Merlin - Where This Road May Go 8/9 (Arthur/Merlin, Gwen/Morgana - pg13)
Title: Where This Road May Go 8/9
Author: batgurl88
Pairing/Characters: Arthur/Merlin, Gwen/Morgana, Gaius, Uther, Nimueh
Wordcount: 4,421 (52,352 overall)
Summary: Arthur is a royal who can't remember his past. Merlin and Gaius are con-men, hoping to return Arthur to Uther for a hefty reward, but little do they know they have the real deal on their hands.
A/N: Some lines and plot aspects respectfully borrowed from both Twentieth Century Fox’s Anastasia and BBC’s Merlin. Beta'd by the magnigicent justicemischief.
Happy Thanksgiving to my fellow Canucks!
| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 |
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Where This Road May Go
Part Eight
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Gaius paced nervously in front of the steps to the Paris Opera House, his gloves in his hands as they waited for Arty and Gwen to arrive.
Sitting on the stone steps leading up to the entrance, Merlin fiddled with his white bowtie, feeling slightly foolish. He'd never been fond of this sort of dressing up. He always thought he looked ridiculous with his ears sticking out too far under his top hat and the suit hanging off his skinny frame, even after being tailored.
He sighed, watching as his friend spun and paced again in front of him. "Gaius, there's nothing to be worried about. He is the velikii kniaz."
"Of course, of course," Gaius placated absently, still wringing his gloves. "He's hardly recognizable anymore-"
"No," Merlin interrupted, standing and placing his hands on Gaius' arms to keep his attention. "I mean, he really is the grand duke." Off his friend's frown, Merlin sighed. "I was the boy in the palace, Gaius. The one that opened the door in the wall."
He paused meaningfully, letting the message sink in. "He's the real thing, Gaius."
Gaius' eyes widened in surprise. "...That means that Arty really has found his family," he said slowly, his mind working over the events of their journey, adding up the facts. "We actually stumbled onto His Imperial Highness the Grand Duke of Russia!" He turned to Merlin, understanding sinking into his expression. "And you-"
"Will walk out of his life forever," the conman cut in with a wave of his hand, his tone final even as the pang in his chest gave another painful thump.
Gaius frowned. "But, Merlin-"
"It doesn't change anything," Merlin insisted, spotting Arty's car arriving. “We’ll continue the same as before.”
"Surely you can't be serious," Gaius admonished. "He deserves to hear the truth. Take him aside, explain it to him-"
Merlin laughed sarcastically. "And say what? 'Arty, you really are royalty. I know because I used to clean up after your family, and hey, what do you think about us having a drink sometime?'"
"Would that be so bad? It's obvious how you feel about him," Gaius needled, his eyebrows furrowed in concern.
"It doesn't matter," Merlin retorted, shaking his head. "By the end of the night he'll be back where he belongs, and so will I."
Off Gaius' sceptical look, the conman shrugged bitterly. "Grand dukes don't court kitchen boys, Gaius."
"You have to tell him," the older man insisted.
"Tell me what?"
The pair turned to find Arty frowning curiously at them, accompanied by Gwen.
"Er... What a good job you did today with Morgana," Merlin covered, ignoring Gaius' disapproving frown.
Arty gave a half-pleased smile, though he still looked vaguely suspicious. He, too, was dressed in a top hat and tails, and Merlin begrudgingly noted that he managed to pull it off without looking like an idiot. Gwen, on the other hand, was wearing a plain pale yellow dress with arm-length gloves, her hair swept back and up out of her face.
An awkward silence fell between the four of them before Gaius cleared his throat.
"Guinevere, you look lovely," he complimented, holding out his arm for her to take. "Would you do an old man an honour and accompany him inside?"
Gwen smiled sweetly, taking his arm. "Of course, Gaius."
The pair headed up the steps, Gaius shooting a meaningful look back at Merlin before departing.
"Was that really what you wanted to tell me?" Arty questioned, looking at Merlin with an expression he couldn't describe.
Merlin took him in, admiring for a moment what a magnificent figure he made in such fine clothes, as if he'd been born for nothing else. He was born for this, Merlin reminded himself with another sharp pang in his chest. He shook his head.
"It doesn't matter. We'd better get inside before they close the doors," he said, a sad smile on his face. He led the way into the opera house, Arty trailing behind him, a curious look still on his face.
* * *
The ballet was crowded that evening, and Merlin offered up another word of silent thanks that Morgana had seen fit to secure them tickets. Her generosity had been surprising, to say the least, but she had mentioned during their shopping spree how fond she was of Uther, and how much she wanted to see him happily reunited with his grandson. He briefly wondered how many other hopefuls had come her way, each with the false promise of bringing some light into her cousin's life.
Of course, Gwen's presence hadn't seemed to hurt. If Merlin didn't know better, he'd have thought that the primary motivation behind their day in Paris had been to impress the cheerful young artist. Looking at Gwen in her newly-purchased dress, her eyes wide with wonder at the golden splendour of the opera house, he knew it had worked.
They made their way up the grand staircase to their seats - private boxes, no less! Morgana had spared no expense. He and Arty took the first row, the latter having been conspicuously quiet throughout their entrance. Gwen settled nervously behind them, her fingers twisting in her lap as Gaius took the seat next to her.
Merlin pulled out the opera glasses Gaius had purchased for them, focusing them on the crowd instead of the stage. Prince Uther's box seat was across from theirs, his face as stern as ever as Morgana leant over to say something to him, her gloved hand on his.
"That's him," Merlin whispered, nodding toward the box and handing the glasses to Arty, who turned them eagerly on the aging royal.
