Arthur Pendragon is what you would call spoiled. Having never had to lift a finger for himself, he is accustomed to ordering people around. It began in the nursery, and continued through Eton and Cambridge and his postgrad at Aberystwyth, and inevitably led to his being appointed as the youngest Archivist at County level in the country. This is what is called nepotism, though Arthur likes to think he earned it, and the rest of the staff do little to dispel this notion, preferring a quiet life.
Morgana Lefey, the stunning Search Room Supervisor, is currently leading the Tea Break Bitching, as they have termed it. Being in such close proximity to the public was bound to have adverse affects, but Morgana is downright scary if you cross her. She had a thing with Arthur for about five minutes when they both started their jobs, but that was over long before it started, and now he is her victim of choice. To be honest, he s everyone s victim of choice, though Gwen is diplomatically fair, and Lance his good friend and therefore disinclined to be too harsh. For everyone else he is the boss, and deserves everything they throw at him.
The telephone rings. Everyone ignores it, until Morgana sighs and hurries through to the Search Room to answer it, glaring at them all as she leaves.
Where s Merlin? Will asks, devouring two hobnobs at once to general disgust.
No idea, Gwen starts to say, but then there is a crash from the Fumigation Chamber, and everyone in the office holds their breath, waiting for the inevitable shouting match to begin. Right on cue, it does, Arthur s Devonshire accent, something Eton and Cambridge never fully managed to get rid of, mixing with Merlin s conglomeration of Anglo-Irish.
Merlin, you idiot, have you any idea how much these are worth?
They re architects plans, you tosser, most will end up in the bin. And I wouldn t have dropped them if you hadn t come looming at me like a Great Big Loomy Thing.
You can t talk to me like that.
I ll talk to you any way I please.
These arguments are regular, and so formulaic that most of the time they might as well be scripted. They are vaguely hilarious to listen to, so long as they re conducted out of Uther s earshot. What is not so hilarious is dealing with Merlin after such an argument; his temper is usually so foul that they have to send him off to Strong Room 1 (across the car park at the other side of the building) until he cools off. Harsh, but effective, and it stops him being fired thrice daily by Arthur s County Archivist father.
Sure enough, the door slams, signalling Arthur s exit to his own office across the corridor, and Merlin comes crashing into the office.
Don t say it, Lance warns, before Merlin even opens his mouth. It s not worth it, and anyway, we ve heard it all before.
But if he knew how good I really was I wouldn t even have to sort bloody architects plans. I don t think you can actually get duller than that.
Train station photos, pipes up Will, at the same time as Sophia says, filing.
If he knew how good you were you d be fired, Lance says, in his I m-going-to-win-this-argument-but-in-as-chivalrous-a-way-as-possible voice. You know there isn t an Archivist position available here, we haven t enough space as it is.
Let them fire me, Merlin rants. I don t care.
You d hate it if I fired you, Arthur remarks, walking into the room and handing a wad of papers to Mordred, the Education Archivist, who sighs resignedly and puts his coffee cup away. No other boss would let you talk back to him the way I do.
Uther s the boss, Merlin reminds him. Prat. But he s smiling, and if it s mirrored on Arthur s face just before he leaves, well, nobody will remark on it. Merlin grabs a cup of tea and sits down next to Gwen, heaving a huge sigh.
Gwen, I hate my job.
No, you don t, Gwen says, calm and gentle as always. She and Lance are engaged, and, as the other staff have remarked on countless occasions, it is impossible to find a kinder couple anywhere. You re just frustrated because Arthur s being impossible.
Again, Merlin moans, hidden behind his arms, his head resting on the table. Why can t he act like a normal human being? Why does he have to be a super twat all the time?
Don t swear, Gwen admonishes. And give him a break. He s under so much pressure at the minute, what with the unitary council thingy, and his father being in charge, and having to work nine hour days.
You are far too nice to bitch to, Gwen.
Do you really hate him as much as you pretend to, Merlin? she asks. At their desks, both Mordred and Lance sit up a little straighter, and Sophia loiters by the photocopier, pretending to fiddle with some papers.
Who? Merlin feigns ignorance.
You know who I mean, Gwen says. You say you hate him, and heaven knows the pair of you argue like an old married couple, but do you really? Arthur may be many things, but he isn t really a hateable guy.
