A/N: Hey thar, Lacrima here with chapter 2. As Legs pointed out last time, I'll be writing from Arthur's point of view, and give another view of events. It's kinda fun doing this, I must say.

Also, not to seem like a desperate, pestering, toadying little git but reviews are loved! It's lovely getting those cute little emails saying you've favourited the story or whatever, but there's nothing quite like a little comment to brighten our day. So don't be afraid to send us your undying love~

Anyway, on with the chapter. Legs and I own nothing Merlin; if we did, we'd hardly be posting this here, would we?

Tarmacadam [Arthur]

I don't understand why they serve food on planes. Especially if the flight's only from France to Britain. It's just overkill.

But they had blueberry muffins, so there was no way I could say no.

I sat in my very cushy seat in business class, waiting for the plane to leave the runway and take us home. Why business class, I don't know. It's not like money's too tight for first class. Money isn't too tight for anything. Father seems to have an affinity with business class, though. He says it makes him feel like 'a regular person'.

Regular people don't wear Armani suits to the beach. Just saying.

I felt Morgana fidget next to me as she put down the in-flight magazine for the fourth time. I could tell she was itching for them to turn off the seatbelt light and allow electronic devices to be turned on, and if she glanced desperately at her iPod one more time I was going to go up to the cockpit and turn off the seatbelt light myself.

Okay, I probably wouldn't. But it's the thought that counts, isn't it? That's why my on-board luggage was so heavy; it was full of souvenirs. Not just the ones I bought, either. Dear Morgs, the cunning wench, had persuaded me to carry the trinkets she had bought because her handbag was much to small to fit anything and I was ever so strong and macho and could deal with a bit of effort. I should have said no and made her carry her won damn things, but one batting of her heavily mascara-clad eyelashes and I folded like a bad poker hand. Like she knew I would.

I'd say I was a soft touch, but then that would bring up a whole batch of issues stewing at the back of my mind that would also demand attention, and then I'd be screwed. Some things are best left ignored.

Also, Father would probably eat me if I showed any sign of weakness. Funny that, I'm not allowed to be weak, but if I told him to shove it, that would also result in me getting eaten.

Double standards are such a hassle.

Finally, we were up in the air, and Morgana could have her precious technology back. Even Father pulled out his phone and started playing Solitaire. Unfortunately I, in a fit of loyalty, had followed his instructions when he had told us we weren't to bring any technology, because this was going to be a 'proper family holiday'. What a joke. He'd been on the phone the second we arrived, and had only half-assedly told Morgs she wasn't to spend the whole time playing with her army of technological time-wasters.

I, on the other hand, had brought a stack of books and ploughed through an inordinately large number of them. Despite how obscenely gorgeous Provence is, there is nothing to do.

Okay, there is plenty to do. Plenty I wanted to do. But guess what?

Arthur bloody Pendragon, twenty-one years on this planet, is not allowed to do things on his own. Why? Who the fuck knows.

So I spent a month in the gorgeous south of France lounging around in a five-star hotel reading. What a life.

I would complain to high hell about it but, as I said, some things are best left undisturbed. Pandora's box, and all that (which I read when in Provence, byt the way. In French. Amazing. Eight years of French lessons have some use, I guess).

Sure, call me a gutless weakling. I don't care. It's probably true.

I should stop thinking too much. It results in brooding introspection, which isn't a good look. I prodded Morgana.

"What?" she hissed, pulling out her headphones.

"Pass us an ear." She reluctantly passed over the left earbud, and went back to her mindless staring out the window. Lucky thing, getting the window seat. I love the window seat. Not much is better than gazing out at exapanses of eternally fluffy clouds. Next time, I really must bagsies it a month in advance. Submit a written request for the window seat, complete with references. It's the only way to get it before her.

Speaking of her always having the upper hand, the song she had playing was terrible.

I prodded her again. "Morgs?"

"What?"

"Change the song."

"No."

"But it's terrible."

"I like it."

"But it's terrible!"

"I like it."

"But it's terrible!"

"I lik-"

"If either of you keep this up," Father casually interrupted, "I will kindly ask the stewardess to move you both into Economy class."

Moargana and I gasped. It was an empty threat, it had to be. Father was cruel, but he wasn't that cruel.

We shut up after that.

A voice cut across the intercom, bringing relief as Morgana paused her terrible music to listen to the announcement. "The seatbelt light has been turned back on. Please return to your seats and turn off all electronic equipment in preparation for our descent, Thank you."

Morgana groaned. I cheered. No more Marina and the friggin' Diamonds! I don't see how we're even related.

Oh wait, we're not.

Oh good.

Nah, I love Morgs. In an entirely non-incestuous way, that is (not that it's even incest). We argue and bicker like a pair of annoying five year olds, but she's great. She's always nice to me, and I swear she's the only one with enough balls to stand up to Father.

Her friends are nicer than mine, as well. As obliged as I am to hang out with Lance and Leon, and as cordial as they are… they're a bit dull, to be honest. Yes, you have a new car. Yes, you've shown me a picture of it. No, I don't want to see it again. Yes, I am free on Thursday night. No, I don't want to go to your dinner party. Yes, I will anyway.

Now Gwen and Merlin, they were actually fun. As sad as it is, I probably had more fun the other month getting high and watching Fantasia (Father doesn't know about this, obviously), giggling hysterically at the dancing flowers, than I have had in the last year hanging out with Lance and Leon put together.

