Chapter 14: Patience is a Virtue
Lunch at the Blue Ribbon, a charming pub just down the street, was extremely pleasant. A little brook ran just outside, and its gentle babble helped distract Merlin whilst his mother continued to relate Baby Merlin stories at the request of an attentive, grinning Arthur.
"Oh no, you don't," Arthur said as Merlin's eyes roamed toward the bar, where several farmers were ordering up pints of Guinness.
"I think need some, to help me deal with this," Merlin grumbled, but Arthur shook his head.
"You're quite right, Arthur," said Hunith, putting a final nail in the coffin. "Merlin never could hold his liquor."
"Liquor! It's only stout," Merlin began, but both of his companions stared at him disapprovingly. He wasn't certain why; after all, his alcohol intake was modest, he rarely got truly drunk, and he certainly wasn't going to get drunk on Guinness. Sighing, he simply gave up, wondering how, if at all, he could possibly get back at Arthur for this.
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"Do you do all of the gardening on your own?" Arthur asked, a while later, when they were back at Hunith's little house, sitting just outside in the garden. His eyes went to the neatly weeded flowerbeds, edged with brick, the espaliered pear trees, and then to the quince trees at the other end of the warm, green space. "It must be difficult without Merlin…or someone…to help you."
Merlin had gone down to the end of the garden to clear away some small branches and large twigs that had come down during the last rainstorm, over a week earlier.
"No, I manage nicely on my own," Hunith replied, placidly. "A young man from a gardener's agency comes every now and then to do the pruning, on the branches I can't reach. The rest isn't difficult, it simply takes time. Merlin used to help me with the vegetables, though, he's always been very good with his hands."
"He's doing excellent work in the Conservation Department," Arthur murmured. "Gaius says he's one of the best he's ever seen. Best conservators, that is. He's…he's been looking after things very nicely."
"Dear Gaius," said Hunith fondly. "I've spoken with him several times during the past year. He's kept me informed about Merlin's progress, since Merlin doesn't see fit to tell me much of anything."
Now seemed to be the right moment to get down to things. "Merlin's...perhaps Merlin told you?" Arthur began, as close to stammering as he had ever been. "He's...we're sharing my flat in New York. There's plenty of space, and..."
Hunith glanced at him musingly, and then looked away, but it was obvious that she was listening attentively.
"...and we...we get on very well. He's...I've never known anyone like him." That was true. He had many friends (or at least people who called themselves friends), he had had quite a few lovers, but never anybody like Merlin, who was friend and lover both, not to mention a professional colleague. Whose banter both frustrated and entertained him. Whose sharp intelligence seemed so at odds with his absent-minded, coltish awkwardness. Whose stubborness matched his own. Whose smiles - whether the charming, open grin he offered to the world, or the secret little curve of the lips he sometimes showed to Arthur - were like nobody else's. And ah! Merlin in his arms, whether beneath him or above him, that silky, creamy skin, and that remarkable touch!
They were watching Merlin walk across the bottom of the garden, partly hidden by rosebushes. There was a sudden thump, as he tripped over a fallen branch or errant root and disappeared with a muffled exclamation. A moment later, he was up and making his way along the uneven ground as though nothing had happened.
Arthur turned his head so that his eyes met Hunith's, and they both smiled.
"When Merlin was little," Hunith said pensively. "He was like that; forever tripping over furniture, knocking things over, so absent minded. But incredibly focused when it came to any project he was working on. In that regard, he was always careful and precise. Such clever hands; the way he could put things together. Like magic."
"He's like that now," Arthur replied. "It's remarkable, the...the contrast."
"Yes," she murmured. "When he was a child, and so bright, such uncanny intuition, but so clumsy...I was always there to watch him. When he grew up, grew away, went off to university, I worried. What if he knocks over one of his lecturers? What if he goes headfirst into the Cam? And then in London, at the Courtauld, and now in New York...Of course no mother wants to think that her child could be hurt."
"I won't let anything hurt him, Hunith," Arthur said, very low. "That is, I'll do my best."
Hunith looked at him, a long, clear look, and then she smiled again.
"I believe you mean it," she said, finally, and put one strong, capable hand lightly on his arm. "I expect you'll look after each other."
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The three dined together in Hunith's kitchen, perhaps the roomiest chamber in her little house. She had made noises about setting the table in the tiny dining room, but Arthur said no, she mustn't stand on ceremony, he wouldn't have it. Merlin stood in the background, rolling his eyes.
The evening meal was simple: roasted chicken, potatoes, sliced cucumbers from the garden, and fruit salad. Arthur complimented Hunith on her cooking, and Merlin whispered to him that he was fortunate it hadn't been breakfast, because his mother's oatmeal porridge left a great deal to be desired.
