Mayhem is by Imelda May.

I don't own Merlin.

/

"Ooph."

That, Merlin thought through the haze of pleasured pain, basically summed up his entire existence, and he was almost pleased with this fact. It was an almost, because of the fact that a mild hangover was well endowed in its potential to become a very bad hangover. He buried himself deeper into the mass of blankets and pillows, attempting to get deeper into the pile and away from the dawning sun. They'd forgotten to pull down the blinds, which allowed the sun to slam in and torture him mercilessly.

Gwaine, from where he was propped up on his pillow watching him with this smug little smirk on his face, looking very pleased with himself said, "So, let me get this straight. You, are, in fact the man who has been in a relationship for the past- let me see, oh yes, eight months? During which you spent none of it actually engaging in full blown intercourse, and you have allowed me to end this term of unbelievable torment for you? Never mind the fact that you were in a relationship with a man, who, may I just say, is quite physically attractive?"

Merlin groaned. "Do not talk about him while you are naked in my bed. Just…don't. Alright? And yes, I did. Can you hand me the painkillers?"

Gwaine complied, still grinning like an idiot. Sliding over, he pulled the thinner man closer, curling up around him and cradling his head. "You make me very happy, I hope you know that."

"That's nice," Merlin muttered, swallowing the pill dry and shuddering at the aftertaste. "Ugh. From here on out, I am keeping a water bottle by the bed."

Gwaine chuckled, and in a complex maneuver went over Merlin to spoon behind him, snaking arms around his waist and nuzzling him gently. "I think that you may just have the most adorable bed-head I have ever seen, by the way. Just saying. It's so cute it could possibly bring about world peace."

"Shut up," Merlin grinned, melting against him and yelping in surprise when Gwaine's hands twitched. "No. Not this early in the morning when we both have work."

"Is that an invitation to return?" Gwaine asked slyly, moving his head to nuzzle at the spot just behind Merlin's ear that always made him turn into a pile of helpless arousal. Merlin all but purred, eyes flickering as the painkiller began staving off the headache.

"Definitely."

"Good," Gwaine murmured, bracing himself on an arm to start work on Merlin's neck. "So, breakfast. Pancakes, waffles, eggs, bacon, sausage, what would you like?"

"You?"

"Tease."

/

Mordred took one look at him and snorted in disgust as he sashayed in with all the propriety of a cat. (Mordred, it had been said, could commit sexual harassment just by sitting quietly next to someone.) "You, my friend-"

"I'm not your friend, per se."

"-Are a disgusting baggage. You really are." He flopped gracefully into a chair, and pouted as he handed over a stack of manila folders with multi-colored tabs. "Do you see this?" he demanded, flourishing his hand at himself. "This, my friend-"

"Again with the friend thing, Mordred-"

"-This is the face of someone who spent their night virtuously alone, thank you very much. It's a horrible way to spend life, without another sad, lonely, heart-broken, and -most importantly- warm body beside you, I tell you. It's tragic. Truly tragic. So tragic, that someone needs to write an opera about it. Opera, you know, is the ultimate expression of misery and anguish. You just can't say things the way you can with opera, especially in German. German is the language of woe and tragedy-"

"Ich spreche Duetsche, dankeshön."

"Show off. Where was I?"

Merlin rolled his eyes, wincing as he carefully resettled himself in his chair. "Fetching me painkillers?"

"No, I don't think so." Mordred grinned. "So, who? Tell, tell!"

"Thank you, but no. I don't kiss and tell," Merlin said as firmly as he could, and trying to ignore the fact that his face felt like a bonfire gone nova. Flipping open the nearest file, he began reading through it quickly. "Good grief- I always forget just how horrible Mr. Shaw's handwriting is on the written forms. It's impossible. You need a translator just to figure out the word "the"." Snapping the file shut, he shuttled it into the "Out" pile, along with a plethora of other multi-colored folders. "Take these down to floor 12, would you?"

