Merlin/Arthur Christmas Dinner
A late entry for babydracky's MERLIN'S ADVENT CALENDAR. (Sorry!)
Title: Christmas Dinner
Characters, pairings: mostly Merlin/Arthur, mention of several other characters
Summary: Merlin is a horrible elf. Arthur would still let him make dinner.
Word count: ~2 600
Rating: G? PG-13?
Warnings: silliness, crack, AU, IDK how the prompt devolved into this
"These clothes don't quite fit, Merlin. Am I supposed to be wearing a dress?" Arthur said, lifting the red fabric that was hanging almost down to his knees. It was the same thing every year.
"Yeah, it's not supposed to fit. Not yet, anyway." Merlin fumbled with needles around Arthur shoulders.
"Ow!" said Arthur.
"Sorry," Merlin put on one of his idiotic smiles, one that plastered on his face the fact that Merlin's ears were bigger than his brain. Then he proceeded pinning the red suit as if nothing happened.
Of all the elves, Merlin was the worst. He was also the only one capable of doing saucery.
Well, the only one after Morgana had decided to leave. But Arthur didn't want to think about her. And there was still Gaius, if one wanted to count him in (which Arthur didn't).
Gaius was old, the oldest helper, and the assistant of Arthur's father, Arthur's father's father and probably so on for a few ancestors back. In truth, Arthur couldn't really tell what Gaius was doing, except that he had the bad habit of sending Merlin on errands right when Arthur needed Merlin. Which was always. Well, not "needed" precisely. Arthur didn't really "need" Merlin. It was more...Merlin's duty to serve Arthur every day. Besides, picking medicinal herbs out in the snow was a rather silly thing to do, even for Merlin.
"Can't you use that saucery stuff instead of doing it by hands, Merlin? Why do I keep you here?" Arthur said, carefully observing the pins between Merlin’s fingers.
Merlin chuckled. "You mean sorcery."
Arthur cocked his head. "No, I mean saucery. That's what Gaius said you do."
Merlin only tightened his lips and looked down, and then his shoulders shook slightly. It seemed like he was about to cough, because he brought one hand to his lips, but in the end he didn't quite manage to bring that cough out. It was more like a wheeze. He didn't reply either.
Arthur decided to be generous and help him. Merlin needed help when it came to more advanced brain functions.
"You know, like you make the reindeers fly," said Arthur. "Like flying saucers and stuff. Saucery. Speaking of which, have you found a way to make Gwaine's nose smaller and less red? It’s distracting the way it shines."
"Um, yeah." Merlin looked up with a grin on his face. "I mean no. Gwaine’s nose is red because he's usually drunk when I transform him into a reindeer."
"Can't you make him non-drunk somehow?" said Arthur.
Merlin shook his head. "No, he says he won't fly unless drunk. He's afraid of heights. He said the only way to make him fly sober is to put a female on the reindeer team to distract him."
"You know that can't be done,” Arthur said. “We don't have females here. The only female elf is Gwen, and she won't fly after Lancelot has had his tail shot off last year.” He shuddered. “Can you imagine that someone shot into my sleigh for trespassing? Don't these people know I have a license? I'm not like those Santas at the malls."
Yes, Gwen was the only female elf at the North Pole. (There had been Morgana too, but, again, Arthur didn't want to think about her.)
It must have been awkward for Gwen, but not even nearly as awkward as it had been for all the males, who had all found themselves in love with her at one point or another. (Except for her brother Elyan.)
Arthur had to admit that at a certain point he had been maaaaaybe a liiiitle bit in love with her too, and Gwen seemed like maaaaaybe she had been in love with Arthur as well. It had been kind of difficult to tell, because Gwen had seemed a little in love with everyone at the North Pole at one point or the other. (Except for her brother Elyan.)
Then Lancelot had come back with his injured tail, and while Gwen had nursed him, it had become clear that maybe she hadn’t been in love with Arthur after all. (Arthur had refused to ask what precisely she had nursed, since elves didn't have tails.)
The whole affair had hurt Arthur's pride, but he was Santa and he always had to keep his station at the North Pole running.
