Chapter Text
Paris, 1899
The roar of the crowd is deafening, to the extent he almost misses the sharp rap on the door.
“Five minutes, Emrys!”
Merlin takes a last look in the mirror and adjusts his costume.
Outside the audience quietens in anticipation. The final, climactic act at Moulin Rouge is about to begin.
He knows the routine so well now, he does not have to watch the build up from behind the safety of the curtain.
At four minutes Kilgharrah will bound onto stage, replete in his red jacket, long leather boots, and riding crop.
The charismatic impresario has come a long way from his humble fire-breathing days in some second rate circus and with good reason; he can hypnotise an audience with his spiel. And so it begins:
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is what you have all been waiting for: Let me present the daring trapeze artist, exquisite darling of the Parisian Avant Gard. Here tonight, exclusively for your entertainment and pleasure, the one and only Merlin Emrys!”
The crowd erupts into cheers.
At three minutes the lights are lowered, the tension builds. Plunged into temporary darkness, the hordes hush but are unable to contain their excitement.
"Merlin!" someone shouts. They repeat it, clapping out the rhythm of the name. The rest of the audience take up the chant. "Mer-lin, Mer-lin, Mer-lin!"
Two minutes, nearly time. Merlin’s mouth is dry and he rubs a little more chalk into his palms.
What sounds like a herd of gazelle passes by. A returning troupe of exotic dancers clatters and chatters their way back to their changing room, the exhilaration of performance painting their cheeks a fresh pink.
Gwen’s chest is still heaving from her efforts, she reaches out with a reassuring hand to the final, solitary performer.
"Break a leg!" she says, smiling.
Merlin sends her a fractured smile in return. Surrounded by beauty and praise, he should be happy; he is fawned over, coveted and admired.
"Hey!" She tilts her head on one side sympathetically. "It's not that bad! You've got half of Paris eating out of your hand! Le Monde says you're the muse to every painter, writer, and poet in the city!"
"I know, I should be grateful." He sighs, running a wistful hand through his hair. "But I just... no-one takes me seriously, Gwen. I want to... I just want to do something perfect and glorious. Before..."
One minute.
He flashes her a final wan smile, and heads out to greet his rapturous crowd.
"Before what?" Gwen shouts after him.
He doesn't answer. He doesn't dare…
*
Merlin grasps the rope firmly and leans back on the narrow metal bar, extending his arm and leg so his form is horizontal. He holds the pose. It’s his job to make this appear effortless yet erotic, to be supple and languid, captivating the crowd with his movements. His muscles are taut and his stomach burns with the strain. The audience begin to cheer and clap. Merlin rights himself then repeats the procedure this time letting the trapeze swing over the masses, giving the impression, he could swoop down and touch them with his fingers if he wanted. He’s too high up, of course, completely unattainable and isn’t that the point? He is like a bird soaring through the sky. But unlike his namesake, Merlin is not free to fly away. He couldn’t leave this gilded cage even if he wanted to. He does another swing around the theatre, concluding the act to tremendous applause.
Cards are shoved into his hand and he’s forced to turn his head to avoid being hit in the face with yet another rose. He wishes they wouldn’t do that. Flowers are better left on the plants, not thrown at him, ripping his flesh with their thorns, then trampled into the ground. He hates this part; he’s exhausted and wants to get to his dressing room as quickly a possible, not be jostled and pawed.
“That was incredible!”
The voice stands out, the English accent rich and plummy. Merlin sees a dapper young gentleman in a top hat and tails. He has brilliant blue eyes and golden strands poke out from beneath the brim of his hat. He offers his hand but withdraws it when he sees how loaded down Merlin is.
“Arthur Pendragon. I’m a writer and a poet.” He beams.
“Isn’t everyone.” Merlin responds dryly.
The smile disappears and Merlin regrets being so snappy, he’d quite enjoyed Arthur’s features even if the man seemed to have far too many teeth to fit into his chiseled jaw.
“What are you writing?”
“A play, called Spectacular! Spectacular! It’s for here. It will be about truth, beauty, freedom and love.”
The man barely looks old enough to shave.
“What do you know of love?”
“Be in my play and you will find out”
Merlin burst out laughing. The man has spirit, he'll give him that. “I could have anyone I want... yet I can’t fall in love. It’s an illusion,” he finishes, somewhat bitterly.
“A life without love is terrible!”
“No, a life without food, is terrible, a life with no proper home is terrible, being on the street is terrible.”
Arthur falters, licking his lips. He swallows, turning away from Merlin’s intense glare. He must think he’s blown it and missed his chance.
