nyxelestia (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nyxelestia) wrote2011-08-29 06:53 am
nyxelestia) wrote2011-08-29 06:53 am
Entry tags:
Britain Boys, Part 3/10
As it turned out, the TV in the room worked, and was even tuned to cartoons when they turned it on the next morning to see what they could get.
“We should really tune into the news,” Arthur said.
“...probably,” Merlin said reluctantly. He knew what it would be about, how unpleasant it would be. “I just...don’t want to.”
Yet again, Arthur hung his head in exasperation.
“You’re an idiot,” he said again.
“And you’re still a prat,” Merlin said, and focused on the TV rather than Arthur or what was currently their situation.
It didn’t work out so well once the episode ended and they tuned in to the news.
All they could talk about were them.
“Late afternoon to early evening yesterday, Prince Arthur and Merlin Emrys were kidnapped by the Blesseds, an extremist magical-rights group,” the newscaster said. “Their security forces were disabled externally, signaling a large and well-capable group. Today, the King and the Prime Minister have been sent photographs of the two boys in captivity together, holding up yesterday’s newspaper showing the date…”
And then it showed the picture – them standing together, looking worn and confused and a little glass-eyed each, holding up the newspaper in white-knuckled hands.
“…neither one seem to be sporting any injuries so far, although Merlin Emrys is wearing a magic-suppressing collar, stifling most theories that he or his mother may have been working in conjunction with the group in some form, from all the but the most ardent of anti-magic supporters…”
“People thought I would kidnap you?!” Merlin cried out while staring at Arthur.
“You’re a sorcerer. The Blesseds are sorcerers,” Arthur said grimly. “Who wouldn’t assume that- oh, don’t cry again!”
Merlin obliged by trying to hit him instead.
~*~
They watched for hours as on the news, there were all sorts of talks about what was being done to find them.
At what was presumably sometime in the afternoon, Tom Collins came in, holding two more of those microwave trays and another bottle of water each.
“How come you haven’t made any demands of them?” Merlin asked as soon as the man came in.
He just smirked.
“We have our reasons, little Emrys.”
“What do you want?” Arthur asked.
“To be treated as a human being,” the man sneered at Arthur as he set down their lunches on the table.
“We are, though, why do you have to kidnap us?” Merlin asked. “It’s not like the old days where sorcerers were enslaved!” They were quite free to go where they pleased, nowadays, there were no servitude quotas to evade execution, so many of the job and office restrictions had been lifted in the last decade, and the only thing they had to give at registration was blood! There were plenty of sorcerers wandering around and living out their lives just fine, and there was even a Druidic MP – an actual sorcerer was going to follow soon enough, Merlin was sure of it. Why did these people have to do this? “Don’t you see doing this will make things worse for us?!”
“Besides,” Arthur said. “You do realize any gains you could theoretically make with this stunt will be reversed if we’re rescued or dead, right?”
The man smirked again.
“Right, kiddo, you keep telling yourself that,” he said, and left.
Merlin stared morosely at his lunch, appetite lost, as he said, “I want to go home.”
“You and me both,” Arthur muttered, took his lunch, and settled back down to watch the news.
~*~
For the next week, this was their life. In between watching whatever programmes they could find on CBBC, they watched the news, three-quarters of which was about them. Speculations of what the Blesseds wanted – no demands were made, still – where they were, and what the boys’ condition was that may be hidden by the photographs, of which there was one every day.
“Do they really think if the Blesseds kidnapped us they would haul us all the way over to Russia?” Arthur asked, as apparently there was some debate between their parents and the Russian president.
“Well, the Blesseds might send false evidence,” Merlin said.
Arthur hated the stillness and inaction, and the helplessness that grew with each passing day. He grew more fidgety and restless every day, even as Merlin grew more quiet and still. It wasn’t a difference that Arthur missed, but he felt no reason to try and point it out again, just yet.
Merlin was just too tired to notice.
Over the course of the week, Arthur managed to play through most of his games, while Merlin finished half his books. Every other day, one of their loo breaks would be extended as they were handed a bar of soap and a wash rag and told to clean themselves up quickly if they cared for it.
(Merlin always wanted to, but when it happened late at night, he was often tired, and even though the lethargy scared him, he just washed his face and hands and hoped their parents could get them out of there soon.)
They wondered why they even had a working television, but tried not to question it, instead opting to stay on top of things as best as they could.
By the end of the week, Merlin was having trouble getting up in the morning.
Arthur was having trouble sitting down.
