Title: Room at the End of the World
Author: brickroad16/inafadinglight
Rating: K+/PG
Pairing: Merlin/Morgana
Summary: Modern AU. Merlin and Morgana, friends for years, find their way to each other at Christmastime.
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin or its characters. All rights belong to the brilliant people BBC/Shine.
A/N: I wanted to get myself in the Christmas spirit, so I wrote this little fluff piece for fun. Hope you enjoy, but, as always, please review if you favorite. :) Happy holidays, everyone!
Oh, hey, I'm an idiot. I owe a big thanks to wickedinsanity! For always being willing to read over my stories, as well as being there to cheer me up on my low days. You're the best! :)
I was buried like a treasure
But no one ever came to mark the spot
So I got good at pleasure
And started tyin' tighter knots
sad can't catch me
call me baby now
when it's all I use to believe
if the sun don't light
and the night won't turn
we'll get a room at the end of the world
and we'll rewrite all the wrongs we've learned
safe in our room at the end of the world
- "Room the End of the World," Matt Nathanson
He tugs at the knot of his tie as they enter the mansion, a cavernous monstrosity draped with evergreen and holly and mistletoe, then jumps as she lightly slaps his hand away. He lifts a questioning brow at her.
"Stop fidgeting," Gwen chastises with her familiar gentle smile. "You have no reason to be nervous."
"Who said I was nervous?" Even as he says it, he reaches into his inside coat pocket to check that the gift is still there.
Gwen simply levels a smirk at him in response and drags him down the hallway toward the ballroom. They've known each other since they were eight years old. As if he didn't wear his heart on his sleeve already, she's the only one in the world who can read him well enough to know exactly how he's feeling without him having to say a thing.
He shakes his head in protest and mutters, "I'm not nervous."
"Of course you aren't," she replies humorously. "That's why you can't stop fiddling with your cufflinks."
Upon looking down and realizing the truth, he stops fidgeting immediately. They make their way into the ballroom, a wide expanse decorated floor to ceiling in lights and greens, with a towering Christmas tree at the far end of the room, covered in ribbon and glittering ornaments. Gwen lets out a small gasp of delight. The ballroom is crowded with guests, but all he can see is her, neck craned as she admires the tree, dressed in a dark red dress that flows down to her feet and hugs her curves in all the right places, and his breath catches in his chest.
Gwen nudges him in the shoulder. "You should go talk to her."
He gives her a teasing look and says, "I think I'll go get some champagne instead."
"You're being ridiculous, Merlin," his friend says, unsuccessfully trying to hide an exasperated sigh. "I'm sure she wants to see you."
Frowning, Merlin turns his gaze to the enchantress again, now chatting with her brother. The first day they'd met, she was wearing an oversized sweatshirt and dinosaur boxer shorts, her hair loose and messy, and he'd thought she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Always gorgeous in anything, she looks exceptionally so tonight. Gaze still locked on her, he swallows down his anxiety, snags a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, and downs the drink in two gulps. Gwen watches him with wide eyes.
"I don't suppose you want to talk about it?" she asks, her voice soft above the music of the string quartet.
"Not particularly."
She gives him a shrug he's sure is meant to be nonchalant and says, "Fine. Then I suppose we'll sulk in the corner all night?"
Merlin narrows his eyes playfully. "Until Arthur comes to whisk you away and I'm left all alone."
Hooking an arm through his, she steers him toward a table laden with sweets and says, "Well, it won't be because I didn't try." She picks up a chocolate finger cake and hands it to him. "Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?"
He takes a bite of cake and chews deliberately, letting the frosting stick to the roof of his mouth before swallowing it down. "You really don't know already?"
Gwen looks over the sweets, a low hum escaping her throat as her outstretched finger hovers over the selections before finally landing on a Turkish delight. "I know something happened, back in September. The two of you started acting so weird. I just don't know what." She looks up quickly, as if surprised by her own words. "Of course, not that I'm trying to pry. Please don't think I'm sticking my nose where I don't belong. I only want to help. You're my best friend, Merlin. I care about you, about both of you."
"I understand," he tells her with a small chuckle. Still, it takes him a moment to collect his thoughts and confess, "I made a fool of myself, Gwen. A complete and utter fool."
"No," she protests, shaking her head. "That's impossible. You're adorable! You could never act like a fool."
He reaches up to tug at his ear, thinking for the thousandth time this night alone that these ears are just a little too large to fall under the 'adorable' category.
Gwen puts a hand on his arm. "Come on, you can tell me. What happened?"
He lets out a heavy sigh. "Do you know how, just when everything is going smoothly, and maybe it's not absolutely perfect but it's good enough that you're content to swim along, there are some people who are just so good at screwing things up?"
"Surely it's not that bad," she tells him kindly. When he levels her with a disbelieving look, she changes course. "Okay, what could you possibly have done to screw things up?"
"I told her I loved her." Gwen's stunned silence is all the answer he needs. He spins away from her. "Yep," he mutters, "I really messed up. Big time."
