It's been awhile since the last update, real life and stuff keeps getting in the way. I apologize for the delay; and real life should not be...so complicated. It IS a Merlin fanfic, so I had a blast writing and I hope that it will give a fraction of that happiness to anyone who reads it.
Feedbacks make my day.
I do not own Merlin. I will never give up on owning the Crowned Prince of Camelot.
Morgana was about to leave her office when her mobile rang in her handbag. She carried two bags; one was her that matched her outfit for the day and another was for all the necessities she needed to get through her day. Since she could not remember which bag she had put her mobile in, she spent a few minutes looking for it. She finally found the mobile in her necessity bag, along with a tiny koala bear souvenir keychain that she thought Merlin had flicked from her. The call was from a number that Morgana did not recognize.
"Hello?" Morgana's voice was all business-like. She left her office, locking the doors and headed for the lifts. Her department was almost deserted, save for the one or two staff who had stayed back to catch up with their work.
"Morgana?" The caller was a female, with a very distinctive speech pattern that Morgana remembers very well.
"Guinevere?" Morgana guessed, her tone of voice friendlier now that she knows who she was talking with. She stepped over an empty bottle of champagne that had rolled to the doorway to the main office. The bottle, a sample sent in by one of London's wine importer, was a remnant of an engagement party they had at the office that morning. Sometimes, Morgana wonders how anybody manages to do any work when they have party at the drop of a hat at the office.
"Hi, how are you?" Guinevere's voice did not seem too anxious now.
"Great, now that I am headed for home," Morgana said, pausing in front of the lift. She did not get in, because that would ruin her mobile's reception. "Is there anything I can do for you, Guinevere?"
"As a matter of fact there is," Guinevere told her. "But first, thank you for the invitation to Tintagel."
Morgana smiled. "Our pleasure. It would nice to have a sane person to talk to. They guys get even crazier at Tintagel. With all my years with them, I should be a qualified zookeeper."
Guinevere giggled. "Sounds crazy."
"It is," Morgana replied. "And it will be. With or without the involvement of alcohol."
Guinevere laughed. "Well, the thing is, I just called Lance, to ask what I should be packing," Guinevere began, coming to the point of her call. "But..."
"He was about as helpful as a salesperson from a department store on the morning after Christmas?" Morgana guessed, shaking her head, but could not help smiling.
"Something like that," Guinevere concurred. "He also seemed a little distracted. I could hear raised voices in his background. When he realized he was not helping me much, he gave me your number and said you would be able to help."
"No problem," Morgana said, and suddenly, had an idea. "Guinevere, are you free for the evening?"
"I was supposed to have dinner with Lance, but I cancelled because I wanted to start with my packing," Guinevere told and Morgana felt a sharp stab of something, which she had realized a long time ago were emotions associated with the mention of Lance's name.
"Well, if you don't mind, could you postpone your packing to later this evening?" Morgana asked. "Let's meet up the guys' flat and we can talk and arrange our travel plans with them. It will save a lot of unnecessary phone calls and Merlin having to deliver messages that would only mess things up."
Guinevere's reluctance was palpable from the other end of the line. "Won't they mind? I mean, calling on them uninvited..."
"Think of it as an intervention for hearing the raised voices when you were talking to Lance," Morgana was quick to assure her. "They could be arguing, which would be bad for their friendship. Or they could be having a karaoke session, which would be very bad for the general public. So, don't worry about it."
"If you say so," Guinevere did not sound too assured.
"It's all right, Guinevere," Morgana said, as the lift opened. "I'll text Merlin, telling him we're on the way there, give them a head's up. I'll pick up something to eat, so they can be distracted when we are talking."
"All right," Guinevere said. "Thank you, Morgana. I hope I am not being a nuisance to you."
"No. Please, Guinevere. I really appreciate the female company; I have been spending too much time with apes," Morgana said with a smile. "I'll see you in a bit, all right?"
"Sure," Guinevere said and rang off. Morgana stepped into the lift, undecided between Indian take – away and pizza. Curry gave Arthur indigestion, so the decision was made; Indian food. She texted Merlin, telling him she was coming with food and Guinevere and told them to be decent.
She has only met one or two of the women Lance dated and had hated them all. It usually had something to with their hair, their voice, or they way they clung to Lance. But with Guinevere, it was different. Morgana genuinely liked Guinevere. They only talked for a couple of hours yesterday at the Hall, but they already have so many things in common.
