Chapter Three: In which Merlin is a thief and Arthur a prat
Much to his relief, Merlin didn't spend much time with the royal turniphead that first week. Unfortunately, this was because he had to wake up earlier than the sun to catch a bus to his new school. Mum helped him with breakfast and sent him on his way. Each day he asked directions from three or four of the ubiquitous security guards. It was a miracle that he wasn't stuck wandering the heavily-decorated halls forever, like some sort of ghost of Christmas past.
School was fine; he kept to himself and nobody bothered him much. He certainly wasn't going to let anybody know where he was living, or just who he was living with. Instead, he did his best to pretend to be a normal kid who lived in a normal flat with normal people, and who certainly wasn't in possession of any abnormal and highly illegal magical powers, thank you very much.
In the late afternoon he arrived back at the palace. The security guards were not quite as dumb as Merlin feared, and let him through without scanning him everyday. Once home, he loved to be with his mother. She spent her days with the prince, and sometimes the royal turniphead was still around when Merlin got home, ever ready with a condescending comment (or three). But in the evenings the prince spent time with his father, and Merlin had time alone with his mum. She usually just made him do his homework, but at least it was time he didn't have to share her with an ungrateful brat.
Merlin always had to go to bed before the prince came back from his evening with the king. It was horribly unfair to have to go to bed so early, but Mum said the prince got to stay up later because he was older and he didn't have to get up early to catch a bus. The best tutors came to him.
Of course the prat walked in during this part of the conversation. As soon as Mum left the room, he said, "You do know that princes are supposed to get the best of everything, right, Merlin? It's because princes are the best. And they certainly don't come with elf ears."
Some days it was really all Merlin could do to keep his magic from reaching out and coloring all of the dollophead's nether regions purple.
#
So things were mostly tolerable that first week. Sure, he had to share a bed with his mum like he was a baby, but it was kind of nice to know she was right there.
Then Saturday came.
Saturday, Merlin dreamed of finally sleeping as much as he wanted, playing a bit on his laptop (which was ancient and slow, but still let him play a few basic games) and then doing some Christmas activities with his mum. They were getting off to a late start this year because of the move, but there was still time. It was looking to be a great day.
Merlin had forgotten they had a new, irritating addition to their lives.
He didn't get to sleep as long as he wanted, because Mum set an obnoxiously loud alarm to help her get up and make sure Prince Prathead had his breakfast.
"You should come with us, sweetie," his mum said. "The food in the royal dining room is lovely, and you would be welcome to eat there, since you're my son."
Merlin couldn't see anything lovely about being anywhere close to the royal cabbagehead, and begged to be allowed to stay in their rooms and eat cold cereal.
"I promise I'll be good, Mum. I'll just eat and play some computer games. You won't have to worry about a thing."
"Oh, honey. It's my job to worry about you. Well, if you need anything, just go into the hallway and ask the guards out there to let me know. They know how to reach me on the radios." And with a kiss on his forehead, she left.
While Merlin crunched on his cereal, he pondered the fact that, for the first time, he was all alone in his new home. It'd be a stellar opportunity to go and investigate the prince's bedroom and see what cool things he had in there. He'd have to hurry, but maybe he could find something that wouldn't be missed if he took it with him for a few days. The dollophead would never know—and what the dollophead didn't know wouldn't hurt him, right?
Merlin lifted his cereal bowl up to his lips and slurped out his milk with gusto. Mum would have sent him to time-out before he'd managed to get the bowl back on the table. But Mum wasn't here, and Merlin was determined to enjoy every minute of it.
Merlin didn't bother to change out of his pyjamas before rushing the too-short distance to the prince's bedroom. He jerked on the door handle and—nothing happened. It was locked. Well, Merlin wasn't going to let a little thing like that stop him. He put his hand around the handle and gave a little push with his magic. Click. Despite the almost-constant fear of being discovered (his mother would despair if she ever realized he wasn't frightened into extreme vigilance one hundred percent of the time), it was pretty great to have magic.
Merlin pushed the door open and went inside. It was a rather messy room for someone who'd been blessed with house-keeping services since birth. Not that Merlin minded; it'd make it easier to sneak something out without it being noticed. But what should he take? He certainly didn't want to linger too long; someone could come by at any moment. He looked around at the various games, toys, and books, and finally selected a couple of superhero comics. They had a great enjoyment-to-ease-of-concealment ratio. Besides, he liked to daydream about being a superhero when he grew up. He already had plenty of magical superpowers; he just needed to take some notes on all the ins and outs of actually doing the job.
Before Merlin left he stopped to admire the LEGO train that he had kicked the other day. He looked at the instructions left open on the floor, and then back at the model. It had been mostly rebuilt, but Merlin could see that a few pieces had been placed in the wrong spots. This made it impossible to put the rest of the pieces where they ought to go. He couldn't help himself: he disassembled everything back to the point where the mistake had been made, then rebuilt it all correctly. He couldn't remember what step to stop on, but figured the prince was too much of a dunce to notice if it was at a slightly different stage of completion. It's not like the turniphead had been smart enough to do it right in the first place.