Mordred gave a wry salute. "Yessir."

/

The spy was almost ready to strangle someone when that phone rang. Excusing himself quietly from the meeting he'd been sitting in with some relief, he stepped outside and took the call.

"Yes?"

"How fares the war?"

He shuddered. The Boss's calls had that effect on him, and as he spent more time at the company, he was becoming more reluctant to the idea of leaving. "Business as usual. I'm getting closer."

"Good. Turns out that I have a job for you."

"Oh?" he said casually, smiling at a page that went running by, only to realize that it was Mordred. He shuddered and focused on the call. "What is it?"

"The Pendragon's have been working on getting the Sokiyama family to join up with them for years now. I want the file on them."

Ah…that made a lot more sense than simply coming in to destroy the Dragonlord- who he was still no closer to finding. He was working his way down a very long list. The Sokiyama accounts were the talk of the company, and he wasn't surprised to hear that they were of interest to The Boss. The Sokiyama had the potential to skyrocket the corporation even higher in the global spotlight.

"Which one? There're hundreds floating around this place." He leaned against the wall, running an hand over his face and resisting the urge to sigh. He still had paperwork to do.

"There should be a master file in either Uther or Arthur's offices. It will be dark green in color. I need it by Tuesday."

"Lovely. Tuesday, hmm? Three days."

"Do what you have to- and if the Dragonlord happens to show…well…kill him with as little fuss as possible."

The spy's eyes darkened, and he smiled. "Of course, sir."

Click.

/

Arthur didn't even glance up as Merlin sidled in, focusing on the paperwork spread in front of him with narrowed, angry eyes that betrayed his hatred of desk work. "Yes, Merlin?"

Merlin took a deep breath, sent up a prayer to any deity that happened to be listening at the time, and said softly, "I'd like to talk with you."

The pen Arthur was holding immediately stopped, and the blonde went very, very still, eyes still downward, body hunched protectively. "About?" His voice was neutral, and Merlin knew instinctively that he was afraid. The other man never used a neutral voice when referring to anything unless he was nervous or anxious about something- and there was a definite difference between the two. Taking the tone as permission, Merlin shut and locked the door, striding forward to sit across from Arthur, who finally looked up.

His eyes were wary, and very bright blue.

"I…I may have gotten into bed with someone last night."

Dead silence.

"Do I know them?" Arthur asked, surprisingly calmly.

"Ye-es…" Merlin said hesitantly. "I was a bit drunk, too."

And that was going to go over soooo well.

Arthur, even when they weren't "involved", had always been a shade overprotective. It sort of came with the territory of a best friend who was a gangly, skinny, nerdy kid with no talent at sports to speak of in a school were sports were everything. He couldn't count the number of times that Arthur had taken someone down because of a joke gone wrong, or a punch that left a rather nasty bruise…or, worst of all, when someone had dared imply that something was going on between them (the irony wasn't lost on either of them). Arthur didn't tolerate people belittling Merlin. That was his job, thank you.

Even with The Incident shoving them apart, and when Merlin had vanished, he found out from Gaius that Arthur had kept the hand knitted scarf he'd made him when he was 10, and wore it every day, or carried it around with him at the university. (That, truth be told, had sent him into peals of tears when he heard, and it still kind of did.) Arthur, despite all his faults and flaws- and there were many- was loyal, and while he could hold a grudge as well as the next man, he was borderline ridiculously forgiving of Merlin.

He had not, however, tolerated Merlin drinking, at all. Ever. Not when they were younger, and definitely not now that he had to keep up with Arthur at all times of the day. Merlin might as well start groveling for mercy now, because after seeing the consequences of some of the nastier effects of alcohol on his father, Arthur's attitude was a minimalistic view. He would drink at social occasions, but never at home unless he was entertaining (and those days were few and far between).

Sure enough, Arthur's eyes turned cold. "Oh?"

