Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/91885. The Student Prince FayJay Summary: A Modern day Merlin AU set at the University of St Andrews, featuring teetotal kickboxers, secret wizards, magnificent bodyguards of various genders, irate fairies, imprisoned dragons, crumbling gothic architecture, arrogant princes, adorable engineering students, stolen gold, magical doorways, attempted assassination, drunken students, shaving foam fights, embarrassing mornings after, The Hammer Dance, duty, responsibility, friendship and true love... This story was inspired by the thought of Prince William of Wales (and indeed the current Max von Hapsburg) studying at the University of St Andrews; it is also, as the title suggests, at least a little inspired by the operetta 'The Student Prince'. Grateful thanks to Lamardeuse and DarkEmeralds for Beta and cheerleading! Work Text: Chapter 1 Merlin would have managed to catch the bag if he hadn't been obliged to stifle his instincts and force himself to reach out with his hands, rather than with that sinuous surge of power that was always clamouring to come crashing out through the too-fragile barrier of his skin. He could feel the pulse of it uncoiling with his adrenaline, fast as a striking snake, and only the memory of his mother snapping "Hands!" at him half a hundred times a day made him master the reflex and reach up to save himself like a normal human. It all happened in the twinkling of an eye, but Hunith's training held good, and so he didn't out himself as a wizard in the middle of a busy train in Kings Cross Station by freezing the luggage mid-topple, which was good; but on the other hand, his physical reaction was a hair's breadth too slow, which meant that he still got smacked on the head by a heavy bag and went stumbling back into a cross-looking middle aged lady in a twinset and pearls. Which was not so good. "Sorry, sorry!" he exclaimed, clutching at a seat back with one hand for balance and raising the other one palm-open in a gesture of placation, offering her his very best apologetic smile and puppydog eyes. She glared at him, but was evidently too British to do anything other than treat him to a passive-agressive glower. "Really," he tried again, rubbing his skull gingerly, "I'm most terribly sorry!" "Hmph," was all he got in response, but he was distracted from his victim by a voice behind him. "No, please ? it was my fault!" He turned back to see the owner of the voice and of the bag which he'd just failed to catch: a very pretty girl in a green hoody who was biting her bottom lip and looking stricken as she clutched the offending bag tightly to her chest. She glanced from Merlin to the lady and then back again, her face the picture of mortification, and Merlin ? who had been feeling a little disgruntled about the whole unexpected-rain-of-luggage scenario ? took one look at her huge brown eyes and immediately wanted to reassure her that he had thoroughly enjoyed being knocked half unconscious. "I'm so sorry!" she said again. "Are you okay? God, you poor thing!" She reached up to touch the bump on his head and Merlin winced in spite of himself. "Oh! God, sorry! Again!" "No, really, it's fine," said Merlin, smiling. "Honestly ? tough as nails, my skull. Nothing to worry about. Mind you ? wow ? are you carrying bricks in there?" "Engineering text books," she said, wrinkling her nose ruefully. "They might as well be bricks, though. Some of them could definitely qualify as blunt objects." "Fresher?" She nodded. "Me too!" he said, feeling his face light up. He considered the various options and jumped at the most likely destination for this particular train. "Edinburgh?" "St Andrews." She sounded a little apologetic. "It's forty..." "...miles north of Edinburgh, on the Fife coast, and doesn't have its own train station. Yes, I can quote from the prospectus at length." He grinned. "Looks like we're going to be neighbours, then. Hi ? I'm Merlin Emrys, soon-to-be St Andrews student." "Oh, brilliant!" she exclaimed, looking genuinely delighted. "Hi! Er ? Merlin? Seriously?" She looked like she was expecting a punchline. Merlin sighed. "Don't bother. I've heard it all before. I promise." "Um. Right," she said, tentatively. "Well, nice to meet you anyway, er, Merlin." She spoke the name like she was tasting an unfamiliar food and suspected that it might contain unexpected chili. "My name's Gwen." They shook hands, and Merlin could see that she was feeling it too, this odd, exhilarating helium-in-your-veins sensation of new beginnings and infinite possibilities stretching out ahead of them. "So, Gwen, do you always carry three times your body weight in text books around with you?" "No, of course not," she said, giggling. Then a sheepish expression crossed her face. "Oh ? um. And there's a sort of ? well, there's a hammer in there too, I