Chapter Text
Once upon a time, on the beautiful country roads of North Hertfordshire, some thirty miles from London, there lived a young boy on a large estate.
This estate had many servants; there were gardeners to take care of the gardens and grooms to look after the stables. There were specialists to take care of the grounds, the outdoor tennis court and the indoor tennis court, the outdoor swimming pool and the indoor swimming pool.
And a man of no particular title took care of a small pool in the garden for a goldfish named George.
There was also a chef by the name of Hunith. She was a fine cook, who took proper care to ensure that every guest of the Pendragon household was suitably impressed. Hunith also had a son, who lived with her in the servants’ house beside the garage.
This boy’s name was Merlin.
It was the eve of the annual Hertfordshire County Regatta and, as had been tradition for the past years, the Pendragons were hosting a party.
It never rained on the night of the Pendragon party. Uther Pendragon wouldn't have stood for it.
There were three Pendragons in all -- the father, the son and a cousin who lived with them.
Uther Pendragon had been a widower since his son Arthur’s birth. He had cold eyes and a stern glare. They said many a grown man had wept sitting across the negotiation table from him.
Arthur Pendragon, his only son, had graduated from Oxford and was well on his way to surpassing his father in his success.
The cousin was not actually a Pendragon at all but a Debois. Gwaine Debois was the son of Uther’s wife’s brother and was the Pendragons’ only living relative. He had lived with the Pendragons since his parents died when he was a boy, and Uther ensured he was well taken care of. He had attended several of the best schools England had to offer, for short periods of time, and had enjoyed relationships with the daughters of England’s richest men, for even shorter periods of time.
He was now a successful six-goal polo player and was listed on Arthur’s tax return as a hundred thousand pound deduction.
Life was pleasant among the Pendragons, for this was as close to heaven as one could get in Hertfordshire.
~o~
Hunith rapped Merlin’s knuckles with a smack that was easily heard over the chaos of the kitchen. “Don’t you dare eat a single prawn!”
Across the table, Freya looked up and gave Merlin a wink before going back to wrapping basil leaves around mini bocconcini.
“There’s leftover sausages in the fridge if you’re so hungry. I won’t have you eating my £20 a kilo prawns like they’re crisps.”
Merlin huffed but knew better than to argue. The guests’ food was always off limits. The staff was well fed; Hunith made sure no one went hungry at any time of the day, but she was strict on which food went into which belly.
He took his pout over to the window. The view wasn’t great, just the corner of the patio where the party was filling in. He saw James with a full tray of champagne flutes weave his way through the crowd like a fish slicing through water. The tray emptied after a small circle of the patio and James expertly made his way back to the bar, holding his tray just so, as an offer for anyone who wanted to rid themselves of their empty glasses.
And so went Pendragon parties, smooth like clockwork, an endless supply of drinks, smiles and charming conversations.
Merlin’s heart ached to just once listen in and catch the laughter and the thrill of such a magical evening. He eyed the table beside him, laden with trays ready for distribution. Hunith was across the room, showing Freya how to drizzle balsamic so that it would give a hint of flavour to the basil but not drip on the ladies’ fine dresses.
He might have just enough time...
Determined, he grabbed the tray of shrimp and lemons and made for the door.
“Merlin.”
He stopped in his tracks, head bent in shame.
“You know better than that.” Hunith’s lips pursed as she lifted the tray from his fingers and handed it off to one of the night-hires they used for parties. “You’ll trip over your own feet and send my canapés flying into the ice sculpture.”
“Just once. Just once before I go?” Merlin pleaded. “I just want to know what it’s like.”
Her face turned sad and she tapped his cheek. Her hands were cold, rough from years of peeling and dishwashing. “You want it too badly, Merlin. It’s not healthy. It’ll be better with some time away.”
“I’ll be careful!”
“You’ll be in your room, packing, like you should have been an hour ago.”
“I just want to know if he’s there yet.”
“Merlin. He’s there. He’s never missed a party, though Lord knows he doesn’t stay long.”
Merlin blushed at the hint of disapproval in Hunith’s voice. He knew exactly what she meant.
“I want to say goodbye,” Merlin blurted out, the thought popping into his head and instantly becoming the most important task he’d considered all month.
Hunith shook her head. “You’d do well to remember which side of that door we belong to, Merlin.” She took him by the shoulders and directed him to the other door that lead to the servants’ house and away from everything Merlin wanted most in the world.
Freya shot him a pitying look but did nothing else to come to his defense, the traitor.
“Your flight leaves at eight. I want to see your suitcase packed and at the door by the time I’m finished up here.”
The sounds of the orchestra filled the room as the door to the kitchen swung open and another night-hire serving girl came back with an empty tray.
“Yes, Mum,” Merlin said, his eyes on the glimpse afforded by the flapping door: sequins and black ties. There was no sign of shoulder-length brown hair, week-old stubble and a disarming smile that melted any woman’s heart.
