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~*KNIGHTFELLAS*~
Dear my ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
camelotsolstice anonymoose,
This is all your fault!
<3,
Lass
PS: Marry me.
Knightfellas
Merlin. Arthur, Morgana, Merlin, Gwen (Uther, William, Alvarr, Lancelot). PG13. 3841 words inspired by this mafia!Pendragons AU art. Warning: canon death, violence. Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bantha_fodder for betareading!
Three things that aren't supposed to happen at Gaius's birthday, Pellinore's funeral, and Leon & Forridel's wedding. Scenes from a mafia AU.
GAIUS’S BIRTHDAY
Morgana barges into his room without so much as a knock on the door, not that Arthur is surprised. He’s cleaning his gun at his desk and doesn’t even look up when he says, “I’m busy.”
“You’re always busy,” says Morgana. “Arthur, will you make it to dinner tonight?”
“I’ll try.”
She leans on the back of his chair, her forearms on his shoulders as she taps her fingers on his face. “Do or do not.”
Arthur shakes his head out of her hands. “Thanks, Yoda”
“It’s Gaius’s birthday,” she says. “So you can’t be late. We’re roasting a duck and everything.”
“I won’t be late.” Arthur runs the cloth over the barrel of his gun, once, twice.
Morgana steps around to lean her hip against the edge of his desk. “Good. And try to clean up a little before you come to the table this time.”
He flashes her a wry smile. “You squeamish at a little blood, Morgana?”
“Of course not,” she scoffs, “but it’s bad manners bringing the blood of your enemies to the table, and not to mention unhygienic.”
+
In a deserted road miles outside the city, two gunshots dissipate into the silence. Under a darkening sky, two men stand in a field as if holding vigil. One smokes a cigarette, and the other holds a smoking gun.
“Should we drop him in the river?” Merlin asks of the body between them
“No, remember when they found Edwin’s body in the river?” Arthur says, replacing the gun in his coat. “We don’t want a repeat.”
Merlin shifts his weight. “If we take him to the farm, we’ll be late for Gaius’s birthday.”
“I’m not taking him to the farm.” Arthur rolls up his shirt cuffs as he goes to the car. “We’ll make this one real clean.”
“We don’t have time to make it real clean.”
“Not tonight,” Arthur admits, popping the trunk open. “Tomorrow. Tonight we’ll store the body with William.”
“William?”
“Doesn’t he owe us a favor?”
“I think we owe him a favor,” Merlin says slowly.
“Ah well.” Arthur walks back to the body and grabs its hands. “I’m sure we can figure something out. Come on, Merlin, grab his feet.”
+
Arthur first met William – not to be confused with Will the Pill from South Ealdor – when Merlin gave him an encouraging push into the room and asked Arthur, “Will he do?”
William grinned optimistically.
Arthur’s response had been something along the lines of “are you fucking kidding me?” but William was a good-natured sort and Arthur eventually warmed to him. Arthur generally trusts Merlin with this sort of thing and always wonders if he shouldn’t have, but somehow things seem to work out.
William dressed in Arthur’s clothes, wore Arthur’s hat, and you couldn’t really tell from a distance at night that it wasn’t the Pendragon underboss rolling up to the warehouse. Ever since then, business has often led them to cross each other’s paths. William strikes Arthur as a little bit soft-headed, but William also has access to a supermarket chain’s meat freezer downtown. There are a lot of things you can store in a meat freezer and, time and time again, Arthur has been grateful to know someone who has the keys to one.
“You can trust me,” William announces with satisfaction, as the three of them look at the suspiciously shaped package they’ve just thrown in a corner of the freezer. “Least I can do.”
“We appreciate you doing this on short notice,” Merlin says, his breath misting in the air. “You know how it is. Suddenly this couldn’t wait.”
“Say no more, say no more,” William says, and turns on his heels. “Come on, if we stay here any longer, my nuts are gonna freeze off. Arthur, do you need to borrow a shirt?”
“What?” Arthur says.
“Your shirt.” William points at it, and its blood-colored splatters. “It’s not exactly tie-dye.”
Merlin checks his watch. “We’re pushing the clock. If we don’t leave soon, Morgana’ll be on our asses.”
“Maybe you should go first,” says Arthur, touching the stains gingerly. “I’ll just run uptown and get a new shirt-”
“Don’t be ridiculous, man,” William says, and clasps Arthur’s shoulder. “After all, we already know we’re the same size.”
+
Arthur and Merlin arrive at Uther’s midtown suite just as everyone is about to sit down to dinner, and they find themselves caught between Morgana’s admonishments for being late and Gaius’s gentle insistence that it’s quite all right.
“Is that even your shirt?” Morgana whispers when Arthur kisses her cheek hello.
“What a question,” Arthur murmurs, and kisses her other cheek.
+
Towards the end of the meal, Uther taps his wineglass with a spoon and rises to his feet. The chatter dies away, and all eyes turn to the Don.
“To Gaius,” he says, “for all his years of service and valuable counsel. For his loyalty in times when we have needed it most.”
A few seats down from him, Gaius smiles faintly and looks down.
“May we have many years more of him, and may you have many more years of life, my friend.” Uther raises his glass at him. “To Gaius.”
“Gaius,” the table echoes, and everyone claps and cheers and drinks as Gaius receives his well-wishes with gracious quietude.
+
When everyone is preoccupied with cake-slicing in the living room, Arthur finds Morgana talking quietly on her cellphone in the kitchen.
