Chapter Text
Merlin taps his foot anxiously against the concrete as he waits for the bus. He checks his phone for what must be the hundredth time. The bus is still late, no matter how many times he does it. Three minutes, now.
It’s not really all that unusual, and he doesn’t care most of the time, but he’s running late already, and Nimueh will kill him if he’s late on the first day of the week. He fidgets with the strap of his bag. He didn’t mean to take so long before leaving, but he’s forgotten to sew his pointe shoes and he really wants to practise his special choreography today. He’s been aching to for days, ever since the breakthrough he had last Thursday.
Finally, finally, the bus peeks its front out from the curve of the road and Merlin breathes a sigh of relief. If he runs to the studio from the stop and dresses quickly enough, he’ll make it to the class – he knows it from experience.
The bus stops with a huff, and Merlin is quick to hop on. Fortunately, it’s empty enough that he can find himself a seat easily enough.
He watches the cityscape rush by through the window and thinks about his choreo. The chaotic yet rhythmic patterns of the buildings outside remind him of the times he dances it, the blurry mess of limbs and walls he sees in that fraction of a second when he whips his head around to keep his spot.
He doesn’t even know why he keeps that dance a secret from everyone but Lance. It’s just... he’s been perfecting it for so long that it feels like a part of his soul is in that choreography.
Merlin shakes his head to settle his thoughts when he spots one of the familiar buildings that signifies his stop is nearing. He hoists his bag up on his shoulder and moves towards the doors. In mere moments they open, and he all but jumps off, breaking out into a sprint towards the studio. His bag bumps against his legs uncomfortably, but he brushes it off.
He arrives at the large glass doors slightly winded and pushes them open, muttering a quick greeting to Catrina, sitting at her receptionist’s desk as always.
The halls are empty as he runs towards the dressing room, which could either be a good sign or a terrible one – his peers are either all dressing still, or they’ve already started the class.
He’s relieved to find Elyan and Lance still in the dressing room when he steps inside.
“Merlin!” Lance exclaims, sounding relieved. “I thought something had happened.”
Merlin quickly throws his bag down and unzips it. “I just lost track of time; it’s not like it hasn’t happened before.”
Elyan, sitting on one of the benches, finishes pulling his shoes on. “We thought you’d be in more of a hurry than usual considering Annis is watching us today.”
Merlin pauses halfway through pulling his tights up. Shit. He’d completely forgotten about that. “That was today?”
His friends let out a deep, tired sigh in sync.
Merlin curses under his breath. Just great. He hasn’t even prepared his audition dance for Siegfried. Not that he’d even be considered for it with Arthur bloody Pendragon as competition. Still, his Rothbart is pretty good if he does say so himself, and he hadn’t had any trouble being cast as the Rat King last year in The Nutcracker , so his chance at a good role isn’t entirely lost.
He finishes dressing in record time, and the three of them hurry out of the dressing room.
Thankfully, Nimueh isn’t there yet when they step inside, and they take their usual spots at the barre.
They don’t have to wait more than a few seconds though, until their instructor arrives, with Annis Caerleon herself by her side. She looks every bit as elegant and intimidating as Merlin had imagined.
Nimueh clears her throat. “Attention, everyone!” she says, and all the gazes in the room focus on the pair of them. “Though I’m sure she needs no introduction, I would like to present to you your choreographer for the next few months: Mrs. Annis Caerleon.” An excited wave of whispers sweeps across the room. Most of them have known about Annis’ upcoming visit, but the presence of one of the most beloved ballet choreographers in the world is still quite exciting to all of them.
Annis sweeps her gaze across them, eyes lingering on one person in particular – Arthur Pendragon. Merlin resists the urge to roll his eyes. Of course, Arthur is the most well-known of them all.
Arthur for his part stands by the barre undisturbed, head held high. The light of the lamps above them reflects off of his annoyingly perfect hair.
Finally, Annis speaks. “For now, pretend I am not here. Your class will proceed as it always does. I won’t disturb you.”
Merlin is relieved to hear that. The last guest choreographer had been much more involved, and Merlin learned to appreciate those that weren’t. It’s much less... anxiety-inducing.
Nimueh claps her hands together. “Alright. As always, we will begin in first position.”
It’s easy to get into the rhythm of the class, even with Annis observing them like a hawk. Merlin tries his hardest to concentrate on Nimueh’s voice and the movements of his body, as he always does. He does his pliés and tendus and arabesques by the barre with the same dedication as he would pirouettes and chaînés on the stage.
