Vanishing Point
May. 9th, 2023 10:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
texasdreamer01Recipient: Lyssa13
Rating: Teen
Fandoms: Kingsman
Characters: Harry Hart | Galahad, Merlin (Kingsman), Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, Roxy Morton | Lancelot
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Kingsman: The Secret Service, Mentions of Kingsman: The Golden Circle, Harry Hart Lives, Arthur!Eggsy, Guinevere!Harry, Pre-Relationship, Developing Relationship, Politics, Burdens of Duty, Triumvirate, Mythology References, Fantasy elements, Not Britpicked
Summary:
"The king is dead. Long live the king - by nearly-forgotten, dusty clause.>"
“I beg your pardon.”
Eggsy’s voice was stiff, back even more so. His face was rumbling with the beginnings of thunder, held back by the thin lashings of disbelief.
Merlin sighed, clicking off the screen of his tablet and vainly wishing for a moment to have hair to run his hand through. “This is what happens when you commit a coup, lad.”
“D’état!” Eggsy protested, tossing away the thin façade of his commoner’s reputation. The man threw an expansive arm to underscore his point, “I was a failed recruit! By all rights, you should have wiped my brain and dumped me in a gutter!”
He would have stressed for Eggsy to lower his voice, but by the steady beeping of the complex machinery keeping their erstwhile Galahad alive, the point was moot. “Be that as it may,” Merlin replied, interrupting the emotional storm simmering across the other’s body language, “You do have the right.”
“I- what,” Eggsy made an earnest face, bewildered and desperate as he waved a hand in front of him in gesticulation, “How? ”
The pressure behind his eyes was drying, and he made the executive decision to prop his glasses atop his head to rub a tired hand over them, waking up his tablet and keying in the password to hand it to Eggsy. He watched as the man - their newest Arthur - scrolled through the damning text, face alit in the faint purple wash of light as each line was meticulously scanned for important phrases.
Eggsy frowned, and Merlin could suck in a breath at how different it was in tone from the usual pouts, smirks, and thin tendrils of fearful tension that had accompanied the recruit training and subsequent, haphazard mission to save the world. By god, he thought, I can see it.
And he could, truly, envision the sight of Eggsy at the helm of their enterprise, commanding their missions and guiding them along their core principles. The seriousness that was curving the former recruit’s brow was unlikely to buckle from the strain of their tasks, and the sight made his heart swell in unfathomable affection, the sort that would cause him to bend in service. It had been such a long time since he felt such stirrings, and his eyes ticked almost unconsciously to the other man lying across from them.
Galahad , Merlin thought, observing the determination coalescing across Eggsy’s face, The sights you’ll be seein’ soon.
There was a tapping upon his tablet, Eggsy looking up at him thoughtfully, a conclusion already forming in the man’s eyes. “Why has nobody ever brought this bylaw up before?”
What brought his attention more than the arresting gaze was the slip of humor hiding underneath the grave, subtle accusation. “Why indeed,” Merlin replied, scoffing. Not everyone is like you, lad , he thought, We’ve become too bred to accept authority , “And leave a string of assassinations? It’s a good thing you’re young then, Eggsy, you’ll be withstanding your own barrage of… suitors.”
And wasn’t that a perverse idea. He wet his lips, watching the gleam in Eggsy’s eye as he was studied. Something unspoken went laid to rest, and he exhaled as their new king bent his attentions to the document once more, frown softly highlighted violet.
“Wha’s there to be sayin’ about protection, then?” He was asked, and Merlin watched as particular sections of the text were highlighted. Struggling to remember the precise words by overhead glance at the shape of the paragraphs, Eggsy ran over his thoughts with a contemplative sound, “That kind of clause warrants some kind of bodyguard, a’ least.”
Merlin nodded slowly, percolating the idea. Between the crumbling of the world and its partial, private section of resurrection, he had not memorized all the ins-and-outs of this particular law and all its related remarks lost in the dusty archives of the estate. Sticking his hands in his pockets, feeling a little awkward without his so-called magic wand at his immediate disposal, he stepped closer to read the text over Eggsy’s shoulder.
“I imagine there were some sort of failsafes involved,” He mused absently, watching as Eggsy’s finger upon the tablet slowed in its scrolling trawl, “Given that it would be an easy one to abuse.”
They paused for a beat, Merlin feeling the fatigue inch closer over their toes in a warning wave. He stifled the urge to lean into the heat so near to him, grumbling. If Eggsy was the one to sway minutely in him, well, he could hardly fault the lad for his exhaustion, running around the past few days as he had been.
Silence passed comfortably for a few beats, nothing but the pause of Eggsy’s inspection of Kingsman’s foundations and Harry’s monitors giving indication that a world of greater attendance awaited them.
He almost let his eyes blink lazily when Eggsy’s sharp inhale stiffened both their postures. A question was at the tip of his tongue when it sank back down at Eggsy’s whispered proclamation.
“Guinevere.”
“What?”
It was his turn to be baffled, Eggsy rounding to face him, nearly bouncing onto the tips of his toes with the energy of whatever revelation it is that he just discovered, “ Guinevere, Merlin,” He exclaimed, “Do we have one?”
Merlin blinked. The roster of agents was slower in being recollected, decimated as their ranks recently were. He pushed away a grimace at yet more rounds of candidates - that was going to be a royal pain in his arse - and came up with a blank, “Er. No, not t’ my knowledge.”