“Head always in the clouds,” he heard Hunith mutter as he was shoved out of the kitchen and into the back stairwell.
He looked around, his slouch suddenly straightening as he realised his mother wouldn’t be following him to their rooms. She was way too busy with the party, and the servants’ stairs led, well, everywhere.
He crept up the darkened stairwell to the balcony that overlooked the patio. It was deserted. He crawled on his hands and knees until he had a perfect view, with his nose peeking through the banisters like he had always done as a child. The crowd was thick, but it was easy enough to distinguish familiar faces. Merlin was well practiced at this.
Arthur Pendragon was always the easiest, his hair a golden halo in the overhead spotlights. He stood away from the crowd, his silver phone at his ear.
And that, Merlin thought, defined everything anyone needed to know about Arthur. Even at a party with exquisite food, the most expensive champagne and the prettiest people, Arthur Pendragon would rather spend his time on the phone with Japan or Indonesia or Australia... wherever it was in the world that had employees awake and willing to talk to their Chief Operating Officer (which his mother insisted was never pronounced ‘coo’).
Uther was not far off. He was surrounded by white-haired, large-moustached men with cigars in one hand and scotch in the other. They stood there agreeing with each other with deep nods and self-congratulatory smiles. They’d retire soon, find some leather chairs to sink into while the younger generation of rich danced and drank the night away.
Merlin had watched every party the Pendragons hosted for as far back as he could remember. It was always the same.
So despite the crowd, he knew he’d find exactly who he was looking for. At the end of the bar, Merlin caught a swish of dark hair and his heart skipped a beat.
At New Year's, it had been a daughter of an Earl. Last summer’s cotillion, a young actress (who caused quite the sensation with the press). Two weeks ago, at Uther’s fiftieth birthday party, it had been a stunning, long-legged model. Merlin had seen her slip into her Rolls at dawn, with a wrinkled dress and a smile Merlin wouldn’t soon forget.
Tonight, Gwaine’s focus was not on a woman at all, but a massive bloke, who towered over him like a mountain as they talked. Merlin had heard rumours that Gwaine's preferences were rather flexible when it came to who shared his bed. But God, Merlin had barely allowed himself to imagine it was true.
Now, seeing the way Gwaine's eyes lit like a firecracker as he gawked at the man’s arms, which looked like they might burst from the suit jacket, Merlin knew at least some of those rumours were true. And his blood ran south at the thought: Gwaine Debois liked men. From the look of it, big beautiful men, with broad shoulders and kind eyes, and not spotty sixteen year olds who’d yet to hit a good growth spurt. But still… men. It was more than he’d ever dared hope for.
He watched them, his cheeks burning hot as they flirted, lingering touches and secret smiles. Then Merlin’s heart raced as he saw Gwaine rise to his tiptoes to whisper into the man’s ear. He pulled back, raising an eyebrow and nodding his head towards the indoor pool.
Merlin ignored the voice in his head that sounded very much like his mother, which said being a Peeping Tom was a creepy sort of habit, and he slipped from the balcony. He went the long way around, through the back of the house, slinking out the rarely used stairs by the atrium and fumbling through the moonlit garden until he came to the little orchard outside the pool. The spotlights were on inside already, making the water an unearthly blue and lighting the ceiling with dancing reflections.
Merlin grabbed the trunk of an old apricot tree and craned his neck to see inside. A row of hydrangeas lined the winding path through the garden, which led to the open doors of the pool. He stepped closer, finding his footing among the little white rockcress, which covered the orchard floor.
At the sound of a familiar whistle, Merlin’s neck prickled in panic. He leapt behind a small bush, barely large enough to cover him, and held his breath as Gwaine stopped not a metre from him. If Gwaine hadn’t been clearly focused on other things, he surely would have been seen.
In one hand, Gwaine held the neck of a champagne bottle, and with the other he reached out and plucked a small white flower from where Merlin had been standing only a moment before. Gwaine moved on, putting the flower between his lips like a cigarette as he reached the door.
“Hello, Percival,” he said as he kicked the door shut behind him. Anything else he might have said was cut off as the door shut tight.
The pool was surrounded by wall-to-wall glass, but it was the height of summer and the hydrangeas were thick and full. Once Gwaine passed the doorway, he stepped out of view. No matter how Merlin stretched his neck, or pulled at branches, he couldn’t see anything but leaves.
His conscience told him to walk away. It was none of his business and he’d win no points with Gwaine spying, but he was also sixteen and gay, and had yet to ever see two men kiss outside of his secretly downloaded episodes of Queer as Folk. His conscience didn’t stand a chance, really. He wrapped his fingers around a low branch of the apricot tree and began to climb.
