Chapter Text
The autumn wind pulled at his ratty old jacket. It was the last piece of clothing he had of his father’s. His father had loved this leather jacket. It had been thin and worn out long before his sudden death, long before Merlin had started wearing it to feel close to his dad. Now it offered only little protection against the harsh wind but he moved forward regardless. Thunder lazily rolled across the sky as he made his way through the narrow alleys of what was left of the medieval old town of Camelot and began his strenuous ascend the hill toward the modernized center, the heart of the ancient city. He walked over old Roman streets with large, uneven stones between half-timber houses that had been built much later during the reign of Henry VIII.
Camelot was a melting pot of cultures and architectural styles all clashing together in a strange display of the centuries passed. It was easy to get lost in the labyrinth of the old town near the ancient Roman walls that once formed the city wall and protected the citizens of Camelot of the ancient Demetae and other Celtic clans. There, near the ruins of one of the various gates, lay Merlin’s dwellings. Now, however, despite the approaching thunderstorm, he moved away from his home. Down in the old town, he wouldn't find work anyway. He crossed the bridge that led him into the town center as the first raindrops fell and pulled his jacket tighter around his slender figure.
His stomach growled. He hadn't eaten all day. He hadn't eaten all day yesterday as well or the day before that. He saved every penny he made to feed Mordred, his younger brother. Mordred was growing out of his clothes now monthly, it seemed and he was yet to hit puberty.
The inner city of Camelot was a buzzing hive of activity. Pretty women in fancy clothes were hurrying on high heels over uneven cobblestones. Men in suits were having important conversations as they leisurely walked to their next appointment under dark umbrellas. A few people sought shelter from the rain in tea shops, bakeries, and stores. By now rain was gushing from overflowing rain gutters like waterfalls. Merlin was already soaked and shivering but he knew where he needed to go.
No one would employ him properly but there were always a few who were in need of a helping hand. He was heading to the dry cleaners down on Main Street and tried to find shelter under awnings on the pavement in front of stores. When he reached the store he snuck in through a side door in a narrow alley.
“You're late,” Mrs Halloway, the owner, murmured from her seat behind the counter up front. It was hard to even see the little middle-aged woman when she was sitting down. She didn't bother getting up from her chair or to walk up to him. “Three deliveries. Dolloway, Fischer, and McCurdy.” He wasn't able to stifle a groan. McCurdy was the worst customer he had ever met while running deliveries for the dry cleaner. The old man always tried to scam him for the money he owed to Mrs Halloway. He was a greedy, cheap, mean pig.
“I don't understand why you are still doing business with McCurdy,” He muttered under his breath as he walked over to the rack where Mrs Halloway hung the clothing bags for the deliveries. “He is always trying to scam you, he always has something to complain about, something that somehow isn't right with the delivery.”
“Maybe the problem is the delivery guy then.” Mrs Halloway's voice was cuttingly sharp, the warning in it clear.
“I didn't say anything,” He sighed as he picked up the first bag. It was heavy. People were now hurrying to get their winter coats properly cleaned before the temperatures would drop. Already it promised to become a very cold winter. It wasn't usually like him to give in so easily but in his position there really was no room for arguing with anyone who was willing to let him work for them - even if that work consisted only of running errands for them. He needed every penny that he could get his hands on, even if that meant being worked to the bone.
Without wasting another moment, Merlin grabbed the next two clear bags and, regardless of how heavy the bags were, flung them over his left shoulder and headed to the door he had just come through. Immediately, rain started pummeling down on him. There was no point dwelling on how miserable he felt. He started hurrying down the street, over uneven, slippery cobblestones and past people with umbrellas. He had to run across the whole town for his deliveries. The first two of his stops went rather uneventful and he had expected nothing else but Mr McCurdy, as always, tried to rip him off the moment the heavy-set man opened his door for Merlin and all but ripped the clear bag from Merlin’s hands.
“There’s a stain,” The old man complained after he had opened the bag and started inspecting the coat. He always did that. “Right here on the collar. See? It's still there!”
“You should discuss that with Mrs Halloway, Sir,” He said, trying - no forcing - a pleasant tone. “I am just the delivery boy.”
“Then tell Mrs Halloway that I am not going to pay for such mediocre work.”
“I will tell her no such thing, Sir. You need to take that up with her yourself. I am only running errands for her on occasion. If you don't want to pay, I will have to tell her that she needs to contact the police about it.”
“You are quite rude, boy.” McCurdy’s beady little eyes shone with the sick pleasure he must be feeling, knowing that he had Merlin at his mercy right now. They both knew that Mrs Halloway would take it out on the delivery boy instead of a customer. “Maybe I should have a little chat about that with Mrs Halloway. I’m sure she should not like having someone as rude as you in her employment. It's bad for business.”