The last day they would spend as 12-year-olds dawned, as best as they could call it that, with a video stream from various supporters around the world praying for their quick rescue.
“It’s only our birthday,” Arthur grumbled, and Merlin tried not to bristle at that as he watched some video from one of the Cambridge choirs, singing hymns in their name.
~*~
Today was their 13th birthday.
Merlin woke up to Arthur already nibbling his way through the leftover dinner from last night and drinking the last of his water as he turned on the television.
“Happy birthday,” he said when he saw Merlin was awake.
“Thanks,” Merlin mumbled, as he slowly sat up, trying to save his waning energy. “You too…is it really our birthday?”
Arthur pointed ot the muted television screen. For the moment, the news piece was about some Parlimentary scandal, but Merlin didn’t have to wait long before the caption read, Britain Boys Turn 13 Today.
Merlin sighed. “Brilliant.”
“I wonder if they care,” Arthur said, gesturing vaguely out the door.
Apparently, they did.
“Happy birthday, boys,” Collins said cheerfully, walking in with two trays of soggy microwaved pancakes, with little packets of syrup on top, and two bottles of orange juice. “Welcome to teenagerdom, and the impending worst years of your life.”
“Um, thanks?” Arthur said, staring at the pancakes, as did Merlin.
Collins set them down on the table and picked up the trays from last night. “I decided to be nice to you boys, today – those trays have an extra spell to keep them warm all day. Enjoy your dessert-for-breakfast.”
They stared at him incredulously.
He just rolled his eyes and left, perfunctory as ever.
“...well this is weird,” Arthur said, looking at the tray.
“It’s our birthday, we’re supposed to get desserts for breakfast,” Merlin said cheerfully. “Mum does this all the time, for tradition.”
“Tradition?” Arthur asked.
“Er....actually, come to think of it, the only people I know who do it are Druids...” Merlin paused, trying to think it through. It was just something they did.
“So it’s a sorcerers’ tradition?” Arthur asked.
“Um, I guess so? Never thought about it too much, just tucked in and enjoyed it. I mean, dessert for breakfast, how can you complain?”
“It’s unhealthy,” Arthur grumbled, but he was already pushing himself up.
“It’s our birthday,” Merlin repeated with some extra cheer, most of which was un-faked.
Arthur rolled his eyes and grabbed the trays and bottles, handing one of each to Merlin, who took his and plopped down in front of the telly, wondering what the people had to say about their birthday.
“The yet-unrescued Prince Arthur and Merlin Emrys turn 13 today, and even with the boys unfound, many in the nation are celebrating on their behalf, in hopes of improving morale and honoring the boys, despite their current captivity.”
As the newscaster continued on, Arthur said, “Really?”, before taking a bite of his pancake. “Celebrating our birthday when we’re not even there?”
“Why not?” Merlin asked. “They need something to cheer themselves up.”
“Honoring us, my arse,” Arthur said. “Christmas is four days away. They’re just using it as an excuse to get drunk and party early.”
“Well, if they’re going to get drunk and party, it might as well be in our name,” Merlin said.
“It’s stupid and pointless,” Arthur said.
“It makes them feel better,” Merlin countered, punctuating his words with a bite of syrupy pancake. It wasn’t good even by Merlin’s standards – and he’s had plenty of microwaved or spell-heated meals in his lifetime – but it was better than what they’d been getting so far, so he tried to enjoy it.
Arthur just rolled his eyes and turned back to the screen.
Some people agreed with Arthur, it seemed, disgusted that people had the audacity to be happy while they were still in captivity. Others stressed that it was important for the Blesseds to know who was boss, while still others countered that telling the Blesseds the country was fine without the boys might make them want to kill them, to which someone else pointed out their feelings wouldn’t really impact the random Blessed, but oh, how do the King and Prime Minister feel about all this?”
Merlin drunk in the clip of Mum that came next, even though it was just her saying ‘no comment, please, no comment’ over and over again – as was the clip of the King a moment later, and Merlin wasn’t surprised to find Arthur’s eyes glued to the screen for that segment.
After a while, the news turned to various clips of Winter Solstice celebrations by Druids and sorcerers around the country, and Merlin found himself at a bit of a loss. It was his birthday, his 13th birthday. There were so many other things he should be doing right now.
“Today would have been my initiation,” Merlin mumbled.
“What’s that?” Arthur asked, turning to him. “ A sorcerer thing?”