Eggy’s eyes sparkled excitedly, and he looked back down at the tablet, moving the document to the section the man apparently already had in mind, “Merlin, exactly ,” The statement was breathed out, excited, reflected in his gaze when he returned Merlin’s perplexed attention, holding up the tablet, “There isn’t one.”
Peering at the displayed text, a section detailing the extraneous duties of agents under such a clause enactment, he frowned, “... Aye, lad.”
He rolled his eyes at Eggsy rolling his eyes, accepting the tablet being shoved back at him with a huff.
“Merlin,” Eggsy said seriously, lips twitching up into a smirk, “We’re going to create a Guinevere.”
As it turns out - if’n the case anyone was asking for his opinion, which they weren’t - creating an agent was damned near impossible. Not by edit, no. Oh no, that was the first official thing out of their new Arthur’s mouth, and the old urge to strangle Eggsy reared its head, long-buried he thought that impulse was from the early days of the Lancelot training gauntlet.
No, the difficulty of this was configuring the systems to create new agents in the first place. Nominating a candidate to fulfill a previously-named role was one thing - easy enough to do, just adjust the permissions and move some data around.
But making an entirely new profile?
“Cannae be done, Arthur,” Merlin commented tartly, “It won’t take to the systems. Absolutely bollocked, it won’t accept even a workabout profile.”
Eggsy arched a brow, the challenging, teasing tilt making him scowl, “Come now, dearest Merlin,” Said Merlin snorted at the carefully-applied arch tone, “Yer a wizard, can’t you wave a wand at it?”
“ No ,” He retorted, uncommentative of the hand rested upon his shoulder. It was a new development of Arthur, and he supposed it was a branding, divorcing himself from the image of the old Arthur. Merlin was loathe to divulge exactly how comforting the commiserative gesture was, nor how supportive.
Sighing, he set the mug of tea down, all robust Scottish tea that did not work the miracles he was needing it to this past week, “The problem is that I don’t have high enough clearance to do so.”
Blinking, Eggsy looked at him in bewilderment, “You’ve got the highest clearance in the agency, Merlin, how do you not have access to this?”
Warmed by the blatant and simultaneously earnest praise, he shrugged his unadorned shoulder, leaning back in his chair, “I shouldnae be restricted anywhere in the system, given that all of this was created by the first Merlin as soon as we had the technology available. We’re sysadmins, nothing ought to be restricted t’ us.”
We built the damn thing went unsaid, but not unheard. Eggsy sighed, leaning against the desk to peer more closely at the monitor. He was content to lean back and let the lad have the space to work, even if he was uncertain how much could be actually accomplished; miracles had been accomplished in the past several months with less, and Merlin was willing to believe in probabilities.
Eventually his mouse was commandeered, as well as his keyboard, despite the skip in his pulse at having anyone other than his team touch Kingsman’s code - it only settled with a forcible, stern reminder to himself that Eggsy’s skills at technology had skyrocketed after the first preliminary exam for candidates. If anyone could parse one of the hearts of their agency from his tutelage, it would be the young man yet to be coronated as their newest Arthur.
Still. He sucked in a silent breath, watching as Eggsy hunkered down into the meticulous sprawl of code with a frown of concentration chiseled onto his brow. It seemed almost like monotonous work, watching the man learn as he worked, a steady rhythm that had Merlin settling more comfortably into his chair.
A blink later and he found new text being written on the screen, a command window opened up and what looked like their mainframe being updated. There was a jolt of adrenaline that had him shooting forward, poised to retake control. Eggsy had a gleam in his eyes as he stared at the monitor, typing not quite with Merlin’s speed but with appreciable velocity, “Shh,” The man dismissed his alarmed demeanour easily, not halting in his typing, “I think- almost got it.”
Merlin adjusted his glasses, loathe to attempt recording the code onscreen but wanting badly to have this event saved for prosperity. He twisted his attention to the monitor instead of their Arthur instead, wanting to catch up to whatever the hell was going on in the two seconds he wasn’t paying attention. Now’s not the time for debating trust.
Chester had broken what Eggsy was taping back together, with a solid determination and a burgeoning eye for strategy. Swiveling his chair closer, Merlin muttered to himself what he could read on the rapidly-shifting screen. “‘Last known location’- why are you editing his profile?”
The “he” in question went understood, a side monitor lighting up with the grim bastard’s face that Merlin had known as a comforting fixture of the agency until quite recently. Eggsy was making a considering noise, absorbed in his task, and one that he could now see was guided by the computer itself. Prompts were flying across the main screen, answered nearly as quickly as they were brought up.
Arthur was being re-written, and Merlin was confounded as to why it was necessary.
Ostensibly a mind-reader now, Eggsy tapped the ‘enter’ key with a pointed amount of force, “Arthur’s the only one able to create new profiles.”
Merlin supposed, after a moment to privately gape, that it was a sensible conclusion. He leaned back in his chair, processing the development, “How in th’ bloody hell did you figure that?”
Eggsy cut him a glance, “I asked.”
Who was what he wanted to ask, but then the spare puzzle pieces managed to click together and Merlin deeply wanted to swear in a creatively filthy manner. “What’s the name of the program?” He demanded, fingers itching to snatch the keyboard from under, apparently, the properly-reigning Arthur’s control. Impudent as that would be, “What backdoor is this?”
