I do not own Merlin.

This is my first ever Merthur story. I love Merlin and Arthur and the bond they have. I just never thought I would see them like this.

But what they have goes far beyond what we all want in our lives. A connection on so many levels. This is my take of their story and I hope that you are going to enjoy the journey they are taking together.

WARNING: Some chapters in this story are explicit. Most are T-rated.

Boy meets Boy

God! Is he in a rush to get to his two o'clock appointment.

As usual he has lost track of time completely. He stuffs his papers into his overfilled shoulder bag, grabs his writing utensils off the table and carefully manoeuvres through the maze of shelves stacked full with copies of the oldest and most fascinating books Merlin has come across in the last couple of years.

Yes, Camelot has been quite a find. The antique book store has been his favourite haunt for quite a while now. He's lucky that Jeffrey, the owner, doesn't mind him coming in and using the books for his research. Okay, he does pay him back by working at the till two days a week. And he washes the floors every two weeks. Not to forget about helping Will, the full time assistant, with the arrangement of the display in the shop window once a month.

Twenty to two already. Gaius is going to kill me if I'm late again.

But once Merlin opens an old book and gets sucked into one of its stories he forgets everything about him. He delights in how it takes his worries and buries them. It's pure bliss to dive into a different world and detach himself completely from reality. He gets drawn to the characters so much that they feel real. More real than anyone he meets in this world. The one where Gaius is tapping impatiently behind his desk at 'Rapport', no doubt an eyebrow raised in quiet criticism.

The young brown-haired bloke at the till gives him a sigh and a broad grin on his way past. It isn't the first time Merlin leaves in a hectic rush. Arms and legs flailing everywhere, a book in his hands, his leather bag half sliding off his shoulder, a folder with some of his research in one hand, two pens in his other and his scarf almost trailing on the floor behind him.

"See you tomorrow, Merlin!' The guy shouts after him.

Merlin grins, waves and gasps a quick "Cheers, Will!" before he tumbles out of the store, barely managing to hold onto all his stuff.

In two steps he is at his car. He could really do with a third hand to open the door, but in its elusive absence he throws everything in his hands onto the pavement to frantically search for his car keys in the depth of his brown jacket. Passingly he acknowledges the hole in the pocket, making a mental note to mend the darn thing. He has known of its existence for the most of a month, but so far it hasn't exactly made the top three on his list of priorities. At the bottom of his heart he knows that the garment is well beyond repair. With the ripped lining and the frayed rim around the collar it is not exactly at the height of fashion. Probably never was. Maybe once his next pay check comes in he will be able to afford a new one, but then – he inwardly sighs - the electricity bill is outstanding and so is the rent.

Merlin pushes the unpleasant thought away. He has never been well off, has never been able to afford the luxuries of life. That is just not his story. Growing up with a single mum from a humble background they have always struggled for the bare minimum. Now isn't any different. He couldn't even have started researching for his book if Gaius hadn't offered to take him on in the agency. The salary provides for the most essential things he needs.

He finally pushes all his stuff onto the back seat and gets behind the wheel of his white Fiat Punto. He has bought the car for hundred quid with the money his mum saved up for him after he graduated from uni. He knows it is a pest, because it's old and has a habit of breaking down, but it feels part of him. It connects him with his mum, with her love and appreciation and it reminds him what he is working for. A completely renewed look on the Arthurian legends in a language that every Tom, Dick or Harry can understand.

He turns the key impatiently.

"Come on, Aithusa."

He talks to the little car as if he's encouraging it, gently caressing the steering wheel.

Yes, he has given it a name. And it is a girl's name. He knows that many people would consider it pathetic. He actually doesn't care. He came across the name in a lovely story about dragons and has always loved the way it rolls off his tongue. And he has fancied having his own dragon ever since he read his first book about knights and castles at the age of six. He chuckles at the thought, but realizes that Aithusa isn't willing to do his bidding today.

The motor remains completely dead.

"Shit, shit, shit!" Merlin swears and starts pushing the pedals as if he is working a heavy church organ.

"Stop throwing a tantrum, you little shit and just let's go"

Aithusa doesn't seem to care and blatantly ignores Merlin's increasingly desperate attempts to get her started. He wonders for the fraction of a second whether she is doing it deliberately.

Then suddenly there is life and a walloping jump forward. God, have I really left this garbage heap in first gear again?

The clear noise of splintering glass and crushing metal follows a split second later. Merlin freezes. He has crashed into the car parked in front.

"Oh no!" His head sinks in utter frustration. He can't afford this. He has neither the time nor the money.

"Are you a complete imbecile?" A dark, highly irritated voice is directing abuse at him.

Oh no! A total plonker on top of it all. That is really the last straw.

"You better get out here so we can assess the damage for insurance purposes." The voice doesn't sound less angry than Merlin feels, but it seems the guy at the end of it has more handle on the situation than he does. This definitely spells doom in capital letters.

Having no other choice he opens the door, realizing he needs to push it really hard. Something must have happened to Aithusa when he ploughed into the car ahead of him.