So he had let it slide by only forcing Gwen and Lancelot into a short-term banishment, which had ended when Merlin had told Arthur (not very kindly) that it had been freezing outside and that Arthur had been an idiot and a prick colder than snow.
Since then, Arthur's dreams occasionally featured anatomically correct snowmen, and even more often they featured Merlin (who was also anatomically correct, of course).
He had never told of it to Merlin, and even less he had told about it to snowmen. Somehow he felt it wouldn't befit his image as Santa Claus. But since that event he couldn't get rid of the impression that the snowmen outside were leering at him.
So Arthur had had a counseling session about it with Gaius, and the old elf had assured Arthur it was entirely normal.
Every Santa Claus so far had had some strange obsession. In the case of the previous Santa Claus it had been saucery - Uther, who was also Arthur’s father, had banished it, and still he had been convinced that saucery is everywhere, ruining his work. Elves with saucery were sloppy and tend to ruin things, Uther had kept saying. Judging by Merlin’s actions, that was completely true.
"What is your job here, precisely?" Arthur had asked Gaius at the end of the session.
Gaius had raised up one white eyebrow and muttered something that sounded like, "Why, Santa, I'm your physician." Or maybe it had been "physicist" or "psychologist" or "psychic" or "psycho."
Arthur supposed it didn't matter, since Gaius had been on the North Pole for so long he had certainly earned whatever title he had.
But yes, females.
Some female elves from the South Pole had visited occasionally, but they had been for the most part really weird blondes, and Merlin had behaved as an even bigger lunatic than otherwise, so Arthur had finally decided to put a stop to such exchange of delegates. For whichever reason, the explosions at the conveyer belts and mysterious events had been more common during the time of the visit. (Arthur’s elves had probably been too distracted by the presence of so many females - counting Gwen, the number amounted even to three!)
He had expected his elves to protest about his decision, but apparently spending so much time as reindeers had a profound impact on their elfish psychology, as they had thought nothing of it.
Another reason why Arthur had put a stop to the visits had been Morgana. She had established her station at the South Pole. There she had joined Morgause, one of the already mentioned really weird blondes, where she now pretended to be Santa Claus for bad girls.
Santa Claudia she called herself.
Sibling rivalry was a horrible thing sometimes.
Arthur had tried to explain to Morgana how ridiculous her idea was, but she had started talking about priestesses and islands and long female traditions and Nimueh (Arthur supposed that was another of the really weird female elves from the South Pole), and there was nothing Arthur could have done. Morgana had become Santa Claudia.
Yes, ridiculous. Like Arthur didn't have enough problems with the unreasonable and downright strange requests in the letters addressed to him. Requests like "All I want for Christmas is Bradley James," written by girls who were too old to be considered children.
Arthur turned to Merlin, who was still standing next to him and staring at Arthur's neck. Arthur sighed.
Just like that, Merlin's poor brain froze in the middle of the most mundane tasks. As Santa Clause, Arthur tried dealing with it with a great deal of patience.
"The suit will not pin itself, Merlin," he said.
"Ah, yes, sorry." Merlin grinned and turned red up to the tip of his elfish ears.
That had the same effect on Arthur’s own ears, which was ridiculous and completely unnecessary. Arthur’s brain was fine; he didn’t need to feel embarrassed.
"Who is Bradley James anyway?" Arthur said, while Merlin tried to adjust the black belt around Arthur's waist.
"Oh, one of the guys from the letters?" Merlin said. "He's an actor." His eyes narrowed as he observed Arthur's face. "Actually, he looks a bit like you."
"Really?" said Arthur, ignoring what Merlin's clumsy hands were doing with the belt and Arthur’s stomach. "Well, I bet he doesn't have to wear silly read clothes that do nothing for his figure, and I bet he is not stuck with someone like you."
"It's not so bad being stuck with someone like me, is it?” Merlin’s cheek burrowed into the folds of the Santa suit, pressing at Arthur’s chest, as he tried to reach Arthur's back. “Just think what kind of problems Uther had with his reindeers."
"My father didn't have reindeers," Arthur reminded him, looking at the ceiling and NOT thinking of snowmen.
