"You would do that? For us?"

"For the Club, too."

"You don't have to do it alone. Arthur and I can come with!"

"It's okay. I have a study period next. I can afford it. Don't miss class."

Vlad and Arthur grabbed Lukas' hands, reeling and praising, "You're our last hope!"

~.~

After a few minutes of Calculus, an announcement dinged overhead, "If anyone is interested in joining the Magic Club, please meet in Room 23A after school. Again, if anyone is interested in joining the Magic Club..."

Arthur kept his eyes toward his worksheet. Chairs squeaked as bodies turned and whispered. Just a few more hours until then. He will know—and finally accept—at that point that they were doomed, and lay his wand to rest.

~.~

"We can summon a demon."

"Vlad, that's your answer for everything."

"Oh, come on! We can have it pretend it's a part of the student body. We're magic. We can make up some paperwork."

"I suppose you're fine with selling your soul in exchange for services, then?"

They sat, seats pulled close together and slouching under the heavy atmosphere. Nobody came. It was just the three of them. As it always was, and apparently, as it always will be.

"I'm sorry," Lukas spoke up, "I should have told the lady to have more pizzazz for the announcement."

"Don't go blaming yourself for things that aren't your fault, Lukas. You did well, and we thank you for it."

"Yeah," Vlad said, "you did great." Then, "Maybe we should've ordered pizza."

Arthur pointed out, "We would only get people in here for the free pizza. Besides, who would pay for it?" He stuck his elbows on his knees and cupped his face with his palms. "Maybe it's better this way. Nobody is pretending to listen to us when there is nobody to listen."

"We should have ordered pizza anyway. I'm hungry."

Someone's stomach gurgled. Arthur and Lukas pricked their eyebrows at one another. Lukas straightened from his slump, "It could help with the mood. Unless you want to sit here and sulk instead?"

"Just for a while longer," Arthur promised. "Then we can get something to eat."

Just for a while longer, they waited. "We can still hang out," Vlad offered. "We can do séances at my house."

"True, but we won't have the funding from the school."

Lukas gave a limp shrug, almost dropping into a puddle on the floor if he slumped further into his chair. "Could always meet for movie-night at my place."

"Ooh," Vlad had just a smidge enthusiasm more than Arthur could muster, "Movie-night."

Someone knocked on the door. Three heads snapped up, eyes wide and glancing to one another as if to ask, "Who could it be?" A creak, and a pale head of hair breached their precious space. Arthur's heart leaped for some reason, and he wondered if it was hope or dread.

"That's..." Vlad started, and he didn't leap for joy.

Ivan smiled like he always did, closed-mouth and tight. He quietly shut the door and asked, "Magic Club?"

Lukas and Vlad simultaneously straightened in their seats with their faces reminiscent of stone. Arthur tried to be the same, though deep down inside, he believed it would come to this. Braginsky was their last stand against eternal end. If that was the case, perhaps fate brought him here. The fairies, as they already have cried and fled, may have not agreed, but how bad could a man that kept to himself, knew how to knit, and blushed so easily be? Not that knitting was an excellent judge of character...

"Yes, that's right." Arthur rose from his seat, finding himself to smile anyway as their newcomer wrung his hands together in a nervous fit. Although he knew the answer, he had to ask out of propriety, "What brings you here?"

"I heard the announcement." Ivan tipped his head. "Unless you already filled your forth spot? I do not see anybody else."

"Err, no, we...we haven't found anybody else. Yet."

"Hey!" Vlad hissed, "Don't try to tell me...the Braginsky kid?"

Lukas sang under his breath, "He's gonna eat your parents..."

"You haven't?" Ivan was much too happy about that. "That is good!"

"Not really," Arthur said.

"I mean, it is good because...I would like to ask...ah..."

Vlad kept chanting most quietly, "He's gonna eat your parents. He's gonna eat your parents-"

"Go on," Arthur urged. This or doom, he reminded himself. Well, unless Braginsky planned on bringing doom. He better not.

"I would like my sister to join your club."

Vlad stopped chanting. Lukas stared. Arthur blurted, "Your sister? Why isn't she here, then?"

"She is, uh, not good with people."

"So you want to pawn her on us instead?!"

"Vlad," Arthur warned. Vlad slumped against his chair, more haunted if anything.

"No, no!" Ivan shook his hands like he pleaded for his life, which was unnecessary so far, "It is so she can make friends! It would be good for her."

Lukas asked, "Would it be good for us, too?"

"You're considering it?" Arthur was a tad surprised. Lukas had an irritated air about him. Though it did not appear to be any different from his neutral expression, he knew. Oh, Arthur knew.

Vlad tossed his hands up, then down to his lap with a sigh. "I mean...I guess. It's not like anybody else is waltzing in here." Louder, to Ivan, "So what does your sister do?"

"Hm?"

"This is a Magic Club," Arthur said. "If you...your sister is interested in joining us, she must be and prove herself to be supernaturally inclined."

"Oh, yes! She can talk to ghosts!"

"She can?"

"Well, she mumbles to the air a lot..."

Vlad echoed, "She mumbles to the air."

Lukas made a small, "Hm." The seriously? was understood.

Arthur tried to grin and bear the threat of curses against his back, "We have another meeting next week. Same exact day, same exact time. If you think your sister has what it takes to be in our Club, by then all means-"

Unbridled joy bloomed across Ivan's face, turning his cheeks completely pink and squishable. Not that Arthur wanted to squish them. It was just that they looked squishable.

"Hold...hold on!" Vlad said, "What grade is this girl in?"

"Nine."

"A NINTH GRADER?! Arthur-"

"It's just to see!" Arthur insisted, all the while avoiding Ivan's steady eye. "Just this once. It's the nice thing to do after all."

Lukas and Vlad shared another glance. Lukas said, "I thought you didn't care about being nice."

"Excuse me?! Who said!"

They simultaneously looked away.

"So that is a yes?" Ivan asked. Gasped. Clapped excitedly without getting an answer, "I hope you give her a chance! It would be the nice thing to do after all!"

Arthur sputtered, "You-!"

"Goodbye!"

"Oi!"

The door shut.

Arthur cursed under his breath. The source of his ire was gone; why did he feel so worked up? This or doom.

"His sister, huh?" Lukas wondered aloud.

Vlad stuck an elbow into Arthur's side, catching a soft spot, "Told you that guy was weird. He stared at you the whole time like you were something to eat."

That was Ivan's something-to-eat face? What a gentle devourer he must be, then. Arthur cleared his throat and batted Vlad away, "Don't worry about it. The whole family is weird."

Lukas said, "Not the oldest."

Vlad, "That you know of."

"Hm."

Perhaps there was still hope for the Magic Club.

~.~

Surprisingly, one week passed quickly. The weekend helped, since those always swallow as much time as possible when one was not looking. Keeping oneself busy helped, too.

Early in the week, the student council meeting was mildly successful. It was a bit too chatter-filled for Arthur's liking, but he supposed with all the hard work they accomplished the last meeting, he didn't have to take the chalk sticks from Alfred and Yao when they snuffed their hiding spot from the top drawer in the teacher's desk. At least not right away.

Why Alfred snooped in there, nobody knows.

"Everyone get seated, put your phones and knitting supplies away. We may be ahead, but that doesn't mean we can completely slack off."

Whatever was in the water, Arthur urged it to make a home there because everyone was attentive, or at least calm enough not to make fools of themselves. At four on the dot, Alfred sprung from his seat, rallying the others and Arthur let him go with no dissent...even if it was right in the middle of his sentence.

Just one more day to go. In twenty four hours-

"Arthur."

That time Arthur jumped. He kept his eyes on the papers that Yao made no move to help gather, "Yes, Ivan?"

"Can we walk to the after-school bus together, Arthur? Please?"

Yao looked up in surprise, but thankfully didn't say anything as he took his bag, one of the papers, and hurried out of the room. Arthur opened his mouth, floundering as his face began to feel warm, but words were difficult at the wrongest of times.

An arm drooped over his shoulders as the stench of overly-floral perfume breached his nostrils. Francis fake-wailed, "Oh, Arthur, but I thought we always walk to the after-school bus together!"

"Ugh, Francis, get off of me!" was a lot easier to say. Arthur made a show to brush invisible germs off of his blazer, which made Ivan giggle. "And no, we don't."

Francis rolled his eyes, "I see now! Ivan is your favorite! You rather walk with him than me! Hmph!" A side-glare turned with a smile as he spun away. Arthur swore there was a wink in there. Bastard. "Good day to the both of you. Good day!"

"Fantastic," Arthur made sure to say as dryly as humanly possible. "Let's get out of here, shall we?"

So they did. They left the classroom, turned off the lights, and closed the door. Walked down the halls. Walked out of the building. Really, nothing interesting. To think Ivan asked so eagerly. Arthur felt his mouth pull down as the autumn air sent a slight chill across his face.

"You're my favorite, too."

The bottom of Arthur's sole scratched the sidewalk as he abruptly stopped. After hours meant nobody was around. The rest of the Student Council already boarded the bus. It wasn't a mistake on the ears.

Still, Arthur asked, "Excuse me?"

Ivan looked downright terrified. "Ah, um, excused?"

"I appreciate the sentiment, but kissing arse is not going to get your sister into the Magic Club any faster."

"No, I...! I wasn't..." A flinch, "I'm sorry. Goodbye!"

"Wha...oi!" Arthur called after Ivan's clumsily retreating backside. "The bus is this way! What in the world?"

He stepped onto the bus, ignored a, "Artie! Sit with meeeeee!" and sat in his own seat as far from Francis and Yao, who bickered about...rice cooking methods?

"Huh. Guess he doesn't want to be bothered." Alfred unashamedly announced, "Whatever! I just put that stuff in the microwave! Ha-ha-ha!"

Yao blanched. "Ai-yah! That's your answer for everything!"

"Ha-ha! I wish!"

Arthur turned his eye just in time to see Francis put the back of his hand against his forehead and slump in his seat. Ivan would be in the far back, where he sat now, smiling and knitting as the others bickered. Such a strange guy.

~.~

Arthur's bewilderment slowly steamed to irritation throughout the rest of the night, ending to a boil as he scowled at the fairy-lights above his bed. He had been thoroughly warned of the quiet kids, mostly from snickers and back-sided gossip that he would roll his eyes, but many legends had a grain of truth within them. Ivan's truth was that he did not even bother to pretend he wasn't shying up to Arthur to get his sister into the Magic Club! That he wasn't pretending to not pawn her off so he wouldn't have to deal with her for at least an hour a week! What an awful, awful older brother! He gave his duvet a tough yank at the thought of other awful older brothers, and thus sparred a downward spiral of grumbling, hard-fought battles in his head, and a bad night's sleep.

When he woke, his first thought was to rue the entire day before it started, most importantly, the Magic Club's meeting after school. His phone buzzed no more than 17 minutes after he pulled himself out of bed, and he saw a message from Vlad; "Bring a spoon you don't care about."

Arthur let out a sigh at the breakfast table. It was too early to make his stomach start to work, but he wouldn't start the day without black tea. A few giggles circled his head as he felt the little hands of fairies gently tug at the unmanageable clumps of bedhead. Whatever would happen that day, his friends would still be there. If not for another meeting, then movie-night and some pizza.

~.~

Before first period, Arthur stopped at the library to pick up a pass to spend his study hall there with books and peace and quiet instead of a classroom full of yappy teenagers. Why call it a 'study hall' when studying isn't a building-wide requirement to some teachers, he didn't know.

The line was rather long, most likely full of students who procrastinate on homework and scrambled for a time to do it before their classes. Arthur crossed his arms and quietly tapped his foot, not out of patience, just for something to do. The thought of Ivan knitting, long but deft fingers effortlessly and neatly looping the thread popped in his mind, and he tossed his hands down to his sides with a huffy sigh. Some heads turned to stare, but they meant nothing.

"...'scuse me. Arthur."

Arthur didn't jump this time. He turned his head to nobody else but Ivan's direction, who of course was right there, right at that time, in the same line. His own visage must have spilled the thoughts bubbling over the edge of his mind and Ivan quickly ducked his head toward the carpet.

"Good morning," he still tried. "How are you feeling?"

"As fine as a Tuesday morning allows."

"Ah."

"The line is moving."

"Are you getting pass?"

"What else would I be in for?"

Ivan smiled, crinkling his eyes, "Books, silly!"

Right. Arthur walked into that one. "Yes, I'm getting a pass."

"What period?"

"Fourth."

"Oh." They didn't share a study period. "That is okay. We can walk to first period together, yes?"

"Ivan." Arthur took a long inhale through his nose. Out. "I would highly appreciate it if you would stop trying to...do whatever it is you are doing to try to win our favor on your sister's behalf. Whether or not she gets in is up to her abilities-"

"My sister?" Ivan echoed. He let out a little laugh, "Oh, no, no, I do not worry for Natalya."

"What. Then why did you come to the Club room last week for her?"

Ivan didn't answer until he signed his name on the pass-sheet and stepped from the counter with a little gesture, "I wanted to know how you three would react. What your faces look like when you first think of my dear sister." He tipped his head, breaking into a cheeky grin again, "Yes, that exact face you have right now."

"Young man," the librarian prompted when Arthur stood in front of the counter without signing his name. He took care of that, received his pass, and stepped out of line to wander away from the other students...all with Ivan trailing beside him.

"A-and?" Arthur cleared his throat, forcing himself to look into Ivan's face. "Did you get what you want? We're giving her a chance."

Ivan leaned forward in the slightest, but it was a mountain shifting onto Arthur. "No. Not yet."

"Well," Arthur grunted out, "until then." He turned on his heel.

"Are we going to walk together? We share class."

"I have to go to my locker!" Arthur lied, and hurried as quickly as possible out of the library, but the drowsy hoard of teenagers was the worst of impediments. Ivan's eyes iced the back of his neck.

~.~

Ivan didn't stare during first period. Lukas and Vlad didn't notice, otherwise they would have started to snicker and talk about how their parents would inevitably be eaten. Arthur noticed, only because it was weird for him to not stare as it would be for somebody else to do so. No, Ivan occupied himself by staring down his lap—knitting. Anyone else, and the teacher would have given them the what-for already. Arthur found himself momentarily wondering what he was making so intensely, but immediately told that part of his mind to keep quiet and pay attention to the teacher.

Even during lunch, the Magic Trio ate in stony silence. Perhaps the thin wire separating all of them from utter doom had left them just as concerned as Arthur. Concerned, because he was not nervous or anything for any reason or from anyone.

The only conversation they had all day besides a dreary good morning was Vlad stopping Arthur in the hall to seventh period, "Hey, do you have your spoon?"

Arthur quickly nodded, unable to say more with the crowd of students pushing their way to their next class.

His stomach tied itself into a tough ball. Last period. Arthur did something he loathed to make a habit; clock watch. Instead of excitement at the end of the day approaching as slow as possible, it was like watching the blade dangle over his neck. When the bell finally—finally—droned, he already had all his books packed up and was one of the first out the door. He even got ahead of the brainless dismissal hoard and almost bumped into Lukas on the way to their room. They gave one another a nod before Arthur let his friend inside first.

Vlad followed soon after, closing the door with his backside and let himself have a short but loud sigh. They all shared it. They wordlessly fetched their cloaks, tomes, and battery-operated candles because the school deemed normal candles a 'fire-hazard' and matches 'weapons of great-potential destruction,' so dollar-store tea-lights had to do for ambiance. Cloaks on. Vlad rushed to the front of the room. Lights off. They drew close in a circle and raised their hands. Quiet. Calm. They thought of the spirits watching over them, and released a collective exhale.

"It's lovely," Lukas said, and it truly was.

A knock on the door. Three robes brushed one another, bundling in their tight knit, and faced their soft intrusion. The door opened. "Go on," a voice murmured. Two newcomers shuffled inside, one much smaller than the other. The family resemblance was uncanny, starting with the platinum locks on top of their heads. Ivan glimpsed over the trio and urged his little sister forward. She stared with impassive eyes.

"Welcome," Arthur started. "Welcome to the Magic Club."

The girl kept staring.

"May we have your name?"

"No, but you will call me Natalya."

Based on the light noises of delighted shock along his sides, Arthur thought the same thing; Quick girl!

"Very well. This is Vlad and Lukas," gesturing accordingly, "and I am Arthur." With a subtle shot of eyes to Ivan, "Thank you for being here, again. Would you join us?"

"Depends. What do you do?"

"We commune with the fair folk."

"I can do that in my backyard."

"Uh. We also take commissions to curse people."

Natalya started to look thoughtful.

Vlad said, "It goes both ways. We don't just take in anybody. You have to prove yourself worthy to carry the secrets of the Magic Club."

"Okay."

Eyes to Arthur. He reached into his pocket. Thus comes the truest test, "You have to bend this spoon."

~.~

"She didn't break a sweat!"

"Ninth-grade girls are terrifying."

"I'll see you two tomorrow."

Arthur left the Club room with more spring in his step than he entered. Tomorrow morning, he would drop off Natalya's inauguration papers to the Main Office. By next week, she will have her first official Magic Club Meeting. Nobody has joined since they all did when they were ninth graders! They had to plan and make it special. Goodness, Arthur hadn't felt this hopeful about the future since the third installment to his favorite book series was announced and that was a little over two months ago!

"Oh, Arthur!" A voice sang down the hall.

Arthur abruptly stopped and felt stupid about it. A happy hum and footsteps came closer, but he didn't turn. He made Ivan do the work of stepping around, and gave the giant a tilt of the head, "Is there something I can help you with?"

"We go home together on bus Mondays, but we can do the same today, yes?"

"I would say so, since we're all going that way."

Arthur must have not responded as enthusiastically as Ivan would hoped, so he goaded while they walked, "This is very good news. My sister has friends now, and your Magic Club will not go away."

Oh, they and Natalya were friends now? Arthur wouldn't complain; anybody that befriended the spirits was fine in his spell books. He glanced up Ivan from the corner of his eye. "Yes. So everything is said and done now. We can go back to living our lives as we were."

The side of Ivan's mouth curled up, "With a little more this time."

Arthur let out a huff, wondering how he could say, 'You can stop pretending to be friendly with me now that you have what you want,' without sounding like an utter toad.

A hand gently set on his shoulder, "Arthur, wait."

Ivan stopped and pulled something out of his blazer's pocket. "It is getting cold." He held a small bundle of dark green fabric. Knitting. "You should keep yourself warm."

"I can't take those."

"Do you not like them?"

"I do," Arthur said quickly, and he really did. "The stitching is impeccable and the colors blend in very well together. You worked on these for that entire time; I couldn't just take them from you."

Ivan pulled closer, tipping his head down and spoke lowly to Arthur's ear, "I made these for you, Arthur. I am giving them to you. They will not yours to take, but mine to give." Arthur shifted enough to catch Ivan's eye, giving a hard stare as much as he took one. "My sister is in Magic Club now, so you cannot say I am doing this to...'kiss ass,' okay?"

"So you are doing this because you want to do it? Just because? Because you are so..." Arthur made sure to stand straight as possible, meeting him half-way, "Nice and caring and charitable and kind? Do you know how strange that is? How strange do you make yourself out to be?"

"That is funny, Arthur. You call me strange but here you are. A ferocious, wild little creature."

"You're dastardly. I'm onto you."

"You are 'onto' me? I am just trying to give you gloves."

"Is that really all you're doing, though?"

Ivan gave the bundle in his hand an urging bob, sweet and wanting yet mysterious as always. "You decide."

Arthur found himself smiling like a fool.

#THE SIN BIN #my fic #hetalia #hws RusEng #hws Magic Trio #hws #hetalia au #hetalia fic

3 notes · View notes

reddeadmort · 6 years ago

Note

I’d love something with Arthur and John both arguing in full sibling rivalry and both Abigail and fem reader are stood by the sidelines wondering what the hell they’re gonna do with their boys 🥰

I really liked this idea, but I’m not too sure about what I’ve written? I was intending on just making it funny, but it ended up going a bit angsty near the end…. I think I was in an odd mood!

Oh brother, where art thou, you dumbass | Arthur x reader | AO3

Guidance: Mostly fluff and comedy, sibling rivalry, a little bit of angst snuck in there too. Written with fem reader in mind, but actually turned out gender neutral.

Words: 2.2k

You and Abigail were happily chatting, sat across from each other at one of the tables, when the sound of bickering voices alerted you to your two boys arriving back at camp.

“Shut up Arthur!” John’s annoyed snap made you and Abigail look up from your cups of coffee. You looked over to Arthur and John, then back at each other, rolling your eyes. What now…..

“Yeh, next time you should let the wolves eat the rest of your brain, it’ll make you a genius!”

“Will you shut up!” John yelled back as he stormed off towards his tent. Arthur was chuckling, looking very pleased with himself, as he walked over to you and Abigail. He was still chuckling when he sat down next to you, but quickly stopped when he finally looked up at your disapproving stare.