Pleased with himself, McCurdy leaned against his doorframe, his eyes trained on Merlin, his gaze wandering up and down his lithe body. He couldn't help but feel like McCurdy looked at him like he was an especially tasty piece of meat. His skin crawled. He clenched his jaw and forced himself to take a deep breath through his nose. A mistake, as it turned out, as his eyes started watering from the intense smell of McCurdy’s cologne. There were a million things he wanted to say but he bit his tongue instead and walked down the steps to McCurdy’s doorstep. “I don't have time for that, I have work to do. Unlike some.”
“What did you say?”
“You heard me,” He muttered under his breath as he turned away and hurried down the street. McCurdy yelled something else that he didn't quite understand and didn't care to understand either. He kept walking down the street and only after he turned the next corner, did he stop for a second to lean against the wall of an alley between two shops. He wanted to scream and curse but he knew that there was no point to it. Knowing McCurdy, the old man was already on the phone with Mrs Halloway. He almost didn't want to return to her but he had to hand over the payment from the other two deliveries. So, after a moment of respite, he kept walking again.
Mrs Halloway reacted just as poorly as he had expected after he returned to her shop dripping wet and probably looking like a sewer rat. She took the money he handed her and immediately put it in her cash register as if she was afraid that Merlin would take it back and start running. Her hands were calloused and coarse from years and years of cleaning other peoples' clothing, her mouse-brown hair started to grey and the lines around her mouth made her look stern and unhappy. Merlin didn't know much about her and, frankly, he didn't care either. “He said what?” She yelled over the transistor radio that was blaring some pop song in the front of the shop. “A stain!”
“A stain, yes.”
“Well, if there was one, it was certainly your fault.”
“There was no stain.”
“Nonsense! Why on Earth would he say that if it wasn't true?”
“Because he is a cheap, old man! And he always refuses to pay! I told him that you should report him to the police for theft. It's about time you do something about him ripping you off.”
“The customer is always right, Merlin.” Her voice was sharp and cut like a whip. “He called me, you know? McCurdy. He said you were threatening him and that you insulted him. It's not the first time McCurdy complained about you either. He said that you were coming onto him, making lewd offers for extra money.”
“I did no such thing,” He hissed through his teeth. “And this crusty old man will always find something to complain about.”
“I won't have any need for your help anymore, Merlin.”
“What?” He snapped. “You can't be serious! You know that I need the money! You know that he is lying!”
“He is one of my best customers and most of my other customers came to me on his referral,” Mrs Halloway replied stubbornly, leaning with her right hip against the counter, her arms firmly crossed in front of her chest. “I’m sorry Merlin, but business is business and I can't afford to lose any of my customers or have my reputation compromised. Times are hard as it is.”
“Mrs Halloway, please! I need this job!”
“Enough of this.” She walked back over to her cash register and opened it. A part of him wanted to leave without receiving his pay. A part of him wanted to be proud and leave with his dignity intact but dignity and pride would not feed him and his brother or put clothes on their backs either. So, he waited until Mrs Halloway returned to him and placed a few coins in his hand. “I wish you the best of luck. I know it is not easy but I am sure that you will make your way in this world.”
Her friendliness felt like a slap. Still, he forced a smile and a nod and swallowed the bile in his throat as he turned and left. Once more he stepped into the pouring rain. He felt humiliated as he walked down the street. This had not been a proper job but it had come the closest to a proper job he had ever had. And now he was left with nothing again. The church bell chimed in the distance. It was already noon. Not much time now.
Mordred would soon leave school. He would visit the Youth Center, just like they had agreed on. He would get help with his homework and Merlin could work. Most importantly, however, it was free of charge and Mordred was in safe hands - which held the benefit that he couldn't get into any trouble. It broke his heart that he couldn't do more. He should be the one helping his little twelve-year-old brother with his homework. He should be waiting for his little brother in a nice, clean flat with a warm meal on the table.
Things used to be like this when his dad was still alive. Everything changed with his death. For a while, it had not looked like it and then the whole world had turned on its head - exploded like a mirror that fell to the ground into a million tiny pieces that he was unable to pick up again. He was brimming with anger as he kept walking the old streets. The ancient stones became treacherous in the rain but he avoided slipping and falling on his way through town as his mind kept racing and wondering where he would find his next job. He was walking these streets day in and day out, trying to find employment but nobody seemed to have use for him.
When afternoon came he started to get desperate. His stomach was growling and cramping. He stood in the middle of a corner store and counted the coins in his hand, desperate to multiply them simply by staring at them. Of course, nothing of that sort happened. He was not a magician, after all. In the end, he grabbed a couple of cheap sandwiches and a bottle of Mordred’s favorite ice tea before he left the store, resisting the deep, dark voice in the back of his head to just steal something.
