Merlin Emrys was all mouth and no trousers.

That's the only way Arthur could accurately describe him really – the kid certainly looked the part, possessing an awkward sort of charm that helped him wrap the audience around his little finger while severely lacking in the magic trick area, which is kind of essential if you're going to make a living by claiming to be a magician. 'Making a living' was questionable, actually, if his scrawny frame was anything to go by.

"Bless him," mumbled Guinevere, about ten minutes into the act. There was an air of familiarity in her voice. "He really tries. Never seems to get anywhere,"

Arthur looked to the young girl next to him – missing out only on Emrys trying and failing to catch a rabbit that had escaped his briefcase, how cliché - whose face had contorted into a kind of polite embarrassment, like watching a parent drunk-dancing at a wedding. "You've seen him before then? I didn't expect him to have fans."

"Yeah, um, Merlin's my best friend. We share a flat."

"Oh… well, I mean, he's not that bad, I suppose,"

Guinevere smiled. "It's okay. He knows what people think. He won't give up, though. I think it's quite admirable, really."

"…yeah." And then conversation filtered out comfortably for the rest of the show.

Arthur understood what Guinevere meant. Here was this man on stage, all elbows and knees and lopsided grins, knowing that the majority of the people in the crowd are only here for the laugh. He knew perfectly well that they were laughing at him, rather than his jokes and tricks, and yet he didn't care. He was doing what he loves, after all.

Like the girl said, there was something rather admirable about it.

The rabble in the audience had died down a little, with many getting bored of standing in a crowd, eager to be drunker than they currently were, and Merlin was relieved. Although he was good at hiding the disappointment he experienced during every gig, the feeling never abated.

As the lights went down in Fyrien Nights and he took his usual place on stage, Merlin remembered his first ever professional gig. It was in secondary school – unpaid, so it wasn't exactly professional, but he liked to remember it as such – and his bones felt like they were going to explode with excitement. The running order changed every-time; the one thing that was absolutely dead-set, however, was the butterflies. Any nervousness was combated by the memories of mastering the butterflies. It didn't matter if any of his other tricks went wrong because he always had the butterflies up his sleeve, metaphorically speaking.

"Right, okay, ladies and gentlemen," It was time for the last illusion. Merlin cleared his throat and grinned. "This next trick is my favourite, and don't worry, it's the last one, so you don't have to put up with me for much longer!"

That, at least, gained a small laugh from the crowd. He noticed Gwen smiling up at him from the audience. She was standing with her friend Morgana, her partner Leon and a man Merlin had never seen before, good-looking in a self-assured sort of way. Maybe Gwen brought a date? Whoever he was, he had scepticism in his eyes. Well, that just had to go.

"I'm going to make butterflies appear from thin air."

Merlin knew this trick would be much more appreciated by an audience of kids and not boisterous drunken cynics, mostly of student age or a little older. But money was tight and the owner of the bar was willing to take a chance on him. The relentless optimism instilled in Merlin since he was a child by his mother would blind him to any kind of embarrassment anyone would expect him to feel after his shambolic 'magic' shows and then he would go home, pay his half of the rent and watch a pointless movie with Gwen, feeling like the happiest man in the world. It didn't matter that he wasn't exactly Houdini reincarnate because he hadn't fallen at the first hurdle, given up and consigned himself to a life of misery doing some boring minimum wage job that he hated. That was something nobody could take away from Merlin Emrys.

He cupped his hands to his chin, covering his mouth, and then softly blew into his palms. The wriggling sensation he got was the best part of the whole trick – it was success, and it gave him butterflies, if you'll excuse the pun. Dramatically, he dropped his arms to his sides like a soldier and grinned proudly as his little creations danced around the room, capturing the audience's eyes with genuine excitement for the first time all night. It was amazing.

"Goodnight, ladies and gentleman… if anyone wants to buy me a drink, I promise I won't say no!"

It had been a bad day for Arthur Pendragon, but it certainly hadn't been a bad night.

The gig he was absolutely dreading turned out to be more than entertaining, even if it was for all the wrong reasons - he needed reassurance that it wasn't just his intoxicated brain, that Merlin had made butterflies appear out of nowhere. The guy had broken his 'wand' in half despite only touching it once, managed to let a chubby rabbit escape, and tripped himself up on the microphone wires. It was one of the most beautiful things Arthur had ever seen, though he would not be admitting that to Leon or the others; Morgana would never let him life his sappiness down.

Closing time was drawing nearer and nearer. The magician guy had joined them at their booth not long ago, engaging Guinevere in conversation and leaving Arthur feeling like Leon and Morgana's unwanted third wheel. His bottle of beer was empty, and with nobody to talk to, his mind was wandering back to the places he was trying to distract it from. Marriage. Money. Morals. It was time to go home.

"Right, I'm off. See you later, and uh," Arthur caught Merlin's eye. He was actually rather good-looking, in an ethereal kind of way. "Good.. er, good gig."

"Cheers, but you don't have to spare my feelings. You can just tell me I was shit, I really won't mind."

"Well, yeah, you were pretty shit, but God loves a trier." smirked Arthur, immediately wondering why he said it. Merlin was going to think he was some insane bible basher now. Why do you care what some half-arsed magician thinks of you? Get out of there now, you've had far too much to drink.