He hadn’t missed much, it seemed. By the time he was balanced precariously on a sturdy enough branch, he could see Gwaine standing by Percival. Gwaine bent, set the champagne bottle down on the marble pool deck and pulled a champagne flute from each of the back pockets of his suit trousers. He presented the glasses with a flourish, Gwaine’s special combination of ridiculous and charming that made Merlin’s heart skip a beat.
Percival seemed pleased with it too, chuckling behind his hand and stepping closer to take the empty glasses while Gwaine popped the champagne.
They toasted with a wink. Merlin’s tongue tingled with the memory of his first stolen sip of champagne earlier that summer when James had left a tray unattended and too close to the kitchen door. It had been crisp and sharp, unexpectedly taking his breath away. He imagined that would be what Gwaine’s lips would taste like – as illicit and intoxicating as stolen champagne.
He cursed not being able to hear their conversation. They were standing so close, closer than they had at the party, touches lingering longer, smiles little more sly. Merlin’s palm went to his crotch and he pressed his open hand over the hard line of his cock as he watched, fascinated.
Then they were kissing, a few tentative pecks at first, and in a blink it was so much more. Fuck, Merlin could see their tongues, see the glisten of their lips, wet with spit. Percival’s huge hands tangled in Gwaine’s hair in a way that would fuel Merlin’s fantasies for months. His hand closed over his denim covered cock, and he wondered if he should be ashamed that he was about to come in his pants while sitting in a tree, spying on two guys snogging. He doubted anything in the world could even stop that from happening now. Gwaine’s hands were at Percival’s waist, his hips swaying like they were dancing. They rocked together to their own urgent rhythm.
“You there! You in the tree.” A shout came from below him. “Get down from there this instant.”
Merlin jumped, his hand flying from his crotch. He flailed, trying to turn to see who was shouting. He lost his grip of the branch and tumbled backwards. His fall was broken by an ‘oof’ that wasn’t his own, and warm hands were suddenly around his waist.
“Merlin! What on earth?” Arthur Pendragon stared at him, shock morphing his usual stoic expression. As though coming back to himself, he let Merlin go, keeping his hand out until he saw Merlin could stand on his own.
“I – I” Merlin scrambled for an explanation that was the least bit plausible. He looked up at the tree. “I was bird watching.”
Arthur’s eyes widened, looking between Merlin and the pool. “I don’t imagine there are any birds in the pool tonight,” he said, his tone dry.
He bent and picked up the phone he must have dropped when he’d caught Merlin. “Hello. Hello?” He cursed and flipped it closed.
“Go find your mother, Merlin. She’s likely to be worried.” He gave Merlin a pointed look and Merlin’s breath hitched. He hadn’t realised before quite how intense Arthur’s eyes were. “You’ve better things to do than watching what Gwaine gets up to.”
The disgust in Arthur’s voice made Merlin’s hackles rise, and he replied hotly before he could check himself. “There’s nothing wrong with what Gwaine does.”
Arthur’s expression darkened. “Isn’t there?” he said, his eyebrows raised, daring Merlin to say otherwise. Before Merlin could manage anything more than silent outrage, Arthur had his phone out and was walking away.
Merlin stood listening to the muffled sounds of Arthur’s ‘sorry about that – now where were we.’
He looked up at the tree again, but a twist in his gut forced him to step away, and, shoulders slumped, he headed to his room to pack for the trip he didn’t want to go on.
His mother found him hours later, sitting on his bed, a pair of socks in one hand and an empty suitcase by his feet.
Merlin looked up to see her in the doorway. Her hair was pulling free from its bun and the circles around her eyes told him she was feeling every bit of the back-aching work she’d been doing since dawn. She had the next day off though, to be spent taking him to the airport. A familiar wrinkle marred her brow as she looked at the messy piles of clothes littering everywhere but his suitcase.
“Rome will be good for you, Merlin.”
“Will it?” he said, not meeting her eye as he tossed the socks into his luggage.
“Being away from here will be good for you.”
“I like it here.”
“Too much, Merlin.” Her lips pressed tight as though they were holding back the well-worn lecture. “You like it here too much.”
“He’ll forget me.”
Hunith sighed, crossing the room and pressing her forehead to his. “Merlin.”
“I know! How can he miss what he doesn’t even know exists?” Merlin hastily tossed every stack of clothing he could manage into the luggage, needing it to be over, like pulling off a plaster. “I know you think I’m not worthy.”
“Never, Merlin,” she said, suddenly fierce. “I would never think you are not worthy of Gwaine Debois.”
“He’s gay.” Merlin flopped back onto the bed; the news that had elated him earlier was now unbearable.
“Oh, honey.” She sat beside him and pulled him into a hug.
Despite how angry he was about being sent away, he couldn’t resist the warmth of her arms and he took the comfort she was offering.
“Go to Rome, Merlin. Find yourself and you’ll understand that you deserve better.”