The lift opened when it reached the basement parking and Morgana stepped out of it, fishing her car keys out of her bag. She walked towards her BMW and tried to suppress the cynical voice that was listing out the most obvious thing that Morgana and Guinevere shared a liking for. Lance.
Morgana unlocked her car and stowed her things in the backseat. She stood outside the driver's seat and took a deep breath, shaking her head, dispelling all thoughts. She did not want to ruin the weekend, nor did she want to ruin Lance's relationship with Guinevere. She gained what she hoped a good friend through Lance and wanted to keep it that way. These things matter most and her feelings are only secondary in the larger scheme of their lives. And Morgana intends to keep it that way.
Guinevere stood in the middle of her bedroom, mobile phone in hand, wondering if she could come up some sort serious ailment in the next five minutes. Come to think of it, she would welcome any sort of illness that would carry on until Sunday evening, possibly Monday too, but no more than Tuesday because then she would have a lot of work to catch up with. She also wonders if erratic heartbeat could be counted as a serious ailment; it certainly feels like the on set of a cardiac arrest.
This was especially so when she is in the company of one Arthur Pendragon; who shamelessly flirted with her. Or maybe that is just they way he talks to women. Guinevere frowned, irritated that she could not quite figure the man out.
There it was, the proof that Arthur Pendragon's presence would drive girls into delirium. In the interest of public safety, the man should be locked up.
Three weeks ago, when she first met Lance at the chapel, where the architecture firm she worked for had renovated into a spectacular, award-winning restaurant and bar, she never would have guessed that Lance was part of a package that included the one of the richest bachelor in the country, as well one of its most talented young artist in decades. She did not know anything about this part of his life until she had to go to his flat to get her bag.
She wished now she did bother with her bag, because her heart almost gave out when Merlin Emrys, one of the UK's most talented young artist in decades, opened the door. It is not as if she was a big art buff herself, but Merlin had, just the week before, made it to the front page of the Arts and Culture section of the nation's leading daily when his painting of a vase of lilies sold for two million pounds, the most expensive ever for an artist under thirty. But the moment she introduced herself, Merlin gave her one of the most goofiest grins ever and all but pulled her into the flat, chattering non-stop, pausing only to tell her that Lance had already called ahead to inform that she was coming.
If meeting Merlin had been an Experience with a capital E, she did not have the words to describe her meeting with Arthur Pendragon for the first time. It was bad enough to come face – to – face with a strange man who had just stepped out of the shower, it was worse still when the man was introduced as Arthur Pendragon. There are not many Pendragons out there; Guinevere did not need to be acquainted with the business section of the newspaper to know who the Pendragons are. There was a story for the grandkids, she thought. Meeting a billionaire, quite literally in the flesh. And she still blushes whenever she thinks about the amount of flesh she saw.
She did not dare to speak to Lance about that day; she did not have anything to say. The whole situation was an excellent example for the word awkward; eccentric artist looking at her as if he had never seen a woman before and a half-naked billionaire who was probably equally mortified to see a strange woman in his living room. She, thankfully, had still retained some motor reflexes and grabbed the bag the moment Merlin gave it to her and ran for the exit. Well, not exactly run, but walk away with as much dignity as she could muster alongside the gamut of emotions that included embarrassment, fright and if she truly examined what she felt, perhaps a little excitement. She came straight home and it took a whole bottle of Chardonnay to calm herself down.
The next day, Lance met up with her for lunch and invited her to the unveiling of Merlin's painting at the Royal Albert Hall. He gave her the weekend to think about it. The only thing Guinevere could think about the whole weekend was Arthur's Pendragon's broad chest and shoulders. Seriously, it was not as entertaining as one might think it was. Actually, it was, but when the image persisted every waking minute, intensifying whenever she closed her eyes, it became unbearable. She even cut short her nightly-conversations with Lance because the Lance is Arthur' friend and the whole cycle begins again whenever she thinks about Lance in the flat and inevitably, Arthur in the same flat.
So on Sunday evening, Guinevere came to a decision. She decided that the only way to get the image of a half-naked Arthur Pendragon off her mind is to meet him again in a public setting, where the man definitely has to come dressed. She texted Lance with her affirmative and then went to bed, her sleep tormented with golden and cerulean hues reminiscent of Arthur's hair and blue eyes. It felt a little strange, knowing that if she should be thinking of a guy at all, it should be Lance. She is, after all, with him.