"Yeah…" Merlin licked his lips. "I kept my head, though."

"Did you now."

"Yes." He said it a bit worriedly, and he wondered if he should even be doing this, but he hadn't kept anything from Arthur after he returned home and he wasn't about to start now. The other man ruled his life with a loose fist that could clench in a heart-beat (his life and schedule revolved around Arthur's), but he was hoping for clemency. If Arthur truly couldn't handle it, he would back off from Gwaine. His life's duty was to protect the other man- his family had done so since the first Pendragon's had climbed out of the peasant classes of England and begun forging their way with typical domineering fashion. Arthur was vitally important to him, and they were linked, just as Balinor and Uther had been linked, though it'd be like pulling teeth to get the man to admit it. Arthur's approval had to happen, or whatever had had with Gwaine was at an end at the first night.

Arthur stared at him for a moment, as if considering some rare plant. "Who?"

"Gwaine Noble."

Dead silence again, and Merlin got the feeling Arthur was counting in his head. No explosion yet though, that's good…

"I see," Arthur said slowly. "And just why…"

Merlin felt his face go beet-root red. "Um…it just sort of…happened."

"Ah."

The two of them stared at the top of Arthur's desk as awkward silence descended. Merlin fiddled with his hands.

"Do you…mind?" He asked hesitantly.

Arthur traced part of the desktop. "Not as much as I thought I would," he admitted quietly. "I mean, we both knew it was going to happen eventually, though I really wasn't expecting it to be the next day- that's why we never…ah…"

"Committed."

"Nice choice of wording. But no, I'm not going to go running out of here with a cleaver to avenge your honor or anything." He hesitated. "We've been though a lot and…" he groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I cannot believe we are having this conversation! There needs to be a law! Really! It's ridiculous! You shouldn't have to come to me to know if something's alright, you should just- just do what you want!" Arthur looked up desperately. "Do you know, I can't honestly recall the last time you called me clotpole? It's horrible! There's something very wrong with that, Merlin. What have you done to me?!"

Merlin couldn't help it. He grinned. "Thanks, Arthur."

"Out!"

Merlin jumped up and sped out of the room, easily dodging the tin cup Arthur kept on his desk for just these occasions, grinning like a loon.

/

In his plush office, The Boss considered the man across from him. "I want them both eliminated tonight," he said simply. "There's only so much slowness I can tolerate, you see. I wanted the Dragonlord dead yesterday, and yet my spy is being utterly useless. I had heard of your…talents. I thought I'd put them to good use."

The man fingered the edge of the chair. "It will be expensive," he warned, voice low and cold. "My services do not come cheap, and there is a risk heavily involved, as well as my emotions."

"Emotions?"

"Your spy and I have gotten to know each other very well," the man smiled. "And I may know who your Dragonlord is…"

"Good." The Boss smiled, showing teeth that were far too sharp. "Now, off with you. I want their corpses laid out before me as soon as possible."

/

The spy pulled on black latex gloves, then worked his way into the rest of his suit, making certain the hood covered his entire face but his eyes. Satisfied, he removed it, pulled on a set of clothes he'd purchased from a thrift store down the street over his "work" clothes, and pulled on his steel-toed boots. He knew what kind of guards the Pendragon building had, but wasn't sure of the routes- he was running this entire operation totally blind on that front, and really hoping that he wouldn't get himself killed. He'd been in the building long enough to have memorized all of the cameras he'd need to avoid, and had inserted a bug that would kill the cameras and alarms, but dangers awaited wherever a spy walked. There was also the possibility that the Dragonlord had his own traps and snares in place.

Uther's office was more likely to be handling the documents than anywhere else, admittedly, but Arthur's seemed like the better choice. After all, the vital folders all went through Merlin, so it stood to reason that it would be locked in the other man's office at night to ensure it was kept safe.

The spy flicked his hood up, and smirked. This was going to be fun.

Shoving his favorite gun, a G22 Gen4 Glock, into his inner pocket, he adjusted the hood and headed out into the night, smiling broadly as he fingered the mask in his pocket.

/

Merlin had just inserted his key in his lock when the phone in his pocket shrieked an alarm. Startled, he pulled it out and felt his blood go cold. The silent alarms for the elevator had just gone off. Cursing furiously, he flung the door open and dashed to his bedroom, shedding clothing as he went. It would have to be tonight, he thought furiously as he pulled out a series of gray and black clothing and a flak vest from his closet.

He didn't have time to get into full armor, it looked like, and he needed to get across town quickly. He'd have to be a ninja tonight, and hope that the other person was stupid enough to aim for his chest. Pulling on a Rambo-esque criss-cross set of belts over the vest, he darted into the living room, running his hand over the edge of the bookcase. It swung open on silent hinges to reveal a set of extremely sharp swords, daggers, and other pointy instruments of death, along with a small armory of guns and ammo. In the center of it all was a sword in Damascus steel. This was not ornamental sword, and it had no specific style. It was the essence of a sword, a killing edge with a leather-wrapped hilt, a cross-guard, a pommel of brass, and nothing else.

The name was Brenin yr Dreigiau, which translated to King of Dragons in English. It was Welsh. It was old. And it was the sword that had hastened the death of the Pendragons' enemies since it had been forged. With reverent awe, he took it from its holding prongs, sliding it into the scabbard on his back. A brace of daggers were sheathed in the criss-crossed belts, his small Sig Sauer was shoved in its thigh holster, a set of flash bombs went into side pockets, and a ski-mask like stretch hood was pulled over his head. Goggles equipped with infrared detection and night vision were snapped on, and a small, square gas mask followed.

With that done, he settled himself, threw open the window, and stepped onto the fire escape to race down into the night, headed for the motorcycle he kept hidden in the basement of the building.

There would be blood tonight if he had any say in the matter. No one attacked his home and his people and lived to tell the tale.

/

He found the security guard dead on the 10th floor, his neck snapped and his eyes wide in fear. Merlin gently closed them, heart clenched. The man had been young, barely older than him, and if Merlin remembered right, he'd just gotten engaged to his girlfriend a week ago. The waste of life was disturbing, and worried him.

Slowly, he stood back upright and considered the possibilities. The building was a scant 40 floors, and big. It housed a million and one possible hidey holes, and four staircases were located around the building. There was the helicopter pad on the roof. There were two likely targets in the building- Uther's office and Arthur's.

The Dragonlord chose.

/

The spy was fiddling with the lock on Arthur's office door when he heard the sound of a gun being cocked.

"Hands up, my friend," a voice hissed coldly. "I want to look into your eyes when you die."

Very slowly, the spy rose from his crouch and turned, heart pounding his harsh staccato.

Before him stood a figure clothed in solid black, its face totally covered. A gun was held out towards him in a hand that didn't so much as twitch. The spy had the feeling that he was being mentally undressed and resisted the urge to shift away. He didn't want to startle the person into shooting. He was planning on diving under Merlin's desk anyway.

Something seemed off about this person though- it didn't feel like the Dragonlord. It was wrong, slightly off.

"Any last words?"

"Yes- Are you the Dragonlord?"

That seemed to throw the being off balance. The gun twitched slightly. "You mean that you are not the Dragonlord?"

The spy shook his head. "Nope. Sorry."

The being seemed to stare at him for a long moment. "Pity." The gun steadied and the spy braced himself to run when a loud crash sounded. The other spun around and the spy yanked his gun out of where it had been holstered behind his back, only to drop to the floor as a flash-bomb exploded in the antechamber.

When his eyes cleared, the other was gone, but another person had stepped into the door of the antechamber, wearing a flak jacket emblazoned with a scarlet Chinese dragon and a sword on its back.

Dragonlord.

A single gunshot resounded in the darkness.