:i:

Improvisation: The art of thinking and performing music simultaneously.

- Grove Dictionary of Music (1954)

:i:

TWO

:i:

On Monday, Gaius had a whole pile of CDs and scores waiting for Merlin. The pile was so big Merlin literally skidded to a halt in the doorway, jaw dropping with horror at seeing seven German Urtexts residing in the same room.

"Ah good," said the Maestro, looking up from a page of notes. Merlin dropped his bag and several red gummy bears escaped from an unzipped pocket.

"What is that?" he asked, eyeing the stack of scores and making his way around the far end of the piano to avoid them. Gaius chuckled.

"I have a job for you. If you're interested."

Merlin perked up. The last time Gaius had wrangled Merlin a job, it was La Grande Echelle. He trusted Gaius' judgment impeccably after that – aside from when it came to Mozart and Beethoven, of course.

"Okay!" said Merlin, forgetting the Urtexts instantly in the face of possible pastries and a new piano to play on. He bounced a little on the piano stool.

Gaius raised an eyebrow.

"It's not that sort of job, Merlin. It's time you started concentrating more on your repertoire, and I've recommended you for an accompanist post."

So no pastries. But that was alright, thought Merlin. He often accompanied people, students usually, as he had a knack of learning pieces incredibly quickly, and according to Gaius, incredibly inaccurately. Also, people paid accompanists well and that was always a bonus. Merlin always loved the different voices that came with playing with someone else. He loved hearing how the novelty of an oboe sweetened the tenor of the piano, how the cello was like a particularly well-made pastry base to fluffy treble notes or how the violin was just so romantic.

"You'll need to have better concentration than this, at any rate," said Gaius. Merlin suddenly realised he'd become too immersed in his food and music simile and had zoned out completely. He gave Gaius a guilty grin, and the Maestro only shook his head fondly.

"I think this will be invaluable for you."

"Who am I accompanying?" asked Merlin, curious.

"Arthur Pendragon. He's a violinist – very good. "

"Ohh, a violin!" said Merlin, ecstatic, "Okay!"

Gaius' other eyebrow went up also.

"He has a very demanding repertoire," he said, pulling the scores closer and laying them out on the music stand. Merlin's eyes boggled. "And the concert is in three weeks."

Merlin flipped open one of the books, a smoothly red Rachmaninov (Of course it was Rach), gingerly. The others were just as daunting with their titles in black and gold. Mozart. Bach. No water-color impressionists here. Only music like oils and sharp ink. Merlin drooped a little.

"Why am I only being called in at three weeks?" asked Merlin.

"His accompanist had an accident. Injured her hands quite severely," said Gaius and Merlin winced in sympathy. He chewed on his bottom lip, turning another page of yet another Urtext. "I know Arthur's father of old, and I recommended you. No one else will be able to play these up to standard in the space of three weeks."

Merlin puffed up a little at the thought of Gaius choosing him, him, above all the other students at the conservatoire. The feeling was warm and inflated his heart like a Brahms lullaby.

"Thanks, Gaius," said Merlin, grinning, "I won't let you down."

He reached for the CDs, but Gaius stopped him, pushing the CDs away. Merlin frowned.

"You have no idea who Arthur Pendragon is, do you?" asked Gaius, sighing.

"No," said Merlin, confused, "Should I?"

"I know for a fact you live in an apartment, Merlin Emrys, and not under a rock. Let's just say you will be learning all of the pieces by score-"

"NOO!" Merlin wailed.

"- and I want these," Gaius slapped Rachmaninov and Mozart into Merlin's lap, "Memorised by Wednesday. I know you can do it."

"But I can't!" cried Merlin, feeling a little dizzy from all the horror. He drew the word "can't" out. "You know I learn with recordings. How else am I going to get everything up to scratch in three weeks?"

"Arthur Pendragon is not that Lancelot fellow you always accompany. Bluffing your way through all the difficult sections will not suffice, Merlin."

"I don't bluff my way through them!" protested Merlin, indignantly, "I improve them!"

Gaius gave him a stern glare and Merlin shut his mouth quickly with a click of teeth.

"Don't be blasphemous," scolded Gaius, "Now let's begin."

Merlin groaned.

"Can I get Lance to practice with me as a warm up?" he asked, hopefully.

"No."

"Can I at least listen to the CD once through?"

Gaius whacked him over the head with a rolled up piece of manuscript.

"Ow!"

"I can promise you your usual lackadaisical playing will not work for Pendragon at all. So we better start now. You have a long way to go."