Silence was his answer, Eggsy leaning back in satisfaction as the monitor at last flashed to a more familiar scene.
Agent created, codename: Morded. Position filled by: Gary Unwin.
The profile itself was nearly blank, absent of images and dates that would have otherwise provided the contextual framework to illustrate the ongoing history of their organization. Notably, it was a profile bereft of other, previous agents in the position. As was proving a trend, Eggsy was a ground-breaker in this aspect of Kingsman as well.
Beside him, Eggsy was watching him absorb the shift in perspective. Something must have shown on his face, for the man nodded slowly, hip cocked against the edge of the desk and arms crossed. “Guess the name of the program,” He asked - commanded - Merlin quietly, nodding at the monitor in front of them, “How do you think I did this?”
It made him feel unaccountably young again, being thrown into a test and ideally discovering the answers after he failed miserably. He swallowed, knowing Eggsy was simultaneously too kind to humiliate someone but also too intuitive to avoid the hard lessons. The information was sparse, but there must be something-
“This allows the coronation, doesn’t it,” Merlin replied, frowning thoughtfully at- at Arthur, who was somehow also Mordred. A connection was wriggling around in his mind, and he wasn’t sure how to catch it. Literature was never his strong suit.
Eggsy’s lips ticked into a brief smile, mused and encouraging, “‘The king is dead, long live the king.’”
“How-” Merlin pursed his lips. Kingsman was illustrious, in many sense of the word; they didn’t pick the name they used on a mere whim, and while the mythology was built up post facto , they did maintain some sense of consistency to their theme, subtle as it was, “... Excalibur?”
He received a mild shrug and tilted head, “Close,” Eggsy said, smile stretching into a grin, “I suppose you could say a sword was involved.”
That atrocious pun aside, Merlin shaking his head and huffing a laugh - pen is mightier than the sword, indeed, he turned his attention back to the screen. Wracking his brains for something outside his immediate forte was a difficult task, but he was intent to succeed, “So not a sword, but a sword nevertheless,” He mused quietly to himself, grabbing the mouse and clicking on the command box to scroll upwards for clues. Interestingly, most of the information automatically erased itself, which was irritating but bolstered a swelling of pride that this circumvention of one of their silently-beating hearts was not totally compromised, “Something… to do with a sword? With corruption.”
Beside him, Eggsy hummed encouragingly, spurring him on into thinking that he was taking the correct tack. He mumbled to himself, wheeling his chair closer to the desk and sinking into the familiar rhythm of cracking a puzzle in front of him. Dragging various windows across the field of screens, Merlin widened his vision, comparing multiple scenes in the progression of Mordred’s existence.
An agent like Mordred could not simply spring forth into existence - even languidly, there was little conceivable way for Eggsy to create an entire profile from scratch, format and all. Mordred sprung from the grave, unburied with the stroke of a key and wielding that which could fell even a king.
It was… it was impossible that Mordred was new. And that left precious little explanation, the realization impelling him to whirl his chair around to face Eggsy directly.
“Merlin did make this,” Eggsy said quietly, looking at him intently, “But the original Merlin needed someone to kill Arthur, just in case.”
Just in case. And wasn’t that a harrowing thought, that even the most insidious of plots was accounted for. “And only Merlin can crown an Arthur,” He murmured back, stunned, “‘The king is dead, long live the king.’”
And here Eggsy nodded, a slow dip of his head in recognition. It aged the man’s face, the blue of the monitor casting shadows that would otherwise have been caused by experience. Perhaps it did , Merlin thought, casting his gaze over his Arthur’s visage, Perhaps we finally have someone who understands it.
He turned back to his computer, drawing up the profile of Arthur under the guise of the late Chester King. There, in the footnote, laid the evidence he needed to see.
Mode of death: Assassination (Agent Mordred) (edited)
Rarely did he feel the urge to heave a deep sigh, but at this Merlin did so, feeling drained. The data wasn’t hyperlinked to other documents within their system, no, but he knew as someone who held the keys to the proverbial castle that there were still means available to him to discern the truth.
He needn’t, given that he had watched the edit performed in real time, but the confirmation still rang uncomfortably. Eggsy stood beside him, tall and unyielding. The expression on the other man’s face was familiar to many of the facets of determination he had worn during the course of his candidacy, but the new dimension to it was yet-uncrossed territory.
Merlin swallowed, throat dry with the answer, “The Lady of the Lake.”
Eggsy nodded, looking as solemn as Merlin felt.
Turning to the keyboard, Eggsy brought up the command window, typing in a fluent set of words that he must have recently memorized in the haystack he had been rifling through. Login codes, they were, and what he now knew were for Mordred.
Bringing up his own profile, their new Arthur keyed in the changes to one “Gary Unwin, Candidate: Lancelot (failed)”, and they both watched as the screen blinked and updated with the new coordinates.
User: Gary Unwin. Agent: Candidate (Lancelot, previous), Mordred (previous), Arthur (reigning).
A flicker of the monitors, blue awash and fading out to a new screen, their breaths holding fast as they watched the mainframe process the update.
New Agent, Arthur, instated. Coronation may proceed. Press Enter to continue.
Sliding a sideways glance at him, Eggsy passed the keyboard toward his hands, where they had been pressed into the desk in wary anticipation. The central monitor showed nothing more than the standard screen for inducting a new agent into the fold, username pre-filled and pop-up open to change the password from the system default to whatever the agent decided their new one to be.