If she had thought seeing Arthur Pendragon in a public setting, fully-clothed, would at erase the images of their first meeting, she could have never been more further than the truth. She should have known better; seeing Arthur again only reinforced the images and the moment she saw him across the gallery, the first thing that came to her mind was Arthur Pendragon standing in middle of the gallery in his towel. She tried not to encourage him, but she just could not falling into banter with him. That was what it was with Arthur that day; banter not flirting. If she wanted to flirt, she would happily do it with Lance...
Three dates on, she was not sure on how to label the relationship between them. It was too casual to start calling herself as his girlfriend. And yet, it was serious enough to actually be more than a friendship. Lance was a great guy; he was the kind of guy girls dream all their lives meeting, but when they do, he would actually be someone else's boyfriend or husband. Lance seemed genuinely interested in her, but Guinevere could not help feeling that Lance was holding something back; more like holding himself back. Maybe it was a commitment issue; Lance was, after all, born with a Y-chromosome; making him susceptible in avoiding it as long as he could.
For now, though, their 'whatever-ship' was going on rather well. And he has a great bunch of friends; who are surprisingly normal and down-to-earth, despite their reputation. Maybe not quite normal, but their gesture of friendship was true, something that still surprises Guinevere. When she met them collectively at the Hall, she had a feeling that they do not normally let strangers into their circle. Their acceptance of her was mutual; Guinevere had a feeling if even one of them had an itch of uneasiness with her, she would not be standing in her bedroom now packing her things to spend a long weekend with them.
Comforted by the fact that they were all friends and knowing that Lance would be at the flat, Guinevere picked up her coat and headed for the door. Her heart was beating at a rate that she was sure was most unnatural and her throat was dry. She experienced none of this when she went out on dates with Lance and attributed this to seeing Merlin and Arthur again.
And the Arthur inevitable brought back memories of a broad chest, shoulders and towels that should be outlawed for not being...adequate enough.
It was a miracle that she could drive with all the thoughts swirling in her head. If she crashed and died, it would have been the fault of Arthur and his chiselled pectorals.
Arthur was pacing the living room, his cuticles on the verge of destruction when the doorbell rang. He opened the door and found Morgana, beaming and holding up a take-away bag from her favourite Indian restaurant.
"Wonderful," Arthur said, leaving the door wide, as he went back into the living room, letting Morgana find her own way into the flat. "Morgana and curry; the indigestion package. Now my evening is complete."
"It's all right, Guinevere," Morgana could be heard talking in the hallway that connected the living room to the front door. "Arthur is actually a grumpy, toothless bear. No harm will befall you."
Arthur froze in his steps. Guinevere was here? He turned around and sure enough, a slightly nervous looking Guinevere was following Morgana into the living room.
"Guinevere," Arthur said, all smiles now. "What a pleasant surprise."
"Hello, Arthur," Guinevere said, managing a small wave as she stepped into the living room.
Morgana put her things on a side table and regarded Arthur. "I texted Merlin earlier telling him Guinevere and I are coming."
"His mobile had been sacrificed to the gods of arts this afternoon," Arthur told her. "Apparently, Merlin thought a jar of cobalt blue is a good place to put his mobile in." He walked past her and helped Guinevere out of her coat and hung the garment in the little built-in closet in the hallway. "Can I get you a drink, Guinevere?"
"No, thank you, Arthur. Perhaps later?" she said. "Where's Lance?"
Of course, Arthur thought, ignoring the momentary searing feeling he felt in the general region of his heart. Why else would she be here?
"Kitchen," Arthur said, jerking his thumb towards the door at the other end of the room. "Engaged in a battle of wills with Merlin."
"Battle of wills?" Morgana asked, frowning in the direction of the kitchen. "There's a lost cause. Lance doesn't stand a chance. He would cave if Merlin as much as pouts."
"Not this time," Arthur said. "Too much is at stake."
"Well, whatever it is, can you please try to be a good host to Guinevere for a bit?" Morgana said, turning to Arthur. "I need to use the ladies' room."
"Only little boys' room around here," was Arthur's casual response to that, having forgotten Guinevere was standing in the same room with him.
Morgana, already headed for the spare bathroom next to Merlin's studio, looked at Arthur, an eyebrow raised, ready with her response to his remark of 'little boys' room'. Arthur caught the look, shook his head, his eyes imploring Morgana not to embarrass him in front of Guinevere. Morgana nodded, letting it go, this time. Arthur sighed in relief, turning back to Guinevere.
"What was that about?" Guinevere asked, her expression a delightful mixture of a smile and a frown.
"That," Arthur said, as he led Guinevere towards the kitchen. "Is a good reason why brothers hate sisters. Don't let it bother you, Guinevere. Morgana is just another word for annoying."
