Chapter 2

Arthur was humming. Loudly. He felt as if he was walking on air. The feel of Guinevere's skin with his lips sent a sensation jolting through his body he never knew was possible. The only thing he knew, he mused, was that he wanted to experience that feeling as much as possible. If it one could achieve a high off of emotions, he reckoned that this would be it. 'Furthermore,' he noted, pleased and not at the same time, 'she didn't treat me any different from other people!'

He quickly reached his manor. Albion Heights was entirely comprised of the richest people in the country who wanted a "townhouse", as they referred to it. It was a splendid, grand old house, with a rich Pendragon history attached to it. Arthur could never sell it-despite the fact that he was not an ostentatious man-especially after his father's death a few years ago. Although the house seemed to pretentious for Arthur's needs and personality, deep down he was a sentimental man. And a house with so much family history should not be sold. 'Besides,' he thought bitterly as an afterthought, 'It was the bloody house which started the rift. If I sold it now it would all be pointless.'

After Uther Pendragon had died a few years ago, Arthur and his half-sister Morgana received intelligence of what their father's will had dictated. He willed the house, along with all of its possessions, to Arthur and had left Morgana practically penniless. Whether he forgot to edit his will to include Morgana after his second marriage, or he purposely left her out it would never be known. For what Uther had done was done, and Morgana was beyond consolation. At first, Arthur tried to help her out, and spilt the will 50-50 with her. But the lawyers were adamant that his father's will remain unchanged. After receiving the devastating news, Morgana's personality changed. She was no longer the caring, loving sister she once was. Instead, her heart hardened against her brother as greed and a large feeling of injustice swooped in. The will stipulated that she would receive Arthur's inheritance if he died. Thus, she continuously plotted against her brother. Eventually, Arthur could no longer stand the constant resentment, and decided to seek help. Through therapy and diagnostics-cleverly disguised from Morgana's knowledge-it was deemed that she had gone clinically insane. Her resentment and hardened heart had gone on to infect her mental faculties. Arthur was advised to seek professional help for his sister from the doctors. Thus, out of respect for the sister she once was before the corruption of the will, Arthur committed her to a reasonable living in the countryside with a caretaker. Their relationship was discreet-the caretaker would keep Morgana sedated with the various medications the doctors prescribed her after she was proclaimed 'clinically insane' and keep her mouth shut about Morgana's condition. In return, the caretaker would have a comfortable income, place to live, and a stable job in the world of today's unstable economy.

Although Arthur deeply regretted the deterioration of the relationship between himself and Morgana, the one good thing he got out of it was Merlin.

Merlin had met Morgana at an art auction a year before Uther's death. He was a skinny lad with pale skin, jet black hair, and crystal clear blue eyes which gleamed like sapphires. He was taller than both Arthur and Morgana, and had muscle just like Arthur. However, while Arthur's build was slightly shorter and stockier so his muscles were evident, Merlin's lanky frame hid most of his muscle. Furthermore, while Arthur's looks could instantly declare him a natural Casanova to the ladies, Merlin's good looks were more akin to a hidden, rare, and valuable gem. If he was looked at in a certain light, many declared Merlin to be better looking with Arthur (which Arthur highly resented, in a good natured way). With his high cheekbones and soulful eyes, it was easy to see why he still had "babe appeal" despite his skinny frame.

When Merlin and Morgana first met, there was an instant attraction-a kindred spirit of sorts. Merlin had lost his father like Morgana at a young age. They also both appreciated the "finer things" in life like art, history, and culture. Merlin was a critically acclaimed artist and writer. He had made his fortune off of his best-selling fantasy book series. Furthermore, his art was bid on for hundreds of thousands of dollars. "A modern-day Michelangelo" was what the Times had deemed him. Also, which Merlin had insisted was the most important part of any relationship; they both had an affinity for reading. When Merlin first bashfully asked out Morgana, they spent their first date discussing every book they could squeeze into an hour and a half of time before calling it a night. Their second date was spent holding hands, reading books side by side for a day. After their second date, Arthur decided to fulfill his role as a brother and interrogate Merlin, and his intentions. Once he "passed" Arthur's test, Arthur came to recognize him as a friend. Or rather, as much as a friend that Arthur would begrudgingly admit since Merlin was stillMorgana's boyfriend. At first, when Uther had died, Merlin attempted to be the supporting best friend he had become to Arthur, and the supporting boyfriend he had been for Morgana. However, once the insanity began to settle in, Morgana changed and Merlin could sense it. She was no longer the caring individual he had fallen for. Instead, a cold-hearted person dwelt inside his lovely Morgana's frame, and it saddened Merlin. Arthur could see it in his expressive eyes that the usually cheery, optimistic man was slightly off. Soon after Morgana's change, it was mutually agreed upon by her and Merlin that they would part ways. However, that didn't mean Arthur and Merlin had separated. Indeed, Arthur could clearly recall the instant they knew they would be bonded by their sense of brotherhood for life.