“We can’t move so soon on Myror,” she is saying. “We’ve only just taken care of Kanen. Enjoy the weekend, Leon. Take your lady out.”
“What are you doing?” Arthur demands.
“I have to go,” Morgana says, and snaps the phone shut. She turns around. “Can I help you?”
He narrows his eyes. “Who was that?”
She shrugs. “Leon.”
“You don’t get to give Leon orders, I give Leon orders,” Arthur barks.
“He tried to call you first, but you were busy singing Happy Birthday.”
“It’s not your place!”
“That’s completely beside the point,” she retorts. “If I hadn’t told Leon to hold off, Alvarr would come sniffing around here about two missing persons instead of just one.”
Instead of admitting that she’s right, Arthur says, “We have a way of doing things here-”
“Oh don’t you go off about this again.”
“-and we stick to it because it keeps people alive and out of prison!”
“For the most part,” Morgana grumbles.
“You don’t shit all over it just because Uther occasionally deigns to pat your head and tell you you’re pretty!”
It’s a low blow and it works: Morgana’s face reddens, and her sneer cracks into a scowl of indignation. “Uther trusts me!” she protests.
A soft voice interrupts: “Excuse me?”
Morgana and Arthur turn around.
Gwen stands in the doorway, a hesitant smile on her face. “Sorry to cut in. Arthur, your father is asking for you.”
“Thank god,” Arthur mutters.
“Good riddance,” Morgana agrees.
Gwen’s gaze flicks back to Morgana, and then at Arthur, questioning.
“I’ll go see what he wants,” Arthur says, and leaves the room. Behind him, he hears Gwen asking Morgana if she’s all right, but a burst of laughter from the living room drowns out Morgana’s answer.
+
“How did it go this afternoon?” Uther asks Arthur as Gaius unwraps gift after gift amid oohs and aahhs. Uther is seated in the middle of the sofa, brandy in hand, the perpetual focal point of the room no matter whose birthday it is.
Arthur seated beside him replies, “Went well. Don’t worry about it.”
“Good. I knew I could count on you.”
Arthur nods. “Thank you.”
“A blender!” Gaius enthuses. “Owain, how did you know?”
“Listen,” Uther says, looking at him. “When are you seeing Hengist next week?”
“Thursday. Why?”
“Take Morgana with you,” he says, and sips his drink.
Arthur nearly spits out his drink. “Morgana? Why would I do that?”
“She has a way with Hengist. She’ll come in handy.”
“It’s not what she does,” Arthur points out. “She doesn’t do negotiations. She hasn’t been to one in ages!”
Uther says, “She has.”
“When?”
“When I went to see Bayard, she came with me.”
“Bayard? Last month?” Arthur frowns. “I could’ve come with you.”
“You couldn’t have,” Uther says firmly, but there is something like amusement in his tone. “I was counting on you to deal with the Odin affair.”
“I still could have handled Bayard,” Arthur insists.
“Arthur, whatever spat you have with Morgana, you set it aside.”
Arthur begins, “I’m only thinking of the family-”
“Excellent,” Uther interrupts benignly, “then I’m glad we’re both on the same page.”
+
When even Merlin and Gwen have gone home, it’s just Uther and Gaius in the study, Morgana and Arthur smoking cigarettes on the balcony. Below them, the city is illuminated, the long avenues lined with neon and traversed by little headlights.
“So,” Arthur says. “What’s your way with Hengist?”
Morgana smiles a little smile to herself. “Uther has talked to you, I see.”
He exhales smoke, not exactly in her face, but not away from it. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“And if I don’t, I won’t tell you.”
“This is not a game,” he snaps.
She chuckles. “Did I say it was?”
PELLINORE’S FUNERAL
Pellinore’s funeral takes place on a Thursday.
It would have been on Tuesday, but everything got so hairy in the aftermath of the Tauren thing that it got pushed back. Everyone wanted to pay respects to the capo who took a bullet for the Don, but no one wanted to do it with the feds breathing down their necks.
The time is quarter past four: Uther is still on the phone, but no one rushes his father. Arthur waits in the parlor, slouching back on the sofa and compulsively checking the clock even though the funeral will only start whenever they get there.
“Arthur,” Morgana says, appearing in the doorway with a sparkly trinket in each hand. “Which earrings? The pearls or the diamonds?” She holds them up.
Arthur looks up. “It’s a funeral, not a cocktail party.”
“Pearls it is,” Morgana declares, and puts them on as she walks over. “I knew I could count on you for an opinion.”
“Not that you listen to them.”
“I listen,” she says, “but I follow them at my own discretion.” Morgana sits on the armchair adjacent to his, dropping the diamonds in her purse. “How are you doing, Arthur? Were you close to Pellinore?”
Arthur replies, “He was a good man. You wouldn’t happen to have a cigarette, would you?”
She takes out her lipstick and compact. “Wait until after the service. You don’t want to go in reeking of smoke.”
“Pellinore wouldn’t have minded.”
“Well, that’s not Pellinore in there, it’s just his body,” she says, flipping open her compact. “Funerals are for the living. The dead have already let go.”
“Wow. You should write fortune cookies.”
“Arthur, Morgana.” Uther Pendragon stands in the doorway, looking as regal and self-assured as always. “Let’s go.”
+
In the cemetery, he spots the man just as the priest starts to speak: a tiny silhouette watching them from under a tree near the bottom of the hill. Arthur glances over at Merlin, who meets his eyes and nods. He’s seen him too.
