Heartgrove Part 1 - ii
Ms. Nimueh set down a pile of books on the table with a loud bang, which made several people at the back of the room stop chatting and turn to the front, reluctantly conceding that break was probably over.
“Today, class,” she said, looking directly at Merlin, “we are going to talk about sacrifice.”
Arthur rolled his eyes surreptitiously under cover of taking out his pencil case from his bag. The two boys had moved to sit next to each other after Ms. Nimueh had declared that much as she enjoyed their debates on every topic studied, she'd prefer them not to be conducted as shouting matches across the classroom.
“Throughout history and literature, we have examples of sacrifice. It's a major part of the chivalric code - sacrificing oneself for the king, or to protect a person in need. For example, Sir Gawain took up the challenge of the Green Knight to protect King Arthur and his kingdom. Merlin, why don't you suggest an example of sacrifice in literature for us?”
“Um...” Merlin paused, then just thought of the book he'd read most recently. “Gandalf in Lord of the Rings?”
Arthur scoffed at him, poking him in the side with his pen. “Such a geek, Merlin!”
Merlin saw no recourse but to poke him back. “You love that book just as much as I do!”
Nimueh clicked her tongue at them. “Arthur, anything to add? Another example, perhaps?”
He shrugged. “Jesus Christ?”
The teacher looked looked inordinately pleased at this answer. “Yes, precisely! What do you think about his sacrifice?”
Arthur's blue eyes, the Pendragon trademark, widened as he was put on the spot. He spoke carefully. “I think that it inspired lots of people, and started a religion.”
Nimueh's stare seemed to become a little colder. “So, what do we think Jesus' motivations were?”
“I'm afraid I don't know much about Christianity, miss. Our family follows the Old Ways. But, I suppose that saving people would have been a big reason.”
Nimueh's eyes strayed to Merlin, before sharply focusing back on Arthur.
Gwen coughed lightly, and raised a hand. “Is it proper to be discussing a religious book as a piece of literature, Ms. Nimueh?”
Ms. Nimueh shook her head slightly, like a horse ridding itself of a particularly annoying fly. “Well, personally, as a Priestess of the Old Ways, I do not believe that this Bible of yours is anything more than a 'piece of literature', and not particularly well-written at that. But we shall be moving on.”
Elena, who came from a rather strict Catholic family and went to church every Sunday, looked rather offended at that, and was opening her mouth to object, but Ms. Nimueh was already bulldozing onwards. Merlin felt at least a little more vindicated in his dislike of the woman, who had turned out to be uniformly nasty and too pernickety even for a boy who corrected other people's grammar on auto-pilot. Also, she had a habit of staring at Merlin and Arthur's table when she thought they weren't looking. Merlin found it extremely uncomfortable and had come up with several conspiracy theories. Currently, his favourite was that she was actually an alien from the planet Zorg, trying to think of new and imaginative ways to destroy the human race.
“Now, let's talk about other examples,” she was saying. She clicked the computer mouse, and a powerpoint slide appeared, with a quotation: “They never fail who die in a great cause.”
“Lord Byron, one of the poets we studied last term, said that. Now, what do we think about what this could mean for us?”
There was one last glance at Merlin, before the lesson proceeded as usual.
*-*-*
Merlin awoke one morning to the delicious smell of bacon and eggs wafting up through the house. He padded down the marble staircase (and really, he was never going to get used to having an actual stone spiral stair in the middle of his house) to the large kitchen. He found Hunith by the cooker and, kissing her on the cheek, remarked: “What's all this in aid of?”
Hunith Emrys was a fabulous chef when she wanted to be, but since the move to Albion it had been rare for her to be home early enough to cook, even at weekends. They'd made rather a habit of picking up potato cakes, a traditional Albish bread, for breakfast on Sundays when they were both in, so Merlin was faintly surprised by the sudden switch to a Full English that morning.