“What?!” he asked. You rolled your eyes, shaking your head.

“Do you really have to wind John up so much?” you sighed.

“It’s fun, and easy too.” He grinned; he really was pleased with his latest quip at John’s expense.

“You know he only ends up taking it out on Abigail!” You spoke to him like a naughty kid, gesturing across the table to Abigail. It felt odd speaking to him in such a tone of voice, but him and John really did act like petulant children sometimes.

“Was only a joke” he grumbled, fiddling with his thumb. You couldn’t stay mad at him, not when he was so cute.

“I know, sweetheart, I know. But maybe it would be nice if sometimes you and John could talk to each other without taking the piss?”

“S’pose.” Arthur grunted in response. You leaned over to him, lifting his chin up for a quick kiss.

“Come on sweetheart, why don’t we go sit in our tent and you can tell me how the job went.”

Arthur smiled at you and stood up. As you walked over to the tent you gave Abigail a little wave goodbye; she returned it, before standing up and heading to find John. She had some ego repair to do.

—-

Unsurprisingly, Arthur didn’t really listen to you, and John ignored Abigail’s pleas too. Every time one of them brought something back, the next day the other came in with something bigger, better. Dutch wasn’t helping matters; if John messed something up, he got a lecture, if Arthur made a mistake it was ignored, and Arthur made sure John noticed.

A couple of weeks later, you were organising items in the medical wagon when you spotted Arthur heading purposefully towards you, a cheeky grin on his face. As soon as he was close enough, he grabbed you, kissing you passionately; it was unexpected, but not unpleasant. You giggled as Arthur wrapped his arms around you, leaning you over, like the drawings in one of Mary-Beth’s romance books.

You were thoroughly enjoying yourself, until you realised that Arthur wasn’t making eye contact with you; instead, he was looking up, across the camp. You pulled away slightly, only to see John embracing Abigail in the same manner; he was also paying no attention to his significant other, instead watching you and Arthur. Son of a bitch….

You pushed Arthur away, slapping him on the chest.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing! Don’t you go dragging us into your little rivalry!” You looked over towards a slightly bemused Abigail, John standing there with a massive smile on his face.

“Marston, stop your grinning, this does not mean you won!” you yelled at him, stomping off towards your tent, leaving a slightly guilty looking Arthur scratching the back of his neck. You were over-exaggerating your anger for effect; you weren’t that mad, how could you be after that kiss. But you were already plotting your revenge and were sure Abigail would be more than happy to help you.

—-

It hadn’t taken long for you and Abigail to form a plan; if these two lovable idiots were going to try and one-up each other, they sure as hell were going to help you while they did it. That morning, you waited until John left his and Abigail’s tent before sneaking over to talk to her.

“Hey Abigail! Did it work?”

“Morning Y/N! Yes, like a charm – I’d barely told him that Arthur was going to help you hang it up before he was insisting on doing the washing. I didn’t even get the opportunity to really rub it in!” You and Abigail grinned at each other – this was going to be way too easy. You headed back to Arthur’s and your shared tent; Arthur was sat on the cot, sketching in his journal. You sat down next to him and sighed heavily.

“You alright darlin’?” Arthur asked, placing his arm gently around your shoulders.

“Oh, nothing Arthur. I’m just bored, and I’ve just got a load of washing to hang up, once John is finished with it that is.”

“John? John’s….doing the washing?” Arthur was incredulous. “Since when did Marston start helpin’ out with the chores?”

“Oh yeh, it’s so sweet, Abigail said she was tired and he just offered to do it for her. Such a gentleman.” You gave a little wistful sigh, slyly studying Arthur’s face to see his reaction.

“Hrmph.” Arthur looked up and away, chewing on the end of his pencil. Damn, Arthur would be a harder task than John.

“Anyway, sorry for moaning sweetheart, I’ll leave you be to stay here and finish your drawing.” You gave him a little kiss on the cheek before moving to stand up. Arthur didn’t let you; he gently grabbed your wrist and pulled you back down.

“No, darlin’, you stay here ‘n relax. I’ll go make sure Marston is doin’ it properly and hang it up for ya. Fool is probably making them even more dirty, don’t want you havin’ to re-wash anythin’.”

“Thank you Arthur, you are the sweetest.” Arthur leaned over and gave you a little kiss before standing up and walking off. You lay down on the bunk, feeling very pleased with yourself; as Abigail walked past, she glanced over and you gave her a little two finger wave and a grin.

—-

The next couple of days continued in much the same manner; you and Abigail had never had it so easy. You’d even managed to get the boys to do some of the other girl’s tasks by saying they were yours. You’d had to let Miss Grimshaw know what you were up to pretty quickly, but as long as stuff was getting done, she didn’t care. On the other hand, you could tell Dutch was starting to get a bit aggravated; Arthur was ignoring Strauss’s requests to chase up some debt collectors, and John wasn’t exactly focused on finding new leads. Between you, you and Abigail decided to see if you could get the boys to do one last challenge, then have a talk with them.

You weren’t too sure if you’d be able to pull this off; it was easy to get the boys to do things for you as their significant others, but getting them to help each other’s partners might be more difficult. Abigail had it easier with Arthur; he already liked to help out with Jack, and had felt a sense of responsibility for them ever since John took off for that year. But you weren’t even sure if John liked you all that much.

Arthur was your first victim. You watched as Abigail waved him over to her tent, and told him how John was supposed to be helping her write a letter, but he’d gone off into town instead. For a moment, you didn’t know if Arthur was going to take the bait; you’d overhead him say to Strauss just now that he was going to head on out and use his special skills of persuasion on a few debts. But he did, sitting next to Abigail on the bed, grabbing a piece of paper.

You actually felt a bit bad; maybe this was too far, manipulating Arthur’s instinct to protect? Unfortunately, this thought distracted you, and you didn’t notice John walking towards the tent until it was too late.

“What do you think you’re doing in my tent Morgan?” John said loudly, accusatorily, across the camp clearing.

“Here he comes, John Marston, the self-appointed hero.” Arthur stood up as he mocked John, walking towards him. “I’m just lookin’ after Abigail, seems you need help doin’ it.”

“You stick to helpin’ your own woman, Arthur!” John’s cheeks were flushed, his fists clenching at his sides.

“What’s wrong John, you worried Abigail is goin’ to finally realise she can do better than you?”

“Did you think that up all by yourself?” John sneered at Arthur. Arthur didn’t take kindly to this remark, stepping forwards so him and John were almost touching.

“Unlike you, Marston, I didn’t need to get half-eaten to be able to string a long sentence together.”

“You think you’re so tough don’t you. You don’t scare me Morgan.” John was obviously feeling especially brave today.

By this point, you had joined Abigail by her tent and you were both staring across at the boys, incredulous. This was obviously far more than just a simple need to one-up the other.

“As entertaining as it would be to see who will win between these two, we should probably do something before they kill each other” you whispered to Abigail.

“Probably” Abigail chuckled. This didn’t phase her nearly as much as it did you; she’d seen the boys go toe to toe frequently before. “Here, take this – how good at throwing are you?”

Across the camp clearing, Arthur had grabbed John by the front of the shirt.

“You sure ‘bout that?” Arthur snarled in his face. John opened his mouth to reply just as a bread roll smacked him in the side of the head. Arthur let go of him, turning slightly towards the direction the offending article came from, as a second roll hit him square in the chest, bouncing off and catching a dazed John in the face.

Arthur and John looked over to see Abigail bent over double laughing; you were also giggling, but had your hands covering your mouth, your ‘oops’ expression belaying the fact that the second roll may well have been yours.

“What’s so funny” they grumbled, almost in unison.

“Nothin’ boys” Abigail gasped, barely able to get the words out she was laughing so hard. “You two just carry on now.” As she finished her sentence, you and Abigail made eye contact; after a pause, you both started laughing again, hard, you had the proper giggles now.

Arthur and John looked at each other, at you two, and back to each other again. Arthur scratched his chin and John ran his fingers through his hair, both as equally bemused as each other, their anger dissipated. Eventually, you and Abigail pulled yourselves together, straightened up and gestured for the boys to come over.

John turned to Arthur, looking at him quizzically; Arthur shrugged and started to walk over, John following just behind.

“Come here you fools” you pulled Arthur in for a hug as Abigail did the same for John. Pulling away, you patted Arthur on the arm reassuringly.

“Did neither of you think it was a bit odd that the other one had suddenly started bein’ so helpful?” you asked the men. They looked at each other, then back at you; you could see a glimmer of realisation beginning on Arthur’s face, but John still looked utterly confused.

“Abigail and me were getting proper fed up of your two’s constant competition. So we thought we’d at least make you useful.”

Arthur sighed, covering his face in his hand; you’d played him like a fiddle. John was staring at Abigail questioningly, looking for clarification.

“John Marston, you’re a fool. A sweet fool sometimes, but still a fool.” Abigail smiled as she gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“Now boys, there is a serious side to this. This was just a bit of fun, making you help out with chores here and there. But what happens if you act like this when you’re out on jobs or such? Being so stupid, annoying each other, taking more risks just because the other one did so. It’ll get both of you killed.”

There was a moment of silence as the boys contemplated what you’d just said.

“You’re right Y/N, as usual.” Arthur rumbled. “Marston, I’m….errrr…. sorry. You do a lot round here, and I’m glad to have ya by my side.”

“Me too Morgan. I guess sometimes I just…well I expect you to give me grief, so I end up giving it first.”

You smiled as you gently rubbed Arthur’s lower back. You suspected this truce wouldn’t last long, not in the camp anyway, but as long as they didn’t do anything stupid outside the camp, they’d be okay.

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan fic #arthur morgan x f reader #arthur morgan fanfic #arthur morgan fluff #john marston #abigail roberts #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 fic #red dead fanfic #red dead redemption 2 #john marston fanfic

310 notes · View notes

porkchop-ao3 · 6 years ago

Text

A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 19)

A Trip North

Going on a trip with Arthur and Charles :)

Also it’s my birthday tomorrow (22!!), so if y’all want to gift me with comments then be my guest ;) they make the world go ‘round!

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

A couple of days passed, Arthur had ended up helping Beau some more; accompanying Penelope on a women's suffrage rally. I volunteered myself to go too, but Beau worried that more women going along might make matters worse, riling up the not-so-progressive locals even more. I hadn't argued, despite rather liking the cause Penelope and the other women were rallying for; why shouldn't we have the right to cast a vote, too? Anyway, the rally came and went and Arthur got busy, pulled into some work with Dutch and some others.

When I asked him about it he breezed over it, telling me that it wasn't important and that he'd rather just spend his time with me talking about other things. Though, it was highly puzzling to me to notice the deputy badge on his shirt. He couldn't not explain things to me then, so I prodded him about it one afternoon when he came back from a trip into town with Sadie after she'd yelled down the camp with Pearson.

"Is that badge just an interesting new fashion accessory or are you actually a damn deputy now?" I asked, poking the badge with my finger. He glanced down at it, then grabbed my finger in his hand, keeping it there.

"I thought I might try something new with my look," he rolled his eyes a little and I wiggled my finger free from his hand, cocking a brow. Arthur sighed. "Alright, if you must know, it's real. But it ain't my damn idea."

"That don't surprise me," I said, glancing over at Dutch where he was sat reading one of his Evelyn Miller novels in his tent.

"I got you something from town today, you gonna let me show you? Or would you rather me bore you with all these silly details?" He questioned and my eyes widened a little.

"You got me something?" I squeaked, stunned at the idea of receiving a gift from him.

"I did, don't get too excited," he chuckled, opening up his satchel.

"Wait, finish telling me about this first," I decided, touching his arm to stop him.

"Fine. 'Least if you get mad, I'll have a gift to soften the blow," he breathed. I frowned a little, not quite understanding why he'd be worried about making me mad. "Dutch reckons the Braithwaites and the Grays both have money, enough to go around, if you get my meaning."

"I certainly do, so what's with the badges? You on the payroll?" I snorted and Arthur looked at me for a while, a little hesitant.

"He wants us to play 'em both. Gain their trust, figure out what's what, and when the time is right; take whatever they've got in the hopes they both think the other family's to blame. You know they've got that silly feud."

"Well it sounds good on paper, a little risky, but what work do you do that ain't risky?" I put my hands on my hips, waiting for some sort of response as Arthur narrowed his eyes a little.

"You ain't mad?"

"That was what was supposed to make me mad? Why on Earth?" I cocked my head incredulously and Arthur released a quiet breath.

"You being friends with Beau and Penelope, I figured you might not be too pleased about us robbing 'em," he explained and I nodded in understanding.

"Fair enough, but I already told you. Their families are terrible, I don't care what happens as long as Beau and Penelope get out fine. Maybe we can help them," I shrugged. "Besides, I know they barely see a penny of their families' money as it is."

"Well, in that case, that's a relief. We can help them, if the opportunity arises," Arthur nodded and I smiled at him, then glanced down at his satchel.

"So what did you pick up in town?" I asked, watching a little smile settle on Arthur's features as he reached into his satchel again. He retrieved a leather bound book and held it out towards me.

"I said I'd look for a sketchbook for you, got you this and–" I took the book from him, my lips parting as he dug around in his satchel some more, "a pencil, so you can pick up drawing again."

I took the pencil from him too and stared at the items for a while, unable to find suitable words for my gratitude. The journal was wrapped in black leather, polished to a subtle shine and had a strip of embossing next to the spine, delicate swirls. It was a beautiful object, the likes of which I'd never owned. All of my previous drawing experience had been on loose paper, scraps my father gave to me whenever he could.

"Arthur this is wonderful, I wasn't expecting this at all," I shook my head, flicking through the book and watching the off-white pages flutter.

"I said I would," he chuckled.

"Yes, but I…" I trailed off, then looked up at him and gave him a smile. "Thank you. What can I do to repay you?"

Arthur shook his head and patted the top of the book. "Nothing, it's a gift."

"It's a beautiful gift, surely there is something I can do to show my gratitude?" I said, reaching and giving his arm an affectionate rub. Arthur looked around cluelessly, shaking his head.

"I don't know, draw me a picture," he decided.

"Of course! Any preference for what?" I grinned at him.

"Surprise me," he chuckled, taking my hand from his arm and squeezing it. "Do you like it?"

"I love it, I've never owned my own journal before, it's incredible,” I told him with a joyous sigh.

"I'm pleased. I like seeing you smile," he told me, then let go of my hand when someone walked past; Susan, eyeing the two of us up curiously. I laughed and looked down at the book, face warming up.

"Thank you, again. I really appreciate this," I told him and he shrugged.

"No worries, sweetheart. We'll take a trip out again sometime, when we have the time," he suggested and I nodded eagerly.

"I would love to."

"Is it my birthday today? This is the second time someone's brought me a goodie," I asked when Charles approached me where I was stood slicing carrots – a job I was more than willing to give Sadie a rest from – carrying a bow and a bundle of arrows. "You found some time to make one?"

"Of course, a deal's a deal. Besides, it'll be nice having a new hunting partner," he told me, handing me the bow and the arrows. I inspected it, noting its distinct hand-made quality, made from a strip of wood that'd been carved and bent into shape, and sanded down with what I could only imagine was a lot of elbow grease.

"You made this?" I said, stunned.

"Sure. I hope it's okay for you, let me know if it needs any adjustments," he said.

"This is fantastic, thank you. You ever need anything from me, I'm happy to help. This must've taken a lot of time," I told him, holding the bow and drawing the string back, getting a feel for it. "A bit of oleander hardly makes up for it."

"I wasn't lying when I said I enjoyed making things. I was happy to do it, you know that."

"Well, I'll draw you a picture, how's that? Arthur got me a sketchbook today, so I will create something with my hands for you just as you created this for me," I bargained. Charles smiled, glancing over his shoulder at where Arthur was napping on his bed.

"Sounds fair, you're becoming good friends with Arthur, aren't you? He's a good man," Charles pointed out, innocently enough.

"I enjoy his company, I find we have things in common," I nodded.

"The three of us should go hunting together, he knows a fair bit about it and I think we'd make a good team. We could use some new furs for the camp; something thicker to sleep on. You ever hunted a bear before?"

"Christ, no. Look at me," I chuckled, gesturing to myself; being much smaller than the likes of Charles who was well built with muscle and brawn.

"They're fairly common up north from here. The three of us could head that way for a couple of days, camp out, I'll teach you. You survived on your own this long, I think you could handle it," he gave me an amused smile, no doubt at the look on my face.

"Bears? Well, okay Charles. I'll go with it," I laughed uneasily and Charles patted my shoulder.

"You can handle it," he reiterated. "You got that rifle from Micah, right? That'll work, if we fit it with a scope. We won't be getting too close, don't worry."

"Alright," I nodded, "a few days away from camp sounds good anyway, if we don't get eaten."

Charles seemed to agree, laughing. "I will leave you to your work, and I'll speak to Arthur about taking that trip."

The three of us – Arthur, Charles and I – got the go ahead from Dutch to leave for a few days, and packed up supplies on our horses to keep us fed and warm. We'd be heading up towards the grizzlies, Charles had planned out the route and we all left early one morning; stocked full of tinned foods, blankets, tents and rifles. We were heading towards a place I'd never been before, to do something I had never dreamed of trying. I wasn't nervous, but I was full of anticipation and excitement. The biggest animal I'd ever taken down was a buck, the most dangerous animal had been a rather angry alligator, a bear was certainly a daunting mark but I trusted Charles.

Along the way he told us about the animals he'd hunted in the past; he was extremely knowledgeable on the subject and I admired him. Hunting was something I enjoyed, now that I was capable enough to do it cleanly, not because I enjoyed killing things but because of the quietness of the task. You couldn't hunt while stomping around or chattering on about nonsense, you had to concentrate and be careful, it put me into a sort of meditative state which separated me from my thoughts and anything that I was struggling with. Of course, I hunted for survival and it didn't bring me pleasure to harm creatures, but there was a set of steps, a routine, that made hunting rather peaceful, ironically.

We stopped for lunch, and Charles encouraged me to hunt a rabbit with my new bow to test it out. He and Arthur set up a small fire while I went off on my own, searching out our meal. Rabbits were not difficult to come across, and I was heading back to them quickly with my catch.

"That bow can't be too bad," Charles said, pleased with himself when he spotted the rabbit. I thanked him again for the bow and we skinned and cooked the rabbit, eating it with some tinned sweetcorn and a bit of cheese, and let our horses rest while we sat down around the fire for a little while.

I found myself smiling an awful lot, being with Charles and Arthur. All three of us were rather like-minded; a little quiet and happy to enjoy each others' company with long stretches of silence between the odd story. I took the opportunity to sit and sketch Charles while he was sat giving his rifle a clean and Arthur was brushing his horse. The atmosphere – with the crackle of the fire, the sound of birds singing, the company of the two men – made me wonder how on Earth I had gone so long on my own. There was a sense of comfort here, that I'd never experienced by myself.

I jumped when something touched my head, realising quickly that it was Arthur placing a hat on my head. I looked up at him, my eyes a little widened, and he chuckled.

"I figured you could use this more than I do. Looks better on you anyway," he said, sitting down beside me. When I didn't say anything, he turned to look at me, then straightened the hat on my head. "You can keep it," he clarified.

"You sure?" I asked him.

"Of course. Been wearing this hat for years," he tipped his own hat at me. "I was only carrying that one 'round as a spare. I don't like you riding in the sun too long without it."

"Am I burning?" I questioned, putting my journal down to pat my cheeks.

"Not yet, I'm taking preventative measures."

"Well, thank you," I smiled gratefully, then picked my book back up to continue drawing.

"What'chu drawing?" He asked, and I lifted a finger to my lips before flicking my eyes over to Charles, who was still absorbed in cleaning his weapon. Arthur chuckled and nodded in understanding. I tilted the drawing to him and he studied it. "Looking good."

"Good," I smiled. "I'm almost done."

I continued sketching, finishing off the rest of Charles' body, capturing a very crooked and inaccurate looking rifle in his hands. It was recognisable as a gun, at least, and that was good enough for me. As I worked, I sensed Arthur's attention on me, and I worked very hard to not let it put me off. I jumped again when his hand appeared by my face, going to move some hair; I was wearing it down and it fell forward, curtaining my face from him as I looked down. When he realised he'd startled me, his hand froze, then moved very gingerly to brush the hair back. When I looked at him, he seemed a little embarrassed and didn't meet my eyes. I shifted, pressing my shoulder up against his in silent reassurance.

"We should keep going," Charles spoke up, rising to his feet and slinging his rifle over his shoulder. I moved back to a more natural position and closed my journal, looking up at him. "We'll ride for a few more hours and then stop somewhere for the night, I've packed up the rest of that rabbit, we can finish it later."

"Whereabouts will we be by then?" I asked curiously as I stood up with Arthur. Charles put out the fire as we gathered up our things.