:i:

Merlin first played the piano at kindergarten.

He was only five when his father died from cystic fibrosis.

The fact that these two things occurred at the same time was always something Merlin kept tucked away at the back of his mind. To be absolutely honest, he couldn't remember his father very well at all – just the smell of grass, dirt, warm hugs and rumbling laughter. He could vaguely recall smiles, crinkles around the eyes like crinkles in well loved music and the sensation of flying. But that was all.

He could recall the piano with perfect clarity.

:i:

"He's still studying at the university?" asked Arthur, unable to keep the doubt from his voice.

"Apparently he is a prodigy, according to Gaius," said his father stiffly, setting down his pen and appraising Arthur from behind the wide expanse of his desk. Arthur tried not to fidget.

"It's just – perhaps it would be better to hire a professional?"

"Morgana is professional," said Uther flatly, "and even she says it's impossible."

"Then why-"

"I trust Gaius," said Uther in a way that brooked no argument, "He has never been wrong in the past."

"How soon can we start rehearsing?" asked Arthur. He felt tired, exhausted from the building tension that had him coiled tighter than a violin string. Now that the shock of finding Morgana in hospital was wearing off, Arthur was being slowly and surely consumed with panic.

Uther typed something on the laptop in front of him, and it was a long moment before he spoke.

"This Friday. Gaius says Emrys will have your concertos and Rachmaninov by then."

Arthur's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"This Friday? That's… impressive."

Uther snorted derisively.

"We shall see. I don't need to tell you how important this concert is, Arthur."

Silence smothered the room like words on a page.

"Yes, Father."

Arthur went back to his studio. Once there however, he couldn't bring himself to play, to drill the bars he knew better than the back of his own hand. Instead, he made himself freshly-squeezed orange juice and played the Borodin Quartet through the surround sound system. Chamber music always managed to calm him down.

Arthur took the glass of juice with him and settled into the only comfortable chair in the room. He watched the sunlight filter through the windows and ceiling, watched it refract off the glass shelves. The picture of his mother smiled at him from the corner of the room, and Arthur thought about playing one of her recordings instead and listening to the droplets of an imaginary piano fall from the wall. She was an amazing pianist, or so he had been told.

Deliberately, Arthur drained the juice. He rinsed it under the cold tap and set it to dry in the never-used dish washer. Wiping his hands with the white towel hanging by the sink, he made his way back to the piano. His violin case was closed, sitting silent and still on the table. He could do this in his sleep. Arthur let the smell of rosin fill his senses, familiar and safe.

A violinist is never perfect.

Arthur picked up his violin.

:i:

Merlin dumped all the new music on top of all his other music on top of his piano. He glared at it for a few moments before collapsing onto a beanbag. It was already Tuesday, and he was only half way through the Rachmaninov. The notes on the page seemed to squeeze and pull each other into illegibility every time Merlin tried to concentrate, making him feel as if he was musically retarded. If his budgie's reaction to his playing was anything to go by, he was sounding musically challenged too.

"I can't do this!" he complained to Wolfgang, "It's impossible! I bet not even Lang Lang could do this. Not even…No. Liszt could. And he'd totally rub it in my face."

Wolfgang chirruped and Mozart gave his companion a disapproving peck. Merlin got up from his beanbag, slipped on an empty candy packet and fell down again. Getting back up, he made his way carefully to where the cage hung, opening the door and sliding in a tentative finger. He poked Wolfgang in the fluffy stomach, nudging until the bird conceded and hopped onto his index finger. Merlin quickly withdrew before Mozart could bite him.

"I don't see why I have to memorise it when I get to use music anyway," said Merlin grumpily, walking back towards where his piano was just visible beneath everything that was on top of it, "Gaius is just being difficult as usual."

Wolfgang nibbled his thumb.

"Accompanists don't have to be note perfect," Merlin continued, "That's the best thing about it. No one is really listening to you, right? This would be so much easier with a recording…"

Flopping down onto the piano, Merlin set Wolfgang down so that he perched on top of the music stand. He hoped the budgie wouldn't poop on the piano again. Behind them, Mozart squawked indignantly, probably unhappy to be left behind. Merlin turned on his seat.

"You'll fly around the room and get stuck in some dark corner and I'll have to spend all day finding you," he told Mozart, "you never sit still."