It's been a while since Merlin observed genuine passion and such innocent enthusiasm.
“You will have to convince me.” He declares as he bustles towards the stage door and disappears in a sea of people.
“I will.” Arthur replies, hope renewed. “I will.”
Arthur goes against his father by leaving England and seeking out the infamous Moulin Rouge, immersing himself fully in its culture. He is searching for inspiration and finds so much more. It is seedy but glamorous, a complete feast for the senses and the soul.
The first time Arthur sees him, he’s mesmerised. A man in scarlet suspended high in the air like some magical, otherworldly creature.
“You look a bit lost, darling.”
Arthur reluctantly tears his gaze from the performance and faces a beautiful dark-haired woman in a corseted crimson costume.
“I’m from England.”
“That much is obvious.” She smirks. “Welcome to my home; we are a nightclub, a dance hall, and a bordello. We are ruled over by Kilgharrah. A kingdom of night-time pleasures, where the rich and powerful come to play with the young and beautiful creatures of the underworld. The most desirable of all these is…” The woman pauses and gestures at the man on the trapeze.
“Merlin! A courtesan, they called him the 'The Diamond of the Day', and he is the star of the Moulin Rouge. And you,” she points a red claw at Arthur’s chest, “have nothing to offer.”
“I’m a writer.”
“Oh, please!” She rolls her eyes and sighs. “I’m Morgana and that’s Gwen.” Morgana waves at another woman with a mass of black ringlets piled high on her head, her bronze skin set off perfectly by a golden bodice. She pauses, tilting her head to the side. “On the other hand, if you write something for all of us I could help you out.” She winks and saunters off.
*
Every night he watches the performances. He is completely infatuated both with Merlin and this new world, where wealth and poverty converge. Slumming aristocrats and the fashionably rich rub shoulders with workers, artists, actors and musicians. Finally, free from the bonds of a conservative upbringing, Arthur is truly happy for the first time in his life. He’d never known anything like it.
Freedom, however, comes at a price: Arthur is now poor. Having separated from his father on such bad terms, he has no finances other than those he can earn from his writing. He has no riches to offer, only himself, and that is a refreshing challenge. Full of vigour and determination, Arthur pursues Merlin for all he’s worth.
He approaches Kilgharrah and tells him he will write the greatest show, one that will reverse the fortunes of Moulin Rouge. This will allow him to get close to all the players, especially Merlin.
Arthur watches Merlin being walked to his dressing room and decides to put his plan into action.
*
Merlin spies Morgana leaning against the door frame of his dressing room.
He addresses her reflection in the mirror. “Do you want something, Morgana.”
“It has to stop, you know.”
“What are you talking about?”
She walks into the room and sits on a free chair. “You and the poet. You’re hardly being discreet; you’ve been seen.”
Merlin freezes. “You’ve never been concerned about my welfare before.”
“You’ve never cared before.”
“It’s just an infatuation; it means nothing.” Merlin says nonchalantly, but doubting his own words.
Morgana snorts, “You’re deluding yourself.” She stands up and paces. “You are aware Kilgharrah wants to build a proper theatre and improve all our livelihoods.”
“I’m aware. I’m also aware he needs a financial backer.”
“Cenred King, the Duke of Mercia, has the means to save the club but he wants something in return.”
“Yes, Kilgharrah has made my role quite clear, the future of our kingdom rests on my shoulders.”
“Your actions are putting the club's future in jeopardy. Gwen’s future. My future! Cenred has threatened to withdraw his finances if he does not get what he wants. He covets you, Merlin; considers you as a thing. Cenred does not like it when other people touch his things.”
“What about what I want?”
Morgana sighs, “All I’m saying is, if Cenred discovers what you are up to, he’ll try and kill Arthur. You need to stop.”
“Arthur won’t give up that easily.”
“He will if you make him believe that you don't care.”
“He’s stubborn.”
“Then use your talent to save him! Hurt him, Merlin. You’re an actor, hurt him to save him. There is no other way. The show must go on. We are creatures of the underworld. We can't afford to love.”
Merlin sits in his dressing room after the performance, he’s been staring so long his skin has begun to chill. An involuntary shudder prompts him into action. He reaches for a cotton pad and removes the make-up that give his cheeks a healthy glow. He has no idea what to say to Arthur. He tells his reflection that it should be easy to break things off.
“It is only a bit of fun, after all,” he utters out loud, but his reflection does not look convinced.
Merlin sighs. It is too late, now, for regrets. He has accepted Cenred's advances.
