EMAILS FROM THE PENDRAGON INSTITUTE (4th story in the Pendragon Institute series)

Chapter 1: Arthur's Inbox

To: arthurpendragon_at_pendragoninstitute_dot_org

From: MLeFay_at_pendragoninstitute_dot_org

Subject: WTF

Arthur, I'm accustomed to your inconsiderateness and your obnoxiousness, and your air of masculine superiority, and everything else about you, but I never thought you'd try to keep such major news all to yourself and not share it. When in bloody hell did you propose! Why didn't you tell me? Were you going to keep it a secret until you said bloody I do? I could absolutely strangle you. Incidentally, Merlin is way too good for you, and is far better than you deserve, you bastard. Morgana

Reply from: arthurpendragon_at_pendragoninstitute_dot_org

Dear Morgana, Your email is perfect evidence of why I didn't tell you. That and the fact that you wouldn't have been able to keep your mouth shut, and the whole world would have known by now. May I suggest that you meet lover boy L at The Griffin and drown your sorrows in several vodka martinis? Then go home like a good girl, and swallow a pint of grapefruit juice in the morning. You and Father can be in agreement with each other for the first time in history, and can commiserate over my insanity with my blessing, although your reasons for calling me insane will differ. Arthur

To: arthurpendragon_at_pendragoninstitute_dot_org

From: gwencameliard_at_pendragoninstitute_dot_org

Subject: Congratulations!

Dear Arthur, I'm so, so happy for you and can't wait for you to tell me about it in person. When did this happen? I haven't said anything to Merlin, as he's shy about such things and will probably turn crimson and vanish behind a pile of condition reports. I won't say a word to anybody about it until you say I may. Have you told your father? I'm so excited I can scarcely type. Could we have lunch together? Please? I really need to know ALL, and if there are things you don't want repeated, I'll promise not to tell Lance. Love, Gwen

Reply from: arthurpendragon_at_pendragoninstitute_dot_org

Dear Gwen, You are a lifesaver. I knew you'd understand about why I haven't said anything to anybody. News seems to have leaked out anyway, I'm not sure how. Now I'm in for it, it seems, as my dear stepsister is furious because I haven't confided in her. Thanks for standing by me. I can always count on your kind heart. It'll probably be a quiet civil ceremony, just signing the papers with witnesses or whatever it is one does, but if I were having an old-fashioned event, I'd ask you to walk down the aisle with me and give me away. j/k! Love, Arthur

From: mordredpen_at_yahoo_dot_com

To: arthurpendragon_at_pendragoninstitute_dot_org

Subject: I TOLD YOU SO

Dear Arthur, I think it's brilliant that you're going to marry Merlin, and you should say thank you to me because it was all my idea. Morgana's having a fit because you didn't tell her first, but I don't blame you, because she goes all girly and shrieky about these things. I know Mum will be on your side. Don't pay any attention if Father shouts and gets cross, he will just have to get used to it. I told him long ago that we should keep Merlin in the family and he turned purple and coughed a lot. Thanks for the choc bars with peppermint bits in them, they were great. Can I have some more, please? Mordred

Reply from: arthurpendragon_at_pendragoninstitute_dot_org

Thanks for your support, little brother. Of course I know you want to keep Merlin here just because he's the only person who understands a small fraction of that physics stuff you've been yammering on about. I don't know what you mean about it being all your idea, but that's alright. Look after your sister and don't let her throw too many things at the wall. If you can get her to calm down, I may consider sending you to Cal Tech or MIT after all (when you're old enough to shave). I'll have a box of those choc bars waiting for you at the Institute on Monday. Arthur

To: arthurpendragon_at_pendragoninstitute_dot_org

From: utherpendragon_at_albion_inc_dot_org

Subject: Rumor

Arthur, I can only assume that you have taken leave of your senses, if what I've been told is true. I received an email from a cousin of Gaius, offering his congratulations on my son's forthcoming marriage. I do not see any reason at all for you to take such a step. Have you even considered the effect that such a thing would have on the Institute? Have you thought about what a field day the press will have with this information? I am seriously disturbed by this news. Kindly do not accuse me of prejudice, as I believe that I have been quite understanding about your current relationship. As I have said before, my objections do not necessarily reflect any thoughts I might have about Merlin Emrys, who is of course an excellent conservator, although hardly the sort of person I would expect my son to form a legal union with. Such a thing would not be suitable. I await your reply. Your affectionate father

Reply from: arthurpendragon_at_pendragoninstitute_dot_org

Dear Father,

I have read your email and duly noted your opinion on the subject. The news of which you speak has only been given to Gaius and to Merlin's mother, and I was preparing to tell you about it via telephone. Neither the press nor the museum community knows anything about it. I am sorry to distress you, but Merlin is entirely suitable. Arthur

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Arthur Pendragon, Assistant Director of the Pendragon Institute for Medieval and Renaissance Art, frowned as he switched off his home computer. He was sitting behind the desk in his study, where he had been using webmail to check any messages that might have come to his office computer after he left the Institute at lunchtime, to meet with a collector of medieval stained-glass roundels. The meeting with the collector, who was planning to donate one of his objects to the Institute, had lasted until after five, and Arthur had decided not to go back to the office. Instead, he had walked home, undeterred by the blizzard that was blanketing New York with snow, arriving at his flat at almost the same time as his junior conservator. It had been difficult not to laugh at the sight of Merlin, whose tufted dark hair was ornamented with tiny ice pellets and melting snowflakes, and whose dripping clothes were plastered to his thin frame. His fingers and ears were pink with the cold, and Arthur had groaned with exasperation.