He s charming and irritating, Merlin harrumphs. And that is all you are getting out of me, Gwyneth Cameliard. That goes for the rest of you as well. I don t know what misguided assumptions you are making about Arthur and myself, but they re probably not true. You lot have a collectively phenomenal imagination.
You must admit, Mordred begins, a wicked gleam in his eye, that he pays you more attention than any of us.
And you bitch at him constantly but always do what he says, Will adds, and Merlin groans.
Not you, too, Will.
Jump, says Sophia, in a scarily convincing impression of Arthur, before putting on a high-pitched voice and saying, how high, your Highness?
Piss off, the lot of you.
The door crashes open and Morgana storms through, causing everyone to sit bolt upright and Merlin to send his tea flying.
Shit, he says, and Gwen glares at him.
We ve got a Who Do You Think You Are? coming in in a fortnight, Morgana announces, and a great sigh heaves through the room.
What are we, the National Archives? Mordred says. It would be nice if they actually used Kew every once in a while.
Has someone told Uther? Gwen asks, hesitantly. Morgana glares at her.
No. Do you want to?
No thanks. I ll pass. All eyes swivel to Merlin, who sighs.
Please, God, no, he pleads. Don t make me. I ll be butchered.
Such a drama queen, Will says, and Merlin bats him over the head with Whittaker s Almanac. Bastard, Will tells him.
Come and help me with these plans, Merlin pleads. I can t deal with them on my own, and we can play a radio in the Plans Room. Will nods. Merlin picks up the radio and they walk out of the office to head down to the Plans Room. They meet Arthur, face mostly obscured by a large cardboard box, coming out of Strong Room 4.
So, Morgs tells me we ve got a Who Do You Think You Are? coming in, he says, breezily. Hope she s pretty.
You know, sometimes I forget what a total knob he is, Merlin whispers to Will. And then he opens his mouth, and I remember.
I heard that.
You were meant to.
Oh, cut it out with the flirting, you two, Will says. It gets tedious.
Merlin slaps Will, and Arthur gives him the hardest glare possible when one s face is hidden by a box.
Funny. William, I need you to help me with these documents, Arthur says. Merlin can manage with the plans without you there to hold his hand.
You re such an arse, Merlin says, as Will follows Arthur, shooting an apologetic smile behind him.
Watch your language. With that, Arthur and his box disappear, and Merlin is left with the architects plans and a very sour expression on his face.
Understandably, when the BBC turn up two weeks later with a load of cameras and Tony Robinson, they want Arthur and Morgana for the programme. This was always going to happen, Merlin tells himself to try and curb his jealousy; they are, after all, the two most beautiful people in the Record Office, with Lance a close third. But really, Merlin gets so angry sometimes. Despite all his protestations to the contrary, Arthur knows that Merlin is the best Archivist they have, and Merlin knows he knows. The Pendragons must have really wanted him on the team or they d have given his grade 1 Archives Assistant post to somebody who didn t have a First in Mediaeval History from St. Andrews and an MA in Archives and Records Management from Liverpool.
He takes out his frustration, in as careful a way as possible so as not to damage them, on the documents he is currently scanning, and hammers the keys on the keyboard so they make a satisfyingly loud clicking noise.
If you break that I m docking your wages, Arthur tells him, sticking his head around the door. He gives him the once-over. Can t you do something about your hair? You can t go on TV looking like you ve been dragged through a hedge backwards, you ll give us all a bad name.
Oh sod off, I m not in the wait, what? Merlin is thoroughly perturbed.
Shall I use small words? Arthur grins, clearly loving it. You. TV. Now. He points at the Search Room. Arse. In. Get.
Merlin tells him to do something that, if Uther had heard it, would have got him fired on the spot, but there is a broad grin threatening to envelop his features.
And stop smiling, Arthur tells him grumpily. It makes you look even more deranged than usual.
Yes, Sir.
That s just frightening.
You know, sometimes you aren t a complete arsehole, Merlin says as he passes Arthur and goes into the Search Room. Arthur is shocked into paralysis, and doesn t move until Morgana eventually has to come and fetch him so they can actually start filming.