Arty let out an anxious breath, his sights on the prince.
"Please let him remember me," he mumbled to himself, and Merlin politely pretended not to hear.
The lights in the theatre dimmed, and the curtain swept open as the Russian Ballet's performance of 'Sleeping Beauty' commenced, forcing Arty to return his focus to the stage.
Merlin found himself unable to concentrate on the ballet, his mind far too distracted by other thoughts. In a few hours, Arty would be gone from his life forever, and Merlin would be back where he'd started - granted, a few million rubles richer. Somehow, the thought of the money didn't comfort him any.
He glanced over at his companion, smiling lightly as he noticed Arty's hands twisting as nervously as Gwen's, the program he'd received upon entry reduced to scrap paper in his lap.
Discreetly, Merlin closed his hand over Arty's fidgeting ones, effectively stilling them. He blushed a little guiltily at his own actions, but Arty hadn't flinched or pulled away. He squeezed lightly, allowing himself this small moment of contact.
"Relax," Merlin whispered, leaning closer. "It'll be fine."
Arty took a steadying breath and nodded. On-stage, the faeries were dancing around Princess Aurora's cradle, and both men chose to ignore the way Arty's hand turned upward to clasp Merlin's in return.
* * *
Intermission came far too soon for both of them, and the pair sat frozen for a moment after the curtain had closed, steeling themselves for what was next. Finally, Merlin turned to Arty, placing a hand on his arm.
"Come on," he said softly, standing. "It's time."
They made their way out into the foyer, leaving Gaius and Gwen behind in the box. Arty's stride slowed with each step, an expression of something akin to dread edging its way onto his face.
Merlin allowed himself a fond smile, knowing the other man would never admit he was nervous. "You'll be fine. He's going to love you," he assured, giving Arty a gentle push toward the box.
Arty was looking increasingly pale, though no less determined. They stopped outside, each knowing that great change lay just beyond the door.
"Let me go in first and announce you," offered Merlin, moving toward the entrance. Arty stopped him, hesitant.
"Wait, Merlin-"
He turned back eagerly. "Yes?"
Arty's blue eyes met his own, searching. "We've... We've been through a lot together, and... I just..."
"Yes?" Merlin's eyes were wide, his heart thumping inexplicably in his chest. Maybe he hadn't been imagining things. Maybe Arty... "What is it?"
The other man swallowed hard, never breaking eye contact. "I just wanted to say..." He cleared his throat, then looked away. "I wanted to thank you, I guess."
Merlin blinked, feeling let-down. "Oh. Right. Of course." He berated himself silently for his foolishness - what else would it be?
Arty nodded, looking inexplicably disappointed, and turned away.
For a second, he considered calling him back, Gaius’ advice ringing in his ears, but he faltered, his confidence slipping. In a few minutes' time, Arty would be back with his family - back to being a member of a royal household - and Merlin would just be another commoner, barely a blip in his memory. There could be no future for them and Merlin would look like an idiot for trying. Better to get out with some of his pride intact.
“I’d better get going, then,” Merlin said lamely, wishing he didn’t feel ten kinds of cowardly as he turned away. This was all for the best.
He knocked once on the door before pulling it open to step inside the box, not noticing that the latch failed to catch behind him.
Prince Uther was still in his seat, facing the stage, but the comtesse stood waiting near the entrance.
Morgana smiled when she saw him. Remembering her part in the ploy, she walked forward gracefully. "Yes? May I help you?" she inquired loudly enough to be heard by the prince.
He straightened his shoulders. It was now or never. "I wish to speak with His Royal Highness Prince Uther of Denmark. I have brought him his grandson, velikii kniaz Arthur Ectorovich Petrovin. He is waiting just outside the door."
"Oh?" came a disinterested voice from the direction of the seats. "Morgana, you may tell that insolent young man that I have received enough appeals from resurrected Petrovins to fill this opera house twice over. I really cannot stomach any more."
Morgana worried her lip, disappointed. "Perhaps you ought to come back later," she said softly, guiding him to the door. "He's in a bit of a mood."
Knowing this was his only chance, he ducked past her, taking the seat next to the prince. Uther was much older than he remembered, his face lined with age and sorrow, but he remained an imposing figure nonetheless. Merlin cleared his throat. "Your Highness, I know this is forward of me, but please, just listen. My name is Merlin. I used to work at the palace."
Uther stared straight ahead, his tone clipped. "Well, that is certainly a new one. Let me guess the next part - you stumbled upon my grandson and regarded it as your duty to see him returned to me."
"Yes!" Merlin grinned eagerly - pleased to be understood - before catching the sarcastic tone in Uther's voice. "I mean, no," he retracted quickly, "That's not how it started, really, but-"
"I've heard enough." The prince stood, his back arrow-straight in spite of his walking stick. "Do you think you're the first one to train a suitable actor to look and sound like royalty? And for what? You hoped to play on the sentimentality of an old man in order con him out of his money."
"Your Highness, this isn't like that," Merlin shook his head, wincing guiltily at how close to home the prince's words cut. It had been quite true, after all, until he'd discovered Arty's real identity. Reminded of his purpose for being there, he stood as well.
"If you'd just talk to him for a moment, you'd see-"
"I will take no more of this," Uther snapped, turning to join Morgana in the rear of the box. "My grandson is dead. Leave me in peace."
Merlin blocked his path.
"I mean you no harm," he assured the prince, "But you must see him. I know you've been tricked before, but this is the real thing!"
The prince paused, drawing himself up. "'Merlin'?" Uther repeated, his eyes narrowing. "I've heard of you. You're the conman from St. Petersburg - the one who was holding auditions to find a look-alike for Arthur."