The ambassador smiled at her son. “I don't feel like we've been able to have a proper talk since we got here. I know it's been mainly my fault - when I get in I'm just so tired that all I want to do is collapse in front of the telly, but still -”
Merlin smiled wanly and hugged her from behind, mindful not to knock her grip on the frying pan. “It's okay, Mum. I know you're just doing your job. I mean, working with Uther must be a nightmare, seriously. And besides, it's me, too: I've been spending a lot of time with friends, even when you are home.”
“Well, regardless of whose fault anything is, today should be a proper day off for me, so I thought we could spend it together? Have a lazy breakfast, maybe head into the centre of Camelot later to do some sightseeing? I feel like there's so much I've missed by working all the time.” She paused, and looked over a shoulder. “Unless you've got lots of homework to be doing?”
“Nah, everything here's pretty easy compared to at home. I've finished all the work for this week already.”
Hunith grinned at her son. “That's my clever boy. Go do the baked beans, would you, love, and I'll check on the sausages in the oven?”
Once their breakfasts were prepared, they sat together at the breakfast bar that dominated the centre of the kitchen.
“So, anything new this week at school?” asked Hunith, while Merlin was filling his glass of orange juice.
“Not really. We're still studying Albion in every subject; whoever came up with this school system should be shot.”
“Now then, Merlin, I hardly think that advocating murder's a useful way of going about things.” Her tone was even, but Merlin didn't miss her slight grin as she rolled her eyes at him.
He shrugged. “Why not? They're the ones torturing us with the monotony of doing the same thing repeatedly from different angles. Besides, Arthur agrees with me. And he's the prince, so I'm fairly sure he's actually allowed to shoot people. It's really just a matter of finding the right person, now.”
Hunith laughed, and Merlin felt his mock-serious face slide off into an answering grin. “I really think Uther might have something to say about that,” she said. “And please, don't let's cause a diplomatic incident because you've been convincing the prince that homicide's legal for him.”
There was a pause, during which Merlin noticed that his mum seemed curiously focused on her fried eggs all of a sudden. “You're getting on well with Arthur, then?” she finally asked.
“Yeah. He's all right, once you get to know him a bit better. Still something of a prat, but all right, really.” He looked her over carefully, trying to figure out what the strangely sudden question had been in aid of.
“Good, good.” But there was no getting answers out of Hunith when she didn't want to give them. There was a reason she was in the most senior post of the Foreign Service.
Merlin gave up and changed the subject. “Where are we going today, then? Could we go see Castell Camelot?”
The medieval tower at the centre of the city of Albion had supposedly been the residence of the Albish royal family during the middle ages. Some Albish historians had even tried to prove that it was the site of the actual Camelot, but they'd been roundly beaten down a few years earlier by documents proving that the castle had been built only after the Separation. It mattered little, anyway, since the royal family had long since abandoned the draughty medieval castle for the more modern (relatively, it was still five hundred-odd years old) Royal Residence across the road. Castell Camelot was now a sort of museum, with actors pretending to be actual knights in armour. Merlin had heard that there was even a giant moving robot dragon in one of the caverns under the castle. (Not that he would ever admit that seeing it was a large part of his interest in the place.)
“I don't see why not.” Hunith smiled. “It's meant to be really interesting.”
With its usual impeccable timing, her Blackberry started buzzing angrily from the counter. With an apologetic look at Merlin, she jumped out of her chair to grab it.
“Oh dear,” she said, thumbing through the messages. “I'm afraid we may have to reschedule the Castell Camelot trip. It appears that the Americans have just suggested that we declare war on Albion because it's a dictatorship. Again. I'll have to call the PM before he gets his knickers in a twist. Sorry darling.”
Merlin suppressed a sigh, running his hand along his left ear. He should have known that it was too good an idea to last. “It's no problem, Mum. Go save western civilisation from self-destruction again.”
She ruffled his hair again and headed upstairs, presumably to put on some work clothes. She mouthed “Sorry!” with an apologetic expression as she left the kitchen, but was already on the phone to her personal assistant about setting up the call to Downing Street.
*-*-*
It was a glorious June day. Merlin waved at the security guard as he wandered up to the doors of the Royal Residence. There would have been a time when he'd have been amused at his familiar manner with what were effectively trained ninjas, the members of the royal family's personal guard, but after six months in the country he didn't even bat an eye.