It felt more monumental than it was, despite having gone through this process more than once - had done so quite recently with Roxy for her formalization as the ultimate successor to Lancelot. Still, he couldn’t help but look back at Eggsy, waiting for the man’s nod before laying his hands upon the keys.
Change password?
// Yes.
Enter current password.
Merlin watched the cursor blink for the span of a few heartbeats, inhaling as he typed in the one he had been ordered to memorize as soon as the previous Merlin had instructed him on the information surrounding their Arthur. Upon Chester’s death, the password had automatically reverted to the default only a Merlin would know.
The clacking of the keyboard was the only singular, brief noise between the two of them, Merlin’s heart too well-trained to thump unsteadily despite the unknown.
Password accepted. Enter new password.
He breathed out, lungs feeling rattled with the solution Eggsy had managed to shake forth. Silently, he passed the keyboard back, into Arthur’s waiting grasp. Despite the keys being pressed, he knew he would never be able to truly guess what the new password was - no Merlin would allow even the smallest of whispers to betray them in their domain.
Waiting out the changing of hands, Merlin stared dutifully into the middle distance, gaze affixed onto the monitors rather than the modernized coronation happening a scant breath away from him. Only the sound of the enter key, noticeably only for its age shown through frequent use, surrendered the damning finality.
The central monitor flickered to a new message.
Password accepted. Welcome, Arthur.
Beside him, Eggsy exhaled, in tune with the nerves he himself was wrestling with. It was one thing to merely pronounce Eggsy their new Arthur - it was quite another for the mainframe to officially recognize the young man as Kingsman’s newest ruler of the roost. For a moment neither of them did more than absorb the changes.
“Well,” He breathed out, leaning back in his chair, turning to look at the man standing beside him, “Welcome, Arthur.”
Eggsy tilted a smile in his direction, fond and warm, “Thank you, Merlin. It’s good to be here.”
The only - or rather, next - thing left to do was the second edict in their new Arthur’s queue. Guinevere, now that Merlin knew how to better dig around the castle, was an equally derelict agent name that was waiting to be unburied just like Mordred. There were few conditions to instating someone as Guinevere, but those were weighty conditions, indeed.
The Lady of the Keep was the only agent that Merlin couldn’t assign. After a bit of swearing and some ruminating by Harry’s bedside, where the man was now only sleeping deeply rather than deeply recuperating, Merlin could accept the fairness that was a hidden Mordred for a hidden Guinevere. Arthur needed some defense against assassination, and Merlin needed a sporting chance to topple a king.
Just in case.
It was a phrase nearly forbidden among Kingsmen agents, well used to being the ‘just in case’ measure for world peace, and this sort of stipulation made his ears ring the further down he dug into the dusty corners of the mainframe. It was certainly an educational experience, finding out precisely how much of the organization the previous Merlin had deliberately made hidden.
But then, after all, that was its own security measure. Chester had been a good warning - trust no agent, especially the ones you had no choice but to trust.
He was still turning the matter over in his mind as Lancelot squirreled her way into Merlin’s office after her most recent debriefing. The lass was doing well, spearheading the restructuring of their organization and taking Eggsy’s coronation rather well. Merlin supposed that saving the world in an appropriately dramatic fashion straight after one’s final exam would function as a rather good bonding activity.
Even if it was highly unusual for failed candidates to stick around. If Valentine hadn’t been on the docket as a current mission that had already felled two agents and taken advantage of the corruption of more, Eggsy’s best hopes would have been an ordinary, actual tailoring job, completely upon the mercy of Chester and what leverage Merlin could have used.
They nodded to each other, Lancelot revealing a small box with a flourish upon a side table. He appreciated the attention to detail, knowing how many agents needed reminding that no food was allowed on Merlin’s working desk.
“I take it New York went well?” Merlin asked her, standing from his chair to the coffee maker tucked into a dedicated corner.
She nodded, leaning against one of the decorative tables, “It had been fun posing as a research assistant,” Lancelot replied, accepting the freshly-made drink with a nod, “It’s going to take some time for the academic circuits to recover themselves. So much damage was done to their credibility, they’re going to be even stricter with how many people they take in.”
Merlin nodded to her sigh, adding a splash of cream to his own coffee in acknowledgement of one of their best agents back in the roost. He could never bring himself to do so during active missions, well aware of how they could go tit’s up at a critical juncture; Harry certainly added a polish to the reputation of Galahad, in that respect, despite how absolutely capable the man was at stringent professionalism when the situation called for it.
Shaking his head, he returned his thoughts to his waiting guest, “Aye, though maybe they’ll think twice before accepting students based on recommendation,” He replied, settling down in one of the leisure chairs with a gesture toward the spare. Lancelot took a seat with a hum of agreement, “That whole fiasco with the American testing system didna do them any favours.”
“At least it’s over,” Lancelot murmured, stretching her legs out with a pleased noise.
Both of them knew full well that such work would likely never be done, but Merlin agreed with the sentiment that encompassed the shadow of Valentine, “At least it’s over.”
They sat in relative silence, Merlin with one eye toward the message board his team used to keep him updated. While there were still some agents out in the field, they were mostly reconnaissance. Even months down the road, the world was still reestablishing trust with itself - on multiple levels. Too many had died, and while it resolved some long-standing issues that had been weighing their corner of the market down, it brought up new ones that Merlin felt everyone was struggling to see the light in.
