Chapter 6: Merlin's Wardrobe, Among Other Things
To: apendragon_at_pendragoninstitute_dot_org
From: utherpendragon_at_albion_inc_dot_org
Subject: Your visit in March
You are of course welcome to stay at with us when you fly over to London in March. The renovations to our Belgravia home are finally complete, and we expect to move back in within the next two weeks. Naturally, your old room will be waiting for you. I understand that you wish to look at Pelles F-K's manuscript, which I have only seen in jpeg form, via an email attachment. As for the other thing, I hope that you will continue to think it over. You are no longer of an age where I can tell you what to do in your private life, but I think you are well aware of my feelings on the matter. Your stepmother sends her love. Your affectionate father.
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As he lay awake, listening to the night noises of the city – sporadic traffic sounds muffled by the curtains and closed window, the occasional barking dog or band of drunken students singing and laughing their way down the street – Merlin wondered whether Arthur had owned a teddy bear, or some other cuddly stuffed toy, in his early childhood. Arthur generally slept on his back or on his side, and it often happened that Merlin would half-wake in the middle of the night to find himself clutched tightly against his Assistant Director. It wasn't that he minded; he didn't. It was comforting to feel that solid body (which generated heat like a stove on these chilly winter nights) against his skin. He could press his nose against Arthur's neck, ease one leg over his, and go back to sleep feeling warm, protected, and safe.
If there was light enough to see by, and Merlin was not particularly tired, he sometimes lay awake for a while, just to look. Arthur's beauty was entirely masculine: from the very first time he had seen him without any clothes, Merlin had been impressed by the breadth of his chest, the muscle and sinew that rippled beneath the smooth skin of his strong shoulders; he had the athletic build of an Italian Renaissance sculpture without being overly muscular. It amused Merlin that he never looked vulnerable except when he was asleep.
The morning after Gaius' dinner, Merlin (who had fallen asleep flat on his back, on his own side of the bed) awoke snugly tucked in the crook of Arthur's arm, with Arthur snoring gently into his hair. So when the alarm clock rang, and Arthur rolled out of bed looking refreshed and only mildly in need of coffee, Merlin asked him if he had ever had a favorite toy that he slept with as a boy.
To his surprise, Arthur actually frowned.
"I had a plushy stuffed tiger I was rather fond of," he said, pushing his disheveled hair out of his eyes. "It was soft, almost like a pillow, and I slept with it every night."
"Oh?" said Merlin encouragingly, thinking of the Calvin and Hobbes cartoons. "Do you still have it? I mean, is it still in the London house?"
"No," said Arthur, shrugging and making a face. "Father got rid of it, when I was away at school. I must have been about Mordred's age."
"He did what!" Merlin almost shouted, appalled.
"He chucked it out," Arthur replied with a half smile. "Said I was too old to be sleeping with a baby's toy."
Merlin diplomatically refrained from saying what he was thinking of Uther at the moment.
Arthur was not quite as diplomatic. "Speaking of being too old for things," he murmured, eyeing the pile of clean laundry next to the clothes closet. "Are you actually going to go on wearing those ancient tee shirts until they fall apart on your body?"
"What's wrong with them?" Merlin asked, a little defensively. "I like them."
"Well, obviously some of them are collector's items, and you'll want to keep them for posterity," Arthur said musingly, pointing at the Beatles tee shirt on the top of the pile. "But others…I'm just…"
"They're comfortable," Merlin insisted. "And you've never minded them before." He cocked his head to one side and looked at the suits, jackets, silk ties, and Brooks Brothers shirts hanging in Arthur's side of the closet. "You're not going to try to transform me into something I'm not, are you, Professor Higgins?
"…just trying to help you look more professional. And those wretched kerchiefs round your neck—" Arthur continued as if he hadn't heard, but Merlin had him there.
"I don't have a choice," he announced triumphantly. "I have to wear them, at least once or twice a week, because you bite—"
"Merlin!" growled Arthur, but Merlin could see that he was suppressing a grin.
"Do you want to change me, Arthur?" he said wistfully. Almost on cue, he remembered what Will had told him long ago: that Arthur Pendragon only went out with glamorous, stylish, and elegant women and men.
Before he could say anything else, Arthur had crossed the room and was holding him by the shoulders.
"You're an idiot, Merlin," he said, tightening his grip on his junior conservator. "D'you think I want you so that I can change you into something else? I'd have to be mad. There isn't one thing about you I'd change, for pity's sake. Not your stubbornness or your waywardness, not your irritating backtalk or your idiotic…" he paused for breath and could see that Merlin's expression had softened, whilst a hint of a smile seemed to be lurking behind his widened eyes.
"The next thing I know, you'll be telling me you like my ears and my elbows and my accent," Merlin said.
