Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Galahad, I need you to come in, we have a lead on the disappearances around the country. You’re going out tonight, bring your best casual outfit.”
“Casual?”, Harry inquired, while scanning an article in The Sun. His latest mission successfully ended yesterday, thus he was due another front page.
“Bring a leather jacket.”
“A what?” Harry exclaimed, Merlin must be joking.
“Be here in an hour for your briefing, Galahad.“ Merlin ignored the other agent and Harry could almost see the sadistic smile on his face, as he cut the line.
“Leather jacket”, Harry shook his head, while opening his closet, “This must be a joke.”

“You have to be kidding me, Merlin!”, Harry stared at the picture on Merlin’s computer screen. “That can not be my target!”
“He’s the closest thing we’ve got, that will not blow cover immediately.”
“So you want me to seduce him? A twenty year old! Merlin, how is that not going to be suspicious? Why don't you send Lancelot?”, Harry leaned back and took another look at the boy in the picture. Hair in his face and a too big denim jacket on, he looks the perfect picture of an up and coming rockstar. There was no denying the boy’s attractiveness, which only added to Harry’s point. He was too old for this.
“We have been tracking him for a while and he has shown certain,” Merlin looks suspiciously pleased with himself, “tendencies.”

Harry almost chokes on his tea at Merlin’s choice of words. “I see.” he swallows, “So, what else have we got?”
“The structure of the organization is still unclear, that'll be your main aim for now until we have further information. They're moving around quickly. Each city they go to one to three people disappear and the bodies are found in the next place, missing vital organs. Mostly kidneys and livers, sometimes eyes.”
“Organ smuggling, lucrative business, better than drugs.”, Harry commented.
“Also a lot more murders.”, Merlin deadpans and the other agenthums in agreement.
“So they move around the country. What's their cover?”
“That's where your leather jacket comes in.” He pointedly looks at Harry, who sits across from him in a perfect three piece suit. “They're a band.”
“A band?”, Harry laughs, “Criminals are sure getting creative these days.”
“You're target will be opening for them on the next tour. He's the stepson of Dean Baker, a subordinate, who takes charge of their London base, while the ‘band’ is on tour. The target hasn't previously been associated with any of the other men, so we believe he is so far innocent in the matter but he’s your ticket in.”, Merlin smirked suggestively at that and staring at him was all Harry could do not to roll his eyes. Only thirty years of friendship kept him from not kicking Merlin under the table then. Or maybe kicking one of his computers, that would definitely hurt more.

“How am I supposed to meet him then?”, Harry sighed, giving in.
“His band is playing a gig tonight.”, Merlin jotted down an address and slid the piece of paper over to Harry.
The other man eyed the slip and looked at Merlin dubiously. “This is in the barracks.”
“I did say bring a leather jacket.”
“I do not own a leather jacket.” Harry countered and shoved the paper in his pocket.
“Well, I’m sure the Kingsman wardrobe will have something fitting for you. The show starts at seven, don't be late.”, Merlin dismissed him with a smirk and Harry groaned once before getting up and leaving.
“Go and broaden your horizons, Galahad!”, the handler shouted after him and Harry could hear him chuckle behind his desk before he reached for the door.

“Ah wait, Merlin, what's the target's name?”, Harry poked his head back through the door.
“Gary, though he apparently goes by Eggsy.”
“Eggsy…?”, Harry trails off.
Merlin hesitated before looking up to the agent. “Eggsy Unwin”
“Unwin”, Harry faltered, “As in-?”
“Yes,“ Merlin frowned, “as in Lee Unwin.” Harry’s eyes shot wide open, his eyebrows furrowing, Merlin watched the disbelief on Harry’s face become worry in the next second.
“Please don’t say he’s-“
“He’s still on the right path, Harry. Make sure it stays that way.”

When Harry entered the bar that night, he's neither dressed appropriately nor on time but the doorman doesn't seem to care. He just made a noise of acknowledgement, when Harry handed over ten pounds and waved him through.