Arthur waits until the coffin has been lowered into the ground before he makes his way down the hill, Merlin following after. The man under the tree watches them, and doesn’t move.
“Alvarr,” Arthur says as they face each other, symmetrical in their dark coats and expressions of cordial distaste.
“Arthur,” Alvarr nods.
A few yards away, Merlin stands with his back to them, eyes on the funeral party but ready to whirl around and strike at a moment’s notice.
Arthur says, “This is a funeral. Have you no respect?”
“You’re the last person who should be talking about respect,” Alvarr says grimly.
“Perhaps you should leave, detective. Isn’t there some shoplifter whose balls need busting somewhere? Let us mourn in peace.”
Alvarr’s hair is greasier than usual, more tangled, and Arthur wonders when the last time he shaved was. The detective has been on a downward spiral since his partner’s death and, unsurprisingly, it doesn’t take long for him to get to the point: “Why should I, when you haven’t extended me that same courtesy?” Alvarr demands. “I know you know what happened to Tauren, so stop feeding me bullshit.”
Arthur says, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“The hell you don’t!”
In the corner of Arthur vision, he sees Merlin tense.
Alvarr jabs a finger in Arthur’s chest. “The DA’s ready to let him be just another missing person, but I know he didn’t go missing on his own. You got something to do with it, Pendragon, I know it. Where is he?!”
“Look, I’m sorry about your partner, but you’re pushing your luck,” Arthur says, sharper. “This is not a good time.”
“It’s difficult to come by a good time,” he mutters.
“I agree,” Arthur snaps. “Go home, detective. Take a bath maybe, you smell like a cheap bar.” He checks his watch. “And it’s barely past lunchtime.”
“Fuck you!”
“I don’t recommend that,” Arthur turns around. “I’m going back to my family, Alvarr. Try to fuck off, all right?”
“I’m going to put you away for life, you fucking bastard!”
Arthur continues walking, and Merlin falls in step beside him.
“Where is he?” Alvarr calls out, as they trudge back up the hill and don’t look back.
+
“Maybe we should have done Alvarr instead of Tauren,” Merlin muses as he drives them to Leon’s, where the wake is to take place. “Alvarr’s a noisier kind of guy.”
“Yeah, but you want a noisy enemy,” Arthur says, ashing his cigarette out the window. “Tauren went around doing things on his own, and you never knew where he was going to be. Puts you on edge. He’s like the mole from the whack-a-mole game. He refuses to stay hit.”
Merlin grins. “I didn’t know you were such a big whack-a-mole fan.”
“He thought he was Batman,” Arthur continues. “And when people go around pretending they’re Batman, shit happens.”
“Does that make you the Penguin?”
“Ha! The Joker, maybe.”
“Maybe you’re Catwoman,” Merlin muses.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Arthur scoffs. “I’d look terrible in a leather jumpsuit.”
+
“I’d be Catwoman,” Morgana decides, and they reckon she’s probably right.
LEON & FORRIDEL’S WEDDING
Between a new shipment coming in from Montreal and Alvarr’s vengeance amping up the investigation, the wedding is a welcome interruption.
Not that a wedding is any less of a hubbub, but at least it is one in a different key. A week before the blessed day, Arthur and Gwen were over at Forridel’s, the former to discuss some heist logistics with Leon and the latter to help Forridel with wedding planning. The situation got turned around, however, when it turned out that Gwen knows more mechanics around town than Arthur does. He was effectively edged out of the conversation then whisked away by Forridel, and it wasn’t necessarily that Arthur didn’t want to help with the wedding, it was just that he doesn’t know what to do with questions like, “Is this organza too shiny?”
In the end, Forridel and Leon are good people. Arthur isn’t going to let their day be ruined by some shitbag if he can help it, so when he and Merlin find Valiant in the parking lot with a gun, they decide to take matters into their own hand.
In the middle of matters, Arthur hears a familiar voice say, “What on earth are you doing?”
He turns his head as much as he can and sees Morgana looking at them like they have just given the wrong answer to an easy question. “Go back inside, Morgana,” Arthur says. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“Hello,” Merlin says.
Valiant, who is currently pinned to the ground by Arthur and being choked with his own tie by Merlin, says, “Glklhhhgk.”
“‘S all right,” Merlin grins. “We’re almost done, don’t worry.”
“For god’s sake, Forridel’s about to walk down the aisle!” Morgana bursts out.
“He’s had it coming for a long time,” Arthur assures her.
Valiant’s feet kick the concrete, perhaps in protest, but who can tell.
“What are you doing out here anyway?”
“I left my camera in the car. I was going to get it…”
Valiant kicks and writhes again, and butts Arthur in the face with the back of his head.
“Oh honestly,” Morgana mutters, trotting over. She puts her purse on the ground and grabs the tie, twisting it around her hands.
“What are you doing?” Merlin asks.
“Grab him, Merlin, I got the tie,” Morgana says. “Grab him!”
“What?”
“I got the tie! Hold him down!”
So he does. Merlin puts all his weight on Valiant, pushing him down with Arthur as Morgana yanks the tie up, one stilletoed foot on Valiant’s back. He makes a sound that vaguely sound like “cghrkkcg!” and kicks his foot, and kicks again, and again, then stops kicking.
“Is he dead?” Morgana asks in a strained voice.
“He looks it,” Merlin says.
“Yeah, he is,” Arthur breathes out, and eases his grip. Morgana follows suit, then Merlin.
Valiant jerks again, and everyone cries out and resumes their previous position.