"Well," she begins cautiously, "what did she say?"
"Nothing. Not a thing. And then I apologized." He twists to throw a glance at her. "I apologized."
"Oh, Merlin . . ." she murmurs, then reaches out to pluck a champagne glass off a nearby waiter's tray and offers it to him. "You might need this."
She's barely aware of the crowd, pushes them from her mind, as she reaches out to brush her fingers over one of the hundreds of round glass ornaments that cover the tree. It's plain and red, exactly like half the other bulbs hanging despondently from the branches. Bulb ornaments are so boring, so impersonal. With a scowl, she wonders what happened to the silly popsicle stick and pipe cleaner ornaments she and Arthur used to make as children. The worst part is that this monstrosity in front of her is their tree. There is no smaller family tree complete with homemade ornaments hiding in the living room. Come Christmas morning, the presents will be under here, under this overcompensating evergreen with a thousand red and white glass eyes.
A soft sigh escapes her lips. She hates her father's parties. As grand as the ballroom is, the air feels stifling and the guests are dull. She would've skipped tonight entirely if there were less a possibility of a certain someone showing up. But he'll be here. Gwen had assured her. Only she's not quite sure she wants to see him. She's not quite sure what she has to say to him.
"Well, sis," drawls Arthur as he steps up beside her and looks up at the tree in front of them, "how are you faring? You're usually three drinks deep by this time."
She resists the urge to stick out her tongue at him. "Not tonight."
"That wouldn't be because of Merlin, would it?"
She turns abruptly and follows his indication as he gestures subtly to Gwen and Merlin, conversing fervently near the dessert table.
"How long has he been here?" she asks, her tone entirely too eager for her liking.
"A few minutes." Arthur directs a suspicious gaze at her and asks, "I don't need to beat him up, do I?"
"I don't remember you offering to beat up any of the losers I actually dated, Arthur."
"That's because they were losers," Arthur says grimly, his jaw tight. "Merlin, though, he could do some real damage."
Morgana tries to ignore the skipping of her heart that follows those words. It's true, though. Valiant and Helios and, most recently, Alvarr, were lowlifes, men she dated precisely because they had no power to hurt her. But Arthur's right. Merlin, he's the kind of guy – sweet, thoughtful, amazing – the kind of guy who could get too close, close enough to hurt.
Which is exactly why she's pushed him away.
"No," she assures her brother softly, "Merlin hasn't done a thing."
"Then why don't you go and talk to him?" he asks, slipping out of his normal, breezy macho manner and exchanging it for a rare bout of seriousness. "He showed up for a reason."
"Yeah, because Gwen dragged him."
"I think it was more than that," Arthur smiles cockily, hooking a thumb into his belt loop. After a pause, he presses, "You know, I don't think it counts as a rebound if you've been in love with the one even before you even broke up with the other. Besides, isn't Christmas a time for honesty?"
Morgana bristles slightly. "When did you get so serious?"
Arthur rolls his eyes. "Believe it or not, I do have my moments."
"It's Gwen's influence, isn't it?" she teases, nudging him in the shoulder. "Come on. You can be man enough to admit it. Having a girlfriend has been good for you."
He spreads his arms in acknowledgement of that fact. "Fine. I do admit it. And maybe not having a boyfriend has been good for you."
"You just never liked Alvarr," she accuses.
"Of course not," Arthur scoffs. "He was a pompous ass who treated you like dirt. You are my only sister, after all."
"Well," she shrugs, "sometimes family isn't everything for the Pendragons."
Arthur lifts a brow, and his arm jerks as if he's about to comfort her, but thankfully it stays at his side, because Arthur's idea of comfort is a pat on the shoulder that never fails to be awkward. "Father giving you a rough time about the breakup?"
"He liked Alvarr. Or rather, he liked the idea of a match between our families."
"Look, I know he's old-fashioned, but you're not going to let him stand in the way of your happiness, are you? I can't stand watching him dictate your life."
"I'm the black sheep, remember? Can't have me tarnishing the family name."
"You know that's not true, Morgana," Arthur insists with a slight frown. "Father thinks you're doing quite well in the company."
A small, somber smile comes across her face as she turns to fully look at her brother. "It'd be nice if he told me once in a while."
He lets out a long sigh. "You know what we need? Some champagne."
He moves to walk away, but she puts a hand on his forearm to stop him and says, "Thanks, but no. You, my dear brother, need to go greet your girlfriend."
Arthur pauses for a long moment, his lips twisted thoughtfully. Then, tentatively, he says, "You know, my mother always used to say: Christmas is a time for hope to conquer fear."
He won't meet her eyes, instead looks out at the gathering, but she sees a change in him, subtle, but sure.
"What are you up to, Arthur?" she asks quietly.
"Nothing," he responds quickly. "Why would you think that? I only meant that it's Christmas, Morgana! If you're not going to tell Merlin how you feel now, when will you ever?"
The words hit her with a jolt. If Christmas isn't a time for taking risks, when is?
