I do not own Merlin. I reiterate that I will never give up on owning the Crowned Prince of Camelot.
It was almost midnight on Wednesday and in the darkness of the night, two figures were seen running across the parking lot. They were clad in black and one of them was carrying toolbox. As they passed beneath a lamp post, there was no mistaking Arthur and Lance, although if anyone had seen them, they would have been inclined to ask about the skip caps and the power tools Lance was carrying. Arthur made his way ahead of Lance, and just a few feet from their target, behind a pillar. Lance came to stand beside Arthur and they both looked at their target, the neon monstrosity Merlin insists on calling a vehicle, in disgust; intending to put an end to it that very evening.
"Ready?" Lance asked, as he handed Arthur a power drill. Arthur nodded. He took a deep breath and then, ran soundlessly towards the van. He ducked into the space between the back of the van and the wall that ran the perimeter of the parking lot. Moments later, Lance joined him.
They tested their battery-operated drills, it worked fine. Lance and Arthur looked at each other. Lance nodded and Arthur began to commence the first part of Operation Neon-Snuff. He stood up and walked towards the front of the van. When he reached the front, Arthur wished he had brought his sunglasses because even in the darkness the neon paintjob hurt his eyes.
Another deep breath and Arthur raised the power drill in his hand. He touched the front grill of the van. And almost died when a klaxon rang, shattering the still of the night. Lance, who had been crouching behind the van, fell to the floor, and quickly scrambled to his feet, and ran towards Arthur, who stood stunned at the front of the van. He pulled Arthur away and they quickly hid behind a pillar, as several windows lighted up and neighbours poked their head out of the window; most of them looking sleepy, irritated and some even downright murderous. The two failed criminals watched from behind the pillar as their kitchen was illuminated and Merlin opened the window. He frowned and then brought out his hand and pressed a button on his car alarm remote. The klaxon died down and the neighbours went back inside, some showing their irritation by slamming their windows shut. There was no doubt this issue would be raised in the next residents' tea and meeting.
Merlin poked his head out of the window, looking around the area, frowning. Then, he went inside and closed the window and the kitchen was dark again.
Arthur and Lance sat on the ground, leaning against the pillar, breathing as if they had just run a marathon. Their power drills lay by their sides, unused.
"An alarm? For that piece of scrap metal junk?" Lance was incredulous.
Arthur shook his head in disgust, as he took out his mobile phone from the back pocket. He punched in his message to Morgana.
FAILED. VAN WOKE THE ENTIRE CITY.
Morgana's reply came moments later.
Guinevere says she knows a guy who knows a guy. We'll take care of this. Both of u just deny everything.
"Are they going to kill him?" Lance whispered aloud as he read the text Arthur showed him.
"Maybe it's the only way," Arthur said sagely. "It's not just about us, Lance. This involves every road user in the country. Have you thought about what the people of Tintagel would think when they see their marquis arriving in a van that looks like it had belonged to a Rolling Stone groupie?"
Lance looked worried. He knows both Pendragons hated the van and hoped that it would not come to a violent end. Perhaps they should talk with Merlin again...
That would not work, because when Lance and Arthur mentioned an alternative vehicle, Merlin invoked their oaths; the ones Arthur and Lance had made last year at Tintagel; where they had been more than slightly drunk and more than slightly high due to the consumption of wild mushrooms. Arthur and Lance had sworn that they would never dispute any resolution decided through the drawing of straws; Arthur swore his oath on his prized collection of Bacardi, while Lance swore his on his Beatles original LPs. So far, that had worked fine for them, until Merlin brought up the transportation issue...and here they are now.
"Think about this way, mate," Arthur said, as they got up from behind the pillar. He dusted the back of his jeans and picked up the power drill. "Whatever happens to Merlin tomorrow, he asked for it."
"Come on, Arthur," Lance said, remembering Merlin's joy when they 'agreed' on travelling to Tintagel in the van. "It's just a van. There's no need for..."
Arthur put his hands on Lance's shoulder and turned him around to face the van behind him, squatting twenty paces away; its shiny grill a parody of a grin, mocking their defeat.
Lance's change of heart was immediate. "We'll just deny everything and run away to Brazil."
"That's more like it," Arthur said and led the way back to their flat. They returned to their rooms, disappointed that the plan they hatched through a series of texts between themselves and Morgana that took up their entire lunch hour had not come to fruition. It would have been fun to use the power drills. Now, it is entirely in the hands of Morgana. Arthur only hoped that Merlin would not pout at her or their entire plan would go up in smokes again.
The next morning, Merlin did not emerge from his room when Arthur and Lance left for work. The other two found that they had nothing left to say to each other in the aftermath of their failure so, they went their separate ways to work. The most they could do was to glare at the van, which seemingly mocked them back with its idiotic fender grin.