"Have you lost your hat and gloves again, Merlin?"

"No," Merlin had replied in a muffled voice, sneezing as he tugged off his boots. "That is, I let Gwen use my gloves because she lost hers, and the hat blew away in the wind."

"You're impossible," Arthur murmured. "That's the third hat this winter."

"You're counting my hats?" Merlin asked in astonishment.

"You really do need looking after," said Arthur severely. "Which is why I've decided to take you on for life." He had seized Merlin by the scruff of the neck and marched him into the bedroom, where he had watched, tapping his foot like an impatient schoolmaster, as Merlin struggled out of his soggy jacket, scarf, shirt, and trousers. Resisting the impulse to push Merlin into the bed and join him there, he had pulled one of his own sweatshirts over Merlin's head, handed him a folded pair of jeans, and stalked out of the room, grumbling about the stupidity of underweight, overachieving conservators who couldn't tie their own shoelaces without falling over, in spite of having professional abilities that other museum personnel described as magical.

Then he had retired to his study and gone through his emails. It took half an hour to respond to them.

Now he really needed a drink

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Arthur decided not to reveal the contents of his emails to his junior conservator, who was rummaging in the kitchen, looking for forks and spoons. Uther and Elaine, Arthur's stepmother, had flown back to London three days after Christmas, which had enabled the Institute staff to celebrate New Year's (and Merlin's birthday, which happened to coincide with it) in relative peace and quiet. Arthur had said nothing to anybody at work about his proposal, and Merlin's acceptance, with the exception of Gaius, who stood almost in loco parentis to Merlin and had known the Assistant Director since his infancy.

And now it appeared that Gaius, dear old fellow that he was, and Head of the Institute's Conservation Department, had passed on the news to his cousin in London. Who had somehow or other said something to Uther.

Once they were seated at the dinner table, Merlin eyed the mammoth piece of beef on Arthur's plate (he himself was having pasta with fava beans), and passed him a weighty steak knife.

"I've brought you your ceremonial sword."

"Is that for me to fall on?" his Assistant Director asked gloomily, jabbing at his New York Strip with a vengeance.

"Hopefully not," replied Merlin, surprised. "What's wrong?" The withdrawn, closed look on Arthur's face enlightened him, despite the lack of a response. "You've heard from your father, haven't you."

Arthur grunted in reply.

"And he…he's heard about…well, you know?"

"Yes," said Arthur shortly, glaring at his steak.

"And he's, erm, not pleased. You knew that would happen, I told—" One look at Arthur's face informed him that to say "I told you so" would not be the best of moves.

"I'm not angry with you, Merlin," Arthur muttered. "It's him. He's always expected me to follow in his bloody footsteps. He wants to map out my destiny, but he also raised me to be a leader, and so I am. How can he expect me to do as he tells me now, when I've been taught to trust in my own judgment? When my decisions and views vary from his?"

"Destinies are troublesome things," Merlin said after a moment, choosing his words carefully but worrying, at the same time, that he was about to put his foot in it. "You feel trapped? Like your whole life has been planned out for you and you've got no control over anything and sometimes you don't even know if what destiny has decided is really the best thing at all."

"How come you're so knowledgeable?" snapped Arthur, almost peevishly.

"I…read a book?" Merlin said, unable to think of anything else to say on the matter. But he looked so achingly appealing at that moment, his blue eyes wide and his pillowy lips pressed together with concentration, that Arthur nearly smiled.

He chose to spear a large portion of his steak instead, mumbling, "Anyway, what do you mean, 'what destiny has decided'? Destiny didn't tell me to propose to you, you idiot. That was entirely my idea."

"Erm," said Merlin.

"And you put up plenty of arguments against it," Arthur continued, his lips finally curving upwards with a rueful grin. "Before you bloody gave in and said yes."

"I can't think what possessed me at the moment," Merlin replied, smiling a little. He knew that once all of this went public, many would assume he was a gold digger, chasing after Arthur Pendragon for his money and social standing. Or that he was simply infatuated with the Assistant Director's semi-celebrity status, or his fabled, blond good looks. After all, who the hell was Merlin Emrys? The only people who knew and respected his talent and his work as an arts conservator were members of the international museum community.

"Well, Father's found out," Arthur said wryly. "And Morgana has as well. She's livid I didn't tell her first. I fully expect her to hurl something at my head tomorrow morning."

"She won't," Merlin began, hefting his mug of coffee, but he was interrupted by a loud knocking on the door of their flat, followed by a repeated ringing of the doorbell.