He held the kitchen door open for her and she entered it before him. Like the rest of the flat, the kitchen was quiet too, which was a surprise seeing that Lance and Merlin were in it.
"Guinevere's here," Arthur announced, but Merlin and Lance did not move from the kitchen table where they were seated at, looking at each other in a fierce concentration that seemed rather worrying for Guinevere to see.
"Hello, Guinevere," Merlin called out, with a wave.
"Hey, Gwen," Lance greeted her, his eyes still on Merlin. "Hang on a bit, will you? This will be over soon."
"What's going on?" Guinevere asked, all traces of her smile gone, to be replaced with a frown.
Arthur stood next to Guinevere, regarding his friends, his arms crossed at his chest. "This is a battle of wills," he told her.
"Should I ask why?" Guinevere said, glancing at Arthur before turning her gaze towards the two guys at the kitchen table. "Or escape while there is still a chance?"
Arthur turned to Guinevere, looking down at her, and rather enjoying the experience. "You can run, Guinevere. But you will never outrun us," he said with a smile.
"Guess I'll just have take my chances then," Guinevere replied, falling quite comfortably into the banter routine with Arthur. "So, why are Lance and Merlin looking at each other as if they have just had a lovers' quarrel?"
Arthur grinned while Merlin and Lance scoffed, but they never took their eyes off each other. "It's a no-blinking match," Arthur said. "We would have wrestled to settle the matter we are contesting, but we drew straws and I got the short one. Merlin drew the longest, thus he chooses the battle."
"And he chose staring into Lance's eyes?" Guinevere said shaking her head and holding up her hands, as if she was giving up. "This is very disturbing."
"I know," Arthur said, sounding quite serious. "But we can't let Merlin win, or we'll be doomed."
"Why are we doomed?" Morgana entered the kitchen and that moment, Merlin gave a shout.
"Hah! Game over, du Lac! You lose!" Merlin claimed, jumping from his seat and gesturing wildly at Lance, who was banging his head slowly on the kitchen table.
"What?" Arthur could not believe what he was seeing and hearing. He went towards Lance, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder, as Merlin did a ridiculous jig.
The two girls were confused. "What's going on?" Morgana asked, her firm voice demanding an explanation for Lance's apparent distress and Merlin's celebratory dance that she prayed would never be seen in public.
"He blinked," Merlin said, as if it explained everything.
"Wonderful," Morgana said, her voice dry. Turning to Arthur and Lance, whom she hopes would give an answer suitable for adult, she arched an eyebrow.
"Our ride to Tintagel..." Arthur began and Morgana immediately guessed what had transpired.
"You didn't," Morgana said, through gritted teeth. Guinevere was watching the events unfold in front of her from the relative safety of the little nook next to the industrial-sized refrigerator. She looked as if she wished she was somewhere else; preferably on a different continent.
Morgana approached Arthur, with intentions of unleashing some sort of physical violence on her stepbrother. "We...Did...How..." Morgana could not articulate anything coherent; her rage all-consuming. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, calming herself down before she spoke again. "Arthur, maybe I am wrong. I hope, for your sake, that I am wrong. I have the distinct impression that we are to travel to Tintagel in Merlin's van." Morgana's voice had all the charm and warmth of the Arctic tundra.
"Lance lost the no-blinking contest," Arthur pointed out, trying to minimize his fault.
"How could you wager something so serious on a no-blinking competition?" Morgana cried, throwing her hands up in despair. "Travelling to Tintagel in THAT van? Have you lost your mind?"
"I did not know you felt so strongly against my van." Merlin had stopped dancing and was now looking at Morgana, his eyes wide and shiny, as if he was on the verge of tears. Arthur closed his eyes and shook his head, knowing full well what was going to happen next. This battle was lost even before it began.
"Merlin, I..." Morgana began, as Guinevere came to stand next to Morgana, her heart probably wrenching at the sight of Merlin's expression.
"Well, if you feel that way, Morgana, then perhaps we could...we could..." Merlin spoke but was unable to continue because apparently he was choked up with emotions. By then, Lance had risen from his seat and was going towards Merlin with every intentions of comforting him.
"Mate, look, it's all right," Lance said to Merlin, putting a hand around his shoulder, as Morgana and Guinevere came close to them. "We'll take the van to Tintagel."