“We have another one on the continent for you after your leave,” Merlin informed her, taking a sip of his coffee and watching some updates scroll in to his glasses. Nothing of the unusual sort, but the signs of liveliness were relaxing, “Some hospitals need bolstering, and we need to connect some research on tax documentation to the right parties.”
Lancelot rolled her neck, propping her head up on an upturned palm. Her posture spoke of weariness, but he could tell from the relaxed sparkle of her eyes that she saw the pattern of milk runs he tried to evenly distribute throughout the agency. He smiled into his cup, knowing the well-wishing he was sending had been received.
“You’ll need to see Arthur about the finer details,” He continued, setting his cup down with a light clink, “But I feel your alias of Sofia Torres would be apt for the mission.”
It was an older profile, as old as one could get with half their members being recruited within the past year. But the façade of Ms Torres, an aspiring medical technician that was well-situated to hang about the shadows of more well-known doctors and hospital personnel, was one they had opportunity to leverage frequently in the nascent hours after Valentine’s mop-up. It was a perfect position for Lancelot to slip in and out of hastily-constructed field hospitals dotting the planet, the various associated charities that shipped medics to an fro more than happy for an extra pair of hands.
Roxy’s training in field first aid prior to her candidacy made her maneuvering of Lancelot whilst searching for any surviving agents exceptional, and Merlin appreciated that they were able to save even more people due to her quick eyes and steady hands. It was her who had helped he and Eggsy argue their case for Harry’s return from Statesman, a reliable presence when it came to dissecting the finer social points neither he nor Eggsy could discern.
Politely draining the rest of the coffee, Lancelot nodded, rising to her feet, “I’ll let him know you said hello.”
Merlin smiled into his cup, “Be sure you do, Lancelot.”
It was rare that he spent a day without slipping into the meeting chambers where Arthur held court, even moreso now that the world had fallen in to shambles. Valentine and his team might have worked hard, but Kingsman worked harder.
Such a sentiment was even more apparent as he entered this morning, sun still in the process of dawning and Arthur neck-deep in manually signing off on various updates to Kingsman missions and policy reforms. Ace up their respective sleeves regardless, they were both still sloughing off the morass of corruption that had built up over the pragmatic bones of their organization.
And speaking of such ‘aces’, Merlin began his day with the daily report of Galahad’s status, knowing it was a linchpin to their moods and setting the stage for the coming routing of responsibilities. He presented the medical report first, setting the tablet down in front of Arthur’s work and waiting for the man’s pen to pause for long enough to broach the subject.
“Good morning, Arthur,” He said, “Only minor changes today. Doctor Lenore mentions that Galahad’s neurotransmitters are reaching stable levels, and that the surgeries are healing nicely.”
There was a more thorough description in the walls of jargon on the document, which Arthur immediately started scrolling through, reading glasses perched on his nose to reduce the strain of such fine text. While Merlin could commend himself for a mediocre understanding of everything their medical teams got up to while regularly performing miracles of reviving their agents and stealing them from death’s door, he nevertheless found himself routinely impressed with how Arthur had committed himself to the unenviable task of nearly memorizing the reams of information necessary to interpret Galahad’s shifting condition.
It was time that built itself up, and he made himself comfortable in the guest chair, well-learned in Arthur’s unofficial policy to not make others wait - sometimes literally on hand and foot - while he digested the nuances of his duties to the agency. Minutes passed in inviting silence, letting Merlin take in his other daily routine: watching Arthur read.
Such a habit was a miniscule indulgence, but he savoured the time to watch the man’s face mould itself in reaction to whatever he was reading. With Galahad, it was always with the same level of concentration that beheld the agent in… Merlin refused to think ‘in life’, especially now, but perhaps ‘in person.’ The attentiveness that could likely be transmitted through pixels alone to Harry himself in the spirit of well-wishing was as warming as a bonfire merrily burning away - heartening, and restoring even if he wasn’t the direct recipient.
Galahad would live, and vivaciously, if only because Eggsy wanted it.
He watched as the document was eventually finished in its considering review, the tablet with the official slating of events waiting in reserve once the matter of their most infamous agent was handled. After a few more moments spent in companionable silence, hazel eyes flicked up to his own, contemplation etched into the creases of Arthur’s face.
Abruptly, Merlin is certain that their docket of other items will wait a moment longer, and he leans forward in anticipation.
There’s a smile on Arthur’s face, one hand on the latest news of their fallen agent. It’s a delicately-posed tranquility, one that beckons to him. “Merlin,” His king says, “See about waking Harry. I need to have a chat with him.”
It was, of course, now possible to wake Harry. Not that he wouldn’t have done so even if they didn’t have a chance in buggering hell of accomplishing it - there was one thing Merlin was learning, and that was that he would bend the world to Eggsy’s will, the same as he would for Harry.
One of these days it would scare him. Not today, though, he was too busy with assisting the doctors in reviving their agent by standing watchfully out of the way.
The various monitors beeping their signs to the room were a symphony folding over a new page. He could vaguely understanding what the changing noises meant, but the physicians were moving as a well-oiled team to its beat, lines being changed out and instructions being ordered as the flow of Galahad’s consciousness was roused into proper wakefulness.