"We're aiming to be just South of O'Creagh's Run. Best place to look for bears is North of that lake, that gives us all day tomorrow to hunt. Depending on how well that goes, we can either start heading back tomorrow afternoon, or we can stay the night and leave the next morning," Charles explained, heading towards the horses. We all mounted up again.

"There's wolves around there, I heard," I said, glancing at Charles from the corner of my eye, trying not to sound worried.

"Sure, sometimes, but they shouldn't bother us if we give them no reason to. We'll store the food away from our camp just to be safe," he assured me.

"And sleep with guns in our hands," Arthur laughed mischievously and I looked over at him.

"You two have both hunted these kinds of animals before, haven't you?"

"I've hunted a couple of bears," Arthur affirmed. "You haven't?" He asked, seeming a little surprised.

"No, seemed a little risky and pointless when I was on my own," I told him.

"Hosea and I almost got devoured by this big bastard not too long ago," Arthur told me. "I finished him off, though."

"I reckon John mentioned this," I said, and Arthur glanced at me in question.

"John? What's he say?"

"Said you made a lovely hat," I smirked. Arthur made a little humming sound and looked away, an embarrassed flush appearing on his face.

"I remember that," Charles said, speaking from up ahead. "It was an interesting choice. Definitely a little morbid," he laughed.

"Yeah, well, better than it going to waste, you ought’a admit," Arthur defended and I offered him a grin.

"My brother had that kinda stuff made. Though, he weren't much of a hunter. He owned a hat with a bunch'a rat parts around the brim; I can guarantee whatever your hat looked like, it was better than my brother's."

"Rats?" Arthur questioned, and made a face. I nodded sympathetically.

"I lived with that for a few months," I said.

"Jesus, I'm sorry," Arthur murmured, making me laugh.

We rode until the sun went down, and we set up camp in a little clearing just off the road. We'd made it to where Charles had planned for us to, and finished off the rabbit from earlier. Arthur cracked out some beers, just one each to wet our whistles before bed. We'd set up a tent each – mine being lent to me by John – around the fire.

Since we were staying put for the night I decided to give Charles what I'd drawn that afternoon, so I retrieved the drawing from my satchel and scooted over to him. He took a swig of beer and eyed me up as I offered it out to him.

"I hope you don't mind. I said I'd draw something as a small token of gratitude for crafting that bow. How's a portrait?" I said as he took it from me. He smiled when he set his eyes on it.

"Wow, when did you do this; earlier on?" He asked and I nodded. "You're stealthy."

"It ain't worth nothing, I'm no fancy french artist, but I hope the novelty of having a drawing of yourself brings you a little happiness," I grinned at him.

"It does. This is great, thank you," he chuckled as he stared at the drawing, lifting it up to get a closer look in the dim light around the fire.

"I gotta think of something to draw for Arthur since he got me the book I drew that in," I looked over at him, and he perked up at the mention of his name. Before, he'd been staring up at the sky, leaning up against a big rock nearby. "What do you think, Charles?"

"You're not gonna draw him?"

"I've drawn him once before, that's still in my saddlebag come to think of it. I'm thinking something different."

Arthur stood up, stretched a little, then approached the fire; the light of it illuminated him better, highlighting his most prominent features and reflecting in his eyes. "Draw me, uhh… draw me a duck."

"A duck?" I cocked my head.

"What's wrong with ducks?"

"Nothing's wrong with ducks, that's just real unexpected. What kinda duck you want; mallard? Pekin?" I laughed.

"How 'bout one of each?"

"Ohh, of course. Anything else?"

"Naw, I ain't greedy," he said, smirking good-naturedly and strolling over to the horses. He stroked his horse's face and fed him an apple from his satchel.

"You sure you want ducks? What if I drew Jet?" I asked, getting up and joining him with the horses. Arthur paused, looking at me thoughtfully.

"You know what? I wouldn't mind that. You like that, boy?" He turned to his horse, giving him some affection. "Get your picture drawn?"

"I think he'd like it," I snickered. Arthur glanced cautiously over at Charles, then reached for my hand. He lifted it to his mouth, pressing a number of kisses across my knuckles.

"You could draw me anything and I'd treasure it," he whispered. A drop of something warm felt like it rolled from my heart to my belly; affection and longing. I leaned in to kiss his cheek, just once, a fraction of what I wanted to do.

Arthur looked at Charles again and let go of my hand. I heard movement behind me and bit down on my lip to hold something back, I don't know what, but I felt like some sort of sound wanted to escape from me. I had so many feelings.

"I'm gonna turn in, you two should too. Early start tomorrow," Charles told us, and I glanced over my shoulder to see that he wasn't even looking our way.

"Goodnight, Charles," I called to him, and he lifted his arm in a languid little wave before he crawled into his tent, closing the flaps behind him.

When I turned back to Arthur, he almost immediately closed the space between us to lay a kiss on me, one that stole my breath and coaxed my hands from my sides and to the fabric at the front of his shirt. After a moment he spread his kisses to my cheek, to my temple, then his lips hovered by my ear.

"What I wouldn't give for just ten minutes alone with you, where we don't gotta do nothin' but this," he whispered to me, instantly warming me from head to toe. All I could do was nod. "I'll get us some time, soon."

"There's so much I wanna do–"

"Don't say nothing that's gonna make me resent one of my best friends for merely being here," he chuckled, only half serious. I glanced back towards Charles' tent.

"I both love and hate sneaking around like this," I told him. "We can tell whoever we like, but I enjoy knowing that this is just between us."

"I know the feeling," Arthur nodded. "We can keep this quiet for now. I guess… I guess if we don't tell no one, for as long as they think we're just friends, we can get away with spending nights away from camp alone without them making assumptions."

"We should take advantage of that at least once, don't you think?" I giggled, watching Arthur lick his lips, his eyes turning a little sultry.

"Absolutely. A night alone, jus' you and me, that sounds real nice," he purred, pressing another kiss to my temple. "For now, though, we got company. Let's go get some sleep, princess."

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #fanfiction #arthur morgan x reader #reader insert #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 fanfic #atink #charles smith

43 notes · View notes

capmerthur · 6 years ago

Text

THE BODY SWAP

It’s all in the title :) Somewhere end S1 (after 1.11 Labyrinth, but pre 1.13 Morte). In a land of myth, and a time of magic, Arthur awakes inside Merlin’s body (and no, not in that way). Alternating Merthur POV. Bonus Gaius. Mentions of Will and George.

Excerpt PART XII:

Gaius walks in, holding out a book and placing it on the table.

Gaius and Merlin seem to be waiting for his cue, so Arthur is the one to open it, feeling both hopeful (this book might contains the answer to their predicament!) and worried (what if this book is simply full of evil?).

"Magic is potential, and possibilities. Its use is a choice, and a responsability", Merlin whispers.

(PREVIOUS CHAPTERS UNDERS CHAPTER XII)

XII. SOMETIMES, YOU PUZZLE ME (ARTHUR POV)

"Sire, you should rest."

"Just a little bit longer, Gaius. Until the candles are out."

"As you wish."

A respectful bow; then Gaius is on his way to Merlin's room, giving Arthur space and quiet - and only when the door closes does Arthur realize that he just kicked an old man out of his own bed?

Well, let it be worth it then, right! Arthur closes his eyes, breathing deeply, trying to connect with the magic inside. He actually feels it, now that he knows what to search for. He has no idea still though about how to have it work, apparently...

He can't help but wonder briefly if Merlin has been able to fall asleep yet, before concentrating again on that damn water...

Arthur awakes, wincing, still at the table. Gaius has left bread and jam out for him, and he hastily eats before running out to help Merlin prepare (both physically and mentally) for concil. It is still earlier than he thought it was it seems, luckily. The kitcheners have just begun their work; Gaius does prefer to pick herbs in the early morning indeed. Arthur takes some bread and jam for Merlin, as little else is ready yet, and makes for his chambers.

When he gets in, Merlin is putting his clothes on. He is nearly finished; only the tunic and the coat are still laid out on the already made bed. Arthur approaches to help him with fastening the ties, and so notices the spread-out covers and pillows on the floor behind the bed.

"Merlin? Did you actually sleep on the floor?"

"Well, that bed of yours is way too soft", Merlin retorts (even though Arthur DID see him getting out of said bed just the morning before: it hadn't been too soft apparently, when Merlin hadn't known it was Arthur's, huh...), trying to cover his embarassment before walking out, heading for the stream. And Arthur has no choice but to follow, shaking his head while wondering if there would ever come a day when Merlin would stop astonish him...

After having left Merlin at the concil's door, Arthur gets back to his bowls and water.

He has no progress to show though still when Merlin comes in and gives him a very detailed summary of what has been discussed. Arthur is thankful - even though he hasn't doubted Merlin's capacities (Merlin acting like an idiot or being clueless about etiquette doesn't mean Merlin isn't clever, indeed).

Then Merlin takes up the spoons, and helps Arthur train more actively about his magic again. They are both pleased to discover that Arthur is now able to divert about a third of the projectiles.

"Why am I getting better with the spoons and not making any progress with the water?", Arthur wonders aloud.

"I am certain you will figure it out, Sire", Merlin only has time to pledge as Gaius walks in, holding out a book and placing it on the table - which definitely ends the spoons training as Arthur and Merlin come to gather around it.

Gaius and Merlin seem to be waiting for his cue, so Arthur is the one to open the book, feeling both hopeful (this book might contains the answer to their predicament!) and worried (what if this book is simply full of evil?).

Arthur starts to read silently, both cautious about eventual passers-by overhearing and unwilling to invoke any probable further disaster on themselves by reading what could be spells aloud, a finger tracing along the opening line.

"Magic is potential, and possibilities. Its use is a choice, and a responsability", Merlin whispers, echoing what Arthur is reading.

Arthur is stunned, and can't help but blurt out in disbelief, turning his attention on Merlin:

"You know how to read?"

Merlin only shrugs.

"Sure I do. My mother taught me, along with the other kids from Ealdor. You know, the fact that it surprises you that a peasant can read probably says more about Camelot's rampant illiteracy than about me?"

And Arthur can only admit it's true:

"You're right. We should probably ask Geoffrey to organize something about it."

Then Arthur points at the book:

"But of course you may read along; it concerns you too. It might be safer though not to read aloud, you know..." (gesturing around, waving a hand)

"I can do that too", Merlin assures.

So Arthur sits down on the bench, motioning for Merlin to do the same next to him. Gaius sits on the opposite bench - ready to give advice or help if needed; or ensuring they do not damage the book before it gets returned to the vaults?

They read further in silence, two pairs of eyes following the path of Arthur's finger.

Arthur quickly realizes though that the first part of the book focuses on magical creatures, and skips through it - it might be handy, but it's not what they need at the moment (he can't refrain from briefly pausing though passing by the unicorns page)...

Then they reach the spells section, and Arthur turns tense.

And rightly.

When he understands what the first spell is about, he can't help but shout out, pushing the book away:

"This is what Valiant did! How can we trust this book of tricks?" - this is nothing but evil indeed.

Of course Merlin just HAD to read that opening line aloud while in Arthur's presence, huh...

(PREVIOUS CHAPTERS)

I. AWAKING (ARTHUR POV)

Arthur awakes; lying on his back - unusual - and rolls over automatically.

He surprisingly falls, down, hard; and jerks fully awake now - on the floor, near a so very tiny bed, tangled in an unknown blanket (harsher than his standards, even while on errands, he can’t help but notice).

In disbelief, he eyes his surroundings…

Where is he? Has he been abducted?

Think, he admonishes himself - trying to clear his mind; to remember what must have happened, to guess who has dared to commit such an act, and, most important of all right now: Find a way out.

His eyes then suddenly meet Merlin’s, and relief surges through him somehow - Merlin is alive - before his anxiety returns; and double: because poor faithful, loyal Merlin has obviously been taken too; and it’s Arthur’s fault - he must have failed to save them both from being taken, even though he cannot remember anything…

Except when Arthur reaches out to Merlin for him to come closer (they need to share information and plan, but must be quiet as a mouse), he realizes with fright but indeniable certainty that Merlin is in fact a reflection in a mirror; and worse: *HIS* reflection!?

It his NOT his hand indeed that is stretching out in front of him; NOT his clothes on his person; and definitely NOT his own hair falling upon his eyes, as he notices the black strings in his vision range…

Arthur is dumbstruck. He sees Merlin’s mouth shaping a silent O, and he sees the dread in Merlin’s eyes… except they ARE - he feels - *his* mouth, and *his* eyes; and everything is just plainly wrong, and plainly impossible - but undeniably REAL.

He is… Merlin? Or better said, *inside* Merlin? How can such a thing have even come to be?

Sorcery, Arthur understands with horror: Camelot is under attack!

But now armed with the knowledge of his predicament, Arthur realizes he is actually in Merlin’s bedroom. He’s been in here before, once; and he recognizes it all now.

So. Not abducted. All things considered, that still counts as something, right…

And, as it surely doesn’t feel as if Merlin is still somewhere in his own head too while Arthur is inside of it, well… Maybe? Logically? Merlin might then be in return inside his own body?

Arthur suddenly finds himself praying for this to be true. It would be for the best, if Merlin was in his body - if they were the only ones concerned by this unnatural situation; because what if *everyone* was awaking inside someone else’s body this morning? That would be… precarious - the general panic leaving Camelot completely vulnerable to whoever must have plotted this? The worst though would be if the one responsible for this was right now in control of his body, and acting as Crown Prince to do, well, evil deeds… So yes, you bet Arthur truly wants to find Merlin to be the one inside his own body when he finally finds it.

Arthur jumps on his feet, ready for action. Luckily (even though Arthur feels a bit guilty, as he notices his armour in pristine state against the opposite wall - apparently Merlin has been polishing it late into the night then) Merlin hasn’t bothered to undress before falling asleep.

So. First thing first: he has to go to his chamber.

Picking some weapon on the way for good measure, you bet …

Simply walking the few paces to open the door though turns out to be a challenge. His limbs are too long, and dangly; it feels like he has two left feet, and he has to try thrice before actually getting a grip on the handle - because he isn’t used to this body, of course - but maybe it is truly NOT Merlin’s fault if he trips over his own feet that often after all…

Gaius is already out - hopefully looking for herbs and not wandering out of his mind… Arthur would have preferred to be able to test right away his theories about how many people were affected by the damn body change; but unfortunately, it would have to wait some more.

The corridors are empty too, except for a stray black cat who walks at his side long enough for Arthur to start questioning himself about asking to the cat if he *is* Merlin - because Merlin HAS to be somewhere, right, as he obviously isn’t where he should be to start with; but then the cat takes another turn… Arthur feels stupid for worrying so much about his silly manservant - but he cannot deny that he definitely will worry less only after having indeed finally found said silly manservant.

Arthur relaxes slighthly though when he enters the kitchen: people are working as usual, apparently not in shock, apparently in their right bodies. He picks up the first tray he finds, along with an extra knife that he hides in his pocket for good measure.

He tries to put on a confident grin as he walks (with the most assurance he can muster in this awkward-feeling body) towards the guards at his bedroom’s door - and can only hope it will look the same as usual to them. They let him pass without trouble, and Arthur isn’t sure whether it’s a good thing. On the one hand, he *doesn’t* doubt Merlin - he simply, intrinsically doesn’t; and would never want him to feel like he did if his guards were to search him whenever he was about to enter his chamber. On the other hand… well, it isn’t Merlin right now entering his chamber, with knifes at the ready… This time, it’s only him; but what if it happens again, and if the one then inside Merlin’s body has ill intentions…

Deciding not to dwell on this for the time being, Arthur enters his bedroom - hoping to find Merlin doing whatever Merlin always does, but preparing for a fight, if need be…

II. AWAKING (MERLIN POV)

Merlin awakes as if in a cocoon; literally. He is surrounded by softness, flush, warmth; he cannot remember ever feeling so comfortable - and the world can wait for just another few seconds before he opens his eyes, right… Merlin wriggles, shifting on his back, sighing softly as he nestles some more into the cushions…

When Merlin awakes for the second time - culpability sinking in as he realizes he has overslept - his eyes open to a Pendragon red canopy he would recognize even among hundreds. Merlin freezes: what the hell is he doing, sleeping IN ARTHUR’S BED?!

Merlin sits upright at once - blankets falling all around him to reveal that he wears ARTHUR’S NIGHTGOWN too ?!

Whaaaaaaaat?!

This… just DOESN’T make any sense. The last thing he can remind is sitting on his own bed, polishing the last bit of Arthur’s armour before letting himself fall down to sleep (*AN). He surely doesn’t recall walking to Arthur’s chamber, and even less…

Merlin’s mind is reeling as he shuffles out of bed as swiftly as he can. Oh my… What is Arthur going to think? And come to think of it - true panic now creeping down on Merlin at that thought: *WHERE* is Arthur to start with?

His attention is drawn out right then by Arthur calling out his name (Merlin feels relief, no matter his current embarrassing situation) - in one of those thousands yet unmistakably always Arthurian ways to say his name: a myriad of moods and meanings in those simple two syllables - the voice sounding odd though this morning (is Arthur sick?), and tensed (well, he just found his manservant in *his* bed, that might explain it!).

Merlin turns to face his sovereign, trying to feel less self conscious because he mustn’t look guilty, while wishing for inspiration, and buying time until it hits: “There is actually a perfectly valid explan-”

But it is NOT Arthur he sees: it is… himself? His breath catches as ‘utter confusion’ gets a new meaning, you bet…

At the same moment, Merlin notices suddenly just how *not his* his voice has just sounded, and how he’s wearing a very particular ring around one finger of what’s NOT his hand, and how *blond* hair is falling upon his eyes… And still nothing makes sense; but at least it *does* explain how he awoke in Arthur’s bed in Arthur’s clothes: he *is* Arthur?; and… Arthur… is him? MUST be him. He has been calling his name right the right way, right?!

“Arthur?” Merlin barely dares to breathe out, both in wonder and in plea (because Arthur CANNOT be gone - the fear and pain and simple *impossibility* of such a concept slicing through Merlin’s mind like a knife).

There is a bright smile then appearing on his face - a smile that doesn’t entirely look like his own though - “Yes, Merlin. It’s me,” followed by a relieved sigh: “And it’s you”. And, despite the shock about them having apparently switched bodies (?!?!), Merlin can’t help but feel warm all over - because Arthur (and yes, it is so clearly Arthur, even in HIS body!) has apparently been worried about him.

(*AN) Headcanon time :

Merlin uses magic to clean Arthur’s armour in the beginning, indeed. And he still uses magic for most of the chores, as much as he can, of course (washing clothes, mending clothes, emptying chamber pots, sweeping fireplaces, preparing baths, refreshing beds, cleaning floors, cleaning everything, really (except for mucking the stables, because there are always others around, grrrr). But he quickly grows nearly *maniac* about Arthur’s food (picking at it as a way to make sure it’s not poisoned etc…) and about Arthur’s armour: it’s one of Arthur’s protections - so you bet Merlin definitely cleans and polishes and repairs and oils the leather ligaments that hold it together and EVERYTHING the hell out of it, with extra ardor and fervor, with his own two hands, all the while continuously trying to put on it any protecting spells he ever finds, and repeating those over and over at each occasion… Also, mirrors were probably not so advanced at the time… But let’s say Merlin has an enhanced one, after all he has magic, right…

On a side note, I’m never going to be over Arthur’s priority-thinking (I’m in trouble = CAMELOT IS UNDER ATTACK (babyyyy let me hold you - being Camelot Prince/King is NOT your only worth) and Merlin’s priority-thinking (what the hell is happening = WHERE THE HELL IS ARTHUR (babyyyy let me hold you - your devotion to The (brave, kind, admirable (shut up Merlin)) Prat doesn’t have to mean that you always must come second (and a bit self-preservation cannot be harmful)) *SIGH* I just love those two idiots so much !!!

III. DISABLED (MERLIN POV)

But soon, Merlin is terrified.

And not because of the puzzling body swap.

*HE HAS NO MAGIC!?*

(Not that Merlin knows of any spell to reverse their current situation at once, mind you; so he doesn’t actually try anything about it. But Merlin simply knows: there is nothing but blood running through his veins now - no vigorous warmth, no energic flow; there is simply nothing singing under his placid flesh, as he focuses on it.)

He cannot help but wish he’s wrong though, and desperately tries to move a quill on Arthur’s desk behind Arthur’s back - the simplest of things, really; yet he fails, indeed…

His magic is tied to his body. Not to his mind.

No, no, no, no, nooooooooooo.