“More of a Druid thing than a sorcerer thing, but yeah,” Merlin said. “Just a ceremony saying, ‘yay, you’re a sorcerer, now you get to start learning magic!’. Doesn’t matter for me, but it’s tradition so Mum would have made me go.”
“Why doesn’t it matter to you?” Arthur asked. “Sounds important.”
“Most kids don’t start showing magic ‘til they’re like 10 or 12 or something, but I’ve been doing it my whole life so it doesn’t really mean anything to me, anyway...still - it’s like a birthday party. I was looking forward to that.”
Arthur snorted. “Some party, a religious ceremony.”
“What were you going to do today, then?”
Arhtur shrugged. “Father had a small party planned, only about fifty people or so-”
“‘Only’ fifty?!”
“-but I think he was still hoping to get me to agree to a joint birthday party with you.”
Merlin blanched. “Ugh. Why can’t everyone shut up about that?”
“Your mother hounded after you about it, as well?” Arthur asked, surprised.
“No - but only because after I refused the first two dozen times she got everyone else to nag me about it.”
Arthur laughed. “Delegation, then? Nice.”
“Not so nice for me - just annoying.”
Arthur chuckled again, before sighing a little forlornly as he looked around their little holding room. “Well, I guess they got what they wanted, now, anyway...if you could call this a birthday party..”
Merlin sighed. “Might as well...at least now I get to put off registration.”
“You haven’t done that, yet?” Arthur asked, confused. “I thought you said you did magic your whole life...?”
“Mum wanted to do what all other sorcerer’s parents do, put it off as long as possible,” Merlin said. “So since I don’t have to be registered until I’m 13...well, we would have done it yesterday, so I wouldn’t have to spend my birthday miserable, giving blood and being...” Here, Merlin smiled, cold and sardonic as he gestured up to his neck. “...in magic suppressors.”
Arthur winced. “I thought you were allowed to do official things without suppressors now?”
“Only in buildings with strong enough wall suppressors,” Merlin said. “Which most don’t have.”
“Oh.”
“Well,” Merlin said. “I doubt they’ll try and fine my mum for me not being registered, at least.”
Arthur snorted. “Even my father wouldn’t try to fine her, and he wants to bring the registration age down to nine.”
Merlin laughed. “Nine? Beats five, at least.”
“Five?”
“The MP with the bad hair? Um...damn, I don’t remember his name. I should, we had him over for dinner...”
“Aredian?”
“Yeah, him!”
“You had him over for dinner?” Arthur asked, laughing in incredulity. “Were you there?”
“Yeah,” Merlin said, smiling as he remembered that night - or rather, what happened right after. “He looked so ill having to dine with a sorcerer, he kept running to the bathroom after every course. I mean, it was embarrassing, because we could hear him pray for protection against me, and Mum was just livid, but Will was going on right behind about the kind of stick he must have up his arse to actually do the full church-prescribed ‘pray between every course’ thing.”
“Really?” Arthur asked. “My father’s the head of the Church and even he doesn’t do that.”
“Does your father even eat with sorcerers?” Merlin asked.
“...good point,” Arthur said. “Come to think of it, the banquet with you when we first met, I think that’s the first time either of us ate at the same table as a sorcerer. The closest was a banquet hall once back when Grandmother was still alive as Queen...”
Merlin shrugged, before looking back at the telly, where some baker had made cakes shaped like them, and was auctioning them off as a “royal birthday special”.
“...what did you want to do?” Merlin asked. “For your birthday? That party, what were you planning to do?”
“What I plan is never what I want,” Arthur said, rather grimly, before shaking his head and saying, “Probably the usual sort of thing. Cake and food, dancing around the gardens or trying not to dance, presents...”
Merlin frowned, confused. “Wait, if that’s what’s planned...what did you want to do, then?”
“Fly a helicopter,” Arthur said.
Merlin stared, and Arthur grinned...a lot.
A bit too big.
“What did you really want?” he asked.
“I just said-”
“We’ve been stuck with nothing but each other’s company for the last two weeks, Arthur,” Merlin said, turning his head to face Arthur fully.
“Yeah, two weeks,” Arthur snapped. “Not actually that long, no matter how much it feels like it.”
“Aaand, now you’re definitely hiding something,” Merlin said. “So come on, then - if you could do anything you wanted, today, what would you rather do?”
A pause.
“Arthur-”
“Nothing.”
“Come on, now-”
“I mean it,” Arthur snapped. “I want to do nothing. I would like to just sleep and then wake up and just get it over with. But every year, everyone insists on making a big deal out of it!”
