Work Text:
They cannot scare me with their empty spaces
Between stars--on stars where no human race is.
I have it in me so much nearer home
To scare myself with my own desert places.
Robert Frost
November
She looked so peaceful, as if she’d just shut her eyes for a quiet doze. There was a half-drunk cup of tea on the side table by her chair and her knitting was in her lap.
Merlin knelt by her side and as if he was a small child once again he said quietly, entreating. “Mum?”
Hunith Emrys did not answer.
***
Merlin stared blankly at the landlord, who at least had the grace to look guilty.
“I don’t understand,” Merlin said, except he did. Of course he did.
“The lease was with your mother. It doesn’t transfer automatically and I’ve another tenant for the house. Is there any chance you could be out by the end of the week?”
Merlin looked round at the cozy room, or what had been a cozy room with his mother’s presence but now was only a space full of things. Some survival instinct cut in at that moment and he twitched the rent book from the landlord’s hand before he could blink. Once he’d looked through it, Merlin glanced back up and saw the chagrin. It hardened his resolve. His mother had brought him up to be independent, to think and shift for himself, understanding the inevitability of a time when she wouldn’t be there. His mouth thinning, Merlin reached for the quiet certainty she’d always displayed.
“The rent is paid up until the second Sunday in December. I’ll leave then. I’m also due the return of the month’s deposit. You can come at 5pm on that Saturday with the money I’m owed and I’ll leave on the Sunday morning. The house will be left empty and clean.” He levelled his gaze at the landlord, watched him hesitate as if wondering how far he could push and Merlin kept his own look steady and resolute.
“Fine, but you have to leave then.”
“No problem,” said Merlin. “It’s enough time to find somewhere else.” Except he wasn’t sure how easy it would be. He had no job and no chance of a decent reference and the month’s deposit on this place wouldn’t be enough to pay a deposit somewhere else.
Even while he was thinking increasingly depressing thoughts, he was maintaining the front of a young man in charge. There was no way he was going to give way to his utter terror until the landlord was well away.
When the door finally closed and Merlin was alone, he sank down into his mother’s seat and allowed himself to give way for a few moments. He pulled a cushion from behind him and hugged it hard, breathing in deeply as it seemed to release some subtle reminder of his mother.
“I don’t know what to do, Mum,” he whispered into the empty silence of the room. The grief and fear rendered him helpless until eventually he managed to draw in a gulping breath. As if she was beside him, Merlin heard her voice.
You’ll straighten up and fly right, my lad. He never had worked out what that really meant. You’re strong and you’re bright, darling boy. You can survive and thrive because that’s what I expect of you.
Merlin managed to laugh at that. She’d always maintained high expectations and he’d always tried his hardest not to let her down. Sniffing hard, he scrubbed his hand across his eyes, and he was unaware of his face settling into harsh determined lines. He picked up the pad and paper that always sat on the side-table by his mother’s chair, brushing his hand softly over the final words she’d written, before turning the page and beginning to write.
It was a list. It was a list of everything he had, everything he needed and everything he was going to have to do over the next four weeks. Finding somewhere to live was the major item on the agenda, along with finding another job – he’d walked out of his post at the bookshop because he’d known something was badly wrong and when all his fears had been realised when he'd found his mother in her chair, he hadn’t given much thought to anything else. His manager had never particularly liked him and had refused to take him back or provide a reference and Merlin hadn’t felt able to deal with attempting to explain to anyone else. At least there was a certain amount of money to help him – not enough by any means and while it might provide a month’s deposit and rent, it wouldn’t help if he couldn’t find work. And given the costs of even a room in London… He bit his lip. That was the first decision to be made then. Should he stay in London or try his luck elsewhere?
Later, he curled up in his single bed and fought against the despair threatening to overpower him. In his entire life, he’d never felt so alone. Having no-one to talk to, even to exchange a few meaningless words with left him with a sense of isolation that swept over him, like a stifling blanket muting the sounds of the world as it narrowed his focus into surviving this minute, and then the next, as he fought against the panic. Together with the fresh pall of grief, he felt dislocated from the world around him, lonely and afraid. In between tears, and the list of things to do circling endlessly round his mind, he suddenly fell asleep.