Mozart said something very rude in a language Merlin couldn't understand. Sighing, the pianist picked up the first book on the pile (Rach) and smoothed it open on the rarely-used music stand. There was a little Post-It note in the corner, marking where Merlin had got to yesterday. He flipped to that page now, pressing down on the new spine to make the music sit right.

Wolfgang scooted over to the right to make room.

"Thanks," said Merlin.

Running a finger down a black key in apology, Merlin once again began to sight read.

An hour later, he was digging through his flat for his laptop.

"It must be here somewhere!" he told Wolfgang, who was riding on his shoulder, "I'm pretty sure I've used it recently. I think." He dived afresh into a new pile of laundry, pushing aside an open suitcase and several bags full of supermarket cookies. He almost dislodged Wolfgang when he threw several pillows out of the way. Dust tickled his nose, and Merlin sneezed. Then coughed. And continued to cough, wheezing a little as he tried to get rid of the familiar, obstructed feeling tight at the back of his throat. Forcing himself to stillness, Merlin gasped in a gulp of air and held it. Then it shook out of him in another bout of coughing which sent Wolfgang tumbling off his shoulders in a flurry of feathers and concerned chirping. He hated these episodes; random and triggered by the smallest of things. Merlin blinked tears out of his eyes as the coughing slowly receded. He let out a tentative exhale of breath, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, and returned to his search.

"Ah," said Merlin a little while later, pulling out the old black laptop, "Here we go."

It took more than five minutes to turn on, but at long last Merlin managed to connect to the wifi internet next door and logged onto YouTube. Then he proceeded to systematically type in all the pieces on the repertoire, setting the laptop onto the piano so he could follow along with the music at the same time.

The speakers of the laptop hummed and buzzed with the music, crackly and not the best. Merlin grinned as he turned the page.

:i:

By that night, Merlin could play the Rachmaninov from beginning to finish.

:i:

Gaius was glaring at him from where he sat, rolled up manuscript held poised in one hand. Merlin gulped as he lifted his hands from the keys, the lingering notes of the concerto still sinking into the walls like transparent bubbles. Merlin tried to look suitably innocent, widening his eyes in an expression perfected over the years in order to obtain offerings of cookies from middle-aged women and free food everywhere.

"Not bad," said Gaius at last, and Merlin almost cheered out loud, "But it sounds as if you learnt this blind."

Merlin went back to looking innocent.

"Blind?" he parroted.

Gaius, who thought Merlin was still seven years old, who hadn't really entered the twenty-first century yet, and who had not discovered YouTube, frowned.

"I don't know how many times I must tell you, but your accuracy is still abysmal. Sergei certainly did not write in that passage during the presto."

"I don't know what you mean," said Merlin sweetly, and the piano giggled, all strings and trills. Merlin quickly stepped on the une corda pedal.

Gaius rifled through the pages, eyebrows still as intimidating as ever. Merlin resisted the urge to poke them.

"I want to hear this again. Begin."

The Maestro was a heartless dictator.

"You know I'm not going to be able to play everything perfectly like a machine, right?" intoned Merlin sulkily, "Machines are overrated. I bet this Pendragon person wouldn't want a machine either."

Thwack.

"Less talking, more playing," said Gaius, unrolling the score theateningly.

:i:

"Arthur Pendragon?" repeated Lance, "Pendragon? Are you sure?"

"No. I was joking," said Merlin, biting into his second sandwich, "Are you happy now?"

"Pendragon as in Uther Pendragon's son?"

Merlin was beginning to get annoyed at all the fuss his friend was making of Prat. They should have been paying due sympathy to the pain of playing with a metronome for five hours straight.

"Well since they both have the same last name that would probably be it," he said peevishly.

Lance had abandoned his own lunch in favour of staring at Merlin with a disgustingly bright expression on his face. Merlin chewed the tuna viciously.

"Pendragon. As in Deutsche Grammaphon executive Pendragon."

Merlin dropped his sandwich. Thankfully, it landed in his lap and not the floor.

"His father's a music critic?"

Will repeatedly mimed slamming his head into the table beside Lance. Merlin felt a little bit of horror seep into his soul. Music critics were right up there with metronomes and neck-ties on his list of Evil Things. He hoped very much that Arthur Pendragon was not going to be like this father. Was the evil aura of critics hereditary?

"Only the scariest critic this side of the hemisphere," cut in Will. "Why did you say yes to Gaius, mate?"

"I thought it was going to involve pastry!" cried Merlin.

"This is a once in a lifetime opportunity!" said Lance, as if Will hadn't spoken at all. "Networking, Merlin!"