"Precisely," Merlin said. "And I think Bradley goes on Morgana's list of gifts anyway."
Morgana's list!
Arthur was appalled. "Merlin, there is no such thing as Morgana's list of gifts!"
"Oh." Merlin straightened up. "I kind of already mailed her the names."
"You did what?" Arthur shook his head. The worst elf ever. Merlin was the worst elf ever. "She can't deliver people as gits. That's completely unethical. And creepy."
"She doesn't deliver people. She...writes stories." Merlin's ears were red again. "With...people in them...doing...stuff. Just imaginary stories."
As Arthur stared incredulously, Merlin muttered, "It's called fanfiction. It's not all that bad, really."
"I don't want to know. That sounds creepy too," Arthur said. He'd check Merlin's email and bookmarks later on. It was his duty as Santa. Probably. Arthur hadn’t bothered to read the entire contract. But in any case, he wouldn’t be reading these stories out of curiosity. The mere idea was preposterous, so it was good Merlin showed no indication of harboring it.
Then something occurred to Arthur."And how unfair is that? Even bad girls get Christmas presents, and I, Santa Claus, don't."
Merlin's eyes fired up like the lights on a Christmas tree. "And what would you want?"
"I don't know.” Arthur felt in the mood of pitying himself. He had, after all, every reason to. “A Christmas where I don't have to physically change into Santa. I don't like the belly and the beard. And I want a Christmas where I don't have to work or climb through chimneys or steer my rein sleigh away from missiles. Can't the military even tell the difference between a terrorist and Santa Claus? And I have a license!" Arthur pouted. "I want a Christmas dinner with everything that goes with it - bad TV shows, a lot of wine, and lots and lots of doing nothing."
"Maybe you can do that after you return, the day after Christmas," Merlin said. "It can be my gift to you. The dinner and all."
"Maybe." Arthur cleared his throat, noticing that he had been looking at Merlin’s smiling lips for too long.
He suspected that anything coming from Merlin would end in a total disaster, especially anything that involved cooking, but maybe it would still be better than the usual day after Christmas. The day after Christmas, Arthur normally wanted to sleep, but his reindeer elves insisted on having a tournament of snow fights. In the end Arthur always gave in and joined the tournament. He always won too, so Merlin (well, all the elves) wouldn't think Arthur was not in charge. It wouldn't befit the image of Santa Clause to lose the tournament.
"Then, can I get a Christmas present too?" Merlin's face was so hopeful that Arthur for once couldn't say, ‘You're ridiculous, Merlin. No.’
Instead, Arthur said, "You’re ridiculous, Merlin. Since your cognitive functions are at the level of a four year old child, I suppose you can."
Merlin failed to notice the insult - he indeed was at the level of a four year old child.
His face beamed. "Really? Wait."
He pulled a letter from a pocket and picked a pen. "Don't peek."
"I'm going to read the letter anyway, I'm Santa," Arthur said.
Merlin vehemently shook his head. "You can read it later, when I'll be polishing your boots." He tucked the papers back into the envelope. With a wicked grin he handed the letter to Arthur. "Here. Now I'm going to polish your boots."
Arthur's eyes widened a bit, and now there was a whole set of anatomically correct snowmen in his mind, all of them wearing boots...and Merlin was..."
"Merlin," said Arthur, but Merlin had already left the room.
Arthur opened the letter.
The papers were neatly folded and clean, which was surprising, given Merlin's usual sloppiness.
On the first paper, there was written,
‘Dear Santa Claus, I have been a good elf for the whole year. I polished all Arthur's boots and endured all his bullying.’
That was a lie. Arthur didn't bully Merlin.
He did throw a thing or two at Merlin's head, but that was meant lovingly. Well, jokingly more than lovingly, Arthur would never use the expression "lovingly" when it came to Merlin.
He had tried hugging Merlin at one time, to be honest, just to console to stupid elf after Morgana's departure, and it hadn’t gone well. Arthur had stopped before actually touching Merlin. Anatomically correct snowmen may or may not have had something to do with it.