By the time they move to the centre, he nearly forgets about Annis’ presence completely.
It’s what he loves the most about this sport. The way he can completely devote his whole being to it, both in body and mind. It’s like when he dances, the whole world ceases to exist and only the dance itself remains. He truly loves it more than anything else. He spins and jumps like it’s the only thing that matters – and really, in that moment, it truly is.
After the class, Annis insists on individual auditions, so after queueing to sign up their names for the character auditions, she takes the first auditioner, Sefa, to one of the smaller private rooms, with Nimueh in tow. They’re starting with the smaller roles, so Merlin knows he has plenty of time to get his audition in order. From what he saw on the sheet, he’s up against Mordred, Edwin, and Julius for the role, so he’s not too worried. Of the three, Mordred would be his only real competitor, but Mordred’s youth and lack of experience are not exactly advantageous.
He does some basic stretches while chatting idly with Lance and Elyan – that is, until Lance is called to audition after only ten or so dancers called before him. Merlin shakes his head as he watches his friend leave. “I don’t know why he always does this,” he says to Elyan. “He’s such a brilliant dancer but he never tries to go for bigger roles.”
Elyan is quiet for a moment as he holds out an attitude but speaks after dropping the position. “You know what he says. He still wants to perfect his every move and won’t aim higher until he’s satisfied with himself.” He rolls his eyes. “As if you’re ever perfectly satisfied with yourself in this sport.”
Merlin purses his lips. “I just wish we could make him see that.” He’s been trying to do that for years now, with no results.
In that moment, from the corner of his eye, he can see someone new take the centre, standing strong and confident. All the dancers near him take a few steps back, as if compelled by an invisible force.
Arthur Pendragon’s presence is like a command to all of them: Stand back, the Prince of Camelot Ballet has arrived!
“Meanwhile some people could probably use a good humbling,” Merlin mutters.
Elyan huffs out a laugh. “Oh come on, Arthur’s not that bad.”
Merlin scoffs. Right, perhaps when your name is not Merlin Wyllt, Arthur Pendragon does treat you more like a person and less like you’re just a dirt stain on the bottom of his shoe. “I’ll believe that when he stops acting like an overly self-important, arrogant prat around me.”
Elyan doesn’t say anything to that. He probably knows that there’s some truth to what Merlin’s saying – Arthur undeniably has a particular distaste for him. Ever since Merlin joined the company seven years ago, Arthur has been nothing but a horrid little twat to him.
Said arrogant prat does a perfect double cabriole right in front of Merlin, oblivious to the slander of his character that just went down. Serves him right, Merlin figures.
After Arthur’s finished, someone that Merlin appreciates a whole lot more takes the centre – Gwen. The saving grace of Merlin’s life. Without her, the scenes he had with Arthur’s Cavalier in The Nutcracker would have cracked Merlin’s sanity. If anyone else had been the Sugar Plum Fairy, Merlin would probably be in jail for murder.
Her dancing is just something else to watch. She glides through the air as if she weighs nothing – truly the perfect White Swan. Though from what Merlin can see now, her Black Swan is something to behold too. Sure, it’s not how Merlin would dance Odile, but it’s damn near perfect for what Gwen is going for.
Once she’s finished, Merlin and Elyan applaud her. She ducks her head modestly and smiles, then approaches them. “Was it really that good?”
“You were brilliant, Gwen,” Merlin tells her honestly. She truly is as close to perfection as any ballerina can be. Both of the Smith siblings are highly regarded for their talent, and rightly so. They’ve been dancing practically since the day they could walk, as both of their parents had been dancers as well.
Gwen smiles brightly. “That’s so good to hear. I’m a little worried about the Black Swan; I’ve never danced a character like her before.”
Elyan nudges her shoulder. “As long as you don’t go all Natalie Portman on us, you’ll be fine.”
Gwen rolls her eyes but chuckles. “I don’t think I’m in any danger of that.” She turns to Merlin. “I saw you’re only auditioning for Rothbart. I thought you said you were going to try for Siegfried like Elyan.”
“Ah, right, about that...” Merlin rubs his upper arm sheepishly. “I sort of forgot the auditions were today and I hadn’t finished preparing my Siegfried sequence.”
Gwen’s expression is an odd mix of pity and exasperation. “One of these days you’ll forget your head, Merlin.”
