Chapter Text
"Welcome to Kingsman, Merlin."
Handshakes were exchanged, Arthur's hand clammy in his own, and a small frown upon his face. It was well known that Arthur didn't think that proper agents could come from anything less than at least pale blue blood or a bank account large enough to fund a small country. As if blood and wealth were what talent and dedication were born from. Arthur let go of his hand, passing over a file before sitting back down heavily.
"These are your papers, be sure to fill in whatever menial information isn't there, you never know what could come in handy in any given situation. You're lucky that your wife passed last year- leaves you no outside ties to worry about and no obligations when it comes to families. You can pass off any inability to see them as a reluctance to bring up the painful memory."
"It wouldn't entirely be a lie, sir." His left hand was clenched tightly into a fist, nails biting into his palm as the other hand delicately held his file. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to go back to the barracks and get a head start on filling out my paperwork."
"Sorry, but I actually can't do that. Besides, you have a new office and subordinates that can assist you. Gawain here," Arthur gestured to a man who had not been there a moment ago, who had to have arrived while he resisted the urge to punch Arthur square in the jaw, "will lead you to your new office and show you the ropes." They left without a glance at Arthur, and headed down to the tube.
He had to learn to notice more around him- if he had been in the field the mistake of not noticing Gawain could have cost him his life. As it was his ears burned with humiliation- not that Gawain had said much of anything about it himself. Scout trotted along beside him, apparently unaffected by being shot at- blanks or not the noise was certainly deafening, but he had not wavered from Merlin's side.
"Okay, Merlin, you're our new tech genius. You may be called out on assignment once in a while to keep your skills sharp, but mostly you'll be here." Gawain pushed a door wide open, and Merlin nearly drooled at all of the tech out on display. "I can see that you won't be complaining much?"
"If I'm allowed to have my hands on even half of this stuff I'll die a happy man. Why would I complain?"
"Well, most people would be disappointed by not being in the field as much- especially considering the training you just went through."
"Well I'm certainly not most people."
"You couldn't be; not to get this position. Now, put the file down at your desk. You can come back later to finish it, but you've got something else to do first." Mentally, Merlin shrugged and scratched his head, but physically he did as he was told and followed Gawain silently from the room. He didn't pay attention to the halls that they passed through, which was probably a mistake, but considering he'd been initiated into a spy organisation mere moments ago he felt it could be excused. After all, he had years to explore and learn the twists and turns of Kingsman.
"Now, I'm not at all privy to what's going to happen in here, but it's basic procedure for all Merlins to go through the task that awaits within. No one's going to come looking- apparently there was once a Merlin who didn't leave here for days (who knows why they weren't hungry when they left)- but it's part of procedure to tell you that no one's going to come looking." Gawain pulled open a door, and within sat a desk and walls covered in paintings.
"Well, that doesn't sound ominous or anything."
"I'm afraid you'll find that ominous comes with the job. Now, in you get. I'll take your dog back to your office. Scout, isn't it?" Without waiting for an answer, Gawain called to Scout (who left without so much at looking at his owner) and closed the door behind him, leaving Merlin in relative darkness. It was dimly lit, the room, and with a lack of options if he wanted to remain a Kingsman Merlin sat at the desk. There was a fireplace to the side, quite tall though apparently unused due to the distinct lack of ash within, and the roof was much higher than first assumed- paintings of all shapes and sizes from floor to ceiling.
It was somewhere between a moment and an eternity later that the fireplace exploded with green light. It was lucky that Merlin had been sitting at the moment, for he surely would have jumped and fallen over at the sight. As it was he turned sharply at the sudden change and stood- reaching for a weapon he did not have.
"Pretty good instincts, for a muggle." There was a voice tainted with disdain, and a man, coming from within the fireplace. If he was made of softer stuff Merlin would have fainted, but he was a Kingsman and instead prepared himself for possible attack. The man chuckled, wiping what seemed to be ash from his odd clothing before turning. "You couldn't protect yourself from me if you used every gadget in your arsenal. Relax, I'm not here to hurt you." The 'today' was obviously implied but left off for reasons unknown.