Beaming, she reaches an arm around his shoulders and presses a kiss to his cheek. "You're not often right, Arthur, but this time you may be on to something. And what are you hoping for this Christmas?"
Arthur puffs up a bit, stands straighter, and pulls a small, black velvet box from his pocket. Morgana nearly squeals in delight, pressing her hands to her mouth to keep from drawing attention to themselves as he quickly replaces the box.
"Arthur," she says, amazed, overjoyed. She clasps him in a tight hug. "Congratulations!"
"Well, she hasn't said 'yes' yet," he laughs.
"But she will," she assures him with a smile. "She will." She gives him a little push towards the dance floor. "Now get out of here. You've got more important things than to do than talk to your spinster of a sister."
He likes to wander the hallways. These gatherings – the guests with their fine attire and snooty conversation; the seven-course dinner, one plate of which costs more than he makes in a year working part-time at the uni's library; the champagne that goes straight to his head and makes him think things he definitely shouldn't be thinking – he's always hated them, ever since Gwen caught Arthur's eye their first year of uni and dragged him along to a soirée at Pendragon Manor.
But he's always come. At first, it was for Gwen, because she was his friend and didn't deserve to be subjected to these buffoons alone. And then, it'd only taken a heartbeat to become all about Morgana. Even if she'd always had a boyfriend, it was enough to simply be in her company.
And now she doesn't have a boyfriend, and it's like his direction has disappeared right along with the status quo. He almost doesn't want to let his heart believe that the breakup had anything to do with what he said to her that night, and now he's got no idea how to proceed. All he's doing is waiting for a sign from her. One simple sign, stay or go, love or leave. And he'd obey, because in five short years, she's somehow, despite all his protestations and tribulations, become the sun of his universe.
Technically, he's on his way back from the loo, but he's stopped in a darkened hallway lit only by the wall sconces, squinting dorkily at a Caravaggio.
"Well, well, well," a voice intones, "would you look who it is? What are you doing sulking around in the corridors, Merlin?"
The venom injected into his name alone clues him in to the speaker's identity even before he turns around to find Alvarr grinning slimily at him. Even the sight of the grease in his hair turns his stomach, and he has the distinct notion that he would've hated this man under any circumstances, even if he'd endeavored to treat Morgana with the respect she deserves.
"Alvarr," he greets coldly.
One hand in his trouser pocket, Alvarr strolls forward to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him, gazing at the painting. "Sizing up the Pendragons' art collection, are we?"
"What do you want, Alvarr?"
"Oh, I want a lot of things, my dear Merlin, but I assume you mean: what do I want with you? Well," he turns and directs a steely gaze at Merlin, "let's start with why you destroyed my relationship with Morgana."
Merlin finds that his throat is very dry all of a sudden. "I-I don't know what you're talking about."
"No?" Alvarr has a peculiar way of speaking so calmly that it unnerves you. He continues, "I remember a day back in August, the day you went back to university. Morgana saw you off, and when she came back inside, she wasn't herself. Since then, she's been preoccupied, distant, all leading up to a few weeks ago, when she decided that we were 'moving in different directions.'" He leans forward, looming over him, and growls, "Something happened, Merlin, something you said, and I want to know what it was."
"Why? So you can objectify her? So you can undermine her at every turn? You should be grateful that you even got to know a woman as amazing as she is. She is passionate, and independent, and strong, and you never deserved her."
"A bit touchy, are we?" Alvarr sneers. "When are you going to learn, boy, that when she talks of love, she doesn't mean you?"
Aware that arguing any further will only make him look like a bigger fool, Merlin locks gazes with the older man. He's pretty sure Alvarr's mentally sizing him up, unnecessarily considering that nearly every man Merlin comes in contact with could get the drop on him. His lanky stature is often the butt of Arthur's jokes. Still, he wishes the golden-haired clotpole were here at the moment. Arthur hates Alvarr, and all of Morgana's past boyfriends, almost as much as he does.
After a tense moment, realizing he could never get the best of Alvarr, that he sort of doesn't want to if it means coming to blows and what would Morgana think of him then?, Merlin relents, "I didn't come here to fight."
"Well, I sure hope you didn't come to try to win the lady's heart."
His rival doesn't have to give voice to the rest of the thought: that he has no chance of winning it. Alvarr doesn't back down, and for another few seconds, thick with tension, he's convinced this will end with him on the floor nursing a burgeoning black eye. He's even as far as wishing Alvarr doesn't purposefully break his nose when there's a rumble of conversation from the doorway at the opposite end of the hall. The two suitors turn their attention in time to see Gwaine and Percival, two of Arthur's old schoolmates, both visibly wobbly, stumble into the corridor, their arms around each other's shoulders.
"Whoa," Percival bellows, "what's this now? Not a contest, I hope!"
"Or maybe we do hope," Gwaine interjects sensibly as they blunder toward them. "But, no matter, it'll have to wait until after a good piss. Too much to drink!"
"As usual."
Gwaine lifts an invisible glass. "And many thanks to Uther for the free-flowing fountain!"