Will glared. His hair glared also.

"Critics are all the same," he declared loudly. Several of the nearby students looked over, and Merlin saw some of them nodding in agreement, "They should all jump off the Harbour Bridge."

"Your homicidal tendencies concern me," said Lance with dignity, even while drinking soda out of a can.

"Their job is to give musicians nightmares," announced Will.

"Your hair gives me nightmares," replied Lance without looking up.

"He will cut you down, cut you down!" said Will doggedly as he focused his attention on a quivering Merlin. "They are all bad, bad news."

"I'm meeting him this afternoon," said Merlin, clutching his music bag. "Don't tell me that!"

"I'll come with you, if you like," said Will generously, "and run through things." He glanced down at his wristwatch. "We still have about half an hour. Let's jam."

"What if his father is there?" asked Merlin, looking a little green.

There was a long moment of silence at the little table. All three music students paused in their eating to contemplate the idea of Merlin in the same room as a music critic. The image was akin to that of Merlin being in the same room as a metronome.

"I'm sure he's not that bad," said Lance encouragingly.

As promised, Will ditched his musical theory lecture to keep Merlin company. They made their way across the campus and took the lift instead of the stairs. Will insisted upon carrying Merlin's bag like the mother hen he was.

"All those books in one place can't be good for you," he said stoutly as they stepped out of the elevator and onto the first floor. There were several practice rooms on this ground floor, all of which were bigger and nicer than the ones located on the top floor which meant usually they were all booked out. Gaius had reserved one for Merlin and Pendragon's first practice, however, and Merlin was grateful for the space when he pushed open the heavy, sound-proof door.

"Have you gone through everything then?" asked Will, dumping his violin case on top of a table by the wall. Merlin pulled out a few of the music by random and set them out on top of the piano's glossy lid.

"Yeah. Except for the handwritten one, some transcription from Wieniawski. The piano is positively odd! I'm going to change it."

Merlin sat down on the piano stool and opened the lid with a little excited bounce.

"I like your attitude," said Will, pointing his bow at Merlin like a sword whilst tightening it.

Merlin played a little random excerpt, trying out the pedals. Music dropped out of the bottom of the piano like marbles, clear and solid. They sank into the carpet as soon as they were played, and Merlin played some more just to let the sound run into one another like excited children. He began playing a little of the Beethoven, simple and pretty, imagining the violin slurring everything over like a singer. It would be something bright, so the piano had to be gentler, softer like pastels on canvas. Merlin stroked the keys, dithering as Will came to stand by the piano.

"Far too boring. Let's go."

Merlin grinned.

/EMBED BEETHOVEN VIOLIN EXTRACT "LOL" version

:i:

Arthur had never actually set foot in this part of the conservatoire before.

His suit jacket and dress pants drew curious looks from the jean-clad population. But he ignored them and walked purposefully in what he hoped was the right direction. Arthur fingered the piece of paper in his pocket (Room 4, first corridor to the right) and shifted his grip on the handle of his violin case. Opening the glass doors, he stepped into the small foyer which led into a long, spacious hallway. Green doors, all of which were closed, lined the length of the corridor and offered entry into the practice rooms. Each room was identified by a brass number of by the handle. Faintly, as if from a great distance, Arthur could hear strands of music. He stopped outside door number four and looked in.

There was a little rectangle of glass set in the door, through which Arthur could see a sliver of piano and the back of someone very skinny, curved over the keys. There was also a violinist with absolutely shocking hair. He was bent almost double as he played with vigour. Arthur frowned, taking the piece of paper from his pocket. He glanced at the number on the door – perhaps there had been a mistake?

No. Arthur Pendragon did not make mistakes.

He opened the door.

Sound washed over him like a wave. For a brief moment, he caught the piano, lyrical and startlingly beautiful beneath a truly horrendous violin counterpart. Then the violinist stopped abruptly and then spun around to face Arthur. It took the pianist another three seconds to realise he had been interrupted.

"Ever heard of knocking?" asked the violinist, annoyed, hair bobbing in spikes as he talked.

Arthur raised an eyebrow and set down his violin case.

"Ever heard of a schedule? I believe I have this room booked for two o'clock."

The man's eyes darted from Arthur's tie to his violin case; then he said, with dawning comprehension and not a lick of respect:

"You're Pendragon?"

"Yes," said Arthur curtly, "I'm here to meet with my accompanist. Do you know where Mr. Emrys might be?"

