Chapter 1- I am Only One Side of a Coin. The Brighter Side, Obviously.
For acclaimed author Arthur Pendragon, life was going pretty well. He was successful, his detective series a number one bestseller year after year. He was one of People Magazine's most eligible bachelors. He hosted a monthly poker game with his fellow authors, and considered Leon Young to be a close personal friend. He lived in a penthouse in Manhattan.
And sure, he shared that penthouse with his sister and could never seem to make a relationship last longer than than a couple weeks (possibly because he lived with his sister), but Arthur was never one to complain. Ok… he was.
"I'm out of fucking ideas."
Arthur took a long swig of whiskey straight from the bottle and handed it over to Morgana. She reached for it blindly and took a few gulps, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand lazily once she finished. His sister was a few shots ahead of him.
"Oh the great and powerful Arthur lost all his creative juices. How will he cope?!" Morgana flung her hands into the air wildly and Arthur yanked the whiskey bottle away from her before she can spill any of the contents on the suede couch.
Arthur narrowed his eyes at her and pouted. "Stop being petty. This is serious, 'Gana."
Morgana huffed, but her green eyes were apologetic. "You'll be fine little brother-"
"When will you stop pointing that out? I'm only two months younger than you," Arthur interjected.
"I'll stop lording that tiny minuscule fact over you when I'm finally better than you at literally anything else! At last I can beat you at aging," she muttered and Arthur slumped further into the sofa cushion wishing he could come up with something to make Morgana feel better. His alcohol-addled brain refused to work properly, however, and he collapsed into his plush throw pillow with a grunt of frustration.
He was seriously out of ideas.
"Morgana," he wined squinting up at her. "Help me. Drunk Morgana always knows what to do." He smiled pleadingly.
Morgana rolled her eyes, but grinned back at him. "Let me think," Morgana slurred, bringing a hand to her jaw and drumming her pointer finger on her chin. Arthur thought she looked hilarious.
He chuckled. "What are you doing," he laughed.
"This is my thinking face, obviously," Morgana replied seriously.
Arthur nodded. "Obviously," he agreed.
"So you're out of ideas," Morgana mused. "I'm guessing you can't come up with any new mysteries?"
"That, and my character doesn't really make sense to me anymore," he added.
"So why not just ask the old man for help?"
"Father!" Arthur cried indignantly, and it just went to show how absolutely smashed Arthur is that that is where his mind went. "We moved to the states to get away from—"
"No not father, you numpty," Morgana interrupted, smacking him playfully. "I'm talking about Gauis. You know, the old man we like."
And there was an idea. Arthur perked up immediately. Of course, why didn't he think of that? His Godfather would at least be able to help with the plot. He was a captain at the NYPD for Crissake.
"You are a genius Morgana," Arthur cried, lunging at her and wrapping her in a tight hug. "I knew there was a reason I've kept you around all this time."
Morgana elbowed him in the ribs, but she was laughing. "Oh please, I'm pretty much your only friend. Plus, I'm a delight."
Arthur shook his head. "First of all, I have Leon. And second of all, a few minutes ago you were far from delightful. You were annoying and practically drank all my whiskey," Arthur deadpanned.
"Well, I don't know how you expect me to listen to you prattle on about your mundane writing problems without some bevs in my belly," Morgana bellowed with a giggle and she wrestled her way out of Arthur's grasp. After swaying slightly on her feet she managed to turn around and face Arthur, looking somewhat sober save for her drooping eyelids and smeared lip-gloss. She cocked her head and perched a manicured hand on her jutting hip, eyeing Arthur expectantly. "Well are you going to call him or what?"
"Morgana, it's four in the morning. I don't think Gauis will be very happy with me if I wake him up at this ungodly hour," Arthur explained.
"Oh." Morgana rolled her eyes at herself. The movement must have disoriented her for she stumbled and Arthur leapt from the sofa to catch her.
"Time for bed," he told her, scooping her up and carrying her to her room. Whenever someone else needed help, Arthur sobered up quickly. It was a curse and a blessing. He set his sister down gently in her bed and she curled up into the sheets with a groan. "Thanks again big sister," he said smiling down at her.
"You're welcome," she mumbled into her pillow and seconds later she was fast asleep.
Arthur went to the kitchen and returned with a bottled water and some paracetamol for the massive hangover Morgana was sure to have when she woke up. When he left her and headed to his room, he opened his laptop and stared at the blank word document in front of him, the cursor a blinking reminder that his deadline for the new installment of his James King series was quickly approaching.
Leaving England at sixteen, leaving his father and all that he once knew behind, Arthur was wounded and scared. The Pendragon children moved in with Gauis, an old friend of Arthur's deceased mother, but it wasn't long before Arthur grew hostile. He didn't know this man very well and Gauis was either trying way too hard or not hard enough. The old man could never seem to win, for Arthur didn't want him to win. He just wanted to be left alone. When it became too much for Gauis, who wasn't used to having two teenagers to take care of, let alone two who were so… confrontational, the then-detective at the NYPD forced Arthur and Morgana to go to therapy. It was obvious to the old man that there were still some scars Uther left that his children wouldn't let heal. It wasn't so obvious to Arthur.