Merlin is, to his core, *terrified* - as he has never been. Not only because he feels more powerless and utterly helpless than he has ever felt - and worse, unable to protect Arthur! But also because the longer Arthur stays in his body, the more chances he has to find out that he has magic!? (And even though Merlin has nearly told Arthur, once? He is still not ready for him to know right now… Will after all didn’t lie to protect Merlin’s secret on his deathbed for Merlin to take chances with his life so soon after…)

Merlin though decides to push his panic aside for the moment: he simply MUST focus. No matter which sorcerer has this week decided to deal with the Pendragon line once and for all, Arthur’s life is undoubtedly in the balance; and that’s dearer to Merlin than all the magic in the world - included his own.

Because Merlin’s life *has* tilted, on that rocky beach by The Great Seas of Meredor.

Merlin’s earnest readiness to lay his life down to save Arthur’s had been instinctive, beyond doubt visceral; and the concrete force of the impulse had surprised him. Because it hadn’t been related to his first supposed then anyway indeed wished upon destiny. It had merely been a reflex, a spontaneous reaction: what he had wanted to do; more than what he ought to do. And Merlin had realized right then that he had, somehow, but undeniably, actually come to *LOVE* Arthur? He had known, for some time, that he liked him. And he had felt oddly pleased when Arthur had turned up at Ealdor - maybe Arthur liked him too? But if your first thought when someone is threatened is ‘I’d rather die than see him die’? Well, there is a kind of selfishness, even in seflessness, that goes beyond 'liking’, right…

It shouldn’t have been such a shocking revelation though. Sure, Arthur could be a spoiled, royal prat; an irritating, pompous ass; an arrogant, moronic bully - to list but the top of the iceberg of his massive shortcomings, and without even mentioning the complete dollophead he could sometimes be. But Arthur could also be truly brave, honest, and kind; willing not only to trust but also to actually defend the words of mere servants, ready to defy his father’s orders in order to save a child’s life, and volunteering to help a village not even belonging to his Kingdom, to note only a few examples. Also: at some point, Merlin had realized how what could at first appear as near manhandling tactility was in fact just Arthur’s disguised way to show (or ask?) affection (because one probably just doesn’t walk around asking for cuddles while growing up between Uther’s judging cold glares and Morgana’s sharp witty tongue; and the physical occasional playfulness of the knights training must have seemed like the only way to go…). And last but not least: Merlin owed Arthur his life - if Arthur hadn’t gone looking for a Mortaeus flower… So, in short: of course Merlin had gotten fond of the man. For his own values; and not because he was meant to be the other side of his coin or something. And notwithstanding how so annoyingly beautiful he always was (for the record on that particular subject: Gwen is so adorably beautiful, and Morgana so petrifyingly beautiful).

But, as Arthur - bound to be King one day Arthur - hadn’t even hesitate before choosing to sacrifice himself, in order to fix what he had recognized to be his error, instead of using the (even offered) life of a simple servant? Well… There is a difference still between having the conviction that Arthur is a good man ready to fight for the greater good, even knowing it could be his death; and knowing as a FACT that Arthur *is* a good man ready to *die* for the greater good, even knowing it *will* be his death. And you bet having been proven *exactly* how pure of heart Arthur intrinsically is has only cemented that burgeoning love deeper into Merlin’s heart - simply; truly; and maybe irrevocably. Merlin would now willingly die a thousand deaths to save his Prince.

(Feel free to shout with me about 1.11 because *MAJOR FEELS*!)

(And then hug me as I shamelessly cry because this is still NOTHING next to what’s to come - aka Arthur becoming ACHINGLY beautiful, as Merlin turns ready to KILL a thousands times to save his King, blackening his own heart in the process and thinking himself then unworthy of Arthur’s love because Arthur is just so BRIGHT; but wishing for it nonetheless?)

IV. PLANNING (MERLIN POV)

Arthur, miraculously (even though understandably; because he must be shaken too, right), is unaware of Merlin’s internal crisis as he shares what he’s uncovered until now: “It seems to be just us. The kitcheners and the guards all seem to be themselves.”

“So. Whoever has done this is targetting you - personnally.”

“Nice to see your wits are still so very particularly sharp, Merlin. Is there any reason for the one behind all this to be targetting you?”

It is beyond odd to *hear* Arthur’s usual tone in his own voice; but Merlin still has the grace to sigh, before pushing his point further: “But why you?”

“Well, obviously *you*’ve forgotten, but I am Camelot’s Crown Prince, responsib-.”

“Which is exactly what’s bothering me!” Merlin can’t help but interject. “Why take on the Prince when you can take on the King?”

“Oh… Do you think… Could someone be… training on us, then? Before attacking-”

“I honestly have no idea. Maybe you got targetted indeed because you’re head of security. We shouldn’t rule anything out.”

Arthur brings his fist down on the table, determinedly: “Well, whatever the evil plan might be, we just cannot permit for it to work. We’ll have to find a way to stop this nonsense - no offense. In the meantime, we must act as if nothing unusual is going on. It might be for the time being our best chance at keeping Camelot safe - making whoever planned this think the spell didn’t work?”

Merlin can’t help but let out a helpless (yet realistic) sigh: “That’s… a lot; on both accounts.”

Arthur echoes with a helpless sigh of his own: “I know.”

But if they are to keep up pretenses, Merlin is going to need to be prepared: “So. What’s on your agenda for today - besides the monthly open pleas this morning and the daily training this afternoon?”

“Nothing particular. And there are no coming feasts nor abroad visits planned for the coming time, thankfully. (worried sigh) But there’s concil, tomorrow.”

“Well, let’s start at the beginning. I should do fine enough for the pleas. It’s mostly your father’s duty; your presence is required, of course, but mostly you’re to hear and listen…” Fear grips Merlin at once: “But it’s public; so it would be a great opportunity to try to murder you!” He MUST protect Arthur’s body: “Will you please go fetch your chainmail in my room?”

“No.”

The tone is definitive, and Merlin is torn between begging, or growing impatient - because Arthur can be so obtuse sometimes (now really isn’t the time for Arthur to be feeling indignation about being ordered around like a simple servant; even though he *is* one at the moment - not that Merlin would ever think he was one, of course - but what if Arthur thinks he does and enjoys the chance at some payback?): “Arthur, please (again?). It’s the expected type of errands of the body you momentarily (because it MUST be momentarily, right?) inhabit - I can’t - You’re the target. I need your chainmail. I have no fighting skills, nor any kind of skills really to protect yo-”

“I cannot be seen wandering the castle in my chainmail without reason, Merlin; it would attract attention”, Arthur interrupts in a somehow gentler tone; and Merlin realizes that Arthur hadn’t registered at first how Merlin’s concern was about him, more than himself - and is obviously humbled by the thought. “Court clothes are required, anyway. We’re not supposed to look threatening, nor threatened, when our subjects come to present their wishes,” Arthur pursues, killing any possible protest in the bud. “Besides, the guards will be present. So don’t worry too much about anything happening to us”, Arthur ends in a lower voice; as if the last part had been more a thought to reassure himself than a phrase meant to be uttered - and Merlin just has to savour that precious 'us’…

Merlin though isn’t reassured enough about his Prince’s safety: “Please (yes, that’s thrice; adamant much?) Sire, at least allow me to wear your thickest leather under your tunic” - willing his voice to make it sound like a not-to-be-denied demand more than a true question.

Arthur holds his gaze; and it actually feels like a blessing when he finally relents: “As you wish; but it won’t be comfortable against naked skin.”

“I’ll manage.” Merlin can’t help but fidget some before pursuing - asking Arthur to do what is and should be *his* work feeling not only weird but even wrong: “But I’ll need your help to tie it in the back?”

Arthur dimissively tousles his hair, grumbling: “I *know*, Merlin.” 'My clothes’ going unsaid.

Merlin can be relieved about one thing, at least: Arthur obviously isn’t piqued about doing a servant’s work…

Merlin picks out the largest fitting of Arthur’s clothes. He puts on the braies and trousers while still wearing the gown, respectfully tying the belt blindly around his waist. He puts on socks, and shoes. Then only does he take the gown off, and turns his back towards Arthur so that he may help with adjusting the leather’s straps.

A surprised but definitely pleased whisper (“Impressive, ain’t I?”) echoes in Merlin’s ears, as the Prat Prince seems apparently unable not to comment about his damn broad back, angling Merlin shortly that way and this way as if to assess it even better.

'Believe me, I know’, Merlin can’t refrain from thinking; feeling a blush coming over his face, and thankful that Arthur is too busy looking at his own back to notice any of it.

“I think I might even have outgrown Sir Leon - in width at least if not in height”, Arthur concludes proudly before finally starting to work the ties - leaving Merlin suddenly ashamed of his initial internal reprimand, and oddly upset. Of course Arthur would only wish to see in his physique the strength of a warrior. Of course his first thought, when finally able to actually see his own back, would be to compare it to his given models - the Knights; and most of all among them, to his own chosen model, Leon - both the noblest and strongest of them all, yet young enough to play the part of the older brother Arthur could look up to while growing up… No one has probably ever told him that he is beautiful, Merlin realizes sadly. But the fact that Arthur is so unaware only makes him even more beautiful in Merlin’s eyes…

Merlin forces himself to tease Arthur, hiding his turmoil under their usual banter: “Well, I could ask Gabriel to take measurements, if you so badly wish-”

“Shut up, Merlin”, accompanied by a rewarding hit in the back of his right shoulder, which Merlin gladly revels in, no matter the unusual fist size. This, no matter their predicament, feels normal.

And in that short moment of normalcy, when everything feels just right as Arthur ends tying the leather, Merlin notices something he hasn’t noticed before, when all he could feel was STRESS.

Oh no.

“Arthur?” Merlin can’t help but wince at the intimidated tone in his voice as he turns around; and Arthur is eyeing him now with furrowed eyebrows. “I think I need - I mean you need… to… have to go?”

Arthur makes a face - with his face; except it still looks somehow like a typical outraged Arthur face (damn, this is just too confusing…): “Merlin!”

“He! Do not look at me like this is my fault! It’s *YOUR* body! Maybe you shouldn’t have drun-”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have brought a full pitcher at dinner then!”

They eye each other, both unrelenting over who is at fault.

And Merlin can’t help but think that somehow he is, indeed, no matter what. Because there are levels in intimacy; and he IS definitely crossing a line. There is a difference between being around and trying to avoid his gaze when Arthur walks in and out of his bath, or applying Gaius’s healing balm to bruises on Arthur’s back because it’s a place Arthur can’t reach on his own, and, well… watching and touching Arthur’s *manhood*, even if only for urinating, technically ensuring no mess is done while doing it?

Arthur suddenly sighs though, and his voice sounds kinder as he offers: “This will surely happens a few times before we sort it all out, huh. To the both of us. So. How should we proceed?”

Merlin scratches his head, summoning some courage: “Do you want to… hold-”

“Your hand, Merlin!”, Arthur demonstrates, lifting the would-be-culprit in the air and wiggling its fingers for good measure; and that’s a 'No way’ if Merlin ever heard one…

“Would you rather it to be your hand-”

“It’s *your* hand right now!” Indeed. So. Another 'No way’.

But suddenly Merlin has a solution, of sort: “What if I… go sit into the stream? There’s a quiet spot not so far from the castle I found while collecting herbs for Gaius… If I hurry I still can make it back before the pleas.”

Arthur actually claps his hands, obviously relieved: “Sometimes, I swear, you are a genius.” He hurries over, handing Merlin his tunic and grabbing the Pendragon red doublet before marching out: “Let’s go!”

“You’re coming?” (hastening to put the tunic on and grabbing a towel before following)

“Well, as I just said, it’s bound to happen to me - you - so I might just as well tag along, and know where it is.”

Once out of potentially spying ears reach, they plan the day further.

“We HAVE to tell Gaius, at the least, about our situation: no one will contest his word if he says you’re not to train for a while - because honestly how am I supposed to spare with your Knights? They will notice right away that something isn’t right. And, well…”

Merlin hesitates, not wanting to incriminate Gaius in any way. As it turns out, he doesn’t have to:

“You’re right. Besides, Gaius has heard about a lot of… stuff, in all his years. I was planning to go around Jeffrey and look for the forbidden books, but I have no ideas how many volumes are hidden down here, nor where they even *are* to start with… If anyone we know might have even the slightest clue about how to fix our problem, it’s him; even if it’s only about finding an adequate book.”

Merlin nods, relieved: “So. After the pleas, I stage a fall, and we go to Gaius, who tells you’re not to train for the time being. That leaves the rest of the day free, both for looking up about our situation, and briefing me on what I should be aware of for tomorrow’s concil. Do you address things in an established order; who’s whose specialisms; what you discussed by the latest concils which might be brought up again tomorrow; and so on…”

“I’m supposed to make the battle plans, Merlin? But as far as plans go, I have to admit this isn’t a bad one. Except I’m not you; I do not trip on my feet twice a day. So. I’ll make you fall. That’s more plausible.”

“No way! You’ll end up in the stocks!” Merlin realizes how - no matter what he might have been thinking just a few months ago - he simply doesn’t want Arthur in the stocks. Ever. “Which is NOT where you should be spending your afternoon.” Merlin quickly amends; hiding his concern under logic’s sake, knowing it to be the best way to persuade Arthur anyway. “So. You fall. I try to help you. But we both fall. I’m clumsy, as ever; you’re noble, as always; everyone get to laugh at me, and praise you; and your father might skip punishing me for you getting hurt in the process, as you obviously didn’t want me hurt to start with?” (pause, before adding earnestly, yet fiercely, as Merlin isn’t able to tone back the surge of threat in his eyes at the mere idea of having anyone disrespecting Arthur in that way) “If he doesn’t though, I’ll stand guard next to you.”

“Would you?” Arthur seems surprised; but touched: “Well, who knows, maybe I’ll return the favor the next time.”

Merlin can’t refrain a whine: “The next time?”

“Even I can’t save you from my father’s wrath every time; it’s bound to happen, either from your two left foots or your snarky mouth.”

They can hear the water now, and Arthur accelerates towards it, as Merlin lags behind, unable not to smile:

“I guess I’m supposed to say 'thank you’?”

“I might have forgotten to mention I’ll probably throw something in your face myself at the last moment. Prince’s privilege and all that…” - Arthur even turns towards him, giving him one of his goofy faces to boot (Merlin didn’t know *his* face could do *that*, by the way).

Merlin just keeps on smiling anyway. He probably hasn’t felt that brightly, positively, ridiculously happy since “I’m rehiring you - because someone needs to muck out my stables”. Arthur has a particular way to express fondness, and Merlin wouldn’t change it for the world.

V. THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT MERLIN (ARTHUR POV)

Arthur is the first to reach the stream, and crouches down to test the water with his hand.

“It’s cold”, he warns, while Merlin walks in a straight line towards a tree with a low hanging branch and starts undressing - he does come here often, clearly.

Merlin shrugs: “Be grateful it’s not winter yet. Try bathing around Imbolc - that’s cold.” Merlin goes on; stating an afterthought while hanging his pants on the branch: “Still worth it though; everything here is just more… alive, you know. You don’t get that indoors.”

And Arthur has bathed on patrols enough to know that, honestly?: he prefers his warm baths. He can’t help but feel a smile on his face though at the words; they are so intrinsically Merlin.

Arthur had been struck, when they had met. No one had ever defied him, in any way. And it had stung; Arthur could admit. So. He had not been displeased at all when he had overmastered the fool and turned him over. The affront had been too public to be allowed to slide, and Arthur had decided he wouldn’t dwell a further thought about the goodhearted fool (Arthur knew terrorrizing people wasn’t right. He tended though to react badly whenever anyone acted cowardly (which was, well, all the time, around him); especially as he was actually *praised* for it somehow), but fool nonetheless, who should have known to mind his own business…

It had been nothing though in comparison to his surprise when their paths had crossed again. Arthur hadn’t been able NOT to taunt him - hoping, somehow… But the last thing Arthur had been actually expecting had been for Merlin to act *exactly the same*. Surely, now that he knew who he was, he would just scrabble around him as anyone else - not defy him again, knowing it would get him in chains again, right? Arthur had been *delighted* by Merlin’s untamable fire - the words, and then the look he had thrown at him while taking his jacket off? (Maybe Arthur had just been waiting all his life for someone to finally stand his ground to him, indeed…) Of course Arthur had let him go without punishment that second time - and any time since then (which was honestly difficult, as Merlin - always fighting for what was right more than for himself Merlin - frequently got riled up, be it in private OR IN PUBLIC, by literally anyone and anything).

Since he has been to Ealdor though, Arthur can’t help but see things under a new light.

Hunith is everything Arthur believes a loving mother to be. But there had been no father at home, nor any mention of one. (Arthur knows the sting of this kind of wound - missing a parent; and he had been saddened, as he had realized that Merlin bore such a wound too.) Arthur hadn’t dared to ask, but he had wondered: did Merlin ever got a father to start with; or had he been abandoned - intentionally or not? (Arthur knows how even an accident still feels akin to a betrayal in a child’s heart.) Which would be the worst anyway? But what if Merlin had been bullied through his childhood because of it? - children could be particularly malicious, when they intended to… Was it how Merlin had learned, the hard way, that fighting - both with his words and his fists - was the only way to end the pestering? And had decided it wouldn’t be only for his own sake, but for the sake of anyone who might ever need help? Was it what had brought Merlin close to Will - the fact that they both had lost their father? Was it the reason Will had wanted to learn magic to start with? (Arthur knows the near constant anger, too. As does Merlin, obviously.)

Arthur can’t help but feel grateful anew, somehow, and no matter what, still, that Merlin has had Will around: surely, no matter how bad the fights Merlin had jumped into, Will must have kept him safe - at least safe enough - *with his magic*. The thought had been unbidden the first time it had occured, and had definitely surprised Arthur; but he hadn’t been able to deny that it was what he truly felt indeed.

Because of course Arthur had come to care for Merlin. Isn’t it why he had gone to Ealdor to start with after all…

Merlin.

Definitely not an ordinary manservant. And probably not the champion manservant by any book (fast learner, and smart, and hard working, he was; but only about what *he* deemed important - hence for example his total disregard for any kind of storage? - but Arthur generally agreed with what Merlin deemed important or not anyway). But honestly the only manservant Arthur now could imagine ever having - or ever want to have.

Because Arthur likes Merlin as his manservant exactly just the way he is, and would now never wish for another - no matter (and specifically because of) how well-schooled and zealous to satisfy his every need (and whim) that hypothetic other might be… Arthur now sees what others might judge flaws as assets (Merlin’s clumsiness and chattiness are more endearing and uplifting than unefficient, especially as his opinions always sound reasonable; his sarcasm and insults are a sure way to keep Arthur’s head from ever getting inflated; and his challenging manners push Arthur to do and be better - from training with the knights to saving people’s lifes), and what others might judge insubordinate as being treated, for once, finally, as an equal, somehow (even though they both know and acknowledge they aren’t) - no matter whenever it comes out at Arthur’s expanse too, food getting shoved into his mouth and getting unceremoniously pulled out of bed included in their everyday banter, as Merlin can give just as much as he gets indeed. But that’s maybe what Arthur values the most: how Merlin’s respect feels earned and honest; neither forced by birthright or fear for repercussions, nor cajoling nor calculated.

Arthur has never had a private servant for longer than a year - his Father’s rule; but you bet Arthur is decided about keeping Merlin at his side when the year would end. He will have to strategize; he will need irrefutable arguments. But if he plays his cards well - and Merlin never ceases to hand him over cards to play - Arthur has no doubt that his Father will actually allow it: it’s in the best interest of the Kingdom after all.

Merlin.

A whirlwind. Always animated, always busy; never still, even when he’s doing nothing. But always so expressive - so easy to read - a fact Arthur has come not only to appreciate after decades around perpetually guarded scheming faces, but even to *trust*.

A chatty nature-loving poet with dangly limbs, gentle heart, and the brightest smile Arthur has ever seen - Arthur has come to know. Yet the sassiest mouth and the most unrelenting fighter Arthur has ever met; his utter lack of skills balanced by sheer defiance - Arthur has learned right from the start. (Merlin just never backs off, no matter the odds; which is very stupid, but also very brave.)

A confusing, clashing mess of contraries. But an admirable man, with a beautiful soul.

And you bet Arthur wouldn’t have him be any different.

Arthur shakes his head. Maybe - just like with his two left feet - it isn’t Merlin’s choice to be such a poet all the time. Arthur hasn’t been inside Merlin’s body for more than a few hours, and already he is turning into a maudlin bard himself, huh…

Arthur sighs; bringing himself back to the present - only to be struck by Merlin yet again.

Merlin has by now disrobed of everything except for the leather, which he has rolled up to his chest (logic; it would take too much time to tie it up all once more), and the tunic, which he now holds tightly in a bundle against his chest too, even if (and no doubt exactly because) it must get in his vision range as he enters the water. The lengths Merlin now goes again, simply to avoid to *see* - treating his body with the utmost respect, even when it is betraying him?