Arthur took a breath to chase away the images of snowmen and Merlin. Plus, there were three pairs of boots under his bed, still waiting to be polished, so all that Merlin had written was a lie. Somehow that seemed important right now. Merlin was full of faults. By consequence Merlin was completely unattractive, because faults were unattractive. There, Arthur already felt better.
He went on reading. "Because I was good, I'm writing to you, dear Santa. Will you bring me my present? All I want for Christmas is..."
Arthur quickly looked at the other piece of paper.
"Santa Claus." That was written in a large bold font over the entire page.
The "a dinner with" was scribbled atop it in small shaky letters, as if it were an afterthought.
Arthur's hands trembled a little. He licked his lips.
Morgana had once remarked that Arthur wasn't very observant, but that was not true at all. As a very observant man, Arthur noticed that Merlin’s wish was painfully ambiguous.
"Which Santa Claus?" he said.
There were 161 people holding the name of Santa Claus in the entire history of the title, and 160 of them were dead.
One person in 161. Which one was Merlin referring to?
Arthur didn't want to apply his knowledge of statistics here, because that would mean 160:1 chances that Arthur would have to raise dead people on Christmas Eve. In short, Arthur had to check something with Merlin. Something very important.
"Merlin!" he called. "Merlin!"
It took the damnable elf long, incredibly long to appear. Worst elf helper Arthur had ever met.
"What does this mean?" Arthur waved the letter in front of Merlin’s nose.
"It means what's written," Merlin said, not very helpfully. He adjusted his red neckerchief, which was now indistinguishable in color from his face.
"Yes?" Arthur said.
“I’m a respectable elf,” Merlin said.
Had Merlin just fluttered his lashes? It was distracting.
“Yes?” Arthur repeated. “So as a respectable elf you wouldn’t ask me to raise the dead?”
Merlin gave him a questioning look, as if Arthur were the daft one here, not Merlin.
"I'm a respectable elf," said Merlin. "I can't send you a love letter until February 14th. But I can have the Christmas dinner with you."
Arthur blinked. He knew immediately he would need many counseling sessions with Gaius for the dreams that would pester him at least until Valentine's Day. Of all the elves, Merlin was indeed the worst.
Funny, that fact didn’t bother Arthur anymore.
Title: Christmas Dinner
Characters, pairings: mostly Merlin/Arthur, mention of several other characters
Summary: Merlin is a horrible elf. Arthur would still let him make dinner.
Word count: ~2 600
Rating: G? PG-13?
Warnings: silliness, crack, AU, IDK how the prompt devolved into this
"These clothes don't quite fit, Merlin. Am I supposed to be wearing a dress?" Arthur said, lifting the red fabric that was hanging almost down to his knees. It was the same thing every year.
"Yeah, it's not supposed to fit. Not yet, anyway." Merlin fumbled with needles around Arthur shoulders.
"Ow!" said Arthur.
"Sorry," Merlin put on one of his idiotic smiles, one that plastered on his face the fact that Merlin's ears were bigger than his brain. Then he proceeded pinning the red suit as if nothing happened.
Of all the elves, Merlin was the worst. He was also the only one capable of doing saucery.
Well, the only one after Morgana had decided to leave. But Arthur didn't want to think about her. And there was still Gaius, if one wanted to count him in (which Arthur didn't).
Gaius was old, the oldest helper, and the assistant of Arthur's father, Arthur's father's father and probably so on for a few ancestors back. In truth, Arthur couldn't really tell what Gaius was doing, except that he had the bad habit of sending Merlin on errands right when Arthur needed Merlin. Which was always. Well, not "needed" precisely. Arthur didn't really "need" Merlin. It was more...Merlin's duty to serve Arthur every day. Besides, picking medicinal herbs out in the snow was a rather silly thing to do, even for Merlin.
"Can't you use that saucery stuff instead of doing it by hands, Merlin? Why do I keep you here?" Arthur said, carefully observing the pins between Merlin’s fingers.
Merlin chuckled. "You mean sorcery."
Arthur cocked his head. "No, I mean saucery. That's what Gaius said you do."
Merlin only tightened his lips and looked down, and then his shoulders shook slightly. It seemed like he was about to cough, because he brought one hand to his lips, but in the end he didn't quite manage to bring that cough out. It was more like a wheeze. He didn't reply either.