-Flashback-

Arthur had come home to the house in complete disarray once again. The staff of the house was cowering in fear of the now deranged mistress of the manor. Arthur sighed as he dejectedly called for Merlin about the abode. Merlin could usually help make the whole situation more…tolerableto Arthur than anyone else, and could typically be found by Morgana's side, even though she was not herself anymore. He had this undying faith and loyalty in those he loved that Arthur could not begin to fathom-especially if it involved Morgana's deteriorating state. However, Merlin was not in the house. 'That was odd,' Arthur thought.

He quickly looked around for the nearest employee of the residence, and inquired where Merlin was. He was in need of some cheering up.

"Mr. Emrys was here, but he rapidly left about half an hour ago," Arthur's butler, James, replied.

"Thanks," Arthur hurriedly replied as he stepped out the doorway he just arrived in. He was in no mood to humor Morgana. He just wanted to take his mind off things by hanging out with Merlin. He called Merlin's cell, but there was no answer. That was wrong. Merlin-despite being scatter brained and, well Merlin-ish-never ignored his phone. He once answered his phone in court while he was on the stand to help settle a suit over his artwork. Arthur thought back to any conversations they had had over the course of their time together. He couldn't think of anything remotely significant, and was beginning to despair when-suddenly-he remembered. He remembered when Merlin and Morgana had been talking about losing their fathers. He wasn't supposed to overhear this personal conversation, he guessed, but Merlin was still "new blood" to Arthur, and he wanted to spy on his true demeanor. Merlin was helping Morgana cope with her grief-something she had never been good at on her own. And while he was helping her, he admitted that there was one place-the lake inside Battersea Park-that he went when he wished to think. It was a place his father had taken him to when he was a boy. They had spent an enjoyable time there before he died, and talked about, as Merlin put it, "everything a boy should know".

Arthur quickly made his way there as "afternoon" was already beginning to be a false label on the time of day. Just like he imagined, he found Merlin sitting on a bench by the lake in the fading light.

"Merlin," Arthur said, awkwardly, as he approached the young man.

Merlin looked up. His eyes burning like the sky in stormy weather. Then he dropped his head back down again. His body was hunched over his clasped hands. He moved a miniscule amount-an almost indistinguishable gesture to Arthur to sit down. Arthur noticed, however, and took the proffered seat.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a while-just the two of them-in the twilight. Then, Merlin spoke, "We broke up. She said that we were very different people now. I could hardly disagree. We both decided we want different things. And that it is best that we cut off contact from each other."

It was a simple, factual admission that Merlin made. Almost void of any emotion. But his eyes gave him away. The emotions behind them were swirling freely for Arthur to barely make out in the fading light. Suddenly Arthur realized that these pent up emotions were what was causing Merlin's eyes to look how they had been for the past few weeks since his father's death. They were a healthy shade of blue like always, and he had maintained his usual aura of cheerfulness and optimism. However, something about him seemed off which could only be seen in his eyes. His eyes hid the depth of his pain about his broken relationship well, but not completely. It was only now, however, that Arthur understood what was wrong.

"I spoke with my uncle, Gaius," Merlin continued steadily, "He has agreed to let me crash there until I get my own place."

Despite his wealth, Arthur and Morgana had insisted that Merlin move into the large Pendragon manor with them. They had agreed it was certainly large enough for three people, and their small staff. Also, as Arthur pointedly said, there was enough space between the rooms and the house was old enough to detect if anyone was wandering about during the night. After an initial refusal, Merlin agreed-but only if he could pay rent like a normal person. Although Morgana thought it ridiculous, Arthur agreed almost instantly. He liked Merlin's need of independence, and that he didn't want to be considered a "freeloader" or sorts.

