Fic: Tackling Albion (Part 1/11)
Author: sachtastic
Title: Tackling Albion
Rating: G this chapter, PG-13 most chapters, R overall
Pairing(s): Eventual Arthur/Merlin and Gwen/Lance
Summary: Football (soccer) AU. Merlin is a superstitious fan; Arthur is the 18-year-old star striker of the team he salivates over. Fate, and a teensy tiny bit of slash dragon, conspire to bring them together. In this chapter, they both land new jobs.
Warnings: None
Word Count: 1253 this part, 30k+ overall
Spoilers: None
Prologue is here, but no need to read it, especially if you don't like kids.
~ ~ ~
It had been a week since Merlin’s inevitable and comprehensive failure in his A-levels had crushed his hopes of going to university with best friend Gwen, and forced him into the job market.
Wolverhampton, the only town he had ever known, was not the best place to be inexperienced and unemployed. Yet, somehow, he had pulled it off, securing not only a job, but one of the best jobs he could possibly dream of. He returned home from his interview with triumph in his step, bounding up the stairs to the flat.
“Put the telly on, Merlin m’lover,” Hunith called from the kitchen as her son closed the front door behind him.
“On it, mum.”
In the last eleven years, most of Merlin’s growing had been upwards, producing a tall and not exactly muscular physique. He had yet to enjoy that last spurt of testosterone that would fill out his shoulders and give him a full beard, and as such had a youthful look about him.
He kicked off his battered trainers, and flung himself at the sofa, turning the television on in the same well-rehearsed movement. Since leaving college with neither job nor plan, watching television had become his specialist subject.
“I got a job.”
“You didn’t!” Merlin’s mother ducked her head around the door. She was wearing washing-up gloves, and foam dripped from her hands onto the carpet. She ducked away again a second later; Merlin expected she had gone to remove the gloves so as to talk to him properly.
“Ar. Assistant groundsman at The Castle.”
“A castle?” Hunith asked proudly, shuffling over on slippered feet to sit beside her only child.
“No, mum.” Merlin shifted awkwardly in his seat. “The Castle. Where Camelot play.”
Hunith stood up at once.
“Oh, you and that bloody football team!”
“Mum, do you have any idea how many people applied?” Merlin protested.
“You mean, do I know how many daft clarnets like you there are in this town?”
“It’s a job! There’s a recession on! Do you know how lucky I am to get this?”
Hunith nodded, her expression softening.
“Plus,” Merlin continued, “it means I get to go to every home game.”
Lost for words, she shook her head and returned to finish the dishes, glancing at the picture of her husband in the hallway.
“You did a good job, Lee,” she whispered. It had been nearly ten years since he’d died, but he certainly lived on in Merlin’s love for the game.
Back in the living room, Merlin’s blue eyes were on Midlands Today, the local news broadcast.
“Interesting news for fans of Camelot Football Club after manager Uther Pendragon confirmed that his son, who has been on loan at Derby County all last season, will play first-team football for Camelot when the new season starts in August. Eighteen-year-old Arthur, who scored seventeen goals for Championship side Derby in all competitions, could prove an interesting addition to the side.”
Uther’s face, older than it had been, but somehow still as handsome, appeared on the screen mid press-conference, with media flashbulbs winking.
“Arthur’s a good young player, and I’m not just saying that ‘cause he’s my boy. He had a good run on loan at Derby last year, and they wanted him to stay another season. But I think he’s ready now; he’s doing very well in training and should join the first team come August.”
The shot changed again, this time to a journalist filming a piece outside The Castle.
“Many fans will remember Uther Pendragon as the man whose right foot propelled Camelot to the Premiership eleven years ago. Though they have remained in the top flight ever since, the prospect of relegation has always dogged them, and many will look to the young Arthur, as Uther’s heir, to be their salvation. But, with the weight of the family name on his shoulders, can Arthur Pendragon live up to expectations?”
Merlin hoped so. Camelot fans expected little of their team, which had never finished more than half way up the table. Silverware was an impossibility. Most years they tended to veer violently towards relegation before Merlin managed to scrape enough money together to go to a few matches and save their season.
He wasn’t sure if he believed his old superstition any more. He only ever went to matches he knew Camelot could win, after all. He never risked the big games for fear that he had been wrong all these years and that he was just like everyone else.