**
Arthur Pendragon stared out over the bustling street below. It was nearly time to open the shop and face a new day. Sighing, he brushed a hand through overlong hair and wondered if he really did have to shave today. Wandering into the bathroom, he grimaced at the face in the mirror and grabbed his razor with resignation – no point scaring away the few customers he was getting. He felt better for it, he had to admit. He shoved a piece of toast into his mouth as he clattered down the stairs, opening the door to the back of the shop and disabling the alarm. Why he bothered with an alarm, he wasn’t sure. A bookshop selling a mix of new and used books, with an emphasis on children’s literature, seemed an unlikely candidate for serious crime.
Sighing, he dutifully checked the float and slipped it into the old-fashioned till before he set the shiny new coffee machine in the back room to work and then flipped the sign on the door to open.
A masters degree in business, several years as Chief Financial Officer of Pendragon Enterprises, one of the major corporations in the UK, and here he was, scraping a meagre living while estranged from what remained of his family, and only rooted here because the bookshop had belonged to his mother and had been her pride and joy.
Not that he’d known anything about the shop for much of his life. It turned out that an old friend of the family, Gaius, had taken the bookshop on and had run it ever since Ygraine Pendragon had died. His mother had left it to Arthur, but Uther had never told his son until Gaius’ death had triggered the unravelling of a tapestry of secrets and lies that tore Arthur’s family and life apart. In the midst of it, Arthur had discovered the girl he loved like a sister actually was his sister. Morgana had left their lives in a fury of hurt and anger, declaring she’d never talk to either of them again. In the aftermath of that Arthur had stood up to his father for the first time in his life, in the midst of which his own closely-guarded secret about his sexuality had come tumbling out. Shortly after that he’d been disowned, fired and cut off. Even the swanky penthouse flat he’d never particularly liked belonged to the company and he’d arrived home after a final fruitless argument with Uther to discover all his belongings in the foyer and the locks changed.
Fortunately, the initial paperwork had already arrived from Gaius’ solicitor and it included the keys to the shop. Not only that, it turned out he now owned a four-storey freehold Georgian townhouse, with the shop at street level, a separate flat that was currently vacant, and the final two floors comprising a sizeable home complete with roof terrace.
In his midst of his own confusion of emotions, Arthur had organised delivery of his possessions to this address and had fled. When he arrived, he’d discovered the house was full of beautiful furniture and objects that had apparently belonged to his mother before she’d married. It was his birthright, he thought, and the fact it had been kept from him by his father for all those years hardened his resolve and he’d rebutted the hesitant overtures of reconciliation from his father.
Arthur had often wondered why his father seemed to dislike him reading fiction, why there had been no adventure stories in his childhood. He got part of his answer in the beautiful bookcases stuffed full of hidden treasure. On opening one set of gracious double doors, he’d gasped aloud when faced with a library. Not just any library, he’d found as he wandered round the shelves, but a children’s library. Pulling out a volume at random, Arthur sank into the comfortable sofa in front of the fireplace and lost himself in the adventures of a woman and her young sister setting up a school in the Austrian Tyrol, laughing aloud at the out-dated language, and yet loving Jo and her contemporaries from the start.
It was an escape, he accepted, as he found himself whiling away the nights lost in worlds he’d never had a chance to experience. Curled in the sofa with a real fire flickering in the fireplace, he’d sailed to a Treasure Island, gone on adventures through a magic wardrobe, decided he wanted a dog just like Timmy, and so much more. In the corner of the otherwise neat library was a stack of boxes with a name written on the top in what Arthur now recognised as Gaius’ handwriting. When he’d looked, it had been another pristine set of Chalet School books and Arthur had wondered why they hadn’t been added to the stock in the shop. In the end, he left them where they were, just as he lived in the house, unable to make any decisions about what to keep and what to change.
A year later and Arthur, settling on the stool behind the shop counter, had to accept nothing had changed since the day he'd moved in. For the first time, however, he was at least acknowledging he was stuck. He brooded through much of the morning. Arthur knew he wasn’t a natural with customers and he knew little about the books he was trying to sell, despite steadily reading his way through his mother’s collection. As a result, he hadn’t been particularly surprised to see the takings steadily diminish and for a time it hadn’t bothered him as he fought his way through his own sense of betrayal and loss. There was enough in the account set up for him by Gaius to keep him going for years, but at some stage he was going to have to make some decisions. For the first time today he felt as if he was ready to face the future and think about the direction he wanted his life to take. Despite the fracture of his relationship with Uther, Arthur knew he had enough of his father in him to make the thought of failure an anathema and for the first time he took a good hard look around him. This might have been a business he’d inherited and knew nothing about, but he was still a businessman, trained and experienced – and determined to succeed.