Arthur suppressed a groan. And the urge to smack Lance and Merlin across the head. The basket of fruit on the kitchen table was tempting him to act on that violent impulse triggered by his annoyance, but Arthur was a gentleman. He would not assault his friends with fruits in front of women, no matter how much he thinks they deserve it. Morgana and Guinevere could be forgiven; they were after all, females and Merlin has a tendency to bring out the protective side of the fairer sex with his mere presence. However, Lance, he should have known better. Merlin had pulled the puppy-dog look on them countless times and Lance is none the wiser. Arthur was glad at least he was immune to Merlin's sympathy-seeking ruse.
Merlin nodded, making an effort to appear brave. He bit down his lower lips, in an apparent effort to stop it from trembling. "That's okay," Merlin said, his voice thick with emotions. "I understand. We should..."
"No." Morgana was quick to protest. "Your van will be fine." Turning to Arthur, she tried to sound as if she was excited about the prospects of travelling in the vehicle she swore once that she would never touch with a ten-foot pole. "Isn't it, Arthur?"
Arthur sighed. He had lost his say earlier this evening, so nothing he says can change anything now. "I cannot comment on anything because apparently I am bound by the technicalities involved with drawing the short straw," he said glumly.
Merlin finally smiled, all signs of misery gone. "I am going to start my packing," he said, leaving the kitchen, a triumphant grin on his face, knowing that he has Morgana, Lance and now even Guinevere twisted nicely around his little finger.
"You are the worst bunch of pushovers ever," Arthur told them, as he went towards the liquor cabinet. He might as well start drinking now to lessen the pain of travelling in Merlin's van on Thursday.
Morgana and Lance did not bother to comment, they knew Arthur was telling the truth.
"It can't be that bad," Guinevere spoke, looking rather concerned. As a reply to this, Morgana took Guinevere's hand and led her towards the kitchen window that opened out into the car park two floors below. Arthur poured Lance and himself a drink and watched the two girls.
Morgana pointed out something to Guinevere, whose reaction was a reflexive hand to the mouth and a horrified look. Morgana nodded and led Guinevere back to the kitchen table, where Lance pulled out a chair for her and Arthur handed her a drink.
"Wow," was all Guinevere could say. Lance took a seat next to her, his hand swung casually over the back of her chair.
Morgana put a hand on Guinevere's on top of the table, acknowledging her shock by nodding, indicating she understood Guinevere's horror.
"We have to see the bloody thing every day," Arthur pointed out, downing his drink at one go. "Lance and I might as well be the first candidates for intensive psychological counselling brought on by exposure to neon and metallic ugliness."
"I would recommend group therapy for the whole lot of you, but I do not think there is a therapist brave enough to take you on," Guinevere said, looking very serious.
"Merlin alone would be enough to scare them away," Arthur said, pulling up a chair at the table. "Welcome to our world, Guinevere."
Guinevere smiled, shaking her head. If she thought the whole situation was surreal, she did not say. Turning to Lance, she said, "Does this happen everyday? Or only on special occasions?"
"Every other day," Lance replied. Arthur and Morgana nodded solemnly, agreeing. "Gets worse during Christmas..."
Guinevere shook her head in disbelief, as Morgana assured her it the condition was not contagious. They then discussed travel plans, which, unfortunately, had been decided with Lance's loss in the no-blinking contest. Merlin came into the kitchen, with a stealth that surprised the rest of them; he wanted to see if they were planning something behind their back. His worries were unfounded as they took turns telling Guinevere about the Harvest Festival. They finished the Indian take-away dinner, with Arthur settling for a set of frozen dinner because he claimed his system could not take any more heartburn. They then went to the living room, where the girls discussed clothes and the guys watched a B-grade monster movie that Lance chose for the evening.
With Morgana and Guinevere the corner of the living room, Merlin and Lance sitting between him in their designated chairs, Arthur felt an immense satisfaction; contentment brought on by knowledge that the most important things in his life were in the same room as he was. When he heard Guinevere's soft giggles, the feeling intensified. Of course, it was only natural that Arthur should feel happy with a new addition to their little clique. They all had a new friend that they mutually liked. That was a good reason for him feeling that way. It was a reason that made sense to him.
Later that evening, as the girls said goodbye and Lance kissed Guinevere good night; very brief, very platonic kiss, the satisfaction level dropped drastically for that short moment Guinevere and Lance were embraced. Arthur knew this because his heartbeat was leaden. The moment, less than ten seconds, seemed to drag on forever. There was no explanation for this.
And when Guinevere waved goodbye to him, telling them she would see them on Thursday evening, it felt as if his heart soared again.
There was no explanation for this either.