Arthur Pendragon was most definitely not like everyone else. He was a footballer, no, a striker, in the most competitive league in the world. He was handsome, rich, and famous. Finally, he was wearing the most famous jersey in the history of his club, the number fifteen, wearing the most famous name in Camelot across his back: PENDRAGON.
~~~
“Congratulations, Arthur,” Uther murmured into his ear as they shook hands for the cameras. Closeness was not something he shared with his father; as long as they worked together, their bond would be purely professional.
That had been one of the things that had made him reluctant to sign for Camelot. If he kept his father at a distance, he could pretend that he was just a dad, a loving father who had brought his son up alone.
The truth was that Arthur had essentially brought himself up alone, his father’s love of football taking precedence in both their lives. It was the only way Uther knew how to parent.
It wasn’t that Arthur wasn’t grateful, he was. His father may have been known as an excellent player, but he was also an excellent coach. Without that, Arthur wouldn’t have been where he was then.
He had everything. Football was his everything. It provided a weekly salary that others would be glad of earning in a year. It provided fame, the envy of men and the adoration of women.
Still, he was dedicated to the sport. He was good, but Uther was the best. If he hadn’t become manager of Camelot once it became clear his career was at an end, there would probably have already been a statue of Uther Pendragon standing at the gates of The Castle.
That was a lot to live up to, and Arthur had given up a lot. He devoted himself to maintaining his fitness, avoiding alcohol, drugs, and most importantly, women. At the age of eighteen, handsome, muscular, rich Arthur Pendragon was still a virgin. When he made the decision, he thought it might have been difficult, but even as time wore on, he never craved the women who flocked to him when he did, occasionally, frequent bars.
He couldn’t miss what he’d never had, he reasoned.
Camelot was the club he had supported as a boy, watching from the sidelines with some of the other children. He didn’t really like them, and he certainly didn’t talk to any of them any more. All he had wanted, as a child and an adult, was his father’s love and approval, and Uther had seemed so keen for him to sign. It seemed like his father was finally proud of him.
In reality, although Arthur did not know it, Camelot F.C. was in ruins, and it was all Uther’s fault. Stubbornness and a disagreement with the club’s owner meant that the usually generous Mr Draig had refused to release any funds to buy players with. Arthur was a last choice, and a desperate one.
~~~
~~~
Title: Tackling Albion
Rating: G this chapter, PG-13 most chapters, R overall
Pairing(s): Eventual Arthur/Merlin and Gwen/Lance
Summary: Football (soccer) AU. Merlin is a superstitious fan; Arthur is the 18-year-old star striker of the team he salivates over. Fate, and a teensy tiny bit of slash dragon, conspire to bring them together. In this chapter, they both land new jobs.
Warnings: None
Word Count: 1253 this part, 30k+ overall
Spoilers: None
Prologue is here, but no need to read it, especially if you don't like kids.
~ ~ ~
It had been a week since Merlin’s inevitable and comprehensive failure in his A-levels had crushed his hopes of going to university with best friend Gwen, and forced him into the job market.
Wolverhampton, the only town he had ever known, was not the best place to be inexperienced and unemployed. Yet, somehow, he had pulled it off, securing not only a job, but one of the best jobs he could possibly dream of. He returned home from his interview with triumph in his step, bounding up the stairs to the flat.
“Put the telly on, Merlin m’lover,” Hunith called from the kitchen as her son closed the front door behind him.
“On it, mum.”
In the last eleven years, most of Merlin’s growing had been upwards, producing a tall and not exactly muscular physique. He had yet to enjoy that last spurt of testosterone that would fill out his shoulders and give him a full beard, and as such had a youthful look about him.
He kicked off his battered trainers, and flung himself at the sofa, turning the television on in the same well-rehearsed movement. Since leaving college with neither job nor plan, watching television had become his specialist subject.
“I got a job.”
“You didn’t!” Merlin’s mother ducked her head around the door. She was wearing washing-up gloves, and foam dripped from her hands onto the carpet. She ducked away again a second later; Merlin expected she had gone to remove the gloves so as to talk to him properly.
“Ar. Assistant groundsman at The Castle.”
“A castle?” Hunith asked proudly, shuffling over on slippered feet to sit beside her only child.
“No, mum.” Merlin shifted awkwardly in his seat. “The Castle. Where Camelot play.”
Hunith stood up at once.
“Oh, you and that bloody football team!”
“Mum, do you have any idea how many people applied?” Merlin protested.