That was AMAZING, Merlin gushes for the umpteenth time. They are in the pub after filming has finished, and Merlin is on his fifth pint already. I mean, I am going to be on Who Do You Think You Are?, me! Arthur and Morgana were a given, but me? With the ears and King of the Bowl Cuts? The others smile into their drinks, and later discuss in hushed tones how Arthur may just have done the nicest thing he s ever done to any employee by letting Merlin film too. And I got to meet Here, Morgana promptly slaps her hand over Merlin s mouth.
You are sworn to secrecy, Merlin, she warns, and Merlin meekly shuts up and goes back to his beer.
There is a blast of cold air as the pub door opens, and everyone turns to look and see who has walked in. It s fairly busy, being six o clock on a Friday night, but the figure is unmissable.
Bloody hell, say Morgana, Will and Mordred in unison.
What are you doing here? Merlin asks, his tone less belligerent than usual, fonder. He is a bit drunk and obviously trying to be nice in return for Arthur s good deed, and the others find it sweetly endearing. You never drink with the staff. He is fixing Arthur with a stare so searching that Arthur feels a little uncomfortable and a little flustered, yet he stares back, equally forcefully. The air crackles with expectation, and the staff send each other covert looks, grinning slyly to themselves.
Tonight, he does, comes a female voice from behind Arthur, and the spell is broken. Merlin drops his gaze as Sophia appears, holding a pint in one hand and a frilly pink cocktail in the other. She hands the pint to Arthur, her hand resting a little too long on his. Out of their vision, Lance mimes throwing up into his pint glass, but since everyone knows he is probably playing footsie with Gwen under the table, they all ignore him.
Merlin, who since he saw Sophia has been trying to drown himself in his pint, finishes it with a flourish and puts the glass down on the table with a clink.
Who s for another? he asks. Arthur gives him a peculiar look and he blinks back owlishly until Morgana takes pity on him, grabs his arm and drags him over to the bar.
Something strong, she tells the barmaid, tilting her head at Merlin, and a half of Strongbow for me, please.
Tequila Suicide? the barmaid suggests, nodding knowingly. Morgana looks at Merlin, who is trying to peek under his armpit at Arthur and Sophia, who happen to be sitting cosily in a corner next to a very put-out-looking Mordred. She shakes her head.
Slammers will be fine. I don t want to end up in A&E with him.
The barmaid puts Morgana s Strongbow down and hands a slice of lime, the salt, and a shot of Tequila to Merlin.
Drink it, Morgana orders, sprinkling salt on Merlin s thumb and first finger. Merlin does so, reaching for the lime blindly and pulling a spectacular face. Congratulations. Now, are you going to tell me why you have a face like a wounded puppy or am I going to have to beat it out of you?
I don t like Sophia much, Merlin confesses, ordering another Tequila.
I d gathered that, Morgana says. Nor do I, since we re being honest, I think she s incompetent and also a really big slut. But you were completely indifferent to her until five minutes ago, and let s face it, Merlin, you didn t like Arthur much until he let you be on that telly programme.
Uther doesn t know about that, Merlin says, out of the blue. So hush hush. It was only meant to be you and Arthur.
Really? Morgana s features take on a calculating expression. That is very interesting.
Do you know what I really fancy? Merlin asks. Karaoke. Let s go to the Blue Oyster, it does Friday night karaoke.
I don t think that s such a good idea actually, Morgana replies. Besides, you haven t answered my question.
Yes. No. To get to the other side. 42, Merlin giggles, taking one final shot and stumbling towards the table where everyone is sitting.
Merlin, Arthur drawls contemptuously, the same way he does every day at work. Do you always get this bladdered when you lot go down the pub, or is it just one special occasions? I think I ought to know what I m getting in to. Sophia squeezes his knee and positively beams at him, and Merlin knows Arthur s only teasing him, but the catty remark falls from his lips before he can stop it.
Oh, is this going to be a regular occurrence then? Be sure to let me know and I ll bring out the special vodka. He turns away before he can see Arthur s stunned, hurt expression and feel guilty about it. Really, Arthur is a bastard at work and deserves it, but a traitorous part of Merlin s brain won t let him forget how kind Arthur was to defy his father s - and the director s - wishes and get him a slot on Who Do You Think You Are? He turns back to say something polite, but Arthur s back is turned and he s very close to Sophia, so Merlin goes back to quietly resenting him.