Hearing this, Morgana's eyebrows snapped together in anger, and she pulled the long silk cord near the door to signal for the prince's security.
Merlin shook his head, upset, for once, that his reputation had preceded him. "This isn't a con, Your Highness, I swear. If you'd just talk to him- we’ve come all this way!"
"Others have come from far greater distances than Russia," replied Uther, unimpressed. He sat on a red settee against the wall of the box. "Did you teach him about my family? Feed him rumours and stories about my grandchildren for him to parrot back to me? How much lower will you stoop to get the reward money? Have you no shame at all?"
"But this isn't about the reward!" Merlin protested, kneeling in front of the prince. "I swear, he really is your grandson!"
Two members of the security detail entered, grabbing Merlin by the arms and pulling him toward the door. He fought against them, pleading with Uther, who had turned his face away.
"You don't understand! He is the velikii kniaz! You have to listen to me!"
Merlin was thrown unceremoniously from the box, landing on all fours. The door slammed closed behind him, and the disappointment he felt could only be matched by the sick feeling in his gut when he looked up and found Arty glaring furiously at him.
* * *
"So, it was all a con," Arty accused, his voice dangerously quiet.
He should have known. He should have suspected that there was something in it for Merlin, but hearing the prince's accusations through the partly-open door had been like a punch to the gut. Of course he'd been faking - of course he'd only been in it for the money. Arty had been so stupid to believe otherwise.
Merlin shook his head, standing and holding his hands out. "No, Arty, it's not what you-"
"You lied to me! You used me to try and get that man's money!" he shouted, clenching his fists, caring little for the attention he was drawing from the other patrons in the hallway. How could he have been so foolish? All this time, Merlin had been playing him. Just another con. He thought back to their journey - the fleeting looks between them, the smiles, and the teasing banter - it had all been a lie. Just another way of gaining his trust. And he'd fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker.
Of course it was a lie, he thought bitterly. Had he honestly believed that he could be the grand duke? That he'd be welcomed into Prince Uther's family with open arms? All because Merlin had planted the idea in his head, assured him that he would find his family here. And all the while, he'd been counting up the reward money behind Arty's back.
The reward. He thought back to Uther's words, tinged with pain: "Playing on the sentimentality of an old man." Prince Uther wanted to find his family as much as Arty did, and Merlin had used that to his advantage as well. Arty felt sick, realising he'd almost been a party to it.
He shook his head, letting out a humourless laugh. "I can't believe I trusted you. I thought you wanted to help me find my family, I let you convince me that I could be that man's grandson, but this whole time you were conning me just like you were conning him. I can't believe I thought you were-"
Arty stopped, too angry to continue. He didn't want to give Merlin the satisfaction of knowing how successful he'd been in tricking him, how he'd almost believed he-
He turned quickly, needing to get away. He couldn't stand here any longer, feeling more humiliated than he had in his entire life. Merlin chased after him, a miserable expression on his face.
"Arty, no, wait! You don't understand - you really are-"
The punch came unexpectedly to both of them, startling several gasps from the surrounding patrons. Arty watched with grim satisfaction as Merlin touched the back of his hand to his bleeding lip, his expression pained.
"Arty, please-" he began.
"Just stay away from me, Merlin," Arty threatened in a low voice.
With that, he pushed through the crowd that had gathered, racing out of the theatre, leaving Merlin shouting after him.
* * *
Merlin waited as the prince exited the opera house and headed for his automobile before making his move. While the chauffer was busy opening the rear door for Uther, Merlin slipped into the driver's seat, starting the car and speeding off as soon as the door had been closed, leaving behind a very confused and angry driver.
"Not so fast," the prince admonished absently from the back seat, unaware of the switch, his mind clearly on other matters. Merlin ducked his head but didn't slow down, wanting to put some distance between them and the theatre before the royal suspected anything. He hung a sharp right.
"Where are you going? I wanted to head straight home, Edwin," Uther commanded, his tone hard.
Merlin smiled grimly from the front seat, turning to tip his cap to the prince. "Edwin's not here right now."
Uther's eyes widened in outrage. "You again? Will you stop at nothing?" he said, and for a split second Merlin feared the man would attempt to throttle him in spite of the fact that he was driving. "You will pull this car over at once!"
"Not until you listen," Merlin replied, sounding braver than he felt. Even if he couldn't get Arty's forgiveness he could at least set right the wrong he'd done him. Arty deserved to find his family, if nothing else.
He turned a corner harshly, the tires of the automobile screeching.
"You have kidnapped a member of the royal family," the Prince of Denmark retorted in clipped tones. "Do you really think this will end well for you? If this were a century ago, I could have you flogged."
"That'd be the least of my problems," muttered Merlin ominously.
They drove the rest of the way in silence, Uther glaring furiously at him in the rear-view mirror.
Merlin breathed a small sigh of relief as he pulled up in front of the hotel, determination sweeping through him. He parked, getting out of the car to open Uther's door.
"We're here," he said needlessly. The prince refused to acknowledge him, his mouth set in a thin line.
"Look, just talk to him, just for a few minutes," Merlin pleaded. "Then, I swear, I'll be out of your life forever."
When Uther remained silent, inspiration struck. He crouched down on the sidewalk, pulling out the small silver box he'd been carrying on his person since their arrival in Paris. The red jewels glistened in the lamplight.
"Do you remember this?" he said, watching for a reaction.
Uther stilled, his eyes widening at the sight of the box. "Where did you get that?" he asked quietly.