A deep base line thrummed through his chest as Harry entered the dimly lit bar. He scanned his surroundings, quick effective glances taking note of the people around him and immediately felt out of place. Not the usual Kingsman environment.
The agent had left his suit jacket back at the mansion but instead of switching it for something more casual, he opted for leaving the upper two buttons of his shirt open. Still, as he looked around leather and denim caught his eye in every corner of the room, young bodies moving along to the beat or shouting at each other over the music.

At the other end of the room a makeshift stage was put up, elevating the band two feet above the crowd. From where he was standing, Harry could take in the scene perfectly.
Four young men were up on the stage, dressed in skinny jeans even Lancelot in her youthful elegance wouldn’t wear and black tshirts. Three of them were moving around the stage, their faces downwards, so focused on their instruments and the music they were playing, that they ignored their surroundings completely.
The fourth though Harry couldn't tear his eyes from. The boy’s face lit up with happiness, as he watched the crowd jump and dance to his rhythm. When he closed his eyes to sing, the guitar slung around his shoulders supported his every move and the words echoed through the room until they hit Harry’s ears.
He couldn't understand every word, the noise around him too much and the guitars too heavy. Even so was obvious to Harry, how much meaning these words carried. His voice ached with desperation as he shouted into the mic but in the brief seconds in between, when he opened his eyes, the happiness returned to the boy’s face.

Harry could have stood there until the boy stopped playing, had Merlin not interrupted his stare.
“Target confirmed.” He told the agent through his earpiece and Harry tore his gaze away from the stage.
With quick steps, he moved to the bar and ordered himself a beer. Catching the bar man’s attention was easy enough the way he stood out. Harry found an empty seat from where he could observe the rest of the set.

Eggsy was mesmerizing to watch. He threw himself head first into every song and by the end of it his sweaty shirt clung to him, his hair wildly sticking up in every direction and Harry thought he’d never seen anyone more passionate about something before.
Even though the music was too rough, the drums too loud and Eggsy’s voice slightly out of tune Harry found himself enjoying the young band far more than he thought he would.

When the music stopped and there was only Eggsy left speaking into the microphone Harry focused on his mission again.
“Thank you all for coming out tonight. We’re The Upstarts, thanks for havin’ us!”, Eggsy waved at the crowd one last time before taking off his guitar and following his band mates backstage.

“Where do I go, Merlin?”, Harry murmured into his pint, as he scanned the other people at the bar. Most of them seemed to clear out quickly, while the rest found an empty chair on the sides of the room or simply sat on the floor. He overheard someone talking about a club down the street and watched a large group of people following.

“Stay put. They'll be out at the bar in a bit.”

Following his orders, Harry sipped his pint slowly , watching the scene around him. He had never been part of a group like this, even when he was their age, he always stood out like a sore thumb. Sure enough a few minutes later Eggsy emerged from behind the stage. A smile was plastered on his face, eyes crinkling as he laughed loudly at something his band mate said. He had changed into a new shirt but his trousers still clung to his legs as if they were poured on, showing off the lean muscle there.
He sat down one stool down from Harry and ordered a pint. He was glancing at the older man from the corner of his eye and Harry waited for him to get his drink before turning towards the young man.
Eggsy though, bet him to it.

“What's a posh bloke like you doin’ in a place like this?”, Eggsy regarded him from behind his glass. The light flush of exhaustion coloured his face and Harry couldn't deny the heat the boy radiated, as he leaned in. In the dim light of the bar the spark in Eggsy’s eyes shone brightly and Harry averted his gaze, sipping his bear before answering.
“It can never hurt to see what today’s youth is up to.” He nodded at Eggsy and his band mates, “Bit rougher than back in my day though.”
“Maybe than your fancy Cambridge galas but not ‘ere, bruv. This place been goin’ for longer than me mum’s been around. Said me dad used to go ‘ere all the time.”

Harry chuckled at the boy’s straightforwardness, playing over the sting at the mention of Lee Unwin.
“I didn't even introduce myself properly,” he reached out and offered his hand, “Harry Hart. Who do I have the pleasure with?”
“I’m Eggsy,” the boy firmly shook his hand, “I’d buy you a drink but I don't really think that’s necessary.” His eyes raked down the older man’s body and Harry tells himself it's because of the bespoke suit he’s wearing and not what is underneath.