Sounds about right, Merlin thinks.
As the minutes turn into hours, fewer and fewer of them are left in the room. Merlin has the chance to go through his choreography twice, and watches his peers do the same.
Finally, when it’s just Elyan, Gwen, Leon, Vivian, Freya, and Arthur left in the room with him, Merlin is called. His fingertips are tingling with nerves, but at the same time, there’s no ball of anxiety in his stomach. He knows Swan Lake like the back of his hand, and he’s very aware of his value as a dancer.
He and Nimueh pass a beaming Mordred as they near the room. Clearly he had performed quite well.
Annis’ presence is overwhelming when they step inside. She still exudes a sense of commanding professionalism, even after all these hours.
Her gaze feels as if it’s boring into Merlin’s very soul, analysing him. “Merlin Wyllt, am I correct?” she asks.
Merlin nods. “Yes, ma’am.”
Annis hums. “Miss Isle has quite a high opinion of you. I am quite interested in what you have to offer.” Merlin spares a glance at Nimueh. He hadn’t realised she thought that. Well, he’s known that she’s had a begrudging respect for his... non-traditional approach to ballet, but to hear an outright commendation truly is flattering.
“I’ll try my best to live up to that expectation,” he says, lips quirked in a smile.
Annis’ expression is unreadable. “The stage is yours,” is all she says.
Right. Merlin walks to the centre of the room. He takes his starting position. He inhales a deep breath. And he dances.
It’s as perfect as he can make it. He tries his hardest to forget about his audience and lets the choreography take over. For those two minutes, he stops being Merlin, and becomes Baron von Rothbart. He allows the music to guide him along, and before he knows it, the dance is over.
Annis’ gaze is calculating. She gestures to beckon him closer. When Merlin obeys, she speaks. “Would you be alright with dancing two of my choreographies instead of the usual one? I would like to see you dance as Siegfried too.”
A warm buzzing makes its way to Merlin’s chest. He’d only been expecting to dance another scene of Rothbart, so he hadn’t really prepared for Siegfried as he was waiting. But at the same time, the offer is impossible to refuse. “I’d be happy to.”
Annis nods, then accompanies him to the centre where she first explains the choreography she wants to see for Rothbart. It’s pretty different from what he had demonstrated, but that’s not exactly a surprise. He’s seen recordings of Annis’ Rothbart choreographies, and deliberately chose to do something novel.
That’s not to say he hadn’t prepared for needing to dance Annis’ version, as is obvious when she steps back to let him perform, and he dances with little issue.
Siegfried goes somewhat less smoothly, his lack of practice obvious, but he dances well enough and recognises the impressed arch in Annis’ brow.
He’s a little winded from the combination of nerves and exercise by the end, but he’s beaming so hard his cheeks are starting to hurt.
Annis sends Nimueh to fetch the next person, Leon, and Merlin takes that as his cue to leave too. But moments before he steps out the doorway, Annis calls out his name. “Merlin.” He turns back. “Most people would have performed my version in their first audition dance,” she continues. “Why didn’t you?”
Merlin shrugs. “I wanted to show my take on the character. I always put a part of myself into all of my roles.”
A faint smile appears on Annis’ face. “You really are quite something, Merlin Wyllt.”
Merlin grins. “Thank you.”
Merlin takes a late lunch break after he leaves the audition room, eating his hastily made sandwich and going out for a coffee. They’re technically done for the day, but he really does want to make use of the precious empty studio time to practise his personal choreography.
When he makes his way back to the dressing room afterwards, he finds Elyan there.
“How did it go?” he asks.
Elyan shrugs. “I think it went well, but Annis is pretty hard to read. How about you?”
Merlin can’t help the smile that spreads across his face. “Really good. I think I made a very good impression on her. She even made me dance as Siegfried after Rothbart.”
Elyan’s brows climb up his forehead in surprise. “Really? That’s amazing, Merlin!”
Before Merlin can respond, another person enters the dressing room – Arthur.
He looks... ugh, he looks like the cat that got the cream. Clearly, Merlin isn’t the only one whose audition went exceptionally well.
A small joy is that Arthur’s expression sours ever so slightly upon spotting Merlin.
“How was your audition, Arthur?” Elyan asks politely, because Merlin still hasn’t managed to convince him that Arthur is a creature from hell sent to torment Merlin specifically.