Merlin handed it to him without a second thought, knowing it was going to a good cause. "He just wants to find his family," he said, his eyes downcast. "Give him a chance."
The prince eyed him shrewdly, his fingers wrapping around the bit of treasure. Suspicion still weighing heavily in his gaze, he nodded.
* * *
Arty angrily tossed his meagre possessions into a bag, the pain in his chest that had plagued him since intermission growing steadily with each second.
He had - quite nobly, he thought - resisted the urge to destroy Merlin's few belongings during his packing, eager as he was to leave before the others returned from the ballet. As much as he wanted to say his goodbyes to Gwen, he didn't think he could bear to face her, knowing what a fool he'd been. She'd trusted Merlin as well, and the pain of her learning that betrayal was not something Arty wished to witness.
He had little notion of where he planned to go, only the driving urge to get away from everyone and everything that had been a part of this whole mess. He set aside the clothes Morgana had purchased for him, trusting Gwen to see them returned. He hoped the comtesse would not think too poorly of him for his part in the deception.
Searching under the bed, he paused as he came across the sketch Gwen had done of him and Merlin dancing. The two charcoal figures looked happy, teasing glints in their eyes as they spun. Arty crumpled the page and tossed it in the trash, offering a silent apology to Gwen. He never wanted to think about any of it again.
A knock sounded from the door, and he bristled. "Go away, Merlin!"
The door opened, to his displeasure, and he turned, ready to give the conman another piece of his mind. Instead, he pulled up short, finding himself face-to-face with a rather morose Prince Uther. "Oh."
Unexpected though Uther's presence was, Arty felt a small flame of hope spark rebelliously inside of him, and he did his best to stamp it out. He wasn't sure that he could face such disappointment twice in one night.
The prince's eyes swept him up and down, taking in his appearance. "So, you're the latest actor from Russia," he said, a severe look on his face.
Arty shook his head, stepping forward. "I'm sorry," he offered earnestly, his conscience tugging at him as he remembered the prince's pain-filled accusations. "I had no idea about the con."
Uther gave no outward indication of believing him. He moved into the hotel room, walking a quick circle around Arty. "And I'm sure the money means nothing to you, either," he said, his tone as dry as sawdust.
"I never wanted money," Arty insisted. "I'm just trying to find my family."
The prince waved his hand, dismissing him. "You look like Arthur. But so did many of the others. It seems that ten million rubles is enough tempt any blue-eyed-blond down on his luck. I have been approached by every con artist from here to Sweden, and I am tired of being deceived."
"I'm not trying to deceive you," said Arty. "I only came here to-"
Uther cut him off. "No. You have already wasted enough of my time," he decided, his face worn. He brushed past him, leaning heavily on his walking stick.
Arty eyed the stick with a frown, his gaze halting on a deep notch in the wood.
"The sword," he said quietly, the brief tail of a memory flittering before his eyes.
The prince stopped. "I beg your pardon?"
But Arty was lost in his own thoughts, the fragments of the memory becoming more vivid. "I begged father to have one - a real sword, like the one Owain got for his birthday. He refused, and Owain teased me for being too young. So I stole the cane from your quarters and challenged him during his fencing lessons, like an idiot. I took a swing at him and he blocked it - I thought he'd cut it in two. You were so angry with us when you found out. But you promised me a real sword when I got older..." he drifted off, his hand subconsciously clutching at the chain he wore under his suit. He shook his head, wondering where the words had come from.
Uther sat heavily on one of the beds, clearly shaken. "How did you know about that?" he asked, his eyes boring into Arty.
"I'm not sure," he answered truthfully, feeling just as shaken. More images were coming, just ghosts and whispers in his mind, and he fought to sort through them.
The prince gestured to the spot next to him and Arty sat.
"What are you wearing around your neck?"
He pulled the chain out from under his shirt, letting the sword fall into his palm for Uther to see. The silver inscription glittered up at him, familiar and yet strangely foreign, bringing with it a new set of half-formed images and memories.
"I've had it for as long as I can remember," he said softly.
Silently, Uther pulled a small silver box from his pocket, holding it up for him to inspect. Arty recognized as the one from Merlin's bag, but it, too, came with a new-found meaning. "The treasure box!" he said, his eyes widening in realisation.
"It belonged to Arthur," the prince said quietly, his tone betraying nothing. "It was-"
"A secret," Arty finished eagerly. "Between the two of us - a place where I could hide things and no one else could find them."
Cautiously, he took the box from Uther, slipping the sword - the key, he remembered - into its hidden slot, turning it. A small smile appeared, unbidden, as he heard the soft click, the lid lifting to reveal an aged photograph. He looked up, meeting the shocked eyes of the prince.
"Arthur," the prince breathed, staring like he'd seen a ghost.
Arty closed his eyes, swallowing back his relief. "Grandpapa."
* * *
On the sidewalk outside of the hotel, Merlin smiled sadly, watching as the light in the window continued to flicker with the movements of two figures. Enough time had passed for him to reasonably declare success - there was nothing more that he could do there. Arty was back with his family.
To his dismay, the pain in his chest hadn't lessened any with this knowledge. More than anything, he longed to forget it all, to slink back to his shadowy corner of Russia and pretend he'd never fallen for the would-be grand duke.
Uther's shadow ghosted across the window, and Merlin knew he'd stayed too long. He wished them both well, hoping they'd have at least a decent-sized reunion before Gaius and Gwen returned to stumble upon their newfound happiness. He, on the other hand, planned to be long-gone before then.
"Goodbye, Your Grace," he bid quietly, tipping his hat at the closed window above him. He'd sneak back again at first light to collect his things. For now, he turned, the darker streets of Paris calling his name.