"Oh man. I told you he'd be a fucking arse," he said to his friend, who was looking at Arthur with wide, blue eyes.

Very familiar blue eyes. Recognition was a strange sensation, rising hot past Arthur's collar. The ears were unmistakable.

"You!" he exclaimed, completely forgetting about being aloof. "What are you doing here?"

He had never imagined he'd see strange person who had bought Arthur back to his hole of a flat. Truth be told, Arthur hadn't thought about Merlin at all after that incident, which may or may not have involved a bottle of tequila, but seeing him again was like getting the air knocked out of him. But Arthur couldn't quite say why that was, exactly.

Hair Disaster looked from Arthur to his friend.

"You didn't tell me you knew each other, Merlin," he said, sounding confused.

"We don't," said Arthur determinedly.

"…."

"MERLIN!" Will waved a hand in front of Merlin's face, and the boy (for he looked no older than 18) seemed to start out of a daze. He began to ramble.

"We don't. Know each- I mean, I didn't know he was-"said Merlin, because obviously someone who kidnapped people off the street would be called Merlin, "not really I thought, I mean obviously-"

"I don't have time for this," said Arthur, beginning to get annoyed. He was oddly distracted by Merlin's cheekbones, something he didn't really have time to notice during their first meeting… kidnapping… escapade. He frowned and held tightly onto the present. "Where's this Emrys?"

Merlin coughed.

"I'm Emrys. Merlin Emrys, actually. And you're Aesth- uh, Arthur Pendragon…?"

Arthur stared some more.

"You're joking."

Merlin blinked at him.

"You're not Arthur Pendragon?"

Arthur didn't know whether he was being laughed at or the pianist – Merlin Emrys- was really this mentally deficient. He went with the latter.

"If you are indeed Emrys, then I hope you are as good as advertised," he said imperiously, turning to unpack his violin from its case. He slid the shoulder rest onto the base of the violin and swiped his bow with two long strokes of rosin.

"A," said Arthur.

"A what?" replied Merlin, still staring at him like a gormless child. Arthur gave him his most incredulous sort of glare.

"Play an A!"

"Oh! Right!" Merlin pressed down the appropriate key quickly, then helpfully added a D minor triad. Arthur ignored it, tuning quickly. He glanced sideways at the other violinist, who was still standing by the piano.

"Excuse me. I have a practice now," said Arthur, raising both eyebrows.

"So what?" retorted Hair Disaster.

"So it's your cue to leave."

"Who the fuck do you-"

"Will!" said Merlin.

Throwing Arthur a disgusted look, Hair Disaster, whose name was apparently Will, swung his violin case over his shoulder, violin and bow still held in one hand, and then stormed from the room. Shrugging, Arthur undid his top button and loosened his tie so that it wouldn't get in the way of playing. He turned back to face his pianist. The brief interaction with Will seemed to have rendered Merlin rather speechless, and he was still staring at Arthur over the top of the piano.

"How much of the repertoire have you finished?" asked Arthur because one of them had to be professional.

Fumbling, Merlin pulled a stack of music from a brown satchel by the foot of the piano. He dumped them in an untidy pile beside the music stand. Arthur resisted the urge to straighten them.

"Most," said Merlin, "Finished going through the concertos. And the Beethoven. And your Bach, of course."

Arthur was pleasantly surprised, even impressed. But he only said, "Good. We'll warm up with Spring, I think. Run it through."

Merlin flashed him a grin that momentarily blinded Arthur with its intensity. Arthur had to look deliberately away with a frown. He settled the violin beneath his chin, the sensation of it familiar as breathing. The bow between his fingers. The strings beneath. The stillness before the first note.

/EMBED BEETHOVEN VIOLIN – FULL

Merlin was very different from Morgana. It threw Arthur off, more than a little (which he realised, at the back of his mind, was a Very Bad Thing. You should never become dependent as a musician.) Morgana had a mastery of the piano that was rare; everything was precise and sharp like clear print on a smooth page. From the very first note, Merlin was…cantabile. That was the first word that came to Arthur's mind.The notes were fluid, gentle and it made Arthur lean in, unconsciously, closer.

Perhaps it was the piece, which was open major like an open skylight. But the sheer enjoyment on Merlin's face made Arthur feel as if the piano was pouring notes down his throat in a wash of sunlight. It took him by surprise, this odd, skinny pianist who played as if he had never stopped. Arthur let his notes ring clear, loose vibrato from the wrist to better hear how the accompaniment wound itself around the sustained note like-

Merlin was doing some very strange with the dialogue in his right hand. Something very strange and blatantly wrongwrongwrong. They kept playing, but it was obvious Merlin was beginning to – Arthur didn't really know what the hell was going on. He scowled and stopped.