“I think I managed to impress Annis. She’s never been too fond of my father, and I was worried she wouldn’t be able to look past that, but she was able to stay objective, which I appreciated greatly.”
Oh, boo-hoo. Poor Arthur Pendragon whose father owns the ballet company he dances in. It must be so difficult for him. Merlin tunes out the rest of the conversation, not able to bear listening to whatever obnoxious thing Arthur was probably talking about.
He checks back in right about when Elyan throws his sports bag over his shoulder, ready to leave. “You coming?” he asks Merlin.
Merlin shakes his head. “I want to stay and practise a bit more.”
“Have fun with that. I’d keep you company if I could but I have a classic lit class in half an hour.”
Merlin waves a dismissive hand. “It’s fine, don’t worry. Good luck with your class!”
Elyan grins. “I’ll need it. Got to run; I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that, he hurries away.
With Elyan now gone, it’s just Merlin and Arthur in the dressing room. Merlin pointedly ignores Arthur’s presence and starts taking off the warmer clothes he hastily put on to go outside. As he’s putting his sweatshirt away in his bag, Arthur finally breaks the silence. “Why do you have pointe shoes in your bag?”
Merlin freezes. Ugh, of course the last person he wants to explain the whole ordeal to is the one who asks it. “I, erm— Gwen asked me to pick up a pair for her because she was busy.” It’s a poor excuse, and they both know it. Merlin was much less secretive about his pointework when he first joined the company, and though it’s been years since he stopped practising it out in the open, he’s sure Arthur hasn’t forgotten it.
Arthur raises his brows, looking doubtful. “Those look far too large to be Gwen’s shoes.”
Merlin scoffs. “Right, how could I forget, you’re totally an expert on pointe shoes.”
“I think I’ve seen enough of Gwen’s shoes to tell. She used up four pairs a week when we were rehearsing The Nutcracker . Or is your memory so terrible that you’ve forgotten about that?” Arthur retorts.
Merlin crosses his arms. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
“I was just asking a question!” Arthur throws his arms up exasperatedly. “Why do you have to make everything so difficult?”
“Well, why do you have to put your nose into something that’s none of your business?”
“I—” Arthur’s response is interrupted by the opening of the door, revealing none other than Uther Pendragon on the other side. Arthur freezes.
“Arthur,” Uther says, tone impossible to read. “With me.”
Arthur nods. “Yes, Father.” He follows the older man outside, only pausing for a moment to glare at Merlin over his shoulder.
Lovely.
Merlin just takes a deep breath and pulls out the objects of conflict from the bag. He still has to break them in and score the bottoms. He starts with the former, pressing the front of one shoe between the heel of his palm and his knee. It caves in with a satisfying crack, and Merlin proceeds to take it in his hand and bend it even more, making sure it’s nice and movable in all the spots he needs it. He repeats the process with the other shoe, then takes out the razor blade to score the bottoms. Careful to not cut himself, he slices diagonal lines across the surface.
He hasn’t done pointework in almost four days because of delayed delivery on new pairs, and he’s almost started to miss this process.
Quickly, he slips into his flats and grabs his padding supplies and pointe shoes. Poking his head out to the corridor, he surveys his surroundings, making sure he won’t be spotted. Upon finding it all empty, he heads out towards his usual spot.
Once safely in the privacy of the room, he sits down on the floor and unzips the bag with his padding supplies. He sticks a few second skin coverings on his heels and pinkie toes and puts his toe pads on. Before he puts his pointe shoes on, he slams them against the floor a few times to bang them out a bit.
Lance enters when Merlin’s halfway through banging out the second shoe. “You’re not a hard man to find, Merlin. I could hear the banging all the way down the corridor.”
Merlin shrugs. “It’s not that unusual of a sound here. Almost everyone bangs them out before they dance; the noise they make without it really is quite distracting when you dance in them. And I already make enough upstairs-neighbour noises with the dancing, I’d probably get noise complaints if I started banging my shoes out there. Not to mention Will would probably wring my neck before that.”
Lance chuckles. “I definitely understand that. My downstairs neighbours aren’t exactly my biggest fans either.”
Forget downstairs neighbours, Merlin’s flatmate is the real complainer. Merlin loves Will, he truly does, but the man is not exactly a fan of the fine arts.
Finally satisfied with the state of his shoes, Merlin slips into them and ties the ribbons. He pushes himself up to his feet and tries out some basic moves. The shoes feel secure, and as comfortable as they ever can – which is not very, but it’s bearable.