During his long period of introspection, he’d come to realise just how subjugated he’d been to his father; how the friendships he’d managed to carve out at university had been eroded in the face of Uther’s disapproval, how every waking moment had been to do with work until when that was torn away, and Arthur finally realised just how little he had, he’d been left without direction or purpose, or any support that could help him find his way. In a moment of shattering clarity, he finally put a name to the overwhelming emotion smothering him, recognising he’d been lonely for his entire life.
Smiling absently at the small flurry of people who’d been chased into the shop by a sudden sharp hailstorm, he drew a pad of paper towards him and started jotting down notes, frowning as he began to set down his current position, not just in terms of the business, but his life, too.
He had no staff in the shop to help, so it was becoming steadily more disorganised, dusty and uninviting. In the run up to Christmas, the shop was busier than it had been, but he’d found the increase in footfall had raised another set of issues as he was often unable to help customers, and he accepted now that his own miasma of hurt over the months had left the shop stock out of date, on top of him having no real idea of what he had or where it might be found.
Arthur tapped his pen against his chin as he stared at the column headed personal before, with a sigh, he drew in a large question mark and turned his attention once more to the business.
**
When Merlin woke to an eerily silent house, he wanted nothing more than to pull the covers over his head and pretend his life had not been irredeemably changed. Instead, he took a deep breath, hauled himself out of bed and once washed and dressed, sat at the rickety kitchen table with a cup of tea and a pad of paper. His mouth set in a grim line, he began organising the list he’d written the evening before.
Two days later and he stood outside his best friend’s house, tapping cautiously at the door. Will opened it quickly and pulled him inside.
“Merlin, what are you doing here? If my Dad catches you here –“
“I know, Will, I know. I won’t stay long. I just -,” he paused for a moment, gathering himself together. “I can’t stay at the house,” he could see the objections already forming on Will’s expression. “I’m not asking to stay – I know it’s not possible, but could you keep some of my stuff? “
“Of course I can,” Will’s relief that there was something he could do was apparent. “Dad never comes into my room and I can bury it in the wardrobe. What are you going to do?”
Merlin manufactured a grin. “I’ll be okay. I can stay at Gwaine’s on the couch for a couple of nights a week when Aglain’s working away.” Gwaine was the third of their triumvirate, the three boys growing up and going through school as an inseparable trio, though none of them seemed to be fairing too well in the world at the moment. Gwaine, who always seemed so confident had ended up in a relationship with a man who didn’t like Gwaine to associate with his former friends. Gwaine’s spirit seemed to have been squashed completely and Merlin had been surprised when Gwaine had not only offered to store some of his belongings but offered him the sofa on those nights when his boyfriend was absent. In Will’s case, his loving, sweet-natured soldier father had returned from Iraq with PTSD that saw him prone to violent rages. The moment he’d discovered Merlin was gay and Gwaine bisexual, Will had been banned from contacting them. Will took no notice of that, but as his mother refused to leave his father, Will stayed to try and protect her as much as possible.
And now there was Merlin, motherless, jobless and soon to be homeless.
Will was staring at him anxiously. “What about the rest of the time?” he asked.
“I’ve got some money and I’ve found a cheap hostel for the other nights. I just need to find a job. I’ll be fine, you’ll see.”
Will pulled him into a rough hug and Merlin clung to him for a few moments before pushing him away, afraid that if he didn’t, he’d fall apart completely. He left soon after, aware of the long list of work to be done and arrangements still to be made. He was going to get through this and come out the other side, anything else and he would have let his mother down.
**
December
Arthur was drawn by the voice. It had a lilting quality and was emanating from the large children’s section of the shop. Quietly, he moved amongst the stuffed, shambolic shelves and peered round the corner into the room, with its colourful mix of new books and second hand copies.
An elderly woman was standing rapt and smiling at a young man. The young man himself was worth a second look, tall, dark-haired and probably lithe under the bundle of clothes and scarves. Right now, his pale face was wreathed in smiles, eyes sparkling and hands moving as he talked with obvious enthusiasm. Arthur had never wanted someone as fiercely in his entire life.