Merlin kept going.

Arthur whacked him hard on the side of the head with the nearest Urtext. Bach.

"Ow!" cried Merlin, hands flying off the keyboard to clutch at his head. He stared up and Arthur.

"What was that?" demanded Arthur, "What on earth were you playing?"

Guilt flashed across Merlin's face, but he gave Arthur his most winning smile.

"The music..?"

Arthur could feel a headache coming. He played a phrase, quickly, briefly on his violin.

"From there. Show me."

"Uh…" said Merlin, glancing at the music in front of him. And that's when Arthur noticed. Although they were almost half way through the first movement, Merlin's music was still on the first page. Moreover, the book was upside down. Arthur stared, slightly confused and very irritated. He gave Merlin a measured glare.

"The music fell over," said Arthur's new accompanist, smiling hopefully.

Arthur was speechless.

"That was utterly rubbish!" exploded Arthur. Well, almost speechless. "You can't make things up in a lapse of memory," he continued, throwing up one hand in exasperation. He hoped his expression said 'profoundly displeased' because they had no time to waste as it was. Then something occurred to him.

"And why are you having a lapse of memory in the first place when you have the bloody music right in front of you? You're useless!"

Merlin was staring at him (again!). His eyes were very round and his mouth was slightly open; he looked like an idiot. Arthur gripped Merlin by the base of the neck with his free hand and forcibly turned his head to face the music.

"Beginning!" said Arthur, righting the music and stepping back.

:i:

"…he keeps going on tangents!" Arthur complained.

"Uh-huh," said Morgana, flipping a page of the magazine she was currently reading.

"Yes. I mean, he isn't too terrible a pianist. Obviously one who can't sight read to save his life, but still. Every time I think we are getting somewhere, he will play something blatantly improvised. It's unacceptable! I don't know what the Maestro was thinking. I can't go into concert with him, Morgana – he said he was improving Beethoven. Improving Beethoven! "

"You realise he managed to pick up two and a half hours worth of your repertoire in the space of a week?"

"I didn't say he was useless, per se-" said Arthur.

"I bet you did," replied Morgana with a smirk.

"He drives me crazy!"

"…"

"This is all your fault," said Arthur and gave up.

"Pass the orange juice."

:i:

This time Merlin saw the Urtext coming and managed to save a few brain-cells by dodging to the left. However, he overestimated the length of the piano stool and fell off. Arthur slapped the book back down onto the piano.

"Are you retarded or just blind?" he demanded as Merlin picked himself off the ground.

"Why are you so grumpy?" muttered Merlin. He was genuinely perplexed. Arthur seemed more interested in the accompaniment than in his own playing. In fact, his playing had become almost mechnical rarely varying despite the number of repeitions. As far as Merlin could tell, Arthur had everything note perfect, down to the very last staccato dot. It was almost like playing with a metronome, and it was beginning to make Merlin nervous.

Arthur looked a little mad albeit in an immaculately-dressed kind of way. His collar was still a perfect, white line although he'd been playing for the last hour or so. He looked a little wild about the eyes.

"Morgana was never so sloppy," he said, jabbing a finger at the music. "It's dialogue. Dialogue! It ruins my part if you're off doing your own thing!"

"I wasn't doing my own thing!" protested Merlin.

"I'm pretty sure those harmonies weren't like that the last time I checked!" said Arthur, "Also, you are meant to be following me. Stop slowing down here, it's not the exposition." He stabbed the page another time. It was going to be full of holes. Exhausted, Merlin slumed a little where he sat. Arthur set his violin down on top of the piano so that he might more easily tear his own hair in what appeared to be utter exasperation. He turned around in a half-circle, muttering to himself. Merlin watched him warily. He really didn't understand what Arthur's problem with his playing was – aside from his obsession with doing everything to exact specifications.

"Are you nervous about the concert?" asked Merlin tentatively, and then he screwed his eyes shut in preparation for the explosion. When none came, he cracked open his eyes slowly to find Arthur staring at him rather oddly.

"I don't get nervous, Merlin," he said curtly.

"Well," said Merlin, waving a hand vaguely, "you don't look like you're enjoying yourself at the moment."

At this, Arthur frowned. Or rather, his frown deepened. Merlin wished he would get a smile.