Enough! Merlin bangs his fist on the dresser. It is a means to an end; he wants to be a serious performer before... well. Cenred can do that for him, and more. He can save Moulin Rouge! That's why Merlin agreed to the Duke’s proposal back when Kilgharrah suggested it.
People like Merlin don't get to have choices, don't get to live for love. That's why he throws himself into his performances and lives only for the brittle adoration of the crowds.
It's no good being bitter at the cards that life deals you. But he can't help it.
It had seemed all too easy, back then. But that was before Arthur turned up on the scene... Arthur!
He had not counted on Arthur and he’d certainly never expected to fall in love. Arthur who is so full of life, not yet worn down or jaded. Arthur, who is interested in every detail and is fascinated with the grime and the glitter, of this world filled with sequins and squalor, so ready and willing to soak it up and record it all.
Being on the stage is everything, the only thing that makes him feel truly alive - at least, that’s what he had thought. But now… Arthur makes him feel more than alive. Happy, even. He'd fed his soul, gorged on laughter and possibilities and now he must starve. It has to stop. He must turn Arthur away and make him hate him.
But even as the time to act draws near, he understands that it’s not what he wants....
Merlin tells himself it’s for the best; what they have just isn’t sustainable and could never have a future. This way Arthur will be safe and he’ll never have to know Merlin’s secret.
There is a knock at the door.
“Merlin, you wanted to see me.”
“Arthur.”
“What’s wrong? You look pale and you cancelled a show last night.”
“I was ill.” That is not a lie, Merlin had been so revulsed at the thought of being with Cenred, he’d deferred their meeting.
Arthur goes to touch Merlin’s forehead. Merlin can’t stand to see the concern written over his features, so dodges his hand by getting up and walking towards the window. Merlin studies the people in the street below, buying some time. But he can't put the conversation off forever.
“What we had was fun, Arthur.” Swallowing, Merlin forces himself to face his lover. “But it doesn’t mean anything. It has to end, I have chosen the Duke. He has money and you don’t.”
Arthur does not say anything initially. He stands imobile. A vein twitches in his forehead and his fists pump, bleaching the knuckles. “I don’t believe you.”
“Believe what you like, it’s true.” Merlin turns away to cough, taking his hand to his mouth and subtly wiping his eyes at the same time.
Arthur springs forward and grasps Merlin’s arm, spinning him around. “Look at me and tell me you don’t love me.”
Merlin does, he looks straight into Arthur’s blue eyes. “I don’t love you. I told you once before, I could never fall in love.”
Arthur lets go, picks up the play he'd just finished writing and throws the pages at the wall, they catch in the air and flutter slowly to the floor, his life’s work and it means nothing.
“So, it was just an act?”
No one moves, the white pages are still falling.
“Of course.”
“It felt real.”
“Arthur, I'm a courtesan. I'm paid to make men believe what they want to believe.”
“You’re very good at it.”
It’s like a slap, Merlin flinches. He deserves that. He deserves everything.
Arthur bends down and starts to tidy the paper but pauses. “You know what, it doesn’t matter, you have it.” He screws the paper in a ball and flings it at Merlin. “Thank you for curing me of my ridiculous obsession with love.”
Arthur storms out, slamming the door.
Merlin falls to his hands and knees. He crawls around collecting the papers and smoothing them out and holding them to his chest. It’s no good, he collapses in a heap, shoulders heaving.
*
Cenred sits on the chaise lounge, legs splayed. He runs a hand through shoulder length dark curly hair and licks his lips. “Come now, my pretty bird.”
Cenred reaches his hand to stroke Merlin’s face, but Merlin flinches, getting up and walking towards the window.
“Don’t run away.”
“I need some air.”
Down in the street below, Merlin can see Arthur. The last few days have been hell; like all the colour has been leached from the world. Every day, he has forced himself to carry on, smile and preform. But it does not feel the same anymore, does not matter anymore.
Merlin is oblivious to Cenred’s approach. He walks up behind him, making him jump. The Duke grips Merlin’s shoulders firmly, bending down to kiss his neck.
Merlin jerks his head. “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want this.”
Cenred grabs his hair, making Merlin stagger back, “I don't think that's an option. I’ve earned the right.”
“You’ve earned nothing. I don’t want this.” Merlin turns and knees Cenred in the groin.
The man is instantly felled and Merlin runs out the door.
Kilgharrah is in the hall. “Merlin what are you doing?”
“Going after Arthur.”
“Don’t be a fool. Don’t be selfish!”