“If you were in for a simple honeypot I'd say good job, he's looks like he's ready to rip that shirt off of you.”, Merlin chimed in unexpectedly.

“Quirks of the job,” Harry said looking at Eggsy but talking to both men. “I'm a tailor,” he clarified, when Eggsy looked at him curiously.
At the mention of that Eggsy let out a barking laugh. “Seriously? A tailor? You gettin’ off on watchin’ people lesser than you ‘ere? Can't think of a job any posher than that can you, bruv.”
“I might say the people who visit the shop to get their suits done may have their silver spoons stuck up their arses a little further than I do.”, Harry retorted.

The snort that escaped Eggsy is interrupted by someone loudly entering the bar, shoving the door open and stomping over to where the couple was sitting. The crinkling smile on Eggsy’s face disappeared immediately and a deep frown sets, where it used to be, eyes fixed on his pint.
Eggsy’s whole body tensed, when someone shouted “Hey faggot, the fuck are you still doin’ here!”. It wasn't a question so much as an accusation and Eggsy’s fist clenched around the glass, threatening to break it.

“His nick name’s Rottweiler, one of Dean Baker’s goons. Strong but not particularly intelligent, he shouldn't be a threat.”

“Dean’s been lookin’ for you the whole fuckin’ night, you've been sitting ‘ere fuckin’ around with some posh grandpa, ‘ave you?”
“Shut the fuck up, Rotty.”, Eggsy hissed, “Dean knew exactly where the fuck I was. Get out!”
“I ain't goin’ nowhere but you are getting your sorry ass home or wherever the fuck Dean wants you, fag.”

Eggsy finally looked up and caught Harry’s eye before standing up from his chair. “You should go.” He mumbled to the older man and matched Rotty’s aggressive stance. Shoulders squared and both hands clenched to fists, he might still be smaller than his opponent but he looked just as furious.

Three bar stools rattled and the men who had shared the stage with Eggsy stammered a “Bye, bru,” before they hurried out the door like frightened puppies avoiding Rotty’s gaze as they walked past him. When Harry looked around the bar he realized that, save for the bar man, he and Eggsy were alone with Rotty now.

“I believe I’ve got this, Eggsy.” He spoke and the young man turned around startled. He looked at him with furrowed eyebrows.
“What do you mean?”
Rotty on the other hand only laughed at him, “What are you gonna do, grandpa, throw your cane at me?”

“Of sorts,” he challenged Rotty and looped the end of his umbrella around the man’s neck, roughly pulling him close. Rotty staggered forward taken by surprise and Harry used his advantage to swoop his legs from beneath him and send him falling to the floor.
Harry dove down once to pull Rotty's hair out of his face and watch the man’s shocked expression.
“Manners,” he said sharply, “maketh man. I hope you don't forget that that the next time you call someone a faggot.”
With one precise blow to his temple Rottweiler was out.

Harry turned around to the bar man, set his watch and let an amnesia dart fly straight at him, who still had a washed glass and a towel in his hand, both crashing on the floor when he hit the ground.

Behind him Eggsy gaped at the scene that Harry had caused. He would've fought Rotty, maybe even landed a few punches before telling him to never call him a faggot again but this, this was unbelievable.
“I've never met a tailor but I know you ain't one.”

Harry sat back in his seat and faced the young man, who was still standing in front of the bar, eyes wide open and nose scrunched up, the confusion at what just happened apparent.
“I've read your files, Eggsy. Huge IQ, great performance in primary school and then it all went tits up.”
“You can't talk to me like that!”, Eggsy stepped closer, arms crossed in front of himself.
“But you came back, didn't you? Drugs, petty crime, yes but you fought back. Your step father, he should be ashamed of himself but not you, Eggsy. Starting a band, going on tour, you defied him and that's what counts.”
“How do you know all that shit?”

“I'd like to offer you a job, Eggsy.”

“What on earth are you doing, Harry?” The agent knew, that technically Merlin was right, he shouldn't be telling Eggsy all his, he needed him as his cover and if he rejected him now, well then he had fucked up spectacularly, as Merlin would say.
But somehow deep down Harry trusted Eggsy, he watched him stand there defensively and he saw a young man, who could've become so much more, had his life taken a different path.