"What has that got to do with anything?" said Arthur, dismissively. He picked up his violin again, wiping one hand on a white cloth. Fastidious. Merlin blinked.

"What has...? Everthing! Why are you playing the sonata if you don't like it?" asked Merlin, closing the music on the stand and reaching for the last one on the "yet to play" pile. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"It's not about what I like and don't like," said Arthur, speaking very slowly as though Merlin was either very young or mentally retarded. Or both. "In fact," Arthur continued, "that's something you should learn. For example…not changing things as you see fit!"

Merlin winced.

"Look, I'm trying-" he started, but Arthur cut him off with an impatient wave of his hand.

"Try harder. We'll start from G."

Merlin pouted but turned the pages obediently.

:i:

They never talked about their first meeting.

Arthur thought it s count as a first meeting because not all the participants were sober. He kept everything strictly on the music so as to avoid any embarrassing conversations that might swerve that way. After all, Arthur was a professional.

Merlin marked the date carefully on his cellphone.

:i:

That evening, Merlin lay on his beanbag and finished sewing the Arthur-plushie. From his ears trailed his earphones and his iPod played Arthur's pieces on repeat, over and over. He was sprawled on his stomach, materials scattered haphazardly around him while he worked on getting Arthur's expression just so. He had debated over giving Arthur button eyes, but the film Coraline had been far too scary for Merlin to try anything with buttons. Instead, he gave Arthur eyes sewn with dark blue and black thread, neat and round on a cotton face. On his iPod, the Caprice was playing.

Merlin sighed, reaching for another gummi bear and popping it into his mouth.

He had been wary of making Arthur's face, before. Merlin had left the plushie a sad incomplete shape with blond silk hair because he didn't want to risk making a mistake. But now that he had seen Arthur – Arthur. Merlin made a happy noise and ate another bear. It wouldn't do to give Arthur plushie the smile he was going to give him – throughout their entire rehearsal Arthur hadn't made even the slightest twitch towards a smile. When he played, there was a permanent little frown on his face, a furrow between his eyebrows as he concentrated. For a violinist, he stood remarkably still. Merlin kept being distracted by Arthur's left hand, his fingers flitting over the strings, sure, precise. The long notes made Merlin feel as if Arthur was bowing his heart strings, the vibration going all the way down to his toes and fingertips. Merlin shivered at the memory and turned up the volume on his iPod.

Arthur shouted a lot. Merlin didn't mind, really, even though he was faintly worried Arthur might go find someone else. He was worse than Gaius when it came to Merlin playing 'properly', and kept calling him 'useless' every time Merlin deviated from the accompaniment. The more he said it, the more flustered Merlin became which resulted in convoluted tempos and hastily covered up notes. Arthur hadn't looked happy.

Merlin cut out Arthur's miniature jacket with infinite care. There was something… intense about Arthur's playing that made Merlin want to close his eyes and sink into the music. It was the sound of something being perfectly executed, and so Merlin found it hard to concentrate on his own part, to keep going and not to whisper the right hand in order to give the violin more room to breathe.

It left Merlin with an achy feeling inside his chest. Will said it was because Merlin forgot to take his pills after lunch, but Merlin didn't think so. This was a wholly Arthur effect, and he wanted to feel it again. He had wondered and wondered after the strange, drunk man, who'd drooled on Merlin's pillow. When Aesthetically Pleasing had run away so suddenly, Merlin had been heartbroken. But now he was back! Surely it was destiny?

Wolfgang finished eating a piece of thread and chirruped in agreement.

He put the two templates for the jacket side by side and threaded a needle through in order to start stitching. It was going to be a wonderful plushie. Merlin could just tell.

:i:

"I should sack you," said Arthur, halfway through their third practice.

"You can't sack accompanists," said Merlin brightly.

"I think you'll find that I can."

"But you won't." As if proving his point, Merlin gave Arthur a grin that stretched literally from ear to ear.

Arthur glared at him, but there was no heat behind it. He was tired. His shoulders were a little sore from a long day's worth of practice, and there was a buzzing in his ear – a strange buzzing sound like the sound of a perfect third that was, well, a little too perfect. Merlin was bent over the far side of the piano stool, searching for something in his bag. A moment later, he resurfaced, holding out half eaten packet of colourful sweets.

He proffered it to Arthur.

"No, thank you," said Arthur, wrinkling his nose.

Merlin's face fell.

Arthur took one.