Arthur decided to be generous and help him. Merlin needed help when it came to more advanced brain functions.
"You know, like you make the reindeers fly," said Arthur. "Like flying saucers and stuff. Saucery. Speaking of which, have you found a way to make Gwaine's nose smaller and less red? It’s distracting the way it shines."
"Um, yeah." Merlin looked up with a grin on his face. "I mean no. Gwaine’s nose is red because he's usually drunk when I transform him into a reindeer."
"Can't you make him non-drunk somehow?" said Arthur.
Merlin shook his head. "No, he says he won't fly unless drunk. He's afraid of heights. He said the only way to make him fly sober is to put a female on the reindeer team to distract him."
"You know that can't be done,” Arthur said. “We don't have females here. The only female elf is Gwen, and she won't fly after Lancelot has had his tail shot off last year.” He shuddered. “Can you imagine that someone shot into my sleigh for trespassing? Don't these people know I have a license? I'm not like those Santas at the malls."
Yes, Gwen was the only female elf at the North Pole. (There had been Morgana too, but, again, Arthur didn't want to think about her.)
It must have been awkward for Gwen, but not even nearly as awkward as it had been for all the males, who had all found themselves in love with her at one point or another. (Except for her brother Elyan.)
Arthur had to admit that at a certain point he had been maaaaaybe a liiiitle bit in love with her too, and Gwen seemed like maaaaaybe she had been in love with Arthur as well. It had been kind of difficult to tell, because Gwen had seemed a little in love with everyone at the North Pole at one point or the other. (Except for her brother Elyan.)
Then Lancelot had come back with his injured tail, and while Gwen had nursed him, it had become clear that maybe she hadn’t been in love with Arthur after all. (Arthur had refused to ask what precisely she had nursed, since elves didn't have tails.)
The whole affair had hurt Arthur's pride, but he was Santa and he always had to keep his station at the North Pole running.
So he had let it slide by only forcing Gwen and Lancelot into a short-term banishment, which had ended when Merlin had told Arthur (not very kindly) that it had been freezing outside and that Arthur had been an idiot and a prick colder than snow.
Since then, Arthur's dreams occasionally featured anatomically correct snowmen, and even more often they featured Merlin (who was also anatomically correct, of course).
He had never told of it to Merlin, and even less he had told about it to snowmen. Somehow he felt it wouldn't befit his image as Santa Claus. But since that event he couldn't get rid of the impression that the snowmen outside were leering at him.
So Arthur had had a counseling session about it with Gaius, and the old elf had assured Arthur it was entirely normal.
Every Santa Claus so far had had some strange obsession. In the case of the previous Santa Claus it had been saucery - Uther, who was also Arthur’s father, had banished it, and still he had been convinced that saucery is everywhere, ruining his work. Elves with saucery were sloppy and tend to ruin things, Uther had kept saying. Judging by Merlin’s actions, that was completely true.
"What is your job here, precisely?" Arthur had asked Gaius at the end of the session.
Gaius had raised up one white eyebrow and muttered something that sounded like, "Why, Santa, I'm your physician." Or maybe it had been "physicist" or "psychologist" or "psychic" or "psycho."
Arthur supposed it didn't matter, since Gaius had been on the North Pole for so long he had certainly earned whatever title he had.
But yes, females.
Some female elves from the South Pole had visited occasionally, but they had been for the most part really weird blondes, and Merlin had behaved as an even bigger lunatic than otherwise, so Arthur had finally decided to put a stop to such exchange of delegates. For whichever reason, the explosions at the conveyer belts and mysterious events had been more common during the time of the visit. (Arthur’s elves had probably been too distracted by the presence of so many females - counting Gwen, the number amounted even to three!)
He had expected his elves to protest about his decision, but apparently spending so much time as reindeers had a profound impact on their elfish psychology, as they had thought nothing of it.
Another reason why Arthur had put a stop to the visits had been Morgana. She had established her station at the South Pole. There she had joined Morgause, one of the already mentioned really weird blondes, where she now pretended to be Santa Claus for bad girls.
