Merlinfic - A Night Without Regret (2/11)
Title: 2/11
pairing: Merlin/Uther, Arthur/Merlin(with mentions of Arthur/Gwen, Merlin/Morgana, Merlin/Will)
word count = 2919
Rating: up to 17+
Disclaimer: Characters are reproductions of BBC reproductions of characters from Arthurian legend.
Warning: slash
Beta:
Summary: Merlin receives an anonymous invitation to a party the likes of which he never knew existed. Being the foxy fellow he is, especially in specifically tailored studly duds, Merlin attracts more than one hopeful suitor. Cue the complications.
2.1
The crowd did not fall into dramatic silence at the arrival of their newest guest but every man in the room became aware of him within the first several minutes. It would have been impossible not to, though he did not go out of his way to stand out.
Newcomers, referred to as starlings, were always obvious by the way they stood as if they’d stumbled upon the edge of the world. You may have heard tales tell of it but nothing truly prepared you for seeing it yourself. The way he sidled to an empty table by one wall and stayed there silently observing indicated the need to find his bearings; his unfamiliar disguise proved he was an invited guest and not a regular.
There was an intricate etiquette to these parties, designed specifically to put starlings at ease, prevent violence and ensure enjoyment for all. Someone had invited this one and he was off limits for more than conversation to the rest of the flock. It was a shame really. Despite his attempts at invisibility the contrast of the silver-grey crescent moon shaped mask against his night black hair naturally caught one’s eye. His subtle movement to his seat did nothing to hide the tailored fit of indigo fabrics so dark as to be almost black. Star shaped fasteners at wrist and chest twinkled with the fire of candlelight. Many revellers without a specified partner looked about for clues as to who he might belong to, hoping to introduce themselves without causing offence. If he remained unclaimed by midnight there would be a rush for this one’s attention.
2.2
Merlin knew who the man singing on stage was as soon as he saw him.
The gold half mask and minstrel disguise could not hide his true identity from Merlin, not when he was wearing the blue shirt that had mysteriously disappeared from a tree branch while Merlin was, um swimming with Morgana in the lake. That explained two things, three really. What happened to his favourite shirt; Merlin would most likely not lose his job if Arthur found out he was here; and apparently Arthur knew precisely what Merlin and Morgana got up to. Could he have sent the invitation after all? Would he be wearing that particular shirt tonight if he hadn’t? Why had he taken it in the first place? Questions buzzed through his head in a swarm.
With so much to take in Merlin’s eyes travelled constantly around the room. One table against each wall was reserved for small buffets of dried meats, fruits, cheeses, small flat salt or sugar-crusted biscuits, miniature cakes and a range of beverages with horn bowls and cups neatly stacked as they waited to be filled. The cavalcade of colour on display fell short of only the most heavily attended court celebrations and there was far more visible skin. Costumes varied from head to toe creations to scraps of fabric that accentuated what lie beneath rather than providing a minimal amount of modesty. One man he noticed wore nothing but a towering swan-shaped mask. Mostly men chatted in softly spoken pairs and trios or large boisterous groups but a few were already exploring the joys of more intimate communication without being blatant. Despite these wonders Merlin’s attention frequently returned to the stage. The princely minstrel performed serious, silly and bawdy pieces depending on requests from his immediate audience. Merlin had cleaned the instrument often enough to know who it belonged to. Even without the combined evidence of lute, shirt and infamous crown of gold hair Merlin knew was hidden beneath the sun-yellow whatever that was on his head, Arthur’s posture, smile and laugh were enough to give him away.
Merlin noticed people looking at him but nobody approached. A handful of onlookers glanced between him and the stage then began whispering in speculation. Had they recognised him? Perhaps they were wondering the same thing he was. His hopes were raised despite his determined efforts to remain neutral. One person of similar age was watching them both closely, a finger pressed thoughtfully to his lips. Was that...?
The thought was lost as Merlin’s eyes made their inevitable journey back to Arthur who seemed to have forgotten what he was doing as he stared in Merlin’s direction. There was surprise and a question easily discernible even though the top half of Arthur’s face was covered. He quite clearly recognised Merlin despite the disguise and had not expected to see him here. Someone else had issued the invitation. Merlin fought the urge to leave. He hadn’t suspected Arthur would even be here when he made the final decision to come, so why should he let knowing he had caught the attention of another for certain chase him home? If anything it was more reason to stay and find out whose interest he inspired.
He lowered his eyes then turned them to the thoughtful man he suspected was...no longer there. As Arthur inexorably drew his gaze again Merlin noticed where the other man had gone. He was convinced now that it was Leon. How often had the knight leaned to the prince’s ear at court in identical manner? Whatever they discussed involved a small shake of Arthur’s head, a mutual glance at Merlin, a subtle shrug and an exchange of confident nods.
Most-definitely-Leon leaped from the stage as if into enemy trenches then made his way calmly to Merlin.
“May I sit, freshen your drink perhaps?”