"Are you two all right?" Merlin queries, only slightly concerned. These two are especially known for having a fondness for ale, but they usually don't get destructive until much later. Their appearance, however, has provided a welcome distraction.
"'Course, mate!" Gwaine beams. "Why wouldn't we be?"
Then Percival narrows his eyes, leans in close enough for Merlin to smell the alcohol on his breath, and says, in what is presumably an attempt at a subtle whisper, "Why? Are you two all right?"
As if noticing Alvarr for the first time, Gwaine walks in a half-circle around the man and gives him a once-over. "Is he bothering you, Merlin? Are you bothering him, eh?"
"Yeah, because we can take – care! – of that." Percival's hiccup in the middle of the sentence diminishes the threat somewhat, but then he flexes his giant biceps and Alvarr pales visibly.
"No need, boys," Alvarr tells the drunkards smoothly, "I was just on my way back to the gala." He pushes his way past Gwaine, knocking shoulders with him, then pauses and leans down to mutter in Merlin's ear, "Stay away from Morgana, boy." He straightens, sends Merlin a hard look, and strides off down the corridor, back into the ballroom.
Gwaine and Percival head off in the opposite direction, their muffled laughter echoing through the empty hallways. Merlin frowns, his heart sinking, and turns back to the Caravaggio, not yet ready to rejoin the party.
Morgana forces a smile onto her face as she thanks Lord Godwin, one of her father's friends, for a dance, then turns and strides toward the sweets tables at the far end of the room. She's looking over the cakes when a shy, dark-haired servant holding a tray of champagne treads up to her.
"Champagne, my lady?"
"Freya!" she smiles, accepting a flute. "Are you enjoying the party?"
The girl is a few years younger than she, with warm dark eyes and an innocent smile. She's always liked Freya, quiet and respectful and yet fun to be around.
"A little more than you are, I think," Freya replies with a small chuckle.
Morgana lets out a low groan as she reaches for a chocolate cake. "Is it really that obvious?"
"Don't worry. You're not the only one."
When Morgana gives her a questioning look, Freya gestures subtly at the entranceway across the hall. Merlin, hands in his pockets, looks as if he's just stumbled through. He casts an aimless gaze around, looking forlornly out at the couples on the dance floor, before wandering over to examine the Christmas tree. A twinge resounds in her heart, though she's not sure if it's from Merlin's dejected expression or the fact that she's always known that Freya's had a bit of a crush on him.
That knowledge makes Freya's next sentence even more surprising.
"You should ask him to dance."
"Excuse me?" Morgana responds automatically, though she can't stop the grin tugging at her lips.
Freya, approaching the point of saucy, tilts her head and says, "How many years have I been working for your family? You've never looked at any of your boyfriends like you look at him."
Morgana takes a swig of champagne. "And I should take romance advice from you why exactly?"
Freya, with her unflappable good grace, doesn't take offense. Instead, she nods matter-of-factly and says, "I'm your friend. Merlin's, too. I've stood by long enough, watching the two of you make excuses." She pauses, sucks in a hesitant breath, then, more quietly, adds, "But people are very good at not seeing something they're afraid to see."
"I've known Merlin for years," Morgana laughs softly, dismissively. She finishes the champagne in one gulp and sets the glass rather roughly on the table, and Freya instinctively hands her another.
"Sometimes, even when people are meant to be together," Freya begins, "there's still a lot of figuring out they have to do in order to make things work."
Morgana takes a deep breath, mulling over her words. Hadn't she always felt like that? Since the day she met Merlin, when Arthur had brought him and Gwen home for holiday from uni, and she'd traipsed down the staircase wearing nothing but her pajamas to come face-to-face with that adorably dorky grin of his, she'd felt this pull towards him. But Valiant had showed up that afternoon, effectively quelling Merlin's good humor. Ever since then, it was as if they were two ships passing on a dark, dark sea, never quite getting the timing right.
And then – then – just before he'd left for the new semester in the fall, he'd gone and rattled her comfortable little world with those three game-changing words. And all she could do was stand there and gawp, because she never expected them, because in a matter of seconds he was going to scramble into the back of the cab and she was going to return to the house, where Alvarr was waiting.
Only a prize idiot would let him stammer out apologies without saying a single word. She hates thinking of that day, that scene, the way her tongue seemed to stick to the roof of her mouth even as she struggled for the words.
She jerks from her musings when Freya nudges her sharply. "Morgana. Morgana!" the girl whispers harshly in a bid to get her attention.
"Ow! What?"
"You may want to disappear right about now."
She follows Freya's gaze to see none other than Alvarr Mawle striding towards them, a cocky grin on his face. Cursing under her breath, she looks about for an escape route. But then she sees his grin grow, and she it's too late. He's spotted her. Not too late for Freya though. She sends the girl off with a squeeze on her arm and watches her vanish into the crowd.
"Anna, darling," Alvarr croons, his arms outspread.
Morgana sidesteps the embrace. "How many times do I have to tell you? Don't call me that."