Were it not for the fact that the man had already woken on his own and drowsed vaguely into consciousness enough times to soothe the medical reports constantly recorded of every microcosm of Galahad’s health, this process would have been painful to experience and also to witness. As it were, things were much more orderly, the lights dimmed out of respect for the patient’s comfort and voices at a murmur - or nearly so - to encourage a softer awakening.
It was worth it, so, so incredibly worth it, to watch those doe eyes bat open with the familiar spark of awareness. Merlin clutched his tablet to his chest, heart tripping over itself in relief. He watched in silence as Galahad responded with halting exhaustion to the diagnostic questions, only able to chance lip-reading when the other wasn’t being swarmed by doctors reading his vitals and verifying them with their own eyes.
Eventually, Doctor Lenore peeled away, content to let those she was directing to handle the minutiae. She smiled up at him, reassuring, “Agent Galahad is in fine health. Be gentle on him, he’ll likely fall asleep soon.”
He nodded, laying a genteel hand on her elbow in acknowledgement, “Thank you, Doctor.”
“I’ll send a tray up,” Their CMO responded, smile tilting fondly, reciprocating the gesture.
They exchanged appreciative looks, and the good doctor was followed out by her own retinue in piecemeal, leaving Merlin alone with a weary Galahad. For a moment they did nothing more than look at each other.
“You’re awake,” Merlin says, feeling perhaps a little stupid but unable to contain the urge to point out the obvious.
“I’m alive,” Galahad said quietly, looking vaguely surprised about the fact.
The words were their own instrument, and Merlin found himself by the man’s bedside, fingers ghosting over Harry’s wrist in a manner too gentle to be strictly called professional. It turned the man’s eyes toward him, gaze soft and wondering. They were quiet, the steady heartbeat enough between them.
It was a familiar sound for Merlin, used to having it in his ears as a consequence to harrowing and otherwise intensive missions. That the sensation was relegated to his fingertips was reassuring but also disappointing, to have such a world narrowed down to a comparative pinprick.
Nevertheless, he pronounced with a dry voice, briefly squeezing his fingers over the sleep-frail wrist, “Alive. You idiot.”
Galahad’s smile was wry, voice rough from disuse, “I found this near-death experience rather… unsatisfactory.”
“It should,” Merlin retorted, throat thick, “It was supposed to have been permanent.”
That news brought a complicated look to Harry’s face, confusion twisting the man’s features. He refused to relinquish his grip, missing the barometer he had taken for granted for too many years. The heartbeat beneath his fingertips was steady still, guiding his own heart into forced, practiced placitude.
“I-” Harry said, voice cracking. His eyes left Merlin’s, staring toward a place Merlin remembered like the back of his own eyelids, “I am sorry. Truly.”
“Tell that to the both of us,” Merlin rasped, squeezing the hand below his.
It made the monitors warble, the one he had long ago memorized as the blood pressure briefly pinging higher, an accompaniment to the stress response he knew his words introduced. Bloody bastard, he thought, bereaved and glad all at once that such a conversation was even possible, Too many close calls. I shan’t have it.
He waited until he received an answer, the hand in his weakly squeezing back. The acknowledgement was enough, and he listened to the quickened breathing as Galahad dragged his injured mind upwards into the newest conundrum presented to him. Such a thing was always a marvel to see, even if half the time it terrified the wits out of him to know that it had sometimes been a Hail Mary of its own.
“I’ll bring him up,” He promised, smiling in the face of Galahad’s wild look sharply directed at him, “If y’ think you can stay awake long enough for that.”
“Yes.”
Merlin smiled at the gasped, determined reply, “That’s what I thought.”
There must have been a hell o’ a quarrel between them, if the hiccuping breath Arthur let out at the sight of Galahad sitting upright and awake under assisted steam was anything to judge them by. Bewildered as Galahad might be, the man didn’t resist when enveloped in a tight hug, cradled with a fierceness that had the monitors protesting.
He felt his heart aching with softness when Galahad was released only long enough to have a kiss pressed onto the other's forehead, watching as the two of them melted into the reciprocation of relief. This was a moment long in the waiting, and whatever blood must have bled between them, he could see the scraps of those wounds beginning to heal as they murmured to each other.
It was a sight that told him the universe was righting itself, at least his little corner of it. The stabilization it evoked loosened a knot that had been twisting in its repose for over a year, coaxing Merlin to breathe a sigh of consolation.
When the tablet in his hand beeped a reminder, the flow of messages never actually ceasing, Arthur and Galahad’s attention was drawn back to him. Biting back a sigh, Merlin turned the screen back on, swiftly keying in the password. Nothing out of the usual, and for once it was mostly updates, “Nothing to worry about, gentlemen,” He assured them, “Though we will be pressed for time shortly.”
Galahad shifted back into his bed, weariness still dropping his own shoulders, chased by their king’s hand on his shoulder. He shifted closer, casting a significant look across the both of them.
“Oh, what’s this eyebrow for now,” chided Galahad on a sigh, letting himself be settled in with murmured affections and gentle gestures.
Merlin was loathe to let their time wheedle away too soon, and looked on with amusement at the fussing. Finally, when they both looked to be settled, he turned his tablet ‘round, angling the screen away from Galahad with a crisp, “Arthur.”