Part Nine
Author: batgurl88
Pairing/Characters: Arthur/Merlin, Gwen/Morgana, Gaius, Uther, Nimueh
Wordcount: 4,421 (52,352 overall)
Summary: Arthur is a royal who can't remember his past. Merlin and Gaius are con-men, hoping to return Arthur to Uther for a hefty reward, but little do they know they have the real deal on their hands.
A/N: Some lines and plot aspects respectfully borrowed from both Twentieth Century Fox’s Anastasia and BBC’s Merlin. Beta'd by the magnigicent justicemischief.
Happy Thanksgiving to my fellow Canucks!
| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 |
---------------------------
Where This Road May Go
Part Eight
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Gaius paced nervously in front of the steps to the Paris Opera House, his gloves in his hands as they waited for Arty and Gwen to arrive.
Sitting on the stone steps leading up to the entrance, Merlin fiddled with his white bowtie, feeling slightly foolish. He'd never been fond of this sort of dressing up. He always thought he looked ridiculous with his ears sticking out too far under his top hat and the suit hanging off his skinny frame, even after being tailored.
He sighed, watching as his friend spun and paced again in front of him. "Gaius, there's nothing to be worried about. He is the velikii kniaz."
"Of course, of course," Gaius placated absently, still wringing his gloves. "He's hardly recognizable anymore-"
"No," Merlin interrupted, standing and placing his hands on Gaius' arms to keep his attention. "I mean, he really is the grand duke." Off his friend's frown, Merlin sighed. "I was the boy in the palace, Gaius. The one that opened the door in the wall."
He paused meaningfully, letting the message sink in. "He's the real thing, Gaius."
Gaius' eyes widened in surprise. "...That means that Arty really has found his family," he said slowly, his mind working over the events of their journey, adding up the facts. "We actually stumbled onto His Imperial Highness the Grand Duke of Russia!" He turned to Merlin, understanding sinking into his expression. "And you-"
"Will walk out of his life forever," the conman cut in with a wave of his hand, his tone final even as the pang in his chest gave another painful thump.
Gaius frowned. "But, Merlin-"
"It doesn't change anything," Merlin insisted, spotting Arty's car arriving. “We’ll continue the same as before.”
"Surely you can't be serious," Gaius admonished. "He deserves to hear the truth. Take him aside, explain it to him-"
Merlin laughed sarcastically. "And say what? 'Arty, you really are royalty. I know because I used to clean up after your family, and hey, what do you think about us having a drink sometime?'"
"Would that be so bad? It's obvious how you feel about him," Gaius needled, his eyebrows furrowed in concern.
"It doesn't matter," Merlin retorted, shaking his head. "By the end of the night he'll be back where he belongs, and so will I."
Off Gaius' sceptical look, the conman shrugged bitterly. "Grand dukes don't court kitchen boys, Gaius."
"You have to tell him," the older man insisted.
"Tell me what?"
The pair turned to find Arty frowning curiously at them, accompanied by Gwen.
"Er... What a good job you did today with Morgana," Merlin covered, ignoring Gaius' disapproving frown.
Arty gave a half-pleased smile, though he still looked vaguely suspicious. He, too, was dressed in a top hat and tails, and Merlin begrudgingly noted that he managed to pull it off without looking like an idiot. Gwen, on the other hand, was wearing a plain pale yellow dress with arm-length gloves, her hair swept back and up out of her face.
An awkward silence fell between the four of them before Gaius cleared his throat.
"Guinevere, you look lovely," he complimented, holding out his arm for her to take. "Would you do an old man an honour and accompany him inside?"
Gwen smiled sweetly, taking his arm. "Of course, Gaius."
The pair headed up the steps, Gaius shooting a meaningful look back at Merlin before departing.
"Was that really what you wanted to tell me?" Arty questioned, looking at Merlin with an expression he couldn't describe.
Merlin took him in, admiring for a moment what a magnificent figure he made in such fine clothes, as if he'd been born for nothing else. He was born for this, Merlin reminded himself with another sharp pang in his chest. He shook his head.
"It doesn't matter. We'd better get inside before they close the doors," he said, a sad smile on his face. He led the way into the opera house, Arty trailing behind him, a curious look still on his face.
* * *
The ballet was crowded that evening, and Merlin offered up another word of silent thanks that Morgana had seen fit to secure them tickets. Her generosity had been surprising, to say the least, but she had mentioned during their shopping spree how fond she was of Uther, and how much she wanted to see him happily reunited with his grandson. He briefly wondered how many other hopefuls had come her way, each with the false promise of bringing some light into her cousin's life.
Of course, Gwen's presence hadn't seemed to hurt. If Merlin didn't know better, he'd have thought that the primary motivation behind their day in Paris had been to impress the cheerful young artist. Looking at Gwen in her newly-purchased dress, her eyes wide with wonder at the golden splendour of the opera house, he knew it had worked.
They made their way up the grand staircase to their seats - private boxes, no less! Morgana had spared no expense. He and Arty took the first row, the latter having been conspicuously quiet throughout their entrance. Gwen settled nervously behind them, her fingers twisting in her lap as Gaius took the seat next to her.
Merlin pulled out the opera glasses Gaius had purchased for them, focusing them on the crowd instead of the stage. Prince Uther's box seat was across from theirs, his face as stern as ever as Morgana leant over to say something to him, her gloved hand on his.
"That's him," Merlin whispered, nodding toward the box and handing the glasses to Arty, who turned them eagerly on the aging royal.
Arty let out an anxious breath, his sights on the prince.
