Chapter Text
1
After years of suffering through the experience, Harry found charity balls to be mostly the same. More money was involved sometimes but everything else from the fine champagne to the French linen tablecloths were all essentially carbon copies of the other. As a Kingsman, Harry probably attended more than his fair share and thus his blossoming irritation had turned to out-and-out disdain. Wealthy people begging for more money in the guise of an elitist party for a random cause that was hardly ever actually getting the funds—it was all very distasteful but not a soul there with him could read that on Harry’s face. Except for maybe one soul who didn’t even need to see his face to know his thoughts on the matter.
“Are you going to get on with it, or are you going to raise your lip at everything that moves all night?” Merlin’s Scottish brogue rumbled in Harry’s ear, half amused and half exasperated.
“I’m approaching the target this very moment. Please stop your nagging, Mother.” Harry replies discretely, the comment earns him a scoff and a little bit of annoying static feedback from his comms that he was sure Merlin would claim was completely accidental later.
Harry slips through the crowd with graceful ease. The ball is a black tie affair and Harry blends in seamlessly with the aristocratic class around him however his target stands out. The man was a special guess of the duchess throwing the ball, his name was Alfred Kerr. Kerr was multi-degree holding microbiologist only there to appease the duchess who was one of his university’s largest benefactors. He was rocking the fish out of water look in an ill-fitting charcoal suite Harry would bet money came out of a warehouse. Not that Harry was a snob about clothing but he did believe a man should wear the suit not the other way around. Harry wasn’t sure why he had to abduct the awkward little fish, when he’s asked Merlin he’d told him Arthur said it was “need to know” in a tone that meant Merlin hadn’t needed to know either which of course irked the hell out of both of them. Particularly Merlin whose job implied needing to know everything, information was required to keep his agents safe and any instance when he did not have all the facts inherently meant his agent on point was that much more in danger. Harry, being the agent on point on this mission, was not very worried. He trusted Merlin to make due and he trusted Arthur.
Drawing nearer to Kerr, Harry quickly planned his next moves. The motions were easy: persuade the target to have a private conversation by any means necessary and then proceed to discretely stab them in the neck with a knock-out dart to interrogate about his latest work at a later more convenient time. Usually in a deserted warehouse with poor lighting which might be cliché but was quite effective as a scare tactic. Honestly this mission couldn’t be any simpler, Harry had done a thousand like this and would likely do a thousand more. It wasn’t complacency, it was just another bloody Tuesday as Harry had been concerned so when a high velocity bullet went through Kerr’s head splattering blood and brains all over the duchess he’d been standing by Harry can’t help the “What the fuck?” that slips out his mouth. He believed Merlin should cut him some slack for being a bit surprised. Only Merlin wasn’t answering him.
He doesn’t bother trying his comms again rather he whips around assessing where the shot must have come from. There’s a skylight above them and Harry can see a shadow move away from a neatly cut hole in the glass. The room is in a panic with most people trying to run to the doors all at once while a few stood there incoherently screaming. Harry does a damned good job of navigating through them to get to the fire exit without breaking any of their bones. He takes the stairs all the way up to the roof as fast as he can and the closer Harry gets a steady static grows louder and louder in his ear. Harry figures it was some type of jamming signal, a sophisticated one too if the sniper was able to cut him off from Merlin. Sophisticated, bordering on damn near impossible.
Harry took steps three at a time in long leaps and is on the roof of the hotel in less than thirty seconds. The night was still fairly young but the moon was bright enough to provide some natural light. He’d half expected the sniper to be gone already but that’s not what happened. The sniper stood on the ledge of the roof with his back to Harry. Harry surmised he was most likely male, a tailor’s eye, from the lines of his fitted black tactical gear the sniper wore. The sniper had a sort of black cloth wrapped around the lower half of his face acting like a mask, leaving his dark blonde hair to sway slightly in the wind. Harry drew his gun, cocked it, as he did the sniper turned unsurprised. Harry could tell that he was young. The sniper’s eyes were, of all things, amused, blue-green eyes shined giddily in the dark and his sharp arched eyebrows waggled playfully at him. Completely unafraid.
“Identify yourself, sir.” Harry ordered primly though people never ever identified themselves but protocol was protocol.
The sniper turned around fully, he makes no move for the high-powered rifle strapped to his back but he doesn’t say a word either. Harry could just shoot him now, sort it out later, but there is something in those eyes that makes him not want to not do that. The sniper starts to inch backwards to the ledge where it drops off ten floors and Harry falters, “Wait—”
But it’s too late. The sniper wiggles his fingers in a wave goodbye, the cheeky bastard, and falls backward like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Harry rushes forward and catches sight of the sniper landing in a roll on a neighboring building’s roof that had been at least a twelve foot fall down and then never losing momentum he leaps from that building to another’s window ledge balancing himself perfectly in the dark. From there the sniper jumps to a street light, catching where it overhangs handle-bar style and slides down it like a damned fire pole before landing deftly on his feet like he weighed nothing. The sniper looks back at an honestly impressed Harry and flashes him a quick peace sign before disappearing into the shadows of the back alleys of London.