“What do you want to work on today?” Lance asks just as Merlin finishes a pirouette.
Merlin doesn’t even have to think about it to know the answer. “Oh, Black Swan, definitely. I think I finally figured her out when I was practising by myself on Thursday.”
So, yes, admittedly, it has been sort of strange to prepare for von Rothbart while he’s also practising a version of Odette and Odile, but really, it’s a coincidence. He’s been trying to create a choreography of his take on the iconic White and Black Swans for close to two years now. He’d been in over his head at the start, sure, but over time he learned how to achieve what he wanted. Meeting Gwaine, the young dancer-turned-choreographer who briefly instructed them, had been the first real breakthrough, and ever since then Merlin has been perfecting his Odette and Odile.
The choreography, he’s confident in now. He has danced it dozens, even hundreds of times. But their characters, his performance of them, is what he has really been working on all this time.
“What conclusion did you come to?” Lance asks him.
Merlin takes a deep breath, preparing for his long-winded explanation. “Well, you already know that I don’t want Odile to just be evil for the sake of evil. It’s been done so many times, and I don’t find it compelling. But at the same time, she still needs to be very different from Odette, while also being similar enough that Siegfried could mistake the two of them as the same. And that’s when it clicked for me. Odette is enchanted to be the White Swan. So what if Odile is also enchanted to be the Black Swan. She’s being used by her father for his purposes. She’s compelled to seduce Siegfried by Rothbart’s magic, and she hates it. She’s seductive but pushes him away when he gets too close; she’s calculating her chances so that she can be done as fast as possible because she despises the situation she’s in. It would be such a cool parallel with Odette, because where Odette is at first apprehensive and dodging Siegfried because she’s scared of him, only to become playful as she falls for him and warms up to him, Odile starts off seductive and teasing, turning gradually colder and more resistant the longer she’s with Siegfried.”
Lance looks at him with something like admiration on his face. “That sounds wonderful, Merlin. The amount of thought and nuance you’ve put into these characters is something I find very admirable.”
Merlin smiles sheepishly. “Let’s just hope I can actually convey all of that as I dance.” Lance is great to have around to gauge that, seeing as Merlin can’t exactly look at his own dancing from the outside. Plus Lance is amazing to play off of during a pas de deux – and a true saint for learning Merlin’s choreographies.
After a quick warm-up, Merlin sets up the music on his phone.
Once their cue hits, he and Lance run to the centre of the room, and begin their dance. Merlin gives himself over to the music and tries to immerse himself in Odile’s psyche. He imagines being forced to seduce a stranger who thinks she’s someone he already knows, tries to feel all of her resentment and desperation and stubborn resolve.
He has to take a moment to recover himself when the pas de deux ends, and he turns to Lance for feedback. “What do you think?”
Lance seems to consider it. “I liked how it started and how it ended, and truth be told I liked a lot of the middle as well, I just think the shift was too sudden.”
Yes, Merlin had thought that might happen. He nods. “Again?”
Lance grins. “Again.”
They go again, and again, and then one more time, and Merlin is winded and sore by the time they finish the fourth one, but he knows he’s so close to getting it right. “Break for water and then one last try?” he asks.
Lance nods. “Sounds like a plan.”
The water, even slightly stale as it is, is a relief. It spreads a pleasant coolness in Merlin’s chest, and inspired by that, Merlin sits down on the ground to hold the bottle against his still shoe-clad feet. He’s definitely feeling the aftermath of the four-day break from pointework. He can already tell his feet will be swollen and slightly bruised tomorrow.
“I still have no idea how you can do it,” Lance comments upon seeing what Merlin’s doing.
Merlin shrugs. “It’s not really that different from what the girls have to do. That’s why Gaius taught us boys too. You know, a sort of ‘if girls have to suffer, so do boys’ mentality. It’s not actually that bad.”
Lance hums. “I suppose you have a point. Perhaps if I had been practising my pointework since I was thirteen too, I wouldn’t find it all that surprising.”
“I understand, don’t worry. It’s not exactly common to see men dancing in pointe shoes.” Something Merlin had been very conscious of when he joined Camelot Ballet.
“Is that why you’ve never told anyone about your choreography?”