Both Arthur and Lance were working until lunch that day, so in the afternoon, when Arthur drove into the parking lot of their flat, he saw Lance there, who had obviously just returned from work. Lance, leaning against his motorcycle, arms crossed at his chest and a frown on his face that was reminiscent of a sulking child, was watching Merlin load the van with his luggage. Merlin was cheerful enough for all three of them, whistling out of tune as he carried out his task. Arthur parked at his spot next to Lance's Harley and got out of his Jaguar, noting that, in the absence of proper seats in the back, Merlin had lined the floors with newspapers and flattened cardboard boxes. He shook his head, shaking his head in disgust, nose wrinkled as if he had been handed a platter of decomposing toads. He stood next to Lance and they gave a collective sigh of defeat.
"This can't be happening, mate," Lance said, as they watched Merlin, who went about his task oblivious to Lance and Arthur. "I do not want to die in a van. Especially that one."
Arthur wished he could say something but it was hard to give strength to someone when one's own morale had been sapped. He could only watch.
When Merlin had arranged all his things to his satisfaction, he straightened up, turning to his friends. A rather silly grin was plastered to his face; an expression that did not endear much to his irritated friends.
"I am thinking of a word," Merlin told them, looking very pleased with himself.
"So am I," Arthur said, feigning excitement. "Mine rhymes with pluck, cluck and duck. Yours?" Arthur's voice was dangerously calm.
Words alone have never been known to deter Merlin. He continued as if Arthur had not spoken. "Scupper. Verb. Thwart or wreck. As in the sentence, the would-be vandals were scuppered by the alarm."
"Arthur is going to scupper Merlin," Arthur suggested a sentence of his own, uncrossing his arms and taking a step towards Merlin. The grin disappeared entirely from Merlin's face, to be replaced with genuine apprehension. Lance turned away, hiding show his smile.
"Or how about this; Lance du Lac did not scupper Arthur Pendragon from scuppering Merlin Emrys," Lance had to contribute his own example.
"Nice one, mate," Arthur replied, holding out his fist for a fist-bump with Lance. "Here, how about this; nobody bothered to scupper the charming, good – looking blokes who scuppered the freaky vegetarian." A shark-like smile spread across Arthur's features as he said this.
"That's good," Lance said, nodding his agreement. Another fist-bump between the two of them followed.
"Scupper off!" Merlin said, glaring at them both and turning towards the flat, muttering words that rhymed suspiciously with pluck, cluck and duck. He had only taken a few steps when a huge, black Rover with tinted glass came to a slow halt, blocking Merlin's way to the flat. Arthur and Lance were immediately alert; Lance pushed Merlin back as he and Arthur took their positions in front of their friend. Arthur wondered if Morgana had been serious about the whole Guinevere-knows-a-guy-who-knows-a guy thing.
The window of the driver seat rolled down to reveal a grinning Morgana and Guinevere. Arthur and Lance sighed in relief, unaware they had been holding their breath.
"What's going on?" Merlin asked, nudging between Lance and Arthur as he stepped forward. There was a frown on his face and worse still, his lower lips were trembling. Morgana and Guinevere needed an iron will if they are going to overcome this. Arthur steered Lance away from Merlin; letting the girls deal with him, because Lance was already feeling sorry for Merlin and Arthur wanted to make sure that the girls' decision is not swayed by a sympathetic third party who is very much pro-Merlin.
"I have got nothing against your lovely van, Merlin," Guinevere explained, her voice and expression were earnest enough, but strangely, she did not look in the general direction of the van.
Merlin and Guinevere were standing a little further from the rest of them, at the parking lot. Merlin was scuffing the gravel with the toe of his sneakers, not wanting to look at Guinevere or the Rover. The rest of them were watching the proceeding with both amusement and apprehension. It was up to Guinevere now to ensure that Merlin did spend the next four days sulking.
"I feel I have to contribute something to the weekend. I can't just go for free..." Guinevere explained.
"But you're a guest," Merlin protested. The rest of them froze, knowing that Merlin has got a point there.
Guinevere regarded Merlin with a slightly crestfallen expression. "Is that all, Merlin? I thought we were friends. And friends let friends help each other."
"I..." Merlin began, but Guinevere interrupted him.
"This is the only way I can contribute to the trip and the weekend, Merlin," she said, her voice pleading. "As a friend, I want to drive all of you there. Will you not, as a friend, allow me to drive you there?"
It was a tense half a minute as Merlin pondered over Guinevere's request. The rest of them literally held their breaths. Then, as slowly as it would take a flower to bloom, Merlin's frown slowly dissipated and a smile finally crept into the corners of his mouth. "Of course," he said, as he took Guinevere's hand into his. "Anything for you, Guinevere."
Guinevere laughed and drew Merlin into a hug. "Thank you," she told him. "I really appreciate this, Merlin."