"Nonsense," Arthur said, "You can still live in the manor with me. Even if you an Morgana are-"

Here, Arthur paused, not wanting to inflict more pain on Merlin's already "fragile"state.

"…not as you once were," he continued, "that doesn't mean I want my best mate to just skip out on me!"

He had admitted it. That Merlin was the closest friend Arthur had gained. More importantly, he supposed, he had admitted it to Merlin-the only man whose opinion really mattered to Arthur. 'Not in a gay way,' Arthur quickly rectified in his mind, 'but in a I respect you and you respect me sort of way.'

Merlin gave a small smile; the reward of Arthur's weak attempt to comfort Merlin. Although, if an outsider looked upon the scene, it didn't seem like much, it was. Arthur, although a "rough-tough-save the world" type of guy, wore his heart on his sleeve. He judged with his heart, not his mind, and his emotions-especially anger-were never far below the surface. It took a lot of self-control for the young Pendragon to keep his temper in check sometimes. 'Especially,' Arthur thought, 'If I ever wish to become Prime Minister.' He was the youngest member in parliament, but he was ambitious and wanted to be more than just part of the legislature. Merlin, on the other hand, was quiet, reserved, and a little awkward. Although when he spoke it was always with the right sentiments, Merlin never seemed to have quite mastered the trick of speaking without making the conversation or situation at least a little awkward. That is, for his friends. For people he needed to "impress" or with strangers they could barely tell. Merlin was a man known for his wit, sophistication, and eloquence. His heart, like Arthur, ultimately ruled his actions (a trait which significantly helped to bond the two men together in a brotherhood), but he was better at controlling his impulses than Arthur. Merlin came from a poor family, so he clung to any sort of education he could receive. Thus, Merlin valued his education more and paid attention far more than Arthur ever did in his studies. From his education, Merlin gained wisdom which included not acting without thinking. Merlin took these words to heart, and to those who didn't know the black haired boy well would have been surprised to learn that his heart ruled his ultimate decisions and not his head. Merlin's small smile was a sign which meant that he didn't blame Arthur for what happened, and that they would always be friends. The reserved man looked at the sometimes-rather-brash one, and they both just sat side-by-side. Sometimes Merlin punctuated the silence with an amusing story about something that he and Morgana used to do. Other times he would relate a "deep" quote about heartbreak that the classics had to say on the manner. And yet still both would be still. They sat this way for a few hours before they both stood and went back to their joint home.

-End Flashback-

As the door opened and Arthur stepped in an all-too-enthusiastic Merlin came bounding towards him. It had been about 4 years since everything had happened with Morgana, and Merlin hadn't changed much. He still enjoyed wearing scarves, reading, and art. His hair had perhaps been allowed to grow a little longer, and he currently was attempting to compete against Arthur for who could grow a beard first. Arthur had begun the contest with Merlin last week, and his face had a stubbornly clean-shaven look, whilst Merlin had a 5 o'clock shadow.

"Guess what!" Merlin proudly proclaimed. His hair was sticking up at odd angles, and there were smears of paint, glue, bits of paper, and other signs of his trade clinging to his face, jacket, and pants. His faded light blue jeans had more than a few splatters of paint on them, and his old V-neck blue shirt was looking the "worse for wear", but overall his Nike shoes were completely destroyed. Merlin insisted that these were his "lucky shoes" as every piece that was well-received was painted with these tennis shoes on his feet. Arthur, however, drily noted that everypiece Merlin painted was a deemed a masterpiece-shoes or no shoes. Merlin countered his argument by stating that that was because he's never painted withouthis lucky shoes. Arthur always shook his head at Merlin's logic, and hideously old shoes. Arthur hated them simply because of how disgusting they had to be. They had been with Merlin ever since he had received them as a gift from his mother for making the national cross country team when he was eighteen. Merlin had gone on to be one of the fastest runners in Britain, and had been offered a spot with the Olympic team several times. However, each time he declined. He reasoned that if he began to run as a "job", then running would not be enjoyable for him anyone and he would lose his drive. And in losing his drive he would thus loose his time. But each time Merlin ran, he had to wear these same old shoes as well. So they continuously paid for themselves over and over again. Painting in the shoes had begun when he had found some art supplies from his mother's things in the living room. She had decided to attempt to take up painting, and Merlin was going to go out for a run. However, he stopped instead, and decided to paint quickly. When he was done and his mother saw the painting, she immediately recognized his talent and went to his school teachers. They agreed, and so off his career in art began after his career in running had just taken off.