“I am a Kingsman.”
“A tailor?”
“An agent.”
“Like a spy?”
“Of sorts.”

Eggsy stared at him like Harry would laugh at him any second and walk out and it hurt Harry to see, that Eggsy never got to trust anybody in his young life.

“Your step father works with a criminal organization. It is my job to infiltrate and gather information, take them down if necessary.”
“You're joking, right bruv?”
“I'm afraid not, Eggsy.”
“Dean’s a stupid bastard he ain't got enough brains to do more than beat someone up.”
“He's only a subordinate in the matter. The actual suspects move around quickly and leave their people in the city.”
“‘Kay, bruv, what's that got to do wiv me, though?”
“I believe you are going on tour in a week?”
“Yeah”
“Do you happen to know the people you are opening for?”

Eggsy blinked heavily, “What the fuck, bruv! No, never!”, he shouted disbelievingly. “Dean got us that tour. He- he set us up with a gang of fuckin’ criminals?”
“I'm afraid so, Eggsy.”
“Holy fuckin’ shit. That’s sick.” He looked back up at Harry, “So, what do you want from me then?”

“Well,” Harry hesitated, contemplating his next words, “a man like me, going to their shows, maybe even throughout the country, trying to infiltrate their little group without any attachments to them would be very suspicious, wouldn't it?”

Eggsy frowned, while Harry spoke and the older man clenched his fist. He had been too fast about this, Harry thought, been too straightforward. But then Eggsy’s face settled and an “Oh!” escaped him.

“You want me to- You need a cover to be around them even when you,” he gestured to Harry’s clothing, “don't exactly fit in, so...You want me to play your boyfriend for the time of the tour.”

“I do, if you wouldn't be uncomfortable with it.”

Eggsy laughed at that, “Did you see Rotty’s face, when he saw you sittin’ there? Bruv, I’d kill to see that again, ain't got nothing to lose. I'm in.”

Chapter Text

A scream echoed across the stone hall. Outside, as if in sympathy, a peal of thunder rolled around Camelot’s battlements and a fork of lightning pierced the sky.

The woman took a deep breath as if to scream again and Arthur, king of all the Britons, and all of them thank you very much, leaned towards Lancelot and muttered,

“I know Merlyn says it’s necessary, but really must she go on so?”

Whatever Lancelot had to say in reply it was lost in another screech, this time accompanied by a small leap and an aggressive shake of a rattle in Arthur’s face.

He caught the fell witch’s eye mid shake. She had the grace to grin a little sheepishly, Arthur rolled his eyes at his half sister.

“Very good darling. Could you get on with it? Some of us have some appropriate king-ing to do.”

Merlyn, standing off to one side, a long scroll of parchment playing through his hands, grinned,

“Let’s see what we’ve got ehh?”

Morgana sniffed, glanced down at the scrying bowl, took a deep breath, and the circle of assorted men and dogs waited, and in one or two notable cases put their hands (or their paws) over their ears in fearful anticipation. When she spoke, however, it was in quite reasonable terms, albeit in what Arthur considered to be fell gibberish.

“Truly it is a sad moon that sees a boy, a boy, a boy of poor renown come unto his majority. A boy, of such loveliness and pure thought that he knows no maiden’s thighs. That learns the ways of good and gentling knights and enters into the midsts and err, sorry, mists of Avalon and the mighty round table. Err. Yon?”

She glanced round the gathered group,

“Right, yes, he shall be sent on many a mission, perchance to find the holy blood cup of the King. It must be so ‘Arry, sorry, Arthur, sorry. Sorry. Your majesty.”

With a scrabbled hand she indicated the scrying bowl, and Arthur, ‘Arry to his friends and intimates, his right hand man Lancelot and Merlyn all leaned in.

Down, down, down in the murky depths a fuddled cloud parted to reveal a blurry image; two figures seated on high chairs without backs, beside a long wooden bar, they both held brimming glassware in front of their faces and seemed to make some kind of toast towards one another.

The room behind the two men held the echo of a hundred voices and the faint heartbeat of an all consuming beast still rang through the walls.

