Chapter 3: part 3
Author's Note: Okay, I know it's taking a while for the sexy times to come and for that I am sorry. But hold on, dear reader :) Thank you for still reading and reviews are super helpful
It took longer than he thought it would to find Silsbury Estate; home to every Silsbury born in the past hundred odd years. Merlin spent almost every penny he earned on the ship making his way to the quiet residential area reserved for London's elite. If he thought Camelot's castle was intimidating, Silsbury manor was beyond his comprehension. The first thing he saw were the acres of freshly cut grass; green despite the chilly weather. Manicured hedges lined a gravelled road that connected the entrance to the main house with equally manicured gardens.
Roses, everywhere, roses. White and red and pink blossoms spilling over ivy covered walls in abundance. It seemed as if summer itself had been captured behind the estate's daunting iron gates. Merlin used his magic to conceal himself as he made his way to the mansion, craning his head and trying, but failing, to count all the windows looking down at him.
Something told him not to go right up to the door. He wasn't a guest; he couldn't just turn up unannounced. He followed the subtle smell of hay and the distinct whiff of ripe apples until he found himself in front of the stables. The stables were painted a deep burgundy and stood out against the blue-grey backdrop that was the English sky. Merlin let himself in and took in the surroundings. He thought it quite funny that he spent a great deal of his first life trying to get out of going to the stables and yet, here he was feeling at home. There was a black mare that caught his attention right away. Its eyes were clear and as brown as the soft earth stuck to the bottom of his boots. He reached out a hand hesitantly, paused and gave the horse a chance to sniff him out; see if he was worthy of the touch.
After a breath of two, he felt encouraged to keep going. He stroked its silky coat and thought about the last time he was on a horse. It was just before his whole life fell apart. Maybe if he had known he was riding to his own death he would have taken the time to enjoy the trip a bit more.
Or maybe not.
He heard the stable door creak open and held his breath. The horse nudged his hand gently as if telling him to calm down.
"Who's there? Show yourself," a gruff voice asked.
Merlin let the spell fall and stepped away from the horse and into the stream of light from the open door. Merlin looked up at the man holding open the door expecting to find a young stable hand. Instead he took in the riding gear, the whip in hand and the tastefully tailored outfit and it was obvious this was not the help. For one thing, the shirt was a very disconcerting shade of purple.
"I asked you a question boy. Who are you and what business do you have on my land?"
Merlin would later wish that he hadn't reacted the way he did. Arthur would tease him for weeks afterwards about how he looked like such a girl when he clutched his chest, hand over his heart, upon seeing him.
It's just that the juxtaposition between the boy of his memories and the man in front of him was inconceivable. The Edward he knew looked like a boy; all soft edges and big blue eyes. This Edward was; well, not. He had grown into his ears, which Merlin secretly resented, and his face had shaped into the sharp stubbled edges of manhood. He was tall, a lot taller than Merlin was and broad, broader than he had been in his first or second life. Seeing him like that was, well, confusing actually.
It took a moment but he saw the recognition of Arthur's face materialise slowly. The scowl that had been ruining an otherwise pleasing face gradually fell away to the sweet unabashed smile that was usually reserved for hot days lying shirtless in front of Merlin's home scoffing down stolen baked goods.
He took four long strides and wrapped him in his trunk-like arms.
"Charlie, what are you doing here? When did you come to London?"
Merlin tried to answer but really all he could do was hold on to the other man's shoulders and try his damned hardest not to cry. He was not about to be labelled a girl in this lifetime too.
After an awkward amout of time passed, Arthur put him down and gave his back a couple "manly" pats as if to counteract the emotion of the earlier embrace.
Arthur picked up Merlin's sole bag and Merlin was suddenly embarrassed. He looked at his bag, which was really just a patchwork of worn leather threaded together by Hunith, and then at himself. He did not fit.
Arthur did not seem the least bit bothered however. He ushered Merlin through the backdoor that lead to a massive kitchen equipped with utensils the cooks at Camelot would have salivated over. Arthur greeted the few servants that were milling around holding cups of tea and biscuits. They all responding in earnest, asking him about his day and how was the weather and was the ride into the countryside to his satisfaction? They talked animatedly with him and were very polite not to ask about the skinny boy in the odd clothing lagging behind him.
Arthur asked one of the maids to prepare a plate for Merlin and another very well-dressed man to prepare a room.
"I assume you'll be staying with me? It would not be fit for you to board anywhere else, as my guest."
Merlin was not used to all the attention. He was a servant at heart and was not accustomed to pretty maids in pristine uniforms asking him how he liked his eggs. Arthur led him through a multiple corridors and rooms that seemed akin to a maze before leading him into a grand room made of pale blues and creams. Merlin almost didn't want to step on the plush carpeting lest he leave a stain.
Arthur talked animatedly about his journey into town and his busy day at the offices while he shrugged off his long black coat and draped it over an extravagant gold and navy chair. He threw a few bits of wood in the hearth and started a fire.
It seemed like he was trying to fill seven years of events in ten minutes. He talked about school and the friends he made, about how he still worked with some of them. He talked about the business, how it had changed since it fell in his hands after Uther's death one summer ago. He died of natural courses; a wet cough that would not go away.