“Selfish! I thought you were looking out for me but you’re a just a manipulative old man, everything was for your own interests.”
“I invested in you, Merlin. You can’t make it on your own.”
“I don't need you anymore! All my life you made believe I was only worth what someone would pay for me! But Arthur loved me. He loved me, Kilgharrah. That is worth everything! I’ll find him and make him understand. We'll go away from you, away from the Duke, away from the Moulin Rouge!”
“You won’t be going anywhere, Merlin. I know your secret.”
Merlin’s foot hovers over the step of the stairs.
“You think he’ll want you when he knows the truth?”
“I don’t care. I’ll tell him myself. He deserves to know how I really feel. He can make his own choices. I can make my own choices. Goodbye Kilgharrah!”
*
Arthur is elated. It’s been a month since Merlin chose him over riches, even over the Moulin Rouge. Arthur fought and won Merlin’s heart against everything, against the Duke, against Kilgharrah.
He throws back his head and laughs, his throat is exposed and the sight and sound of it is beautiful.
“You seem pleased with yourself.” Merlin observes with a grin.
“I’m happy!” Arthur declares flopping back on the unmade bed. Launching Merlin and a couple of pages of text several inches in the air. “Aren't you?” He teases.
“Truly, for the first time in a long time.” Merlin smiles.
Arthur tries to grab him, and Merlin moves away giggling, his eyes becoming half-moons, his mouth open and wide. He hiccups and begins to cough. It’s been happening a lot lately.
This episode is particularly bad. Arthur turns away whilst Merlin covers his mouth, but he can still hear the laboured breaths and the rattle of his lover’s chest.
Arthur searches for his discarded trousers. “Here.” He says, fishing a clean white handkerchief from the pocket.
Merlin’s eyes are streaming as he accepts the gift, then wipes his lips before hastily screwing the fabric into a ball. The movement is swift, but something about it catches the ever-observant author’s eye.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.” Merlin shrugs.
“Show me your hand.”
“Really, you want to look at some dirty rag?”
“Show me.”
Merlin reluctantly opens his palm.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a handkerchief, Arthur, I would have thought that was obvious.”
“It has blood on it.”
Merlin bites his lip and Arthur is struck by the pallor of his skin, drawn tight over hollow cheeks and the violet shadows beneath his eyes. It has been a strain recently, the business with Cenred, but he'd thought that was behind them.
“You are ailing?” He asks, concerned.
It takes a while for Merlin to answer. “Yes, for some time now.” He looks away and picks at his fingernails.
Arthur reaches for his wrist, encircling the slender forearm with his hand. “You must go to a physician.”
“It’s too late for that, it won’t do any good.”
“Nonsense,” Arthur attempts to pull Merlin towards him but the other man resists, staying rooted to the spot. “Why are you being stubborn.”
“I have tuberculosis, Arthur.”
Silence.
He shakes his head as if trying to clear his ears. “No.”
“It’s in the later stages; there is nothing to be done.”
“Tuberculosis? Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin, I would know.”
“How? You’re not a doctor!” Merlin snaps.
“Every night you performed on the trapeze, you were faultless; how is that possible?”
“The costume hid the blood.” Before Arthur can respond Merlin continues. “I was a professional. The show must go on!” He pauses giving a brittle smile. “Nothing else mattered - or it didn't, until I met you.”
“Don’t.” Arthur chokes.
“I'm sorry.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I was going to… there was never a good time and well… we were so happy-”
“I wouldn't have left. I’ll never leave; I’ll give you anything.”
Merlin places a finger against his lips. “You already have.”
“No, you don’t understand.” Arthur shakes his head. “They are making medical breakthroughs all the time. I come from money. My father has disowned me, but I could go to him, I could-”
“No, Arthur you couldn’t. It’s too late, it would make no difference. You left your father to become a writer. Promise me you will continue to write, that you will write about here, about us. Write our story, Arthur; that way I will always be with you.”
Arthur nods.
“How long have we got.”
Merlin gives a wan smile and shrug. “I don’t know… a week maybe, days, hours.”
“I don’t know what to do without you.”
“You will live a long life and become a successful writer.”
Merlin reaches for Arthur's fingers. “Just... hold me.”
Arthur embraces Merlin in his arms, running his hands through Merlin’s hair. He can’t believe he will lose everything so soon.
“Someone once told me, the greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.” Merlin mumbles.
“I thought you didn't believe in love.” Arthur kisses Merlin’s scalp and he can’t stop the tears escaping. They silently cascade down his cheeks, getting lost in the dark mass of Merlin’s curls.