But John Kilgharrah helped. His therapist tried to convince Arthur to channel his residual frustrations into writing. Arthur had refused at first. Uther Pendragon was a writer and Arthur didn't want to be anything like his father. But writing came naturally, like he was born to do it. Arthur created his first character, James King. He was a detective like Gauis, like the man who took him and his sister in when they had nowhere else to go. James King was clever and brave and he could solve any mystery. James King took down the bad guys.
His first book, The Castle Defense was nothing to scream about, the plot being a simple homicide case at a mansion in the Hamptons, but Arthur decided to try to get it published anyway. He was only eighteen at the time so his assumption was that no one would look at him or his book twice, but the Nemeth Publishing Co saw The Castle Defense for what it was: a fairytale set in modern times in a day and age where the anti-hero ruled. Mithian Montgomery called Arthur a few months later waxing poetic about James King, claiming he's a character that can bring a little whimsy and fun and magic back to a medium that's been taking itself far too seriously in recent decades. Arthur made her his editor on the spot.
His sequel, The Court Jester, which had Detective King investigating the mysterious death of a defense attorney who was poisoned in the middle of a trial and discovering that a new drug on the market, known as fool's gold was to blame, had a much wider critical response. And when King stopped an art thief who left pretty convincing replicas behind in Counterfeit for a King a year later, the name Arthur Pendragon gained some actual weight in magazine and online reviews. His third book even managed to reach number nine on the New York Time's Bestsellers list. And all before Arthur turned twenty-one.
Arthur was shocked by his success. It happened so quickly and Arthur realized he had to consider the next book very seriously. Resistance is Feudal debuted at number one. In this one James King was taken hostage and had to investigate from inside a locked room. The abductor turned out to be King's roommate from college. The critics jumped at the first mention of the detective's backstory and Arthur set out to make the next three installments of the King series something special.
King of the Kill, The Crowning Bereavement, and Into Thin Heir became an epic trilogy that was beloved by critics and fans alike. The three-part saga followed James King as his estranged brother Peter King AKA "Kay" came back into his life. In part one, the detective found a note taped to his door claiming that someone was planning to detonate a bomb in one week at the local middle school. He must race against the clock in order to uncover more clues while struggling to sustain a civil relationship with Kay. Although he succeeded at both, it was only just barely. In part two, James reintroduced his brother into his life completely, but just as things were looking up, Kay is shot and killed. James was pulled off of the case he had spent months investigating when news came to light that Kay's case was now somehow involved. The detective demanded to be a part of the investigation, to get justice for his brother and continue working the case he knew he was close to figuring out, but his captain refused him. He continued to research on his own, but when he did, he discovered that his father was involved, and may in fact have been the murderer. Part three concluded with James hunting down his father and ultimately arresting him for the murder of Peter King and two others who knew the truth that the great Anthony King, architecture mogul, was siphoning millions of dollars from his clients. James may have won, but he felt defeated. He turned in his badge and vanished.
Since then, Arthur hadn't been able to figure out where to go next.
He closed the laptop and sighed.
Hopefully, Gauis would help him come up with something. This couldn't be the end for James King. He was too important to Arthur.
"And here's this…. And this. Now we good?"
Tom took a sip of the coffee and inspected the bearclaw thoroughly before returning his attention to Merlin. "It's acceptable."
Merlin rolled his eyes. "Remind me to never make another bet with you."
The giant officer took a bite of his newly obtained pastry with a wicked grin on his face. "No promises, but you should know by now that my vast knowledge of football can't be beaten, even by you."
Merlin smirked and narrowed his eyes at Tom. He shouldn't rise to the bait, but sometimes he just couldn't help himself. "I will get you one day, Thomas Percival Hopper," Merlin pledged. "I just haven't quite figured out American Football yet, but when I do… oh boy you will be buying me breakfast for a whole year."
Tom was taken aback and sputtered out through the bearclaw in his mouth, "How- How do you know my middle name?"
Merlin chuckled playfully. "I saw it once on your driver's license two years ago. In fact," Merlin added withdrawing from the barracks and heading to the elevator, "I think I'll call you that from now on in retaliation for you doubting my gift."
"You will not," the officer shouted after him.
The lift doors opened and Merlin stepped inside, shooting Tom a raised brow over his shoulder. "Oh won't I," he teased. The doors began to close and Merlin gave the officer one final salute. "See you later, Officer Percy!"
"Merlin—" The elevator doors closed before Tom could continue his interjections and Merlin let out a chuckle.
A snicker behind him surprised Merlin and he jumped, clutching his rapidly beating chest. "Gwaine, Jesus Christ!"
"Pay attention to your surroundings Merlin," Gwaine admonished. "How you became a detective is beyond me. Is it the whole British thing? People just assume you're Sherlock?"