It was worth it, to see the way Galahad’s eyebrows shot up, heart monitor making a brief, irritated blip at the deviation from the norm. “Arthur?” He demanded, “What about him?”
Scrolling through the scanned documentation, with its hastily, helpfully-added highlights and commentary, their resting agent was received of a raised brow, “Arthur is quite fine,” Eggsy replied, one hand idly patting the man’s, brow furrowed, “Let me just- ahah, there we are.”
“ Merlin -” Galahad said, frowning at the both of them. He tilted his head toward the younger man, instead, ignoring his friend’s stern demand with the benefit of years of serene practice.
“Galahad,” He replied, smiling, knowing it irritated the hell out of him and relishing that he had the opportunity to parry such scandalized vocalizations in person, “I’d suggest listening.”
We’re not done here , was the glare leveled his way, even as they were politely interrupted with the tap of Merlin’s tablet upon the bedrail, “If you would,” Arthur said genially, a grin tugging on his face and drawing a smile out of both of them, “ gentlemen .”
“Of course,” Merlin said, pressing his lips together in what he knew was a badly-concealed attempt to hid his smugness, “Sir.”
“Sir?” Galahad muttered to himself, incredulous, “Eggsy, what-”
Another pat of his hand, comforting and not even an ounce vaguely condescending, even if Harry quite indulged in puffing up like a peacock. Woe to his ego that the man didn’t realize he was already the center of attention. He caught Arthur’s eye, winking. The laugh he received was warm, in on the joke and that Galahad wasn’t - not just yet.
Bloody bastard, he thought fondly, The sights you’ll be seein’.
“This,” Arthur said, sliding right through the non-verbal conversation he and Galahad had slipped back into with ease, presenting the tablet to Galahad, “Is a job offer.”
For a moment, Galahad seemed to brace himself, brow furrowing even as he tried to shuffle himself around so that his hand wasn’t far away from Arthur’s. “I… thought I already had a job.”
“You do,” Arthur assured him, firm. He nodded at the tablet and its vows of information, “But there’s another for you, if you like, Harry.”
That seemed to take the wind out of the man’s sails, even as it visibly made his thoughts veer toward scyllan confusion with the dichotomy. He watched Galahad’s eyes flick toward him, and Merlin nodded in reassurance. Between the two of them, that seemed to be enough consideration, and they both watched as his attention turned fully to the information presented textually before him.
He could see the line of tension in Arthur’s shoulders, knowing that they were balanced on a knifepoint of Galahad’s opinion right now, and wished he could take that unfathomably large step to rest a weighty hand on the man’s shoulder. Such comforts might be relegated to later, privacy yet to be dictated. Merlin inhaled, instead, wetting his lips as he briefly locked gazes with Arthur.
“This is…” Galahad murmured, the quality of his frown changing to something softer, a confusion that bordered the bewildered their Arthur had only months prior, back when the subject was first broached about the update in organizational effects, “This is monumental. How is this possible?”
Although the question was directed toward him, Merlin nodded toward Arthur sitting between them, “That’s a question better put to him.”
“... Eggsy?” It was no less baffled in tone, but more personal, a plea to make sense of things. It was such a change from what Arthur had quietly confessed to them of his and Galahad’s last, actual conversation, and he witnessed the toll it took on the man as he inhaled, grasping Galahad’s hand in an unwavering grip. There was no question, he noticed, of how Eggsy would know anything, only the unwavering faith that events would occur in such an orderly way that the world could be made sensible with a simple inquiry.
Arthur’s inhale, steady and voluminous with the weights of his shouldered grief, was yet another insight that this man was indeed the true heir to Chester. He found himself nodding, softening the lines of his posture, “Go ahead.”
There was a nod in reply, a steady exhale, “Galahad,” Arthur said, steadfast, “I pulled the sword from the stone.”
Galahad gaped at both of them in silence, and they let the words sink in, Merlin feeling like they were both recalling the warnings of the medical staff that it might take some time for genuinely more complex conversations to be possible with Galahad. He bit back a prayer that they had leveled that particular hurdle.
“Chester was…” Arthur swallowed, his face momentarily contorting to a fraction of his remembered anger, “unfit. He was killed.”
“By who?” Whispered Galahad, looking wan.
Here, Arthur’s face looked up toward Merlin’s own, gaze searching. Do they tell the truth, or merely the nicely formatted version of it? He found himself leaning against Galahad’s bed, tightening the sphere of conversation tighter around them. “I think it would be wise,” Merlin said slowly, looking pensively at the nearly-forgotten tablet resting in Galahad’s off hand, “To tell the whole truth.”
“And nothing but the truth?” Arthur said wryly, lips ticking up in a ghosted smirk. The man sighed, “Very well.”
Squeezing Galahad’s hand, Arthur resumed, “Agent Mordred was written in, and the assassinator of the previous Arthur, Chester King.”
Looking like he didn’t know which question to voice first, Galahad looked between them, attempting to digest the mountain dropped onto his lap, “And what,” He said quietly, at unease, “Does this have to do with me.”
Arthur brushed an invisible hair off his leg, not meeting any of their eyes, “It happened shortly after your death, Galahad,” He said, nearly prim, “It was discovered that your death was considered… acceptable.”
The look in Galahad’s eyes were of a depth of tolerated sadness that made Merlin immediately wish to never see it again. With how Arthur was looking at a distant spot on the floor, he could guess that this was an unrevealed facet to their argument after the candidacy final exam. It was a realization that struck at his heart, impelling him forward toward Arthur and clasping a tremulous hand over the man’s shoulder.