“You mean, do I know how many daft clarnets like you there are in this town?”
“It’s a job! There’s a recession on! Do you know how lucky I am to get this?”
Hunith nodded, her expression softening.
“Plus,” Merlin continued, “it means I get to go to every home game.”
Lost for words, she shook her head and returned to finish the dishes, glancing at the picture of her husband in the hallway.
“You did a good job, Lee,” she whispered. It had been nearly ten years since he’d died, but he certainly lived on in Merlin’s love for the game.
Back in the living room, Merlin’s blue eyes were on Midlands Today, the local news broadcast.
“Interesting news for fans of Camelot Football Club after manager Uther Pendragon confirmed that his son, who has been on loan at Derby County all last season, will play first-team football for Camelot when the new season starts in August. Eighteen-year-old Arthur, who scored seventeen goals for Championship side Derby in all competitions, could prove an interesting addition to the side.”
Uther’s face, older than it had been, but somehow still as handsome, appeared on the screen mid press-conference, with media flashbulbs winking.
“Arthur’s a good young player, and I’m not just saying that ‘cause he’s my boy. He had a good run on loan at Derby last year, and they wanted him to stay another season. But I think he’s ready now; he’s doing very well in training and should join the first team come August.”
The shot changed again, this time to a journalist filming a piece outside The Castle.
“Many fans will remember Uther Pendragon as the man whose right foot propelled Camelot to the Premiership eleven years ago. Though they have remained in the top flight ever since, the prospect of relegation has always dogged them, and many will look to the young Arthur, as Uther’s heir, to be their salvation. But, with the weight of the family name on his shoulders, can Arthur Pendragon live up to expectations?”
Merlin hoped so. Camelot fans expected little of their team, which had never finished more than half way up the table. Silverware was an impossibility. Most years they tended to veer violently towards relegation before Merlin managed to scrape enough money together to go to a few matches and save their season.
He wasn’t sure if he believed his old superstition any more. He only ever went to matches he knew Camelot could win, after all. He never risked the big games for fear that he had been wrong all these years and that he was just like everyone else.
Arthur Pendragon was most definitely not like everyone else. He was a footballer, no, a striker, in the most competitive league in the world. He was handsome, rich, and famous. Finally, he was wearing the most famous jersey in the history of his club, the number fifteen, wearing the most famous name in Camelot across his back: PENDRAGON.
~~~
“Congratulations, Arthur,” Uther murmured into his ear as they shook hands for the cameras. Closeness was not something he shared with his father; as long as they worked together, their bond would be purely professional.
That had been one of the things that had made him reluctant to sign for Camelot. If he kept his father at a distance, he could pretend that he was just a dad, a loving father who had brought his son up alone.
The truth was that Arthur had essentially brought himself up alone, his father’s love of football taking precedence in both their lives. It was the only way Uther knew how to parent.
It wasn’t that Arthur wasn’t grateful, he was. His father may have been known as an excellent player, but he was also an excellent coach. Without that, Arthur wouldn’t have been where he was then.
He had everything. Football was his everything. It provided a weekly salary that others would be glad of earning in a year. It provided fame, the envy of men and the adoration of women.
Still, he was dedicated to the sport. He was good, but Uther was the best. If he hadn’t become manager of Camelot once it became clear his career was at an end, there would probably have already been a statue of Uther Pendragon standing at the gates of The Castle.
That was a lot to live up to, and Arthur had given up a lot. He devoted himself to maintaining his fitness, avoiding alcohol, drugs, and most importantly, women. At the age of eighteen, handsome, muscular, rich Arthur Pendragon was still a virgin. When he made the decision, he thought it might have been difficult, but even as time wore on, he never craved the women who flocked to him when he did, occasionally, frequent bars.
He couldn’t miss what he’d never had, he reasoned.
Camelot was the club he had supported as a boy, watching from the sidelines with some of the other children. He didn’t really like them, and he certainly didn’t talk to any of them any more. All he had wanted, as a child and an adult, was his father’s love and approval, and Uther had seemed so keen for him to sign. It seemed like his father was finally proud of him.
In reality, although Arthur did not know it, Camelot F.C. was in ruins, and it was all Uther’s fault. Stubbornness and a disagreement with the club’s owner meant that the usually generous Mr Draig had refused to release any funds to buy players with. Arthur was a last choice, and a desperate one.
~~~
~~~