"I'm head detective, thank you," Merlin corrected.
"Oh sorry, should I start calling you Detective Emrys or something, then," Gwaine asked mockingly.
Merlin pursed his lips. "Head Detective Emrys, actually, but no. It would be weird if all of a sudden you started caring about titles and authority. I'd assume brainwashing instantly."
Gwaine gave him a cheeky grin and a wink, as the lift doors opened on their floor. The 12th precinct was far too large considering there were only a few dozen detectives working there, but Merlin wasn't complaining. He found that when there's lots of space it was easier to think and solve his cases. He hated being cooped up in a small room by himself.
"Yo, Lance," Gwaine shouted, marching over to where the detective was sitting at his desk. Gwaine gave him a smack on the shoulder and asked, "How was your date, man?"
Merlin scooted his office chair over to Lance's desk with one push, took a seat, put a fist to his chin, and looked up at his friend expectantly. Lance stopped writing and scratched his eyebrow with the pen, grinning like a fool. "She was… incredible."
"Oh boy," Gwaine cackled, rubbing his hands together mischievously. "Should I start planning the Bachelor party already?"
Lance threw his pen at him. "What makes you think you're going to be the best man?"
"Oh I'm sure I'm not. Tom, who we're now calling Percy by the way, is no doubt going to have the honor," Gwaine conceded with a carless wave of his hand. "But can you imagine attending a bachelor party hosted by the big lug? Love him to pieces, but the man has no idea how to have fun."
Merlin rolled his eyes, but he has to admit, Gwaine was right. "Ignore him," Merlin told Lance. "Tell me more about this bird. What's her name?"
"Gwen," Lance replied with a dreamy look in his eyes.
"Oh Jesus, you're a goner aren't you," Merlin asks rhetorically. His phone rang and Merlin scooted back over to his desk, leaving Gwaine to ridicule detective Du Lac alone.
Detective Merlin Emrys loved this place. It was weird to love going to work every day, especially since most of his job consisted of looking at dead people, but Merlin enjoyed it. He liked the puzzles. He liked the camaraderie, the easy banter he had with Gwaine, Lance, and Percival. He liked belonging. And he belonged here.
Living in a small town just outside Brighton with his mum, Merlin never really fit in. He read too much and talked too little. It was clear very early on that he was the smartest in his class. He had a photographic memory that rivaled the shite you see in movies and on television. He quickly became a target for constant bullying. His only saving grace was the day he made friends with Will, whose humor was a bit too brash for most, but Merlin found it endearing. Will wasn't afraid to be himself. And even though Merlin would never actually admit this to the plonker, he made a huge impact on how Merlin saw himself. Merlin Emrys was smart. Get over it.
Secondary school went smoothly and he decided to study criminal law at London South Bank University. The last thing he expected when he came home to visit his mum one summer was the information that a father he'd never known was murdered and they didn't have any leads. Balinor Lynch was a much beloved detective at the NYPD. He hadn't known about Merlin's existence even though his mum was still in contact with him twenty years later. Merlin suspected that if Balinor hadn't been murdered and Hunith wasn't a potential suspect, his mum would never have told Merlin about his father or vice-versa. Merlin returned to London and finished his schooling, eventually landing a detective position at the same precinct as his father. He refused to speak to his mum for two years. They still had a strained relationship, but Merlin was certain it would be far worse if he and Hunith weren't on opposite sides of the Atlantic ocean. His father's case was now considered cold, but there was one detective who would never stop investigating.
"NYPD this is Merlin Emrys," he said answering the phone. He rocked back and forth, his chair slightly squeaking as he listened to the person on the other end. "… Phil," Merlin grunted, bringing a hand to his forehead. "I get that you're busy, but this is ridiculous. I asked for the finger prints yesterday. Where are they?"
Gwaine and Lance appeared on either side of Merlin with shared expressions of annoyance. Merlin rolled his eyes at them barely paying attention to the analyst who continued to make inane excuses. "… They're only just being run through the system now," Merlin exclaimed. "Phil, why?"
Gwaine sighed dejectedly and stomped over to the elevator. Merlin clamped a hand over the receiver and hissed for Gwaine to get back here.
"I'm gonna give that kid a piece of my mind," Gwaine swore, as the lift doors closed behind him. Merlin wasn't even paying attention to his phone anymore.
"Lance, stop him," Merlin ordered. "Phil's a complainer and I really don't need Gwaine to get another citation."
"On it." Lance set off after Gwaine. Merlin started listening to the analyst again.
"… I swear Barry keeps putting things out of order—"
"Oh piss off, Phil. You can't blame your intern every time you do something wrong. Get it together," Merlin demanded, before slamming the phone down. He rubbed his temple and let out a long breath of air.
Yes, Merlin really did love it here. But sometimes the analyst made him want to go on a murder spree.
A/N- We'll see how long this one lasts, honestly. I just thought I'd post it. I'm still working on Draco Sirius Black which is my main priority, but I think I can handle two stories... probably.