It should be insignificant, but the whole endeavour screams once more just how *devoted* Merlin always is, to him; and it is honestly dumbfounding.

He has been willing to die for me. And more than once.

The thought slices through Arthur’s mind; as usual charged with guilt, and heartbreaking, yet oddly sweet.

Arthur doesn’t understand: he has truly done very little to earn such high esteem - and that’s an euphemism. Getting the man in the stocks? Letting him drink poison destined for him? Having his only friend die?

But you bet Arthur cherishes it all the same. And he wants - oh, he WANTS - to be worthy of it. Not because it’s what he ought to do, repaying kindness with kindness, loyalty with loyalty; and definitely not because he owes Merlin a friend - you can’t replace a friend (even if Arthur never actually had a friend, he knows that it’s supposed to be a special, powerful, unique bond). Not even because Merlin does indeed makes him want to be a better man - even if that’s true, and definitely positive for the future of Camelot. But simply because HE. WANTS. TO. Arthur has realized by now how he is always tempted, whenever they are together: either to act silly in order to cause a smile; or to provoke Merlin until he bites. Both reactions feel peculiarly satisfying; spreading a pleasant warmth through his whole being - and Arthur just always has to smile…

So.

On impulse, Arthur disrobes Merlin’s lower half and enters the (indeed very cold) water while holding his tunic bundled up too, keeping his eyes stubbornly fixed on his own body sinking until the water reaches up to above its waist, as Merlin sits on his knees in the middle of the stream. And yes, the fact that Arthur has just chosen to abide by Merlin’s stubborn dedication on that matter, instead of letting his perpetual interest about literally everything run free, for once, (because yes, if he hadn’t witnessed Merlin’s commitment, Arthur might have taken a look at Merlin’s body, out of sheer curiosity; he wouldn’t though, not from now on…), is both a pledge and a self-serving whim.

Merlin, drawn by the sounds, turns to him with questioning eyebrows, and Arthur sheepishly drops on his knees next to him: “I thought it unfair to let you have all the fun on your own. Now, ready to scare the fish?”

Merlin howls with laughter. Arthur decides it’s definitely worth playing silly while freezing his ass off.

(Imbolc = 31 january)

Feel free to come and fangirl with me over 1.01 and then scream with me over 1.10 !

On a side note, I’m sorry but not sorry about that fish line? It was *totally* unplanned but then it just rolled out and I went 'yep, sure, arthur would, totally; it stays!’ ?

VI. THE PRINCE’S PART (ALTERNATE ARTHUR/MERLIN POV)

They get out; get dried; put their clothes back on. Merlin ties the towel to the branch, for future use.

Then, on their way back to the castle, Arthur asks Merlin about his agenda for the day.

Merlin gives him a look - like he’s unsure whether Arthur means it. Arthur gives him a look back - meaning he isn’t joking indeed.

Merlin smiles, eyes full of mirth: “Your chambers are a complete mess, your clothes need washing, your boots need cleaning, your dogs need exercising, your fireplace needs sweeping, your bed needs changing and, oh, *someone* needs to muck out your stables.” Merlin sobers up. “But we have more pressing matters at hand; so I think you can consider yourself free for the day.”

Arthur is taken aback. He recognizes his own words, of course. It’s both baffling and humbling - that Merlin can quote him, months later? and that Merlin has omitted one part and one part only in his old speech, because they both know his armour doesn’t need any repairing (the devotion Merlin shows those metal pieces echoing the devotion he shows to Arthur himself)? Arthur had first planned to give a playful thankful bow; but it would feel wrong.

“So. I’ll go bother Geoffrey. Try to get him to show me where the secret books are hidden. I’ll tell him Gaius has found a strange herb and wants to make sure it isn’t dangerous or something…”

Merlin has to give Arthur that: he is indeed insightful.

The mention of Gaius’s name though has Merlin slightly panicking again: Gaius doesn’t know yet about their current situation. What if he mentions 'something’ upon walking on Arthur thinking he is him? No. Merlin has to be there when they’ll get to see Gaius.

“Speaking about Gaius? Stay clear from his chambers. I doubt he’ll be as magnanimous as I am. He’ll do that thing with his eyebrow and have you pick herbs and brewing healing potions and concocting ointments before you even got a chance to tell him about our predicament - he’s really dedicated in my education as a physician, you know…”

“And I believe you rather enjoy it.”

“I do, indeed. I mean… It’s fascinating - do you know that the same stuff can cure you or kill you sometimes, depending on the dosis? Anyway, who wouldn’t want to know how to save lives?” Merlin can’t help but twitch. “I’m not sure I’m any good at it though…”

There is a flash of guilt in Merlin’s disheartened eyes, and Arthur realizes two things:

1) Merlin feels responsible for having been unable to save his friend Will. Which is understandable, because Merlin must have gathered by now some knowledge from Gaius’s lessons; but heartbreaking - because Arthur has seen enough arrow’s wounds to know that Will’s could never have healed - and perplexing - because Will has died to save *him*, not Merlin; so why would Merlin think the guilt was his to start with? and how come Arthur has never felt like Merlin might blame him for it either?

2) Merlin’s face is always *transparent* - a fact Arthur truly appreciates on Merlin’s face - but a fact that could turn out problematic, now that it’s on his own face…

“Let’s get back to my chambers. There is still something you should master better before the pleas.”

And that’s how Merlin finds himself positioned by Arthur in front of a mirror.

“What do you see, Merlin?” Arthur asks.

“Well, you?” Merlin feels he’s missing Arthur’s point, but he has no clue…

“Do you? Because I see my body, I see my clothes; but I do not see the Prince of Camelot - I’d like to think I play it better than that - and I must be, because my Father would not allow *this* I assure you - at least I hope or the kingdom is doomed.” Arthur ends on a sigh, shakes his head, and then turns commanding eyes back towards Merlin via the mirror. “Close your eyes, Merlin. Think of me. I mean, *picture* me; and more especially, picture me at any official activity you’ve served me through. See how I walk, how I stand, how I sit, how I move, how I look?”

Merlin does as asked, searching through his memories. After a while, he nods.

“Got it?”

“I think?”

“Then open your eyes, Merlin. What do you see?”

Merlin understands now. He can’t help but sigh helplessly. “Not the Prince of Camelot. Obviously. I’m sorry Arthur, I guess I’m just not… majestic enough to play you.”

“It’s not that hard, Merlin. Come on; I’ll explain. Ready?” Arthur grins at him via the mirror, exuding confidence - trust in him?; and Merlin would face (has faced) monsters to earn it indeed.

Merlin nods, their eyes still linked via the mirror.

“First thing first? You’re slouching.”

“Yes. (Merlin tries not to slouch; but is still not satisfied with the result) I think though the biggest problem is- There’s something wrong with your face.”

“Because you wear your heart on it, Merlin; and you mustn’t. Believe me, you do not want to be lectured for hours about this by my Father…”

Arthur moves away, and Merlin can’t see him anymore in the mirror. His voice is directing though, and Merlin focuses on the words to school his face.

“You’re a prince, so you *must* always look like one. No matter what you do, you must always, *always*, look confident. That’s the first strength of a kingdom - the strenghth of its ruler. That’s what keeps your people safe. So. Chin up, Merlin. Square your shoulders. Stand tall - stand *proud*.”

Merlin realizes the words are not Arthur’s; they’re Uther’s. He wonders how often indeed Arthur has heared those words - most probably often enough to give himself a internal pep talk before any official anything apparently…

“That’s better; but still not good enough. No matter how you feel inside must not show, Merlin. When you’re tired, hide it. When you’re sick, hide it. When you hurt, hide it. When you’re stressed, hide it. When you worry, hide it. When you doubt, hide it. When you’re bored, and even more when you disagree; hide it - it’s disrespectful; and we do not want wounded pride to fester, don’t we Merlin? When you’re afraid, definitely hide it. When you’re sad, hide it. And the trickiest part maybe: when you’re happy, hide it too - or risk whatever is making you happy to be taken away: weakening you is weakening the kingdom; and its enemies will never hesitate to bring you down, if you let them see even an inch of an opportunity.”

Merlin is shaken. He feels guilty, somehow. This is, certainly, too intimate. Merlin feels like he’s intruding. This feels even more trespassing than being in Arthur’s body. It’s like being forced in Arthur’s head, without his consent. It’s nauseating.

“Again, Merlin. Your eyes; focus. It’s a part; but it’s part of your job. So for the love of Camelot, Merlin, please try harder. Your people reckon on you to lead them and protect them; so it’s your duty to be a leader, and to be strong. Work hard; harder than anyone else. You *must* be an example, an inspiration. You must be admirable in everything, so that your people will follow you everywhere. But you must lead, Merlin; never follow. A ruler is alone - *must* be alone. Do not trust anyone; at least do not trust anyone more than anyone else, and surely not more than you trust yourself. Your own judgement must *never* be clouded.”

Merlin can’t help but turn towards Arthur at the words, both in disbelief and in ache… Because Merlin has grown up hiding, but he had never realized that Arthur had, too; and maybe even more than him. Arthur must not only always pretend and perpetually watch over his shoulder; he must pretend and watch over his shoulder *alone*. And Merlin can only imagine how hard that must have been, and be. Back at Ealdor, Merlin had (and still has) his loving mother, and he had Will. Even here, now, Merlin has Gaius. And somehow, yes: he has Arthur too, Merlin suddenly realizes; and then feels ashamed, because he can’t help but feel blessed - Arthur trusts him. Because Arthur is definitely less guarded around him, isn’t he? When it’s just the two of them; Arthur and Merlin? Arthur laughs, Arthur doubts, Arthur *shows*; maybe not everything - but that’s probably not possible as he is so trained - but something at least always shines through; even if it’s by putting his feet on his face… But Merlin knows now, how rare and precious it truly is. They can never be friends, maybe; but Arthur trusts him. That’s undeniable; and that’s everything, somehow.

“Do not look at me; look at the mirror, Merlin. Harden your eyes. Smile; always politely, even when you don’t want to smile at all; more genuinely, when it’s true - but never let it go up to your eyes. First thing about tomorrow too; as we’re at it. Hear everyone out. Listen with your full attention to everyone; whether you agree or not. Never decides right away; except if it’s necessary, in war time. Your decisions must be thought upon; never a spur of the moment. If something is unclear, do not let it show during concil. If you favor a position, do not let it show during concil. If you disagree, do not let it show during concil. You need further advice, or even only further information? Seek the appropriate person in private; ask man to man. They will see the honor in it if it’s positive, and be thankful you kept it private if it’s negative. Also. You must be ready to be impartial, Merlin; because you do not need to be kind, but you must always be fair. You may - and you will, unfortunately - make mistakes; but never ackowledge them. Fix them. If you can’t; repair as much damage as possible. Learn from your errors, in order to never make the same mistake again. But never apologize. Come on Merlin; I’m sure you can do it. You’re nearly there.”

More over, Merlin realizes the Arthur he gets to see nowadays - the true Arthur - has always been there already, even under the pretense of the moron. Kilgarrah is wrong. His destiny isn’t to change Arthur; because there is nothing to change. Arthur already has everything to be a great king, the greatest king, all on his own.

And so, Merlin is *angry*. He has now yet another reason to despise Uther, it seems - scarring his child on the inside in such a way. Of course Arthur always feels inadequate; of course Arthur feels lacking; of course the only bond Arthur values is the one with his fellow knights - ride to glory or death, together? It’s the only bond Uther has authorized him to authorize himself to ever have… But Merlin’s anger is a good thing, apparently - because whenever Merlin thinks about Uther, Arthur finds that he’s playing the Prince’s part better.

“There Merlin, you have it. See? Right there. Lock it; just like that. That’s good enough for anyone looking today; because believe me, someone *will* be looking, even if only my Father and not the one who switched us or anyone else with ill intentions - there is *always* *someone* looking, Merlin.”

Fine. Think about Uther; until the pleas are done. Merlin can do it; and he’ll gladly do it. He’ll probably gladly do anything; for Arthur. He can still have a cry or hit a wall afterwards, right…

Arthur needs a hug. I volunteer. Anyone with me? (besides Merlin, obviously…)

VII. DOOMED (ARTHUR POV)

With a last commanding yet encouraging nod, Arthur leaves Merlin by the Great Hall’s entrance and starts to make his way towards the Library.

He is stopped by Merlin’s name being called out twice - because he has failed to react right away; Arthur chastises himself. It is the headmaster recruiting hands: his Father wants his bath ready when the pleas end.

Arthur doesn’t want to bring Merlin in trouble, of course; so he takes on the ordered job - after all, how complicated can it be?

He is paired with a newcomer answering the name of George who looks up to him as if he holds the sun: the Prince’s manservant! Which isn’t that bad. Until he starts, seemingly embarrassed but curious all the same, to ask questions like “Is the Prince as terrible as they say?” or “Is it true he throws knives?” and such? Arthur tries to explain that the training field is, well, to train? He isn’t sure the message gets across though, as George only holds his eyes with a perplexed gaze…

Arthur can’t help but hope that Merlin at least understands that he’s not only training himself but also trying to get Merlin to know how to defend himself if not to attack whenever he comes at him with a mace or anything… He should maybe make his intentions clearer, apparently…

Anyway. After yet another round of carrying buckets full of cold or warmed-up water up and down and left and right, Arthur realises there is more to it than it looks; and the bath is only half full still…

And when they’re nearly done? His three coworkers and the headmasteer seem satisfied, but Arthur can’t help but think while bringing up the last two buckets that they achieved nothing more than a luke warm bath with a clean but no particular scent. Merlin’s baths are definitely of a superior category on both accounts, and Arthur doesn’t know if he should feel guilty and spoiled for regularly enjoying better baths than the king himself, or more amazed or worried about Merlin’s bath-preparing skills (is he even thinking about his safety? he wouldn’t actually carry boiling water up the stairs, would he?)

Arthur decides he should address the issue. And maybe take baths downstairs from now on just in case - a little backroom near the kitchen would be more practical than his chambers, wouldn’t it? When the space isn’t needed for banquets preparations and such of course…

Arthur misses the first step towards the second floor (it’s actually the eleventh time today that he misses a step - he still isn’t used to Merlin’s feet). This time though, his balance is too lost for him to compensate and he falls backwards, landing on his butt and ready to get soaked and hit by the water and buckets he has released when instinctively freeing his hands (one to help catch his fall; one to protect himself from the falling projectiles). Except nothing comes: no water, no hit - and no falling sound either. And when Arthur takes a look? The buckets and water are… floating above his head?

Arthur gasps in surprise, his mind going both blank and reeling…

Then only does Arthur finally get drenched and hit on the shoulder.

Arthur blinks. Twice.

What has just happened isn’t normal, at all. Only - only magic could make such a thing possible!

Arthur looks around, instinctively - scanning for a threat.

He is alone; the corridors are empty as far as he can see, and he hears no voices, nor steps.

Which is good, because no one is attacking him then.

Which is the worst though - because if there is no one around… then the only person responsible for what he has just witnessed must be - is - HIMSELF?!

Arthur gasps again; this time in panick.

His first instinct is denial. But he knows what he saw. And somehow, it just makes sense, doesn’t it?

It’s not the body of the Prince that whoever switched him and Merlin is after. It’s his mind…

Put him in the body of a servant, give him magic, and sooner or later (and most probably sooner) he is bound to die by his Father’s law. What is he supposed to say in his defense? That he IS the Prince, in another body which had been given an ounce of magic on the sole purpose of getting him executed? Who would ever believe him…

In the meantime, the schieming sorcerer must have judged that a servant in his body may be too delighted by the upgrade in status to be a threat to his plans and would gladly unknowingly collaborate, on top of being totally untrained and incompetent at any of his duties.

Then? One only has to kill the King, either by making him ‘ill’ or using the same trick again and - for sure - Camelot is doomed to get wiped out from the map by the first band of Saxons passing by (and most probably enticed to pass by very soon after its King’s death): its only true heir gone, and the supposed one obviously improper to defend it. All of it without casualties on the attacking side, and without anyone knowing how it all came to be, which means no one, even loyal to Camelot, would have a reason to stand against the new regime put in place.

Arthur is more afraid than he has ever been - and he has been in combat enough for that fact to mean something. He feels crushed; defeated, even before the battle - and honestly? He has never despised himself that much. No matter that he has never felt both so unprepared and so intrinsically useless - and not even able to trust himself: surrender is simply inexcusable. Camelot depends on it.

Besides, Arthur owes it to Merlin to fight, right. It’s after all Merlin’s body that’s to die along his spirit. Oh! The villainy, the cowardice in this attack! Use an innocent victim as a vessel to be sacrificed. Sorcerers definitely have no sense of honor indeed.

So. Arthur is angry now. A much more suited mindset, he decides - as long as he doesn’t allow it to blind him. And he won’t. Merlin’s body depends on it too.

Arthur takes a deep breath. He has been taught strategy even before he could talk, right? Time to make a plan of action.

First. He is not as alone as Camelot’s enemy has calculated him to be. He is, in fact, not alone at all. He has Merlin.

Loyal Merlin; not only willing but even devoted to getting back into his own servant body rather than happily playing the prince. Magic familiar and open-minded Merlin - which means Arthur has not only someone who won’t judge him nor fear him to confide in about his new endangering (and in so many ways) abilities, but also someone who might have some basic understanding of it; since he was Will’s friend? Heart-in-the-right-place Merlin: too kind, maybe (but he can at least get aware of it enough in order not to be lead only by it); but naturally just and fair Merlin. Brave, fierce, tenacious Merlin; too reckless though (but again: he can at least get aware of it enough in order not to be lead only by it). Ressourceful Merlin, fast-learning Merlin: he would master his body’s strength, eventually; and Leon would be here to lead the Knights in the meantime… Arthur takes an oath. Even if they fail to find a solution to their problem, Camelot won’t be left unprotected. Come what may; even the worst? Merlin *will* be ready to take his place. Having Merlin’s unique edges smoothed out feels wrong; but it just has to be for show, right?

Second. Well, there is no really second yet; at least not more than what they have already planned. They need to find some books - and pray that they will be useful. And Arthur will just have to be particularly attentive about not repeating the kind of blunder he just did with witnesses present.

Yes. Merlin. Books. Start at the beginning; and with luck, it might just work out in the end.

Arthur cleans up as best as he can, using and wringing his soaked tunic in the buckets, then runs to Merlin’s room for a set of dried clothes. Turning up to retake his place at 'Arthur’’s side while drenched would only draw unwanted attention…

So. Basically? Yep. This is a magic-reveal unreveal fic. But. I mean… It’s Arthur? Also: this fic (to me) is canon (fitting) - so it just can’t be a reveal fic. Bonus: it explains too why Arthur doesn’t get the courage-magic-strength trio hint later on. He thinks Merlin is magic; but only because there is some residual trace to sense from when his body had magic (aka this fic), not that he actually has magic still at the time… Arthur can be at the same time very aware yet very unaware, and he can be so very biased and decided to see things his way, no matter how circumvoluted, right? (Also, of course Arthur thinks in fact then that HE is magic in the trio: he was after all the one inside Merlin when his body had magic; and Merlin IS courage - Arthur has such a low self-esteem to start with…)

On a side note: Arthur would actually trust Merlin with Camelot (even despite his limits). If that doesn’t tell you all there is to tell then I don’t know how to express it. *SIGH* *GROSS SOBBING* (Gwen though is innately made to be Queen - but Arthur doesn’t know that yet. He isn’t wrong about Merlin though - for Arthur’s memory? Merlin would do his best to be a great King too, you bet…) *GROSS SOBBING AGAIN*

VIII. MERLIN’S CHAINMAIL (ARTHUR POV)

“Merlin! My boy! You’re soaked! Did you provoke Arthur again and end up under the well for it this time?”

Great. Gaius sounds half amused half concerned. Does actually *everyone* think him to be a brute?

Well; nevermind. Merlin knows better; for sure - and that’s what matters. Merlin is never backing away, Merlin is never really complaining nor saying no; Merlin just watches him with mirth in his challenging eyes: I dare you. Of course Arthur HAS TO then… It’s like… kind of a private wordless conversation only the two of them understand. But honestly? Arthur wouldn’t trespass Merlin’s limits - if anything, Arthur would probably even feel guilty, if Merlin ever made one known…

But then, Gaius is patting his shoulder, pushing him towards 'his’ room; and Arthur is stunned silent, as he can’t help but relish on the (for him unusual) affectionate paternalistic small gesture.

“Get changed. Get warmed up. You’ll tell me later. I haven’t heard the bell signaling the end of the pleas, it is already so late? I’ve just finished Sir Kay’s potion, and it should be drinken warm, as you know; so I’d better be on my way. We’ll prepare Uther’s draught and the balm for Little Kathleen’s knee when I’m back. Also, I’m afraid I’ve ruined my coat; if you could work your magic on it next time you’re mending Arthur’s clothes, I’d be very much obliged?”