Santa Claudia she called herself.
Sibling rivalry was a horrible thing sometimes.
Arthur had tried to explain to Morgana how ridiculous her idea was, but she had started talking about priestesses and islands and long female traditions and Nimueh (Arthur supposed that was another of the really weird female elves from the South Pole), and there was nothing Arthur could have done. Morgana had become Santa Claudia.
Yes, ridiculous. Like Arthur didn't have enough problems with the unreasonable and downright strange requests in the letters addressed to him. Requests like "All I want for Christmas is Bradley James," written by girls who were too old to be considered children.
Arthur turned to Merlin, who was still standing next to him and staring at Arthur's neck. Arthur sighed.
Just like that, Merlin's poor brain froze in the middle of the most mundane tasks. As Santa Clause, Arthur tried dealing with it with a great deal of patience.
"The suit will not pin itself, Merlin," he said.
"Ah, yes, sorry." Merlin grinned and turned red up to the tip of his elfish ears.
That had the same effect on Arthur’s own ears, which was ridiculous and completely unnecessary. Arthur’s brain was fine; he didn’t need to feel embarrassed.
"Who is Bradley James anyway?" Arthur said, while Merlin tried to adjust the black belt around Arthur's waist.
"Oh, one of the guys from the letters?" Merlin said. "He's an actor." His eyes narrowed as he observed Arthur's face. "Actually, he looks a bit like you."
"Really?" said Arthur, ignoring what Merlin's clumsy hands were doing with the belt and Arthur’s stomach. "Well, I bet he doesn't have to wear silly read clothes that do nothing for his figure, and I bet he is not stuck with someone like you."
"It's not so bad being stuck with someone like me, is it?” Merlin’s cheek burrowed into the folds of the Santa suit, pressing at Arthur’s chest, as he tried to reach Arthur's back. “Just think what kind of problems Uther had with his reindeers."
"My father didn't have reindeers," Arthur reminded him, looking at the ceiling and NOT thinking of snowmen.
"Precisely," Merlin said. "And I think Bradley goes on Morgana's list of gifts anyway."
Morgana's list!
Arthur was appalled. "Merlin, there is no such thing as Morgana's list of gifts!"
"Oh." Merlin straightened up. "I kind of already mailed her the names."
"You did what?" Arthur shook his head. The worst elf ever. Merlin was the worst elf ever. "She can't deliver people as gits. That's completely unethical. And creepy."
"She doesn't deliver people. She...writes stories." Merlin's ears were red again. "With...people in them...doing...stuff. Just imaginary stories."
As Arthur stared incredulously, Merlin muttered, "It's called fanfiction. It's not all that bad, really."
"I don't want to know. That sounds creepy too," Arthur said. He'd check Merlin's email and bookmarks later on. It was his duty as Santa. Probably. Arthur hadn’t bothered to read the entire contract. But in any case, he wouldn’t be reading these stories out of curiosity. The mere idea was preposterous, so it was good Merlin showed no indication of harboring it.
Then something occurred to Arthur."And how unfair is that? Even bad girls get Christmas presents, and I, Santa Claus, don't."
Merlin's eyes fired up like the lights on a Christmas tree. "And what would you want?"
"I don't know.” Arthur felt in the mood of pitying himself. He had, after all, every reason to. “A Christmas where I don't have to physically change into Santa. I don't like the belly and the beard. And I want a Christmas where I don't have to work or climb through chimneys or steer my rein sleigh away from missiles. Can't the military even tell the difference between a terrorist and Santa Claus? And I have a license!" Arthur pouted. "I want a Christmas dinner with everything that goes with it - bad TV shows, a lot of wine, and lots and lots of doing nothing."
"Maybe you can do that after you return, the day after Christmas," Merlin said. "It can be my gift to you. The dinner and all."
"Maybe." Arthur cleared his throat, noticing that he had been looking at Merlin’s smiling lips for too long.
He suspected that anything coming from Merlin would end in a total disaster, especially anything that involved cooking, but maybe it would still be better than the usual day after Christmas. The day after Christmas, Arthur normally wanted to sleep, but his reindeer elves insisted on having a tournament of snow fights. In the end Arthur always gave in and joined the tournament. He always won too, so Merlin (well, all the elves) wouldn't think Arthur was not in charge. It wouldn't befit the image of Santa Clause to lose the tournament.