"Well, I bloody well do," snapped Arthur. "I'm clearly insane enough to lo- to like everything about you." He pulled Merlin against him and nipped at the cupid's bow of his upper lip. "But really, Merlin, some of those shirts—"
Merlin kissed him properly, to shut him up, and drew away regretfully a few minutes later, because it was a work day, and nearly past breakfast time.
"I'll make the coffee, then," he offered as Arthur got his breath back. "When you're in the shower. It's my turn to make breakfast anyway."
"Right," mumbled Arthur, glancing in the mirror. "Ugh. Why is my hair so sticky?" It was standing up in little blond peaks on the top of his head.
"Erm," said Merlin. "Let's not go there." He dodged briskly as Arthur tried to grab him. "Coffee and toast in five minutes. I suppose you want some of those disgusting bacon bits with eggs?"
Fifteen minutes after breakfast, Arthur was dressed and ready to leave, standing by the door, when Merlin appeared wearing a dark blue tee shirt that was probably older than he was, ornamented on the front with a well-worn image of The Who.
"You're joking," Arthur said, pretending to be thoroughly exasperated. "What did I just tell you?"
"You may be my boss," Merlin said firmly. "But you can't tell me what to wear. I get out my formal kit when I have to go to auction houses, or other museums, or we have visiting curators or scholars, or—"
Arthur gave a histrionic sigh, but he was obviously amused.
"Alright then, Merlin," he said, in the usual voice of command he knew Merlin would completely ignore. "We need to be at work before Morgana makes her appearance. If we're late by even five minutes, you know what people will be saying."
"No, what?" asked Merlin with genuine innocence, and Arthur rolled his eyes.
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"Look, mate," Will said, peering into the Paper Conservaion studio, where Gaius and Merlin were putting away some recently cleaned pages of vellum. "Could you give me a hand with Lord Moldywart? I need to tip him to the side a bit, so I can have a look at his base."
"So you need my help?" Merlin asked absently, going to the sink to wash his hands.
"Well, he's heavy, isn't he," Will said irritably, raking fingers through his brown hair. "It'll take five minutes, just."
"Okay," Merlin said "Five minutes." He handed the last piece of vellum to Gaius, and followed Will into the Objects Conservation studio, next door. Lord Moldywart – a wooden figure, perhaps fourteenth century in date – stood in the center of the room, on top of a study piece of acid-free cardboard. The sculpture represented a nobleman of some sort, as one could tell by his elegant garb, but nobody had been able to determine who he was meant to be. Merlin had dubbed him "Lord Moldywart" because of the warty-looking, bubbling pigment and insect damage on one of his legs.
"Here," muttered Will. "Brace him while I tip him just a few inches. Right, like that."
"God, he's heavier than he looks," Merlin said, watching as his childhood friend knelt down and peered at the underside of the sculpture's base. "What do you see?"
Glumly, Will pointed to the scattering of darkish powder revealed beneath the figure. "Insect frass, and quite a lot. As I suspected."
"Oh no," came Gwen's voice from the doorway. "Insect droppings…not again. Didn't we have him treated last year?"
"We did," Merlin sighed, helping Will to set the sculpture upright again. "What can we do for you, Gwen?"
"Oh," said Gwen nonchalantly, smiling up at him. "Morgana and I thought you might like to come to lunch with us, Merlin."
Will snorted and pretended not to listen.
"Really?" asked Merlin, surprised. "I'm sorry, I've got too much to finish, today. Tomorrow would be fine. Was there something you needed to discuss?"
"Well," said Gwen in a confiding sort of voice. "Morgana and…well, she has some ideas about your, you know, event, and she thinks if she takes them to Arthur, he'll murder her. So she thought she'd talk about them to you, instead."
"Oh God," said Merlin.
"Um," Gwen half-whispered, looking embarrassed. "This wasn't my idea. But you know what Morgana's like when she gets enthusiastic about anything."
"Please tell me she's not thinking about music, dancing, disco lights, and white tuxedos," Merlin whispered back in agonized tones.
"Gwen," called Gaius from the doorway. "You're needed upstairs!"
"Later, yeah?" Gwen murmured, patting Merlin's arm. "And don't worry. I expect we can talk her out of…whatever she has planned for the two of you."
Merlin smiled and gave an excessively melodramatic groan for her benefit as she headed for the door.
"Now you're in for it, you sorry git," muttered Will, sniggering. "Those girls won't leave you alone until you see things their way. Morgana won't, at least. Now, would your lordship be so kind as to help me sweep up the insect shit? We can send it to the lab for analysis tomorrow."