Merlin nodded mutely, observing the complexities of Leon’s ensemble as the knight in disguise busied himself at the nearest refreshment table. How he managed to appear so avian without a single feather suggested it was assembled by an artist rather than a tailor.
“Has anyone explained the rules to you yet?”
“Apart from names never, masks always and stop means just that? Not directly, no.”
“That’s an excellent start. Those three rules apply to every Colour,” Leon went on to clarify the main Colour groups - purple for men only, green mixed company, orange women only -then describe those rules pertaining only to the purple parties. Themes were registered to each individual, which is why they had to be unique. It made it easier to identify and punish any who violated the rules, particularly those of consent. Red parties were specifically for those who liked that sort of thing. “Not my thing at all; only a very select few attend those things. Back on topic, while you are here your theme becomes your name. Although you plainly know who I am, for this evening you must address me only as Pheasant, short for Pheasant Plucker. My original benefactor’s idea of wit,” Leon’s dry reply did not quite match the quirk of his lips. “Only those in long term partnerships may change their theme and then they either adopt the same or complimentary themes. Should the partnership dissolve each reverts to their unique original. You would be?”
“Midnight apparently,” Leon frowned slightly at Merlin, then in Arthur’s direction. Merlin let it pass; he had too many questions as it was. “Why would those in committed relationships continue coming to these?”
“To stop their wives finding out of course,” Leon winked with a smile and then the thoughtful frown returned. “Do you know who invited you Midnight?”
“No idea Pheasant.”
Leon smiled breifly, pleased that Merlin needed telling only once.
“In cases such as yours, and also mine, the person who asks you here chooses your theme. Your benefactor would have to realise your theme compliments an existing one but if he’d been the one to invite you he wouldn’t be so surprised to find you here. It suggests someone believes the two of you are an established couple, which you aren’t.” Leon watched Merlin stare analytically at Arthur who made his bows then leapt from the stage in the same manner as Leon only with more dramatic grace.
Moon silver and sun gold; darkest purples and azure blues; black hair and blond; servant and regent; as opposite as night and day. If only that mysterious someone was Arthur then Merlin’s night would already be perfect.
“No, we aren’t,” Merlin murmured.
2.3
Arthur forgot the lyric, melody, hell the genre he was performing as he noticed the familiar figure in unfamiliar clothing and god didn’t Merlin look painfully incredible in that colour. Arthur had long accepted the fact that he could recognise Merlin anywhere, in any crowd, in any situation disastrous or tedious. However, the sensations he experienced whenever that happened were something he continually struggled to come to terms with, especially as they became harder to ignore.
Others obviously felt the same way. Another man with no such hesitancy brought Merlin here. The implications of that were devastating. Added to that, Merlin quite obviously recognised him. How was he going to avoid this at breakfast? Or the fact that he was quite publicly wearing Merlin’s shirt? A shirt Arthur filched after catching Morgana having her wicked way with him no less. He couldn’t very well tell Merlin he’d been so emotionally battered by what he’d witnessed that he kept the shirt to remind him of what he’d known he could never have from the moment he came to realise how badly he desired it. It was difficult enough admitting those things to himself.
His carefree night had descended into so many levels of crud and it had barely begun.
He wasn’t sure whether Leon’s enquiries raised his hopes or dashed them further. A number of other members of the flock also appeared to assume Merlin was his. If only. Not that Merlin would do anything but laugh if any of them suggested such a thing.
No, he wouldn’t think about it, shouldn’t think about it, couldn’t stop thinking about it. Crud!
Arthur bid his audience fare thee well with characteristic flair and went to evaluate his chances. Leon was getting rather cosy there. Come on, brave face. Bluff your way through it like another dull, official banquet.
“Hello you two, mind if I join you?”
“Please do.” Leon responded politely. Arthur knew Pheasant deserved his theme and felt extremely hypocritical for not wanting Merlin to discover that too.
“Yes, um go ahead.”
“May I present Midnight, Midnight this is Noon.”
“That can’t be right.” The significance of directly opposing themes was not lost on Arthur. Someone was playing a cruel joke. He wasn’t bothered for himself; people - mostly Merlin - made fun of him all the time, it came with the territory but this was also at Merlin’s expense. When Arthur discovered who was behind it he would remove their genitals with a rust-flaked spoon.
Merlin produced his card.
Arthur knew that penmanship very well and all thoughts of rusty utensils disintegrated with his hopes of there being a mistake. His night had progressed from crud to manure.
2.4
Tonight’s Host watched the intricate ballet unfold before him.
From the moment of arrival his guest attracted more attention than anticipated. Why the widespread fascination with this one? Most of the flock wouldn’t give him the time of day when asked. During an ordinary day they may simply pretend he wasn’t there but they always noticed him. One could unerringly point to Merlin like a compass finds north. It was instinctive, as if he were some natural force.
Noon’s reactions were the ones he monitored most and sure enough the young man sought to assert his ownership.
Tonight’s Host left his seat and joined the flock.
2.5
Midnight sat between Pheasant and Noon as they explained the remaining rules with a combination of sensitivity and humour. Every member of the flock had been in Merlin’s position with many attempting every other position since.