Undeterred, he slides a palm to her back, way too low for her comfort, and leans in close. "And how many times do I have to tell you? We belong together. Just come back to me."
"It's over, Alvarr. You're going to have to accept that." Jaw tight, she takes a step away from him and pushes his arm away. "Keep your hands off me."
"Why?" he growls. "So that little toad of a boy can put his hands on you? He could never please you like I could, like I want to, if you'll only give me the opportunity."
"You never pleased me, Alvarr."
His mouth set in a firm line, he says, "You'll come 'round, Anna. In time, you'll come 'round."
"Yes, well, I think I need some air."
She spins and heads straight for the balcony, not even caring what her father's friends will think if they see her escaping the party.
Merlin hovers near the Christmas tree, which towers over him as he watches the couples on the dance floor. Gwen's even convinced Arthur to go for a twirl. Arthur may be an athlete, but he's a clumsy dancer, and Merlin laughs softly as he watches his friends. The laugh fades as he spots Arthur and Morgana's father, Uther Pendragon, a tall, strapping man with silvered hair and a hardened expression. Uther strides in his direction but gets sidetracked by small talk with an elderly couple. Merlin takes the opportunity to disappear in the other direction, dragging a hand along the wall until he comes to a set of French doors opening out onto the balcony. Instinctively, he ducks through them, only to stop short when he sees her standing at the railing, bathed in moonlight. Her dress is cut low in the back, exposing already pale flesh made nearly luminescent in the glimmer of night. As with every time he sees her, he has to pause, take a deep breath, and gather his wits before he can even think of making a move.
His sharp inhalation catches her attention, and she turns, the surprise in her gaze softening when she notices him.
"Merlin," she says quietly, in that soft lilt of hers that never fails to remind him of home, "I'm glad you came."
"Gwen always drags me to your family's parties," he laughs, stepping forward to stand beside her. "I'm starting to think Arthur uses me as a buffer between them and your father and his friends." Morgana's face falls, and he quickly amends, "I mean, I wanted to come." Even more softly, he adds, "And it's good to see you."
He means it, too, means it even though he has no idea how she feels about seeing him. But then she smiles at him, that simple, quirky little smile she reserves for only him, and things seem okay for the moment.
"I h-hope," he continues, unsuccessfully trying to keep the stammer from his voice, "you know you can talk to me. I wanted to call, when I heard."
"It's okay," she says lightly, with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Everyone assumes I must be broken up about it, but the truth is I've never felt so free. I was stupid to have stayed with him for so long."
"Don't say that."
"Well, I was. Arthur was right. Alvarr was an arrogant jerk."
He swallows thickly before pressing, "So why'd you stay with him?"
Her fingers curl over the marble railing, and she lets out a soft sigh before answering, "Kept my father happy. His parents are big investors. It was a good . . . business arrangement."
Merlin quirks a brow. "A business arrangement?"
"My father was happy."
"That doesn't seem like a very good reason to date a guy," he smiles.
"You're right. It's a horrible reason." She looks at him intently, that smile still curving her lips, and he finds he can't look away. "But I spent my teenage years dating guys to make him miserable," she continues, "that I figured he deserved to rest easily for a while."
His soft laughter colors the night, warms his heart. He'd worried it would be hard to be in her company, after what had passed between them, but this was always the way with them – easy, relaxed, comfortable. If only he can keep his palms from sweating, things would be exactly the same as they ever were.
Morgana presses into him, her shoulder to his, and murmurs, "I've missed you. Always do when you're at school."
He glances over at her. "I mean it, you know," he says, "it's really good to see you."
Beaming, she tears her gaze away to look out at the night. "The good news is we have the rest of the season to spend together."
Taking a step sideways, he pivots to face her, one hand still resting on the balustrade. For the past five years, he and Gwen have spent the week after the Pendragons' Christmas party, the week leading up to Christmas at their manor house. This year, though, in his late-autumn dread about how she'd react to his presence, he'd already decided to go back to Ireland the day after the party, to spend the entire holiday with his mother instead of just part of it.
"Actually," he says, reaching a hand up to the back of his neck like he always does when he's kinda sorta maybe a little bit nervous, "I'm planning on going home tomorrow."
"So soon?" she breathes. "You usually stay a few days."
"Things are changing, you know? Gwen's got a job and her own place –"
"At which Arthur spends most of his time," she interjects playfully.
"Right. You've got a job. I'm the only one still in school. Figured it'd be good to spend my last holiday with my mum."
"I'm sure your mother's happy. Who knows where you'll be off to next year, with your brilliant degree? It makes sense to want to spend time someplace that's familiar."
Muted music and laughter flutter through the open doorway and wrap around them as they settle into silence. Morgana tilts her face up to the sky, watching the stars, moonlight spilling onto her delicate face. He watches her for a long moment, utterly transfixed. It's then that he remembers the gift.
"I got you something," he grins, withdrawing the brown paper-wrapped object from his pocket and holding it out to her.