“How's it going, Gareth?” he asked.
“Not bad, how about you? I hear you've been having troubles with the teacher?” The 'knight' smiled. One day, Merlin might get over the fact soldiers in Albion were still referred to as 'knights' (really, it was like the whole nation was obsessed!), but for the moment it still gave him a thrill every time he thought about it. Living with Albion really was like living in a dream sometimes. Merlin half expected dragons to be swooping out of the sky at any moment.
Merlin rolled his eyes and grinned at Gareth as the guard opened the gates for him. “I swear she's got it in for me! Keeps talking about the importance of sacrifice in historical literature and then giving me really meaningful looks.”
Gareth laughed. “You're imagining things, mate, I'm sure. Now, in you go, His Highness is waiting for you and you know how he gets!”
With a final wave, Merlin headed into the Residence and made his way towards the tennis courts. It had been only three weeks after that terrible but ultimately very memorable ball that Arthur, unusually bashful, had invited Merlin to join the weekly tennis game which he, Gwaine, Leon and Percy had been playing every Saturday morning for a year.
“But Percy's decided that he'd rather go back to rugby, so both he and Bors have rugby team practice on Saturday mornings now, and we need another doubles partner, so....” The prince trailed off, focusing his gaze somewhere to the left of his friend's face.
Merlin cocked his head. “You do realise that I have the hand-eye coordination of a concussed skunk, and that the chances of me actually managing to hit a tennis ball with a racket are somewhere around, oh I don't know, zero?”
Arthur grinned. “I'll take that as a yes, then! See you tomorrow.”
Merlin decided that attempting to put up any more of a fight probably wasn't worth the effort.
So it was that six months later, Merlin dumped his bag in the corner of the court and took out his racket. He watched the game in progress for a while - as usual, he'd join Arthur, who was playing on his own against Gwaine and Leon. Merlin felt almost bad about joining in, since he was invariably a hindrance rather than a help to the prince. After so many games, Merlin had at least managed to acquire the skill of making racket and ball connect about fifty percent of the time - his problem now was that every single time he actually managed to hit the ball, it went flying out of the court completely and usually ended up on the other side of the enormous garden. Who knew that tennis rackets were so damn springy?
Despite this, Arthur refused to let him stop playing, claiming that he “liked the challenge, Merlin, honestly. It's just so easy to beat them otherwise, and you're a perfect handicap.” To be fair, the prince was the school's top tennis player, despite being only in Year 9, and until Merlin joined in that day had definitely had the upper hand as Gwaine and Leon tried fruitlessly to return his powerful serves.
“Hurry up, idiot!” the prince called, without missing a beat as he raced across the court following Gwaine's powerful forehand. Merlin grinned and joined in, ready to work his usual mayhem.
Once the game was done (they lost two sets to one, having only won the set which Arthur had played alone before Merlin had arrived), the four boys headed up to the main house for lemonade and biscuits, as had become traditional for them.
As they reached the garden, Catrina, the palace's short, dumpy housekeeper thrust a plate of digestives at them with a perfunctory “Don't drop the glasses, they're crystal!” and a glare at Merlin, before stomping away into the bowels of the manor. She seemed to have taken personal offence at Merlin's existence, apparently feeling that he was far too common to be associating with the likes of Prince Arthur. She also seemed to have an irrational fear that he was trying to steal the silverware.
They were all flopped down on the impressively manicured lawn, when there came a bellow from the house:
“For the last time, Morgana, no! I've told you my feelings on this issue, and there is absolutely no way that I am going to change my mind! The answer is no.”
Merlin, Leon and Gwaine exchanged awkward looks, and Arthur stared studiously at the floor. Hearing the King shout at his eldest daughter was exceptionally awkward when her twin brother was sitting next to you.
“But Albion's standing in the international community's irreparably damaged every day by your absolute refusal to compromise this ridiculous bigotry!”
Merlin sipped his drink carefully. Calling King Uther a bigot? Morgana certainly had balls, but he already knew that.