Lance’s question makes Merlin think. He hadn’t considered the subconscious role it could have played in that decision. He hadn’t even told Lance either; it was a mere coincidence that his friend found out at all. Lance had just happened to stumble into the room Merlin had been practising in. “I don’t know. It’s part of it, maybe.” He pushes himself back on his feet. “Ready for another go?”
Lance nods and walks to the side as Merlin resets the music. As he looks at the list of the sections, he has a thought. “What if I also danced the solo and coda after?”
When he looks at Lance, the man just shrugs. “If you want to, I’m on board. I’ll skip over Siegfried’s solo for you, and I’ll join in on the coda once I’m needed.”
That’s settled, then. “Thanks,” Merlin says before setting the timer on the music and joining Lance on the side.
The small respite had been exactly what they’d been missing. Merlin feels as if he’s gliding through the air, and he immerses himself in Odile’s resentful, hate-filled, dark psyche. The dance seems to rush by, and after holding out the finishing pose, Lance lets go of Merlin and hurries to skip over the section in the song where Siegfried’s solo would be.
Merlin takes those few seconds to breathe, but his break hardly lasts longer than a few exhales until he’s preparing to enter for Odile’s solo.
At the cue of the music, he snaps back into character. The solo is perhaps the best he has ever danced it, managing to not lose his spot even once.
Then, as the familiar brass notes of the coda start to play, he uses the minute when Siegfried would be dancing to prepare for what comes now – the thirty-two fouettés. He takes slow, measured breaths as he waits for his cue. Maybe this time, he can finally finish all of them.
Then, at last, he can begin. His spot is secure, a section on the wall where the paint has chipped from all the dancers before slamming their pointe shoes against it. The spins are stable until he starts to tire, and on the twenty-third one he stumbles, but pushes himself through and continues. He knows he’s slightly out of sync – too slow, still too slow, but only just barely. The final blow is when he loses his preciously held balance on the thirty-first and stumbles out of it, just barely saving it in a way that looks presentable.
He gets a few free seconds to recover and commends himself on the achievement – he’s never managed thirty-one before. He’s been consistently reaching twenty-nine and thirty, but not thirty-one, at least until now.
And then again, for the last time, it’s his cue to dance, and he breezes through the rest of the choreography with only slightly shaky legs until he’s joined by Lance for the final handful of seconds.
For some reason, Lance looks almost distracted as he finishes the dance, but Merlin tries to ignore it as they enter the ending pose.
He only holds it for a few moments before backing away and leaning on his knees with his hands as he catches his breath. “Did you... did you see the fouettés?” he says between gasps. “I almost managed thirty-two!”
Lance spares a glance his way, but his eyes are fixed on something else behind Merlin.
Merlin draws his brows together. “What—” he begins to ask as he turns to look over his shoulder, but the words are stuck in his throat when he sees what Lance has been looking at.
Annis Caerleon stands in the doorway with a smile on her face and her arms crossed over her chest. Merlin straightens up suddenly, as if shocked by a jolt of electricity. He can feel the blood rushing away from his face and knows he’s likely gone white as a sheet.
Annis takes a few steps forward, heels clicking against the wooden floor. “Your end-of-show bows need work, but there’s definitely potential in you,” she says.
Merlin just blinks at her a few times. “What?”
Annis smirks. “Can you show me your White Swan?”
Merlin glances at Lance, who looks just as perturbed as Merlin feels. “Erm. Now?”
Annis says nothing, just looks at Merlin expectantly. He takes that as a yes. Taking a deep breath, he fetches his phone to set the music up for his second act Odette solo.
As much as he is unnerved by Annis’ presence, dancing as Odette feels invigorating, especially after spending so long in Odile’s head. Odette’s tragic innocence and quiet fierceness truly is a breath of fresh air.
It’s safer in a way, too. He knows Odette like the back of his hand.
When the choreography is done and the music fades out, his nerves return full force. Annis looks thoughtful, like she’s contemplating something important. “I’m not familiar with this choreography. It’s unique, I must say.”
‘Unique’, huh? That could either mean something great or something terrible. “I came up with it myself. Well, I had some help from Gwaine Greene at the start, but it’s mostly my own work.”
Annis hums. “It’s certainly impressive, especially considering your lack of experience with choreographing. Though I must say, your performance is the real stand-out. It’s quite rare to see men doing pointework, especially at such a high level.”
Merlin feels his ears grow hot at the compliment. “It’s all thanks to my former instructor, Gaius White. He taught me pointework until I transferred to Camelot when I was seventeen.”