“My god, is he really dead this time?” Morgana gasps.
“Yeah, he’s dead, he’s really dead,” Merlin wheezes.
“Right,” she says. “I’m going to continue choking him for a few more seconds, if you don’t mind.”
+
Gwen sees Morgana arguing with Arthur by the ice sculpture, and wonders if it’s time for an intervention. She is only halfway to the table when Merlin is suddenly right in front of her with a suspiciously cheerful grin on his face.
“Gwen!” he says. “Hey, how are things? Great wedding, huh?”
“Yeah, it’s wonderful,” she says. “Forridel and Leon look really happy.”
Merlin nods. “Yeah, they deserve each other.”
“Merlin, I was just looking for Morgana-”
“Morgana!” he cuts in exuberantly. “Right, Morgana. I haven’t seen her. Hey, do you want to take a photo with me?”
“What? A photo?”
“Yeah. That’s what the photographer is paid to do, right? Let’s go. Let’s take several pictures. Let’s have some drinks and take some pictures.”
“Um. I don’t think-”
“Excellent!” Merlin says, and puts his arm around her shoulder and sweeps her away.
Why not? Gwen thinks as she slips her arm around Merlin’s waist. It would be nice to have proper pictures, after all, and sometimes it’s best to leave Arthur and Morgana alone if they’re really on a roll.
+
Merlin is not fit to drive anyone anywhere.
“I’m fit to drive,” Merlin insists. “So help me god, I’m fit to drive. If I’m not, I’ll fuck my mother.”
“You won’t need to do that, dear,” Morgana says, patting his arm.
“Who let him near the open bar?” Arthur demands.
“He did,” Gwen says, pointing at Merlin.
“I can handle me, and cars,” Merlin nods, and hiccups.
This is how Arthur and Morgana end up driving to the dump after the reception, pointing out each other’s lack of foresight/shame/general intelligence and fighting over the radio. It only strengthens Arthur’s suspicions that he has grown up in all respects, except for the respect that has to deal with Morgana. (“Norah Jones is terrible,” he says, and she says, “So’s your face,” so maybe it’s mutual.)
In the end they compromise with JAMZ 99.5, which at least they both loathe equally.
“I can’t believe we just did that,” Morgana says. “‘No dead bodies in trunks on wedding days and christenings’, I think it’s a rule somewhere.”
“You rather I lay him out in the middle of the dance floor, maybe?” Arthur asks, keeping his eyes on the road.
“And I can’t believe it took the three of us to put him down,” she continues. “That’s just depressing. Are we losing our touch, do you think?”
“You never had a touch.”
“Fuck you, I have more touch than you do.”
“Of madness.” Arthur smirks, pleased with himself.
“Whatever. What was Valiant doing at the wedding anyway?”
“…Unfinished business,” he replies vaguely.
“’Unfinished business’?” Morgana echoes.
“Yeah.”
“You’re full of shit, Arthur.”
“Uh-huh, and you’re not.”
“At least,” Morgana says, “I don’t hide that I am.”
+
The smell gets stronger and stronger as they get closer, and Morgana crinkles her nose and rolls up her window.
Arthur says, “Your nose too sensitive for anything that isn’t Chanel?”
Morgana replies, “I prefer Dior to Chanel, actually.”
The incinerator is located deep in the heart of the dump, next to a blocky building that might have been whitewashed once upon a time, but now gives off the same sense of indistinct color as its surroundings. The building’s front door opens, and Lancelot steps out in a wifebeater and his hair pulled back. Morgana waves, and he waves back.
“How are you, Lancelot?” Morgana says, when she kisses the air beside his cheek. “We missed you at the wedding.”
“Really?” He smiles. “I didn’t exactly leave on honorable terms last time.”
“You and your honor,” is all she says.
He insists she sit back and let him and Arthur get the body, and she doesn’t protest overmuch. She texts Gwen while doling out all sorts of advice to them – “Put him in feet first!” – while cheerily ignoring Arthur’s insistence that they know how to do this, thanks.
In the end, Morgana offers Lancelot a cigarette, which he refuses, and they watch the incinerator glow and consume whatever is left of Valiant.
“How’s Gwen?” asks Lancelot.
“She’s doing well,” says Morgana. “You should probably give her a call sometime.”
“You think so?”
“We should go,” Arthur cuts in, and clasps Lancelot’s shoulder. “Hey, thanks a lot.”
Lancelot says, “Anytime.”
+
“Perhaps we shouldn’t tell Leon and Forridel about this,” says Morgana on the way home.
Arthur says, “Perhaps.”
Morgana takes a few experimental sniffs of her dress. “Ugh, I hope the smell doesn’t stick. I don’t know how Lancelot stands it. He’s a darling, but he always smells vaguely of shit.”
“You’ve been shot twice, but bad smells throw you off?”
“The sense of smell is very powerful, Arthur,” she explains. “Hmm. Maybe I should have changed before we went to the dump.”
“Yes, let’s let a body sit in the car while you take forty minutes to choose a skirt,” he mutters.
“Oh, you’re welcome,” Morgana chirps, “because it’s not like I should be drinking mai tais right now instead of killing people and dragging their body to the dump. Honestly, Arthur. This is just like when we went to see Hengist, except this time there are no rottweilers.”
Arthur glances over, smiling. “This life too rough for you?”
Morgana takes a bottle of something small and pink out of her purse and sprays herself with it. “Don’t be absurd,” she says as the car fills with the smell of bergamot and musk.
camelotsolstice anonymoose,This is all your fault!