They stood in front of the house for a several minutes, watching the sun go down, before Arthur and Merlin headed back to the inn. It was surprisingly cool and damp with the sunlight gone. Arthur had thrown a grey sweatshirt over his football jersey, and Merlin had rummaged in his old room and replaced his short-sleeved tee with a long-sleeved cotton shirt, complete with a proper collar, brick-red in color and buttoned down the front.
As they walked into the front hall, the proprietor's wife waved them down.
"A fax came for you, sir, while you were out," she announced, handing a sheaf of papers over to Arthur, her eyes bright with awe. The auburn-haired daughter was skulking behind the front desk again, her eyes darting avidly back and forth between the blond guest and the dark haired one, her right hand playing idly with the keypad on her mobile phone.
"You see?" Merlin said in a loud whisper. "She's notifying the troops."
"Shhhh!" was the reply as the girl continued to stare at them. She wasn't licking her lips, Merlin thought, but she might as well, from the hungry expression in her heavily mascara-ed eyes.
Arthur thanked the proprietress and held the pages of the fax under the closest lamp, to read them.
"What's that?" Merlin asked, trying to peer over his shoulder. "Can't see. It's very smudgy."
Arthur bumped his head against the glass lampshade and muttered something that sounded like "Bugrit."
"May the gods have mercy," he said, finally. "It's from Morgana. The Institute just received an email from Sigan, with a digital image of his tapestry."
They examined the image under the lamp. The tapestry was wide, with seven standing figures against a flat pattern of scattered flowers, a typical mille-fleurs background. It was difficult to make out any details in the smudged and grainy fax, but the three central figures were obviously ladies, richly clad and bejeweled. The flanking figures appeared to be gentleman courtiers, and at least one seemed to be wearing armor.
"Very nice," said Merlin, squinting at the paper. "I'll have to talk to Gwen about this. Care to hazard a guess about the subject matter?"
"My guess is that the ladies are the Three Graces, or something along those lines," Arthur replied, wrinkling his brow. "Something mythological."
There was a rumbling sound behind them, and they turned to see a young woman wheeling her luggage to the front door, whilst a young man trailed behind her with a rucksack.
"Oh look," said Arthur pleasantly. "Most of the other guests are leaving."
"Erm," his conservator mumbled, watching as couples and families bundled belongings into their cars and settled their accounts at the front desk.
"Our hallway will be quite empty," Arthur went on, looking at his watch. "Shall we go upstairs?"
The hallway on the floor above was quiet, and most of the doors were partly open, revealing empty rooms, some with beds already stripped of their linen. "Good," said Arthur conversationally, and yanked Merlin into his bedroom without a word of warning.
"Arthur," Merlin managed to say as Arthur fastened the lock and turned to him. "What in blazes are you-"
"Your challenge, Merlin," Arthur murmured a few minutes later. "You told me patience wasn't one of my virtues, remember? Perhaps now's the time To…Prove…You…Wrong."
"What's…what are you…" said Merlin, astonished, but Arthur only chuckled darkly as he slowly unfastened the top button of Merlin's shirt. A minute later, he slowly unfastened the next one, and a minute after that the next, pausing in between to run his lips over the pale skin that was being revealed, bit by bit. It took a long time to unbutton the shirt completely, after which Arthur slowly slid it off Merlin's arms, dropped it to the floor, and got to work on the fastening of his jeans.
"You see," he whispered, kicking the shirt away. "Buttons still attached."
"I hate you," Merlin said nearly a half hour later, by which time he was lying flat on his back, with Arthur bending over him, but not applying his full weight, and they still hadn't... "You're really, really evil."
"No, I'm not," replied Arthur soothingly, rolling them over. "I'm simply patient. Very, very patient. And I can be more patient still." The tip of one finger stroked the sensitive skin on the inside of Merlin's elbow, light as a feather. Several minutes later, that same finger brushed the even more sensitive skin behind his knee, and on the inside of his thigh.
"You…you're unspeakable...unspeakably..." said Merlin, panting, when Arthur let him talk again, aghast to hear that the tone of his voice was beginning to sound very much like a whimper. He was nearly delirious by this time, but determined not to beg, no, no, not ever…
"Merlin," Arthur whispered urgently, fitting Merlin more closely against him, but his voice did not sound anything like a whimper, and although it was obvious that he was as impassioned and aroused as he had ever been, it was also clear that he had no intention of bringing things to a close just yet.
It was even later, and Merlin had lost nearly all of his reserves of willpower, and was moaning feebly into Arthur's shoulder, when Arthur brought them both off, spectacularly, and they collapsed into a trembling heap, practically sobbing for breath.
"You're a right bastard," Merlin mumbled before he fell asleep, with the vague satisfaction of having maintained his sanity throughout, at least in part. "Don't think I'm not going to pay you back."
"That's what I'm hoping for," came the exhausted but triumphant reply as Arthur pulled the bedclothes up around them and tucked them in. "I look forward to it. Just not tonight."