“I do now.” Merlin shivers and closes his eyes. “I’m cold.”
Arthur pulls back so he can drape a blanket over their shoulders.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t say goodbye. I’m not ready.” Arthur rushes.
“It’s not goodbye, Arthur. We will meet again in another life and next time we’ll get it right.”
Arthur shakes his head. "You really believe that?"
Merlin moistens dry lips with his tongue, "I do."
Arthur can't reply at first. He swallows, trying to get his breathing under control, but it's difficult. The saltwater is starting to dry and makes his skin itch but he does not wipe the tears away, instead he gently rubs his lover’s shoulders.
“I’m glad I met you.”
He nods, “I think it was meant to happen... that we were meant to be.”
“So do I.”
Merlin smiles and his breathing slows. “Our story, Arthur... What will you call it?”
“A love that will live forever.”
“I like that” he slurs, drifting off.
Arthur gently bends down and leans his head against Merlin. “It will be a story about a time, a story about a place, a story about the people. But above all things, a story about love.”
England 2018
“There’s something I want to show you.”
He blows dust from the spine of an old leather-bound book with ornate gold lettering. Gently running his fingers over the surface, he opens it carefully. Clearing his throat, he begins to read the inscription inside.
‘Someone very dear to me once said that our souls are not new. He believed that we have all walked the earth before and will do so again, for no one can be expected to get it right in one turn. There is too much of the world to experience, too many challenges to face and obstacles to overcome. When we are cut down in our prime, separated from the ones we love, it is not the end; we will have our time in the sun again.
You told me to love. I did. Maybe not as brightly as the first time, but we were happy.
You told me to write. I did. I wrote our story, so a part of you would always be near.
You told me to live. I did. My hair is white now, my joints and bones are bent and ache with age.
You told me that our love would live forever and not to say goodbye. I didn’t.
Until the next time, eternally yours,
Arthur.’
“That inscription was hand-written in 1959 by my great grandfather.”
“Wow!”
“That’s not all, look at this.” Arthur flicks to the back of the book and pulls out some old sepia photographs. He hands one of them to Merlin. “That’s my great grandfather.”
Merlin draws an audible breath.
“He looks just like you.”
“It’s uncanny, isn’t it?”
Merlin nods.
“That’s not all,” Arthur pushes another photo into his hand.
“Is this some sort of joke!” Merlin’s eyes widen so the whites are visible around his deep blue irises. His hands run repeatedly over the card as if searching for something. “It can’t be. Is it photoshopped or something? That man has my face!”
“I can assure you, it's not a joke. These were taken in 1899. That’s the great Merlin Emrys, the star of the infamous Moulin Rouge. He is the man my great grandfather fell in love with. Call it fate, but in name and looks he’s identical to the man I fell in love with.”
“You knew about this?” Merlin frowns, backing away, is that why you, why we—”
Arthur grabs Merlin’s arm. “No! No, I swear, I knew nothing about this until a few weeks ago when father’s estate was released. The book was hidden with his personal effects.”
“But why hide something like this?”
“Well, I knew great grandfather was a successful writer, but apparently in his youth he fell out with the family and went to Paris and caused a bit of a scandal.”
“What happened?”
“It’s all in here. How he travelled to France, sought out the Moulin Rouge and fell in love with its star. He wrote a play and nearly got murdered by some deranged duke. They ran away together in the end but tragically it was not to last. Within a month Merlin died of tuberculous, but not before he declared his love for my grandfather and made him promise to write their story.”
Merlin rubs his shoulders; the room suddenly feels cold.
“So what? You think that we’re somehow them? Because, I have to say Arthur, I think I would know if I could do that sort of thing with my legs.”
Arthur throws back his head and laughs, breaking the tension. “No, I think we are our own people. I certainly have no past memories if that’s what you think, and I certainly can’t write. I make simple mistakes when I do our shopping list! But... there's something about you, Merlin… I could never put my finger on it, but I’ve always felt right with you. From the beginning, it was like I’d met you before somewhere.”
“Yeah. Even though you were a smug insufferable prat I agree, it felt familiar.”
“I wasn’t smug—”
Merlin silences Arthur’s protests with a kiss. “Enough of old souls. Those photos have made me curious; want to try out some of those acrobatic moves?”
Arthur takes Merlin’s hand and pulls him onto his lap. “I’m game if you are.”
The old book and papers lie forgotten.They can be looked at and scrutinised on another occasion. After all, this Merlin and Arthur have their whole lives ahead of them – and all the time in the world.
The End