<3,
Lass
PS: Marry me.
Knightfellas
Merlin. Arthur, Morgana, Merlin, Gwen (Uther, William, Alvarr, Lancelot). PG13. 3841 words inspired by this mafia!Pendragons AU art. Warning: canon death, violence. Thanks to
bantha_fodder for betareading!Three things that aren't supposed to happen at Gaius's birthday, Pellinore's funeral, and Leon & Forridel's wedding. Scenes from a mafia AU.
GAIUS’S BIRTHDAY
Morgana barges into his room without so much as a knock on the door, not that Arthur is surprised. He’s cleaning his gun at his desk and doesn’t even look up when he says, “I’m busy.”
“You’re always busy,” says Morgana. “Arthur, will you make it to dinner tonight?”
“I’ll try.”
She leans on the back of his chair, her forearms on his shoulders as she taps her fingers on his face. “Do or do not.”
Arthur shakes his head out of her hands. “Thanks, Yoda”
“It’s Gaius’s birthday,” she says. “So you can’t be late. We’re roasting a duck and everything.”
“I won’t be late.” Arthur runs the cloth over the barrel of his gun, once, twice.
Morgana steps around to lean her hip against the edge of his desk. “Good. And try to clean up a little before you come to the table this time.”
He flashes her a wry smile. “You squeamish at a little blood, Morgana?”
“Of course not,” she scoffs, “but it’s bad manners bringing the blood of your enemies to the table, and not to mention unhygienic.”
+
In a deserted road miles outside the city, two gunshots dissipate into the silence. Under a darkening sky, two men stand in a field as if holding vigil. One smokes a cigarette, and the other holds a smoking gun.
“Should we drop him in the river?” Merlin asks of the body between them
“No, remember when they found Edwin’s body in the river?” Arthur says, replacing the gun in his coat. “We don’t want a repeat.”
Merlin shifts his weight. “If we take him to the farm, we’ll be late for Gaius’s birthday.”
“I’m not taking him to the farm.” Arthur rolls up his shirt cuffs as he goes to the car. “We’ll make this one real clean.”
“We don’t have time to make it real clean.”
“Not tonight,” Arthur admits, popping the trunk open. “Tomorrow. Tonight we’ll store the body with William.”
“William?”
“Doesn’t he owe us a favor?”
“I think we owe him a favor,” Merlin says slowly.
“Ah well.” Arthur walks back to the body and grabs its hands. “I’m sure we can figure something out. Come on, Merlin, grab his feet.”
+
Arthur first met William – not to be confused with Will the Pill from South Ealdor – when Merlin gave him an encouraging push into the room and asked Arthur, “Will he do?”
William grinned optimistically.
Arthur’s response had been something along the lines of “are you fucking kidding me?” but William was a good-natured sort and Arthur eventually warmed to him. Arthur generally trusts Merlin with this sort of thing and always wonders if he shouldn’t have, but somehow things seem to work out.
William dressed in Arthur’s clothes, wore Arthur’s hat, and you couldn’t really tell from a distance at night that it wasn’t the Pendragon underboss rolling up to the warehouse. Ever since then, business has often led them to cross each other’s paths. William strikes Arthur as a little bit soft-headed, but William also has access to a supermarket chain’s meat freezer downtown. There are a lot of things you can store in a meat freezer and, time and time again, Arthur has been grateful to know someone who has the keys to one.
“You can trust me,” William announces with satisfaction, as the three of them look at the suspiciously shaped package they’ve just thrown in a corner of the freezer. “Least I can do.”
“We appreciate you doing this on short notice,” Merlin says, his breath misting in the air. “You know how it is. Suddenly this couldn’t wait.”
“Say no more, say no more,” William says, and turns on his heels. “Come on, if we stay here any longer, my nuts are gonna freeze off. Arthur, do you need to borrow a shirt?”
“What?” Arthur says.
“Your shirt.” William points at it, and its blood-colored splatters. “It’s not exactly tie-dye.”
Merlin checks his watch. “We’re pushing the clock. If we don’t leave soon, Morgana’ll be on our asses.”
“Maybe you should go first,” says Arthur, touching the stains gingerly. “I’ll just run uptown and get a new shirt-”
“Don’t be ridiculous, man,” William says, and clasps Arthur’s shoulder. “After all, we already know we’re the same size.”
+
Arthur and Merlin arrive at Uther’s midtown suite just as everyone is about to sit down to dinner, and they find themselves caught between Morgana’s admonishments for being late and Gaius’s gentle insistence that it’s quite all right.
“Is that even your shirt?” Morgana whispers when Arthur kisses her cheek hello.
“What a question,” Arthur murmurs, and kisses her other cheek.
+
Towards the end of the meal, Uther taps his wineglass with a spoon and rises to his feet. The chatter dies away, and all eyes turn to the Don.
“To Gaius,” he says, “for all his years of service and valuable counsel. For his loyalty in times when we have needed it most.”
A few seats down from him, Gaius smiles faintly and looks down.
“May we have many years more of him, and may you have many more years of life, my friend.” Uther raises his glass at him. “To Gaius.”
“Gaius,” the table echoes, and everyone claps and cheers and drinks as Gaius receives his well-wishes with gracious quietude.
+
When everyone is preoccupied with cake-slicing in the living room, Arthur finds Morgana talking quietly on her cellphone in the kitchen.