There's surprise in her eyes as she takes it from him, their fingers glancing. "Merlin . . ." Her voice is so soft that he can barely hear it over the din from the gala, and he wants so badly for there to be hope in it. "That was sweet of you. Thank you."
"No problem," he shrugs. "It made me think of you."
Of us, is what he refuses to let pass his lips.
He watches expectantly as she peels the tape back and unwraps the paper. She gasps softly as moonlight hits glass, glinting red and green in her palm. It's a small ornament of hand-blown glass, intertwined holly and ivy.
"Merlin, it's gorgeous."
"I found it at this little glass shop. Holly and ivy are both traditional symbols of Christmas, for renewal, immortality, but together, they mean duality – new and old, dark and light, male and female."
You and me.
"Complementary natures," she smiles, running her thumb gently over the glass. "It's perfect." She wraps her arms around his shoulders to pull him into a close hug. In his ear, she whispers, "Thank you."
He's sure there's a blush in his cheeks when they separate. He opens his mouth, but doesn't have the coolness of mind to speak before Arthur and Gwen stride through the doorway, champagne glasses in hand, laughter on their lips, in the midst of a good time.
"Merlin! Morgana!" Arthur exclaims exuberantly with a wide, happy grin, and there's something in the look that passes between him and Morgana that he can't quite pinpoint.
"Evening, Arthur," Morgana replies silkily, the barest hint of a warning in her voice. She and Gwen exchange kisses on the cheek and a brief embrace.
"We should probably leave them the balcony," Merlin suggests quietly.
"Sure," Morgana agrees. "You two kids have fun."
She takes his arm and they head toward the ballroom.
"Wait, Merlin!" Gwen calls.
He and Morgana, already near the doorway, turn back. "Yeah?"
"Save me a dance?"
"Sure," he chuckles. "See you guys later."
As soon as they step into the ballroom, a cluster of young women, all daughters of Uther's friends he presumes, alights on Morgana and swoops in to snag her. He watches her go proudly, reluctantly, can't help think how radiant she looks, how magnetic she is to everyone.
Just when he thinks she's forgotten about him, she throws him a look over her shoulder, even while being led away, and his heart swoops.
She hadn't expected his mother to answer the door.
Even with all the time she's had to think about it on the drive here. And on the jet before that. And the past two nights as she's lain awake in her bed, the holly and ivy ornament on her side table catching the light from the candle in the window. She's practiced over and over what she would say when he opened the door. She never considered the possibility that it wouldn't be him opening the door at all.
And so, with snow melting in her hair, she recovers herself enough to say, "Hunith! Nollaig shona duit." Her tongue tumbles easily over the words she hasn't said in so long, slipping back into the heritage she left behind when her mother died and she went to live with her father in England.
Hunith smiles widely, welcomingly, and replies, "Nollaig mhaith chugat. It's good to see you remember your lessons." She holds her arms open for a hug, and Morgana slides happily into the embrace. "And it's good to see you, my girl."
Damn it. She's been here for less than a minute and Hunith's warmth is already making her tear up. She's met Merlin's mother only three times, and yet the woman can make her feel more welcome in the space of a moment than her own father can in the space of a lifetime.
Sniffling, she pulls out of the hug and says, "And it's good to see you."
"Merlin didn't tell me you were coming."
She swallows. "He didn't know. It's . . . sort of a surprise visit."
Hunith's eyes sparkle. "Then I'm sure you'd rather see him than chatter with me in the doorway all afternoon. I'm popping out to the neighbor's, and then to the store, and then to choir practice, so . . . won't be home for a while, you see."
The older woman squeezes her hand, and she gets the distinct feeling that she's making these plans up on the spot simply to stay scarce for the evening.
"He's in the other room, decorating the tree," Hunith informs her before bidding her a quick farewell and departing, closing the door behind her.
Morgana hovers near the entranceway for a minute, taking deep breaths to calm the pounding of her heart. Then she hears the tinkling of the piano, and a smile erases the rush of doubt. Creeping softly, she makes her way to the living room.
He doesn't notice her as he sits at the piano on the left side of the room. Straight across from him is a Christmas tree, a tall and thick specimen that's only half-covered in ornaments, the majority of them homemade. On the far side of the room is a homey brick fireplace, already lit in the middle of the afternoon, home to bright, flickering flames of warmth. In front of it sits a comfortable-looking plush couch, a little frayed at the edges but completely in sync with the rest of the room, so lived-in, so unlike what she's used to.
She hovers in the doorway, resting her head against the frame, watching and listening. Now that she can hear the music clearly, she recognizes a song from The Nutcracker. It's slow and romantic at first, building in intensity, giving her visions of Clara dancing with her new Nutcracker-turned-prince. His fingers, long and lithe and skillful, glide over the keys with ease. She loves hearing him play, although she can never convince him to use the manor's grand piano, which has stood shamefully unused for years. He lets the last chord of the song linger on until it fades, then finally lifts his hands from the keys.
"I've missed hearing you play," she murmurs.
He turns and looks at her, surprise melting into delight. "Morgana," he breathes.