"What?" Arthur said, trying not to look too happy. For if Merlin detected too much happiness he would nag Arthur until he finally caved and told Merlin what happened.

"I got a call back from-wait. What's got you all happy, eh?"

'Crap,' Arthur thought, 'I can't hide anything from him!'

"Ohhh nothing," Arthur still tried to shrug it off. But he knew better.

"Come off it mate!" Merlin jested, "What's her name?"

For such a small frame, Arthur realized that Merlin did a fantastic job of seeming to block the very large passageway from the entrance hall to the rest of the house. He sighed. He knew that Merlin would eventually win.

"Guinevere," Arthur mumbled. In a louder and more urgent voice, he then said, "Now if you don't mind Merlin I would like to go to bed now. Lots to do with the campaign and all."

Then, shoving his way past, Arthur practically ran upstairs and slammed his bedroom door while Merlin chuckled to himself. 'So Guinevere,' Merlin laughed and thought as he went back to painting, "I wonder if you know that you have the most eligible bachelor in the country wrapped around your little finger."

Upstairs, Arthur didn't lay down-far from it. He took out his laptop and immediately searched for the name Guinevere Leodegrance. Immediately, pictures of the beautiful creature he had spoken with today showed up. At first, Arthur was overjoyed that she could be found so easily. Then, he grew suspicious as to why that would be. Finally, he looked more closely at the photos and realized that it wasn't always just Guinevere in the photo. Sometimes, he saw, there was an arm around her waist which held her and the body in a rather intimate position. Furthermore, he noticed that she seemed to enjoy it. He looked up the man's body slowly, dreading whose face it would show him. It was then that Arthur could've sworn he felt his stomach drop, and his heart break in two; for none other than the Lance du Lac himself who literally, and figuratively, held Guinevere in his arms.

...

Gwen gave Elyan a hasty greeting as she raced into her bedroom. When she was hollered after in an attempt to find out what had gotten her all "worked up", Gwen merely replied that she forgot some last minute editions to a project at work. In reality, she wanted to inspect the card the good-looking stranger had given her in peace in her bedroom.

With her door shut, Gwen took the card out of the pocket of her jacket. It read:

Arthur Pendragon LL.M.

CEO of Pendragon Industries, Parliament Member

Then, penned in underneath the first two lines hastily, as if by someone who didn't want to get caught graffiting the business cards, it read:

Royal Prat, Football Junkie, Terrible Singer-in-the-Shower

Gwen smiled briefly. She thought the second line gave her a much better, and more personal description of Arthur. She wondered if he would've given her this card if he knew what was written on it. Finally, the last line gave a phone number of his campaign office, and work email. On the back, in his penmanship (unlike the front side), was his personal cell phone number.

That's when it hit Gwen. Who the man actually was. It was none other than the enemy as Lance jokingly referred to him as. Quickly, to confirm her epiphany, she opened her laptop and looked up his name. Immediately images of the one and only man who now haunted her mind popped up. 'The pictures really don't do him justice,' was the first thought in Gwen's head as she browsed through the stock photos of the Prime Minister candidate. 'No! Gwen,' she told herself sternly, 'you can NOT be thinking about him like that! You have a wonderful boyfriend already named Lance du Lac! The OTHER Prime Minister candidate! You've already been photographed with him. The press would have an absolute field day if they caught wind of you dating Arthur Pendragon! Wait-dating? I meant just hanging out! Ugh, even in my thoughts I can't be normal!' She closed her eyes with regret. Arthur was the kind of guy that you never expect to take the normal tube. His image from the media depicted him as this bad-boy womanizer who would never be caught dead talking to "commoners". Afterall, he did have part of the royal blood coursing through his veins. Yet he did take the tube. And he did offer to see Gwen safely to her house. He played the part of a perfect gentleman.

Gwen closed her laptop in disgust. Looking at pictures of Arthur wouldn't help her rapidly progressing imagination. For when Arthur kissed her cheek, she felt the interaction send her a message that seemed to scream that that was where she belonged all along-by his side through forever and always. Deciding upon trying to draw up a cold bath for herself, Gwen attempted to conjure images of Lance in her head, but somehow the brown curls kept transforming to golden straight locks, and the brown eyes became blue.

To be continued