“We can’t move so soon on Myror,” she is saying. “We’ve only just taken care of Kanen. Enjoy the weekend, Leon. Take your lady out.”
“What are you doing?” Arthur demands.
“I have to go,” Morgana says, and snaps the phone shut. She turns around. “Can I help you?”
He narrows his eyes. “Who was that?”
She shrugs. “Leon.”
“You don’t get to give Leon orders, I give Leon orders,” Arthur barks.
“He tried to call you first, but you were busy singing Happy Birthday.”
“It’s not your place!”
“That’s completely beside the point,” she retorts. “If I hadn’t told Leon to hold off, Alvarr would come sniffing around here about two missing persons instead of just one.”
Instead of admitting that she’s right, Arthur says, “We have a way of doing things here-”
“Oh don’t you go off about this again.”
“-and we stick to it because it keeps people alive and out of prison!”
“For the most part,” Morgana grumbles.
“You don’t shit all over it just because Uther occasionally deigns to pat your head and tell you you’re pretty!”
It’s a low blow and it works: Morgana’s face reddens, and her sneer cracks into a scowl of indignation. “Uther trusts me!” she protests.
A soft voice interrupts: “Excuse me?”
Morgana and Arthur turn around.
Gwen stands in the doorway, a hesitant smile on her face. “Sorry to cut in. Arthur, your father is asking for you.”
“Thank god,” Arthur mutters.
“Good riddance,” Morgana agrees.
Gwen’s gaze flicks back to Morgana, and then at Arthur, questioning.
“I’ll go see what he wants,” Arthur says, and leaves the room. Behind him, he hears Gwen asking Morgana if she’s all right, but a burst of laughter from the living room drowns out Morgana’s answer.
+
“How did it go this afternoon?” Uther asks Arthur as Gaius unwraps gift after gift amid oohs and aahhs. Uther is seated in the middle of the sofa, brandy in hand, the perpetual focal point of the room no matter whose birthday it is.
Arthur seated beside him replies, “Went well. Don’t worry about it.”
“Good. I knew I could count on you.”
Arthur nods. “Thank you.”
“A blender!” Gaius enthuses. “Owain, how did you know?”
“Listen,” Uther says, looking at him. “When are you seeing Hengist next week?”
“Thursday. Why?”
“Take Morgana with you,” he says, and sips his drink.
Arthur nearly spits out his drink. “Morgana? Why would I do that?”
“She has a way with Hengist. She’ll come in handy.”
“It’s not what she does,” Arthur points out. “She doesn’t do negotiations. She hasn’t been to one in ages!”
Uther says, “She has.”
“When?”
“When I went to see Bayard, she came with me.”
“Bayard? Last month?” Arthur frowns. “I could’ve come with you.”
“You couldn’t have,” Uther says firmly, but there is something like amusement in his tone. “I was counting on you to deal with the Odin affair.”
“I still could have handled Bayard,” Arthur insists.
“Arthur, whatever spat you have with Morgana, you set it aside.”
Arthur begins, “I’m only thinking of the family-”
“Excellent,” Uther interrupts benignly, “then I’m glad we’re both on the same page.”
+
When even Merlin and Gwen have gone home, it’s just Uther and Gaius in the study, Morgana and Arthur smoking cigarettes on the balcony. Below them, the city is illuminated, the long avenues lined with neon and traversed by little headlights.
“So,” Arthur says. “What’s your way with Hengist?”
Morgana smiles a little smile to herself. “Uther has talked to you, I see.”
He exhales smoke, not exactly in her face, but not away from it. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“And if I don’t, I won’t tell you.”
“This is not a game,” he snaps.
She chuckles. “Did I say it was?”
PELLINORE’S FUNERAL
Pellinore’s funeral takes place on a Thursday.
It would have been on Tuesday, but everything got so hairy in the aftermath of the Tauren thing that it got pushed back. Everyone wanted to pay respects to the capo who took a bullet for the Don, but no one wanted to do it with the feds breathing down their necks.
The time is quarter past four: Uther is still on the phone, but no one rushes his father. Arthur waits in the parlor, slouching back on the sofa and compulsively checking the clock even though the funeral will only start whenever they get there.
“Arthur,” Morgana says, appearing in the doorway with a sparkly trinket in each hand. “Which earrings? The pearls or the diamonds?” She holds them up.
Arthur looks up. “It’s a funeral, not a cocktail party.”
“Pearls it is,” Morgana declares, and puts them on as she walks over. “I knew I could count on you for an opinion.”
“Not that you listen to them.”
“I listen,” she says, “but I follow them at my own discretion.” Morgana sits on the armchair adjacent to his, dropping the diamonds in her purse. “How are you doing, Arthur? Were you close to Pellinore?”
Arthur replies, “He was a good man. You wouldn’t happen to have a cigarette, would you?”
She takes out her lipstick and compact. “Wait until after the service. You don’t want to go in reeking of smoke.”
“Pellinore wouldn’t have minded.”
“Well, that’s not Pellinore in there, it’s just his body,” she says, flipping open her compact. “Funerals are for the living. The dead have already let go.”
“Wow. You should write fortune cookies.”
“Arthur, Morgana.” Uther Pendragon stands in the doorway, looking as regal and self-assured as always. “Let’s go.”
+
In the cemetery, he spots the man just as the priest starts to speak: a tiny silhouette watching them from under a tree near the bottom of the hill. Arthur glances over at Merlin, who meets his eyes and nods. He’s seen him too.