"Who are you, and how the hell did you do that?" The man continued to dust himself off, seemingly ignoring Merlin. He was wearing the oddest arrangement of garments- a long cloak covering what could only be called robes and a set of thin-wired spectacles- and as their eyes finally met Merlin felt much like a bug pinned to a board. Trapped, hopeless, and thoroughly judged.
"Ah, questions I can answer, I guess you're slightly less shocked than I originally assumed. I am Rufus Scrimgeour, our side's Merlin and that, muggle, was magic. I'm not here to answer all of your questions, only the ones I feel like, and with any luck I'll have to never see your sorry face ever again." The man who had introduced himself as a Merlin (wasn't he Merlin? Was there more than one agent per codename? That could get confusing) pulled a stick from his pocket. Merlin, wary but put at least slightly at ease by the man's seemingly candid words, sat back down at the desk.
"Now, I'm quite certain that you don't believe me fully because none of you muggles believe that there is something greater than yourselves out there. Especially in this organisation. (Honestly what is Chester thinking?) So here is a more practical demonstration." Twisting the stick in a series of intricate loops a chair popped into existence, high backed and made of supple leather, that Scrimegour then sat himself in. All in all, he looked far more at home in the room than he. Scrimgeour exuded confidence and commanded respect with the very way his jaw was set- Merlin decided to emulate that look. It could come in handy, with his age, considering the other agents he would soon be guiding.
"That, Merlin, was magic. It's something that your technology will never understand or be able to replicate. It is above you, as I am, and your job in this organisation, besides keeping your fellow muggles alive, is to be the connection between Kingsman and the Ministry of Magic. I'm Merlin on our end, and you're Merlin here."
"You don't seem to be very happy with this arrangement. Why come at all?" The shock had certainly set in, because Merlin was operating on auto pilot. He asked and answered questions with the first thing that popped into his head, which according to all of his training was both the best and the worst thing an agent could possibly do. He hoped it was the former, in this situation.
"It's the way it has been since your organisation's inception. In the wake of our own war our Minister sought out yours- you didn't seriously believe that a group of muggles thought this up on their own did you?" A sneer upon Scrimgeour's lip unsettled him in the way mice are unsettled by cats- too frightened to move for a moment and wholeheartedly terrified.
"You keep using that word- Muggles. What does it mean?" Merlin thanked whatever deity he could think of that his voice wasn't shaking. He'd had enough humiliating experiences for one day.
"A group of folk less gifted than my own. Those without magic, and not even from magical families. The numbers might be in your favour but in skill it would take dozens of you to take down one of us. Even with every toy you could find."
"You sound like you've thought of that a lot- battle between us- I thought we were supposed to be on the same side?"
"There are good and bad in every civilisation, kid." The dismissal was clear in the lines of his face and the disinterested wave of his hand. Scrimgeour wasn't even meeting his eye and instead looking vaguely at the paintings in the room.
"Don't patronise me." There was more to his so called calculations than 'good and bad.' That was personal, unless he held a negative view of the entirety of the human race (muggles?) but surely someone like that wouldn't be in a position of power.
"Look, I'm done here, I don't have to coddle you. You're new, you're naive, and now you know who I am and who I work for. If you plan on contacting me and my people to help with your pathetic problems," yellow eyes met golden brown briefly over the rims of his glasses, "don't."
Without so much as a 'by your leave' Scrimgeour stood, silver-streaked hair falling gracefully from the ribbon it had been tied back with, and walked briskly to the fireplace. A vague gesture of his hand made the chair disappear as quickly as it had popped into existence before, and in a flash of light and a phrase that sounded oddly like 'diagonally' he was gone.
"I never, ever, want to see him again. He's a prick."
"He's not all that bad, Merlin." A voice chimed from his left, and turning he found himself facing a painting. A painting that, it seemed, was speaking to him. And moving. More magic, it seemed.
"I'm Skylar, I was Merlin before you, and now it's time to learn the fun part of our job."