Rosemary

one

The summer breeze blew leisurely wisps of cloud across the periwinkle sky, as if the cumulus was mildly curious and wanted a closer look at the mortal realm below. Even the sun seemed reluctant to leave the sky, then letting the moon watch the action. Somewhere a bird sang.

"This is what it's like to be about to die." Arthur thought groggily through the drugs that had both incapacitated him and stopped him from feeling the large bruise on his left cheek. His hysterical giggle was smothered by the paving stone and the puddle of his own sick he was lying in.

"My god are you okay."

Arthur tried to look up, but it hurt too much. He made a grunt that he hoped translated as 'go away'. He tried to move away from the soft hands that tried to lift him up.

"It's okay." The voice murmured "I've got you."

He squirmed as he felt the sick on his face (how did that get there?) being wipped away.

"…not..child…" he slurred, surprised at how ineffectual his voice sounded. He heard the smile in his unknown benefactors answer.

"You look a mess."

Arthur managed to look at him with his bloodshot eyes.

"What 'bout you… you're…unfocused…all three of you!"

He said this as if it was some personal insult.

He helped Arthur to stand, he seemed more steady now. Even so, he seemed to be doing a worthy impersonation of Bambi.

"I'm going to have to get you home." He said gently, helping Arthur take some awkward steps down the alley.

"Where do…?"

Arthur tripped into the stunned arms of his helper. Her groaned as his hangover threw aside all pride and buried his head into the stranger's chest.

Arthur felt a gentle chuckle shake through the others body. He took a long needy gulp of air, inhaling the strange herb like smell that seemed to radiate from the boy. He idly wondered that cosmetic companies would love to bottle that scent. His peculiar aftershave somewhat reminded him of his mother, how he....

"Arthur."

The stranger suddenly realized this was the blond's name, and he was expected to give his own.

"Merlin."

_._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._

The hallway Merlin had to wait in could have fitted his bedroom in his uncle's small bungalow in maybe twice.

He had delivered the hung over Arthur to his father's large penthouse. He couldn't shake the feeling he'd seen him before.

He winced as he heard more shouts coming from the study that couldn't have been help Arthur's headache. He'd been sent strait in there when they'd arrived with an apologetic smile and a 'wait here'.

Minutes later the door burst open and Arthur ran from the room, followed closely by his father's angry voice. Arthur didn't bother to even look at Merlin and run up the stairs. His only reply to his father's bellows was a relay of banged doors.

The owner of the voice poked his head round the door. With a face to place to Arthur's name Merlin realized who he was.

_._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._

Uther Pendragon was the owner of well respected company that build and designed weapons and building defences. Every terrorist conscience company worth its salt bought from Pendragon.

That was not the reason Merlin knew him. About a year ago the Pendragon Corporation had planned to build a testing area near Merlin's old town. The proposed area designated for this monstrosity was slap bang in the middle of the heath, no use to anyone surely. But the villagers in the know knew this was an ancient site. Old legends and wives tales listed it as high as the Glastonbury Tor and Stonehenge. It was home to a confused adolescent Merlin.

The company had, at first pretended to take their complaints seriously, but they only truly listened to the villagers when the murder happened. There had always been groups of ragged hippy wannabe witches, who lived on a diet of Harry Potter fantasies and heroin, in the town. During a stoned night in the heath they'd kidnapped one of the planning supervisors.

The newspapers gleefully showed the gory remains, taking close upon of the pentagrams and rune carved into flesh, hearing only the sound of there bank accounts increasing instead of the anguish of the victim's widow.

The testing centre was never built. Not a brick was laid. But still foundations were laid, the foundations of Uther Pendragon's hatred toward hippies and pagans, Wiccans and New Age-ist, or even anyone with weirdly died hair. They said he lost billions in the planning of the testing centre.

_._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._

And here was Merlin, the very epitome of everything Uthur Pendragon hated, standing in the doorway of his office.

Uther smiled "Please come in a minute, Merlin wasn't it?"

Merlin could barely nod, he took a shaking step into lions den.

_._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._

My first Merlin fic so you don't have to be nice. Just tell me what you think.