The image shook. Morgana nudged the bowl and there was a ripple as it changed,

“Sorry about that.” She muttered. “Trouble with the tuning. Ahh here we go.”

It was a different image but the same two men. ‘Arry smiled,

“Oh, I say, that’s me isn’t it? That’s an awfully funny sword. Who’s the lad?”

Merlyn nudged his king aside to get a better view,

“Truly that is a terrible thing on his head. But he seems to like you Arthur.”

They watched as the lad turned a look of such abject devotion on his face towards ‘Arry that they were all amazed that the future man didn’t combust under the rapt attention.

“Isn’t he the sweetest? Now where are they going? Morgana, darling, cant you do something about the sound?”

Everyone crowded in closer as Arthur and the lad got into a black box on wheels standing to the side of what must be a road of some kind.

But those brave knights of the round table, their magician, their fell witch, and their King all took a sharp step back from the bowl when the black box moved of its own volition. Merlyn began to write furiously on his bit of parchment,

“Horseless ehh? Some internal thing, smoke at the back, maybe a dragon? Small one mind? Hmm.”

They all watched as the horseless carriage, box on wheels, infernal combustion engine, thing, moved seamlessly along and eventually pulled up outside a brick building with a name and picture on its walls.

“Oh. I say. The Black Prince? Who’s he when he’s at home? Do we know a Black Prince?”

Lancelot frowned,

“I don’t think we do? Might be a descendant I suppose? Maybe? Maybe it’s his house? Or like those mummers last winter? You know? All made up?”

They all watched as the two figures walked into the building unhindered by any guard or lock. As they stood at a tall bar running along the side those watching in the bowl all relaxed, a tavern! Of course.

And then there was a fight. And ‘Arry was about as good as it gets. The boy looked awed. And then there were merchants and someone called the future Arthur ‘Galahad’ at which they all looked at each other in bewilderment and then they looked again at the boy who called himself ‘Eggsy’.

Eggsy.

Eggsy?

What on earth is an eggsy?

.....................................................................................

Later that day Arthur, Lancelot and Merlyn sat around the not quite round, more like an oval, Round Table also of fair renown. Just to try and work out what they knew.

The scrying bowl didn’t always reveal things chronologically and it wasn’t always as clear as they might have hoped either. Merlyn mind you, had a range of theories about the bowl. Including that what it revealed might be a huge variety of possibilities to begin with and as time passed these narrow down until there is just one outcome. Sometimes it showed alternate outcomes of the same series of events depending on what had happened in the present. Or the past. Or the past present, or the past continuous. Which frankly made them all a little tense. And sound, if they could get any at all, was always a bit muffled at best. And at worst it was just a series of images where people looked like landed trout, opening and closing their mouths and making awful faces.

They’d all got rather good at lip-reading.

Merlyn started off, keeping an eye on his king as he did so,

“Ayy, well, there’s an Arthur, but he’s not you. You’re Galahad.”

Lancelot snorted and Arthur glared at his friend. Merlyn acknowledged the moment briefly and carried on.

“I’m still me, though they’ve spelled me wrong.”

There was a moment of confusion when Arthur and Lancelot thought he meant magic so he explained that his name badge for the future chappy was all wrong. And who has script like that anyways? Ugh. ‘Merlin’, vowels were for losers!

“Anyhoo – Clearly Lancelot, and I’m sorry fella, Lancelot isn’t Lancelot. Nearly was, but isn’t. And it’s a wee bit moot as their Lancelot seems to have gone and died any old how.

Lancelot nodded morosely,

“And I don’t even like foreign food.” He sighed. “Or the desert. Or mountains.”

His two friends nodded sadly in agreement. His dislike of anything over the Tamar was well known. The images had been grainy, the bowl worked best when it was close to wherever the action took place both spatially and temporally. Still they’d all seen four men standing and a chap on a chair all tied up and everything, snarling and fierce and then one of them had chucked himself at the seated fellow and it had all gone to hell. Even if Merlyn had quietly taken a whole scroll of notes as they watched.

Arthur patted his friend on his shoulder,

“You saved us all. That was awfully good of you.”