He decided it would be best to pick up the thread, “Agent Mordred was… a temporary creation,” Merlin said, directing his gaze toward Galahad, wishing to take away some measure of the lost look on the man’s face, “It was necessary in order to coronate the new Arthur.”
“And we have one?” Galahad asked, “We have an Arthur?”
“Aye,” He replied, nodding down to where their king was sitting in the middle of their huddle, “There is, however, a complication.”
Pale as he thought his friend could become, Galahad became paler still, a fearful tremble in his hand despite how Arthur clutched it even tighter, “And what would that complication be?”
“The creation of Mordred requires the creation of another agent,” Arthur said, “For as Mordred is the death of Arthur, only a Guinevere can be Arthur’s salvation.”
Looking appropriately overwhelmed, Galahad faithfully took back up the tablet, reading it with a closer study. The three of them were silent in the intervening time as their agent caught up to the conundrum of the hour. Merlin could only discern the minutiae of time passing by the expression of Arthur shifting as Galahad’s grip waxed and waned, how the set of Arthur’s shoulders changed in tandem and radiated up to Merlin’s grip.
“Only a current agent can be Guinevere,” Galahad eventually responded, looking exhausted, “The requirements are quite particular.”
“It must be someone I trust,” Arthur said, not batting a lash to how Galahad startled, looking the agent in the eyes, “With my life.”
“I-” Struggling to sit further upright, Galahad was enlivened into reaction, “Eggsy. Arthur.”
Merlin nodded, sombre, “Aye. He is our king.”
A gasp from Galahad resounded forth, rousing Arthur in his seat as he looked back upon the man with a shuddering sigh as Galahad ignored the tablet clattering from his lap, “He tried to kill you? ”
The anger was something Merlin didn’t realize he had missed, how protective of a rage it could be, enveloping anyone it was aimed at. Resurrection from death or not, Arthur was likely the safest person in the room - he amended that quickly to the entire estate with how the monitors beeped and warbled, a healthy flush across Galahad’s features.
For his part, Arthur nodded, sinking into the umbrella Galahad was casting about him. “I’m alive,” The man said quietly, bereaved, “But I didn’t want to be, not if- not-”
Inhaling, Merlin cut in, “The world went to hell in a handbasket, Galahad,” He said, unable to completely hide his own devastation, “Kingsman was nearly mobilized under Chester’s orders - he had sold himself out to Valentine. If it weren’t for the… subsequent events, we wouldn’t have a new Arthur at all.”
“Come here,” Galahad gasped impulsively, grabbing Arthur and by extension Merlin within his reach, “He would have killed both of you. Oh, he almost got away with it.”
They all huddled either together in the bed or over it, pressing into each other. It was warm, reassuring in how Merlin could feel with his own two hands that both of them were as alive as Galahad was only now realizing. He would have apologized for how rude of a wake-up it was, but the words crumbled behind his lips at the sheer relief in the way Galahad and Arthur were turned into each other, himself half bent over them and feeling rather glad at his own broadness that shielded them from view.
“Harry, please,” He murmured above their heads, “Be Guinevere.”
“Yes,” Harry replied, grip firm on the both of them, “Yes. I shall be anything you need. Anything at all.”
Arthur shuddered between them, a buried-deep distress shaking out of him, a hand twisting tightly over each of their own. Merlin found himself resting his head upon Arthur’s shoulder, sinking into the feeling of a recuperatively-chilled hand cupped over his cheek. We’ll be alright. Everything will be alright.
“Oh, my dears,” Harry murmured, hands calloused and voice rough, “I’m here. Never again shall your backs be left unprotected."
The sunlight was golden, filtering in between the brocaded curtains tugged aside to let the springtime sights filter through. A pot of tea was steaming on the desk, the periodic glint of a gilded pen as it danced across numerous pages the only interruption to the calm.
Merlin was seated in his usual chair, comfortable and lived-in, redecorated with a blue brocade that held knights prancing upon horses as a coy joke as a memento to some occasion he scarcely remembered. His tablet lay in his lap, undisturbed and screen having long since gone to sleep, his attention instead fixed to the expansive gesturing of Guinevere as a riveting piece of gossip was retold.
He was sure the numerous illustrations to the story were for their benefit, and he slipped a smile to Arthur, watching as the man didn’t bother to hide his own, eyes warm behind the windows of his glasses. The crinkling of wrinkles at the edges of his eyes were as deep as the smile of Guinevere’s face, drawing up a similar depth from his own self.
It would be waxing into summer, soon. They were still drawing up the roster of candidates for the latest round of recruitments, and expansion into Merlin’s branch for scouting activities. Parameters were changing, accommodating the needs that Arthur was seeking to assuage the neglect of.
Kingsman was running smoothly under Arthur’s hand, and Merlin smiled, leaning forward to refill their cups. Though some ships had set sail, theirs was currently safe in port, weathering whatever storm they had faced Kingsman toward.
He had a good feeling about it.
Notes:
The point in a perspective drawing at which parallel lines receding from an observer seem to converge.
The situation in which, place where, or point in time when some object or phenomenon is no longer observable or notable.
“If people reach perfection they vanish, you know.” - The Once and Future King (1958) by T.H. White