"Please let him remember me," he mumbled to himself, and Merlin politely pretended not to hear.
The lights in the theatre dimmed, and the curtain swept open as the Russian Ballet's performance of 'Sleeping Beauty' commenced, forcing Arty to return his focus to the stage.
Merlin found himself unable to concentrate on the ballet, his mind far too distracted by other thoughts. In a few hours, Arty would be gone from his life forever, and Merlin would be back where he'd started - granted, a few million rubles richer. Somehow, the thought of the money didn't comfort him any.
He glanced over at his companion, smiling lightly as he noticed Arty's hands twisting as nervously as Gwen's, the program he'd received upon entry reduced to scrap paper in his lap.
Discreetly, Merlin closed his hand over Arty's fidgeting ones, effectively stilling them. He blushed a little guiltily at his own actions, but Arty hadn't flinched or pulled away. He squeezed lightly, allowing himself this small moment of contact.
"Relax," Merlin whispered, leaning closer. "It'll be fine."
Arty took a steadying breath and nodded. On-stage, the faeries were dancing around Princess Aurora's cradle, and both men chose to ignore the way Arty's hand turned upward to clasp Merlin's in return.
* * *
Intermission came far too soon for both of them, and the pair sat frozen for a moment after the curtain had closed, steeling themselves for what was next. Finally, Merlin turned to Arty, placing a hand on his arm.
"Come on," he said softly, standing. "It's time."
They made their way out into the foyer, leaving Gaius and Gwen behind in the box. Arty's stride slowed with each step, an expression of something akin to dread edging its way onto his face.
Merlin allowed himself a fond smile, knowing the other man would never admit he was nervous. "You'll be fine. He's going to love you," he assured, giving Arty a gentle push toward the box.
Arty was looking increasingly pale, though no less determined. They stopped outside, each knowing that great change lay just beyond the door.
"Let me go in first and announce you," offered Merlin, moving toward the entrance. Arty stopped him, hesitant.
"Wait, Merlin-"
He turned back eagerly. "Yes?"
Arty's blue eyes met his own, searching. "We've... We've been through a lot together, and... I just..."
"Yes?" Merlin's eyes were wide, his heart thumping inexplicably in his chest. Maybe he hadn't been imagining things. Maybe Arty... "What is it?"
The other man swallowed hard, never breaking eye contact. "I just wanted to say..." He cleared his throat, then looked away. "I wanted to thank you, I guess."
Merlin blinked, feeling let-down. "Oh. Right. Of course." He berated himself silently for his foolishness - what else would it be?
Arty nodded, looking inexplicably disappointed, and turned away.
For a second, he considered calling him back, Gaius’ advice ringing in his ears, but he faltered, his confidence slipping. In a few minutes' time, Arty would be back with his family - back to being a member of a royal household - and Merlin would just be another commoner, barely a blip in his memory. There could be no future for them and Merlin would look like an idiot for trying. Better to get out with some of his pride intact.
“I’d better get going, then,” Merlin said lamely, wishing he didn’t feel ten kinds of cowardly as he turned away. This was all for the best.
He knocked once on the door before pulling it open to step inside the box, not noticing that the latch failed to catch behind him.
Prince Uther was still in his seat, facing the stage, but the comtesse stood waiting near the entrance.
Morgana smiled when she saw him. Remembering her part in the ploy, she walked forward gracefully. "Yes? May I help you?" she inquired loudly enough to be heard by the prince.
He straightened his shoulders. It was now or never. "I wish to speak with His Royal Highness Prince Uther of Denmark. I have brought him his grandson, velikii kniaz Arthur Ectorovich Petrovin. He is waiting just outside the door."
"Oh?" came a disinterested voice from the direction of the seats. "Morgana, you may tell that insolent young man that I have received enough appeals from resurrected Petrovins to fill this opera house twice over. I really cannot stomach any more."
Morgana worried her lip, disappointed. "Perhaps you ought to come back later," she said softly, guiding him to the door. "He's in a bit of a mood."
Knowing this was his only chance, he ducked past her, taking the seat next to the prince. Uther was much older than he remembered, his face lined with age and sorrow, but he remained an imposing figure nonetheless. Merlin cleared his throat. "Your Highness, I know this is forward of me, but please, just listen. My name is Merlin. I used to work at the palace."
Uther stared straight ahead, his tone clipped. "Well, that is certainly a new one. Let me guess the next part - you stumbled upon my grandson and regarded it as your duty to see him returned to me."
"Yes!" Merlin grinned eagerly - pleased to be understood - before catching the sarcastic tone in Uther's voice. "I mean, no," he retracted quickly, "That's not how it started, really, but-"
"I've heard enough." The prince stood, his back arrow-straight in spite of his walking stick. "Do you think you're the first one to train a suitable actor to look and sound like royalty? And for what? You hoped to play on the sentimentality of an old man in order con him out of his money."
"Your Highness, this isn't like that," Merlin shook his head, wincing guiltily at how close to home the prince's words cut. It had been quite true, after all, until he'd discovered Arty's real identity. Reminded of his purpose for being there, he stood as well.
"If you'd just talk to him for a moment, you'd see-"
"I will take no more of this," Uther snapped, turning to join Morgana in the rear of the box. "My grandson is dead. Leave me in peace."
Merlin blocked his path.
"I mean you no harm," he assured the prince, "But you must see him. I know you've been tricked before, but this is the real thing!"
The prince paused, drawing himself up. "'Merlin'?" Uther repeated, his eyes narrowing. "I've heard of you. You're the conman from St. Petersburg - the one who was holding auditions to find a look-alike for Arthur."