And then Gaius is gone, and Arthur is still stunned, but now for another reason - it was but a polite turn of phrase, of course, and Arthur knows Merlin just isn’t capable of miracles, as proven by the state of some of his shirts - beyond mending; but Gaius would better not use some idioms that carelessly around the palace - who knows who might hear and takes things the wrong way… Arthur shakes his head as he hurries to change, feeling sorry for letting Gaius down, but not planning to stay around until Gaius comes back - he wouldn’t know anyway how to prepare his Father’s nor Kathleen’s medicine, right…

Arthur opens Merlin’s cupboard.

There are only two folded set of clothes (neckerchief included indeed), and Arthur just takes the one on top.

He’s about to close the door when his eyes fall on Merlin’s chainmail.

The first time Arthur had told Merlin that he had been assigned to lead some patrol, Merlin had right away asked:

“When do we leave?”

Arthur had been surprised, then had tilted his head, apprehending Merlin while explaining that coming along was to be Merlin’s choice; and not per se his duty as palace manservant. They usually asked for volunteers; there was extra coin to be earned and such.

Merlin had only repeated:

“Sire; when do we leave?”

Arthur had been surprised again, but definitely pleased:

“Tomorrow at first light.”

“I’d better start packing right away then. What do you need?”

After having listed their necessities, Arthur had mentioned that he would have a chainmail sent to Gaius’s for Merlin to wear. Merlin had countered that he had no wish for carrying extra weight around as it would only slow him down in his chores; and that he would rather wear his everyday clothes. Arthur had said it was folly to go unprotected - they would patrol the borders, and thiefs and saxons could fall on them - and Merlin had finally relented some and agreed to wear a chainmail he would self adapt as he wished above some clothing but under his tunic. Arthur had been suspicious when Merlin had turned up the next morning without even a cap showing out, and had actually moved his neckerchief aside to make sure Merlin was wearing metal under his tunic…

Without hesitation, Arthur takes the chainmail out too, deciding he should wear it under his clothes. After all, the longer Arthur might succeed in hiding his new abilities, the more chances there are that the one responsible for their troubles might choose to turn to more expeditive measures of his own. Killing a servant might go unnoticed for awhile, and would work just as well in case whoever had planned this got tired of waiting for Arthur to betray himself and get executed. Which means that Merlin’s body is just walking around as a mark waiting to get hit… and Arthur should do his best to protect it. Merlin’s chainmail is barely worth its name; but it does cover his chest, belly and back, at least.

Arthur makes it back to the Great Hall right on time for the end of the pleas. It was the moment they had planned to stage for Arthur’s injury; but Arthur discretly but authoritatively signals 'no’ with his head. It would be too risky; what if while falling he instinctively uses magic again - in front of the whole court? Merlin gives him a curious look but follows his cue anyway, thanksfully. There is still enough time to create an excuse before training; and they can still tell he fell even without witnesses anyway. It would have been a nice added touch at make-believe, but Gaius vouching for them should be enough on its own, right?

As they walk in silence back to Gaius’s quarters, Arthur feels Merlin’s eyes upon him, boring and questioning. So when they pass by his chambers, Arthur takes the opportunity for privacy. Once behind closed doors, Arthur leads them to the most private corner, as far from the door as possible. Then he takes a deep breath, and turns towards Merlin to explain… everything.

He hasn’t got the time to start though before Merlin hushes out, worry evident in his voice, pointing to Arthur’s side where a hint of metal is visible if you pay attention - and Merlin always pays attention, doesn’t he:

“Sire? Why are you wearing my chainmail?”

AN: It’s canon after all that Arthur doesn’t force Merlin to come along - he lets him leave before Camlann, right? But yes, this is just me giving some sense to the 'just let’s Merlin accompany us everywhere without any kind of protection’ unacceptable general policy. So. Merlin *has* some protection. We just don’t see it. Okay? And the few times he’s actually in armor on patrol, it’s because they need a decoy or something… Also, just so you know: Merlin of course thought that Arthur would probably think that he didn’t want to be seen in a chainmail because he didn’t want to look like a soldier in order not to seem a danger nor a target, but Merlin just couldn’t care: he HAD to be an unconspicuous nobody - it made it easier to protect Arthur with his magic if no one really paid attention to him. And to end with a cute note: whenever they ride out ? Arthur always checks that Merlin wears his chainmail - a fact Merlin can’t help but always secretly revel in…

IX. REVELATIONS (MERLIN POV)

Arthur looks anxious - which only makes Merlin worry more.

“I found out… why I was put into your body. I’m sorry, Merlin. I wear your chainmail because your body is in great danger; and it’s all because of me… again. ”

“Wha-”

Arthur cuts him with an imperative gesture from his hand, voice hushed - even though it echoes in Merlin’s ears like a shout:

“I have- I mean you have… Magic!”

Merlin’s breath catches; panick rising. Arthur knows! Arthur knows?

Arthur seems to read his struck expression though as simple denial.

“Yes, Merlin; you heard right! Magic! I saw water and wood floating above my head - floating, Merlin! - That’s the only way to explain it! But I have no idea how it gets triggered, I have no idea how to control any of it - I fell and it happened, I guess, instinctively? Now you understand why I couldn’t have us stage a fall… If people find out? *When* people find out? My Father will have me - YOU - beheaded!”

Merlin’s eyebrow furrow. He doesn’t understand. If Arthur knows he has magic? How come Arthur looks *contrite* instead of angry; afraid *for him* instead of afraid of him? Not that Merlin is complaining about the fact that Arthur obviously doesn’t wish to see him beheaded, of course; his evident worry is even heartwarming, in a way… but heartbreaking, too, as Merlin can’t help but feel that Arthur’s reaction must be induced by some reason that he doesn’t comprehend yet but that has little to do about him having magic at all…

Arthur then fully explains his theory about their attacker using his body to get to Camelot by erasing Arthur, then Uther, and marching against a Camelot lead by an unprepared servant playing Prince. Merlin is shocked, and shaken. Because indeed Arthur’s reaction isn’t about him having magic at all, but about Arthur feeling responsible for his body’s impending doom. But what hurts the most yet is the heavy guilt that settles upon Merlin’s chest - crushing, constricting, inescapable - as he realizes that in fact everything is his fault! Arthur’s thinking may be flawed on one account; but the rest of it makes sense, indeed. And so Merlin cannot deny that Arthur has been targeted and put into his own body because whoever did this actually knows that he has magic.

And so Merlin feels panick rising again, and even worse than before. It is already complicated enough for Merlin to hide his powers - and he has had practice at it since his birth. How could Arthur ever successfully hide them for long… And to think that *HE* might be the cause of Arthur’s death? It’s worse than anything; worse than everything. And it’s devastating. Merlin can’t hold Arthur’s gaze anymore.

Arthur probably thinks he is overwhelmed by the surprise of his body being a target though.

“And I’m sorry - again, Merlin - but I can’t go and hide at some random remote place until I’ve worked out how to subdue it at least, if not suppress it. There is no time. I can’t leave Camelot; not when it’s so endangered.”

Merlin feels like screaming: Arthur shouldn’t apologize; Arthur shouldn’t feel guilty - It’s all on him!

“It’s all right, Arthur. I know you’re right: we have to stay here. After all, our best shot to end this mess is to find guidance in some books; and our best shot to find said books is staying here.” (Also, you bet Merlin isn’t willing to leave Camelot either because he is going to consult with Kilgarrah… Merlin had planned to go to the Great Dragon at the first occasion right when he had realized they had switched bodies; but he now can’t help but wish for the night to come even sooner.)

Arthur looks surprised by Merlin’s easy acceptance as he lets out: “I was going to point that out too?”

Arthur seems to hesitate an instant, taking a deep breath; but then, probably finally enticed by the fact that they still are on the same page apparently, he hushes out words that Merlin had never imagined he would ever hear, even in his wildest dreams.

“Now that’s settled… Do you have any idea that might help me keep it in check? I mean… Back in Ealdor? Did your friend Will maybe ever share something with you that we could use? Anything?”

Merlin’s mouth falls open; but nothing comes out of it. He realizes just how surreal it must have been for Arthur to utter those words. But Arthur looks decided, as always. He means it. And that’s when Merlin realizes Arthur is in fact ready to *learn*. Arthur still doesn’t trust magic, and definitely doesn’t trust his magic now that he has some; he only sees it as a treacherous condition. But he is willing to face it outright, instead of wishing or pretending it isn’t even there to start with. And Merlin realizes that this isn’t only proof of Arthur’s mighty heart; but that it also might actually be their saving too, with some luck?

And so Merlin just HAS to take a chance. Anyway, Arthur *needs* him; and how could Merlin ever let him down to start with… Besides, what if it made Arthur realize that magic isn’t only to be feared; that magic can be good, too, actually?

“Maybe you shouldn’t learn how to keep it check, but how to have it *work*?”

Arthur opens his mouth now, either in shock or to retort - or both; so Merlin hurries to push his point.

“Hear me out, please. Even when we do find an helpful book? The spell we’re under must be very powerful - I mean, have you ever heard or thought this could even be possible? - so we might still require magic too in order to perform whatever will be mentioned in the book? So yes, your new abilities are supposed to be our doom; but maybe we can turn them to our advantage? You have MAGIC, Arthur. If you can control it and use it - on your terms? Maybe that’s just what we need to solve our problem?”

Merlin waits. And Arthur isn’t taking the opportunity to repel his idea. Silence goes on; and still, Arthur isn’t refusing. If anything, he looks… thoughtful, even if doubtful. But there’s resolve, too; and maybe, even, a spark of hope? So Merlin just takes the final plunge.

“As you said… I might have… some basic notions about it? It’s worth a try, Arthur. What do you say?”

Merlin’s heart is pounding so hard it’s going to break his chest for sure, as they hold gazes for a long time - Merlin silently pleading for Arthur to just trust him. Then Arthur gives him a firm nod.

“I say this is probably folly but we have to try, indeed. So. You train me? And I train you.”

Merlin tilts his head, unsure about the second part.

“There are things I want to teach you, Merlin”, Arthur explains; pleads even. “In case we stay stuck in each others body no matter what we try; in case your body should- I know it’s a lot to ask, especially as I apparently keep making your life a hell just by existing? But will you please let me prepare you to take my place, if necessary?”

Merlin’s breath is knocked out of him. Arthur would trust *him* with *Camelot*? But Merlin cannot even contemplate it. Arthur cannot be gone; musn’t be gone; will not be gone. Merlin’s voice is fierce as it simply refutes the prospect.

“Sire, it won’t come to-”

Arthur lays a hand on his shoulder.

“It would mean a lot to me.”

And what can Merlin do then, but promise - and mean it:

“Anything, Arthur.”

The hand leaves his shoulder, but Arthur’s eyes stay fixed on him.

“Thank you, Merlin.”

And Merlin takes another oath - this one to himself. They’ll work it out. They’ll make it work. They will.

They both feel guilty for endangering the other more than they are worried about themselves *heavy sigh*

X. TRAINING (MERLIN POV)

Gaius is working on finishing Uther’s draught when ‘Arthur’ surprisingly comes in without knocking.

“Sire? Do you need-”

Merlin hasn’t prepared a speech on their way (how do you announce this anyway?) So he just blurts it out, as Arthur comes in after him and takes place at his side.

“We need your help, Gaius. Our bodies have been switched. (pointing to himself) Merlin. (pointing to his body) Arthur. We awoke like this this morning.”

Gaius looks stunned - of course. Then, for the shortest of times, he looks unconvinced; but this is after all Camelot, where strange things always happen, indeed - and not only Arthur would most probably have better things to do than playing along with Merlin’s pranks; but also Merlin wouldn’t have the heart to make *such* a prank to start with - not to him. So Gaius looks concerned now, gaze jumping with worry between Merlin and Arthur, holding Merlin’s eyes with a question in his eyes - and Merlin knows what’s worrying him.

Merlin can only give Gaius though a fragile smile to assure him that he is all right along with an apologetic look in return. He isn’t sure Arthur would want anyone else knowing about the magic too, so he will have to wait for a private occasion to explain everything to Gaius. For now, he just sticks to the plan.

“Arthur is expected to train soon, and we thought you could give us a way out of it. No one should be aware that Arthur isn’t Arthur until we’ve fixed this.”

Gaius doesn’t even hesitate.

“Of course (nodding to Merlin). I’ll go and tell you injured your sword arm (nodding to Arthur).”

Gaius goes out, mentioning coming back later to make Little Kathleen’s balm. Once the door closes, Arthur says he wonders what Merlin has in mind for 'training’. So Merlin decides he should help them both at once.

Merlin looks around for something basic, and his eyes light up when they fall on two bowls - not only basic but also potentially useful, if it works? He sets them on the table in front of Arthur: one stays empty, the other one get filled with water.

“Here. Try to make the water move into the other bowl.”

Arthur looks at the bowls, then at Merlin; incredulous.

“I’m not sure- I mean, even if I make this work, how am I supposed to put ourselves back into our bodies that way? How can I perform whatever must be performed if I am out of the performing body?”

“This is just a beginning, Sire. This is just a way to have you… feel your magic? Find it, and use it as you wish, when you wish. But if you need a valid reason, I promise this will be useful too, when you’ve mastered it.”

Arthur seems perplexed. Merlin confides, voice low as if sharing a secret: “We won’t have to disturb the fish anymore?”

Arthur is apparently too stressed out to even smile, sadly. But he gives Merlin a satisfied nod. “I’d better start trying then, huh.” A helpless sigh follows though. “Any hint about how to feel it to start with? Where to find it?”

Merlin hesitates. Not only because he wonders how much he can tell without Arthur realizing he knows too much, but also because he struggles about how to put into words what he has always simply felt. He has never had to search for it; it had always just been there. But maybe he can describe it by telling what he doesn’t feel, since he’s in Arthur’s body?

“Don’t search for 'where’. It’s not in one place; it’s everywhere. Not only in your body; literally everywhere - earth, air, water, fire. Like a… warm… tingling… flow? When you’ve found it, try to concentrate on it, focus on it, in order to direct it towards what you want - with your hands, your eyes, your voice; whatever works?”

Arthur’s brow has only deepened from the explanation, and Merlin can’t help but sigh:

“I’m sorry. It’s gibberish. I don’t know how to explain-”

“What you can’t know”, Arthur cuts him with a wave of his hand. “Of course. I have to find it on my own. Thank you for trying, at least?”

And so Arthur goes to sit at the table, facing the two bowls, while Merlin starts on the balm for Little Kathleen’s knee (hopefully for the last time, as her recovery seems to be going well, thanksfully) - both to feel useful and to give Arthur some kind of privacy. His moving around though must be disturbing, because Arthur switches place, turning his back to him. But it gives Merlin the freedom to check over his shoulders from time to time without risking to meet Arthur’s eyes.

This isn’t working though, Merlin can tell, by the time he’s done preparing Little Kathleen’s balm (he waits for Gaius to check if he got all doses and ingredients right though before finishing; he has only done it once) and a sleeping draught (for the guards guarding Kilgharra’s tunnel) (Gaius has had him prepare Morgana’s draught several times already, and has explained how to up the doses while keeping it safe): Arthur looks nothing but tensed, when he would need to be relaxed in order to feel… Trying too hard is nothing but counterproductive.

That’s when Merlin realizes he’s been going at it the wrong way. Arthur is not him. Arthur is *Arthur*. And when Arthur is at an impasse and needs a clear head? He trains. Activity helps him focus. Exhaustion helps him forget. To find his inner ground, Arthur must be physically busy; not sitting hunched over a table looking at two bowls.

Merlin eyes again his surroundings: spoons should work. Gaius has them in lots of size, both wood and metal. Merlin bundles them all in his tunic, and calls for Arthur as he passes in front of him.

“Let’s try something else. You can work on the water later on.”

Arthur’s eyes follow him questioningly up the stairs. Merlin sets his collection down, then holds a spoon up.

“Try to stop it from falling to the ground.”

Merlin let the spoon fall. It hits the ground, of course; but Arthur surely looks now interested by the new challenge. Merlin smiles, and lets another spoon fall.

After five rounds, Arthur gets up and gathers the spoons before handing them over to a crouching Merlin, instead of having Merlin going down, and up, and down, and up… A few rounds later still, Arthur picks up a spoon he has missed on his way and calls out for Merlin to catch it instead of walking back. Merlin misses it though, and it lands on his arm. And that’s when Merlin thinks his new idea can even be perfectioned.

He takes the offending spoon off the ground and holds it at the ready, eyeing Arthur, waiting for him to understand. And Arthur does, of course.

“Merlin? Are you threatening me with a spoon?”

Merlin grins wolfishly. He throws, and Arthur easily dodges, laughing.

“How long have you been waiting for such an opportunity?”

“Forever?” Merlin lies, before throwing another spoon, which Arthur blocks with an upraised arm.

Merlin can’t help but scowl: “You’re supposed to make the spoon divert its course; not block it or move out of its way.”

Arthur has actually the decency to look apologetic: “I know. Sorry. Reflexes.” Then he smirks. “But please, indulge yourself and do go on.”

And Merlin does. And it’s glorious somehow, how they are suddenly both intent and carefree, spoons clattering everywhere on both sides as Arthur now throws the spoons back to Merlin too. Hits land on both sides too, as they both throw quicker and harder.

At some point, the door opens and a spoon hits… Gaius.

“Sorry”, Merlin lets out, hurrying down to check he hasn’t hurt Gaius.

Gaius looks at the both of them with incomprehension, but Arthur explains even before Merlin has even opened his mouth.

“We’re actually working on something, Gaius; not destroying your chambers. (the slightest hesitation - but if Gaius is to be their ally then Arthur has decided he should know, well, everything, it seems) I have been jinxed too, on top of the body swap. It appears I have been given… magic; to be my doom - and well… Merlin’s body end.”

Gaius looks sort of disapprovingly to Merlin at the M word, but his gaze softens somehow, even though it turns outright anxious, as Arthur further explains his theory about their attacker’s plan.

“So, now you know it all, Gaius. And we also need your help for something more than giving me an excuse not to train… We need… information. I thought… You and Geoffrey go way back, right? Maybe you could persuade him to lend you a few special books?”

Gaius nods, eyeing Merlin.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Arthur nods back.

“In the meanwhile, I have to understand how it works, in order to prevent anyone finding it out until we’ve found a way to lift the spells?”

“Of course. Just let me take what’s necessary and I’ll leave you to it.”

Merlin then shows Gaius his previous work (safely tucked away in his room after the first round of spoons throwing - and yes, it also gives Merlin the opportunity to silently let Gaius know where his book is hidden, so that he will be able to retrieve it later on and present it to them as coming from Geoffrey or something). Gaius proudly tells he got everything right and gathers it all into a bowl.

“I can finish the balm in the kitchens. I’ll be back to bandage your arm though later on, Merlin; our Prince is supposed to be injured, and our King will want to check on his son right when he comes back from today’s hunt and hears about it.”

They start again where they had left, but nothing magical ever happens still, and after some time, Arthur exclaims in annoyance: “Maybe you should use knifes?”

And Merlin understands the logic; but Merlin just… can’t. He counters with an idea of his own.

“Maybe I should tie you up on a chair so that you can’t dodge them anymore?”

And Arthur gives a shrug… then goes to sit.

Merlin finds some rope and tie Arthur’s legs and chest to the chair. He hesitates, then tie only Arthur’s left hand behind the chair.

“In case it helps if you aim”, he explains.

Then Merlin is facing Arthur again. The spoons hit; one at a time. But Arthur glares at them - never at Merlin; and so Merlin goes on.

And then… (they’ve been going at it for so long that Merlin has stopped counting rounds) a spoon finally *stops*, mid-air, before simply falling vertically to the ground instead of keeping its course.

Merlin’s mouth falls open as Arthur keeps looking at his hand in wonder.

“Did you see-”

“Yes!” Merlin can’t help but shout happily.

Arthur meets his eyes, looking even more resolute than before.

“Again.”

Arthur doesn’t stop lots of spoons (yet, hopefully); but he regularly stops or redirects one.

And then, Arthur looks at his hand, and then at him, both in wonder.

“It *is* warm!”

And that’s definitely progress in the right direction, if Arthur has *felt* it.

The look they share is actually hopeful, for the first time since this began.

After some time, Merlin decides they should take a pause. Arthur still has to prepare him for tomorrow concil too, right?

So Merlin starts asking about what he should know for the coming concil right while untying Arthur’s legs.

“Will was definitely lucky to count you as a friend.”

Merlin’s eyes jump to Arthur’s in surprise; not only from the compliment, but also from the repeat mention of Will. Before today, Arthur had never mentioned Will, since they had left Ealdor.

Arthur doesn’t notice. Or - more probably - Arthur notices but goes on anyway; he is nothing but brave after all.

