Teulu (4/?)
Title: Teulu (4/?)
Author: nightchaser_sla
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Merlin/Arthur; OMC/OMC
Warnings: modern!au; voyeurism; slight BDSM
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Summary: "I know that you complete idiot." His voice was silky in anger. "Do you even know who I am?"
There were no spare rooms within Castell Coch for Merlin to take as his own private work place, and so he used the extensive archives in the basement. He had an old trestle table in a small corner, currently covered in boxes and chests which had been brought down from Glanusk estate just that morning.
"What's all this?" The voice is soft and feminine, and Merlin swings around to see the palace biographer Elena walking towards him.
She was one of the few friends he had made here in Caerdydd, and he had found in her a kindred spirit.
"Have you ever heard about John Morgan?" he asked, waving happily at the piles of boxes and parchments on the table and spilling onto the floor. "I had Gauis send all this down from Glanusk."
"Up in the Beacons?" she asked, carefully pushing aside some of the books and perching on the corner of the table. "I thought that was one of the Lloyd estates."
Though Elena's job was mostly writing the biography of Lowri and those surrounding her she had a great interest in history, especially that involving the royals.
"It is." He felt like jumping up and down on the spot, because right here in front of him was the best kept secret this country had to offer. "In 1879 it belonged to Nye Lloyd after his father died of consumption, on its grounds lived his sister Ana and her husband John Morgan. In his early twenties John was an adventurer, a treasure hunter ... an archeologist."
Elena smiled at that, and quite possibly at the way in which he was picking all the loose threads out of his old shirt.
"I can see why you like the man," she said.
"He was injured in Cairo in the summer of 1880 and Ana brought him to Glanusk to recopirate. Whilst here he became a bit of a legend, there were no police in the area and so people came to him with all their problems big or small to solve." He watched as Elena picked up a book and flipped it open. "Those are the private diaries of Ana."
"These are just stories," she whispered. "They're somebodies scribblings about Edward Peacock, a Victorian era version of fanfiction."
Edward Peacock was famous in Welsh literary circles, a character created by authors unknown and much in the style of the English Sherlock Holmes. There was not a school child in the country who didn't learn of his exploits.
"Elena." He snatched the book from her hands and forced her to look at him. "John Morgan was Edward Peacock. Gauis found all of this walled up in an extension of the cellar ... hidden."
"Hidden?" demanded Elena, picking up another book. "Why?"
"I don't know," he answered absently, slowly removing an old moth-eaten cover from what must obviously be a portrait of some kind. "But its my job to find out."
"I thought you're job was to research Caste ..." Her voice trailed off when the portrait was revealed, and the image of the man painted upon the canvas took his breath away.
He was maybe thirty-five with dark skin, which in itself was unusual for that era, his head was shaved except for a carefully trimmed beard and moustache. He was incredibly good-looking with eyes that seemed to stare straight out of the canvas and through Merlin.
"Shit," whispered Merlin, leaning forward for a closer inspection.
"Is that him?" demanded Elena, sliding from the table and moving to stand beside Merlin.
Merlin didn't even get a chance to answer because at that moment the heavy archive doors burst open and there was the sound of swearing from the other side of the room. Swinging around, the dust cover still in his hand, Merlin could just make out the form of a man in the shadows between the shelves. He was maybe a little shorter than Merlin himself, with sandy-blonde hair which meant that he was in no way related to the usually dark-haired royals. The man was clearly strong, his chest and shoulders broad and his waist slender which showed that he worked out.
"Who are you?" demanded Merlin, angry at having his sanctuary invaded in such a manner.
"I'm looking for the kitchens," said the man, not even bothering to answer Merlin's question.
"Well they're not here," answered Merlin, folding his arms across his chest.
At that the other man looked up at him sharply, and then stalked further into the light so that the expression of amused intolerance was clear on his face.
"I know that you complete idiot." His voice was silky in anger. "Do you even know who I am?"
To be honest Merlin didn't care who he was, as a consultant archeologist he worked for the King himself and so nothing this man could possibly say would threaten him.
"I thought that was obvious." He shrugged his slim shoulders in what he hoped was indifference and glanced back at Elena. "You're a prat."
It was at that moment that he noticed that Elena was trying to subtley wave her hands at him to shut up and he knew, knew that he had made a cockup of monumental proportions.
"The kitchens are on the ground floor," whispered Elena, giving a small bow. "Sire."
Shit shit, double shit. He must be a visiting monarch of some other country and Merlin had probably just caused a diplomatic incident with his stupidity and wayward mouth.
"Thank you," said the man, giving Elena a respectful nod.
"No problem!" Merlin called to his retreating back, flinching as the doors slammed behind him.
"Merlin." Elena grabbed the sleeve of his shirt and swung him around to face her. "That was Arthur Pendragon ... he's here to become the Crown Prince."