“If your grand-daughter enjoyed those then she’ll love The Little White Horse. That copy isn’t a first edition, but it’s in lovely condition. There’s a new copy here as well, but the hardback is so much nicer, isn’t it.
The woman said something, her wrinkled face beautiful when she smiled, though her voice was too low for Arthur to make out the words, and the young man grinned in response.
“I promise I don’t work here – if I did, I would be suggesting you snapped up that copy of Linnets and Valerians, too.”
Arthur watched in some surprise as she reached out and took that very volume from the shelf. Quietly, he moved to the front of the shop and was ready with a professional smile as she approached with several volumes. He took them from her and rang them up, eyes widening as he realised this one sale had doubled his week’s takings.
When she’d left, clearly vastly pleased and promising to tell all her friends about this jewel of a bookshop, Arthur wandered back to the children’s section, standing outside once again.
The young man was frowning now, his hands on his hips, and before Arthur could speak, he heard him tut in disapproval.
“How can anyone hope to find anything in here? And why aren’t there any copies of Meg Cabot's books?”
Arthur watched in disbelief as he divested himself of his coat and emptied one shelf onto the floor.
“What do you think you’re doing?” He was shocked into speech, and witnessed with the tiniest bit of petty satisfaction, the young man screeching in shock as he whirled to face Arthur.
In the next moment, it was shame he felt as his quarry first flushed a deep red and then lowered his eyes, biting his lips. The sudden feeling of kicking someone when they were down suffused him and pushed different words from him than he was originally intending.
“I was just asking,” Arthur said, working to keep his voice friendly. “Considering you managed to convince my last customer to spend almost two hundred pounds, I’m fairly well-disposed to you.” It sounded stiff to his own ears, natural caution vying with the instant desire he’d experienced. “My name’s Arthur Pendragon.”
“Merlin Emrys.”
Arthur stared at the hand held out to him, red with cold and the skin rough and chapped, but it was scrupulously clean and the nails neat and trimmed. Arthur reached out just as Merlin, uncomfortable with the pause, had started to withdraw his.
As Arthur clasped Merlin’s fingers, the strength of their grip seemed to spark warmth between them, and as Arthur released him, he heard himself say.
“I can’t pay much, but you seem to know what you’re talking about, so if you’d like a job – at least up to Christmas?” He paused, wondering why it was so important to him that Merlin said yes. He felt as if he was teetering on the brink of a precipice and as if it might only be Merlin who could stop him from falling.
It was one thing to see Merlin smiling at someone else; to have that bright open grin aimed at him left Arthur feeling as if he’d run a race, and his own smile in response felt full of a shyness alien to his nature, but the sight of it seemed to soften Merlin’s expression and they stared at one another for a few moments, until the sound of the bell jinglingly announcing another customer interrupted them.
“I’d better –“ Arthur began.
At the same time, Merlin spoke. “I’d love to work here. Where do you want me to start?”
“There’s a room at the bottom of the corridor. Why don’t you leave your stuff and make us some coffee, then we can talk.” How Arthur wanted to hear Merlin’s voice. He managed to match Merlin’s grin and then took himself off to the front of the shop.
**
Merlin had been scouting around the area, looking for a quiet safe spot he might be able to spend the night should it be required. He’d found the bookshop the day before but as it was a Sunday it was closed. For some time he’d peered through the dusty windows, seeing the serried ranks of books marching away from him down the narrow room, disappearing into the dark. It was his version of heaven and he was even happier when he discovered the narrow alley down one side with a doorway deep enough for him to tuck himself out of sight and keep himself sheltered.
For the past couple of weeks he’d managed to find spaces in the hostel, or to sleep at Gwaine’s, but it was getting closer to Christmas and after this week Aglain would be at home over the holiday period. With an eye to his diminishing resources, Merlin had decided that he’d try to sleep rough for the nights he’d normally spend on Gwaine’s couch.
When he’d come back today he’d intended just to have a quick look round but he’d soon been drawn in by the higgledy-piggeldy space, loving the way the books – new and used – were mixed together. He’d slipped in when the man working there was absent from the front desk, and on finding the children’s section had completely lost track of time.