His Majesty scoffed. “No, our standing in the international community will remain exactly the same as it has for the last millennium, and is not going to change because of one tiny element of policy! Now, I have actual matters of state to attend to.”
The boys on the lawn were still quiet when Morgana came storming out of the house. Seeing them, she collapsed next to Gwaine with an angry “Hmph!”
Arthur looked at her. “UN again?”
She snorted. “He's so damn stubborn! If you'd just talk to him - you're the beloved heir and all that-”
“Oh, drop it, Morgana! You know I've tried, but he's the King-”
“One conversation is hardly trying!”
Merlin raised a hand before the argument could get under full swing. “Er - an explanation for those of us who haven't a clue what you're on about?”
Morgana responded without ceasing glaring at her brother:
“Father refuses to join the UN. In itself, that wouldn't be a bad thing - we could be like Switzerland, remain neutral and all that, but he refuses to donate anything to any charity which does work overseas, because he claims that each government should take care of their own. In the tsunami, we were the only one of the world's richest fifty nations not to help out or even comment! It's making us look ridiculous internationally, as well as being completely lacking in common human decency!”
Arthur scoffed. “Now you're exaggerating, and he does have reasons-”
“Pah! Excuses, not reasons! Just because someone wasn't born in Albion, doesn't make them not a human being deserving of our respect!”
The prince was somewhat speechless, mouth working rather like a fish. Just as he was about to speak, Gwaine raised a hand, waving slightly to distract everyone. “Good to know that I'm actually a person, for a minute there I thought that I was a llama.”
Leon shook his head. “If anything, you'd be a great shaggy sheepdog,” he said, in his lightly accented voice.
“Me?” Gwaine sounded vaguely scandalised by the notion. “I'm absolutely a lion!” He shook his long hair out gracefully, to good humoured chortling from the others.
Arthur waded in. “Well, there's one person there's no doubt about at all. Merlin here,” he put an arm around his friend, ruffling his messy black hair playfully, “is quite clearly a baby deer. Like Bambi. That scene at the beginning where he keeps tripping over everything? That was totally Merl's tennis today.”
Merlin felt a crawl of heat up his neck, but joined in the laughter. He gave as good as he got though. “So you're conceding that you've watched Bambi? And recently enough to remember that tiny scene? I think we have a closet Disney fan here, people.”
Arthur stuck his nose in the air, feining haughtiness. “No, some of us just have extraordinarily good memories. I am, of course, a genius of epic proportions.” He made a show of being shocked by everyone else's complete disregard of the idea. “Besides, it's about hunting. Of course I love it! Hunting is awesome!”
Of course, a statement like that meant that Merlin just had to point out exactly why running around chasing poor defenceless animals on horseback was a barbaric throwback. The two of them soon got into a heated debate about the definition of “pest”, while the others just sat back, shaking their heads in resignation, and enjoyed the sunshine.
*-*-*
Somehow, Merlin survived the end-of-year exams: maths, English and science, as well as a long essay on Camelot, with the prompt “Magic was the primary reason for the success of King Arthur's reign. Discuss.” Ms. Nimueh was as brusque in her exams as she was in person.
When they went over it later, of course he and Arthur had diametrically opposing views on that - Merlin had answered in the affirmative, and the prince had waxed lyrical on the importance and skill of the Knights.
Hearing them discuss it, Gwaine just whacked them both over the head, with a “I'm only in the country for three more weeks, please can we not spend them re-hashing the exams!”
So they all went and ate ice-cream in the park instead.
*-*-*
And then, Gwaine and Elena were gone.
The group waved goodbye to Elena after the last day of school, since she was heading straight off on a tour of Europe with her parents before they settled back down on the family farm in Umbria. Gwen had bought a huge chocolate cake into class. It had been absolutely delicious and demolished by the class within minutes. Even Ms. Nimueh had accepted a slice, despite her disapproving frown and warning not to get icing on the textbooks.