Arthur slung his jacket over his shoulder, mumbled more goodbyes and made his way out of the bar, where the fresh air hit him like a ton of bricks. Sighing, he stopped and rested against the brick wall, closing his eyes. It was times like this he wished he smoked. There was too much on his mind to just go home, go to bed, wake up and go to work. He couldn't act like everything was normal when it wasn't. It was the reason, Arthur had already worked out, that he couldn't get that Merlin out of his mind.

All his life he had been raised believing other peoples perceptions were the most important. Uther had taught him from a young age, sometimes indirectly, that showing weakness was wrong, respect was earned and friendships were bought rather than forged, with their sole purpose being to better your own life in some way. Attachment could lead to all sorts of mistakes - which was why Uther was perfectly okay with his only son marrying for money rather than love. Not that it was going to happen, of course; the government might have managed to push through the same-sex marriage bill but they would have a much greater struggle trying to destroy the homophobia that was deep-rooted in people like Uther Pendragon.

"Where is my money then, you little prick?!"

Arthur's eyes snapped open. There was no-one there.

"I gave you your last warning!"

Instinctively, he followed the raised voices. It probably wasn't a good idea to get involved, having been drinking for hours. Then a new voice could be heard.

It was Merlin, Gwen's friend. He sounded calm, his voice betrayed only a slight nervousness. "I've told you, I'm not giving you anything else!"

When Arthur found them around the back of the building, Merlin was crouched haphazardly by the bins with blood dripping from his nose. There was bruising already forming underneath his left eye. Whoever had been shouting was nowhere to be seen, so Arthur offered the other man a hand and helped him get to his feet. Merlin didn't look shocked, he didn't even look embarrassed that someone had overheard his altercation. He just smiled.

"My mate Will always said I was a push-over. I guess I didn't realise he meant it's really easy to actually push me over,"

Arthur let out a laugh. "It's probably cause you're so skinny, a bit of wind and you'd be on the floor."

"Funny, yeah..." muttered the raven-haired man, pressing two fingers to the tip of his nose in an attempt to stop the blood flow. "Listen, erm, about what you just heard, if you did hear anything, do you mind not letting Gwen know? She worries."

"As long as you tell me who the hell that was."

Merlin should have seen him coming really. He had been ducking Cane's calls for days and had purposely avoided any place in town where they might have bumped into each other. He had no money - what was Cane expecting? Struggling magicians don't tend to come with hundreds of pounds to spare, even horrifically under-appreciated ones who could create real-life butterflies from nowhere. Merlin constantly had to remind himself why he and Will had decided to do this - to save their families the trouble.

It was well known that a couple of wealthy entrepreneurs were teaming up to head a new project that would see his home town, Ealdor, flattened and replace d with generic blocks of flats. Cane and a few of his money-grabbing thugs had decided to strike while the town was at its most vulnerable, creating a money-lending scheme. All the residents were terrified of their imminent homelessness so Cane was able to charm his way into their trust. He was a monster of the worst kind, and Merlin wouldn't let his mother suffer at his hands. He and Will took it upon themselves to meet with Cane and his men, promising to pay off their mothers debts. Merlin had met the target without much trouble, taking on a couple of part-time jobs in between gigs, yet it wasn't enough. Cane demanded more, claiming Hunith owed interest.

Merlin hadn't known that Arthur - who turned out to be Morgana's half-brother, not Gwen's date - was listening around the corner. He was grateful that Cane had left before Arthur had had the chance to intervene. If his muscles were anything to go by, he probably could have held a good fight but Cane was relentless, and Merlin really didn't want to be the one to explain Arthur's broken bones to his sister. One thing he wasn't grateful for, however, was his next sentence.

"As long as you tell me who the hell that was."

It's none of your business, he wanted to say. But he couldn't, because Arthur seemed genuinely interested, and other than Gwen and one crazy fan he had almost had to get a restraining order against last year, no-one really took an interest in Merlin's life. "He's no-one."

"No offence, mate, but you don't look like the sort of person to go around starting fights behind pubs.."

And so Merlin gave in, and spent ten minutes in the cold night air telling this stranger - because lets face it, he was pretty much a stranger - about Cane and Ealdor, loan sharks and threats, terrified mothers and idiot sons, and pretended not to notice when Arthur's face drained of colour at the mention of his home-town.

Ealdor.

Where had he heard that name before? I'm involved in a project that will benefit thousands of people, Arthur. The land Ealdor covers could house so many.

The village that his father and his business pals were going to destroy. It suddenly hit him - Ealdor wasn't just a statistic or a measurement, it was a real place with real people that had lived real lives there. People like Merlin, a seemingly nice man trying to make a living. Arthur's rather dusty conscience struck.

He took out his wallet and pulled a couple of notes out of it. He didn't know how much was there. It didn't matter. It was still going to be a patronising gesture even if it was £1 or £100. "Take this,"

"No, I can't take your money. I barely even know you."

"Call it a loan. Or not, given the circumstances. Call it whatever you like, I don't care."

And with that Arthur turned and walked in the direction of the nearest taxi rank, hoping beyond all hope that karma would reward him with a complete re-write of this fucking day.

AN: Thank-you for the response! It means a lot.

I'm finding out how hard it is to write MerlinxArthur. I ship ArthurxGwen above all really, but I have been reading loads of Merthur fic recently and decided to give it a go. I'm trying not to rush into it and do the whole love at first sight thing. So I hope this chapter is okay (The only part I'm not really happy with is the last Arthur PoV, it seems a little rushed).

Please leave a review! :)