He talked about his work on a board of directors that hoped to improve relations between English traders and Indian farmers so as to create sustainable growth for both parties.
"Not everyone shares the same views, mind you. We have received quite a bit of opposition and some people have been downright hostile; calling us bloody terrorists. There was a man that had the gale to insinuate I was campaigning for the crown or some other nonsense," he laughed and looked at Merlin for the first time since they had entered the room.
His expression softened and he asked after Merlin's parents, their old teacher and mutual friends from the village.
"Did you keep in touch with anyone?" He asked.
"No, just you," he replied, not looking at him again. "I'm sorry I did not write more often. Life just got in the way, you understand? I was very young when the future of the company fell into my hands. What with the responsibilities, there was not much time for anything else." He looked sheepish as if waiting for reproach but Merlin had none. He had not expected much to begin with. He said as much to Arthur and the other man frowned, expressions unreadable on this new face.
"Charlie, I wish I could have lived up to my promise. I really do. I used to have fantasies about dropping everything and going back. Being with you there is the last time I remember feeling so…free." He paused and looked at him in earnest. "Tell me you'll stay here. We can find work for you; whatever you want. I want you to stay."
And stay he did.
Over the following weeks he got to know his friend all over again. Arthur was the same in all the ways that mattered. He was driven, not allowing for weakness in himself or others. He conducted meetings with suppliers and employees with the same single-mindedness that he conducted council meetings. He was still a prat, that much was true. He enjoyed watching Merlin muck out the stables while he sat on his princely bottom and munched on apples meant for the horses.
He went from mocking Merlin one moment to caring for him the next. He worked on the estate so for all terms and purposes, he was the help. A servant like the rest of them. And even though Arthur treated his servants with the utmost respect, he didn't offer any of them a free room only a couple doors away from his. None of them attended Sunday dinners with him and his best of friends nor did they give him advice on how to woo Marylyn, a rival merchant's daughter that just happened to love roses.
He told Arthur to stop being coy and subtle and just ask her to a ball, or whatever socialites in love did for fun. He figured that Gwen used to want Arthur to take charge back when he was courting her in Camelot, so that probably hadn't changed.
Really life was good. He had his best friend back and days were spent grooming horses and talking strategy in front of the fireplace, lips sticky from honey coated bread that usually accompanied late afternoon tea. Arthur was doing great work, showing what a fair leader he was. He really believed in the equality of man; that no one should be treated as less by another other man.
Merlin would write out his speeches and essays while Arthur strode around the study, licking honey off his fingers. Merlin was good with words and he knew how to phrase Arthur's thoughts into something profound, something moving. It was during one of these sessions, watching the way Arthur would tongue one finger thoroughly before moving onto the next, that Merlin accepted the cold hard truth. His love for Arthur went beyond that of servant and master or friend to friend. It went beyond the brotherly affection he had taken to referring it to. His love for Arthur was a physical need; like breathing or a cool glass of water after a long day in the sun.
He needed him. He needed to hear his laughter and see the crinkles around his eyes when he smiled. His love for Arthur was like sitting too close to the fire. He could feel the pure heat of it taking charge of his skin.
He wanted. He wanted every day.
Merlin thinks that one day, maybe if he's strong enough, he'll write the story of Arthur and him. Not about Gwen or Lancelot or even the knights. Not about good and evil and the balance that magic is between the two. One day he'll write about the man he loved and wanted but never got to have.
It's an ordinary day when it happened. There is nothing particularly special about it. It rains a bit in the morning but the sky cleas quickly after. The mail comes just on time like it usually does and the cook gives Merlin a giant slice of buttered bread and a whack on the back like she always does. The horses are restless but no more than usual.
It's an ordinary day when Arthur is killed again.
He reads about it later, sitting on his patchwork bag and waiting for a ship to take him anywhere. Anywhere because he doesn't care anymore. He reads about how Arthur was attending one of his weekly board meetings when an unidentified man pulled out a loaded pistol and shot him first in the leg, then the chest and finally the head. He reads three shots were needed because Arthur kept fighting, even injured the armed man. He doesn't need to keep reading to know that the other man probably dies shortly after being arrested. He doesn't need to read to know that he probably had an accomplice. Maybe a woman with cold eyes.
He feels sorry for Gwen. Feels sorry for the sixteen year-old girl sitting in her big mansion feeling her heart break and probably not understanding why it hurts so damn much. He feels sorry for the servants out of a job and the horse without a master. He feels sorry for the bill not passed that Merlin was still writing out for Arthur, sorry for the people it could have helped. He feels sorry for everyone, but he can't find it within him to feel sorry for himself. If he lets it, he thinks his grief will kill him. His heart will just stop like before, as if Arthur's heartbeat was linked to his own. He would think he was bonded or enchanted somehow if he didn't know better. It cannot be healthy to feel so empty and raw without someone.
Merlin stands up and looks out to the flat water in front of him. He is going to pick a point on a map and go there. Then when he gets there he'll pick another point. And another until he has seen everything there is to see and it is okay to be tired. Then maybe he'll write the story of Arthur and him and it may not have an ending now, but someday it will. He will wait, like he always does, to feel heat again.