As soon as Merlin gets out his already cold blood curdles and for a second his heart stops beating because he is now aware that the car ahead of him is a bloody Porsche. It is a two seater sports car in the most gorgeous shade of icy blue. And he can see by the registration number that it is virtually new.

Well, apart from the spoiler that is hanging off rather limply. And the front light that looks like Vitali Klitschko has had a punching practice on it recently.

"Shit!" He whispers quietly to himself again, unaware of the owner standing next to him, glowering like a man who's been done wrong. Well, there is something to that…

"Oh, it speaks!" The voice rips him out of his misery and he finally raises his head to look at the guy. Intensely blue eyes raging with supressed anger meet his. They are not unlike mine, just a bit lighter, Merlin thinks, confused for an instant why his brain even allows a thought like that right now when it looks like the guy is going to throttle him with his bare hands in the middle of a busy street in London.

And it looks like if he could. Because he is broad shouldered and muscular and his whole body looks well trained and, compared to Merlin's skinny bony frame, like a blooming fighting machine. It is not overdone though, unlike these muscle-packed macho men you see at the cover page of certain magazines. No, the guy looks toned and healthy and decidedly… attractive. Taken aback by the passing thought, Merlin drags his eyes away from the stranger's body to fully face him for the first time.

Like it or not. The guy is gorgeous. The blue eyes are complemented by shiny blond hair and a jaw line any Greek God would have given his right arm for. Merlin mellows slightly, because it doesn't feel right to argue with a Greek God.

"I'm sorry. Mmmh, …" Merlin isn't quite sure what else he can say. He really is sorry. He is usually not in the habit of destroying other people's property. No, he's definitely the social type that people take advantage of because he finds it hard to say no when he's asked. He likes helping because he never had much help himself. He knows how that feels.

"Sorry? You must be joking!" the voice thunders.

"Cars like that," he spits, waving his head at Aithusa, "shouldn't exist in this day and age. It's just embarrassing and downright dangerous!"

Merlin turns scarlet, as anger starts bubbling up from deep below. Insulting him is one thing, insulting Aithusa a completely different one.

"Aithusa is a fine car and it usually starts fine, and it drives fine…" Merlin realizes that he isn't improving the situation by mumbling complete nonsense like a pupil told off by his teacher.

The guy throws his head back and suddenly bellows out a roaring laugh.

"It has a name?" He is shaking with laughter now, and it makes him almost human, but Merlin can't help but feel the tone is condescending and that the guy is taking the piss.

"And you call this piece of scrap metal a fine car? You really are totally insane!"

Merlin blushes even deeper now and, with it, rage rises to his chest.

"I know this is my fault…," he starts.

"Yes, it bloody well is," the guy agrees, before Merlin can continue.

"...but there's no reason why you need to be such a prat about it and so bloody rude and arrogant."

That shuts the guy up for a second. He clearly didn't expect Merlin to stand up to him or talk back. It seems he is used to call the shots.

He stops short and looks at Merlin properly for the first time, takes in the tall lanky figure in the shabby clothing, assesses the angry look on his face, faintly acknowledges the high cheekbones, the full lips, the messed up mop of hair and the ridiculous ears.

"Have you any idea how much this repair is going to cost?" He sighs as if giving in at such a picture of pity.

No, Merlin doesn't, and at the moment he does not want to know either. It's simply too depressing. He already anticipates that he will sleep in the cold and eat macaroni and cheese for the next six months, or longer.

"I need your insurance details." The guy starts, busying himself taking his mobile out to type in the information.

"I'm waiting!" The voice sounds as if he is shouting orders to a servant.

Merlin swallows, as he feels his blood drain out of his face. This is the bit where everything is really going to go to pots.

"Yes?" The voice draws out the question. When there's no reply, the guy looks up at Merlin, no doubt noticing the pale face and how his eyes flicker nervously around.

"You have no insurance, have you?" The realization is almost breathless as if the guy can't believe how anyone on this world can be so stupid. It is followed by an even deeper sigh than before.

"No, I don't," Merlin retorts defiantly. He is getting ready for the blow.

"I want your name and address so I can get my lawyers on to you." The guy sounds business like now. What does he care that he is just about to ruin Merlin's life.

"You can get your lawyers on to me, but I can't see what good it will do," Merlin states it like a fact.

"And why is that?"

"There's no way I can pay for your damages." Merlin feels humiliated admitting it, but it is the truth.

"We'll see about that," the guy hisses coldly at him and "Now get a move on. I have an appointment at two and I'm already late."

Merlin knows he has no choice and passes on his details with a heavy heart. He has almost forgotten he was supposed to be at the agency at two.

The guy just mutters "You'll hear from me." and then leaves with the tyres of his Porsche screeching as he speeds down Waterloo Street in a hurry.

Merlin takes a deep breath, gets in the car and turns his keys in the ignition. Unbelievable! The motor purrs to life at once this time. Merlin shakes his head indignantly, but he knows Aithusa is temperamental and there's no point at all taking it out on her. He has no idea how he will deal with this latest catastrophe in his life, but first of all he needs to get to the agency. It is his main source of income after all.