The last thing he’d expected was to find himself the recipient of a job offer, and with possibly the most gorgeous man he’d ever seen in his life. The attraction had been instant and, it seemed, mutual, if the lingering handhold was any guide.
For a moment he wondered why his face was hurting until he realised he was grinning. It was the first time he’d smiled for weeks.
An imperious tone, muffled but distinct, shook him from his thoughts. “What’s happening to that coffee?”
“Coming, Sire,” Merlin didn’t know why he was so sure his teasing would be accepted, but it felt right, and he was reassured by the answering bark of laughter.
**
Over the next couple of weeks, they slipped into an easy friendship as they worked together to bring the bookshop back to life, and every interaction seemed laced with an underlying tension and the possible promise of more. There were occasional lingering touches, soft smiles and blushing cheeks, shoulder bumps and teasing, and each one pulled them closer together. It contributed to the pleasure of every day, adding to the sheer enjoyment they were both getting from the work of running the bookshop. Arthur made full use of Merlin’s knowledge and experience, letting him take the lead. Merlin spent some time going through the stock and identifying what needed purchasing and updating as well as making suggestions about the management.
While they spoke easily about generalities and about the shop, both were less open about their personal circumstances, through some subliminal recognition of fresh emotional wounds.
Arthur grinned at Merlin now, accepting the mug and setting it to one side as he finished dealing with their customer and sending them off happy. He picked up the drink and slurped happily, grinning again at the way Merlin rolled his eyes and took a genteel sip of his own coffee.
“She bought three first edition Chalet School books – says she’s been collecting them for years and those were the final three she needed. Apparently she’s in some kind of club and she’s going to tell the members about this place.” Arthur grinned.
Merlin’s eyebrows rose, acknowledging the value of the sale. “I think my Mum was a member of that club, too. They published titles and reprints as well – maybe we – you – should think about contacting them and taking some of their books? Especially if you’re going to specialise in children’s literature.”
Arthur heard the slight hitch in Merlin’s voice that usually accompanied a mention of his mother, and as always he let it go and didn’t ask the obvious question. Instead he addressed the other pause he’d noted. “We could look at that after Christmas, couldn’t we? If we’re specialising we need to do something about a website and getting our catalogue on-line, too. Plenty of work to keep us going.”
Sneaking a glance sideways, he saw the way Merlin’s hand clenched around his mug, and the tremor underlying the casual response. “”Seems like a good idea.”
Arthur left it at that. “Your Mum was a Chalet School fan?” He posed the question as a straightforward enquiry, a closed question Merlin could answer quickly and move on, or could expand if he felt like talking. It was Arthur’s first attempt to deliberately glean some personal information from Merlin and he felt suddenly terrified that he might scare Merlin off.
After a long pause when Arthur wondered if Merlin would ignore the query altogether, Merlin answered and Arthur’s heart clenched at the grief permeating every word.
“She had a whole set of pristine first editions – and another set of first editions for actual reading. We read together all the time. I don’t think there’s a children’s book in this shop I haven’t read with her. I came home from university once and they were all gone. She said she’d moved them to storage because she was short of space, but she eventually admitted she’d sold them to help put me through Uni. She shouldn’t have done that.”
Arthur found he was laughing, but sobered quickly at the expression on Merlin’s face. “Oh, Merlin, I’m not laughing at what she did – but didn’t you realise that your future was worth so much more to her than books?”
Merlin continued to glare at him for a moment, before he shook his head and smiled slightly. “That’s what she told me.” He cleared his throat. “I’m going to go and sort out the biographies section unless you want me for anything else?”
Arthur shook his head and watched Merlin walk away, the ever-present tension in his body so much more evident now, as if he was only just holding himself together. Arthur bit his lip and hoped he hadn’t made things worse. Sighing, he plastered on a smile as the bell sounded and a new batch of customers entered, bringing a blast of cold wintry air with them.
**
Arthur closed the door and leaned against it, shutting his eyes for a moment, only roused when a long finger poked him in the back.
“You need to cash up. I’ll do the tidying.”
He managed to nod, yawning widely as he wandered across to the cash register and began the process, aware of Merlin in the background and wondering at the lack of the man’s usual chatter.