Thunder roared above his head as he met Mordred outside of the Youth Center about thirty minutes later. He didn't tell his little brother that he had lost his job with Mrs Halloway and he didn't tell him about their lack of funds. He just walked with him, back down the hill towards what they called home these days. While rain was soaking his hair he pulled up the hood of Mordred’s yellow raincoat over his mop of curls.
He listened attentively to what his brother had to say about his school day, how he complained about his math teacher, Mr O’Hare, again. “We have a new teacher!” He then chirped excitedly, Mr O’Hare all but forgotten. “She’s awesome!”
“Is she? What’s her name?”
“Miss Smith,” He said, beaming, his owlish blue eyes sparkling. “Guinevere - like in the stories. That’s a pretty name, isn’t it?”
“Very pretty,” Merlin mused with a grin. “And she’s nice, yes?”
“She’s the best!” Mordred tended to say that about every new teacher he encountered - probably because most new teachers tended to give it their all and be extra friendly and nice when they came to a new school until they would, inevitably, show their true colors. At least it had been this way in Merlin’s experience. He too, much like Mordred, had often clashed with his teachers and every teacher had voiced a different reason to his father whenever his dad had been called to his school. For some of his teachers, he had been too cheeky, too prone to talk back at them, too sarcastic in his remarks, and for others he had been plain annoying with his constant questions. Some had even called him a ‘know-it-all’. Neither Merlin nor his dad had taken that as an insult, though.
“I’m very happy to hear that.”
They reached the old, abandoned train station that hadn't been in use since the 1960s. This train station was one of the very first in Wales, built in 1865 only to be replaced by a newer, more modern station up the hill. A brass sign over the station’s main entrance spelled out the exact date of its construction. Nowadays, the old station was a safe harbor for Camelot’s most unfortunate souls. In the darkness, though, it looked eerie with his large, black windows, staring into the night like a dozen dead eyes.
They snuck in through an open window since the main doors were secured by a heavy iron chain. He helped Mordred to get through the window and then quickly followed him. For Mordred, this was all a big adventure. They had their nest in the former station master’s office and, luckily, no one else had been here for a few weeks now. He felt safe here - much safer than under a bridge or an underpass anyway. Mordred quickly made his way over to the nest of blankets and the sleeping mats that Merlin had saved from their old camping gear in the corner and flopped down on it.
Merlin grabbed the old petroleum lamp from the dust-covered desk. Another relic of their many camping trips with their late father. Back then he had often complained, being not much of an outdoors person himself but now he was thankful for his father insisting on those little adventures with his sons. Merlin quickly lit the lamp, placed it on the ground, and took off his father’s jacket to hang over the station master’s chair to dry. Then he took off his soggy boots and wet socks and flopped down next to his brother. He quickly handed Mordred a blanket and the boy huddled into it. Merlin grabbed another blanket and wrapped it around his own shoulders. Suppressing a shiver, he grabbed the plastic bag from the shop and handed it to Mordred. “Your favorite,” He said.
“Tuna?” Mordred asked with furrowed brows.
“Since when don't you like tuna?” He huffed.
“I like it,” Mordred groaned. “But you always buy me tuna sandwiches. It's getting old, you know? I’d love pancakes or waffles - Oh! Or scrambled eggs and bacon! Beans on toast!”
His heart ached a little but he forced himself to keep a straight face and a smile. “I will try to remember it for next time, Milord. Now eat.”
“And you?”
“I’m not hungry,” He said and to make his lie more believable, he added: “Mrs Halloway invited me to have lunch with her. It was a slow day.”
Mordred scanned his face but then he started eating at last. He wished he could grant Mordred his wishes for pancakes or waffles. At least the boy got a free lunch in the Youth Center every day. God knew the kid needed every meal he could get. He was hitting puberty soon, after all, and he was already too thin as it was. Geez, he didn't even want to think about it. Instead of dwelling on that, he tried to amuse Mordred with stories of people he had seen in town today. He didn't tell him about McCurdy or Mrs Halloway, didn't tell him how he had spent hours walking the town in search of work or how he had sat near the train station, begging people for change. Mordred didn't need to know any of that. He should go to school and live his life unbothered by their situation - as much as possible.
When Mordred finally fell asleep, Merlin started rummaging in his old, battered backpack and pulled out the book he had found the other day in a bin. He could only assume that it had been thrown away by a frustrated ex-med student. To Merlin, it was his greatest treasure. He started reading in the light of the petroleum lamp until his eyes started to burn. It might have been hours until he laid down next to Mordred and tried to find as much warmth as he possibly could. There he lay shivering as rain pummeled on the leaky roof and the old windows. It would get better one day, he knew it.
-End of Chapter 1-