“I never had a friend, but I believe friends are supposed to help each other out, right? And well, you’re good at helping out, is all. And I know I have little to no right to talk about him; but I think you should know that I’m grateful, and that he has my respect, Merlin.”

Merlin is utterly speechless. Arthur has finally found, it seems, a way to shut him up. And to get him teary-eyed to boot. Merlin lowers his eyes to the ground.

“I believe he was a kind man. I mean- He must have been, of course - I don’t see you befriending someone cruel or-… But even taking only my own judgment into account? I suppose he could have probably done more harm than a whirlwind. But he didn’t. He wanted to defend, more than to attack; there is nothing malicious in that. It’s unfair his kindness caused his end though. Sometimes, maybe, it’s necessary to be the first to strike; even if you can never know how actually well-founded that decision then is; and you have to live with it.”

Merlin feels guilty, again. And angry. Does Arthur have to remind him that Will’s death is his fault? For all his magic? Merlin is indeed nothing but *useless*, indeed. He works on finishing to untie Arthur as quickly as he can.

Arthur must have read the inwards directed angry shake of his head for something else though, as he lets out a somewhat apologizing sigh.

“I realize I’m very biased, Merlin; because if he had used his powers in a harmful way? I would probably have been the first to accuse him of being a monster. (pause) But he hasn’t. And I haven’t searched for any magical powers - yet here I am.”

Another sigh; nothing but helpless this time. So Merlin *has* to look up. He has failed Will. He won’t fail again. He won’t fail Arthur. Arthur’s gaze is lost inward though.

“Sire”, Merlin pleads, hunting Arthur’s eyes then locking onto them.

Arthur fidgets; Merlin can’t help but note the oddity and rarity.

“I just- I realize this is the strangest thought to have while we are yet again under a sorcerer’s threat, but… Maybe not everything is always as black or white as I’ve been told all my life? Maybe not everyone with magic is actually evil? … Will? Me? … Again, maybe I’m only very biased. Because who knows then how many might have been wrongly punished- (a heavy sigh; wondering and remorseful this time, as Arthur shakes his head, apparently thinking about his Father’s deeds as his own - as he has allowed them to come to pass without opposition for so long…) But I *have* to believe that it’s possible to have magic without being corrupted by it. I mean… What if it sticks? Even after…”

“Arthur”, Merlin starts again as Arthur’s voice falters - even though Merlin still has no exact idea about what he wants to say; at least not in what order. Arthur’s genuine regrets and palpable fear are boring a hole right through his heart; just as Arthur’s words about Will and about magic (it is a step in the right direction; no matter how small) spread warmth through it too. Merlin’s possible soothing or grateful words in return all feel just tangled and messy and worthless and not enough and-

Arthur clears his throat, then softly exhales as he finally looks away: “I don’t really know what I’m trying to say, Merlin. Except… I’m glad you’re here?”

Maybe Merlin has conveyed what he couldn’t put into words through his eyes after all…

And then Arthur stands up, and his voice is back to his usual, assured tone.

“Now. One problem at a time, right? About the concil tomorrow…”

And Merlin listens, you bet.

So yep, yet another 'I’m glad you’re here’ (MY HEART). And spoons just had to be involved, indeed (I’m weak, blame 5.03)

XI. DESTINIES ARE TROUBLESOME THINGS (MERLIN POV)

Merlin can’t help but be on his guard. He has no idea, he realizes as he enters Kilgarrah’s cave after having successfully put to sleep the guards in front of it (after a shortened dinner with Uther and Morgana), about how the Great Dragon will react to a stranger’s presence in his lair.

But Merlin needs some guidance; and so, he calls out to him…

“Young warlock, what has happened to you?”

“You know it’s me?”

“Of course. Even though I am surprised indeed by your current appearance.”

“Arthur and I- Our bodies have been switched.”

The Great Dragon straightens up.

“So this is Uther’s heir’s body?”

“Yes. And I need - we need - help. Do you have any idea about how to reverse such a spell?”

“I do not have such knowledge. I can only tell you what you already know; that there is some very powerful magic at work here. (pause, tilting his head) But maybe you are not supposed to reverse it to start with.”

“Excuse me?”

“You are now *literally* two sides of a coin - both at once in the same body. Maybe this was the intent of the prophecy all along.”

(helpless, shocked sigh) “No.”

Merlin cannot believe his ears. But the idea is not only incongruous; it’s also outright enraging, and simply *impossible*.

“No”, Merlin repeats, firmly this time; a denial.

“You would throw away the opportunity to fulfill your destiny? You would carelessly discard the chance to bring forth the greatest time for Albion?”

Merlin doesn’t even flinch under the Dragon’s ire. *Arthur* is his destiny; and only Arthur. Albion’s welfare is in Arthur’s hands. And Arthur *will* be its greatest King; not Merlin. The notion only makes him sick. It’s not even about a possible guilt at cheating Arthur’s crown (which he doesn’t want to start with). It’s simply that Merlin wants - needs, and will not (and never) accept anything less - Arthur to be Arthur, intrinsically. Besides, Merlin knows the burden of pretending already; and he wouldn’t wish for anyone, and certainly not for Arthur, to have to shoulder it too. How can Kilgarrah not realise any of it?

“This just cannot be the way. It only feels wrong.”

“You should at least think about it, Merlin.”

“It is all decided. I cannot and will not abide to the belief that this masquerade could ever be our true fate. And if you don’t - can’t or won’t - help, we’ll look for a solution on our own - no matter how long it might take.”

They hold each other’s gaze; and Merlin won’t relent.

“I can only hope you will not come to regret your choice, young warlock”, Kilgarrah finally says as he flies away.

Merlin is still fuming as he enters Arthur’s chambers.

His fingers itch, longing to search through his spells book. He hasn’t had yet the opportunity - between being a Prince taking most of his day, and Arthur being at his side when he had been off duty. Unfortunately, it will have to wait until tomorrow - it would look suspicious if he went out in the night.

So. He should rest. After all, a clear mind will be necessary in the morning, both for council and for finding a way to break the spell they’re under, right?

Only looking at the bed though makes Merlin’s entrails twitch in disgust. This is wrong indeed; and will never feel otherwise. And no matter how comfortable that bed is, Merlin now knows (he might grow understanding of Arthur’s lack of will to leave it on some mornings from now on, huh), you bet he will never even contemplate sleeping in it.

Merlin makes his bed for the night on the floor, wondering if Arthur has been able to fall asleep yet.

Bear with me. The Dragonlord bond is an intrinsic link between souls, which is why it isn’t affected by the body swap. Whereas magic inhabits everything it’s in, and is therefore by nature anchored in physicallity. It explains too somehow why magic in general can be learned/found, but that the Dragonlord bond can only be inherited. Oh well, it makes sense in my head, at least…

Also :( I’ve really hurt myself with Kilgarrah’s last line :( Because of course Merlin *will* wonder about this, *for centuries*, later on (my heart:(). Anyone willing to hold me while I cry, pretty please?

#merlin #merthur #merthur fic #bbc merlin #bbcmerlin #merlin fic #merlin emrys #arthur pendragon #the body swap #the once and future fic #text #fanfic #fic #my own two spells

19 notes · View notes

kittyrredden · 7 years ago

Text

How it ends...

Hey guys, sorry it took so long to get this to you. I’ve had zero creative drive lately. But yesterday and today, it just flowed. Originally, LAR was going to go on for years with a wedding and kiddos and junk. But after the breakup with my ex, this is how I rewrote it. It’s mostly just an overview, with some more specific scenes in there that I’d already written. Anyway, this is the rewrite I did…

TL;DR- The end.

The act five side story was going to be a shortened version of act zero. Originally, it was planned to be a whole act following Jaska from leaving Nix Velox (his village), through to the beginning of act one when they were thrown onto the boat. It would cover his journey south, meeting Catlin, his transformation, and the torture he was put through while waiting for the ship that would take them to Paello Isle. Instead, I shortened it down to a 7 page side story.

Here is the overview:

Child Jaska

Chases hawk

Uses powers

Sees through the hawk’s eyes

A little older

Watches father skin an animal

Asks why they kill animals

Teen Jaska

Thanking recent kill for its sacrifice so that his people may live

Journey to Vinea

Joking with companions

Teasing his little brother

Saving Yannick from the bear

The change

Jaska wakes from his dream

Over the course of the next few acts, Jaska would run into Torin more frequently, even to the point of meeting her wife. When he is out with Tonya and they meet up, Tonya gets easily angry and jealous of how flustered both Torin and Jaska are around each other.

Torin on the Bridge

Cast: T=Torin; W=Wife

T- -waiting on a footbridge in the park, staring down at water; thinks about Jaska; flashes back to dreams; grips her hair- Get over it, Tor! It was just a stupid dream! W- What about? T- Oh, nothing. Just a nightmare. Been bugging me all day. W- Wanna talk about it? T- No, I’m fine. W- -frowns-

One day, when out with Presley and Summer, Jaska runs into Torin and Summer invites her to their next dinner party.

At the party, it is obvious that Torin’s wife is not well. She seems extremely tired and Torin takes her home early, but she is pleasant to be around.

Jaska gets on well with Lana and Brandon at his new job. Brandon (being in a wheelchair) mans the monitors while Jaska and Lana do rounds. With absolutely NOTHING happening on the night shift, the pair get up to mischief. Here are a few examples:

L=Lana J=Jaska B=Brandon

The Race

L- -standing in doorway of security office- Bran, tell us who passes the door first. B- K… -Jaska and Lana take off running- -speedwalk thru science lab as not to break anything- -Jaska runs thru basement; Lana noes the fuck out- J- Hey! That’s cheating!! L- -on stairs; jumps banister, cuts J off- Twelve years of gymnastics, bitch! -both run past security office door; walk back panting- L- So, who one? B- Unlike you two, I was working. -J and L stare at monitors for a moment- L- There is literally NOTHING happening! You couldn’t have looked away for two seconds? B- Nope L- -throws hands in the air; walks away-

The Basement

B- -into radio- Hey, need one of you to check the basement. Something fell over. L- -thru radio- Not it! J- -thru radio- Okay, I’ll do it. J- -enters basement, looks around, comes to a set of doors chained and locked; shines light on doors, illuminating the words painted on them in red- Don’t dead… Open inside… That makes no sense. -over radio- Hey, what’s up with the writing on the doors? L- Oh… that’s… don’t worry about that. That’s just the furnace room. Charlie, the last night guard, he did that. Big zombie movie fan. J- -thought bubble- The fuck’s a zombie? B- Keep going, over by the old computer stuff. J- -stares at door for another moment, then continues on. Finds downed item. Nothing else is out of place, no one else in basement-

Brandon warns Lana about flirting too much (in her own way) with Jaska. She denies it, then admits that she is flirting, but it’s just harmless fun and that she doesn’t like him like that.

Catlin goes through a string of jobs, not making it past the training period.

Both Tonya and Arthur express jealousy and suspicion regularly about Catlin and Jaska living together. Neither are pleased that Jaska is supporting her. Arthur never offers to help.

Between Jaska’s protective nature around Catlin and how flustered he gets around Torin, she ends things with Jaska.

One evening, Jaska and Catlin are hanging out on the fire escape and Jaska kisses Catlin. Unbeknownst to them, Arthur is on the street below and sees them. Arthur gives her multiple openings to tell him what happened, but she acts oblivious.

Arthur gets a job offer back in his hometown. He invites her out to dinner, but keeps hesitating all night. The following morning, he finally tells her about the job, then invites her to go with him, then he offers a ring.

Catlin is stunned. She doesn’t know what to think and at 19, she definitely isn’t ready. She doesn’t want to leave her friends. Arthur accuses her of being in love with Jaska, of seeing her on the balcony with him. Finally, he tells her to get her stuff and get out and he storms out of the apartment.

Catlin gathers her things, leaves her key with the doorman and goes home.

Jaska returns home from work to find a note from Catlin saying that she needs time to figure things out. Her room is empty, but for the furniture. [/end act]

The next side story opens with Catlin waking up in bed with Gypsy. What was supposed to be a few nights on the couch that turned into a one-night rebound turns into a full-blown relationship. Catlin falls for Gypsy hard and Gypsy adores her.

When a job opening comes up at the coffee shop, Gypsy recommends Catlin to her boss, but like all the jobs before, it doesn’t go well.

One day, Jake (rabbit) asks Summer how Catlin is doing and she says “Last I heard, she hooked up with a girl at the coffee shop.” He furiously blushes at the idea.

Catlin chances to run into Jake in the market. Coffee becomes a regular thing between the two.

Being single and still very possessive of Catlin, the more Jaska thinks about her out there being happy with another girl, the darker his thoughts get.

Summer comments that they haven’t seen Torin in a while (with a joke in there about how she can never remember Torin’s wife’s name – hint: she is never given a name).

At Gypsy’s urging, and an invitation from Summer, Catlin and Gypsy attend a dinner party. The evening goes well, everyone enjoys Gypsy and Catlin is encouraged to spend more time around her friends again.

Exposed to this new version of Catlin, Jaska doesn’t like who she is becoming. He confronts her about her behaviour.

A season goes by.

The Breakup

Cast: G=Gypsy, C=Catlin

G- I love you and I know you love me but I think there’s someone else. C- What? No! Of course not! G- Sweetie, it’s the same person it’s been since day one. You just need to see that. C- So… you’re breaking up with me? G- Yes. I love you so much, but I’m not the one. I’m just your rebound. Now you need to figure out for yourself who it is and go get them.

Catlin goes to Summer and Presley with all her stuff.

Winnie tells Catlin of an opening at the library. Catlin imagines that scene that takes place in every movie with a library where the bookshelves domino, but she’s trained to reshelve books and run the front desk. It’s not enough to afford her own place, but it’s enough to live off of. She moves back in with Winnie.

Two more seasons pass. Shows Jaska and Catlin in everyday life.

Jaska and Torin

Cast: J=Jaska, T=Torin Jaska has a prophetic dream, wakes up confused, looking at the empty space beside him. Gets up, throws on clothes, runs out into the rain. Finds Torin standing on the other side of a bridge railing. J- Torin! T- Just go away! J- No! What the hell are you doing? T- I can’t do this. She’s gone. I can’t… J- What? T- She’s dead! J- Torin, don’t do this! What about everyone else? Everyone you’ll leave behind? Don’t you know how much that will hurt them? T- I don’t care. None of that matters. J- What about me? T- -looks at him- J- If you do this, do you have any idea what that would do to me? I know it hurts. It will never stop hurting. You’ll always miss her, and you don’t feel like it now, but you will learn how to live without her. You’ll get stronger everyday so it will hurt a little less. Torin, please. You are so important to me. T- -lets go of the railing to cover her face and cry- J- -grabs her and lifts her over the railing to safety- Jaska sits with Torin through the night until she falls asleep, carries her to Catlin’s old room

T- -wakes, goes to Jaska’s room- J- -wakes at the sound of the door- T- Sorry, I’m gonna… J- -pulls back the covers- Come on. T- -sniffs, hurries to the bed and climbs in, falls asleep cuddled up with him-

J- -wakes to find Torin watching him- Hey… T- Hey. You must think I’m crazy. J- No, I think you’re hurting. When my mother died, I was lost. My father didn’t know how to help. He had my little brother and a new baby to see to. He didn’t know how to help me. Mom was the only one who understood me and life without her was impossible, but I got wrapped up in helping my dad and learning my trade and one day I realized… it didn’t hurt like it used to.

T- -strokes his cheek, kisses him- J- Torin… I don’t think… T- -climbs on top of him- You’re important to me too.

Things begin to wind down at this point between characters.

The End

Cast: C=Catlin, J=Jake Cy=Cyrus (SOL), R=Romy (SOL)

Catlin walking through the market. Sees Jaska with Torin out shopping. Sighs. Bumps shoulders with Cyrus. Cy- Oh, sorry. C- -watches him go- R- Hey, are we going to the Valkyrie tonight? Cy- Still hoping to figure out what that was in the shark head?

Catlin continues to the cafe. C- -mumbles- He’ll be in a pink shirt… pink shirt… -sees Jake in a pink shirt- J- -spots her, straightens- C- Jake, you’re not… -blush- J- -sigh- Damn Summer and her meddling. C- -sits- Yea, but this time, I don’t mind so much. J- Yea… yea. Maybe she got it right this time. -turns to waitress to order-

The End

#Life As Rendered #LifeAsRendered #summary #overview #ending #the end

3 notes · View notes

desuchine · 8 years ago

Text

Divulging Peculiarities

Chapter 4 of ? (Projected to be about 6 chapters) Pairing: England/France Rating: T Summary: ‘Silently, he prayed that no one would come to fill the empty room next to his. He entertained the thought of them converting it into another utility space, perhaps a convenient spot for another copier or scanner.‘ In which Francis occupies the office next to Arthur, and the two engage each other in fascinating ways.

Alt. Reading: AO3

Time passes by slowly, the past season melting into the next. Arthur spies his neighbors stringing Christmas lights from their houses, notices the frame of heavily decorated trees standing tall at their windows, and muses that he should probably dig his own out of the closet.

He takes a weekend to follow suit, though his season spirit is nowhere near as strong. It's formality, he supposes, more of a tradition than an inherent need to actually decorate.

He gets pricked by his tree a least a hundred times, and assembling it leaves him growling in frustration and slinging curses into the empty house. The garland flakes and leaves shiny slivers of metallic paper strewn everywhere, a mess Arthur dreads cleaning up. Most of the hooks on his ornaments have mysteriously fallen out and disappeared, so he's forced to run to the nearest department store to pick more up.

While he's there, he ends up buying more than he expected. Boxes of fresh lights and bags of oversized decorations make the trip back to his home cumbersome. There's the sound of Christmas jingles carrying on joyfully all around him, and while easy to ignore at first, they slowly begin to eat at him. Their repetitive tempos and jazzy, upbeat tunes lodge themselves into his mind, and he's left bitterly reciting the lyrics to them underneath his breath as he works.

Bah-humbug and all that.

By the time he's done, there’s something at least semi-presentable sitting in the middle of his living room. The carpet is littered with fizzled out bulbs, the remnants of plastic wrapping and containers, and old sets of lights that have lived past their prime and frayed somewhere along the wire. The process of pushing the tree in front of his living room’s window is harder than it has any right being, and several times Arthur has to reach out to keep it from toppling over.

The star at the top doesn’t want to cooperate, so he let’s it fall and slides it back on once the tree is positioned correctly. The skirt is small and quaint, boasting patterns of candy canes and snowmen on it. As Arthur spreads it beneath the bulk of the tree, he spends a moment considering whether or not there’s any purpose other than tradition for assembling this thing. Nothing screams lonely like buying gifts for yourself and wrapping them despite knowing exactly what they are, but he does it anyway. It wasn’t until recently that there were any new additions, and those only came from Alfred.

Arthur sits there, cross-legged in his living room, watching the colorful lights reflect off of his window and the ceiling, and for once in a very long time, allows himself to feel alone. It’s bittersweet, an aching hollow that both comforts and hurts him. No obligations to anyone else but himself, but then again, sometimes he wishes he had those kinds of responsibilities to tend to.

It’s healthy to have minor annoyances. That’s stimulation that everyone needs, something to remind them that the world isn’t entirely about them. Arthur has always been in his own orbit, though. Never one to be selfish, nothing along those lines, but he has a gravitational pull that is very small. So to the ones that do come around…

They never get close enough to stick by.

Well, except Alfred, but Alfred seems to disobey many laws of the world. For example, someone who talks with a mouthful of food shouldn’t be considered endearing, but he makes it work somehow.

He never gets many moments of melancholy like this, because he never allows his mind to wander down that thorn-ridden path. If you don’t think about how empty the house is, then maybe it’s not really that empty. It’s easy to pretend when it’s out of sight, out of mind.

Arthur allows his finger to draw patterns into his carpet, knees drawn up to his chest, and free arm resting across them. His knuckles bump a clear box and he picks it up, feeling a small weight inside of it. Turning it about, he finds a forgotten decoration, one that he’d tossed into his basket at the store without thinking.

He almost snorts at what he sees, feeling amusement bubble in his chest. It’s a typical angel decoration, meant to be hung from the tree, though it’s face has been modified to show an exceptionally sharp grin. It’s hands aren’t folded in prayer, but rather spread wide, as if demanding the attention of anyone looking at it.

Arthur runs his thumb along its cheap, white plastic, his expression softening and his lips spreading into a smile. Steadily, he rises from his seat on the floor, and reaches up high to hang the ornament on his tree. He finds a free branch jutting out in the front and places it there, in its rightful place; drawing the attention of anyone who spares the thing’s direction a glance.

The rest of the evening sees him cleaning his mess and preparing a cold-packaged dinner straight from the refrigerator. It’s only halfway done when Arthur digs in, but he can’t be bothered to reheat it, so he forks through the half frozen mush as he sits in his Emery chair, watching his neighbors pass by through the sliver he can see out the window. Ten minutes of eating turns into an hour of lounging about, and now the television it turned on, but it’s dominated by Christmas movies and specials that shouldn’t be airing this early.