I'm not ungrateful, oh no. They've been my friends since primary.

Such a shame I didn't get a say in it, though.

Morgana, Father and I stood patiently by the baggage carousel, waiting for the last two of Morgana's suitcases to come along. Honestly, we were only gone for a month. I fail to see why she needed four bags. I have on good authority that one of them was filled entirely with shoes. And she only left home with three; to call her a shopaholic would be an understatement. Not that I have an issue with her indulging in her available excess, but she took me with her when she went out on a fancy French shopping spree (I have 'good taste', apparently), and once again I got to carry all her stuff. And those itty bitty dresses may look like they're made of barely anything, but they weigh so much more than they look. Especially when they're coated entirely in sequins. Those little plastic fuckers are heavy as hell when they all get together. Pretty, yes. Convenient, no. I can't imagine what it'd be like to actually wear an entirely sequinned dress.

Actually, I probably could…

Ack. Don't let me have that mental image ever again. I look too good in red sparkly things.

"Oh, so sparkly!" a voice said from next to me. I nearly jumped a mile. The last thing I needed was strangers reading my mind. Especially totally one-off thoughts like that. I looked around to see a bottle blonde girl next to me, who thankfully wasn't staring deep into my brain, but rather at Morgana's glittery pumps.

"I know," Morgana said, and I tuned into their conversation I had missed the start of. "They're a bit kitsch, but I could not resist them. I thought my step-brother was barking when he pulled them out for me, but they're divine, really. And much more comfortable than you'd think. There's nothing the French can't do with shoes…"

The girl looked over at me, and gave me a once-over. Okay, when I say 'girl', I mean more like 'oversexed young woman with tits out to here'.

"So you're her step-brother? Ohhhh, that's interesting!"

If there's one thing I hate, it's being inspected like a prime cut of meat. Why is it that women can holler about sexual discrimination, then turn around and comment loudly about a guy's cute butt? It's not fair, I tell you.

Butts aren't even cute. Of all the things in the world to be attracted to, poop-factories are pretty low on my list.

"Er, yes. I'm Arthur," I extended my hand. She looked a bit surprised at such a masculine gesture, but shook my hand anyway.

"Such a firm grip…" she commented not-very-casually, giving me a look I really didn't want to class as lustful. "I'm Vivian. You can call my Vivvy, everyone does."

Did she just giggle? Please tell me she didn't just giggle. What part of 'I am keeping a Platonic exterior here for a reason – I have less than no desire to bonk you' was she missing?

"Nice to meet you, Vivian," I said pointedly.

"I like a man who has a fine taste in shoes," she said. "Maybe you could take me shopping sometime." And before I could respond she had slipped a presumably phone-number-clad slip of paper into the front pocket of my jeans, grabbed her suitcase and flounced off.

"Arthur, Morgana, come on. There appear to be some… people waving at you," Father interjected. We looked over to where he was gesturing to see Gwen and Merlin jumping up and down and waving, looking like a pair of daft idiots. And yet, it made me smile; it was a lovely gesture. It's good to see people not giving a shit about the general masses giving them looks usually reserved for deranged homeless people, just because they were excited ot see their friends.

On a more bitter note, I noticed not one of my friends standing at the gate waiting for me to come home. Figures.

I helped Morgs with her bags and we trundled over to where they were waiting. Gwen and Merlin, without so much as a nod to public indecency, came tearing over to us and, for want of a better word, attacked us. Gwen pulled Morgana into a tight hug and squealed, and I found myself with an overexcited Merlin attached to the front of me. Probably noticing I wasn't responding, he let go and blushed.

"Sorry," he said in his Irish lilt, "Got a bit over excited."

"It's alright. I just wasn't expecting to be mauled by a fluffy little git." I smiled, and he grinned back.

"Come on, let's go hail a cab!" Gwen called, already on her way to the taxi ranks. I turned around, looking to see where Father had gotten to, wondering if he was expecting us to go with him.

Morgana, sensing what I was thinking, muttered "He's already left."

I couldn't tell whether I was glad about that or not.

The four of us ambled over to where a permanent stream of taxis were queued up, waiting for some tired travellers to call upon their service. I sat in the front seat and Gwen gave the driver directions to her flat. Made sense that we were going there, I guess. I could do with not going home right now.

"Oi, Arthur!" Merlin called from behind me, poking me in the back of the head. "I heard we get souvenirs. You better've gotten me something fab."

I smiled. "You'll get them when we get to Gwen's. I think if we have any more hysterics in this taxi the driver will chuck us out." The driver humphed in agreement. In the back seats, the squeals of laughter had not just not stopped, but were getting louder.

"Oh fine."

"Don't worry Merlin, you'll love what I got you."
He would, I was sure of it. But why I'd gotten him something so nice, I wasn't entirely sure. He was more of Morgana's friend than mine, but there was something distinctly wonderful about him. And I found a certain something when out shopping in Nice which I couldn't not get him.

But he would just have to wait and see what it was.

And so will you dudes! I have no idea why the first half of this chapter got so brooding, it just came out like that. Everyone loves brooding gorgeous blondes, don't they? And anyone who reckons Arthur isn't brooding with Daddy issues can take it outside *rolls up sleeves*

Tune in next time for a return to Merlin's POV, and a probably more lighthearted chapter.

Read, Review, Relax, you cats and kittens.

- Lacrima.