It was Christmas Eve and in the past couple of weeks, Merlin had been a Godsend. When pressed, he’d admitted that his last job was in a bookshop although Arthur had taken one look at his pinched, unhappy features and had changed the subject instead of indulging his curiosity and asking why he wasn’t working there now.
The dusty, unloved shop now felt warm and vibrant, decorated with twinkling lights, enhanced by a beautiful window display of children’s classics, and while the interior had retained its tumbled charm it was clean and there was a certain amount of order. Merlin had made all the difference. It felt, Arthur thought, as if Arthur and the shop both were being unfrozen and allowed to live again. His first visceral reaction to Merlin had sequed into an intense attraction and he was hard pressed not to act on it. Merlin demonstrated quickly enough that he had strength of character, a sense of humour that matched Arthur’s own, and was certainly capable of dealing with his life. Yet occasionally there was an air of fragility, as if Merlin was hesitating at the edge of some chasm, as if he might break at any moment. So Arthur, impatient, needy, entitled as he’d often been called, waited and watched, hoping that as they became friends, Merlin might see fit to confide in him and let him help.
For now, it was time to close the shop for Christmas and Arthur still had no idea how Merlin would be spending the holidays. His subtle questions had been deflected and an outright enquiry had generated an uncharacteristic flash of anger. Since then, Arthur hadn’t asked. The shop would open on the 27th and Merlin’s original pleasure at the offer of a permanent job had become a more cautious promise to consider it the following day and Arthur wondered what had changed overnight. Arthur knew Merlin wanted to stay. He just had to find out how to make it easy for Merlin to agree.
The cashing up was done and he popped the healthy takings into the safe, pulling out Merlin’s pay and adding another twenty pounds as a bonus. When he turned round, Merlin was watching him and there was a warm fondness in his expression that shot through Arthur and heated his blood.
“I’ll see you on the 27th?” Arthur asked, and handed over the cash. There was a second’s hesitation before Merlin answered.
“You will. Have a good Christmas, Arthur, and thanks.” Merlin didn’t count the money, slipping it into a pocket.
“No snow for Christmas, by the looks of it.” Arthur was desperately casting around for more conversational topics, not wanting Merlin to leave and not understanding why.
“Too cold for snow. It’s to drop below zero tonight.” Merlin bit his lip.
Arthur narrowed his eyes, wondering at the tone in Merlin’s voice.
All of a sudden, Merlin was taking his leave, his mouth smiling while his eyes were worried and, if Arthur could believe it, frightened. As he watched, Merlin grabbed the hefty bag he’d arrived with that morning and was gone before Arthur could draw breath.
Disappointed, Arthur switched off the lights and locked up, trudging slowly up to the house and feeling a cold worry take hold, though he couldn’t say why he felt such dread.
**
The trouble with working during the day, Merlin found, was that it made it difficult to get a place in the hostels, particularly as the weather got colder. Up until now he’d just about managed it, but as he trudged from place to place on Christmas Eve, his worst fears were realised. With the extra money from working, he’d actually walked into one of London’s many hotels, but the room rates were hiked for the Christmas period and even one night would have put a serious dent in his meagre resources.
He’d been thrilled when Arthur offered him a job, but knew he was unlikely to be able to provide the type of wage that would allow him to live. An evening struggling with the harsh financial realities had shown him just how difficult it would be to make ends meet. Not only that, he was getting too close to Arthur, and knew Arthur was attracted to him, but couldn’t see any way it could work. With a heavy heart, Merlin knew he was going to have to consider whether he should even go back to the shop.
His breath frosted in the air and he dodged his way through the crowds, ignoring the shimmering lights and window displays, the high excited voices of children, the laughter of groups of adults heading out to party. He felt hollowed out, missing his mother so fiercely he was beyond the ability to describe the feeling, and terrified because all he could do now was head back to the alley beside the shop and try and keep as warm as possible through the night.
On the way, he bought fish and chips and hot tea, inhaling them gratefully and hoping they might help. During his planning, he’d invested in a good sleeping bag, and had retrieved it from Gwaine’s that morning, hating the way his friend had looked so guilty. He’d made light of it, saying he had a space in a hostel, but didn’t like the bedding and Gwaine had leapt on the explanation with a relief that was telling.
When he reached the entrance to the alley, he looked round cautiously to make sure there was no-one around, before he slipped along the side of the building and into the deep doorway. He had put some cardboard boxes out there during the day when Arthur had been busy elsewhere and now, grimly, he started to fashion them into a shelter. Anything to try and keep out the cold already trying to eat into his bones.