He parks in the staff car parks at the back and runs up the beautiful flight of stairs. The agency works from a small old building and it is one of the quieter suburbs.

Merlin rushes past the sign. 'Rapport' – Relationship Counselling' and runs straight into Gaius who seems to be quite out of sorts.

"Where have you been? You are late!"

He sounds annoyed and although Merlin hates to disappoint his mentor, he's known Gaius since he was six and can read him like one of his old books. He may be irritated, but he isn't really angry. Gaius has been in Merlin's life since the day they found out. And then everything changed. It was Gaius who saved Merlin. And that formed a bond between them, almost like father and son. He was the father Merlin never had, the guiding hand leading him when he needed direction.

"Sorry, Gaius, but I had a small crash."

Gaius looks horrified for a second. "Are you alright? What happened?" he inquires, his voice completely changed and tinged with concern.

"I'll fill you in later," Merlin says and puts his hand on the old man's arm to pacify him. "I'm fine, really."

"Who is my first client?"

"Well, I need to fill you in on that." Gaius drags him into his office.

Merlin follows wondering what will await him this time. He has worked at the agency for two years now and he likes the fact that he's been the most successful counsellor around. He has reconciled 93 per cent of the couples who have come to him for guidance and advice, and his record is unbroken all over the city. People wonder what his secret is, how he gets people to talk to each other again and how he saves their failing marriages.

Merlin smiles a little to himself. It is a secret that nobody but Gaius knows. Something he finds difficult to explain, even if he tries really hard. But he's always had the skill to intuitively understand what people feel. A touch on the shoulder or even on the arm, held long enough, and it is as if the soul of that person speaks to him, tells him of their worries and needs. When he does it he feels something warm and golden flow through his veins, a feeling of power and love that transcends to the person in front of him, and encourages them to open up to him, to bare their soul and heart. After that Merlin's task is so much easier. It is his gift.

People have recommended him. Asked for him. He knows he could make a full time career out of this if he wanted to. He could earn really good money if he picked the right clients. But his heart is in medieval literature. Always has been. And he doesn't want to miss the chance to do what is his most fervent passion. Although, he has to admit that the accident today might necessitate a change of policy sooner than he might have hoped.

"A very old acquaintance of mine has asked me to counsel his son. It seems his marriage has been in turmoil for a few months now. Rows, thrown pottery, shouting matches etc.…" Gaius looks at Merlin.

"So, nothing we have not heard before," the younger man sums up.

"This is different." Gaius sounds incredibly serious, and Merlin looks at him questioningly.

"Your counselling has to be kept a secret."

"That is also nothing new, as everything we do is confidential anyway."

"I just want to make sure you understand. It's important for many of us that you succeed."

Now Merlin's really intrigued. This is going to be interesting. "So who are we talking about?"

"Arthur Pendragon," Gaius almost whispers the words. Merlin's heart misses a beat and he sits back in his chair. Then he takes a deep breath.

Uther Pendragon is the uncrowned leader of this country. Every important decision sanctioned in parliament is run before him first. And it isn't only the political power that makes him stand out above everyone else. The Pendragons are old money and not only filthy rich, but they know how to get richer by the second. They own more companies than the public probably knows about. Real estate, publishing companies, clothing empires, right down to chocolate production. They have a finger in everything that's top notch at the stock market.

Arthur is the only son and heir to the empire. And it was well documented in the papers when he married Vivien Dubois, the daughter of Uther Pendragon's equally wealthy business partner. Any fracture in the marriage would be devoured by the press with glee, so it is no wonder Gaius has asked for special confidence.

"Arthur Pendragon – The golden boy," Merlin remembers the nickname given to him in the tabloid press.

"That's the one," Gaius says. "Uther's asked for the best to deal and I'm happy to oblige. The future of the Pendragon Empire depends on it."

Merlin wrinkles his brow. "How's that? Surely Arthur could divorce and find someone else?"

"Well, that's not what Uther wants. He's determined to keep the link to the Dubois family and wants a grandchild to cement the line."

Merlin nods in understanding and tries not to look smug, but he can't deny that he's pleased he has been given this special case. He enjoys the challenge and he genuinely wants to help. Even if his client is a wealthy upstart.

"You are the best, my boy," Gaius adds. "Work your magic on him."

Merlin smiles. "You know I'll do everything in my powers."

Gaius nods at him. "I have taken him into your room."

Merlin walks past reception where Gwen sends him a thumbs up. She has become a great friend since he's worked here and she looks pleased he has been entrusted with the destiny of this particularly important client.

The door to his room is slightly ajar, but he can see the outline of a young man sitting in one of his cosy armchairs staring out of the window. The blond of his hair and the broadness of his shoulders look strangely familiar. Merlin closes the door and walks up to the man.

"Hello. I'm Merlin," he introduces himself. "I have been assigned to you."

The young man turns round, and then the shock on both their faces almost cracks the glass of the old standing clock in the far end of the room.

Arthur is the prat with the Porsche.