As soon as the sniper is out of sight Merlin explodes in his ear mid-colorful string of swears making Harry wince, “Come in, Merlin.”
“Good God, Galahad. What the hell happened out there. The police are incoming on your position as we speak.”
Harry sighs and smooths his jacket, “I’m surprised you’re not asking why I shot him.”
Merlin scoffs, “I trust you to have a bit more control than that Galahad.”
“Thank you.” Harry starts making his way out of the building much more conservatively than his sniper friend, “But I’m afraid we have a new player.”
“You didn’t apprehend him.” Merlin states, clearly seeing through Harry’s glasses that he is in fact alone. “Today is full of surprises.”
“The shooter was…skilled.” Harry takes a fire escape on the other side of the third floor the rest of the way down avoiding the crowd and police. He manages it without getting a speck of rust on his suit, that was skill Harry thought a little indignantly.
“Evidently.”
“Do shut up, Merlin.”
Arthur, of course, is not happy with that evening’s turn of events. The old man was livid and wasted no time interrogating his Galahad in a brusque manner that barely concealed his contempt for the knight. Arthur and Harry had always been perfectly amicable toward each other and Harry always afforded Arthur the respect his position deserved, however, it was not a secret around the table that the two didn’t much care for the other as people. Harry was a bit of a low-key rule breaker, he believed the old ways had their value but should not stop the Kingsman from evolving with the world. Arthur had a problem with Harry’s particular schools of thought and their silent animosity only grew when seventeen years ago Harry submitted his candidate for Lancelot, a young “common” lad by the name of Lee Unwin. Unwin had died in the field, Harry had attempted to keep an eye on his remaining family from afar only to one day find his wife and son vanished shortly after Harry had delivered the medal of Valor to them. Merlin had been searching for him when he had the time, for years, but not even the Kingsman resources could uncover what happened to the Unwins. Their disappearance haunted Harry every day, Lee had after all died saving Harry’s life the least he thought he could do was make sure his family had a decent one. Fate chose not to give him even that.
“I expect your full written report on this matter within the hour, Galahad.” Arthur says from the head of the table. The high backed chair he sits in makes him look smaller, the opposite of the image Arthur is trying to project, “Also tell Merlin the failure of communications this night was fully his responsibility and that too I expect to never happen again, understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very good, off with you.” Arthur dismisses him.
Merlin is waiting for Harry right outside the door, tablet in hand, looking not at all repentant though there is a curious gleam in his dark eyes. Excitement at a new challenge maybe, Merlin was a bit mad at times but then again so was Harry.
“The video feed in your glasses came back on line before audio did, seems we caught a few seconds of your little friend from the street.” Merlin turns the tablet around for him and plays the clip of the shooter flashing the peace sign and turning jauntily on his heel into the darkness. “Cheeky fucker isn’t he?”
Harry nodded in agreement. The video was just a few seconds but it was more than they had a moment ago, Harry paused the video. The light from the street lamp gave the shooter’s hair an orange glow like a halo; unfortunately the few features the cloth mask didn’t cover were obscured by shadow and too far away to make much of. He looked like some dark avenging angel come to raise hell, Harry got the awful feeling they hadn’t seen the last of him either.
Across the city, almost perfectly parallel to Saville Row sat a charming tea house from the late 1800’s. They sold high-end loose leaf teas from all over the world but specialized in pure and proper Earl Grey. The style of the shop was reminiscent of romanticized Victorian with modern conveniences such as Wi-Fi for those who chose to drink their tea there in the comfortable sitting area of the front parlor. Not the kind of posh establishment Eggsy fucking Unwin would ever thought he would work at. Well, part-time anyway.
He used an elaborate scrolled-tipped key for the front door, past the lacey tablecloths and rows of open wooden cases showing off the spicy-smelling goods was another door opposite the counter behind a wall that required the use of a much more high tech encrypted key card along with a retinal scan. Eggsy had worked there for going on three years as a full time agent slash tea-boy and the rush of sheer cool never left him because that was some James Bond shit right there. The wooden door slid open instead of swinging to reveal a brightly lit metal lift. Eggsy slid his rifle from his shoulder and relaxed against the cool metal as the lift went down, down, down. He was good at wetwork, he had to be considering his Title, but that didn’t mean blowing some poor sod’s head off on the word of one woman made him feel good per say. He did feel the completion of a job well-done. Mostly well-done Eggsy remembers with a grin.
Eggsy is still grinning impishly when the doors ding open and he’s faced with a very unimpressed Mordred looking tall and gentlemanly in a suit anyone out of the Kingsman would be envious of. Except they weren’t Kingsman, were they?