“No one wants to do ‘nothing’ on their birthday, Arthur.”
“They do when their birthday is also the anniversary of, and reason for, their mother’s death!” Arthur snapped, and Merlin stilled as Arthur abruptly turned away and crawled back under his blanket, curling up into a tight ball of misery that Merlin hadn’t seen from him thus far.
For all the ceremony that gets put into the memorials for Queen Ygraine every year, it was easy to forget that her death was on the same day as Arthur’s birthday, and his own.
No wonder Arthur had seemed so despondent about the prospect of their birthday.
Crawling over, Merlin put a hopefully-comforting hand on Arthur’s shoulder, who turned his shoulders and poked his head out from under his blanket to glare at Merlin.
“I’m sorry,” Merlin said. “For pushing you so much. I should have realized...come on, let’s finish these horrible pancakes and see who gets those cakes of our faces, yeah? We’re here, it’s now - let’s make the best of it.”
Arthur gave him a shrewd look, before sighing and nodding, turning completely under his blanket and slipping out his upper body, though still staying withing the refuge of the blanket as he watched the news.
The rest of the day was spent much like the previous ones, sitting in front of the telly. Hearing everyone on it talk about them got depressing faster than usual, before watching some cheesy Christmas films instead, before going back to the news after a few hours, switching off more than usual.
In the end, while PNB head Aredian tried to stir up some conflict, no one even thought of trying to press Mum with a fine for Merlin being unregistered. While some Druids held an initiation memorial for him, with the guest of honor stuck in a tiny room in god knows where, there wasn’t much they could do.
And when the news cut to the unveiling ceremony, releasing to the public the new monument built in honor of Queen Ygraine that people had been talking about for months, Merlin held onto Arthur’s hand as he watched the ceremony with wide, nearly-unblinking, and almost-crying eyes.
This year, it was just an engraving of her name and some poem she’d liked in a wall at some garden she frequented as a child, but by the end Arthur was still wiping his dry eyes repeatedly as Uther gave a speech remembering her, praying for Arthur’s quick rescue, and pleading for her to watch over Arthur from above.
“...she’s still here, you know,” Merlin murmured, after that ceremony was over and they switched over to pre-Christmas specials.
Arthur frowned as he turned to face Merlin. “Wha...what?”
“Every January,” Merlin said, before pausing at Arthur’s frown of confusion. “When my dad died? Every January, my mum always pulls out every photo album, and reads bits from the book he wrote, and journals and things, and...it can’t replace him or even come close to having him there, but...it’s nice, knowing when people die, some part of them stays with you.”
“Don’t Druids believe in reincarnation?” Arthur asked dubiously. “Or is your father a ghost?”
“First off, I’m not a Druid,” Merlin said. “I’m a sorcerer. Big difference. Don’t believe what PNB tells you, ‘cause for the ‘Party of Natural Britons’ they have yet to understand the difference between us. The difference is slight, but it’s there. But it doesn’t matter, and I’m not talking about ghosts, those are rare anyway. I mean the important bits, what they cared about and their love for us, for you and me.”
“My mother died at my birth, Merlin, she didn’t know me long enough to love me.”
“My dad died three weeks after I was born,” Merlin said. “It’s not like he ‘knew me’, either. That’s one of the not-important bits.”
Arthur sighed. “I suppose it’s...reassuring.”
Merlin smiled. Arthur’s tone was drudging and resistant, but he still kept his hand in Merlin’s.
He gave that hand a tight squeeze before returning his attention to the screen.
That evening, their dinner trays came with with cupcakes, and Merlin stared in shock as Artur picked one up and handed it to him, singing:
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Merlin, happy birthday to you...”
Merlin took the fairy cake gingerly, trying not to tear up at the unexpected kindness. But right now, this little kindness was all he head and-
“You’re not going to cry, are you?”
“No, I just...” he paused. “I - it’s my birthday, and...we both don’t want to be here...and I just want to go home. Home with Mum and Will and - thank you.”
Arthur looked at him oddly for a moment, before slowly nodding. “We might as well make the most of the situation,” he said pragmatically.
“Still, thank you - really.”
“Yeah, well...no need to get too worked up about it.”
So of course, when Merlin sang, it was “Happy birthday to you, you live in a zoo, you look like a monkey, and you smell like one-aaah!”