Arthur waits until the coffin has been lowered into the ground before he makes his way down the hill, Merlin following after. The man under the tree watches them, and doesn’t move.
“Alvarr,” Arthur says as they face each other, symmetrical in their dark coats and expressions of cordial distaste.
“Arthur,” Alvarr nods.
A few yards away, Merlin stands with his back to them, eyes on the funeral party but ready to whirl around and strike at a moment’s notice.
Arthur says, “This is a funeral. Have you no respect?”
“You’re the last person who should be talking about respect,” Alvarr says grimly.
“Perhaps you should leave, detective. Isn’t there some shoplifter whose balls need busting somewhere? Let us mourn in peace.”
Alvarr’s hair is greasier than usual, more tangled, and Arthur wonders when the last time he shaved was. The detective has been on a downward spiral since his partner’s death and, unsurprisingly, it doesn’t take long for him to get to the point: “Why should I, when you haven’t extended me that same courtesy?” Alvarr demands. “I know you know what happened to Tauren, so stop feeding me bullshit.”
Arthur says, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“The hell you don’t!”
In the corner of Arthur vision, he sees Merlin tense.
Alvarr jabs a finger in Arthur’s chest. “The DA’s ready to let him be just another missing person, but I know he didn’t go missing on his own. You got something to do with it, Pendragon, I know it. Where is he?!”
“Look, I’m sorry about your partner, but you’re pushing your luck,” Arthur says, sharper. “This is not a good time.”
“It’s difficult to come by a good time,” he mutters.
“I agree,” Arthur snaps. “Go home, detective. Take a bath maybe, you smell like a cheap bar.” He checks his watch. “And it’s barely past lunchtime.”
“Fuck you!”
“I don’t recommend that,” Arthur turns around. “I’m going back to my family, Alvarr. Try to fuck off, all right?”
“I’m going to put you away for life, you fucking bastard!”
Arthur continues walking, and Merlin falls in step beside him.
“Where is he?” Alvarr calls out, as they trudge back up the hill and don’t look back.
+
“Maybe we should have done Alvarr instead of Tauren,” Merlin muses as he drives them to Leon’s, where the wake is to take place. “Alvarr’s a noisier kind of guy.”
“Yeah, but you want a noisy enemy,” Arthur says, ashing his cigarette out the window. “Tauren went around doing things on his own, and you never knew where he was going to be. Puts you on edge. He’s like the mole from the whack-a-mole game. He refuses to stay hit.”
Merlin grins. “I didn’t know you were such a big whack-a-mole fan.”
“He thought he was Batman,” Arthur continues. “And when people go around pretending they’re Batman, shit happens.”
“Does that make you the Penguin?”
“Ha! The Joker, maybe.”
“Maybe you’re Catwoman,” Merlin muses.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Arthur scoffs. “I’d look terrible in a leather jumpsuit.”
+
“I’d be Catwoman,” Morgana decides, and they reckon she’s probably right.
LEON & FORRIDEL’S WEDDING
Between a new shipment coming in from Montreal and Alvarr’s vengeance amping up the investigation, the wedding is a welcome interruption.
Not that a wedding is any less of a hubbub, but at least it is one in a different key. A week before the blessed day, Arthur and Gwen were over at Forridel’s, the former to discuss some heist logistics with Leon and the latter to help Forridel with wedding planning. The situation got turned around, however, when it turned out that Gwen knows more mechanics around town than Arthur does. He was effectively edged out of the conversation then whisked away by Forridel, and it wasn’t necessarily that Arthur didn’t want to help with the wedding, it was just that he doesn’t know what to do with questions like, “Is this organza too shiny?”
In the end, Forridel and Leon are good people. Arthur isn’t going to let their day be ruined by some shitbag if he can help it, so when he and Merlin find Valiant in the parking lot with a gun, they decide to take matters into their own hand.
In the middle of matters, Arthur hears a familiar voice say, “What on earth are you doing?”
He turns his head as much as he can and sees Morgana looking at them like they have just given the wrong answer to an easy question. “Go back inside, Morgana,” Arthur says. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“Hello,” Merlin says.
Valiant, who is currently pinned to the ground by Arthur and being choked with his own tie by Merlin, says, “Glklhhhgk.”
“‘S all right,” Merlin grins. “We’re almost done, don’t worry.”
“For god’s sake, Forridel’s about to walk down the aisle!” Morgana bursts out.
“He’s had it coming for a long time,” Arthur assures her.
Valiant’s feet kick the concrete, perhaps in protest, but who can tell.
“What are you doing out here anyway?”
“I left my camera in the car. I was going to get it…”
Valiant kicks and writhes again, and butts Arthur in the face with the back of his head.
“Oh honestly,” Morgana mutters, trotting over. She puts her purse on the ground and grabs the tie, twisting it around her hands.
“What are you doing?” Merlin asks.
“Grab him, Merlin, I got the tie,” Morgana says. “Grab him!”
“What?”
“I got the tie! Hold him down!”
So he does. Merlin puts all his weight on Valiant, pushing him down with Arthur as Morgana yanks the tie up, one stilletoed foot on Valiant’s back. He makes a sound that vaguely sound like “cghrkkcg!” and kicks his foot, and kicks again, and again, then stops kicking.
“Is he dead?” Morgana asks in a strained voice.
“He looks it,” Merlin says.
“Yeah, he is,” Arthur breathes out, and eases his grip. Morgana follows suit, then Merlin.
Valiant jerks again, and everyone cries out and resumes their previous position.