Worried about being discovered, Merlin grabbed his loot, relocked the prat's door, and hurried back to his room. He climbed under the blankets of the bed he shared with his mum, cuddled up with Kilgharrah, his stuffed golden dragon, and got to reading the pinched comic books.
He was right in the middle of the climactic battle between Beetle Boy and the Troll Queen when the door to the room burst open. Expecting his mum, he stuffed the comics under the blankets. But when he looked up, it was to the piercing blue eyes of a pompous prat.
"Are you . . . cuddling with a dragon?"
"Er . . . no?" And Merlin (hurriedly) stuffed the dragon under the covers with the contraband comics.
The prince looked around, then noticed the two sets of pillows on the bed. "And . . . do you sleep with your mummy? Like an infant? No wonder you're still here and haven't found your way back to Santa's workshop yet. I'm sure that's much too hard for a baby elf. And here I thought it was because you didn't want to leave the amazing-ness that is me."
Was that a hint of irony in the prat's voice? Highly doubtful. He probably peed on a golden toilet and had a full-size diamond statue of himself on display somewhere. He was likely followed around by a dozen people trained to tell him how perfect he was and to say, "Yes, oh fabulous one! Whatever you wish, magnificent Highness!" They would entertain his ridiculous fantasies, too. If he claimed one of them was an elf, that person would buy a reindeer and go looking for Santa Claus. It was nauseating.
Abruptly, Merlin hit on a thought more pertinent to his current situation.
"What are you doing? You can't be in here. Last I checked, your 37 rooms were down that other hall." Merlin tried to look aggressive, but figured the stuffed dragon hadn't helped his tough-boy image.
The prat smirked down at him. "I think you're forgetting, Elf-Boy, that this whole palace is mine and I can go wherever I like."
"Entitled, aren't we? But I think your daddy might disagree about all this being yours. Careful, or he'll think you're after his crown too. I'd sit with popcorn in the front row for that conversation."
The prince picked up one of Merlin's abandoned socks, balled it up, and shot it straight at Merlin's face. In retrospect, Merlin was surprised he'd lowered himself to the point of touching dirty socks, even for use as weaponry.
"You know, we haven't hung up anybody by their ears in a terribly long time. I'm sure the royal executioner would love the chance. It's not everyday you meet someone with such large ears and a mouth that doesn't know when to stop talking."
Merlin pulled a face and muttered something about delusional prats trying to bully the poor common man, but the prince carried on without giving him any notice.
"Your mother, despite giving birth to you, seems a decent sort. She invited me to 'get ready for Christmas' with you. And since I had no idea what that could mean, I decided to come investigate. When it proves dreadfully dull, as I'm sure it will, I'll go back to my own room, like always."
The prince looked less than thrilled by that prospect. It made Merlin wonder what he did in his room by himself all the time.
"So, Elf-Boy, think you can stop cuddling your lovey in your mummy's bed and show me what this getting-ready-for-Christmas lark is all about?"
Well crap. This day just took a turn for the worse. Merlin pursed his lips.
"To be clear, this 'Elf-Boy' thing is getting old. You do know I have an actual name, right?"
"Just like I have a proper form of address, and yet you've never once used it."
"Well, it's not my fault your 'proper form of address' is so pretentious I'd rather vomit toads than have it come out of my mouth. But I'm sure my mouth could learn how to say 'Arthur' instead of 'Cabbagehead', if yours could learn to say 'Merlin' instead of 'Elf-Boy'. Just sayin'."
Arthur's eyes squinted into a steely glare. "Or . . . you could treat me with the respect I deserve before I throw you in the dungeon."
"Yeah, I'd give you some sort of speech about respect being earned, not given, but instead I'll just say that if you throw me in those non-existent dungeons of yours, you won't be able to have any of the Christmas cookies we're going to make today. I promise you they're totally worth a little bit of disrespect, Arthur."
"Wait—did you say you're making your own Christmas cookies?" The prince—Arthur—raised his eyebrows incredulously. "And not just get them from the kitchen or a store or something?"
"You sound like you've never heard of such a thing before." Merlin was dubious; he knew the life of a prince was different from that of a nanny's son. But baking cookies was an indispensable part of Christmas, wasn't it?
Arthur's cheeks turned pink and he didn't quite look Merlin in the eye when he said, "I've seen people doing it in movies, and sometimes read about it in books, I think. But I thought that was mostly for show."
Merlin was aghast. "Seriously? You've never had homemade Christmas cookies? Or made them? What happened to 'I'm the most amazing person to ever walk the planet and I have the best of everything'?' How can you have had the best of everything and never had the best of all cookies?"
Arthur smirked. "I hardly think something you made could be the best of anything."
Merlin bristled at the insult. "Could you be any more of a prat?"
Arthur grinned devilishly. "I could try! And that's Prince Prat to you!" He launched himself at Merlin, who tried to use the blankets as a shield between them, in case the pratliness was contagious. This proved less than effective, and Merlin quickly found himself squashed in an awkward pile of blankets, comic books, stuffed dragon and prat.