Arthur launched himself at Merlin, wrapping him in a playful but indignant chokehold before Merlin escaped, and as they wrestled over Merlin’s singing ability and Arthur’s birthday honor, Merlin couldn’t help but think that for all the fact they were still hostages, maybe this birthday wasn’t so bad, after all.
~*~
Part 4
“We should really tune into the news,” Arthur said.
“...probably,” Merlin said reluctantly. He knew what it would be about, how unpleasant it would be. “I just...don’t want to.”
Yet again, Arthur hung his head in exasperation.
“You’re an idiot,” he said again.
“And you’re still a prat,” Merlin said, and focused on the TV rather than Arthur or what was currently their situation.
It didn’t work out so well once the episode ended and they tuned in to the news.
All they could talk about were them.
“Late afternoon to early evening yesterday, Prince Arthur and Merlin Emrys were kidnapped by the Blesseds, an extremist magical-rights group,” the newscaster said. “Their security forces were disabled externally, signaling a large and well-capable group. Today, the King and the Prime Minister have been sent photographs of the two boys in captivity together, holding up yesterday’s newspaper showing the date…”
And then it showed the picture – them standing together, looking worn and confused and a little glass-eyed each, holding up the newspaper in white-knuckled hands.
“…neither one seem to be sporting any injuries so far, although Merlin Emrys is wearing a magic-suppressing collar, stifling most theories that he or his mother may have been working in conjunction with the group in some form, from all the but the most ardent of anti-magic supporters…”
“People thought I would kidnap you?!” Merlin cried out while staring at Arthur.
“You’re a sorcerer. The Blesseds are sorcerers,” Arthur said grimly. “Who wouldn’t assume that- oh, don’t cry again!”
Merlin obliged by trying to hit him instead.
They watched for hours as on the news, there were all sorts of talks about what was being done to find them.
At what was presumably sometime in the afternoon, Tom Collins came in, holding two more of those microwave trays and another bottle of water each.
“How come you haven’t made any demands of them?” Merlin asked as soon as the man came in.
He just smirked.
“We have our reasons, little Emrys.”
“What do you want?” Arthur asked.
“To be treated as a human being,” the man sneered at Arthur as he set down their lunches on the table.
“We are, though, why do you have to kidnap us?” Merlin asked. “It’s not like the old days where sorcerers were enslaved!” They were quite free to go where they pleased, nowadays, there were no servitude quotas to evade execution, so many of the job and office restrictions had been lifted in the last decade, and the only thing they had to give at registration was blood! There were plenty of sorcerers wandering around and living out their lives just fine, and there was even a Druidic MP – an actual sorcerer was going to follow soon enough, Merlin was sure of it. Why did these people have to do this? “Don’t you see doing this will make things worse for us?!”
“Besides,” Arthur said. “You do realize any gains you could theoretically make with this stunt will be reversed if we’re rescued or dead, right?”
The man smirked again.
“Right, kiddo, you keep telling yourself that,” he said, and left.
Merlin stared morosely at his lunch, appetite lost, as he said, “I want to go home.”
“You and me both,” Arthur muttered, took his lunch, and settled back down to watch the news.
For the next week, this was their life. In between watching whatever programmes they could find on CBBC, they watched the news, three-quarters of which was about them. Speculations of what the Blesseds wanted – no demands were made, still – where they were, and what the boys’ condition was that may be hidden by the photographs, of which there was one every day.
“Do they really think if the Blesseds kidnapped us they would haul us all the way over to Russia?” Arthur asked, as apparently there was some debate between their parents and the Russian president.
“Well, the Blesseds might send false evidence,” Merlin said.
Arthur hated the stillness and inaction, and the helplessness that grew with each passing day. He grew more fidgety and restless every day, even as Merlin grew more quiet and still. It wasn’t a difference that Arthur missed, but he felt no reason to try and point it out again, just yet.
Merlin was just too tired to notice.
Over the course of the week, Arthur managed to play through most of his games, while Merlin finished half his books. Every other day, one of their loo breaks would be extended as they were handed a bar of soap and a wash rag and told to clean themselves up quickly if they cared for it.
(Merlin always wanted to, but when it happened late at night, he was often tired, and even though the lethargy scared him, he just washed his face and hands and hoped their parents could get them out of there soon.)
They wondered why they even had a working television, but tried not to question it, instead opting to stay on top of things as best as they could.
By the end of the week, Merlin was having trouble getting up in the morning.
Arthur was having trouble sitting down.
The last day they would spend as 12-year-olds dawned, as best as they could call it that, with a video stream from various supporters around the world praying for their quick rescue.
“It’s only our birthday,” Arthur grumbled, and Merlin tried not to bristle at that as he watched some video from one of the Cambridge choirs, singing hymns in their name.
Today was their 13th birthday.
Merlin woke up to Arthur already nibbling his way through the leftover dinner from last night and drinking the last of his water as he turned on the television.
“Happy birthday,” he said when he saw Merlin was awake.
“Thanks,” Merlin mumbled, as he slowly sat up, trying to save his waning energy. “You too…is it really our birthday?”
Arthur pointed ot the muted television screen. For the moment, the news piece was about some Parlimentary scandal, but Merlin didn’t have to wait long before the caption read, Britain Boys Turn 13 Today.
Merlin sighed. “Brilliant.”
“I wonder if they care,” Arthur said, gesturing vaguely out the door.
Apparently, they did.
“Happy birthday, boys,” Collins said cheerfully, walking in with two trays of soggy microwaved pancakes, with little packets of syrup on top, and two bottles of orange juice. “Welcome to teenagerdom, and the impending worst years of your life.”
“Um, thanks?” Arthur said, staring at the pancakes, as did Merlin.
Collins set them down on the table and picked up the trays from last night. “I decided to be nice to you boys, today – those trays have an extra spell to keep them warm all day. Enjoy your dessert-for-breakfast.”
They stared at him incredulously.
He just rolled his eyes and left, perfunctory as ever.
“...well this is weird,” Arthur said, looking at the tray.
“It’s our birthday, we’re supposed to get desserts for breakfast,” Merlin said cheerfully. “Mum does this all the time, for tradition.”
“Tradition?” Arthur asked.
“Er....actually, come to think of it, the only people I know who do it are Druids...” Merlin paused, trying to think it through. It was just something they did.
“So it’s a sorcerers’ tradition?” Arthur asked.
“Um, I guess so? Never thought about it too much, just tucked in and enjoyed it. I mean, dessert for breakfast, how can you complain?”
“It’s unhealthy,” Arthur grumbled, but he was already pushing himself up.
“It’s our birthday,” Merlin repeated with some extra cheer, most of which was un-faked.
Arthur rolled his eyes and grabbed the trays and bottles, handing one of each to Merlin, who took his and plopped down in front of the telly, wondering what the people had to say about their birthday.
“The yet-unrescued Prince Arthur and Merlin Emrys turn 13 today, and even with the boys unfound, many in the nation are celebrating on their behalf, in hopes of improving morale and honoring the boys, despite their current captivity.”
As the newscaster continued on, Arthur said, “Really?”, before taking a bite of his pancake. “Celebrating our birthday when we’re not even there?”
“Why not?” Merlin asked. “They need something to cheer themselves up.”
“Honoring us, my arse,” Arthur said. “Christmas is four days away. They’re just using it as an excuse to get drunk and party early.”
“Well, if they’re going to get drunk and party, it might as well be in our name,” Merlin said.
“It’s stupid and pointless,” Arthur said.
“It makes them feel better,” Merlin countered, punctuating his words with a bite of syrupy pancake. It wasn’t good even by Merlin’s standards – and he’s had plenty of microwaved or spell-heated meals in his lifetime – but it was better than what they’d been getting so far, so he tried to enjoy it.
Arthur just rolled his eyes and turned back to the screen.
Some people agreed with Arthur, it seemed, disgusted that people had the audacity to be happy while they were still in captivity. Others stressed that it was important for the Blesseds to know who was boss, while still others countered that telling the Blesseds the country was fine without the boys might make them want to kill them, to which someone else pointed out their feelings wouldn’t really impact the random Blessed, but oh, how do the King and Prime Minister feel about all this?”
Merlin drunk in the clip of Mum that came next, even though it was just her saying ‘no comment, please, no comment’ over and over again – as was the clip of the King a moment later, and Merlin wasn’t surprised to find Arthur’s eyes glued to the screen for that segment.
After a while, the news turned to various clips of Winter Solstice celebrations by Druids and sorcerers around the country, and Merlin found himself at a bit of a loss. It was his birthday, his 13th birthday. There were so many other things he should be doing right now.
“Today would have been my initiation,” Merlin mumbled.
“What’s that?” Arthur asked, turning to him. “ A sorcerer thing?”
“More of a Druid thing than a sorcerer thing, but yeah,” Merlin said. “Just a ceremony saying, ‘yay, you’re a sorcerer, now you get to start learning magic!’. Doesn’t matter for me, but it’s tradition so Mum would have made me go.”
“Why doesn’t it matter to you?” Arthur asked. “Sounds important.”
“Most kids don’t start showing magic ‘til they’re like 10 or 12 or something, but I’ve been doing it my whole life so it doesn’t really mean anything to me, anyway...still - it’s like a birthday party. I was looking forward to that.”
Arthur snorted. “Some party, a religious ceremony.”
“What were you going to do today, then?”
Arhtur shrugged. “Father had a small party planned, only about fifty people or so-”
“‘Only’ fifty?!”
“-but I think he was still hoping to get me to agree to a joint birthday party with you.”
Merlin blanched. “Ugh. Why can’t everyone shut up about that?”
“Your mother hounded after you about it, as well?” Arthur asked, surprised.
“No - but only because after I refused the first two dozen times she got everyone else to nag me about it.”
Arthur laughed. “Delegation, then? Nice.”
“Not so nice for me - just annoying.”
Arthur chuckled again, before sighing a little forlornly as he looked around their little holding room. “Well, I guess they got what they wanted, now, anyway...if you could call this a birthday party..”
Merlin sighed. “Might as well...at least now I get to put off registration.”
“You haven’t done that, yet?” Arthur asked, confused. “I thought you said you did magic your whole life...?”
“Mum wanted to do what all other sorcerer’s parents do, put it off as long as possible,” Merlin said. “So since I don’t have to be registered until I’m 13...well, we would have done it yesterday, so I wouldn’t have to spend my birthday miserable, giving blood and being...” Here, Merlin smiled, cold and sardonic as he gestured up to his neck. “...in magic suppressors.”
Arthur winced. “I thought you were allowed to do official things without suppressors now?”
“Only in buildings with strong enough wall suppressors,” Merlin said. “Which most don’t have.”
“Oh.”
“Well,” Merlin said. “I doubt they’ll try and fine my mum for me not being registered, at least.”
Arthur snorted. “Even my father wouldn’t try to fine her, and he wants to bring the registration age down to nine.”
Merlin laughed. “Nine? Beats five, at least.”
“Five?”
“The MP with the bad hair? Um...damn, I don’t remember his name. I should, we had him over for dinner...”
“Aredian?”
“Yeah, him!”
“You had him over for dinner?” Arthur asked, laughing in incredulity. “Were you there?”
“Yeah,” Merlin said, smiling as he remembered that night - or rather, what happened right after. “He looked so ill having to dine with a sorcerer, he kept running to the bathroom after every course. I mean, it was embarrassing, because we could hear him pray for protection against me, and Mum was just livid, but Will was going on right behind about the kind of stick he must have up his arse to actually do the full church-prescribed ‘pray between every course’ thing.”
“Really?” Arthur asked. “My father’s the head of the Church and even he doesn’t do that.”
“Does your father even eat with sorcerers?” Merlin asked.
“...good point,” Arthur said. “Come to think of it, the banquet with you when we first met, I think that’s the first time either of us ate at the same table as a sorcerer. The closest was a banquet hall once back when Grandmother was still alive as Queen...”
Merlin shrugged, before looking back at the telly, where some baker had made cakes shaped like them, and was auctioning them off as a “royal birthday special”.
“...what did you want to do?” Merlin asked. “For your birthday? That party, what were you planning to do?”
“What I plan is never what I want,” Arthur said, rather grimly, before shaking his head and saying, “Probably the usual sort of thing. Cake and food, dancing around the gardens or trying not to dance, presents...”
Merlin frowned, confused. “Wait, if that’s what’s planned...what did you want to do, then?”
“Fly a helicopter,” Arthur said.
Merlin stared, and Arthur grinned...a lot.
A bit too big.
“What did you really want?” he asked.
“I just said-”
“We’ve been stuck with nothing but each other’s company for the last two weeks, Arthur,” Merlin said, turning his head to face Arthur fully.
“Yeah, two weeks,” Arthur snapped. “Not actually that long, no matter how much it feels like it.”
“Aaand, now you’re definitely hiding something,” Merlin said. “So come on, then - if you could do anything you wanted, today, what would you rather do?”
A pause.
“Arthur-”
“Nothing.”
“Come on, now-”
“I mean it,” Arthur snapped. “I want to do nothing. I would like to just sleep and then wake up and just get it over with. But every year, everyone insists on making a big deal out of it!”
“No one wants to do ‘nothing’ on their birthday, Arthur.”
“They do when their birthday is also the anniversary of, and reason for, their mother’s death!” Arthur snapped, and Merlin stilled as Arthur abruptly turned away and crawled back under his blanket, curling up into a tight ball of misery that Merlin hadn’t seen from him thus far.
For all the ceremony that gets put into the memorials for Queen Ygraine every year, it was easy to forget that her death was on the same day as Arthur’s birthday, and his own.
No wonder Arthur had seemed so despondent about the prospect of their birthday.
Crawling over, Merlin put a hopefully-comforting hand on Arthur’s shoulder, who turned his shoulders and poked his head out from under his blanket to glare at Merlin.
“I’m sorry,” Merlin said. “For pushing you so much. I should have realized...come on, let’s finish these horrible pancakes and see who gets those cakes of our faces, yeah? We’re here, it’s now - let’s make the best of it.”
Arthur gave him a shrewd look, before sighing and nodding, turning completely under his blanket and slipping out his upper body, though still staying withing the refuge of the blanket as he watched the news.
The rest of the day was spent much like the previous ones, sitting in front of the telly. Hearing everyone on it talk about them got depressing faster than usual, before watching some cheesy Christmas films instead, before going back to the news after a few hours, switching off more than usual.
In the end, while PNB head Aredian tried to stir up some conflict, no one even thought of trying to press Mum with a fine for Merlin being unregistered. While some Druids held an initiation memorial for him, with the guest of honor stuck in a tiny room in god knows where, there wasn’t much they could do.
And when the news cut to the unveiling ceremony, releasing to the public the new monument built in honor of Queen Ygraine that people had been talking about for months, Merlin held onto Arthur’s hand as he watched the ceremony with wide, nearly-unblinking, and almost-crying eyes.
This year, it was just an engraving of her name and some poem she’d liked in a wall at some garden she frequented as a child, but by the end Arthur was still wiping his dry eyes repeatedly as Uther gave a speech remembering her, praying for Arthur’s quick rescue, and pleading for her to watch over Arthur from above.
“...she’s still here, you know,” Merlin murmured, after that ceremony was over and they switched over to pre-Christmas specials.
Arthur frowned as he turned to face Merlin. “Wha...what?”
“Every January,” Merlin said, before pausing at Arthur’s frown of confusion. “When my dad died? Every January, my mum always pulls out every photo album, and reads bits from the book he wrote, and journals and things, and...it can’t replace him or even come close to having him there, but...it’s nice, knowing when people die, some part of them stays with you.”
“Don’t Druids believe in reincarnation?” Arthur asked dubiously. “Or is your father a ghost?”
“First off, I’m not a Druid,” Merlin said. “I’m a sorcerer. Big difference. Don’t believe what PNB tells you, ‘cause for the ‘Party of Natural Britons’ they have yet to understand the difference between us. The difference is slight, but it’s there. But it doesn’t matter, and I’m not talking about ghosts, those are rare anyway. I mean the important bits, what they cared about and their love for us, for you and me.”
“My mother died at my birth, Merlin, she didn’t know me long enough to love me.”
“My dad died three weeks after I was born,” Merlin said. “It’s not like he ‘knew me’, either. That’s one of the not-important bits.”
Arthur sighed. “I suppose it’s...reassuring.”
Merlin smiled. Arthur’s tone was drudging and resistant, but he still kept his hand in Merlin’s.
He gave that hand a tight squeeze before returning his attention to the screen.
That evening, their dinner trays came with with cupcakes, and Merlin stared in shock as Artur picked one up and handed it to him, singing:
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Merlin, happy birthday to you...”
Merlin took the fairy cake gingerly, trying not to tear up at the unexpected kindness. But right now, this little kindness was all he head and-
“You’re not going to cry, are you?”
“No, I just...” he paused. “I - it’s my birthday, and...we both don’t want to be here...and I just want to go home. Home with Mum and Will and - thank you.”
Arthur looked at him oddly for a moment, before slowly nodding. “We might as well make the most of the situation,” he said pragmatically.
“Still, thank you - really.”
“Yeah, well...no need to get too worked up about it.”
So of course, when Merlin sang, it was “Happy birthday to you, you live in a zoo, you look like a monkey, and you smell like one-aaah!”
Arthur launched himself at Merlin, wrapping him in a playful but indignant chokehold before Merlin escaped, and as they wrestled over Merlin’s singing ability and Arthur’s birthday honor, Merlin couldn’t help but think that for all the fact they were still hostages, maybe this birthday wasn’t so bad, after all.
Part 4