“Was all that fuckery really necessary, Excalibur?” Despite Mordred’s looks his edges were nearly as rough as Eggsy’s and despite the current glare he was supporting toward Eggsy his admonishments were purely out of protectiveness. Not that Mordred would ever, ever, admit that. He takes Eggsy’s rifle for him, checking the safety and everything as if Eggsy wasn’t a goddamned professional.
“I dunno what you’re talkin’ about bruv, there was no fuckery!” Eggsy defends in the most incredulously offended voice he has. It has zero effect on Mordred.
“Really, because I was standing behind Morgan while she was ready to talk you away from the situation and instead you fuckin’ waited ‘til Galahad himself was right fuckin’ there. Why? So you could make a show of yourself jumping off a fuckin’ roof you utter cock?”
“Oi, no need for all the aggressiveness, Mordy…It did look cool though didn’t it?” Eggsy’s smile never faltered. Lesser men had crumbled through the sheer force of that smile that seemed to summon pure sunshine, Mordred was no lesser man but…
Eventually Mordred sighed and let his shoulders sag, “Yeah. It did. Morgan hacked Galahad’s bloody glasses and saved the feed before she gave the signal back. And before ye run off to the tech lab so she give you copy in slow motion the Lady wants to see you first.”
Eggsy smile finally wanes, “Am I in trouble?”
Mordred smirks, “Better hurry it along, Excalibur, won’t do to keep the Lady waiting.”
“…Yeah alrigh’.”
Mordred doesn’t quite snicker behind his back, but it’s a near thing.
The Queensman underground base in the city is as much of a fusion as the tea shop that crowns it. Classical furnishings, technology more than a couple of decades more advanced than anything the common wealth had available to them all around as if as an afterthought. The shop was several hundred feet above them, even so the base carried the delicate scent of freshly brewed tea wherever Eggsy went, it smelled like home. He rounded a long corridor lined with the faces of regal women, some smiling, some glaring like they wanted to set the on-looker on fire. Each one had once been the Lady of the Lake, Once Upon a Time and all. The big double cherry wood doors at the end of the hall belonged to whoever wore the mantle of the Lady currently. Eggsy was brought into the Queensman by the Lady that had ruled the agency for the past twenty years, even so he never stopped being intimidated by her. He raps his knuckles on the door politely and waits until he hears, “Come in, Excalibur.”
The Lady sat behind a monumental desk that should have made her look small a dainty in her old age and stark white hair pinned up tight but somehow she managed to look like a captain at the helm of a ship. The office walls were lined with leather bound tomes and much of the room’s light came from the roaring fireplace some distance from the desk and chairs. The Lady waved a hand to a chair in front of her desk. Eggsy sits with perfect posture, something he hardly ever did when left to his own devices.
“Well done, the mission tonight was a success, I understand. I expected no less. Unfortunately we’ve no time to lay about. Gwenivere has just sent back these.” The Lady slides a manila folder across the desk toward Eggsy.
He flips it open and can’t stop himself from exclaiming, “Fuckin’ hell, cuttin’ a bloke in half is bit much innit?!”
“Quite so,” The Lady’s face remained impassive, “The man was once Lancelot. Kingsman own, I’m afraid. We are lagging behind, Excalibur.”
Eggsy doesn’t linger on the numerous photographs of a man split right down the middle. Lancelot. The position his own Father had been supposed to take. The thought was jarring.
“What do you need me to do, Lady?”
“The sword must come for another man. Do you accept?”
Eggsy is tired, his shoulder cramps from staying in position for hours and the sprint to the tea shop in the dead of night was no small feat. None of that matters. The grin that flashes across Eggsy’s face is absolutely feral, “ Course. I’ve got nothin’ else better to do.”
The Lady doesn’t smile, her face does do this very subtle twitch that Eggsy has long identified meant she was pleased, “Very good, Excalibur. At first light I want you go here, covertly.” She slides another piece of paper to him.
In beautiful script Eggsy reads an address, “Who’s this then, Lady?”
“That, is the home of a man named Harry Hart. You met him earlier tonight, I recall, as you back-flipped off a building?” Her voice is almost amused. Almost.
“Galahad? Fuckin’ hell.”
“You have three hours of night left, Excalibur. I suggest you get some sleep.” And that was that.
Eggsy quietly left the office softly shutting the doors behind him. He stared down the hallway unseeing for a solid minute before taking a deep breath and surging forward. Excalibur was the sword of the Lady of the Lake, sworn to cut down whoever she saw deserving of the blade. Just because Harry Hart was the man who gave Eggsy the medal he wore under his shirt didn’t mean anything, fuck all compared to everything the Lady gave him and if Eggsy was anything, he was fucking loyal. Harry Hart didn’t mean a damned thing to Eggsy Unwin. So why did he know he wasn’t going to get any sleep that night?