Lancelot shrugged, ‘Arry might not be Arthur in whatever future it was the bowl showed, but their ‘Galahad’ clearly mattered to the not-quite Lancelot of the future. The current Lancelot sniffed a little, stood a little straighter,

“Anything for King and Country Sir. Or our friends, ‘Arry. Nice not to be dead in the here and now though.”

“Of course. So, Merlyn, anything else useful? What about the gear?”

“Well, I like the funny sword and shield combo. And both the lad and lass seem likely souls. We’ll have to see.”

Arthur nodded shortly and then grinned at them both.

“All right then. You have a think. I’m going to have a bit of a wander round the garden. Sir Pickle needs his walkies. Frankly, so do I. Lancelot? You’ve got your mission orders? No dying ehh? Merlyn make sure he gets all the gear, yes?”

The two men nodded to their King and then made their way out of the Great Hall of Camelot away from the not quite Round Table.

Arthur wandered over to the small windows of the hall, expensively glazed and really very small, but worth it for the brightness of the day streaming through. Dust motes danced in the pale sunshine. The earlier storm had cleared the air and outside the sky was a lovely clear blue. The king snapped his fingers at his dog.

Most nobles at Camelot had chosen an animal with long lines, sleek features, and plenty of grace. Arthur though? Arthur had a small wiry terrier with sharp teeth and a clever way with him. Sir Pickle followed his master out of the hall, down some flagged stairs out through a wooden door and into the garden.

On either side of the doorway a guard came to attention at the passing by of the King. Arthur was still thinking about the lad.

Granted the boy had been wearing the most appalling clothes. And that head covering? What kind of helmet was that? No protection at all! But Arthur had seen the way the lad had looked at his future self. Had seen the adoration and the, well, and the rest of it.

A very pretty lad to be sure. And competing to be the new Lancelot. Arthur thought of his own Lancelot. His friend had gone a bit quiet when they’d actually eventually seen the boys face, as though he might know him in this present and not simply as some visage from an uncertain future.

The King plonked himself down on a stone bench and wondered about it. Nice lad. Sweet. Just who might he be then?

..........................................................................................

In the mess of the dungeon that Merlyn called ‘the newt cave’ for reasons he’d be hard pressed to explain, Lancelot sat slumped in a chair casting a dour eye over his mission scroll, credentials, and the various potions, spells, portable cauldron and bits of gear either Merlyn or one of his minions had furnished him with. His friend side eyed him,

“All right then laddy, who’s the boy? I fair ken you knew who he was.” He paused. ‘Is.” He paused again. “Is. Was. Iswas.” He gave in, “Who’s the tyke then Lancelot?”

Lancelot sighed again,

“He looks an awful lot like my Eguine.”

“Does he now. And how old is Eguine these days?”

“24 Summers all told. And he’s a fair boy.”

Merlyn snorted.

“24! He’s not a boy Lance! What’s the matter, man? He should be trying out! There’s places vacant at the table. God knows if Gawain will make it back, or where the fuck Tristan has got to. Percival is a law unto himself, Saxony isn’t it? Right now, anyways? And we don’t even have a current Galahad after the last one, well, you know.”

Lancelot sighed again, Merlyn carried on,

“We’re short a few good men and true.”

Lancelot took a deep breath.

“Honestly? I hoped Eguine might take after his mother and not me.”

Merlyn thought of the Lady Michelle and blanched somewhat. In what world might that be better he wondered than taking after his da?

“Ayy, is that so? All right. But when you come back from the mission, you’ll have to tell ‘Arry.”

Lancelot nodded again,

“But you’ll keep it quiet till I’m back?”

Reluctantly Merlyn held out a hand and Lancelot shook it.

“May the Gods help me, but I’ll keep it quiet.”

“You’re a good friend Merlyn. I am worried about him though.”

Merlyn held up a hand,

“Arthur or Eguine?”

Lancelot waggled his head,

“Maybe both of them? At the same time?”

Merlyn snorted then,

“Fair enough. Now come on, let’s look at the gear. Let me show you what you’ve got. There’s been some good tweaks since last time.”

Lancelot finally smiled. He did love his gadgets!