**
Arthur frowned. Telling himself he was quite happy spending Christmas on his own, he’d set the fire going in the library and had pulled a random book from the shelf. Not even the escapades of the naughty Middles at the Chalet School could hold his attention tonight, though and he listened again, sure he’d heard something out of place.
There it was again, It almost sounded as if someone was crying and trying to stifle it. The narrow lane funnelled the sound upward and Arthur’s windows were old and single-glazed. As Arthur listened he became convinced that whoever had settled in the alley needed help.
Arthur couldn’t say he’d ever been described as particularly philanthropic. – giving to charity had always been related more to tax avoidance than any real need to be doing good, but he knew with a certainty he couldn’t explain, that he had to do something now.
Moving quietly down the stairs and not bothering with the lights, he walked down the passageway to the side entrance. More nervous than he would admit, he cast around until he found an old mallet, hefting it in his hand and feeling marginally reassured by its weight before he unlocked the door.
Whoever was in the alley was obviously huddled in the doorway, because when Arthur pulled the door back, a bundled figure fell in through the door, knocking him off his feet. Arthur managed not to land on top of them, but immediately had to deal with another issue as a precarious structure made entirely of cardboard tumbled in on top of them both.
“What the –“ In between the body ensconced in the puffiest sleeping bag Arthur had ever seen rolling into him, and the cardboard falling around him, it was perhaps inevitable that Arthur couldn’t keep his own feet, letting out an undignified squawk as he fell, arms flailing as he tried to find anything to grab on to. He dropped the mallet in the process and heard a pained shout from below as it obviously made contact.
At least he had a soft landing, he thought, as he landed on the quilting of the sleeping bag and the slightly less soft figure wrapped within it.
“Ow, get off!”
Arthur had been hearing that voice for weeks. “Merlin?”
There was silence as they untangled themselves, Merlin scrambling out of his sleeping bag and kneeling up to look at the wreck of his makeshift dwelling. He kept his gaze down and wouldn’t meet Arthur’s eyes. Instead, he fussed with the bag until the only way Arthur felt he could gain his attention was to reach out and cover Merlin’s gloved hand with his. Even with the gloves, Arthur he hissed in a breath at the chill.
“What the hell are you doing out here? Don’t you have anywhere else to go?” And wasn’t that a stupid question, Arthur decided the moment the words were out of his mouth.
Merlin stilled, and Arthur cursed himself. “Have you been out here every night?”
“I’m not that hopeless. Usually I get a place at a hostel or stay with friends. This is the first time I couldn’t find anywhere.”
“Let’s get inside and get warm. You can stay with me.”
“I don’t want your charity. I’ll be fine here.”
Even with his own usual inability to read people, Arthur could see Merlin was ashamed and desperately unhappy, and that was clearly translating into stubbornness and pride. He hunted around for something to say to convince Merlin. After a few moments, Arthur sighed and began gathering up the cardboard, placing it down carefully and then sitting on it, curving his arms around his knees.
“What the hell are you doing?” Merlin asked,
“If you’re staying here. I’m staying here.” If Merlin thought he could be stubborn he’d yet to come up against the legendary Pendragon character - Arthur could take stubbornness to a whole new level.
“Fine.”
They sat in silence that was only broken by the increasing chattering of Arthur’s teeth.
Merlin broke, throwing his hands in the air. “ Oh, for fuck’s sake! Fine. You’d better have beer. And mince pies. And those little sausages with bacon.” And he scrambled to feet, holding out a hand to haul Arthur up.
“I have lots of beer, and wine, and everything. I’ve even got the sausages.” Arthur spoke through half-frozen lips and ignored Merlin’s exasperated expression. Instead, he hauled the sleeping bag inside and pulled Merlin with him before he could change his mind. He slammed the door shut and then urged Merlin up the stairs and into the warmth. Once he’d shut the door behind them, they stood and stared at one another.
Arthur wanted to demand an explanation, to try and find out what had happened to leave Merlin in such a situation but one look at Merlin’s pinched features and red eyes and the words caught in his throat.
“There’s a spare room but there’s no bed. The couch is comfortable, though.” Arthur noticed the way Merlin glanced sideways at him and bit his lip.