He finds a broadcast of the weather, and settles for that instead. Predictably, another round of snow seems to be moving in, which promises more treacherous trips to work, and perhaps a power outage if it really decides to hit hard. He scowls, thinking of the spike he knows is going to be in his heating bills.

Maybe if he wraps himself up like a burrito before bedtime, he can weather the worst of it and save himself a few pounds. Or, at the very worst, end up with a debilitating cold. Honestly, the risk is beginning to sound reasonable in his mind. It’s times like this when he can’t decide if his ingrained frugality is a curse or a blessing.

‘I… would not know that feeling.' The now familiar tenor of Francis’ voice floats in his mind, and Arthur glares at nothing in particular. Well, good for him. Unfortunately, not everyone can afford to have negative body temperatures.

And of course, leave it to him to find a way to link this to Francis. It seems as though any train of thought outside of work - and especially inside, to be perfectly honest - finds its way to him. Like a roundabout that he can’t figure out how to escape, he’s stuck driving circles, round and round and round and infuriatingly ceaseless with no open in sight.

If there was a line in regards to how much Francis Bonnefoy should be permeating his thoughts, Arthur believes he’s crossed it. Scratch that, he’s done an olympic hurdle over it and has broken every single record in the book, because this man, this stranger in all regards, should not be in Arthur’s mind so much.

Arthur Kirkland has no business thinking about Francis Bonnefoy like this.

“I take it you are interested, non ?”

Arthur nearly jumps out of his damn skin, feeling his hackles rise and nearly slamming his keyboard in the process of detaching his fingers from it. The cup of pens sitting on the corner of his desk tumbles over and sends the contents sprawling everywhere, to which Arthur calmly readjusts it and leaves the pens ignored.

Francis made no sound, no indication that he’d slipped into the room. Arthur hadn’t even caught sight of him moving across his vision. Either he was too absorbed in his reading, or Francis was just that stealthy.

It was probably a decent mixture of both, to he honest.

Speaking of which, Arthur hastily exits out of the condemning webpages he was perusing, face flooding with shame as he coughs into his fist, trying to salvage any sort of decency he could. He peeks at Francis out of the corner of his eye, spots him standing almost behind him, with the most amused expression he’s ever seen on the other’s sharp face.

“Don’t you have the decency to knock?”

Francis sends him a sheepish look, arms coming to cross in front of his chest. “Your door is always open, and I have never knocked before.” He leans forward, seems to balance on his tiptoes as he glances over Arthur’s shoulder, letting out a noise of disappointment when he sees that the webpages are no longer open.

“What on earth are you doing?” Arthur tries to make it sound incriminating of Francis, but he knows he’s been caught red handed.

“You closed them.” Francis points out glumly. He’s still looming halfway over Arthur’s shoulder, the curtain of his long bangs coming a hair’s width apart from touching Arthur’s cheek. Arthur finds himself going stiff, limbs straining to stay perfectly still as Francis meanders about. The skin of his neck grows sensitive to the proximity of the other’s face, and his fingers strain not to form nervous fists as he waits for Francis to move. Unfortunately, he only chooses to turn his head slightly instead of moving away, bright eyes boring into Arthur’s cheek as he continues, “You are blushing.”

“No, I’m not.” Arthur states matter of factly, as if the notion is absurd. “I’m just not immune to whoever keeps playing with the bloody thermostat, unlike some people around here.” He wants to shoot Francis a scathing look, but fear of turning his head to meet the other’s gaze keeps him stationary.

“I can tell when something is warm. You do know that? If I were, to say, stick my hand over a fire, I could still feel the heat, Arthur.” Why, oh why hasn’t Francis moved away yet? Arthur knows he’s not socially inept. Surely, the man must have some indication that the Brit’s almost squirming under his gaze. Surely he has the decency to give Arthur some space.

Or… or perhaps Francis Bonnefoy is perfectly aware of his unnatural charms, and this is just a cruel joke to him. Either way, Arthur is growing restless in his proximity, finding his palms to be slick with sweat as he flattens them against his desk. The urge to pull at his collar is almost overwhelming, but that would mean coming into contact with Francis’ hair, and that’s a commitment that Arthur isn’t sure he’s ready to make.

“It’s just warm, and what business do you have sneaking up on me like that? I could have been working on something sensitive, for all you know.”

“Ah,” Francis tuts, sparing Arthur another of his revealing smiles, and really, having a set of teeth like that so close to his neck shouldn’t make Arthur jolt with adrenaline, but it does. “Would you call the topic of my kind sensitive, Arthur? You know, if you’re that curious, I don’t mind answering some simple questions.”

Francis had seen his browser, and Arthur feels as though he wants to lay his head on his desk out of embarrassment. The can of worms had been opened, and quite frankly, there was no way he could stuff it all back in from whence it came. He can’t even find an adequate excuse for his blatant curiosity, and now Francis knows - at least, to some extent - how far his curiosity stretches.

“You’re embarrassed!” Francis points out, glee lining his voice as he finally draws back. A delicate hand comes to cover his mouth, perhaps to stifle a laugh, but Arthur’s indignancy is only fueled by this. He feels the urge to pull at his hair, to shoo Francis away so he can wallow in his mortification. “Oh, Arthur,” Francis’ tone shifts to one of clemency, “Spare yourself the scorn.”

“Easier said than done.” It’s a mumbled sentence, muffled by his hands which have come to cover his face as he contemplates raking his nails across it. “You don’t know how unprofessional I feel at the moment.”

He hears nothing at first, only the steady and quiet breathing from Francis. Then, there are soft footsteps and the sound of a seat being dragged quickly across the carpet. When Arthur finds it in himself to lower his hands, he sees Francis seated beside him at his desk, one of his legs crossed over the other as he looks at Arthur expectantly.

“What are you doing,” It sounds less like a question, and more like a monotonous statement. Arthur levels a weary look at Francis, ears still hot and blood still rushing too quickly in his veins.

“Let’s talk.” Francis clasps his hands together, rests them over his knee as he smiles expectantly at Arthur. “Don't sit there and stare. Go on, ask a question.”

“I don't even know where to start.” Arthur grumbles half-heartedly. This wasn't a conversation he was prepared to have today.

“Tell me what is on your mind.” He peers over at Francis, remains silent with apprehension. Francis waves his hand at him, motioning for Arthur to start. “I see your face scrunched up in concentration all the time, mon ami. I bet you like to run your mind in circles. Why don't you let some of those thoughts loose?”

Arthur continues to hesitate, words balancing precariously on his tongue as Francis bides his time, patiently.

“You can trust me not to ridicule you.” He adds on, gently.

“How do you eat?”

It was the first thing that came to his mind, damn it. Arthur had blurted out the words without any forethought, not wanting to prolong the silence that had already been uncomfortable. It could have been any other question, something much more meaningful to Francis, but no.

How do you eat? Brilliant.

“Really? That?” Francis looks at him as though he's waiting for Arthur to reconsider. When all he gets is an awkward shrug in return, he has to stifle yet another laugh, “Let me ask you instead. What do you think I do?”

He hates how Francis does this, corners him into confronting things he'd much rather play an audience to. He's starting to suspect that the other man does it on purpose. “You get rations. Juice boxes? I couldn't tell you.”

“That is actually not too far off the mark. Still though, for a man who donates...” It’s here that Francis spares the aging post-it note a quick, yet pointed glance.

“We'll, excuse me for not wanting to stick my nose in other folk’s business. I have this thing called modesty, you see.”

Francis ignores the snide comment, obviously not one to let it sour his mood. Arthur's beginning to believe that the man is utterly immune to negativity, which renders his typical form of deflection useless.

There's silence, but only for a few passing moments, and then Francis is continuing again, “It is similar to local food drives. You get what they deem is enough, and anything else extra is done solely on your part. But…”

Arthur senses the hesitation in Francis’ tone, sees him bite his bottom lip thoughtfully. He says nothing, no urging words or pressure to make the other talk. He wouldn't feel comfortable prying for info Francis would rather not share.

Despite this, Francis looks up, catches Arthur's gaze and seems to study him closely, before giving in with a quieter tone, “You have to be so careful. One wrong stranger could send you to prison if they wanted to. All it would take is a false claim, and the odds are already so unfavorable for us. And things get… muddled in the heat of the moment.”

It's here that Arthur realizes exactly what Francis is speaking about.

Romantic partners. Risky endeavors and undocumented feedings and everything Arthur hasn't allowed to come to the forefront of his mind, but has been resting in the deepest, darkest recesses of it. He feels his mouth go dry, the change of topic stealing the direction out of his thoughts.

He doesn't want to think of Francis luring a woman into bed, or sinking his teeth into the delicate curve of her throat or whatever it is that his kind actually does. It paints too many saucy pictures, many of which fill him with a nervous, jittery feeling that has his stomach knotting up in strange ways.

He knows that's not what he should be thinking of, considering the sensitive information Francis just released to him. He should be feeling guilty for him, understanding the plight that makes both nourishment and intimate relationships alike a potential trap.

“Relationships are impossible for you.” It's all Arthur can bring himself to say, and his voice comes out sounding more detached than he wanted.

“Oh no,” Francis shakes his head, and his lips turn up into a coy smile, full of his usual confidence and pomp, “I have had plenty of relationships. The length of them are another topic, but the fact remains that it is not entirely impossible.”

“But they never last.” Arthur finishes for him.

Francis’ smile turns more bittersweet at that, and he gives a small, nonchalant shrug as an answer, “It's a delicate environment we live in. I am confident that I will find a way to make it work, one day.”

Arthur notes the somber tone in his voice, feels a twinge of remorse twist like a knife in his ribcage. He wonders… if, perhaps, Francis spends his holidays alone like he does. Does he have friends or loved ones that leave him gifts under his tree, or does Francis wrap his own boxes and pretend that his house isn't nearly as empty as it actually is?

Does he fear commitment almost as much as Arthur does? Or does he lie in bed at night and crave the presence of a warm body next to his own? It paints a dreary picture, imagining someone so full of mirth and culture lying there alone, empty both inside and out.

It seems like a waste.

“I hope you do.” Arthur murmurs softly, his tone dipping down. A glance to his clock reveals that Francis has been in his office for quite a while now, perhaps the longest yet. Despite his earlier wishes, Arthur is beginning to find the idea of him leaving soon to be disappointing.

When Arthur next looks at Francis, he finds the other staring at him with an almost stunned expression. Arthur is half tempted to snap at him, a customary reaction to being gawked at, but considering the tender moment they just shared…

At last, Francis seems to snap out of it, his head coming to shake as if he'd just had the silliest thought cross his mind. “Thank you.”

“Don't mention anything of it.”

He takes his leave shortly thereafter, and Arthur considers that perhaps Francis is moving more away from acquaintance, and closer to something more.

He isn't sure of what that is.

His bedroom is dim and cold, with the only source of heat being the body heat contained within the outrageous mound of blankets he'd piled on his bed. The wooden floor bit at his feet during an earlier excursion to the bathroom, the cold turning Arthur's toes unforgivingly numb.

He's beginning to think that this isn't the best idea he's ever had, but he's nearly halfway through the night with no heat and his pride refuses to let him tamper with the thermostat.

Arthur glares in the direction where he knows it rests in the hallway, and imagines himself feeding it unnecessary bills.

The holiday season was going to break him as it was, and he'd been damned if he dug himself any deeper into his financial hole than he already has. Some things were just more important than being warm.

Like keeping the Christmas lights turned on overnight. And crochet. Crochet materials eat up a surprising amount of his free budget, and Arthur would be damned if he couldn't finish his next set of table covers. He'd already promised Alfred a Captain America shield to hang from the mirror of his lorry, so there was no going back on that either.

Still, it's impossible to ignore how unproductive it was to be curled up in bed at 1AM, shivering endlessly as he tried to force himself to sleep. Occasionally, he could hear the sharp howl of wind battering his window, doing his mind no favors as he pondered about just how cold it actually was.

Within the next fifteen minutes, Arthur is stomping down the hallway to his thermostat, with his comforter wrapped around his figure, and bitterly cursing at himself as he turns it up to something acceptable. The immediate blow of hot air from the vents nearly has him melting on the spot. When he burrows underneath the covers once again, he can feel his muscles relaxing, his skin tingling with the beginnings of warmth as his bedroom goes from an arctic waste to a heated sanctuary.

His mind goes fuzzy, filled with drowsiness as he lays there, and wanders from one menial thing to the next. Nothing but often forgotten thoughts associated with bedtime, little things to help lure oneself to sleep. Scenarios and pleasant fantasies to ease one into unconsciousness fill his head, ranging from owning his own tea shop to hearing the laughter of familiar friends fill his home.

Arthur reaches out across his bed, hand splaying against white sheets as he conjures up the image of a person lying there, perhaps asleep as well, though cradling his arm in their grasp. The features are nondescript at first, though the longer his mind lingers on the thought, the more details he begins to conjure up.

Maybe a blonde. Fair skinned, delicate. Quiet breaths and the shallow rise and fall of their chest. Hands splayed over his own, well-groomed nails, like porcelain sitting on their skin. Rosey scent, fresh and invigorating, and the taste of rain drops on their breath. Hair, soft and pale, interrupted by the gentlest of waves, pooled around their face and hiding the curve of their lips, their nose.

Skin that is deceivingly cool to the touch, like a balm on a sweltering day. A kiss from the snow, a soft brush of ice against his own skin. Arthur imagines what an embrace from that would feel like, mimics the feel of arms wrapping around his own, and can't keep the pleasant sigh from leaving his lips. His eyes go heavy, drift closed as he lets himself get swept away by his thoughts.

Something deep inside of him tells him that he's seen these features before, but the call of sleep washes away any intuition he has.

He awakes to snow so deep, he can barely push his front door open.

Arthur has no idea how this storm snuck up on his quiet city overnight, but it leaves him flabbergasted. A couple inches of rain would be the norm but fifteen inches of snow? Unreasonable and unreal and definitely not welcome.

Any notion of going to work is immediately tossed out the window. Arthur checks his phone to find a text telling him not to bother coming in, to which he wholeheartedly agrees, because this is just ridiculous.

There’s no sign of the sun peaking out from the cloud-blanketed sky, not that there typically is, but it ensures that the snow is here to stay. At least, for a few days. The idea of staying cooped up in his home leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. Always one to spend more time in his office than in his living room, the feeling is a bit alien to him.

It’s Thursday, for goodness sake. He should be working, not sitting on the loveseat in a sweater three times too big and sipping tea. It wouldn’t be so bad if the next day didn’t lead into the weekend, but Arthur supposes it’s a blessing in disguise, so he uses his time to finish up the set of table covers he’d been working on.

He’s nearly finished with the third one when he hears his doorbell ring, making him freeze with his hook still in the process of pulling a piece of yarn through the pattern. Turning his head, he eyes the mosaic glass tile of the door warily, wondering who on earth could possibly be visiting in this weather.

It’s ludicrous to think anyone would be out on the roads today. Much less even walking in these conditions.

Still, someone is standing out there, and now they’re impatiently spamming the doorbell, which draws a growl of frustration out of Arthur. He deposits his project on the end table and stomps over to the entrance, going through the motions of unlocking it with a little too much force before swinging it open none too gently.

Of course, he thinks, bitterly.

“There you are! Man, I was starting to wonder whether or not you were home. Which would be kind of crazy if you weren’t, because have you seen the roads? Stuff’s crazy. Weather didn’t say anything about this.”

“And yet, you are.” Arthur grouses, though he steps back to let Alfred in, eyeing the caked snow on his boots with growing ire. He tracks a good bit of it over his welcome mat, smearing both it and his floor with slush.

Alfred shakes like a dog would, sending wet snow flying off the fur of his jacket as he grins at Arthur, “Good morning to you too, Artie. And are you kidding? I was built to drive in conditions like this. Delivery man, here.”

“You were born in Texas.” Arthur points out lamely. “The only thing you were built for is eating portions three times your size and butchering the English vocabulary.”

“Okay, true. True, but you’ve gotta admit, I’ve got skills.” Alfred hangs his jacket on the coathanger, his hands coming to rub up and down his arms as he comically shivers. “Please tell me you’ve got coffee or something. I’m dying here.”

“Only tea.” He hears Alfred groan, and rolls his eyes at the dramatics of it all. Tea was perfectly fine, thank you very much.

“Well, at least tell me you don’t have any of that Earl Grey stuff. Give me something with some kick in it!”

Fortunately, Arthur does have some chai tea stowed away, so he sets himself to brewing a cup of that while Alfred makes himself at home in his living room. As always, he can hear the other roaming around, poking at his possessions and crafts from the kitchen, and half expects to hear something shatter in the process.

Luckily, everything goes unharmed as he emerges with a drink for his friend, to which Alfred takes a large gulp in thanks.

The two set about talking about anything and everything; from the weather, to Alfred’s current deliveries, and of course, Arthur’s work. Alfred pokes fun at Arthur’s Christmas tree, particularly the fanged angel hanging in the front, to which he flushes and tells him to sod off if he doesn’t like it.

He sets about asking Arthur questions, to which the Brit recognizes as a thinly veiled attempt to cipher information for a Christmas present. He plays along, though, and gives Alfred the hints he needs. In particular, he mentions needing more crochet supplies, to which Alfred’s eyes light up, before abruptly ending the train of thought.

Arthur gives him an ETA on his little project for Alfred, to which he seems to be largely pleased with. It’s their usual back and forth, their friendly banter and quaint ways of checking up on each other in indirect ways.

It feels almost like family, to have another voice echoing throughout his home, but at the same time, something feels undeniably off. It’s as though Alfred is a puzzle piece trying to fill a slot that Arthur’s been boasting for a while, but he just doesn’t fit. A brother, in all sense of the word, but not the piece Arthur needs.

Still, it makes him happy, content to have Alfred’s company on what he thought to be a long and lonely weekend. Alfred’s enthusiasm and optimism is infectious, and even Arthur can’t help but spare a few genuine smiles here and there.

It all comes crashing down as soon as Alfred steers the conversation in another direction. “Say, you’ve been acting kind of weird lately. Like, not sick weird or bad weird, but different. Like, you’ve got all these different interests now, like donating to blood drives and buying stupid ornaments like that.” He points to the angel figurine.

“Forgive me for deciding to take a more active role in the rights of others. A shame that I’m trying to be a decent human being.” Arthur retorts sarcastically, rolling his eyes yet again at Alfred.

“Yeah, okay, that’s great and all. Like, I’m right there with you man, but still. You gotta think that this all boils down to something.” Alfred flashes him a knowing grin, his brows arching comedically as Arthur scoffs.

“What are you getting at? You’re not one to be sly, and I don’t like it one bit.”

“Francis, buddy. Come on. It doesn’t take a genius to see how interested you are in the guy.”

Arthur narrows his eyes, and brings his teacup up to hide the growing frown on his lips. He calmly takes a sip while Alfred looks on, proud and teasing and as though he’d just unearthed something great. Arthur lowers his cup, sets it on a coaster on the end table as he folds his hands across his lap. “I’m interested in his people, not him.”

“Not until him.” Alfred corrects him.

“You’re looking into things too deeply.”

“I think you’re looking over things.”

Arthur huffs a breath out at that, “What exactly are you even trying to get at? Spit it out.”

At this, Alfred shrugs innocently, blue eyes averting elsewhere as to avoid the growing look of frustration on Arthur’s face. “Maybe you got a thing for him? I don’t know. Just a guess.”

“The only thing I have for Francis Bonnefoy is a growing headache from all his unwanted visits.”

Now it’s Alfred’s turn to scoff, to which Arthur levels a critical glare at him. “If you didn’t want him around you, you would have done something by now. You’re a no bullshit type of guy, Artie. We all know you would have eaten his soul by now if you didn’t like him.”

There’s a pause, a lull on Arthur’s part, as Alfred leans forward to rest his arm on his knee, still grinning at Arthur as if expecting some kind of great confession. “I tolerate him.” It’s the only thing Alfred gets as a reply.

“Right. Whatever.” He drags out the last word, and heaves a long sigh afterwards. The easy atmosphere surrounding them has morphed into something more tense, at least, on Arthur’s part.

Alfred’s words dig into him, eat away at his conscious and rationality as the minutes tick by. Not much more is spoken between them, their camaraderie effectively dampened by Alfred’s accusations. It isn’t long after that his company announces his leave, to which Arthur is both grateful and sad to see him go. When the house is empty again, Arthur allows himself to fully dwell on Alfred’s words.

He doesn’t know what to make of them, but he can’t argue against them either.

#fruk #aph england #aph france #hetalia #des writes #and then there were ~feelings~#me too arthur

9 notes · View notes