Merlin promised to come visit when he returned to visit his friends in Rome, if he ever got around to it. For several days afterwards, his Facebook news feed was covered in what seemed like millions of posts saying “I misssss yooooooou!” between Gwen, Elena and Mithian.
Only a couple of weeks later, Gwaine went too. They commemorated his going with a boys' trip to Albion's premier theme park, Dragons' Den. They rode all the highest rides, ate disgusting amounts of candyfloss and spent all their allowances on the fairground games.
Gwaine insisted on spending at least ten Albion pounds trying to win a giant pink alien at the basketball hoop. Eventually, Arthur got fed up of waiting and stormed off (a rather comical sight, as he was followed everywhere by two burly Knights all dressed in black and wearing sunglasses, like something out of a film - Leon delighted in taking about a million photos with his phone) to go and win it on the shooting game, which he did in one try. He threw the giant pink plushie at the back of Gwaine's head in retribution.
Gwaine, of course, regardless of the fact that he hadn't won it himself, immediately christened the alien “Cedric, the Questing Beast!” knighting it with the toy sword he'd bought earlier. Cedric was about the same height as Gwaine, a fluffy, hot pink blob with four eyes on stalks. Leon took a series of photographs of Cedric's 'quest' to save various other stuffed toys from the 'prison' of various fairground stalls, at all of which he remained spectacularly unsuccessful. Then they wandered off to eat wonderfully greasy burgers and chips for lunch.
All too soon, the day was over. Gwaine would go back with his parents to the airport hotel, while the others would avail themselves of royal privilege and taking Arthur's limo back to the city.
They paused awkwardly outside the main gates of the amusement park. Leon, Percy and Merlin hugged Gwaine and wished him the best, before standing to one side. Gwaine and Arthur exchanged a long look.
“Oh come here, you great big princessy prat.” Gwaine strode forward and hugged Arthur.
Arthur grinned into his shoulder. “You've definitely been spending too much time with Merlin, if you're calling me a prat.”
Gwaine stepped back and looked at him. “Well, I'm glad that there's someone new to keep you in line now, when I'm gone. After five years of making sure that your ego doesn't destroy Albion, I think it's someone else's turn!”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “Oh, bugger off to America. We'll Skype at some point, yeah?”
Gwaine grinned. “Yeah.”
He waved to the others, and turned to walk up to where his parents were waiting patiently. “Take care of the princess, Merlin!” he threw over his shoulder with a grin.
Merlin saluted mockingly. “Aye aye, sir!”
Gwaine disappeared into his parents' BMW, and was gone.
Later, once the others had made the two hour drive back into the centre of Albion City and dropped off Leon and Percy in their respective suburbs, it was just Arthur and Merlin in the darkened back of the limo, back to the Royal Residence and the Embassy across the way.
“You're going back to Britain for the summer, yeah?”
Merlin shrugged. “Yeah, a couple of months at least. It'll be good to see all my old mates and stuff. I'm staying with my uncle though; Mum's staying here, she can't get the time off.”
Arthur nodded. He seemed subdued.
“You alright, mate?”
The prince ran his hands through his hair. “Yeah, no biggie. It's just... I hate it when people leave.”
“I know what you mean. Perils of an international education, I guess.”
“No, it's not really that. I mean, obviously I don't like losing friends, but it's more that these sort of days always remind me of what I can't have. People like you, you're only in a place for a few years, then you move on. I've been in AIS for ten years now. Everyone else goes, but I'm just... stuck. Everyone else gets to go, travel, see the world. I don't.”
Merlin wasn't sure quite what to say to that. “I guess. But not all of us have a country waiting for us to rule.”
They pulled up at the British Embassy.
Arthur sighed. “Yeah. Whatever. I'm probably just maudlin 'cos it's past midnight. Good night, Merlin. We're off to the country estate tomorrow, so I probably won't see you again before you go. Have a good summer, I'll see you in September at school, yeah?”
“Yeah.” Merlin grabbed his rucksack and opened the limo door. “Bye, Arthur.”
The car turned out of the drive and drove down the road to enter the Residence through the back entrance.
Merlin watched the taillights disappear into the dark.