They also explained that the flock owned several houses as a collective for the express purpose of holding Colour parties. There were a set number of Hosts who took turns organising these gatherings with the Colour determined by the preferences of Tonight’s Host. No Host or regular attendee went to every Colour. This main room was where the most innocent interactions occurred, though as the party progressed the debauchery tended to spread. All wine, ale and mead was watered down and spirits were forbidden. A night without regret was the motto and sole purpose for establishment of the flock in the first place.
“If you haven’t been claimed by midnight we can give you a tour if you like,” Leon offered with deceptive nonchalance, his finger tapping between them on the bench in such a way as to make regular, teasingly brief contact with Merlin’s thigh.
“We won’t show you everything of course, unless you want to.” Arthur tried to sit close while maintaining a safe distance. As a result he was terribly uncomfortable but he refused to crowd Merlin’s personal space, no matter how much he fantasised about sitting in his lap and snogging him until Merlin dragged him under the table and...
Merlin listened and observed. Around them men danced in twos or threes, bodies moving in a manner promising more intimate acts to follow; sat or stood openly kissing; one pair fondled each other at a corner table before heading out to another room. He wanted Arthur to either move closer or stop tormenting him so he could return Leon’s progressively overt advances.
Leon wondered how he could get both of them naked with him at the same time without causing the starling to take flight. Arthur shouldn’t take much convincing but he most likely wanted to keep Merlin to himself, not only tonight but every night. Hmm, who else was here?
“Anyone take your fancy, Pheasant?” Arthur asked.
“One or two, have you developed any preferences Noon?”
“Perhaps,” Arthur’s knee casually came into contact with Merlin’s and not so casually stayed there. “It’s very rude of your benefactor to ignore you like this Midnight. His deadline draws near.”
“Although by the looks of the circle closing around our table you can take your pick without feeling guilty.”
“Indeed he can, Pheasant.”
Without considering long term consequences Merlin slid one hand nervously from where it was wedged between his thighs to touch Arthur’s, who immediately accepted it and held their hands together in his lap. The building tension between them was broken, replaced with anticipation until a man of intimidating stature and wearing a polished wooden mask to cover his entire face stood directly in front of them.
“Thank you Gentlemen for caring for my invited guest in my absence, it was remiss of me not to assign suitable companions whilst the duties of hospitality kept me otherwise occupied.”
“Taking this starling under our protective wing is no less than what was done for us and his pleasant company made it enjoyable rather than a chore. If you will excuse me there remains fun to be had.” Leon was not about to try stealing Merlin from Tonight’s Host even though he had no idea who was behind that featureless visage. The man’s height and apparent strength was more of a deterrent than any breach of etiquette. Yet Leon was not entirely surprised to see Arthur retain his position at Merlin’s side. Whatever trouble was afoot Leon wanted no part of it.
“What Pheasant lacks the courage to say is: neglecting any invited guest for such a time is remiss; leaving a starling without detailed knowledge of the rules of conduct is not only an insult but dangerous.”
“Wisely and justly spoken young Noon, I shall apologise more appropriately in private should my guest choose to accept. Do you accept Midnight?”
Arthur glared with menace at Tonight’s Host while Merlin nodded silently. Their exchange had given him time to understand the repercussions of indulging any fantasies of being with Arthur. They were many and varied from being unable to perform his regular duties without attempting to molest his friend through to feeling like Gwen, expecting a permanent and open relationship rather than a one off romp. Merlin knew Arthur had every intention of marrying Gwen, had never seriously considered someone other than Gwen for his wife. How would he cope with being reminded of that on a regular basis after, if they -? Merlin began withdrawing his hand from Arthur’s.
“You don’t have to go with him. Just because he invited you, you don’t have to.” Arthur’s fingers tightened as he realised what Merlin was doing. He thought they, no this wasn’t right, too many seemed to think Merlin belonged with him for it not to be true. Merlin returned his affection, didn’t he?
“I accept.” Merlin made the decision he knew neither of them wanted at this moment but both must surely come to realise was the only one to make. Never was better than the heartbreak of only once.
“Noon is right. You are under no obligation to accept any advance, not even from the one who asked you to be here.”
“I know. He and Pheasant told me.”
“You honour me. Shall we adjourn to more private environs?”
“Please. Enjoy your evening Noon.” As soon as the phrase was out Merlin hoped that didn’t sound as cruel to Arthur’s ears as it had to his. He had been unable to stop thinking of Gwen waiting, yearning; of hopes constantly rising and falling like ocean tides and Arthur being here despite all that, ready to roll with Merlin contrary to all his talk of love and marriage. Merlin knew he would be caught in the same trap and just as reluctant to leave.
part 1 End of Part 2 Part 3 Begins
nb: for those who don't get the relevance of Pheasant Plucker, it comes from the following tongue twister:
I'm not a pheasant plucker I'm a pheasant plucker's sun
or I'd be plucking pheasants til the pheasant plucking's done