“You should show off your skills more often. Does Miss Isle know of this?”
Nimueh had indeed seen his pointework when he auditioned for Camelot, but she rarely brought it up. “She does, but her choreographies are very strictly classical.”
“A shame,” Annis says before turning to Lance. “And you, Mr Du Lac. Why didn’t you audition for a greater role? You could make a fantastic Benno.”
Lance looks down to his feet. “I didn’t feel that my ability to perform matched my peers’. I don’t wish to take any role from someone more deserving in case I happened to dance better on one singular day.”
Annis seems to take this in and hums before turning back to Merlin. “The pair of you are quite something.” She is quiet for a few moments before speaking again. “I hope I don’t grow to regret this, but I knew I had to make this choice the moment I stepped into this room.” She sighs. “Truthfully, I’d known there was something about you before you even auditioned for Rothbart. It’s as if you put your very soul into each movement you make.”
Merlin hears the humming of blood rushing through his ears. He has no idea what Annis is getting at, but it feels big. Proper big, something gigantic enough to crush him beneath its weight.
Annis continues to speak. “I’ve felt like something was missing from my previous productions of Swan Lake , and now I know what it was – revolution. I needed to do something that had never been done before, and you’re the key to that, Mr. Wyllt.”
“I... am?” Merlin can’t help but ask.
“Indeed you are,” Annis says. “I want to show the world what ballet is capable of. I want to put something unique onto the stage of prestige. I want you to be my Swans.”
For a moment, Merlin barely registers the words that leave Annis’ lips. His thoughts are drowned out against the racing of his heartbeat. Once the meaning of them finally registers in his mind, he finally stutters out a sentence. “You... you’re offering me the leading role?”
Annis nods just once. “Your dancing is like nothing I’ve seen before. I noticed the way you could change your performance with such ease between characters when you auditioned, and I saw the true extent of it now. You are the thing that has been missing from my productions of Swan Lake .”
Still reeling from the offer, Merlin takes a long, deep breath. Every bone in his body is screaming at him to take the role and take it now . It’s an unprecedented opportunity – like Annis said, there has never been a classical, traditional rendition of Swan Lake where a man played the role of Odette and Odile, and certainly not one created by someone as prestigious as Annis. He would be making history.
And yet, there’s one nagging thought in the back of his mind. “If you hadn’t stumbled upon Lance and me just now, who would you have given the role to?”
Annis’ upper lip stiffens, but she answers Merlin’s question without hesitation. “Miss Gwen Smith. I have no doubt she would be great in this role, but I believe you’re the better fit.” Her gaze flicks to Lance. “Just as I believe you would be a good fit for the role of Benno or even Siegfried, but your lack of confidence is stopping you from being a better one than who I already have in mind.”
Gwen. Of course it would be Gwen. She’s one of the most brilliant dancers Merlin’s ever seen.
As much as he wants this role, the guilt over the thought of taking this role from her due to mere coincidence is squeezing his insides enough that he struggles not to double over with it. “And if I don’t take this role, what will I get?”
“Von Rothbart,” Annis says, clearly displeased.
Merlin swallows. He’d be getting the role he auditioned for, he should be happy with that. “That’s... that’s still pretty good.”
Suddenly, he feels the weight of a hand on his shoulder. Turning to the side, he sees Lance staring at him intently. “Merlin. It’s good, but it’s not Odette and Odile.”
Lance of all people saying that is quite the shock – even if Merlin knows he’s right. “But Gwen—”
“Gwen will be less happy with you if you throw away such an opportunity for her sake than if you get the role instead of her.”
Though that does sound like Gwen, Merlin can’t know that for certain. “I—“
Lance interrupts him again. “Ask her. Before you make the decision, ask her.”
Pursing his lips, Merlin looks at Annis. “Gwen is one of my closest friends. I can’t in good conscience take this role without her permission.”
She sighs. “Fine. But if you don’t come to a decision by tomorrow morning, she gets the role. I’ll be here thirty minutes before your lecture.” She fixes him with an intense look. “You know what I want your answer to be.”
With one last nod of acknowledgement, she leaves the pair of them to themselves. The clicks of her heels echo down the hall for what feels like forever.
Merlin’s gaze meets Lance’s. Reluctant as he is to accept this offer, it feels like something monumental has shifted.
He’s not sure he’s ready to deal with the consequences.