“More comfortable than the doorstep anyway.”
Merlin’s voice shook a little on the words, but Arthur didn’t comment, though he couldn’t suppress a shiver at the thought of what he might have found come the morning. He started as Merlin’s gloved hand curved round his arm.
“I should have said something. It’s just – I thought I’d find somewhere and then when I couldn’t… I didn’t think it would be so bad.”
Arthur squeezed Merlin’s hand and then broke the contact. “There isn’t a shower but the bath’s brilliant and there’s plenty of hot water. Why don’t I show you where everything is and then I’ll find you something warm to wear?”
Merlin smiled but was quiet as he followed in Arthur’s footsteps around the gracious house – until Arthur opened the double doors to the library, at which point he let out an awed gasp.
“Arthur!”
“Amazing, isn’t it?” Arthur looked round with some pride at the serried ranks of dark bookcases stuffed full with the colourful books. There was a real fire in the big fireplace, the guard placed in front of it for the moment. A small Christmas tree at the window was covered in silver baubles and tinsel and sparkled in the firelight.
“Oh, Arthur, it’s perfect.”
There was a wobble in Merlin’s voice and Arthur turned on instinct, pulling Merlin into his arms and holding tight as Merlin buried his face against Arthur’s neck.
“I was thinking earlier, that all I needed to make this evening perfect was if you were here to share it. Stay with me, Merlin? You know I want you to.”
Merlin nodded against him and then sniffed and pulled back. “What about that bath, then?”
Arthur laughed and led him back out of the room towards the bathroom.
**
By the time Merlin made it out of the bath, rosy cheeked and dressed in some of Arthur’s warmest clothes, there was soup and toast on the kitchen table. They ate in a companionable silence and then Arthur pulled out a couple of beers from the fridge and they made their way through into the library. Without any discussion, Merlin went to the bookshelves and pulled out a volume at random, then joined Arthur on the sofa, leaning against Arthur’s side and shifting until his legs were on the cushions, too. Arthur grinned at him, shifting closer and sliding an arm around Merlin as they lost themselves in their respective novels.
Arthur had never been so happy.
**
Neither wanted the evening to end but when Arthur had to rescue Merlin’s half- full beer bottle for the third time when Merlin’s eyes slipped closed, he laughed and untangled himself, pulling Merlin up with him.
“Let’s get you settled and we can get some sleep.”
Merlin caught Arthur’s hand. “I don’t want to be on my own tonight.” It seemed the words had slipped out before he’d really thought about them as he flushed and hurried on. “Not to… not for… I just don’t want to be alone.” He dropped his gaze, standing tense and wary. He let out a sigh as Arthur raised their joined hands and pressed a gentle kiss to Merlin’s knuckles.
“We’ve both been working hard. Don’t know about you, but I’m knackered. Let’s go to bed?”
Without releasing Merlin’s hand, Arthur walked them up the stairs and into the sizeable double bedroom Merlin had seen on his tour. He watched as Arthur hunted out pyjamas for them both and once he’d changed, shyly averting his eyes, they slipped into the bed together.
There was silence until finally Merlin managed to find the words he wanted. “Thanks for saving me, Arthur.”
A huff of laughter presaged Arthur’s response. “I think it’s you who’s saved me, Merlin.”
Merlin was too shocked to say anything as Arthur leaned over and kissed him gently, and anything he might have said was lost when Arthur spoiled a distinctly romantic moment by yawning widely in Merlin’s face.
“Oh my God,” Merlin laughed as he pushed him away. “You could get Eurostar through that mouth. Get some sleep you idiot.”
Arthur was already half-asleep anyway, grumbling a little as he wriggled and sorted himself out, before sighing with contentment as he came to rest plastered against Merlin’s side and with his head on Merlin’s chest.
Merlin blinked hard, and wrapped his arms around Arthur, holding him as close as he could. Grief was still a hard knot within him and the thought of Christmas without his Mother was difficult to bear, but the despair he’d experienced earlier that evening had been replaced by a cautious hope. They were both lonely men, he thought, and perhaps that was part of what had driven them together, but Merlin rather thought it was something more than that, too. However it had happened, he thought sleepily, life already seemed less bleak.
He pressed a kiss to the golden hair. “Merry Christmas, love.”
Fin