Hearing this, Morgana's eyebrows snapped together in anger, and she pulled the long silk cord near the door to signal for the prince's security.
Merlin shook his head, upset, for once, that his reputation had preceded him. "This isn't a con, Your Highness, I swear. If you'd just talk to him- we’ve come all this way!"
"Others have come from far greater distances than Russia," replied Uther, unimpressed. He sat on a red settee against the wall of the box. "Did you teach him about my family? Feed him rumours and stories about my grandchildren for him to parrot back to me? How much lower will you stoop to get the reward money? Have you no shame at all?"
"But this isn't about the reward!" Merlin protested, kneeling in front of the prince. "I swear, he really is your grandson!"
Two members of the security detail entered, grabbing Merlin by the arms and pulling him toward the door. He fought against them, pleading with Uther, who had turned his face away.
"You don't understand! He is the velikii kniaz! You have to listen to me!"
Merlin was thrown unceremoniously from the box, landing on all fours. The door slammed closed behind him, and the disappointment he felt could only be matched by the sick feeling in his gut when he looked up and found Arty glaring furiously at him.
* * *
"So, it was all a con," Arty accused, his voice dangerously quiet.
He should have known. He should have suspected that there was something in it for Merlin, but hearing the prince's accusations through the partly-open door had been like a punch to the gut. Of course he'd been faking - of course he'd only been in it for the money. Arty had been so stupid to believe otherwise.
Merlin shook his head, standing and holding his hands out. "No, Arty, it's not what you-"
"You lied to me! You used me to try and get that man's money!" he shouted, clenching his fists, caring little for the attention he was drawing from the other patrons in the hallway. How could he have been so foolish? All this time, Merlin had been playing him. Just another con. He thought back to their journey - the fleeting looks between them, the smiles, and the teasing banter - it had all been a lie. Just another way of gaining his trust. And he'd fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker.
Of course it was a lie, he thought bitterly. Had he honestly believed that he could be the grand duke? That he'd be welcomed into Prince Uther's family with open arms? All because Merlin had planted the idea in his head, assured him that he would find his family here. And all the while, he'd been counting up the reward money behind Arty's back.
The reward. He thought back to Uther's words, tinged with pain: "Playing on the sentimentality of an old man." Prince Uther wanted to find his family as much as Arty did, and Merlin had used that to his advantage as well. Arty felt sick, realising he'd almost been a party to it.
He shook his head, letting out a humourless laugh. "I can't believe I trusted you. I thought you wanted to help me find my family, I let you convince me that I could be that man's grandson, but this whole time you were conning me just like you were conning him. I can't believe I thought you were-"
Arty stopped, too angry to continue. He didn't want to give Merlin the satisfaction of knowing how successful he'd been in tricking him, how he'd almost believed he-
He turned quickly, needing to get away. He couldn't stand here any longer, feeling more humiliated than he had in his entire life. Merlin chased after him, a miserable expression on his face.
"Arty, no, wait! You don't understand - you really are-"
The punch came unexpectedly to both of them, startling several gasps from the surrounding patrons. Arty watched with grim satisfaction as Merlin touched the back of his hand to his bleeding lip, his expression pained.
"Arty, please-" he began.
"Just stay away from me, Merlin," Arty threatened in a low voice.
With that, he pushed through the crowd that had gathered, racing out of the theatre, leaving Merlin shouting after him.
* * *
Merlin waited as the prince exited the opera house and headed for his automobile before making his move. While the chauffer was busy opening the rear door for Uther, Merlin slipped into the driver's seat, starting the car and speeding off as soon as the door had been closed, leaving behind a very confused and angry driver.
"Not so fast," the prince admonished absently from the back seat, unaware of the switch, his mind clearly on other matters. Merlin ducked his head but didn't slow down, wanting to put some distance between them and the theatre before the royal suspected anything. He hung a sharp right.
"Where are you going? I wanted to head straight home, Edwin," Uther commanded, his tone hard.
Merlin smiled grimly from the front seat, turning to tip his cap to the prince. "Edwin's not here right now."
Uther's eyes widened in outrage. "You again? Will you stop at nothing?" he said, and for a split second Merlin feared the man would attempt to throttle him in spite of the fact that he was driving. "You will pull this car over at once!"
"Not until you listen," Merlin replied, sounding braver than he felt. Even if he couldn't get Arty's forgiveness he could at least set right the wrong he'd done him. Arty deserved to find his family, if nothing else.
He turned a corner harshly, the tires of the automobile screeching.
"You have kidnapped a member of the royal family," the Prince of Denmark retorted in clipped tones. "Do you really think this will end well for you? If this were a century ago, I could have you flogged."
"That'd be the least of my problems," muttered Merlin ominously.
They drove the rest of the way in silence, Uther glaring furiously at him in the rear-view mirror.
Merlin breathed a small sigh of relief as he pulled up in front of the hotel, determination sweeping through him. He parked, getting out of the car to open Uther's door.
"We're here," he said needlessly. The prince refused to acknowledge him, his mouth set in a thin line.
"Look, just talk to him, just for a few minutes," Merlin pleaded. "Then, I swear, I'll be out of your life forever."
When Uther remained silent, inspiration struck. He crouched down on the sidewalk, pulling out the small silver box he'd been carrying on his person since their arrival in Paris. The red jewels glistened in the lamplight.
"Do you remember this?" he said, watching for a reaction.
Uther stilled, his eyes widening at the sight of the box. "Where did you get that?" he asked quietly.
Merlin handed it to him without a second thought, knowing it was going to a good cause. "He just wants to find his family," he said, his eyes downcast. "Give him a chance."