"Then, can I get a Christmas present too?" Merlin's face was so hopeful that Arthur for once couldn't say, ‘You're ridiculous, Merlin. No.’
Instead, Arthur said, "You’re ridiculous, Merlin. Since your cognitive functions are at the level of a four year old child, I suppose you can."
Merlin failed to notice the insult - he indeed was at the level of a four year old child.
His face beamed. "Really? Wait."
He pulled a letter from a pocket and picked a pen. "Don't peek."
"I'm going to read the letter anyway, I'm Santa," Arthur said.
Merlin vehemently shook his head. "You can read it later, when I'll be polishing your boots." He tucked the papers back into the envelope. With a wicked grin he handed the letter to Arthur. "Here. Now I'm going to polish your boots."
Arthur's eyes widened a bit, and now there was a whole set of anatomically correct snowmen in his mind, all of them wearing boots...and Merlin was..."
"Merlin," said Arthur, but Merlin had already left the room.
Arthur opened the letter.
The papers were neatly folded and clean, which was surprising, given Merlin's usual sloppiness.
On the first paper, there was written,
‘Dear Santa Claus, I have been a good elf for the whole year. I polished all Arthur's boots and endured all his bullying.’
That was a lie. Arthur didn't bully Merlin.
He did throw a thing or two at Merlin's head, but that was meant lovingly. Well, jokingly more than lovingly, Arthur would never use the expression "lovingly" when it came to Merlin.
He had tried hugging Merlin at one time, to be honest, just to console to stupid elf after Morgana's departure, and it hadn’t gone well. Arthur had stopped before actually touching Merlin. Anatomically correct snowmen may or may not have had something to do with it.
Arthur took a breath to chase away the images of snowmen and Merlin. Plus, there were three pairs of boots under his bed, still waiting to be polished, so all that Merlin had written was a lie. Somehow that seemed important right now. Merlin was full of faults. By consequence Merlin was completely unattractive, because faults were unattractive. There, Arthur already felt better.
He went on reading. "Because I was good, I'm writing to you, dear Santa. Will you bring me my present? All I want for Christmas is..."
Arthur quickly looked at the other piece of paper.
"Santa Claus." That was written in a large bold font over the entire page.
The "a dinner with" was scribbled atop it in small shaky letters, as if it were an afterthought.
Arthur's hands trembled a little. He licked his lips.
Morgana had once remarked that Arthur wasn't very observant, but that was not true at all. As a very observant man, Arthur noticed that Merlin’s wish was painfully ambiguous.
"Which Santa Claus?" he said.
There were 161 people holding the name of Santa Claus in the entire history of the title, and 160 of them were dead.
One person in 161. Which one was Merlin referring to?
Arthur didn't want to apply his knowledge of statistics here, because that would mean 160:1 chances that Arthur would have to raise dead people on Christmas Eve. In short, Arthur had to check something with Merlin. Something very important.
"Merlin!" he called. "Merlin!"
It took the damnable elf long, incredibly long to appear. Worst elf helper Arthur had ever met.
"What does this mean?" Arthur waved the letter in front of Merlin’s nose.
"It means what's written," Merlin said, not very helpfully. He adjusted his red neckerchief, which was now indistinguishable in color from his face.
"Yes?" Arthur said.
“I’m a respectable elf,” Merlin said.
Had Merlin just fluttered his lashes? It was distracting.
“Yes?” Arthur repeated. “So as a respectable elf you wouldn’t ask me to raise the dead?”
Merlin gave him a questioning look, as if Arthur were the daft one here, not Merlin.
"I'm a respectable elf," said Merlin. "I can't send you a love letter until February 14th. But I can have the Christmas dinner with you."
Arthur blinked. He knew immediately he would need many counseling sessions with Gaius for the dreams that would pester him at least until Valentine's Day. Of all the elves, Merlin was indeed the worst.
Funny, that fact didn’t bother Arthur anymore.