As a response to this, Merlin bent down and whispered something to Guinevere. Then, he turned away from her and started hauling his things from his van and into the Rover. Guinevere left him to his task and approached the rest of them, who managed to give her a stealthy round of applause as they huddled around her.
"Well played, Gwen," Lance said, kissing her cheek.
"Our egos owe you a lot, Guinevere," Morgana remarked, squeezing her hand.
"It's not as easy as it looked," Guinevere admitted, allowing herself to take a deep breath after the harrowing moments with Merlin.
"What did he say to you?" Arthur asked, looking at Guinevere. "He whispered something..."
Guinevere giggled when she remembered what Merlin had told her. "He said that ALL of you are biggest bunch of pushovers ever. Even Arthur. And he loves you all for not killing him. He also said that his van would not have made it out of the parking lot, let alone to Tintagel, but since he had a lot of fun with your tortured expressions, he did not say so. All it took was for one of you to say no and this would have blown over sooner."
Their departure was delayed for twenty minutes as the guys hunted down Merlin and each gave him a vigorous knuckle-rub on the top of his head. It was just after three when they started their five – hour journey. Guinevere was not allowed to drive, on the account that there were three guys who were more than capable of doing so. They opted against drawing straws because Arthur maintains that Lance and Merlin deliberately plot against him. Therefore, they settled it in a much more matured manner; Arthur won the rock-paper-scissors match-up and the right to drive. Morgana and Guinevere's eye roll were unnervingly identical.
Merlin got in the back seat with the girl between them; there was no vote to decide the matter, Merlin just pouted and got his way. Lance got into the passenger's seat in front. When Arthur strapped himself in and adjusted the rear view mirror, he had a most pleasant surprise. The view in the mirror was absolutely divine. He did not bother to adjust it much more, preferring to keep it the way it was.
By the time they were out of London, Arthur was sure he would remember every single smile and expression he saw on Guinevere's face for a very, very long time.
Two hours into the journey, Arthur and Lance who had been reviewing United's match against Milan, suddenly realized that the three in the backseat were exceptionally quiet, except for the occasional giggle or two. Arthur gestured for Lance to check behind. Lance turned in his seat to do so.
"I knew it," Lance said, shaking his head, as the three in the back froze in their covert act of imbibing from the miniatures graciously provided by Morgana.
"Miniatures again, Merlin?" Arthur asked, his eyes on the road.
A hiccup confirmed the answer, followed by a series of not-so-stealthy giggles. If Lance and Arthur thought their discovery of the three of them drinking secretly in the back would shame them, they were wrong. The three in the back were a majority and they made sure their voices were heard, especially Merlin.
"Did you know, Guinevere..." he began and Arthur was immediately wary. He was rather sure that whatever follows this statement would be most embarrassing for him.
Guinevere was instantly alert. She waited for Merlin to speak. Glad that he had an attentive audience, Merlin continued. "Did you know Guinevere that Arthur is twenty-third in line for the British throne?"
If Guinevere was impressed she did not show, except for raising an eyebrow and catching Arthur's eyes on the rear view mirror. She shook her head, indicating she did not know.
"For God's sake, Merlin," Morgana said, shaking her head. "If you're going to tell Guinevere something, make sure you got facts right."
"That's right, Gwen," Lance would not miss the opportunity to join in the discussion on Arthur's life. "Arthur is not twenty-third in line for the throne..."
"As of last year, he got bumped up to the twenty-second spot. The Earl of Something from Somewhere died without leaving male heir," Morgana said, leaning forward to squeeze his shoulder. "Good for you, Arthur...I mean, Your Highness."
Arthur groaned. It had been bad enough Lance, Merlin and Morgana relentlessly teasing him about his connection to royalty, now it looked as if Guinevere was going to join the fray. However, to her part, Guinevere managed an acknowledging nod, but kept her comments to herself.
Her silence on the matter unsettled Arthur. He wanted to know what she was thinking, what she felt. He wanted to know what was going on in her head. And he wanted to know what she was whispering to Lance, as she leaned forward and spoke to Lance in the small space between his seat and the door.
That had been a wake up call. Here he was obsessing over the exact shade of brown that her eyes were when she is quite obviously with Lance. In fact, she was only here because Lance had known her first. For all Arthur knew, she could well be his girlfr...
The word just would not form in his head. Arthur was never the jealous type, especially not when it concerns his friends. He wished them both happiness...but he just could not think of Guinevere as Lance's...
His brain froze again.
This should not be happening.
Driving down the M5 was not good way to learn that he was falling for his best friend's girlfri...
He shook his head. He just could not do it.
He does not have to do anything to acknowledge it. Some things are better left as it is. Perhaps in time, he could think of Guinevere as Lance's...
An hour before they reached Tintagel, he was sure his brain was haemorrhaging with his attempt to think of Guinevere as Lance's...someone. That would be a welcome affliction; at least he could get some rest from the torment he never knew a single word could inflict.