"Your mother let me in. I hope it's not a bother."
Standing, he jams his hands into the pockets of his jeans and says, "You? A bother? Don't be ridiculous." In a heartbeat, he's got his arms around her waist and is pulling her in for a hug. "But what are you doing here? Aren't you spending Christmas with your family?"
She shrugs as he pulls away. "Well, I suppose I haven't really thought through my plans."
Christmas isn't for another few days. She figured she'd see what happened, though she can't pretend that she'd be upset if she spent it here, with him, instead of at the manor, where she usually passes the holidays.
"I thought I wouldn't see you again until the new year," he smiles.
"We really didn't get much of a chance to talk at the party, did we?"
"Not as much as I would've liked, no." He breaks out into that adorable lopsided grin of his again. "But you're here now, and we have all the time in the world to talk."
"Or maybe we should finish decorating this tree before your mother gets back."
He waves dismissively. "She doesn't expect that. I don't think she expects me to finish anything during Christmas."
Tossing her scarf and coat over the back of the couch, she says, "Perhaps it's time we changed her expectations." She fishes into the pocket of the pea coat to withdraw a small parcel wrapped in brown paper. She hands it to him and says, "Maybe we can start with this."
His eyes flicker up to hers as he takes the gift and unwraps it, revealing an ornament of delicate, hand-blown glass, much like the one he gave her just a few nights before. The ivy is gone this time though, replaced with deep red rose blossoms in their fullest, most glorious bloom.
"Morgana, this is lovely."
"It reminded me of the one you gave me, as well as that poem by Emily Bronte."
"'Love is like the wild rose-briar; friendship like the holly-tree'?" he quotes easily, his thumb running gently over the glass.
"Just so." She takes a step closer. "I know she advocates friendship over love, but it made me think of us. Like your harmonizing holly and ivy, I believe love works best when it's based on friendship, deep friendship."
He tilts his head. "What are you saying, Morgana?"
She takes a deep breath, willing her rushing pulse to slow. But it's like Arthur said: Christmas is a time for hope to conquer fear, and even if she's spent the past five years hiding this in her heart because she's been too scared to ever open her mouth about it, she has a chance right now, if only she can pluck up the courage to say it. Indeed, there's a moment when she sees a future hanging in the balance, a future full of dinners with friends, Sundays spent in bed, two pairs of sneakers by the door, family holidays. And as soon as it flashes before her, she knows she'll do everything she can to ensure it comes to pass.
"You're supposed to tell the truth at Christmas, aren't you?"
"My mother always says Christmas is like time stopping. Things . . . can happen that wouldn't normally. And people can be open and honest, full of hope."
"Exactly," she smiles. "And the truth is, Merlin, I'm in love with you. I've spent all this time telling myself we're just friends and that that should be good enough for me, but I don't want to be just your friend anymore. When I was with Alvarr, and Helios, and Valiant, and all of the horrible men I used to date because I thought it would infuriate my father, or worse, make him happy, all I could think about was you. And I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for not telling you before. You were brave, and patient, and you deserved to hear this much, much sooner. You are the best person I know, and I love you with everything I've got."
She lets out a long, slow breath as she ends her speech. Merlin's quiet, dumbstruck, turning the ornament over in his palm, the words hanging between them. Then he steps forward, lightly places his hands on her hips, and inclines his head to whisper, "All this time, I thought I was doomed to pine from afar. And then, when Arthur told me you'd broken it off with Alvarr, it allowed me to hope, like I never knew what the feeling was before."
A smile tugs at her, but she barely has the chance to register his words before he's captured her lips in a sweet kiss. He tastes like spiced cider and faith, and his touch suffuses her with the pleasant fuzziness of being in the exact right moment she's been running toward all this time. She slides a hand into his hair, tangling her fingers into his messy dark locks as the kiss deepens. She somehow feels so right, standing in this plain little room, in front of a half-decorated Christmas tree, kissing the man who opened her heart.
Merlin feels the smile lingering on his face as he follows his mother and Morgana through the doorway, shutting the door against the frigid December night behind him. His mother bids them a soft goodnight, offering each a hug and a kiss on the cheek, before heading upstairs to retire. He rests his back against the door, watching Morgana as she removes and hangs up her coat. She wears a dark green dress that highlights her flawless ivory skin, the softness of her emerald eyes. She turns to regard him, her head tilted slightly in a question, and he has to remind himself how to breathe.
"Tired?" she asks quietly.
"A little. But it's technically Christmas Day."
"And?" she prompts, smiling.
In response, he grasps her hand and leads her into the living room, where the Christmas tree stands alight, fully decorated. He ushers her to the couch before kneeling before the fireplace. She waits patiently for a few minutes, stocking feet curled up beneath her, as he gets a fire started, then, head resting on a hand as she gazes at him in the flickering light, she murmurs, "You really should wear suits more. You look so handsome."
"Thank you," he replies, looking up from the hearth. Her face, awash in light and shadow, fills him with a sense of contentment that's escaped him for so long. "I'm glad you stayed for Christmas."