think. Um. A small one. Sorry about that." "Of course there is," nodded Merlin, gravely. "Who travels without a hammer in their luggage these days? One never knows when a spot of joinery might be in order." The corner of his mouth twitched. "Stop!" he said, raising one hand in front of him. Gwen blinked, and after a beat Merlin added: "Hammer Time! Dooo doodoodoo! Doodoo! Doo! Hammer Time!" as he improvised a quick, and truly terrible, attempt at the Hammer Dance in the cramped confines of the aisle. His newfound friend dissolved into astonished giggles, and behind him, Twinset-and-Pearls gave a disgusted snort and stomped away down the aisle. Merlin cast one last, apologetic glance over his shoulder, but he couldn't stop grinning. He felt half-drunk already on the excitement of the day, silly and reckless and brimming with the wild optimism of fresh starts and new leaves. "I make my own jewellery," she said, nudging him with her elbow and blowing at a coil of curls which had fallen down in front of her face. "Idiot." "Really?" He glanced at the copper earrings she was wearing, one a filigree oakleaf, the other an acorn. "You didn't make these, did you?" She ducked her head, suddenly shy, and Merlin's brows darted up to his hairline. "You did? God, they're brilliant, though! They're really good, like something from a shop!" "Thanks," she said, glancing up through her eyelashes. "I learned it from my Dad. I sell them on etsy and ebay and stuff, when I can." She shrugged. "It's nothing special ? I mean, I'm still learning..." "Can you get a ruddy move on?" snapped a voice from somewhere behind the girl, and they both jumped, and then giggled some more like naughty children. Merlin grabbed the bag out of her hands, his breath still coming in giddy, hitching gasps as he tried to stifle his laughter, and reached up to stuff it more securely into the luggage compartment. She looked rather impressed ? not to say startled ? at the ease with which he manhandled it into place, and Merlin found himself wishing he could explain that it wasn't just muscle-power he was using to boost it up ? but of course he couldn't. He felt like a bit of a fraud. "Wow," she said. "You make it look like it's full of feathers! I would never have thought - I mean, not that you look like a wimp, I didn't mean that," she added hurriedly, her eyes suddenly widening in remorse, "Just, you know ? wow!" "I'm a professional dancer," he said, in a modest voice. "I'm lithe and toned and have muscles in places you wouldn't believe. It's all from doing the Hammer Dance." He winked at her, and wiggled his bum as he shoved his own rucksack into a space that was probably too narrow for it to fit into, if one paid attention to little things like the traditional laws of physics. Gwen made a helpless choking sound behind him as he sang in time to his wiggles: "Dooooo doodoodoo! Doodoo! Doo! Hammer Time!" "Oh my God, you are so totally sitting with me, you Hammer-dancing lunatic. Come on. I'll buy you a horrible coffee to apologise for assaulting you with a set of engineering text books, and you can promise to never ever try to dance ever again." Merlin blinked a little at the press of her warm dry fingers curling around his hand, but he followed her willingly just the same. This was his brave new world, after all, and meeting strangers was going to be his main occupation during Freshers Week. No harm in getting some practice in. * * * They quickly secured a block of four seats with a table in the middle, and sat down grinning across at each other. "Hey, it's not really Merlin, is it?" Gwen asked, looking at him sidelong. "I mean ? really really? You're pulling my leg, right? I mean ? nobody's called Merlin. Why would any woman name her baby after an old man with a long white beard and a pointy hat? It's like calling your baby Gandalf." Merlin looked back at her helplessly. People were always asking that, and there was simply no easy way to explain it. The truth ? that Hunith had abandoned 'Gareth' and opted for 'Merlin' after the first time she'd watched wide-eyed as her brand new baby boy summoned his bottle across the room and into his chubby little fist and gurgled at her with golden eyes ? was simply not the kind of thing one could admit out loud. He was lucky he hadn't been called Gandalf. "Um," he said, with an apologetic shrug, and Gwen's smile faltered. "Oh my God ? I mean ? I mean, not that it's a bad name!" she said, stumbling over her tongue in her haste to undo it. "It's a lovely name! So unique! And special! You'll definitely be remembered! Not like Gwen ? loads of Gwens around, but Merlin, that's really different!" Merlin snorted, and waved his hands in the air to stem the tide of her words. "It's a ridiculous name," he said. "But it's all I've got. I did try calli...
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