Morgana saunters over and stands next to him, for once saying absolutely nothing, and leads him over to sit beside Will and Mordred, who for some reason are looking at him with pitying expressions on their faces. Merlin doesn t like to be pitied, so he necks his - or somebody else s, he isn t too sure of the particulars anymore - drink and heads for the door.
Where is he going? he hears Arthur ask, and feels a satisfying jolt in knowing that Arthur is not totally engrossed in the, admittedly quite sizable, charms of Sophia-the-Slut-Secretary.
The Blue Oyster, Morgana replies.
How did you know that?
A great deal of intuition and also by buying him a couple of tequila shots. Gets you all the information in the world.
You are an infuriating woman, Morgana Lefey, Arthur says, standing up. Well, I suppose we should go and make sure he doesn t end up face down in a gutter somewhere and make an example of us all.
Morgana watches him go, and the rest of the office trickling after him, her thoughts set in motion, and knowing that some of things she has heard and seen this evening are going to be extremely valuable in the next few days. Smiling to herself, she finishes her drink, bids goodnight to Gwen and Lance, who are still in their corner enjoying the alone time, and heads after the rest of the staff to stop Merlin making a huge fool of himself.
Unfortunately, Merlin s idea of karaoke involves him harassing the DJ until he puts the Black-Eyed Peas on, and then screaming MAZEL TOV at interspersing moments, until Morgana takes pity on the ears of the rest of the pub and drags him back to his seat and his pint. Sophia coerces Arthur into standing up with her, and proceeds to whine a simpering version of Bryan Adams song from the Kevin Costner film of Robin Hood, while Arthur looks like he would much rather be slitting his wrists with a paper clip than standing next to her. Merlin scowls into his drink, and Will, Mordred and Morgana roll their eyes at each other.
Is anyone else tired of this? Mordred asks, to general assent. Well, I m not taking him home. He indicates Merlin, who is now slumped on the table and snoring gently. Honestly, it s a wonder he ever drinks at all, the state he gets himself in. He s going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning.
He s just upset, Morgana says. I ll take him, if you like.
Nah, you ve looked after him enough, Will tells her. This is a job for a fellow Archives Assistant and university drinking pal.
If you re sure.
Positive. It ll be just like old times: me hauling his drunken ass up the stairs to his apartment, him sobbing into my shoulder the name of whichever poor sod has rejected him this time. Will grins. Nothing to it, I m an old hand! He goes over to Merlin and smacks him smartly on the shoulder. Come on mate, up you get.
Nurflesocksnish, says Merlin, waving his hand ineffectually.
Yes dear, I know, Will replies, evidently able to speak the language that is drunken Merlin. But we need to get you home, because you are very, very drunk. Merlin begins to stand up, but Arthur chooses this precise moment to escape from the clutches of Sophia and appear at their side. Merlin staggers into him, and it is only by virtue of Arthur s quick reflexes and strong arms that he stays upright.
Steady there, he says. Merlin shoves Arthur s arms away and glares angrily at him.
Fuck off, he tells him, venomously. Will and Mordred s eyes widen, and Will hurries forward to whisk Merlin away before he does or says something that will end up getting him fired. Once they are well out of the door, Morgana turns to Arthur.
You must forgive Merlin, she says reasonably. He s incredibly drunk and doesn t know what he s saying.
I think he does, Arthur replies. I think he knows exactly what he s saying. Whatever I m meant to have done, I probably deserve it, but don t tell him I said that.
Morgana deduces that Arthur must be quite drunk himself to admit this.
He s alright, is Merlin, Arthur continues. Totally ridiculous haircut, of course, and the world s most unfortunate ears, but he s a brilliant archivist, despite the moaning, and he has very blue eyes.
Ok Arthur, I think you need to go home too, Morgana says, beginning to feel disconcerted. And don t let Sophia hear you saying those things.
Sophia?
Your girlfriend, Arthur, Morgana says, exasperatedly. Or as good as, anyway.
Oh yes, Arthur says meekly, and walks away. Morgana and Mordred exchange eye rolls, and Morgana heads home. The next few days are going to be extremely interesting, she thinks, as the cold wind bites at her arms. Very interesting indeed.