“My god, is he really dead this time?” Morgana gasps.
“Yeah, he’s dead, he’s really dead,” Merlin wheezes.
“Right,” she says. “I’m going to continue choking him for a few more seconds, if you don’t mind.”
+
Gwen sees Morgana arguing with Arthur by the ice sculpture, and wonders if it’s time for an intervention. She is only halfway to the table when Merlin is suddenly right in front of her with a suspiciously cheerful grin on his face.
“Gwen!” he says. “Hey, how are things? Great wedding, huh?”
“Yeah, it’s wonderful,” she says. “Forridel and Leon look really happy.”
Merlin nods. “Yeah, they deserve each other.”
“Merlin, I was just looking for Morgana-”
“Morgana!” he cuts in exuberantly. “Right, Morgana. I haven’t seen her. Hey, do you want to take a photo with me?”
“What? A photo?”
“Yeah. That’s what the photographer is paid to do, right? Let’s go. Let’s take several pictures. Let’s have some drinks and take some pictures.”
“Um. I don’t think-”
“Excellent!” Merlin says, and puts his arm around her shoulder and sweeps her away.
Why not? Gwen thinks as she slips her arm around Merlin’s waist. It would be nice to have proper pictures, after all, and sometimes it’s best to leave Arthur and Morgana alone if they’re really on a roll.
+
Merlin is not fit to drive anyone anywhere.
“I’m fit to drive,” Merlin insists. “So help me god, I’m fit to drive. If I’m not, I’ll fuck my mother.”
“You won’t need to do that, dear,” Morgana says, patting his arm.
“Who let him near the open bar?” Arthur demands.
“He did,” Gwen says, pointing at Merlin.
“I can handle me, and cars,” Merlin nods, and hiccups.
This is how Arthur and Morgana end up driving to the dump after the reception, pointing out each other’s lack of foresight/shame/general intelligence and fighting over the radio. It only strengthens Arthur’s suspicions that he has grown up in all respects, except for the respect that has to deal with Morgana. (“Norah Jones is terrible,” he says, and she says, “So’s your face,” so maybe it’s mutual.)
In the end they compromise with JAMZ 99.5, which at least they both loathe equally.
“I can’t believe we just did that,” Morgana says. “‘No dead bodies in trunks on wedding days and christenings’, I think it’s a rule somewhere.”
“You rather I lay him out in the middle of the dance floor, maybe?” Arthur asks, keeping his eyes on the road.
“And I can’t believe it took the three of us to put him down,” she continues. “That’s just depressing. Are we losing our touch, do you think?”
“You never had a touch.”
“Fuck you, I have more touch than you do.”
“Of madness.” Arthur smirks, pleased with himself.
“Whatever. What was Valiant doing at the wedding anyway?”
“…Unfinished business,” he replies vaguely.
“’Unfinished business’?” Morgana echoes.
“Yeah.”
“You’re full of shit, Arthur.”
“Uh-huh, and you’re not.”
“At least,” Morgana says, “I don’t hide that I am.”
+
The smell gets stronger and stronger as they get closer, and Morgana crinkles her nose and rolls up her window.
Arthur says, “Your nose too sensitive for anything that isn’t Chanel?”
Morgana replies, “I prefer Dior to Chanel, actually.”
The incinerator is located deep in the heart of the dump, next to a blocky building that might have been whitewashed once upon a time, but now gives off the same sense of indistinct color as its surroundings. The building’s front door opens, and Lancelot steps out in a wifebeater and his hair pulled back. Morgana waves, and he waves back.
“How are you, Lancelot?” Morgana says, when she kisses the air beside his cheek. “We missed you at the wedding.”
“Really?” He smiles. “I didn’t exactly leave on honorable terms last time.”
“You and your honor,” is all she says.
He insists she sit back and let him and Arthur get the body, and she doesn’t protest overmuch. She texts Gwen while doling out all sorts of advice to them – “Put him in feet first!” – while cheerily ignoring Arthur’s insistence that they know how to do this, thanks.
In the end, Morgana offers Lancelot a cigarette, which he refuses, and they watch the incinerator glow and consume whatever is left of Valiant.
“How’s Gwen?” asks Lancelot.
“She’s doing well,” says Morgana. “You should probably give her a call sometime.”
“You think so?”
“We should go,” Arthur cuts in, and clasps Lancelot’s shoulder. “Hey, thanks a lot.”
Lancelot says, “Anytime.”
+
“Perhaps we shouldn’t tell Leon and Forridel about this,” says Morgana on the way home.
Arthur says, “Perhaps.”
Morgana takes a few experimental sniffs of her dress. “Ugh, I hope the smell doesn’t stick. I don’t know how Lancelot stands it. He’s a darling, but he always smells vaguely of shit.”
“You’ve been shot twice, but bad smells throw you off?”
“The sense of smell is very powerful, Arthur,” she explains. “Hmm. Maybe I should have changed before we went to the dump.”
“Yes, let’s let a body sit in the car while you take forty minutes to choose a skirt,” he mutters.
“Oh, you’re welcome,” Morgana chirps, “because it’s not like I should be drinking mai tais right now instead of killing people and dragging their body to the dump. Honestly, Arthur. This is just like when we went to see Hengist, except this time there are no rottweilers.”
Arthur glances over, smiling. “This life too rough for you?”
Morgana takes a bottle of something small and pink out of her purse and sprays herself with it. “Don’t be absurd,” she says as the car fills with the smell of bergamot and musk.
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