:i:

"I hate practicing here," said Arthur at the end of their fourth rehearsal. By then, they had run through absolutely everything. Merlin had been hit on the head more times than he could count. Arthur had had two mental breakdowns which resulted in crazy shouting and Merlin trying to wait it out. It hadn't been very nice. If Merlin had to be absolutely honest with himself, Arthur was a bit of a prat.

Okay, Arthur was a lot of a Prat, but that wasn't really important. What was important was the fact that Arthur didn't seem to like half his repertoire at all.

"What's wrong with here?" asked Merlin, petting the piano a little defensively.

Arthur shrugged.

"The walls. No air, it's like a coffin."

Merlin looked at all four walls. They were a very nice shade of blue.

"Maybe it's because you're overdosing on Beethoven?" asked Merlin, fishing out his trusty packet of sweets. He picked out a green one and chewed on it thoughtfully. His back was sore from sitting so straight – Arthur didn't like it when he slouched. Actually, he wasn't really sure what Arthur liked.

The violinist turned around at the crinkling sound of plastic wrappers.

"For gods- why are you eating at the piano? Again? How many times do I have to tell you, you'll ruin the keys! You will not be eating when playing my piano. Jesus Christ!"

Merlin frowned at him, clutching the packet protectively.

"I'm not touching anything!" he said indignantly. Just for that, Arthur wasn't going to get any of his gummi bears. And then Merlin's brain caught up with his ears.

"Wait, your piano?"

Arthur picked up his violin case, his music already packed away in the zip-compartment. He shrugged on his jacket, and Merlin thought the contrast between dark material and gold hair was going to give him a seizure.

"You'll come to my studio for future practices. Morgana did," said Arthur rather dismissively. "My piano is much better than this one at any rate."

Merlin felt the first real twinge of annoyance stir inside him, pushing aside the warm fuzzy feeling he got whenever he looked at Arthur for too long. He laid a hand on the piano keys, glaring up at Arthur.

"That's nice a judgemental of you," said Merlin, offended on the piano's behalf. "You don't even play!"

Arthur quirked one eyebrow, and there was the faintest trace of a smirk on his face. It was the closest he had come to smiling in Merlin's presence.

"Au contraire," he said, setting down his violin case on the floor and striding over to the piano. "Off," he commanded, flicking his index finger like dislodging a fly. Merlin gaped at him, before grudgingly sliding off the end of the stool. He came round to the other side, propping his elbow on the piano lid.

Arthur shook back his sleeves.

/EMBED CONSOLATION #3, LISZT EXTRACT

Arthur played the piano like he played the violin – Merlin didn't need music to know that every note was where it should be, that the rumbling of the bass was precise and articulate, or that the pedel held each note through until the flick of the line. The perfect sound of it all whirled up from the strings, and Merlin stilled as he listened.

Arthur continued, one eyebrow resolutely arched. He didn't even look as if he were concentrating. The notes continued to flow out like a river. Arthur's fingers darted, and the melody rippled from the piano like the waves of water created by a falling pebble. He made the piano shiver and the sensation his playing engendered travelled all the way up Merlin's elbow.

All too abruptly, Arthur stopped.

"There," he said rather smugly. "Liszt."

"I know!" said Merlin, annoyed yet impressed. It wasn't a nice feeling, and he felt himself blushing. It was as if Arthur were saying, Look, the only reason you're my accompanist is because I can't play two instruments at once. Merlin huffed inwardly. He would show him. He would.

Arthur drew out a white card and a pen from his top pocket and wrote a line of neat print across its blank centre. He tossed the card to Merlin, who missed the catch and thus had to fish it out of the piano.

Arthur made a tsk sound. Merlin glowered at him, stuffing the card into his pocket without looking at it. He then pushed Arthur bodily off the stool. Unfortunately, Arthur jumped up before he could fall.

"What the-"

Merlin sat in front of the piano and began to play. He played back the Liszt Arthur had been flourishing, letting his fingers run on memory, allowing the octaves to thunder out in a fit of overindulgence.

Then he decided he didn't like that piece particularly, so he changed the melody on the downturn scale, semiquavers morphing into the other Consolation. He could hear Arthur moving away, saying something, probably being contemptuous - but Merlin didn't look up. That'll show him. He closed his eyes resolutely so Arthur's face wouldn't distract him like the very distracting thing it was, jaw-lines and frowny when he was playing double stops across the g-

No. Liszt.

Merlin got so carried away that, when he next looked up, the room was empty.

:i: