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“So what, exactly, was that?”
“Shut up you prat.”
“Oi, technically still King.”
“Not even remotely in any way anything other than a dollophead.”
Arthur gave that frown that drew his eyebrows closer to his nose and his lips closer to a pout and his whole face closer to adorable and Merlin just threw up his arms and turned to stalk away. Arthur crossed his arms and refused to move. Imperious bastard.
Merlin stopped and, rolling his eyes in a way that moved his entire head, turned back to face his Once and Future Clotpole.
“You can’t stay in the museum pouting Arthur, it’s closing time.”
“I’m a visiting dignitary, they won’t mind.”
Merlin face palmed himself and then counted to ten in the way his councillor from the 1800’s had taught him.
“What are you doing?” Asked Arthur, pout still firmly in place.
“Not vaporising you.” Answered Merlin, practically growling. “Give me a minute.”
Arthur simply huffed and Merlin kind of missed the old, scared of magic Arthur. This new ‘there’s no way a beanstalk like you could ever be scary, lightning or no lightning’ Arthur was much less manageable. That and Merlin had sworn not once but twice that he had only ever used his magic for Arthur. He supposed he should be thankful Arthur’s lack of fear showed, unequivocally, that he believed Merlin’s vow.
“Arthur, you have no proof of your claim of royalty and we will be escorted out by security if you don’t come now.”
Arthur sniffed and then abruptly stopped pouting, a small smile coming to his face.
Not good, decided Merlin, his own stance becoming defensive. If he were a cat, his hair would be on end right down to the tip of his swishing tail.
“You know leaving isn’t going to make me stop asking. Or thinking about it. Or coming back tomorrow.” And then his eyes lit up, “or even taking a ‘pic’ of it on my ‘phone’.”
Merlin closed his eyes and ran through the 7 – 8 – 4 breathing technique his 20th century councillor had taught him.
“Don’t put air quotes on normal words Arthur. In fact, don’t put air quotes on anything. You’ve not been a Gen Y long enough to have ‘earned’ the right.”
“You just did it!”
“I’ve been alive for forever. I’ve earned the right to do all of the things.”
Arthur huffed again and got his phone out of his pocket, mashing the home button and dragging up on the screen to access the photo app and why had Merlin ever taught him anything, ever?
“No, Arthur, come back,” Arthur was storming off in the opposite direction, very much not listening to Merlin, “Arthur, it’s illegal, Arthur! Damnit! Fuck.” Merlin had no choice but to go after him. “If you get me banned from my favourite museum on this continent I swear I will turn you into a toad, vows and promises be damned! Arthur!”
“Oh settle down Merlin, you can just change how you look and come back whenever you want, besides” Arthur snapped the pic of the offending document and his tone, his face, his everything went smug, “it’s done now.”
Merlin closed his eyes and pictured a peaceful stream on a hillside and holding Arthur’s big smug stupid head under the water like the internet had taught him. He opened his eyes. “So can we go then?”
“Yes.” Still smug. Clotpole. “Shall we get Indian on the way home?” Slightly less of a clotpole. “And one of those fancy laties you like so much from that place on the corner.” Maybe not so clotpolish as Merlin had first thought, though he was pretty sure Arthur was mispronouncing lattes on purpose. “Then you can explain this letter to me.” Clotpole. Complete and utter clotpole. Merlin had no idea why his fate was entwined with the biggest clotpole ever to be born. Twice. If walking out of a lake fully formed several hundred years after your death counted as rebirth. Bloody buggering bugger.
Merlin scowled, threw up his arms and stalked out of the museum, his slightly longer legs forcing Arthur to trot a few steps to catch up.
“You are a smug prat and I regret ever writing that thing, let alone losing track of it and having it end up on mortifying public display for all time.”
Arthur just laughed, the combination of his mirth and the cold January air turning his cheeks rosy. Merlin covered his own sudden rush of warmth at the sight with a scowl and strode down the stairs two at a time. He did wrap them both in a warming spell as he went, despite his ire, because he might be irked, but it was still January in Amsterdam and Merlin wasn't an idiot. Arthur kept pace with him, completely unaffected by the warlock’s ire. People should be more affected by a warlock’s ire, Merlin thought. He had incredible power at his fingertips and absolutely no respect whatsoever. It was completely unfair.
Arthur stayed quiet while they went to the corner and got Merlin’s latte. He stayed quiet while they ordered Indian from the one place in Amsterdam Merlin could get his fix of Newari style Chunlaa Dhulo Masu made to his exacting standards.
He stayed quite while they ubered back to Merlin’s house in De Pijp.
Merlin was practically vibrating by the time they had finished eating and Arthur still hadn’t said anything more important than ‘yes I like dal now’.
As such, it was hardly his fault he almost dropped the tea pot and accidently, sort of, set the roof on fire when Arthur faux innocently asked, “So, the two hundred year old love letter you wrote to me that’s now in a Dutch museum…”