The ruckus they were making brought Merlin's mum into the tiny room. "What on earth is going on in here?"
Arthur looked up from where he was sitting on Merlin. "Oh, sorry Miss Hunith. I was just trying to get this lazy-bones out of bed for the day. Can you believe he's still in his pyjamas?" The prince put on his most angelic expression. Merlin had to admit he was good. He certainly knew how to spin a story in his favor. Now it was time for Merlin to do the same.
"I've been up! I've done lots of things today. I had breakfast, and I went—" Merlin snapped his mouth shut before he could incriminate himself. He didn't think either Mum or Arthur would appreciate how he had broken into the prince's bedroom and "borrowed" a few items.
"And where is it that you went, Merlin?" The prince had such a smug look on his face Merlin feared he'd been caught, though he wasn't sure how it could be possible.
"To the loo. Yeah, that's it. I went to the loo!"
"Oh, Merlin, your industry never ceases to amaze." His mother gave him a fond smile, but shook her head in maternal despair. Sometimes she looked at him like he was going to grow up to be a delinquent or something. But Merlin figured that no matter what else happened, he'd have his career as a superhero to fall back on. She didn't have anything to worry about.
Merlin shot his mother a pointed look and said, "Well, if you both would kindly leave the room, I could dress and become a productive member of society, as you so obviously want."
His mum left right away; he could hear her move out to the kitchenette to pull out baking supplies. But Arthur stayed put, his face scrunched up a bit in confusion. "Wait. This really is your room? I thought this was your mum's bed?"
Merlin grimaced. "Well, as I said, we aren't all born with a whole wing of a palace set aside for our personal use."
"So—you both share this room that's about the size of a cupboard? You sleep in the same bed?" Arthur looked adorably confused, a thought that rather alarmed Merlin. Nothing about that cabbagehead should ever be adorable.
"Hey, it's a comfy bed. Much nicer than any I've had before. And a big step up from a sleeping bag on the floor, like at Mum's last assignment."
"Don't you ever wish you had your own space, though? A place where you could look at your dirty magazines in privacy?"
"Well, yes, but—wait, what? What dirty magazines? I don't have any. . . . What are you talking about?"
Arthur spoke to him slowly, as if he were a child. "You know. Your dirty magazines. The ones you're hiding underneath the blankets because you don't want anyone to see them."
He continued, muttering just loudly enough for Merlin to hear, "Though why you'd want to mess up your mother's sheets, I couldn't guess."
Merlin blushed bright red. The tips of his ears felt like they were burning. "Ew, no! That's beyond gross! Those aren't dirty magazines, you pervert. They're just—" How on earth was he going to get out of this without incriminating himself? Arthur was going to see those comic books and know he'd . . . er, borrowed . . . them. Think, think, why couldn't he think?
But before he could come up with a plan, Arthur plunged his arm under the covers and pulled out the two comic books. He looked as if he'd just hatched a cat from a chicken's egg.
"Why on earth would you be hiding these? The Heroes of Albion comics are great! I've got all of them, of course—"
Of course, Merlin thought. Wouldn't expect anything else.
"—and if you haven't read them all you could come borrow mine. If you think you could manage not to destroy them. It's not like I can read more than one at a time. Then we could talk about them."
Arthur looked thoughtful for a moment, then added, "But you would probably destroy them."
Merlin felt a guilty feeling rise through his body. Was the prince actually being . . . nice?
"But you said that if I touched any of your things, Mum would lose her job!" Maybe justified anger would chase away the guilt that was more uncomfortable by the second.
"Yes, but you were being an idiot then. Besides, I like your mum. She seems to genuinely want to do things with me. She doesn't ignore my presence, then brag to her friends that since she's taking care of royalty, a rich and handsome lord was bound to notice her. It's not coincidence that most of my old nannies are officially ladies now."
Merlin stroked his chin, pretending to ponder this. "I . . . see. . . . So you'll tolerate me for my mother's sake?"
"Well, tolerate is a strong word. But I'll try not to feed you to my hunting dogs at the first opportunity."
"Might be a fate better than living here with you."
At that, Arthur grabbed one of the comic books, rolled it up, and whacked Merlin over the head.
"Hey!" Merlin squawked. "That's assault! Now let's see who gets arrested!"
"Oh hush. I think we've already established no one is getting arrested for any of this idiocy. And since that's the case, it frees me up to do this."
Arthur grabbed at Merlin and yanked him off the bed, blankets and all. Merlin bit his tongue when he hit the floor and spluttered from the shock of it. As the prince stepped over to the door, he said, "You might want to clean that before your mum comes back in here. Now get dressed!" He shut the door with a loud click.
"Can you believe him?" Merlin asked Kilgharrah, who had landed by Merlin's left ear. The dragon looked back at him impassively, as if the affairs of mere mortals were far beneath him. They probably were. Merlin snorted. "If you're not going to be any help, I'll take care of it myself." And while Merlin dressed and remade the bed, he was hard at work thinking of ways to repay the prince for the sheer pratliness of his existence.