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It had come as a relief to Merlin that, over the past year, Will's attitude towards Arthur had undergone quite a transformation. Ever since that now-famous evening when Arthur had knocked Valiant – one of the Metropolitan Museum's less savory conservators – unconscious at an exhibition opening party, Will had stopped referring to him, rather bitterly, as "that bloody toff," and "the Pendragon prince." He was now on friendly terms with him, no longer made disparaging comments about his wealth and privilege behind his back, and occasionally ribbed Merlin about the workout Arthur must be giving him in bed.
Nevertheless, Merlin was happy to escape from his childhood friend's good natured joking after Gwen's visit to Objects Conservation. (Her own Textile Conservation workroom was on the top floor.) He left Will glaring at Lord Moldywart's insect frass, returned to the Paper Conservation studio with a sense of relief, and worked diligently with Gaius until five o'clock.
"Off you go, my boy," Gaius said in a kindly voice, and Merlin wondered whether his anxiety about his and Arthur's plans having been "outed" was visible on his face.
"You'd better steer clear of Morgana," he said to Arthur two hours later, over their dinner of Indian take-away. "Ever since Mordred, erm—"
"Opened his big mouth, yes," Arthur said, looking anything but anxious. (If anything, he looked rather pleased with himself.)
"Gwen says Morgana's got ideas for the…the…I have this horrible feeling she's already thinking caterers and music and flowery hats, and a thousand guests in suits and organdy—"
"I've never seen an organdy suit in my life," said Arthur with a straight face, clenching his fists to keep from laughing.
"Oh, stop it, you know what I meant!" snapped Merlin. "Ladies in organdy! Anyway, Gwen says she's over the moon about the whole thing."
His Assistant Director laughed out loud, flinging his head back in the familiar gesture, and Merlin had to smile at the sight.
"Morgana should have been a military general," Arthur finally said, coughing into his napkin. "Poor old Leon! If she ever decides she wants to marry him, he'll need an army to fend her off."
"Perhaps he doesn't want to fend her off," Merlin replied. He watched as Arthur poured him a third glass of white wine.
"There isn't much left," Arthur said in explanation. "I want to get rid of the bottle."
"Arthur," Merlin said, raising his eyebrows. "Are you trying to get me drunk?"
"Noooo," Arthur murmured judiciously. "This is just to help you relax. When you're drunk you simply fall asleep. And what I have in mind requires a very wakeful state."
"You're too much, Pendragon," Merlin said, attempting to sound severe.
"Too much is not enough," Arthur retorted. "Isn't that what the Texans say? I hope you've no objection? Besides, I'm tired of looking at that ridiculous tee shirt. I really do prefer you without it."
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The next morning, Merlin was out of bed very early. It was still dark, and Arthur was still sleeping, when he tiptoed into the study, closed the door behind him, and rang his mother in Ealdor.
"Merlin!" Hunith exclaimed delightedly at the sound of his voice. "I was hoping you'd ring me. How is Arthur?"
"He's, erm, great," replied her son, who then launched into the usual inquiries about her health, and their friends in the village, and the general state of Ealdor. He felt that he was making a good effort to sound cheerful; he had exhausted the subject of the local farms and livestock and was just getting on to the weather, when his mother interrupted him.
"What is it, darling?" she said gently, and Merlin realized, belatedly, that there was really no point in trying to hide anything from mothers, because they could almost always tell. "Is something the matter, or…?"
Merlin closed his eyes for a moment, because it was the same voice she had used when he was a small child, coming to her with a scraped knee or torn shirt from climbing trees in the apple orchard. She had used that same, soft tone of voice later on, when he was older and had tried to hide a bloody nose, courtesy of one of the school bullies neither he nor Will had been able to ward off.
"Nothing's the matter," he said carefully. "I'm just…the Institute people know about the, you know, the plans for London, and, well, Uther isn't happy about it, naturally…"
"You and Arthur both knew he wouldn't be, I think," Hunith said calmly. "But Arthur's not a child, he's self-sufficient and intelligent, and his father needs to respect his choices. I won't speak ill of Uther – I can understand his concern. But once he's seen that you make his son happy and are good for him and the Institute, he will probably come round. As for you, if you and Arthur are happy together…you are, aren't you?"
"I…yeah, I'm…I am," Merlin mumbled. He was sure of his own feelings, if nothing else, but was embarrassed to find himself wishing for the loving warmth of a maternal hug. "He, erm, I can't speak for him, but…"
"You're quite different from each other in so many respects," his mother said. "But you complement each other, if you know what I mean. When I saw you together in Ealdor, I thought…oh, you know, that old saying, two halves of the same coin and all that. So I shouldn't worry, darling. It will come out right."
When Merlin crept back into bed – the alarm wouldn't go off for another hour – he inched his way quietly under the duvet, not wanting to wake Arthur. But as he settled himself against his pillows, curled up on his side, a pair of strong arms encircled him, and Arthur's breath stirred his hair as he wrapped himself round his conservator's lean body in a gentle and sleepy embrace.