"So am I. A quiet Christmas with you is the perfect foil to the crazy New Year's Eve Arthur's set on."
"Maybe now that they're engaged, Gwen'll keep him in line."
"She'll try," she laughs throatily. A seductive smile on her garnet lips, she beckons him over with a tip of her head and a soft "Come 'ere."
He sits down beside her, an arm around her waist, letting her curl into him and rest her head on his shoulder. He drops a kiss to her hair and snuggles closer. All he wants to do is hold her. He could stay here forever, filled with the warmth from the fireplace and the warmth she stirs in his heart.
A series of muffled R2D2 beeps emanates from her clutch, smashed into the crook of the sofa. Retrieving her mobile, she scans the text message, which makes her chuckle, and sets it down again. Leaning back against him, she says, "You know, Arthur and I have a tradition on Christmas Eve."
"What sort of tradition?"
"We get a plate of cookies, made by the cook of course, because Arthur and I are spoiled and useless -"
"Not entirely true," he smiles.
"- and two big glasses of milk, and we sit in front of the tree and make predictions of each other's life for the coming year. And we confess one fear and one hope."
"And Arthur's given you his?"
She nods. "He's oddly imaginative, even poetic, whenever we do these."
He nudges his knee against hers. "Aren't you going to tell me what he said?"
"He said," she begins, reaching for his hand and intertwining their fingers, "that I'll get stuck in a lift with a pregnant woman and have to deliver her baby and she'll reward me with a lifetime supply of pie; that I'll run into the Queen on holiday and we'll be become best friends; and that I'll start a fragrance line that gives me a reason to be rich and famous besides being the daughter of a business magnate."
When he begins to shake his head at Arthur's inability to be serious, she adds, "That was the most important bit. But he also said I'll stop searching long enough to simply be."
His brows knit. "What's he mean by that?"
Her thumb brushes over his knuckles. "As hard as this may be for me to admit, Arthur and I are actually very much alike. We've spent our whole lives running, looking for something to give us purpose when really, all we had to do was stand still long enough to appreciate the moment."
"And what about this moment?" he asks playfully, burying his nose in her soft hair.
She stretches to place a kiss on the underside of his jaw. "It's a pretty perfect one."
"Should we do the fears and hopes confessions, too? I could fill in for Arthur."
"You go first then," she smiles, lifting her head from his shoulder to look in his eyes.
"All right. My fear is that your father won't accept me, or take me seriously as your boyfriend, that he won't think I'm good enough for you."
"Merlin . . ."
"And my hope is that I'll win him over with my incredible charm and irresistible personality."
"Oh, completely irresistible. He stands no chance against your wit and intelligence, certainly, not to mention the fact that I can't stop grinning like an idiot when you're near."
"We'll wear him down together, then."
"An excellent plan. As for my fear . . . Well, we're different, Merlin. I'm not used to being open or honest about my feelings, and I'm worried that I'll start to take you for granted, assume that you'll always be there and never tell you how important you are to me, how amazing you are."
"You've already told me."
She slides a hand to his cheek. "But you deserve to be told every day, every minute."
He places a quick kiss on her lips. "Maybe not every minute. I might start getting a big head."
"Hush."
"And your hope?"
She purses her lips contemplatively. "That this is only the beginning of a very lengthy, very solid, very happy relationship."
She doesn't let him respond before pulling him down for a deep kiss. Her touch sends tingles of desire through him, coupled with the pleasant laziness of complete and utter bliss.
Forehead resting against hers, fingers tangling in her wavy hair, he breathes, "My family has a tradition, too. Although I'm pretty sure my mum forgot about it tonight."
Her chuckle teases his cheek. "Or maybe she left us alone on purpose?"
"That, too," he concedes with a smile. "Anyways, we exchange one gift on Christmas Eve, and I have something for you."
He pulls a small rectangular jewelry box from his pocket and presents it to her. Eyeing him, she pops open the box. There, on the black velvet, rests a Celtic knot placed within a circle, the intertwined gold shining in the firelight. She's been living in England for so long, but he thinks she knows what the interlaced circles signifies – no beginning, no end, everlasting, the binding of two fated souls. And when he feels her breath hitch, her lips brush against his cheek, he's sure.
"Eternity," she murmurs, "the continuity of love."
"Right," he smiles. "We may not be the most obvious of couples, but nothing could ever be stronger than my love for you."
She runs her thumb across his bottom lip. "And who cares if the world thinks we don't make sense? All that matters is that we care about each other, right?"
And she looks at him with such affection that his heart swells boundlessly just by looking in her eyes. Maybe they're from two different places, maybe they'll spend the ins and outs of each minute figuring each other out, maybe they'll spend their lives striving to make this work because it's the best thing they've ever been a part of. But he's looking forward to the long and winding road in front of them, and, right now, there's no place he'd rather be.
"Right," he confirms before leaning down to kiss her gently. "Happy Christmas, Morgana."
"Happy Christmas, Merlin."