The prince eyed him shrewdly, his fingers wrapping around the bit of treasure. Suspicion still weighing heavily in his gaze, he nodded.
* * *
Arty angrily tossed his meagre possessions into a bag, the pain in his chest that had plagued him since intermission growing steadily with each second.
He had - quite nobly, he thought - resisted the urge to destroy Merlin's few belongings during his packing, eager as he was to leave before the others returned from the ballet. As much as he wanted to say his goodbyes to Gwen, he didn't think he could bear to face her, knowing what a fool he'd been. She'd trusted Merlin as well, and the pain of her learning that betrayal was not something Arty wished to witness.
He had little notion of where he planned to go, only the driving urge to get away from everyone and everything that had been a part of this whole mess. He set aside the clothes Morgana had purchased for him, trusting Gwen to see them returned. He hoped the comtesse would not think too poorly of him for his part in the deception.
Searching under the bed, he paused as he came across the sketch Gwen had done of him and Merlin dancing. The two charcoal figures looked happy, teasing glints in their eyes as they spun. Arty crumpled the page and tossed it in the trash, offering a silent apology to Gwen. He never wanted to think about any of it again.
A knock sounded from the door, and he bristled. "Go away, Merlin!"
The door opened, to his displeasure, and he turned, ready to give the conman another piece of his mind. Instead, he pulled up short, finding himself face-to-face with a rather morose Prince Uther. "Oh."
Unexpected though Uther's presence was, Arty felt a small flame of hope spark rebelliously inside of him, and he did his best to stamp it out. He wasn't sure that he could face such disappointment twice in one night.
The prince's eyes swept him up and down, taking in his appearance. "So, you're the latest actor from Russia," he said, a severe look on his face.
Arty shook his head, stepping forward. "I'm sorry," he offered earnestly, his conscience tugging at him as he remembered the prince's pain-filled accusations. "I had no idea about the con."
Uther gave no outward indication of believing him. He moved into the hotel room, walking a quick circle around Arty. "And I'm sure the money means nothing to you, either," he said, his tone as dry as sawdust.
"I never wanted money," Arty insisted. "I'm just trying to find my family."
The prince waved his hand, dismissing him. "You look like Arthur. But so did many of the others. It seems that ten million rubles is enough tempt any blue-eyed-blond down on his luck. I have been approached by every con artist from here to Sweden, and I am tired of being deceived."
"I'm not trying to deceive you," said Arty. "I only came here to-"
Uther cut him off. "No. You have already wasted enough of my time," he decided, his face worn. He brushed past him, leaning heavily on his walking stick.
Arty eyed the stick with a frown, his gaze halting on a deep notch in the wood.
"The sword," he said quietly, the brief tail of a memory flittering before his eyes.
The prince stopped. "I beg your pardon?"
But Arty was lost in his own thoughts, the fragments of the memory becoming more vivid. "I begged father to have one - a real sword, like the one Owain got for his birthday. He refused, and Owain teased me for being too young. So I stole the cane from your quarters and challenged him during his fencing lessons, like an idiot. I took a swing at him and he blocked it - I thought he'd cut it in two. You were so angry with us when you found out. But you promised me a real sword when I got older..." he drifted off, his hand subconsciously clutching at the chain he wore under his suit. He shook his head, wondering where the words had come from.
Uther sat heavily on one of the beds, clearly shaken. "How did you know about that?" he asked, his eyes boring into Arty.
"I'm not sure," he answered truthfully, feeling just as shaken. More images were coming, just ghosts and whispers in his mind, and he fought to sort through them.
The prince gestured to the spot next to him and Arty sat.
"What are you wearing around your neck?"
He pulled the chain out from under his shirt, letting the sword fall into his palm for Uther to see. The silver inscription glittered up at him, familiar and yet strangely foreign, bringing with it a new set of half-formed images and memories.
"I've had it for as long as I can remember," he said softly.
Silently, Uther pulled a small silver box from his pocket, holding it up for him to inspect. Arty recognized as the one from Merlin's bag, but it, too, came with a new-found meaning. "The treasure box!" he said, his eyes widening in realisation.
"It belonged to Arthur," the prince said quietly, his tone betraying nothing. "It was-"
"A secret," Arty finished eagerly. "Between the two of us - a place where I could hide things and no one else could find them."
Cautiously, he took the box from Uther, slipping the sword - the key, he remembered - into its hidden slot, turning it. A small smile appeared, unbidden, as he heard the soft click, the lid lifting to reveal an aged photograph. He looked up, meeting the shocked eyes of the prince.
"Arthur," the prince breathed, staring like he'd seen a ghost.
Arty closed his eyes, swallowing back his relief. "Grandpapa."
* * *
On the sidewalk outside of the hotel, Merlin smiled sadly, watching as the light in the window continued to flicker with the movements of two figures. Enough time had passed for him to reasonably declare success - there was nothing more that he could do there. Arty was back with his family.
To his dismay, the pain in his chest hadn't lessened any with this knowledge. More than anything, he longed to forget it all, to slink back to his shadowy corner of Russia and pretend he'd never fallen for the would-be grand duke.
Uther's shadow ghosted across the window, and Merlin knew he'd stayed too long. He wished them both well, hoping they'd have at least a decent-sized reunion before Gaius and Gwen returned to stumble upon their newfound happiness. He, on the other hand, planned to be long-gone before then.
"Goodbye, Your Grace," he bid quietly, tipping his hat at the closed window above him. He'd sneak back again at first light to collect his things. For now, he turned, the darker streets of Paris calling his name.
Part Nine