Annoyed, Arthur strode down the hall and flung open the door ("He shouldn't do that," Merlin thought to himself. "Even though there's a security system and a doorman downstairs, who knows who could have sneaked into the building, somehow!"), only to find himself inches away from the most recent subject of their conversation, his raven-haired stepsister Morgana, senior curator of the Pendragon Institute.

Taken by surprise, Arthur took an involuntary step backward, but Morgana stepped forward and, to his shock and amazement, flung her arms about him and hugged him fiercely.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"You have a habit of turning up outside my door unexpectedly," Arthur complained, once he had extricated himself from her clutches.

"At least you're not half-naked this time," his stepsister replied tartly as she stepped back. "I feel as though I ought to hit you," she added, drawing her elegant eyebrows together. Arthur eyed her hands warily, relieved to see that they had not closed into fists.

"I can't believe you told Gaius before you told me," she continued, making her way into the sitting room and flinging herself into the most comfy of the upholstered chairs. "Merlin has a good excuse, Gaius is practically his surrogate father. But you! I mean, I'm your stepsister, Arthur."

"I was going to tell you, Morgana," Arthur murmured calmly. "Perhaps round the same time I told Father. I didn't tell you first, because I knew you'd be shouting it from the rooftops ten minutes later."

"I would not," his stepsister said hotly. "Although now perhaps I should, and damn the consequences."

"I'd really appreciate it if you kept it to yourself, Morgs," Arthur said tiredly. "And yes, you can tell lover boy, if you must, but let it stop with him. The others will know soon enough."

"Why shouldn't they?" Morgana drawled. "They'll all be delighted. Oh…except for Catrina, that wretched old bat. I do wish she'd retire. For God's sake, Merlin, what's the matter? You've gone all red."

"The press," Merlin said with reluctance. The ivory of his cheeks was suffused, not with red, but with a faint peach color. "I've been doing my best not to think about them, but, well—"

"Don't be silly," Morgana said in her loftiest tone of voice. "The media will make pets of you both. News about you will help them sell papers. Arthur's a dish, much as I hate to say it. And you're quite pretty, Merlin, stop blushing. The respectable, reputable newspapers and magazines will be just as happy to write articles about you as the tabloids. As long as they have nice photos to go with."

"I'm not pretty," Merlin insisted, putting his coffee mug down with a thump.

"Mer-lin," said Morgana, suddenly sounding like Arthur.

"I look like a cross between a meerkat and a Star Trek Vulcan," Merlin said, unconsciously raising his hands to his ears.

Arthur collapsed into laughter on the sofa.

"Nonsense," snapped Morgana briskly. "Meerkats? And Vulcans have pointy ears. You don't." She rose to her feet. "And now I really must be off."

"Meeting lover boy at the cinema, are you?" Arthur asked caustically. "Mind you pay for the tickets. Of course, he's so bloody gallant he'll probably take you to some overpriced French bistro, afterwards."

"No bistro, not tonight," Morgana replied, fishing a lipstick out of her purse and deepening the crimson of her lips with a lavish hand. "And no cinema, not at this hour. He's simply stopping by for…for, um, a drink later, after Mordred's gone to bed. He said he'd take me to a new Indian restaurant on the Upper West Side tomorrow. And for heaven's sake, stop calling Leon lover boy. He's not a boy, he's, well, quite the man."

"TMI," Arthur murmured. "There's absolutely no reason for me to hear about that sort of thing."

"I didn't realize it was so late already," she continued, eyeing her tiny, jeweled wristwatch with dismay. "I do hope Alice will understand. She's been looking after Mordred this evening."

Alice was Morgana's neighbor who periodically came in to help with household chores, and occasionally looked after the flat when Morgana was away. She also babysat Mordred if Morgana stayed late at the office (although Mordred insisted that this was unnecessary). She was a cheerful blonde in her late middle age, and Morgana (inveterate matchmaker that she was) was of the opinion that old Gaius fancied her.

"If Leon gets to the flat before I do, he'll tell her she can go home," she murmured as if to reassure herself.

"I always knew poor old Leon had the patience of Job," Arthur said smiling, as he walked her to the door. Morgana rolled her eyes but made no reply before her hasty exit.

Arthur locked the door and then turned to find Merlin leaning against the wall, looking at him solemnly. His face was a pale blur (neither of them having bothered to switch on the hall light) beneath the blackness of his hair, and as Arthur looked at him he began to fidget, shifting from one foot to the other as he often did in moments of uncertainty. It really never ceased to amaze Arthur that anybody could look so chaste and so seductive at the same time. To add to this there was his most effective trick: half-closing his eyes so that they were veiled by his lashes, and then sliding the pupils to look at Arthur sideways. This long, subtle glance was as mischievous as it was tempting, and never failed to put his Assistant Director into a state of total...readiness.

"I think it's nearly time for bed," Arthur said, yawning elaborately and hoping Merlin would get the message.

"Really?" said Merlin skeptically, looking at his watch. "It's not even ten yet."

"Long day tomorrow," Arthur stated authoritatively. "Staff meeting. I know I said I was going to read Will's objects conservation reports, but I think I'll pack it in and brush my teeth instead."

I know I used a fair amount of dialogue from "The Changeling" episode, but it seemed to fit.